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“That’s an Elite Guard vessel.”
Captain Fanzone eyed the ship making its way downward toward Detroit with a crossed expression.
More aliens. Great. Peachy. Just what they needed after the disaster at Sumdac Tower – which, all things considered, was much more the good Professor’s fault than it was their resident alien robots heroes/guests/whatever. If Sumdac only had had the good sense of telling them all what he was hiding in his basement and just HOW he had managed to come up with all those automatons and technology…
Well, perhaps Captain Fanzone might have still hated machines (something he suspected was reciprocal), but at least his men would have been more prepared. And the Autobots, too.
Still, that wasn’t why he was crossed. Not really.
He glanced at the cross-armed, frowning form of Optimus Prime who stood by his side, and the Captain’s irritation grew tenfold.
“Your bosses, uh?” he asked faux-casually, feeling his fists twitch.
A human couldn’t punch a robot without breaking a finger or two (he would know, he had tried), but right now, Carmine Fanzone was sorely tempted to do so… on the behalf of another robot. Who would have thought?
“My bosses, yes,” Optimus replied flatly, a little manic light in those eyes… optics of his.
“The same bosses who don’t believe in maternity leave?” Captain Fanzone continued with a harder glare at the descending ship – at least the fuckers piloting seemed to have more sense than to just land in Detroit proper.
“The very same,” Optimus confirmed, the manic light in his optics more intense, though his voice was perfectly even.
Fanzone harrumphed. “Want me to give them a piece of my mind?” he proposed with utmost sincerity.
Because he certainly wouldn’t mind. Optimus Prime and his crew came with their lot of problems, which the human could have done without, but they were also good people, who seriously tried to do good and respect the law… when they understood what the law was. Plus, Fanzone had principles, and his principles were strictly against him risking the life of any woman (or man, whatever, he wasn’t judging or prejudiced, unlike some of the big shots in the department) who was pregnant in the field.
Eck, no one with an inkling of common sense would!
Those ‘Elite Guard’ fellows obviously hadn’t gotten the memo, though, and Fanzone really wanted to get a chance to yell at them, just because he could.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Captain, though I thank you for the offer,” Optimus said evenly, but he was grinning, a wide, wild grin that made the Captain almost take a step back. Oh boy. Nothing good ever came from a man smiling that.
Those were the smiles of men who were out of a fuck to give. The smiles of men who were ready to tear into assholes and tear them a new one without breaking a sweat. The smiles of men who were about to do something bad, something explosive.
“I intend to take my complaint to them directly, after all,” Optimus finished, his optics shining brighter. “But if you want to redact a memo and sent it over, I’ll be more than happy to share it with my superiors, of course.”
Slowly, Captain Fanzone started to smile.
Oh, that was going to be good, he decided, heading toward his car to join his men into securing the landing ship’s perimeter.
If he wasn’t around when Optimus went overboard, then he hoped him or at least one of his teams was going to take a video capture.
Fanzone had no love for machines, but he sure loved big-shot assholes getting what pain they were due, big time.
*-*-*-*-*
“Of all the places to crash on, they had to do it on a planet crawling with organics. Urgh,” Sentinel Prime grumbled with clear disgust.
Ultra Magnus glanced at him with a reprobating expression. “Sentinel Prime, be quiet. One does not always choose a landing spot, with enemies on their tailpipes. And organic life is, sadly, far more spread out than mechanical. One must be glad that the crew survived at all and that, hopefully, we’ll manage to secure the Allspark at long last,” he said, tapping the floor once with the handle of his hammer.
Jazz carefully didn’t say anything and kept his face blank as Sentinel flinched ever-so-slightly at the rebuttal. Man, the kid needed to learn to chill out a bit; Ultra Magnus reminding you that your opinions better stay neutral wasn’t the end of the world. He didn’t really get what Sentinel’s beef with organics was. Jazz had met a few species, and asides of being a bit odd, what’s with being made of flesh instead of sentient metal, they had been okay enough. For Sentinel Prime, though, anything organic was bad news.
Mech nearly fritzed when the Steelhaven’s sensors had finally picked the Orion’s trace and a scan of the planet bellow had come up with several billions organic signatures.
If not for the Allspark, Jazz had the sneaky feeling the Prime would have asked to turn heels and leave Optimus Prime and his crew to their own devices.
Which, uncool, mech. Totally uncool.
“Yes, Sir,” Sentinel answered in a more subdued tone. “However, may I insist that Optimus Prime and his… team… be thoroughly decontaminated before setting a foot inside the ship? Organic lifeforms can be sneaking and invasive, and Rule 97, Paragrapher 7 of the Autobot Military Handbook is very clear about…”
Ultra Magnus rumbled, making the Prime shut up immediately. “I do know the rules, Sentinel Prime,” he dipped his helm. “Optimus Prime and his crew will be decontaminated, but first we need to pick them.”
“Shouldn’t be hard,” Jazz commented from his seat as he maneuvered the ship toward the spot he had picked. “Their Spark signatures are headed right for us. They must have seen us, so no need to hail them.”
Which was probably just as well, because any attempt they had made previously had gone unanswered. So either their ship’s comm system was completely fried, or they had been deliberately ignoring them. For their sake, Jazz hoped it was the first option; UM wasn’t a patient mech when it came to discipline, and the whole Allspark deal had him on edge.
Privately, Jazz marveled at the fact that of all the unlikely mechs in the universe, it ended up being a couple of simple technicians who had found what the Autobots and the Decepticons had both been pursuing for so long. Then again, perhaps it made a very twisted type of sense, too; Space Bridge technicians were some of the mechs who spent the most time out there in the big beyond, Elite Guard’s search teams asides. A technician finding the Allspark? Yeah, Jazz could buy.
Them immediately being chased by Decepticons? That was rotten as the Pit, though.
‘Bots on the Council and in the top levels of the Elite Guard had blown gaskets when the Orion’s signal had been lost, most fearing that the little Autobot crew had been destroyed and the Allspark fallen in Decepticons’ hands. They had unblocked a lot of shanix to send out search parties and spies everywhere they could to get news, any news they could about the Allspark itself, though much to Jazz’s disapproval, they had been less invested in locating the missing crew itself.
No way to treat a ‘bot, that was, but sadly far too common nowadays. To be fair, nobody had really thought they might have survived. Technicians versus Decepticons usually ended up with a lot of deactivated frames, and those weren’t usually the Decepticons’.
And then, out of the blue, a spy had advised High Command a bounty had been placed on the helm of one Optimus Prime, indirectly confirming that the missing Prime was still active somewhere. Sentinel Prime would never admit it aloud, but Jazz knew the mech had actually been relieved, sort of. Jazz wasn’t sure what the exact deal was between SP and Optimus Prime, but whatever bad energon it had left between them, Sentinel wasn’t callous enough to want the other mech dead.
Hadn’t stopped him from grumbling about an overuse of resources for the sake of a second-rate repairbot, though.
It had taken them some time, but now the Elite Guard had found them at last.
And hopefully, the Allspark if they had still it with them.
Jazz would be happy to get a few stranded ‘bots home as it was, but if the shiny toy the Council and UM were after wasn’t there… Mech, he didn’t want to be in Optimus’ stabilizers then.
“Any signal from the Allspark?” Ultra Magnus asked.
Jazz quickly scanned his readings and grimaced. “Nothing that match the signal on record, Sir,” he said quietly, feeling Ultra Magnus tense. “I’m picking something, but wherever it’s the Allspark or not… It’s kinda muted and blurry. Maybe they managed to shield it?” he offered.
“Optimus Prime managing something right? That’d be a first,” Sentinel sneered.
“We shall see once we reach the ground,” Magnus rumbled. “Hopefully we won’t have to stay on this planet for long.”
Jazz didn’t comment, asides of one thing. “So, uh, according to manifest, we’re picking five ‘bots, right?” he asked casually.
“Yes,” Sentinel Prime rolled his optics. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, no reason mech, no reason,” Jazz replied evenly. “Was just thinking.”
Tension was high, and UM and SP weren’t exactly in chatty, friendly mood.
No need to tell them just yet there were definitely more than five Spark signals on that rock, right?
*-*-*-*-*
Optimus watched dispassionately as the ship finished landing.
An actual Elite Guard ship – and unless his processor had been scrambled or Ultra Magnus had decided to change flagship, they were facing the Steelhaven with the Supreme Commander likely on board, too!
A couple of vorns ago, Optimus would have likely been filled with respect and awe.
Today, though, he was just filled with annoyance and a rising, well-earned bitterness, fury and self-righteous fury. And he wasn’t the only one; next to him, Ratchet was practically vibrating with barely contained rage while Bumblebee looked ready to make a run for it and yell at the first mech in sight without a care in the world.
A step behind, Bulkhead nervously tapped his claws together while Prowl hummed as if to calm himself.
“I say we swarm them, kick the nearest officer in the face, and get you and Bulkhead to the Medbay,” Bumblebee said darkly.
“Rather counterproductive, Bumblebee,” Optimus answered evenly. “Assaulting a Superior Officer is liable to imprisonment for up to five stellar cycles, and I do not think either of us want to end up in the Stockades right now. Of course, we may end up there regardless. The Autobot Military Handbook doesn’t have a punishment listed for ‘blowing the Allspark to avoid it falling in enemy’s hands’, but I doubt they’ll let us off with a slap on the wrist,” he mused as he stroked his chin deep in thought.
“I’ve been in the Stockades before,” Prowl commented. “You’ll excuse me if I do not want to return there.”
“Their medical facilities are the worst,” Ratchet grumbled. “I’d know, I used to have shifts there before getting on this crew. Of course,” he eyed Optimus and then Bulkhead with a little manic look of his own, “that’d serve the jerkasses right, having to deal with special needs patients and all that ensue…”
“I don’t wanna have an emergence in a cell, though,” Bulkhead said in a small voice as Prowl gently patted his arm.
“You won’t, my friend,” he reassured Bulkhead while giving Ratchet a flat look. “Stop accidentally scaring him, will you? We have enough problems as it is.”
“Yes, and the biggest one just landed on Detroit’s front lane,” Ratchet snapped back. “We blew up the Allspark, for Pit’s sake! If it’s not considered treason, it got to be right under!”
“… Can we avoid the prison case? Please?” Bumblebee winced. “Like… maybe we can run and hide?”
“Don’t be silly, Bumblebee,” Optimus chided him. “They have Spark scanners on that ship, they’ll find us fast. No, we won’t run. I don’t see why we should run, anyway,” he added in a darker tone.
“Uh, because we did something potentially… bad?” Bumblebee offered weakly. “Not just the Allspark, too,” he eyed Optimus’ frame warily. “I mean, I do not exactly care about who’s your baby’s daddy, as the humans say, buuuuut…”
“Elite Guards are twitchy about fraternization,” Prowl inclined his head.
“They are, yes,” the Prime nodded amiably. “However, whoever any of us frag in Neutral astroports while off duty is not and has never been their business, is it? Besides,” and he started to grin, the same grin he had been spotting when talking with Captain Fanzone earlier, “if they try to pin us down for any wrong-doing, we’re perfectly able to throw the ball back at them, aren’t we?”
“… you have a plan, haven’t you?” Ratchet raised an optic ridge and eyed his Prime warily.
He liked the kid, really, but sometimes, the mech worried him. Optimus was a nice Spark, and nice Sparks were the most unhinged beings once they cracked and decided it was time to do to the Pit with you.
Granted, given Optimus and Bulkhead should have never been on a working crew NOW, and given all the slag their team had had to deal even long before they found that cursed shiny artifact, Ratchet thought whatever revenge and/or diversion Optimus was planning on was going to be extra warranted.
Optimus kept grinning.
“Remember how you once told me that you thought I knew the whole Military Book as well as the Autobot’s Code of Conduct and Rules of Living by Spark, front and backward?” he asked faux-casually.
“Uh uh?” Ratchet nodded carefully.
“Well, I do,” Optimus’ grin widened. “And trust me, they’re going to regret it. With prejudice.”
Around him, the other Autobots started to grin as well.
*-*-*-*-*
Do not get Sentinel wrong; he wasn’t unhappy Optimus had survived his encounter with Decepticons. The mech had been lucky, luckier than he deserved, but Sentinel could admit feeling relief at hearing the mech was still alive.
And apparently still pissing people off, if he had a bounty on his head, but Optimus did that.
Still, for all he was relieved, Sentinel was also deeply annoyed at his old ‘friend’, because the mech just had had to crash on an organic planet and utterly fail to get off from it on his own. Typical, really; technicians were just a bunch of incompetent bumblers who needed real mechs to come and save their afts.
Which Sentinel was perfectly happy to do, even if the thought of setting a foot on an organic world made his fuel tank feel queasy.
At least the locals appeared to be relatively small and inoffensive, according to the surveillance drones they had deployed on the way down, he consoled himself. But the sooner they raised a shield around the ship, the better Sentinel would feel.
Thankfully, it wouldn’t be long, given Jazz had confirmed Optimus and his team’s signals had been headed their way.
Indeed, behind the ranks of small organics that had gathered – what were they? Some kind of law-enforcement? People who built cities had that, right? – he could already make out Optimus’ red and blue paintjob, as well as four other silhouettes.
Feeling sufficient, Sentinel pushed his chest and opened his mouth to hail them…
And felt his jaw drop as he really looked at Optimus’ frame.
Behind him, he heard Ultra Magnus take a short, loud intake while Jazz’s frame audibly froze.
Meaning, those weren’t Sentinel’s optics playing tricks on him.
The blue mech stared as Optimus came closer and then stood at attention, hand raised in a perfect military salute as if nothing was wrong in the whole universe.
“Ultra Magnus, Sir, welcome to Earth,” his old friend said evenly.
Sentinel Prime had never truly considered what his first words to Optimus upon meeting him again after the mech had been wrongly reported dead would be.
Probably a short order for him to stand down, or to get his aft in the decontamination chamber ASAP before whatever organic matter he had gotten surrounded with spread within the ship. Perhaps even a spirited word or two about Sentinel having to come to save his sorry, incompetent aft.
Instead, what came out of his mouth, to his mortification was:
“The frag?! When the Pit did you grow so huge, Optimus?!”
Because Optimus was huge.
Not huge in the sense where he was taller or more armored after changing altmode and getting a reformat, no.
He was HUGE in the sense where he had a very, very HUGE BELLY on him. A belly that vaguely looked like it was about to pop out – or rather, as if the content of the belly was going to pop out from between Optimus’ legs.
Carrying.
Optimus, stupid slag that he was, was CARRYING!!!
And from the looks of it, he was almost to term, too!
Sentinel’s CPU didn’t crash, okay? But it run a few loops before the information managed to commit itself through its systems.
It didn’t help that Optimus just levelled a perfectly pleasant stare at him as he spoke. “Why, hello to you too, Sentinel Prime, Sir,” he nodded at him. “At least, I think it’s how a polite conversation is supposed to start?”
Sentinel’s shoulders straightened. A small part of his CPU started to wave warning flags as his memory banks retrieved snippets of memories. Optimus used to be good at being a passive-aggressive slagger, and it sounded like he had lost nothing of his old cheek.
Also, he was calling Sentinel ‘SIR’. Optimus had never called Sentinel ‘Sir’ before.
Tomfoolery was afoot. Possibly the apocalypse.
Sadly, the most important part of his CPU was too focused on the realization Optimus was Carrying to take heed of the warnings.
“Wh… What? When did you… How are you Carrying?!” he pointed a shaky, accusatory finger at Optimus’ frame.
The other mech blinked slowly. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I do not understand your question. ‘How’ am I Carrying? I suppose I am doing it relatively normally for any member of our species. Intercourse resulted between me and another mech, which primed my system to the reception and growth of a Newspark and its protoform. My Forge is currently expended at its maximum level to accommodate the girth of…”
“That’s not what I’m asking!” Sentinel barked, feeling his cheeks redden. He didn’t want details! At least, not those kinds of details! “Why are you even Carrying?!”
“Why, but because I didn’t terminate my pregnancy, of course, Sir,” Optimus replied with perfect politeness, as if discussing the weather.
“You… You should have!” Sentinel immediately snapped, trying to find his footing in the conversation and realizing it was still slippery. “The Autobot Military Book Rule 69, paragraph 3, clearly states that no personnel who is serving in active duty is authorized to have a Carrying cycle! That’s a grave infraction, soldier!”
There! Of course Optimus had gone and broke the rules, as usual…
And he was smiling, Sentinel’s CPU warned him with blaring alarms. Why was Optimus smiling? A perfectly nice, pleasant smile – oh slag, Sentinel thought. He was fucked. He didn’t know how, but he remembered that smile.
“Pardon me, Sentinel Prime, Sir, but you are mistaken,” he said with his still polite voice. “The Rule and Paragraph you’re referring to state that ‘no personnel serving in active FIGHTING duty’ is allowed to Carry. However, I am, as you have often pointed out, but a simple, low-rate technician. Technicians, as per the definition given in the Autobots’ Rules of Conduct, are classified as Support Personnel. As such, Rule 69, Paragraph 4 doesn’t apply to me, but Paragraph 7 do.” He paused, probably for effect. “Rule 69, Paragraph 7 outlines that ‘all support personnel are allowed a Carrying cycle, provided that their shifts are covered during any resulting leave of absence’.” His smile grew a touch wider. “As you can see, me initiating and keeping a Carrying cycle is perfectly legal, Sentinel Prime, Sir.”
“That’s… You… How can you…!” Sentinel sputtered.
He was saving from losing face further by Ultra Magnus hitting the ground with the hammer’s handle.
“Optimus Prime,” he rumbled, but to Sentinel’s audios, it sounded a bit strained. Oh, good to know Sentinel wasn’t the only shocked ‘bot here! “You might be technically correct in your definition, but it doesn’t explain why you continued to be on duty while you knew you were Carrying. Judging by your state, you must be over 100 stellar cycles along.” His optics narrowed. “Why haven’t you sought a leave and why did you break the law, soldier?”
Optimus glanced back at Ultra Magnus with a salute so perfect it almost made Sentinel jealous by feigning confusion. “Break the law, Sir? I do not think I did. At least, not on purpose, Sir,” he tapped his chin thoughtfully.
“Presumptuous!” Sentinel blurted out. “You’re still acting as Captain of your… crew,” he glanced at the group of ragtag mechs Optimus worked with, who glared back at him with such force Sentinel had to refrain himself from gulping nervously. What was their malfunction? “When by all ordinances and rules surrounding a Carrying process, you should have stepped down and let your Second assume command! It is illegal! In fact,” he glared at Optimus’ team suspiciously, “who is the Sire of that Sparkling? If you have a relationship with someone serving under your orders…” he warned, shaking a finger.
Deep down, he knew Optimus wasn’t; the mech was too proper to break that one fundamental rule of Autobot conduct. However, Sentinel had always thought the mech too prissy to get himself fragged and Sparked up, too, so what did he know?
Clearly, he didn’t know Optimus was well as he thought.
“Oh, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you, Sentinel Prime, Sir,” Optimus stated plainly, putting a hand on his massive abdomen as if to support the weight of his Sparkling. “Such a question is highly personal and is only relevant to my private life, not my professional life. According to the Autobot Military Book, Rule 17, Paragraph 2, ‘a Superior Officer cannot enquire about the private love life of a lower-ranked Officer and/or personnel, unless it has been proved that said private love life can be a danger to the Autobot machine’.” He paused and glanced at himself. “I hardly think my Carrying is a danger, is it, Sir?”
“That doesn’t prove your Sparkling hasn’t been Sired by member of your crew, though!” Sentinel snapped back.
“No, I suppose not,” Optimus acknowledged, but Sentinel didn’t have time to feel any victory. “However, Ratchet’s scans and the nanites samples willingly provided by all the members of my team should be proof enough that they have no involvement in the creation of this Sparkling.”
“I… It… It doesn’t prove anything!” Sentinel sputtered. “You could have falsified the results!”
The medical officer on Optimus’ crew narrowed his optics at him. “Are you trying to accuse ME of malpractice, Sir?” he asked frostily. “I can assure you that all those samples are regular and perfectly conserved. But if you wish a second check, I’ll be more than happy to do one,” he asked in a sweet voice that promised murder.
Sentinel felt a foreboding feeling crawl down his spinal strut.
“That won’t be necessary, Medic Ratchet,” Ultra Magnus rumbled, and Sentinel glanced back at him in surprise. Wait, the Magnus actually knew that medic by name? A no-one? Weird. “I trust your professional consciousness and your skills. However, Sentinel Prime isn’t wrong saying that it is unlawful for you to have continued serving while knowingly Carrying, Optimus Prime,” he said sternly. His optics softened slightly, though, as he stared down at Optimus’ abdomen. “I can grant you some leeway for the fact you were stranded on a potentially hostile planet for stellar cycles and that your crew might have sought out your expertise, but…”
“With all due respect, I did say I haven’t broken the law on purpose, Sir, but us getting stuck on Earth has nothing to do with it,” Optimus cut him, and Sentinel’s CPU almost imploded from the shock.
Optimus? Cutting off the Magnus speaking?!
The frag?!
“Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus’ optics narrowed. “Do not speak out of tune.”
“Of course, Sir,” Optimus immediately demurred, ducking his head. “Nonetheless, I must defend myself – and my crew, of course – against baseless accusations, as is my duty to the Autobot Cause, as outlined in the Autobots’ Rules of Conduct, Chapter 2, Paragraph One.”
Ultra Magnus briefly shuttered his optics, looking like he was warding a processor ache. “Your knowledge of the Autobots’ rules and laws is admirable, Optimus Prime,” he said slowly, “but there is no need to quote them so much.”
“In the contrary, Sir,” Optimus continued in the same demure tone, “I think it is primordial to, given you seem to think I have erred. I must provide adequate defense should I be subjected to a formal hearing, must I not? Of course, if you prefer that I reserve my right to speak for said hearing, I will, but then you should follow protocol and have me in stasis cuffs right now before marching me back to Cybertron and to the nearest courthouse,” he added sweetly as he put his wrists before him, ready to be cuffed.
Ultra Magnus didn’t quite twitch, but Sentinel had no such restraint. Formal hearing… Slag, he hadn’t even thought about it, but yeah, if Optimus was serving while Carrying, he should get one!
In other circumstances, Optimus bumbling badly enough to warrant one would have been elating for Sentinel. However, he was a little busy having flashbacks of HIS last hearing alongside Optimus, in the wake of Elita’s deactivation, and also, slag, pushing a heavily Carrying mech in a courthouse was not going to win them any point with the public.
No matter what Jazz or Ultra Magnus himself may think, Sentinel wasn’t THAT dense when it came to public opinion.
“… Given I’m present and listening, I assure you there will be no need to involve the courts, asides of submitting proper reports and records,” Ultra Magnus coughed awkwardly. Behind Optimus, one mech of his crew, a little yellow midget that looked vaguely familiar to Sentinel, pumped his fist into the air.
The medic took a step forward. “While it’s all fine and dandy, Sir, how about we give you that report once Optimus and Bulkhead have had a chance to sit, uh? I don’t know if you’re aware, but staying in a standing position for too long when you’re so close to term could trigger an early emergence, and I’m sure none of us want that, do we?” he was grinning, and his grin looked like a Sharkticon’s smile.
Sentinel felt himself pale at the idea of Optimus entering labor right there. He… he didn’t want to see that! Ever…
Then it registered.
“Wait, Bulkhead? Who’s Bulkhead?” he asked stupidly.
The biggest member of Optimus’ team raised a servo shyly. “Uh, that’s me, Sir,” he shuffled uneasily. “I’m, uh, I’m Carrying too? About as long as Optimus Prime. It doesn’t show up much, I know, but I have plenty of place inside,” he patted himself on the belly as Sentinel looked at him with a dumbfounded expression.
Two… Two mechs Carrying in a stranded crew? What the actual slag?!
“Ah, so that’s why I had gotten eight Spark signatures,” Jazz snapped his fingers. “And here I had thought it was because Optimus Prime was going to have triplet!”
Optimus made a chocked noise.
Sentinel whirled around to shout on the other mech, only to stall and start shrieking, but for a whole other reason.
“Lieutenant Jazz, get away from those organics and get your aft back there!” he screamed with terror at seeing the black and white mech crouched next to an organic lifeform with brown and blue coloring.
Visibly, the Cyberninja has used the fact that Sentinel and the Magnus were distracted to go and ‘make friends’ with the locals, against all protocols!
“Coming, coming,” the Cyberninja said easily, waving at the organic he had been speaking to. “Thank you for your time, Captain Fanzone. It was… enlightening. Hey, little one, want to hop in?” he addressed an even smaller organic lifeform who stood next to the ‘Captain’, this one with orangey colors on her frame.
“Lieutenant Jazz,” Ultra Magnus snapped, “You do not have the authority to invite organic lifeforms on board! The Steelhaven is not to be receiving anyone but Cybertronians and…!”
“Sorry to insist, Ultra Magnus, Sir,” Jazz said as he stood his ground, much to Sentinel’s surprise, “but I think the little one ought to come. I mean, given I just checked and she’s – you’re a ‘she’, right? I got the right ‘pronoun’? – one of the Spark signals I picked up, I hardly think she’s an organic, you know?”
Sentinel’s CPU almost crashed.
His only lasting consolation was that Optimus’ grin immediately fell as he swirled and stared at Jazz and at the mini-organic with a look of shock.
“Wait, Sari has what?”
*-*-*-*-*
They were NOT going to poke the Electro-Hornets’ nest that was Sari apparently being a sort of Cybertronian-organic hybrid yet, but Ratchet was quietly seething and fantasying about getting his hands on Professor Sumdac and getting answers out of him.
Don’t get him wrong, he had nothing against the human himself. Professor Sumdac was a kind-Sparked… kind-hearted… individual who had offered them shelter and resources the stranded repair team couldn’t have done without. BUT he was also the one responsible for repairing Megatron (slag, slag, slag!) and he had been keeping secrets from them that had blew up in everyone’s faces in a spectacularly fashion.
There was also the grey area of having created technology by reverse-engineering Megatron’s broken body, but Ratchet would give it a pass – for now. Sari’s incoming nervous breakdown at being told she wasn’t purely human – and apparently had no legal identity on Earth, which, what?! – was largely more preoccupying.
Still, Ratchet’s priority queue was focused on taking care of not one but TWO Carriers who were steadily reaching their term. He had done it on limited resources and cobbled solutions, his CPU growing more and more agitated as time went and Command absolutely failed to do anything to remedy the situation, what’s with refusing to take their messages or sending any inquiry from the crew into the lowest of the low-priority queues.
Honestly, if the Elite Guard had a problem with Carriers on duty, they could only blame themselves for it, Ratchet thought with vindication as he made sure to give both Optimus and Bulkhead an extra dose of nickel in the energon cubes Ratchet had drawn from the Medbay’s distributor.
He had chased everyone out of the room earlier in order to give his nervous (Bulkhead) or highly, darkly jubilant (Optimus) patients a physical exam in private. Truthfully, Ratchet had almost wept with joy at finally having a fully stocked Medbay and good tools at his disposition. Although he had tried to keep the Orion properly stocked, the fact they hadn’t been back to Cybertron in… well, nearly twice longer than Optimus and Bulkhead’s Carrying cycle had taken a toll on their resources.
There was, after all, a reason Optimus and Bulkhead HAD gotten Sparked up around the same time, and none of it was on Ratchet.
Nope.
It was because someone in Command was a jerk – and he had the feeling, eyeing Sentinel Prime, that he knew exactly who it was who has thrown the snowball that triggered the avalanche.
Of course, Ratchet couldn’t say it straight out. His aft was partly covered by being responsible for the Orion and having the activation codes to reawaken Omega Supreme in case of necessity, something Ultra Magnus wouldn’t risk. Not everyone was in the known, however, especially among the newer Officers.
Given what he had seen so far of Sentinel Prime and based on a few conversations between Bulkhead and Bumblebee he had overheard, Ratchet could guess the mech wasn’t the patient, understanding kind. So, if Ratchet mouthed off to him, there’d likely be consequences, and while it’d be satisfying to yell at the Prime, Ratchet didn’t fancy a stop in a cell while he still had two patients who needed his care more than ever.
So, despite his deep and entirely justified desire to blow up in Ultra Magnus and his obnoxious Second’s face (he was reserving judgment on the Lieutenant, however; the mech hadn’t said or done anything so far to annoy Ratchet; if anything, he had been helpful, bringing in thermos-regulating blankets for the two Carriers), Ratchet just smiled and stayed perfectly polite.
Optimus had given them all a very good example to follow, after all.
“My patients are resting, Sir,” he said in a mild voice, though he was putting his weight evenly on both pedes and making himself an immovable rock between the door of the private room Optimus and Bulkhead were lying in and the Magnus and Sentinel Prime. “I’m afraid any report you wish of Optimus Prime will have to wait.”
“Ratchet…” Ultra Magnus said in warning tone, but Ratchet stared back at him, inflexible.
“With all due respect, Sir, my patients have been through very trying times and need a little privacy right now. As the crew’s medical officer and in the absence of any other medical personnel onboard this ship” and that was a surprise, he hadn’t thought Ultra Magnus would have been so dumb to travel without a qualified medic or at least a nurse onboard “then I am fully authorized by the Autobot’s Rule of Conducts to issue orders that supered your own, Sir. And my orders are, my patients need at least ten groons of relative quiet before they can be interrogated.”
Sentinel Prime’s optics twitched. “Are you going to quote the manual at us too, soldier?” he asked with a harsh voice.
“Medic, Sir, not soldier,” Ratchet answered with insistence. “The difference is important.” He didn’t answer the question itself, though.
Ultra Magnus eyed a lot more wearily. Then again, the old mech knew what Ratchet could be like when he was being stubborn, peeved or protective, sometimes all of it at once. “Your correction has been noted, Ratchet. Very well, we will respect your medical opinion.”
“Sir,” Sentinel Prime started to protest, only to shut up when he was glanced at.
“The rest of your crew is undergoing decontamination—” and it was clear from the other mech’s voice that Ratchet, Optimus and Bulkhead were going to do the same in short order “—and have declined making statements for themselves, referring to Rule 14, Paragraph 4, Alinea 2 of the Autobot Military Handbook stating that only Superior Officers can give an official report to the Magnus and the Elite Guard’s Commanders in case in cases non-pertaining to fighting.” He vented hard. “You have a crew well-versed into Autobot legislation, Doctor.”
It was clear from the way he spoke he wasn’t fond of the fact, and Ratchet was hard pressed not to grin.
“Thank you, Sir,” he commented blithely. “We had a lot of time to peruse the regulations on our downtime.” That, and Optimus had coached them very effectively for stellar cycles now, just in case.
Sentinel Prime rubbed the sides of his helm as if to ward a processor-ache. “This is ridiculous,” he mumbled. “I can understand Optimus being dumb enough to get himself Sparked, or that behemoth you keep on your team, but I can’t believe he had a medical officer just as dumb to not report they were and not putting them on leave.”
Ratchet’s grin widened. Oooooh no, the mech wasn’t going to pin THAT on him.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but you are incorrect,” he stated mildly. “Unlike what you are assuming, Sir, we did report the situation onboard. Unfortunately, nothing came of it.”
Sentinel Prime blinked owlishly while Ultra Magnus frowned. “Nothing? What do you mean, Doctor?”
Ratchet gave him an annoyed look. “I mean exactly what I said, Sir. If you would inspect our ship’s logs, you will see that, as per protocol, I did report the early Carrying cycle of two crew members under my care. Of course, if you are worried about anti-dated or misfiled paperwork,” and there he turned to smile relatively politely at Ultra Magnus’ Second, “then I’m sure that you will have no trouble doing an inspection of the requests queue for the Maintenance Service in the Transport Guild’s records, which DO give an exact time of reception for any news transmitted by the repair crew active across the Autobot Commonwealth.”
“I… I will,” Sentinel Prime warned him, bristling. “Do not believe I won’t, medic.”
“Oh, I do not believe anything, Sir, I absolutely trust you,” Ratchet didn’t quite snort, but it was near. “However, I think you will find that the proper authorities were informed in a timely manner and without the shadow of a doubt by myself, as the Orion’s serving medical Officer and as Optimus Prime’s designated Second, that both the ship’s Captain, Optimus Prime, and First-Class Technician Bulkhead were reported to be Carrying within a stellar cycle of the discovery of their condition. Optimus Prime and Technician First-Class Bulkhead also filed their own reports.”
He paused and looked at Ultra Magnus again, trying to convey only mild disapproval instead of complete cold-stone fury. “A copy of those declaration was also sent to the Fortress Maximus’ databanks, as per regulation, for approval of a return to Cybertron to disembark both Captain and Technician, resupply the ship’s stores and pick replacement personnel. Unfortunately,” and here Ratchet allowed himself to glare a bit at the big-chinned mech as Ultra Magnus drew a sharp breath, “no reply nor leave authorization were granted to Optimus Prime nor Bulkhead, despite regular and repeated re-submissions.”
Ratchet mentally counted to ten as he watched the implications of what he had just said sink in both Elite Guard’s Officers’ CPU, and it was glorious. If Ultra Magnus looked like he had swallowed a Lead Lemon, Sentinel Prime’s optics blew wide and a look that Ratchet interpreted as ‘Oh Slag’ briefly crossed his face before he masked it under bravado and denial.
Idiot.
“Pre… presumptuous again, Medic,” Sentinel Prime snapped. “I refuse to believe something as important as a medical report and a leave of absence could have been ignored by our administration!”
“Oh, you do not have to believe, Sir,” Ratchet answered pleasantly. “You only need to check.”
“Sentinel Prime is right, however,” Ultra Magnus interjected. “It is impossible that those demands were repeatedly refused.”
Ratchet blinked innocently. “Refused? But I’ve never said they had been refused, Sir,” he corrected them as they looked at him, dumbfounded. “I said they had been sent in a timely and repeated fashion. Sadly, it seems that no-one ever took the time to open and read those messages. I am still waiting for someone at either the Guilds Domesticus OR Fortress Maximus to open one and answer.”
Which royally pissed him off more than anything, but… later, he told himself. Later. Like, back on Cybertron later, when he’d find someone to punch in the face repeatedly and with their own fists.
Sentinel Prime’s jaw worked soundlessly as Ultra Magnus’ grip on his hammer tightened.
“That’s not possible,” the Supreme Commander stated flatly.
Ratchet kept smiling. “Oh, but it is, Sir. I have ALL the backup logs to prove it. It is a terrible, terrible thing,” he shook his head as if he regretted it all, “but it seems that any and all communications coming from the Orion were rerouted to the low-priority queue since, oh, a dozen or so vorns,” he stroked his chin and pointedly didn’t look at Sentinel Prime. “Granted, it isn’t just the Orion. We tried to send those messages since two Neutral Astroports on the edge of the Kimmian Run as well as a workstation at the Delphi Clinical Outpost, and we had no better luck there, Sir. Normally, I do not think it would have been an issue, but unfortunately for Optimus Prime and First-Class Technician Bulkhead,” Ratchet continued, “the fact any messages send with our ID was set a low-priority meant that they likely got drowned in the flux of coming and going messages with a higher priority setting, and we know how slowly Communication Officers can be at working through the backlog when something isn’t ‘urgent’,” he made quotation marks with his fingers. “And there is no shortage of urgent things to deal with first, isn’t it?”
He flashed a quick grin at Sentinel Prime. “I’m no expert, Sir, but I do find this concerning. And not only for my crew’s sake; who know how many others might have run into the same problem?” he asked, sounding as regretful as he could.
Truthfully, he wasn’t; he KNEW almost none if any of the other Repair Crew hanging on the Space Bridge’s network route had taken as much slag at the Orion’s.
They were a special case.
Ratchet didn’t need to say the problem with the communications had started around the time Sentinel Prime had been made official Second and Heir Apparent to the Magnus Office.
Ultra Magnus had always been sharp on the intake, and he had seen the way Ratchet had looked at Sentinel Prime earlier. As such, he looked down at the Prime with a stunned and quickly growing irate look while Sentinel Prime’s ‘OH SLAG’ look was now back, harder and wilder than before.
“All communications. From the edges of our territory. Relayed to the low-priority queue,” Ultra Magnus groused.
“We… Well, it’s not… It was a Council decision,” Sentinel stuttered. “In order to limit the bandwidth for long-distance calls, which were perturbating the messaging flow on Cybertron after the Polyhex’s Communication Hub burned. You signed it yourself, Sir!”
Ultra Magnus harrumphed, and Ratchet looked at the Prime with annoyance. Braggart he likely was, but also knew how to cover his aft, it seemed.
“I did,” Ultra Magnus acknowledged, “but it was agreed that it was a temporary setup that shouldn’t outlast the two vorns needed to repair, expend and reactivate the Polyhex’s Hub. Why, in that case, wasn’t the Orion’s communication flow reintroduced in the normal queue?”
“No… no idea, Sir,” Sentinel swallowed. “Perhaps an issue between the Transportation Guild and Fortress Maximus? We… have some of those when ships operate under mixed authorities.”
… as good an excuse as any, Ratchet supposed, if one didn’t know there was History, caps intended, between Sentinel Prime and Optimus Prime, Captain of the Orion.
Ultra Magnus didn’t look fooled, but he had no proof of fool-play either – and neither did Ratchet nor Optimus, sadly. “It must be corrected at the earlier convenience, then,” the large mech stated simply before frowning at Ratchet. “I do acknowledge that being systematically sent to the low-priority queue, but I do not understand why you haven’t tried to directly get a direct contact with Cybertron or, even better, why you didn’t do something the first time you got back planet-side after two of your crew were discovered to be Carrying.”
Ratchet looked at Ultra Magnus blankly. “I do not see how, Sir. Any video message we tried to send asides of the one preceding our… crash… was either put on hold and disconnected due to distance and signal interferences,” which he was still bitter about, so much, “or couldn’t go through. As for settling things planet-side…”
There, Ratchet took a deep breath. “None of us have been back to Cybertron in nearly 200 stellar cycles, Sir.”
“WHAT?!” Ultra Magnus snapped, and Sentinel Prime’s jaw dropped as he looked at Ratchet in disbelief. Uh. Looked like someone didn’t know either, Ratchet noticed. So, it wasn’t malicious or even intentional, just some good old administrative clusterfuck. Good – or bad – to know.
“How does a crew not set a foot on Cybertron in 200 stellar cycles?!” Sentinel Prime shrieked. “That’s against all the rules put in place by the Transportation Guild for the protection of workers!”
“I’m perfectly aware, Sir,” Ratchet replied evenly, “but I assure you, it’s quite true. Once again, I invite you to check our ship’s logs. All trips with their departure and destination points are listed, as well as the travel time, the quantity of fuel used by the ship and the cargo manifest. The Orion hasn’t been to Cybertron in 200 stellar cycles. Well, 199.1.2 stellar cycles,” he amended.
Ultra Magnus had gone sickly-looking. Cybertron wasn’t currently at war and the Decepticons had barely launched a few skirmishes on frontier worlds in the last few hundred vorns, but Omega Supreme was still a prized weapon to keep on hand if needed – and thank to the furlough, Omega Supreme had been thoroughly unavailable, and still was.
“How did that happen?” he whispered, servos clenching the handle of his hammer so hard Ratchet raised an optic ridge.
He shrugged. “I have no idea, Sir. We were just handed mission after mission, Sir, without a chance to make it back to Cybertron in a timely fashion for downtime, especially after the new regulations for the use of the Space Bridges’ network were passed. You know,” he smiled thinly, “the ones about decreasing the number of uses allotted per ship or per stellar cycles in order to save energon. Despite the importance of their job, Repair crews weren’t allotted more uses than commercial freight. In fact, ironically, they are even allowed less. It is a bit of a problem when your crew is assigned to Maintenance for the furthest situated Bridges.”
Sentinel Prime looked like he had been hit over the helm. “That’s not… It wasn’t… The law wasn’t supposed to…” he struggled to say.
“It seems,” Ultra Magnus rumbled, “that we will have to amend things once we’re back to Cybertron. If such a blatant case of mismanagement could escape us, others might have as well.”
“If you say so, Sir,” Ratchet just nodded.
Let politicians play at politics; personally, Ratchet didn’t care what they did or not. All he wanted was Optimus and Bulkhead fine and dandy and those Sparklings of them in full health.
“I… I might admit there have been… mistakes… in the way communication and downtime were handled,” Sentinel Prime jerked in again, and Ratchet fought a vague of annoyance. Mech didn’t know when he was beaten, was he? “But that still doesn’t explain a couple of things!”
“Such as, Sir?” Ratchet glared at him.
“How do TWO members of the same crew end up Sparked up at the same time, uh?” the big-chinned mech accused. “That’s not normal! One, I can believe, but two…”
“Oh, that’s easy, Sir,” Ratchet waved it off. “All the crew’s anti-Sparking chips have ceased working due to an expired warranty date.”
“… What?” was the Prime unintelligent answer while Ultra Magnus groaned.
Ratchet grinned. “Oh, it’s a little consequence of not having been able to go back to Cybertron in so long, Sir. You see, the Orion’s Medbay is adequately equipped to take care of a crew’s regular maintenance and repairs. However, anti-Sparking protocols, implants and other devices fall under the category of ‘Specialized Care’ and can only be done by an Elite Guard-approved and certified Specialist.” Which was pure slag as far as Ratchet was concerned. It was only the Guard being control freaks and wanting to micromanage the private life of all Autobot forces. But it was regulation, and so Ratchet was forced to bow to it.
On the plus side, it had meant he hadn’t had to give Optimus, Bulkhead, Bumblebee and Prowl any valve and/or spike exam before the whole Carrying mess started. On the downside, it meant that Ratchet had failed to see the issue before it had already blown up in their faces.
“My job as the Orion’s medical specialist is to check if all crew members are equipped with a regulation-approved anti-Sparking device,” he continued evenly. “Which all crew members were. Unfortunately, I had not the means to check if those anti-Sparking devices were still working as intended. Which, as we discovered too late, they were not.” He shook his head. “It is regrettable, of course. While they make good spots to restock our inventory and refill our ship’s reservoirs, as well as spending our shifts off, Astroports left us without a few essentials we would have sorely needed. Few Neutral or Autobot-manned Astroports have clinics we could have gone to for a proper check-up, and none that were approved for replacing a damaged or expired anti-Sparking devices as stipulated by the Autobot’s Rules of Conduct, so we found ourselves in a conundrum.”
His lips twitched. “Be assured, of course, that no member of the crew has interfaced in a way that’d lead to more mechs Sparked up since the discovery our implants were now broken.”
Though Bumblebee had started to grow horny again since they had reawakened from stasis…
“Is that supposed to be good news?” Sentinel Prime asked in disbelief.
“It is, Sir, unless you wanted to have more charges pressed against you for mismanagement and Sparkling-life endangerment,” Ratchet replied pleasantly.
Getting hit by lightning couldn’t have made both mechs startle and back away from Ratchet faster. A flaggerbasted expression crossed Sentinel Prime’s face, while Ultra Magnus blinked slowly, looking at Ratchet with dawning horror.
“Surely, pressing charges against the Elite Guard…” he started to say.
“Would be perfectly legal and warranted, Sir, especially in accordance with the Autobot Military Handbook’s second segment on legal recourses for wronged personnel,” Ratchet clipped at him with a knowing expression. “After all, Sir, we have TWO Carriers nearing term who have been forced to carry out their duties while growing steadily indisposed, which in turn may have endangered the development and life of their Sparklings at any time. Autobot’s standard regulations and laws state that a Sparkling’s life is infinitely precious and must be preserved at all coasts, especially after the 7th and 9th amendment of the Post-War Reconstruction Act.”
And Act Ratchet had a personal pet peeve against, because it was particularly restrictive when it came to seeking abortive solutions if one wasn’t a military serving Autobot, and a lot of young idiots found themselves in bad situation thank to it.
But that was neither the place nor the moment, he reminded himself.
Instead, he used his other main argument. “And that’s only considering their usual duties; I’m not even talking about our encounter with Decepticons,” he added meaningfully.
Slag, but Optimus was lucky as the Pit he hadn’t miscarried that newspark; Bulkhead too, although Bulkhead hadn’t been the one going close and personal with Megatron with an axe.
Ratchet didn’t want to say anything good about Megatron, but at least the mech had visibly hesitated when Optimus had come at him with his already distended abdomen, although wherever he had fully realized Optimus had been Carrying was in the air.
“You were told not to engage…” Ultra Magnus started.
And Ratchet almost blew up in his face here and there, but (un)fortunately, that was the moment Optimus decided to open the door.
::I’ll take it over from there, Ratchet,:: the Prime sent over a private comm channel.
::Killjoy,:: Ratchet sent back, though he saluted his Prime, something he usually never did. But given they were putting a show… ::Thanks for the coaching, by the way, though I would have preferred you truly rest instead of listening in and pitching me in the right direction.::
::Rest can come later, I promise. Besides, I won’t have the choice much longer,:: Optimus put both hands over his distended middle with a wistful look. “Ratchet, Sentinel Prime, Ultra Magnus, Sirs,” he nodded at the other mechs.
“Optimus Prime,” Ultra Magnus nodded. “Are you rested enough?” he was eyeing Optimus warily.
“Sufficiently, Sir,” Optimus demurred. “I couldn’t help but overhear your last words. I am sorry to say, Sir, that running away didn’t work as intended,” the blue and red mech started simply as he stepped out of the private room he had been resting in, Bulkhead on his heels. “It was bound to be difficult anyway, as the Decepticons had picked our signal and the signal of our cargo.”
“Hey! That’s right!” Sentinel snapped his fingers as if suddenly remembering – which he probably was. The whole double Carriers deal had mobilized most of his CPU’s attention, after all. “Where is the Allspark, Optimus?! We came here for it, not for…!”
Optimus stared at Sentinel flatly.
The other Prime took a step back, gulping. Optimus’ flat looks, Ratchet thought, were sometimes worse than his manic smiles. The manic smiles signified he was at his limits and didn’t give a slag anymore. The flat looks, however, meant someone had screwed up badly, and he was about to put them back in their place in no time.
“Sentinel Prime, Sir, are you really about to say you are here only to recover one item, no matter its importance, without a care or the offering of help to two Carriers in need? Two Carriers who have been away from proper medical care for the near whole duration of their carriage and have still not been properly removed from their functions as we speak?” Optimus asked in a deceptively sweet voice. “That would be most irregular, Sir, not to mention illegal. The Courts would not be impressed upon receiving my report, I’m sure, Sir.”
“… Are you threatening to take to slagging Court, Optimus?!” Sentinel shrieked like a protoform. “Are you out of your processors?! I’m the Head Commander of the Elite Guard! I can’t be assigned to Court!”
Optimus continued to stare. Sentinel Prime squirmed. Ultra Magnus stood shock-still, optics darting from one mech to the next.
“I don’t see why not, Sir,” Optimus didn’t quite purr, but it was near, “given that I have suffered from mistreatment, no matter how accidental it might have been, from cracks in the system. It is bad enough, but now I may have to deal with the fact that my own Superior Officers are adding more stress to my already delicate condition by implicitly indicating they care not for said condition, or that of my similarly afflicted crew member.” He reached to grab and squeeze and uneasy-looking Bulkhead’s hand.
“Truthfully, Sentinel Prime, you being the Head Commander does not change anything. Actually, it makes it WORSE,” the red and blue mech stressed out, “because the Magnus asides, you are the highest authority that can be sued. Even if I don’t press charges myself – something for which I am still undecided about, if I do not at least write a report for the Union of Cybertronian Maintenance Personnels, for the League of Gentlebots Against Harassment At Work and for the Mechanisms Association for the Bettering of Work Conditions so they can decide by themselves if THEY want to sue you, then I wouldn’t be a good Autobot. And no matter what your opinion might be, Sir, I happen to be a very good Autobot,” he finished sweetly. “Especially when it comes to protect my crew AND my future Creation.”
There was a long, long silence that stretched between all the mechs present. Shuffling uneasily, Bulkhead thought good to add.
“I wrote mine. Uh, my report for the unions, I mean, Sir,” he added hesitantly. “I thought I could send it once we had a stable signal… And uh, a couple of our human allies – the little fellows out there? You saw them upon landing, right? – uh, well, Captain Fanzone of the Detroit Police Forces sent us a report for you, too,” he rubbed the back of his helm. “I, uh, I know it doesn’t likely have any value for you, Sir, but there is a lot of complaints in it about me and Optimus Prime being made to work when we look ready to ‘pop’. Oh, and the Detroit’s Women Rights League has also written a paper,” he reached into his subspace pocket and took out a comically small square of paper, looking extra small given his own size. “Captain Fanzone’s wife, uh, his Bondmate… Conjunx Endura? She’s their chairman, Sir,” he explained. “I thought I could join both to my message for our representant with the Union of Cybertronian Maintenance Personnels…”
“I… Do not think this will be necessary,” Ultra Magnus said in a strangled voice which made Ratchet giddy to hear.
Good to know Magnus could get freaked out by the threat of the unions, too. Though to be fair, anybot with a working processor knew better than to tangle with the unions, especially over Carriers’ rights and potential harassment. Without the Allspark, the population growth after the War was terribly slow and any and all Sparkling produced was considered as a great boon. So yes, abortive rights were very restricted unless you were serving personnel, but you were also given care, time off, free health-checks and larger fuel allotment than all other mechs.
At least, in theory.
Neither Optimus nor Bulkhead had been given that.
If they wanted to make a case of it, then helms would definitely roll, and while Ultra Magnus wouldn’t probably lose his position for two Carriers pressing charges against the Elite Guard, his popularity poll would take a hit and he’d get dragged into legal battle after legal battle. As for Sentinel Prime, he wasn’t as entrenched in his role as he believed; if someone had to be the scapegoat, it’d likely be him.
(Also, it was likely his fault, even if probably not in a malicious way. Not that it changed the problem much.)
“Is that so, Sir?” Optimus enquired politely. “Must I believe that you will be granting us our, ah, ‘maternity leave’, as the humans say?”
“Yes,” Ultra Magnus said, lips thin with suppressed emotions. “You will be, of course, compensated for the… trouble you and First Technician Bulkhead went through, Optimus Prime.”
“Oh, I do not care for compensation, Sir,” Optimus shook his head. “Only for fairness and a chance to rest my swollen ankles at long last. Also,” he added as an afterthought, “if maybe you could do something about the Decepticons still on Earth…”
“Our scanners picked no Decepticon signal, Optimus!” Sentinel snapped. “There is no Decepticon here!”
“That’s not what Detroit’s camera systems will say, Sir,” Optimus pointed out ‘helpfully’. “You may want to ask the humans for a copy of their feed.”
“Asking organics…” Sentinel choked, but Ultra Magnus took it in stride.
“We shall see if it’s necessary. Optimus Prime,” he breathed. “May I inquire about the localization of the Allspark, now that we mostly pushed the drama out of the way?” he asked with narrowed optics, a look of suspicion on his face.
Optimus rubbed the back of his helm. “Ah, well, Sir, that isn’t exactly easy to say, but the Allspark…”
“It blew up, Sir,” Bulkhead finished for him helpfully.
Which wasn’t exactly helpful, but whatever, Optimus decided.
They had to say it at some point, and now was as good a moment as any. Optimus had already neatly worked the pair of Elite Guardmen into a corner, so whatever blow they tried to deal them for destroying the Allspark rather than let it fall in Decepticons’ hands? It was already halved.
Plus, he was too self-satisfied to care right now. Making Sentinel and Ultra Magnus properly scared or flummoxed just by quoting back all the laws they had accidentally broken had made wonder for his stressed processor.
Absently, he patted his massive belly. The Sparkling really was turning into a big, heavy one, he thought with some fondness. Just like his Sire.
Optimus really regretted he hadn’t been able to get back in contact with the Miner he had met on Harkon IV during his last leave to let him know he was going to be a Creator. Alas, all of Optimus and Ratchet and Prowl’s research had come up blank.
There was no mech named ‘Terminus of Messatine’ in any of the databanks they had been able to access, and the mech hadn’t left Optimus with a working comm number to contact him either, much to his chagrin.
Prowl had summarized the name was likely an alias, and he was likely right.
Whoever the mech truly was, he was out of reach for Optimus to find.
A pity. He had been such an interesting mech, even if his ideas were a little too aligned with Decepticon’s propaganda – though a lot of working classes mechs, especially in Construction and Mining, had Decepticon’s sympathies even if they remained loyal to the Autobots, as Optimus knew from his long readings.
Still, he had left Optimus something precious.
And Optimus was going to fight dental plates and claws to keep his Sparkling safe, be it from Decepticons or Autobots, mark his words!
Optimus had punched Starscream in the face and broke his olfactive sensor, nearly clawed one of Blitzwing’s optics out, bashed Lockdown the bounty hunter over the helm with his own severed arm, discharged a blaster in Lugnut’s pistons and headbutted a shocked Megatron in the nether regions when the mech had tried to catch him.
Come to think, Megatron hadn’t really tried to injure him, Optimus mused to himself. Grab him, restrain him, sure – and he had also been considerably less violent with Bulkhead than with anyone else but Optimus. But to actually harm Optimus? No, not really.
Uh.
Even Decepticons had to have a soft spot for Carriers, Optimus decided as he watched his Superiors’ faces.
There was a long beat of silence as Sentinel Prime and Ultra Magnus processed the information they had been given, then both Elite Guard members shouted.
“WHAT!!!”
End