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Bractos - G2-98; Slave Quarters
(Holdings and Brigs)

The light of the yellow star probably never ever reached this depth. With no visible sky to tell the time by, Gridlock had to rely on his chronometer. It was crummy. It had been even when he was new. Second rate and only installed so he could keep track of the megacycles that went on in the dark, repairing service roads deep within Cybertron. It made the hunger more acute, after all, if you knew how long you’d been without fuel…

The slop line was filled with half-asleep mechs and even a couple of the jailers who had obviously missed their own meals for whatever reason. Gridlock shinnied along as best he could, trying not to bump anyone or scrape into the serving mechs. He glanced at the fuel. It looked like — He was hungry. It was fuel. Who cared what it looked like.

Over the rattle of cups and bowls and the general conversation around him, Gridlock noticed one that pierced above the others. He glanced sideways, trying to hide his curiosity even has he slowly moved through the line. An elder mech near the entrance of the hall was giving one of the chief jailers hell:

“Trash! All of them!--- SLAG! And now the job is only half completed!”

Even focused, Gridlock could only catch parts of the argument.

“The Dourjer won’t be pleased! Who suffers when he is not?!"

The chief jailer shrugged helplessly.

“ME!” The old mech answered before the jailer could. “And you won’t be in good repair either if I am not because of this!”

“Come on then, boy! Get moving now! One foot in front of the other! Step! Step! NEXT!” The constructibot had been so focused on the racket the elder was creating that he hadn’t noticed the line had moved up. He hurried along with his bowl out before him.

Just as the glowing curds of whatever hit the potch metal, there was a sudden sharp gasp.

“WAIT!”

Gridlock and about half of the hall’s occupants looked up at the same time.

“Wait! Wait!” The old mech had seen him. He was coming towards him even now. Every cable in his frame tensing, the Autobot tried to hold back his reaction.

No. No, Primus. Please no. Please…

The elder pointed to Gridlock. “Who’s mech is this?” He looked him over again, with growing avidity. “--This, this… slave mech here?” This Master sounded excited… calculating… maybe both. Spry still, even with his obvious age, the old mech capered partially around the Autobot. He kicked at his legs and winced when the plating gave not even an inch, though he followed it with a grin. Thumping at the tricolor mech’s arms, he muttered to himself. “Hmmm… yes. Oh yes. Strong. Young-- tight joints. Yes. Hmmm… My! Look at those graders!”

Gridlock closed his optics and tried to make himself very very small. He wished that he would just disappear on the spot. Anything to get away from whatever was coming next. Creaking from his ancient cables made the slavemaster almost comical as he continued scanning and muttering. When the examination was finished, the big mech risked opening just one to see what his fate would look like.

It was sort of gangly and overexcitable. Gridlock frowned, his fear being dampened by mystification. Who the heck was this guy?

“Whose slave is this here? Come now! Speak up!” The old mech turned to look around the room. There was hardly even time for anyone to register the question before his wonder began to erode his avarice. "This one here… Yes, yes! He is perfect! How much for this one? I'll give 80 shanix for him… And if the owner is attached as sure I would be, make it 100, hmmm?" He glanced around feverishly. "Come, come... 100 shanix. Tis an entire week’s pay for you soldiers. Who owns him?" He beamed at Gridlock in undisguised happiness. "Ah and look. Not a mark on him ...You obedient, boy?"

Gridlock nodded. What else could he be? If this was his destiny, he had no other alternative.

"He is noone's? Anybody? Jailer?" The old mech raked the room with his optics, looking for any indication of an answer.

The voice that finally replied was clear and strong. "I hate to break your heart, Foreman — " A herak seeker parted through those gathered at the doors, "But the mech is not a slave."

It felt like someone had shut off a painful short in Gridlock’s wiring. He remembered the words as if through a fog; No one is to speak of falling…

Foreman’s jaw dropped. His voice was half shock and half loss. "What?!... Why's he here then?"

"Temporary holding at the Dourjer's request. Nothing more." The crowd parted before the Decepticon speaking. Gridlock’s optics had started to water as his stunned processors scrambled for a name. The flyer’s voice was familiar. No falling...

The foreman looked as if his entire world had come crashing down around his audios. With a longing look in Gridlock’s direction, he almost seemed to be ready to plead his case, but the Seeker held up a hand to stop him.

Gridlock’s brow furrowed as he tried to make his scrambled thoughts straighten. The bridge and the blue seeker…

“I have been requested to retrieve him.” The Herak floated a mild glance over the tri-colored Cybertronian. “I hope the evening wasn’t too uncomfortable for you, Gridlock. Are you ready to go?”

He wasn’t going to let anyone fall, and I believed him. I believed him and I wasn’t afraid. I’m not afraid.

“C-Commander?” The Autobot’s voice was weak, truly at odds with his size. But it was fraught with genuine surprise. Gridlock barely dared believe any of this was real. He was torn between joy and lingering doubt. What if he was having a file compression error? He’d just wake up… and he’d be in that cell again…

Putting a hand over Gridlock’s, the blue seeker gently made him release his bowl back down on the counter. “No need for this swill, mmm? You can eat upstairs after the audience with the Dourjer.”

There was a subtle intake of atmosphere. Every slave in the room stared at the Autobot and the flyer. They probably had never seen a Herak up close before, not like this where they could reach out only a few skeen and touch him if they dared. And they’d certainly never seen one reach out to a slave, treat him as an equal, and inform the entire room that said mech had been freed and was now expected at an audience with God himself. Most of them had never even seen the Dourjer.

"Commander Coronach?" Gridlock actually looked as though he was just now recognizing him. "S... Steelheart. She oka---"

The blue Herak nodded with some authority. “She’s fine. So are the others.”

“A-and Veeg too?”

“Voyager is before Metatisic as we speak. Come, my friend. Let’s go.”

Gridlock allowed himself to be led away. “All alone? Shouldn’t we all be there with him?”

“The master only wants his presence at the moment. You and the others will be summoned in as he desires.” Coronach added, “My wingmates and I will accompany you.”

Silent for a long moment, the constructibot weighed what had gone on. “Your red friend was banged up pretty bad. I’m glad he’s functional again.”

“As am I-- though as loyal as his outrage might have been, I wish he’d have remained silent. It was not his place to question the General.” Coronach smiled almost in mockery of himself. “Sadly I have rescued Canticle from many things, but I cannot seem to save him from his own mouth.” The Decepticon chuckled.

During the out-processing, Gridlock said nothing. With each answer Coronach gave for him, a subtle sense of happiness was invading his every circuit. Primus had listened after all. It had just been a test. No drone’s dead gaze could stop him, nor the spiteful crack of whips disturb his peace. The huge Autobot felt as if a weight had been lifted from his back as they began to ascend through the maze of tunnels into the upper levels.

Thank you, Primus. I’m sorry I ever doubted you there.

At that thought, there was a break in the ceiling above. A beam of golden light streamed down in the passage ahead of them. It illuminated the Herak, who walked before him slightly. Noticing the Autobot slowing down, the blue seeker paused and turned. “Is there something wrong?”

“No, Commander. I was just thinkin’ about how sweet that light is after be’in in those caverns for megacycles.”

Coronach replied quietly. “My apologies for that.” He turned and started to walk towards that wonderful radiance. “I am sure the Dourjer will make everything right.”

Gridlock nodded, following him. At length he asked a single question.

“Commander .... do you own any slaves?”

“You mean here? Oh no.” Coronach shook his head with some distaste. The Autobot clung to that reaction like he did the growing glow around them. “This arrangement is for the convenience of the city. My household is in Inpent-Railon. Large areas of the main domicile are open to the sky.”

Gridlock imagined the house, with pillared galleries open to the heavens above. All the Decepticons could fly, of course. Loyalty alone could keep a slave in such an airy place… and loyalty was something that could only be given freely to a Master. It was something that could only be freely given to anyone.

Coronach didn’t even check to see if he was following, simply trusting that he would. “I am not fond of keeping those who serve me in darkness any more than I would be fond of being shuttered there myself.”

Regardless if he had slaves or not, the Commander was a good mech. He’d thought it last night and now he knew it to be true. Together they stepped out into the daylight, coming up through an access terminal into one of the beautiful plazas. The Herak made way for the constructibot through the scant crowd on foot. Those in flight went about their business overhead, undisturbed. With the heady din of the city all around him, Gridlock wondered what it would be like to see Cybertron so prosperous.

Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

Finally, the roadmech had come to face the harsh truth. Even the conditions he’d been held in under the Iysurus had been bliss compared to his storage locker in the repair station. And what of Freight? Freight and his friend Number Nine weren’t unhappy. They didn’t like being slaves, they said as much, but they also weren’t mistreated. It didn’t make it right. Nothing could do that. He hadn’t forgotten the screams from C Section so easily. But-- but at least the Decepticons were fellow robots! At least, like Sentry, they had reason and leniency. They could feel empathy like Coronach and that put them in an entirely different class than the Quintessons. The Quints thrived on extracting pain and terror… they drank shame like oil.

He stifled an involuntary shudder and hoped the Commander didn’t notice. The Quintessons weren’t something Gridlock could talk about. He wasn’t valiant like the Boss Lady. No, he was just a construction robot… and not even in the milita. It wasn’t his place to speak against these strange mechanoids, Gridlock decided. If the others, or the Assemblymechs themselves, were going to find out about the slaves… it wouldn’t be from him.

.

1

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The megacycles of darkness had been a very long. With the coming of the dawn, nothing had really changed. She hadn’t seen the others and there had been no word about them. It was just more to worry over, more responsibility… more impossibility. Steelheart had checked once, only once, to make sure Coronach had kept his word. She still felt guilty about that. Carillon had been very attentive, in his soft-spoken way, even to calling her ‘lady’ and assuring her that everything was secure-- sworn on his personal honor.

Steelheart sighed as she looked out over the landing ledge. She sat today, swinging her feet a bit off the edge. Compared to everything else that was going on, falling might be a blessing in disguise. But it wasn’t like she was going to throw herself off either. She frowned. Ambivalence wasn’t a normal state for her. Her base setting was “stomp it until it ain’t getting up no more”; Ironhide had joked about her propensity for violence more than once. Maybe she was just getting used to everything.

"Did you see Commander Coronach last night? I heard that for sure the Dourjer was going to flatten his head into the flooring..."

Her black fists curled. Or not.

The fembot slowly backed up, making as little noise as possible, and crept towards the archway. Her audios weren’t the greatest issue and there was the usual bang and clatter going on in the Officer’s Mess. Maybe she just hadn’t heard right.

"Really? The Commander? What did he do?"

Yes, Coronach. What did you do? She peeked around the corner of the archway. The Herak holding court with the others was electric emerald green. She didn’t know any of these. They must be the other teams --he called them trines, didn’t he?-- under Coronach’s command.

"Defied the Master I am told. Presumably, he leapt at the god when he was told that the foreign female was to be taken to lockdown." The green Herak supplied.

Oh, my stars…

"Dear me. Did he attack him?!" One of the others asked.

"Lucky for him he didn't. Living to function another day." Sighing, the green Herak gestured flippantly, as if the loss of his Commander would be nothing.

Coronach hadn’t said a word about this. Not last night. Not this morning. He’d almost gotten himself killed… the transport could feel her optic channels moistening again.

"He has such power. Why would he dishonor himself for a slavemech? Especially one like that."

“She’s built like a recycler with a head!”

"I know!" Giggles and rounds of rude sniggers made their way through those closest. "I know…"

She put a hand over her intake, pressing herself back against the wall. Steelheart couldn’t even look at those Herak anymore. If she looked, she’d be tempted to charge in there and give them a piece of her mind. Though the Seekers’ airframes bent like aluminum, the other soldiers in the hall didn’t have that problem… it would be nothing short of suicide.

Another sounded queasy, "Scandalous! To even DARE affront Great Megadyne!"

“And over a femme too…”

"You think you know someone. I, for one, would have never imagined that Coronach would lower himself like that." It was the green Herak. His voice was unmistakable. The snide tone made Steelheart’s jawplates clench. She’d like to bust that one right in the chops.

“Lower myself like what, Canzonet?” The harsh demand was met by silence.

Steelheart grinned fiercely, rising to her feet. That’s what you get for running your vocalizer and not checking the content, greenie.

“I am waiting for an answer,” Coronach reminded in a dark tone.

She took this opportunity to walk casually though the archway. Canzonet’s optics, which had been startled before, grew impossibly larger when he realized whom she was. Steelheart made sure her glance told him that she’d heard everything, every last word.

“You will speak, Canzonet, or you will scream apologies to your Commander.” Steelheart looked up. Newly repaired, Canticle stood in the doorway with Quodlibet at his side. There was no way to tell how long they’d been there. While the yellow merely looked venomous, the red flyer was seething. It was he who’d spoken.

“C-Commander, I was just…” Canzonet stuttered. His optics flicked from her to Coronach to his wingmates and back again, rapidly. Yup, buddy, she thought. You are in deep slag.

Coronach put out a hand, indicating that Steelheart should come and stand with he and Gridlock. His optics never lifted their focus on the green Seeker. Once she was close enough, the blue Herak showed his favor for her in an extremely basic way, nothing more or less than a hand on her shoulder. The brief contact was all it took to cement the idea in the minds of the other Seekers. They straightened to attention and would not meet her optics.

The green flyer threw himself to the floor before Coronach. “I misspoke! Forgive me, Commander. I forgot my place.”

“Tell me, Herak Canzonet…” Coronach asked slowly, stressing each word. “Since I am so very low… what does that make you now?”

Sobbing, the Decepticon replied. “I --I don’t know, Sir.”

“Slag.” Canticle responded for him, even as Quodlibet offered, “A scraplet.”

“Those are too harsh for one of Canzonet’s background. I think I’ll settle on ‘a fool’.” Coronach’s expression was wintry. He kicked the kneeling mech in the head, striking sparks off his helmet. Steelheart winced and varying shades of horror played out over the faces of the other Herak. The blue flyer continued, “A fool who would be wise not to forget his rank is beneath mine ever again.”

The small dent was enough to send the green Herak off for cosmetic repairs as soon as he stopped quivering before his Commander, but had damaged little more than his pride. Coronach looked over the others. “Are there any more comments that need reach my ears or are you all content with your Commander as he is?” There was no doubt. Insisting their loyalty and happiness, the other Herak bobbed their heads emphatically and praised his leadership.

Coronach looked at his wingmates. They nodded at the unspoken order and turned to leave. Gridlock next got his attention. He offered the big mech a reassuring pat on his massive arm. With a small answering smirk, the constructibot moved to go as well. Turning at last to her, Coronach gestured that Steelheart should accompany him. “The Dourjer wishes to see you.”

There was little else she could do but nod and follow along at his side. The transport wondered what else could possibly happen, but a good deal of her fear had evaporated.

As the door slid shut behind them she had a realization. The other Cybertronians were in the hall. Safe. Tended by Quodlibet and Canticle, who still looked like they could mash carbon into diamonds regardless of the relative weakness of their frames, the band was a bit confused but nothing more. Everyone was out of harm's way. Gridlock even seemed… calm. He hadn’t even flinched when Coronach dealt with that mouthy green Seeker.

After they’d started moving down the hall, she leaned over and whispered. “Thank you.”

Coronach looked at her out of the corner of his optics. “For what particular act am I thanked?”

Regardless of how stupid it sounded, she told the truth. “Being a damn fine mech. Ah ain’t got no other words than to thank you.”

Tenseness melted from the arch of his shoulders and from his face. The blue Herak said nothing, but did glance at her a moment and tender the briefest of smiles.

.

2

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Cybertron - Midlands; The council of the Elders

(In Iacon ..)

Dark streaks of coolant left on the scarred floor by the Kokular unit possessed his thoughts. Even now the two militia leaders stood to the side, talking with Beta. Xaaron leaned in his seat. Prime had everything well in hand, the Assemblymechs were settling themselves rapidly, and it was actually some relief not to have to wrangle everyone to order. The transmission indicator had made Delusion fly out the Annex as if he had wings and now he and Wordplay were fussing over the viewer like expectant creators. The Emirate was much less frantic. What would happen, would happen, and nothing but Primus had authority otherwise.

There was some great auspice on the horizon. Something he did not dare even look at too closely-- especially not with the deaths of the guards on his mind. Yet it was there still. Freedom. Xaaron could taste it, sense it. It teased like the fumes of fuel when one was starving. Hope had long been beaten out of the Emirate, or so he’d believed. Now he felt it, like a small orb of light, tickling the back of his processors. He didn’t want to admit the emotion was there. If he did that, and the Dourjer said no--

He wasn’t confident on what would occur.

No, that was a lie. The Emirate knew what would happen. He would die. Not outside-- his frame would keep running-- but inside. There wouldn’t be enough of his spark left to bother with. It was a hard realization to behold. He needed the Dourjer to say yes.

Xaaron prayed, though he betrayed no look of it outwardly. He begged Primus to soften the Dourjer’s spark in their favor. Not only for himself, but the mechs who would never see freedom. The ones that the militia were identifying and returning to loved ones even now. For the ones whose lives stained the floor of the hall…

“Blast this thing!” Wordplay spat, slapping the top of the console. It sputtered to life. She stared at it. Then she stared at her hand.

Delusion had no such shock. He whisked her into his arms shortly, all in a motion to put her before the controls, but his smile was wickedly brilliant. “You have magic in those fingers, my dear.” He turned sharply to A-3, his face devoid of expression. “We’re all ready here.”

“Beta.” Prime said.

Nodding, she indicated that Ironhide and Kup were to flank the Assembly seats in place of the guards who would normally be there. They took up the ancient pikes left by the robots, each one little more than a large glorified knife attached to a length of rusty pole. Delusion himself took his seat just after she did. Flicking a smile at Wordplay again, he tried to assuage the worry that even now darkened her optics. His own terrors he squelched in favor of that. Death was too close a neighbor this astrocycle to concentrate on himself.

The viewscreen flickered and came into focus. The Grand Champion sat on his throne, his crowned head aglow as if on fire. His face was rigid in its seriousness.

Alpha Prime spoke immediately to the warmachine. “Forgive the delay, Metatisic. Our equipment has suffered some cumulative damage in these astrocycles past and we were experiencing technical difficulties.” He then nodded slowly, respectfully. “We welcome your presence before us again, Great Dourjer.”

Delusion couldn’t have said it better himself. Tension coiled along his cables. This was it.

Rubies flashing on his crown, the great monarch inclined his head. “I am welcomed.”

The Decepticon leader’s voice retained an element of gravity to it. Like… like a gavel hovering and waiting for the judge to pass sentence. It was all Delusion could do to keep in his seat. He wanted to throw himself on his knees and beg for his people. He wasn’t too proud to do so. Only fear kept him still. He did not dare offend the Dourjer.

“We were, Lord, able to secure a better tally of the resources we had offered. We have all the reports assembled and encrypted for transmission. Voyager should be able to translate them for you.” Alpha Prime offered.

“I have other plans — ”

A death sentence then, the monarch would leave them all to die… A surge of desolation shot through Delusion. He felt as if someone had ripped the cyclotron from his chest. He thought he heard some gasps from the others, but he wasn’t sure if it was his own echoing in his audios. The only other outward sign he gathered were Xaaron’s fingers digging into the arms of his seat.

" — Even live broadcast is a limited and imprecise form of contact ...as is the data transfer you propose. I have decided that the best way to compare our individual offerings is first hand, one on one, with it’s leader.” Metatisic swept them all with a glance.

Xaaron could have lept out to his peds and shouted for joy. He almost did, but caught himself just as the action was about to happen. It ended up looking like he was repositioning himself to have a better vantage point. Hiding one’s intent was easier when one was short and for that he was thankful.

“Or, it's leaders." The Dourjer corrected himself. "Your effort is appreciated, but I would like to see them on my own. The information you’ve compiled for me may be transmitted at the conclusion of this broadcast after we have spoken on the arrangements for my arrival. We can meet, talk, and discuss a suitable course of action-- measures that are important to these sorts of dealings. I will make my decision based on what these offers reveal to me then."

"I can only agree, Lord Metatisic.” A-3’s relief was too great to miss. He even smiled.

"Sir," Xaaron offered carefully. "All of Iacon will truly welcome your presence, but as our guest your safety is also our concern. Converse and travel in Cybertron is not the safest."

Beta nodded, being milita commander for Iacon it was her place to speak. "Though our mechs are brave." She gestured to Ironhide and Kup. "They are unskilled."

Metatisic smiled kindly at her. "I've already taken that into consideration. I do not intend to come alone. I will be bringing with me my best legion as my company--" He shifted his attention to Prime. "-- for these proceedings. If your Quintesson enemies should decide to make their presence felt… well, my soldiers and I will handle the situation if it becomes necessary.”

Xaaron did get to his feet now. He was overcome. Optics sparkling, he locked on the face of the Decepticon leader. He could feel vorns of hate drift out of him like they’d been scrap tied around his body and the lines had suddenly been cut. It was if he were being freed all over again. Duon, who sat before him, had Zero-Zero’s hand and he was smiling at her. Beta was beside herself, practically strangling Prime’s arm… and Delusion… Delusion’s grin could have split his face in half. It was positively beatific. The whole council wore the same expressions, even the militamechs.

The Dourjer folded his hands thoughtfully. "Are we agreed?" He asked.

"We are indeed." Alpha Trion's nod came with another smile. "All of Cybertron will prepare and await your arrival."

”Very well.” Metatisic glanced to his side and nodded to someone off camera. “Preparations on this scale have never been undertaken before. I will embark for Iacon in one unath's time.” Unfolding his hands, they came to rest on the arms of his throne. "I expect a total of two ships to be necessary," Metatisic guessed. "The shuttle galleons are quite large and require a suitable landing site. Where in Iacon would this be?"

Seizing at Alpha Trion’s pause and Xaaron's silence, Delusion offered an immediate location address just outside the capital perimeters. As chief spy, the Minister of Information was quite adept at lying. He rattled it off as if it were the most natural thing in the world, neither his face nor posture betraying a thing.

"Delusion." Beta, whispered harshly as though the mech had taken leave of his senses. "There is NO landing site anywhere in Iacon or out."

He whispered out the side of his mouth hoping the Dourjer would not hear, "Not yet anyways."

Apparently the king was busy with other matters. He gestured to his unseen assistants again. "Now, as we are decided ...”

The viewing area pulled back slowly. Opulent and amazing, the throne room came into focus. Closest near the throne stood a delicate, pale female. She was arrayed in artistic beadwork and was clearly not any sort of military commander. She did not look into the camera --ruby optics downcast-- but it was not in shyness. The femcon held herself as if she preferred not to give the Assembly her full attention.

There were others as well. On Metatisic’s left, a huge bronze mech who bore a massive cannon on his shoulder stood. His red optics were narrowed in his sharply featured face. Flanking him were two younger warrior mechs in more ochre tones. They did not bear such a harsh expression-- but both soldiers seemed puzzled by the Assembly still. It was almost as if they were counting everyone in the room, over and over, in disbelief.

A large one-opticked robot was closer on the king’s right, with the girl. His lone golden eye wasn’t baleful. It was almost… intrigued in his featureless faceplate. Along with him stood two mechs, in shades of purple and blue, and what appeared to be a vornling. The two robots, scientists or ministers by the inquisitive and serious looks they bore, stood with their young comrade in less puzzlement than the soldiers.

The king said he had only one Advisor. All these people around him sparked Delusion’s curiosity. Who might they be? What did they do? They obviously held the monarch’s favor… how would one go about doing that? Immediately he set about mulling over the situation.

“Your envoy is here with me." Metatisic settled himself comfortably and the sound of footsteps, strangely musical, filled the transmission.

Delusion recognized the winged mechs from before. The deep blue one was the Commander and the dark yellow and orange-red flyers were his ‘wingmates’, as he’d called them. Herak. Behind them, and then standing in front of the Herak as they set themselves up before the bronze mech and his soldiers, came the envoy.

“And it would please me to assure you of their safety.”

Ironhide had watched the proceedings with absolute bewilderment. Servo had not only been telling the truth when he’d rambled on about those legends… but his own sister had lied to him about what she was doing. Lied! To him! Envoy his bumper! Steelheart had told him they were going to go trade-- not risk death to find those damn gladiators. He didn’t know whether he was madder than a sack full of wet vibro-hens or elated that she seemed to have worked a miracle. Probably both. She was smiling at him and he felt an answering one tugging at his mouth. Primus, he was just glad she was smiling.

There was Gridlock right next to her, big as ever and taking up so much room that the yellow mech with wings could barely be seen behind him. He ventured a wave and Ironhide nodded at his friend. That brought out a huge grin on the roadmech’s face.

A-3 addressed his fellow Cybertronians, “Are you all well?”

Steelheart nodded. “You bet, Prime. There was a smidge of a mess cause the Dourjer and his mechs ain’t seen nobody like us a’fore but everything’s square now.” She wriggled her fingers at Ironhide. He smirked.

Gridlock rumbled, “Yeah. We’re all real glad you folks are all still with us. When the transmission cut out the other astrocycle…”

“Yes. We’re glad to be here as well.” Alpha Trion chuckled. He turned his attention to Metatisic. “Thank you, Great One. I appreciate this opportunity to see our mechs and know them to be safe.”

“As I said, there as some things better done with one’s own optics.” The Dourjer remarked with some humor.

Ironhide nodded to himself. Damn skippy. He wouldn’t have believed anyone unless he’d seen her-- seen that little wave that she was always giving to soften the blow of whatever she was going to say next. Sometimes, like now, she did it to smooth over hurt feelings when she’d fabricated something or stretched the facts a bit-- or a lot. This was definitely a lot. It was still unbelievable how big this particular lie was. He’d almost question her reaction now if he hadn’t also seen Gridlock. Though he was massive, Grid was still a vornling at heart and timid to boot. If he said everything was fine, then that’s the way it was. By the grin on his face, it must be.

“And now, Prime, I will take the transmission of those documents for my own perusal.” Metatisic commented. A-3 gestured for it to be done. The red bot watched as the shimmering blue femme Delusion was so fond of fed a disk into the scan drive. She keyed the transmitter. He was pretty sure everyone was holding their breath and praying real hard so that the fragg’in thing would be functional.

“Are you receiving?” Alpha Trion asked.

The Dourjer’s attention was off screen again. He waited a moment. A slow nod came as he replied. “Yes, I have received the data.” The warmech continued to speak, informing the Assembly that his communications specialist-- a mech named Legate-- had set up a direct relay into Iacon and that Bractos could be reached any time through it without Voyager’s help. Ironhide barely paid attention. He’d noticed something else directed solely at him. The blue Decepticon with wings, standing behind Steelheart, was glaring daggers through him. Oh, the robot was trying to hide it… but it wasn’t doing much good. Trying not to frown, the red transport wondered what the foreign mech’s problem was.

“Have you set your equipment for the frequency I gave you?” The Dourjer asked.

Emirate Xaaron replied. “Yes, Great Dourjer.”

“Excellent. Then we have no more to discuss at the moment. I will leave you to your duties Prime, Emirate…and assembly. Karna shine his light on you.” Metatisic folded his hands once more.

“And Primus you.” The entire Assembly responded, with certain minor variations. It was all the same in meaning. With a short smile of good humor, the Decepticon leader gestured to his communications mechs once again. The viewscreen went dark.

"Did you hear that? An entire legion!" Beta was the first to crow. She laughed, throwing her arms around A-3’s neck. Her excitement was infectious. He laughed and embraced her. “I was right here, Beta.”

Omega sighed very slowly. "I've never seen a whole legion before." As young as the proto-sentinel was, it wasn’t a surprising admission at all.

Alpha Duon was on his feet, the very portrait of a much younger mech. He must have been as open as this once a very long time ago. "And if it's even anything like that of the Quintesson legions!"

“You saw the recordings Delusion demonstrated! How could they be anything but?” Xaaron grinned. He came towards the dark mech and shook his hand.

Another mech piped up. “The Quintessons would not dare attack them!"

Smiling gently at Zero-Zero, who seemed stunned, Duon put his arm around her. "And if those legions were to display even a morsel of the might those on the ancient disk's displayed… they will not attack us either."

"I agree with the Emirate. No doubt they will." Beta nodded. "I do not sense a weak strut in that mech's whole frame."

Prime gave her a sharp sidelong glance that earned him a laugh from Beta. He grinned then as well. "Delusion did say he was their Grand Champion."

The aforementioned spymaster himself was basking in the glow of praise. Wordplay on his arm, Five sleeping peacefully -undisturbed by strife-, Xaaron shaking his hand and Prime and Duon both grinning at him like overcharged vornlings; it was as if Primus himself were raining blessings on Delusion. Maybe that was what the envoy had meant. It certainly felt like it. The Dourjer must hold a spark of Primus’ essence in him, just as Alpha Trion did. It only made sense.

“Construction on that platform I promised must begin immediately,” Delusion reminded.

Alpha Duon took up the idea. “Yes, and we’ll have to make sure that Iacon is repaired enough to be comfortable. We all saw the transmissions of Bractos and then that throne room. We have to present.. well… it may help our case, ultimately.”

“I agree.” Xaaron stated. “And further — the ancient recordings need to be brought under review. Delusion noticed something interesting.”

“I hate to break this up,” the green light-loader interrupted. “But we got mechs to bury, folks.”

The Emirate paused and Delusion focused on Kup as well. “Of course,” Xaaron said, his voice turning serious. “We need casualty reports as soon as possible-- and I can help shift the larger pieces of dross to move bodies until we have a full count.”

Delusion added, “I’ll see what I can do about getting a tally of the survivors and assessing damage. I assume they’ve been moved to a triage area?”

At Kup’s nod, the dark mech leaned over to Wordplay and murmured something. She nodded, immediately going for the transmitter in the annex. He started down the steps to the floor of the hall and Xaaron followed.

“That sounds like an excellent idea, both of you. We’ll all help.” Prime confirmed.

Even with the grim task at hand, Xaaron could not shake the feeling of anticipation that had consumed him. Real freedom was within their grasp. They wouldn’t be merely be clawing at civilization anymore-- playing at governing themselves. No. All the playacting would transform into something tangible.

TO BE CONTINUED...