Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rodimus stepped off the lift into a darkened room. Tiny safety lights glowed on the floor around the room’s borders, outlining a large rectangle in the middle of the room that opened up to a multipurpose area below. His motion towards the edge of the opening triggered holographic projectors to display a field of stars on the ceiling, rendered from data collected of the immediate region by the onboard sensors. He spent a few minutes lost in its vastness and wonder before walking over to a control panel on the wall and typing in a few commands. The display disappeared and several heavy duty motors came to life, splitting the armored ceiling and far wall down the center to reveal a relatively delicate transparent dome.

The crew of the Lost Light rarely retracted the armor covering the main observation deck. Ultra Magnus in particular considered it too much of a risk, citing everything from space debris to boarding parties, and it wasn’t high on Rodimus’ list to argue against that reasoning. Besides, while the oil reservoir’s heavily reinforced dome didn’t give as clear a picture of outer space, it provided enough of a view to remain one of the crew’s favorite hangouts.

Today was a special occasion, however. They had done what had seemed impossible: they had jumped into a faraway universe.

It was going to be one hell of a party.

Rodimus walked towards the front of the ship and leaned on the railing near the windows, looking out at the bluish-green gas giant below. Perceptor had found a deserted star system where they could recharge their quantum engines, and Rodimus thought it would be a great time to rest and celebrate.

To think what they had done! Here they were, copies of themselves, ready to explore a new universe together as a family. They had even managed to save Megatron’s life, which was one of the more believable things they had done in the whole grand scheme of things. Rodimus was surprised Prowl hadn’t argued against their victory lap, but something about the strategist had changed, if ever so slightly. The thought of Prowl still churned his tank, but more because he hadn’t had the courage to listen to Drift and say no to bringing Overlord onto the ship. Even worse had been the disappointment in his best friend’s optics when he confessed why he hadn’t turned the ship around to find Drift after he had revealed the truth.

Maybe this would give him a chance to really make things right...

“Captain!” Thunderclash called up from the level below. “As much as I like the view, we do need a few more lights.”

…if he could manage to avoid other distractions for once.

Rodimus took a deep breath in and slowly let it out, his gaze still fixed on the stars. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He was just going to have to get used to having Thunderclash on board, permanently this time. It wasn’t an impossible task, but it would be a process, as Drift would say, and it was a small annoyance to endure for saving a life.

“You don’t seem to be as cheerful as I thought you’d be,” Megatron said, walking up to the window beside him.

Rodimus looked up at his co-captain, flinching his helm back slightly. “Who, me? I’m cheerful. Pit, I’m ecstatic! Why would it seem otherwise?”

Megatron chuckled. “Because your demeanor always changes when Thunderclash enters the room.”

“What?” Rodimus’ voice echoed throughout the space, and he lowered it in response. “Okay, I may have been a bit… sensitive—”

“Jealous.”

“Well, who would blame me?” Rodimus pointed to the level below. “He made our quest look easy!”

Megatron’s optics twitched, as if he was suppressing them from rolling. “And yet, you were finally able to admit that we needed to find him to complete our quest, not to mention that you disagreed so confidently with him over who could open the Matricies. But even though the quest is over, there is still something amiss.”

Rodimus crossed his arms and slumped down onto the railing. “Yeah, well, I guess I still have a few things to figure out.” At least he wasn’t as jealous anymore. He had replaced that with skepticism when he found himself defending members of his crew from Thunderclash’s all-or-nothing thinking. Did the so-called Greatest Autobot of All Time really hold such narrow-minded views?

And why does it still matter to me so much?

“As do I.” 

Megatron speaking after a few moments of silence pulled Rodimus out of his thoughts, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind of what his co-captain meant. Megatron was still bothered by the cold reception he got from Minimus Ambus when he returned from the Functionist universe. Rodimus was beginning to accept that the ex-despot was telling the truth about not staying there to avoid punishment, but it would take a while to convince their second-in-command of the same.

“You two going to continue brooding or help us set up this party?” Ratchet yelled up at them.

“We were taking stock,” Megatron yelled back, winking at Rodimus.

“Then you can help us ‘take stock’ up from Swerve’s storeroom.”

“We are on our way.” With a bemused smile, Megatron gestured towards the lift. “Shall we, co-captain?”

Rodimus chuckled as he followed his colleague. “I could feel the air quotes from here.”

“I really should be gentler with him. He’s going through a lot of changes right now.”

“What, with not being the CMO anymore?” Rodimus entered the lift with Megatron and pressed the button to deck seventeen.

“That, but mostly Drift.”

Rodimus couldn’t help but smile. Drift and Ratchet had been bickering for some time now, and he wondered where it would lead. Shortly before the Overlord incident, Drift had come to him and told him he just wanted to be friends. It had always been casual for Rodimus, so he had been more disappointed that, while Drift’s answer had been vague, it was clear that the reason was not because of Ratchet. So when he heard that they had finally admitted their feelings to each other, he was more than happy for them. “He’ll have his hands full. That’s for certain.”

Megatron nodded. “I knew Drift—as Deadlock—to be quite… intense at times.” Just as Rodimus’ optics went wide, Megatron held his hand up. “No, no, nothing like that. Our relationship was strictly professional, despite the rumors.”

“Ah.” Whether that was the actual truth or Megatron covering for Drift, it wasn’t going to do anyone any favors to ask.

The lift dinged and opened the doors to deck seventeen. Swerve’s wasn’t too far from the lift, conveniently just beyond the Forward Balcony. Consisting of a large shaft that ran from the top to the bottom of the ship, this section opened up to all hallways on all decks but only had a floor on every two to three decks. The crew could both retract and move those floors, allowing easy transport of large cargo up and down the ship, with fliers often taking advantage of the space to move from one deck to another without using the lift. It had also been the way they had attempted to stop Overlord, by jumping from the decks above and piling on top of him.

Rodimus and Megatron approached several of the crew who were loading equipment onto the platform that normally rested at the deck above near the entrance to the multipurpose room. Swerve stood right outside the bar, directing traffic. “Co-captains! Gonna be a big one, huh? I figured since it’s for the entire crew, I’ll waive my normal charge.”

“Convenient,” Rodimus said as he put his hands on his hips, “considering our money means nothing in this universe.”

Swerve froze in place, his optics slowly widening as far as they could go.

“Swerve?” Megatron asked.

Rodimus knelt down and waved his hand in front of Swerve’s face. “Swerve… You there?”

“I… I hadn’t thought that far. I…” Swerve grabbed Rodimus’ shoulders and shook them. “Where am I going to get engex? My suppliers are halfway across the impossible! I’m going to have to build a distillery from scratch from materials we get from who knows where of questionable metallurgical quality, and—”

“Welcome to the moneyless society where people do things for each other out of common interest,” Drift said as he walked past with a portable cube dispenser. “Living the dream of the day when you could be both fueled and flat broke at the same time.” He set down his load with the rest of the cargo.

Rodimus swore he saw a tiny color fluctuation in one of Drift’s optics and a very miniscule smile. He looked back at Swerve, who appeared somewhat calmer after the interruption. Had Drift interrupted on purpose? Rodimus gave the bartender a reassuring smile. “We’ll work something out. We always do.”

“Don’t want to interrupt the pep talk, but can you help me with these?” Roller exited the bar with four giant engex containers, two balanced on each shoulder.

“Yes, of course.” Megatron walked over to transfer two of them to his own shoulders, walking with Roller to load them up onto the platform.

Rodimus stood back up. “Is that everything, Swerve?”

“Uh…” Swerve took a silent inventory. “Yeah, that’s everything.” He joined Drift, Roller, and Megatron on the platform to brace the equipment. “Captain, can you send us up?”

“Sure.” Rodimus found the control panel on one of the support columns and commanded the platform to move upwards. “I’ll see you there.” He turned around and nearly ran into his second-in-command who was carrying a bundle of steel pipes. “Magnus? What… are those?”

“I noticed that the multipurpose room does not have a hazard suppression system that is up to code, so I requisitioned these from storage.”

“Magnus…” Rodimus pinched his nose. “Wouldn’t a few handheld extinguishers be enough for tonight?”

“Of course. I…” Ultra Magnus’ optics flickered. “Oh, you thought I was…”

Rodimus nodded.

“Not at all. This is for tomorrow’s work crew. The storage room was on my way.”

“Don’t you think tomorrow might be a bit optimistic?”

“Oh. Right.” Ultra Magnus paused, probably needing the time to calculate an answer. “Sometime this week, then.”

“That’s better.” Rodimus started walking towards the lift alongside his second-in-command. As they waited for the next car, he leaned up against the wall, crossing his arms. “Actually, maybe you should take the day off tomorrow. Work on some of your writing?”

Ultra Magnus blinked. “But my day off isn’t for a few days.”

The lift dinged, and Rodimus followed Ultra Magnus into the waiting car. “So? This crew has seen more than their fair share of horror and death, and I think we rightfully deserve more vacations. We can stay in one place for as long as we like, taking in the sights and actually getting a chance to relax for a change.”

“There will always be people in need of our help.”

Rodimus shrugged as the lift doors opened. “And we’ll do whatever we can. But for now, let’s be the people receiving the help.” He started walking towards the crowd. “That goes for you, too.”

Ultra Magnus followed Rodimus out amongst the gathering crew towards the soon-to-be-bar. “Someone has to make sure that none of those sound cables aren’t a trip hazard.”

Rodimus sighed as he stopped to watch Blaster complete his final sound checks for the party’s music. “Oh, come on, Magnus, the cables are either secured or out of the way.” He reached up to pat his second-in-command on the forearm then pointed towards the bar where Roller was helping Swerve connect the last of the engex containers to their dispensers. “Looks like the bar is ready for inspection.”

Ultra Magnus gave one last look at the DJ booth. “Yes, of course,” he said slowly as he continued walking. When they arrived, Rodimus casually leaned sideways up against the bar as his second-in-command predictably used his armor to cast a long intimidating shadow over their bartender.

Swerve turned around and froze, gritting his denta. “Um... Everything okay?”

Ultra Magnus slowly gave him a small smile. “I’ll have my usual spritzer.” 

Swerve grabbed a cube and poured in some engex along with some carbonated energon. He slid it towards Ultra Magnus. “Bar’s open!” he yelled.

The crowd immediately rushed over. Ultra Magnus took a sip from his spritzer as he carefully navigated through the mob. Given that at the start of their quest it would have been impossible to get the now former Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord to even consider getting an engex, Rodimus was pleased at how far his second-in-command had come, even if he still had a lot to work on. They all did, really. 

What else were vacations for?

Lug wasn’t all that used to being in crowds. Well, at least this sort of crowd. Anode’s adventures had taken them to enough busy outdoor markets that she had learned at least one thing: being short and sweet had its advantages, but being out of line-of-sight was not one of them. When she felt the inevitable bump, she sighed, looked up, and unexpectedly grinned at one of her newest friends.

“Lug!” Roller exclaimed. “How’s my favorite throwable?”

Lug jumped up to give him a high five. “Hey Roller! So, did you ask her out yet?”

Roller rubbed the back of his helm. “I haven’t been able to find her yet. And what if she’s not interested in me?”

“She was totally checking you out!” Lug held her helm up high and folded her arms. “Trust me, I’m an expert. Isn’t that right, Anode?” She looked around. “Anode?”

Her conjunx stood a bit away from the crowd, peering around while dodging partygoers.

“Sweetspark, what are you doing?” Lug yelled through cupped hands.

“I’m looking for that guy with the sword and the not-boyfriend boyfriend.”

Lug frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” She twisted her mouth in thought. “Cyclonus? He has a sword and… Whirl! Is that what you mean by ‘not-boyfriend boyfriend.’”

“No, I think this guy’s a car.” Anode shrugged and came back to the group.

“Well, I don’t know everybody yet, but is it Drift?” Roller asked.

Anode snapped her fingers. “Yes, that’s it! He’s got this sweet Great Sword that I wanted to take a look at.”

Lug stroked her chin. “Then who’s the not-boyfriend boyfriend?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Drift appeared out of nowhere and approached the group. “I heard my name?”

“There you are!” Anode ran up to him. “Now, about that sword… Where is it? Don’t you usually have it with you?”

Drift crossed his arms. “The answer’s still no, Anode.”

Still? Anode had a bad habit of violating people’s boundaries when her curiosity got the best of her, and if she had already done this to Drift, then it meant that it would be even harder to distract her. Lug frantically glanced around for a solution. 

No one had a drink! 

She walked over and started gently guiding her conjunx towards the bar. “Anode, sweetspark, why don’t you go with Roller here to get drinks, and I’ll talk to him about it, okay?”

Anode blinked at her. “But…”

“Just let me handle this,” Lug whispered. She motioned for Drift to follow her towards the front of the room near the windows. Once there, she let out a big sigh. “Sorry about that. She’s still adjusting to our new life.”

Drift gave her a guarded smile, which wasn’t entirely surprising given what her conjunx had tried to do. “Don’t worry about it. I already took other means to alleviate the situation.” He leaned up against the railing, crossing his arms. “What does she want with it anyway?”

Lug rolled her optics. “She probably wants to sell it. I’ve tried to tell her we don’t need to do that anymore, but it’s a hard habit to break. I love her, but there are days...”

“I suppose we all have our adjustments to make. Can you please relay to her how important it is to me? It belonged to a friend who helped me turn my life around.” Drift’s optics dulled. “Nothing can replace it.”

“Yeah, of course.” Until now, Lug really hadn’t gotten a good look at Drift’s frame, but upon further inspection, his markings were indeed a little more unusual than the rest of the crew. “Is that motif under your optics for him?”

Drift softly touched one of the red lightning bolts under one optic. “Those honor his commander, who also died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Another detail caught Lug’s optic and she leaned in closer. “Are you a Spectralist, by chance?”

“Yes! How did you know?”

“You have some very small etchings in inconspicuous places on your frame. It looks like you’ve taken on the Rite of Marking, and those etchings are some of your more personal experiences that are hidden away for all but a few to see. I used to have Prism’s quote on my wall:

Paint the features of your life onto your frame
Mirror the memories that dwell within your spark
Wrap our many glyphs and symbols around you
Dance in their gentle and colorful embrace."

This time, Drift’s smile was much brighter. “I’ve always loved that one. And you’re right, it is the Rite of Marking. Are you a Spectralist as well?”

“No, no, not me. I used to know a few though. I was supposed to be a geologist, but I got bored and started using my tools to paint and etch designs on rocks. They taught me how to do that for frames and all the symbology and stuff.” Lug gasped and clapped her hands. She was in the perfect place to finally make one of her dreams come true! “I could open my own shop here!” She looked over to see her conjunx approaching with Roller, who handed a cube of engex to Drift. “Anode! I’m going to open my detailing shop here!”

Anode handed her a drink. “Oh! That’s great, love!”

“May I have your attention please?” Blaster waited for the room to quiet down. “I’d like to welcome all you Lost Lighters, whether you’ve been here a while or just joining, to our first party in this new universe!” A cheer reverberated through the large space. “Make sure to get some drinks, make some friends, and dance the night away!” As the music started and the lights flashed, the crew moved towards the dance floor.

As she took a sip of engex, Lug noticed that Roller was looking up towards the upper level balcony. She followed his gaze over to the new blue medic who was idly rolling on her tiny tires and looking down directly back towards him. He tentatively waved, and her optics went wide before she smiled and waved back. 

Anode grabbed Lug’s hand. “Hey, you wanna dance?”

“Sure!” Lug elbowed Roller, who looked like he needed one last bit of encouragement. “You’ve got this, big guy!”

Roller nodded. “I’ve got this. I’ll see all of you later,” he said and headed towards the lift.

Lug pointed at Drift. “And I hope you’re my first customer!” She gave him one last grin before letting Anode pull her away, skipping alongside her conjunx as they made their way to the dance floor. 

After so long, she had started making friends again!

Drift waved back as Anode and Lug disappeared into the crowd. At the very least, Lug knew why her conjunx had violated his boundaries to try to get at his Great Sword, which now sat safely in his small subspace pocket, hidden from access by anyone but him. If Anode was only in it for financial security, maybe the transition to a permanent home would help her develop a better respect for other people’s personal space.

Reuniting with Roller had made Ratchet extremely happy, and Drift did look forward to getting to know him better, but he couldn’t help being a little jealous given that most of his own friends were long dead. He had found some catharsis in the shrine he had been able to set up in Ratchet’s larger habsuite, making room not only to honor his loved ones but his partner’s as well.

Strong arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer interrupted his thoughts. “There you are!” Ratchet whispered in his audial, sending shivers down his spinal strut. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You joining me out there, sweetspark?”

Drift froze in a cold sweat as he flicked his optics back and forth around the room. No one was watching. It’s okay. I need this to be okay. He breathed deeply as he turned around and put his helm against Ratchet’s. “Love to.”

Ratchet took Drift’s hand and gently led him to the center of the crowd, twirling him around and catching him. “You’re a little stiff tonight. You were a lot more relaxed during our trip back.” They started circling around each other.

“It was just us then.”

“It’s just us now.”

Drift touched their helms together. “You may be prepared to deal with my violent past, but that’s because you know me,” he whispered. “And if I let go in the wrong way, that endangers even you. I promised myself that I’m not going to run away anymore, so I need alternate coping strategies.”

“Yes, but it’s not living. The you I saw coming back?” Ratchet pulled Drift so close that their lips almost met. “That was living.”

It should have been the easiest thing in the world to move in and kiss him. Drift had done it so many times before that he could practically taste it. But not only was it hard to fight the conditioning of seeing public displays of affection as a weakness, it was frustrating that Ratchet still didn’t fully understand the strain he was under to keep his dark impulses away from others. He sighed and pulled back just enough to meet his partner’s optics. “It’s not easy, Ratty.”

“I know. I just…”

“Hey you two!” Rodimus danced over to the couple. “Having fun so far?”

A wave of heat burst out of Ratchet’s fans all at once. “I need a drink,” he growled as he started to break off towards the bar. 

Drift held on to one hand, squeezing it gently before letting go, hoping to at least convey that above everything else, he still loved him despite all of their current struggles.

It seemed to be enough, as Ratchet looked back and sighed. “Either of you want one?”

Drift and Rodimus both shook their helms.

As Ratchet snaked back through the crowd, Rodimus danced closer to Drift. “He still hates me, doesn’t he?”

“Hate is a strong word. More like… angry.”

“Angry’s still a strong word.”

Drift tried to locate Ratchet but he had already disappeared. “At least he offered you a drink.” He put a steady hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, Roddy. He’ll come around eventually. Besides, he didn’t storm off because of you.”

Rodimus frowned. “You two okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it was enough of a half-truth that it was clear Rodimus wasn’t buying it. “Are you—”

“Captain! Drift!” Brainstorm approached the two with Perceptor behind him. “They got this set up rather quickly!”

Rodimus gave a strained laugh. “If there’s anything this crew does quickly, it’s a party.”

While Brainstorm and Rodimus chatted, Perceptor focused his attention almost completely on his tablet. “Percy? Is everything alright?” Drift asked.

“It is quite… crowded,” Perceptor said. “Brainstorm insisted that I make an appearance, for scientific reasons. As I rarely engage in such social events, he said it would be to my advantage to experiment with this experience.”

“How’s that going?”

“It is very bright. And loud. And warm.” Perceptor’s optics flicked around quickly. “We are in an entirely new universe, something I thought impossible until recently, and I have only done the most preliminary analysis of it. I think perhaps it would be better to study that.” He went over to Brainstorm and tapped him on the shoulder. “I am going to retire to my lab.”

“But… This is my favorite song, and…” Brainstorm sighed. “Alright, Percy. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.” His wings drooped slightly as he watched Perceptor weave through the crowd. “Well, that didn’t go so well.” He looked back at Drift and Rodimus. “I’m sorry. I should go after him. Great party!”

They watched him go in stunned silence. “Oh, dear,” Rodimus said. “That’s not good.”

Drift shook his helm. “Unfortunately, it would take an extreme event to get Percy to take socializing seriously, and I don’t particularly feel like falling out of a spaceship again.”

Rodimus elbowed his friend. “That was badaft though.”

While presenting a virtuous personality had been extremely awkward at first, his first impression as Drift on the Autobots, especially the part where he rescued Perceptor, had gone over well, not to mention that he had looked good doing it too. He grinned back at Rodimus. “It was absolutely badaft.”

First Aid found Ratchet in the drink line, watching something on the dance floor and shaking his helm. “Something wrong?”

“It looks like this party isn’t for everyone.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s to be expected. Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask. What are your plans now that you’re retired from being CMO? Are you still going to be working in Medibay?”

Ratchet put a hand on First Aid’s shoulder. “Of course. I’m always here to help. But, I was thinking of taking on a slightly different problem. Honestly, I don’t know how this crew ever survived without a mental health specialist onboard, given that we went through the Pit and back, not to mention the war. The field has always been woefully underrepresented, with only Froid and… Why can’t I remember his name? Anyway, it’s always been something I’ve been interested in but couldn’t dedicate all my time to.”

First Aid hadn’t known what to expect when Ratchet came back, so it was a relief to hear that the former CMO had found something he wanted to do that was somewhat separate from Medibay. It would probably make it easier for them to work together in the long run, given both of them were used to taking charge. “That sounds great! Have you told Drift yet?”

“Not yet, though I’d doubt he’d mind. He’s always getting on my case about mental health and relaxation and all that scrap. Pit, he even read my stash of medical journals on the way back in an attempt to justify it.”

“Well, did he find anything?”

“Annoyingly, yes.” Ratchet’s optics softened, now clearly watching Drift dancing with Rodimus. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

First Aid laughed. “You two have fun tonight. You both deserve it.”

“Same goes for you too.” Ratchet picked up his drink order and started back into the crowd. He turned back, pointing at First Aid with a drink in his hand. “Don’t make the same mistakes I did.”

“Not planning on it.” Watching him go, First Aid sat down at the bar with his drink and retracted his faceplate. The conference on Kimia had been an eternity ago, but it still haunted him even now. It wasn’t that he regretted helping Springer with a Wreckers project. It was more that he had been so nervous that he hadn’t even tried to get to know the incredibly attractive commander any more than was needed. 

The memory soured his drink. He had become so much bolder since then, so much so that his actions had convinced Ratchet to promote him to ship’s CMO. Now, a reality away, it was a moot point as far as Springer was concerned.

At least, not planning on it in the future.

The celebration lasted well into the night. As it wound down, groups started splitting off for smaller parties or rest, leaving only the command staff and close friends hanging on in the room. Staying immediately volunteered them for cleanup duty, and afterwards, as if in silent agreement, they all headed down to Swerve’s to relax.

Rodimus slumped into a chair. “As celebrations go, that was a good one, but it got hot up there.”

“You’re complaining? Really?” Ratchet asked as he sat down in a chair beside him, drink in hand.

Rodimus threw up his hands. “Who knew there was too much of a good thing?”

“Ratchet has a point,” Megatron said into his tea from across the table. “I would have thought meteor surfing would have been much hotter.”

“Hey!” Rodimus sat up. “Meteor heat is different from frame heat!”

“Ratchet,” Thunderclash said from behind Rodimus, startling him into annoyance, “you remember that giant party in Iacon with the flames shooting up from the floor? Now, that was hot.” He gestured at the chair on Rodimus’ other side. “Is this seat taken?”

Rodimus scrambled for an answer. What was with this guy anyway? “I was saving it for Drift, actually.”

“Much appreciated, but I already have a seat,” Drift said, suddenly appearing in the seat on Ratchet’s other side.

Rodimus made a note for later to both ask his friend how he always appeared out of nowhere and why he wasn’t helping him with Thunderclash, despite being more than aware of the situation. He looked up and managed to give Thunderclash a smile without gritting his denta. “Then I guess it’s free.”

“Excellent!” Thunderclash sat down and took a sip of his drink.

Rodimus gave Drift a cold stare, but all he got back was a smirk from his best friend. Well, that answered that.

“I have footage of that very party!” Rewind said, happily snuggled on Chromedome’s lap. “It went on for a week, and amazingly, no one caught fire.”

“It sounds like a building manager’s worst nightmare.” Minimus Ambus sat down next to Megatron with a spritzer. He stopped mid drink. “Rewind, can you send me that footage?”

Rewind’s optics lit up. “Of course!”

“You have something in mind?” Megatron looked over at his second-in-command with a raised brow.

Minimus Ambus coughed into his hand. “Yes, well… I have an idea for a story.”

Megatron smiled at him with half-closed optics. “I would love to read it when you’re done.”

The door to the bar opened and Nautica stepped in with Brainstorm. “I found him!”

Chromedome watched as Brainstorm sat down heavily beside him. “Where were you? Where’s Perceptor?”

Brainstorm sat back and shook his helm. “Oh, you know, his lab, as usual. I guess I should have expected this.”

Nautica gave her amica a big hug from behind. “Don’t worry, he’ll get better.” She sat down between him and Drift. “I was like that in college. Once I got hooked on quantum mechanics, I couldn’t be torn away from it, except for hanging out with Lotty, and I think that helped because she patiently got me to try more things while handing me more delicious knowledge.”

Brainstorm took a deep breath. “Yeah. I just have to be patient.”

“What was it like?” Drift asked.

Nautica turned towards him. “What, college?”

“Yeah. I always envisioned engaging symposiums, intellectual discourse, soaking in the vast array of knowledge available.” Drift’s optics twinkled brighter with every suggestion.

“Well, it’s kind of like that? Honestly, a lot of the time I felt awkward and anxious, not to mention all the cramming for tough exams or the uncertainty of whether I would be able to succeed in my studies. Being on the Lost Light does seem to have more of the positives, what with more nerdy friends and being able to study whatever I want.” Nautica cocked her helm. “Why do you ask?”

Drift’s optics dimmed ever so slightly. “I never got the opportunity. I always wanted to go.”

“Oh.” Nautica looked away briefly. “Um, well, what would you have studied?”

Drift twisted his mouth in thought. “Religion, mythology, language, or maybe symbology.”

Nautica excitedly clasped her hands together. “All of those go together so well! I especially love language and symbology! Did you know that chirolinguistics originated from the same symbology as Old Cybertronian? Many of the hand signals are drawn directly from the glyphs that represented the concepts at the time. Of course it’s all blurred now. And not many people speak hand anymore, given all the communications options.”

“I’m fluent.”

Nautica’s optics went wide. “You are?”

Drift nodded. “I had to learn a lot of skills over the years. Hand made it easier to communicate in certain circumstances. I hadn’t heard about the connection to Old Cybertronian though. Do you have any articles on the subject?”

“I do! I’ll send them to you!” Nautica pulled out her tablet and put it on the table, but as she started scrolling, a light flashed directly in front of her and two holomatter feet materialized on the table. She sat back, startled, and looked up. “Whirl! Don’t scare me like that!”

Whirl’s eyepatched pigtailed avatar looked around. “Huh, I meant to materialize more at the center of the table. My bad.” 

“How could you miss? You’re literally standing over there!” Brainstorm pointed at the corner, where Whirl’s frame sat in standby mode.

“Pfft.” Whirl blew her hair out of her face. “It’s not an exact science.”

“Why don’t you pull up a chair like the rest of us?” Nautica asked.

Whirl put her hands on her hips. “Do you see any room?”

Rodimus looked around. As he had been following Drift’s conversation with Nautica, Cyclonus and Tailgate had sat down next to Megatron, taking up the remaining chairs. Velocity and First Aid were standing and talking with Anode and Lug, while Riptide was helping Swerve get drinks to the table.

“There are more chairs,” Thunderclash said. “We could scoot closer together.” He looked over at Rodimus and smiled, moving his chair ever so slightly towards the captain. 

Rodimus swiftly moved his chair over towards Ratchet, and on it went down the line until there was a large space between Thunderclash and Cyclonus. Of course, that meant that he was even closer now to the Greatest Autobot of All Time, not to mention also wedged in beside Ratchet who was still angry at him. He frowned as he took a sip of his drink.

Velocity helped First Aid squeeze in four more chairs but hesitated sitting down. “There’s still not enough room for everyone.”

“That’s okay! I can sit on Anode’s lap!” Lug hugged her conjunx, who pulled her into her lap after she sat down.

Cyclonus leaned over towards Tailgate. “We could do the same, little one.”

“We could!” Tailgate leapt out of his seat and snuggled up in Cyclonus’ arms, leaving enough room for Velocity to sit down next to Megatron.

Ratchet looked over at Drift as if to ask something but then tentatively put his arm around his partner’s shoulder instead. “Is this okay?”

Drift gave him a quick smile. “Yeah,” he said as he carefully leaned against him.

Megatron watched the couple with a very slight but sweet smile across his face. Apparently Ratchet saw it too, because he turned away as soon as he saw it. The ex-despot frowned sadly, quickly returning to a neutral expression. Before Rodimus got to know him, Megatron was the last person he would have expected to want approval from someone. Was it approval though, or just a lost opportunity as an aspiring medic to get to know Cybertron’s greatest surgeon? At the very least, Ratchet had acknowledged that Megatron had done what was thought as impossible by saving Drift from a zero point, but the tension between the two had only changed rather than abate. 

Still, it was a step in the right direction. Ratchet only bothered to shoot people he couldn’t have a productive argument with, so the fact that he was even putting up with Megatron was an improvement.

Megatron turned towards Chromedome and Rewind. “So, do you have any different plans for the documentation you took of the ship now that we are here?”

“It’s still good footage,” Rewind said, “and I’m still wondering what all that inert sentio metallico was doing in Rung’s office.”

“Is that the office down on deck three?” Ratchet asked.

“Yeah,” Rewind said. “Maybe we should collect it and do some testing. Swerve, do you think you could lend your expertise?”

“Sure!” Swerve said. “If Brainstorm can help me build a distillery.”

Ratchet smirked. “Do you want to knock us out again?” 

“Okay, I deserved that,” Brainstorm said as he shrugged.

The entire table laughed and moved on to another topic, but Rodimus didn’t hear any of it. He was struggling to keep the strange name he had heard in his short-term memory. It was as slippery a thought as it was important and had the same feeling as the knowledge the Matrix had jammed into his brain. He had one last thought about it before he rejoined the conversation.

Who is Rung?

Chapter Text

The next day, Cerebros woke up with a helmache. He barely managed to peel himself away from his berth, and as soon as he could focus, he noticed that Red Alert’s was empty. Massaging his forehelm, he headed out into the living room, squinting at the sudden brightness and barely able to register his partner curled up and reading on their living room couch. “How in the Pit are you up so early?”

Red Alert looked up and shrugged. “I didn’t drink as much as you did.”

“Oh. Right.” Cerebros stumbled over to the kitchenette and started heating up some energon. He vaguely remembered being surprised that Red Alert drank any engex at all, given his previous desire to not be inebriated in any size, shape, or form, but his partner had requested a drink nonetheless, citing their new beginnings and hopefully a much healthier future.

Red Alert started typing on his tablet. “I’m going to text Max to see if he’s awake.”

“Good idea.” Cerebros poured the steaming energon into a cup and mixed in some copper powder. He sat down next to his partner on the couch, slowly sipping his tea. “I’ve been meaning to bring this up, but what do you think about asking to get a suite expanded for the three of us? I know it’s going to be a challenge given Max’s size. I just worry that living alone is hard on him. We all need each other.”

Red Alert breathed out hard. “I’m… not sure.”

“Red,” Cerebros said, shifting his tea so he could put a hand on his partner’s shoulder, “we talked about this. We both want to know your concerns no matter how frivolous they seem.”

Red Alert stumbled over the first few attempts to explain. “The three of us being together is brand new, and it's rare to see romantic couples, let alone threesomes.”

Cerebros felt his frame temperature rise slightly and took another sip of tea to try to calm himself. He had known about Red Alert’s paranoia and Fortress Maximus’ PTSD even before falling in love with them, but he had decided that despite everything, he couldn’t bear to live without them. Both had benefited greatly from therapy, but their progress often included moments like these, painful reminders of their previous behavior, making it difficult to keep the tension out of his voice. “They don’t have to know. It’s really none of their business anyway until we want it to be.” He set his tea down on the side table. “I think we could ask discreetly. Everyone knows we’re used to living together.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Red Alert nodded slowly. “I’m trying to be better. I really am. It’s just a big step for me.” He wrung his hands as he often did when he was deciding something before looking back up at Cerebros and nodding more confidently this time. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

“Thank you!” Cerebros draped himself over his partner and gave him a hug. The motion was too much, and his helmache came back worse than before. “Ow.”

Red Alert tentatively stroked his partner’s back. “But not today. Tomorrow?”

Cerebros grunted in agreement. He curled up and leaned on his partner’s shoulder.

Red Alert sighed. “I sure hope they honor our request. There can’t be that many people who need more than a double suite.”

Drift felt the fwump of Rodimus falling back heavily on his own couch after fetching another box of energon sticks. “You know, I’ve missed this,” his best friend said as he balanced one of the sticks in his mouth.

“Yeah, me too.” Drift reached over to take a stick from the box while he scrolled through the extensive list of Earth movies Swerve had uploaded to the Lost Light’s media server. No one had asked where the bartender had gotten them or how he had managed to gather virtually all of Earth’s media in one place, and it had been no small feat to transfer the large collection into Teletraan, despite Rewind’s expertise on codecs and Roller’s mastery of data streaming. 

Both he and Rodimus had some familiarity with Earth media, having spent hours of downtime during the final phases of the war soaking up a brand new culture. Some of their most cherished conversations had been about the universal truths between the two species. Part of him wished they could go back to those days when things weren’t so awkward between the two of them, but facing the truth would make their relationship better in the long run.

Rodimus stared intensely at the screen. “You know you have a theme, right?”

Drift paused briefly, mostly for dramatic effect, before giving his friend his best Ratchet impersonation. “A theme?”

“Yeah, your picks are always either about swords or racing.” Rodimus took another stick out of the box.

Drift snatched the stick from him and ate it immediately before turning his attention back to the menu. “Your picks were all made in the 1980’s. How is that not predictable?”

“That’s an era, not a genre!”

“Well what about the wide selection of anime I’ve chosen?”

“Those had a lot of swords and racing in them as well.” Rodimus shook the box, which by the sound of it was almost empty. “It gets a bit deja vu after a while.”

Drift slowly turned to stare back at him and shook his helm, noticing then that Rodimus had tried to hide the snacks on his far side. “Okay, smartaft.” He selected The Princess Bride. “Classic 1980’s swashbuckling film.”

“Hey! That was on myshort list!”

“Well, now your short list is even shorter.” Drift leaned over Rodimus and fished around for the snack box.

Rodimus playfully shielded his box with this hand. “No fair! Get your own. I got up and got this!”

Drift grinned and leaned even further over. “I brought the snacks, remember?”

Rodimus quickly threw his arm with the box over the back of the couch. Drift threw a knee over him to try to extend his reach, and Rodimus in turn tried to push himself up to wriggle out from under his friend. The couch tilted backwards, and Drift landed on top of Rodimus, energon sticks flying and scattering across the floor. They both stared at each other for a few seconds before laughing.

Up until recently, it was rare that Drift allowed himself to savor a full-frame laugh. Ratchet had changed all that, pairing his brutally honest kindness with his passionate affection to ensure that Drift knew he was loved and accepted and had a space where he could safely cut loose as much as he wanted. It felt exhilarating now to share this with his best friend, and in a way, Rodimus himself had inadvertently facilitated it with his reluctance to find Drift when the truth had come out, giving Ratchet the push he needed to go instead.

But one problem led to another when Drift had realized recently that he was still attracted to Rodimus, and moreover that the attraction was probably mutual. It also didn’t help that his friend was now cupping his cheek vents and stroking them gently with his thumb. 

“It’s good to see you like this,” Rodimus said softly with half closed optics.

There was no doubt now.

Drift’s grin faded, and he blinked several times, eventually turning away. He still wanted the physical closeness they had shared previously, but with Ratchet now in the picture, things would have to be different, and figuring out the right balance wasn’t going to be easy.

“What is it?”

“Roddy, I—”

A communicator buzzed on the side table. Rodimus groaned. “Never a day off.”

Drift rolled off of him. “You’re the captain.”

“Co-captain. That shouldmean I get a break.” Rodimus stood up and grabbed the communicator.

Drift smirked. “Ratchet said you used to hate being ‘co-captain.’” 

“Don’t you use Ratchet’s air quotes on me.” Rodimus flicked the communicator on. “This had better be good. What do you mean, emergency staff meeting? Magnus, we’re always dealing with incidents. I don’t see how these particular ones warrant— Uh huh. Uh huh.” He sighed heavily. “Fine. Be there in a bit.” Rodimus grimaced as he clicked off his communicator. 

“I thought you liked a bit of excitement,” Drift teased slightly.

Rodimus shook his helm. “Excitement doesn’t exist in anything remotely associated with the word ‘meeting,’ especially when Magnus runs them.” He started to pick up the snacks from the floor. “And the worst part is that Megatron just goes along with it. When I was doing it, they were called ‘briefings’ because they were brief, and I could get back to spending time with my best friend because it’s my day off!”

Drift had pitched in to pick up the rest of the spill and now leaned against the recycler as he threw his load in. There was so much that was uncomfortable about what Rodimus had said that he didn’t know where to begin. He took a slow breath before turning back around and wearing his blandest smile. “I’m sure you’ll be able to figure it out.”

While it had worked before to appease his friend, by the look on Rodimus’ face it was clearly not working now. He must have caught on as Ratchet had. “Look, Drift, I’m sure I can convince the command staff to reinst—”

“No,” Drift said as he looked away. After all this time, it was still an uncomfortable word.

Rodimus walked up to him and put his hand on his shoulder. “Why not?”

“Because…” Drift sighed. “Because I talked to Hound this morning. He earned the position of third-in-command. I didn’t. I thought it was disingenuous of me to take that away from him.”

Rodimus now grabbed both shoulders. “I can’t let you do this self-sacrifice scrap. Not again!”

Drift swiped away Rodimus’ arms and walked towards the windows. “I don’t want a position because you feel guilty!”

Rodimus stiffened behind him in the reflection. “It… It’s not because of that, Drift. You’re an essential member of this crew. Your experience and counsel are invaluable—”

“What counsel? You barely listened to me!” Drift’s frame visibly shook. Half a million years of prejudice and poverty, four million years of war and suffering, and his best friend ignored his advice but still wanted to keep him on the command staff? I’m not just some tool or weapon to be used in someone else’s game. Not anymore.

His fists started to hurt, and he suddenly realized he had been balling them the entire time. He released them; that anger was too close to Deadlock. Despite his many failings, Rodimus’ spontaneous enthusiasm had been a breath of fresh air after years of painful loneliness and the loss of so many loved ones.

Drift closed his optics and took a few breaths. “On Necroworld, it hurt that you never said you needed me, that you needed Magnus, but it made me realize that I deserved that, since I was always wearing that fawning persona that Ratchet always called me out on.” He looked up and turned to meet his friend’s optics. “Hound’s a good leader. I’ve fought him a few times and was quite impressed. You can’t go wrong with him.” 

He briskly walked towards the door, considering just leaving without a word, but he respected Rodimus too much to give him the silent treatment. He had already said way more than he had ever been comfortable with before, and now he was just starting to feel overwhelmed.

“I’ll see you later,” was all he could manage as he left his friend’s habsuite.

Rodimus’ frame felt heavy and cold as the door to his habsuite closed, leaving him in almost total darkness. He had only seen Drift angry like that once before, the day his friend had volunteered to exile himself to take the fall for Overlord. He had played that scene over and over in his mind after the incident, wondering whether he should have questioned the logic that the quest would be over if he took full responsibility. Then, he had messed it up even more by not being the one to go back to find Drift after everyone knew the truth.

He wanted to make things right so badly. The day had started off so well too, and it had only gotten better when they had shared a laugh together with the rare unbridled joy illuminating his best friend’s optics. And then he proceeded to screw it up. Again. The fake smile that Drift used to hide his emotions had reappeared along with clearly restrained anger.

Another buzz of his communicator reminded Rodimus of the meeting, and he started driving towards the conference room near the bridge. He welcomed the distraction, but Drift’s words still haunted him.

Why was this so difficult? When it came to fiery meteors and apocalyptic crises, he was at his best, but most other tasks felt like they just slipped off of his brain even if he knew they were important. Rebuilding his relationship with Drift was going to be difficult, albeit not in the same way that saving the universe was difficult, and he feared that he would yet again let one of the most important people in his life slip away.

Rodimus drove up to the conference room and transformed. “Sorry, I’m late,” he said as he entered.

“Actually, you’re just in time,” Megatron said with a bemused smile. “It took a bit to assemble everyone.”

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat, a noise the armor amplified for effect, haunting the nightmares of many a lawbreaker. “As I see everyone is here, I call this meeting to order. We have had several requests, complaints, and incidents over the past few days that require our attention. However, Megatron has a standing item on this week’s agenda regarding several open positions we need to fill in order to ensure the smooth operation of this ship.”

Megatron picked up his tablet. “I first want to clarify the official positions of the people in this room. Rodimus and I remain as co-captains while Minimus is officially second-in-command. Perceptor serves as our chief science officer, Blaster is our chief communications officer, and First Aid is our chief medical officer.” He took a sip of energon tea. “Now, Minimus has been graciously pulling double duty as third-in-command as well, but I believe we now have an opportunity to rectify the—”

“It’s covered.” Rodimus slouched in his chair with his arms crossed, turning his attention to the stars flying by out the window. “Hound will be taking that position.”

“Hound?” Perceptor asked from across the room. “Not Drift?”

“They worked it out this morning”, Rodimus said, still not making optic contact with anyone. “Should have been Hound in the first place anyway.”

It took a few moments for Megatron to respond. “Explain?”

“Drift originally served on this ship as third-in-command, a position that Hound usually assumes,” Ultra Magnus explained. “You can understand why that may have caused some tension, despite Hound ultimately respecting the captain’s decision.”

“I see.”

“With that settled, Megatron, I believe you suggested Crankcase for chief conn officer to replace Mainframe?”

Mainframe had been another casualty of the quest, having lost his life at the end of Grimlock’s sword. It was another name Rodimus had sorrowfully added to his mental list of the people who had died on his ship.

“Yes,” Megatron confirmed. “Crankcase is an excellent pilot, and I believe he more than proved himself with this ship in particular in the Battle of the Twelve Matricies. I’ll talk to him to see if he’s interested.”

“Since Mainframe also served as chief operations officer, we need to fill that role as well.”

“Ratchet talked to me briefly before the meeting,” First Aid said. “He thinks Roller is up to it, even though he might take some convincing.”

“I’m pretty sure I can persuade him.” Megatron tapped his stylus on his tablet. “Next is chief engineer.”

Perceptor raised his hand. “I would like to suggest Nautica for the position, although I have not had the opportunity to gauge her interest.”

“I don’t question her expertise for the position, but she still struggles with—” Megatron reached over and stopped Rodimus from spinning his chair around. “Focus. As an example, she enrolled in my symposium but preferred to tinker with the Rodpod instead of concentrating on her homework.”

First Aid sat forward in his seat. “On the contrary, I think she would do just fine. Velocity mentioned to me that it was Nautica who helped her through her medical exams. Maybe it’s just that she needs that responsibility to focus.”

“Very well.” Megatron made a note on his tablet. “I’ll see if she’s interested. The only other candidate that I can think of would be Brainstorm.”

“I talked to him when I saw the agenda,” Perceptor said. “He is not interested.”

Megatron nodded. “Now this next one is going to be the toughest position to fill, but we really do need a dedicated director of security. Minimus?”

“I’ve been asking around, but so far there are no leads. Neither Red Alert nor Fortress Maximus are interested. I also asked Thunderclash.” Ultra Magnus paused for longer than usual, no doubt waiting for Rodimus to react, but the co-captain let it slide past him, instead idly gnawing on his energon stick.

“He also turned down the offer,” Ultra Magnus continued. “None of the current security team are interested, and many of the crew see the position as ‘cursed.’”

“Are there any other suggestions?” Megatron asked. No one spoke up. “Alright. I’ll keep looking.”

“If I may?” First Aid raised his hand. “I would like to suggest formally creating a new senior staff position of ship’s counselor. Ratchet is going to be transitioning into that role, and I wondered if we could make it official. I would still have ultimate medical authority, but I’d welcome his expertise.”

“Agreed. Rodimus?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine.”

Megatron sighed, again, probably at Rodimus. “Right. If there are no objections, I will confirm with Hound, Crankcase, Nautica, and Ratchet that they will officially fill their respective positions and invite them to the next meeting. Minimus, I believe you had the next item?”

“Yes. We have had several incidents that I would like to call to everyone’s attention. Early this morning, Huffer complained of ‘very loud complaining’ coming from Fulcrum’s and Crankcase’s habsuite. Two hours later, I received multiple calls of a pink jet flying over the speed limit around deck five, who most assumed to be Misfire. Finally, right before this meeting, a bar fight broke out in Swerve’s.” A projection came up in the middle of the table. “This was the footage from the security camera.”

[Camera #17-305 “Swerve’s, Bar 1”]

[Begin Timestamp 27:34:48]

Gears sat at the bar enjoying a drink. Spinister approached and ordered something from Swerve. While he waited, he looked down at Gears’ drink. Suddenly, Spinister knocked the drink over, spilling engex all over Gears.

“What in the Pit was that?” Gears looked up at Spinister while shaking engex off his frame.

“Your drink was threatening me,” Spinister said.

“What was that?” Gears shouted, hushing the normal murmur of the bar.

“Your drink. It was threatening me. I had to kill it.”

“What the— You’re insane! You rotors are all insane!”

“Oi!” Whirl yelled from the back of the room. “Insanity is my thing!”

“Stay out of this, Whirl!” Gears spat. He looked back up just in time to see Spinister throw him across the room.

[End Timestamp 27:35:52]

Ultra Magnus turned the projection off. “Swerve called the security team to restrain Spinister. He calmed down only after I called Krok. According to him, Spinister had been doing better lately. He wasn’t sure why he had relapsed. First Aid currently has him under observation.”

The CMO glanced at his tablet. “I haven’t found anything definitive yet. His readings are abnormal, less so it seems when Nickel attends to him.”

“Another Scavenger,” Megatron mumbled. He looked over at his second-in-command rapidly scrolling through his tablet. “What is it?”

“I just realized something.” Ultra Magnus stopped scrolling. “All of their habsuites are in separate sections of the ship. Since they’re used to being together, then that may be part of the problem.”

“The habsuite section is pretty full though, right?” asked Megatron.

“Yes. As this was originally a cargo ship, most of the space is taken up by storage. There aren’t many options to move people around without a significant refit.” Ultra Magnus looked up. “I received another request this morning from Red Alert, Fortress Maximus, and Cerebros for a combined suite. While we have had some crew move in with others, most notably Drift and Perceptor, we have taken on more crew than we have lost.”

“I’ll speak to them,” Megatron said. “We may be able to come up with an interim compromise while we work on retrofitting the existing habsuites.”

Rodimus completely zoned out after that point. It had taken a lot of energy to stay engaged with a decently routine staff meeting, and he had exhausted all of the stimulation techniques that other people saw as weird. He was simultaneously tired and wired, and he desperately craved to take a few laps on the makeshift track on the recreation deck. It was only when people started getting up to leave that he realized the meeting had ended.

Eventually, Megatron was the only other person left in the room. “You were quiet today.”

“Yeah. I just had a lot on my mind.”

“You seemed upset about Drift.”

“It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

Rodimus sighed. “I brought Drift on as third-in-command because I felt he would provide a good counterbalance to Magnus. And he did that, exactly what I wanted to hear and not what he actually felt. The times when he was honest with me, I didn’t listen, and it almost cost me his friendship.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and balancing his chin on laced fingers. “I need to do better.”

Megatron was silent for a few moments. “It’s not just up to you. Drift has been through a lot, more than you or I will ever know. I suspect it’s a defense mechanism to not be entirely honest with people, and it’s up to him to work through that. Keep that in mind while you learn to listen.”

Rodimus stared at the back of his hand, the same hand that had once held the number of votes for and against his captaincy. “You make it sound so easy.”

“I assure you, it is not.” Megatron got up from his chair and stood at the window, hands clasped behind him. “For centuries, I thought about what I would say to Minimus if I ever made it back. Would he ever believe me, that I fully intended to return, that I came back to the transporter to find it empty? In order to regain his trust, I knew that not only did I need to demonstrate my intentions but also give him time to process what occurred.” He turned back towards Rodimus. “Drift does not give trust easily, but he does give it. He gave it to Ratchet, after all. I suspect you also should be talking to him.”

Rodimus slumped in his chair. “Yeah, he’s kind of angry with me right now.”

Megatron chuckled. “Yes, same. Likely also about Drift.”

“I didn’t save Drift from a zero point.”

“And I didn’t fight on the better side of the war. Your point?”

Rodimus sighed, looking again at the back of his hand. “I guess we both have things to work on.” 

Megatron looked back out at the stars. “Indeed.”

Ratchet stood at the edge of the pile of inert sentio metallico, thumbs looped into his belt and frowning. How could they have missed this for years? Certainly, the ship was huge, but rooms with windows were rarely unoccupied. Who had died here anyway? He watched the bots slowly collect the dust from the floor and deposit it into medical containers. Beyond attempting to identify the deceased, there wasn’t much more he could do, ethically at least.

There was a slight change in the air behind him and a decrease in the light. Whomever was back there approached in a unique silence. Arms wrapped around him, and he immediately relaxed into them. “You know you can’t sneak up on me, sweetspark.”

Drift nuzzled Ratchet’s neck. “I know. That’s why I do it.” Annoyingly, he stopped and pulled away. “What’s all this?”

“It’s that room that Chromedome and Rewind found. The inert sentio metallico isn’t the only strange thing here.” Ratchet walked over to the display case. “Someone meticulously assembled all of these from kits. Did a good job too. I can’t even see where they cut the parts from the sprues. And then there are these.” He went to the desk and picked up a small pair of glasses. “Not sure what to make of them. We haven’t needed glasses in millenia due to advanced optical correction techniques.” He looked over at his partner. “They would have been rare even when this ship was launched.”

Drift started walking towards the desk. “Why the sudden interest in the office? You looking for a good mystery to solve?”

“More like a career change.” Ratchet held up his hand. “And I know what you’re going to say, that I need to take it easy, but I need something to do.”

“I know, Ratty, but…” Drift gently squeezed Ratchet’s shoulders. “Four million years of non-stop stress on your frame and spark. You’ve already had to replace your hands. You need to slow down. You need to give yourself some space, a chance to heal. You remember what First Aid said.”

“He gave me a prescription with a single word on it. It was almost insultingly similar to something I’d do.”

“That single word was my name. He wanted you to listen to me.”

“And I am. That’s why I’m going to be using this office to serve as ship’s counselor.”

Drift opened his mouth and then closed it again before throwing up his hands. “That’s even worse! You need mental and emotional rest too!”

“Oh, I’ve been serving in that role for a long time in addition to being CMO.” Ratchet reached around and clasped both of his partner’s hands. “Sweetspark, you know I would go crazy if I had nothing to do.”

“I thought you would be, I don’t know, building models or something.”

Ratchet tugged his partner slightly towards him. “Drift, I promise I will take it easy. I’ll be here most of the day with patients and help First Aid out in Medibay when he needs it.” He brought Drift’s hands up and kissed them, meeting his partner’s concerned gaze. “It’s easier now, with you.”

Drift smirked. “Don’t you try to pull that ol’ Ratchet charm on me.” He gently pushed his partner back against the desk and kissed him. 

Ratchet pulled him tighter against his frame, now able to feel both their sparks quickening. Drift almost immediately seemed reluctant and started to break away. Ratchet opened his mouth to ask why but then realized it was probably because his office door was wide open.

Drift almost certainly noticed the complaint. “Or rather do, later,” he teased with one last short kiss.

Ratchet reached up to stroke his partner’s cheek vents. “And to think a few months ago I thought I had gotten rusty.”

Drift smiled. “In all seriousness, it seems like a good fit for you. Just please take time for yourself. I reserve the right to take you on a surprise vacation if you don’t.”

“Fair enough.” Ratchet was ready to change the subject, but the sudden dullness in Drift’s optics gave him pause. “Sweetspark, is something wrong? Are you still concerned?”

Drift closed his optics briefly. “It’s not about this. I’m… not ready to talk about it yet.”

Ratchet nodded and kissed his forehelm. He paused when he heard what sounded like several people running through the hallway, followed by yelling. “Now what?”

Misfire and Fulcrum sprinted past, shooting at something behind them. Ratchet and Drift exchanged glances and headed towards the door. Drift carefully peeked out, only to duck back quickly into the room and flat against the wall.

“I’ll kill you all!” Huffer tore down the hallway in truck mode, blaring his horn, his tires splashing a wave of color into the office.

Ratchet looked down at his newly painted frame. “I have so many questions.” He sighed. “Might as well see what all the fuss is about.”

They both ran out into the hallway and transformed into their altmodes. Drift led the chase, following the paint and using it to expertly slide around the hallway intersections. “I told Roddy to keep them locked up!”

Ratchet trailed close behind with his sirens blaring. “What wasn’t locked up?”

“The training rifles. He wanted them available in case of a ‘paintball emergency.’ I’m surprised they went undisturbed for this long.”

“Did he everlisten to you?”

Drift kept driving in silence.

Krok and Crankcase stood backs against the wall around the corner from Medibay. Krok checked his chronometer. “Where are they?”

Crankcase snorted. “Probably messing around somewhere.”

They both jerked as loud steps approached.

“Grimlock, don’t scare us like that,” Krok whispered.

“Where’s Misfire and Fulcrum?” Grimlock asked.

They all looked over when the lift dinged and the door opened, bracing for a fight, or at the very least a plausible explanation. Misfire and Fulcrum ran out, each carrying an armful of rifles. They quickly checked the hallway before dashing over to their waiting friends.

“Sorry, we ran into Huffer,” Misfire said as he handed Grimlock two rifles.

Fulcrum passed a rifle to Krok and started preparing his own. “He didn’t even see us until you shot at him. And hit.”

Misfire grinned. “I got him good, though, right?”

“Quiet!” Krok looked around. “Everybody ready?” The entire group nodded. “Okay, go.”

They snuck around the corner and entered Medibay. First Aid sat in his office in the back typing up a report while Nickel tended to Spinister.

Misfire pointed his rifle towards the back of Medibay. “Alright, nobody move!”

Nickel facepalmed.

Spinister sat up. “Aww, you’re breaking me out!”

First Aid got up from his desk. “What’s going on?”

Misfire turned towards the CMO. “Don’t move or I’ll shoot.” His finger slipped, and he shot a round past First Aid’s shoulder. “Whoops.”

First Aid looked around at the glob of paint running down the wall. “Well, that’s a new one.”

Spinister slid off the berth and took the rifle Grimlock handed him. “Krok, how are we going to split into two teams with seven?”

“I think we have bigger concerns at the moment.”

First Aid had pulled his energy rifle from subspace and trained it on them. “Look, no one takes patients out of my Medibay before I say so. This is set to stun, but it’s not pleasant, so please stand down.”

“Doc, please.” Krok held out a hand towards First Aid. “Spinister will be just fine with us. We have our own ways of helping him out.”

First Aid relaxed his aim slightly. “That may very well be, but he attacked a crewmember, so he’s my responsibility. Why didn’t you just come and talk to me?”

“Because—”

A paintball round hit First Aid directly in the chest. Slightly stunned, First Aid shot back and missed Spinister, hitting Fulcrum and sending him unconscious to the floor.

Spinister looked down at his fallen crewmate. “Well, that evens that up.”

“Why did you even shoot… Oh, never mind.” Krok picked up Fulcrum and threw him over his shoulder. “Go!” They scrambled out of the Medibay, shooting more rounds at the CMO to cover their escape.

First Aid wiped a rainbow of paint off of his face before calling the security team. While he waited, he dialed in a frequency to his communicator. “Ratchet? You’re not going to believe this.”

Ratchet picked up immediately. “Try me.”

“The Scavengers just broke Spinister out of Medibay with paintball rifles. They also gave me a new color scheme.”

“Funny you should mention that. We’ll be right up.”

By the time Drift and Ratchet reached Medibay, the security team was leaving with only Ultra Magnus left talking to First Aid. “So you really don’t think they meant any harm?”

“Honestly, I think it’s just like what you said before,” First Aid said. “They just want to be together.”

“What happened?” Ratchet sloshed paint onto the floor as he approached.

“The Scavengers—” Minimus Ambus raised a brow when he looked over at the rainbowed Ratchet. “What happened to you?”

Ratchet folded his arms. “Apparently, part of the same incident.”

Minimus Ambus shook his helm. “The Scavengers have been at the center of a few incidents these past few days. Our current theory is that they are too spread out across the ship and need to live closer together. Megatron talked to them, and then this happened.” He gestured towards First Aid, who still had paint dripping down him.

“The only other thing I can think of is that Spinister said something about two teams,” First Aid said.

“Teams?” Ratchet asked. “Don’t tell me they just broke him out to have a paintball fight.”

“I’m not sure. I—” Minimus Ambus put his finger to his audial. “The security team has cornered them on deck sixteen. I need to go.”

They all looked over when the Medibay doors started to close, picking up a bit of paint left by someone standing on the threshold.

Drift was gone.

Ratchet swore.

Chapter Text

Krok felt the weight of everyone’s optics on his frame. After they had broken Spinister out of Medibay, the Scavengers had taken the lift up to deck sixteen, trying to find a sufficiently empty portion of the ship for their paintball fight. They hadn’t counted on the security team finding them so quickly, and the ensuing panic had driven them into a dead end. But their inevitable capture never came. As far as he could tell, the security team was holding right around the corner, probably waiting for Ultra Magnus to take command.

He had hoped the Lost Light would be a good home for them. Crankcase had immediately taken to the ship, Misfire had befriended Swerve, and Nickel had started working in Medibay. Despite this, they were still oddballs among oddballs, and the events over the last few days had convinced him that they needed time together to blow off some steam.

That plan had gone spectacularly wrong, which in hindsight, Krok knew he should have expected. They never really did anything quiet, whether it was stealing paintball rifles or getting Spinister out of Medibay. Now they were cornered with limited rounds and a slowly recovering Fulcrum. He wanted to yell at the specific people who had messed up, but he thought better of it; blaming people wouldn’t help them get out of their current situation.

“Attention— The acoustics in this hallway are not up to specification. I’ll make a note to have Blaster check them out.” Minimus Ambus cleared his throat. “Attention Scavengers! Put down your weapons and come out. We just want to talk.”

“Skew yuh,” Fulcrum said loudly.

“Sorry, he’s still waking up,” Krok yelled back to the second-in-command. It had been a shock to all of them to see pieces of Ultra Magnus carried nonchalantly into Medibay after they had defeated the Functionists. Minimus Ambus had introduced himself as one of many who had wielded the armor, which made it even more difficult on the Scavengers, given they had no idea which loadbearer they had been dealing with at any given time throughout the war. It was even stranger now that Minimus Ambus had appeared with the security team without his armor. Maybe he didn’t perceive them as much of a threat?

Misfire knelt down next to Krok. “What are we going to do? None of us want to end up like Fuzzy here,” he said, gesturing to the still recovering Fulcrum.

“I naw fuzz,” Fulcrum protested.

“Fight,” Grimlock suggested.

Crankcase glared at him. “You first.”

“I really thought that drink was going to kill me,” Spinister said. 

Krok had a vague idea of why Spinister had reacted violently in Swerve’s, though the longer he waited to ask, the harder it was for his friend to recall the details of the hallucination. Apparently, Spinster had seen a cube of pink engex burst out into the room as an amorphous blob that tried to engulf him. Since he had checked his weapon at the door, he did the only thing he could and started to attack it, accidentally getting some of it on Gears. Thinking that the blob was going to hurt the minibot, he had thrown him against the wall to kill the creature, but since the rest of the ship wasn’t used to his hallucinations, they had assumed the worst.

Nickel looked up at him, squeezing his hand. “We know. It’s okay. You were having one of your episodes.”

“Minimus,” Krok called. “Just let us go. We were doing a teambuilding activity.”

“You stole weapons, shot at Huffer, threatened First Aid, and broke Spinister out of Medibay,” Minimus Ambus called back.

Krok looked back to see all of the Scavengers looking straight at him, waiting for his response. “What?” He shrugged. “Technically, he’s right.”

They weren’t going anywhere soon though. Nickel slowly rolled towards the end of the hallway, probably looking for any possible alternate way out. Most large ships had maintenance tunnels snaking through them in between decks to facilitate repairs and upgrades, and the Lost Light should have been no different.

“Hey, Grimlock?” Nickel pointed up at a hatch in the ceiling. “Can you lift me up there?”

No sooner had the Dinobot started moving towards her that they all heard a soft creak from above. Nickel backed away slightly as the hatch moved upwards and then over to the side, aiming her rifle up to shoot whomever appeared. The rest of the Scavengers watched, their expressions somewhere between curious and horrified.

Drift popped his helm out of the hole in the ceiling. Seeing a very startled Nickel staring back at him, he held his finger up to his lips. “Shoosh. You want a way out of here?”

“Why would you help us?” Nickel whispered loudly, still training her rifle on him.

Drift rolled his optics. “I’ll explain once I get you out of here.”

Krok walked over next to Nickel and looked up. “Are we all going to be able to fit through that hatch?”

“One way to find out.” Grimlock looked up at Drift. “Move aside.” With the hatch now cleared, he leapt up and pulled himself in most of the way. “Yep.” He lowered himself back down. “Who’s first?”

One by one, Drift and Grimlock helped the rest of the Scavengers up and through the hatch, shutting it behind them. They found themselves standing in an unexpectedly roomy tunnel where most of them either could stand comfortably or bend over slightly to fit. Drift motioned for them to follow him towards a junction with a ladder. He started climbing up, opening the hatch to each deck as he went until they reached the top of the ladder. After crawling through a few more tunnels, Drift opened a hatch on the wall and they slid out into a dimly lit maintenance room.

Grimlock shut the final hatch behind him. “Okay, explain.”

Drift shrugged. “I’m trying to help. I know you’re all new to the crew. I know it’s not easy integrating, and I know it’s even worse when your family gets split apart.”

“And how would you know that?” Krok asked, crossing his arms.

“Because he was like us,” Nickel whispered with widened optics.

“What?” Misfire swung around to look at the medic, his wing narrowly missing Fulcrum who was finally standing on his own.

Nickel looked up at Drift. “Do you want to tell them or should I?” she asked softly. “Because… I know who you really are. Or, rather, were.”

Drift took a deep breath. “They might as well hear it from you,” he said flatly.

“He was a Decepticon. He was Deadlock.”

“No way!” Misfire exclaimed.

“Bah!” Crankcase grumbled.

“Gun crazy, kill his own troops, pray to Primus if you’re ever assigned to him? That Deadlock?” Fulcrum wobbled backwards, bracing himself against a pipe.

“How many people are you?” asked Spinister.

“Calm down!” Krok sighed. He looked at their medic. “How did you know?”

Nickel crossed her arms over her tank. “Because he was on the List,” she said finally, staring at the ground. “We all had to memorize their profiles. I recognized his voice.”

Before Drift had time to react over Nickel having been a member of the DJD, Misfire moved in closer to look him over. “Why did you leave? Why did you change your name? Those are cool swords!”

“Um, thank you?” Drift moved his hands to rest on his two side swords. “Drift was my original designation. Megatron gave me the name Deadlock. I left because the Decepticons were no longer the ones I joined. We never rebuilt. We just kept fighting. It needed to stop.”

“Why help us though?” Krok asked.

“Because that’s the whole reason I joined the war,” Drift said. “I wanted everyone to be able to thrive, to have what I hadn’t.”

Krok had always assumed that Deadlock had been just as power hungry as many of the other powerful Decepticons, but Drift’s reason sounded more like what had convinced many of them to join, to get out of their horribly restricted lives and fight for peace and prosperity. If that was true, then the Decepticons had changed around all of them, not the other way around, and Drift was more like the Scavengers than Krok had ever realized. Moreover, it was now common knowledge that Drift was dating the Autobots’ former CMO, a medic so known for his kindness that some hopelessly ailing Decepticons would go out of their way to be captured to get treatment from Cybertron’s greatest surgeon. If Ratchet felt he could trust Drift…

He decided to take a gamble. “We had our own ship. Now we’re split up, and we can’t relax like we used to because we’re part of another crew. Crankcase complains loudly, Misfire needs to burn off all his excess energy, and Spinister is… himself. It’s just who we are.”

Drift nodded. “So you need your own space, separated from others?”

“Yes.”

“Well…” Drift pulled a tablet out of subspace and started scrolling. “I led us up here because it was sealed off, but that also may be the ideal place for you.”

“Why is it sealed off?” asked Crankcase.

“I think because the area was unfinished,” Drift said. “We now know the ship took off before it was supposed to, which helps explain a lot of its… eccentricities.”

Misfire shrugged. “Eccentric ship, eccentric crew. What are the odds?”

Drift smiled at him. “Precisely.”

Krok walked over to the door and looked through the window at the dimly lit hallway outlined with emergency lights. He touched a panel on the wall, and the door struggled to open, eventually sliding into its socket. He looked back at everyone. “Might as well see what’s up here.” He slowly crept out into the hallway.

Crankcase wasn’t far behind him. “That’s strange. The doors are spread out further. Where exactly are we on the ship?”

“I think it’s deck twenty starboard,” Drift said.

Fulcrum and Misfire stopped in front of one of the doors. Fulcrum started poking random buttons on the door panel. “It’s locked.”

Crankcase approached them. “Let me try.” He typed in a few codes, but the door refused to open. “Even my new codes don’t work.”

Everyone turned towards the former third-in-command.

Drift held up his hands. “Don’t look at me. All my codes got revoked.” He cocked his helm. “But I know someone who might be able to hack their way in.” He keyed in a frequency to his communicator. “Roller? Can I borrow some of your expertise?”

They waited in the dark for what seemed like an eternity, walking as far as they could down the hallway and punching random buttons to get anything to work. Just as they started getting really bored, the lights came on.

“They’ve found us!” Fulcrum cried.

“It’s okay, it’s me.” Roller called from around the corner. “I had to hack into the door and then figure out the lights.” He scanned the group, immediately grinning when he spotted Nickel. “Well, hey there.”

Nickel bit her lip. “Hey.”

Krok shook his helm. “When you’re done flirting, can you hack into this door?”

“Heh, yes, I think so?” Roller knelt down at the door and pulled the panel out of the wall, attaching a device that started cycling rapidly through a bunch of Cybertronian symbols. “The cipher is pretty basic, at least it was at the bulkhead door. It’s more like a deterrent than anything actually secure.” The device beeped, and the door slowly slid open. Roller turned on the room’s lights and put the panel back on the wall. 

Misfire was the first to walk into the room. “Wow, this place is huge!”

Multiple berthrooms flanked both the left and right sides of the room. The wall with the door had an empty space cut into it similar to the other kitchenettes on the ship, and a door on the right led to what appeared to be unfinished washracks. However, it was the large window on the far angled wall that drew everyone’s attention.

Crankcase ran to the window and pointed. “It’s the fuel quills!” The Lost Light’s signature red spikes dominated the view to the right. The back of the ship filled the rest of the view, from the dome for the oil reservoir to the four massive glowing engines. Rainbow streaks encompassed the ship as it moved through space with its more traditional stardrive, the quantum engines still charging from the multiversal jump.

“That’s quite the view,” Roller said. “I wonder what this room was for.”

“Guest suite of some kind?” Krok guessed.

Misfire ran from room to room. “Does it matter? It’s ours now!”

Krok surveyed the rest of the room. It wasn’t the Weak Anthropic Principle, but the accommodations were much nicer at least. It had enough room to put in a large couch and several chairs so they could enjoy movies on the retractable viewscreen. Everyone even had a room they could retreat to. He smiled to himself. “Just needs a bit of finish and cleaning.”

Roller grinned. “What are we waiting for?”

A few hours later, Drift found Roller in one of the habsuites, repairing the panel for the berth. “How’s it going?”

Roller grunted as he made a few more connections on the back of the panel. “Almost done.”

“I honestly did not know this was here,” Drift said as he did some final cleaning. “Five rooms and ten berths. Enough for them and a few more.” He looked over at Roller. “In case they intend to adopt more.”

Roller blushed. He quickly closed the panel and joined Drift in wiping down the remaining surfaces. “You know, I can see why Ratchet fell in love with you. You’re both the helpful sort. Doing things when you see it needs to be done, not really waiting for others to tell you what to do.”

Drift felt his cheek vents heat up. “I know. It’s how we met.” He smiled as he remembered Ratchet’s elated face looking down at him when he woke up after his overdose. He knew at first glance that this medic wasn’t one of the passersby who helped just to look good for others. Ratchet had expressed genuine care for him, and Drift had appreciated it, even if the medic had been a bit socially ignorant. “He ran an illegal clinic in the Dead End. He saved my life all those years ago.”

“I helped Ratchet set that whole thing up. Sounds like you ran into some hard times.”

“I’ve led a pretty tumultuous life. How much has he told you about me?”

“Only that he loves you very much.” Roller tossed his now soiled cloth and reached for a new one. “Honestly, I’ve never seen him this way before. He lights up when he talks about you. You connected with him in a way I don’t think anyone else ever has.”

As Drift listened, he started to spiral. Every time he thought about the significance of their relationship or the difference they had made in each others’ lives, his thoughts raced, growing darker at every turn. Every time he had encountered Ratchet as Deadlock, every time he had raged at Ratchet’s ignorance of his situation, every time he had pointed his gun at his future lover. What if he had pulled that trigger?

What if Deadlock came back?

A shout from the hallway brought Drift back to the present. “What was that?”

Misfire ran into the berthroom. “They’ve found us!”

“I thought I locked that door.” Roller followed Misfire out into the hallway and down to the bulkhead door. He knelt down, inspected the panel, and cursed. “Alright, they’re going to be through momentarily.”

“Everyone, find a doorway and get set up,” Krok said.

“Do you have extra rifles?” Roller asked.

“No. We only got enough for us,” Krok said. “Sorry.”

Misfire went over to Drift, who had been watching from the back, and patted him on the shoulder, causing him to flinch slightly. “We should at least give one to Drift here. He’d probably take all of them out with one shot blindfolded or something.” He offered his rifle over. “Here, you can have mine.”

Drift felt the urge to reach for it but stopped himself. Dai Atlas had made him a Knight of the Circle of Light, and in following with their traditions, he had forsaken all weapons beside blade and sword. But I’m the only one here, so why can’t I make up my own rules?

It had made sense for a long time that becoming a Knight had meant more than just giving up guns. It had meant giving up his chaotic and self-destructive ways. 

It had meant giving up Deadlock.

That had been the goal all along, but while swords required getting up front and personal with the enemy, killing was still killing. The change really had been in the fact that he now tried to disable the enemy as much as possible. What did it matter which weapon he used if he was just as good with a gun as he was with a blade?

And it was only a paintball rifle.

He shook those thoughts away. He wasn’t ready to deal with them yet. “You should be the one defending your home, not me.” He didn’t exactly want to go up against any of his crewmates with his swords, or fists for that matter, especially with this level of misunderstanding, but was there any way he could help? “Here, get into cover and show me your stance.”

Misfire took position in one of the doorways and aimed at where the security team would be breaking through.

Drift walked around him, making minor adjustments to his aim. “That should work better.” 

That certainly won’t violate my oath, will it?

The door jerked slightly ajar. The rest of the Scavengers took their positions in the doorways. Roller stood up against the wall by the door while Drift ducked into the room Misfire and Fulcrum defended.

The door opened with no one on the other side.

Suddenly, Fortress Maximus appeared from around the corner, running at top speed and firing paintball rounds at anyone he saw. The Scavengers covered him with paint, but he kept going through the bulkhead door threshold, right up until he tripped over Roller’s waiting pede and hit the ground hard.

Cerebros and Red Alert weren’t far behind, firing downrange from behind the bulkhead. Misfire aimed at Cerebros, but before he fired, Drift pushed his rifle slightly downwards with the tip of his sword. A round hit Cerebros in the helm, and he exaggeratedly fell to the floor. “You got me!”

“I got someone!” Misfire yelled as Red Alert shot him square in the chest. He threw himself down to the ground. “Avenge me!”

Despite all the paint on the floor, Fortress Maximus had managed to stand up and tackle Grimlock, bringing them both back down to the deck. Roller jumped in to try to help restrain him, followed by a death from above blow from Nickel.

Red Alert remained in position and continued taking shots at the remaining Scavengers. He managed to shoot Fulcrum in the chest before Spinister, Crankcase, and Krok finished him off with several salvos to his chest.

Krok peeked out from his cover but saw no other pursuers.

Loud laughter filled the hallway. Surprisingly, it was coming from Fortress Maximus, who was still pinned to the ground. “I haven’t had that much fun in a while.”

Krok went over to him and knelt down. “So you aren’t trying to arrest us?”

“Arrest? Nah. Once Magnus found out you had escaped them, he decided to call in some experts. When we found out what had happened, we suggested meeting you with equal force.” Fortress Maximus wiped a bunch of paint off of his face. “Why didn’t you run when you heard us?”

Krok offered a hand to pull Fortress Maximus up. “We had to defend our home.”

“Home?”

“Let me show you.” Krok led the enforcer over to their newly occupied habsuite.

Fortress Maximus peered inside, just enough to not let paint drip over the threshold. He whistled. “I can see why. Any chance there’s another one just like it?”

“There seem to be several on this deck,” Krok said. “You sure you want to live near us?”

“Well…” Fortress Maximus turned to Cerebros and Red Alert, moving aside to let them look at the room. “What do you think?”

“Nice view and a lot of room,” Cerebros said. “Red? We don’t have to decide—”

“Yes.” There was an unfamiliar confidence in Red Alert’s voice. “At least we know our neighbors already.” Everyone laughed.

Drift and Roller enjoyed the exchange from the other end of the hall, turning around when they heard pedesteps approaching.

“Seems like they found their own rooms.” Megatron tried and failed to dodge the paint on the floor before looking at Drift. “Though it appears they had some help. If I had to make a guess, you pulled them through the maintenance tunnels.”

Drift nodded. “What’s going to happen to them? Certainly the rest of the crew isn’t going to be happy seeing this unaddressed.”

“I had a long chat with First Aid,” Megatron said. “He was more upset that they didn’t come to talk to him about Spinister’s condition. He’s fine with letting this go, provided Spinister gets regular checkups from Nickel.” He smiled as he watched the Scavengers talk excitedly about their new home. “As for the rest of the infractions, I think they’ve largely been taken care of by giving them their own space.” He looked back at Drift and Roller. “You two did good work today.” His communicator buzzed. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to debrief Minimus on the situation.”

Drift watched as Megatron headed towards the lift. All in all, it had been a good day. They had gotten not one but two groups better habsuites, and he had gotten to get to know Roller a bit better. But the whole experience had left him unsettled in a way he couldn’t quite put into words, right up until he noticed that he had been unconsciously rubbing his fingers together. He realized why almost immediately.

His trigger finger itched.

“You wanted to see me?” Ratchet asked as he entered Brainstorm’s lab.

Brainstorm clasped his hands together. “Yes! I’m ready to run the identification of the sentio metallico through the database. Swerve analyzed it and said it was around seven million years old, but so hopefully we have enough data to identify the person. It should only take just a moment.” He pressed a few buttons, and the computer screen displayed the search progress.

Perceptor walked over and crossed his arms. “Ratchet, I heard Drift made it possible for all of the Scavengers to live together in another area of the ship. It has made these recent days quite peaceful.”

“Yeah, they were all pretty excited to get their own area where they can be as loud as they want.” Ratchet sighed happily. Both Drift and Roller had gotten compliments on how they had handled the situation, even from Megatron and Minimus Ambus. It was working out better than what he had hoped when he had originally brought Drift back from exile.

“That’s strange.” Brainstorm leaned in towards the computer console and pressed a few buttons. He shook his helm. “It usually doesn’t take this long.”

Perceptor leaned in and checked the monitors. “It’s using up almost all of the available processors and memory. Medical searches of this nature are usually properly indexed, but the computer is acting like it’s having to scan through every single one of the records.”

“There! You see?” Brainstorm pointed at one of the diagnostic displays. “The index is corrupted. The manual search is trying to work around that.”

Ratchet crossed his arms. “We haven’t had any issues with medical searches of any kind.”

“It could be that it’s due to the search itself,” Perceptor said. “Perhaps you have never tried to search for this sequence before.”

The computer beeped. It showed zero results.

“So we have no idea who this is.” Ratchet sighed. “I suppose that’s not surprising, given that this ship is over five million years old.”

“That’s the thing though,” Brainstorm said. “The ship’s database was intact, and there were no signs of corruption of any of the records. It holds a lot of data that we don’t have anymore since it’s sat undisturbed away from the war. If this person was a resident of this ship, the database would have known about them.”

“This is truly perplexing,” said Perceptor.

Ratchet frowned at the two scientists. “Disturbing, more like.”

Chapter Text

Three months ago…

The sunrise on Necroworld brought an end to the painful night and a sign that despite what had happened, the stranded crew would need to move on. They had taken the time for themselves to rest from their wounds, mourn their dead, and begin to accept what had occurred over the last day. 

Drift found Rodimus on a balcony near the top of the fortress, staring out over the now silent battlefield. He was both hunched over and squeezing the railing, likely somewhere between utterly exhausted and enraged at Getaway.

“Roddy?”

His friend slowly turned around to look, wrinkles under his hazy optics and a very forced half smile. Drift walked over to stand by him in silence for a few moments, the both of them taking in the sea of green grass and blue flowers on the alien organic world.

Of all people, it had been Brainstorm who had pulled Drift aside shortly before dawn to warn him about the significance of the flowers. He nodded and thanked the scientist, silently resolving that there was no need to look at his own statue. He already knew of the volume of his crimes; seeing the flowers would not change the actions he was already taking. As he walked back to the fortress Medibay, the full implications of the DJD’s demise hit him, and as soon as he entered, he collapsed crying in Ratchet’s arms, relieved of the final burden of his defection ten thousand years ago. The medic held him for a long time after that, all the while never saying a single word.

Drift shakily took in a deep breath, still recovering from his prior outburst. “I honestly thought I was going to die last night,” he said slowly. “I was fortunate to have made peace with many of the things that troubled me.”

Rodimus shook his helm. “Not everyone was so lucky. Did you see Nautica this morning?”

Drift frowned. He was still trying to learn the names and faces of the new crewmembers. “Nautica… Velocity’s amica?”

Rodimus merely nodded.

“She fell asleep next to Skids’ frame. I helped Ratchet lift her into one of the berths so she could recharge.” Drift shook his helm. “She was exhausted. The grief must have burnt through her reserves.” He looked at Rodimus. “Who was Skids to her?”

“I’m not sure. I thought they were amica, but now I think there was something unsaid between them.”

Drift shivered. “That’s even worse.” Even after many millions of years of war, feelings still frequently went unrequited. Some people learned to express themselves to their loved ones, but many never did and regretted it for the rest of their lives. He counted himself amongst the latter group, still struggling to open up after millions of years of hurt and betrayal. “Roddy, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“Ratchet and I are… involved.”

Rodimus grinned as he snapped his fingers. “Knew it.”

Drift folded his arms. Ratchet and he had agreed to keep things quiet, at least during the crisis, but apparently they hadn’t done enough to hide it from Rodimus. “How?”

“Let’s see… You stand closer to one another, you touch each other more, but you artificially shy away from one another when you know others are watching, presumably out of respect for them.” So Rodimus hadbeen paying attention, at least this time. “So how long has this been going on?”

The tension started to leave Drift’s frame. Rodimus was taking it as well as he had hoped. “About a month. The break gave us an opportunity to sort some things out.”

Rodimus wrapped an arm around Drift and pulled him closer. “That’s great! I was wondering when you two would figure it out.”

“Well, not everything, but it’s a start.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a few things I haven’t told him yet.” Drift hesitated, a single word and its implication weighing on him. Was he really ready to say it out loud, in some sense to make it real? “I think I’m in love with him.”

Rodimus almost looked annoyed for a second. “What’s stopping you from telling him?”

Drift wished he could deny that Ratchet still didn’t listen to him as much as he wanted. The last month had otherwise been a dream come true, intensely fulfilling the desire long held between them. “There are still a few things between us that I’m not sure we’re going to be able to resolve. And I don’t know if he’s in love with me, and I really don’t want to lose what we have.” Drift closed his optics. “I’ve lost so much already.”

Rodimus grabbed both of Drift’s shoulders and turned his friend to face him. “And that’s why you need to tell him. We are in constant danger. You know that. At any moment, any of us could die. You say you’ve been fortunate to make peace with things, but you’re not making peace with the one person you should.”

Drift shook his helm. “For all I know, it’s just going to be another fling for him!” The words suddenly seemed strange, like he had voiced an irrational fear that had just resurfaced. Ratchet had expressed a desire for a longer term relationship a few days before they had spent their first night together, and his actions over the past month had spoken of nothing but love and devotion, but life had ripped everything out of Drift’s hands before, and he wasn’t keen on feeling that pain all over again.

“Drift.” Rodimus gently folded Drift’s hands in his. “He loves you. I’ve lost count of the times he’s yelled at me on your behalf. He left everything behind to find you.” He gently squeezed. “Please promise you’ll tell him soon.”

Rodimus had many faults, but one of his strengths was reading people. Drift took a deep breath. He had to learn to trust his best friend again. “I will. I just need to do it in my own way.”

Now

The blast nearly hit Drift in the helm. He dashed towards a large rock and slid behind it as the turret fired again. He mentally flipped open his internal radio channel. “Roddy, where are you?”

“Almost there.” The distinct clank of an EMP mine attaching to metal was quickly followed by a transformation cog firing off, a loud engine at top speed heading off into the distance, and then the loud thunk of the mine, thankfully spinning the tank down to a standstill.

Drift carefully peeked out from his hiding place to see the tank’s hatch pop open and several humanoids climb out of it, throwing down their fried sidearms and putting their hands up in a sign of surrender. 

Rodimus transformed and walked over, inspecting the crew before opening his own channel. “South ridge is secure.” He paused. “Rodimus to Lost Light, do you read me?”

Drift ran up to him. “They’re still jamming us?”

“Apparently.” Rodimus looked around the flat grassy area. The only sound came from the wind ruffling the blades of the blue-green grass. Drift could understand why Mes Norpta was so desirable. It was rich with organic resources, from its large fields of grass to its warm deep oceans, making it a prime terraforming candidate. 

Two weeks prior, long range sensors detected what appeared to be a large advanced multi-system civilization only fifty light years away from their position, so the Lost Light had crawled on its standard stardrive towards the area, still waiting on the quantum drive to recharge. Just as they were arriving, they received a distress call and immediately diverted course to assist. A relatively new Dorcaran colony had come under attack from a large unknown force intent on taking the planet for themselves.

“We should try to catch up with some of the others,” Drift suggested. “Maybe try the east front?”

Rodimus pouted. It wasn’t surprising; the east front was Thunderclash’s area. They had arrived at the planet too late to contain the enemy forces, requiring them to split up to take back parts of the planet, not to mention send a shuttle back to try and locate the source of the jamming. Their forces were spread pretty thin, and while most of the crew were in groups of two, Thunderclash had volunteered to go alone. “Yeah, let’s go catch up with ‘Thunders,’” he said, the nickname coming out a bit more forcefully than usual.

Drift took one more look back at the enemy combatants before transforming and following Rodimus down the road. There was really nothing else they could do with so few forces. It was going to have to be enough that they had disabled the tank and weapons.

“The invaders are taking a lot of risks,” Rodimus said as Drift caught up to him.

“They do seem desperate. Remember that massive flotilla our sensors picked up near the edge of the system? I had a chance to analyze them on the way down. They weren’t warships. They were nearly all civilian and cargo transports.”

“You think they’re refugees?”

“Yeah, but it’s like they’ve run out of options and decided it was better to invade an existing colony instead of finding their own.”

Rodimus started to pull away. 

“You okay?” Drift asked.

“Why?”

“Because you drive faster when you’re upset.” Drift mentally reconfigured his engine output to try to match his friend’s speed but still struggled to keep up. “Worried about Thunderclash?”

“Yeah,” Rodimus blurted out. “I mean, that’s not what I was thinking about. Remembering Nyon, that’s all. I’m fine.”

Nyon had always troubled Rodimus. It had been his home, and while most of the crew knew what losing their home felt like, it had hit him especially hard, since he had been the one to blow it up to stop Zeta Prime. Usually the best way to get Rodimus out of his current state was to distract him. Drift had been meaning to ask him about Thunderclash anyway; it was as good a distraction as any. He gently bumped up against him. “You know you can ask Thunderclash to stop flirting with you and he would.”

“I know,” Rodimus growled through his engine.

“And yet you don’t, which means only one thing.”

“Don’t.”

“You like him.”

Rodimus revved hard, and by the sound of it, probably nearly hit his redline. “But why me? He must have seen that I didn’t like him. He’s not that dense! And on top of that, he’s notorious for turning everyone down!”

“Tell that to Ratchet.”

Rodimus squealed to a halt, leaving distinct tire marks on the road. “What.”

“Whoops.”

Rodimus transformed and walked over to Drift, crossing his arms. “What do you mean, ‘Whoops?’”

Drift transformed. “Who do you think gave him the name ‘Thunders?’”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Rodimus wore a thousand-light-year stare for a moment before he shook his helm. “Well, that explains a few things.”

Drift gave his friend a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I had the same reaction.” 

“I’m surprised this wasn’t on the front page of the Lost Light Insider,” Rodimus mused. “It’s not like the editors to miss something this big.”

“It’s not a secret, but it was a long time ago.” Drift put his hand on Rodimus’ shoulder and squeezed it gently. “My point is, Thunders does date, but he’s very selective. You’re probably one of the only ones who has neither immediately shown interest in him nor propositioned him, romantically or otherwise.”

His internal radio crackled. “Thunderclash to anyone in range. I’m getting overwhelmed—” An explosion rocked the nearby area, sending up a dust cloud. 

Rodimus must have heard the transmission as well. “Scrap…” He transformed and took off alongside Drift towards the disturbance.

Two months ago…

“What is with you and losing arms?”

Rodimus mockingly grimaced at Drift, who was standing over him while he lay on a berth in Medibay. His friend had sustained minor battle damage defending Ratchet opening his Matrix, but Rodimus had lost an arm and had been forced to open the Matrix with his denta. Not that he was going to tell anyone; maybe it would save Megatron’s life if everyone believed he had opened it. “What was it you say? ‘Be shoosh?’”

Drift grinned. “Something like that.”

Despite the damage, there was no strain or tension in Drift’s frame. He seemed light on his pedes and even a bit… bubbly? That usually wasn’t a word you would use to describe the former Decepticon and bounty hunter, even at his most cheerful. “You’re in a good mood. What happened?”

“You were right.” Everything about Drift lit up even more. His optics shone brighter, he was definitely bouncing a bit, and that grin was nowhere near disappearing. “We confessed to each other.”

Finally! Rodimus had grown to love his simultaneously taciturn and lovesick crew, but their reluctance to admit their feelings to each other sometimes drove him up the wall. “See? And usually you’re the one telling others to be impulsive. It took the potential end of existence as we know it to get you two together. I can’t wait to see what mood Ratchet’s in.”

“Rodimus!” Ratchet swayed over to the berth to inspect the lack of Rodimus’ arm. “I’ll get this fixed up right away.”

Rodimus gave Drift a sidelong glance. “You broke him.”

“He did no such thing. Yet.” Ratchet winked at Drift.

“Do you two need a room? Is the secondary ward empty?”

Drift bit his lip. “It was earlier…”

Rodimus’ optics went wide.

“Oh, relax, captain.” Ratchet started welding on a replacement arm. “We didn’t have time for much.” Still welding, he looked up at Drift and met his gaze with half-closed optics. “Just enough to properly communicate, given how we can’t seem to do it with words.”

Drift crossed his arms. “You interrupted me!”

“You trailed off. I knew what you meant.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who told me never to finish his sentences.”

“I didn’t finish your sentence! But if I had waited, we might have been dead long before you finished your dissertation.”

“When we get home, I’ll show you a dissertation!”

“I hope so!”

Rodimus loved watching them bicker. Gone were the days of Ratchet angry at Drift for covering his true personality. Gone were the days of Drift frustrated at Ratchet’s dismissal of his spirituality. What was left was the playful banter that both of them seemed to relish, and they weren’t wasting time having it out with one another, now knowing full well now that they truly loved each other. He wished his own part in bringing them together hadn’t been so painful to either of them, but he couldn’t argue with the results. He swung his uninjured arm behind his helm and leaned back more. “My work here is done.”

“Oh, be shoosh!” Drift and Ratchet shouted simultaneously.

Now

Rodimus and Drift crested the hill just in time to see the enemy troops swarm Thunderclash. One of them jumped onto his right shoulder, trying to slip a vibroknife underneath the armor to slice the sensitive cabling underneath. Thunderclash howled and grabbed the soldier, throwing them away. Three more went for his arms, trying to hold him down.

Rodimus launched himself forward and transformed in midair, barely losing speed when he hit the ground. Drift followed close behind him, his two side swords out. Rodimus used his momentum to peel one of the combatants off of Thunderclash’s left arm, freeing him enough to start pulling the others off his right arm. Drift charged the main crowd, slicing through a few before they got the point and started retreating.

Thunderclash doubled over, breathing heavily. “Thanks.”

A bit of energon trickled down the right side of Thunderclash’s helm. “Are you alright?” Rodimus asked. “You’re bleeding.”

Thunderclash raised his hand to where Rodimus was pointing and wiped off some energon, examining it. “It’s just superficial.”

Rodimus leaned in. “That is not superficial. They got through your armor and nearly hit your audial!”

Thunderclash straightened up and gave Rodimus a warm grin. “Don’t worry, captain. You got here just in time to save the day.”

“They’ll be back,” Drift said, watching them disappear over the horizon. “We really need to get in contact with the ship. Or at least the rest of the teams.”

The ground started to shake violently, the rumble growing louder by the second.

“The Pit was that?” Rodimus yelled over the din.

“Nothing good,” Thunderclash yelled back.

The three of them ran towards the source of the shaking. They paused at the edge of a cliff looking into the valley below. A massive machine, almost as wide as the valley itself, crawled through the greenery, uprooting it as it advanced.

“What is that?” Rodimus zoomed in on the machine. It seemed oddly familiar, like something he had seen recently. “I think it’s one of the Dorcaran terraforming machines. I remember one from the briefing.”

“I thought they said their terraforming process was complete,” Drift said. 

“Yeah, the machines were waiting for pickup for the next colony, so they wanted us to be careful not to damage them.” Rodimus’ tank sank. “Which means—”

Drift pointed. “Look off to the west.”

They all turned. The valley opened up to a massive population center.

“Their desperation will be their undoing!” Thunderclash declared. “We have to stop that thing, no matter the cost!” He dropped down, transforming and driving at top speed towards the terraforming machine.

Rodimus nearly gagged before turning towards Drift. “Do you two use the same quote book as Optimus?”

“You’re one to talk. How many times have you said ‘Till all are one!’ today?”

“I’ve been better!”

The two speedsters transformed and chased after Thunderclash, struggling to catch up in the deep grass. When they finally pulled up behind him, he was already near the back of the terraforming machine, looking for any way to board it. He transformed, and with a few big steps, leapt up to a recessed platform and held out his hand. Drift used his momentum to simultaneously transform and somersault onto the vehicle without assistance, but Rodimus was rapidly losing speed on the uneven terrain.

Thunderclash leaned out as far as he could with his hand. “Transform! I’ve got you!”

Rodimus put on a final burst of speed and then transformed into a run, and with one last leap, he grabbed the outstretched hand. He flew directly into Thunderclash’s chest knocking them both slightly into the dark alcove. Now held tight by his teammate’s other arm, Rodimus’ core temperature skyrocketed. “Uh, thanks,” he finally managed.

Thunderclash slowly started removing his arm. “Anytime, captain.”

Something fundamental had changed. Rodimus’ thoughts of Thunderclash used to taste like noxious fuel, but now it was a different mix, sweet and spicy and energizing. So he was now attracted to the Greatest Autobot of All Time, so what? It wasn’t like he was going to pursue it or anything, right?

So why didn’t he want to let go of Thunderclash’s hand?

Drift popped his helm into the alcove, a suspicious grin on his face. “You two following or what?”

The three of them started scaling the terraforming machine. Once they reached the top, they ran as fast as they could towards the front. Rodimus and Thunderclash both started descending down the side to gain entrance to the cab, but when they looked back, Drift wasn’t there. 

Rodimus climbed back up to find his friend still on the top of the machine. “Drift! Come on!”

“You see if you can stop this thing,” Drift yelled at Rodimus. “I’ll try to get ahead of it just in case.”

“In case what?” Rodimus yelled back, but Drift was already gone. “Scrap…” The city was approaching rapidly; he didn’t have time to go after his friend now. He climbed down to find the entire side of the cab torn off.

Thunderclash had reached inside to corner the crew and had trapped them under his fingers. “How do we stop this thing?” 

They all stared back at him angrily. “Figure it out yourself,” one of the crew spat.

“We don’t have time for this,” Thunderclash muttered. “Captain, I can’t fit in there. See if you can get the engine to shut down.”

“Got it!” Rodimus paused briefly. The only way he could get in was to squeeze himself between the edge of the opening and Thunderclash’s frame. He took a deep breath and maneuvered himself through the tight space, desperately trying to not think of anything but the mission. “Sorry…”

Thunderclash shook his helm. “No need.”

Rodimus crawled across the cramped space to scan the alien controls but couldn’t make sense of any of them. The buttons were too small for his fingers, so he yanked a pipe off the wall and used it to press a button. They lurched forward.

Thunderclash swung himself back after nearly losing his grip. “Captain—”

“I know! I know!” Rodimus stabbed what seemed like the opposite button, and the machine thankfully slowed down. He kept stabbing it to no effect. “No good.” He found what looked like a steering yoke, but he couldn’t break it free even with his size. “No turning this thing either.”

Thunderclash winked at Rodimus. “Well, there’s always brute force.”

Drift practically fell down to the ground as he transformed into car mode, slipping as he tried to grip the grassy ground. He started accelerating to his top speed, narrowly outpacing the terraforming machine. Suddenly it sped up, forcing him to redline to compensate. He cried out in pain as he felt his engine start to give out but felt immediate relief when he finally overtook it as it slowed back down.

He drove a significant distance more ahead of it, transforming back and running as he reached back and fumbled in his subspace for his Great Sword. Finding the grip, he grasped it and pulled, signaling to his smart clasp to let it go. Now freed, he pulled the full length of the sword out of subspace, the blade becoming visible in his hand and glinting in the sun. He looked back at the terraforming machine, and, spotting what looked like the engine, he curved his course back towards it.

Lighting his Great Sword had always been a rare occurrence and more often than not had been more instinct than anything. Still, he closed his optics and started to control his breathing to focus his spark into the jewel. He felt a few sparks but nothing ignited. He focused harder. Nothing. 

“Damnit!” he screamed. 

Nothing.

Drift couldn’t even feel the jewel anymore, the requirement for focusing his spark energy into the blade. It was useless now, just a chunk of old metal. The machine kept approaching the city. If Rodimus and Thunderclash hadn’t stopped it by now, no one else would be able to save the citizens. They had put their faith in the crew of the Lost Light to help them, and now…

More broken faith. With society, with revolution, with resistance, even with family…

No more.

He knew what he had to do. He pointed his unpowered blade towards the engine compartment and started running directly towards it.

Sorry, Ratchet…

As he charged, time slowed as if in a dream, and he heard a vaguely familiar voice.

You still have a lot to learn.

Something hit him from the side. It threw him clear of the terraforming machine and onto the ground. Just before he blacked out, he heard the engine explode and the machine grind to a halt.

Drift awoke to the sound of his sensornet rebooting after the explosion had overwhelmed it. He opened his optics to see Rodimus similarly waking up on top of him. His best friend gave him a big grin. “Couldn’t let you go all self-sacrifice on me. Ratchet would kill me. Or worse.”

Drift blinked and looked over at the smoking wreckage. “But how?”

Rodimus beamed. “Thunderclash did some destructive maintenance.”

They heard a cough from behind them as a slightly singed Thunderclash dismounted from the terraforming machine. Just as he started walking towards them, a mob of residents crowded around him. 

“Yes, you are very welcome,” Thunderclash grinned at them. “But really it was a team—”

“What’s your name?” one of the children asked.

“Er, my name is Thunderclash, and—”

“Yay, Thunderclash!” The crowd joined the child in chanting. More citizens streamed out of the city to surround him.

Rodimus stood while watching them. “Did you see that?”

Drift closed his optics and sighed. “Roddy, not this again.”

“They didn’t even listen to him.” Rodimus’ voice was very distant. “He tried to tell them we did it together, but they didn’t even listen.”

Drift stood up, sheathed his Great Sword, and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“Does he have, like, an aura?”

“Everyone has an aura, Roddy.”

“No, like some charisma aura… charismara? Something where it just overwhelms everyone?”

“I’m not aware of anything like that, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.” Drift shrugged. “Though it could just be that they are still in a bit of shock.”

Rodimus elbowed his friend. “Now you’re sounding like Ratchet.”

“Why are you asking anyway?”

“Because…” Rodimus remained focused on Thunderclash interacting with the Dorcarans. It was only further evidence that Drift had been right; there was something brewing between them. Only time would tell how it would play out; his friend didn’t fall in love that often, but this could end up being one of those exceptions.

After a while, Rodimus shook his helm. “Never mind. It’s probably nothing.”

“Again, we want to express our gratitude for saving our colony.”

Megatron looked nervously down at the Dorcaran. He was going to have to get used to this. “Yes, of course. It is what we do, after all.” He looked out at the invaders being escorted onto spaceships. “We have rounded up the rest of the enemy forces and will make sure they rendezvous with the main Dorcaran military.”

Bren clasped her clawed hands behind her and twisted her ears. Her calm and reliable leadership had gotten everyone through the chaos of the last few days. She had shown remarkably restrained frustration at the planetary defense equipment being delayed in transit, which had made Nes Norpta an unfortunately easy target. “Yes, they must answer for what they did, but I am concerned about their desperation.” She swished her tail rapidly. “Did you hear what was on the rest of their ships?”

“Yes,” Megatron said. “Families and rapidly dwindling supplies. Many of their ships could not even travel to the next star system. They threw all of their offensive capability at taking over this world because they were starving, and now they have nothing.”

Bren looked up at the captain of the Lost Light. She didn’t even come up to Megatron’s waist, but she showed such rare bravery to someone as intimidating as he could be. “Ultimately, the Starfarer’s Guild will find them a suitable home. In exchange, the Xuloxals have offered their star charts and scientific data.” She shook her head. “We have seen more than a few species come through our systems recently, desperate and dying, all from the same region of space. That’s why it’s taking a bit for the military to arrive. They’re stretched so thin these days.”

Megatron gave her a small smile. There were not many species so generous, but then again, the Dorcarans were wealthy due to their spacefaring nature. Perhaps if the Decepticons had not been so power hungry, they could have found similar species closer to home. “Your people have good sparks.”

Bren’s eyes went wide. “What did you say?”

Megatron furrowed his brow. “I suppose it’s lost in translation. I think humans would say, ‘Your people have good hearts.’”

“But you speak of a spark. Where are you from?”

“A planet named Cybertron.”

Bren gasped. “We thought you were all wiped out.”

Rage flashed through Megatron. He forced himself to remain calm; there could be multiple explanations. “Wiped out? What do you mean?” 

Bren grasped Megatron’s hand with her tiny claws and looked into his optics. “More than a thousand years ago, the remnants of your kind passed through our space, hunted by a species we did not recognize. We tried to help, but… I’m sorry.”

In a universe dominated by organics, genocide was a fear that many Cybertronians shared. In retaliation, Megatron had directed the Decepticons to commit the very same crimes they feared could be used against them, which had only exacerbated the situation. To know they had succeeded in this universe… “It’s… complicated.”

“Please, allow me to tell the others at the celebration,” Bren said. “Many will be glad of your return.”

After a minute, Megatron nodded. They both walked towards the city and into the central plaza, where he joined the rescue team talking with members of the crowd. 

Bren got up on stage and approached the podium. “Please, may I have your attention?” She waited for the crowd to settle down. “I want to give a special thanks to our heroes from the Lost Light as they have saved our families and dens. The universe has truly blessed you with an impressive ship, and our government would like to extend their gratitude by offering to repair or refit your ship if and when you see the need. The docks on Ad Dorcara are some of the most renowned in this region and would gladly take on such a project.”

The crowd applauded and cheered.

Bren took a deep breath as her brown fur bristled. “But there is something more I should tell you. Just now, one of their crew told me that they hail from a planet named Cybertron.” The crowd murmured excitedly. “Many of you know the legends. A thousand years ago, a ship of Cybertronians came through our waterways, and though they were persecuted, even with their last sparks, they helped many of us in our time of need. The crew of the Lost Light carries with them the same spirit. So, we welcome you, new Knights of Cybertron, and wish you well on your journey!”

The roar of the crowd filled the city as they rushed to thank the rescue team.

Beside Megatron, Rodimus stared at the podium, mouth still agape. “No way…” He elbowed Drift, who was standing next to him, looking just as shocked. “You remember that video Rewind did? Where you said—”

“We would become the Knights of Cybertron…” Drift sounded distant. “Yes, I remember. Did the translator error out or something? I could have sworn she said only a thousand years ago.”

“Different universe, right? And we’re all the way across the galaxy from Cybertron. Maybe they took that long to get here?”

“And didn’t succumb to disease?”

“I dunno.” Rodimus shrugged. “Maybe they found a cure or something.”

“Still…” Drift tapped his fingers to his lips in thought. “Something’s not adding up.”

The Dorcarans had allowed the Lost Light to land and had even assisted them in boosting the recharge on the quantum engines. Rodimus sat with Drift on the top of the ship, watching the sunset.

Drift lightly tapped the back of Rodimus’ hand. “What’s that?”

Earlier, Rodimus had poked his helm into Lug’s new shop. It had been still fairly sparse since she had just moved in, but already there were tools neatly organized into boxes and a few sample designs on the wall. Lug had bounced over to him and then showed him to an open chair in the center of the room.

“I would like you to etch all three of Drift’s swords here,” Rodimus had requested, pointing at the back of his hand. “The Great Sword and the two side ones, in a nice pattern.”

Back on the roof of the Lost Light, Rodimus displayed the three sword design to Drift. “It’s so I remember the important things. It worked so well last time when I carved the votes into my hand that I thought I might try it again.”

Drift blinked several times, fighting back tears. “I… wow, this is… to etch this into your frame… you don’t know how much this means to me.”

Rodimus threw his arm around Drift. “I wasn’t a good friend to you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t listen to you, and I took you for granted, and I almost lost you. Well, not this time. I got a second chance, and I’m going to make sure I take it, and this is going to remind me of how important you are to me.”

Drift’s shocked look gradually turned to a smile. He threw his arm around Rodimus’ waist and leaned on his shoulder. “What you did today spoke volumes.”

“You shouldn’t have done that in the first place! And this is me talking! Those Great Swords are supposed to light, right? So why wasn’t yours?”

Drift was silent for a long while. “Things didn’t exactly go as planned.”

“Yeah, I could see that. Look, Drift…” Rodimus pulled him closer with his etched hand. “Your life is just as important as everyone else’s. A lot of people on this ship would have done exactly what you did today, and we can’t think like that anymore. We’re more than a crew, we’re a family, and you’re a part of it. And if anyone ever says otherwise, they’ll have to answer to me. And that’s what I should have said to you to stop you from going into exile.”

Drift closed his optics and leaned in further. “Thank you.” 

Rodimus enjoyed the warmth coming off of Drift’s closeness. The mystery of the Knights of Cybertron could wait. For now, he had his best friend, and this time, he was going to do his damndest to keep him.

Chapter Text

As usual, Cyclonus and Tailgate picked the busiest time to go to Swerve’s. It wasn’t Cyclonus’ favorite time to go, preferring a more quiet and contemplative sip of engex, but since all of Tailgate’s friends usually showed up then, it was reason enough for him to tag along. The music nearly shook the place, but the myriad of conversations around the bar almost drowned it out.

Making the Lost Light a permanent home had spurred many of the crew to make changes they had considered but never acted on. Swerve was no different; rumor had it that he had practically begged Ultra Magnus for permission to use the two empty rooms adjacent to the original bar. Construction walls now replaced the original ones in order to keep the bar open, and the crew worked around the clock to prepare the new rooms. Even with the expansion, it wasn’t going to hold the entire crew—that was what the observation deck was for—but it would help alleviate the space issues the bar had faced as it got more popular. With Megatron requesting that “Visages” turn into something more akin to a poetry club, Swerve’s was now the only bar on the Lost Light.

Tailgate gently squeezed Cyclonus’ hand as they entered. “Please, can I tell him?”

Cyclonus smiled, something he was doing more these days. “I suppose it would save us the trouble.” He gazed contentedly at Tailgate bouncing towards the bar before scanning the room for a seat. He caught Whirl waving at him and headed over. The table contained the usual occupants—Chromedome, Rewind, and Brainstorm—but also Perceptor, who looked somewhat engaged but also occasionally distracted. Perceptor had only used to show up when he needed a break from his multiple projects, so Cyclonus suspected that his more regular presence was for Brainstorm more than anything else, with which he could relate in regards to Tailgate.

Whirl turned to Cyclonus as he sat down. “Here, without your paramour? That’s not like you, Cyc.”

“Tailgate is getting the drinks,” Cyclonus said.

“If I had brows, one of them would be cocked.” Whirl attempted and promptly failed to tilt his helm to mimic a brow lift. “Usually, you get the drinks.”

Cyclonus almost broke into a grin but hesitated. “He needed to talk to Swerve.”

Whirl poked Cyclonus with one of his claws. “You’re. Hiding. Something.”

Cyclonus tried to keep most of the emotion out of his voice, but the excitement was starting to be too much for even him. “You’ll see.” He turned his attention towards the bar.

Tailgate climbed up on a barstool and stood on it as he leaned over onto the bar. “Swerve!”

Swerve looked up from cleaning a cube. “Hey, Tailgate! What’s new?”

“I’ve got something I need to talk to you about,” Tailgate said, visually quivering with excitement. He leaned over even further, prompting Swerve to move so Tailgate could whisper to him.

“Careful, Tailgate.” Ratchet sat his engex onto the bar. “Swerve’s calling was almost being a public announcer.”

Swerve shot a look back at the medic. “I’ll have you know, I can keep secrets. I kept that one about that girlfriend you met in Crystal City.”

“Crystal City?” Drift asked. “Ratchet, you’re looking wonderful for being that old.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ratchet said, playfully elbowing his partner. “He means the dance club in Iacon.”

“Actually—” Swerve stopped when Tailgate whispered in his audial. He nodded a couple of times. “YOU’RE GETTING MARRIED!?”

The entire bar gasped, and then immediately started clapping and cheering, running over to congratulate and embrace the couple.

“Cyc, you didn’t tell me you were engaged!” Whirl wrapped his arms around Cyclonus and squeezed hard, slightly shaking him side to side.

“It just happened.” Cyclonus focused hard to maintain his balance. “Telling Swerve the news was the best way to spread it.”

Whirl draped his helm on Cyclonus’ shoulder. “So, are you doing a private ceremony, or are you going to give the ship an excuse for another party?”

“I have not yet talked to Tailgate regarding the ceremony. I do think we would invite a few people to attend, however.” Cyclonus looked towards his friend. “And yes, that means you.”

“Ooh, can I be in your party? Please, please pleeease!”

Cyclonus furrowed his brow. “Party?”

“One of the four friends? The ones who recall the rites?” Whirl leaned in closer. “Oh, is that a recent thing?”

“The conjunxing ceremony of the Clavis Aurea does not have that concept, no,” Cyclonus explained. “Though, finding someone who could properly perform the rituals may be difficult.”

Tailgate ran over and hugged Cyclonus’ leg. “We have to invite the entire ship to the ceremony! It’s going to be amazing!”

Whirl looked down at Tailgate and back up at Cyclonus. “Uh oh.”

Cyclonus hated to admit it, but Whirl had been right to be concerned.

“We can’t have a private ceremony!” Tailgate exclaimed as soon as their habsuite door slid shut. “I know so many people that we might as well invite everyone!”

Cyclonus slowly sat down on their couch, pinching his nose. “I was hoping to go through the Clavis Aurea ritual with you.”

Tailgate shrugged. “What’s stopping us?”

Clavis Aurea rituals rarely involved outsiders. It wasn’t because the order was exclusive, but rather that its members usually only consisted of those forged in Upper Tetrahex. Cyclonus supposed that the order became more insular over time because of the disinterest. “I fear most of the crew would not be able to appreciate its significance.”

Tailgate sat down beside Cyclonus on the couch and leaned into him. “How about this? We have a small ceremony but a big reception. A huge party on the observation deck. Then we each get something.”

Cyclonus put his arm around Tailgate and smiled down at him. “I am fine with that. We just have to find someone to run the ceremony.”

“What about Thunderclash? He knows everything!”

A few minutes later, Cyclonus and Tailgate walked into Thunderclash’s habsuite. It was one of the cleanest habsuites the old warrior had seen. Everything shone as if polished and nothing was out of place. A seemingly uncountable number of metals hung on a board on one wall, and hundreds of pictures of many different people filled the other walls.

Thunderclash motioned for the couple to sit on his couch. He sat down opposite them, mixing a precise amount of copper and palladium into a pot of steaming energon. He poured three cups and handed two of them to his guests. 

Cyclonus slowly sipped his drink and stopped. “This tea is perfect. It has been a long time since I have tasted tea of this quality.”

Thunderclash nodded while cleaning up. “Thank you. I once got trapped in a cave with a group of monks for a few hundred years while on a mission. I decided to view it as a learning experience and became a brewing expert under their tutelage.” He placed the sanitized utensils gently into an ornate box. “Now, how may I be of service?”

“We would like you to perform our conjunx ceremony,” Cyclonus said. “We feel you may be the only person on the ship capable of performing the Clavis Aurea rituals.”

Thunderclash took a sip of his tea and leaned back. “I am somewhat familiar with them, but I’m afraid I am not particularly religious myself. I certainly respect your beliefs as I respect everyone else’s, but I am not sure I would be the best fit.”

“Maybe you can recommend someone?” Tailgate asked.

Thunderclash tapped his glass in thought. “The closest one I can think of is Drift, but he’s a Spectralist, which, if I recall correctly, is long removed from the Clavis Aurea. It’s more of a… unifying faith, or even a philosophy.”

Cyclonus stared past Thunderclash and looked blankly at the wall behind him. Drift was probably his last choice. The young warrior was skilled but arrogant and unstable, and it had been easy to exploit that weakness during their first encounter in the interrogation room. Then again, he could say much the same about Whirl, and they had eventually forged a friendship. He looked down to Tailgate. “What do you think, little one?”

“About Drift?” Tailgate asked. “I’m fine with it, but I think it should be your choice.”

Cyclonus nodded and looked at Thunderclash. “Thank you. We will ask him.”

Breathe with the beat of my spark.

Feel the conduit from my spark to the jewel.

Feel the conduit…

Feel the conduit…

Breathe…

Drift opened his optics and looked down, making doubly sure that the blade remained in his lap as he sat cross-legged on his meditation mat. Sure enough, it was there, still a dead piece of metal. He could see the jewel in the low light of the habsuite, but there was no glow of a channeled spark in it. He sighed and rubbed his face with his hand.

For over a week, he had tried in earnest to light his Great Sword. When he had first inherited it, he had found it easy to at least make a connection with it during meditation, training himself to have it at the ready if he needed it in battle. Wing had failed to draw it in time, and Drift didn’t want to make that same mistake, although in retrospect, he probably drew it more times than was necessary. By the time he joined the Lost Light, he had completely lost the ability to light it on demand, depending solely on it lighting itself by chance, and he couldn’t fathom why it worked in some instances but not others. For years after failing to light it against Overlord, his dreams were haunted with watching the phase sixer kill Ratchet as he was powerless to do anything.

Neither his faith nor his sword had protected them that day.

Drift slowly sheathed the Great Sword back into its subspace holder. He drew his shawl around him, shivering despite sitting in the warm spot by the window. Ratchet continued to be full of surprises. Not only had his new partner recommended the warm spot for meditation, but when he first entered the habsuite after returning from his exile—alone, since Ratchet was still in Medibay—he had discovered to his delight his scratch-built Spectralist staff displayed prominently on the wall like a piece of art. The medic had used his privileges as CMO to save all of Drift’s belongings, fabricating wall hangers for the staff and gently stowing the crystals and candles in a box on a shelf.

He wasn’t sure how much use any of it was anymore.

Drift nearly jumped when he heard the door buzz. Folding up his shawl, he got up and opened the door, taken aback when he saw Cyclonus and Tailgate standing there. “Hey! Um, come in.” He gestured for the couple to sit on the couch. He had wanted several times to talk to Cyclonus about the Great Sword but could never find the right time. Now, he wasn’t sure if it even mattered. He gingerly sat down on the chair next to the couch. “So, what can I do for you?”

“We were wondering,” Cyclonus said, placing his arm around Tailgate, “if you would be willing to conduct our conjunxing. We wish to have a Clavis Aurea ceremony. I have heard you are a Spectralist.”

Drift blinked several times. He had been almost certain that one of the captains or Thunderclash would conduct the much-awaited ceremony. Given his history with Cyclonus, he wouldn’t have even considered himself a viable option. “Yes, I’m a practicing Spectralist,” he said finally. “If I remember correctly, the Clavis Aurea ceremony is quite intricate and difficult to get right. The chants alone require exact pitch and timing, not to mention the direction of the calls and responses, especially with an unfamiliar audience.”

Cyclonus cocked his helm, optics widening slightly. “Yes, that is quite accurate. Where did you learn about that?”

“The Spectralist temple where I did much of my exploration had a wide variety of texts on many Cybertronian religions.” Drift couldn’t help but smile. The moment he had found the library, he downloaded volumes of texts and spent most of his days in the sunny reading room devouring them over cups of copper tea. By the time he left to continue his journey, he had read the whole library twice over. It had been one of the most joyous and peaceful times of his life. “Spectralism encourages understanding of and harmony with other belief structures as one of its main tenets.”

“Is that why it’s called ‘Spectralism?’” Tailgate asked.

“Yes,” Drift said. “A plethora of perspectives under one light.” He leaned back in his chair. “Unfortunately that doesn’t mean I know all of the Clavis Aurea rituals. I’m hesitant to say yes until I’m more familiar with the expectations. Cyclonus, would you have time to explain them to me in detail? My research would only go so far.”

Cyclonus nodded. “Of course. When would be a good time?”

Drift shrugged. “I’m free now. I have a few hours before Ratchet gets back.”

Tailgate looked up at his partner. “I can go prepare for the reception.”

Cyclonus kissed him on the helm. “Yes, thank you.” He watched his partner briskly skip out of the habsuite.

Drift found it difficult to look Cyclonus in the optics as the old warrior turned back. “I need to be completely honest with you.” He breathed out heavily. “My faith is not as strong as I led everyone to believe. I projected a false confidence to put others at ease that I had completely changed from Deadlock.” He gave a dry laugh. “Ratchet saw right through it.” He forced himself to look up at his guest. “I want to help, but conducting such a ceremony with such doubt I feel would be a disservice to you and Tailgate.”

Cyclonus was silent for a few moments, but then instead of responding verbally, he got up to inspect Drift’s Spectralist staff on the wall. “This is beautifully done, as if from the finest materials, but it is made from scratch, is it not? From the items around you when you created it, yes?”

Drift nodded. “I made it after my encounter with Vector Sigma. I was already struggling with my faith in those days. I thought the vision reaffirmed my faith, that my life had a focus, that I was needed and even wanted, but it didn’t last.”

Cyclonus leaned in even closer to the staff, probably to inspect its ornate etched designs. “Why is that?”

“Because I was discarded. Again. Because I realized that no matter what I do, I always lose what I’ve gained, and I’m tired of it!” Drift slammed his fist down on the armrest, and when he withdrew his hand, he realized to his horror that he had dented it. The rage had erupted with no warning, with no chance to clamp it back down. 

He curled over in his seat, helm in his hands. “You don’t know, do you?” His quiet voice shook. “You don’t know what I did as Deadlock. How the rage got harder and harder to contain, how it got easier and easier to justify every single kill, even of my fellow Decepticons who, really, simply got in my way.”

“Got in the way of what?” Cyclonus asked quietly.

“A good life.” Drift sat back squarely in his chair and breathed out slowly to try to calm himself down. “When I was first forged, I was employed as a racer due to my altmode, and even though I wasn’t the fastest on the track, I earned enough to save up. I liked racing well enough, but I didn’t want it to be my permanent career. I wanted to learn. So, I applied to the university in Rodion but was rejected because of my altmode, even though I could have paid the entire tuition out of my savings.”

He shook his helm. “I lost faith in society after that, and everything went downhill. I spent the rest of my money on partying, causing me to lose my racing career. Every subsequent job was a bit dirtier and a lot more dangerous. By the time I hit the Dead End, my frame was failing. Siphoning fed me and syk dulled the physical and emotional pain, and I took a weirdly twisted joy in them because they gave me a tiny amount of control over my life.”

Drift looked up to meet Cyclonus’ optics. “The syk very nearly killed me. Ratchet saved me from that overdose, but it wasn’t on him to save my life. I joined the Decepticons, but eventually I lost faith that they would deliver the utopia Megatron promised. I got more and more vicious, more and more desperate. That’s where I earned the reputation as Deadlock, killing indiscriminately in a futile attempt to end the war and start rebuilding. And even with the Autobots I lost faith, as most of them saw me as disposable. Even Rodimus treated me like that at one point.” He sighed. “At least he’s started to make amends.”

He chuckled bitterly. “In many ways, it was easier working alone. It was easy to believe my life wasn’t worth anything because I had no one to tell me otherwise. Everything made sense. Primus was punishing me for what I had done, and all I had to do was live in the service of others until he called me home.”

“Then…” Drift looked out the window at the stars. “Ratchet happened. Nothing made sense anymore. How could he love someone with a past like mine? It made me wonder whether it was just going to get ripped away from me again.” He looked down at the dented armrest. “Or maybe this time, I was going to be the one to rip it apart.”

He felt strange sharing this level of detail with someone he barely knew. For most of his life, he had lived in places where the less people knew about you the better. Even revealing tiny details could put your life in jeopardy, so he had learned how to phrase things just so to keep himself safe. But it had cost him the joy of truly intimate relationships, so he was slowly relearning how to reconnect with others. Even so, he still felt he could only take true comfort in those who were brutally honest with him, and Cyclonus definitely fit in that category. 

“So you see how it’s hard to believe in anything at the moment. Not Primus, not society or community, not my friends nor my partner, and not even myself. How would I even begin to officiate a conjunxing in that state?”

Cyclonus came back to the couch and sat down. “Faith is always in flux. Mine was challenged after almost losing Tailgate several times. That you are struggling so much speaks of a strong belief in meaning, even when everything else is in doubt. That you are now honest about your struggle speaks even more about who you are.” He nodded. “If it is difficult for you to perform the ceremony, we will find someone else, but I would be honored to have someone of such strong character to officiate our conjunxing.”

Drift shook his helm with a short sad laugh. “You know, I never expected to hear that I had strong character from you of all people. The first time we met, you slammed my face into a table.”

Cyclonus simply smiled. “Since then, I have seen how you fight, and I have seen how you love.”

Drift looked up suddenly at his guest. “How I love?”

“When you are beside Ratchet, you show great affection and care, but you are also always on guard. Watching. Listening. Alert. Ready to protect him with all your strength at a moment’s notice.”

Drift surreptitiously glanced back towards his hidden Great Sword, a motion that Cyclonus certainly noticed. “I’ve… been having trouble lately.”

“How so?”

Drift stood up and pulled his Great Sword out of subspace, sitting back down with it across his lap. “I cannot light this. Not anymore.”

Cyclonus inspected the sword, the jewel lit only by the ambient light. “When have you lit it before?”

Drift idly tapped on the blade. “The first time was when I picked it up. It used to belong to my friend Wing, but when he died in battle, I picked it up and lit it to defeat the people who had killed him. You were there on Theophany when I stabbed it into the ground. The next time… I was fighting with Ratchet against an army of stone… Long story.”

Cyclonus cupped his chin as he continued to look at the sword. “I have never struggled to light my sword, but I do know Dai Atlas said it took great faith to light it.” His optics suddenly widened. “There is an old story about how the original Matrix used to be the jewel in Primus’ sword. Perhaps the morality lock applies to the swords as well.”

Drift pursed his lips. “If it’s the same morality lock as our twelve Matricies, as I hear it, no one could open any of them until Rodimus gave his speech. Which I might add, was all him.” His best friend could give a good speech on his own, but only in times of extreme desperation. It was why the rumor was true that Drift did indeed write most of Rodimus’ speeches. “It was when Roddy talked about ‘each other’ that Ratchet was able to open his.” He stared straight at Cyclonus. “Right after I confessed that I loved him.” He shook his helm. “Maybe it was that he had no more doubts about us.”

“And your own self-doubt prevents you from lighting your sword?”

“Yeah.”

Cyclonus nodded at length. “It is not often I meet a warrior of both your skill and character. If you wish to speak to me more about these doubts, or even if you would just like a sparring partner, I would like to help.”

Drift gave him a slight smile. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Cyclonus rose to leave but turned back. “Please let us know if you would be willing to facilitate our ceremony.”

“Actually,” Drift said, “I would be honored.”

For a while after Cyclonus left, Drift stared out the window into the darkness. Though he was still very much in doubt, he started to feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time. It took him a while to figure out what it was, but it finally hit him when Ratchet walked in the door and found him chuckling to himself.

“What?” Ratchet asked.

Drift turned to look at his partner with a big grin on his face. “You wouldn’t believe who dropped by.”

The whoosh of a match broke the dark silence. A single flame now sat upon an energon candle towards the front of the room, with a single pair of deep blue optics above it.

“It was said that Primus was our first light, and so from one light we were born from the darkness, and so to one light we will return.”

Cyclonus focused on the soft tap of the gong, its resonance filling the room and fully dissipating before Drift continued, picking up the candle and lightning four others in front of it.

“And so, with the Guiding Hand, one light became five, and they now guide us in the great lessons we must learn before we return to the light.” Drift tapped the gong again. “Join us now in lighting your own lights.”

Throughout the room, biolights started flickering on and revealing the shapes of the attendees. In the dim light, Cyclonus and Tailgate now appeared holding hands at the front of the room with Drift standing behind the candles, his cape billowing out behind him and his staff chiming softly as he moved it.

“I bid you welcome to the joining of two such lights: Cyclonus of Upper Tetrahex, and Tailgate of Rivets Field. They have selected you to join them in this conjunxing ceremony, a rite that the Clavis Aurea has held sacred for many millions of years. Realizing that none of you are of that faith, Cyclonus has agreed to modify the ceremony to accommodate, and I will do my best to lead you through it. First, though, Cyclonus would like to share a chant from his faith. Rest assured, Blaster has adjusted the acoustics of the room so it will now sound much better than you have heard before.”

Cyclonus cleared his throat as he faced the crowd, still holding Tailgate by one hand. “This is an old chant of two warriors who found love during battle, their actions finally able to express what words could not. It seemed… fitting.”

He started to fill the room with a bass voice with such a depth and smoothness that he had not heard since his days in the Clavis Aurea. Even in Old Cybertronian, the chant evoked the anguish and joy of the two lovers as they faced trial after trial before their eventual union. On the final verse, Cyclonus turned to Tailgate and grasped both hands, kneeling and singing to him while blinking back his own tears. He had already taught his partner the words, so it was no surprise that Tailgate started crying as Cyclonus finished the song.

Drift led the audience in a few calls and responses blessing the couple before transitioning to  his lesson. “It is not very often in this world where we see faith applied directly, but it is a very true reality for Cyclonus and Tailgate. It was faith that allowed Cyclonus to save Tailgate’s life, empowering his Great Sword to make the connection between their two sparks. It was that same faith that prompted Cyclonus to search for Tailgate in Mederi, reuniting them after each of them feared all was lost.”

Drift choked slightly before continuing. “But it was not the faith of these extraordinary events that finally brought them together. Rather, it was a much simpler faith: a faith in themselves. Each of them were courageous enough to face their own truth. To confess one’s own feelings, to face the fear of rejection, and yet to push forward regardless…” There were now tears welling up in his optics. “... is the greatest expression of their faith.”

“The conjunx ritus itself is a call and response, and for Cyclonus and Tailgate, as it is for many partners, often performed rather unintentionally, as the acts are already themselves expressions of love. They wish for all of you to now witness their formal declarations.” He turned to Tailgate. “The Act of Intimacy, the growth of closeness.”

Tailgate met optics with Cyclonus. “You held my hand and sang to me as I was dying.”

“The Act of Disclosure, the sharing of secrets.”

“You heard how afraid of death I was.”

“The Act of Profference, the giving of gifts.”

“I made you a horn to replace the one you lost.”

Drift turned to Cyclonus. “The Act of Devotion, the demonstration of love.”

Cyclonus smiled softly at Tailgate, remembering all of their struggles to arrive at this moment. “I shared with you my spark, my life, my light. I returned to you the life that should have been yours, the life that Vector Sigma gave to my keeping, a life not the same without you.”

Tailgate cried as he pushed his helm against his partner’s. “I love you,” he whispered so only Cyclonus could hear.

Drift hit the gong for the final time. “As they have demonstrated to each other, as they have demonstrated to you, they are now conjunx endurae from now into the afterspark.”

“Finally!” Whirl whooped from the back of the room, joining the rest of the guests as they crowded around the couple to congratulate them. Cyclonus drew Tailgate up into his arms and kissed his forehelm, moving them both with the crowd as they escorted the couple out of the room, through the ship, and eventually joining the rest of the waiting crew on the lavishly decorated observation deck.

As soon as he had finished cleaning up the ceremony room, Drift made his way up to the observation deck. When he arrived, Tailgate was standing up on a chair next to the booth, microphone in hand. “Can I have your attention?” he said and waited for the crowd to settle down. “Swerve said there’s an Earth tradition of having a dance just for the couple at their wedding reception.” He scanned the crowd. “I wanted to do something better. I heard that some of the junxes out there didn’t get a proper reception because of the war, and Cyclonus and I thought maybe it would be nice to give them one.”

Drift quietly came up behind Ratchet and gently hugged his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

Ratchet chuckled. “Tailgate being Tailgate.” He wrapped his arm around Drift’s waist. They watched at length as first Cyclonus and Tailgate shared a dance, followed by Chromedome and Rewind, and finally by Anode and Lug. “That was a beautiful ceremony, by the way,” he said as the song ended.

Drift chuckled nervously. “I thought you would have been bored out of your mind.”

Ratchet looked directly at him. “Not when it’s genuine.” He shook his helm. “Sweetspark, I’ve seen so many false religious schemes used to manipulate money and power out of masses of people that I couldn’t bring myself to believe in anything of that sort.” He watched as the dance floor slowly filled with people. “But I know you, and up there in front of everyone, you were honest and vulnerable. And don’t think I missed the reference to us. So while I’m not going to be a Spectralist any time soon, I can at least appreciate your faith.”

Even when I’m very much in doubt? Drift remembered the old warrior’s words as he watched Cyclonus dancing with Tailgate in his arms. None of those problems would be solved tonight, and even with all of that uncertainty, he wouldn’t miss dancing with his partner for the universe. He reached his hand towards Ratchet. “Well, shall we?”

Ratchet took his hand, kissed it, and followed him out to join the rest of the crew.

Chapter Text

Brainstorm nearly flew into the ceiling when something ran into his back. He turned away from Perceptor and looked down to see Nautica on the floor rubbing her helm, her wrench sitting on the ground to one side of her and a tablet on the opposite side. “Nauts! Were you reading while walking? Again?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Nautica took the hand Brainstorm offered her to stand up. “It’s just that Drift got me back into ancient linguistics, and I found a lot of articles in the database that I hadn’t seen before, and they are just so fascinating!” She bent down to pick up her items. “Did you know that we used to have multiple inflections for the word amica, and that they each meant something slightly different? That’s why everywhere you go you get a different interp—” She blushed. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

Perceptor adjusted his reticle. “Your morphological analysis is welcome as always, but your attempts at mobile multitasking are increasingly concerning.”

“I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Brainstorm put a hand on Nautica’s shoulder. “I was just heading to the lab. Did you want to chat more there?”

“Ah, no, I can’t,“ Nautica said. “I’m on duty in a bit.”

“I’ll walk you down there.” Brainstorm turned to Perceptor. “Did you want to join us?”

Perceptor nodded. “Certainly.”

Brainstorm started walking with the two of them towards the lift. He turned to Nautica. “So, how’s the chief engineer thing going?”

Nautica grinned. “Great! It’s quite a challenge actually, given how peculiar this ship is. I finally got the full shipwide diagnostics to run last night. I can’t believe it hadn’t been attempted before—well, maybe I can—and I should get the results this morning, so hopefully we can figure out the root cause of some of the minor issues we’ve been having. At least we were able to get the quantum drive recharged. I’m going to see about getting some batteries built so we can do multiple jumps in sequence. Then I’m going to start looking into our drive quirks, because I think we’ve broken so many laws of physics that if we don’t understand its basic behavior parameters, we’re going to end up getting stuck somewhere and have to limp out on the stardrive. Oh, and I’ve got to set up an appropriate maintenance schedule because we are way behind where we should be. Grapple seemed to be particularly excited about that one for some reason.” She paused just as they stopped in front of main engineering. “I guess this is my stop. Sorry for rambling.”

“No! No need to apologize!” Brainstorm slightly fluttered his wings. “I’m just so glad to see you excited again. Tell us more at Swerve’s tonight?”

“Sure! See you later!”

“Oh, Nautica,” Perceptor called and waited for her to turn back around. “Drift is fortunate to have you as a friend.”

Nautica blinked a few times before grinning. “Aww, thanks Perceptor.”

There was a slight smile on Perceptor’s face as Brainstorm walked back to the lift alongside him. “You’re in a good mood.”

“Hm?”

“Oh, you don’t offer compliments that often.”

Perceptor frowned. “I do when they are warranted. Indeed, I do in some sense owe my life to Drift, but I fear the most I can give back at present is companionship, something we both sorely lack, present company excepted of course. Nautica as well has suffered great loss, and with her relationship with most of the crew being awkward at best, it is advantageous the two of them have connected over such intriguing intellectual topics.” 

Brainstorm beamed, partially at Perceptor’s succinct analysis and partially on Nautica’s behalf. He worried when she suffered the loss of two—it was two, wasn’t it?—of her amica, and his worry only increased when she outright dismissed any connection to Skids. He was going to leave it for now. After all, everyone processed grief in their own way; he knew that intimately well. Drift, he hoped, was another person she could be herself with, and perhaps that would also be true for the speedster. “It’s cute, isn’t it?”

Perceptor lifted an optic ridge. “Er, yes, I suppose so.” 

The silence that followed was deafening. Brainstorm swayed back and forth, trying to figure out what to say next. While it was easy to discuss science with his new partner, any other subject made things uncomfortably awkward. “Um, I’m really glad you are joining me at Swerve’s more often,” he said finally.

“Ah, yes, of course.” Perceptor cleared his throat. “I regret that my previous attendance was rather irregular. I do… quite enjoy it.”

“Really? Because you seem to be distracted a lot of the time.”

“Ah. I do occasionally find it difficult to set aside an unsolved issue. Is that not your experience as well?”

“Yes, but—” Brainstorm sighed as the lift approached deck thirteen. This conversation would have to wait. He retracted his mask and gave Perceptor a light kiss on the cheek. “Have a good day!”

Megatron waited patiently near the lift for Perceptor to arrive. The scientist was usually punctual to within a few minutes, so accurate that it didn’t take long between the time Megatron started waiting and Perceptor appearing with Brainstorm in the lift.

“And you as well.” Perceptor exited the lift, not noticing Brainstorm’s wings drooping slightly. He then saw Megatron and nodded. “Captain.”

“Perceptor,” Megatron greeted him back. “We need your expertise. Blaster detected a very weak signal, and it seems Cybertronian. He asked me to have you verify.”

Perceptor nodded. “Let me take a look.” He unlocked his station and sat down, calling up the recent long range sensor data which displayed the very faint signal that the computer had categorized as synthetic. Megatron leaned against the station as the chief science officer reran the analysis on the signal. Perceptor sat back in his chair when the results came back. “Curious. It certainly is Cybertronian, but not one of the more modern formats.”

“What do you mean, ‘not modern?’” Megatron asked.

Perceptor turned his chair to face the co-captain. “We have utilized quite a number of progressively more efficient signal formats throughout our civilization, but this one is quite primitive. It is at least seven million years old.”

“Any chance of deciphering it?” Blaster asked, coming up behind them.

Perceptor shook his helm. “While I can confirm the signature, we likely do not have the key to the message. It would take the computer much longer to decipher it than we would take to travel there.”

Megatron mulled over the choices in his mind. They had come to this universe for many reasons, one being to get away from Cybertron and all its problems. On the other hand, if they could help a fellow Cybertronian or even gain some knowledge about the Knights of Cybertron to which the Dorcarans had alluded, it would be to their benefit. “Any ship traffic in the area or signs of civilization?” he asked.

“Nothing that I could see,” Blaster said. “Seems like an otherwise uninhabited star system.”

“We should check it out.” Megatron looked over his shoulder. “Crankcase, set a course.”

“Yes, Lor— Captain!”

Megatron massaged his forehelm. “Old habits and all,” he muttered.

“Problems, captain?” asked a familiar voice.

The co-captain looked towards the voice to see Minimus Ambus standing there inquisitively. He felt his pending helmache lifting immediately. “Not exactly. We’ve detected a faint Cybertronian signal. Perceptor, Blaster, see if you can get any other information.” He started to walk back to his chair in the center of the room. “Minimus,” he said softly to the loadbearer following him, “can you get a scouting party together to investigate? We don’t exactly know what we’re walking into.”

“Of course,” Minimus Ambus nodded. “Anode has expressed interest in leading some of the scouting parties, though I should probably bring a team with her, or else we’ll need to rename the shuttle the Purloined Light.”

Megatron snorted loud enough that the entire bridge turned around. After a few embarrassing seconds, he said, “As you were.” 

His second-in-command stood there mortified. “I’ll get that scouting party ready.” Minimus Ambus spun around and walked swiftly off the bridge.

Megatron sat back in his chair, his chin balanced on his hand. Coming to grips with his feelings for Minimus Ambus had taken more than eight hundred years, but that had been the easy part. Now, he had to actually face the loadbearer, knowing he might never reciprocate. It was going to be a long road to come to any resolution, even if it wasn’t the one he wanted. That was fine; he was used to the long game.

“Whirl, get your optic-face out of my face before I stab it with my finger!”

“What? I only wanted to see the readouts!”

From the back of the shuttle, Minimus Ambus monitored the spat between Anode and Whirl in the cockpit and sighed. He wished he could have brought Cyclonus along for some sanity, then he realized how strange it was to have that thought. The old warrior was unavailable, as he was still on his stay-at-home honeymoon with Tailgate. Instead, the scouting party pretty much consisted of anyone who had wanted to get off the ship and Nautica, who wanted to search for abandoned technology to use for parts. Unfortunately, the former list had included Whirl, Brawn, Gears and Huffer, and—

A giant plume of fire blew unsafely close past his face, lightly singeing his mustache.

—the Monsterbots. All of them.

“Whoops!” Doublecross snickered.

“Cabin fever. The worst illness a crew can ever succumb to.” Hound grinned as he sat down opposite Minimus Ambus.

“To which a crew can—” 

Another plume blew through the cabin. Brawn grumbled. Gears and Huffer started complaining louder. Minimus Ambus turned very slowly and stared at the Monsterbots, who immediately quieted down. 

“Yes, agreed.” Minimus Ambus put his helm in his hand. Hound was the shining ray of hope on this mission. His recent promotion, or rather reinstatement, had made things run a lot smoother on the ship. Most of the crew were used to him in that position, which, in retrospect, had probably made Drift’s tenure as third-in-command that much harder. Minimus Ambus looked over at Nautica who was watching the Monsterbots with interest. He had to hand it to her; even with the outbursts, she didn’t even seem to be afraid, just curious, and even laughed a bit.

There was a loud whine over the intercom—why did the Leading Light even have an intercom?—and Whirl cleared his voice. “Attention fellow Lighters, this is your fellow Wrecker speaking,” he said in his fakest sultry voice. “We will be arriving momentarily. Conditions at our destination include near total darkness, rain that will melt your top coat off, and a smell that would confuse even Brainstorm. We hope you have a pleasant stay!”

Hound chuckled. “Well, at least it’s not Siren.”

The conditions weren’t quite as bad as Whirl had described them, but much of the party groaned as they stepped out of the back of the Leading Light. As their optics adjusted to the low light, they started to make out the giant shape in front of them.

Anode whistled as she came up beside them from the cockpit. “That ship is huge. Definitely some sort of long distance transport, that’s for sure.”

They walked up to the side of the ship, lighting it as best they could with the rainy conditions. Hound started tracing a line on the side of the ship, flicking the muck from his finger. “I think this is a hatch. Brawn, will you do the honors?”

The minibot managed to get his fingers in between the hatch and the frame and started pulling. The metal shrieked and then buckled, allowing Brawn to heave the door open and slam it against the side of the ship. He brushed the mud off his hands. “Quite a bit rusty.”

“The ship too,” Gears said, laughing.

Brawn went back to the door and tore it completely off of its hinges, using it to lightly poke Gears. “You want some rust too?”

“Alright, alright,” Anode chuckled. “Monsterbots, survey the back half of the ship. Brawn, Gears, Huffer, you go with Hound to get the front half. Everyone else is with me. We’ll go to the bridge to see if we can get anything out of the computer that might tell us what’s going on.”

Moving through the ship proved to be slow and arduous. Broken ship structure littered some of the hallways, while the environment had finally started successfully eating through other hallways, creating big gaps in the side and the floor. Nautica finally found a ship diagram posted on the wall that indicated that the bridge sat at the top and front of the ship. After fumbling around for a few more minutes, they located a service shaft and started climbing. When they reached the top, they stepped out of the door to a gruesome sight: splashes of pink energon stained the walls on either side, while dark splotches on the walls indicated a fierce firefight, with the weapons that likely caused them laying abandoned on the floor.

Anode waved her flashlight around the corridor. “Does anyone else find it odd that there are no frames?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Nautica said, looking around. She pointed her flashlight directly in front of her. “Here’s the bridge.”

It took them a few minutes to pry the sealed door open, having to rely on the manual release buried in the wall. Minimus Ambus pushed the door the rest of the way to reveal a nearly pristine bridge, free from any signs of battle with its transparent canopy only suffering minor cracks.

Nautica quickly ran over to one of the panels. “Let’s hope there’s still enough emergency power to tap into the computer.” She pressed a few buttons and gasped when the panel lit dimly. She started scrolling through the options and then stopped. “That’s odd.”

“What’s odd?” Anode asked, coming over to her side.

“Based on the date, this ship was manufactured about ten million years ago. I’d have to get a copy of the schematics, but I think that’s consistent with the design. However, there’s only about two million years of records for it, and there’s no sign of retrofit or anything that would have erased them.”

“Is there any information available about the incident in the hallway?” Minimus Ambus asked from across the bridge.

Nautica scrolled a few more times and then shook her helm. “The records are too garbled to tell. Our computer might be able to reconstruct them given time—and even that possibility is really low—but we definitely can’t do it here.” She sighed. “And this computer is painfully slow, too slow for a direct download. It’s probably faster to pull out the physical memory banks and bring them back to the ship.”

“Anything salvageable here?” Whirl asked, looking out of the canopy.

Nautica shook her helm. “Everything’s too old. It’s only the data that’s valuable now.”

“Where are the banks?” Anode asked.

Nautica scanned the screen. “Middle of the ship. Deck three.”

Anode clicked on her comm. “Anode to all teams. Once you’re done with your sweeps, meet us in the middle of the ship on deck three at the computer core.” She waved towards the door. “Let’s go.”

Now that they knew where they were going, it didn’t take them long to navigate to deck three. The computer core nearly filled its circular room, offering only a sliver of space to get to the inside of the cylinder. 

Nautica squeezed herself through the opening and quickly located the memory banks. She knelt down to inspect them. “Wow, these are old. It’s amazing they were able to hold that much data. She fumbled for the clasps and then started pulling one of the banks out of the wall. It suddenly slid out with a large thunk, which subsequently threw her on her aft.

“Heavy?” Minimus Ambus asked as he offered her his hand. As short as he was, the loadbearer was able to pull Nautica to her feet easily. He went over to the freed memory bank and lifted it effortlessly over his shoulders. “How many of these are there?”

Nautica scanned the wall with her flashlight. “I think nine. Four primaries, four secondaries, one arbiter.”

“Ugh,” Whirl whined. “I’ll get the “M. A. R. B.” He started making his way down the hallway.

“Whirl!” Anode yelled. “Don’t go off alone! Ah, Pit.” She ran down the hall after him.

By the time Whirl got back with Anode, the two other scout parties had reached the computer core and had staged the nine banks near the door. The shuttle’s single M. A. R. B. could only carry four banks at a time, so each of the teams escorted them back to the ship and started securing them for takeoff. Whirl and Minimus Ambus brought the M. A. R. B. back to collect the final one along with the rest of their team.

After securing the last memory back, Whirl looked up and around to locate Anode, who had gone to make a final sweep of the room. A slight rustling inside the wall sent chills down his spinal strut. “Do you hear that?” He followed to where Anode shakily held her flashlight on the wall. Out of the darkness, pairs of tiny glowing optics blinked from a crack in the wall. “Scraplets!” he yelled. “Run!”

Minimus Ambus started moving the M. A. R. B. out of the room as fast as he could with Nautica running not far behind him. The tiny machines started pouring out of the wall and covering every available surface, their tiny legs and gnashing teeth filling the room with a nightmarishly familiar din.

“Anode!” Whirl called but she didn’t budge. He ran towards her and wrapped a claw around her to pick her up, moving her back down the hallway at high speed. The chattering sound followed them as the scraplets started filling the hallway as fast as they could crawl. Whirl looked behind him and swore the most offensive thing he knew. When he turned back, he had finally caught up with Nautica and the M. A. R. B. as it struggled to move through the hallway due to its size. 

Nautica glanced back at Whirl, turning back around just in time to run her helm straight into a sharp metallic strut jutting through the wall. There was a screeching sound of metal slicing through metal, a sharp high scream, and a thud as Nautica hit the ground, bright blue energon quickly seeping from the wound.

“Nauts!” Whirl barely missed a beat as he scooped her up from the ground in his other arm, running them both towards the M. A. R. B. He threw the frozen Anode on top of the memory bank and used both claws to cradle Nautica as he ran. “Can’t that thing go faster?”

“We’re almost there!” Minimus Ambus called back. “I let them know.” Ahead of them, the dim light of the outside world was a welcome sight. He barely fit the M. A. R. B. through the opening at speed and burst through towards the shuttle.

As soon as Whirl ran through with Nautica, Brawn wedged the open hatch door into the opening as best he could, sprinting away as Doublecross, Grotusque, and Repugnus all simultaneously showered it with fire, partially melting it to the hull.

Whirl knelt down in a corner of the shuttle with Nautica in his arms. His claws were already stained with her energon, but he just couldn’t seem to let go of her. He cradled her closer; it seemed like the right thing to do. “It’ll be okay. Yeah. You’ll be okay.”

He kept talking to her softly all the way back to the Lost Light.

“Where’s the harness?” First Aid barked as he jammed diagnostic cables into Nautica’s neck ports. “Velocity!”

Velocity stood in front of Nautica’s unconscious frame in silence, her own frame shaking violently. She moved her lips but no words came out. She hadn’t gone through the war, so she wasn’t prepared for this possibility and was in a near state of shock.

“Damnit,” First Aid said under his breath. “Nickel! Get the energon harness!”

“On it!” The minibot rolled away from tending to Anode over to the mobile harness, moving it quickly to the end of Nautica’s berth. First Aid pulled it the rest of the way over Nautica to connect it to her chest ports. There was a shunk when it made contact; the lines started filling with energon and flowed into the chief engineer’s frame. First Aid breathed a sigh of relief as her vitals started stabilizing.

“Might I be of assistance?” Megatron’s mid-bass voice cut through the background noise as he approached Nautica’s bedside.

“Yeah.” First Aid ran his hands over Nautica’s helm, releasing several hidden clasps and gently pulling off the helm’s outer shell. “Get Velocity to the secondary ward and make sure someone keeps an optic on her.” 

Megatron nodded and put a hand on Velocity’s shoulder, gently guiding her away from the berth. First Aid flicked the inner manual release button to Nautica’s braincase, and immediately blue energon gushed out, staining his hands.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Nickel whispered to First Aid.

“No, it’s not,” First Aid whispered back, unfurling his finger tools and plugging them into Nautica’s brain. “Thanks for the help.”

Nickel nodded and rolled away. At least Anode’s condition was somewhat treatable with anti-anxiety drugs, though Lug’s presence was a huge help. When she had arrived, she immediately had curled around her conjunx and kept reassuring her.

The Medibay doors opened and in stepped Ratchet. “I heard the general alarm. What happened?” he asked as he approached, leaning over to look at the damage.

“Metal girder went through the right side of her helm. Unlike a lot of us, she doesn’t have a battle-hardened helm.” First Aid scanned the readouts from his tools on his display. “Fortunately, it missed most of her brain, but she still sustained some damage.”

“It looks like the damage is confined to one of the replicated areas,” Ratchet said.

“Yes, but I’m seeing something else.” First Aid looked up at his colleague. “Multiple locked sectors.”

Ratchet frowned. “Locked? I haven’t heard any reason for that other than a prior unsuccessful surgery.”

“Me neither, and in order to reconnect the damaged section to the backups, I think I need to unlock those sectors.” First Aid withdrew his tools. “She’s stable now, but I need to get more information, and then I need to consult with her amica, one of which is in the secondary ward calming down.”

Ratchet nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Thanks.” As Ratchet walked away, First Aid went to his desk, pulling up Nautica’s records to look for any signs of prior surgery. He didn’t expect much of anything since they hadn’t gotten any history from Caminus, so he was surprised when his search revealed an entry written by Velocity a few months prior.

Elected to have both grief over Skids and friendship with me removed in order to resurrect Skids via what we knew then as the Resus Cradle. Surgery interrupted before complete. Post operation, she displays full emotional connection to me but no longer displays any apparent emotional connection to Skids. According to Wipe-Out, the surgical machine removes grief to sell to others.

First Aid’s tank churned; he couldn’t quite believe what he was reading, which was difficult having practiced medicine during a period of horrendous war crimes. Nautica had been close with Skids, and he had been surprised that she had been her normal self after the crew had reunited. He had never had a chance to follow up, but this entry explained both his observations and the locked sectors. He didn’t know what unlocking it would do, and he didn’t want to guess. After a moment, he clicked his comm. “Cerebros, please report to Medibay.”

After an hour of probing and analyzing, the neurosurgeon shook his helm. “I’ve seen mode locks like this before, but never anything to this specificity.”

First Aid twisted his mask. “Mode locks? It doesn’t look like Triple M.”

Cerebros withdrew his tools from Nautica’s brain. “Nope. This particular brand of slavery was performed on Cybertronians with beast modes to sell to organics.”

First Aid’s tank churned even harder remembering the debriefing Ratchet and Velocity had given him after their reunion. “Similar to Dominus Ambus?”

“Yes, exactly that.” Cerebros wiped his hands down. “Rehabilitation is possible with an experienced surgeon and standard tools—no mnemosurgery required—but it takes a few months.” He gestured towards the unconscious Nautica. “With her, the locks are minimal, so we should be able to remove them, but I’m worried that if they are effectively blocking out her grief that it might do more harm than good.”

First Aid folded his arms. “So, if we don’t remove them, then we can’t repair the physical damage, but if we do remove them, then it could cause emotional damage due to the grief hitting her all at once.”

Cerebros glanced over towards Nickel attending a sleeping Anode. “There is one possibility.”

The more he looked at the fuel quills, the more bizarre they became, like tendrils sweeping out into space towards any hydrogen they could grasp. He tried to get a closer look, but the window kept him from leaning out any further. He pressed his cheek against it to get a better angle.

“Spinister?” a familiar voice called from the beyond.

He turned and saw someone vaguely familiar standing behind him, but it didn’t match the voice he heard. He looked down and saw their medic blinking at him. “Nickel?”

“You know Cerebros, right?” Nickel asked. “He said you sent him a note about fixing the… what was it?”

“Roboids,” Cerebros said.

Spinister straightened up and clasped his hands together. “Yes! You got my note? Were you able to fix them?”

Cerebros stuck out his hand. “Yes, thank you! We were able to save many of them.”

Spinister cocked his helm as he looked at the outstretched hand, not entirely sure what he was supposed to do with it.

“Um, we were wondering if you could help us with another case.” Cerebros slowly drew his hand back. “Nautica has taken brain damage from a mission, and we found something odd on diagnosis.”

A problem! In an instant, the fog dispersed and everything made a lot more sense. Spinister struggled daily to keep his lucidity, but it was nearly impossible without something interesting to focus on. Oh, but he loved neurological puzzles! “Show me.”

Back down in Medibay, Spinister only took a few seconds to read the data before turning back around. “You’re right that the damage can’t be fixed without unlocking these sectors, but it’s likely all her emotions regarding Skids are intact because the procedure was trying to move them.”

“The selling of grief as Velocity mentioned in her notes,” First Aid seethed.

“Right, and if they tried to remove the grief first and the surgery was interrupted, then those sectors were locked but the friendship remained intact. During a sector move, nothing’s deleted until the very end, just in case something goes wrong, but if the lock isn’t properly removed, the sector becomes unaddressable.”

Cerebros shook his helm. “If we remove the locks then there’s a high chance she’ll go into shock, or worse.”

“Yes, which is the reason why standard procedure is usually psychotherapy to slowly let the patient unlock the sectors on their own,” Spinister said. “But standard cases often involve locking out certain details about events, not something as specific as grief.”

“And they’re preventing us from fixing her wound.“ First Aid cradled his mask in his hand. “Could we lock them after we’re done?”

Spinister shook his helm. “No. We need to leave them open to allow the injury to heal. The best I can do is slow down the process somewhat, but eventually it will speed up as the injury heals.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid the best we can do is place her under the observation of a therapist.”

First Aid sighed. “Whatever we do, we’ll have to ask her amica for permission.”

It was only midday and Ratchet already had a helmache.

“What do you mean, you allowed her to do this?” Brainstorm’s voice echoed loudly in the nearly empty secondary ward. 

“It was her choice!” Velocity yelled hoarsely. “She wanted to bring Skids back from the dead! How could I stop her? Could you have stopped her?”

“I would have dragged her out of that lab!” Brainstorm shot back, his voice wavering. “She obviously wasn’t thinking clearly!”

“Oh, and how do you know?” Velocity put her hands on her hips. “Are you a doctor? Do you have to adhere to the wishes of your patients? Wait, you don’t, because you think it’s perfectly okay to make a time machine out of a briefcase just to save one person. Did Quark consent to that?”

“That,” Brainstorm said in an eerily calm voice, “was a low blow. You weren’t even there. Maybe you aren’t aware that doing it would have wiped me from existence!”

“Oh, so it’s okay if you do it.”

“I never said it was okay! I was wrong. Maybe you don’t remember that from when Nautica told you!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Ratchet barked. Between helping Velocity calm down and dealing with Brainstorm’s uncharacteristic rage at the situation, he desperately wanted to get back to his own berth and curl up with his partner. Drift had tried to hide his emotions like he usually did, but Ratchet knew him well enough now to know that he was deeply upset but strangely detached. He didn’t need Velocity and Brainstorm arguing over what was for him a cut-and-dry decision, but ultimately, they were the ones that needed to determine that. “You’re getting off topic. Right now, you need to decide what is in Nautica’s best interest.”

The only noise now in the ward was of the air handling systems. Velocity and Brainstorm looked everywhere but at each other. “Not much of a choice, is there?” Velocity asked softly. “Anything beyond what Spinister suggests is untested at best.” She shook her helm. “I just feel like we’re going against her wishes with this.”

Brainstorm tentatively walked over and lightly touched her shoulder. “We are, but we’re saving her life. She trusted us with that much.”

“I guess.”

“It’s going to be rough for her, no doubt, but I know from experience that it’s better to remember the good times with someone you’ve lost than to forget everything about them to run away from the grief.” 

There was a lot of history behind that statement, more than Nautica would probably ever know. Until recently, Brainstorm and Ratchet had been the only one who knew about Chromedome’s previous partners and that the former mnemosurgeon had erased all of them from his memory. There was nothing worse than to see an emotionless stare when bringing up someone Chromedome had previously been in love with, and now Brainstorm had to face a similar situation with Nautica and Skids.

Velocity slowly nodded. “Do whatever it takes to bring her back.”

Chapter Text

Nautica awoke to status messages scrolling across her field of vision. Something felt off. They weren't the messages that she normally encountered when coming out of recharge. It took a while to process one message in particular:

[Offline Duration: 3d 4h 42m 16s]

She tried to recall what could have put her out for such a long time. The last thing she remembered clearly was right before she hit her helm. After that, there were vague conversations and periodic beeping. She slowly forced her optics open to see a fuzzy shape zip by only to back up, look at her, and then suddenly zoom off again, beeping loudly.

“Okay, okay!” First Aid’s voice sounded in the distance, followed by a bunch of rushed pedesteps.

Her vision still blurry, Nautica could barely make out First Aid looking down at her.

“Nautica?” The CMO checked a few screens before looking back at her.

Talking was difficult, with Nautica’s first few attempts completely filled with static. “What… happened?”

“You suffered a helm injury, but we were able to repair the damage.” First Aid’s mask pulled into a smile. “You should be on your pedes in a couple of days. For now though, you need to rest. I’ll let your amica know you’ve awoken. They’ve been worried sick about you.”

“What about…” Nautica fought through her brain fog to remember names. “Anode? Whirl? Minimus?”

“They’re all fine.” First Aid patted her forearm. “You rest. You need to give your systems a chance to heal.”

Nautica probed around for more memories of what had happened. “I feel… strange. Like, I can’t remember something I’m supposed to.”

First Aid nodded. “That’s to be expected. When you feel better, we’ll give you more details. For now, rest.”

The CMO’s pedesteps faded into the distance. Looking again, Nautica noticed that a few sectors felt tender and hot. She selected one to push further and immediately her tank lurched as tears flooded into her optics. A word was right on the tip of her glossa, but she couldn’t quite say it. Taking a deep breath, she poked that sector again and blacked out.

“Yo, adventure girl!”

Anode leapt into the air almost as high as a typical Cybertronian. She whisked around to see Whirl waving at her. “Don’t do that, Whirl!”

Whirl knelt down, his birdlike legs splaying out to allow him to get down to Anode’s height. “I was right! You’ve been jumpier than usual.”

Anode frowned. “What makes you say that?”

“Usually you’d be really excited with a greeting like that, but now you’re just trying to look all small,” Whirl said, narrowing the distance between two of his claws.

Anode suddenly realized she had been slouching away from the rotor and immediately straightened up her stance. “It’s just been one of those weeks, you know? My first mission went horribly wrong, and now Nautica’s unconscious in Medibay!”

Whirl waved his claw from side to side. “Eh, it could have been worse. Nautica’s going to make a full recovery, and we got those memory banks.”

Anode crossed her arms. For the longest time it had been just her and Lug getting in and out of scrapes. It had always worked out, except for the time it didn’t. Having her conjunx die temporarily because of one of her adventures had more of an effect on her than she let on, and now her inaction had endangered another person. Why am I like this?

“What?”

Whirl’s question interrupted Anode’s train of thought. “Nothing,” she said briskly.

“Uh-huh.” Whirl leaned in closer to her. “I know that face. Well, I used to. Because I used to have one that made that particular expression.” He half closed his optic. “And it’s never nothing.”

Anode pushed his face away from hers. “And why do you care?”

“I’m not really sure myself. I’m rusty at this whole ‘caring' thing.” Whirl tried to air quote as best he could with his claws. “Not the observing thing, mind you. That’s been going on forever. You work with a mechanism long enough, you notice when the ticks are just slightly off, when something’s not quite right.” He leaned in very close. “When someone’s got a phobia they aren’t talking about.”

Anode’s optics went wide as her tank lurched.

“Now, I haven’t told anyone because that’s your business, but if you want to lead missions like that, you’re going to need to address it sooner rather than later.” Whirl’s optic drooped. “Someone like me isn’t always going to be there to pick your aft up.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Anode bit her lip. Whirl’s tone didn’t carry any menace or threat. She considered the possibility that he actually did care. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

Whirl rose and pointed a single claw in the air. “Don’t worry! I know just the thing to help!”

Nautica wrung her hands together. She had never been to therapy, and she never thought she would actually need it. She looked out the small round windows on the wall as she considered Chromedome’s question. She tried to not look at the miniature ships in the display case, fearing that they would distract her even more. “I… I don’t know,” she said finally.

“That’s okay,” Chromedome said, sitting back in his chair with his legs crossed. “It will take some time to work through this.”

The inaccessible sectors in Nautica’s brain increasingly annoyed her. They were blank spots in an otherwise populated space and a puzzle she didn’t know how to solve. She sighed. “I don’t know how I can work through grief if I don’t remember it.”

“We will start with what you do remember and work from there,” Chromedome said. “That’s the safest way to help those connections heal.”

Nautica still had no idea how she felt about the decision her amica had made. On the one hand, they had realistically had no other choice, but now she was faced with a potential time bomb that she had to deal with. Brainstorm and Velocity had reassured her that they would be with her every step of the way, but no one truly knew what was going to happen.

Chromedome continued. “Let’s… start with what you know about Skids.”

Nautica considered the name and what it meant. She didn’t feel anything when she heard it, at least nothing like what she felt when thinking about Velocity or Brainstorm. She tried to recall a few basic facts. “He was a theoretician. Smart. Gifted. Funny. He could pick up skills as easily as anyone picks up a tablet.”

Chromedome nodded. “When did you first meet him?”

“Shortly after I came aboard the Lost Light, in Swerve’s. I told a quantum physics joke, and he was the only one who laughed.” Nautica remembered her own tank churning during the all-too-familiar awkward silence after she had told it. Then she heard what she hadn’t expected: not just a friendly laugh, but the full-frame laugh of someone who fully understood.

“How did that make you feel?”

“Relief,” Nautica blurted out, surprised at how easily she had responded. “He told a follow-up joke that had me in welds. It was… nice. It was like I was in a place that understood me for the first time in my life.” The twinkle in his optics, the confidence in his steps, the way he charmed everyone in a slightly different way… She felt a strange feeling bubble up in her tank for just a moment and then it was gone.

“He was a part of making you feel like you belonged?”

Nautica breathed the tension out. “Maybe at first. I met Brainstorm and a whole bunch of people after that.”

“We can talk about that next time. You made good progress today.”

Nautica furrowed her brow and looked up at him. “I did?”

“You recalled some emotions from when you first met Skids, where a few days ago you seemed almost indifferent.”

“Oh.” Nautica wrung her hands again. “When do you think I can go back on duty?”

“First Aid said you are physically able for light duty but left the rest of it up to me,” Chromedome said. “As long as you are coming in for daily sessions, you can go back to work. It would be good for you to have something to occupy your time. We’ll reevaluate in a few weeks.”

Nautica nodded. I guess I can put up with this for a few weeks. Then, maybe my life will go back to normal.

It had been a nice quiet evening in Swerve’s before his name echoed loudly throughout the space.

“WHIRL!”

Lug stomped all the way to his booth and climbed up to stand on the table. “You had better have a damn good explanation to what you did to my conjunx, or I am going to twist you up so bad they’ll mistake you for rope!”

Whirl held up both his claws. “Now, I was only trying to help—”

“Help.” Lug leaned in and grasped Whirl’s helm, pulling it up to her face. “What part of triggering my wife is defined as ‘help?’” She was so close to his optic that she fogged it up with her breath. “She ran back screaming to my shop! It took me a full hour just to calm her down to the point where she could move. She’s now back in Medibay because she couldn’t stop shaking!” She shook Whirl’s helm violently for emphasis.

Whirl narrowed his optic. “At least she ran this time.” He immediately realized that was the wrong thing to say when he found himself thrown out of his booth and onto the floor by a very tiny and very enraged spouse. Why am I like this?

Lug screamed a string of expletives that would have made even the cruelest of Decepticons blush. “And the next time I see you, you had better have figured out what you did wrong and have an equally sparkfelt apology ready, or you’re going to be spending the night in Medibay while I spend it in the brig!” She hopped off the table, putting a dent in his helm as she landed on it, and stormed out.

As the error messages started filling Whirl’s vision, so did Swerve, still wiping an empty energon cube. “She’s no Trypticon, but that still had to hurt.”

Whirl felt a bit sick as something picked him up off the floor. “Would it surprise you… if I said I respect her morenow?” he asked queasily.

Riptide chuckled as he shuffled Whirl around on his shoulder to get a better grip. “Not in the least. Now, let’s get you to Medibay.”

One slight frame realignment later and Whirl found himself sitting on the berth in Ratchet’s office, waiting for him to get back from talking to First Aid about the incident. He put his claws up when the medic walked in. “Now, I know what you’re thinking, doc, and now I think that perhaps what I did was a bit… misguided.”

“Misguided. Misguided?! Misguided would not be the word I’d use!” Ratchet walked up to yell into Whirl’s face. “How about careless, or irresponsible, or I don’t know, dangerous?” He massaged his forehelm as he turned away to look at the model ships in the display case. “What on Cybertron was going through your mind when you decided to show Anode your pet scraplets, knowing full well it was a phobia of hers?”

Whirl idly swung his birdlike legs, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. His pet scraplets hadn’t even gotten out of the container when Anode screamed and ran out of the room. Lug was angry at him, but her conjunx had clearly wanted his help. “You read the mission report, right, Doc?” he asked quietly.

Ratchet nodded.

“When she saw the scraplets, she froze. She wouldn’t move.” Whirl clicked his claws together in thought. “I had to pick her up and carry her.”

Ratchet rolled his optics. “That would have been useful if you had included it in the report. Instead, you seemed to have glossed over that fact and instead claimed that she couldn’t run fast enough.”

“Well, who wants to be led on missions by someone who’s deathly afraid of scraplets?”

“Whirl,” Ratchet said, pinching his nose. “Let me get this straight. You didn’t want to tell anyone that Anode had a paralyzing fear of scraplets so she could continue leading missions.”

Whirl nodded.

“But instead of discretely consulting any of the medical staff, you decided to try to ‘treat’ it yourself.

Whirl nodded again.

“Thereby basically making it public knowledge.”

Whirl stopped nodding. “See, if I had the ability to think ahead, none of this would have happened.”

“No, you have the ability. You just didn’t use it this time.” Ratchet sighed as he sat back down. “Look. I know you’ve gone through a lot of traumas of your own and have tried to deal with them in your own rather aggressive way. Anode needs more of a gentle introduction to scraplets to overcome her phobia, if she even wants to do it at this time. She’s not going to lose her chance forever at leading scouting missions. We aren’t at war anymore. We can afford to give people time to adapt.”

Whirl looked at his claws, remembering the hands that used to be there, the ones that lovingly sculpted the most delicate timepieces. They were kludgy and awkward now, having nowhere near the response or sensitivity he was used to.

“I know you care about her, but maybe think a bit more about the way she wants to be helped?”

After a moment, Whirl nodded. It wasn’t that he was rusty at caring but that he was rusty at knowing how to care. He hadn’t always supported Cyclonus and Tailgate in the way that they needed when they were pining over each other, but he had tried and in some sense succeeded. Tailgate had needed someone to tell him the truth about his night terrors, Cyclonus had needed someone to calm him down when he had learned of Tailgate’s death, and Whirl was proud that he had been there for them as best he could. 

“I want to… to try to apologize.”

A few minutes later, Lug opened her habsuite door to Whirl standing there with Ratchet. “Yes?”

Ratchet gestured to his patient. “Whirl would like to say a few words to Anode.”

Whirl slumped as he walked past Lug, who crossed her arms and scowled at him once she had allowed them in. He looked around their habsuite and located Anode, curled up on the couch covered with blankets. He walked up to her and finally looked at her, his optic half open. “I’m… sorry. I… um…” He nervously tapped two of his claws together. “I should have warned you. I should have asked. I… hurt you instead.”

Anode stared at him for a few moments, and then, leaning forward, placed a hand on Whirl’s claws. “I forgive you.” She sighed. “You were trying to help and that counts. I’d like to see your scraplets again, maybe in a few weeks? I think you were right about me needing to face this.”

Whirl subtly shifted back slightly. He nodded and briefly glanced over at Lug. “Let me know when you want to meet them.”

Anode nodded. “I will. I need a bit though.”

Whirl gently withdrew his claws and started heading towards the door. When he started to pass Lug, he stopped and turned. “Not many people are brave enough to stand up to me.” He weighed a few phrases in his mind before he settled on one. “I respect you.”

Lug stared at the door dumbfounded long after Whirl and Ratchet had left. “Did he just…?”

Anode smiled weakly at her conjunx. “I guess you made a friend.”

“You know, I never thought I would find people as weird as us.” Lug shrugged at Anode. “Welcome home?”

Rodimus joined the command staff sans Nautica as they filed into the conference room, each stopping to study the face on the paused video before sitting down. Even after everyone had arrived, Roller kept adjusting a few settings to try to clear up the grainy video, but it still didn’t help anyone recognize the face beyond being Cybertronian.

Despite the distortion, he could pick out a few features. Their face was curved and smooth, with geometric shapes swirling gently across their cheeks. Their optics glowed a bright blue similar to many Autobots, and tiny glass teardrop beads hung from the tips of their small finials, but their most striking feature were the multicolored plates that started from their forehelm and curved over the top to points in the back. Their left finial was red, their right finial was purple, and the remainder of the plates held the rest of the colors of the rainbow in order across their helm. To many of the crew, they would have been exceedingly beautiful except for the absolute fear they currently held in their optics.

Rodimus swore he had seen someone who looked exactly like them, but he was having trouble placing the image. It wasn’t something from long ago that would have been buried in the Matrix and permanently passed over to his memory either; this was a person he himself had seen in a picture and very recently.

Megatron interrupted the low murmur of the room by clearing his throat. “Roller, I think it’s—”

“Hang on, let me try one more thing,” Roller said as the image distorted further, swearing when he looked up at it.

Ratchet, who had sat down next to the new operations officer, put his hand gently on his friend’s shoulder. “Roller, it’s fine.”

Roller growled slightly at the console but set it back to a decent setting. He sighed as he stood up. “I’ll be brief, since the video speaks for itself. The memory banks Nautica brought back were unfortunately mostly corrupted. We still have the computer working on stringing it all together, but we were able to reconstruct the last recording available to try to figure out what occurred.” He dimmed the lights and unfroze the video.

“Greetings, to anyone who finds this. My name is Prism, and I am the last of my kind. I think. We hail… hailed from a planet named Cybertron. For many years now, our destroyers have pursued the last of us until only a handful remained. It was only a matter of time until they brought the ship down. I had no choice but to release our bitlets, which finally drove them off, but… it was too late for everyone else. Horizon is dead. In some ways it was a mercy; she hadn’t been herself since Hotfix died. As agreed, I cremated all their frames, so all I have now is myself and Rizon’s runeblades, which she wanted me to have, even though I’m not that good with them. I think…” She coughed uncontrollably for a few seconds and then shook slightly as she tried to keep from crying. “I think I will head to a friendly planet to live out the remainder of my days. Take whatever you need from this ship as it is of no use to us anymore. And take care of yourselves and your families. Prism out.”

For a few moments, no one said a word.

“Our worst fears made manifest,” Megatron said slowly. “Hunted down to extinction—”

“How many organic species did we murder?” Ratchet asked, glaring at the ex-despot.

“Ratchet.” Minimus Ambus calmly waited for the medic to look at him. “He renounced Decepticonism—”

“Did I say ‘Decepticon?’” Ratchet’s voice boomed in the small room. “I said we as in us as in Cybertronians . At the end of the day, we failed to stop our planet from committing genocide! Whether or not the blood is personally on our hands or not is immaterial!”

“Nevertheless,” Perceptor immediately interjected, “Megatron is correct that several organics did attempt to destroy us.”

“We could debate this all day,” Rodimus leaned forward in his chair, “or we could talk about how it begs the question—” He heard Minimus Ambus quietly choke. ”—what happened to Cybertron? Who are these destroyers?”

“At least it answers one question,” Roller said. “Those ‘scraplets’ the scouting party saw were actually ‘bitlets,’ a fairly outdated way of recycling technical waste. They’ve been extinct for a while, but I was able to find some accounts of them. To us, they’re harmless, more of a nuisance if they get released, but I can see how a swarm of them would scare anyone.”

Minimus Ambus twirled his mustache. “I wonder if that’s where the term of endearment comes from. I don’t use it often enough to know its history.”

Megatron gave his second-in-command a gentle smile. “I believe the origin is ultimately unknown.” He turned back to look at the group, clasping his chin with his hand. “These are the Knights of Cybertron. The original ones. These are who Bren was talking about.” He looked up at Roller. “Any idea when the computer will be able to reconstruct the rest of the data?”

Roller shook his helm. “I shifted all available priority over to the processes, but it could take weeks, months even, to get a large enough chunk of data to get a full picture.”

“I’m assuming you’re using our latest spectral estimation algorithms to reconstruct the data?” Perceptor asked.

Suddenly, Rodimus stood up and snapped his fingers. “That’s it! If Drift has taught me anything—”

“And you’ve been paying attention,” Ratchet mumbled.

Rodimus pretended to ignore it and pointed at the screen.

“This is Prism, the founder of Spectralism.”

Chapter Text

“I’m telling you, that’s all I know.” Drift leaned back in the booth, snuggling back against Ratchet and idly sloshing his drink. “Prism was a very private person. She said that she only felt comfortable expressing herself to the public through her writings.”

Rodimus frowned that tired frown he always had when he was both frustrated and bored. From what Drift had heard via Ratchet, they had been trying for weeks to get more information out of the memory banks they had obtained from the derelict ship, but even with their advanced algorithms, they couldn’t squeeze much more out of the logs. It had been as Prism had said: a small group of Cybertronians running from the people that would ultimately kill them.

“Even if I did know more, I’m not sure how relevant it would be,” Drift continued. “It does seem we really did jump far from our reality. Our Prism died millions of years ago of an undisclosed illness.” Ratchet shifted slightly in the same way he always did right about when he was going to interject, so Drift subsequently twisted around to put his finger against his partner’s lips. “And no, I don’t have any details either that would allow you to diagnose it, so shoosh.”

Ratchet gave Rodimus a look that seemed like mild annoyance mixed with amusement. “And every day I remind myself that I willingly chose this,” he said against Drift’s finger.

“Oh, poor you.” Rodimus winked playfully at Ratchet. “Anyway, the only other thing we have to go on is the other two name drops, Horizon and Hotfix, which isn’t much. They were both last seen leaving with the Circle of Light, and since they weren’t listed as passengers on the ships that were shot down and they weren’t with the Circle when we met back up with them, we’ve got nothing.” He twisted his mouth and then turned to his friend. “Question: have you ever heard of runeblades?”

Drift straightened up, gracefully crossed his arms in front of him, and with practiced control, slowly drew out his two side blades, gently laying them out on the table. “Yes.”

Rodimus stood up and leaned over the table, gently tracing his fingers in the air over the script, being noticeably careful not to touch the metal. The self-healing blades were almost indestructible, but Drift admired that Rodimus was showing respect anyway and not touching them without cause or permission. “Do these say anything or are they just decorations?”

“The runes are a secret code with the Circle and act as a blessing for the blades,” Drift ran his finger over one of the lines. “This one says ‘strength of will.” He switched to the other blade. “And this one says ‘acuity of mind.’” He picked them back up to resheath them. “Apparently they are supposed to reflect the attributes of the wielder.”

Ratchet snorted.

“What?” Drift asked as he chuckled.

“Nothing.”

“Oh, please, by all means. Enlighten us with your wisdom.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t give you one called ‘stubbornness of spark.’” Ratchet yelped when Drift lightly tapped him on the helm.

“So.” Nautica slammed her hands down on the table. “Why aren’t any of you out there dancing? It’s the grand reopening of Swerve’s, and our most notorious partiers are here in the corner. In the dark, like it’s some type of conspiracy.”

“Yes, to fuel, Nautica,” Ratchet said, taking a drink. “Don’t worry. We’ll be out there soon enough.”

Their new chief engineer appeared a bit more inebriated than usual. If the rumors were true that Skids had been her usual dance partner, then these parties must have gotten increasingly difficult for her. Rodimus seemed to notice as well as he stood up and held out his hand. “I’d be happy to go with you. Leave these lovebirds alone for a bit.”

As Nautica smiled and took Rodimus’ hand, Drift mouthed “thank you” back at him. It wasn’t that Drift didn’t want to dance with Nautica; it was that he had wanted to spend tonight with Ratchet, especially at an event that promised to last through the night. It would mirror their first date on Axial together, something so special to the two of them that Drift hadn’t even told Rodimus everything that had happened. His best friend connected the dots though and didn’t pry further.

An arm snaked around Drift and pulled him closer. “So,” Ratchet said as they snuggled back against each other, “how are you and Rodimus doing? I know you still had your reservations even though you stubbornly forgave him.”

It was hard to explain to Ratchet why it was important to Drift to forgive his best friend immediately when Rodimus had apologized. His partner had always had the gift of time to let things settle out, but he had never had that luxury. You only distanced yourself from others when you had no other choice; even a broken friendship could mean the difference between life and death. Drift knew he wasn’t without his hypocrisies—he had dragged his pedes in confessing his love for Ratchet—but he had wanted his friend back close to him and to iron out the details later. “Actually, I think we’re doing better. He’s making a pretty good effort.”

“Good. Good,” Ratchet said distantly.

Now was as good a time as any to press. “So, are you planning on holding this grudge forever, or…”

Ratchet sipped his drink. “I’ll reconsider when I see more consistent progress.”

Drift sighed. “I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who’s allowed to be angry at him, and I’m pretty sure I’ve said I’m not.”

“I’m not— It’s not…” Ratchet’s aggravation jostled Drift so much that he sat up. “He used you! He hurt you! He didn’t stop you from banishing yourself from your only home for something he failed to take responsibility for!” There was fire in his optics but an empathetic worry right behind it. “Sure, you’ve had to hide that pain for years to survive, but I’m seeing it now, and it hurts that you put yourself out there for others only to be taken advantage of and beaten down!”

“Ratty,” Drift said in a low voice as he put his hand on Ratchet’s shoulder, “he knows. He knows because I told him I wouldn’t put up with it anymore.”

Ratchet blinked a few times, clearly shocked, but didn’t say a word.

“Please, my love.” Drift bumped his helm up against Ratchet’s. “At least consider letting this go?”

After a moment, Ratchet nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

Drift gave Ratchet a brief kiss before getting up out of the booth and holding out his hand. “Now as I recall, you promised me a dance?”

Ratchet took it with a gentle smile. “That I did.”

For the first time in a very long time, Chromedome actually felt like he could relax. All of the things that used to constantly nag him, from the worry that his practice of mnemosurgery would one day kill him to Rewind’s near obsessive search for the fate of Dominus Ambus, had been definitively resolved. That didn’t mean they weren’t without their residual effects; his hands still tingled where the needles had been, an effect that First Aid said would disappear with time, and Rewind still ingested copious amounts of information, a hobby he insisted he could manage despite suffering memory faults on occasion. The archivist was supposed to have near perfect recall, the operative word being ‘near,’ so at this point it really only mattered where it directly impacted his life.

Chromedome didn’t want to let any of that distract him from what was becoming a distinctly Lost Light tradition: insane parties. Swerve had gone all out on his remodel, adding more seating on one side and a very large dance floor on the other, complete with a dedicated DJ booth. It was so full that Chromedome had been lucky to secure a table for an ad-hoc double date with Brainstorm and Perceptor, who had just come back from the bar with a few large pitchers of Swerve’s new engex brew.

“You’re being pretty brave tonight with that new stuff,” Chromedome said to Brainstorm as the scientist sat down next to Perceptor.

“It’s not like we have much of a choice.” Brainstorm started pouring the blue liquid into the four cubes they had brought with them. “The old universe stuff is running low. I’m sure Swerve has a few choice bottles for special occasions, but this is what we get now.”

Perceptor picked up his cube and sloshed it around while observing it closely. “What tests did you perform to ensure the correct operation of the distillery?”

“Basic safety checks mostly, although Minimus spent like six hours poking at it to triple check that it matched all specs.” Brainstorm picked up his glass. “Here goes nothing.”

The four of them tentatively took a sip of the new engex.

“Does it taste slightly different from the usual stuff?” Rewind asked.

“Maybe it’s got that new universe flavor,” Chromedome suggested.

“But would we be able to detect it since we are also in the new universe?” Brainstorm mused.

The three of them stared at Perceptor as he downed his glass and reached for the pitcher. He paused just before he filled his cube, meeting all of their optics. “It requires more experimentation,” he explained as he poured.

Chromedome swore that Brainstorm was on the verge of exploding with pure joy as the scientist quivered in his seat. His best friend’s relationship with the chief science officer had gotten off to an awkward if not rocky start, so any compliment from Perceptor, no matter how subtle, was a good sign.

“Does that mean you like it?” Rewind asked what his conjunx had been thinking.

Perceptor took another sip and cocked an optic ridge. “Indeed.”

Brainstorm made a happy-sounding whine before he turned to his amica. “So, how’s the new career going?”

“Mostly reading at this point, but Froid’s papers are really filling in a lot of the gaps,” Chromedome said. “He was really thorough in categorizing all of the mental health disorders he observed.

“Ratchet’s been letting him use Rung’s old office for studying,” Rewind explained. “It’s been great for both of us to get out of the habsuite and establish workspaces and the like.”

Perceptor turned towards Rewind. “You are configuring a film studio, correct?”

Chromedome watched his conjunx explain his new setup, but he didn’t listen closely to the details. It was the second time Rewind had mentioned that name; it was almost like this Rong had been on the ship at some point, but Chromedome couldn’t remember who they were. He waited for his conjunx to finish his long and detailed description of every single piece of equipment he had squeezed into his studio.

“Sweetspark, who is Rong?”

Rewind furrowed his brow. “Wrong about what?”

“That name you mentioned with my new office.”

“Oh, Rung! With a ‘u.’”

“Yes. Who is that?”

Rewind’s optics glazed over slightly. They usually did that when he was accessing a deep memory and had to devote more processor power to the search. “I’m… not sure exactly. I always knew that place as Rung’s office.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, right! It was where we got the Matricies, remember? He… he told us… He told us something. What was it?”

“Wait.” Brainstorm’s optics narrowed. “Are you telling me you just picked up twelve perfectly good Matricies from a random room on the ship?”

“No, we—” Rewind started massaging his brow and winced.

Chromedome gently rubbed his conjunx’s back. “What is it?”

“Helmache,” Rewind mumbled.

It was understandable; nothing made sense anymore. Chromedome hadn’t thought much about the Battle of the Twelve Matricies in a while, but upon reviewing the events again, he couldn’t recall any known origin of what they had used to defeat the Functionists. He swore he would have remembered if Rodimus had done something, despite technically not being a Prime anymore, but the captain had just handed them out. His memories were clear right before and then right after the Matricies had appeared.

Then it came to him. “Information creep. It feels like information creep.”

“‘Feels like?’” Perceptor asked. “ Please explain that in more scientific terms.”

Old sensory echos were common among mnemosurgeons. Being in someone’s brain didn’t just mean seeing their memories; it meant experiencing all of the nerve feedback that came with them, but sometimes those messages got scrambled. “I don’t know. It’s a bit like synesthesia, where you can taste a color? When I’ve come across information creep in someone’s mind, it feels… fuzzy, almost… slippery in a sense. When I think about the Matricies, that’s what it’s like. It’s not quite accessible.”

Chromedome felt a hand fall across his and squeeze it. Rewind was looking up at him, not with the frustrated look that he usually wore when arguing against Chromedome’s decision to practice mnemosurgery, but with the worried look of someone trying to understand what mnemosurgery had done to the surgeon now that he had quit.

“Why then am I the only one remembering it?” Rewind asked softly. “I’m not immune to information creep either.”

“Maybe you’re more resistant?” Brainstorm offered. “But we’re all having issues with memories in this specific timeframe, so it’s not just you. In fact, it confirms my suspicions that we’re all crazy!”

“Don’t let that become public knowledge.” Cerebros approached the table, drink in hand. “Though I’d be curious as to why you think that.”

“I’m remembering a person who no one else remembers,” Rewind explained. “And the memories around the event are fuzzy for everyone.”

Cerebros hummed thoughtfully into his drink. “You know, I’ve actually been working on a device that might be able to help figure this out, if you’re okay with something experimental.”

“What’s not experimental on this ship, Cerebros?” Brainstorm held up his glass. “Even the engex is theoretical.”

Cerebros chuckled. “I knew there was a reason I stayed.” He turned towards Rewind. “And if that disturbing fact doesn’t deter you, meet me in my lab first thing tomorrow.”

The archivist smiled weakly. “With everything that we’ve come to expect on this crazy ship, I’ll be there.”

The next day, Rewind headed down with Chromedome, Brainstorm, and Perceptor to Cerebros’ lab. It was located in the large block of previously unused workspaces that hosted many of the ship’s new fabrication facilities that were now necessary for self-sufficiency. 

They eventually found themselves in a large and pristine medical lab. Rewind scanned the entire room with his mounted camera, focusing on Cerebros when the scientist approached. “You did all this within a few days?”

“Oh, we did all this in only a day.” Cerebros pulled a blanket off of a device in the center of the room. “This is what took the most time.”

Brainstorm leaned over and poked it. “Scanner of some sort?”

“That’s right! First of its kind. A mnemograph!” Cerebros gestured to Spinister as he got up from his desk and came over. “We figured out how to put the same capabilities of mnemosurgery in a machine with no risk to the user, and for injuries like the ones Nautica sustained, it would work much faster than a regular medical scan.”

Rewind joined Chromedome in inspecting it. His conjunx could have used something like this before mnemosurgery caused his frame permanent damage, and Rewind did his best to quiet the rage rising in him that it took four million years to get the right two people together, one on either side of the war, to create such a device. It certainly wasn’t guaranteed they would have met without the war, but maybe the chances would have at least been higher that they could have collaborated.

Chromedome searched intently over the mnemograph. “Is it… needleless?”

Spinister nodded excitedly. “It uses an alternate method of stimulating the sectors to load the memory into consciousness, much like Sunder’s remote mnmemosurgical technique which I read about in Froid’s notes. It creates an index of previously encountered memories so we can rapidly decide what we need to load to address the current issue.” He gently touched Chromedome’s shoulder to turn him towards a monitor. “Here we can visualize the memories so we know what we’re accessing.”

“Have you used it yet?” Brainstorm asked.

“Not yet, but we’re looking for volunteers.” Cerebros approached Rewind. “Which is where you come in. I have a feeling that we might be able to figure out why you have memories that no one else does.”

Brainstorm raised his hand. “I’ll be your control case.”

Perceptor choked. “It’s an untested device!”

“I know, Percy. That’s why I’m testing it.”

“But—”

Brainstorm sat down underneath the scanner. “Alright, Cerebros, let’s see what this can do!”

The machine whirred to life and started ticking. “Readings are looking good,” Cerebros reported from the monitor. “It looks like you sustained a few bumps which healed on their own, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all of us had them.” He kept watching for a few more minutes until the machine stopped. “Alright, now Brainstorm, think about the memory you were discussing last night and walk me through it.”

Brainstorm tilted his helm slightly. “We were trying to figure out how to defeat the Functionists, and we realized that we could use twelve Matricies, one at each hotspot to do it. Rodimus handed all of the Matricies out and we went to save the multiverse.”

“Where did you get the Matricies?” Cerebros asked.

“I…” Brainstorm twisted his optics in thought. “I’m trying to think, but it’s not coming to me.”

Spinister hummed. “That’s odd…”

Perceptor immediately rushed to the monitor. “What’s odd?”

“I can see the memory being stimulated right there,” Spinister said as he pointed to a small partition on the diagram of Brainstorm’s brain. “When he recalled the memories around this one, they loaded properly, but this one is refusing to fully load, probably giving him a fuzzy perception of it.”

“Is that what information creep looks like?” Rewind asked.

Cerebros placed the mnemograph on standby and signaled for Brainstorm to get up. “Probably, although we need more data.”

“You can scan me.” Rewind touched his conjunx’s forearm. “I”ll be okay, Domey. Don’t worry.”

Chromedome merely nodded, but Rewind knew he was worried not just for him but for Brainstorm as well. Still, they needed to get to the bottom of this. The archivist sat down in the chair and let Cerebros position the device over his helm and start it up.

“Okay,  I need you to do exactly what Brainstorm did,” Cerebros said the scanner had been running for a few minutes.

Rewind started searching his memories. Since the memory had only been a few months ago, he could recall it fairly quickly. “We were trying to figure out how to defeat the Functionists, and the Magnificence—Epistemus—told us that Rung could make photonic crystals for three Matricies to be used inside their Cybertron. But since the openers would be there when Cybertron blew up, we found another solution that would put them on the surface to accomplish the same goal but spare their lives. The only drawback was that we needed to use the twelve hotspots, which meant Rung had to create nine more Matricies. So Domey and I accompanied Rung to his office where he sacrificed himself to create them, and then we brought them back up to Rodimus to hand out.”

The entire room, except for the machines, was dead silent. All of Rewind’s crewmates had confused looks on their faces, like he had told them something completely ridiculous, but he remembered it as clear as day.

Chromedome knelt down beside him and stroked his shoulder. “Sweetspark, who is he? Why could he make photonic crystals?”

“Um, I think…” Rewind dug deeper into his memory. “He was a… he was a psychiatrist! He collaborated with Froid a lot.” The mnemograph wasn’t humming anymore, so Rewind got up and ran over to the computer terminal. He typed in Rung’s name and waited. And waited. And waited. “Computer’s slow today.”

The computer buzzed, and the rest of the room shuffled closer.

“Well, you don’t see that everyday,” Chromedome remarked.

“Fascinating,” Perceptor said. “Similar to the fault we encountered a few weeks ago, except that it failed instead of reporting zero results.”

“What fault?” Cerebros asked.

“Ratchet had us run that sentio metallico that was in his office through the medical database,” Brainstorm explained. “Not only did we not find anything, but the computer struggled to get anywhere at all.”

“Could there be an issue with the computer itself?” Rewind asked.

“Maybe.” Brainstorm stroked his chin with his hand. “Better call Roller.”

Roller stared at the fault message. He read it over a few times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Failed to complete search, data corruption detected?” Saying it out loud didn’t make it any easier to understand. He shook his helm and turned towards the group waiting behind him. “I’ve never seen this error message. The Teletraan-V system that was installed on the Lost Light when it was built went on to gain a reputation for its reliability. It was one of the most advanced systems ever created, and I see from war records that many of its generation built before the war actually survived and continue operations to this day, only needing light regular maintenance from standard parts. Its self-healing memory is particularly impressive, relying on multiple backup cores for error-checking and restoration, so that makes it all the more strange that we are getting data corruption at all.”

“We inspected the entire system before we left Cybertron and adhered to the recommended maintenance schedule,” Perceptor said. “Have you gotten the results from the diagnostic you ran earlier?”

“Yeah, and everything came back clean.” Roller sighed. “Since our diagnostics are not catching the issue, that means I’m going to have to narrow down where the issue is originating. Likely that will mean taking certain systems offline while I inspect them. I think we can still keep traveling, but we probably should try to avoid putting ourselves in mortal danger like we usually do.”

“Ha!” Brainstorm exclaimed. “Good luck with that.”

“Nevertheless,” Perceptor said, “I will request a brief respite on our heroing activities on your behalf and can also communicate your progress to the rest of the staff to allow you to focus on your work.” 

Roller smiled. “Thanks, Perceptor. I appreciate it.”

The chief science officer nodded at the rest of the people in the lab and walked out of the room.

“He’s not going to keep that report brief, is he?” Roller asked Brainstorm and Chromedome.

Chromedome chuckled. “Probably not, but at least one person in the room is going to enjoy it.” He elbowed his amica. “Brainstorm could listen to him reading the Autobot code.”

“And how exactly is there anything wrong with that?” Brainstorm asked sarcastically.

“This is a chance to work with him though,” Chromedome said as he put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You know as much about the computer systems as Perceptor does; maybe not to the same degree as Roller here but enough to give some support.”

“Don’t give up that opportunity, Brainstorm,” Rewind said, leaning against Chromedome’s leg. “Take it from us.”

Brainstorm nodded nervously as his wings quivered. “Right… Right.”

Over the next few days, Roller worked alongside Perceptor, Brainstorm, and Rewind to isolate where the fault was occurring. It was a lot of painstaking work, but the new chief of operations was having the time of his life. To have such an extensive and brilliant system under his fingers was like the dream job that had never occurred to him. He spent most of his time in the computer core room that sat embedded in the center of the ship, protected from the elements by walls and force fields and gyroscopically stabilized from any slight movement.

Much of the equipment responsible for operating the ship’s non-essential systems sat on the floor as he pulled their components one by one to make sure they weren’t part of the issue. One problem had come up on the first day when he had removed the first few components: he had forgotten the search term he needed to test. A quick call to Rewind had fixed the issue, but after several additional calls, the archivist had come down personally with a large sign with RUNG written on it and mounted several copies on the wall so that Roller could see it from wherever he was working.

Roller was on his back with his hands deep in the core trying to access one of the sub-processors when he heard tentative rolling outside. He stopped for a second to listen for who it might be.

“Hey, big bot,” Nickel said from outside the core.

Roller almost ran his helm into the frame. “Nickel! What are you doing here?” He started extracting himself out of the service tunnel.

Nickel pouted at him in her cute way. “I hadn’t seen you in Swerve’s for a few days and wondered where you’d gone.” She looked all around her. “They said you were debugging something in the computer core?”

“Yeah…” Roller suddenly felt hot and groped for his canister of chilled energon, taking a long drink upon finding it. “I’ve got my ‘patient’ spread out all over here trying to figure out why it’s acting strange when we type in a certain search parameter.” He breathed out hard. “I was just about to pull one of the major components.”

Nickel crossed her arms and rolled side to side in place, looking at the equipment on the floor. “Yeah, it looks similar to when we do a full frame rebuild and encounter issues. Isolate and diagnose.” She lifted her head following the core to the ceiling. “Though for a much much bigger patient.”

“I think I’m almost done.” Roller leaned back against the side of the core. “Hopefully it won’t be long until I’m back at Swerve’s.”

Nickel nodded. “No, I get it. Take your time.” She winked. “Our dates are worth waiting for.” She turned back towards the door, rolling precisely around all of the components without touching a single one.

Roller shook his helm. “Wow.” He lay back down to shuffle himself back into the tunnel and started pulling the connections to the sub-processor he was working on earlier. He couldn’t remove this particular one from its housing without a lot more work, so he just disconnected it and worked his way back out, picking up his portable terminal to type in the name posted on the wall. The search ran for a few minutes before successfully reporting zero search results.

The quantum sub-processor was the root of the issue.

He still couldn’t explain why the initial search on the sentio metallico had succeeded with no results but the search for—he looked at the wall again—Rung had run into an actual fault. It could have been that the initial search corrupted subsequent searches, but he wasn’t quite sure. He sent a quick note to Minimus Ambus to call for a staff meeting, and then started putting the rest of the components back in place, leaving the problem component detached for now.

“So what you’re saying is, the part that helps speed up our searches is slowing down our searches,” Rodimus said as he twirled around in his chair.

“In essence, yes,” Roller confirmed. “Much of our readily available data is indexed directly, but when we do a deep search, it uses the quantum sub-processor to instantly give a wide range of probable search results so that the main processor can determine whether they are valid or not. Indexing is useful but can be expensive, so this helps balance that load.”

Megatron stared intently at the chief operations officer. “What are the consequences of leaving it disconnected?”

Roller sighed as he frowned. “We use it a great deal, not just for searches but for other qualified scientific calculations, so it would slow down many of our processes considerably.”

Nautica leaned back in her chair. “Theoretically, though, if we were able to repair the sectors in the memory where it is struggling, it would go back to normal, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t even identify where those are because it won’t tell me,” Roller said. “The main processor just kind of… skips over it and silently fails without any diagnostic information whatsoever.”

“What if…” Nautica got up from her chair and called up a few ship schematics on the display in the front of the conference room. “What if we connected the quantum drive directly to the core, from here to here.” She pointed her wrench at a conduit that led from the drive sitting at the back of the ship all the way to the computer core at the center.

Perceptor frowned. “You are suggesting that we use the q-bits in the quantum drive core not to calculate the jump differential but rather to perform the calculations required for the search?”

“Yep!” Nautica grinned and faced the rest of the command staff. “Our quantum drive is really just a fancy computer, but usually we use it to calculate how improbable it is to travel past the speed of light to our destination to get the energy we need to jump.”

Rodimus sat up in his seat. “Wait, hang on. We have another stardrive on the ship, right? That also goes past the speed of light?”

Nautica tapped the air with her wrench. “Also true, but it relies on warping space instead of jumping there directly, which is a much more probable method. Still improbable, but not as much so since you’re only doing it for short distances at a time, albeit very rapidly.” She set her wrench down on the table and held her hands a short distance apart with both of her index fingers pointed up. “Imagine there’s a rubber band between these that’s not too taught. At that point there’s not a lot of energy stored in the band.” She started moving her fingers apart. “But when I move them apart, they build up more and more tension, and when we let that tension go, the rubber band will snap over to our destination. Our quantum drive uses that tension, or improbability, to make its jump, and we can use the same tension to power through the search, as it were, to get results and figure out where the issue is.”

“What risk is there to the quantum drive to perform the search this way?” Megatron asked.

“Shouldn’t be any,” Nautica said. “Roller, the sub-processor itself wasn’t damaged, right?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Roller confirmed. “It just can’t perform this particular job.”

“Still,” Perceptor said, “you should run tests on search terms that are known to work to test your hypothesis first.”

Nautica nodded. “We can run those tests this afternoon, and then if all goes well, we can run the experiment tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Megatron said. “I want all available scientific and engineering staff on this to cross check everything, to make sure that what we’re doing will do no harm to the ship or the drive.”

Nautica picked up her wrench from the table and clasped it. “This is going to be so much fun!”

Rodimus pushed himself around the corner of the track as fast as he could. Drift was ahead of him as he always was in the corners, but his friend was no match for him up ahead. As soon as he hit the straightaway, Rodimus put on all his boosters and managed to get a small lead before they both crossed the finish line, transforming shortly after.

“You almost got me that time,” Rodimus said, putting his hand on Drift’s shoulder.

Drift snorted. “I haven’t even gotten started yet. Just let me get used to this track, and then you’ll have a pretty clear view of my aft.”

Rodimus chuckled. “We’ll see about that.” He headed with his friend towards the washracks sitting close to the finish line. It had taken a lot of work to install the small track on the recreational deck, but it was well worth it during long periods of not being able to stretch their wheels. It was now so popular that everyone had to sign up for track times to use it.

The water and solvent mix felt incredible as it washed over Rodimus’ frame, grabbing all the track grime and pulling it down the drain. He looked over at Drift and immediately looked away; he didn’t need to be distracted by that right now. He grasped for a change of subject. “Ugh, I’m so glad Megatron is overseeing this experiment. Being captain can be really fun, but it can also be so boring.”

Drift chuckled. “I would have thought unique and possibly dangerous experiments would have been right up your alley.”

“Yeah, like, the final one, but all the work that goes into it is a lot of…” Rodimus shuddered. “Administration. And Megs is really good at that tedious day-to-day stuff.”

Drift snorted and started laughing.

“What?”

“You sound like Ratchet.”

Rodimus frowned as he turned off his shower. “I do not.”

Drift grinned at him. “You do too.”

Rodimus approached his friend from behind, wrapping his arms around him in a playful stranglehold. “Take that back, Drift.”

“Nope.” Drift worked his way loose enough to turn off the shower. “Both of you are so bored beyond belief if you’re not in a crisis.”

Rodimus lifted himself up to wrap his legs around Drift’s waist. “I’ll make you take that back, you aft!”

Drift laughed, cocking his helm to bunt against Rodimus, who had hooked his chin over his friend’s left shoulder. “Sure you will.”

Rodimus felt himself slipping down Drift’s still wet frame, so he dropped to the floor and instead wrapped his arm around his friend’s waist, pulling him closer. “I will before you beat me on the track.”

Drift wrapped an arm around Rodimus and squeezed. “We’ll see. Same time tomorrow then?”

“Yep! This is our track slot now.” Rodimus glanced at his chronometer. “But aren’t you coming to watch this crazy experiment with me?”

“Eh, I need to get some waxing done, but I’ll be along later.” Drift patted his friend on the shoulder. “But have fun though!”

Rodimus waved as he headed out of the washracks and towards the exit. There was a spring in his step as he headed towards the lift. These dates with Drift were helping slowly but surely rebuild their relationship, and it felt wonderful to just do random silly stuff with his best friend.

His mood darkened just slightly as he saw Ratchet entering the waiting lift just up ahead of him. He sighed and started running. “Wait!”

Ratchet frowned for a split second before gently pushing the door open to trigger the safety mechanism. Rodimus ran into the lift past the medic and used the back wall to stop himself.

“Where—” The quantum jump klaxon interrupted Ratchet. “Starting already, huh?”

Technically, they were both late, but Rodimus didn’t want to admit it. “Yeah, I guess. Bridge?”

Ratchet pressed the button for deck thirteen. The doors closed and the lift started moving upwards. “Why are you still wet?”

“Oh.” Rodimus looked down and saw a few droplets on the floor. “Just got out of the washracks.”

Ratchet nodded. “Right, this is your track time with Drift.” His tone of voice was surprisingly cordial. “But where—”

The lights flickered and the whole lift shuddered as the ship jumped through space. Rodimus slammed into the wall as everything turned on its side. Something pinned him to the floor as the lights went out.

Chapter Text

Megatron didn’t realize he had become unconscious until error messages started flooding his HUD. He was used to getting a fair number of them daily given what his frame had gone through, but the sheer number of them now indicated something had truly gone very wrong. He forced his optics open and attempted to focus on anything at all in the darkness. He finally spotted his chair outlined only by the red emergency lights halfway across the room. From what he could tell, the accident had thrown him right up against the viewscreen, that is, until the wall behind him started to groan, and a hand slipped over the side of his frame and back.

“Glad I put on the armor today,” Ultra Magnus mumbled from behind him.

Megatron tried to remember where his second-in-command had been before the ship had violently pitched forward. Ultra Magnus had been close but to the side, so he must have jumped right in front of the captain as they flew through the air against the front of the bridge.

He craned his helm towards his second-in-command as best he could. “Are you alright?”

“I appear to be uninjured,” Ultra Magnus replied. There was a long pause. “And you?”

Megatron winced when an old war injury complained as he sat up. “I’ll live.” He surveyed the rest of the bridge. Everyone was accounted for and slowly waking up. “Report. When you can.”

Crankcase straightened up in his chair and started reading off his displays. “We jumped to our destination, but…”

“But?” Megatron tried to get to his pedes but the old injury caused him to stumble. He felt two large hands set him upright. He looked back up at Ultra Magnus, who nodded with the slightest hint of a smile, perhaps even an indication that his second-in-command was starting to work through his feelings about the captain’s apparent abandonment of the crew on Functionist Cybertron.

“Quantum drive reported failures before we lost connection.” Crankcase shook his helm. “None of our drives are responding. Neither are thrusters. We’re dead in space.”

“Ugh, emergency power only,” Hound said from the back of the bridge. “Some of the connections to the rest of the ship have been severed. I can only maybe report on the status of twenty-five percent of the ship?”

“Comms are down,” Blaster reported. “There’s also a ton of interference that’s preventing us from using our radios.”

That meant that their experiment had taken out portions of the primary, secondary, and tertiary systems. The ship itself was supposed to be experimental, but as far as they could tell from the ship’s log, it had never gone on a shakedown cruise to test the failovers. For all intents and purposes, their quest was the shakedown cruise. It wasn’t exactly an unknown scenario, as dire circumstances had forced Megatron to order the launch of many Decepticon ships before they were well and truly ready, but nevertheless he was frustrated that for all of their years on the Lost Light, the crew hadn’t bothered to make the time to test all the systems. It was on Nautica’s very long and detailed to-do list, but she would most likely move it more towards the top once they got out of this mess.

“Restoring communication, one way or the other, is our top priority,” Megatron said. “We need to be able to coordinate repairs with the rest of the ship.”

While Megatron had been instructing the bridge crew, he noticed Ultra Magnus heading to the back of the bridge. He found his second-in-command kneeling down to the side of the usually automatic door, opening the manual release panel. “Even the doors are down?”

“Apparently.” Ultra Magnus effortlessly pushed down the handle and the door slowly slid open. 

The hallway ahead of them was dark, lit only by the same emergency lights as on the bridge. Megatron peered around the corner and noticed that the bulkhead doors for both of the side hallways were sealed. Unlike some of the smaller doors, the heavy section doors couldn’t be opened easily, a safety measure preventing depressurization or other hazards spreading further throughout the ship. Their next option of connecting with the rest of the ship was the lift ahead of them, but the light that normally illuminated its panel was not on. “That’s not good,” he growled softly.

Ultra Magnus apparently saw it too, as he got up and headed straight for the manual release for the lift door. In a few moments, the door swung open, and the two of them peered down the dark shaft. “One moment,” the second-in-command said as he went back towards the bridge to open a small utility box in the wall, bringing back a very powerful flashlight. 

The bright beam of light only illuminated what Megatron had feared. The lift, having likely been making its way up when the accident occurred, was stuck a few decks down, covered with piles of debris. It would take hours of careful work to clear the debris to get at any occupants inside, and in the low light it was all but impossible.

“I should have expected this,” Ultra Magnus said after a few moments.

The captain patted his officer on the shoulder. “You can’t anticipate every contingency, Minimus.”

“No, I mean…” There was a slight embarrassed tension in Ultra Magnus’ voice. “This sort of setback is a Lost Light tradition.” He paused briefly. “I need to work on my delivery.”

Megatron chuckled. “Attempting humor again?”

Ultra Magnus cleared his throat. “Yes, well…” He started heading back towards the bridge. “This is probably not the best time.”

“On the contrary,” Megatron said as they stopped in front of their only other option of moving through the ship, the one that no one would like, “this is the perfect time for it.”

Drift woke up to a maddening ringing in his audials. His finials ached almost to the point where he could barely focus when he finally opened his optics. He slowly pushed himself off the floor and tried to see anything at all in the darkened room. Fortunately, the wax sprayer appeared to have stopped when the ship had lurched, so there wasn’t much more wax on his frame than he had already sprayed on. He groped for a towel to wipe off the remainder and then made his way out to the entrance of the washracks.

There wasn’t much in the recreational area that would have suffered severe damage from whatever had happened to the ship, but he couldn’t make a good assessment in the darkness. He needed to follow emergency protocols though and reconnect with others on the ship. His communicator gave him nothing but static. He took a deep panicked breath and immediately focused on calming himself. Being alone and isolated for so long had definitely taken a toll on him.

Drift transformed and drove towards the bow of the ship and Ratchet’s office. When he arrived, he found the door closed. He pressed the call button. Nothing. He banged on the door yelling his partner’s name. Nothing. In his rising panic, he tried to remember where the nearest entrance was to the maintenance tunnels. He searched around frantically and finally found it, working his way to the hatch over the office. Pulling it aside, he dropped down and looked around.

Ratchet was gone.

There was a good possibility that his partner had gone up to the bridge to observe the experiment, so he headed to the nearest lift. He found that the light on the panel wasn’t illuminated, but he pressed the button a few times just to make sure with no success. Before he knew it, he had slammed his fist into the wall, just missing the panel. He needed to calm down. He needed to work the problem. If he couldn’t easily get to the bridge, maybe he could get to main engineering which was only a few decks down. He crawled back into the maintenance tunnel and worked his way down to deck one and then drove aftward as fast as he could.

When he arrived in engineering, he was a little shocked to only find the Pyrobots with no sign of Nautica. He transformed and approached them. “What happened?”

Fervor glanced over at Drift before going back to working at his console. “Something in the quantum drives went wrong during the experiment. There’s a bunch of catastrophic failures going on, including with the power relays.”

“Nautica went up to fix it, but…” Kindle craned his helm towards one of the maintenance shafts to the side of the power core. “Well, take a look.”

Drift heard it before he saw it, and the sound made his tank churn. Random bolts of electricity crackled as they intermittently filled the entire shaft all the way up to the top.

“It started after she went up there, so she must have done something, but we have no idea of what’s going on,” Fervor added, still typing away at his console. “The electromagnetic interference is blocking all communications, and she’s not responding to us yelling either.”

Kindle walked over to stand by Drift. “We’re getting worried. If it was a fire, we’d be able to put it out no problem, but…”

In order to facilitate maintenance, the shaft had a series of ladders and platforms, but electric bolts shot across both of those making it nearly impossible to navigate.

Nearly.

There were dead zones where the bolts never went. They were small and far apart, but Drift was athletic enough that he thought he could make his way up there. It was risky; the last time he had tried something like this, Rodimus had chewed him out, and no doubt if he attempted it again, he’d have both of his audials full of concerned yelling from both Rodimus and Ratchet.

The loud wail changed everything.

“I’m going up there.” Drift swallowed hard and made his way to the ladder.

“You’re insane!” Kindle called after him, but it would be no use.

Drift closely memorized the patterns. On the bright side, the bolts are helping me spot the ladders. He spotted the first dead spot on the opposite side of the shaft and made a leap for it, engaging his back jets to boost him up slightly. I’m really glad I kept those. He started climbing again. The next dead spot was a thin support connecting one of the platforms to the wall. He leapt for it and just barely made it, having to swing himself a few times to pull himself up. A bolt of electricity nearly hit him, and he made another leap almost immediately to a ladder on the far wall. However, he was getting the hang of it. He kept going and found a rhythm to it: a climb here, a leap there, a boost here, a swing there.

He took one more giant leap to grab the side of the top platform. He used all his strength and jets to push himself up. Panting and relieved, he quickly looked up.

Nautica was staring down the main power relay, violently shaking and breathing hard. She turned around slowly. “D-drift?” she stuttered.

“Nauts, what’s wrong?” Drift pulled himself to his pedes and started to approach.

“Don’t!” Nautica screamed. There was something haunting about her optics, something almost familiar from a very long, long time ago. “Please… leave me alone!” she yelled with tears streaming down her face.

Drift stopped when he realized what was going on. He had seen this way too many times in the Dead End. He had been there once himself.

“Just let me die,” Nautica sobbed loudly. “I don’t deserve this. Not after what I did to the ship. Not after what I did with… with… Skids.”

It was the worst case scenario: the accident had triggered all of her latent memories, and now Drift was the only person who could help her.

Upon waking after being thrown against the wall surrounding the computer core, Brainstorm’s mind filled with oodles of possibilities as to why the ship had presumably misjumped.

Perceptor was the first to speak, however. “Curious. That should not have happened.”

“Lots of things shouldn’t have happened, but this is the Lost Light,” Brainstorm countered. “Maybe we ran into a wormhole, or a giant space wave hit us shortly before we jumped, or we tried to calculate the impossible instead of mostly impossible! If I had to choose it would be that one, personally.”

“We would have detected a wormhole, space waves have never been proven to exist, and running a calculation, even if it is impossible, should have just caused us to remain in place.” Even while arguing, Perceptor was cognizant enough to hold out his hand to Brainstorm to pull him up.

“But think about the possibilities! The things we could learn!”

“I would prefer to think about the possibility of analyzing the situation.”

Brainstorm breathed in sharply and then out. There was no doubt in his mind that he loved Perceptor down to every subatomic particle of his existence, but that love naturally came with worries about his partner’s wellbeing. It struck him as odd, and somewhat concerning, that a top scientist like Perceptor wasn’t nearly as excited about science as he was, like someone or something had sucked all the fun out of it for his partner.

But that wasn’t important right now. “Fair,” Brainstorm said finally. He looked around the room, barely able to see in the low light. “Where’s Roller?”

“I’m here,” the chief of operations groaned from across the room. “Some power would be nice right about now. Maybe a stiff drink too while you’re at it.”

“I also find it curious that neither the secondary nor the tertiary systems have restored even some partial power,” Perceptor said.

Roller stumbled over to the pair of scientists. “That sounds like a physical breakage then, something the backups couldn’t reroute.”

“There are multiple reroute paths,” Perceptor argued. “I can only surmise that perhaps the systems were not isolated properly enough for this sort of accident.”

“I don’t think isolation would have helped in this case,” Brainstorm countered. “We’re so far outside standard operating procedure that no one could have anticipated this.”

“Regardless, we need to reestablish contact with the bridge.” Perceptor picked up his comm, but as soon as he turned it on, it hummed with interference. “Ah. Of course. The next course of action would be to attempt to return to the bridge.”

Roller had gone over to the door and was peering out. “Uh, I’ve got bad news on that front. The bulkhead doors towards the bridge are sealed. At least they worked correctly, danger or no, but I don’t have the tools with me to get them open again.” He turned back towards the scientists. “Besides, the bridge is going to need the main computer back online anyway sooner rather than later.”

Brainstorm sighed. “We need power.”

Perceptor nodded. “I concur.”

Well, at least they agreed on that point.

Rodimus woke up to a calming gentle warmth over him. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time; it had been at least a few years since he had fallen asleep beside Drift and woken up to the familiar closeness of a loved one.

Then he remembered who had jumped on him at the last second to shield him from any potential debris.

Rodimus shifted slightly. “Ratchet? You awake?”

The medic mumbled something unintelligible but clearly vulgar. “Now I am.” He slowly shifted his weight off of the captain. “Are you alright? Does anything feel injured?”

The relative chill of the lift made Rodimus shiver. “I think I’m okay.” He sat up and leaned back against the wall of the car. “So… That happened.”

Ratchet stood up and inspected the keypad for the lift door before reaching for his comm. “Ratchet to bridge.” Nothing but static came back.

“Texts aren’t getting through either it seems,” Rodimus said, staring at a bunch of red error messages on his HUD in dismay.

“We’re probably on our own.” Ratchet looked up at the hatch in the ceiling and then down at the captain, holding out his hand. “Can you give me a hand getting the hatch off.”

Rodimus stared briefly at the offered hand before taking it to be pulled up. Ratchet’s voice no longer held its hard edge towards him. Maybe it was only because they were in a crisis and needed to focus solely on the problem, but he wanted to hope that maybe the medic was finally starting to let go of his grudge.

Ratchet made a step with his hands for Rodimus to use to climb up. With the medic’s broad shoulders, it was easy for the captain to climb up and then balance himself enough to start to work on the hatch.

Something was preventing it from sliding open all the way. “It’s not… quite…” Rodimus groaned as he strained to open it further.

“Wait, I can’t—”

“Almost… got it…”

Rodimus pushed one more time with all his might. The hatch suddenly slipped open a little, causing the captain to lose his balance and fall down sideways right into Ratchet’s waiting arms.

“The hell happened up there?!” Ratchet exclaimed, still securely holding Rodimus above the deck.

Rodimus shrugged as best he could within his limited space. “It was stuck!”

“A little warning would have been extremely helpful!”

“Oh, like I know the precise moment it was going to let go! At least I had a big strong medic to—”

Ratchet dropped Rodimus to the floor.

“Hey, watch it!” Rodimus exclaimed as he sat up. “That nearly bent my spoiler!”

Ratchet rolled his optics while shaking his helm. “Oh, you’re fine, captain. I practically lowered you to the floor.”

Rodimus frowned up at him. “Well, you might as well come down here, because we’re going to be here for a while.”

The medic narrowed his optics. “What makes you say that?” Then, he looked up when the captain pointed towards the slightly opened hatch and the debris completely blocking off even the red glow outside. “Oh.”

“Yep.”

Ratchet swore loudly.

Ultra Magnus watched as Megatron crouched down in front of the maintenance tunnel, having already detached the panel from the wall. He had a vague idea of what the captain was going to ask; someone needed to go in there to assess and possibly repair the damage. Much of the rest of the bridge crew, except for Megatron, could easily fit through, but they needed to attend to their respective stations.

He started the sequence of unhooking himself from his armor, catching the attention of Megatron as he dropped to the floor. “I’ll see what I can figure out.” He was small enough that he could just walk in without worrying about his helm. As absurd as the Lost Light’s overall design was, at least they had sufficiently planned the ship around maintainability. 

Minimus Ambus worked his way over to the ladder that would lead him to the main tunnel between the decks, but he turned around when he heard pedesteps approaching, only to see Megatron jogging towards him. He ran a quick diagnostic on his optics to make sure they were working properly, but sure enough, the normally tall captain had shrunk to the height of a minibot. “Er, captain?”

“Don’t worry,” Megatron said as he stopped in front of the second-in-command. “Hound has the conn. I didn’t want you going down here all by yourself.”

The only logical explanation was that the captain still retained the mass shifting capabilities he had acquired when he modified his frame to transform into a gun. It still came as somewhat of a shock to Minimus Ambus to see Megatron only as tall as himself. “Yes,” he finally replied, if only to acknowledge the situation.

As the two officers started working their way down the tunnel towards the first junction box beyond the bridge, Minimus Ambus found the silence between them becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Usually they had more than enough to talk about, even if it was merely about the day-to-day operations of a starship. Dealing with Rodimus’ randomness was frustrating even in the best of times, so he found himself more often than not consulting with Megatron about the ship’s current issues, even those which now even he recognized as frivolous.

However, Megatron’s sudden disappearance on Functionist Cybertron had put a damper on their relationship, despite the captain’s perfectly logical explanation as to why he hadn’t come back with them. Minimus Ambus had resolved to patch things up between them, and in his line of work, the best way to do that was to reopen the lines of communication. He wondered if he should have expressed some appreciation for Megatron’s company, but now there was a much more specific question on his mind. As they approached the junction, he nervously cleared his throat, allowing the sound to echo throughout the empty space.

“Does it hurt?” he asked as the echo faded.

Megatron gave him a confused look. “Does what hurt?”

“The mass shifting.”

“Oh.”

The captain was silent for a few moments as he worked the junction box open. “Yes. Every time.”

Minimus Ambus wasn’t quite expecting that answer, but upon review, he didn’t know what answer he was expecting in the first place. Nevertheless, it was clear now that Megatron had willingly and completely on his own decided to accompany the second-in-command into the tunnels despite the pain it put him through.

“You didn’t have to,” Minimus Ambus offered. “I could have done this on my own.”

Megatron smiled gently at him. “I know, but I thought you might want the company, and besides, it’s quicker with two.”

Minimus Ambus nodded and quickly focused back on his work. “This junction is fully operational, but it’s not getting a signal from the deck below.”

“That makes sense,” Megatron said. “It’s probably broken nearer to the stuck lift.” He shut the junction box and started walking towards the ladder.

The junctions on the next few decks were also operational, so the two officers kept heading down. Finally, they found the breakage above deck eight but determined that they needed to grab a few tools from one of the supply closets before they could start work. They easily reached the exit to the deck, but the door stuck partially open and too small for either of them to fit through.

Before Minimus Ambus could act, Megatron slid his fingers through the gap and started pulling. The door budged slightly but not nearly enough. “Please, allow me,” the second-in-command said as he reached over and casually slid the door to the side.

“Even stronger without your armor,” Megatron mumbled.

Minimus Ambus furrowed his brow. Certainly the captain knew that it wasn’t true, at least in a physical sense. “What do you mean?” he asked as they started walking towards the storage closet.

Megatron’s red optics narrowed slightly as he smiled. “Do you know the reason why I call you ‘Minimus’ even when you are in your armor?”

“No.” The captain had been very consistent on that front, to the point where Minimus Ambus appreciated how much effort he put into it. “Why?”

“Because you were Minimus when you told me you didn’t think I was trying to escape my trial. That you see me for who I am now and not who I was during the war.” Megatron stopped in front of the supply closet. “I thought about that every single day when I was away.”

After working the manual release together, the door slid open and they both went inside, each grabbing a set of tools from the lockers. “You once told me that you agreed to be Ultra Magnus to differentiate yourself from your brother,” Megatron continued, gently setting a warm hand on Minimus Ambus’ shoulder. “But you are the strongest when you are yourself, when you are not letting the armor define you, just as you recognized that I was no longer letting the war define me.”

They started walking back towards the maintenance tunnel. “I’ve thought about getting rid of the armor,” Minimus Ambus said at length. “As you say, I no longer need it to define myself, but truth be told, it can be quite convenient as a mere suit, especially in circumstances like we encountered earlier where I protected you from hitting the wall at full force.”

Megatron chuckled. “That was a good catch.”

“It’s a new universe with new dangers.” Minimus Ambus slipped through the door of the maintenance tunnel. “The armor may very well become a necessary asset.”

“Perhaps.” Megatron followed Minimus Ambus to the ladder back up towards the breakage. After his second-in-command ascended, he lifted the bags of tools up to him, pausing briefly to lightly grasp Minimus Ambus’ hand. “But I also hope someday you will feel comfortable enough sharing your writing with me.”

Someone offering to read his works made Minimus Ambus feel somewhere between afraid and excited. To share something that he had kept close to himself for his entire life and open it up to unknown criticism was going to be difficult, especially towards the author of Towards Peace himself. How would Megatron react to his stories about sprinklers? Would the captain even be interested in poetry inspired by Afterlight, his favorite poem?

“I will… think about it.”

Nautica was standing too close to the power relay for Drift’s comfort. One bad step and she would suffer massive damage if not die outright. He had talked people down before, but he didn’t have much formal training, so he was really glad he had read some of Ratchet’s medical texts on the shuttle ride back.

I just need to keep her talking.

Drift stopped leaning forward to put her at ease and took a neutral position. “Okay, walk me through what happened with Skids. From the beginning, since I wasn’t there.”

Nautica’s lip quivered. “W-what?”

“I just want to understand,” Drift said slowly. “Do you… blame yourself for his death?”

The chief engineer quickly shook her helm. “No, I…” She wiped the lubricant away from her optics. “I didn’t tell him.”

Drift frowned. “Didn’t tell him what?”

“That I… that…” Nautica braced herself against the bulkhead as tears started streaming down her face. “I loved him and I never told him!”

That followed from what Drift had seen at Necroworld, but he had never had the chance to ask exactly what had happened. He tried his best to remain calm, but his tank swirled with the horror of what would have happened if he had never told Ratchet how he felt. How would he have talked himself down if Ratchet had died? How would he have talked himself down from overdosing on syk?

Drift finally decided to nod slowly. “I’m so, so sorry.” He still needed to talk her away from the relay, but she wasn’t in the state of mind to listen to reason. After all, everything had seemed hopeless when he had bought his last injector. That clear blue sky that peaked through the rundown buildings had looked so inviting, so liberating.

“What happened? Did you not have the chance to tell him?”

Nautica shook her helm again. “He said… he said that I was his best friend, and I thought...” Suddenly, she fell to her knees with her helm in her hands and started crying.

Drift crouched down to her level, still prepared to grab her at a moment’s notice. He resisted the urge to approach her until he was sure she wouldn’t bolt.

“I thought that if we were friends we couldn’t be anything more,” Nautica continued between sobs. “Rewind said that was the way it was on Cybertron, that he had dismissed me as anything more than a friend. And… I should have told him!” She started pounding the deck with her fist. “I should have talked to him but I didn’t and I don’t deserve anything because I’m just a big stupid idiot!”

Rewind was much older than most of the crew, so by the time Drift had been forged, that tradition of choosing one or the other had mostly, thankfully, died out. It was strange for him to think of Ratchet and himself as young, but the fact that they hadn’t assumed that being friends couldn’t mean romance had made it easier to talk about those things. Nautica had asked for advice and Rewind had given it in good faith, but ultimately her inexperience had cost her the opportunity and she was going to have to live with that.

Fortunately, Drift was used to living with a lot of things. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Nauts, look at me.”

Nautica struggled but she eventually looked up at him.

Drift controlled his own breathing before speaking. “What happened was horrible, and I know the pain seems extremely unbearable—”

“How do you know?!” Nautica screamed. “How would you fraging know?”

“Because at one point, I had no purpose, no friends, nothing. I had been thrown out with the trash into this place on Cybertron called the Dead End where people go to die. I did horrible things to survive, and when it got too overwhelming, I overdosed on syk because I thought nothing would ever change, that I would never escape the horrible pain and suffering I felt being there.”

Nautica was still maintaining optic contact. Good.

“But some people pulled me out, and I found some friends, and I was able to move on. You have people here who love you, like Velocity and Brainstorm… and me.” Drift tentatively held out his hand. “Many of us have been there, where you are, and we want to help. You don’t have to do this all on your own.”

You don’t have to do this all on your own. So many times, Drift had no other option but to do things on his own, but he knew it wasn’t the way it was supposed to work. Everything in his life had struck him as fiercely wrong, and only now on the Lost Light when they were finally gaining some sense of community was it starting to all fall into place. But would someone like him ever be able to belong?

Nautica was shaking when she took Drift’s hand, and he responded by immediately leaning over on his knees and wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. She cried harder than she had since he had found her, and she didn’t stop for a very long time. When she did eventually start breaking away, she tried to speak but no sounds came out of her mouth. She immediately held out her hands in a familiar query.

Drift responded by similarly holding his hands out and felt the electric signals tickle his palms when she connected. “Nonverbal?” he signed as a question.

Nautica nodded. “Yeah. It happens sometimes when I’m upset.”

“Yeah, me too,” Drift replied. “You look really exhausted as well. Maybe you should rest.”

Nautica looked up towards the power relay. “I need to create a quick bypass to bring the backup systems online.”

Drift frowned. “How long will it take?”

“Half an hour. Less with help.”

“What can I do?”

In twenty minutes they had power running to the tertiary backup system, just enough to help the rest of the crew to start repairs. The main relay was still overcharged, so their way down was still blocked and comms were still not working, but it was all Nautica had in her as she started to collapse in place. Drift caught her just in time and led her over to the wall, sitting down next to her and letting her lean against him.

Nautica reconnected her hand to Drift’s. “Sorry. I feel so sick.”

“It’s okay. We’re safe here.”

Nautica’s breathing started to slow, so much that Drift thought that maybe she had dozed off, but then she started signing again. “How am I going to live with all of this? All the guilt and grief? It was fine when I didn’t remember him, but now I think about him all the time, and I just…” She started shaking again.

Drift pulled her closer and leaned his helm against hers. “It seems too big, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“But you find ways. Distractions mostly, at first. But it gets easier eventually. You just have to survive right now, do what you need right now to improve just a little. Then it doesn’t seem so difficult.”

Nautica was silent for a few moments. “He… Skids… was the first person who made me feel like I wasn’t weird for being me. Lotty accepted me, but Skids understood me. It was like he could immediately speak my language, no translator necessary. I miss that.” She started shaking as she briefly removed her hand to wipe her optics. “It’s hard, but… I think I prefer remembering him over forgetting him. I was upset before, maybe angry even, at Brainstorm and Velocity, for deciding to go ahead with the surgery, but… I think they were right.”

Drift smiled as he signed a short acknowledgement of understanding her, glad that she was starting to accept her friends’ decision, but the smile faded as soon as he felt the next phrase dance across his hand.

“Have you ever lost anyone, Drift? I mean, of course you have, war and all, but anyone really close to you?”

He closed his optics and cycled a few breaths before answering, struggling to maintain control amongst his already present worries about Ratchet, Rodimus, Nautica, and the rest of the crew. “Yes,” he signed after a few moments. “I’ve lost a lot of people I loved.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Drift hadn’t talked about many of his lost loved ones to anyone in a very long time. With everything going on, the daily pain was too great to be able to bear dredging up the past. Even Ratchet didn’t know about most of them, but maybe it was time that he should, and maybe his new friends should hear about them as well.

“I’ll tell you about them sometime.”

Nautica’s breathing stabilized as her hand slipped from Drift’s light grip, finally falling into a desperately needed recharge. He slumped back against the wall, relieved that she was finally resting, but also that the conversation was over at least for now. It had taken a lot out of him, and he started to relax into a light meditation to keep himself somewhat conscious in case he was needed. Everything was now in the hands of the rest of the repair crews.

Now all he had to do was wait.

“This is going nowhere.” Brainstorm sighed as he watched Perceptor hunt for the next dead end maintenance tunnel.

They had spent the last several hours trying to track down why the front sections of the ship weren’t getting any power. Every single path they had tried had been blocked for one reason or another, and when they had finally located one of the major breakages, they had determined that they couldn’t repair it from that side. And if that wasn’t frustrating enough, Perceptor had shot down each and every one of Brainstorm’s ideas, making a problem solving adventure turn into a grueling dissertation defense.

Perceptor turned towards his partner. “This is merely the fifth of fifty-seven possible paths that we have tried in order to reach the breakage.”

Brainstorm threw up his hands. “We don’t have time to try all the possible paths! The crew is depending on us fixing this. If there ever was a time when we needed to pull out our out-of-the-box thinking, well, out of the box, it’s now.”

“There is no need for using untested ideas until we have eliminated all other possibilities.”

“But that could take weeks, months, years even! An imperfect solution is better than none at all!”

“An untested imperfect solution could get us both killed.”

Brainstorm put his hand to his helm as it started to throb. “Look. For millions of years, I’ve had to come up with solutions for problems with little time for turnaround. People would ask me, ‘Brainstorm, can you do this?’ or ‘Brainstorm, is this possible because the enemy is right around the corner and I need your best work in five minutes! Hurry!’ So that’s what I did. That’s what I’m known for. And I’m frustrated as the Pit that you are blocking me at every turn!”

Perceptor stared at him, almost through him. “You want out-of-the-box thinking? What about out-of-the-ship?”

“Now you’re just making fun of me!” Brainstorm turned around and walked away a bit to cool off.

“No,” Perceptor replied in his same analytical manner. “We can do a space walk to get around the issue.”

“A spa—” Brainstorm actually focused on what was ahead of him and spotted one of the airlocks. He immediately spun around and walked over to clasp Perceptor on the shoulder. “Oh, that’s brilliant! That’s—” He sighed, realizing what he should say. “I’m sorry. You were taking my advice after all.”

Perceptor looked away. “Yes, well…” He walked over to the equipment locker and started pulling out the magnetic attachments for their pedes to adhere to the hull. “Let’s find a way around.”

Normally, when the crew needed to do a space walk, the ship could project a localized forcefield to fill with air and protect from cosmic radiation, but since nothing seemed to be working, Brainstorm and Perceptor needed to go out without all of the convenience. Short term walks wouldn’t cause too much damage, but they had to rely on hand signals to communicate where they were going since the electromagnetic interference persisted even outside of the ship.

Halfway there, Brainstorm realized Perceptor wasn’t near him and turned to see his partner staring off into space. He walked back and pulled out his hardline, which Perceptor plugged in to himself and opened a channel.

“Everything okay, Percy?” Brainstorm asked through the line.

“I was thinking about what you said,” Perceptor answered as a voice in Brainstorm’s mind. “You and I had a very different experience during the war. I was expected to give the right answer for every single question. There was immense pressure to be correct. I have perhaps lost the enthusiasm you still carry with you.”

Brainstorm worked his hand into Perceptor’s and squeezed it. “Do you still feel that pressure on the Lost Light?”

“Some, but not as much,” Perceptor said, turning his helm to look at different parts of the starry sky. “I have more opportunity now to collect data on so much of the universe than I ever had before. It is… liberating.”

Brainstorm noticed a change in tone in his partner’s voice. “You also seem more relaxed here.” 

“Yes, I believe I am. Too much data without structure can be overwhelming, so much that I need to step aside in certain situations.”

“Like the party.”

“Yes.”

Brainstorm was used to filtering out a vast amount of unnecessary information in real time, but it was clear now that Perceptor wasn’t, at least not as quick as he was. At least now he knew, but that might mean that his partner really couldn’t join him in the larger parties. It was disappointing since Brainstorm wanted him by his side as much as possible, but it would be something they could work on together.

“Apologies,” Perceptor said at length. “We should get back to fixing the relay.”

Brainstorm nodded. They started walking towards their destination airlock, but this time, hand in hand.

“Can you please stop that?”

Rodimus stopped tapping his stylus on the floor and instead slammed it down. He had been trapped with Ratchet in the lift for hours, and if the boredom had been bad before, it was excruciating now. “How can you just sit there?”

The medic frowned. “Practice.”

Rodimus groaned as he tapped the wall with the back of his helm. “Yes, but like how?”

Ratchet sighed. “You probably didn’t notice that I was reading up until ten minutes ago, and after that, I started making a mental list of models I’d like to pull out of the ship’s database to build and fill up my inherited display case, as well as how exactly to fix the few of them that are damaged. But of course you interrupted all of that with your tapping, and now all I can think about is whether Drift is safe. So, thanks!”

“What, and you think I’m not worried?”

“I never said that.”

Rodimus slumped down even further against the wall. “I hate it when Drift’s right,” he whispered to himself.

“And what was he right about this time?” Ratchet growled.

Well, so much for that. “He said you and I are a lot alike.” Rodimus stretched. “It’s not that I doubted him, but you seem to deal with boredom a lot better than I do.”

“Try being a medic.” Ratchet shook his helm. “It can switch from boredom to chaos in a split second. You learn to deal with it.”

“I don’t see you disagreeing with Drift.”

“I don’t need to.” Ratchet’s expression darkened. “Though it’s nice to see you’re actually listening to him instead of using him.”

Rodimus chose his next words very quickly and very carefully. “It’s nice to see you’re not insulting him at every turn anymore, or anyone else for that matter.”

Ratchet tensed as his optics flared, but he didn’t make a move. “You really want to do this here? Now?”

“I don’t see why not? We literally have nothing else to do, and besides, this has been a long time coming.” Rodimus stared at the medic. “Admit it. You may have disagreed with a lot of the decisions I made, but the main reason you were angry with me, and always angry with me, was because of Drift. All of those unrequited feelings for him that you could only express by taking it out on me.”

“I don’t see why you’re so high and mighty!” Ratchet’s voice echoed throughout the car. “You know very well how you mistreated him—and don’t think I’m not aware that you two were more than just best friends—and I had to be the one to clean up your mess because no one else would! Putting him in a situation against Prowl where his choices were a) go along with it and be subjected to the role of ex-Decepticon scapegoat, or b) leave behind all of the progress he had made with the Autobots for the last several years and go off on his own again! And you very well know that he will put up with a lot more mistreatment than he should by a long shot because he’s so desperate for things to get better.”

“At least we both agree on that. And that we treated him like scrap.” Rodimus stared intently at the medic. “Both of us.”

Ratchet sat back against the wall and looked away for a while. “Drift asked me to forgive you. Or at least try.” He sighed. “Prowl put you both in a very bad position, and to be honest, Drift knew way more about what happened than I did.” He looked back at Rodimus. “And you’re right. I could have addressed my frustrations with Drift directly, but I didn’t, not immediately.” He shook his helm. “The war did horrible things to us, and only now that we are far removed do we see the full extent of the damage.”

“Drift saw it clearer than most,” Rodimus said at length. “I guess it was because he was kicked out and went to the Circle of Light, but Megatron might have taken him back if he had begged, being Deadlock and all, but he gave all that up and came to us, even though he never really wanted to be an Autobot.” He sighed. “In some ways, neither did I.” He looked over at the medic. “Did you know the Decepticons tried to recruit me?”

Ratchet shook his helm with a surprised look.

“Yeah, and I realized that they were worse. Somewhat similar to Drift’s decision honestly, which is why I think we have a connection.” Rodimus picked up the stylus from the floor and pointed it at Ratchet. “I’m almost surprised you didn’t join in the early days, before Megatron… changed.”

“I couldn’t leave Optimus,” Ratchet said softly.

Rodimus nodded. “Like I said, almost. But we’re all kind of in the middle. Not really loyal to factions, just ideals.”

The medic was silent for a long time. “Thunderclash struggled with that too.”

Rodimus’ core temperature skyrocketed “Are you serious? The Greatest Autobot of All Time?”

Ratchet leaned forward towards the captain. “What is your problem with him anyway? It’s like he’s been a thorn in your side since the beginning, and it’s not just because he ‘stole’ your quest from you.”

“He just portrays himself as so perfect!” Rodimus threw up his hands. “He does everything right, and then he makes it worse by being so humble about it!”

Ratchet stared at him and then slowly started to chuckle, which then devolved into a full frame laugh that echoed throughout the entire car. He fell over on his side and started pounding the deck as he continued. It took several attempts for him to get a hold of himself and calm down.

“I’m sorry,” the medic said after he had stopped. “But you have no idea. At all.”

Rodimus glared at him. “Care to enlighten me?”

Ratchet continued chuckling. “You accuse me of taking my anger out on you because I had a crush on Drift, and that’s fair, I admit it. But you have let this, well, whatever you have against Thunderclash, go on too long.” He pointed straight at Rodimus. “I dare you to do with Thunderclash what I did with Drift. I dare you to ask him exactly why it looks like he does ‘everything right,’ because I know the answer will surprise you.”

Pieces started snapping into place. There actually was more to the story of the Greatest Autobot of All Time, and it didn’t just include what Rodimus had observed on Mes Norpta. Now Ratchet, one of Thunderclash’s few exes, was daring him to probe deeper, and as much as he wanted to, Rodimus could not back away from a dare this tempting. Usually the captain was good about reading people, but perhaps this time he had let his jealousy blind him to the reality of the situation, that there was much more to Thunderclash than most people knew.

“Fine,” Rodimus said finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good.”

Minutes ticked by with only the sound of the air handling system. They had said a lot but the air still didn’t feel clear. Rodimus couldn’t tell whether Ratchet was still angry with him until the medic spoke up again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“I’d…” Ratchet trailed off. “I’d like to be a better friend to you, if not for Drift, then for relating to someone who really is quite similar to me, even though we deal with some of the same issues in different ways.” He breathed out. “I really really hate being bored.”

Rodimus chuckled. “I feel like my mind wanders towards thinking about more exciting things, and then when I come back I’ve missed half the conversation.”

Ratchet grinned and pointed at him. “Exactly. And what you were doing earlier, with your stylus, I’ve had to learn not to do because it annoys others, but it took a while. Eventually, I started organizing everything in my office to meticulous detail to keep myself occupied. It helped me remember things that didn’t want to stick in my memory.”

“That happens to you as well? You? Cybertron’s greatest surgeon?”

“What? You think I remember every single thing about my profession? Nah, I just make it look like I do.”

“Oh, hey, did you ever annoy Drift with any of your nervous habits?”

“All the time. I had to learn with him too.” Ratchet smiled. “Still am.” Then, almost as an afterthought, the medic stood up and came over to sit beside Rodimus. “Didn’t make sense for us to sit apart.”

Rodimus leaned slightly against Ratchet and was pleasantly surprised that the medic didn’t flinch. “So… you haven’t talked much about your side quest finding Drift. Any juicy stories?”

Ratchet chuckled. “Quite a few. Do you know how difficult it is to find someone like Drift? As much of a showoff as he is, he hides his trail fairly well. He even disabled the beacon in his shuttle, so I couldn’t track him that way. I had a few misadventures before I finally caught even the vaguest rumor of him.”

“What was your first sign of him?”

“Well, it all started with a bar fight…”

Megatron sat back in his office chair, finally relaxing after what had seemed like ages trying to coordinate all of the necessary ship repairs. The pain in his spinal strut still throbbed even after First Aid had given him painkillers, but he knew from experience that it wouldn’t subside for several days. Matter didn’t particularly like being shifted in and out of his frame, but it had been necessary to help get the ship back in order.

Minimus Ambus and he had been able to repair the damaged relay, and when they finally got back to the bridge, more power systems were back online and the radios were working again. The Pyrobots had credited Nautica for the fix that helped them continue repairs and restore communications, but when Megatron went down to engineering to assess the situation, he was shocked to find several of the crew assisting a very distressed Nautica down from the maintenance shaft. As Velocity and Brainstorm started to escort the chief engineer towards Medibay, First Aid approached Megatron and pulled him aside.

“What is it?” Megatron asked the CMO.

First Aid sighed as he watched the three of them leave. “Nautica tried to commit suicide up there. It seems that the accident triggered all her grief to come back at once.”

“Oh.” Megatron looked over and was surprised when he met Drift’s optics from across the room.

“Drift was down here and, apparently, catapulted himself all the way up the shaft through bolts of electricity to get to her.” First Aid shook his helm. “He was able to talk her down and stayed with her until we could get up there.”

That was quite characteristic of Drift to do such a thing, but it crystallized an idea in Megatron’s mind. The speedster had been at the top of his list for director of security, but he had been hesitant to ask since being in an authority position might be antithetical to Drift’s experiences with police in the Dead End. But if the speedster could define how he wielded that authority by, say, alleviating issues before they started like he had done with the Scavengers and Nautica, perhaps it would be a good fit for him after all. He made a note to himself to ask once things quieted down.

Megatron caught Drift’s attention again, smiled, and nodded. The speedster blinked and then silently nodded back. They hadn’t interacted much in the last few months, but perhaps now would be a good time to restart his relationship with his former revolutionary.

“By the way, have you seen Ratchet?” First Aid asked.

Megatron chuckled. “We were able to confirm he’s safe, but he’s currently stuck in the forward lift with Rodimus. We have crews trying to reach them, but surprisingly they are in a good mood.”

“Ratchet… and Rodimus,” First Aid stuttered. “Together… in a good mood?”

The captain shrugged. “I guess they talked things out.”

Megatron was still staring at the ceiling in his office when he heard a familiar throat clearing. He looked over at his door and smiled. “Minimus.”

“Captain.” The second-in-command had gotten back into his armor, probably for helping with some of the larger repairs. He handed the captain a tablet. “Preliminary damage report.”

Megatron took the tablet and scrolled through it briefly. “Secondary systems are online at least. Oh, and I’m glad to see they finally freed Rodimus and Ratchet from the lift. Quantum drives are offline, but at least we have the stardrive.” He set the tablet down on the table. “I think it might be time we called in that favor from the Dorcarans. Their homeworld isn’t too far away, perhaps a few weeks’ travel?”

“Our long range communications are still offline but should be operational in a few days,” Ultra Magnus reported. He was trying his best, but even his shoulders were stooping from their normal squared off shape.

The captain gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Minimus, please, sit down. You look exhausted.”

“I was just about to head back to my habsuite to recharge,” Ultra Magnus replied. Then, he looked away. “But, thank you.”

Megatron nodded. “Have a good sleep then.” He picked up the tablet but then noticed his second-in-command was still standing there, almost shuffling his pedes. “Minimus?”

“Captain… Megatron… I…” Ultra Magnus cleared his throat again. “You expressed interest in my writing, and I… would like to share it with you. At some point. When you are free.”

This was new, and Megatron’s spark almost leapt out of its chamber. “Of course, Minimus. You should come over for tea at some point.”

Ultra Magnus slowly nodded. “Shall I find a free spot on your calendar?”

Megatron made sure to give him his sweetest smile. “Yes, that would be fine. I am looking forward to it.” He almost said ‘my friend’ but stopped himself; he didn’t want to be misunderstood if things would turn out better than expected. “Good night.”

The second-in-command gave him the tiniest of smiles. “Good night.”

Chuckling to himself after Ultra Magnus left, Megatron scrolled to the bottom of the report and suddenly sat forward in his chair. “Well, I’ll be…”

Teletrann had returned three search results for ‘Rung.’ 

The jump had worked.

Chapter Text

Ratchet leaned back in his chair and put his pedes on his desk before picking up the first tablet from the pile next to him. He could have put all of the texts he downloaded from the medical database on one tablet, but it was easier to cross-reference this way, and with the research he was doing, he was going to need it.

Sifting through all of Cybertron’s mental health research history hadn’t been easy, but the discipline didn’t have as many articles as other medical fields, so while Cybertronians were embarrassingly behind when compared to other species, at least it was going to be easy to catch up. Multiple stacks of blue tablets, containing all of the Terran research Ratchet could get his hands on, significantly outnumbered the Cybertronian ones. But they were for homo sapien brains, and while he hypothesized the two species would be strikingly similar on a psychological level, he had no proof and set the tablets aside as supplemental sources for the moment.

The rainbows of the stardrive wisped by as the ship slowly limped towards Ad Dorcara, the main spaceport and homeworld of the Dorcarans. The crew hadn’t expected to need their newfound friend’s services so soon, but this being the Lost Light, that thought had been extremely short-sighted. Their home had been through a lot over the last several years and desperately needed an overhaul, and Megatron had—annoyingly enough—made a good point that they could take the opportunity of being in dry dock to reconfigure the Lost Light into a true long-term home, to open up the decks to support more recreation and socialization.

Ratchet idly picked up the orphaned pair of glasses from his desk and twirled them around between his thumb and finger. If everything they had found out so far was true, these glasses belonged to their missing crewmember Rong… or was it Rung? Everyone was struggling to remember their lost crewmember’s name, and it felt like some sort of mass information creep had infected the crew even though there was no evidence as of yet to support that. The search results from the computer meant they were looking in the right direction, but they needed to do more analysis to clarify things any further.

Gently returning the glasses to his desk, Ratchet settled further into his seat and started reading the first tablet. His schedule was completely open for office hours, but he was really hoping that no one would walk in because he had a lot of reading to—

The door chimed. He sighed. “Come in!”

Minimus Ambus came through the doorway and slowly walked over to Ratchet. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Ratchet set his tablet down and turned his chair towards his visitor. It was his own fault for opening his office hours up as much as he did. He wasn’t used to setting time aside for himself as there had always been some sort of emergency in Medibay that he needed to be there for. He made a mental note to reserve a few hours of his day for research.

He gestured for Minimus Ambus to take a seat, only to remember that the only other place to sit was either the berth or the diagnostic chair. He was going to have to find a couch in storage later; the berth was bound to make patients feel more vulnerable than comfortable in a consultation environment.

The second-in-command cocked his helm at the berth and then lay down.

“You can just sit if you like,” Ratchet offered.

“Oh. I thought this was customary for therapy.”

“It’s really up to you.”

“Ah.” Minimus Ambus sat up and faced the medic.

Ratchet folded his arms as he sat back in his chair. “What can I do for you, Minimus?”

“Well…” Minimus Ambus coughed into his hand. “Megatron wants to read some of my works.”

“Ah.” On the one hand, Minimus Ambus was starting to become more open about his writing; on the other hand, it was with Megatron. Ratchet shoved his bias aside. “Did you agree to share them?”

“I did, but…”

“But?”

“I don’t know, I…”

“Is this—” Ratchet stopped. He hadn’t given Minimus Ambus nearly enough room to talk, even if the second-in-command had trailed off. That was also something he was going to have to get used to. He awkwardly forced himself to wait for an agonizing few moments before speaking again. “Is this more about sharing your writings or sharing them with Megatron?”

Minimus Ambus shifted his hands in his lap. “Both. My most recent short story is unfinished, and I am still not happy with the state of my poems, but to share them with him…” He took a deep breath. “I’ve tried to organize them into most to least finished, but that criteria proved to be quite arbitrary. Alphabetical order didn’t feel right, and there’s no possible way I can sort them chronologically—”

“Minimus,” Ratchet interrupted, mentally scolding himself for doing so again, “why do you feel like you need to sort them?”

“It would make the most effective use of our time together.”

“Is that the only reason?”

Minimus Ambus glanced out of the portholes and then slowly shook his helm. “I read Towards Peace again. I performed a textual analysis on it. It answers every question it asks and addresses every argument it raises. Megatron makes effective use of parallelism and metaphor. The language flows like a piece of music, and yet he makes effective use of the most common words used in everyday speech so that it is accessible to as many people as possible.” He sighed. “And I could find no grammatical errors.” He looked up and locked optics with Ratchet. “My works are nowhere near that level.”

Ratchet smiled back. “But I’m willing to bet you’ve never seen his first drafts. To this day, I cringe at some of my earliest medical articles that lacked the rigor I would apply to them now. As a writer, no doubt he would understand that you are in the middle of your process.” He leaned forward in his chair. “And he invited you, yes?”

“That’s correct.”

“If you’re that worried about sharing all of them, pick the one you think he’d enjoy the most, but honestly, I think he will enjoy reading the whole batch.”

Minimus Ambus sighed and nodded. “Yes. I will think about that.” He stood up. “Thank you.”

“Anytime, Minimus. And good luck.”

Ratchet turned his seat back towards the window and tried to find where he had left off on his tablet. Hopefully that would be the only interruption of the day.

Even when she pouted, Roller found Nickel exceptionally cute. “Did you end up spending all night in Medibay?” he asked.

The medic pursed her lips as she balanced her poofed out face on her hands with her elbows on the bar table. “I wouldn’t have spent any time in Medibay had a few afts decided to not have a careless accident.” Nickel yawned widely, which was even cuter. “I’m used to being on-call, but don’t expect me to be cheerful when you are being reckless.”

Roller chuckled. “We can’t have two grumpy medics on this ship, can we?”

“Hey now.” Nickel gave Roller a wry grin. “Ratchet’s semi-retired, so I applied for the position of grumpy medic fair and square. Someone’s gotta keep the crew on their pedes, and First Aid and Lotty have this thing they call ‘restraint’ which doesn’t often work.”

“At least First Aid gave you the next shift off so you can rest.” Since Roller had started working full time, it had been difficult to schedule dates with Nickel. They had gotten creative and had taken advantage of Swerve’s expanded hours into breakfast. “At my last job, we weren’t so lucky, despite all of Pax’s complaints.”

Nickel’s expression turned cold.

Roller frowned. “What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

“You said ‘Pax,’” Nickel said flatly. “Orion Pax? As in Optimus Prime?”

This was bound to come up at some point. Nickel had been a Decepticon after all, or still was, given she had never taken off her badge. However, she was now a part of the Lost Light crew, and that meant much more to Roller. “Er, yes? I really only knew him as Orion Pax, but—”

“I’ve got your refills.” Swerve swooped in and started placing drinks on the table. He put down a decently sized cube for Nickel but delivered an incredibly small vial to Roller.

Roller picked up his drink and examined it. “Um, Swerve? This couldn’t even give the medical drone a buzz.”

Swerve furrowed his brow and took the drink from Roller’s hand. “Huh. Could have sworn you wanted something small.” He looked up and down the truck’s frame. “Right. My bad. I’ll get you another one.” He hastily shuffled off back towards the bar.

Roller shook his helm as he watched the bartender go. He looked back at Nickel. “Anyway, yeah, Orion Pax. What about him?”

The look Nickel was giving him could have melted a Titan into a puddle. “He was Optimus Prime. The leader of the Autobots. They went out of their way to save organics over our own kind!”

“Um, I don’t really know much about that…”

“Obviously not. Organics are vile and vicious creatures that could care less about anyone but themselves.”

Roller blinked. Mentioning Pax had set her off; how could have he been so stupid? “Well, I haven’t met any organics—”

Nickel suddenly stood up. “But you were friends with him!” On her last word, she slammed her hands down onto the table, almost knocking her drink over. “All the other Autobots I get, but you? So much for claiming you’re unaffiliated.” She sniffed. “You’re just like the rest of them after all!” She quickly wheeled herself away from their booth and out of the bar.

The room had gone so silent that the next sound Roller heard was a drink being placed in front of him. It shocked him away from looking at where Nickel had left and back to Swerve, who had just returned from the bar.

“What was that all about?” was all the bartender could say.

Roller picked up his now large drink and chugged it down in all one go.

Ratchet got up from his chair and stretched. So far, it had been a productive day with only one interruption. He went over to the dispenser on the wall and ordered steamed energon for making tea. The peacefulness had been difficult to get used to at first, but now Ratchet was feeling himself becoming more relaxed as the day went on. The research papers had held his interest well enough; they had actually challenged him to think in new ways about mental health, so much so that he didn’t feel nearly as bored as he was afraid he was going to be.

As he sat back down in his seat and started mixing in various metals to his energon, his door chimed. “Come in,” he barked.

Perceptor strode in. “I require your guidance in a delicate matter.”

As straightforward as always. Ratchet gestured towards the berth, trying his best to hide his annoyance at the interruption. “Of course. Have a seat.”

The chief science officer didn’t hesitate to sit upright on the berth, nor did he hesitate to start talking. “Brainstorm and I have encountered certain troubles with spending time together. He desires highly social environments, but I find them difficult to navigate.”

That didn’t surprise Ratchet in the very least. There were more than a few reasons why Drift had gotten along with Perceptor so well, and the ease at which they became overwhelmed by busy environments was one of them. The chief science officer was one of Drift’s first friends in the Autobot ranks, and it made Ratchet respect Perceptor even more. It also made giving advice easier.

“Some of those social events are going to be unavoidable, and you could talk to First Aid about installing some advanced tuning on your sensors, but is Brainstorm open to doing more quiet activities with you?”

“Yes, it does appear so, but I am unsure how to approach that. I cannot think of anything we would enjoy together of that nature.”

Perceptor’s near inability to be creative out of the confines of his career baffled Ratchet, but the problem really was the fact that Brainstorm seemed to be on the complete opposite side of the spectrum with his ability to come up with seemingly random but brilliant ideas. “If you two are going to meet in the middle, maybe pick something scientific but outside what you normally do? Reading together? Stargazing? Something relaxing but engaging to you both.”

The chief science officer stared at the stars through the portholes. “Yes, I suppose there are subjects I don’t often encounter in my work that would be more relaxing than others.” He stood up. “Thank you, Ratchet.”

The medic nodded. “Good luck.” After Perceptor had exited his office, Ratchet sighed as he picked up his next tablet and rapidly cooling tea. Well, two interruptions weren’t that bad, were they?

Minimus Ambus had already memorized every detail of the door in front of him: every seam, every imperfection, and every area of gentle wear and tear. He attempted to try to identify the frequency of the background hum and its source, but eventually he exhausted all of his ideas and instead recorded it for future investigation. Two sprinklers were missing from the hallway. He immediately filed a maintenance request. He spotted the slight deviations of the outputs of each of the lights in the ceiling. He wrote an additional maintenance request.

The digits of the number 113 stood out from the rest of the hallway, even though they had slightly lost their luster. He shook his helm, realizing that he was letting the comfortable corrections of imperfections distract him. Old habits were hard to break, but at least he was making some progress. Exhaling, he pressed the button.

It only took a few moments for Megatron to open the door, a smile quickly crossing his face. “Minimus. I’m glad you could make it.” He gestured inside. “I’ve just brewed some tea. Would you like some?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

Megatron walked back to the kitchenette and grabbed two cubes out of the dispenser, pouring pink liquid into them from a steaming teapot. “Not exactly a substitute for a restless night, but it will do.” He handed one cube to his guest.

Minimus Ambus set the tablet with all of his writings down on the side table to accept the cube. “Have you not been able to recharge?” He followed Megatron to the couch, sitting down beside him.

“I’ve always had trouble, but for the longest time it was because of the war.” Megatron slowly sipped his tea. “Now, the words are starting to come back, just as they were when I was in the mines.”

Minimus Ambus stopped short of taking a sip. “The words?”

“Yes. I used to have so many words scurrying through my helm that I couldn’t keep track of them all. I needed to write them down or else they would run away.” Megatron looked past his window out into the deep of space. “Mnemosurgery removed those words from me. I have not heard them in four million years, and I was sure they would never return.” He looked back towards his second-in-command with a serene smile. “But it appears they have. I am ousted from the whirlwind of my own creation, and only then does my mind start to heal.”

Before his tenure on the Lost Light, Minimus Ambus would have never expected any type of recovery from mnemosurgery, but the unlikely team up between Cerebros and Spinister was now making all of that possible. They had healed Nautica’s physical wounds, but now Megatron was appearing to be recovering on his own, which was even more phenomenal. Just as unexpected was that an ex-enforcer was now sharing tea with an ex-despot while discussing writing. But Megatron did have such a way with words, and it resonated with Minimus Ambus that the act of composition was like putting disorderly words into their places. It was almost a compulsion, and he wanted to know just to what extent the two of them were similar.

“Do you spend all of your off-hours writing?” Minimus Ambus asked.

Megatron smiled freely. “Yes, and it is incredible.” He glanced over at the tablet on the side table. “Now, you brought me some of your works?”

“Yes.” Minimus Ambus handed the tablet to Megatron and resisted the urge to nervously shift in his seat as he waited for the captain to skim its contents.

As he read, Megatron nodded his helm in rhythm like he was absorbing the words on the page. “Minimus, this first poem alone is beautiful! Precise, eloquent, and just as joyful as it is poignant. It must have taken a lot of work to get it just right.”

The second-in-command nodded. “I would periodically go back to it from time to time, adjusting a word here and there until it flowed correctly.”

Megatron chuckled. “Ah yes, I had the same process when I wrote Afterlight. It took me more than a hundred years to get it just right.”

Minimus Ambus’ optics went wide. “You’re the author of Afterlight? It’s my favorite poem!”

“Is it now?” Megatron seemed to be surprised but no doubt delighted. “It never ceases to amaze me how many unknown connections we all had with each other, and yet if the war never happened, would we have ever realized them?” He took another sip of tea. “I published poems anonymously so as to not have them associated with my political works, but why are you hiding your own writing?” He lightly tapped the tablet with his knuckle. “Especially works like this.”

“Dominus once said that ‘pleasure is a distraction from the spirit of truth,’ and for a very long time, I agreed with him. I couldn’t allow poetry to distract me from my duties as Ultra Magnus.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“But you kept writing despite it being ‘a distraction?’”

Minimus Ambus sighed. “I also felt overshadowed by Dominus and tried to be different in any way possible.”

A subtle mischievous grin crossed Megatron’s face. “Leading a secret rebellion?” He put a hand on his first officer’s shoulder. “I’m so very glad you did.”

Living in the Magnus armor for so long had made it quite rare that someone would touch Minimus Ambus like that, not because he couldn’t feel it through the armor but because most of his friends couldn’t reach up that far. Megatron’s gentleness made his spark feel like it was going to vibrate out of its casing, and with the conversation on his own writing already overwhelming, he decided to quickly shift direction. “I’d like to hear more about what you’re working on right now.”

Megatron chuckled. “Very well, though I hope to discuss more of your works at a later date.” He finished off his tea. “I have started reflecting on the conditions in which I wrote Towards Peace compared to the conditions after the war and on the Lost Light.”

“In what sense?” Minimus Ambus asked.

“I originally used the word ‘peace’ in the title, but after everything that has happened, I realized that the word ‘peace’ can invoke a false sense of security.” Megatron shook his helm. “The Functionists proclaimed peace and subsequently watered down its meaning. What is ‘peace’ when you refuse to address societal issues? And moreover, when you finally address those issues with unrest and war, what do you do with the monsters you create to fight the original one? What is ‘peace’ to them but another prison?”

“I’ve often struggled with that dilemma as well, but so far I have not come up with a comprehensive solution.” Essays on the topic were on the tablet Minimus Ambus had brought, but they were almost all the way at the bottom of the list because they were in a very disheveled state. He hadn’t planned on discussing them with Megatron, but then he took a moment to consider Ratchet’s advice.

He gestured towards the tablet sitting on the captain’s lap. “On that tablet, you will also find my life’s work, Terms of Peace, where I have attempted to address every possible behavioral scenario and its solution. It is still somewhat lacking, and I am unsure whether I will ever finish it, but nevertheless I would appreciate your feedback.” He looked back up at Megatron. “But I am curious: if the term you were looking for was not ‘peace,’ then did you ever find one that was more appropriate?”

The captain nodded slowly. “Yes. I ended up titling it Towards Compassion, in that we can only grow as a community if we understand the decisions that led to our past transgressions. That does not make what we did right, but it does make what we did preventable in the future.”

Minimus Ambus stared into Megatron’s optics, those which he never thought he would get close to in anything approaching a peaceful setting. “When I was appointed as your counsel, I was reluctant but knew it was necessary to treat you as equally as all accused. But I never expected to see you so…”

“Calm?”

“Vulnerable.”

Megatron looked at the ground and was silent for a few moments. “Yes, I suppose I was.”

“I’ve assisted clients who have resisted at every turn, and I admit I expected you to be the same, but instead, you… surprised me. It was only after I got to know you more that I understood why.” Minimus Ambus breathed out. “I would be interested in reading it, Towards Compassion, if you are willing of course.”

Megatron nodded, getting up out of his seat and walking over to his desk. He grabbed a spare tablet from the shelf and connected the two for a data transfer. After a few moments, he came back and handed the tablet to Minimus Ambus. “Perhaps I am old fashioned in keeping the work on a local drive, but I am still a bit paranoid about copies getting out before they are ready.”

Minimus Ambus slowly smiled. “I do that as well, for the same reasons.”

The two of them sat back on the couch, drinks in hand, and started reading side by side.

Ratchet wondered whether these office hours were going to be the death of him. Besides Minimus Ambus and Perceptor, no less than five more people had interrupted him, and he had completely lost track of where he was reading each and every time. It had been a mistake to be as open as he had been in Medibay, one he had just corrected by painstakingly adjusting his schedule to allow for two hours in the morning for study.

The door chimed.

“What is it?” Ratchet yelled. It had been much harsher than he had intended, making him realize just how much stress he was still under.

Whomever was out there didn’t say anything for a moment. “Ratchet? Are you okay?”

It was Drift. If Ratchet had believed in gods, he would have thanked them. “Come in,” he groaned.

“What you said didn’t answer my question,” Drift said as he entered, looking back briefly to watch the door close. “Your tone of voice did though. What happened?”

Ratchet leaned his chair all the way back and closed his optics. “After being interrupted seven times today, I lost count. I can’t get any work done. I’m somehow exhausted, and it’s not even midday yet.”

“So that’s why you changed your office hours.”

“I was an idiot. I like that word you used earlier though. What was it?”

“Baka?”

“Baka. It’s my new favorite word. I was a baka.”

“You corrected them though.”

“I’ll tell you what I’d love.” Ratchet sat up. “I’d love to have one of Brainstorm’s timecases so I can go back in time and smack myself on the helm.”

Drift cocked his helm and smirked. “But then you’d have a helmache.”

Ratchet playfully narrowed his optics. “Don’t you logic me, sweetspark.”

His partner chuckled. “But I should let you get back to work then.”

“Thanks for checking up with me though.” Drift paused for just long enough that the medic could tell something was up. Ratchet frowned. “You weren’t just checking in on me, were you?”

Drift shrugged sheepishly. “I brought snacks?” He brought his hand up and handed a box of gelled energon cubes to his partner.

“Oh. Thank you.” Ratchet took the box, opened it, and ate a few of the savory cubes. His partner rarely asked for help. Usually when Drift came to him, he had no ulterior motive, so a few visits like this were fine. This one had just come at a bad time. “What’s going on, sweetspark?” he asked in a softer voice.

Drift took a big breath in and sighed. “I talked with Megatron this morning about becoming Director of Security.”

This wasn’t unexpected, not even for Drift. The command staff had voted almost unanimously—with Ratchet recusing himself—to formally ask the speedster to take on the role. Drift was somewhat familiar with the role already, having helped with a number of security operations on the ship as third-in-command, but this was a big step up. When Ratchet had briefly informed him after the meeting, Drift had only nodded and hadn’t wanted to talk about it just yet.

“Okay. And?”

Drift still stood in the same place he’d been for his entire visit, almost as if he was refusing to sit down. “I’m thinking I’m going to accept.”

Ratchet leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You have reservations though.”

“So many,” Drift said, shaking his helm. “Much of the ship doesn’t trust me. It involves taking on an authority role which we both know can be easily abused without sufficient oversight. And while I choose to use swords, it’s unrealistic to expect the entire security team to, and so I’m going to have to face using guns again, even if only in a teaching scenario. I’m not entirely sure if Cyclonus is alive because they decided to not shoot him fatally or if they are just bad shots.”

No wonder Drift had been somewhat distant the past few days. “Okay, a lot to unpack there,” Ratchet said. “First of all, you gained a hell of a good reputation when you saved Nautica’s life. I’m not entirely sure how the rumor got out, but when people talk about how glad they are that she’s safe, they mention you. A lot, and in a good way. They may not be comfortable saying it to your face just yet, but it’s there.”

Drift nodded silently, nervously shifting from side to side as he remained standing. “That’s good to know at least,” he said finally.

“I can’t really speak to the authority role,” Ratchet continued. “That’s probably a better conversation had between you and Megatron. But I will say that if you take on the position, you get a choice in how things are handled, and quite honestly, everyone particularly liked how your approach was heavily focused on preventing problems.”

“Which is how it should have been,” Drift said.

“And the guns are, what, a Deadlock thing?” Ratchet asked.

“As a knight of the Circle of Light, I’m only supposed to use blades, but who am I beholden to anymore if I’m the only one? I’m hobbling myself with swords, Ratchet. Cyclonus is teaching me, but I’m nowhere near as good with a sword as I am with a gun, and if the safety of the ship is in my hands, I…” Drift shook his helm and sighed.

Ratchet got up out of his seat and swooped Drift into his arms, holding him for a long time while gently rubbing circles over his back. The medic would gladly accept his entire afternoon being interrupted if only he could only have this quiet moment with his partner.

“I’ve got to do this,” Drift said finally against Ratchet’s chest. “Not only for the ship but also for me.”

“I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Ratchet pulled away slightly to kiss Drift’s forehelm. “You’ll figure it out.”

Drift nodded slowly. “Thanks. I think I just needed to put it into words.” He kissed Ratchet, almost chastely. “Same time tonight for dinner?”

“I set my alarm this time.”

“Great. See you then.”

Ratchet watched his partner head out the door. Drift had looked a bit less worried than he did when he had started venting, but something was still off, almost like he was withdrawing slightly. If he needed space to process everything, that was fine, but Ratchet resolved to keep checking in with him to make sure he was supported. Things were no longer going to be like they were before Drift’s exile, and Ratchet was determined to keep it that way.

He sat back down and ate a few more energon cubes, picking up his tablet again before the next interruption.

Roller turned the corner only to see Drift go into Ratchet’s office. He sighed. He really could have used Ratchet’s advice on making up with Nickel, if it was even possible at this point, but he couldn’t wait as his shift was starting soon. He needed a distraction, and work would have to suffice. He made his way up to the computer core and sat down at the console.

The last experiment had only found three search results for Rung, but they had revealed so much relative to what the crew already knew about him. The results all pointed to medical texts buried in unknown psychology journals, but what was most interesting about the three papers was that they referenced other journal articles that Rung had written, ones that had not shown up in the initial search. There had to be more out there.

There weren’t really any places on the ship where Roller could do a deep dive cross-reference search like he had loved doing before the war. He would need to set up a bunch of holographic screens, and that would have taken all day and left him open to worry about Nickel. He needed a quick fix. He pulled out his hardline and looked at it, wondering for just a second whether it was a good idea. Shrugging, he plugged it in directly to the console…

…and the world was awash with information, surrounding him, flowing around him, through him. It was a rush he hadn’t felt for a long time, and it felt wonderful to be surrounded by an endless supply of data. It was like he had returned home. He cracked his virtual knuckles and got to work.

Roller pulled up all of the known articles on psychology and started a few hastily-built scripts to scan them for any mention of Rung’s name. Pushing those processes to the background, he started scanning the three articles that had appeared on the search results. He pulled all of the articles that mentioned Rung as an author and stashed them in working memory that he had allocated. He used the stash to start writing up a search script for the articles in question by their reference identifiers instead of their metadata. Teletraan had outright refused to perform the search in this way even though it used this technique for every single other search it ran.

No matter. Roller could run searches manually until he trained the computer around the fault.

He executed the script, and suddenly his brain felt like it was going to explode. Thousands upon thousands of articles poured through his mind as the script ran a recursive call into the related articles, all of them attributed to Rung. He screamed in pain as he groped for the cancel button, but before he could reach it, the world went black.

It wasn’t the door chime that interrupted Ratchet’s reading this time but rather his comm. He answered it slowly. “What is it?” he groaned.

“Ratchet, you need to come to Medibay,” said First Aid. “Roller’s in stasis lock.”

A chill ran down Ratchet’s spinal strut and the adrenaline rush took him fully out of his groggy state. He tried to gather up as much training as he could to not panic, but he had lost Roller once before and was determined not to again. “Be right there.”

He ran out of his office and transformed, blaring his sirens to get people out of the way. The lift took ages to get to his level and then took even more time to get up to Medibay. He dashed in and ran towards the crowd of Scavengers huddled around one of the berths. Krok noticed and herded his family to the side to allow Ratchet to get to Roller’s berthside where First Aid stood plugged into his patient’s medical port.

“What happened?” Ratchet asked breathlessly.

First Aid shook his helm. “Cerebros found him unresponsive and plugged into Teletraan. From what he could tell, Roller was trying to run a cross-reference script on those search results we found from the quantum jump. It probably overloaded his mind and he shut down.”

“That stupid idiot.” Nickel was standing on the other side of the berth, being comforted by the rest of the Scavengers. She wasn’t crying, but her voice wavered as she fumed.

Ratchet swore under his breath.

“You can swear louder, you know,” Nickel growled. “He totally deserves it.”

“I was worried he’d do this someday.” Ratchet sighed. “He was always getting sucked into the news feeds. He pushed himself harder and harder like he had something to prove, even though he was already damn good at what he did.”

First Aid’s mask frowned. “Do you know if he ever used C32?”

“No?!” exclaimed Ratchet and Nickel simultaneously before exchanging glances.

“For some reason, the data stream I’m getting from him is filled with references to Rung and C32, but I can’t figure out why.” First Aid unplugged himself and faced the visitors. “His systems are starting to normalize though. He’ll be awake in a few hours, and I can’t detect any damage, so it looks like we got there just in time.”

Ratchet nodded. “Keep me posted.” He went over and squeezed Roller’s hand. “I’ll be back.”

He slowly walked back towards his office. He had never seen Roller use the dangerous circuit speeder, but that didn’t mean the Point One Percenter wasn’t hiding it in some way to make up for his insecurities. Maybe if I had been a better friend…

There wasn’t any use mourning the past. Once Roller was feeling better, Ratchet resolved to have a long chat with him. For now, though, he had more reading to do to pass the time and distract him from worry.

Finally, the rest of the medical staff had left Nickel and the Scavengers alone with the stasis-locked Roller. It was a relief now not to have to hold back all of her emotions besides the fury at him for liking organics. She didn’t mind showing her family how sad she was.

“Hey.” Misfire put his hand on Nickel’s shoulder and knelt down beside her. “So what happened? There’s something you’re not telling everybody else.”

Nickel sniffed. “I stormed out of our date.” She wiped tears from her face. “He was friends with Optimus before he was Optimus, and he doesn’t realize how horrible organics are.”

“Organics are the worst,” Fulcrum said.

“What do you mean by that?” Crankcase exclaimed.

Krok shuffled in between the two of them. “Can it, you two.”

“I came from a colony,” Nickel continued. “Organics destroyed everything and killed everyone I loved. I was the only survivor. That’s why I hate them.” She stopped there, not wanting to mention being associated with Tarn and the rest of the DJD in a public place like Medibay. Moreover, people in stasis lock could often hear conversations, and she wasn’t ready to let Roller know her connections just yet.

“S-sorry,” Roller whispered as his optics opened halfway.

Krok leaned over Nickel’s other shoulder. “We’ll be outside Medibay whenever you need us.” The rest of the Scavengers left, leaving Nickel alone with Roller.

“Why did you have to do that?” Nickel whispered. “Why did you have to plug yourself in and put yourself in danger like that?”

“You didn’t even let me discuss my friendship with Pax,” Roller said weakly. “You just… judged me like you do organics.”

“But that doesn’t mean… but…” A wave of horrible memories hit Nickel all at once, and she started to breathe heavily. Roller really had done this because of her blowup that morning, but was he even going to try to understand her pain?

“Idiot,” she spat as she stormed off.

Ratchet dragged himself back to his office for the last hour of his office hours and collapsed into his chair. He had gone down to Medibay once Roller had awakened, and his friend had explained what had happened at the date with Nickel. Ratchet had tried to console him as much as possible, but Roller needed rest more than anything else, so the medic had returned to his office.

He was utterly exhausted. Was every day going to be like this even if he did put up more boundaries? He had promised Drift to take it easy, but at this rate it was going to be worse. He weakly picked up the tablet he had been reading when the door chimed.

Ratchet closed his optics and sighed. “Come in.”

“Yeah, it’s been that kind of day, hasn’t it?” Krok observed. “Look, I’m not here to ask for any advice or dump anything on you, but I was wondering if I could help.”

Ratchet blinked his optics open and sat up. “Help?”

Krok shrugged. “Yeah, you know, after the war I wanted to open up a mental health center for Decepticons. You weren’t there for the entire conversation, but Nickel makes it no secret that she hates organics. A few of them put her through a lot of pain, and she deserves to heal from that.”

“Drift doesn’t talk about it much,” Ratchet commented.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to talk about. Hard to explain,” Krok said. “We had to go through so much toxicity and prejudice and didn’t have the type of privilege many of you Autobots had. For someone like Nickel, it’s just easier to talk to another Decepticon.”

There were certain things Drift did that didn’t quite make much sense to Ratchet, as much as he tried to understand. It was subtle, but Drift had certain behaviors and quirks that made it look like he was never completely relaxed.

Ratchet nodded. “I’d like to understand that more though, if you’d be willing to talk about it.” He gestured over to the stack of tablets. “I’m relatively new to the formal practice of mental health, but I wouldn’t mind studying together. I’m already trying to get the rest of the staff up to speed, so what’s one more?” He glanced at his chronometer. “I only have less than an hour right now, but I’d like to know more about what you want to do.”

Krok looked behind him and grabbed the diagnostic chair, rolling it up beside Ratchet at the desk. “Of course.”

For the rest of the day, Ratchet didn’t feel interrupted.

Chapter Text

“You look nervous,” Rodimus said as he stood next to Megatron in front of the airlock door.

Megatron cleared his throat. “Nonsense.”

“You may think you can fool him, but you know you’re not going to fool me,” Drift said from Megatron’s other side. “You definitely look nervous.”

Rodimus snorted. Megatron took in a breath as if he was preparing to say something and then just sighed.

“I mean, Drift has more reason to be nervous than you do, given that he’s our new Director of Security,” Rodimus offered, twirling a rust stick between his fingers.

“Oh, thanks Roddy,” Drift said sarcastically. “And Minimus isn’t going to fully hand things over until after the repairs are complete. I might even be able to get in a little sightseeing. Did you hear that all of the cities and towns on Ad Dorcara are connected via natural and artificial rivers?”

“Well, at least Riptide will be right at home.” Rodimus sighed. “And here I was really hoping to stretch my wheels out somewhere other than the rec deck.”

Megatron glared at him. “I’m sure our hosts will be able to recommend something to you. But please, let’s concentrate on getting the ship fixed first.”

The airlock door hissed as the Dorcaran techs finally sealed their construction bridge to the Cybertronian-sized port. Initially, they had only just underestimated the size of the adapter, but it hadn’t taken them that long to fetch a larger one from their storehouse. Rodimus unsealed and opened the inner door, allowing about a dozen short thick-tailed space-suited Dorcarans to pile into the hallway. They chattered amongst themselves for a few moments before they started pulling off their helmets.

“Greetings!” The lead Dorcaran wiggled semi-webbed fingers towards the Cybertronians. “I am Graht, proud member of the Shipwright’s Guild and mother engineer for this project. You have such a beautiful ship! I’m sure they glided through the waters well before they took their tumble, but don’t worry! We will have them purring and swimming in no time!”

“We’re glad to have you!” Rodimus exclaimed. “My name is Rodimus. I’m the co-captain of the ship along with Megatron here, and this is Drift, our up-and-coming Director of Security.”

The Dorcarans chirped excitedly in their native language. “What do you mean, ‘co-captain?’” Graht asked. “Perhaps our translator doesn’t understand. Is it a familial term? Are you perhaps siblings or mates?”

Rodimus and Megatron exchanged nervous glances while Drift almost managed to imperceptibly snort.

“It is,” Megatron momentarily glared at Drift, “a long story. We are neither siblings nor mates but rather leaders from two waring factions who decided,” he then glared at Rodimus’ air quotes, “to work alongside each other against a common enemy. In the process, the Lost Light became our home.”

There was another set of giggling chatter. “You will have to excuse my family,” Graht said. “It is common amongst our people that if there are two leaders, they are either siblings or mates.”

“You said this is your ‘family?’” Drift asked. “Are you all related then?”

“Oh, well of—” Graht’s eyes widened. “Ah! I see! Well, we have our first dens and then our found dens. While some of my family may be related by blood, most of us come from different first dens. But we are from the same found den, so we are all family!”

Drift grinned. “Oh! We don’t reproduce like organics, so any concept we have of ‘first den’ is very different. We use the term ‘crew’ to describe our general relationship, but I suppose you could say many of us found family here on the ship.”

“So we have much in common after all.” Graht loudly clapped her hands together. “And much work to be done. By my estimates, based on all of the internal damage, we will have you back up and running in a minimum of four to six months.”

“Six months!” Rodimus exclaimed.

“And that’s before we’ve had a closer look at your quantum drive.” Graht pulled out a tablet and pointed at main engineering on the diagram of the ship. “It’s likely we’ll have to remove it to repair it. It’s removable, right?”

Megatron exchanged glances with Rodimus. “To our knowledge, it’s never been removed.”

Graht tsked. “Oh dear. And there were quite a few other… oddities we noted about the schematics as well.”

Rodimus grimaced. “Yeah, well… It’s not exactly what you’d call a… production vessel. More of an experimental ship.”

“Ah!” Graht consulted her tablet again. “That would explain the eccentric nature. It indeed has the workings of many ideas in flux shoved together into an inappropriately small space. But certainly you knew that when you obtained it, right?”

Both Rodimus and Megatron stared at Drift.

“Um.” Drift shrugged. “It had a good feeling to it?”

The smallest Dorcaran of the group walked forward to put a paw lightly on Drift’s knee. “You touched their soul!” they whispered in a childlike voice, as if it was the most sacred of secrets.

Graht chuckled. “Axi is our computer specialist. He can usually tell when a ship has a good heart to them.”

Axi excitedly nodded up to Drift with a sharp toothy grin before he ran bad to the crowd of Dorcarans.

“Now,” Graht said as she folded her tablet under her arm, “shall we go over all of the plans and suggested modifications that could make your ‘experimental’ ship a bit more ‘production?’”

“Of course.” Megatron gestured for them to follow him down the hall.

Drift leaned in close to Rodimus as they walked. “You better not tell Ratchet about this,” he muttered.

Rodimus grinned evilly. “Oh, I’m definitely telling Ratchet about this.”

Nautica delicately reached out to touch the large transparent bubble of the observation lounge. She moved her hand along it as if attempting to grab the Lost Light’s quantum drive while the Dorcaran techs guided it away from the aft of the ship. She swallowed hard as emotions swelled within her, rapidly swapping between sparkache over Skids to regret over her involvement in the accident that had crippled the ship.

How had the rest of the wartime Cybertronians been able to cope with everything they had been through when she could barely cope with just these two tragedies? It was almost embarrassing to react negatively, even to her therapist who had already been through so much more than her. Chromedome had told her not to worry, that everyone else had just learned to hide their emotions better and that they certainly would understand as they all were going through the same grieving process now that the war was far behind them.

And now, Nautica was on leave to recover from her suicide attempt. She had begged to go back on duty to help fix the ship, but First Aid had denied that request, saying that she needed to get a bit more rest before transitioning to work under observation. At the very least, the first few weeks of the repair was going to be the cleanout of the quantum drive chamber and an installation of quick ejection hatches for the drive and its drums.

The dangers involved with extracting the quantum drive had forced everyone but a small security detail off of the Lost Light. The orbital drydock had been the only facility the Dorcarans had that could fit the large ship, and so the rest of the crew had gathered in the drydock’s observation lounge to take in the sights of both the ship and the lush planet below. Excitement bubbled amidst the crew as they discussed how they were going to spend their shore leave while repairs commenced, but to Nautica it was yet another reminder of just how much she had lost.

“It appears that the drive did not suffer any damage to its outer hull,” Perceptor said as he approached from behind. “I surmise that they will not find anything with additional scans either.”

Nautica nodded very slowly, barely able to move as it was.

Perceptor said nothing further but still remained by her side.

Brainstorm slid a hand over Nautica’s shoulder as he came up on the other side. “We’ll take good care of her for you. I’m sure you’ll be back with us helping out in a few weeks.”

Nautica nodded again. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. I’m just… not excited about anything. It’s weird.”

“You are perhaps overwhelmed,” Perceptor suggested.

“I just feel numb most of the time,” Nautica said quietly. “I don’t know why I’m not feeling anything when I should be.”

Brainstorm squeezed her shoulder. “Percy’s right. You’re probably feeling so many emotions that you’re just not able to process them. People like us are just like that.”

Nautica looked over at Perceptor. “Is that why you’re so restrained most of the time?”

Perceptor briefly flicked his optics towards her before focusing back onto the external view. “Indeed.”

“I think all of us pour ourselves into our work during times like this, and I realize you can’t do that right now.” Brainstorm pointed upwards as if in one of his many eureka moments. “But! There’s more than a few groups going to the surface who are going to do some sightseeing who would love to have you along!”

Nautica pressed her nose against the dome. “I don’t know. A lot of the groups who are going either I don’t know very well or they’re couples doing… couple stuff, or both. I really don’t want to be a third turbine.”

“What about Velocity?” Brainstorm asked.

Nautica immediately flashed back to Troja Major and to the one thing she had said to Velocity that still haunted her:

A doctor who failed her exams nine times.

How could she have gone that far to win an argument? She had exploited the one thing that could hurt her amica the most: Velocity’s fear of not being a good doctor.

“She’s… There’s something I said to her a while back that I really regret,” Nautica admitted. “I’m not ready to talk to her about it, and I know it’s going to come up if we go off together.”

“Drift mentioned to me that he was going with Ratchet and Roller to explore the ancient capital city,” Perceptor offered. “Perhaps with Roller there you would not be considered a ‘third turbine?’”

Nautica pursed her lips. Maybe that was true. Either way, she couldn’t stay here, and Drift was the closest thing she had to a friend right now who was going on shore leave. She patted the dome again as if to wish her ship good luck. “Yeah, I guess it won’t hurt to ask.”

Nor Katan was truly a city built upon itself, all the way from its modern spaceport to its original roots at the heart of the Five Rivers delta. Even in the ancient city, the Dorcarans had already mastered hydro engineering, building many of their structures in harmony with the marshy soils of the area. Clearly many of the structures—including the boardwalks—were reinforced to allow a wide range of visitors to explore the capital.

Nautica glanced over her shoulder at the rest of her party. While the paths were a bit narrower than Cybertronian streets, they still allowed Ratchet and Roller to walk side by side as they talked excitedly between themselves. “What’s going on with those two?”

“They haven’t seen each other in four million years,” Drift explained as he consulted his tablet map. “Apparently they used to be really close friends but got separated right before the war really started up.”

“Must be nice,” Nautica said sadly.

Drift didn’t respond but instead turned right onto a busy market street. Nautica shuffled alongside, distracting herself with studying the different organic food and other objects that the vendors had for sale. It was oddly comforting to have someone like Drift who wasn’t constantly verbally checking in with her. She didn’t have to come up with a canned false answer all the time but rather just keep up her slow pace and merely focus on existing.

But then suddenly, Drift stopped and lightly touched Nautica’s shoulder. “I think that’s the temple,” he said slowly.

Nautica couldn’t figure out why Drift had acted so surprised until she spotted the temple sign. “That’s… Old Cybertronian!” She ran over to trace the carved out glyphs with her fingers. “And an ancient dialect of Old Cybertronian at that.”

Drift knelt down beside Nautica. “Can you translate it? I’m still trying to parse the articles you gave me.”

“It’s…” Nautica pulled up some records from her deep memory. “I think it’s a tomb of some kind. Though either I’m really bad at translating or the syntax is all wrong, like it wasn’t written by a native speaker. The words are there, but they’re conjugated more like Dorcaran than Cybertronian.”

“Any way of telling who is buried here?” Ratchet asked from behind them.

Nautica shook her helm. “There’s some references to light and… the splitting of rivers? That’s almost certainly a Dorcaran idiom, but for what?”

“That temple is huge though,” Roller remarked. “Larger than a lot of the structures around here.”

“If it’s a Cybertronian tomb, then that would make sense,” Drift surmised. “It looks like the temple’s open for visitors. Let’s go inside and get some good pictures.”

The four of them spread out amongst the many buildings of the complex. Nautica peeked her helm into one of the roped-off larger buildings and discovered what appeared to be Cybertronian-sized objects, from the large metal chairs and tables to the transparent drinking cubes and giant styluses. She quickly moved to the opened central building and gasped as she walked inside.

In the center of the room was a life size Cybertronian statue sitting cross-legged on a raised platform. It was difficult to tell whether or not it had been someone’s frame, but the identity of the figure was clear. The top of her helm started out smooth in the front but separated into seven colors which became finials at the back, with three on each side and one over the crest. Seven similarly colored crystals hung from each finial and glimmered as their facets caught the spotlights of the room.

“Primus…” Drift breathed as he entered the room behind Nautica.

“Is that who I think it is?” Nautica asked.

“Yeah,” Drift confirmed, optics wide and mouth agape as he stared at the statue. “That’s Prism.”

The decks of the Lost Light were unsettlingly empty. While the Dorcaran techs had given the all-clear after extracting the quantum drive, the vast majority of the crew were down on the surface of Ad Dorcara. With Megatron away shopping for supplies and Minimus Ambus overseeing the security for the repairs, Rodimus had remained as the only ranking officer available to make decisions if needed. Not that they were going to need that any time soon. The ship was going nowhere, many of its internal systems were on their secondaries or even tertiaries, and any crew drama was far away on the surface.

Rodimus had played through every video game he owned—twice—and had driven so much on the recreation deck’s racetrack that he swore he had torn a wheel. It didn’t hurt that much, so it really wasn’t worth it going to Medibay to face Nickel’s wrath. (Some days she was worse than Ratchet. Apparently that also meant she cared.) Out of all the doctors, Rodimus preferred Velocity, who not only had the best bedside manner but also intimately understood his racing needs due to also having a racing frame. If his wheel didn’t heal up soon, he’d probably ask for an on-track racing diagnosis, where Velocity could keep up with him enough to observe whatever issue was causing the pain.

His struts were starting to feel stiff though, so he left his office for a long leisurely stroll around the decks of the ship. It wasn’t the same as racing through the hallways, but at least it was something to do. He didn’t encounter anyone until he started to hear voices while amidships on deck ten.

“Are you really the legendary Thunderclash?” a small Dorcaran voice inquired.

You’ve got to be kidding me! Rodimus hid behind a bulkhead and leaned out. Sure enough, it was the (Allegedly) Greatest Autobot of All Time Thunderclash surrounded by a bunch of Dorcaran techs.

“Well, I’m not sure about ‘legendary,’ but yes, that’s my name,” Thunderclash nervously chuckled.

The Dorcarans cheered. “The great savior of Mes Norpta!”

“Oh, I was only a tiny part of it! So many of my crewmates did a lot more than me.” While trying to placate his fans, Thunderclash didn’t stand as tall as he usually did. Instead, his optics drooped as did many of his limbs.

He was exhausted.

On the one hand, Thunderclash represented everything right that everyone thought was wrong about Rodimus. On the other hand, Ratchet had dared Rodimus to speak with Thunderclash about that same exact issue. Rodimus couldn’t pass up a dare, nor could he leave a member of his crew unsupported when they were clearly overwhelmed.

Rodimus let himself seethe for a few seconds and then strolled out towards the crowd. “Excuse me!” he announced in a loud authoritative voice.

The entire crowd turned towards Rodimus. Thunderclash smiled weakly. “Captain!”

“I’m afraid I need Thunderclash for some very important business,” Rodimus continued. “If you’ll excuse us.” He gestured for the two of them to keep going down the hallway as the crowd parted.

“Captain,” Thunderclash said quietly. “I’m really sorry, but First Aid put me on leave, and—”

Rodimus waved a hand to cut Thunderclash off. “Not here,” he said in a normal voice. “It’s highly confidential.” However, once he was sure they were out of earshot, he pulled Thunderclash over to a side corridor. “I’m aware of your duty status. That’s the important business.” Oh, that was so smooth!

Thunderclash’s optics lit up. “Oh! Why, thank you, captain!”

Rodimus leaned up against the wall with his arms crossed. “To be honest, I thought you would have gone to the surface with the rest of the crew.”

“Oh!” Thunderclash grinned. “No, I needed some quiet time to myself. The Dorcarans just happened to find me… somehow.” He frowned. “I could have said the same thing about you. You must be bored out of your mind up here.”

“Oh, me?” Rodimus waved a hand dismissively. It was really tempting to lie to make himself look better, but he had a dare to fulfill. “I mean, it’s my duty as captain to oversee the ship, so you just… do what needs doing.”

“Of course.” Thunderclash cleared his throat. “Well, I won’t keep you any longer then. Thank you very much for the save, captain.” He bowed and turned to leave.

“Oh, Thunderclash?” Every fiber in Rodimus’ being tried to stop him saying what he was going to say next, but he resisted every single bit of it. After all, there was nothing but genuine kindness and concern behind Ratchet’s dares. “If you get… bored with your quiet time, do you think I could… stop by to chat?”

A smile somehow way too big to be true crossed Thunderclash’s face. “Of course, captain! Tomorrow night or after would be better.”

Rodimus forced himself to smile back. “Okay! Great! See you then!”

What in the Pit had he just gotten himself into?

Drift sat cross-legged on the cold temple floor as Ratchet performed as much of an autopsy on Prism’s frame as was possible in that space. Once the temple elders had discovered the identity of their guests, they had allowed Ratchet to carefully lift Prism’s frame out of its resting place and onto the floor for examination. They now stood in a small group just in front of Prism’s pedes while the rest of the temple staff peered into the many doors of the room. Nautica and Roller sat against a wall near the front door, pouring over Prism’s ancient manuscripts to copy them for further study.

While the Dorcarans marveled at the speed of Ratchet’s hands, Drift concentrated on the features of Prism’s face that only barely surviving ancient artwork had depicted back in his home universe. Not many of Prism’s original writings remained there either, remembered mostly in the words of her students and their students and so on. It was enough to get somewhat of an idea of who she was: empathetic, welcoming, and non-violent but also uncertain, timid, and conflicted. She wished to be only known through her writing where she felt that she most fully expressed herself, but sadly most of her words were lost to time.

Those surviving words however had comforted Drift in a time of great uncertainty as he fully realized his transition away from Deadlock and his grief in his involvement with Wing’s death. Like many other times in his life, he had found himself in the worst place possible: alone with a constant stream of frightening and burdensome intrusive thoughts. Prism’s philosophy around societal belief multiplicity helped him start to address the often competing need for justice behind Deadlock alongside the need for repentance behind Drift.

His trigger finger twitched even now, and he balled his hands into fists in an attempt to ignore it. Getting the balance between the two sides of him was tricky, as evidenced by him swinging between personas like a pendulum to survive in the ever-changing conditions. At least now he had to be honest about it; he owed his growing family that much.

“You okay?” Ratchet pinged Drift over internal comms.

Much to Drift’s annoyance, Ratchet’s optics were glued to him even while performing the autopsy. Ratchet had started to be able to read his moods instantly, even after he hid them under layers and layers of deflection for his own protection.

He didn’t really want to go into details, but he needed to soothe Ratchet at least somewhat. “Yeah. It’s just… she’s bringing up a lot of memories,” he sent back in a private comm.

Ratchet nodded and then went back to finishing up.

“Anything you can tell us, Doctor?” the lead elder asked.

Ratchet breathed out as he sat back. “Well, she’s definitely Cybertronian. Her spark chamber is an ancient design, but it’s in rough shape though, like it was pried open.”

“That was how they found her a thousand years ago,” the lead elder said sadly. “As the records state, she was already dying of a disease which was unknown to her, but one night the guards heard screams and found her dead, with her soul gone and her body gray. They had no idea what to do for funeral rights, so they performed ours. They dressed her up as they knew her and painted her body as best they could with how they remembered her colors. It took them a few tries to figure out how to get the paint to stay, as what she wore was not exactly ‘paint’ by how they understood it. Instead of putting her in the ground, they memorialized her here, in hopes that someday we could get more answers.”

“Well, okay, so a couple of things,” Ratchet said. “I’m pretty sure she died of atrophosia. It’s a disease that we Cybertronians can get when spending a significant amount of time around organics.”

The council of elders along with the crowd outside started gasping and chittering frantically to themselves. “So you are saying,” the lead elder said, “we killed her?”

“Unfortunately, that’s likely,” Ratchet confirmed. “Not that there was any reason for you to know.”

“Are we putting you in danger now?” one of the other elders asked.

Ratchet shook his helm. “Probably not. As far as we can tell, it takes centuries of constant contact to develop the disease. Many of us have had contact with organics before and are showing no symptoms. Everyone on the crew gets check ups regularly, although we don’t have any vaccines or treatment for it. Not that any of that stops First Aid, our current Chief Medical Officer, from trying to figure it out beforehand.”

Drift desperately wanted to go over and embrace Ratchet, but now was not the time. Ratchet was still a bit frustrated at the end of his time as CMO, but it was more at how he hadn’t had the time or resources to be as experimental as he would have liked. The war had cut his research career short, and while his techniques were top notch, they had only evolved to save lives during the war and not further develop cures for things like cybercrosis or atrophosia. It was a minor twinge of envy, but in time Drift hoped he would be able to work through it.

“Secondly,” Ratchet continued, “our sparks animate special paints that give us our colors, so when our spark leaves its frame we turn gray. Whatever paint you’ve applied to her seems to not be doing any damage, so you can keep doing what you’ve been doing to preserve it. Unless… Drift, are there any funeral rites that a Spectralist like her would have wanted?”

Drift frowned. “I can’t say for certain. Most of her writings were lost, and she was a secretive person to begin with.”

The gathered crowd started to whisper amongst themselves. “Wait.” The lead elder approached Drift. “Are you a Spectralist?”

“Yes.” Drift cocked his helm. “Why?”

The elder whistled and motioned to two acolytes, who turned and scurried out of the room. “Then for you, we have a gift.”

“A gift?”

The two acolytes ran back in, struggling to carry a very long wrapped parcel between them. They knelt and presented it to Drift, who balanced it across his lap.

“One of Prism’s last wishes was to present these to the first Cybertronian Spectralist to visit the temple,” the elder explained.

Drift pursed his lips. “I thought that Prism knew she was the last Cybertronian.”

The elder shrugged. “She was an optimist? Please, open it.”

Upon closer inspection, the wrapping around the parcel was actually a beautiful cloth embroidered with ancient Cybertronian glyphs. Drift very delicately folded back the wrapping to reveal a long wooden box. He slowly undid the clasps and folded the lid up, gasping at the box’s contents. 

Two lovingly preserved Cybertronian short swords sat nestled in their intricately engraved sheaths. Drift sat the box onto the floor and slowly unsheathed one of the swords. It sang as he drew it, the polished surface and the sharpened edge twinkling even in the low light of the room. “Perfectly balanced,” he said as he slowly pulled it through the air. He carefully ran his finger along the blade. “Still as sharp as ever and unblemished even after all this time. This is a quality metal that can last for millenia if forged and cared for properly, which this has been.”

“These were the swords of her dear friend, Horizon,” the elder said. “Killed in battle shortly before Prism came to us. She explained to us that swords are to be given, to be used as intended. Since we cannot fulfill that role, she instructed us to pass them on to you.”

Drift didn’t deserve this gift, but for diplomacy’s sake he composed himself. “Thank you. I’m honored.”

“There’s one more thing,” Ratchet said, thankfully cutting through any more awkwardness around the swords. “How old did Prism say she was?”

The lead elder considered for a moment. “We can give you a copy of everything we have on her for you to confirm, but I’m pretty sure she stated that she was three million years old.”

“Are you sure she didn’t say ten?” Ratchet asked. “Because there’s no way she’s three million years old, based on the design of her frame.”

“No, they’re right,” Nautica said as she looked up from her work. “She states here that she was only three million. And that ship we found? It was also ten million but only showed two million years of wear.” She shook her helm. “Something weird is going on, like a time dilation.”

“Oh great,” Ratchet growled. “Not again.”

If there was one thing that kept Rodimus going despite all of the criticism against him, it was his belief in himself that he would always do the right thing eventually. All of his whining and complaining and pouting and sulking were really things he did to get all of it out of his system before he went and did what he needed to do. It looked bad on the outside—which was where he got his poor reputation—but those like his crew who chose to look closer would see that he was true to his word and would do anything to protect them.

And those who didn’t look close enough? He paused just short of ringing Thunderclash’s habsuite door, re-reminding himself that Thunderclash was not the one who was berating and dismissing his leadership abilities. Still, this conversation was not going to be easy. It was going to go one of two ways: either he was going to awkwardly seethe for the entire time or he would blow up at someone who had done nothing wrong.

Rodimus squeezed his optics closed and rang the bell.

It only took a second for Thunderclash to open the door. He gasped. “Captain! Welcome!”

Oh, Primus…

Thunderclash’s habsuite was beyond tidy, to the point where even Minimus Ambus could have used it as a blueprint for his own habsuite. That didn’t mean it didn’t have objects; on the contrary, it was stuffed with mementos and metals and pictures, all neatly organized and straightened so they didn’t impede the space. The only way Thunderclash could have kept this throughout the war was having permanent access to a large subspace pocket, which was only usually available to the popular, the rich, and the Primes. Rodimus had received a warning to empty out his own large subspace pocket when he had given up the Matrix, but since he hadn’t really kept many items anyway it wasn’t much of a loss.

“Captain, please, sit.” Thunderclash gestured towards the couch with two cubes already full in his large hands. He set them down onto the table as he sat opposite to Rodimus, sliding one cube across the table. An awkward silence sat between them before he filled it again. “So, how are the repairs going?”

“Oh, fine,” Rodimus said automatically. “They work quite fast. They should be able to reinstall the quantum drive next week once they finish with the ejection system. Then it’s off to update other parts of the ship.”

Thunderclash sipped his drink. “That is impressively fast, given that they’ve never seen our ship or any of its technologies before.”

“Well, Perceptor tried to explain it to me, and then when he got frustrated, Brainstorm summarized it as ‘there’s only so many ways you can organize stuff that works.’ So apparently they’ve seen this kind of thing before.”

“Ah yes, well, that does make sense.”

It didn’t even bother Rodimus that he needed a translator from Perceptorese when others didn’t. Certainly he would never be able to understand everything his crew told him; that was what delegation was for after all. But this rising boring awkwardness was about to be the death of him.

“So I guess I’m here because I owe you an apology,” Rodimus spat out.

Thunderclash furrowed his brow. “An apology? But captain, I don’t recall you wronging me in any way.”

“Well, it’s more with…” How could Rodimus describe it without letting his anger get the better of him? “Look, I know I’ve treated you differently since the beginning. And it’s really only because you’re the Greatest Autobot of All Time and everyone thinks you’re perfect and can do no wrong, and then I get the blowback for screwing up all the time because I can’t be you!”

The energon in the cubes sloshed back and forth as Rodimus’ fist slammed down onto the table. He slowly drew it back as his optics went wide with horror. He hadn’t been in nearly as much control as he had hoped, and now he had taken it out on one of his crew who he didn’t know all that well.

“Captain,” Thunderclash said slowly. “No one can be you either.”

“You would say that,” Rodimus grumbled.

Thunderclash looked down and away from him. “Why bring this up? Why ask for a friendly chat and then dump this on me?”

“Ratchet dared me.”

“What?”

“Ratchet dared me to do the same thing with you as he did with Drift. Apparently he knows the reason why you appear so flawless all the time.”

For a while, the room was quiet except for the low whir of the air handling system. “He does,” Thunderclash said finally in a low voice. He took a big gulp from his drink. “As a favor to him, I will tell you why. I think,” he stared into Rodimus’ optics, “you will understand why more than anyone else on this ship. Megatron included.”

He sat forward, hanging his hands between his knees as he nervously folded them together. “I am one of the oldest people on this ship. Not as old as Cyclonus or Tailgate, but not by much. I was forged with an excitement and curiosity of the universe beyond. It was easier back then to get a sponsorship for a ship and crew to explore the stars, given that when you got back you would give them all of the information you had collected. I had so many friends at the time who wanted the same thing, so we got a ship and they selected me as captain.”

Thunderclash buried his helm in his hands. “I was young, brash, and inexperienced. Within the first few months, several of the crew—my own friends—were dead. One of my decisions got us stranded on an asteroid for years. Then, a bad supply shipment infected our ship with scraplets, killing even more members of the crew. By the time we limped back to port, we only had a quarter of the crew we had started out with.”

He shook his helm as if to brush the memories away. “I lost nearly all of my remaining friends. No one would trust me with anything at that point. I had to start my life from scratch again, taking jobs here and there in hopes that no one would recognize me. I finally got fed up with that life and vowed never again to make any of those same mistakes. I took every opportunity to study every single subject I could in order to become an expert on it, just in case I needed to take charge of a situation that demanded that expertise. I met Ratchet while I was auditing medical school, though I had already made sure to familiarize myself with the material beforehand so I wouldn’t fail again.”

Rodimus’ drink still sat perched on his lip, having paused it there while shocked at Thunderclash’s revelation. He would have never dreamt that the Greatest Autobot of All Time had needed to start over after such a tragedy. Really, Thunderclash was banking on the fact that anyone who knew his story either was dead or wasn’t talking. Conversely, Rodimus’ mistakes were fresh on people’s minds and thus ripe for scrutiny.

“I really look up to you,” Thunderclash continued. “You’ve saved so many lives with your quick thinking and flexible leadership style. I must admit that throughout the years, since so many of my crew have constantly come to me for definitive guidance in ambiguous or uncertain conditions that I tend towards all-or-nothing thinking. I didn’t see Megatron the way you did. I didn’t see that he had changed. I should have.”

He sat up and leaned back into the couch. “I saw you constantly having to deal with the same problems I faced. I empathized with your position and envied your way of dealing with everything, even when the situation went sideways. I was honored that I could help out in some way, even if it was just providing the backup map. Plus,” he chuckled, “you’re one of the only people who saw past all the hype. It was… comforting. I felt safer around you because you weren’t asking anything of me. And then Getaway happened and I…”

“What he was doing was hard to spot.” Rodimus sighed as he leaned back while bracing the back of his helm against his entwined hands. “Everybody loved him. He always had the perfect joke or the perfect response or the perfect tragic origin story. He knew exactly how to spin an element of truth in just the right way to bring people in. Still, I should have seen him for what he really was. Instead, I let the entire crew down.”

Thunderclash leaned forward and pointed at him. “But see, that’s it right there! I trust you because you’re so open about your flaws! I know that you’re someone who can admit that they are wrong and then work past their mistakes to become a better person. One the one hand, you have to put up this type of charisma that comforts the crew that things are going to be okay—and I know how exhausting that is—but on the other hand you put the crew at ease knowing that they are loved by someone who understands them because you’re not perfect either!”

Maybe you're not good... but you're sure as hell good enough.

Rodimus really could stand to apply his impassioned speech to himself a bit more often.

“Honestly,” Thunderclash continued, “I know how exhausting it is being in that captain’s chair. If you ever want to come somewhere to be yourself, my door is always open. I only ask you to let me be myself too, because almost everyone else on this crew expects me to be someone I’m not.”

Rodimus mulled over his next question. “Is that why you look so tired?”

“Yeah,” Thunderclash said. “Sometimes people will ask me for this or that. What’s worse is that sometimes they’ll infer and I’ll have to guess. It’s probably what made my illness worse, according to First Aid. He was the one who suggested a duty schedule reduction. Even though I’m fully cured, he was concerned about the stress that the crew puts on me to be perfect all the time. Eventually, they’ll have to get used to me not being around as much.” He furrowed his brow. “But Captain, how did you know?”

“Well…” Rodimus pursed his lips. “I guess it’s something I can kind of see? It’s kinda hard for me to not see.” The memory of Drift looking absolutely exhausted while discussing the Overlord coverup churned his tank hard. “And I’ve tried to conveniently ignore it in the past where it suited me, and it didn’t go well. I… almost lost a good friend over it.” He shook his helm. “I shouldn’t have put him in that situation. He was acting as kind of a distraction for me, but he was having to hide who he really was and it was stressing him out. I saw it too, but… I ignored it.”

Thunderclash leaned forward. “But you said… ‘almost?’”

“Yeah. I’m working really hard on being a better friend to him.”

“And you’re not ignoring me, even though coming here must be really tough for you to do, having to face the person everyone expected you to be like.”

Rodimus smiled to himself. It really was true that these days he was doing more of the right thing, whether it was repairing his friendship with Drift or talking out issues with Ratchet or facing his fears about Thunderclash. It was something to be proud of that he was slowly becoming the person he really wanted to be.

“Thank you,” he said finally and then stood up. “For everything. I have a lot to consider. If only there was a meteor shower near here…”

Thunderclash’s optics lit up. “Meteor shower? You mean, as in meteor surfing?”

Rodimus couldn’t help but grin. “Yeah. It helps me think. Well, that is, before hitting the atmosphere. Then it’s all a thrill all the way down.”

“I love meteor surfing.”

“You do?”

“Oh yeah!” Thunderclash held out his arms out wide in the air. “You get this big view of the universe and then that aurora of fire!” He brought his arms down and folded his hands together. “I haven’t been able to do that in a while since… Well, it’s dangerous and all, and I didn’t want to set a bad example, so…”

For just a moment there, had that been the real Thunderclash? Excited and adventurous just as much as Rodimus was? Was he even a bit envious of how much freedom Rodimus enjoyed? 

Regardless, Rodimus owed Ratchet big time. It was very rare to find a partner who loved meteor surfing, much less one who was as experienced as Thunderclash likely was. He wouldn’t have to worry about his partner’s safety. He could just ride the rocks and enjoy the view.

“I’ll check the local space weather,” he said as he walked towards the door. “If there’s a good one, I’ll let you know. I’m pretty sure I can convince First Aid that it’s good R&R.”

Thunderclash grinned. “Thank you, captain!”

“Yep, no problem,” Rodimus said. “It’ll be good to have a partner out there.”

As soon as he left Thunderclash’s habsuite, he transformed and headed towards the recreation deck, relieved that his wheel was finally feeling better. It was likely no one was going to be down there since nearly everyone was on the planet, so hopefully that would mean he would have a bit of space to process his talk with Thunderclash while racing around the track. The lack of crew also probably meant a lack of crises that he would need to handle as well.

All in all, it would translate into a few hours of much needed alone time with no interruptions.

First Aid had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Swerve’s was still open during the ship overhaul, but he was even more excited about who had invited him there. He hadn’t really known Cerebros before the mnemosurgery project, but the two of them had quickly become best friends. It was such a relief to work with a bunch of experts on an experimental project that had nothing to do with the war and everything to do with creating a piece of equipment that would replace the dangerous operations that mnemosurgeons put themselves through.

But as enthusiastic as Cerebros had been about the project, he had slowly started to show signs of exhaustion as the weeks had gone by. Today was no exception when he slunk down into the booth with his drink and sighed. “Thanks, First Aid. I really needed this.”

“I’m assuming this isn’t project-related?” First Aid asked.

“I wish!” Cerebros chugged on his drink. “No, no. This is at home stuff. Don’t get me wrong: I love my partners. But have you ever been in a situation where it seems like you’re the one that’s the least damaged and you have to hold down the fort?”

Well, there had been Delphi. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”

“Red and Max have gone through so much. And on top of all of that, they both lost their therapist. Ratchet’s doing his best to get things back up to speed but it’s going to take a bit. And I feel like I have to balance everything out at home.” Cerebros’ optics flicked up. “And there’s the group chat going off again!”

First Aid frowned. “What’s going on?”

“Um, well…” Cerebros’ optics rapidly flitted from side to side. “According to Max, Red is hearing things again. He’s worried his paranoia is starting again.” He kept reading. “Ugh! He wants me to come up and calm Red down. Again!”

“Do you want some help?”

“At this point? I’ll take all the help I can get.”

When they arrived at the habsuite, the cacophony of the fight currently in progress spilled out into the hallway when Cerebros opened the door. It was so loud that First Aid had to turn down his audials to protect his hearing.

“This happens all the time!” Fortress Maximus boomed. “You keep saying your paranoia is gone, but then things like this happen!”

“And you’re overreacting!” Red Alert shot back. “I could say the same thing about you and your traumas, how you claim they’re gone and they clearly aren’t!”

Cerebros held up his hands. “Please, loves… Can we please calm down and talk about this? Red, Max is worried because you’re hearing things again—”

“Oh, sure, take Max’s side!” Red Alert yelled as he threw up his hands. “Because that’s what someone from the Institute would do!”

Fortress Maximus pointed accusingly at Red Alert. “That has nothing to do with any of this! Are you sure it’s not you being paranoid about feeling left out of the relationship? Again?!”

“STOP!”

First Aid’s voice painfully echoed throughout the habsuite, but at least it got everyone to focus on him. He took a deep breath to remind himself of how to deal with fights such as these. “Everyone, take a moment to calm down enough so we can go through this one at a time to figure this out. I want everyone to use ‘I’ messages from now on, and—”

The wall started knocking.

“See?!” Red Alert pointed towards the noise. “Did you hear that?”

Cerebros nodded.

“Yeah,” Fortress Maximus said quietly. “Yeah, I did, Red. I’m sorry for doubting you.”

First Aid walked over to the wall and knelt down to study it. “Hold on the apologies for a moment. I think I know how to get this open.” He unspooled his tools and started to unhook the panel from the wall. With all of the panel’s fasteners out, he picked it up, set it aside, and peered into the space between the wall.

He gasped as his spark jumped straight into his throat.

“Oh good, you finally heard me,” Springer said. “Now, where am I?”

Chapter Text

Springer didn’t have any clue as to when or where he was, but it was a relief that the first person he met in this time and place was First Aid. Tarantulas hadn’t really labeled the buttons on the Timemaze’s remote control very well, so each time Springer jumped, it took a while for him to get his bearings. One thing was obvious though: First Aid clearly recognized him. What that meant remained to be seen.

“You’re on the Lost Light.” First Aid reached out with a hand to help Springer out of the wall and to stand in what looked like a large habsuite.

“The wh—Fort Max!” Springer rapidly crossed the room and stuck his hand out. But what could he say to someone who had gone through the gamut of Garrus-9’s horrors? “Glad to see you again,” he managed, hoping it would be innocuous enough.

Fortress Maximus was still frowning when he took the offered hand, but he slowly started to smile when he shook it. “Same goes for you.”

“But what are you doing here?” Red Alert asked.

Springer frowned. Certainly being in a coma and then being out of contact for years made it difficult to keep up with events. “Here is, what, a ship?”

“Yeah,” said someone between Fortress Maximus and Red Alert. They stuck out their hand as well. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Cerebros.”

The name vaguely rang a bell, but they had never worked together. Springer took the hand. “I’m Springer.”

“Look,” First Aid said, nervously shuffling from pede to pede, “maybe I should take you down to Medibay to check you out. I can fill you in on the details and call the rest of the command staff. You being here is, well, odder than usual. For reasons. Not having anything to do with you.”

What in the Pit could that mean? Springer couldn’t wait to find out. “Lead the way.”

Springer swung his legs back and forth while sitting on the berth waiting for First Aid to complete examining him. He twisted around, taking in the sites of the large and clean Medibay. During the war, the medics had tried to keep their facilities as spotless as they could, but it was always next to impossible. The shininess of this one suggested that they weren’t currently fighting a war, and since First Aid had recognized him, he must have arrived after the war had concluded. His tank sank as the disappointment hit; he was nowhere near where he could stop the war.

First Aid looked up from studying his tablet. “Okay. So. You’re in good health, beyond a few scrapes. But, the command staff will be walking in here soon, and I want to ask you to just please stay calm. You’ve, um, missed a lot. We’re a blended post-war crew and we work together pretty well, so don’t be surprised if you see some… Decepticons on the ship.”

Reuniting Cybertron had been the purpose of winning the war after all. “Don’t worry about it,” Springer said. “It’s not like Megatron will be here.”

The Medibay door opened. “I don’t know what you two are planning, but now is not the—” Megatron stopped dead in his tracks as the rest of the group filed in from the hallway.

Of all the people to run into… No wonder First Aid had been so worried.

Rodimus’ optics went wide. “It really is Springer!” He joined Ratchet and Perceptor, along with a green minibot Springer didn’t recognize, in rushing towards the berth.

“At least as far as I can tell,” First Aid confirmed.

“How is this possible?” Perceptor started waving a scanner around Springer’s helm. “I have been working on ways of detecting subtle fluctuations in objects to detect their universe of origin. The differences are so slight that they are unlikely to affect us, but nevertheless they exist due to our relative positioning.” He cocked his head as he looked at the scanner. “Curious. He is not from this universe. His quantum resonance is localized to—”

“Um, Perceptor?” Rodimus interrupted, grinning nervously.

Perceptor gave a short sigh. “This is not only Springer, this is our Springer.”

“So,” Springer cut in before anyone else could comment, crossing his arms in frustration. “I’ve been pretty patient with First Aid as he made sure I was in top physical condition, and I’ve put up with another scan, but I’d really love to get an explanation of exactly what is going on!”

Rodimus held up his hands in placation. “Okay. Okay. I think you were still in a coma when we left. So this,” he spread his arms wide up into the air, “is our home, the Lost Light! We headed out from Cybertron to find the Knights of Cybertron to see if they could help us restore Cybertron, but instead we found that they all died and that we had to save the multiverse instead from some extra dimensional beings known as the Omega Guardians who wanted to eat everything! But when we got back from our journey, Prowl wanted to take our unique quantum engines to help support the sparklings from the hot spot we found on Luna-1, and we had this great idea—from another past experience where there was a coffin and a duplicate Lost Light from when we initially jumped from Cybertron because Prowl decided to be extra pri—”

“Roddy,” Drift said flatly from the back of the group. “You’re getting off track.”

“Right!” Rodimus exclaimed. “So we decided to duplicate the ship again but this time jump to another universe where we get to live with the family we created!”

Springer blinked. He couldn’t imagine packing that statement, not to mention unpacking it. Instead, he picked the one thing that was genuinely surprising. “You found Luna-1? And it had a hot spot?!”

The green minibot stifled a cough. “We never really lost it per se. Tyrest knew where it was.”

That reminded Springer that he didn’t actually know everyone in the room. “So let me get this straight,” he said as he stood to stretch. “On this ship, we’ve got a Prime…”

“Yep!” Rodimus confirmed.

“...the leader of the Decepticons, who is for some reason wearing an Autobot badge…”

“I defected,” Megatron said matter-of-factly.

“...right. Cybertron’s most skilled surgeon…”

Ratchet hooked his thumbs into his belt. “Well, I don’t know about that…”

“...one of the Decepticon’s most notorious sharpshooters…”

Drift grimaced and then shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“...and then there’s the reason our comms never went out for long…”

Blaster grinned. “I’ll take the credit wherever I can get it.”

“...and our most talented scientist…”

“Don’t let Brainstorm know you said that!” someone with a bright purple paint job interjected. They then put their hand to their mouth in embarrassment. “Sorry, and I’m Nautica, chief engineer.”

“There’s also someone in the back there?”

“Oh, I’m Roller!” they said. “Chief of operations.”

Springer looked down at the green minibot. “And then there’s you, who I also don’t recognize.”

“Actually,” they said, “you do. Quite well.”

Springer furrowed his brow and leaned in closer. There was something about the way they held themselves…

“Ultra Magnus?!”

“Pay up!” Rodimus yelled as Drift groaned and Ratchet facepalmed.

The green minibot sighed. “Yes, but after the first one died, ‘Ultra Magnus’ became more of a role to fulfill.” He put out his hand. “I’m Minimus Ambus. I was the latest and last person to wear the Magnus armor.”

Springer had noticed slight differences over the years but had chalked it up to wartime experiences. He took Minimus Ambus’ hand and smiled. “I’m really glad you’re here. Verity is doing well. I’m sure she misses you though.”

Minimus Ambus blinked several times as he took a deep breath. “I’m… glad to hear that.”

“And how can I forget another one of our bravest medics?” Springer gestured towards First Aid, who had just walked back into the room with a large cube of energon. “Ratchet, if you haven’t given him a promotion yet, I’d love to put in a good word.”

Ratchet smirked. “Oh, I gave him the promotion.”

“What…” Springer cocked his helm. “Do you mean you’re…?”

First Aid’s mask turned upwards into a smile. “I’m the ship’s CMO now after Ratchet retired. Well, semi-retired. He’s our chief psychiatrist now.” He held out the energon towards Springer.

“Congrats to you both then!” Springer gently wrapped his hands around the cube and smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

The white of First Aid’s mask turned pink as he blushed, confirming that suspicion. His attraction towards Springer had been evident at their first meeting, but he had kept it professional and had done an exemplary job at locating and relaying Agent 113’s messages. It now seemed that his confidence had grown so much that he had impressed Ratchet of all people.

“But… what I’m wondering is,” Minimus Ambus said while twisting his mustache, “how did you get here?”

“Indeed, I am curious myself,” Perceptor remarked. “You stated you were leaving on a solo mission, and that we would likely not know about it.”

“You still wouldn’t know about it because I haven’t really started it.” Springer took a long swig of his energon. “As most of you already know, after liberating Garrus-9, I was in a coma fighting a zero point. I recovered, miraculously. But I soon learned that my recovery was likely because I’m not like the rest of you. My spark wasn’t from the Matrix. It was created in a lab by a scientist named Tarantulas. It’s artificial and apparently indestructible.” He took another sip of his energon. He still hadn’t really had a chance to process everything about his creation before Verity had informed him of his immortality shortly before he had left through the Timemaze. It was going to take him a while longer to fully examine the implications of that.

He let the group absorb the information before he continued. “I wasn’t Tarantulas’ only creation. The last time I saw him, he had teamed up with Overlord to create what he called the Timemaze, essentially a time travel doorway. After we defeated both of them—”

“When you say ‘defeated’ in regards to Overlord,” Rodimus interrupted, “what exactly do you mean? Because he’s almost impossible to kill.”

Springer smirked. “I’m pretty sure we killed him. We sent one part of him to the far past and the other to the far future.”

The rest of the command staff exchanged glances while Ratchet snorted. “Oh, that’d do it!”

“Anyways, I decided to use the Timemaze to go back and try to prevent the war from ever happening—” Springer stopped short as Perceptor facepalmed. “What?”

“Would you believe you’re merely the second person we’ve encountered who has attempted this mission?” Perceptor asked, still pinching his nose.

With everyone else in the room shaking their helms and groaning, Springer was almost afraid to ask. “So what happened with the first attempt?”

“Had we not stopped him, he would have collapsed our timeline,” Perceptor said, a slight hint of frustration slipping into his otherwise explanatory demeanor. “It is irresponsible for you to be even considering going through with your mission—”

“Perceptor,” Megatron’s booming voice interrupted. “Let us get all facts first before we start debating the moral implications of Springer’s intent.”

“Yes.” Perceptor cleared his throat. “Sorry, I— Please, continue.”

“I thought I targeted a time before the war started, but after a few attempts at jumping, I ended up here.” Springer handed the remote control to Perceptor. “Perhaps you can decipher ‘mad scientist’ speak.”

“I’m fluent,” Perceptor said confidently as he inspected the device, but as some in the group suppressed snickers, it might have just as easily been an inside joke. “This does appear to be displaying a time before the war started, but that setting seems to be overridden by another. Hmm… It almost looks like… First Aid, can we cross-reference this frequency to all known spark signatures?”

“Yeah.” First Aid took the device and plugged it into the console on the wall, setting it up for a search that took a few moments. When the results appeared on the screen, everyone in the room gasped.

Perceptor stroked his chin. “Curious. Why would this device be attempting to lock onto Overlord’s spark signature?”

“Actually, that makes sense,” Springer said. “Tarantulas originally designed the Timemaze to send Overlord back to key moments in history to create alternate timelines which he could exploit.”

“It would follow that Tarantulas likely created a recall setting to locate Overlord if anything went wrong,” Perceptor surmised. “But it still does not explain why that setting sent you here. Not only is Overlord now presumably dead, but either piece of him is not here, and furthermore, this is an entirely different universe. It would take an inordinate amount of energy to transport you here for no discernable reason.” He tapped his cheek. “But if I had to think like Brainstorm, I’d say that perhaps since it was designed to track down Overlord in the process of creating alternate realities, it locked onto the closest alternate reality in which Overlord’s spark had been whole. Since he spent a significant amount of time here imprisoned in the ship, it follows that the device would eventually have brought you here. That hypothesis is rather, er, not up to my usual rigor, but it is perhaps the germ of an idea.”

Springer frowned. “Overlord was here? Why?”

Everyone turned to glare at Rodimus. “Oh fine. Prowl thought it was a good idea to study him to create our own Phase Sixers, and he, um, convinced me to head up that research on the Lost Light while Overlord was in stasis. And then Overlord got out and killed some people.” He sighed. “I take full responsibility for it.”

Springer shook his helm. “Typical Prowl.” He turned to Perceptor. “Do you think you can help me reprogram the remote control?”

“That is not wise.” Perceptor rapidly slipped the remote control into his subspace. “I will confiscate this for now so we can make a determination on how to proceed.”

“But—” Springer was dumbfounded. He had come all this way to now be completely stopped by one of his fellow Wreckers and perhaps many of his other peers.

“I’m sorry, Springer,” Megatron said. “You do not have all the information that we have to make this judgment. The last attempt to stop the war created an alternate timeline that opened up the possibility for the Omega Guardians to attempt to destroy all universes. Indeed, it was this crew who stopped them from killing every single lifeform. We cannot risk that again, no matter how admirable your goals are.”

“That alternate timeline came into being because I momentarily tampered with the paradox locks,” Perceptor interjected with a rare grin. “Brainstorm quite expertly designed his device with robust safeties to prevent the creation of both paradoxes and alternate timelines.”

Drift smirked. “Weren’t you just chastising him for almost collapsing our timeline?”

“Can I not appreciate, in a purely scientific manner of course, my partner’s accomplishments?” Perceptor asked.

“My point being,” Megatron boomed, “is that this device is designed to create those alternate timelines and thus could sow even more chaos.”

“You’re one to talk!” Springer spat, finally allowing his anger at the apparently former Decepticon despot to boil over.

“As much as it may seem strange to you, Megatron’s right on this one,” Ratchet said. “You’re missing a lot of context and history, as many of us would be if suddenly landing in the middle of a Wreckers operation.”

“Y’know, we don’t have a lot of Wreckers on the crew, but we do have a lot of Wrecker Adjacents!” Rodimus exclaimed. “Me and Drift ran with Kup, and you,” he pointed up at Megatron, “were Impactor’s friend.”

“That does not make me a Wrecker,” Megatron said flatly.

“Somehow ‘Wreck Adjacent and Rule’ isn’t as flashy,” Drift commented.

“None of this is pertinent to the current subject of discussion,” Minimus Ambus said. “We have yet another situation where a scientist has created a time travel device that could be used against us if it fell into the wrong hands.”

“Certainly there is always a risk for the Omega Guardians to exploit any timeline, not just ones created by a time travel device,” Perceptor argued. “And if the Timemaze merely creates new universes, then it might trap the user in a new reality but leave the others untouched, making it possible to stop an alternate war if it is a significant distance away from us.”

“Oh, sure, let’s all go and try to create alternate timelines where we don’t make that one critical mistake,” Ratchet said sarcastically. “Like maybe I’ll go back in time and convince myself to grab Drift before the war ever starts so we can go traipsing across the galaxy together and avoid all of that pain and suffering. Except that situation would be worse, because I’d be trapped there without my Drift.”

“I would go with you,” Drift asserted.

“That’s not my point and you know it!” Ratchet yelled back playfully. “Surely, Perceptor, you have to see that we shouldn’t be using time travel to solve all of our problems. If we destroyed Brainstorm’s briefcase, then we should be destroying this Timemaze in the same manner!”

“The issue with the briefcase was that it would have destroyed our universe, replacing our reality with the one that Brainstorm was going to create without the war,” Perceptor countered. “As I stated before, this Timemaze deserves further study before we decide whether or not to destroy it.”

Springer’s vision started going a bit blurry as he tried to process the sheer amount of information the command staff was arguing about. Regardless, he was not going to get the remote control back any time soon. “I need a drink.”

“Swerve runs a bar here,” First Aid whispered to him. “I could excuse you from this hot mess really easily if you wanted.”

“Yet another reason why I’m really glad to see you again.” Springer cocked his helm to the side. “Let’s go.”

Getting to Swerve’s bar was an adventure in and of itself. Everytime Springer turned a corner, he met yet another shocked crew member who was nevertheless excited to see him. Eventually, First Aid let him through a mostly deserted alternate route to actually get to the bar without further interruption.

Not that it helped at all. They were delayed yet again when they got there, first by the bouncer who insisted Springer hand over his rotor blades due to the ‘no swords’ rule, and then by the patrons inside the bar who crowded around him and made it difficult for him to finally sit down with his drink.

“Wow, you’re more popular than Thunderclash,” First Aid remarked when the crowd finally dissipated. “If I had been thinking, I would have brought you to the observation deck instead.”

Springer sat back, swirling his drink. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just surprised they weren’t more shocked. They were asking more how I was than how I got here.”

First Aid laughed. “Welcome to the Lost Light where weird things happen so often that they’re normal. We’ve seen so much outlandish stuff on this quest that we kind of expect it now.”

“So can you give me a rundown on what to expect here crew-wise?” Springer asked. “Surprise despots? Strange berthfellows? That sort of thing?”

“We’ve got plenty of all of that.” First Aid retracted his mask to take a drink. “Rodimus started as captain, but when Megatron requested to be judged by the relatively impartial Knights of Cybertron for his trial, Optimus made them both co-captains of the ship. And it’s strange, but… I’m actually okay with that. Megatron takes full responsibility for his actions during the war and is doing a lot to make amends. I know not everyone is willing to accept that, but the crew are here voluntarily with him, so…”

“Yeah, I’m still getting used to that,” Springer said distantly. Indeed, Megatron had seemed decently calm and collected during their brief interaction, but it was more about what he had instigated, enabled, and represented that was the problem. But the Wreckers had done some pretty horrible things as well, so where exactly did anyone draw that line?

“Believe me, we’ve seen much worse,” First Aid continued. “You learn to pick your enemies strategically. Like Pharma? We all saw his true colors when he tried to save only himself from the DJD. But Drift? He and Ratchet both put themselves in danger to rescue the rest of us from Delphi. And now the two of them are an item.”

“Drift?” Springer had initially warned Kup not to take on Drift into their crew, suspecting that Drift was really just Deadlock with a new coat of paint. But Kup had overruled him, saying that everyone deserves a second chance. But now, if he was hearing correctly, Drift was involved with one of the best of all of the Autobots. “And Ratchet?”

“Yep. I guess they had known each other from before the war and just needed to work some things out. Then you saw Cerebros, Red Alert, and Fort Max; they’re a throuple. Perceptor and Brainstorm are together too.”

“Perceptor got a boyfriend?! Pit, he’s been busy.”

“Then there’s some other people you don’t know, like Cyclonus and Tailgate and—”

“Whirl.” There, just entering the bar close behind two others, was the person who had tried to shut off Springer’s life support.

“Oh, I don’t think Whirl’s involved with them,” First Aid said. “He’s more of a close friend, but you never know.”

“No, I mean, Whirl just walked in the door.” Springer got up from his seat. Fortunately, Whirl hadn’t seen him yet due to the large crowd. “Sorry to interrupt our date, but I need to handle this before it gets out of control.”

First Aid’s optics flashed. “D—Date?!”

Springer would have to make it up to him later. After all, First Aid was cute when he was being awkwardly generous and even cuter when he took initiative, like he had with bringing them here. But right now, Springer had a potential Wrecker situation on his hands that he needed to diffuse.

Making sure that Whirl’s two companions were distracted, he walked up from behind and put Whirl’s thin neck into a headlock. “Hello, Whirl.”

Whirl’s entire frame stiffened. “You?!”

“That’s right. Me.” Springer started walking the two of them towards the bar.

“Is this what the Terrans mean by ‘no good deed goes unpunished?’ I’ll have you know, what I tried to do was an act of mercy, nothing more.” Whirl wrestled free of Springer’s hold. “I won’t go down without a fight, even if you have come all this way across alternate universes just to kill me.”

“Kill you?” Springer chuckled. “I’m going to get you a drink.”

Whirl tilted his helm to the side. “You’re… not going to kill me?” He put up one of his claws. “Bear with me, I’m still getting used to this ‘not killing’ concept.”

Springer folded his arms. “Look, Whirl. I don’t blame you for what you tried to do. Most people wouldn’t have survived a zero point, so I get that you wanted to put me out of my misery.” He shrugged. “Thing is, I’m apparently not ‘most people.’ I’m still coming to terms with that.”

“Is this person bothering you?” a bass voice boomed behind and above Springer.

Whirl put up his arms. “Cyclonus! Buddy! Yes, but actually no!” He gestured towards Springer. “This is Springer, one of the leaders of the Wreckers.”

Cyclonus cocked an optic ridge. “Whirl speaks highly of you.”

Springer grinned at Whirl. “Does he, now?” Out of the corner of his optic, he detected a mad shuffle near the doorway. He turned to look just as a group of Decepticons walked in.

“I don’t know how in the Pit you’re here, but you have a lot to answer for now that you are,” the lead Decepticon growled.

A pink jet stepped out from behind to place themselves between Springer and the lead Decepticon. “Krok, calm down. I’m sure it’s not—”

“He killed my entire squad, Misfire!” Krok yelled. “Him and all of his Wreckers!”

First Aid walked up next to Springer. “Stand down, Krok. He’s with me.”

Springer put up his hand to both Misfire and First Aid. “It’s alright.” He turned towards Krok. “Can you be more specific on what happened?”

Krok got right up into Springer’s face. “Yeah. Roadbuster killed my friend Radar in the most brutal way possible.”

Ah. That narrowed it down quite a bit. Springer had been engaged in a fight when it had happened and had been too late to stop it. In fact, at that exact moment he had been fighting with— “I remember you now…”

“Look,” Krok continued, “I can learn to let go of a lot of things. That’s pretty essential for just being here on this crew. And the Decepticons got into some pretty nasty stuff as well: the DJD, Squadron X, to name a few. But what Roadbuster did crossed a line.”

Springer nodded. “Yes, he did, and I take full responsibility for it. So, I guess if you want to have at me, be my guest.”

Krok pulled back his arm and punched into the air, missing Springer’s nose by inches. Springer never flinched, remaining perfectly still as Krok slumped and withdrew his fist. “It won’t bring him back,” he mumbled. He pushed past Springer to get to the bar along with his companions.

The rest of the patrons gradually returned to their conversations. First Aid came over and tapped Springer on the arm. “Sorry about that.”

Springer shook his helm. “Don’t worry about it. Krok’s right: I have a lot to answer for. It’s why I disbanded the Wreckers. We just got too toxic, both inside and outside of the unit. We weren’t supporting each other, and that left people like Roadbuster to fend for themselves.”

“That’s really the story of this entire crew,” First Aid said. “A lot of us were separated from the people who could really help us. Krok’s got his family now; they’re called the Scavengers, and yes, that pronunciation is correct.”

“I did the same to you too,” Springer admitted. “Sending you in that close to the DJD to pick up messages from our mole. Not really having anyone you could turn to.”

“It got me this job and got me on this crew. I even impressed Ratchet so much that he felt that he could retire.” First Aid tilted his head as if he was reading his HUD. “Speaking of which, the command staff wants to talk to you again.”

“I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?”

“Oh, no, not at all! I could tell you were overwhelmed and needed a break.”

Springer gestured towards the door. “Shall we, then?”

“Sure, but…” First Aid nervously tapped his fingers together. “Were you really serious about this being a… date?”

“I was.” Springer put his hand on First Aid’s shoulder. “Though it got interrupted. Care for a makeup date?”

First Aid’s optics lit up. He practically bounced as they walked out the door. “I’d love that!”

Chapter Text

The hallway was blessedly empty, allowing Drift to audibly breathe out the tension that had been building in his frame since he woke up. The ship was at a point where the Dorcarans were putting the final touches on the vast number of improvements they had scheduled over the last several months. While it was exciting to be finally leaving drydock, it also meant that it was time for Drift to assume the role of director of security.

Meeting with Minimus Ambus was only the first hurdle of the day. While the Reintegration Act essentially nullified Drift’s wartime record, it didn’t erase any of the stigma Minimus Ambus likely already held against him. So far, the onboarding meetings had been pretty professional, but today’s meeting would be the first time Minimus Ambus would hand complete control of the ship’s security to someone who had once been one of the most ruthless of all of the Decepticons.

Drift made sure to give himself enough travel time to get to the meeting and then rang the buzzer right on schedule. When the door opened, he stepped in to find Minimus Ambus reading from a stack of reports on the desk.

“Good morning.” Minimus Ambus only briefly glanced up to gesture at the seat opposite him. “Please, sit down.” He set his tablet aside and then picked up another one, handing it over just as Drift was settling into the chair. “On there is my final assessment of our assets, including personnel and materiel. You will find that while we are in good shape overall, there are areas of improvement that I would highly recommend you address as soon as possible.”

It was difficult for Drift to relax in his chair as he started to skim through the document, but he allowed himself to at least sit back and cross one leg over the other. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Rodimus’ office, partially because of the lack of supportive furniture but mostly because of how nervous he still was. The Lost Light was his home; it kept his family safe and secure. He needed to be a part of its defense, which meant making inroads with Minimus Ambus, but it didn’t mean that he had to adhere to every single stringent request.

He was fortunate however that Minimus Ambus had also gone through some personal growth and never once commented about his slight slouching. The document had its usual thoroughness, along with being highly structured and quite easy to read at a glance.

“Ah,” Drift said as he reached the Recommendations section. “I see hitting targets is still an issue.”

“Yes, I thought you might notice that,” Minimus Ambus said. “While some—like Strafe, although Strafe has different problems—have quite high accuracy, the others are struggling to get their scores up. I’ve already arranged for them to meet you at the shooting range in an hour. I’ve already found others to cover the security in their absence.”

“Sounds good.” A quick scan through the document didn’t reveal any other topics needing discussion, so Drift closed it and looked back up. “Anything else?”

“Not at this time.” Minimus Ambus stood, prompting Drift to stand as well, and held out his hand. “Congratulations on your new position, Drift. I’m confident I’m leaving the security of this ship in good hands.”

Drift paused, only having lifted his hand just slightly. “You really mean that last bit? I know we haven’t exactly been on the friendliest of terms.”

“I mean it,” Minimus Ambus answered succinctly. “Megatron gave me some… perspective. I’m confident you will protect this as your home.”

Home. It was almost a foreign word to Drift as life had often denied him the privilege. He shook the hand anyway, firmly and with all of the energy he had put into protecting those he loved for all of his life.

But it still didn’t seem quite real, and as he left Minimus Ambus’ office with the position as his own, a dark shadow seemed to creep up behind him.

When Drift reached the shooting range, he found that the rest of his security team had already arrived. He stopped right inside the entrance to get a sense of what they were like without him, already encouraged by the friendly conversation they were already having while they waited.

Some of them were pretty well suited for the job and weren’t going to cause problems. Boss was going to make a really good lieutenant due to his leadership skills. Streetwise was also pretty talented, and Groove was alright if a bit too relaxed. On the other hand, Dogfight had a temper, Powerflash wasn’t very flexible, and Strafe often had bad judgment in a firefight. And then there was Aquafend, who wasn’t an issue himself, but…

Drift confidently strolled in. “Good morning,” he said with a hopefully disarming smile. The group immediately quieted down and stood at attention. “No need for that. Relax.”

The security team exchanged glances with each other but went back to standing normally.

“So let’s get some obvious things out of the way.” Drift casually folded his arms. “I’m not going to run this team like Red Alert or Minimus Ambus. I don’t expect perfection, but I do expect each one of you to be able to act both independently and with the larger group. This is home to you and your family and your friends, and you are the ones protecting them.”

A cold shiver ran through him as he said the last few words, but he brushed it away. “Secondly, it’s true that I was once Deadlock, and yes, most of the rumors about what I did during the war are true. I know probably most of you have figured it out by now, but I wanted to make sure you heard it from me. It’s not a secret anymore by any means, especially now that we are far and away from Autobot high command.”

The group shuffled a bit nervously but didn’t seem to be all that surprised.

“Any questions?” Drift asked.

Boss raised his hand. “I’m assuming we’re here because of our low shooting scores?”

Drift nodded. “Yes. I’m planning on making time in all of your duty schedules so I can coach you and so that you can get in some practice.”

“Oh c’mon!” Strafe grinned. “I’m already the best there is!”

“No, your problem is that you can’t stop shooting,” Boss argued.

“But how are you going to teach us if you haven't been practicing on the schedule stated in the regulations?” Powerflash asked.

“My brother Jetstorm fought with Deadlock,” Aquafend interjected. “Says he’s one of the best shots we got.” He gave Drift a smug look. “Though he doesn’t regret helping stop your mutiny against Turmoil.”

And there it was. The two of them hadn’t interacted much beyond a few operations in the early days of the quest, but Drift had long suspected that Aquafend had been holding that little tidbit in for the right time. He gestured it away. “No hard feelings. His actions contributed to who I am today.”

“Yeah, a rusty shot,” Dogfight said.

Drift glanced around and quickly located the weapons rack holding a wide variety of firearms. “We’ll see about that.” A standard issue energy rifle caught his optic, drawing him closer towards the rack to pick it up. It wasn’t beautifully sculpted or perfectly balanced like the beloved sniper rifle from his past life, but it was well-made and reliable. He ran the fingers of his right hand along the underside of the barrel and curled the fingers of his left hand into the trigger slot as he made his way towards the cage. 

The faint familiar scent of an energy pack powering up wafted across his nose. He let one shiver run through his frame, an uncomfortable reminder of what guns had really meant to him. Oh, how he had missed this! The power to change everything in his hands, the taste of freedom just beyond his glossa. One more shot, just one more shot, and everything would be better.

Drift’s left finger itched again, begging him to pull the trigger as he aimed at the target. Quickly, in rapid succession, ten shots rang downrange. Silence filled the room for a few moments, followed by muffled gasps behind him from the security team as they looked on. He lowered the gun to review his work.

Every single shot had hit the bullseye.

After disengaging the energy pack and safely stowing the gun in its rack, Drift turned back towards the group, who were staring at him with mouths agape. “When you can pick up a gun after ten thousand years and shoot with that accuracy,” he said as he pointed at the target, “then you can stop practicing as much.”

The gun sat safely back on the rack, but the shadow had now engulfed him.

“Staring at the screen for long periods will burn out your optics faster,” said Ratchet as he entered the research lab.

Roller merely flicked his optics towards Ratchet as he continued to boredly support his entire helm with one elbow on his desk. “Hey, Ratch,” he mumbled through his hand. “Usually don’t see you down here.”

“Well, I was in the area,” Ratchet explained. “How’s the research going?”

“It’s not.” Roller slowly stood and stretched, giving a huge yawn in the process. “I think I’ve hit a dead end. Might have to pull in the entire scientific staff for this one. Maybe we can formulate some off-the-wall theories over a bottle of engex and eventually find one that works.” He sat back down, turning his chair towards Ratchet and scooting it backwards. “And you rarely come down here. This isn’t some covert checkup, is it?”

Ratchet playfully grimaced at him. “I can’t fool you anymore, can I?” He crossed his arms as he leaned the side of his hip up against the desk. “But no, it’s not that. Drift canceled our lunch date; didn’t even give a reason. He’s been a bit distant lately and I’m worried. I thought I’d take a walk to get my mind off of it and found myself here.”

“I wish I had more to distract you with, but I’m fresh out at the moment,” Roller said. “Oftentimes Brainstorm’s lab is more entertaining, especially when Perceptor visits and you get to see them bicker using the scientific method.”

“Usually I’m bickering with Drift over lunch.” Ratchet gave out a long sigh.

Roller shrugged. “I’m not exactly the best person to offer relationship advice.”

Ratchet’s optics went wide when the realization hit him. “Roller, I’m sorry, I—”

“It’s okay,” Roller said as he placated Ratchet with his hand. “I’m just going to have to get used to it. I was hoping this project would be a distraction, but so far it’s been nothing but frustration.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No, but thank you. I’ve got a few more leads to check out.”

Ratchet nodded. “I’ll leave you to them then.” He stood up and started heading out the door. “Good luck.”

“You too,” Roller said as Ratchet continued on.

There was something strange about the room in which Drift woke up. It wasn’t as bright as it should have been, and there was a wall where his nightstand usually sat. He pushed himself up and started to reach out towards it when the shadow stirred behind him.

“You never really left this place, did you?” an all-too-familiar voice asked.

Drift flipped over to confirm his worst fears. Deadlock now lounged where Ratchet usually would have slept, smugly half-smiling out of habit to hide the anguish underneath. Drift quickly scanned the rest of the room: it was the old tiny habsuite that he had crammed himself into when he had first boarded the Lost Light.

“Of course, it was natural to imagine otherwise.” Deadlock shrugged. “Then you could ignore just how much of yourself you had left behind with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Drift said as calmly as he could. But it wasn’t going to be of any use: as much as he could read Deadlock’s emotions, so in turn could Deadlock read his.

Deadlock rolled his optics, dropping all pretense of hiding anything at all. “Oh please. When we fought together, we were going to save everyone. Including,” he sat up to press a clawed finger into Drift’s nose, “you.” He narrowed his optics. “But instead, you became this self-sacrificing doormat who in his spark truly believes he deserves nothing simply because we were prepared to do whatever it took to end the war.”

“This is just a nightmare.” Drift closed his optics and started to slow his breathing. “You are not real. I am going to wake up safe and sound next to Ratchet.”

“Oh, it was always about Ratchet, wasn’t it?” Deadlock smirked as he pushed himself ever closer to Drift’s lips. “And you got what you wanted finally! Someone who came looking for you and not the other way around. Someone who kissed you and didn’t want to use you. Someone who spent so many passionate nights with you.” He growled as he sneered. “You weren’t about to share, were you? I fought for him just as much as you did, and yet I’m a side of you that you only let out on rare occasions!”

Drift stared at him. “You’re dangerous.”

“You know full well in your spark that I’d never harm him.”

“But eventually you’d do something unforgivable! It’s been hard enough to get this far with him. Getting him to trust me after everything that happened during the war?”

“You’re the one with the temper.” Deadlock cocked his helm. “Or have you forgotten Theophany? I certainly haven’t. In fact, I was impressed how high you punched Whirl up into the air. It was such a relief to feel you let it out after centuries of burying it deep down. Almost as much of a relief as when we started disobeying orders to fight the war in our own—”

In one swift motion, Drift pulled a knife out of a hidden compartment and pinned Deadlock’s neck down to the berth with it. “I’ve moved on from that. I’ve moved on from you.”

But the threat had no effect as Deadlock started laughing while shaking his helm. “You’re so full of it. Even now, you have a blade to my throat just like you threatened our beloved Ratty with your swords. And do you seriously think that changing weapons will change you? Just look at yourself!”

Where the knife had been, Drift now held one of his long abandoned custom sidearms directly to Deadlock’s helm, his finger nearly pressing down onto the trigger. He gasped as he let up on it, instinctively clicking the safety back on.

“Now,” Deadlock said, sitting up and forcing Drift to shift to the side, “listen to me closely. You can never escape the addict in you, nor the assassin, nor the Decepticon. We’re all a part of you and we always will be. We all represent some fundamental need in you—comfort, survival, justice—and shoving us down doesn’t solve anything. And really, you don’t want to admit to yourself how similar we still are, that you too are willing to do whatever it takes to enact the change we both need.”

“Except that I changed things in my own way!” Drift shot back. “I helped end the war, remember? Something you failed to do!”

“And in doing so, you stuffed almost the entirety of your personality down deep within yourself! Everyone else gets to live happily ever after but you. Instead, you sit here scared that your temper will get out of control again and you’ll do something that Ratchet will never forgive! Don’t forget: I was the one who helped you hone your anger into something useful.”

“Enough.”

Deadlock shook his helm sadly. “You leave me behind, and you abandon all of those lessons.”

“GET OUT!”

As Deadlock started to fade away, he pleaded desperately but softly, “Don’t we both deserve love?”

Drift sat bolt upright when he awoke, his fans running on high and the rest of him gasping for air. He quickly looked to his right and down for Ratchet, but the rest of the berth was empty as it had been when he had gone to recharge. It was a huge relief then that Ratchet would continue to not be aware of his ongoing nightmares.

But this one had been one of the most vivid and by far the most frightening. Continuing on as he had been, doing as much good as he could to push back his own shadow, was no longer going to work. But he wasn’t about to acquiesce to Deadlock, who had taken the violence too far in his attempt to win the war.

Anger was one of Drift’s oldest companions. He had hoped that it would eventually abate during the more stable points in his life, but it continued to persist, despite both his and Deadlock’s attempts to control it. It was becoming clearer that no amount of meditation or fulfillment would ever rid him completely of something so core to himself.

But then that would mean that Deadlock’s argument wasn’t entirely wrong.

Drift checked his chronometer. It wasn’t excessively late but it wasn’t early either. He needed to clear his mind, and there was one person who might still be awake at this hour who could provide a necessary distraction. 

He got up from the berth and headed out of the habsuite.

“I could carry you, captain.”

Rodimus glared up at Thunderclash but continued walking. “I’m fine, Thunders.” Well, it was more like limping, because some random rock had painfully been right where he had landed after coming down out of the atmosphere. He had been meteor surfing thousands of times before, so why did this of all times need to be the one when he actually got injured?

Thunderclash failed to repress a snort. “Very well, captain. But I will make sure you get to Medibay at least.”

They slowly continued their walk—or step-drag, as it were—down the hallway, when Rodimus heard the second voice he had been dreading.

“What in the Pit happened to you?” Ratchet barked.

“Just a—oof—pebble, really,” Rodimus explained, trying and failing not to wince.

Ratchet’s expression darkened, but it was way more than the situation actually called for, even with Rodimus being stubborn. “You’re limping.” He looked up at Thunderclash. “I’m assuming you—”

“Of course,” Thunderclash finished. “He wanted to walk back on his own.”

“Typical,” Ratchet growled. “Well, let me get you to Medibay to get this fixed. First Aid’s there, but he could use the time to get some administration done.”

Sure enough, First Aid was working at his desk and merely nodded at Ratchet when the three of them came through the doors. The next time he looked up was when Rodimus yelped.

“Watch it, Doc!” But there was something off about Ratchet’s expert technique that Rodimus couldn’t let go. “You got something on your mind or are you just out to get me?”

Ratchet growled. “I haven’t been able to find Drift.” He continued welding, more accurately this time. “I just got done here helping with some more transition work. Drift acknowledged my message that I’d be a bit late, but when I went home, he wasn’t there. The bridge didn’t report any security issues, so I don’t think he was called away.”

Rodimus frowned. “He’s been a bit distant lately, now that you mention it. I was supposed to go racing with him the other day, but he didn’t show, and when I messaged him, he apologized and said he couldn’t. No reason. No nothing.”

“Is he perhaps still trying to adjust to the new role?” Thunderclash suggested.

“Maybe.” Ratchet closed up the rest of the wound and started putting away his tools. “But damn it, I just found him, and I don’t want to lose him again.”

Rodimus put a comforting hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “We’ll find him, okay? Whatever’s going on, we’ll help him out.”

Ratchet shook his helm. “I’m not sure if he wants our help, or if we can even give him help. There’s just so much to him that is simply out of reach, that he can never really describe or explain to me.” He looked up. “To any of us.”

Just as Drift had predicted, the only bright light on the observation deck was the one nearest to the window, right over the large desk that was currently piled high with tablets, empty energon cubes, and dirty plates. As he approached, Nautica quickly turned to look up at him.

“Drift? What are you doing up at this hour?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Drift sat down in what they had decided was his chair for the moment, surrounded by the tablets he had been reviewing and taking notes on.

Nautica chuckled nervously. “Oh, you know me. Can’t sleep when there’s a mystery.” She shuffled through a few more tablets until finally picking up one to scroll through. “There’s so much to parse here. I wish we had a few more people. I mean, if Skids was—” She froze in place, except for a singular sniffle and hard swallow.

Drift slid a hand across the table, placing it over hers and squeezing it gently.

“I’m supposed to be getting better,” Nautica said as she continued scrolling.

Returning to her full time duties as chief engineer had certainly helped Nautica regain some normal rhythm in her life, and the research into the ancient manuscripts they had found at the shrine was a welcome distraction for her off-hours. Drift often wanted to ask how she was doing but thought better of it. Just sitting and researching together like this was probably the best he could do at the moment.

“It’s not linear,” Drift finally offered.

Nautica looked up at him quizzically. “What?”

“Recovery isn’t linear,” Drift clarified. “We all have things come back to haunt us from time to time, even though we think we’ve left them safely in the past.”

“Oh.” Nautica typed a few notes into the tablet. “I didn’t expect… Well, I guess I didn't really know what to expect. Chromedome wants me to write down what I would say to Skids if I ever saw him again, and I tried, really I did, but ‘I’m sorry’ was as far as I got. It seems so… terse for someone I really cared about.”

Drift waited a while longer for her to add more before speaking up. “I lost someone a long time ago. His name was Gasket; he cared for me when I had no one else. He also cared for a lot of other people and died because of it.” He swallowed the memory down as it flashed in front of him again. “I didn’t tell anyone about it for a very long time; it was much too painful. The words came with time though, as I’m sure they will with you.”

“Yeah.” Nautica pouted. “But the assignment is due tomorrow, and I’ve never handed homework in late.” She gave a short laugh. “Isn’t it crazy? Of all things, I’m worried about that?”

“Not at all.” Drift smiled at her. “Unlike a lot of things, it’s tangible.”

Before Nautica could respond, the door of the lift slid open. She joined Drift in looking up and over.

“Finally!” Ratchet exclaimed. “There you are! Do you know how much of the ship I’ve searched to find you?”

“At least I didn’t leave this time?” Drift offered, desperately trying to lighten the mood.

Ratchet grunted as he folded his arms, but then he smiled as he turned towards Nautica. “Glad to see you two are spending time together. But it is really late. Can I convince both of you to get some sleep?”

Nautica yawned. “Yeah, I think it’s probably time for a break.” She got up out of her seat and stretched. “See you both tomorrow?”

Drift nodded. “Good night, Nautica.” He rose as well and started cleaning up the dirty dishes.

But Ratchet didn’t move from where he stood, instead turning to watch Nautica enter the lift. It wasn’t characteristic of him to not help. Something was wrong.

“Ratchet?” Drift asked, still cradling the dishes in his hands. “What are you really up here for?”

“You tell me,” Ratchet said with narrow optics. “Why have you been going out of your way to avoid me?”

Drift hadn’t immediately answered, instead requesting that they head back down to their private habsuite before discussing further. Ratchet had grumbled but agreed, his obvious worry evident at how fast he set the pace to get to somewhere they could talk. He was now shuffling uncomfortably on the couch as he waited as patiently as he could for Drift to find a starting point to answer his question.

“I can’t light my Great Sword anymore,” Drift admitted. “I think that was one of the first indications that something was wrong.”

Ratchet frowned. “I think I’ve seen you light that thing once, maybe twice? Didn’t you say you’re only supposed to light it when the situation is dire or somesuch?”

Drift nodded. “That’s right. I should have been able to make a connection when confronting Overlord. I didn’t, which is why we had our afts kicked so hard.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ratchet attempted to reassure him. “If the reports are true, Overlord’s frame is made of ununtrium. I doubt even a Great Sword could get through that.”

“That’s not the point though!” Drift breathed out heavily, desperately trying to calm his outburst. “The point is, something’s blocking me from being able to even connect with it like I have before. Cyclonus said it took great faith to light it, and that it may be similar to the morality lock on the Matrix.” He turned his entire frame to face his partner. “Be honest with me Ratty, what was it like when you opened yours?”

“My Matrix?” Ratchet pursed his lips in thought. “Well, when I first tried to open it, it was simply stuck. No amount of strength could unstick it. But then Rodimus started his speech, and I remembered just how happy I was that you and I had finally confessed that we loved each other. My spark spun and it felt like energy flowed through my arms, and then the Matrix just started unlatching. The more and more I thought about you—about us—the easier it got.” He laughed as he smiled. “You know, I think it actually was the very first time in my life that I had made progress in a romantic relationship. And you were the first partner who I had wanted to seriously improve myself for.”

Drift’s cheeks suddenly turned hot. It was quite the compliment, and yet it wasn’t making any of the rest of the upcoming conversation any easier. “That’s… well… Us getting together was honestly kind of a shock. A good one, but… Well, I never expected to be happy—”

“You never… What else in the Pit were you expecting?”

“Ratty, please… This isn’t the time. I’m having enough trouble getting this out as it is!”

Ratchet gave a half snort when he sighed but remained silent.

“I really only expected to just be someone to stand at the side and help others.” Drift looked down and shook his helm. “There’s quite a lot of me who thinks I’m undeserving of you.”

“It’s not up to you though! I’m the one who gets to decide whether or not you’re ‘undeserving’ of me!”

“And what of Deadlock?”

Ratchet closed his optics and sighed. When he opened them again, he leaned over to squeeze Drift’s hands. “Sweetspark, you are not Deadlock. Not anymore. You’ve said that many many times, and you’ve backed it up with your actions.”

“But that’s the thing… I was him! He’s still a fundamental part of me! I can feel him when I get angry or even pick up a gun. He’s in my nightmares now. He’s not a separate person; he’s me! I tried pushing all of the bad things that I had done down deep inside of me, but that has only made things worse. It was good enough when we had the war to stop or the universe to save, but now that peace has caught up with me, he still reminds me he’s there and waiting to come out.” Drift rapidly shook his helm. “My worst moments were when I started losing faith in the Decepticon cause. My entire life has been nothing but losing faith in everything I held dear. And I’m afraid, Ratty, that the Lost Light will be another chapter of me waiting to lose everything all over again! And if that happens, he—no, I—will end up doing something unforgivable, even to you.”

By the time Drift looked up again, Ratchet’s optics were already wide. He slowly and gently brought up both hands to cup Drift’s face in them as he brought their helms together. “Oh, beloved ,” he breathed. “There is so much distance between here and there, and so much you—and I—can do to prevent this from happening. Because I never knew you to act without cause. You’ve made it clear that you did those things because you had no choice. My talks with Krok made that even easier for me to understand. Sure, you got caught up in the whirlwind and lost your way, and sure, there’s nothing that can absolve you for what you did. But I saw you change yourself for the better! I know I’ve said this before, but I choose to love all of you, just like you choose to love all of me, no matter how many times I doubt the reasons why. I knew from the start what it would mean and I embraced it, because you were the kind of person who would fight for what you believed in, even though I may not have agreed with your methods. But we are far far away from there and closer than ever to a chance for peace.”

Tears were now streaming down Drift’s face into Ratchet’s hands, and he sniffled a few times to try to stop them. “I don’t know if I’m ready to accept all of that yet. I feel so fractured and conflicted, and I need time to figure it all out.”

Ratchet blinked a few times and looked away while frowning before he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

“You look upset though,” Drift observed.

“Well…” Ratchet sighed. “The thing is…” He licked his lips and then clasped Drift’s hands in his own. “There was going to be a time when I asked for your spark. It wasn’t going to be today, or tomorrow, or the next day… but it was going to be soon.”

Drift’s spark sunk as it spun in its chamber. Ratchet had been on the verge of proposing. Everything Drift had ever hoped for was right there in his hands, and yet at that exact moment, he was in the midst of a personal crisis.

“I get that you need some time,” Ratchet continued. “It’s just that… Well, I’d like you to be sure when I ask. Or maybe you should… just tell me when you’re ready.”

“Yeah,” was all Drift could muster as a response. He had to figure this out—and fast.

And it meant that he needed to immediately face the other conversation he had been avoiding.

Drift hesitated outside of Megatron’s habsuite door for longer than he really should have. The halls were empty this late at night and he could always claim he was on official business, but it still was rather uncomfortable to be visiting Megatron when neither of them were on duty. Still, the shadow lurked behind him; Deadlock’s presence finally beckoned him to push the buzzer and wait.

After only a few short moments, the door opened. Megatron’s face turned ever more confused as he met Drift’s optics. “Drift,” he stated simply as if unsure how to proceed. “Is everything alright?”

“May I come in?” Drift asked, not really wanting to actually answer until he was within the confines of the habsuite.

Megatron merely stepped aside and gestured his hand into the room, closing the door after Drift had entered. “Make yourself at home,” he said softly as he made his way over to the kitchenette to start pouring some tea. “So, what can I do for—” He froze when he looked up and met Drift’s optics, now shifted to the same shade of red as when the two of them had first met. “Ah. So that’s what this is about.” He handed a cube to Drift.

“Thank you,” Drift said, blowing on the heated liquid before heading with Megatron to sit down onto the couch.

Neither of them spoke for the next several minutes. “I figured you would drop by one of these days,” Megatron broke the silence.

“To be honest,” Drift took a sip of tea, “I still don’t know where to begin.”

Megatron nodded. “What prompted you to finally see me?”

From now on, you shall be known as Deadlock.

It had been so long since Drift had accepted that name as his own from Megatron when he had joined the Decepticons, and yet the ceremony was still so vivid. “I started thinking about where it all went wrong.”

“The war?” Megatron furrowed his brow. “Or you?”

Drift narrowed his optics, the rage already starting to bubble up. “I really think they might have been one and the same.”

Megatron stared at Drift for a moment. “Explain.”

You are a Decepticon warrior, and you will fight by my side.

“Why did you assign me to serve under Turmoil?”

What say you all? Will you join him? Will you join our fight?

“You were getting reckless.”

Then, let the new age begin.

Drift slammed his cube down onto the table as he shot to his pedes. “I was getting impatient!” He started pacing back and forth. “Four million years! Longer than my functioning! We were supposed to have destroyed the Senate and brought back peace and prosperity for everyone in short order. But we pulled back when we should have pushed, and it was only clear after Turmoil threw me out that it was because you never wanted peace. You wanted revenge.”

Megatron used you, all of you.

“And you were going to use me to get it!” Drift angrily echoed Wing’s assertion as he punched both fists down onto the table. “I trusted you! You took me in and made me a part of your inner circle! Your family! Your…” His lip quivered at the memories he had not dredged up in millennia. 

“Why?” he asked quietly. “Why did you betray all of our dreams?”

Megatron stroked his chin in thought. “Did you watch the trial? I know you weren’t on Cybertron at the time, but it was broadcast galaxy-wide.”

“Can’t say I did,” Drift answered bitterly. “I was too busy keeping myself busy.”

“Starscream’s testimony was enlightening. Well,” Megatron gave a short laugh, “after the grandstanding.”

Drift rolled his optics. “Surprise, surprise.”

“His view was that I was an inept leader, that I was unable to contain the riot that I sparked. And I realized he was right.”

“That’s not good enough! It was your responsibility to end what you started! And instead you leave it to me to take your burden to make things right. As usual.”

Megatron took a very long time to respond. The minutes ticked by as Drift braced himself against the wall with one hand and studied the floor. He didn’t even have a clear idea of what Megatron’s ideal response would be, and even an apology seemed shallow given the subject matter. Who could really apologize for four million years of non-stop trauma?

“What… would you have me do then?” Megatron asked.

But what had others asked of Drift? He had no power to bring back anyone who he had killed, but no one had ever asked him to do that. So what then?

“I need you to hear me.” The words came out of his mouth faster than he could process, but they rang true the more and more he considered what to say next. Turning away from the wall, he slowly started walking towards Megatron. “I need you to understand just how much the war cost me, what your revenge cost me. I’ve had my faith in others broken in countless ways throughout my functioning, and you were one significant piece of that.”

But so too had Drift failed to do the same. So too had Deadlock needed Drift to hear him. So too had Drift broken Deadlock’s faith in him by locking a part of himself away.

What exactly would it take to unwind the millennia of hurting each other?

And for the first time in a very long time, Drift found himself actually smiling at Megatron. “This ship. This is my chance for a better life. It’s something I bought with my very own hands and gave to the people who meant the most to me. It’s a ship I now protect, and I need you to listen to me when I bring up concerns for its safety. Because this is the first time in a long time that I get a chance to make myself whole.”

Megatron nodded slowly. “That I can do.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Drift said softly.

And from behind him, the shadow breathed a much needed sigh of relief.

Chapter Text

Rodimus woke to a constant murmur coming from outside of his door. He groggily checked his chronometer and then thumped hard back down onto the berth. It was nowhere near time to get up! Who in the Pit would be out in the hallway at this hour? Sure, there were a few places on the Lost Light where people would congregate late into the night, but they were usually far away from the habsuites, let alone the officer’s deck.

Eventually resigned to his awakened state, he rolled out of the berth and barely managed to not melt onto the floor as he drug himself to the door. Opening it, he immediately squinted at the sharp brightness of the hallway, ever so slowly adjusting to the light to reassess the situation.

“Well, now you’ve managed to wake him!” Ratchet’s voice barked angrily from down the hall.

“Huh?” was all that Rodimus could say at the moment as he blinked towards the hazy crowd gathered around Megatron’s door.

“Captain!” yelled several extremely loud voices as they approached.

Rodimus groaned at the audial assault. “What’s going on?”

“We made some breakthroughs!” the purple blur that was Nautica exclaimed. “Not just with Prism—”

“—but with Rung as well!” Roller finished for her.

“That’s…” Rodimus yawned. “...great. But, um, couldn’t this have waited until morning?”

“It is morning!” Brainstorm chimed in way too cheerfully.

“Merely in a technical sense,” Perceptor corrected him.

“Science waits for no technicality!” Brainstorm proclaimed.

Rodimus let out a long sigh as he let the scientific staff hash out whatever loose ends remained. Hopefully they’d condense it down to something understandable by the time he fully woke up. He looked past them at the remainder of the assembled crew. Megatron was chatting with Minimus Ambus by his door, each of them already having cut their losses with a large mug of steaming energon each. Chromedome and Rewind meanwhile were having a very animated discussion with Cerebros while Ratchet listened in.

But it was Drift who held Rodimus’ attention the most, doing his best to appear alert and aware but nevertheless heavily leaning on Ratchet’s frame and looking way more sleep deprived than Rodimus currently felt. He barely reacted even when Rodimus pinged him remotely, finally turning and nodding a heavily fatigued acknowledgement. Something was very wrong, and it wasn’t just being woken up in the middle of the night.

“I suppose you are going to posit that time is just a construct now,” Perceptor was saying as Rodimus tuned back in. “Despite its very real impact on the physical world.”

“What isn’t a construct?” Brainstorm asked as he excitedly threw up his hands. “Certainly everything we interact with is an illusion—nay, a simplified model—of what is really out there! If you really want to distill everything down to its essence, why, we are highly energetic packets of information floating out here in this lower plane of reality, yet unable to comprehend the vastness of the dimensions unfolding around us!”

“Well, this packet of information isn’t very energetic at the moment,” Rodimus said, hopefully not too grumpily. “Can we just pick this up later today? Maybe after my third cup of energon?”

Nautica laughed nervously. “I’m sorry, captain. We didn’t think we’d wake you, but Megatron was already out in the hallway talking to Drift when we arrived, and I guess things just spiraled from there.”

Wait, Drift was talking to Megatron this late at night? If there had been an emergency, then they would have notified Rodimus, so it was more than likely personal. The two of them had been cordial enough with each other, but Rodimus hadn’t wanted to pry that particular wound open anymore than it already was.

He yawned again. “It’s fine. I’ll make sure to schedule an all-hands after I get woken up.” He barely waited for the group to acknowledge his comment before pushing past them to get to the other side of the hallway.

Drift gave a weak smile. “Hey, Roddy. Sorry we woke you.”

“Eh,” Rodimus shrugged. “Sounds like it wasn’t your fault.” He put his hand on Drift’s shoulder. “You okay? You look horrible.”

Things must have been really bad if Drift didn’t even playfully grimace. “Yeah, just…” He briefly glanced over at Megatron. “Haven’t slept yet.”

“You’ve been up all night?!” Rodimus exclaimed. “I thought you had been sleeping better!”

“I have been,” Drift reassured him. “It’s just that… Well, I had a long talk with Megatron.” He nervously licked his lips as he nodded. “It was good though. Got a lot out.”

If Drift was going to continue to be closed off about whatever was bothering him, no amount of pestering was going to convince him otherwise. But it was also true that nothing would stop Rodimus’ curiosity in any way, shape, or form.

And of course Drift noticed. “You have that look.”

“What look?” Rodimus asked totally innocently as he held up his hands in surrender.

Drift leaned in. “That look that says you desperately want to ask what’s really going on.” He sighed. “Honestly. You and Ratty.”

“What about me and… Wait! Is that your pet name for—”

“Shoosh! He doesn’t like… Well, he likes it, just… not in public.”

“But he’s right behind you!” Rodimus protested through gritted denta, nervously waiting for Ratchet to turn around.

Drift briefly glanced around behind, turning back towards Rodimus when he was apparently satisfied that Ratchet hadn’t heard. He pinched his nose between his fingers. “I’m… really exhausted.” And, after a moment, he admitted, “It’s Deadlock. I’ve been having trouble being at peace with him because being him was such a fundamental part of my life.”

Rodimus’ right hand twitched. It was the same hand that had pushed the button to blow up Nyon. Both him and Drift had done things that they felt were necessary at the time but still haunted them to this day, but could either of them have ever made different choices given who they were at the time?

To both reassure Drift and stabilize his own hand, he wrapped his arm around and squeezed his friend’s far shoulder. “Well, you’re not going to figure that out while low on energy.” He gently pulled Drift forward. “Let’s get some breakfast.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ratchet suddenly chimed in.

A shock went straight down Rodimus’ spinal strut upon seeing Ratchet facing them so quickly. Had he gone too far with Drift? In a panic he started to withdraw his arm, but instead Ratchet secured it tightly in place with his own arm as he reached from behind to grab Drift’s other shoulder.

His glare confirmed the message. There was no way he was letting Rodimus get out of taking care of Drift this time. But there was another kinder message behind that one, that he was okay with Rodimus being this close to Drift. In fact, he might have even been encouraging it.

In response, Drift slipped his arms around both of them and pulled them closer, slouching just a little into them in his exhausted state. “I’m not going to be able to get out of this, am I?”

“Nope,” said Rodimus and Ratchet in unison as they slowly made their way down to the mess hall with the rest of the crew.

Truth be told, Springer hadn’t yet seen the entire crew of the Lost Light in one room. Now, besides a skeleton crew running vital operations, they were all assembled on the observation deck, chatting amongst themselves as they slowly filled the seats. After greeting several more people who he hadn’t seen in years, he finally got to the point of finding his own seat, but just as he was about to sit down, he spotted the person he had been looking for at the front of the room.

“This seat taken?” he asked, gesturing at an open chair with a warm grin.

First Aid immediately turned to look up, his optics flashing with delight. “Nope!”

Springer grunted as he sat down, readjusting himself so that his kibble sat comfortably against the back of the chair. “Any idea what this is about?”

“We’ve been tackling a lot of mysteries as of late,” First Aid said. “By the crew assembled at the front, I’d say they found something about Prism. Oh, and why we’ve been having issues with Teletraan lately.”

“Prism?” Springer asked.

“We found a message from someone named Prism onboard a derelict Cybertronian vessel,” First Aid explained. “They claimed to be the last of their kind, which is us, we think. Then we found their frame on a neighboring world. Nautica and Drift have been trying to piece together what happened.”

“And Teletraan?”

“So, whenever we enter a certain search term, Teletraan refuses to give us back results, even though we know for certain the database has articles linked to it! It’s only when we plugged in the quantum drive that we were finally able to get it to work.”

Springer furrowed his brow. “What’s the search term?”

“That’s the thing,” First Aid said with a shrug. “Most of the time, we can’t remember. It seems as if Rewind can sometimes, long enough for us to write it down, but I honestly can’t remember it at the moment. And that seems to be the experience for most of the crew. It’s a person that we, by all intents and purposes, should remember but don’t.”

“You know,” Springer crossed one leg over the other, “there was a time in my life that I would have considered all of this strange, but based on what I’ve seen,” he looked down at his hands, “and who I now know I am, I’d say this is only slightly above average for us.”

First Aid leaned back and put his arms behind his helm. “You haven’t heard how we fought our own gods yet!” 

Springer massaged his optics. “Why am I not surprised?” He looked down at First Aid. “Tell me about it later, will you?”

The white of First Aid’s mask turned a pale red. “Of course!”

“Alright,” Megatron’s booming voice filled the room, “if everyone would find a seat, we can begin.” He waited rather patiently as the rest of the crew shuffled in before he continued. “This morning, the two teams who were working on a few of the mysteries we’ve already encountered in this universe both announced that they made breakthroughs in their respective projects. First off, Roller?”

A few of the people standing at the front of the room broke off to approach the crowd. Springer immediately recognized Chromedome and Rewind as well as Cerebros, who he had become reacquainted with when he had first appeared aboard the ship. He also recognized Roller from their meeting in Medibay, but he really didn’t know much else about him. 

As the presenters prepared to speak, he leaned over to First Aid. “So, other than our chief of operations, who is Roller exactly?”

“Oh, kind of a weird case actually,” First Aid whispered. “He was a close friend to both Optimus and Ratchet before the war but disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Apparently, he was supposed to die, but Censere—also known as Mortilus, yes that Mortilus—rescued him with Brainstorm’s time-traveling briefcase. He joined up with the crew who fought off the DJD. I wasn’t there; Ratchet would know more.”

Springer didn’t know exactly where to start with how the God of Death used a time-traveling briefcase belonging to one of their own crew to rescue someone who would have died otherwise. However, Roller’s relationship with both Optimus Prime and Ratchet was way more interesting. Springer quickly pulled up a short list of names and added Roller to it. Connections like that might prove useful to ending the war before it even started.

“Thanks,” he added before sitting back upright to listen to the presentation.

“Let me bring you all back up to speed. In short, we have a missing crew member, who most of us don’t remember despite him being on the Lost Light since its maiden voyage.” Roller consulted his notes. “His name was Rung. He was apparently our psychiatrist. Some of you may even have had appointments with him, but we really have no idea exactly what he was doing since he deleted his account and all of his files.”

Mumbles of recognition started rolling over the crowd.

“Wait,” Ratchet barked over them. “That’s his office I’m now using? Those must have been his glasses I found!”

“He was my psychiatrist!” Red Alert exclaimed.

“And mine as well,” Fortress Maximus said alongside him.

The name sounded familiar to Springer as well. But where… Of course! Rung had worked closely with the Wreckers to clear them for duty. He had been with the Autobots since… Well, certainly before Springer had joined. So why had it been so hard to remember someone he had worked with in the past?

“Wasn’t he, like, Primus?” Whirl asked.

The entire room went dead silent. 

Springer shot a horrified look at First Aid, who merely nodded. He turned back towards the presenters. “That’s…”

“Choose any adjective you like, Springer,” Chromedome said. “But as preposterous as it sounds, Rung was indeed Primus. We watched him go into his office, and a few minutes later, all that was left of him was inert sentio metallico and twelve brand new matrices. He made the original, and he made the ones that saved us all.”

“We don’t remember him as Rung because it was Adaptus—not Mortilus—who the Guiding Hand fought against and defeated, and when Adaptus used a massive electromagnetic surge to induce information creep over all of Cybertron, it was Rung who absorbed the bulk of it,” Rewind added. “It made him chronically forgettable, especially after his death. I think I was only able to remember him because my unique storage capabilities increased the probability of recall.”

“When we tried looking him up in the database, it caused some weird behavior,” Roller continued. “Then we tried boosting the search with the quantum drives. The ship reacted so violently to us even looking for his name that its systems overloaded. It’s almost as if finding any information about him is improbable on a quantum level. But despite the damage to the ship, the experiment worked. We used those search results,” he paused to clear his throat, “to come to the conclusions that we’re presenting today.”

“But how exactly forgettable he was is all based on probability,” Cerebros explained. “During the time when he was in constant contact with us, the chances of anyone remembering him would increase but never reach 100%. But the longer anyone was out of contact with him, that chance would decrease, making it more likely that they would forget him until someone reminded them. Thus, all of those who knew him shared somewhat of a network of remembrance, constantly refreshing each other’s memory of him through casual conversation, meetings, appointments, and the like. And it wasn’t enough to encounter things that he owned, like the glasses Ratchet found or even the papers we found that Froid later plagiarized. At least one person had to remember him directly to keep that network alive, and when he died, that probability dropped to near zero, right up until Rewind accessed a distant memory.”

“We may be the only Cybertronians now who remember him,” Rewind said. “So I’ve started compiling some videos from my database of him that have now surfaced because more of us are starting to remember him again, and over the next several months, I’ll be sharing them with the crew. I’ll also be interviewing many of you to compile some of your own memories of him to keep alive in a living memorial.”

Megatron stepped forward towards the presenters. “Thank you all for your hard work on this.” He turned towards the crew. “I know this is a lot to process, so we’ll take a short break before this next presentation.”

“You want a drink?” First Aid asked as he got up with the rest of the crew. “Swerve couldn’t wait to try out the permanent station they built for him.”

“Sure,” Springer answered distantly. For the size of the bombshell that they had dropped, there wasn’t much time to process, but the rest of the crew seemed to be taking it in stride. And for the most part, he was as well, but he couldn’t get past the feeling that it had been exactly what he had needed to hear. Finding out that your primary god was living amongst you as a psychiatrist was one thing, but figuring out the key to keeping him by your side was a huge breakthrough. With his extensive knowledge of psychiatry, Rung would also be key to help prevent the war, so he went onto the list as well, along with a note that he was Primus. Hopefully it would be enough of a reminder, if Springer could ever get off this ship.

“Hope it’s strong enough,” First Aid said, breaking Springer’s train of thought as he handed a drink over.

Springer chuckled. “I’m not sure what’s going to be enough at this point.” He clinked his cube against First Aid’s before they both took a sip. “So, Rung’s Primus. I suppose everything falls into place once you look at it for a while.”

“Yeah, it tracks based on what we saw,” First Aid agreed. “But everything went so fast that day that we didn’t really have the time to let it sink in before we forgot it again. We had a universe to save, after all.” He took another drink and shook his helm. “All he wanted was for us to not forget him, and we couldn’t even do that at first. At least now we know and can do something about it.”

In more ways than one.

Megatron stepped up to the front of the room and cleared his throat. “If you could all take your seats again, we have another presentation. As the crew shuffled in, Nautica and Drift now stepped up. 

As much as he tried to hide it, Drift looked simply awful, almost as if he hadn’t slept in a month. Still, he showed a lot more vulnerability now than when Springer had first formally met him, substituting stoicism for what was most certainly anxiety about how the Autobots would actually treat an ex-Decepticon. But he wasn’t just any defector; Deadlock had been close to Megatron’s side at the beginning of the war and had played a significant part in conquering almost the entirety of Cybertron. But somehow Kup had known the defection was genuine and had welcomed Drift into their ranks despite Springer’s objections.

“So,” Nautica started. “Drift and I have made some startling discoveries about this Cybertronian named Prism that we discovered in this universe. To bring you all up to speed, we found their message on a derelict we investigated, and then we found their final resting place in a temple on Ad Dorcara. They left behind a lot of writings which we have been digging into over the last several weeks. What we found in those is pretty… disturbing.”

She glanced at the tablet in her hand. “Prism talks about traveling with a group of Cybertronians who called themselves the Knights of Cybertron. But it seems in a very different context to what we know as the Knights. In this universe, they seem to be chasing after another group of people they refer to as best translated as the Facets. Something with multiple sides, like a gemstone. Prism also seems to indicate that they’re not Cybertronian.”

“The worst part is,” Nautica paused to swallow hard, “is that Prism accuses these Facets of destroying Vector Sigma.”

An uncomfortable murmur rumbled through the crowd. While everyone had been living with the fact that their species was slowly going extinct for some time, there had always been some sliver of hope that Vector Sigma would send out more pulsewaves. Without the planet’s supercomputer or any other methods to create life, all of those hopes would have been dashed. It was easy for the crew to empathize with this universe’s Cybertronians over that loss.

“How could they have committed such an atrocity?” Cyclonus boomed over the crowd.

“It really doesn’t go into that much detail,” Nautica explained. “It does imply, however, that the Facets pretty much killed off any chances for this Cybertron to produce any more life. Prism said they were standing by the nearest hot spot when the event took place and described it as,” she paused as her voice broke, “‘a muffled scream that slowly went silent as the metal seeped back into the crust.’”

Silent horror quickly turned to rage as the room erupted. There was nowhere for their anger to go but into their voices as they continued to shout for more explanation. Along the side, Megatron took a step forward but paused when a hand went up. Drift’s gaze remained locked onto the crowd even as he lowered his hand, but his optics glowed the same red they had been when he was Deadlock. He then took a deep breath in and shuttered his optics.

“Enough!” he snarled in a deep voice not heard since before war’s end.

Everyone in the room stopped and stared at Drift. He opened his optics to reveal the Autobot blue again. “You have every right to be angry,” he said in his normally softer voice. “It should come to no surprise that these Knights were as well, as they chased the Facets all the way into this region of the galaxy, even as their numbers dwindled down to just one. Unfortunately, we have no other insight into why the Facets would do such a horrible thing, or even why there’s a discrepancy between Prism’s reported age and their age as determined by Ratchet’s autopsy, but Nautica did find a set of coordinates where we might learn more. As it turns out, after Prism settled on Ad Dorcara, they continued to keep tabs on the enemy even as they remained powerless to fight them. Interestingly enough, it’s also the origin of the refugees we encountered on Mes Norpta. The Dorcarans have been keeping an optic on that sector but won’t admit to any operations in there, even overtly.” He turned towards Rodimus. “Nautica and I suggest we head in that direction next, even if it is just for observation.”

“Well,” Rodimus put his hands on his hips, “what are we waiting for?”

“Preparations,” Megatron responded. “If they are as dangerous as this evidence suggests, we could run afoul of them just as Prism and their crew did. And we would be as they were: on our own. If a galactic power like the Dorcaran Confluence is being cautious in engaging them, then we should be especially careful.”

Various members of the crew voiced additional arguments, but Springer was no longer paying attention. Instead, his optics lay squarely on Drift, who was listening intently to all sides of the discussion. Certainly the reasons why Drift had turned away from the Decepticons were important, but what was more important was that he was someone who might listen if given the right incentive.

And if Springer could convince Drift to join him in stopping the war, then Megatron might be in play as well. He smiled to himself as he added two more names to the list. As it turned out, this little excursion to the Lost Light was becoming a lot more fruitful than he had ever thought it would be.