I.

One day, Blackout thought, Starscream will learn to keep his big mouth shut. That day would probably be right about when the universe settled to cold death at Absolute Zero. Which made a fitting nickname for Starscream, now that he thought of it. It was so easy: Go in to Megatron, grovel, get yelled at, get out. Protoforms could do it. Not that Blackout thought that tantrums were part of the formula for a good leader. Sometimes Blackout thought Megatron confused yelling at his subordinates with doing his job. Well, he was really good at it, the kind of good that came either from native talent or long practice. And having such a reactive, if not appreciative, audience as Starscream was surely encouraging.

So, while Blackout stood in precisely the same spot as he'd given his report, cycling his engine in irritation, Megatron currently had Starscream sprawled on the floor, looming over him with an upraised fist. Blackout almost felt sorry for Starscream—never able to keep from speaking out, even for his own good. Even when you told him you'd handle it.

"You do not use that tone of voice to me!" Megatron yelled, so close to Starscream's audio receptors that Blackout could hear the screech of feedback from where he stood. "Ever! Do you hear me?"

Starscream's arm wavered, torn between trying to protect his audio receptor and deflecting the inevitable punch. Blackout rocked back on his feet, frustrated and impatient. Yes, Starscream was annoying, but this was…wasteful. Surely Megatron had better things to do with his time than terrorize an already-cowed subordinate. Blackout certainly had better things to do than watch. He cleared his vocal processor loudly. "My lord?"

"What!" Megatron roared, turning over his raised fist to look at Blackout. His eyes glowed a particularly malevolent red.

"If we could finish our report." Blackout stiffened, feeling Megatron's focus shift to him like a target-sight. Why was he interjecting himself into this? Starscream had more practice as the punching bag. And, considering how often and how well he brought it on himself, he probably liked it.

"What more do I need to know? I gave an order, and it was not carried out." Megatron radiated rage like a kind of heat. Blackout dug his toes into the floor, as if trying to push his sudden anxiety into the metal plating.

"Two of the enemy were disabled, perhaps permanently."

"Perhaps," Megatron sneered. "I have over-heard this 'perhaps' since my return."

"We have also," Blackout foundered on, "returned with two captives."

"Captives." He said the word as if it carried parasites. "What am I to do with captives?"

"They have, they might have, that is," Starscream teetered on the edge of a stutter, "intelligence that could be useful."

"Might have. Could be." Megatron threw his hands up. "Is there no certainty in the world anymore?" Starscream took advantage of Megatron's distraction to draw his limbs underneath him furtively, his eyes never leaving his leader's face.

"They have value," Blackout asserted, sounding more confident than he felt. Perhaps Megatron's great leadership secret was the ability to make everyone else feel stupid when talking to him.

"Everything has some value," Megatron growled. "Even my second-in-command." He watched Starscream freeze mid-move, with satisfaction, before adding, "But you know how they are about noble sacrifice. Besides, we have more pressing matters." He nodded at someone who had entered the command room behind Blackout. Blackout twitched. Primus: Starscream's paranoia was growing on him. He'd almost expected someone to hit him from the back. Instead he turned and saw Vortex, looking more exhausted than Blackout remembered seeing him. Vortex's olive drab paint bore the starburst scars of anti-aircraft hits, and his dual rotors drooped from his shoulders like wet wings.

Blackout nodded in greeting. Vortex returned the greeting with a flash of his visor.

"Your report, Vortex," Megatron said, briskly, not deigning to notice Vortex's bedraggled appearance.

"If we are finished, my lord," Blackout began, turning to leave. Seeing Vortex made him realize he probably looked no better—spattered with coolant, one rotor snapped in half, dents in the plates of his armor. And suddenly he felt exhausted. As if he'd taken on Prime himself one on one. Which he had. He deserved a nice long visit to repair bay. And to ventilate some air that didn't crackle with malice and contempt.

"I am not through with you yet," Megatron said. "You shall wait upon my attention. Now, Vortex, what is your report?"

Blackout saw Vortex take in the scene—Starscream still half crouched on the floor, Blackout looking, well, bad, and Megatron's rage hanging in the room like a bad smell.

"We faced considerable resistance," Vortex said. Even his voice sounded tired. "Which we overcame, but we found no trace of viable energon at the impact site."

"None." Megatron's voice was dangerously quiet. Starscream shrunk back.

"None viable, my lord. Readings were very low grade, and too contaminated in the local soil. The process to extract and concentrate it to a usable source would be prohibitively complex."

"Another wasted notion, then."

"Not necessarily. We did find trace energon, extra terrestrial in origin. Which you had predicted. That means that the concept is valid: meteoric impacts of energon rich sources on this planet."

"My report," Starscream breathed, just barely audible. "You took my report seriously." He sounded surprised. SHUT UP, Blackout shouted in his mind at the jet. Would he never learn to keep his thoughts to himself?

"I cannot afford," Megatron snarled, "to ignore anything. Even the jabberings of idiots." He gestured at Vortex, "But you see how valuable your information was. As usual."

Vortex hesitated. "My lord, the theory is valid. Your report stated a possibility of two viable meteoric sources. There are hundreds of impacts on Earth. We merely found one of the ones that is not worth our while. Or the Autobots' while."

"Futile search," Megatron said. "Are we to investigate every one of hundreds of impacts in hopes that we'll stumble across the right one?" He rounded on Starscream. "Even your intelligence work is slipshod, Air Commander." He made the title sound like a profanity. "I suspect there is nothing you can perform with competence."

Starscream's eyes flickered downward, staring resolutely at the floor. Trying to look unmoved. Didn't fool Blackout. Not a chance that it fooled Megatron.

"The captives might know," Blackout heard himself say. I should take my own advice and shut up, he thought, as Megatron's eyes fixed on him again. "Where the good sites are, that is," he added, clumsily. Maybe Starscream's cowardice was contagious. Blackout wanted nothing more than to get out of that room as soon as possible.

"They might," Megatron jeered, echoing his earlier sarcasm. But then, "They might indeed. Starscream, bring Barricade to me."

Starscream scrambled to his feet, protesting. Proving, Blackout thought, there was a real overclocking issue inside the jet's central processor. "I am no message-boy," he sputtered.

"Yes, you are," Blackout said, seizing Starscream by the arm in a grip strong enough to grind cables against each other, "Let's go." Let this count as my good karma for the cycle, he thought, dragging Starscream behind him as he exited. Though only the humans who thought of such a thing would know what good it would do me.