CHAPTER 8 – I COULD EVEN LEARN HOW TO LOVE

"You want to go to Cybertron?" asked Megatron, incredulously, while Stormbird stood nervously to attention at her usual station, by the engine room console. "Run that by me again, if only so I can better ascertain just how much neural decay you are suffering."

"I thought, maybe … I could do some good there, Leader," she answered, tentatively. "I know it's a pretty austere place, but-"

"'Austere?' It's my native steel, and I don't hesitate to describe it – in your parlance – as an unmitigated shithole. A derelict, depleted, and thoroughly depressing husk of a planetoid. Much as we gripe about Earth, it can hardly have escaped your notice that my troops aren't exactly lining up to keep poor old Shockwave company. Even were Cybertron in less decrepit condition, sitting at home is not in our nature. Decepticons as a rule desire adventure, conquest … but I forget, of course: you are not a true Decepticon," he added, so pettily that her only reaction was a very slight frown that only worsened his mood. "Oh, stop standing there like an imbecile, woman," he snapped, "and use my name like everyone else does. I can get by quite well without your false respect." Stormbird sighed, relaxed, and let herself lean against the console. "That's better. Now, explain: what motivates this bizarre wish to exile yourself to Cyber-Siberia? Not a desire to atone for your past treachery, I assume. You seemed quite proud of it at the time."

"I just thought, Megatron, maybe I could help to make it less of a … err, shithole. Utilise my skills, my background, and so forth. I know Cybertron's pretty much inert geologically and hydrologically, but as long as it's still in the Solar System there's no reason at all it should starve for energy. We're so much more versatile in outer space than humans, so there's all sorts of possibilities we could explore: solar satellite engineering, extracting helium-3 from the gas giants, geothermal energy from the more active moons of-"

"I understand," he interrupted, sneeringly. "You see this as a 'civilian assignment,' a way to isolate yourself from the sordid realities of our horrid, unethical struggle for survival, yes?" he asked, so pompously and hypocritically she could not help but grimace in contempt. With evident displeasure, he turned away from her and drew himself up before continuing: "Very well, my dear. I'll humour this request. Perhaps a stint on Cybertron is exactly what you need, then after a few solar cycles have gone by, and you've had all the boredom and isolation you can take, you'll better understand our need for new territories." He marched a few steps towards the door, paused, then turned back to her. "On reflection, Soundwave will accompany you … What, no more reaction than that?" he asked, as she did her utmost to keep a poker face in spite of the mixture of pleasure, embarrassment, and downright suspicion that this statement had evoked. "I wasn't daring to expect an outpouring of mushy gratitude – and I'm relieved at the accuracy of my prediction – but I'd hoped for something more than mere indifference."

"I'll … be happy to have the company, of course," she replied, carefully. "I can't help but wonder why, though."

"Because, painful though it always is to admit dependency, I need him. Stupid, disruptive, and disloyal Seekers I can give or take – it often occurs to me that I have far too many of them – but I need my chief intelligence officer, and I need him focused, his mind on his function. Even Starscream is right on the rarest of occasions, and you two do need to get something out of your systems," he declared, far too coldly and disdainfully for her to be under any illusions that he was concealing kind intentions. "Of course, simply terminating you would seem like the quicker fix … but I'm afraid I might never hear the end of it. Make your farewells to Earth, Stormbird. The pair of you will depart on the next alignment of the Space Bridge."

Austere is the word … to say the least.

Cybertron had always looked so shiny and ultra-modern in the occasional telescope images Stormbird had seen on news reports, like something that had sprung from the combined imaginations of Fritz Lang and Frank Lloyd Wright, with a dash o Tolkien: all gleaming, impossibly high towers; vast silver domes; and mysterious chasms spanned by dizzying steel highways. Well, some of that was true … but add quite a bit of decay, desolation, and general squalor. From the surface, it was more of a metallic Gormenghast mixed with a run-down industrial estate: a sprawling, eerie, semi-desert of impressive but neglected buildings, scarred by battle damage both ancient and recent: for there were still Autobot resistance cells active on the planetoid, easily able to find hiding places within its abandoned cities and its innumerable, long-forgotten subterranean vaults and passages. To be fair, there was little rust: the thin, arid atmosphere kept that at bay, even if it also did little to shield the surface from the regular micrometeoroid strikes that left most of the buildings and highways scratched and dented. It also did little enough to refract the sunlight, leaving the planetoid to cycle between 'night with sun' and night proper. Not that this was particularly relevant to Stormbird, as she found that her new work schedules bore no relation to the Cybertronian 'day.' Shockwave would assign her duties, training, maintenance, downtime, and very occasional recreation precisely as and when suited him best, without any apparent concern for how disorienting she was finding it all anyway.

He was a harsh taskmaster, and took no pains to conceal his distrust of her. They had barely stepped out of the Cybertron Space Bridge terminal before Shockwave had separated them, whisking Soundwave off to some distant sector of the HQ compound to work on anti-resistance counterintelligence operations. With him out of the way, Shockwave had quickly assigned Stormbird to spartan, dreary barracks all by herself, and to the most menial, low-security jobs he could come up with: sentry duties, basic maintenance, low-priority repairs, and supply inventories, none of which provided her with any opportunities to commit serious sabotage – which she had no intention of doing anyway – nor to derive the slightest stimulation. His suspicion extended to her meagre recreational periods – which somehow never seemed to coincide with Soundwave's – during which he made certain to deprive her not only of the liberty to leave HQ and explore her new homeworld, but even of any access to computer facilities. She found herself sorely missing her old post at the seabase engineering console, with its vast digital library that no-one seemed to have minded her perusing, with Ravage playing her music, and even those ill-tempered conversations with Megatron. With nothing to do now but take brief walks around the dismal compound, stargaze, mark time, and drink energon, it was not long before cabin fever started to set in, and only her sheer determination not to give either Shockwave or Megatron the satisfaction of seeing her break kept her going.

After 173,560 astro-seconds of this treatment, by her reckoning, when she was starting to entertain the idea of admitting defeat and pleading to be allowed back to Earth – although with no great expectation that Shockwave would give a damn – she was summoned to his office. She had been gearing up for an icy interrogation, or some thoroughly contemptuous lecture on her inadequacies as a Decepticon, so what followed actually came as a pleasant surprise. Just goes to show, always expect the worst in life.

"You will, of course, understand my scepticism," he explained, his voice still cold and condescending, although almost friendly by the standard she had come to expect. "When I first saw you, you were nothing but a laboratory specimen strapped to a table, an unintelligent Earth organic serving as some expendable experimental subject. Suddenly, I am told to treat you as a Decepticon. Unusual, to say the least. Not mine to reason why, of course, but since I was given no specific instructions on how to interpret that order, you can hardly blame me for pursuing a policy of maximum caution. I had fully expected your incompetence, savagery, or treachery to manifest in some form by now … and I must confess my apparent error. Had I treated Skywarp or Ramjet the way I have treated you, I would currently be dealing with open mutiny, to say nothing of sloppy inventories, shoddy repair jobs, and rubbish all over the corridors. Strange a decision although it was to upgrade an Earth creature, I can only concede it was successful, as you are demonstrably neither incompetent, unintelligent, nor disloyal. In light of that, I am altering your work schedules forthwith, to accommodate this energy research you wish to embark upon. Of course, it will come to nothing," he remarked, dismissively. "Even overlooking your dubious origins, if you had any flair for science you would hardly be a Seeker. Still, you have earned the right to try. I will accordingly upgrade your security and data access rights. I am also increasing your recreational allowance, and giving you these," he declared, while handing her two data chips. "One of those is your off-duty pass. It will allow you to leave HQ, if you wish to stretch your wings. If you do, then study the other chip well: it details all known areas of high resistance activity on Cybertron. If you should venture into such an area, the probably fatal consequences are none of my responsibility. One last thing," he continued, managing to look and sound awkward and uncomfortable, in spite of his totally inexpressive flashlight-of-a-face. "Soundwave has expressed some concern for your well-being. He, err, suggested you might be more comfortable over in Alpha Dome, sharing his quarters. He has installed a spare downtiming facility for your use, should you wish to take him up on this offer. All highly irregular, of course, but there you have it. I merely agreed to pass that on. The choice is entirely yours."

Oh hell, yes …

From thereon, Stormbird was no longer troubled by her inability to measure the time by Earth standards, as she had a better way to mark it: the regular intervals that determined when she and her friend had to be apart, and when they could be together again, and even the times apart never seemed all that long. Now that she was able to balance her more menial duties with her research – which came along quite smoothly, in spite of Shockwave's pessimism and prejudice – the working hours ceased to drag, although she was never reluctant to down tools, blasters, or data tablets to spend time with Soundwave. Most of their first few shared recreationals were spent flying over the currently undisputed zones of Cybertron, Stormbird revelling in being able to roam free again, and Soundwave taking the opportunity to show her around some of the more impressive ruins: ancient palaces, forums, and amphitheatres, although she was more interested still to see the remains of Tarn, the now-silent streets where her companion had once survived as an outcast, and the dilapidated basements and sewers which the Decepticons back in those days had used for their bases of operation, back when we were the resistance. What goes around comes around, indeed … Hard to imagine Shockwave living down here, although if anyone could nag the retrorats into getting organised and cleaning up their mess, he's the guy.

Later, when she had had her fill of exploration, they took to spending more time in his living quarters: more spacious, although almost as spartan as her old barracks-room had been, but with a few small, abstract sculptures; a tall, copper-coloured metal frame shaped like a sideways arch, that could summon energon 'strings' like those of a harp – although he was always too embarrassed to play it for her – and a single shelf bearing ancient books and data tablets, including his restored copy of Megatron's pamphlet. The main advantage, however, was less in the décor and more in both the company and the atmosphere. Soundwave's Earth altmode had clearly been well-chosen, as music was foremost among his non-political passions, and his zeal for the Decepticon cause did not limit his cultural tastes. He had no shortage of Earth music in his databanks which he was more than happy to play for her, while she for her part was delighted to hear samples from the vast collection of alien music he had stored. Some of it was so similar to Earth genres that she could almost have assigned it to its shelf in a record shop, while other pieces were so completely unlike anything she had ever heard in structure and melody that they would probably have sounded like random noise to human ears, but her cybernetic brain could perceive and appreciate their complex logic and harmony, or maybe I'm just a natural connoisseur, as if. Often they just listened, sitting on their downtime berths and sharing a bottle of energon. Sometimes they talked, which was no doubt more of an education for her than it was for him, although he listened with every sign of interest as she told him of the music of her own culture, the Kachina dances, the costumes and the rituals, or perhaps he's just being polite with me … though I sure hope not.

On one occasion, as they were listening to a distinctly waltz-like piece of chamber music from a planet known as Lithone, she decided she was curious about learning the steps, and they danced, although she did not take to it as quickly as she had thought she might. While the steps themselves were a simple enough mathematical formula for her brain to process, logic could not account for the many subtleties of actually doing them. Not, at any rate, when being this close to him would make my heart beat treble-time, if I still had one. The steps called for each dancer to rest the left hand lightly upon their partner's waist, while using the right hand to cup the left side of their partner's face, making every slight movement a striking reminder that Cybertronian skin was as sensitive as it was durable. Some hope of not being distracted like this, and suddenly I'm acutely aware it's coming on for a month since I last wore any clothes, and I'm guessing that he's probably never- … Damn, she thought, as she missed a reverse turn, leading to a gentle if embarrassing full-body collision. Oh, to Unicron with it. Going on tiptoe, she leaned in to close up the last remnants of the gap between them, and she kissed him on his faceplate. She let it linger, but was worried after a couple of seconds that she had not only been presumptuous but also plain stupid. Can he even feel through that thing? Not that I've even got any real reason to suppose he feels the same way, but- … Oh. I take that back. His left hand had drifted downwards and was currently supporting her while taking the opportunity to caress her hip, while his right hand was gently stroking the edges of her lateral head-vents, which were proving surprisingly sensitive. Happily abandoning herself to the moment, she draped her arms fully around him and let her lips wander across his face and neck.

The remainder of that recreational was most definitely an education, albeit not in any subject that the data files cared to mention in any detail. Anyway, this is the sort of thing you just have to experience for yourse- … Oh my. Who'd have known I was the kind of girl who gets such a kick out of having her wing-tips massaged? The Lithonian music continued playing, but the choreography, such as it was, had become a far more languid affair. With the pair of them lying horizontal upon the two downtime berths, now pushed together to form a single surface, it could hardly have been otherwise, but it lacked nothing for either intricacy or stimulation. Stormbird could only conjecture that Soundwave's inability to return kisses in kind had one day led him to the conclusion that he needed to get really good with his hands, and did he ever … Adept as those hands were at ruthlessly pummeling Autobots, she thought them rather better employed in delicately caressing the remarkable number of erogenous zones someone had seen fit to incorporate into a mech body: the sides of her chest intakes, the sharp points to which her feet tapered, the inner edges of her shoulder pylons, and more 'human' areas such as the small of her back, the curve of her waist, and her inner thighs. Sometimes, instead of touching her directly he would lightly energise his fingertips and let small arcs of pinkish lightning to do the caressing for him, which was a very different feeling, although no less pleasurable. She tried to will her own fingertips to do the same, but had to give it up as a lost cause. Either I don't have that functionality, or this is simply not the best of times to concentrate on learning a new skill … probably that. Instead, she just stuck to the familiar tropes of kissing, and running her hands lovingly over his forehead crest, his shoulders, his chest panel, the array of buttons on his abdomen, and what, for want for any precise technical terminology, she could only think of as his very firm ass, not that I'm hearing any complaints.

Suddenly, when everything had seemed to be going so well – which is to say I'm so blissed-out right now I'd struggle to tie my own shoelaces … or polish my feet, at any rate – he paused, his hand resting upon her lower abdomen, with an air of uncertainty. She was briefly worried that she had done something inept, and looked up at him with concern, but he quickly reassured her:

"THIS CAN, IF YOU WISH, BE EVEN BETTER … BUT I NEED YOUR CONSENT."

"Please," was all she managed to say by way of affirmation, in a faint whisper, but she confirmed it by nodding her head slowly. With a gentle, precise series of motions, Soundwave ran his fingers over a small area of her torso, just below where a human's navel would have been. As he took his hand away, a panel popped open, exposing her inner workings. That simple, seemingly innocuous act somehow took her sense of nakedness up to eleven, to say nothing of her vulnerability, curiosity, and excitement. He then took her right hand in his and tenderly laid it upon his own midriff, just above the projection that formed the 'play' button in his altmode. As soon as she felt the thin dividing line of the recessed panel beneath her fingers, it seemed to trigger some new instinct in her, and without having to think about it or experiment at all, she copied his motions exactly, releasing the concealed hinge and revealing intricate silver circuitry patterns and shimmering fibre optic cables beneath. Beautiful, in fact, but what now? She soon got the idea, as Soundwave began partially disconnecting various cables from his own workings and wiring them into hers. She could not help but find something slightly absurd in this process, at least on the superficial level, as it bore more of a resemblance to some clichéd action movie bomb-priming sequence than lovemaking. There's probably a tasteless joke in there if I care to say it, but I won't. She could tell from Soundwave's demeanour that this was as serious as it was intimate for him, and her instincts were telling her much the same. Indeed, she sensed that human lovemaking was no longer even a very good analogy for what they were doing. This is something beyond, something almost spiritual. Perhaps Gem fusion would be a better analogy … of the lovely, symbiotic Garnet kind, obviously, and not the Lovecraftian, creepy-as-hell Spinel kind. Just before making the final connection, Soundwave paused, and spoke again:

"THIS WILL INITIATE THE POWERED CORE INTERFACE FOR A DURATION OF TWO HUNDRED ASTRO-SECONDS. LONGER IS NOT RECOMMENDED. PEOPLE WHO HAVE IGNORED THAT PRECAUTION HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO BECOME … LOST IN THESE EXPERIENCES. DONE CORRECTLY, THOUGH, IT CAN BE HIGHLY INTENSE AND REWARDING, BUT IT IS NEVER PREDICTABLE, AND IT CAN BE DISCONCERTING, ESPECIALLY FOR THOSE NEW TO IT. ARE YOU CERTAIN- ?"

"I trust you completely," she whispered, resting her hand upon his flat, angular cheek. He briefly returned the gesture, before returning his full attention to the complex interface. Taking exquisite care, he plugged the last fibre optic cable into her exposed workings, to immediate and at first rather disturbing effect, as everything in sight started to fade to white, while her other senses became vague and confused. At first she feared a mistake in the wiring had simply caused something like a fainting fit, but then things resolved again in the strangest way: while most of the surroundings had become a plain white void, speckled here and there with tiny, dancing points of exceptional brightness, the brightest objects of all within this empty yet serene vastness were her and Soundwave's bodies. At least, I suppose it's him. They were standing a short distance apart from each other, enough for her to get a good overview of this tall, naked, powerfully-built being of light, but the lines of his figure – even allowing for the bright, obscuring aura – seemed less hard and angular, and there was even the hint of a humanoid face, although detail and expression were next to impossible to discern through the brightness. Examining her own body, or spirit-body, or hallucination, or whatever, she could see that the same thing had happened to her, with many of her harder-edged, overtly mechanical features muted or missing altogether. She was pleased, however, to see that she still had wings in this form, though of a changed aspect: delicate, translucent, curving expanses of pure energon, like an insect's. Giving them a test flutter, she found they propelled her forward quite nicely for all their ghostliness, and they bore her straight into the outstretched arms of her lover.

As they embraced, she realised he had certainly not exaggerated the 'intense' part: everywhere they touched, their dazzling bodies seemed to blur and meld, to the accompaniment of the most powerful, all-encompassing sense of euphoria and completeness. This was far beyond mere physical pleasure, but a glorious all-in-one synthesis of harmony, beauty, sweetness, gaiety, excitement, contentment, and best of all, empathy. The closer they embraced, almost melting into each other, she could feel his ecstasy and his love for her with nearly as much clarity as her own feelings, and that intensified her pleasure greatly, and this is just first base, so to speak. What would a kiss be like here? She gave her wings another tiny flutter, just to equalise the small height difference and bring her face on the same level as his – there was no gravity here, fortunately – then she zeroed in on her lover's lips, or as near as she could guess. There was definitely a face somewhere in all of that brilliance, but it was still mainly a mystery to her. Still, if I don't get to know him better this way, she thought, as she felt their faces shimmer and merge, while the euphoria and sense of connection intensified to new heights, I guess I never will. Now, there seemed as little division between their minds and feelings as their was between their bodies, and that was fine – much better than fine, indeed: a perfect synergy of love, respect, joy …

Shame … Overpowering shame. It had come out of nowhere, this horrible note of discord, and shattered the whole harmony. With it came images, in rapid succession and no particular order, but when Stormbird remembered the experience later, she had no great difficulty in making chronological sense of them …

She had been in the Science Academy in Iacon, with various high-ranking Autobots staring at her in disappointment and suspicion, the joy and wonder of her first moments online now a sad memory. She was not what they had wanted …

She had been in the slums of Tarn, a dilapidated, friendless, half-wreck of a robot, now wishing she had just let the scientists reformat her. Scavenging in some forgotten scrapyard – more or less a paupers' grave – for usable components, a shadow had fallen over her, and she had looked up into the steel-grey, hard-lined face of a Decepticon warrior. Just when she had thought she was about to become salvageable scrap herself, the stranger had smiled and extended a hand …

She was in a squalid basement HQ, using her chest panel to display a computer-generated model of the government energy store she and her comrades were planning to raid, while Megatron, Shockwave, and the others stood around, discussing their strategy. She knew, though, that not all of them accepted her as a Decepticon, in spite of the sigil she now wore. To some, she would always be nothing but some freakish reject of a civilian prototype, that just happened to have a useful, albeit creepy quirk. So, I am no perfectly-engineered machine of war like them. No matter. Megatron judges only by merit, not by heritage or 'perfection,' and I will justify his faith …

She was on the flight deck of the Nemesis, in pursuit of the Autobot refugee force. Cybertron, in the rear viewscreen, looked grey and dead, the scars of war visible even over two hundred thousand miles away. It evoked only a cold, jaded feeling in her, like the mission itself, and the company of most of her comrades. Other than her personal force of scouts – her own creations, to whom she remained fiercely, paternally protective – the Decepticons who had managed to survive the long-drawn holocaust were nothing but opportunistic thugs, who loathed her as much as she did them. Even Megatron had changed, not that he would ever admit it: that charismatic champion of individual empowerment and freedom who had dragged her from the depths only showed in flashes now, between the bullying, cynicism, and paranoia he had increasingly come to depend upon to sustain his position over this rabble. Still, she had not forgotten that she owed him everything. I will have my leader back as he was, and help him realise our dream, if even the vague possibility still exists. If not, we will at least have our revenge on those who reduced us to this, she thought, bitterly, as she tracked the progress of the Autobot vessel …

She was on Earth, now, attacking oil rigs, power stations, military bases, and anywhere else they could gather the resources they needed, while the native organics fled in terror. Best not to think too hard about that, though. These humans were an inferior and in many ways a contemptible species, undoubtedly, but intel-gathering had required her to read some of their minds, so she knew that at least a few of them were not totally devoid of courage, honour, passion, even intelligence. Qualities any Decepticon ought to commend. Indeed, qualities a few Decepticons of this sad era could use a lot more of … but that is irrelevant. Brave individuals die in war, that is simple logic. I myself am an obsolete, battle-weary wreck who will have no place in the new Decepticon order we hope to build, and the resources of this world are our last chance to do so. Focus on your duty. Over time, it had become easier and easier to rationalise that …

It was 1985, during the brief Decepticon occupation of Central City, when Decepticon manipulation of the human media outlets had actually led these idiotic, ungrateful primitives to exile the Autobots from Earth, leaving them at Megatron's non-too-conspicuous mercy, not that they've deserved any. She had been tasked with managing the slaves at the main power plant, and was currently fitting energon wrist shackles to a group of them the Seekers had just rounded up from the human university. Most of them were pathetic, downcast creatures – cattle being led out into the fields – but one brown-skinned woman glared at her with hatred and defiance throughout the process. When the shackles were fitted, she gave this prisoner a particularly sharp push to send her on her way. The woman very nearly lost her footing, but managed to steady herself, and spat on her foot by way of parting. For a moment, she was tempted to shoot her, but she kept her restraint. Megatron or Starscream wouldn't have hesitated, and they'd have made her a martyr. That's power, for those brave enough to claim it. We Decepticons had martyrs … once.

A great force seemed to propel Stormbird backwards, until she was no longer even within arm's reach of her lover. Soundwave's avatar was now on his hands and knees within a swirling tempest of the dancing lights, still bright, but cold and harsh. She attempted to close the distance, but found herself unable to progress beyond the lights, which formed an impassible barrier between them. Giving that up as a lost cause, she tried to speak some words of comfort to him, though what seemed to emerge were syntactical 'ideas' rather than sounds. Still, whatever does the job.

Hey, Soundwave. That girl in the chain gang wasn't me, I promise. I didn't like the Autobots much at the time, true, but I wasn't dumb enough to hang around Central City after Megatron framed them. I spent that whole summer on the reservation with my family … planning the décor in my ideal disaster survival bunker.

But she might as well have been you, came the reply, full of despondency and self-loathing. I'd have treated her just the same. I treated so many the same … or even worse. I aided and abetted plans that could have ended in the extinction of humanity, you included.

I know. I knew that before I met you, and believe me, there were more than a few times I considered the way we humans treat our planet and our fellow beings, and I've thought that we'd be damn lucky if the first intelligent aliens we met didn't treat us like parasitic vermin. Megatron had a point … albeit a selfish and over-simplistic one.

But I of all people should have known better. No, I did know better, and I suppressed it. This whole thing was a mistake. Please, don't look at me. Your love for me is an aberration. By all rights you should despise me more than anyone … but the interface program will end soon, and I will discreetly arrange for your return to Earth. You belong with the Autobots, not-

That's enough. I get to decide who I love and hate, and you're in category one, mister, like it or not. Anyway, if I got to see all of your ugly little mental demons, I guess you must have seen mine too. Geez, that's a sobering thought … but have you stopped loving me?

Those? he asked, dismissively. A few trivial lies? Petty, unpremeditated acts of cruelty? A handful of irrelevant scrap. I don't even recognise the woman you are from those memories.

Funny you should say-

No. Our failings do not bear comparison. You cannot forgive me so easily. I was willing to throw every moral standard – including those of my own cause – to the astral winds, and for what? Fear of disappointing the man who once taught me to value myself, but whom I have barely been able to recognise for countless millennia? What kind of pathetic, hypocritical coward does that make me?

Err, kind of human … no offence, but the sad little joke did nothing to raise his demolished spirits, so she took a more serious tone. For what it's worth, I've seen what you saw in him too … if only very briefly, I admit. Honour, humility, even a dash of heroism. It was there, just for a moment, before he pushed it back into its cyber-coffin, nailed it down, and went back to full-on paranoid android mode. Maybe one of these days you'll have better luck resurrecting it than you did back at Kachina Valley. I really hope so … but what matters to me more is that you stood up to him, and not just for me, but for everyone who might have fallen victim to that horrible Gem weapon. We can't change any of the things we've done, but-

Actually, we did once have a device called the Kronosphere, that-

I'll pass, thanks. Screwing with causality's probably a worse idea than learning to live with our demons. Look, you believed in me, and I believe in you. Don't let these memories come between us. They happened, they were shit, and it'll be better for everyone if they never happen again, but I want the chance for us to make some better memories … please, she asked, extending her hand towards the barrier of cold, swirling lights. It might have been wishful thinking, but they seemed a little slower and fainter than before. The crouched figure within the circle looked up, slowly and tentatively, and reached out, until his fingers touched the same point of the barrier as Stormbird's. Suddenly, the lights dispersed, flying in all directions, and Stormbird wasted no time in flying forwards and catching Soundwave's avatar in a fiery embrace before he could even rise to his virtual feet. For a few seconds, she again knew that wonderful sense of all-encompassing pleasure and wholeness, albeit now tinged with sadness, but even that only seemed to enhance their love, giving it a new layer of meaning and purpose.

The vision passed as abruptly as it had commenced, and she found herself back in the dimly-lit, steel-walled confines of Soundwave's quarters, and the comparative clunkiness and absurdity of her robotic body, but without regret. It's home. Nor was the figure lying alongside her, still wired up to her torso, any radiantly beautiful digital angel, but she was glad of it. Sometimes, all a girl really wants is a hug from the messed-up mech she fell for, and Stormbird availed herself of just that.

After a few minutes, Soundwave disconnected the idle interface, they triggered their downtime cycles together, and they powered down into hibernation mode in each other's arms. She woke up to find him leaning over her, her face cupped in one of his hands while the other was gently pouring a 'glass' of energon into her mouth. At first, she thought that a nice romantic gesture, but it turned out to be entirely an expression of concern: their outage durations had been set to synchronise, but he had woken up before her, and had needed to give her energon to boost her reactivation. On reflection, she had to admit that she did not feel great, either. She was slightly weak and dazed, and although she had no point of comparison for how a Cybertronian should feel after a night of … well, you know, this was certainly not how she was used to feeling after her downtimes. That was all the confirmation Soundwave needed to hastily amend her duty schedule and order her to report for a diagnostic.

She was halfway to the personnel maintenance unit, her head throbbing and her senses reeling every step of the way, when she collapsed. When she next regained consciousness, she was looking up into a metal ceiling from which various instruments were secured on gantries, including a diagnostic monitor which displayed weak and unsteady waveform patterns. Medicroid drones were stationed all around the bench on which she lay, and Soundwave and Shockwave were both looking down upon her. In spite of not having a complete set of facial features between them, their air was entirely discouraging.

Autobot resistance base, Iacon sub-city levels, 12,000 astro-seconds later …

Well, so much for that resolution, thought Chromia, sadly, as she examined the patient. She had been gearing herself up to receive her 'guests' coldly, and the background information the Earth Autobot cell had provided, conveyed via subspace radio by a very disapproving Ironhide, had done nothing to sway her from that intention. On the contrary, she tended to agree with her estranged partner that any human who would join the Decepticons of their own free will had forfeited the right of compassion. However, with the young female Seeker actually prostrate before her, stirring very feebly, the light in her red eyes flickering in spite of the energon drip she was hooked up to, and drops of perspired coolant shimmering all over her face and body, that harsh intention did not survive a nano-second. I guess love is blind, anyway, and she really must love him, or she wouldn't be in this fix in the first place, she reasoned, while glancing with unalloyed hostility at Soundwave. He was standing in a corner of the subterranean vault the guerrillas had converted into their infirmary, his hands raised, while Moonracer kept him covered with a pistol, although the glare she was treating him to already looked as if it might burn a hole in his head. In all justice, the Decepticon officer had kept his word according to their conditions for this unprecedented meeting: he was unarmed, with even his shoulder cannon disconnected; his chest compartment was empty of deployable scouts or concealed weapons; all of his communication and networking facilities were disabled; and in a quaint but highly advisable touch, he was blindfolded with a thick strip of lead-lined fabric. Nevertheless, it was hard for Chromia – a veteran of so many battles, who had lost more to the Decepticons than she cared to recall – to consider him with anything other than hatred, and I'm not likely to cry him a hydro-conduit just because he's seduced some poor sap of an Earth alien into damn near killing herself … though I guess he deserves a bit of credit for having the guts to bring her to me, knowing I'd gladly put a plasma bolt right in his head. We'll hold off on that for her sake, but that's no reason to go soft on the vicious old bastard.

"So, not just an evil Decepticon, but a damn irresponsible one," she commented, scornfully, while turning her eyes back to the monitor of the positronic imaging scanner. Upon it, two shimmering spheres of plasma, one slightly smaller than the other, but both like pale purple lightning contained in invisible globes, were orbiting each other in a white void, connected only by a thin arc of energy. "There it is, no doubt about it: complete spark mitosis. Didn't your mommy ever tell you to use proper firewalls when you play with the girls?"

"I WILL ASSUME THAT WAS A FLIPPANT QUESTION," answered Soundwave, in that dead voice of his that lent itself all-too-well to sarcasm. "YOU KNOW VERY WELL THIS IS A RARE OCCURRENCE, AND NEITHER STORMBIRD NOR I WERE THUS CREATED. I HAVE KNOWN VERY FEW WHO WERE. RUMOUR HAS IT, THOUGH, THAT YOU HAVE NOT ONLY WITNESSED SEVERAL SUCH INCEPTIONS, BUT HAVE SUCCESSFULLY CARRIED THEM OUT. MAY I DARE HOPE THAT IS TRUE?"

"Sure, I know the procedure … if I care to do it, of course," she added, pointedly.

"YOU WOULD LEAVE HER TO DIE? IF THAT SECONDARY SPARK IS LEFT IN HER LASER CORE, SHE IS UNLIKELY TO SURVIVE MORE THAN-"

"She'll last a few more cycles, though it certainly won't hurt to do it soon. Even with the energon drip, the power drain's getting worse, so you did the right thing bringing her to me … although I somehow doubt Megatron would agree. Does he know you're here?"

"OF COURSE NOT, AND I AM NOT IN THE HABIT OF GIVING OTHER PEOPLE MATERIAL WITH WHICH TO BLACKMAIL ME, SO YOU CAN APPRECIATE HOW SERIOUS I AM. JUST CARRY OUT THIS OPERATION, AND YOU MAY SET ANY CONDITIONS YOU PLEASE."

"That's what we like to hear, and there will be conditions, I can assure you of- … Hey, you just relax, girl," ordered Chromia, sternly but not unkindly, as she noticed the patient attempting to raise her arm. "Don't strain yourself even more. I've got this licked, trust me. I guess it all seems pretty frightening right now … especially if everything I've heard about you is true, but you're not going to die, I promise. What's happened, see, is that-"

"I'm pregnant … right?" asked Stormbird, very weakly.

"Err, that's a crude analogy, I guess, but if you're expecting to pop out some teeny little red-eyed metal horror, you can think again. All that's happened is that when your sparks touched in the core interface, they generated a third spark, and now she's sitting in your laser core, putting a huge strain on all your systems. If we don't extract her and install her into a core of her own-"

"'She?' What makes you … say that?"

"Well, you can't always tell just from the PI scan, but that's the feeling I get, looking at her aura. It probably won't hurt to engineer her a female body, anyway. If I'm wrong, and she doesn't take to it, she can always transfer later."

"Our daughter," whispered Stormbird, with a faint smile. "And she'll be … okay?"

"It's been a few million years since I last had any demand for this skill, I admit," replied Chromia, while rummaging through long-unexplored depths of her toolbox for the instruments she needed, "but I know what I'm doing. I'll need you to trust me, though. You'll have to stay online during the procedure. The sparks tend to drift closer together together during downtime, making it nigh-on-impossible to separate them safely. It's not exactly painful, but it sure is weird to experience, having your own spark poked about and your core purged. We'll make you as comfortable as we can. Hey, Moonracer," she called out to her comrade, with the smooth blueish-green bodywork, the angry expression, and the itchy trigger finger. "Bring lover boy over here, and take the blindfold off him." Will all due reluctance, the guerrilla complied, while keeping her pistol trained on the prisoner every second. "Right. Take her hand, Soundwave," ordered Chromia, dispassionately. He did not hesitate to scoop up Stormbird's limp left hand and cradle it in his larger ones, with every sign of tenderness and none of making a grab for Moonracer's gun. Encouraging, but let's take no risks. "Come round here, Moonracer, to her head. I might need you to hold her down, just in case we get any motor system feedback," or if she starts writhing in pain, but no need to jinx things. "Wait for the order, though, and don't take your eyes off you-know-who. You know something, Soundwave," she continued, while removing some equipment from the toolbox and assembling it into two devices: both with pistol-like grips and long, thin probing tips, but otherwise distinct. One of them had an electromagnetic coil connected between the probe and the grip, while the other had a thick cylinder of metal that was partially open and empty: evidently the housing for something that had yet to be inserted. "You're a real lucky bastard. If it'd been you who'd drawn the short straw, I'd have happily let that new spark burn you up, call me a cold bitch if you-"

"Come again?" asked Stormbird, her weakness doing little to dampen her incredulity. "Soundwave could've … gotten pregnant?"

"Well, sure," answered Chromia, with casual surprise, then the Shanix dropped. "Oh, I get where you're coming from. Our gender's got nothing to do with our biology, since we don't really have biology, after all. Mind you," she reflected, while taking an empty glass cylinder with golden caps at both of its ends and plugging it into the empty housing on the second instrument, "I must admit, most of the robots I've done this for were women. Either Old Mother Cosmos must have a very unfair streak, or more likely she just knows most men are idiots." Stormbird laughed, albeit ever so slightly, but Chromia was glad of it nonetheless. The more relaxed she is, the easier this will be for me. "Okay, sweetie, just you hold still, now. I'm going to open up your chest panel, then you're probably not going to see much." With a few deft movements, Chromia unfastened the transparent, yellow-tinted canopy that formed Stormbird's cockpit shield in her altmode, hinged it upwards, then activated some interior controls that caused an inner panel to slide open. Beneath this, deep within her chest cavity, a glass cylinder like the one in the surgical instrument was now visible, only this one contained a brilliant, albeit flickering light. "Your laser core's now exposed. I'm ready to go in. This is likely to feel very strange for you, probably uncomfortable, but try not to be frightened. If it helps, please feel free to squeeze Soundwave's hand as tightly as you like. I'm sure he won't mind a few crushed finger actuators for a good cause," she remarked, wryly, while carefully manoeuvring both of her probes to tiny holes in the lower cap of Stormbird's laser core. Slowly and gently, she pushed them in. Stormbird gave a quick gasp of surprise or fear, and her hand certainly tensed, but she quickly mastered her reaction, and no finger-crushing occurred. Oh well, can't have it all, thought Chromia, resignedly, turning her attention back to the PI monitor, which now displayed the magnified tips of both probes as well as the orbiting sparks. Here's where it gets really tricky. One false move with the electron lancet, and I could easily damage either spark. I need to get just the right timing and angle. It's half precision engineering, half plain downright sharpshooting. Using a foot pedal control, she altered the angle and elevation of the scanner until she had the right perspective, then she took aim with the lancet, silently rattled off a quick prayer to Primus, and fired it in a single, rapid burst.

The microscopically thin electron beam struck the strand of plasma between the two sparks close to its centre, immediately interrupting it and fully separating both spheres of energy. Stormbird gasped again, but managed to hold herself steady. Soundwave also seemed to wince a little. Finger-pain, or just anxiety? I suppose this is his lover and his scion too, gruesome a thought though that is. Before the sparks could drift close together again and potentially form a new connection, Chromia manoeuvred the second probe until its tip was no more than a micrometre away from the smaller spark, then she pulled the instrument's trigger. The magnified probe tip glowed brightly on the monitor, exerting a magnetic force that quickly absorbed the nearby spark. As soon as it was fully absorbed, she withdrew both probes, and examined the laser core in the instrument's housing. It was now shining with a mauve-tinged radiance, bright and steady, and Stormbird's laser core appeared just the same. Even the light in her eyes was already regaining strength. Smiling joyfully in spite of herself, Chromia laid her instruments aside and resealed her patient's panels. The old magic's still there, not that I'm likely to have much call for it again.

"Did it go alright?" asked Stormbird, her voice still quiet, but steadier. "Is she- ?"

"She's fine," declared Chromia, removing the laser core from the instrument and holding it up so that Stormbird could see it. "The core transfer went smoothly, and she's stabilised perfectly into her new 'home,' so to speak. You did really well, but you'd better take it easy, and stay on the drip for a bit. You can take some energon orally in a few minutes, when your absorbers are fully online again. You'll be fighting fit in no time, though," and quite possibly fighting Autobots, ironically enough. Why is the right thing to do so often the dumb thing?

"Thank you. Err … would it sound really silly if I asked to hold her? I mean, I know she's only a component right now, but-"

"Not silly at all," interrupted Chromia, smiling again. She elevated the bench a little, to raise Stormbird into something close to a sitting position, and she passed her the laser core. "Be careful, though," she added, as she noticed that Stormbird's hands were still moving rather weakly. Soundwave had noticed that too, as he placed his own hands on the core to help keep it steady, and they held it tenderly between them. For all her hatred of the Decepticon spymaster, Chromia could not help but find the scene touching, especially considering it's now my duty to pour liquid nitrogen on it, but so be it. They knew better than to expect a free ride to domestic bliss.

"Okay, it gives me no joy to bring this up, but I've done my part, and conditions were agreed," she announced, sternly. "It's high time we talked about those."

"OF COURSE," said Soundwave, turning to face her even though he kept his hands upon the core. "YOU MAY NAME YOUR PRICE. I CAN PROCURE ARMS, ENERGON, SHANIX-"

"I'm no mercenary," cut in Chromia, contemptuously. "You think I did this for loot? I guess you would think that, but I happen to believe innocent lives are priceless … and that's why I'm going to have to be cruel with you," she declared, regretfully, to Stormbird. "I don't intend to cut you out of her life altogether, but there is no way in all Cybertron this poor little scion is getting raised as a Decepticon. I'm afraid when you two go home, you're going to be leaving her with us," she insisted, while Stormbird bowed her head in sad, silent resignation. Still, it was a better reaction than Chromia had expected. Soundwave probably warned her that this was a distinct possibility. "We'll construct her a body – an Autobot body – and she'll live, train, and fight with this cell, unless of course she prefers to join the Earth faction. We'll work out some way you can see her every now and again … under supervision, of course. Sorry, but we can't risk you pouring Decepticon propaganda in her audio receptors. Also, this doesn't apply to him," she clarified, icily, while giving Soundwave a rapid glance of deepest suspicion. "He doesn't get to see her at all. Frankly, I'd sooner she never even had to know his name, though I guess I can't stop you telling her about him, but I can stop-"

"Sorry, no way," said Stormbird, her tone grave and surprisingly strong. "My daughter's going to know her father. That's non-negotiable."

"Err, you're not exactly in a position to make demands, Stormbird," pointed out Chromia, matter-of-factly. "I sympathise, but be that as it may-"

"No demands, Chromia, but have you considered what she's going to think? You're forgetting: she's our scion, so whatever else she is, you can bet she'll be the type who likes to find things out for herself, and doesn't appreciate anyone trying to shove her into boxes. Anyway, what about Optimus Prime?" she added, knowingly. "What's his world view, again? 'Freedom is the right of all sentient beings,' and all that jazz? How's she going to feel if she figures you don't trust her to make her own choices?" Chromia found herself stuck for a good answer to that, and Stormbird wasted no time in seizing the initiative. Fair play. Whatever her competence as a Decepticon warrior, she sure has a killer instinct for getting her way. "Look, we guessed things might go this way, so we had a think. How would it be if every time we arranged to meet her, we did it in a neutral setting, where you could be certain of our good behaviour? We had a couple of ideas, though I'm not sure where we put the …" at which she tailed off uncertainly, and turned to Soundwave.

"AFFIRMATIVE. THERE WAS A DATA CHIP," Soundwave continued for her. "YOUR COMRADE CONFISCATED IT OFF ME WHEN WE ENTERED HERE. IT DETAILS TWO POSSIBLE NEUTRAL MEETING LOCATIONS." Chromia looked at Moonracer, who passed her the data chip with a sceptical expression. Well, I suppose it won't cost me anything to look, decided Chromia, as she took the chip and fed it into an air-gapped terminal. That caution proved unnecessary, as all it contained were two topographical maps and additional data on the places they depicted, although the actual locations, if not actually suspicious, were certainly surprising.

"Both on Earth, I see. 'Keams Canyon, Hopi Reservation, Arizona,'" she recited, while reading from the annotations on the first file, which displayed a wireframe graphic of a rugged, rocky-looking patch of terrain dotted with sparse organic growth and a few small, squarish buildings. "Why there? I mean, it's quite close to the Earth Autobot cell, which is certainly a plus factor, but why not just suggest the Ark itself?"

"Because she's got family there," replied Stormbird, simply and firmly, "and I want her to know them."

"She's got family? How on … ? Oh, of course," said Chromia, realisation dawning. It's so easy to forget she was once human. "And, err, are you sure they'll want to know her? I don't have much experience with humans myself, but from what Ironhide tells me, they're not always enthusiastic about aliens in their midst, never mind their family circle."

"Am I sure my folks will want to know their own granddaughter? Damn straight. They're good people, Chromia, and not likely to want to endanger their own homeworld by encouraging Megatron's agenda, so you can be sure we won't be discussing politics at the dinner table. Also, since it is close to the Ark, you can't say I'm not making it easy for you to send over an Autobot chaperone, if you feel the need for one."

"Well … that's a fair point," she conceded, a little reluctantly, while switching to the next file. This one depicted a much stranger scene: a small peninsula with a cluster of buildings in its centre, and a large rocky outcrop near its far end, sloping upwards and terminating in a steep cliff that faced the ocean. The cliff face was elaborately and impressively carved into an immense statue: the torso and head of a six-armed, goddess-like figure, although three of the stone arms had broken off below the elbow and seemed to be embedded near the shoreline. The artefact of some primitive Earth cult, perhaps? Mind you, that's some seriously epic sculpture for primitive people. She turned her attention to the annotations. "'Crystal Temple, Beach City, Delmarva.' Does she have family there as well?"

"In a manner of speaking," answered Stormbird, with a small, enigmatic smile. "Maybe you should double-check that one with Prime, but I'm sure he'll be cool with it."

"I'll see what I can do," agreed Chromia, a little wearily. Pretty sure I just lost the argument, there. I should have just taken the bribe while the going was good … "There's one other thing I'm going to have to put my foot down on, though: her name. I'm not having her lumbered with 'Laserwitch' or 'Venomwing' or any other Decepticon nonsense. She might have to live with this for centuries, after all, so for Primus' sake, let's pick something honest and decent. 'Aradia,' 'Jetstar,' 'Arcee,'" she suggested, casually. "Just a few personal favourites there, but no pressure, as long as you go for something reasonably non-evil."

"We've already decided on a name. How does 'Obsidian' strike you?"

"That's … a bit Decepticon-y," said Chromia, with a small frown, "but I guess it's not too bad. Any particular reason, or just personal preference?"

"It's in honour of some friends, and they're not Decepticons … though I don't know if you'd completely approve of them," added Stormbird, roguishly. "Still, I doubt she'd be here at all if it wasn't for them."

"Fair enough, then. You know, Stormbird, you're a weird girl, if you don't mind me saying, but I've a feeling you'll shake this war up just by existing … though whether for good or ill, who can say?" This was more or less just thinking aloud, and it was perhaps a testimony to how quiet and reflective Chromia's tone was, that neither Stormbird nor Soundwave were paying attention anymore, but focusing all their attention on the shining component they held so carefully and lovingly between them. Oh, what the heck. We can risk giving them a bit of space, just until she's fit to move. Chromia made some silent gestures to Moonracer, who quickly understood, and they left the infirmary together, being certain to security-lock the door behind them, not that Chromia really expected her guests to try to escape. This isn't an ideal situation for them anymore than it is for us, not to mention for the poor scion. The daughter of Decepticons, with human heritage, raised by Autobots … Either she's going to grow up to be a hideous mess, or something spectacular … or maybe even both. I guess no-one ever said hope had to come in a normal package.

The End.