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A little background. For those of you who have read "Dead End", you'll know the backstory. If not: Go read it! Make me happy!!!! (sob, sob, blatant attention whoring) (Okay, not so much: all you need to know is that Flareup and Ironhide have been taken captive by Starscream and Blackout and taken up to the Nemesis.)

The story is about, as in, thematically, breaking people, erm, robots. So, look for as many bots as possible to suffer some sort of mental/emotional/ethical breakdown as it continues.

It involves interrogation, of course. To make it challenging to myself to write AND to make a point, really, I am restricting Barricade's tactics to the Army Field Manual and a few extra practices thrown in during US Army Special Forces SERE training. That means that everything Barricade does to Ironhide and Flareup, we totally do to our own guys. Wheee! I knew I'd find a way to be nerdy in this one, too!

Vortex is a non-Bayverse character that I made up, cobbled together from existing canon Vortex, and the fact that I really really love Chinook helicopters (his alt mode). Since the F-22 (Starscream) and the Pave Low (Blackout) are obsolete, I thought we should have ONE Decepticon whose alt mode was still in use by US forces. Hence: Vortex.

So, yay. Let it begin:

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's optics flashed behind 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 sending throbbing signals of pain through his sensor net, 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.

*grabs popcorn gets comfy, waits for next installment*

Nuff said

Yay! =D I can't wait to read more!

Very nicely written! =)

We meet our protagonist today. For those of you keeping score at home (all, like, none of you) Barricade is running pride/ego down and 'we know all' approaches on Starscream in this section. And yes, you're supposed to notice a difference in his real voice and his 'gator voice. It's deliberate.

There's a lot of gator lingo in this and upcoming sections. I'll try to keep you posted. A hard break is when someone more or less just breaks down. That's more severe than a 'crack' which is when someone momentarily slips. Both are useful for intelligence gathering. But hard breaks are much more dramatic.

II.

Blackout hadn’t had to try very hard to convince Starscream to hang around outside the room while Barricade spoke to Megatron. By that point, Starscream had recovered some of his equilibrium; enough, at any rate, to have switched on his scheming subroutines.

“Admit it,” Starscream said, but quietly so he wouldn’t be overheard, “I was a better leader than Megatron.”

“You think I’m gonna answer that here? Where anyone could be listening? Dumber than you look, Starscream.”

The jet smirked. “That answer is sufficient.”

Blackout was formulating a snide reply when the door slid open. Barricade stepped through. He moved heavily, always, as if walking like he weighed a few extra tons would make him more imposing. Didn’t change the fact that Barricade barely reached Blackout’s thoracic girdle. Barricade’s eyes flicked up to the pair of larger bots, framing the corridor. Blackout elbowed himself up off the wall.

Barricade kept walking. “Has the ship suddenly gotten more dangerous, or have I come down with a fatal case of popularity?” he said, not looking back as the other two fell into step behind him.

Starscream opened his mouth, but Blackout cut him off. “Thought you might like a little background about the capture.”

“How very generous of you.” Where Megatron or Starscream would have said it with poisonous sarcasm, Barricade’s delivery was bland. As if it wasn’t worth the extra effort. “It was at our forward base.” As if that were all he needed to know.

“What does Megatron want you to do?” Starscream blurted. Blackout thought seriously about punching him in the vernier.

Barricade stopped. “What do you think he wants me to do?”

“What if they don’t know anything?”

Barricade turned to face Starscream, trying not to look ridiculous as he tried to stare down someone almost twice his height. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

Starscream’s head jerked back, as if Barricade had struck him.

Blackout stepped between them. “What he’s saying is, what if they don’t have the specific information you’re looking for?”

“The meteor impact sites? They’ll still be useful.”

“Drain on resources,” Starscream retorted, still angry at Barricade’s confrontational question. Blackout remembered Starscream had whined about not being fully repaired before the mission to Bourzey—that he wasn’t worth the resources or some such self-pitying nonsense.

“Useful,” Barricade insisted, flatly. After a long moment, he rolled his eyes. “Psyops. Useful. If I can hard break one of them.”

Starscream cut in. “Show them snivelling and weak.”

Barricade tilted his head dismissively, as if that was a barely-decent idea. “Or, get them to say something negative about their human allies. With less glamor, they’d still know things like mission profiles, objectives, current level of resupply. Useful.”

“They will not just outright tell you these things,” Starscream said.

“Be surprised what you let slip when you talk.”

“I? I revealed nothing.”

“Oh? I read your report, Starscream.” He said it like a warning.

“You read—why?”

“I am the chief intelligence officer. Or had you forgotten.” More of that unsettling blandness.

“But Soundwave—“

“Soundwave is better at crypto and signals intelligence. Analysis requires a slightly different kind of processing. Now would you care for further education regarding what you revealed to the Autobots during your excessively long captivity?” Blackout swore he saw the hint of a malicious smile on Barricade’s mouth as Starscream bridled. “I have broken down your intelligence shortfalls into three main categories: what you revealed about our kind, as in Cybertronian; what you revealed about the Decepticons; and what you revealed about yourself.” Definite smile, now—Barricade was jerking Starscream’s cables. For fun.

Starscream’s mouth opened, to protest. He snapped it shut. Blackout never thought he’d see the day: Starscream, at a loss for words. This was priceless.

Barricade took a step back, coming out of his aggressive pose. “Now, if you don’t mind, I do have work to do. If I need your assistance, I will request it.” He nodded amicably at Blackout, giving him a wry almost-wink. Tearing Starscream down was apparently Barricade’s way of a little friendly teasing. Oh well, Starscream would get over it. He could follow a good instinct, and at bottom he knew Barricade was a better ally than enemy. At least, if he were half as smart as he thought he was.

Yes, my calender and my clock both tell me it's not Friday. But I have a horrendiferous day tomorrow. God forbid I not post the story. I'm sure y'all's lives would just spin into despair. (That sound you hear? That's me rolling my eyes.)

Anyhoo. What our man 'Cade does here is classic 'fear down'. It is even more boring and repetitive to do in real life. He debates using another approach--'incentive'. That's kind of like bargaining. You can't incentive anything that would qualify as basic needs--you can't give or withhold *food* itself in exchange for information, but you can offer them a treat--a chocolate bar or a phone call or real coffee, that kind of thing. There's a bunch of other stuff, too, but I'd bore you if I explained everything. If you want to know every approach he runs, PM me and I'll bore the crap out of you with field interrogation techniques.

Leading rapport is a test--try this at home some time: when you're with someone, subtly mirror their movements. Not like a bratty kid sister, but follow their lead: they lean forward, you lean forward. They play with their straw, you play with something in front of you. It takes a few minutes. Really good gators can even match breathing rates, which NO ONE notices, but it works. Okay, when you think you've got them, you take lead--you do something that they haven't done--play with your hair, or yawn, or turn in your seat. If you've built the rapport right, they'll do the same thing! It's really neat! Barricade's not using body language rapport, but verbal--same principle applies.

Anyway, enough stupid stuff. On to the stupid story:

III.
“Now,” Barricade said, making sure he was positioned exactly where he wanted to be, just out of line of sight.

The repair bot unhooked an auxiliary power cable, and hit the override. The purple bot hanging in the repair cradle twitched once, twice, as her own power source came online. The repair bot shuffled to the shadows by the head of the cradle, out of her sight entirely, ready to shut her down if Barricade gave the command. Barricade couldn’t imagine he’d need to. But he hadn’t gotten as far as he had without taking odd precautions.

“Whe-where am I?” she said, her voice feeble and small. Her eyes, still powering up, clicked from side to side.

“You are safe,” he said, keeping his voice low and soothing.

“I don’t know your voice,” she said. “Who are you? I can’t see you. Why can’t I see you?” Her voice took on a note of panic. She stirred in the plasmesh of the repair cradle.

“You are safe,” Barricade repeated. Same tone of voice. Could just have set up a recording, he told himself. Get through all of this tedious and completely predictable exchange. “You cannot yet see because your optics have not yet cycled through to lowlight.” Well, that and Barricade had ordered the repair bot to resequence her startup. To give him just this window of blind opportunity. “How are you feeling?”

“I still can’t see!” she said.

“It will come, I assure you. You were badly damaged so your power was reserved for more necessary functions. It merely takes a moment to reroute itself.” Sure, different story than what he’d just told her. Good test of mental acuity: see if she caught the inconsistency.

She didn’t. “I am injured? I remember, I think…,” her voice trailed off.

Nope. Not where Barricade wanted her to be. Wanted her here and now. “You are safe now.” Primus, he was bored already with saying that. Shut up, he told himself. You know how to do this. “That is what matters.”

“Where am I? Where is everyone else?” He could tell from the slower way she moved her head that her optics were coming back online.

“You are with me,” he said. “You are in the repair bay.” Keep it simple. Like to see her say he lied.

“This is a repair bay?” her voice was doubtful. “Where are the humans?” She pushed herself a little upright in the cradle—an awkward maneuver, considering that to begin with, she was barely large enough for it. The repair bot scuttled farther into the shadows.

“We have no humans.”

“No humans—are you…?” her eyes snapped to focus on Barricade’s face. He could see the irises pinch in fear. “You’re one of them!” She tried to push herself away from him in the cradle, but the cradle’s straps had caught around the fairing over her foot-tire.

“You are safe,” he said, adding just a little more insistence in this time. “Here, with me.” Good idea to plant the idea early that her safety was linked to his proximity. Could come in handy later.

“You’re going to kill me.” A defiant tip to her pointed chin.

“If I were going to kill you, why would I repair you and wake you up first?”

“Because—“

“Because that’s just what depraved, sadistic Decepticons do? Is that what you were going to say?” He didn’t try hard to keep the amusement out of his voice. Not that he minded a terrifying reputation, but sometimes it got a bit laughable: Decepticons ate protoforms before battle. Decepticons powered their starships with the sparks of dead Autobots. Insane, ridiculous stuff. Whoever was in charge of their psyops had a real bloodthirsty streak.

She had enough decency (not common sense, though) to drop her eyes. “I-I’m sorry.” Could always count on the Autobots to worry about the other’s feelings. Predictable, the Autobots had yet to learn, meant easily manipulable.

“It is nothing. How are you feeling?”

“I am…functional.”

“Your weapons have been disabled,” he said, trying to sound apologetic. “Necessary precaution. You understand.”

She didn’t trust him—tried to power up her fusion blade. When nothing happened, her shoulders slumped. “I’m a prisoner.”

“Better than dead.”

“Why me? Am I the only one? Where’s Chromia? Is she here? Can I see her?”

“We do not have this Chromia. She looks like you?”

“Yes, she’s blue. She’s my sister. Are you sure you don’t have her?”

He shook his head. “I am sorry. We do not have your sister.”

The cycle bot looked torn between relief and worry. Relief that Chromia wasn’t here, but also worry—maybe this Chromia was dead. Barricade made a note to look up what he could on the cycle bots. Their Autobot personnel database wasn’t much, but it occasionally had a few gems. Would be nice to have some help doing this: with the two prisoners, Barricade wasn’t going to have any downtime any time soon. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to squeeze in his interrogation prep. But he hadn’t gotten where he was—finally, a position of respect—by complaining about too much work. Not that he’d have time to complain. He debated pulling an incentive—an offer to send a message to this Chromia—but decided it was too soon. Start throwing in the heavy approaches too early, and tip your hand. She was still trying to swallow the concept that he wasn’t going to kill her and eat her circuitry while she died. Nice guy would be too big a lump for her to get her throat around.

“What are you going to do with me?”

“You mean, since I am not going to kill you?” He tried an easy smile. He was aware he didn’t have the most appealing face, but he wasn’t going for ‘handsome’ here. Just a standard ‘harmless’. Worked: she gave a fleeting return smile. Thin, insincere, but still—it was a response-in-kind. “I suspect they are planning to hold you for ransom. Or perhaps a prisoner exchange. That sort of thing.” ‘They’ to keep him separated from the rest of the Decepticons. He didn’t need her to like them. Just him. Trying to convince her that every Decepticon was as sweet and pure as new oil was a task too large and laughable. Let her hang on to her hate and fear of them. Just not him.

“Hold me for…?”

“Yes. You see, you’re perfectly safe. They’d need you alive, and in good condition, right?” Right? He pushed the word at her. Get her to agree with you. On anything. Leading rapport. Right, he said in his head. Right.

After a moment, “Yes, I guess so.”

He deflected her doubt. “You think they wouldn’t give a ransom for you? Surely they value you.”

“Well, yes, but….”

“But what?”

She seemed embarrassed. “I’ve never heard of it happening. A ransom or anything like that.”

He gave an easy shrug. Time to interject a dose of doubt-about-the-leadership. “They probably don’t like to advertise. You know, that they’ve done deals with us. Doesn’t play well to say, yeah, we gave the bad guys one of their bad guys back.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“In a weird way, yes.” He shifted forward. “Now, how are you doing? Anything I can get you?”

“I’m not sure who you are.” A little non-linear but he’d go with it. Random meant off-balance,
and off-balance was good.

He flashed another fakely charming smile. “Sorry. Forgot. I’m Barricade.” He watched her closely from under slightly lowered lids for her reaction. Nothing. She’d never heard of him. Good for this interrogation, but it still pricked his professional pride.

She held out her hand. Barricade froze, and then realized he was supposed to take it. He closed his hand around her small fingers awkwardly. “I’m Flareup,” she said.

Barricade fought for the something she was waiting for him to say. “Sister of Chromia,” he said, finally. Stupid, but it was something. She smiled. Must have been close enough.

“So are you my guard or something?”

He summoned up that slick soothing voice, the one he thought of as Starscream’s at his most unctuous. “Something. Of course you will not be allowed to wander unaccompanied, you understand. But I am here to make sure you are reasonably well treated. And to address your concerns.” And to find if there’s anything useful in that pretty little head of yours. Of course there was, he corrected himself. Everyone knows something. Even if they don’t know they know it.

“Is there anyone else here?”

“You are on a ship full of Decepticons,” he said, flatly. “Most of them bigger than me. Is that what you wanted to know?” He knew what she was really asking—if they’d taken another Autobot. He wasn’t ready to answer that one yet. “Now, what concerns you?”

Flareup’s face went through a rapid shift of expressions, scrunching up, at last, into tears. “I just, I want to go home!” she wailed.

Barricade closed his eyelids so she wouldn’t see him roll his eyes. And everyone wondered why he called this a thankless and miserable job.

Awesome work! I originally had no interest in the Bayverse, but your stories are breath of fresh air. Excellent characterization with everyone, especially Ratchet, Barricade and Blackout. I even felt sorry for the poor little drones (in reference to Dead End).

Parts that made me LoL: (also Dead End) Starscream's repair bots scattering in fear at Megatron. There's a line from Break that I practically want to make my sig: "Perhaps Megatron’s great leadership secret was the ability to make everyone else feel stupid when talking to him." <classic!

I'm looking forward to more, keep it up! ^_^

I love it! =D

You're an extremely good writer! I'm not much of a reader, but I completely fell into this story, despite not being a big fan of RotF. =)

I can't wait to read more! =D

Very nicely done. Barricade is forming into quite a character.

Looking forward to reading more updates.

EDIT:(Actually this story is beginning to feel pointless to me. I see how it all ends, and it's pretty damn ugly, and I'm really debating if I want to inflict that on the world. There's enough ugly in the world that I'm not sure I want to be part of bringing more.

I'm tired of only being able to write ugly.)



IV.

Ironhide was proving to be a little less tedious, but just as predictable. Good thing he’d warmed up running a friendly-up on the cyclebot. This one was going to require a bit more handling.

Starting with physical. He’d had the repair bots disconnect voluntary motor control of the Autobot’s limbs. Not permanently. Barricade wanted to have something to offer as a reward. But right now, if Ironhide had the use of his limbs, he’d be tearing the place apart. As it was, he’d already managed to flip himself out of the repair cradle and crush one of the spindly little bots. Barricade had retreated to the corner, folding his arms over his chest. “Done yet?” he asked, as the Autobot flopped on the floor, trying to damage anything he could with his bodyweight.

“Get over here and I’ll let you know,” Ironhide snarled.

Barricade laughed, a good pride/ego down. “And why should I do that?”

“So I can shove that smirk so far down your throat it’ll block your exhaust.”

“Hmmm. Sounds tempting, really. Think I’ll pass, though.” Barricade squatted down so he was closer to Ironhide’s level. “I take it,” he said, dripping with fake sympathy, “you’re unhappy.”

“Unhappy!” The Autobot flailed on the ground, his limp limbs bouncing wildly off the floor. He looked ready to bite Barricade’s shinplates if he could get to them. This, Barricade thought, might be easier than I expected. This one’s halfway over the edge already.

“Too strong a word?” Being deliberately obtuse. If the Autobot wanted to be angry, Barricade would gladly help.

Ironhide sputtered in rage. Barricade filed this as useful information. Ironhide did not deal well with frustration. Time to switch tactics. If he was going to hard break Ironhide, it would have to be spectacular. And now wasn’t spectacular enough. Sure, there might be some cachet in breaking Ironhide fast, but Barricade took pride in his technique. Speed often compromised thoroughness. If, when he broke the Autobot, he intended him to stay broken.

“I hear you put up a hell of a fight.” Little pride up this time.

“You heard wrong,” the Autobot sneered. Barricade frowned. Maybe he shouldn’t have blown off Blackout and Starscream’s offer. “One of your morons clobbered me from behind. Like a slaggin’ coward.”

Switch to ego down. “That must be embarrassing for a warrior like you. To be taken like that.”

Ironhide glared at him, but didn’t disagree. This one was easy to figure—liked his reputation as a badass.

“You weren’t the only capture, you know.” Calculated risk to play this hand this early. But Barricade had a hunch, and they’d always paid off in the past.

“Who? Who else did you bastards get?”

Time for a good thick lie. “I don’t know the name. The bot has yet to regain consciousness.”

Ironhide’s chin gouged the floor as he tried to look around the repair bay. No such luck: Barricade had separated the two upon arrival. “Where? What’s it look like? Is it purple?” The neutral pronoun didn’t fool Barricade: Ironhide suspected the other one was the female bot Flareup, but he didn’t want to give away that they’d gotten a girl. Curious.

“I don’t know. I have not yet seen him.” Barricade played dumb. “All I have are the repair reports. The bots are sometimes not as detailed in their reports as we might wish.” A beat. “However, if you wish me to, I’d be happy to find out more detail.”

Ironhide snarled. “Don’t do me any favors.” Ah, Barricade thought, be begging for me to do you favors soon. Just you watch.

Barricade smiled. “I’ll let you know anyway, how’s that?”

Ironhide ground his facial plates together in frustration. All the answer Barricade was going to get.

“You know,” Barricade continued, “You might, and this is just a suggestion, mind you, be a little more comfortable in the repair cradle.”

“Easy for your little parasites to get at me that way.”

“They are repair bots. They repair things. Most impartial little creatures in the universe. Actually hurts what little feelings they have not to be allowed to fix you.” Ironhide grunted. Simple-minded little Autobots. Always count on them, even this one, to worry about feelings. “Harming you is counter to their programming.” Best leave out for the moment that Barricade, of course, had the override codes for that little directive. “Now, really. Let the repair bots get you back in the cradle. I bet you’d like to feel your legs.”

Ironhide glared up at Barricade.

“Like you’d let them do that.”

“I would. If only,” and he let the least bit of contempt into his voice, as he stepped forward so that his toe plates were inches from Ironhide’s face, “to be able to look you in the eye.”

I love your interrogation scenes! =D You give Barricade so much character and cunning that he's actually growing on me. =) Also, I can actually feel the animosity in the atmosphere due to your attention to detail in descriptions!

Keep it up! =D I can't wait to read more!

You'll notice that Starscream's account of Dead End's injuries at Bourzey differ slightly from what we might like to call *reality*.

V.
The humans had a saying, Starscream had discovered, to put one’s foot down. It apparently meant that one simply refused to do what was asked of one. It somehow signified respect. So Starscream had decided to follow this. He put his foot down. Literally, in this case. He settled with Repair Bay Gamma, Alpha and Beta taken up respectively by the prisoners. Whole repair bays, for two of them. And Autobots. Barricade better know what he was doing. If it were up to Starscream, they’d both be spending their little sojourn in the brig. Or in some version of that infernal suspension harness the humans had inflicted on him in Diego Garcia. Repair them? When he had been left untreated for five days? He would not tolerate it.

Still. The repair bots hustled with as much haste and diligence as Starscream could possibly require. They’d set up the effervescing tank in which to soak his metal-shocked right leg. The clear liquid quickly colored to rust brown as the corrosive byproduct of the metal shock was flushed out of the fine motor mechanics of his leg and foot.

They’d brought out a new hand for him—machined to measurements they’d taken during his aborted visit last time, now ready for installation—when of all the bots, Barricade buzzed his comm.

“I am occupied,” Starscream said, crisply.

“Not going to make this easy for me, are you?” He could hear the smile in Barricade’s voice. Who knew what the smaller bot thought of him? Who cared?

“I cannot imagine why I should.”

A short bark of laughter. Then, “As it turns out, I do need information about the capture.”

Starscream felt his mouth curve into a smile. “Do you, now?” he drawled.

“Enjoy this while you can, Air Commander.” Barricade sounded strangely amused. Still, using one of Starscream’s titles warmed the jet’s little spark to something like good will. “Yes, I need your help. I am, if you want to hear it, asking for your help.”

“Why did you not ask Blackout?”

“Blackout told me to talk to you.”

Ha! Starscream thought. Stonewalled by Blackout, are you? His estimation of the helicopter bot shot up a few levels. “I am in RB Gamma.” He cut the comm. If Barricade wanted him so badly, he’d drag his undersized little frame over here. Maybe see the damage a real warrior has to take.

*****

Barricade, when he showed up a few cycles later, had Blackout in tow. Starscream wondered when he’d picked up the copterbot. He felt suddenly relieved he hadn’t voiced his opinion about Blackout over the comm. Blackout returned his salutation with one of his curt nods.

The repair bots huddled over the installation of his right hand paused, unsure what to do. “Continue,” Starscream told them. “It is not going well and you need our assistance, I take it?”

“It is going fine,” Barricade corrected, a little hotly, “But it would be smoother if I had some more information.”

Starscream looked at Blackout, who had settled himself gingerly against the wall, his injured rotor resting over his shoulder. Blackout gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You recall the mission profile?”

“One of Megatron’s little disciplinary specials, I take it.” Behind Barricade, Blackout snorted. Barricade continued, “Fairly heavy resistance.”

“Five of them, and a team of the humans,” Starscream said. “Three of us and some drones.”

“Two of us, Dead End, and some drones,” Blackout corrected. Not the little red runt’s biggest fan.

“Small cycle bot, purple.” Barricade said.

“Yes?”

“Whose capture?”

“Starscream’s.”

“Impressive,” Barricade said, wryly. Starscream curled his fists in anger. How dare Barricade comment on a warrior’s performance. He winced as the motion pinched half-installed plates on his new hand.

“I was instrumental in the capture of Ironhide as well,” he said. “The cycle bot was merely an amusement.”

“And she was beating the hydraulic fluid out of the grounder.” Blackout added. “Give him credit for a rescue of a comrade-under-fire.”

“Yes,” Starscream added. “That, too.”

“Hrm.” Barricade said. “Might need you later, Starscream. If you were the one to take her down. Scare the daylights out of her.”

“I object to being used in such a fashion.”

“Oh, get over it,” Blackout said. “Warrior enough to beat up on a girl. Surely you can handle a little intimidation.”

“A warrior does not attack an enemy that has already surrendered.” Starscream remembered too well his treatment by the NEST team that had helped capture him. He was not going to be caught acting like a filthy unprincipled human. “And she engaged with me.”

Barricade gave that lopsided smirk he had whenever someone revealed something too useful about themselves. Starscream shut his mouth. “Wouldn’t ask you to hit her, of course. But, a little play-acting. Surely you can handle that.”

“I can handle anything,” Starscream retorted. “I merely choose not to compromise my honor.”

“Don’t think all the play-acting in the world is gonna intimidate Ironhide, though,” Blackout said. “All you did was yap at each other.”

Starscream glared at the helicopter. “Precisely what is your problem with me, Blackout?”

“I was just letting Barricade know—“

Starscream pushed himself upright in the repair cradle. Some of the rust-colored fluid from the tank spattered onto the floor. “We deal with this now, Blackout. As warriors, if need be. What is your problem with me.” Not a question this time.

Blackout stiffened. He kept his arms casually folded across his chassis, but his shoulder gyros tightened. “Nothing.”

“Insufficient.”

Barricade stepped lightly aside, watching this with keen interest.

Blackout dropped his gaze. “Got your replacement parts already. Unfair.”

Starscream relaxed back into the plasmesh cradle. “Is that all? You believe I am receiving preferential treatment?” He shook his hand free of the repair bots. The metal was shiny and too new. “I went into battle with a non-functioning hand. It did not even function as a hand, do you understand me?” Blackout avoided meeting his eye awkwardly. One repair bot, determined to do his job, clambered out along Starscream’s outstretched arm. “The reason my replacement parts are ready is that the measurements were taken before I left. The repair bots had time to alter and machine them in our absence. That is the entire explanation.”

Starscream kept his eyes on Blackout until the copter grunted, “Fine. Whatever.”

“You know,” Barricade cut in, “You could at least have the repair bots give you a sensor block until the new rotor is ready.”

“’M fine.” Blackout ruffled his injured rotors self-consciously. “Talk about something else already.”

Barricade tilted his head to study Blackout more closely.

“What?” the copter snarled.

“Nothing. Just…interesting.”

Starscream laughed. “He has figured some angle on you, too, now, Blackout. Welcome to the club.” He lifted part of his injured leg out of the tank to inspect the progress. “It is not, unfortunately, a very exclusive club.”

“What else you want to know?” Blackout said. Unhappy, but trying to mask it. The problem with Barricade is he made everyone second-guess themselves.

“So you caught the cycle bot attacking Dead End?” Barricade waited for confirmation. “Why was she attacking him?”

“He trumped up some obviously false story about rescuing me,” Starscream said. “No truth to it.” He studied the progress on his new hand. “Then he suffered an unfortunate reboot. I suspect that the experience of actual combat overloaded his circuits.”

“I see.” Barricade said, neutrally. “And Ironhide?”

“Blackout blindsided him.” Starscream said pointedly.

Blackout shot a ‘yeah, thanks’ look at Starscream. “He and Starscream would still be swapping insults if I didn’t move things along.”

“And you would still be swatting at Prime.” How dare Blackout impugn his warrior abilities?

“You had nothing to do with—“

Barricade cut them off. “On task, please. What were you discussing with Ironhide?”

“The cycle bot, actually.”

“Really?”

“You think I would fabricate such an insignificant detail?”

“Not at all. It’s just,” Barricade smirked, “…interesting.”

Starscream frowned. He broke eye contact with Barricade, engrossing himself in testing the mobility of his new digits. After a moment, he looked up at Blackout. “Have you received basic repairs?”

Blackout shifted uncomfortably. “Have to wait until the rotor’s ready.”

“Not for that coolant line.”

“It’s been patched.”

“Patched is not sufficient.” Starscream plucked one of the repair bots off his hand and tossed it at Blackout. Blackout caught it awkwardly, the little bot’s limbs swinging wildly.

“Don’t want your charity.” He tried to put the repair bot down, but the little bot, catching sight of Blackout’s injuries, struggled to climb up the copter’s torso.

“It is not charitable, I assure you. It is a dereliction of duty for a warrior to not be in fighting condition at all times.”

“You think he believes that?” Barricade interjected. “Real reason’s something else. Isn’t it?”

“Stay out of the business of warriors,” Starscream snapped.

“Always did overestimate your importance in the scheme of things,” Barricade replied, calmly.

“Have you learned what you wanted to know?”

“More, actually.” He turned, pausing so Blackout, still trying to scrape the repair bot off him, could step out of his way. “Be in touch if I need more information.”

Ooohh I am liking your 'Cade

Carriemus Prime wrote:Ooohh I am liking your 'Cade

definitely Same here!

I feel a bit sorry for Starscream though

If the repair bots start seeming a little anime-style moe, I can only blame it on the five hour Ouran High School Host Club marathon I was watching as I wrote this scene.

Watch for some trust manipulation here.

Two sections today, in case you want to barf at the sweetness of Flareup. Blackout's here to help.


VI.

The repair bots’ frightened alarm hit his comm as Barricade was making his way back to RB Beta. Not the most articulate creatures in the best of situations—apparently fear knocked out what little sense they had. Barricade stepped up his pace, just below a run. Short bots who ran got laughed at, he’d learned the hard way. He didn’t have to learn the same lesson twice. Unlike some bots he could name.

He cycled through the repair bay doors to the sound of repair bots squealing. Most of them huddled along one wall, clicking and fretting nervously over one of their own who laid limp and unmoving.. One or two still bravely attempted to approach the cradle where the cycle bot was adding her own gratuitous decibels to the general din.

“Get away! Get away!” she shrieked, swiping the air in front of the approaching repair bots.

“Stop,” Barricade said, calmly. The repair bots froze in position, just like they practiced in countless drills. After a cycle, Flareup stopped swinging and squealing. She looked up at Barricade with liquid-glossed eyes.

“Please keep them away from me.” Her voice trembled. Good. She was already looking to him for help.

“They will not harm you,” he said. He signalled the cluster on the floor. They picked up their fallen comrade and scuttled off into a side room. Barricade picked up one of the ones that had been trying to approach Flareup. Couldn’t fault their courage. If courage meant programming over common sense. “Repair bots are entirely harmless. See?” He let the bot clamber up his arm. It pricked up its entire sensor array, and snuffled its way up his arm, around his head, and down to his chassis. With a bleep of satisfaction, it got to work tightening a few loose bolts.

“I don’t care. I don’t like them.”

“Flareup,” he said, “They are here to repair you. Without them, you cannot be repaired. You need to let them help you.” Probably a good idea not to tell her that before she’d been brought back online, there’d been dozens of the things climbing all over her. Send her into permanent feedback loop.

“No. I’m fine. I-I don’t need repairs.”

He let the absurdity of her statement pass without comment. “How about one? Let one come near you. I will be right here.”

“They attacked the humans.”

“They were frightened. Just like you are. And the humans were invading their home. They had never seen a human before.” The repair bot crawled its way down Barricade’s other arm, where it busied itself testing the brake pads. He held up his arm. “You see it is not harming me.”

“But that’s because you’re one of…them.”

Big leap. Time to play on that Autobot sensitivity. “Flareup. Do you trust me?”

She faltered. “N-well, I don’t know. I guess so.”

“Trust me,” he said. He held out the repair bot. “I will not let it harm you. The instant it does something that hurts you, that will be the end.”

“Why? Why do you care?”

“I would like you to be repaired. It really is that simple.” More precisely, he hoped she was that simple. But the more things he could ‘give’ her, the more she’d feel that Autobot indebtedness to him. And the more he could erode the ‘evil Decepticon’ stereotype….

She still looked wary. “A warrior needs to be brave,” he added. Sometimes knowing Starscream’s ridiculous ideology came in handy. Like when he could spout entirely inappropriate aphorisms like this. And manage to sound convincing. In reality, just a bunch of crap cobbled up by those who were most expendable so that they could feel their numerous and painful deaths were somehow worthwhile. He supposed he didn’t begrudge them that.

She reached out for the bot, shrunk back, reached out again. The bot hesitated, and then jumped from Barricade’s hand onto her arm, where it began again, on full sensor snuffle. She watched it as it worked its way slowly up her arm, pausing to airblast grit from her joints, or dab protective primer on deep scores in her paint. “It kind of tickles,” she said.

“You do not have repair bots?” He knew the answer, of course. Time to test her honesty with him.

“No. Well, I’ve never seen any. We have medical bots, but they’re, well, like us.”

“Fully sentient, you mean.”

“Yes, and big. And they can talk. These can’t talk, right?”

“Not really. They can generate simple reports, but most of their communication is sensory. They are very primitive.”

“He seems to be enjoying himself. Oooh!” The repair bot popped up in front of her face, flashing lights in her eyes to test her ocular reflexes.

“Would you like me to stop it?” Stupid repair bot could have ruined everything.

“No. It’s okay. Just…startled me.” The repair bot bleeped at her and climbed up her face to the top of her head. It tapped delicately at the seams in her helmet, testing the joins.

“Not very well-mannered,” Barricade said. “But it is not hurting you, is it?”

“No. It is…weird. Normally I can talk to Ratchet.”

Barricade filed the name away. He knew most of the Autobot team on Earth, but this one was now safe to use. “You can talk to them. They will listen to commands. Such as,” he raised his voice a bit. “Right shoulder.” The repair bot scrambled off Flareup’s head and began investigating her shoulder joint. “See? Or if you have a priority to repair, like audio-memory. They’d get to everything eventually, but sometimes they get hung up on non-essential repairs. Normally we trust them to do their jobs. Can’t imagine they d have anything interesting to say, though.”

“It seems wrong, though. That they’re just…well, machines.”

A typical Autobot philosophy. Sentience for everybody. So everyone can enjoy the miseries of self-awareness. “Does it look unhappy or happy to you?”

“Well, it doesn’t look unhappy. Or ill-treated.” He hadn’t even mentioned that other bit of Autobot propaganda. Even Megatron didn’t stoop to beating up repair bots. But Barricade filed that bit away, too.

“And be honest,” Barricade smiled, “Does thinking really make one happier?”

She didn’t respond, watching the bot’s delicate multiple limbs at work. The creature was entirely focussed on its job. “I saw one of these kill himself,” she said, finally. “That seems like sentience.”

“Fear is a very primitive emotion. Directly related to survival.” That answer didn’t seem to work, so a moment later, he added, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“They get scared.”

Yes, Barricade thought impatiently. We just went over that. Fear. Primitive emotion. Self-preservation. He bit down on his impatience. “That is why we keep them here. Where they can feel safe. They would not function well in combat.”

“Maybe that’s best. That they don’t see fighting.” Barricade felt the quiver of another hunch. Get caught up in things that bother them. Classical projection.

“You do not like to fight.” He kept his voice as bland as possible.

“No one likes fighting,” she said. Barricade bit down a snort. Clearly she’d never spoken to those idiots like Starscream or Brawl. “But we have to do it.” Ah yes, this tiresome Autobot line. Tell you how much they hate fighting. While they’re kicking your ass. No, really. We hate this.

“Do you?”

“Yes. You have to fight for what you believe in.” Nauseating platitude. For the ones who claimed to be more ‘civilized’ it always amazed Barricade how they boiled their ideology into such childish feel-good slogans.

“Admirable,” he said, proud of himself for not choking on the sarcasm. “What do you believe in?” No matter how this played out, he’d have something to laugh about afterwards.

“I believe in? Well, in freedom, of course. Freedom for everyone.”

“What’s freedom?” He tried his best to sound wide-eyed and curious like a newly-evolving drone.

She looked down at him with something like pity. Doubtless thinking she was going to enlighten him. “Freedom. It’s getting to be whatever you want to be.”

“But you have to fight even though you don’t want to. Are you free?”

She faltered. “Well, yes. Because no one made me do it. I could have done something else if I wanted to.” She continued, changing gears, “And besides, I can say whatever I want. I have freedom to have my opinions.”

“As long as part of that opinion is that Decepticons are bad.” He flashed a quick, sardonic smile. “I’m sorry. I do not mean to distress you. But did you ever consider that if we had all had this freedom you speak of, we would never have come to war?” He believed that like he believed Megatron had a sense of humor.

Flareup froze, exactly the same as if he’d suddenly pointed a laser cannon at her face. Even the repair bot looked up for a moment before busying itself oiling joints in her frame.

“Never mind,” Barricade said. “Philosophy. Mere abstractions. Let us speak of something more pleasant. Perhaps you could tell me more about your sister?” It sounded heavy and obvious as soon as he said it.

“My sister?” She looked wary.

“This Chromia. You mentioned her last time. You are worried about her?”

“Chromia is tough. She can take care of herself.” Hrm. She was blocking him. Wonder why. Time to back off.

“I am sorry,” he said, though in reality he wanted nothing more than to shake her til her ocular circuits popped. “I did not mean to pry. I merely wanted to talk about something less worrisome. What can we talk about that will not upset you?”

She got a crafty gleam in her eye. So obvious. “I would like to learn more about your kind.”

All right. He’d give her a show. “Certainly. What would you like to know?”

VII.

Blackout tried to be philosophical. Since Starscream outranked him, his word was a lawful order. So he needed to get himself repaired. But Starscream didn’t say where. The repair bots in RB Alpha scurried over to him as soon as he came in, swarming up his legs as he walked through the first room—ambulatory—and into the second. Regen was even farther back. He could hear the soft hum of the motor that kept Sideways in stasis, when or until Megatron finally decided reviving Sideways was worth the energon. But in the cradle clinic, he found what he was looking for.

“Wish I could say you’ve looked better,” he said to Ironhide, immobilized in the cradle. “But I kinda like this look for you.”

The Autobot’s blue eyes glared at him, but he said nothing.

“Know you can talk, you know,” Blackout said.

“What do you want?” Ironhide snarled. “To look at me? Make fun of me? Fine. Go ahead.” Repair bots laid open the Autobot’s arm casings, working to patch or replace connections Blackout had severed when securing him for transport. Ironhide gestured down at them with his chin. “Enjoy your handiwork.”

Blackout tilted his head, evaluating. “I am thorough.”

“I’ve got some other things you can call yourself, too.” Defiant to the last. Barricade probably had his hands full with this one.

“Actually,” Blackout winced as a repair bot pinched the coolant line it was working on. “Didn’t come here for that.”

“That Barricade send you? Figured he wouldn’t be able to do the job himself. Call in someone bigger and stupider.”

If the insult was supposed to hurt, it misfired. Ironhide didn’t know much about Decepticon rank structure. “He didn’t send me.”

“That bastard Starscream, then.”

“No. Not him either. Surprise you to think I might have come on my own?”

“Why? Beating up an injured bot build your character?”

Blackout waited so Ironhide could see the insult rolling off his back. “Want to know why you do it. You know they don’t appreciate it. You know they hold you apart for being too good at it.” Blackout stepped forward, the light glossing across his face. “For liking it too much.”

Ironhide’s eyes shuttered. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure.” Disbelief crammed into that one syllable.

“They appreciate me plenty!” Ironhide insisted, his head rising off the cradle. “Right there, alongside Prime. Every time.”

“So he can keep an eye on you.” Blackout grinned unpleasantly. “No? Ever go solo?”

“Go slag yourself.”

The repair bots swarmed around Blackout’s feet, nudging him toward a repair cradle. He tried to ignore them, but they were pathetic in their insistence. “Fine,” he muttered to them. “Just something to think about, Ironhide. You know, while you’ve got all this time on your hands.”

*****

He let them push him into a cradle, wincing as they lifted his broken rotor out of the way. He would learn to endure this. He would. That was the one thing Starscream had on him—his ability to take pain. The one thing that separated them. It wasn’t brains. It wasn’t combat ability. It boiled down, simply, to pain. And maybe that Starscream was a little crazy. But if he ever wanted to make it up the ranks, he had to overcome this. He could feel the pain gnawing at him, making it hard to keep a thought together. Making it hard to concentrate. His whole world seemed to hover around the edges of the broken rotor. Such a small piece, not even the size of the palm of one of his hands, taking over his entire concentration. He had to master this. Else he’d be stuck where he was, like Vortex. A dead-ender. Happy to serve in the most menial capacity. Honor and glory beyond him.

“Ignore,” he barked at the repair bots, who had clustered around the rotor. “Coolant line priority.” They scrambled in different directions: some to get replacement line, some for more coolant. Two or three got to work lifting the access plates of his armor. The rotor throbbed in its socket, the sensors overheating from sending their signals without reply. What humans might call an infection, burning through his entire rotor system. Nothing to do but think. Sit here, feel it, get over it. Get on top of it. All right, pain, he said in his mind. Here I am. Here we are. Let’s go.

Lot's going on this time. I like how you've got into the Autobots psyche, challenging it it's good, especially the Ironhide scene, setting him apart very clever. Looking forward to more

i don't tend to pop up and shower praise in the fanfic section too often, but damn it hk, you've out done yourself. This is some really good stuff.

you really bring the scene's to life.

wow. truely impressed

[/awestruck]

Yay! More moe repair-bots! And now with added drone action! (Don't worry, Blackout again helps balance the cute factor).

VIII.

If Unicron can’t go to the planets, Barricade had decided, the planets would come to Unicron. No way even he could seriously consider letting an Autobot, even one as flimsy and ditzy as this cycle bot, wander the ship. She would not escape, of course. Very idea was laughable. But she might remember floorplans, locations, critical sites, that would she could exploit later. When/if she was returned to the Autobots. It might happen. And Barricade had to prepare for any eventuality. She might be returned. Surely they would do something to try to get her back.

And even if they didn’t, he could exploit it. The old ‘abandoned by your comrades’ approach.

So, she had to stay where she was in RB Beta. But drones were plenty mobile, and their novelty-seeking behavior made them easy to attract. They developed by seeing and experiencing new things—a drone, left by itself, would never evolve sentience. Sure, it was theoretically possible, the same way that Barricade could wake up tomorrow with a pink chestplate. Statistically possible. Improbable. So, what would be better than a little excursion to see a real life Autobot?

The dronekeeper seemed to appreciate the distraction, herding his charges into the repair bay with relief. “Can’t talk yet,” he said to Barricade. “Can show curiosity.” Barricade nodded. Just what he needed.

The drones clustered around Flareup, staring. She stared back a little apprehensively. “What are these things?”

“Drones. They are on their way to developing sentience.” Most of them would die before that ever happened, but why let the truth stand in the way of a convenient fairy tale? Might be useful later, depending on how this went, to point out that many of them would die their early and unsentient deaths at Autobot hands. “In a way, you’re helping them.”

“I’m helping them?” She turned her head back to them. Twenty drone heads, with blank, dumb eyes, tracked the movement.

“New experience.”

“Oh.” She turned back. “Hello,” she said, slowly and loudly. Barricade rolled his eyes. He didn’t say they were deaf.

A few bleated back, the random bursts of noise they had in place of speech.

She reached a hand out to them. All eyes swiveled to follow the action, but they didn’t move away or towards it, unsure whether to classify the gesture as a threat or not.

“What do they want?”

They’re drones, Barricade thought. They don’t want anything. Maybe the Autobots wouldn’t try too hard to get her back: she sure was set on a dimmer switch. “Maybe get to know you.”

She leaned over the edge of the cradle, arm still extended. “My name is Flareup. You want to see something?” She spun the wheel of her right hand, first slowly, then faster and faster until the air hummed through the wire spokes. She slowed it down. “Can you do that?”

Of course, being drones, they took it literally. One stuck his claw in her spokes and started pushing. The dronemaster grunted, pleased. At least one of them was showing some initiative.

This was swiftly devolving to the saccharine. Barricade felt a palpable relief when his comm buzzed.

“Barricade,” he said, shortly. His comm was filled with the same sort of panicked visuals and sounds as before. More repair bot drama. RB Alpha. Ironhide. “I will return,” he said, he hoped decently enough, and ducked out. The dronemaster nodded.

On his way to RB Alpha, he racked the surveillance footage of the room. Blackout, he thought. Curiously passive-aggressive choice. Not whom he would have expected. He’d have to have a talk with Blackout. If he hadn’t already been running hostiles on Ironhide, this could have seriously slagged things for him.

“Calm down,” he told the repair bots, as he crossed the threshold. Most of them had—a few at work on Blackout’s coolant line, a small team at work on knitting together the Autobot’s arm control cables and servos. A knot of them squatted between the two repair cradles, clicking unhappily. Almost as if they picked up on the bad atmosphere here.

Better show if I do it this way. He swung around to face Blackout. Repair bots were running an auxiliary coolant line from the ceiling, while they installed a new stretch of flexmesh line. Blackout’s right ventral torso plating, the side and front windscreens shattered, had been lifted off, and was being undented and repainted on the floor by the cradle. Without the bulky armor, Blackout looked…strange. A mass of cables and wires, as though he were made of snakes and tangled cord. Unsettling. But Barricade wasn’t here for that. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed.

Blackout levered his eyes open. “Repairs. As ordered.”

Barricade narrowed his eyes, waiting.

“Closest repair bay,” Blackout added, after a moment.

Barricade didn’t move.

“Wanted to get in his face, all right? Tired of their attitude. His especially.”

“Why?” Barricade’s voice was cool and neutral.

“Why his? He’s one of us. On the inside.”

“Is he?”

“Not one of them. Not really. Pacifist? No way.” Blackout’s hand twitched as one of the repair bots jerked the coolant supply hose against his rotors.

Barricade grunted. Blackout had a point. “Let me get this right. Trying to turn him?”

Blackout set his mouth, his eyes wary.

“Not a joke. Not a bad idea.” The other robot’s shoulders relaxed. Barricade looked over his shoulder at Ironhide, whose blue eyes glared at them from the unpleasant stillness of his repair cradle. “I you, though,” he added, under his breath so the Autobot couldn’t overhear, “I’d watch the hero worship of the enemy.”

Blackout’s eyes blazed furious red. He jerked up in the cradle, until his broken rotor snagged the plasmesh. With a sudden hiss of pain, he sagged back.

“Leave this to the experts,” Barricade said. “And get a sensor block on that rotor if it’s bothering you too much.” By Blackout’s hot reaction, Barricade decided there was something to why Blackout delayed that repair. Something he didn’t have time to investigate right now.

Good stuff! I'm going to need more popcorn

I really like where this is going =) Ironhide always did seem really aggressive for an Autobot, so your exploit to this is really a creative twist. No matter what happens in the story, your ideas are creative and interesting =D

Also, I love Barricade's reactions to Flareup's attitude and reactions

I look forward to reading your next update! **cheers**! =D

Oh, let's pick on Ironhide. And if you really want to be horrified, check in on Friday when we take a brief hiatus and see what our other Autobot friends are up to.

IX.

“Get him out of here,” Ironhide snarled, the minute Barricade approached him.

“Is this Autobot courage? Cowed by being looked at?”

“I don’t like him.”

“Doesn’t like you too much, either.” The fact that Ironhide was so vexed by Blackout’s mere presence showed that maybe the copter’s comment had hit home. Something to work with.

The Autobot narrowed his eyes. “Keep him away from me.” The threat was so empty it seemed to echo in the repair bay. Blackout had gone back to staring at the ceiling, thinking whatever a dumb brute thinks, Barricade thought. Probably going over his latest slugfest.

Barricade smiled. “Matter of time before you started asking me favors, didn’t I tell you?” Actually, he hadn’t, but Ironhide got the reference anyway.

Ironhide’s face flattened. “Fine. Leave him there.”

Barricade shrugged, insolently. “As you wish. I suppose this means you do not want me to check on your fellow Autobot.”

Ironhide’s face worked, as if he were chewing on frustration. After a long moment, he said, “When will these vermin be finished with their repairs?”

Barricade plastered a look of surprise on his face. “Something else for me to check on for you?”

“Want to know so I can strangle you.”

Barricade laughed. “You’re funny, do you know that?” Pride and ego down was working wonders. But used too much, a bot could get numb. Time to switch it up. Something he’d never expect. “So,” Barricade said, “where are you getting your energon from?” Since Vortex’s recon of Meteor Crater had doubtless been reported straight to the Autobots, even a simpleton like their leader would deduce that the Decepticons were after energon. Not exactly a secret. If Vortex had done a better job…if Megatron had sent Barricade instead…. But that was fantasy. This was reality.

Ironhide smirked. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, actually. I would like to know.”

“Yeah. Now that I know what you’re after, I’ll make sure not to tell you.”

“Look forward to the challenge,” Barricade countered. “That is, if you even know anything about it.”

“Of course I do. I told your imbecile over there,” he jerked his chin at Blackout, still splayed in the repair cradle, “I’m right there with Prime. Anything he knows, I know.” Barricade cocked his head, doubting. Ironhide growled, but got himself back under control. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?”

Barricade considered. “Think of it this way, Autobot. Say we wanted nothing more than to leave. We’ve had enough. You win. There is nothing more in this entire solar system worth our time. But we don’t have enough energon to boost off, and leave you and your little endoskeletals alone to do…whatever it is you do.”

“Yeah?”

“Just something to think about.”

“I’ve plenty to think about.”

“Such as?”

“How much I hate you.”

Barricade laughed. Hatred was a weapon that could so easily be turned on its wielder. “Me personally or us collectively?”

“Both.”

The repair bots interrupted with a bleep. They were ready to return mobility to Ironhide’s arms. Barricade nodded permission. “How about we talk about that while your arms cycle through their diagnostics?”

“How much I hate you? Not sure we’ll have enough time.”

“Make a good start, anyway.”

“All right. You. You’re a coward. You can’t fight anyone your own size, so you pick on the small and weak. Like the humans.”

“I was doing my job.” More to winning a war than punching someone. Autobots should have learned that by now. “Some jobs I like less than others.”

Ironhide waited, apparently expecting Barricade to respond more emotionally. “All right,” he said, after a moment, “your buddy over there.” One barely-responsive finger twitched toward Blackout’s repair cradle. “Also a coward. Also picks on humans. Couldn’t take me face-to-face.”

“Picks on humans?” That didn’t sound like Blackout. “Why do you care so much about the little meat sacks anyway?”

“I don’t. Worthless and whiny, the lot of them. But I do care about a fair fight.” He pitched his voice a little louder, guaranteeing Blackout would hear it. “Before we got here, you two, that’s all you did. Ran around and kill humans.”

Barricade looked confused. To his recollection, he’d only killed one of the damned things, when taking his alt mode. And Blackout, well, that didn’t sound like him. Suddenly, it struck him. “Ah, the human military base.”

“And others since.”

“Got in our way. They don’t get in yours?”

All the answer he needed flashed across Ironhide’s face. Apparently the Autobot didn’t think too much of his human allies, even the military ones.

Something to exploit later. But for now, he added, “Your arms should be online now.”

Ironhide looked down at his arms, and ran through a simple series of movements. Testing them. “They seem to work all right,” he said. “Control is slow, though.”

“Our repair bots know their business. Sluggish control may be due to the sensor block.”

“Why did you do this?” Ironhide lifted a hand.

“Any number of reasons. Mostly, because no one here is afraid of you. But also,” he smirked, thinking of the histrionic language Starscream had used in his report, “medical aid was required.”

“You’re not going to convince me you’re the good guys,” Ironhide said, flatly. True, Barricade thought, but it was working wonders with Flareup. “Repairing what you broke in the first place doesn’t make you civilized.”

“We could have left you merely with stabilization. I believe Starscream enjoyed that hospitality for several solar cycles.”

“Starscream. Pfuh.”

“Don’t think too much of him?”

“Does anyone?”

Barricade considered. He didn’t mind Starscream. He could work with him. Work under him, as well, if need be. Starscream, unlike Megatron, was manageable. But if he could keep hatred of enemy going with Ironhide…. “Not really. Maybe Blackout.”

Ironhide shot a look at Blackout, whose eyes had slitted open hearing his name. “Huh. He would.”

“Starscream must have done something worse than beat up on humans to get this level of dislike from you.” Good leading suggestion.

“Mmmph. Ignores humans, for the most part. Unless they are in his escape vector. But he always chooses the weakest target. There were five of us there at your stupid base. You know who he picked to attack? Girls. Two girls. Small.”

Barricade kept his face blank. “He didn’t tell me about this,” he lied.

“Not surprised. Chickenshit and a liar. You listen to me, Con. He went after two female bots. If that’s the grade of fuel in your second-in-command….”

“And while he was doing this, you were…?”

“Never mind that.” Ironhide’s fingers flexed into fists. Another point to file away. Ironhide tried to steer the conversation entirely away, “You going to give me my legs back?”

“They’re right there,” Barricade gestured at the Autobot’s numb legs. “But yes, the repair bots, or vermin, as you call them in all of your Autobot sensitivity, will be more than happy to.” And while they were at it, Barricade knew they’d be installing a few extra features. But that was his little secret for now.

This is the best section yet! Tense, you have played Ironhide well Can't wait for more.

I'm not much of an Ironhide fan, so I'm enjoying the mind games Barricade is playing on him Very clever, they are! =D

gogo Friday update! I can't wait to see how the Autobots are taking everything

Today brings us to the halfway point. Two sections, both short, though. We all need a break from Barricade. It's pretty much a Slide into Uglytown from here. You'll see what I mean right...about...now.

(Edit: I reversed the order of the two sections. Just to make you more uncomfortable until Monday).

X.

The repair bots had shifted their attention to undenting Starscream’s armor, particularly the ailerons. Prime had bent them, which had made the return trip…unnecessarily complex flying, always having to overcome the twist in his slipstream. His turbines had been damaged by the ridiculous governor Ratchet had installed, causing a loss of thrust, as well. All told, a miserable flying experience. The repair bots had reworked the netting on the repair cradle to access his engines. His new hand still gleamed too-newly, but it was responding well. He felt nothing more than an odd tingling—not at all like the excruciating pain of the metal shock he’d endured when his leg had been reattached. He ran a few dexterity tests with his new digits. It was all over. He could relax.

Except, of course, he couldn’t. His cheekplates still overheated when he thought of how Megatron treated him, and in front of others. He could feel Blackout’s respect for him ebbing, that he’d just taken it, not fought back. And Vortex…! Vortex was a walking cautionary tale of having the ambition beaten out of one: dully loyal to Megatron, as if he’d locked away the better part of his intellect behind some heavy armored door.

There had to be some median. Some line between facing Megatron’s unending malicious rage and being a cowed, unquestioning semi-drone. But what it was—Starscream couldn’t see it.

The door to the innermost room, the regen chamber, whooshed open, and repair bots ran, back feet first, into the room, moving a limp shape in red armor on a float. The head tilted over to one side, and Starscream could see the newcomer’s eyes flicker with crafty recognition. Dead End: Just what he needed.

“You,” Dead End said, struggling up on his elbow plates. “You owe me.”

Starscream’s eyes widened. “I owe you?” The words shattered into absurdity in the air.

“Both of you. You and the copter.” Making matters worse, the repair bots lifted Dead End into the cradle nearest Starscream.

“Blackout is your superior: you will address him with respect.”

Dead End turned sideways in his cradle, to face Starscream. “Fine. You and Blackout. If it weren’t for me, the cycle bot would have finished you both.”

“Amusingly improbable. Her weapon would never have penetrated armor at that range.”

Dead End’s face fell. Probably hadn’t thought of it. What true warrior does not study the weapons of his enemies?

“Additionally,” Starscream continued, “if we are to account for the saving of lives, I intervened when she had you on the ground. I saved your pathetic spark, if you must think that way. Blackout, as well, did not have to return you from the field of battle. He also, then, is ‘owed’ by you.” Starscream’s eyes narrowed. “If you insist on thinking in such unwarrior-like terms, you will never be a warrior.”

Dead End’s jaw snapped shut on his retort. Well, what could he say, thought Starscream. Best if he remain silent. Better still if his kind withdrew all pretense of being warriors. But right now Starscream would settle for Dead End shutting up.

He wouldn’t even get that. “What about the drones,” Dead End asked, finally.

“Drones are expendable.”

Dead End muttered something that sounded vicious. Starscream’s pride burned. He would not be spoken to this way, even sotto voce.

“Did you say something?” He did not even dignify Dead End with a name, not even an insulting one.

Dead End refused to meet his eyes. “No, Air Commander,” he said, unevenly. “I said nothing.”


XI.
The only thing Chromia had said to Ratchet since the battle had been, “You didn’t try hard enough.” She was awake; she was responsive; she spoke to Prime, though her voice was softer than usual; but it was almost as if she couldn’t even see Ratchet. Refused to see him, really. Ratchet accepted it, sitting numbly on the floor of the transport helicopter, staring at his useless hands. Why hadn’t he taken the shot? Either shot: he was grateful no one knew about the chance he’d had to take out Blackout. Blackout, who had beaten Optimus into a mass of twisted plating, then blown him up. The collapsing rubble of the tower keep had done almost as much damage as the incendiary explosion. All of which could have been prevented, if Ratchet had acted. If he hadn’t hesitated.

No one else knew. But Ratchet couldn’t forget.

Optimus would recover completely, given time and enough work. But it would be slow and painful, and every minute of that pain, every minute of delay, would be Ratchet’s doing. He wished he could take that pain for himself. He was the one who deserved it. He was the one who had hurt everyone at Bourzey—it was his fault Flareup was taken, his fault that Blackout had hurt so many others. His fault, even, that the little repair bot suicided.

And he had come through without more than a scratch on his paint.

What made it even worse (as if it could get any worse) was that it all came back to Starscream. He had been right. They had left him for days, doing nothing to treat his injuries. Nothing beyond the basic stabilization by the human engineers. And who knew, really, how gentle they were?

Ratchet had stabilized Chromia and Prime himself, hovering between the shift pallets they’d been laid on, to monitor for anything he could help. But after Chromia had overheard his short answer, “Taken,” to Prime’s question about the others, the silence had descended as if another stone wall had fallen on them.

He could hear them behind him, now, murmuring or moaning softly to each other. He just hoped Prime would be able to offer her some comfort.

Primus knew Ratchet couldn’t.

Yay I'm the first to read the update I am liking the twist with Ratchet's guilt good angle

A tasty treat for your Monday. INTERESTING things will happen on Wednesday, and Friday's one of my favorite scenes. Don't know why.

XII.

Barricade returned to RB Beta, preoccupied. Ironhide had plenty of friction points. Easy to overheat. Breakable, definitely. But he had to break when and how Barricade wanted him to. That would be the trick of it. And to be honest, Barricade’s pride was more than a little bruised from Ironhide’s digs at him not being a good enough warrior. He was supposed to remain neutral, distant. He was supposed to take insult and praise with the same cold neutrality. And he thought he’d managed to make a good show of it. But inwardly, he seethed. All his life, he’d been fighting that attitude—that size and killing power were the only measures of worth, of respect. That, at his size, with his lighter frame that couldn’t support the iridium-alloy armor of the heavier bots even if he’d wanted it to, he’d never be able to achieve. Bad enough to deal with it on his own side. Didn’t really need that kind of supercilious attitude from the enemy.

Maybe he was just upset that Ironhide was simply saying what he knew his own comrades thought, that some sort of tact or thin camaraderie kept them from uttering. It seemed to be what everyone thought of him. Small. Weak. This despite years of him proving himself—tough enough, valuable enough, ruthless enough. Thankless and ugly job? Barricade will do it.

But important work, he corrected himself. He had trust: a different kind of respect than brute force. Starscream had trusted him to find the Witwicky boy. And now Megatron had also entrusted him to interrogate the prisoners.

Or maybe Megatron didn’t trust him. Maybe this was a kind of test, of his abilities. Of his loyalties. Seeing how much things had changed under Starscream, Megatron was probably unsure how much had changed and how far.

Barricade heard a growl, realized a second later it was his own vocal processor. He drew himself up short. Stop, Barricade. Can handle this. Can do this. Prove everyone wrong in everything they’ve ever said about you. Know what you’re doing. Trust yourself. Trust yourself even if no one else does.

He rounded the corner to RB Beta. The dronemaster waited outside the door, his charges lined up against the corridor walls, eyes dulled to recharge position. The effect was eerie—like walking along a hall of statues.

He nodded at the dronemaster. Trust yourself, he ordered himself. “How’d they do?”

“Did fine. Good experience for them.”

“And she?”

The dronemaster rolled his eyes. “Treated them like fresh hatchlings. Had them singing at one point.”

“Singing?”

The corner of the dronemaster’s mouth twitched in distaste. “Some Autobot propaganda song. Chorus about peace and equality.”

“I am,” Barricade said, “so glad I missed that.”

“I wish I had.”

“Anything else to report?”

The dronemaster shook his head. “Have to say it was interesting seeing one of the females.”

“What you expected?”

“Wasn’t sure what to expect. Wonder what they use them for.”

Barricade shrugged. “Not even sure they know.”

“The drones sure liked her, though. Instantaneous. You saw them. Normally they’re a little standoffish.” True. Barricade had noticed that, but hadn’t realized it was significant. He nodded. “Anyway,” the dronemaster continued, “I have to get these back for routine maintenance.” He raised his voice slightly, “Batch 17324, awake.” Two dozen pairs of eyes flickered on. The dronemaster began shooing them forward. One of them, maybe two, began beeping a flat melody. The dronemaster shot a pained look over his shoulder at Barricade. “If you’re nice, maybe she’ll teach you that song.” He winked.

“I cannot restrain my anticipation.”