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“Is it a Turbohound?”
Optimus tilted his helm and squinted. “Maybe? I didn't think they had that many legs.”
“You sure it's a leg?”
“'Hide,” Optimus reprimanded.
“What? I've met these artist types before; pervs and weirdos the lot of them.” Catching sight of Optimus' displeased frown, the bodyguard grumbled, “I don't see you having any better ideas.”
Before Optimus could reply a sleek winged frame slipped into the space beside him. “Why am I not surprised to find you admiring Loyalty to Primus and Cybertron?”
“Is that what it's called?”
“Yes,” the Seeker said as he indicated a gleaming band around the neck of the statue. “If you look closely you'll see the names of all of Cybertron's provinces inscribed there. The star is supposed to represent Primus. The Turbohound with the wrong number of limbs represents the common Cybertronian.”
“Told ya,” Ironhide muttered quietly enough that only Optimus could hear.
Resisting the temptation to banter with one of his oldest friends, Optimus turned his attention to his new companion. “It's a very...thought provoking piece.”
The Seeker sneered. “It equates loyalty with obedience and subservience. It presents blind loyalty to government and religion as the ideal state for all citizens.”
“Oh,” was all that Optimus could muster in response to such a statement. “You're not a fan then?”
The Seeker crossed his arms across his cockpit. “If I hadn't met the artist I might be generous enough to see it as a quiet criticism of how the Senate currently conducts itself. Unfortunately Paintstreak is possibly the biggest sycophant I've ever met. I find all of his work repulsive on principle.”
“Good to know.” He took the three steps to the right which would place him before the next piece of art. “Is this another one of his works?”
The Seeker followed. “No. That is a flat surface our fellow patrons have chosen to discard their empty High Grade cubes on.”
Ironhide's suppressed snort of amusement did nothing to help the embarrassment which pulsed hot and heavy through Optimus' lines. “Is it obvious this is my first time in an art gallery?”
“Painfully so.” A genuine smile tugged at the Seeker's lip-plates before being brutally quashed back into a scowl. “Your first mistake was thinking people come to gallery openings for the art.”
“What else would they come for?”
The Seeker picked up one of the empty cubes and handed it to Optimus. “An open bar and the opportunity to delude themselves into believing they are more cultured than the commoners helping them get over-charged.”
Optimus looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, the rest of the guests were grasping long flutes of the best High Grade on the market and devouring them at a pace the wait staff were struggling to keep up with.
Optimus returned the cube to the pedestal. “If that is true then why are you not drinking?”
“I'm a rebel; it gives me a cheap thrill to remain sober while criticising the 'art'.”
A smile flickered across Optimus' own lip-plates behind his mask. “Would you mind if I joined you in your criticism?”
The Seeker's optics flashed across Optimus' frame before he turned and walked to the other side of the room. He paused half way there, his wings rising and falling in a clear invitation to follow. Optimus did as instructed; Ironhide acting as his silent shadow. The three of them stopped before a clear perspex box which was almost Optimus' height and contained a series of flashing lights. Pink was the predominant colour, although there was a fair amount of purple, black and gold.
“The Glory of the Pits of Kaon,” the Seeker said as he watched the light show. “The title is ironic: spilling energon for the entertainment of others is a practice without glory. Still, it was nearly banned from the gallery as many in the Senate don't understand the meaning of the word satire. In the end they let it in as they doubted anyone who saw it would see it as anything other than a series of flashing lights.”
Optimus shifted uncomfortably in the silence that followed. “Perhaps we should move on?”
“No. We're unlikely to be overheard all the way over here, and anyone looking at us will think we have become hypnotised by the pretty lights.”
“Okay,” Optimus conceded with a heavy ex-vent. “Thank you for meeting me Starscream.”
The Seeker didn't look away from the art display as he replied, “Your message was far too intriguing for me to stay away.”
“You seem to be the only one to have such a reaction.”
“That's because most of these Towerlings believe if they touch someone low-forged they will catch a rust infection or worse.”
“Ah,” Optimus said quietly. “So that's why half the Senate looked as if they were about to spring an oil leak when I offered them my hand.”
“Indeed. Idiots.”
“So you don't share their aversion to the lower castes?”
“Oh, don't get me wrong, if some gutterling I encountered on the street tried to touch me I'd take off his arm without a second thought.” A vicious grin twisted Starscream's lip-plates. “Then again, I could name a senator or two who have learnt the hard way not to touch a Seeker's wings without permission. I suppose you could say that I have disdain for the morons in every caste.”
“It almost sounds like you have disdain for everyone.”
The Seeker's grin turned wry. “You're not wrong.” His optics again slid smoothly over Optimus' frame. “I'm impressed. It usually takes mechs with twice your education three times as long to work that out.”
“Thank you?”
Starscream laughed softly. “I graduated top of my class from the Vos War Academy with the highest score on record for the final exam. I then went on to further study in the sciences and graduated with as many degrees as I could from wherever would accept me. A mix of high intelligence and lack of patience mean there are few who escape my contempt.”
“Senator Shockwave warned me you were conceited.”
Something softened in Starscream's optics. “Shockwave is a brilliant scientist with a soft spark and no concept of how to play the game. If he's not careful he'll end up dead, or worse.”
“The game?”
“The political game – the deadliest game you can play.” He paused for a moment. “That's why your people started that rumour you were looking for a consort. You want to find someone who can play the game, because you obviously can't. You want somebody to help you manoeuvre through this world.”
“How do you know I don't want a consort for their intended purpose?”
Starscream smirked. “You mean apart from your general attitude from the second the Matrix made you Prime? If you only wanted an interfacing partner you would have chosen a mech and approached them directly. Or had your bodyguard do it. If you'd tried to wield your power as Prime properly even the most backward Towerling would have seen you as a player and jumped at the opportunity to be Prime's Consort. Instead you left data bytes to let anyone interested come to you. I'm certain I'm the only one willing to invest in you. Everyone else smart enough to work it out thinks you're weak and that the Senate will find a way to end you before the end of the vorn.”
Optimus frowned. “So why are you willing to invest if aligning with me is political suicide?”
Starscream's optics dimmed as he replied, “Because you have something I want.”
“I do?” When the Seeker did not elaborate, Optimus continued, “You're an intelligent mech and the Winglord's only creation. I can think of little I could offer that you could not acquire on your own.”
“Flatterer,” Starscream accused, his brief smile not reaching his optics. “I've tried and failed to acquire it on my own. I could keep trying, but I'm running short of time. If you don't turn out to be a completely hopeless case then you're the best shot I have at attaining what I want.”
“Starscream...” Optimus reached out slowly for Starscream's shoulder, giving him every opportunity to refuse the contact. When his hand was allowed to settle lightly beside his vent he gently turned the Seeker towards him. “I know the nobility are not known for their honesty and you are use to guarding your secrets carefully, but if we are to form a partnership we need to be clear about what we want from each other. You are right that I want a teacher to stand beside me and help me navigate this unfamiliar political world. My dream is to make Cybertron a fairer place – a place where discrimination based on caste no longer exists and everyone is sufficiently fuelled – but I know I cannot achieve such a dream on my own. I need a partner willing to support me, who has the experience I do not in dealing with the Towers and their complex social hierarchy and customs. That is all I want from my Consort. That is all I expect from my Consort.
“Now, please, be clear what it is that you would want from our partnership. What I can give you that you do not have time to obtain yourself.”
Starscream looked away from him, directing his scowl towards the artwork. Optimus guessed he was not use to speaking his deepest desires aloud. From what he'd learned during his conversations with Senator Shockwave, doing so often led to somebody finding a way to use your desires against you. The nobility of Cybertron wore many masks to protect their vulnerable sparks.
Finding his courage at last, Starscream growled at the artwork, “All I've ever wanted is to be a scientist. To have the freedom to explore the universe and discover new knowledge. To be constantly challenged intellectually. I applied to the Iacon Academy of Sciences, Cybertron's most renowned place of learning, three times and three times I was rejected because I was a Seeker. Apparently flight frames are too stupid to be scientists. All my degrees from Vos are worthless to them. Meanwhile the Winglord is pressuring me to take up a military position, something I know will bore me to deactivation. He's made it clear that he's been indulging me these last few years in my scientific pursuits. After my last rejection he gave me an ultimatum: either I accept a military commission or I find a senator to bond to. The family business or political influencer. If I don't choose he'll cast me out of Vos and I'll have to choose which criminal profession I'd like to adopt to afford fuel.” He turned to meet Optimus with determined optics. “What I want from you is a place at the Iacon Academy and the guarantee of funding for whatever projects I choose to pursue after I graduate. Give me that and I will sacrifice my pride to play the shiny piece of aft on your arm.”
Optimus cycled his optics, more than a little taken aback. “That is really all you want?”
Starscream stared back at him, his gaze full of unwavering determination and more than a little hostility. “Yes.”
Inclining his helm, Optimus replied, “I would hope that it is in my power to grant it to you. I will investigate and speak to you when I have an answer.”
Starscream gave a curt nod, once again averting his optics. “The sooner the better.”
Optimus watched him for a moment. The flashing lights of the artwork reflected off the polished shine of his armour and gave him an almost otherworldly look. It was easy to see why Seekers were treated with a bizarre mix of contempt, fear, and desire. Starscream was deadly but truly beautiful.
He dropped his hand from Starscream's shoulder.
“I should attempt to mingle with the other guests. Thank you for your company tonight. I appreciate your guidance.”
He turned to leave, but paused when Starscream's hand flashed out lightning fast and caught his wrist. The Seeker gave him a calculating look, his optics again flashing across Optimus' frame. “Here,” he said brusquely as he shoved a dataslug into his hand.
“What is this?” Optimus asked, glancing down at the dataslug.
Starscream's smirk returned along with his earlier superiority. “I don't actually know anything about art. This is how I bluff my way through these soirées. Consider it a show of trust between two future partners.” With that he swept out of the gallery, gaining both disdainful and hungry glances from the assembled nobility.
Optimus examined his gift thoughtfully. “'Hide? Have we had anybody else respond to the invitation Jazz put out?”
“Nope. That Seeker is still the only one.”
Optimus hummed thoughtfully. “What did you think of him?”
“He's a conceited, short-tempered, underhanded little slagger who's only out for himself. He's probably exactly what we need.”
“You think so?”
“Give him what he asked for and he'll give you the key codes to the Senate.” He paused before adding, “I know he's not what you were hoping for. You wanted someone like Shockwave with a real desire for helping people. I'm sorry to say anyone like that ain't got the skills to do the job. We were only ever going to get someone looking out for their own interests. At least this one has an interesting motive.”
Optimus nodded slowly as he mulled over his friend's words. “Comm Prowl and have him start investigating the red tape we need to cut through. The sooner we get Starscream on side the better.”
“Oh, I think he might already be on side.” Ironhide grinned lecherously at his blank look. “He was checking you out Prime, and I think he liked what he saw. Add in that honest charm of yours and I wouldn't be surprised if that little gift of his also contains the access code to his hab-suite.”
“'Hide!” Optimus said, scandalised.
Ironhide laughed. “I'm only messing with you Prime. Now go cosy up to those over-charged fraggers before one of them gets suspicious.”
“You're a terrible friend,” Optimus accused as he made his way towards the other guests. Ironhide just laughed.