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If T3-X45 were being honest, he had no idea what the objective of this battle was. There wasn’t always time for a briefing, when they were called to mobilize. All he knew was that he had stepped out of a ground bridge into a forest, trying to dodge the guerilla tactics of the small band of Autobot scum that had set up camp on this miserable rock.
Visibility was poor, intermittent plasma blasts providing the only light while simultaneously filling the air with dust and debris. A Vehicon to his left – T3-V67 – fell, light fading from his optics before his blaster-scorched frame even hit the ground. T3-X45 ducked out of the way, finding cover behind a nearby tree.
There was a lull, blaster fire from both sides slowing for the briefest of moments -
And a blast, searing bright blue heat, throwing him back -
He found himself grateful for the dirt this planet was composed of – it gave way beneath him at least a little as he was sent rolling down a hillside and onto one of those black strips that served as the human’s sorry excuse for roads. He had barely come to a stop before something rammed into his side, an obnoxious horn blast grating against his audials.
Another dent to add to the growing list. Annoyed, T3-X45 shoved the whatever-it-was away, only realizing once he had sent it rolling over that a human vehicle had collided with him. It came to rest upright some ways away, the blaring horn replaced with a groan of metal and the faint tinkling of falling glass.
Raising a servo up to his aching helm, T3-X45 decided he could afford a moment or two to try and get his thoughts back in order before rushing back into the thick of the battle. It certainly didn’t seem like those slagging Autobots were planning on going anywhere any time soon, that much was for certain. He started running system checks as he raised himself unsteadily to his pedes, shaking his helm as he tried to clear the ringing in his audials.
A sound interrupted his internal grumbling; one much closer and much more out of place than anything echoing from the sporadic bursts of blaster fire nearby. It was high-pitched and warbling, not unlike one of those feathered creatures that seemed to fill the skies here.
Curiously, T3-X45 crouched down beside the pitiful little vehicle, peering through its windows as he tried to find the origin of the sound. It wasn’t from either of the humans in the front seats; they were slumped forwards against the crumpled dashboard, unmoving as their strange red fuel dripped slowly from a rupture in their lines.
The wailing cry continued, pulling his optics towards a strange contraption in the rear of the vehicle. He grabbed it by the trunk, tilting it up as he tried to get a better look at what was inside.
Shattered as the windows were his rough treatment, they were still holding together enough to make seeing inside the rear of the cab nearly impossible. T3-X45 finally resorted to tearing a door off the cab and pulling the strange contraption out. It was secured to the backseat with all manner of belts and clips, making its removal something that caused him more frustration than it should.
At the end of it all, in his servo was some sort of odd little seat, holding what may have been the ugliest lump of flesh he had ever seen. It was small, smaller than any human he had ever encountered, and very…lumpy, for lack of a better word. He all but forgot about the battle raging behind him as he tried to determine what could possibly be wrong with it, to be so small and deformed.
Although…two large humans, one tiny one. Was this the human equivalent of a sparkling?
“Disgusting,” T3-X45 said to the human sparkling. It didn’t seem to comprehend how unpleasant it was – unless that was the reason for its cries.
T3-X45 looked down at the mangled vehicle at his feet, the sight triggering a completely irrational twinge of guilt in his spark.
Maybe it did have better reasons to cry.
“Deceptions, retreat!” The grating voice of the Second in Command screeched through his comm, dragging him abruptly back to the present. T3-X45 all but forgot what he held in his servo as he folded down into alt mode, speeding to the ground bridge rendezvous coordinates.
Once before, he had managed to arrive at the coordinates just seconds too late; he had no intentions of repeating that mistake. Trying to hide from the Autobots while waiting and hoping another bridge would be sent to collect him had not been one of his favorite experiences.
The situation back on the warship was about what was to be expected, the same way things went any time a retreat was ordered. Lord Megatron was shouting, Commander Starscream was cowering, and Soundwave was seemingly ignoring them both, tapping away silently at one of the many consoles. Those of them that had been involved in the battle milled about, waiting for the show to be over so they could be dismissed back to their duties.
T3-X45 was busy hoping that this would wrap up soon when that horrible warbling cry started up again. He froze, abject horror and dismay vying for primary position in his processor as he very suddenly remembered the human sparkling he had forgotten in his chest compartment.
“What is that infernal noise?” Megatron thundered, his piercing red gaze sweeping over the Vehicons before coming to rest directly on T3-X45.
Even Soundwave had looked up from his console.
This was his worst nightmare.
Everyone else on the bridge seemed to have realized the source of the sound, as well, the Vehicons nearest him backing away as Lord Megatron loomed closer, with the sort of snarl on his faceplates that T3-X45 had only ever seen aimed at the Autobots – or Commander Starscream, on a particularly bad day.
His ability to speak failed him as Lord Megatron towered over him, his vocoder very abruptly incapable of producing anything other than static.
“Explain yourself,” the warlord growled, but T3-X45 didn’t know how he could, even if he managed to get his voice to cooperate.
Because there was no explanation for the tiny wailing human he pulled out of his chest compartment. Even if there were one, if he was the kind of smooth talker who could convince anyone of anything, the rage burning in the Warlord’s eyes all but promised he would be scrapped no matter what he tried.
“And just what did you hope to accomplish, bringing that…thing aboard this warship?” Lord Megatron growled, dangerously quiet.
T3-X45 wanted desperately to look anywhere else, but the warlord’s gaze was absolutely captivating, in the worst way. He was trapped, just as surely as if he had been pinned to the floor.
“I…” He tried to say, and immediately faltered, wishing he had never picked up the stupid human in the first place – slag that, he wished he had never bothered to investigate its cries. He was wishing for a lot of things at the moment, but wishes couldn’t change anything, now.
“Get rid of it! Now!” T3-X45 found he was still frozen; he didn’t know what Lord Megatron expected him to do with it. Try as he might, his processor didn’t seem capable of working it out, not with the warlord’s glare searing into him.
“Here?” Another Vehicon - miner class, one he hadn’t met before - interjected. “With all due respect, my Lord, do you have any idea how much humans leak when they’re squished?”
“I don’t care where, I don’t care how, I want that thing off my ship!” Lord Megatron rounded on the miner instead, and T3-X45 didn’t know whether to feel relieved that the Warlord wasn’t looking at him anymore, or panicked over the possibility that someone else might be in danger in his stead.
“Of course, my Lord, right away,” the miner said smoothly, activating a bridge and all but dragging T3-X45 through it.
He very nearly collapsed the moment the bridge closed behind them, only barely managing to keep a hold on the stupid human sparkling. The miner caught him as he stumbled, half propping him up for a klik before T3-X45 managed to get his pedes back under him.
“Woah, there buddy, you’re alright,” the miner was saying. T3-X45 was fairly certain he was anything but “alright,” but he refrained from saying as much.
He straightened up, and the other mech reached up to slap him on the shoulder, saying, “See! All good. For now, anyways. Can’t promise anything about a few hours from now, but that’s neither here nor there.”
T3-X45 had no idea what to respond to that – not that it seemed to matter much. The miner kept speaking, without so much as a vent between one statement and the next. “Why’d you even have a baby in the first place? Where did you manage to find it?”
It was a very long klik before T3-X45 responded; he had half been expecting the miner to keep on rambling, but he stopped, staring expectantly at him.
“Its…carriers crashed their car into me. They didn’t survive, but this did,” he said, holding up the little chair full of screaming fleshie. “I was trying to figure out what was making this awful sound when the Commander called for a retreat, and I forgot I was holding it when I transformed.”
By Primus, he sounded insane. Maybe it was better he hadn’t managed to get any of that out in front of Lord Megatron.
“And mechs say I’m forgetful,” the miner said, after a long, silent moment of staring at him.
T3-X45 knew that the opinions of some random miner were the absolute last thing he should be worrying about right now, but that didn’t stop him from silently despairing at the obvious judgement in the statement. He could feel himself wilt involuntarily, only barely managing to disguise his despair by looking down to the creature still wailing in his servo.
A silent transmission from Soundwave pinged his HUD, the text scrolling innocently across his vision.
“By the order of Lord Megatron: bringing any organic life forms aboard the Nemesis without prior authorization by a commanding officer will be grounds for immediate deactivation.”
It was decidedly poor comedy, the way the message framed the tiny organic that had caused it so perfectly. He turned his gaze away uneasily.
Unsure what else to do, T3-X45 stared blankly at the miner. The miner stared blankly back at him. His gaze shifted yet again back to the human sparkling – baby? – cradled in his servo.
“Well. Perhaps, once we get back, Lord Megatron will give you a chance to beg for your life,” the miner said, rather unhelpfully. At least he had the decency not to sound amused.
T3-X45 was well and truly slagged.
“This is your fault,” he grumbled at the tiny human. It really was strange looking, small and pudgy, smacking its stubby little servos at anything in reach. He wasn’t sure how it managed it, but its wails increased in volume, its scrunched-up face slowly turning bright red.
“Aww, come on, I’m pretty sure most humans can barely count as intelligent when they’re fully grown,” the miner interjected, shoving himself shoving himself into T3-X45’s space to peer down at the gross little flesh ball. “You can’t really blame it. Besides, look how cute it is!”
He actually cooed at it, holding one claw out to it. As disturbing as the action was, T3-X45 refrained from commenting on it. The other had probably saved his spark, at least for now; T3-X45 supposed the least he could do was let him have his moment. Besides, the action had seemed to have some effect, the tiny creature momentarily quieting as it grabbed at the miner’s finger.
“Why are you here?” He asked instead, before immediately realizing that wasn’t the right way to phrase his question at all. “That’s not – I mean, why did you help me? You might very well be slagged now, too. What if they think you were part of this?”
The miner shrugged one shoulder, attention still mostly focused on the human sparkling. “Anything’s better than maintenance duty. I’d much rather be down here on the surface than up there trying to work around whatever dramatics are happening on the bridge today.”
T3-X45 stared, once again at a complete loss of how to respond. Silently, he terminated any possible avenue of communications with the warship; whatever this conversation was about to become, he wasn’t sure he wanted to give Soundwave the possibility to hear it.
“Anyways, I don’t know if I’d worry about repercussions all too much. Most of the commanders couldn’t tell us apart if we carved our designations into our foreheads. Besides, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” the miner said, lowering his voice as he leaned in closer, “the big man hasn’t exactly been the most stable recently. I doubt he’ll even remember, come morning.”
T3-X45 decided to pretend that statement hadn’t been said. He had never heard it, and it couldn’t get him even more killed than he was already practically guaranteed to be. Activating his nav system, he tried to determine where this deranged miner had decided to send them; the sooner he could figure that out, the sooner he could get rid of this creature and pretend none of this had ever happened.
A change of subject was in order, he decided. “My designation is T3-X45,” he said, because that had to be a safe subject, at the very least.
“Designation: M6-8T5, officially. But, you can call me,” the other paused, seemingly for dramatic effect. “Speed Limit.”
“Seriously?” T3-X45 couldn’t help but deadpan. He had known Vehicons that took nicknames, often shortened versions of their designations, for ease of conversation. T3-X45 had never bothered; anything that had the possibility of making him stand out more to his commanders was not something he had ever wanted to be involved with.
Ironic, wasn’t it?
M6-8T5 shrugged. “I kept seeing it on human signs. It seemed important. Turns out it’s just their way of trying to limit how fast you can drive on a road, who knew? Anyways, it’s mine now.”
T3-X45 didn’t respond to that; what would he even have said? If there was one thing this mech excelled at, it was leaving him at a loss for words. He just shook his head as he finally managed to pinpoint their location – outside of some tiny excuse for a town in the middle of a desert.
“Soooo, what are you going to do with your new little friend, here?” M6-8T5 asked, drawing the ‘so’ out much longer than there was any reason to.
“it’s not my friend,” he snapped in response. “There’s a human settlement right over the ridge. It can be their problem.”
“We should take it to a hospital – it’s like a medbay for humans. They can take care of a baby,” M6-8T5 said confidently.
“Why do you know that?” T3-X45 regretted the question as soon as it was asked. Whatever the answer, he probably didn’t want to know.
“Human television is fascinating,” M6-8T5 explained. “And, the mines can be so horrifically boring, sometimes.”
“Right,” T3-X45 vented heavily. It took some creative cross-matching between his own nav systems, and the maps the humans kept stored on their ‘internet,’ but it didn’t take long for him to find that there was indeed a hospital nearby.
“Come on,” T3-X45 said, shifting carefully into his alt. M6-8T5 followed without question, causing T3-X45 some very conflicting feelings of both relief and dismay.
“Sooooooo, I was thinking,” M6-8T5 chattered over their comm line. “Your designation looks like Texas.”
“What the frag is a Texas?” He was only half paying attention to the other’s words; he had tilted his mirrors down, looking at the chair strapped into his back seat. The baby was quiet, at least, the drive seeming to have lulled it somewhat. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he would say, but he was starting to get used to the strangeness of the little creature. Maybe it was cute, in a rotund sort of way.
“It’s a state, not far from here, actually,” M6-8T5 explained helpfully.
That rang more of a bell; they had an energon mine in that sector of the planet, if T3-X45 wasn’t mistaken. He had spent a long, dull shift there once – it was all red dirt and canyons and low shrubs, not unlike here.
“Anyways, I was thinking,” the other mech continued, weaving excitedly back and forth and around T3-X45 as they drove. “Texas is just so much less of a mouthful than ‘T3-X45.”
“I wish you would think less,” T3-X45 said.
It was just his luck that the one thing that could have made his day even worse chose that moment to show its ugly face. An all-too familiar pair of vehicles turned the corner, the boxy silver faces embossed on their plating needing no introduction.
“Autobots,” T3-X45 hissed anyways, hating this day more and more with every moment that passed.
They couldn’t call for backup, and, by the way M6-8T5 immediately peeled off, drawing the two wheeler away and down a side street, they both knew it. At the moment, T3-X45 was at least clinging to the faint hope that Lord Megatron would forgive – or at least forget – his transgression. Calling for anything less than a bridge back to the nemesis would only alert their commanders to their failure to immediately dispose of T3-X45’s mistake.
The only way he could better ensure he was turned into scrap metal was to bring the baby back onboard the warship.
“Don’t worry, buddy! I’ll keep this one busy!” M6-8T5 was saying, because apparently not even a fight was enough to quiet him. “You just get the baby to the hospital!”
Ah, yes. “Just.”
He sped up, screeching around a corner as the big green autoboot fell in behind him. With the sudden change of pace, the tiny human strapped into his back seat had started its cries again. As much as T3-X45 was trying not to care, he knew that transforming and attempting to engage in battle would only put it in more danger, and it had been through more than enough already.
T3-X45 knew this Autobot, of course. He had seen him take out comrades with a single strike, on more than one occasion. He was strong, but he wasn’t fast – not even in his alt mode. The hospital wasn’t far; if he was careful, and kept on the accelerator, he could make it there without ever having to engage.
Like everything, that seemed easier said than done.
He dragged his route out, making unnecessary turns, a loop around a block, a sudden 180 to speed back the same way down a street – anything to try and gain precious seconds on his pursuer. Despite his efforts, his Autobot tail proved to be all but impossible to lose.
He was driving too carefully, trying to protect the tiny life form in his back seat. But he had to, didn’t he? What was the point of any of this, if the stupid sparkling didn’t at least make it back into human hands alive? He may have well have just squashed it as soon as he stepped through the ground bridge, otherwise. He sped on.
The hospital was smaller than he had expected, a plain beige building with a brightly lit plaza in front. In all his time on this planet, he didn’t think he had ever been so relieved to see anything.
The realization that he had no idea what to do next was a horrible, sinking one. There had barely been a plan to begin with, and that was before the Autobots had begun chasing them. Speeding into the plaza, he tried to take advantage of the precious few moments he had before his pursuer found him again.
He spotted her, then, a human cowering in front of the hospital doors. One he had seen before, in Soundwave’s files on the Autobots and their allies; her name escaped him, not that it mattered. She was here, she was human, and she was at the hospital. That was more than enough.
Nearly to the doors, he slammed on the brakes and carefully transformed. It had taken more concentration than he was used to, but the baby was cradled gently in his servo. It had stopped its caterwauling a short ways into the chase, what should have been a relief causing him more worry than he had any desire to admit. Sliding to a stop in front of the hospital on one knee, he tried to put it out of his mind and focus on the human in front of him.
She shrieked something at him, the sound grating at his audials, words he didn’t have the time – or desire – to try and identify. He stooped down closer to her, extending his servo out.
“Help, please,” he said, depositing the tiny human on the ground at her feet as gently as he could.
It was all he could say before the giant green autoboot finally caught up to him, letting out a shout as he transformed. He charged forward, wrecking balls at the ready, pedefalls literally shaking the ground beneath them.
T3-X45 had no delusions about his chances in this fight. He folded back into alt, reversing off the sidewalk with a squeal of rubber on concrete. He sped out of the plaza, sliding around a corner and out of sight before the Autobot could begin firing at him again.
“Hey, buddy,” M6-8T5’s voice crackled through his comm. “You know I’m just having loads of fun getting this two wheeler to chase me round the block, but is there any chance we can wrap this up soon? I think she’s starting to catch o-ah!”
The transmission cut off with a sharp shriek, and T3-X45 felt his spark constrict. “M6-8T5!” He cried.
“Didn’t I tell you to call me Speed Limit?” Came the reply, not an astrosecond later. T3-X45 would have vented in relief, if he wasn’t currently busy fleeing for his life.
This was ridiculous. He’d always been a good trooper; what had he ever done to deserve this?
“It’s done!” He practically shouted over their comms. “Let’s get out of here!”
The green Autobot didn’t follow him very far, dropping off to veer back to the hospital as T3-X45 sped towards the outskirts of the town. M6-8T5 caught up with him soon after, reporting his own tail had done the same. Soundwave’s intelligence was always good, but in this moment, T3-X45 was especially glad of it; it appeared the human had been someone of importance to the Autobots, important enough to get them off their tail long enough to make an escape.
They drove a ways out of the town, stopping only when the town was out of sight, hidden behind an outcropping of rock. M6-8T5 unfolded with a whoop and a celebratory jump, punching at the air.
“Oh, man, that was awesome! She must have followed me around that block five times. Honestly, I never want to do that again.” The miner paused, looking him up and down quickly. “What’d you do with the baby? Did you crush it?”
“No, I didn’t crush it,” T3-X45 snapped. Did he seriously think he would have gone to all that effort just to crush the fragging thing? “There was a human outside of the hospital; the baby can be her problem now.”
“Oh, well, mission accomplished, then!” M6-8T5 said cheerfully, holding a hand up to him, palm out. T3-X45 stared at it, not sure what it was supposed to mean.
“The humans call it a “high five,” the other explained helpfully, noticing his hesitation. “It’s for celebration, see?”
As he demonstrated, T3-X45 realized he had seen other Vehicons make the motion, on occasion. He wondered how much of the warship spent their free time consuming human media. How did they find the time to? He barely even had the time to talk to his fellow Vehicons, not that he ever really tried.
Not since…well.
Suffice to say, he was busy. If he focused on doing his job, and did it well, he could avoid the unpredictable ire of Decepticon high command. That’s what he’d always told himself.
Speaking of which…
“Can you disable your comms?” T3-X45 asked.
“Oh, they’ve been deactivated since we got that ping from Soundwave,” M6-8T5 said, waving a servo dismissively. “You really think I’m going to talk scrap about the boss mech when there’s a chance of Soundwave hearing me?”
Well, that was reassuring, at least.
“Why are we fighting this war?” T3-X45 asked quietly, finally voicing something he’d been keeping hidden deep in his processor for stellar cycles now. He’d never even tried to put it into words before; the very thought of it feeling like treason, like he was calling into question everything the Decepticons had ever fought for.
Maybe things would have been different if he hadn’t been serving on Lord Megatron’s personal warship. Thanks to Soundwave, the very walls seemed to have ears; it had always felt to T3-X45 that not even his thoughts were safe from observation. He wasn’t sure what had suddenly changed; maybe M6-8T5’s flippant attitude towards command was inspiring. Maybe he had finally had one too many close calls with death.
Whatever the reason, the question had been asked. T3-X45 didn’t think he felt any better for it.
There was a beat of silence, enough to make T3-X45 feel like his spark was about to burn a hole in his chest. Had he misjudged things? He had thought, after what he’d seen of the miner, that maybe he would at least let him voice his fears, even if he didn’t understand.
But, maybe that was what he had wanted him to think. What if this was all just a set up? Had he not just been thinking that Soundwave seemed to hear everything, even thoughts? This could be how he did it, sending loyal double agents to seek out information.
Of course, this would be a lot of trouble to go to, just for one Vehicon soldier.
The silence seemed to stretch out for an eternity, and then -
“Oh, are we deserting now?” M6-8T5 said, gleefully tearing the badge from his chest and throwing it – and all of the delicate monitoring mechanisms it contained – onto the ground to crush beneath his heel. “Frag this badge, frag the mines, and frag this hologram generator!”
“What?” T3-X45 protested, throwing his servos up in confusion.
M6-8T5 didn’t seem to notice, pausing to contemplate the small device he had pulled out from his chest compartment. “Actually, I should probably keep this one. It comes in handy.”
T3-X45 didn’t know what to make of any of this. With the removal of the small device, M6-8T5’s appearance had changed – still clearly a miner frame, but he was green, of all things, and covered in…tiny pictures?
M6-8T5 noticed him staring and struck a pose. “You like them? The humans call them ‘stickers,’ apparently. We can get you some, too.”
T3-X45 didn’t respond immediately, the silence stretching long. “I was just trying to ask what you thought of the war,” he finally protested weakly.
He didn’t know how to even begin to address…anything happening here. There was a lot to process – like, where had a miner gotten a hologram generator? Why was he green? Why was his first instinct to rip the badge from his chest and crush it?
Actually, after a further moment of contemplation, he supposed that should tell him exactly what the miner thought of the war.
Also, T3-X45 didn’t think he wanted any stickers. They sounded uncomfortable.
He stared down at the shattered emblem on the ground.
T3-X45 didn’t think he wanted to fight anymore.
“Oh. That’s awkward,” M6-8T5 was saying, nudging the scraps of his badge with a pede. “See, with the whole ‘baby’ thing, and not immediately squishing it, I thought that maybe…” He trailed off, and T3-X45 vented heavily, sitting down to lean against the rock that sheltered them.
The other remained standing, fidgeting his servos nervously. He was completely silent, something T3-X45 had thought might be impossible for him. To his surprise, he found he rather preferred it when M6-8T5 was talking.
He thought over his vorns spent in the Decepticon army; how many friends he’d seen fall – at the hands of the Autobots, to deep-space monsters, equipment malfunctions…to shows of rage or clear neglect by their superiors. The Vehicons had been designed to be expendable, indistinguishable, and easily replaceable. It was the message they were all given, from the day they were brought online. Thinking of those fallen, voices and personalities and designations clogging up his memories…
He turned to look at the miner beside him, scuffing his pede in the dirt. At some point over the course of T3-X45’s crisis, he had started speaking again, though T3-X45 wasn’t sure if it was to him, or to himself. It didn’t much matter wither way; the miner was definitely the talker T3-X45 sometimes wished he could be, with the personality to match.
Expendable, his tailpipe. Megatron could take his “easily replaceable” scrap and shove it up his fusion cannon, where it belonged.
“I guess I can just tell them I fell, or something,” Speed Limit was saying dejectedly. “I mean, you won’t tell them, right?”
“Speed Limit?” T3-X45 said, startling the other out of his dismayed ramblings.
He pulled his own badge from his chestplate, the delicate mechanisms contained within giving a satisfying crunch as he squashed it in his servo, tossing the crumpled remains onto the ground, beside Speed Limit’s own.
“Frag it all. Let’s defect.”