Chapter Text
On the night after his meeting with the Elonian Ambassador’s mate, when Optimus had come to him in their berthroom and admitted what neither he nor Jazz had wanted to say, Megatron had asked a simple question.
"Well," he'd said, "I can tell you all I've discovered, and all I've done. But how much would you really like to know about what I have planned?"
And Optimus, in that wise way of his, had said: "I won't ask you to do what I can't yet."
"And what can you say?" Megatron had asked then, not for the direct answer but for a reason.
And Optimus had replied: "I won't lose you, and I won't endanger our team. I have scheduled an unsanctioned ride off this planet, and that's all I am willing to say for now."
Megatron had smiled and said: "Wonderful. So have I. I love redundancy."
And that had been that.
Megatron trusts Optimus's intentions to a considerable degree, which is why it is so impressive that he trusts his skills even more. If Optimus claims his ride, whoever or whatever it may be (and Megatron has some opinions on this), will get them off Inquila tomorrow afternoon, then it will. And if, somehow, Optimus has misplaced his trust, Megatron is even more convinced of Optimus's ability to survive. Megatron trusts his own plan as well, naturally, and his ability to keep the embassy staff alive long enough to escape. Redundancy. He does love it.
They are in Optimus's office, just after midnight the day before the afternoon when Optimus's mysterious ride (could he have contacted the Lost Light, the one that escaped? No, Megatron had never told him of it) will collect them.
"Are we absolutely sure of a conspiracy against this embassy?" Tungsten is asking. "Leaving guarantees the loss of any protection the Inquiek might provide."
"I'm sure enough." Jazz is leaning against the corner of Optimus's desk, working his jaw in clicking circles. "’Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence. Three times is enemy action,’ to quote the boss. We can either hole ourselves up in here or take it on the run. I like the flexibility of getting gone."
"We have no back-up," adds Optimus. He is sitting behind his desk, chair spun out to face halfway between Megatron and the wall. "I would rather ensure everyone’s safety by evacuating. Our choices are to stay here tonight and tomorrow night, or to leave now for the safe-house Megatron has procured and await pickup there. Tonight's failed assassination may inspire further action from whoever ordered it-"
"The Black Box Consortia," says Jazz, with confidence. Both Megatron and Optimus nod and accept this, and personally Megatron also finds it the most logical conclusion.
"-or encourage action from opposing forces," continues Optimus. "If there is some subset of the Inquiek government working with the Galactic Council to capture any of us in an extra-judicial manner, now would be a strategic time for them to strike. I believe removing ourselves from Inquiek hands as quickly as possible is our best option."
"Seconded," agrees Megatron.
And so they have a plan. It goes something like this:
1. Evacuate the Embassy (Preferably, without their movements being reported back to the Senate Chief and the Chief of Planetary Affairs).
2. Get to the safe-house Megatron had fortuitously procured from the Secretary of Alien Affairs.
3. Depart on Optimus's ride (Ideally, without getting shot down).
4. Arrive on Waleria in time to meet the Alimenta, set up a shield generator, and begin energon processing.
5. Skedaddle on Megatron's ride, taking the Galactic Council's attention with them. And-
6. Hopefully go home
It's a decently solid plan, if one with some wiggle room for the disasters (and saving graces) undoubtedly still hidden up everyone's sleeves. Megatron has a feeling Optimus's mysterious ride is being kept secret for a reason, though Megatron is, perhaps, seeing his own guilt in that. But Jazz will have something up in that processor of his, Megatron does not doubt that. Whether it be disaster or saving grace (or both), Megatron expects he'll find out soon enough.
Their plan, decently solid as it may be, faces two substantial and immediate problems: firstly, that they've already caused quite a scene, and have as such acquired a front yard's worth of Inquiek responders; and secondly, that they happen to have with them quite a few mecha and an Inquiek schoolboy, which is too large a posse for an effective escape.
"And there's no reason not to think the Secretary won't just funnel us into a holding station," adds Jazz.
"Well," replies Megatron, mildly miffed, "if she does then our plan is destroyed on a fundamental level. There is no sense trying to alter the plan for such an incident - we will need another entirely."
"Is she trustworthy?" questions Optimus. "I mean, I suppose the bomb thing-"
"The bomb thing?" whispers Tungsten. Jazz sighs.
"We have the press at our front door, Ila downstairs, and 12 people to get to District 3," Megatron declares. "So let’s focus on that."
"13." Jazz crosses his arms defensively. "Talia is still downstairs."
"13." Megatron in-vents.
"And Shobu," says Tungsten. "Downstairs, remember? Or, well, not to bring. But to deal with."
Optimus taps his fingers on his desk, one two three one two three four, and then, after the second fourth, he says "There is no sense hiding in here under the guise of planning. Snowbank is likely being overwhelmed downstairs - I will handle him and the Inquiek. Jazz, pack emergency bags and deal with the student. Megatron, rustle up the second floor, and quietly. I don't need Ila looking up and seeing 10 Cybertronians with duffel bags. Then escort Shobu out of the building; I can't see a reason to add her to our evacuation list. Tungsten, secure the side and back of the property. Firmly escort any strays to the driveway. We are going to need some way out." With that he places his hands firmly on the desk and pushes himself to his pedes. Then he opens his desk drawer, pulls out his quill box, and passes it to Jazz. "Please put that with my stuff."
"Sure," says Jazz, "but you are forgetting something."
"Yes?"
"The Stentarian - or rather, the chameleon pretending to be the Stentarian girl.”
“Leave it,” says Optimus. “We have enough to juggle as it is, and we will need all hands on deck. Our escape will make her presence on this planet irrelevant to us, and I have no great desire for revenge against a failed attack.”
“Well I do,” mutters Jazz. “But fine. We'll leave it and hope it doesn't stab us in the back.”
Megatron is happy to find that he doesn't particularly care for revenge either, in this instance. Perhaps if it had truly been Shobu…
“Get to work,” Optimus orders, and so they do.
They've crossed into the realm of real disaster, and in doing so they've unlocked a magic power in Optimus. Tungsten opens the office door and as Optimus steps over the threshold and is met with the low bubbling roar of an embassy in distress he transforms. A tired conjunx raises his right pede and a stalwart commander sets it on the floor. Megatron wishes the same would happen to him, but instead he gains only the strong urge to drink an engex-shaken and fuss the staff into an orderly evacuation line.
He watches Optimus descend to the second floor in a stupefied state.
"I like when his shoulders get like that," Jazz whispers. He has stepped to Megatron's side on the third floor landing.
"Hm?"
"Ya know, ready to tackle something, instead of all…nervous. You know how he gets.”
"I was usually the tackle-ee,” says Megatron. “I like that mood too.” Saying that, he feels some moving-thrill well up within him. He grips the banister and leans forward to peer at the second floor. Jazz heads back into their rooms to fetch the emergency packs.
Anticipating the ruckus he is about to walk down into, Megatron makes a quick call to the Secretary.
"I'm sorry to wake you," Megatron tells her. "But we are experiencing an unfortunate situation here at the Cybertronian Embassy, and I would like to have the presence of an Inquiek friend to help ease our worries."
"No need to apologize," replies the Secretary slowly, and there is an additional pause as she likely pulls up the news. "I can see," she says after. "An intruder? Are you physically safe?"
"Yes, but your company would be appreciated."
The Secretary naturally understands his desire not to speak openly over the phone. "Of course. I will be there shortly."
She hangs up, and Megatron sets off down the stairs. As he walks, he makes lists. Optimus, Jazz, Megatron, Tungsten, Pickaxe, Snowbank, Fiber, Alloy, Dicer, Killjoy, Grinder, Highpass, and Talia. 13 people to evacuate. He needs to get them packed, handle Shobu, and discuss plans with the Secretary.
He is thinking of these things, and calculating the arrival time for the Secretary, and planning the most effective route for his to-do list, as he reaches the second floor and begins to turn each curious mech around and send them off to their rooms. They'll have an hour or two to depart, he assumes, giving the Secretary time to work and Optimus time to clear the ground floor.
"Pack your bags," he tells Dicer. "Then one trolley for emergency rations. Fill people's subspaces. Feel free to stick your fingers in and make room. Don't go downstairs until it has been fully cleared." And he turns her about and back to her room, and as she enters Highpass exits, looking a bit put out at being woken by sirens. Megatron turns him around next. Then he continues down the hallway, turning each curious staff member by the shoulder and returning them to their rooms with promises of fuller explanations later.
He finds Alloy in front of the last door. Alloy hikes a thumb over his shoulder, pointing through the doorway, into a room occupied by a wide-eyed Inquiek boy.
"I've got the kid," says Alloy. "What do I do with him?"
"I believe we are going to have to take him," says Megatron. "I suppose...did we collect his things last night?"
Before Alloy can reply, Jazz has materialized by his side. "I'll handle this," he says, in that determined, honorable Autobot sort of way. Megatron has no great desire to handle another Inquiek youngling, and gladly hands the task over. Anyway, it might do to keep Jazz from running off.
"I will keep you updated on the plan," he tells Jazz, who nods and steps into the room. Talia, whose feathers are straight and erect and whose eyes couldn't possibly grow wider, looks like a prisoner awaiting execution. He has woken up in a strange house after his friend's murder, and Megatron imagines fear will be his primary emotion for quite a while yet. What a mess.
He receives a comm from Pickaxe. ::Hey, ETA on coming down here? Shobu is looking real terrible, and I'm getting antsy protecting the kitchen.::
Megatron has reached the end of the left side of the hallway, which is now empty of mechs - he had manually steered every occupant back inside their rooms. The hallway is a horseshoe; he returns to the stairs unbothered, and as he does he lets out a deep sigh. He practices a technique Rung had suggested, feeling the floor rise through his pedes and up to his chest and out with an ex-vent. The only issue is that he can never quite remember what the exercise was for, though it seems to work half-decently as a distraction for lulls between action. He completes the second hallway, then walks down the stairs.
Megatron finds Shobu in the kitchens, where Pickaxe had squirreled her away under Tungsten's orders. She is cradling a cup and looking about nervously. Dicer is half inside the walk-in icebox, pulling out and stacking ingredients, and Shobu's optics dart to her and back again a few times before they catch on Megatron.
The door swings shut behind him, but does little to muffle the energetic conversation between Snowbank, Optimus, and Ila.
"Shobu," Megatron greets. "You did not have to come here tonight." It is not a reprimand, and neither is it a question. He is trying for something more akin to gentleness in his tone. Shobu's head feathers ruffle.
"I got a call," she whispers, glancing at Pickaxe and Dicer, and back to Megatron again. Megatron nods, and Pickaxe bows and leaves the room. At the moment of silence that follows, Dicer turns, meets Megatron's optics, and steps fully into the ice-box, which shuts behind her.
Megatron pulls one of the Cybertronian stools across to the Inquiek side and sits down beside Shobu. "What kind of call?"
"From a friend, from my old job." Shobu's claw-like hands shake, and her cup trembles with them. "They said that during the evening there was an emergency meeting. The Senate Chief was there! And she was curious about it, so she pressed her head to the grate."
Shobu pauses there for a moment, and Megatron dutifully nods her on. As he does, his attention is drawn back to her trembling hands, and they upset him. He reaches one servo forward and wraps it around her wrist and claw. She looks down at this touch blankly, then seems to accept it, and continues on.
"She didn't catch much of it. But she knows they mentioned you and your mates."
It seems to Megatron that the most logical conclusion would be that they had intercepted word of the assassination and were discussing whether or not to order Sonum in to prevent it. He doesn't tell Shobu this. "We experienced an attack," he informs her. "I'm sure that is what they were meeting about."
But Shobu shakes her helm. "No," she whispers, in that hitching young voice of hers. "Well, maybe. But then why would they be talking about me?"
Megatron leaves Shobu in the kitchen with Pickaxe, to whom he comms strong orders not to leave the girl's side. He'd prefer to send her to the third floor, in fact, and is suddenly over-aware of the several entrances to the kitchens and the first floor, but he does not want to alarm her further. The shaking had not resumed when he had lifted his servo, not after he had promised her safety, a promise that he could not keep. But she had believed it, and though he might have been concerned about such lies before, he finds he has had a change of spark.
So he leaves her under Pickaxe's care and excuses himself to the back door, outside of which the Secretary of Alien Affairs’ guard has taken up his post.
Megatron slips outside with no fanfare, the first floor now mostly deserted, save for Optimus who has pushed Ila to the front door and Dicer, who moves from the stairs to the kitchen. The back garden is almost deserted - Tungsten had ordered Payla to guard the sides from any errant reporters. But, while it may appear empty, it is far from secure. Megatron allows the guard in, and behind him follows the Secretary.
It is easy enough to get her up to the third floor, now that Snowbank and Optimus have emptied the place of Inquiek. They don't say anything until they are in Optimus's office. Megatron pulls out one chair and braves the broken one himself.
"I had no intention of ‘calling in the favor’ so soon," Megatron begins, once settled. "But I hope you can agree that the situation calls for it."
The Secretary huffs a laugh. "It certainly does," she agrees. "Your Embassy is compromised. My sources claim this was the work of a BBC spy. Do you corroborate?"
"We believe it was a BBC attack."
"The housemaid, they claim. Shobu."
Megatron freezes. "The house- no, no." Shobu's conversation is piecing itself together. "No, it was not. What benefit would your government get from claiming that it was?" This he asks quietly, and mostly to himself.
The Secretary's face pinches together. It serves well enough as a response.
"We need short-term housing," Megatron says decisively. "One day. One night. Is the house prepared?"
The Secretary nods. "I took the liberty of making some calls on the drive over. I can transport you there tonight. I assume that is the request?"
"Indeed." Megatron pauses, then adds. "For the entire embassy."
The Secretary's head feathers dance. "Ah," she says. "You are not expecting to return."
Megatron shakes his helm. "I will continue to provide my expertise as required. As per the agreement."
"I will make some additional calls. Limited luggage, I would suggest. I have appropriated you a train car. A single train car."
"Understood." Megatron can't imagine his war-veteran staff will complain much about the conditions of their emergency evacuation. Well, no, they might complain to great lengths, but never with any stubborn refusal.
The Secretary pulls out a communication device with the sort of obviousness that implies Megatron ought to leave for politeness' sake. But he has something he needs to ask first.
"The first day we met," he begins, and then pauses for a second, rethinking, before he continues. "You told us you felt there were certain members of your government that are...'more afraid of their own downfall than concerned with the Inquiek people'. I have two young Inquiek who...might be among those people whom certain individuals may be less concerned about."
The Secretary lowers her communicator. "The housekeeper."
"And a student."
"I-" The Secretary pauses for a long moment. "Those individuals I referred to... they believe that it would be for the best if the Inquiek people were not aware of where the landmine you disassembled originates from."
And there, Megatron thinks, is where Shobu has had her bed made. The life of a housekeeper, one who knows far too much about the Chief of Planetary Affairs, is no difficult sacrifice to make, to keep the presence of BBC influence on their civil war quiet. The Secretary had said it herself - the Inquiek knew it had been the BBC who had sent the chameleon. It unfolds in Megatron’s mind: Sonum would kill the fake Shobu, perhaps he would have Megatron and Optimus’ helms to present to the Galactic Council, or perhaps he would have their trust. And Shobu could be thrown away with the rest of the Chief of Planetary affairs dirty laundry, the homegrown traitor. There is no BBC presence on Inquila.
"If you assist us in departing, Secretary, and grant safe return for the two younglings in our protection, I may be able to assist you in the other conversation we had. I have a great deal of experience in disrupting supply chains."
The Secretary's tail thumps against the chair leg. "I am sure our alliance will continue to be mutually productive," she says, and raises her communicator again.
Megatron returns to the living room to provide her privacy, and busies himself checking his go-bag, which Jazz had helpfully collected. He'll lose his table, he thinks. It had been a lucky find, and he'd had to bargain for it with deep-fried circuit chips - 12 bags for the table, 8 more for the chairs. The mech he'd bought them from had found them Primus-knows-where in the wasteland of Cyberton's underbelly, and had been afflicted with some strange processor ailment that had left him wanting only to live in a collection of empty imported oil barrels stacked like a mansion, multiple floors and all.
It doesn't matter, obviously. After he has confirmed that he can survive off of what is in his bag, he empties all of it into his subspace. His is larger than most, expanded during one of Shockwave's many experiments. He folds up the bag and sticks that, too, into his subspace.
The Secretary finds him in the living room just as he is stacking his conjunxes' go-bags by the door. "I have appropriated the required cars," she says. "However, my driver found it extremely difficult navigating onto the street. You are surrounded, I am afraid."
Megatron had anticipated such. "We will not be able to depart in these numbers from our doorstep," he tells her. "If you could have your drivers meet and stand-by, we will determine an appropriate location for pick-up."
The Secretary nods. "I will leave then. It was simpler to get myself in than it will be to get all of you out; I will not add to your number."
Megatron had learned a great deal about gratitude on the Lost Light. Mostly, he had learned that it is an annoying debt to have, but also a debt to be treasured. Now, with the worry in the Secretary's voice, he fears he has over-extended his reach. But there is a way to return their equal footing.
"Secretary," he calls, as she turns towards the door. "I have some information for you. I told you our partnership would be beneficial to the Inquiek people."
She turns her head back, eyes squinted in a questioning manner. He continues.
"Those weapons of unknown origin, I am sure you know they can be traced back to the Black Box Consortia. But perhaps this is new: they are being funneled through their Stentarian accomplices."
The Secretary blinks, her head feathers flicking back and forth slowly. It sinks in moment by moment; she mulls over the information as if tasting a bitter wine.
"They were suspected," she says, eventually. "I appreciate the confirmation."
Megatron understands how this information might be used - and how it might benefit his enemies. "There is more," he tells her. "Those colleagues of yours. They are not fighting against invasion from within, but for invasion from above."
The Secretary reacts the same as before, though for some time longer. And then she says "There is a difference between alliance and control. There are Inquiek dead. The Galactic Council has not gained a member in ten years. I do not intend to allow Inquila to be the next abandoned plaything."
"An honorable goal." Megatron steps forward, then pauses. "You are assisting us greatly, and I am very eager for action. Give me the location of the train tracks - we will handle the Stentarian problem. We won't have much more time to assist you."
The Secretary mulls over the offer for a moment, and then flicks her feathers. She doesn't say anything more, save her goodbyes.
Megatron escorts her downstairs. Before he can lead her to the back exit, Optimus comes in through the front. The door closes behind him with a shuddering thud, silencing the considerably dulled but still present whirring of activity from the front steps. He brushes his servos down his thighs as if wiping away nonexistent dirt, and then he beckons Megatron over.
"Our front yard is mostly clear," he tells Megatron. "Ila tells me she is going home. I expect we will have optics on us for a while yet. Do we have an evacuation route?"
"Yes, but we have 12 mechs and 2 Inquiek, and probably a dozen optics on the house at all times. We aren't known for being a quiet species."
Optimus nods slowly. "We will have to consult the expert," he says.
The Secretary watches this, then adds “We will have the cars pull up at another location. You may know this better than I - are there any adjoining embassies your mechs could walk to without alerting the officials in the front?"
"One second." Megatron reaches for his comm, only to be beaten by Optimus, who walks to the stair steps and yells out "Jazz!"
Megatron sighs. He'd never summoned his spies like that, but he'd never had to summon Soundwave at all - he had always appeared suddenly and with a knowing air about him.
Jazz materializes a minute later, leaning over the second floor banister, and Megatron explains the question.
"We could sneak out behind the bushes," says Jazz. "Could get as far as the Probat house."
Optimus grimaces at the mention of the guano embassy. Megatron has better things to think about.
"If we can get to the Probat embassy, it is only a few moments longer to the Elonian embassy," he says. "Have your drivers pull up there, Secretary, please”.
The Secretary's feathers flick. “I will make a call,” she says and so the plan falls together.
Optimus pulls Megatron to the side as soon as the back door shuts behind the Secretary. "Have you spoken with Shobu yet?" he asks, in a voice that betrays some fear of eavesdropping through the door.
"Yes," says Megatron, "We will be taking her with us."
Optimus nods. "I believe that is wise. We should take her to Waleria."
It does not necessarily surprise Megatron that Optimus would agree, or even agree so enthusiastically. But it does betray some new knowledge, and he tilts his helm and nudges with his field in silent question.
"Ila apologized for whatever role the Inquiek embassy staff might have played in the attempt on our lives.”
Megatron sighs through his teeth. "Is she actively working to place blame on Shobu, or was she purposefully misinformed?"
"Or do her bosses believe it?" counters Optimus. "I could not say. My instinct is that they would prefer a narrative about Sonum stumbling upon a plot by Shobu, the real traitor and spy. Ila mentioned fears that Shobu had been spying on the Chief of Planetary Affairs, perhaps even using an emotional attachment to get into his home. They, too, would be victims in that case."
Megatron nods. But this interpretation matches well with his instinct, a dangerous combination. "Or they are telling the truth and she is a spy," he says, "or they are lying and she is their spy, and this is their attempt to salvage it."
"Something you might have done. But I believe it is too complicated a ruse for the Inquiek government. They could hardly keep us here a fortnight before they lost us."
"They are losing us, but not yet. They still have time," reminds Megatron. "Shobu is either a plant or a young girl caught up in things too great for her. In any case, it is better to bring her along."
Optimus nods and begins to move away. There is a ping to Megatron's comm - a location tag. Megatron catches him by the shoulder and pulls him back.
“I need Jazz,” he says. “It's not for revenge.”
Megatron wakes Alia up, and easily receives permission to utilize their driveway. "It would be a pleasure to visit your government on Cybertron someday," she says. "To come as a friend of your mates...we could see each other again."
"It would be our great pleasure to receive you," promises Megatron, "when the opportunity arises."
In the past, Megatron might have made a false promise as easily as this, and thought no more about fulfilling it. But he takes pity on the Elonians, resource-strapped and under Galactic Council supervision, kept like children. And why shouldn't they have access to Earth, to Cybertron and her colonies? If they make it home, he will invite the Elonians to call on them. Hopefully Optimus will retain something close to influence. Hopefully the Galactic Council will allow it.
Afterwards, he returns to his wrangling. He follows Optimus up the stairs, but pulls off on the second floor to fetch Jazz from Alloy's room. Talia is sitting on the berth, twiddling his thumbs.
"Where is Jazz?" Megatron asks. Talia shifts.
"He said he needs to find something for me to eat," he replies. "I told him I could survive until the next feast day, but he says I might not see a next feast day."
The phrasing leaves something to be desired; Megatron hopes the message had not sounded so ominous in the Inquiek tongue Jazz had used to deliver it. "You might not experience one on Inquila for a while, but Waleria will have something for you to eat," Megatron assures him. "Did anyone collect your things last night?"
"Not yet.”
Megatron nods, readjusting his plan. "Come with me." He turns on his heel and exits the room, once more on a spy-hunt. Perhaps Optimus has it right, he thinks. A yodel wouldn’t take nearly as long. The thump-thump-thumps of Inquiek feet pad follow dutifully along behind him.
The Cybertronian staff are visible through the doorways of their rooms, small go-bags being packed and subspaces being stuffed, urgent showers being run, under-berths and closets searched. They peer over as Megatron walks past, Talia following like a duckling. Then, momentary curiosity sated, they return to their work.
Megatron finds Jazz on the first floor, shuffling through the Inquiek side of the kitchens. Shobu is watching him curiously, Pickaxe stands professionally to the side.
"Jazz,” Megatron calls. "Come here."
Jazz peeks up over the counter. "Yeah?"
Megatron removes his empty go-bag from his subspace and tosses it across the room into Jazz's hands. "Come here."
Jazz hops up and over, and meets them by the Cybertronian-sized counter. "Yeah?"
"New mission," Megatron says. "Take Pickaxe, Shobu, and Talia. Grab her things, then his - limited to necessities; Dicer will pack some food, and the safehouse will have more. Then meet us at these coordinates." He sends Jazz and Pickaxe the location. "You've got two hours. The late night train leaves with or without us. Go out the back."
"Righty-oh," agrees Jazz, almost cheerfully. Shobu and Talia look at each other, and Megatron realizes this will be the first time they've met.
"We are working on both of your safe returns," he assures them.
"Thank you," says Talia, unconvinced.
"Thank you," says Shobu, with total trust. Megatron sighs.
"Jazz, here a moment," he adds, beckoning Jazz forward. He walks to the door, Jazz trailing after.
In a lowered voice, he says "Direct them to Shobu's apartment, then slip out and handle the chameleon, please. Optimus has been read in."
Jazz grins, reaches up, and clasps Megatron on the shoulder. "Wonderful," he agrees. "I knew you'd find something appropriate for me to do. It's nice to have you on my side.”
Megatron pauses at this comment, long enough for Jazz to herd the group out the door, and even twenty kicks later, as he's leading a group of mechs unqualified to play hide-and-seek behind the back hedgeways he marvels at it. What a thing to say.