Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun was setting for the thousand-thousandth time in the shadowzone.

Soundwave took note and called Laserbeak back. He leaned against the cliff wall, cataloging his pile of scavenged parts. It was a redundant task: he had not found new parts in months. He'd scanned this precious pile countless times, committing its broken shapes to memory. Soundwave couldn't build anything functional from them, though he had tried.

In the absence of action, he observed. The shadowzone's rules were fickle and strange. Sometimes he found objects half in and half out, the barrier between dimensions sizzling and crackling. He would grip the objects and pull as hard as he could. Sometimes they dislodged from the real world and rocketed back into his fragile fingers. Sometimes they wouldn't budge and he was forced to abandon them. Soundwave had found a correlation between the magnetic field of the Earth and the shadowzone's strength. He could walk through most walls and all living beings- mechanical or otherwise- yet would not phase through the ground. Even in places where the ground and the walls were composed of the same substance. It was a curiosity that he had ample time to ponder over, but no specialized scanners or computing equipment with which he could test his thoughts. He missed the glowing consoles of the Nemesis.

The Nemesis...

Soundwave had witnessed Megatron's last battle with the Autobots. Stuck in the shadowzone, he had been useless, shooting the enemy with phantom blasts. He had seen his leader fall from the Omega Lock. Soundwave had jumped after him. The ionized layers of Earth's atmosphere screamed past his sensitive antennae, pelted his plating, overwhelmed his processor. Unlike Megatron, he did not burn as he fell. But unable to transform, he couldn't follow his leader. He had fallen. And awoken. In the sepia dust. Alone.

Some days the silence was overwhelming. He would send Laserbeak as far as it could go, then ping its return on every frequency and map each data point in three dimensions, just for something to do.

Until energy became a problem. Soundwave had deactivated the non-essential biolights in his body, had mourned the loss of the use of his tentacles. He'd drained them of energon and coiled them up years ago. He missed them as much as he missed transforming... in as much as he could miss something. The emotion-suppressing protocols he had installed before the war were still in place.

When he found the dead, he cannibalized them with no compunctions.

Laserbeak crested over the canyon wall, catching the dulled light of sunset on its wings. Soundwave prepped his torso for its docking.

bweerrrrrrzzzz

Soundwave cocked his head. The sound was familiar.

bwwfffzzzzzz

Soundwave shot upright, fingers twitching.

Something was disturbing the hazy architecture of the shadowzone. He felt it like an earthquake through the frequencies. He sent Laserbeak a soundless order:

find the source

He waited, the fine sensors of his helm quivering with energy. He scanned every incoming vibration. It was unlike anything the Decepticons had, or the Autobots, or even the humans.

aliens?

Soundwave didn't wait for Laserbeak's return. He half-climbed, half-phased through the cliff wall until he reached the plateau above. His plating crackled with the rising energy. It shuddered through his lines. The tightly coiled tentacles inside him rattled in their housing.

portal...?

Green light flashed overhead.

He knew it. The energy profile was very similar to the space bridges he once commanded. Laserbeak sent him a warning pulse. Soundwave should've ducked down but his frame was sizzling with so much electricity, it stripped the wariness from him. After years of dull nothingness, the prospect of the unknown spun through his processor.

The portal stretched and widened. It split with an audial-searing sound, revealing a shining expanse of swirling green lightning. Dust whipped through the air. Soundwave shielded his visor with his forearms.

energy pattern: recognized. object coming through.

The portal flashed again. Something fell from it-

“AHHHHH!”

-and crashed to the ground. Dust sprang up, obscuring it.

Another object, much smaller, fell out of the portal and hit the first object with a metallic tink!

Before Soundwave could properly register what he had observed, the energy shuddering his plating changed. It tuned to a familiar sour note. The portal darkened and sizzled and-

no!

-closed.

Soundwave cursed the fact that he had been here for so long and hadn't been able to collect the equipment he needed to take advantage of that portal.

The thing in the dust groaned.

Laserbeak transmitted a recording, a replay of the portal opening from an aerial view. A mech-shaped thing had fallen out of it.

mech-shaped thing

Soundwave assessed his situation. Unless it was a very competent Decepticon, he was inclined to cannibalize it. He was, however, painfully aware of his limitations. His weapons and tentacles were offline. His arms were good for defense, but his fingers were fragile and ineffective for offense. Soundwave had all his fighting skills, still, but he hadn't practiced them on another living being in a long time.

“-frickin' Brainstorm-”

Soundwave's helm snapped up. That was Neocybex! Or... a variant of it. It was an accent he had never heard before and that didn't match anything in his database. Laserbeak swooped down and docked.

The dust settled. Soundwave stepped closer. He was not afraid.

He was never afraid.

It was a Cybertronian, albeit the strangest one Soundwave had ever seen. It lay on the ground, back to him. It was red and gold and had a spoiler and wheels. Its proportions were bizarre. Its biolights were red and there was pink dripping from the wounds it had sustained in its fall. Its field was expressed as shifting, nebulous clouds instead of the usual pulses.

“-swear I'm gonna lose it if this is another dimension where everything is made of anti-matter sharks-”

Soundwave double-checked the wordage of the sentence. It was so strange, he thought at first it might be in code.

Finally, the thing raised itself up from the ground enough to turn around and-

It was an Autobot. An Autobrand was emblazoned on its flame-shaped yellow chest.

And it had a nose. Just like the humans did.

Soundwave assumed a defensive stance.

The Autobot pushed itself up unsteadily to its knees, then its feet. It teetered, shaking its head.

Soundwave prepared to siphon Laserbeak's energy away to power up a tentacle. He would've struck immediately, but cataloging the Autobot's strange field, blood, and features had distracted him.

“Hey!” The Autobot smiled up at him.

Oh, it definitely must be an alien, to smile at him.

“Hey, where is this place? Can you tell me what planet this is?” The Autobot strode over.

Soundwave raised his hand. The Autobot stopped.

“Whoa. You are creepy. You're Cybertronian, aren't you? Can you understand me?”

Its body moved with many interlocking pieces, instead of the long, smooth panels Soundwave was used to. He had never seen anything like it. Not even in the humans' creations: their television fantasies spun through his sensors occasionally. They hadn't dredged up anything like this.

“Hello?”

After another moment of calculated silence, Soundwave nodded.

“So, you can understand me. Excellent. Where are we? Is this Earth? It looks kinda Earthy.”

Soundwave nodded again. He initiated the energy transfer from Laserbeak. The little drone whined quietly, powering down against his chest. He didn't like to do it, but in a moment, they would both have all the energon they needed.

Energy flowed down the length of one of his coiled tentacles. Only one, that's all he could afford to activate.

The Autobot chattered as it neared, meaningless words that Soundwave recorded in case he could use them later. It gestured to the sky, and when next laid its eyes on Soundwave, stopped short.

“Oh,” it said. “You're a Decepticon.”

The tentacle was almost fully operational. Soundwave sent an activation command. As it stirred, Laserbeak went still.

“Well, that's alright. The war's been over for ages, you know.”

What kind of diversionary tactic was that?! Soundwave had heard more dignified lies from Starscream. Which was saying a lot.

“What's your name? I'm Rodimus.” The Autobot bowed with a flourish. “Proud inter-dimensional adventurer and co-captain of the Lost Light!”

Soundwave sampled Rodimus's voice and repeated it back to him. Twisted. “In-in-inTER-dimens-ens-sional.”

Rodimus startled at that. “Yeah,” he said uncertainly. “There are a lot of dimensions. Looks like I've stumbled into yours.”

Soundwave picked one of Rodimus's words and looped it. “Lost lostlost l-lllllost lost lost l-”

“Okay, I get it.” Rodimus stooped and picked something up from the ground. “I don't suppose you're some kind of evil, Decepticon Bumblebee? Nine out of ten Bumblebees lose their vocalizers and loop sound when they're being annoying.”

Soundwave bristled.

“Whoa!” Rodimus stepped back. “What a field flare. Guess you didn't like tha-”

Soundwave shot his tentacle out at Rodimus. The sight of its biolights made Soundwave feel like he was his old self again. Before Rodimus could react, Soundwave looped it around him tightly, aiming its tip at the juncture of his knee, where energon leaked through. Soundwave opened its prongs and unleashed its smaller, flexible tendrils. They dug into the wound.

“OW! What the hell!” Rodimus struggled against him. The Autobot was shorter, but quite a bit more stocky, in a very strange and angled way that Soundwave was unaccustomed to. His tentacle pinched in the sharp corners of the Autobot's flame-shaped chest.

The tendrils rooted around. They channeled energon back to Soundwave's body, where his line filters promptly sent a gigantic screaming NO to his processor. Just as the tendrils started to burn and pain flared down the tentacle, Rodimus wrenched his arms apart and freed himself.

Soundwave stumbled back, anti-poison protocols activating. The tentacle flailed pathetically.

what is that substance

not energon

pain

“That's fuckin' creepy!” shouted Rodimus. “I come in peace, goddammit!” He reared back and punched Soundwave in the face.

Initializing reboot protocols.
Warning: energy levels at 13%
Warning: Autobot in proximity
Warning: Laserbeak offline
Warning: restraints detected
Warning: unable to contact Megatron
Warning: unable to locate the Nemesis
Warning: unable to connect to geosynchronous satellites
Warning: location unknown
Warning: emotion-suppression protocols 1 - 14 fail-

Soundwave cut off the deluge of warnings filling his processor. After the first four, they were repeats. He had seen them every day since he had been forced into the shadowzone. As the warnings faded, latticework structures materialized from the darkness.

Soundwave had had this dream several times since coming to the shadowzone.

The structures were made of stars connected by thin lines, pure and vibrant, as if from a spool of thread made from his spark. They towered like constellations over the landscape of his processor. They vibrated like plucked strings, each note filling the space between the stars with... data...

data he couldn't define...

The only thing he understood about this dream was that the structures and the sounds they produced were linked. Not just linked, they were one and the same. They were visual and auditory representations of data in his processor, flowing together and coming apart again. Their mixing produced a third type of data that he couldn't define. It manifested itself viscerally as something like a field pulse, hovering between the latticework.

Soundwave knew that because he couldn't grasp that third data set, he was unable to piece together the object before him properly. It was like trying to transform without a T cog. If he could just decode that nebulous data, everything would fall into place. The stars before him brightened, their sounds growing louder, urging him to solve the puzzle. Soundwave's processor ached.

His reboot protocols finished. The constellations and their song and their fields vanished, and Soundwave felt the weight of his frame and the ground beneath him pull him back to the waking world.

Soundwave stirred, onlining his visor, the dream forgotten. He sent pings to his frame, assessing his position.

He was sitting, wrapped up in his own offline tentacle, propped against a wall. Annoyance flickered through him and he sent a command to Laserbeak. The little drone was silent, dead against his chest.

He forced himself to take another moment and evaluate.

“Oh? You awake now?”

The Autobot sauntered up, holding a device. The device was emitting signals. Soundwave focused on it. Just like the Autobot's Neocybex, it had an accent of sorts. Not a code to decrypt, but enough of a different flavor to it that he had to concentrate to understand. His visor displayed data and spinning reticles as he evaluated its output.

“You know, back in the old days, I would've punched more than once,” said Rodimus. “But things are different now.”

Soundwave ignored Rodimus, concentrating on the device.

“If you were hungry, you could've just said so. I have a supply of energon. You don't have to suck it out of me like a vampire.”

Soundwave recognized the Earth word. But he dismissed it just as quickly, as he'd worked out what the device was.

A beacon.

A way out of the shadowzone.

As Rodimus neared, Soundwave seriously considered the new options before him. Destroy the Autobot and take the beacon? Feign alliance and follow the Autobot out of the shadowzone and then destroy him?

“As far as I can tell, we're in a... pocket? Universe?” Rodimus squinted at his device. “Something like that? It's the Earth for this dimension, but it's slightly off from the one I was just on.” He shrugged. “Magnus always tells me not to walk into the glowy green portals but I don't know why. I always do it anyway.” Rodimus gestured to Soundwave's precious pile of scavenged parts. “Though I take it, by your hunger and these scraps, that you've been stuck here for a long time. You didn't intend to be here.” He looked around. “Hmm. Maybe here isn't a good place to be.”

“E-earth. P-pocket. Un-universe,” Soundwave confirmed, with Rodimus's voice. “St- stuck here for a- for a- l-long time.”

“Finally. Some useful information.” Rodimus poked at the device again and sat down. He remained a healthy distance from Soundwave. He set the beacon on the ground next to him. “Let me guess. You're Soundwave?”

The faintest, tiniest hint of surprise washed through Soundwave. “Soundwave,” he repeated.

“Thought so. You've got that weird echo-y, rainbow-y thing going on with your vocalizer. What's up with that, anyway? Our Soundwave had it, too.”

had it, noted Soundwave. past tense

“You look so weird, though. No offense.”

“Y-you look so-SO- weird.” Soundwave didn't repeat the, “No offense.”

Rodimus snorted. “Can you talk? Or just repeat things? How did you get here? What is this place?”

Soundwave considered the questions. Then he simply repeated, “Hunger.”

“Hah. If I give you fuel, can I trust you won't attack?”

“T-trust.” Soundwave flashed a smilie face up on his visor. “Won't won't at-tack?”

Rodimus laughed. He pulled something from what Soundwave assumed was his subspace compartment. “Here. I'm guessing, since you're so different-looking, the energon your frame works with is also different from mine. This is the most neutral energon Brainstorm is able to make. We've run into a few other alt-dimensioners who can't ingest what we have on tap.”

Soundwave, still tied up in his own tentacle, stared.

“What? I figured you could at least unwind yourself.”

Soundwave displayed his fuel gauge.

“Oh.” Rodimus set the energon down and slowly unwound Soundwave. “This thing is freaky. It's cold, too. You conserving resources? Damn, look at all these dead biolights...”

Soundwave twitched, loathing the touch of the Autobot. When at last he was freed, he manually wound up his tentacle and stored it in his torso, the tip hanging out. Rodimus made a face at that. Soundwave ignored him. He took the energon and scanned it with his limited capabilities.

Not promising.

He extracted his tendrils from his tentacle with his fingers. He placed them in the energon. They twitched and jerked, shunting it to his main lines. His biolights flickered.

His line filters sent him unhappy feedback. It wasn't poison, but it wasn't going to feel nice.

Soundwave took in just enough of it to relight all his biolights and restore Laserbeak to half power. He handed it back to Rodimus.

“Too- too. Different,” he said, sampling Rodimus's words and placing them together. “N-n-not. Pure.”

“Hmm. Too bad.” Rodimus knocked the container back and drank the rest. “Come back to the Lost Light with me. We have the equipment there to make what you need. Probably.”

Soundwave glanced around. The sun had set. The night sky was brown, dull as rust, starless. He had considered returning with the Autobot, if only to get out of the shadowzone. But what dimension would he be led to? Would he be able to resume his loyal work to the Decepticon cause?

“You'll like the Lost Light. Everyone gets a second chance, there. You wanna stay here forever?”

Soundwave's antennae twitched.

“It's got Megatron as co-captain.”

megatron

Soundwave straightened.

megatron!

He displayed a video of Megatron saying, “Excellent!”

Rodimus stared into his visor. “Holy moly. Is that your Megatron?”

“Megatron,” Soundwave repeated.

“Hah. Ol' Megs is gonna love to see that one. I swear, every dimension we go to, he's got crazier eyes than the last.”

Something approaching emotions flooded through Soundwave. Megatron was alive! And... with Autobots? Commanding their ship? No, that couldn't be right. His years of dullness and hunger must be clouding his logic circuits. He analyzed the conversation.

This wouldn't be his Megatron. He had witnessed his Megatron fall in battle, unable to reach out, unable to shoot, unable to help. This would be the Autobot's Megatron.

But...

All Megatrons would have started the war. Would be proud Decepticons. That the one called Rodimus wore the Autobadge at all was proof of a war in his dimension.

Soundwave could not conceive of a situation wherein Megatron would ally himself with the Autobots. Unless... unless he was lying in wait. That Megatron had lost his Soundwave. And had been surrounded by Autobots. He must be biding his time, pretending to be an Autobot, until his true allies returned to him.

Soundwave was suddenly a lot more interested in the Lost Light.

“Lost Light,” he replayed.

“Cool.” Rodimus laid back with his hands behind his head. “Shouldn't be more than a few hours before they find me. Wait til you see the Lost Light's long range sensors. Heh.”

Soundwave said nothing.

“So, where's Ravage?”

Soundwave displayed a huge question mark on his visor. “R-ravage?” he repeated.

“Yeah. You know. Black cat. Cassetticon. Where are your cassetticons?” Rodimus looked him up and down. “Do you not turn into a radio-type thing? That'll be a first. All Soundwaves do.”

Soundwave did not understand a word of what Rodimus was saying. It irritated him. He manually overrode the hopeful pings from his empty weapons systems.

patience

“N-not turn into into r-radio-type thing,” Soundwave repeated. He flashed up a video of Starscream shouting, “Laserbeak!” and pointed to his chest.

Rodimus gaped. “What the hell? That's Laserbeak?”

Soundwave pointed again.

“She's... where is she?”

Soundwave wondered how even an Autobot could be so stupid. He was as annoyed as he could possibly get, his processor straining with the taxing emotion. He overrode his useless weapons systems again and rebooted his emotion-suppressing protocols.

patience

escape shadowzone

then destroy

“Laserbeak,” Soundwave repeated. The drone disengaged from his chest and hovered, its red sights settling between Rodimus's eyes.

Rodimus squinted. “Six wings? Why's she got six wings?”

Soundwave spliced a recording of Shockwave. “Autobots. Illogical.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Rodimus shrugged. “Bet that's your Shockwave. Good ol' one eye. He a cyclops here, too?”

Laserbeak returned to Soundwave's chest. Soundwave played a Shockwave quote, something the scientist had said to Starscream. It had been one of the more enjoyable conversations Soundwave had been party to. “You just like to hear yourself talk.”

“Got that right,” said Rodimus lazily.

Soundwave's fingers twitched. He turned his back to Rodimus.

patience

He directed his intense focus on the data he had taken from the beacon. It would give him an introduction to the type of software he was sure to encounter on the Lost Light. Once he was free of the shadowzone, Soundwave would crush this Autobot, take his ship, and return to Earth to retrieve whatever remained of Megatron.

Chapter Text

Once the Lost Light had locked onto the beacon, Rodimus had followed Ratchet's standard operating procedure for new arrivals. It was one of the few Official Things he took seriously. Every new mech who had made the trans-dimensional jump to the Lost Light had gotten sick. Rodimus radioed all the necessary details of Soundwave's status, as well as a few choice unnecessary ones.

Every new crew member aboard the Lost Light was given a physical evaluation and scanned for damage. Somatic energon samples were sent to Brainstorm and Perceptor so that customized fuel could be synthesized. Ratchet had developed the procedure after observing the condition of their first pick up. The procedure evolved when the next two had also arrived dangerously low on fuel. They were all the abandoned: mechs who had been forgotten and forced to wait too long for reinforcements in their native dimensions.

Soundwave proved to be no exception. Upon arrival, he promptly succumbed to TD3 (Trans-Dimensional Disorientation Disease, or “the sideways molecules are fuckin' you up,” as Whirl liked to call it) and was quarantined by all four medics on board.

Rodimus's primary task now, after being cleared and sprayed with disinfectant (a sticking point Minimus would not back down from), was summoning the Most Recents Club. That was the super creative name he had given to the three mechs they'd picked up so far. They had a perspective on the Lost Light that no one else had. Rodimus liked to ask them, based on their own experiences, what they thought the newest mech would need. Although this time Rodimus suspected the conversation would go differently than it had in the past.

They'd stopped by the med bay to take turns gawking at Soundwave through the window. And now, assembled in his office, were Trailbreaker (dimension 0203's Trailbreaker hadn't had the faintest clue why everyone called him Trailcutter at first) and Ambulon and Mirage. Rodimus felt a swell of pride followed by a tinge of sadness whenever he saw them. He'd privately challenged himself to find duplicates of every crew member who'd been lost. Whenever the Lost Light jumped to a new dimension, Rodimus would sneak out and do a few hops around its Earth or Cybertron. He was still on the lookout for a Pipes, Tripodecta, Hyperion, Polaris, Shock, Ore, Ravage, Skids... There were so many more mechs to find! But these were the three he'd found so far. The others would come in time. No one could replace the originals, but it helped knowing that the newcomers had wanted to come aboard. And they had, with various degrees of success, integrated and made friends.

“-viscous blue-purple energon, which is unique among all the dimensions we've visited so far, and has a very unusual arrangement of parts,” Ambulon was saying. “Soundwave has the big three: spark, brain, T cog. He's definitely Cybertronian. But his biolights and his line systems...” Ambulon shook his head. “The rest of the medical team has some compunctions about doing scans without getting permission and while the patient is unconscious, but I don't.” He scratched his arm. White flaked off, revealing purple beneath. Flaky paint syndrome transcended universes. “He's offline, but his processor is active. I'm pretty sure he knew what I was doing. He didn't try to stop me.”

“He's a spy,” said Mirage firmly. His plating was adorned with golden symbols and elegantly inlaid gems. This Mirage had evidently been very fashionable. Though he had expressed gratitude and excitement at being rescued, the moment he had stepped aboard the Lost Light, his field had taken on an angry tinge that never went away. Rodimus had never seen him smile since. “Data gathering was his function during his war.”

“How do you know that?” asked Trailbreaker. He was in all respects outwardly identical to the Lost Light's original, save his biolights were green instead of orange, his visor was green instead of red, and he was missing part of his left hand. Rodimus got a lot of comfort standing by the mech. Trailbreakers just radiated good-naturedness.

“I can tell.” Mirage gestured vaguely. “He's faceless, highly modified for communications. An extremely adept and dangerous individual. Data interception, infiltration, mimicry, et cetera. Just like our Soundwave.” He motioned to Rodimus. “And yours as well, I believe?”

“Uh.” Rodimus thought back. Sometimes his native dimension felt like a lifetime ago. “Yeah, I think so.”

“He may even be able to amplify his power by infiltrating-”

The door beeped.

“Enter,” said Rodimus.

Megatron strode in. Mirage bristled. He was the newest crew member, still not used to seeing a Megatron in command of Autobots- and wearing the Autobrand at that. Mirage covered his bristling body language with a polite cough and stepped back silently.

Rodimus didn't blame him for it, and he didn't think Megatron did, either.

Mirage would understand, in time. Just as the rest had.

“-very unusual,” Megatron was saying. “Has Brainstorm started generating rations for him?”

“Yep,” said Rodimus. “First thing I did when I got on the ship. Told him he'd need to get that energon maker thingy going.”

“I believe your very first communication upon returning was to me. A message that you'd found, and I quote, a crazier-eyed Megatron than ever, end quote,” said Megatron.

Trailbreaker snickered. Ambulon gave a half smile. Mirage sneered.

Rodimus grinned. “Okay. Second thing I did when I got on the ship. Brainstorm's on it.”

Mirage lingered after the Most Recents Club disbanded. His expression became slightly less sour as the door slid shut behind Megatron. Mirage approached Rodimus, crossing one arm over his chest. Rodimus didn't know what that gesture meant. Mirage seemed to do it unconsciously and if Rodimus mimicked the pose he got very annoyed.

Rodimus slapped a smile on his face he didn't really feel. “What's up, Mirage? Got some secret spy intel on Soundwave?”

“No. This is an unrelated matter.” Mirage's biolights flickered. In Rodimus's dimension, they would be read as boredom. Rodimus suspected that wasn't what Mirage actually felt. Mirage hadn't adopted the biolight signals most of the crew employed. Maybe he couldn't. “I wish to return home.”

Rodimus frowned. “I'm sorry, Mirage. You know we can't do that.”

“There must be a way!”

Rodimus sighed. “If there was a way, I'd let you go back. You know that, right?”

Mirage made an uncharacteristically undignified whimper. He reset his vocalizer. “I'm not happy here.”

Rodimus felt that like a knife in his spark. His shoulders slumped. “I'm sorry,” he said. “Is it because of Megatron?”

The gold of Mirage's eyes intensified. “No. Although I am not a fan, obviously.”

“What is it? Do you want to switch jobs? Our Mirage founded Visages. I'm sure Bluestreak would be happy to have you-”

“It's not that,” spat Mirage. “You wouldn't understand.”

“Try me,” said Rodimus, spreading his arms. “I've seen things. I can't imagine you telling me anything that'll shock me.”

Mirage glared at him.

“Well?”

“If we ever find a way to go back, I wish to go back.”

“Okay,” said Rodimus. “I promise we'll let you go. But we won't know how much time will have passed in your dimension. We don't know what you'll find if you go back. We don't know what it'll do to you.”

“I understand. I shall accept every consequence.” Mirage nodded curtly. “Captain.” He left, his footsteps soundless.

Rodimus semi-transformed his limbs, shaking them to let the tenseness out of his lines. He didn't expect everyone on the ship to be happy all the time, or to give him their undying love, as much as he half-ironically felt he deserved it. But seeing a newcomer so unhappy did something to his insides. Rodimus shifted from foot to foot. “It's alright,” he muttered to himself. “We'll figure it out. We'll find something for him.”

Rodimus took a deep breath, pushed Mirage out of his mind, and headed for the bridge.

The latticework sang and wove its mysterious data. Soundwave's processor ached. Though he knew he was dreaming, he could feel his body. As an aerial mech, he was used to feeling light, thin, fast. But now his frame felt heavy and sick. Soundwave initiated an evaluation. The dream interfered and terminated his command. All Soundwave could do was push futilely against the data clouding his mind.

Far on the horizon of his processor something pierced the star-laden darkness. Soundwave focused on it with laser-like precision. Even with the data accent, its energy pattern was instantly recognizable.

medical probe

He was being evaluated! The Autobots were more foolish than he could have hoped. He could tell at a glance that the probe was harmless. Soundwave allowed it to spread and poke at his processor. It would not find anything of note.

Soundwave, however, was not harmless. He redoubled his efforts to push the dream away and was rewarded by the fading of its stars. Soundwave descended upon the medical probe and traced it backwards. In a moment he was pushing his way into a medical database. He sent probes of his own, diverging and forking microprograms that stripped data indiscriminately. Names, images, and medical histories were laid bare to him. Just as he wormed his way into the system housing the database, which he suspected belonged to the Lost Light itself, the medical scan ended. His microprograms dispersed and his focus was shunted back to his own processor. Soundwave quarantined his new data and onlined his visor.

His frame sent his processor a wide range of alerts. Soundwave felt weak and off-balance. But he had no time to dwell on the sensations of his body. Sensory data flooded his mind. Everything around him was intensely alive. Soundwave groggily took in a pale green medical bay. Monitors floated above him, beeping and flashing data. Four Autobot medics were gathered around him, varying levels of wariness in their faces and fields. Behind them were cabinets and tables laden with equipment: clear vats of bubbling metal and shards of glass and crystal. The green walls emitted an unusual energy he had never encountered before. It manifested on his visor as a waveform graph, reticles centering around its peaks and valleys as he struggled to grasp it.

One of the medics leaned closer, tilting her head.

Soundwave realized he was thinking aloud. He blanked the visor, making a note to evaluate incoming data internally. While in the shadowzone, he had gotten used to displaying whatever he liked, because no one could see him. He should have known better than to give the Autobots any indication of his thoughts.

Soundwave's processor pulsed with the energy of the walls and the equipment and the growing attention of the medics and the beeping monitors and the comms whispering through the airwaves and the-

Soundwave ran his Nemesis filter protocols: programs that automatically filtered out unnecessary noise and distraction. It had been essential for living on a ship filled with unstable personalities and droning, simpering grunts.

The room distilled into a manageable shape and Soundwave felt more grounded. He tilted his visor, studying the medics. Three were red and white, one was blue. They were like Rodimus: strange and blocky and thick, their fields hovering in the air, their speech accented. The biolight fluid running through their frames made the sound of a thousand tiny points of light. Soundwave modified his filters to strain it out.

Soundwave's plating prickled and he glanced down. He was bound to a medical berth far too small for him. His feet hung off the edge. His arms were too long for the built-in metal restraints, so his limbs had been criss-crossed by straps of hard light shielding. The position was uncomfortable, not helped at all by the disorientation his frame was constantly pinging to his processor. Soundwave's fingers curled. He struggled against the restraints. Laserbeak's wingtips scraped against the hard light. The smell of burning paint filled the room.

“Soundwave, stop!” The red and white with the permanent expression of displeasure pushed down on Soundwave's shoulders. “If you damage yourself, we are unable to repair you.”

“Not exactly the best introduction,” muttered the red and white with a face plate.

The first medic scowled. “I'm Ratchet. You're aboard the Lost Light. If you feel disoriented, that's a normal side effect of the trans-dimensional jump. The feeling will pass. Stop struggling!”

Laserbeak pinged Soundwave. Its wingtips were singeing in the hard light shielding. Soundwave stopped moving at once.

“Good,” said Ratchet. He stared intently into Soundwave's visor. Soundwave stared back. Ratchet slowly removed his hands and gestured to the monitors. “Look at these readouts. We've never seen systems like this before. Soundwave is no ordinary Cybertronian, inside or out.”

Soundwave's body shook slightly at the familiar line. The medics stared at him. His visor flickered, displaying a clip of a red and white Cybertronian. To them he was undoubtably a medic, undoubtably an Autobot, but a stranger nontheless. This medic's properly noseless expression was one of anger and wariness. “Soundwave is no ordinary Cybertronian, inside or out!”

The medics gaped at Soundwave. Finally, the red and white with a faceplate said, “I think that's his dimension's Ratchet.”

“Yeah,” said the blue one. “Same grumpy tone and everything.”

Ratchet made an unamused noise. “I need to bring these findings to the attention of our captains. Every dimension's Soundwave is...” He narrowed his eyes. “A formidable mech.”

Soundwave flashed a smilie face up on his visor.

The blue medic giggled.

“He'll remain here until further notice,” snapped Ratchet. “No visitors.”

“Ratchet,” said the blue medic. “You kicked me out of here for his quarantine procedures. But he's fine. Move him to one of the regular berths.”

“No, Velocity, he needs to be restrained-”

“I need to get back to work! Swerve just brought me a new alloy to try-”

“You let Swerve in here?!”

Velocity's field swelled with exasperation. “Yes! You already gave him clearance!”

Ratchet and Velocity launched into a heated argument. Soundwave endured exactly 47 seconds of it. He played a sample of Rodimus's voice. “Megatron.”

Velocity froze, her finger pointed in Ratchet's face. All four medics turned to him, heads swiveling in unison.

“One of those Soundwave tricks,” said the flaky medic. He squinted at Soundwave. There was purple paint beneath his white.

“Makes you wonder, doesn't it,” said the red and white with a face plate. “A Soundwave and a Megatron on the same ship. That's probably bad luck.”

“Megatron,” repeated Rodimus's voice.

“There's no such thing as bad luck,” said Velocity, lowering her accusatory finger. “I've alerted Ultra Magnus that we've finished. Soundwave needs to go somewhere else. Swerve, Anode, and I have experiments to do!”

“Megatron.”

“Fine,” said Ratchet, slamming his palm down on a button. The medical berth's restraints flickered off. “Why bother taking precautions with one of the most dangerous Decepticons in every dimension?”

“That's not what I sai-”

“If he wants to see Megatron so badly, I'll get someone from the Security Team to escort us to the bridge.” Ratchet punched a few more buttons. “For the duration of our trip, I highly suggest you comply with all orders, Soundwave. The Security Team can be... twitchy.”

Soundwave awkwardly pushed himself up from the medical berth. His frame was unsteady, sending variegated feedback to his processor. He sent out a recalibration command: his plating shifted and twitched. He caught little flashes of fear in the Autobot's fields as he towered over them.

“Come on,” snapped Ratchet, leading the way to the door. Soundwave followed. The remaining medics stepped aside for him.

An Autobot waited for them in the hallway. He had a huge gun, three lights on his helm, and the least subtle paint job Soundwave had ever seen on a mech. He stepped back slightly as Soundwave approached, then squared his shoulders and shifted the plating of his chest so it looked bigger.

Just as the door slid shut, the faceplated medic said, “Shoot, we forgot to give him the introductory primer.”

Soundwave distracted himself from the sickening feeling in his frame by discreetly scanning the walls of the Lost Light. He generated a map, adding information to it in navigable layers. Soundwave flicked his noise filters on and off, grabbing little bits of data until it threatened to disorient him. Aquafend, the security officer, prodded him with his gun when he slowed. Soundwave swung his arms away from the mech, privately planning how he would dismember the Autobot as soon as he had the chance.

Ratchet led them through a surprisingly long, circuitous route. The ship was much bigger than the Nemesis had been. It rang with that energy Soundwave could not define, something that crawled through the walls themselves. The Lost Light wasn't alive... but it was quite lively for something inanimate.

At last they reached the heavy door to the bridge. Aquafend tilted his gun up and aimed it at Soundwave's head. “One wrong move and I'll be happy to separate your processor from the rest of ya. If you have a processor behind that mask, Decepticon.”

Soundwave gave Aquafend nothing but chilly silence. Ratchet rolled his eyes and activated the door. Soundwave followed him in, ducking slightly under the doorway.

“Hey, Ratchet!” Rodimus bounded over from his chair. “At ease, Aquafend. Soundwave's not a prisoner here.” Aquafend didn't lower his gun. “Ratchet, did you notice his voice is busted? Maybe you can fix it-”

Soundwave turned away from them and did a sweep of the room. It had the typical components of a starship bridge: a large screen, stations, monitors, consoles. There were about a dozen colorful mechs strewn around. They were all strangers to him, save one. He identified Megatron right away. Even with the Autobrand and tank treads, he was the most commanding, powerful figure on the bridge. A solid, blocky gray. Soundwave walked to him, preparing his unused vocalizer, overriding the protocol for his vow of silence. He could not think of a single thing that would give him more pleasure to utter than that which he had wished to say for years. As he neared, Megatron stood from his captain's chair, frowning. His field, alien as it was, was unmistakably Megatron.

With a slight bow, Soundwave asked in his own true, cascading voice, “Lord Megatron, what is your command?”

The entire bridge went silent. Every mech stopped what they were doing, swiveled, and stared at him. Megatron looked faintly horrified.

Rodimus's jaw dropped. “You lying bastard! I thought you couldn't talk!”

Soundwave flashed the Decepticon brand across his visor for just an instant, confident Megatron would see it and the Autobots would not.

“It... has been a long time since I've been addressed in such a manner,” said Megatron slowly. His voice was more sonorous than Soundwave's Megatron's had been. Less intimidating, but more compelling. “Soundwave, while aboard this ship, you will address me as your captain. Or co-captain.”

captain?

Soundwave's processor raced.

the ruse. he must stay in character

Soundwave's visor displayed undulating red wire frames. “Yes, captain.”

“That's better.” Megatron looked him up and down. “I think we should continue this conversation in private.”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave followed him out, eager for their conversation.

Chapter Text

The walk to Megatron's quarters was long. Soundwave mapped the way, noting the lights and ventilation grates in the hallways. He charted the underlying structures of the ship. Its systems were mostly orderly. Parts of the ship had taken heavy damage in the past. At the junctions of old and new metal, Soundwave sensed the electrical system behind the walls had been fixed with hasty patches.

Megatron said nothing. He walked methodically. He glanced at Soundwave, his field pulled in tightly.

The halls were lively with strolling, chatting mechs. As they approached, their animated conversations quieted. They looked from Soundwave's Decepticon sigils to Megatron and back again. Only after they had passed did their conversations resume, in whispers.

The door to Megatron's quarters was freshly painted. The smell churned Soundwave's insides. The disorientation of his dimensional crossing still hadn't faded. Megatron paused at the door. He brushed the Autobrand on his chest. He took a deep breath and entered his key code. The door slid open.

Megatron's quarters were sparsely furnished. There was a berth and a desk with data pads on it. Megatron sat down heavily on the bed. The readout on its recharge station indicated he was due for rest. Megatron crossed one leg over the other and folded his hands on his knee. He studied Soundwave.

Soundwave waited.

At last, Megatron said, “Do you have Ravage with you?”

a second inquiry. why do they ask me for Ravage?

“Negative,” said Soundwave. “Ravage does not exist in my dimension.” He pointed to his chest. “Laserbeak.”

“Ah, Laserbeak.” Megatron squinted at Soundwave, following the intricacies of his plating and biolights. He tilted his head and frowned, unable to tell where Soundwave ended and Laserbeak began. “Show me.”

Soundwave leaned back slightly. Laserbeak undocked from his chest and hovered between them.

“Ah.” Megatron sat up a little straighter. “She is formidable.”

“It is not sentient,” said Soundwave.

“'It,'” repeated Megatron. He stared past Laserbeak, at Soundwave's bare chest.

“Laserbeak is important,” said Soundwave. He signaled the drone to return to its place. “But not sentient.”

Megatron said nothing.

Soundwave waited.

Megatron's frown grew deeper.

Finally, he said, “Soundwave, you are, without a doubt, very capable and extremely loyal.”

On his visor, Soundwave displayed a video of his Megatron saying, “Excellent work, Soundwave!”

Megatron's eyes widened. “By Primus,” he said. “Is that your Megatron?”

“Affirmative. Lord Megatron.”

“Where is he now?”

“Unknown. He fell to Earth from the Nemesis.”

“I see.” Megatron tapped his chin. “No doubt he survived that fall.”

“I could not find him. I was trapped in the shadowzone.” Soundwave displayed a cascade of data describing the zone. It was faster than explaining its properties using words.

Megatron read the cascade. “Such isolation.” He stood and strode back and forth in his quarters. Soundwave watched, head turning as he went. “Soundwave, I have something very important to share with you.”

Soundwave nodded.

the spy directive

“I think you will find it difficult to hear, but it is true.” Megatron stopped his pacing and stared straight at him. “The war is over. Not just in my dimension, but in almost every dimension we've ever hopped to. And we have been to many. In every dimension where the war has ended, it ends with the Autobots as victors.”

Soundwave's visor went red.

“I've not felt a field like that before,” said Megatron softly. He steepled his fingers before him. “Your anger is understandable, but ultimately, displaced. I am certain that with enough time, your Megatron would have either lost the war or been terminated, thus concluding it. That is the constant we see, time and time again, across the dimensions.”

Disbelief and anger pulsed through Soundwave. His biolights went deep purple. Soundwave spared a moment to note the emotional outburst. He ran his emotion-suppressing protocols. “How is this possible? Decepticons: superior. Autobots: inferior.”

“Because there's more to life than conquest and destruction. I have discovered that all life has inherent worth.”

“All life: worthy of conquering.”

Megatron shook his head. “Destruction and extinction are unsustainable.”

“Extinction of unwanted species: desirable.”

“Happiness is not found in the barrel of a gun.”

“Happiness: irrelevant.”

Megatron sighed. “And therein lies the crux.” He paced. “Soundwave, while aboard this ship, you are not to harm any others, take any lives, or infiltrate any of the ship's systems. And you will follow orders if given them.”

“Soundwave: does not take orders from Autobots.”

“But you will take orders from me.”

Soundwave took a moment to digest that statement. His visor displayed a picture of Megatron's chest. A red reticle spun around the Autobrand.

“You will take orders from me,” repeated Megatron.

Soundwave's processor felt on the brink of crashing. His lines were tense and thick with illness. His display had been Megatron's opening for a knowing wink or a code word of some sort. Soundwave had directly addressed the issue hovering between them. But Megatron was just staring, his face unreadable beyond stern.

Soundwave refocused with laser precision, very carefully going over each word.

“Soundwave: does not take orders from Autobots.”

“But you will take orders from me.”

does not take orders from Autobots, but from me

The denial of being an Autobot was there. It had been so subtle. Surely Megatron could speak freely in his own private quarters? Soundwave was certain that Megatron's room wouldn't be bugged, but he hadn't scanned it, out of deference to his leader. He was also certain that this was a coded conversation. The notion that every war had ended with an Autobot victory was both statistically unlikely and too preposterous to consider. Soundwave was familiar with double-meaninged conversations. Starscream had been a good teacher in that regard. Megatron's field was different than his, but Soundwave could still sense it. It flared out at specific points in the conversation. Starscream's would do that, too, when he said one thing but truly meant another.

“Soundwave?”

Soundwave evaluated their conversation again, searching for an acknowledgment of their shared directive.

“Soundwave, you are, without a doubt, very capable and extremely loyal.”

Of course! And that statement had been accompanied by a strong field flare. Megatron was asking for the one thing he knew Soundwave embodied more than any other Decepticon: loyalty. The tension in Soundwave's lines eased. This Megatron was indeed very clever. Megatron was asking for loyalty. Soundwave would give it.

“Affirmative. I will follow all of your commands.”

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose. Soundwave focused on the action. It was one he had never seen his Megatron do. Perhaps it was a signal.

“I encourage you to speak to the mechs that live aboard this ship. Learn who they are, what they do. Why they're here. Listen to them. Their collective voices embody the mission of the Lost Light.”

information gathering

“Affirmative.”

Megatron sighed. “Go see Drift. Talk to him. He used to be a Decepticon. You need someone you can communicate with on the same level. He'll help you understand.”

“Affirmative.”

“And Soundwave?”

Soundwave waited.

“The Decepticon movement is dissolved. It does not exist. I am stating this in the plainest words I can. Do you understand?” Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose again.

the signal!

“Affirmative.”

Megatron brushed his chest. “Dismissed.”

Soundwave nodded and exited, replaying the conversation in his head. This Megatron was far more deliberate than his Megatron had been. He'd spent much of their conversation thinking instead of gesticulating and formulating plans. But he was very clever, indeed. He lacked the charismatic chaos of Soundwave's own Megatron, but he seemed more likely to stay on-mission. Soundwave analyzed his recordings of this Megatron, when and how his eyes moved, the flaring and submissions of his field. He approved of how thoroughly Megatron had played the part of a converted Autobot. It had all been code, up until the straightforward, but ultimately false, denial of the Decepticon movement. That nose pinch in conjunction with the order to listen undoubtably meant its opposite.

decepticons will rise again

Of course they would. Megatron had cleverly revealed his only ally on the ship. The one called Drift must be fearsome to have accompanied Megatron into this nest of Autobots. And the communicate line? That was obvious.

“What now, Decepticon?”

Soundwave snapped to attention. Aquafend had materialized beside him, gun raised.

stealthy approach. he should have been sensed

Soundwave ran an internal scan. He had picked up Aquafend's footsteps as he had approached, but his processor had been too devoted to its study of Megatron to notice. Such a thing never would have happened on the Nemesis, where he had the entire ship's power at his command.

need fuel. need power

“Well?”

Soundwave played a recording of Megatron on his visor. “Go see Drift. Talk to him.”

Aquafend's biolights blinked. His gun faltered, then steadied. “That's a new trick. And here I thought that was just your ugly face, not a monitor. Megatron wants you to see Drift?”

Soundwave stared at him. Partly because the question was too foolish to deserve an answer, and partly because he had never seen a mech's biolights blink before. Of all the ways these mechs were different from him—frames, fields, noses—that was the most bizarre. Biolights were an intricate part of the body, smooth and flowing and unbroken. How in the world had Aquafend blinked them?

Aquafend's field betrayed the scowl beneath his face plate. “Fine. I'll take you there. Move.”

.:Rodimus:.

Rodimus ignored the comm. It was Megatron. Probably calling to annoy him about the anomaly Perceptor had found in the upcoming sector of space. Rodimus didn't know anything about that magical supernova crap. He'd retreated to his office the minute Perceptor had contacted the bridge with the particulars. Rodimus concentrated on his video game, squinting through the splashes of energon on the screen. He'd only thrown one cup at the monitor today. It had been a pretty good day so far.

.:Rodimus!:. This time the message was triply red flagged, flashing across his processor. Rodimus flinched, causing his character to die in-game.

“What?!” Rodimus threw the controller across the room.

.:I do not wish to be alone with Soundwave again:.

That was completely unexpected. Rodimus sat up. He paused the video game. “I thought he was creepy, too. Didn't think he was creepy enough to scare you, though.”

.:it's not that:. sent Megatron. .:it's that he... there is a potential, for feelings to reignite:.

“Eww.”

.:not those types of feelings:. scoffed Megatron. He sighed over the line. .:you know why I will not handle a weapon, correct?:.

“Yeah. You're afraid you'll go out of control.” Rodimus made a gun of his fingers and thumb and aimed it at the pile of data pads Ultra Magnus had left for him to read. “Pow.”

.:yes. It is like that. Soundwave was always my most loyal Decepticon. This one is no exception. He is intensely focused on pleasing me:.

“Ewww.”

Megatron growled. .:I mean, he awakens something primal and dangerous within me:.

“The metaphors aren't making this any better.”

.:that's not a-:. The irritation on the other end was palpable. .:do you remember the DJD's end?:.

Rodimus's snark evaporated. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

.:there are certain mechs who bring that side of me out:. sent Megatron. .:there's always an allure for it lurking. I've done everything I can think of to stamp it out. I've renounced violence. I've embraced organics. I've studied medicine. I've become an Autobot. And I am happy and I am grateful for every moment I no longer tread upon those more fragile than me. But. Underneath it all, there's always a potential to succumb to that allure. That's why I am very careful:.

“Okay...”

.:denying that it's there hasn't done any good. Running away, changing factions: nothing will make it go away completely. The best I can do is acknowledge it's there and avoid the things that would exacerbate the issue:.

“Okay. I understand.” Rodimus retrieved the controller. “What did he say to you that's got you all wound up?”

.:nothing:. There was a deep sigh. .:it's more the potential, like being at the edge of a waterfall. You either must swim back against the full force of the river, or go over. I am swimming against the river, Rodimus. Will you help me?:.

“Yeah,” said Rodimus. “I will.”

Chapter Text

Soundwave walked beside Aquafend at gunpoint, running through the medical data he had stolen from the Lost Light. It had swaths of redactions, but he was able to gather that Drift had once been a Decepticon named Deadlock. Brutal. Effective. Ruthless. Soundwave approved of the methods he had used in war. Even as an “Autobot,” Drift had played a part in bringing a dangerous Decepticon named Overlord aboard, which had resulted in a deadly rampage.

Such great self-restraint must be employed by the mech to live in false harmony with Autobots now. There were few, if any, on the Nemesis who could do so. Soundwave predicted Drift's next murder spree would be even more devastating.

Aquafend stopped outside a door with an assortment of metal flowers and curlicues soldered around its frame. “This is Drift's place.” He leaned his gun against the wall and pulled something long from his subspace compartment. Soundwave focused on it intently. It wasn't shaped like any weapon he had seen before. It was a bundle of jointed tubes and polycloth. Aquafend shook it and it popped open.

A foldable chair.

Aquafend sat down in it heavily. “What kinda security guard would I be without this? Hurry up.” He kicked the door. “DRIFT! Visitor.”

The door pulled aside. Soundwave ducked through the entryway.

Soundwave had had expectations of Drift. But what he found when he entered Drift's quarters was... confusing.

The walls were painted white with strands of beads, swords, and organic artwork hung up. The room was warm with the scent of oils. Drift sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, eyes shut, surrounded by illuminated crystals. Music, or whatever masqueraded as music in this dimension, pierced Soundwave's antenna. Beneath it, softly, the crystals were ringing. Their tones were so discordant, his processor focused on them immediately. For reasons he could not discern, Soundwave knew they weren't right. Soundwave shook his head, trying to clear whatever interference their off-key ringing was causing.

“Welcome,” said Drift. His voice was different from what Soundwave had expected. Thinner. Calmer. Less impressive. Drift opened one blue eye. “The unmistakable, cold energy of a Soundwave.”

Soundwave stared down at him cooly.

“Your aura is black. Your field pulses are unsteady.” Drift opened the other eye. “There is much that must be done to prepare you.”

“Preparations have commenced?” asked Soundwave. He had not expected a plan for action to be in place already. Megatron had not mentioned one.

“Of course,” said Drift. “We are all on our own journeys.”

Soundwave analyzed this statement.

journeys = missions?

“aura” definition:

…

data not found

Soundwave wondered if it wasn't just the accent that was complicating matters. He concluded that Drift was speaking in a heavily nuanced code. Soundwave was missing the key. Decoding the conversation with Megatron had taken far too long. Unwilling to waste any more time in ignorance, Soundwave said, “Clarity required. Transmit the key code.”

“The key code?” Drift stood and stretched, his plating moving in ways that Soundwave's never could. He was much shorter than Soundwave had thought he would be. There were empty scabbards at his hips. “There is no key code to life, my friend.”

“Without a key code, I am unable to authenticate my interpretations of your statements,” said Soundwave, aware that he was dangerously close to spelling out what he wanted. He could not confirm Drift's room was not under surveillance. As with Megatron, he was reluctant to speak too plainly.

Drift shrugged. “You must look within. The answers you seek lie there.”

Irritation flashed through Soundwave. As quickly as it came, it went. He noted the abnormality and rebooted his emotion-suppressing protocols. He picked logically at Drift's statement. 'Look within' implied Drift was using a code Soundwave already knew. Soundwave had 380 Decepticon key codes in his database. “Employ previous codes?” he ventured.

“You must rely on your previous experiences, yes,” said Drift.

“Specify.”

“All of them. They all made The You that you are now.” Drift smiled and slowly walked around Soundwave. “But you must be flexible and willing to live new experiences. You need to round out your life. Even out that aura. You've been terribly focused in one direction for far too long.”

Soundwave's processor mapped Drift's words, sprouting hypotheticals on the meaning of each statement. He was unable to make any sense of what Drift was saying, beyond a tentative confirmation of the use of old Decepticon codes. But there was nothing about auras in any of them. Soundwave resolved to observe now and sort the data later. Megatron had ordered him to talk to Drift, nothing more. He would listen very carefully.

Perhaps a more focused discussion would help, though.

“Lord Megatron informed me of your Decepticon past,” said Soundwave. “He instructed me to listen to you talk about it. Tell me the relevant information needed for preparations to proceed.”

Drift blinked. His biolights pulsed in a pattern, albeit a different one than Aquafend's had earlier. “Uh, it's Captain Megatron, here,” Drift said, his voice not as gentle as before. “The Lord stuff is over with.”

Soundwave wished Drift would drop the Autobot charade, but perhaps he had good reason not to. He was a deeply-embedded spy. Drift had a lot to lose if his cover were blown. Going so far as to correct a fellow Decepticon in private took discipline, indeed. “But preparations have begun?”

Drift squinted at him. “Preparations for your own journey. Through life. Your new life.”

Soundwave waited in silence for further explanation.

“Everyone on the Lost Light is here because they needed a second chance. Even Megatron. Even me. And now, you.” Drift extended an arm and waved his hand over Soundwave's plating. “By Primus, how cold and deep your aura goes. It merges right into your sparkfield. That is not healthy... But you're here now. That means you are destined to change.”

Soundwave resisted the urge to smack the mech's hand away from him. Perhaps the strange ritual was an energy-measuring procedure of some kind. Deadlock was sizing him up, evaluating his physical strength. Soundwave resolved to research the units of an aura once he was dismissed. He was confident he had the right amount of aura units for a loyal Decepticon.

“Your fate lies in your own hands.”

...fate?

“Define: fate.”

“Ha!” Drift smiled. “That which is destined to be. Properly approached, it is when you take the very best of yourself forward with you and leave the worst of yourself behind.”

Soundwave analyzed this, his visor picking out various words and displaying them. “Fate: unknown.”

“Isn't that how it always is,” said Drift with a grin.

“Dissatisfactory answer.” Soundwave searched his memory banks. He came up with one result: a recording of Starscream waxing poetical about Megatron: "An inglorious fate that he should remain in this vegetative state..."

“Oh. I didn't realize your visor was a screen.” Drift stepped closer. “Who is that?”

“Starscream,” said Soundwave.

“Really! He has, and I truly mean this, the best-sounding Starscream voice I've ever heard.” Drift made a face. “You should hear some of them-”

“Irrelevant.” Soundwave shifted. His field pulsed with distaste. Drift stepped back, touching his empty scabbards. “Megatron commanded me to listen to you. I will obey. You must supply relevant information.”

Drift narrowed his eyes. “What did Megatron say, exactly?”

Soundwave played the recording on his visor. “Go see Drift. Talk to him. He used to be a Decepticon. You need someone you can communicate with on the same level. He'll help you understand.”

“Ahhh...” Drift's expression relaxed into a smile. He held up a crystal. Soundwave almost flinched away from it. There was something wrong with the way it resonated. “I see what he meant, now. The Decepticon path is guided by principles of superiority and violence. Negative actions and negative forces, intertwining. Like the harmonies in this crystal, the calls for hostility are reflected between and among mechs who have chosen to-”

Soundwave divided his processor. Half of it recorded Drift's words and biometrics and methodically ran them through the Decepticon codes. The other half concentrated on its map of the Lost Light. None of it listened to the words Drift said. Soundwave was careful not to display anything.

“-spent the past few hundred years trying to make up for my mistakes. At some point, you have to forgive yourself. This clears the negativity from your spark and then you can help others-”

lost light's unknown energy is ubiquitous throughout the ship. power source for trans-dimensional jumps? determine: power source. ubiquity implies systematic distribution. determine: origin of power source

“-there are two main discourses regarding fate. One is that it is predetermined, the other is that a mech can shape their own-”

locate: database with record of trans-dimensional jumps. determine: designation for home dimension. locate: procedure for dimensional jump

“-but you have a choice, Soundwave. You can depart that path-”

Soundwave stood, silently, through an hour of deeply coded talk. Partway through, he realized he was not strictly obeying Megatron's order to listen. None of the Decepticon codes had yielded comprehensive results. Soundwave resigned himself to defining Drift's words in real time, straining to follow the mech's nebulous ramblings. His dimensional wooziness peaked and valleyed, as did his attention. Just as Soundwave felt he would slip into a vegetative state, Drift was called away for duty. With a bow, he promised to teach Soundwave about the 'healing divinities' the next time their paths crossed. Soundwave's field flooded with relief as they parted.

Soundwave caught himself in the pulse of that relief. It was logical to have a positive reaction to the end of a burdensome conversation. But yet... another emotional aberration... Since the time he had entered the shadowzone, his emotion-suppressing protocols had failed repeatedly. It didn't matter much while in the shadowzone, but it was disruptive when it occurred around other mechs. He ran the protocols again.

Outside Drift's quarters, the air was cool. Soundwave flared his plating, dumping excess heat from his frame. Aquafend slept in his chair, gun in his lap. Soundwave glanced up and down the hallway. It was empty. He reached for the gun.

“Ah-ah,” said Aquafend, his visor onlining. He snatched the gun and jumped out of his chair. “Think I'm one of those two-shanix security guards? Think again. I helped take down Cyclonus once.”

Soundwave scanned the medical data he'd stolen for Cyclonus. The first sentence of his entry was NOT A DECEPTICON.

interesting

Soundwave didn't have time to contemplate that. With a clang! Aquafend kicked his chair and it collapsed down. He tucked it away into his subspace compartment. “Got your fill of auras and crystal bullshit? Did it cure your case of the Cons?”

Before Soundwave could respond, Aquafend tilted his head. “Megatron says to take you to your room. He got you a choice location.” His field turned smarmy and he motioned for Soundwave to move.

Hand-picked quarters from Megatron!

strategic location

Soundwave and Aquafend walked. And walked. And walked. Aquafend opted to use the emergency stairways, even though Soundwave knew from his map that there were functional elevators. They journeyed down to the penultimate floor of the ship. In sharp contrast to the decks above, the hallways were dark, illuminated with only an occasional sputtering light and the mechs' own biolights. Something dripped. No matter which way Soundwave turned his head, he could not triangulate its source. Finally, Aquafend stopped at a door. It was scratched and punctured with laser burns. He pointed to the key pad on the wall next to it. “Enter 1234, then set your own key code when prompted. Remember it. Ultra Magnus hates when bots forget their key codes.” Aquafend's three helm lights blinked rapidly, his field emitting a dark laughter.

Soundwave glanced down the corridor. There was no one in sight. Or earshot. There hadn't been for the last fifteen minutes of walking. His tentacles stirred in their housing, clicking against his insides.

Aquafend pointed his gun at Soundwave's torso. “What was that?”

Soundwave bent towards Aquafend, his biolights deepening to blue. A video of Megatron, recorded earlier while in his quarters, played on his visor.

“While aboard this ship, you are not to harm any others, take any lives...”

Aquafend snapped the gun up to Soundwave's visor. “What are you playing at, 'Con?”

Soundwave repeated the clip, the visuals glitched and grainy, the audio twisted. “N- not to harm harm any others, t- take any lives...” He raised his arm, his long fingers splitting the faint light of the hallway.

“Whoa!” Aquafend backed up, gun moving from Soundwave's face to his hand to his torso in quick succession.

“t- take- lllllllllives...”

“Fuck off with that!” Aquafend's biolights blinked, his field emanating distress. The gun powered up. Lines of light illuminated from its trigger down its length.

Soundwave bent his arm. Aquafend flinched. Without looking away from Aquafend, Soundwave typed 1-2-3-4 into the key pad behind him.

An upbeat, computerized voice said, “Welcome to your quarters! Please reset your entry key code.”

Soundwave waited one moment more for Aquafend's field to shift from fear to realization to embarrassment to anger. He tapped in a new code.

“Fuck you,” said Aquafend. “Enjoy this piece of shit room. It's better than mechs like you deserve.” He blinked all his lights in a fierce pattern.

Soundwave didn't know for sure what that pattern meant, but he could guess. “F- fuck you,” he replayed.

“Argh!” Aquafend's trigger finger moved. Soundwave smacked the gun aside with a forearm. The blast hit the ceiling, raining bits of corroded metal. Soundwave's tentacles shot out and wrapped around Aquafend's middle.

“Wha?!”

Soundwave lifted Aquafend and bashed him against the far wall. Aquafend fell to the floor with a groan. His lights blinked out. The gun clattered beside him.

“Thank you! Your entry key code has been reset.”

Soundwave picked the gun up with his tentacles. He tilted it back and forth, studying it. He ducked into his new room.

Soundwave mapped his quarters with a glance. There was a berth with a dusty recharge station and a broken desk. No windows, one vent and one dim light in the ceiling. The four walls had chunks ripped out of them, gaping holes that revealed glints of wire. Soundwave tossed the gun onto the desk. He picked up the recharge station's cords with a tentacle and analyzed its connecting ends. They were incompatible with any of his ports. He would not be able to recharge without adaptors, assuming the station even worked. He would have to rely on energon. That was acceptable, once he was able to secure a source of fuel.

Soundwave had never made a habit of sleeping. It had two benefits: 1) he had more time for his work, and 2) it contributed to the mythology the crew of the Nemesis developed about him. Everyone avoided him if they could. He did nothing to discourage the practice.

That mythology was based in truths. No, Soundwave couldn't read minds. But he could patch into any part of the Nemesis to access its audio/visual feeds. No, Soundwave couldn't hear a whisper from across the universe. But he set the parameters for the Nemesis's broad range scanners and was the only mech who could actually read the results. And, no, he couldn't generate his own ground bridges. He wouldn't have been stuck in the shadowzone for years if that were true. But he had been able to direct the Nemesis's considerable power for that purpose- a feat undoable by any other.

It all came down to information: recognizing and interpreting patterns. And manipulating them. Recognizing and reproducing the unique tones and speech patterns of humans was trivial, for example. He could play Megatron's words through their voices at his whim. The more powerful manipulations—omnipresent surveillance and ground bridging—required an outside support structure. Soundwave was a master, but masters needed tools to reach their fullest potential. The Nemesis had been his finely crafted tool.

Now he was in need of a new one.

Soundwave tossed the recharge cord aside. He put his helm to the wall and listened. The electric conduits of the Lost Light hummed. The strange energy he had first felt upon waking in the med bay was everywhere.

Soundwave touched his tendrils to the wall and concentrated. No matter which frequencies he scanned or evaluated, he was unable to identify the energy. The most similar energy signature to it in his database was when the Nemesis had been poisoned by dark energon and taken on a will of its own. But the Lost Light definitely was not alive.

Soundwave contemplated the Lost Light and its strange energy. What could Megatron be teaching him by housing him here? The strange energy was stronger here than elsewhere. Its source was nearby. Soundwave would investigate that.

Using the map of the room he had generated, he sent Laserbeak a command. It undocked from his chest and hovered. Its weapons system powered up and it fired a laser beam at the wall. The outer layer of the wall separated. Soundwave used his tentacles to peel it down and away, forming a rough shelf. Beyond, the guts of the ship twinkled and sparked in the low light. As Laserbeak returned to its place, Soundwave jammed his tentacles into the mess of the ship.

incompatible

His tendrils flitted from line to line, testing and tapping. There were no sockets or outlets or access ports. Soundwave braced himself and injected one of his tendrils directly into a thick, insulated wire. The jolt it sent back to his system was painful, but manageable. He now had access to one of the ship's information pipelines. He searched for any kind of database: medical, crew, weapons. Anything would do for now. He would find them all eventually.

He found a compilation of unprotected, public data. It was some kind of library system. Mechs could share texts and recordings. Soundwave scanned the archived material. Most of it was cultural: anthologies and bootlegged recordings of movies and live performances. There was a disproportionate amount of poetry. Titles flew by. Soundwave dismissed most of them as irrelevant and unimportant.

How To Get It Up! A Self-Help Guide To Magnetism (And Some Other Things, Too) ; Windcharger

I Long To See You In The Halls Once Again And Discuss Matters of Great Importance ; Anonymous

Conjunxe Rytus: Hystorys of the Roemantyc Cybertronyan ; (modern translation- Nautica)

Towards Peace ; Megatron

Warning, Shots! Mixing Drinks For a Bar With No Guns ; Swerve

My Shovel, Your Face ; Crosscut

I Eagerly Await Your Corrections To This Poem ; Anonymous

Soundwave backed up.

megatron

He yanked the data for “Towards Peace” from the ship so quickly it left his tendrils sparking.

Soundwave sat on the berth and read the entire tome. The Lost Light's Cybertron had been dominated by a ruling class completely unlike his. There, mechs had been classified by alt mode. Soundwave could not think of a worse taxonomy for a species inherently meant to change. This Megatron had brought down the Functionists, leading to the rise of the Decepticons and the war.

It was interesting. Soundwave finally had a point of reference for this Megatron: his cautious and furtive manner. His focus on understanding the foundation of the environment and then slowly infiltrating and destroying it. It was all there. Even when he had called for expansion, the organic planets were subjected to a slow, agonizing aggression.

infiltration... devastation

This approach was in stark contrast to that used by Soundwave's Megatron. He had swiftly accrued followers and launched an attack on the ruling class. There had been no slow infiltration, no drawn-out period of civilian unrest. War was raged savagely and violently. There had been no room for subtleties.

Soundwave resolved to conduct himself to reflect this Megatron's will. If it was somehow true that every other dimension's war had ended with an Autobot victory, and this Megatron had witnessed that, he would be slowly and carefully formulating a plan to win. Soundwave would expose every single weakness on this ship and reveal them all to Megatron.

That turned his thoughts back to Drift. What had he learned from Drift?

…

…

???

At a loss, Soundwave searched the archive for “fate.” All he came up with were titles like, “Seeking Your Purpose After The War” and “Introductory Crystals for the Busy Mech.” Soundwave didn't even download them for a scant perusal.

Soundwave was uncertain what value Drift brought to the Decepticon cause and how cogent any preparations he made would be. Although, it was true that Drift's behavior aligned with a radical interpretation of Megatron's call for infiltration. Appearing harmless and useless was a tactic rarely used in Soundwave's dimension, but he was aware of it. Soundwave was reminded of Starscream- he had often privately questioned Starscream's place in Megatron's plans. But Megatron had successfully punished Starscream into submission. Soundwave trusted this Megatron knew what he was doing.

But...

Soundwave would begin his own preparations anyhow.

Chapter Text

“SOUNDWAVE.”

bam! bam!

Someone was banging on the door.

Soundwave rose from his broken desk. He'd spent the night redecorating. Three of the walls were peeled back. He'd also gone over the medical data he'd stolen. He was very interested to find out that Drift was not the only Decepticon aboard. He wondered why Megatron had not told him about the others. Maybe they were not trustworthy. Their medical files were black with redactions. Soundwave resolved to find them once he had access to the ship's ability to track individuals.

bam! bam!

Soundwave gave the command for the door to slide open.

A solid block of blue and white stood on the other side. In a clear, booming voice, it said, “Soundwave: you are in violation of ordinances 37.2, violence against a fellow crew member, 45.1c, resistance/violence against a member of the Security Team, and 53.7, failure to report an instance of violence you have instigated/perpetuated. You have been called to the bridge for castigation. Exit your quarters. I will accompany you.” The block of blue and white stepped aside.

Soundwave exited. The mech was slightly taller than he was and very heavily armored. He did not carry a weapon, but they were studded throughout his frame. Soundwave would have approved, if he hadn't been an Autobot.

“I am Ultra Magnus,” boomed the mech. “Follow me.”

Soundwave trailed behind him silently. Ultra Magnus grumbled about the state of the hallway. Once they reached populated levels of the ship, mechs scattered at the sight of him. Their trip was delayed when a short mech ran past holding a beaker of liquid metal, screaming. The screams turned to whines when Ultra Magnus wrote him a citation. Soundwave identified the mech using the medical data he had stolen: Swerve. Once released, Swerve took off again, and resumed screaming down the next hallway.

As they neared the bridge, more mechs jumped and dodged out of their way. Bluestreak, Jackpot, and Whirl, who had been talking, parted hastily. No one wanted to be in the way of an Ultra Magnus on a mission.

“Thank you, Magnus,” said Rodimus. “I can take it from here.”

“Would you like me to stay? I can read off the charges again-”

“No! No, that's not necessary. Thank you.” Rodimus heaved a sigh of relief after Ultra Magnus exited. He sank into his chair. “Fantastic mech. Very thorough. Too thorough. Soundwave! Welcome to my office. Have a seat.”

Soundwave remained standing. Rodimus's office was a room off the bridge, brightly lit with curved walls. One side had a large window looking out into space. Another had a broken desk bolted to it with a placard that read, “In Memorium: The First Quest.” The desk was carved with strange symbols and shapes that didn't match anything in Soundwave's database.

“I know being here probably isn't easy for you. But there are some ground rules we gotta lay out, the first and foremost being: no fighting. No violence. I received a report.” Rodimus held up a data pad. “I told Ultra Magnus I read it. He informed me through the conversation that followed that you assaulted a member of our Security Team. Is that true?”

“Self defense.”

Rodimus quirked an ocular arch. “Aquafend went to the med bay all smashed up. And you look fine. Care to elaborate?”

Soundwave played a clip of Aquafend on his visor, his first person account of the incident.

Rodimus's eyes widened as he watched. The recording had also captured Soundwave's internal signal receivers and reticles. Aquafend frantically pointed his gun at Soundwave's middle, his head, off to the side, over and over. Reticles centered around his head and hands. Data overlays indicated Aquafend's field was emitting anger. The gun powered up. The reticle around Aquafend's trigger finger zoomed in. The finger squeezed. Soundwave's wide, flat arm soared into view and smacked the gun. There was a blast and burst of light. Rubble rained down. Aquafend moved briefly up out of sight, then was thrown backwards against the far wall. The recording ended.

“I don't suppose you have a recording of what happened right before that?” asked Rodimus.

Aquafend reappeared on the visor, gun raised, clearly speaking directly at Soundwave. “Fuck you.”

“That... changes things. Sort of.” Rodimus rubbed the sides of his head. “He shouldn't have aimed that gun at you. I'll have another talk with Aquafend. But, Soundwave... I don't know exactly what happened down there, but it's really not a good look for you to be tossing mechs around on your first day aboard.”

“Self defense,” said Soundwave. He repeated Rodimus's own words: “Ch- changes things-ings.”

“Right, but physical altercations are to be kept to a minimum. Especially for you. Did Ratchet explain to you about the whole trans-dimensional injury issue?”

Soundwave was silent.

“Is that a yes?” Rodimus held up his hand. “Have you met Trailbreaker yet?”

Silence.

Rodimus rolled his eyes. “Don't make me order you to answer me. Just one little word. Yes? No?”

Silence.

“Why are you making this so hard?”

Soundwave displayed a smilie face with its tongue sticking out on his visor.

Rodimus gave him a pained expression. “Okay, not gonna lie, I wish I could do that.” He sighed. “As a courtesy to you, as with all mechs aboard, you're allowed pretty much free rein on the ship. This is your new home! But violence will lead to containment. Do you understand?”

Silence.

“Soundwave, do you know why I pulled you out of the shadowzone?”

Soundwave displayed a complex web of data, a collection of quotes and images. Its cumulative effect was intended to inform Rodimus that Soundwave thought it was because he was an idiot.

Rodimus either didn't understand the data or didn't pay it any attention. “I'm gonna tell you, cuz I need to remind myself, too. When I found you, I found a starving, desperate mech that I knew I could help. You're not trapped anymore. The universes have opened for you, Soundwave! What are your hopes? What are your dreams? Everyone gets a second chance on the Lost Light. Me, you, Megatron. Everyone.”

Soundwave was silent.

“I'm grateful to be here every single day.” Rodimus pointed to the door to the bridge. “I was so close to losing this ship and everyone on it, Soundwave. So close. The Lost Light was going to be dismantled. We took a chance and jumped dimensions and we made it. I don't know if there's some other me out there that didn't make it. I don't know what happened to him. Given where everyone was in their lives when we bolted, given everything that had just happened, I don't know if they would've stuck around with me or not. Maybe back in my home dimension, there's a Rodimus who's slowly drinking himself to death, friendless and broken. And every day I'm thankful I'm not him.” Rodimus stormed around his desk and jabbed his finger upwards in Soundwave's visor. “Life on board here isn't perfect, but it's ours, and it's precious, and I won't let anything get in the way of our journey together.”

Soundwave pushed Rodimus's hand out of his face.

Rodimus glared. “Buckle in, Soundwave, cuz no one gets booted off my ship. Everyone gets a second chance. Find something that makes you happy. Find something that reminds you every day why you left the shadowzone. You're here now. Remember that.”

Soundwave said nothing.

Rodimus punched a series of buttons on his desk. “Ambulon!”

A staticky reply came. “Yes, captain?”

“I'm sending Soundwave to you via Ultra Magnus. Something tells me you guys didn't give him the talk yesterday.”

There came a scratchy sigh. “Yes, captain.”

You're here now. Remember that.

Rodimus's words echoed in Soundwave's processor as he was accompanied back to the med bay.

He would remember, all right.

Soundwave remembered exactly why he had left the shadowzone.

Soundwave sat on a medical berth, searching Ambulon for any traces of his Decepticon heritage. His white paint flaked off, revealing purple beneath. But nothing else. No insignia or weapons. His alt mode was not evident.

Medics were necessary, of course. Every ship needed one. But they could be a flighty bunch. Mechs too inclined towards empathy made terrible Decepticons and sometimes switched sides. It appeared that this had been the case, here. Soundwave debated how much he could trust Ambulon.

“You still feel sick?” asked Ambulon. He waved a scanning device around Soundwave. It emitted a series of high pitched tones.

Soundwave displayed biofeedback on his visor.

“Hmm. Yeah.” Ambulon scratched his face. He looked back and forth between the device and Soundwave's visor. “Everyone aboard feels that way sometimes, but it's always worst for newcomers, like you and me.”

Soundwave tilted his helm. That information had been redacted from Ambulon's medical record. Soundwave wondered if the data wasn't marred by redactions, but rather that it did exist and he hadn't had enough time inside the medical database to grab it all.

“Yeah,” continued Ambulon. “We have that in common. It's kinda complicated. This ship and most of the people on it are from the same dimension. They hop between universes having adventures and stuff. Before they left their home dimension, they lost some of their crew. Their Ambulon, actually. He died. They wouldn't tell me how, but I found it in the records.” He shook his head. “Explains why Ratchet of all people hugged me when they found me.”

Soundwave flicked up an image of Ratchet on his visor. He altered the image so Ratchet's face puckered in a sour expression. His cheeks deformed until they were sucked into his helm and his face went inside-out.

“Yeah. Exactly. Mr. Sunshine himself.” Ambulon scratched his side. “Anyway, they call their home dimension 0001, just cuz that's easy. Each one they've jumped to since went up a number. I'm from 1331. You're from 3244. As you might've noticed, when you leave your dimension for a new one, your frame doesn't like it too much.”

Soundwave nodded.

“It's jarring. We don't know why. It's not that the atoms are different, exactly, cuz the science nerds tested that. I mean, they said they worked the same. But somehow also not.” Ambulon shrugged. “But what it means is, material from 0001 and material from 1331 are somehow different in a way they can't define. Like how you and me...” his gaze settled on Soundwave's long arms, “are definitely different.”

Soundwave nodded.

“The good news is that it'll subside after a while. Once Brainstorm and Perceptor figure out how to make fuel for you, you'll be able to absorb it. But, they have to make the fuel from material we already have aboard. Your body will start to incorporate matter from our current fuel mix. The discomfort will ease up, because you'll become slightly more like everyone else here.”

Soundwave displayed a frowning face.

“I know, it sounds weird. But there's nothing else we can do. The Lost Light is a remarkable ship, but it can't make its own fuel. Every once in a while we have to stop somewhere and fuel up and then another dimension gets added into the mix. They mix the new fuel into the old in portions so it gets introduced slowly. Everyone here is drinking a multidimensional drink. We're a ship full of inter-dimensional hybrids.”

exploitable weakness

“How long does one batch of fuel last?” asked Soundwave.

“Time doesn't really... work right for us. I mean, whose time do we use? 0001's? Yours? But maybe... a year? Five years? Depends on what we use it for.” Ambulon gestured to Soundwave emphatically. “Fuel replenishment and mixing isn't something you have to worry about. Except that it'll be a big jolt from what you're used to.”

Soundwave catalogued this data. It was important and interesting, with numerous applications. It implied the entire crew subsided on the same food source. Such a weakness would be trivial to exploit.

poison

“But what it really means is... even if you could go home, which you can't, you wouldn't feel at home there anymore. It would take a while for your body to readjust itself. If it even could readjust itself.” Ambulon glanced at the medical monitors. “I'm not convinced you could ever go back to being 100% your own self, even if you went back home and spent the rest of your life there. Something from the Lost Light would linger on.” He shrugged. “Not a big deal to me. I figure you'd just incorporate stuff from your home dimension back into your frame, but some people get touchy about it.”

A small diagnostic drone swooped down from the ceiling. It was red and white with two little arms and winglets. It handed Ambulon a data pad.

“Ah, thank you.” He frowned as he read its contents.

Soundwave curbed the urge to pluck the little drone from the air. It was not alive: it had no field and Soundwave could detect the transmissions between it and the med bay's computer. The drone beeped at Ambulon and returned to a cubbyhole in the wall, wiggling backwards into place. There were two other cubbies next to it, empty. Soundwave recorded and internalized the frequencies it used for its transmissions.

“You seem to be a pretty efficient type,” said Ambulon. “Looks like you'll be okay if it takes a few more days for your energon to be synthesized. Other than the disorientation, are you feeling any pain?”

“Negative.”

“Have any other concerns? Questions?”

Soundwave weighed his options. He did have questions. He felt he could only ask them of Drift or Ambulon, and he was greatly disinclined to be anywhere near Drift again. Megatron hadn't mentioned Ambulon as an ally, but he was a former Decepticon...

calculated risk

“Affirmative. Where is Spinister? Where is Misfire?”

Ambulon's biolights flashed. His field flared with shock. He stared in slack-jawed disbelief as Soundwave listed off names.

“-and Nickel?”

“How do you know about them?!” cried Ambulon. “You've been here less than a day!”

“Soundwave: superior.”

“Soundwave: scary,” said Ambulon. He shook his head. “I... I... I mean, yeah, we usually show the newcomers, cuz it really gets the point across, but First Aid is better suited for-”

Soundwave stepped towards him. “Show me.”

“Okay, okay.” Ambulon grimaced. “The medical bay is bigger than it looks.” He pointed. “That's a false wall. There's a room behind it.”

Soundwave compared the room's size to his map of the Lost Light. It was true. The portion of the map designated Medical Bay was smaller in reality.

hidden compartments... there may be more elsewhere. interesting

Soundwave followed Ambulon to the false wall. It was very well constructed, perfectly mimicking the other walls' detailed lines and lights. Ambulon pushed a series of buttons and a door slid back. The room beyond was dark, faintly tinged with pink light. “C'mon,” said Ambulon.

The hidden room was large with rows of consoles and holo monitors lining one wall. It was warm and musty. It smelled something like energon, though not any Soundwave had ever encountered. There were no overhead lights. Illumination was provided by six huge columns of glass set into sturdy bases built into the floor. Pipes and wires fed into them from the top. Each column housed a mech in pink energon. They were contorted, knees bent, backs arching. The smallest one kneeled. Soundwave presumed their positions were an attempt to keep them submerged. The energon was only as high up as their optics or visors, leaving bits of their bodies exposed to the air above. They all had severe damage and burned, blistering paint. They all wore Decepticon badges.

“What is this?” asked Soundwave. He extended a tentacle. Ambulon yelped and jumped back. Soundwave stepped forward to touch his tendrils to the glass. His foot tinked against something. He looked down.

Bunched around the columns were tiny vials of energon in different colors, glowing softly. Soundwave reset his visor to better filter the low light. Now he saw hand-written notes and dolls and metallic flowers nestled between the vials. “What is that?” he asked. He plucked one of the vials from the floor and held it up to his visor. It was covered in a layer of dust.

“Hey! Put that back,” said Ambulon. “That's innermost energon. Mechs put it here as a sign of respect and mourning. This is like... a sacred place for the 0001 crew. You're not supposed to touch that.”

Soundwave tilted the vial. “Define: innermost energon.”

Ambulon reached for the vial. After a few seconds of tugging back and forth, Soundwave let him take it. Ambulon placed it back on the floor. “Mechs like, uh, everyone we've ever found except for you, have a spark chamber. There's special energon in that chamber. Innermost energon. It's bathed in spark light. Giving up a little bit of it for someone is an intimate gesture.”

“Incorrect. I have a spark chamber.”

“Er, well, you do, but it's really different from ours.” Ambulon made a circle with his hands. “Ours is like a ball with the spark inside, and yours”—he flattened his fingers—“it's kinda like...” He moved his hands apart. Then closer together. Then apart again. Then he made two V-shapes with his fingers and waggled them back and forth. “I dunno. It's there, but it's connected to your lines really weirdly.”

“Irrelevant,” said Soundwave. The prongs of his tentacle opened. He set them against the glass. Little tapping noises came as his tendrils touched the glass, sensing and listening. The mech inside, as far as he could tell, was completely offline. Soundwave glanced at the name embossed at the base of the column. Spinister. “What is this containment vessel? What is its purpose?”

“This is the last bit of pure 0001 on the ship,” said Ambulon. “These mechs were... friends? I don't really understand it, but they were all in a group together. A Decepticon group.”

Soundwave nodded.

“Around the time the crew needed their first refueling was when they got to dimension 0036. The crew bought energon in 0036 but it made them sick. That was when they realized the price of dimension-hopping. They couldn't just drink any old thing from any old dimension. There was panic at first. They thought they were going to starve. They experimented with mixing the 0036 with 0001, and it was a bit better, but not ideal. They jumped from dimension to dimension, trying different energons, but nothing felt right. When they got to 0058, the science nerds said they needed matter that's dimensionally neutral. Someone theorized that the core of a collapsed star could be harnessed to synthesize fuel from, because it's pure neutrons or something. This is the group that volunteered to get it.” Ambulon's mouth pulled back. “They weren't successful.”

Soundwave nodded.

“They were damaged to the point of needing extensive repairs. Ratchet had them put into stasis and suspended in the remaining pure 0001 energon until he could get the right parts. They didn't find the right parts until 0089. And that was when they found out that you can't slap metals from one dimension into a mech from a different dimension.” Ambulon scratched his arm. “Not just metals. Everyone here thinks I have flaky paint syndrome, because their Ambulon did. But that's not what this is. This is their paint failing to stick to my frame. It might stick to yours just fine—it does to Trailbreaker—but not to me, for some reason. Everything depends on what you're made of. Where you came from.”

Soundwave searched his database for Trailbreaker. He displayed an image of Trailbreaker waving. Part of his hand was missing.

“Yeah. About that. Trailbreaker got part of his hand cut off during his war. He hopped aboard and Ratchet went to treat him, but he can't innervate the metal Ratchet has. That means Ratchet can furnish him with repairs, but Trailbreaker can't feel them or move them. His lines won't grow into that metal.” Ambulon pointed back to the med bay. “Did you notice the little vats of metal in the other room? We have some metal specialists aboard and they've been working on this project forever. They've basically said you need to be a god to figure out what's going on. The atoms... I dunno, something about the metals being slightly different between dimensions.” Ambulon shrugged. “What it means for me, and you, is that if we get hurt, we can't be fixed by the metal they have aboard. Rodimus and Megatron have very strict no-fighting policies. If 0001 mechs get hurt, they can melt pieces of the walls and make replacement parts.” Soundwave thought of the holes in the wall of his quarters. “But you and me? We're out of luck.” Ambulon glanced at Soundwave's frame. “So, take good care of yourself.”

“Why do they not return Trailbreaker to his dimension for repairs?”

Ambulon grimaced. “No one told you? I don't want to be the one that tells you.”

“Tell me.”

Ambulon's field flashed with fear. “Okay! Once you come aboard, you can never go back. The Lost Light can't navigate its jumps. They're random. They're never duplicated. Each new dimension we navigate to is unique.”

Anger swept through Soundwave. Ambulon stepped back. Soundwave ran his emotion-suppressing protocols. “Unacceptable.”

Ambulon raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry. If you want more details about that, you'll have to talk to Perceptor.”

perceptor

“Sometimes when a mech gets really hurt, Ratchet will take out a bit of this to mix in with their repairs. They heal faster. That's why the levels are low. The columns used to be full.” Ambulon pointed to Nickel. The tips of her antenna were exposed to the air, above the level of the energon. They were a dull, gray color. “The whole crew takes it very seriously. Ratchet has to go through a ton of paperwork now to extract a few drops. It's the last connection they have to home.”

Soundwave stalked over to the consoles. He tapped at the holographic keyboards with his tendrils.

“Hey! What did I just say! Don't touch anything!” Ambulon reached for Soundwave's tentacle, then thought better of it. “Come on, let's go back. ”

The consoles were password locked. Unaccessible with a witness present. Soundwave memorized the layout of the room and followed Ambulon out. The false wall slid shut behind them.

Across the med bay, in the quarantine lab, a group of mechs glanced up at them. They stood around beakers of melted metal, piles of metal shavings, crystals, and tubes of energon. One of the beakers bubbled over. With excited shouts, their attention was drawn back to their work.

“Long story short, don't get hurt,” said Ambulon. He lowered the medical berth Soundwave had sat on to its usual height.

“Understood.”

“Here,” said Ambulon. He handed Soundwave a canister. “That has our current fuel mix in it. Take a sip every day. It'll help acclimate you to what we've got. When Brainstorm finishes your fuel, he'll be mixing it with that anyway, to help stretch it.”

The canister was magnetized. Soundwave stuck it to his side.

“Of course, if it makes you feel really sick, stop drinking it,” said Ambulon.

“Understood,” said Soundwave.

“Uh.” Ambulon tapped his fingertips together. “That's it for now. I think Ultra Magnus is waiting for you in the hall.”

Soundwave nodded. As he headed for the door, he sent a transmission to the diagnostic drone in the cubbyhole. It wiggled an arm.

success

As Soundwave fell into step behind Ultra Magnus, he went over what he had learned. Soundwave approved of Ambulon. He was knowledgable, straightforward, and easy to scare. Soundwave made a small amendment to his burgeoning plans. Ambulon would not be destroyed.

"Captain?"

Rodimus was sitting with his legs up on his desk. He held a bowl of mini cube snacks. Rodimus inched his heel over to hit a button. His foot knocked aside a stack of data pads. “Yo.”

"Did you tell Soundwave about the Scavengers?"

Rodimus frowned. “No?”

"He... he knew about them."

“Huh.” Rodimus eyed the data pads Ultra Magnus and Ratchet had given him about Soundwave. Maybe he should read them. “Thanks, Ambulon. Did you tell him the stuff?”

"I did."

“Did he understand?”

"He says he did."

Rodimus picked up one of the data pads. It was entitled, Soundwaves: An Exhaustive Compilation of All Previously Encountered Soundwaves. Rodimus tossed it aside. This Soundwave was more alien than any Cybertronian they had ever found. He doubted a data pad was smart enough to know that. “Did he sound like he meant it?”

"Does he sound like anything? Except terrifying, I mean. I liked it better when he repeated your voice back at us."

“Heh.” Rodimus set the bowl of snacks down. He spread the data pads like a fan across the desk. “Thank you, Ambulon. Looks like it's time to get reading.”

Or...

Maybe he'd get Drift to do it for him.

Chapter Text

Ultra Magnus gave Soundwave a brief tour of the nonresidential, upper decks of the ship: the med bay, the cafeteria, the bars, the various common/entertainment areas. He waved at the elevator to the oil reservoir as they passed and gave a cryptic acknowledgment of an engine room and “its related structures.”

They looped around again to one of the bars and Ultra Magnus sighed. “Rodimus has specifically requested I give you a tour of the inside of this establishment. Specifically, of the barstool layout and the menu.” He narrowed his eyes. “You don't have any weapons hidden in your frame, do you?”

Soundwave said nothing.

Ultra Magnus gave him a withering look and activated the door.

Mechs were cheering and shouting and laughing. The screens on the walls jibbered with human entertainment. Ultra Magnus led Soundwave through the ruckus to the bar, behind which huge columns of energon stood, not unlike those housing the Decepticons in the secret med bay room. Unlike those columns, these were filled with different colored energon and no bodies. Engex bottles of different shapes and sizes lined the anterior of the bar. Decorative glasses were neatly stacked in tiers on the bar top. Both mechs sat on stools that were too short for them.

A mech with a chevron—Soundwave recognized him from before, Bluestreak—approached from behind the bar. At the sight of Ultra Magnus, his chest plates, which had been cracked apart, clanged together. He stood up straight and gave them a customer service smile. “Hey! Uh. What can I get for you?”

“One glass of non-intoxicating, flavor-free, single-filtered engex for me and a Newcomer's Puregrade for him,” said Ultra Magnus.

“Sure thing,” said Bluestreak. He ducked to gather supplies for the drinks.

A voice whispered from beneath the bar, “Is that Magnus? Charge him double. He wrote me a citation today.”

Bluestreak snickered softly.

Soundwave glanced at Ultra Magnus. He didn't seem to have heard the conversation. He was glaring at a group of mechs juggling rods of energon on the other side of the room.

“Hey, WOW,” said the voice from beneath the bar. Swerve popped up into view, holding a tray. He pointed at Soundwave. “You are freaky up close.”

“Manners,” said Ultra Magnus dryly. He took the glass Bluestreak handed him. “Thank you.”

Swerve retrieved a step stool and climbed it to get a better look at Soundwave. He waved his hand in front of Soundwave's visor. “Hellooooo-”

“Swerve!” said Ultra Magnus. “I've brought him here for socialization, not objectification!”

Swerve ignored him. “Are you related to Froid?”

Soundwave leaned away from him. He scanned his database for Froid. There was one image. He displayed it.

“Whoa, your face is a monitor. Yeah, that's Froid. That's not an answer, though. Are you?” Swerve looked at Ultra Magnus. “Is he?”

“Unlikely,” said Ultra Magnus.

“He's quiet for a Soundwave,” said Bluestreak warily.

Bluestreak placed a glass in front of Soundwave. It was tall and plain, filled with a glowing pink liquid. Soundwave let out a tentacle. He wrapped the prongs around the glass. One tendril crept over its lip, darting for the liquid. He braced himself for what would surely be an unpleasant sensation-

“WHOA!” Swerve shouted. He jumped off the step stool and pointed to the wall. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Didn't you see the sign?”

Soundwave looked up. There was a sign that read: No Guns, No Swords, No Briefcases, and below that, scrawled hastily in marker, No Tentacles.

“That's new,” said Ultra Magnus, raising one ocular arch. “If anything, you would have put that up after we visited 2957, the-”

“-dimension of tentacled horrors, yes yes, we don't need to relive any of that,” said Swerve. “But none of them came aboard as permanent crew!”

Ultra Magnus lowered his ocular arch. He evaluated Soundwave: hunched on a barstool too short for him, knees jutting into the air, fingers trailing on the ground. Ultra Magnus took in the height of the bar, the glass, and the location of Soundwave's elbow joints in relation to the two. After some quick geometry, he said, “I think he's making do with what he has, at the moment.”

“Aquafend came in late last night with a face patch,” said Swerve. “Sat right there and told us all about him. I don't want any tentacle trouble in this bar!” He glanced at Bluestreak. “That's not a sentence I thought I'd have to say twice in my lifetime.”

Bluestreak shrugged. “It's the Lost Light.”

“Hands or nothing!” said Swerve, brandishing a dish towel.

Soundwave's visor flashed red. His field pulsed with irritation. He ran his emotion-suppressing protocols. He leaned back and, with a show of great difficulty, bent his long arms. His forearms thudded onto the bar top. His elbows whined as he semi-transformed them, trying to angle his arms so he could grab his glass. He swiped for it, missed, and hit Ultra Magnus's glass. It shot across the bar and smashed into another patron.

“Ow!” Hound glared and wiped engex off his chest.

Soundwave tried his other arm. It swept across the bar top, again missing his glass, and smacked the minibot next to him in the head.

“Ow!” Tailgate hopped up onto his barstool. “What gives! Whoa.” His blue visor crackled with energy as he stared at Soundwave.

Soundwave ignored the growing attention of the mechs around him and continued trying to reach for his glass. He smacked patrons and smashed bottles and almost toppled a pyramid of inverted drink cups. Bluestreak dove at the last second to save it.

“Oh my god!” shouted Swerve. “Stop!” He grabbed Soundwave's forearms and pushed them against the bar. “Just stop!” He squealed and yanked his hands away. “Why are you cold??”

Soundwave's point thus demonstrated, he pulled his forearms off the bar and let them dangle at his sides again. He took a noisy slurp of his drink through his tendrils. It burned. His line filters sent him an agonized evaluation: as before, it wouldn't kill him, but it wouldn't be pleasant.

Ultra Magnus surveyed the chaos around him. Bluestreak swept broken glass away as Swerve mopped up spilled engex. Tailgate was tugging on Cyclonus's arm and Hound was heading for the door. “We've sat here for 3.74 minutes,” he groaned.

“Get- just get away from the bar,” said Swerve, wrapping his arms protectively around the pyramid of cups. “Go to a booth or something. Stay away from the decorations!”

Ultra Magnus stood. “Do send over another drink.” Soundwave unfolded himself from his seat and followed Ultra Magnus to the furthest, darkest corner. They slid into a booth. Ultra Magnus clasped his hands before him, as if trying to forcibly insert a measure of calm into his immediate surroundings. Soundwave positioned his tendrils so they would more noisily suck up his drink. “I can see you are going to be what Drift generously calls an experience,” Ultra Magnus said. He pushed a data pad across the table. “This is an information pad containing indices and maps and miscellaneous facts, as well as, and most importantly, an unabridged Code of Conduct that you are to abide by.”

With his other tentacle, Soundwave took the data pad. He flicked through it quickly, memorizing its contents.

“Are you actually reading it?” Ultra Magnus asked, his field letting out a bit of surprise.

Soundwave displayed an excerpt on his visor: Subsection 147.2: Ship-wide Emergencies: in the event of a Ship-wide Emergency, alarms will sound and red lights will flash. Unless otherwise directed, if you have been assigned a battle station, you are to report to it immediately. If you are a noncombatant, you will go directly to your hab suite or nearest safe room.

“Well, that is... unexpected,” said Ultra Magnus. He reset his vocalizer. “Everyone on the Lost Light is assigned a position. Newcomers are given up to two weeks to familiarize themselves with the ship and crew and then may submit requests for placement.” He eyed Soundwave's frame. “I assume you specialize in communications?”

Soundwave did not dignify that question with an answer. He augmented his personal map of the Lost Light with information from the data pad. Its map, he noted, did not mark the secret med bay room in any way.

“Right... frankly, some have voiced concerns over giving you access to ship information so early on,” said Ultra Magnus, “but others are keen to have you integrated as soon as possible. Given your violent outburst last night-”

Soundwave played a clip in Rodimus's voice. “Self defense.”

“-er, yes,” said Ultra Magnus. “That matter is still being investigated. Nevertheless, I would implore you to adhere to our Code of Conduct. It will serve you well during your adjustment period.” Bluestreak dropped off a new drink for him. “Thank you.” He took a big swig. “Transparency is a key component of Rodimus and Megatron's leadership. We've all endured too much for it not to be. At this point, I can't tell if you're the type who will abide by restrictions because you're smart enough to understand why they're restricted, or if you're the type to go traipsing into places where you don't belong simply because you've been told not to. All I can tell you is the following: one, if you are injured, you cannot be healed, and if you are gravely wounded, you will die. Two, there are a few areas of the ship you are forbidden from entering because they are very dangerous. Of those, the engine room is probably the most important. In an effort to smother any delinquent desires to go exploring, I will tell you why it is forbidden in no uncertain terms. The Lost Light utilizes a special engine that allows it to hop dimensions. Contact with its energies is dangerous for 0001 mechs, sometimes fatal. Obviously, we do not know what its energies would do to you, but you are welcome to peruse Section 531d to see what exposure has done to mechs in the past.”

Soundwave's visor flickered with images of dead mechs, twisted in agony or partially embedded in walls.

“Now that any possible mystery as to why the engine room is forbidden has been dispelled, are you feeling any lingering desire to trespass?”

“I feel nothing,” said Soundwave.

Ultra Magnus startled. “I- yes, good. Is that your real voice?”

Soundwave nodded.

Ultra Magnus drained his glass. He shifted away from Soundwave's tentacles as they coiled and slithered across the table. Soundwave was engrossed in the data pad. Images and numbers flickered on his visor. After a few minutes, Ultra Magnus said, “I assume you've seen the index of positions available. Do any of them align to your interests?”

Soundwave blanked his visor. In Ambulon's voice, he said, “Perceptor.”

Ultra Magnus looked at him uneasily. “I don't think he's taking on, er, interns, at the moment.”

“Perceptor.”

“Very well,” said Ultra Magnus. “Finish your drink and we'll see him. Excuse me one moment.” Ultra Magnus slid out of the booth. He crossed the room in seven strides and pried a rod of energon out of Riptide's hands. He had been trying to shove it into an electrical outlet.

Soundwave finished absorbing the data pad's information. He opened the canister Ambulon had given him. He stuck a tendril in.

!!!

It was as if he had been struck by the most foul-tasting lightning imaginable. Soundwave nearly flung the canister across the bar. He gathered himself and poured a minuscule amount into his drink.

!

Soundwave pushed the glass away. It was tainted. No good could ever come of it.

“You gonna drink that?”

A shadow fell over Soundwave. He looked up. A blue mech with a field like a jackhammer had appeared next to his table. He held a dainty drink glass, empty, between two strange pincers.

“The name's Whirl. Your dimension undoubtably had a Whirl and he was nowhere near as cool as me.”

Soundwave stared blankly.

“Yeah, I said it. Anyway. You look like someone who wants to punch someone else in the face. I've got just the place for it. Whirl's Punching Things Club. Bottom of the ship. Open floor fight tomorrow night. Come on down and win Jackpot some money so he'll stop begging me for change.”

fight?

Soundwave didn't know what to make of this. Every mech he had encountered so far had made it very clear that violence had consequences. Autobots willing to risk permanent injury for frivolous means would no doubt be the first to rise up against Megatron.

must identify

“Not much of a talker, eh? Good. I like that. Oh, and the password is Tailgate's punchable face. It's an old joke. Don't actually punch Tailgate. You wouldn't survive it.” Whirl clicked his empty pincers together twice, grabbed Soundwave's cup, and trotted away.

Soundwave glanced at Tailgate, sitting at the bar. He did, indeed, have a punchable face. A very punchable face that did not betray any self-defense capabilities. Soundwave focused on the conversation he was having with the mechs around him. The ambient sounds of the room faded as he concentrated.

“-ember that time Ultra Magnus almost brought an alt-dimension Prowl aboard? And we had to get the entire ship together to veto it?” Swerve's expression hovered between horrified and disgusted.

“Aww, he was nice,” said Tailgate. “Bit of a strict mech.”

“No,” said Bluestreak. “He was a sneaky mech. Prowls are always bad news.”

“But it begs the question,” continued Swerve. “Don't look at him when I ask, don't look at him. But who would be worse, Prowl or Soundwave?”

“That's a moot point, isn't it?” asked Tailgate. “We already have a Soundwave. It doesn't matter how bad he is. He's already here.”

“Hmm.” Bluestreak tapped his chin. “I'd say Prowl's worse. Soundwave probably doesn't care enough to go digging into your personal life for blackmail material that he'd publicize unless you complied with some intricately terrible plot involving betraying five of your closest friends.”

“How curiously specific,” said Tailgate.

“Bluestreak's right,” said Swerve. “Prowl is scary-subtle. Soundwave looks more like your straightforward 'stab a tentacle into your stomach and suck your guts out' type.”

“He's listening to you,” said Cyclonus.

Swerve dove beneath the bar. Bluestreak and Tailgate startled. They looked at Soundwave. Soundwave stared back.

“Cyclonus!” cried Tailgate. “Why didn't you say something earlier?!”

Cyclonus's deep chuckle softened as the hulking form of Ultra Magnus eclipsed Soundwave's view of the bar. He had a fistful of confiscated energon rods. “Ready?”

Soundwave rose wordlessly from the booth and followed him out.

Perceptor's lab, or, as it turned out, Brainstorm and Perceptor's lab, was a large, circular room filled with monitors, scientific equipment and holographic projectors. Experiments and inventions in various states of development littered the tables on the periphery. One table was dedicated entirely to energon: glass vessels bubbled with liquids and heating elements whirred. Another was dedicated to weaponry. A sword that looked like a gray imitation of one of Drift's lay on the table. It had a gun for a handle. Soundwave looked closer. The blade was actually a series of very thin, interlocking guns. A note was attached to it in two different handwriting styles:

SWUN!
no, that's terrible
GWORD!
somehow worse
SWORDY-GUN-GUN!
come now
BLASTABBER!
that's the one

Brainstorm was a mech equally expressive in field and frame. He gesticulated wildly, wings fluttering and dipping. Perceptor was more collected, calmly evaluating Soundwave like he was a distant target. Soundwave noted his asymmetrical eyes.

“Wow, you are weird,” said Brainstorm. He grabbed Soundwave's arm and inspected it. “I have been waiting to meet you.” He pointed to Soundwave's plating. “Do you see that? Do you see that, Percy?”

Soundwave yanked his arm out of Brainstorm's grasp. 0001 mechs were far too comfortable touching him for his liking.

“He's cold,” said Brainstorm. “Fascinating. I predicted that based on his energon readings, didn't I?”

“You did,” said Perceptor. He had one hand at his chin, studying the biolights of Soundwave's frame. There were large, circular alt mode pieces stuck to Perceptor's arms. They weren't wheels. Soundwave wasn't sure what they were. They rotated slowly as Perceptor thought: clockwise, counter-clockwise.

Brainstorm's wings fanned out. “We've never found anyone like you, Soundwave. Not in thousands of dimensions.” He grabbed a few glass tubes of energon and held them up. One contained a thick purple liquid- Soundwave's own blood. “We've been working on synthesizing a fuel additive for you. Something that takes the edge off of our in-house mix.”

“Something that will allow you to absorb its energy,” specified Perceptor. “Efficiently and painlessly.”

“You probably won't want to bother with the details,” said Brainstorm. “But we've got them. We've got them all.” He pushed a button and a holographic screen lit up with streams of data and diagrams. “As you know, energon, being a solid form of energy, but not in the way matter is a solid form of energy, is composed of-”

Soundwave recorded Brainstorm's excited explanation, but concentrated on the data projected before him. It described the compositional make up of energon. Soundwave had information in his database that gave him context for this data: Ratchet's synth en and Megatron's dark energon. Soundwave had worked at their periphery and naturally absorbed that data without contemplating it. He had filed it away in case Megatron needed the formulas later and the Nemesis was unavailable. But Soundwave had never given any of it a thought of his own.

Soundwave mentally overlaid the core components of synth en and dark energon onto Perceptor's recipe. The similarities were there. Perceptor's mix was undeniably a synthetic energon, which Soundwave could tell by comparing it to the synth en. It was not dangerous, like dark energon. It was something slightly different. The components of the energons were similar. The ratios of core components and trace elements comprised the differences.

When Brainstorm finally ceased talking long enough to run across the lab to grab an invention, Soundwave said to Perceptor, “Tell me why the Lost Light cannot return to a previously-visited dimension.”

Perceptor tapped at his wrist. The holographic data winked out. A dome appeared, covered in thousands of dots of light all connected together. “This is the map of our journey. Every node represents a different dimension. The single line joining them tracks the path we have taken.”

With a glance, Soundwave saw the order underlying the apparent chaos of the dots. They were stacked in layers in three-dimensional space. There wasn't a pattern to the way the journey-line connected them, though. It might stay on one level for three nodes, then dart up six levels, down two, up one, down four...

Perceptor steepled his fingertips. “The simplest answer to your question is that the Lost Light itself is bound by its own matter. You will find this is a common theme between all of the problems we face skipping through dimensions. Our navigation system is made of the matter from our dimension, and thus it is suited for that dimension. We've altered it the best we can, but often it cannot take readings.”

Soundwave thought back to what he had observed the night before. “The Lost Light does not use autopilot.”

“Correct. We are unable to load coordinates into our navigation system because we simply cannot detect them. Without being able to load a target coordinate, we cannot control our jumps.” Perceptor's gaze flitted over Soundwave's antenna. “Imagine if I removed your antennae and then asked you a question from across the ship. It would be preposterous to expect you to answer.”

It was preposterous that Perceptor thought Soundwave wouldn't have a way to hear from across the ship. Soundwave tilted his head. He tried to think of the most general way to state that without revealing too much. “The ship itself could be harnessed as a means to listen.”

“Ah, that it can,” said Perceptor approvingly. “And, indeed, we've theorized that if we could understand the underlying architecture that connects the dimensions, we might be able to predict where our next jump took us, or perhaps even guide the ship to a dimension of our choosing. Alas, we have yet to make headway in that arena.”

Soundwave directed his focus on the hologram dome. “Why are the nodes arranged in layers?”

“We found certain... hmm. It is difficult to explain it without using a sophisticated lexicon.”

“Soundwave: superior. I will understand any lexicon, given sufficient definitions.”

One corner of Peceptor's mouth turned up. “Very well. The equations governing the transferral of matter to energy and vice versa remain constant across the, shall we say, multiverse. That is what this dome represents: all the dimensions in one place. Given that there are physical constants between them, we are uncertain why matter from one dimension should behave differently from another. We've evaluated thousands of samples at the atomic level and can find no reason why they are incompatible. We've tried to look closer, but we are limited in our ability to observe at a subatomic level. We cannot determine the specifics. But we have been able to identify an underlying energy to that matter. There are eleven different energies. We have consistently found that every dimension we visit falls under one of them. The eleventh being that found in your dimension, which was heretofore unknown.” Perceptor cocked his head. “This invites the idea that there are even more energies out there. For years, all dimensions have fallen under one of ten energy types, so we thought there were only ten. But your dimension disproves that.”

“I was in a pocket within my universe for many years.”

“I'm quite certain that should not matter,” said Perceptor. “Can you elaborate?”

“Shadowzone.” Soundwave displayed the data describing it on his visor.

“Ahh...” Perceptor watched intently. When the data cascade ended, he typed furiously into a keyboard. “I don't think that should matter too mu- ah.” He pointed to two identical graphs. “The underlying energy of your dimension and your dimension's shadowzone is the same. It is the application of that energy within the spacetime of your dimension that defined the shadowzone. If you will, whether one fashions a blade or a pen from iron, and commits to the use of each object as intended, the iron remains the same.”

“Understood.”

“So therefore, there are eleven layers of nodes in the dome,” said Perceptor. He pointed to the highest dot, one link back on the Lost Light's trail. “This is yours.”

Soundwave stared at the little dot.

home. target. must return

Perceptor ran his hand through the hologram, deforming its bright stars. “0001 was designated as '1' energy. It is at the bottom, here. Every dimension is thus organized as we uncover its intricacies.”

Soundwave followed the Lost Light's trail through thousands of dots. He felt something prickle in the back of his processor. He was unable to define it. It felt like he was missing something concerning their layout. “Are there other characteristics you found that differ between dimensions?”

Perceptor shook his head. “This was the most profound and, admittedly, easiest to observe difference between them.” He hit a button and tapped one of the nodes. A window popped up with streams of data. “You can tap any node on the map and the data we have on it will come up. I do concede that we may have missed something. Thus, we have an extensive library of samples from every dimension that we could safely collect matter from. If you had a proposal regarding a parameter to search for, we could scan the samples.”

“Isn't he handsome when he talks,” said Brainstorm behind them. He was staring in rapt attention at Perceptor.

“Irrelevant,” said Soundwave.

“Totally relevant,” said Brainstorm. He held up a patchwork device. “This little thingy is the key to manufacturing your fuel additive. We don't know how it works, we just know it does. But since you're from a dimension with a new energy type, it's going to take a while for us to get it to work right.”

“We are restricted to the matter we have available,” said Perceptor. He pointed to a flask of energon. “This is our current fuel mix, which contains energon from dimensions with energy 1. It can still cause discomfort, though, which tells me there's a subdivision of characteristics we are unable to define.” Perceptor launched into a detailed description of the mathematical models he had generated which described the energies of each dimension.

Soundwave was not a stupid mech. His tasks often placed him in the vicinity of Starscream and Shockwave's work, so he was vaguely familiar with the terms Perceptor used. But he lacked the in-depth knowledge to properly and fully understand everything Perceptor said. It reminded him of being in the company of Drift. But Soundwave felt disinclined to murder Perceptor for it.

“-and, of course, there's always the hypothesis that the Lost Light can only jump to dimensions where it, and by extension, everyone on it, doesn't already exist. And once we've jumped to a dimension, we do exist in it, so we are never able to return to it.”

“I don't think that's it,” said Brainstorm. “There has to be a way to return to-”

Perceptor sighed. “Yes, I know. Mirage comes in here every few weeks, prodding and poking around and asking the same thing. 'How can I go home?' I've told him very firmly that if we find out, he'll be the first to know. But you can't change the rules of reality. One must respect the mathematics!”

“Mathematics hasn't earned my respect,” said Brainstorm. “We just need a power source strong enough to force reality to bend to our will!” He punched the air.

“We're not going to try to harness another quasar,” said Perceptor, folding his arms.

“Aww-”

“Or a pulsar, or a supernova, or five supernovae,” said Perceptor.

While they talked, Soundwave touched the points of light. Each produced a window of descriptive, scrolling data. He pushed the node for dimension 0001. He contrasted its data to that of his own dimension. Their differences were stark.

must acquire all data

Soundwave glanced at the inputs for the consoles. They were identical to those he had seen elsewhere on the ship. The Lost Light had universal inputs. This was helpful. When Soundwave was able to make adaptors, he would be able to plug in anywhere. He added this tidbit to his formulating plan. Soundwave looked around the lab, taking note of the vents in the ceiling, wondering how guarded the lab would be after hours. He could sneak in and grab the data then.

The image of Ultra Magnus's data pad flashed through his mind.

Soundwave was struck by an alternative, one he never would have thought would work on the Nemesis. But the Autobots were shockingly forthcoming about their resources.

Maybe Soundwave didn't have to steal data. Maybe he could just ask for it.

“Is this data available remotely?” Soundwave interrupted.

“-with the- oh! Of course!” Brainstorm excitedly pushed buttons at a console. It ejected a slim card. He handed it to Soundwave. “Here's the access info for our database. You can get to it by joining the ship's intranet.”

“It's a read-only access, of course,” said Perceptor dryly. His gaze flickered over Soundwave's Decepticon badges. “Although if you have something to contribute, do let us know. We will be happy to discuss it.”

Soundwave tucked the card away for later inspection. Perceptor and Brainstorm conversed a while longer on the mathematical repercussions of their current experiments. Soundwave recorded the conversation, but didn't pay it much heed. He made a checklist of tasks and initiated an organizational protocol to parse all the data he had acquired.

After a time, he realized Perceptor and Brainstorm were staring at him. Their conversation seemed to have come to a natural close. Soundwave headed for the door.

“Uh. Bye to you, too!” called Brainstorm.

“Hmm,” said Perceptor.

Ultra Magnus brought Soundwave to his room. “Your probation period requires you to have an escort when roaming the ship. I have other duties I must attend to. You are to remain here until tomorrow morning.” He pointed to a newly-installed camera opposite Soundwave's door. “Normally we don't do this kind of thing, but your violent outburst has necessitated extra precaution.”

Soundwave entered his room without a word.

Being left to his own devices was exactly what he wanted right now.

He waited until Ultra Magnus's steps had faded down the hallway. He faced the peeled walls of his hab suite. “Laserbeak.” The drone detached from his chest and fired precision laser blasts at the wall. Soundwave dug his tentacles in, cataloging the colorful wires and insulated cords and thick utility lines pulsing with energy.

There was so much to do.

Chapter Text

Soundwave's first order of business was to make connecting to the ship as easy, fast, and painless as possible. While Laserbeak continued its work cutting through the walls, Soundwave physically injected his tendrils into several wires before he found what he was looking for: the data net sending information from the camera outside his door to its destination. He overrode its security features easily. Just before he tested looping its footage, he paused.

Ultra Magnus had indicated that they had increased the security around Soundwave. That might include data precautions, as well.

Soundwave did a very, very thorough check of the supportive systems in the camera's data net.

There.

Beneath and semi-intwined with the Lost Light-typical data structures was another type. It had an accent of its own. Soundwave hypothesized that this surveillance program belonged to a mech who had come from a non-0001 dimension, just as he had.

futile attempt, autobots

Soundwave pondered the data as it washed through his processor. He had two choices. One, he could dismantle the entire data net and rewrite it in his own accent, which no one on the ship would recognize. Or two, he could approach the data net in its native accent, like a parasite burrowing in and cloaking itself with the host's own frame. Each choice had its own positives and negatives. The first would give him greater control and allow him to infiltrate the entire ship more quickly. But it was certain his programs would be identified, and Soundwave did not know the probability that someone aboard would be able to decode it. The second choice would take longer to implement, but be more difficult for the Autobots to detect.

Soundwave removed his tendrils from the wire and partitioned his thoughts, letting a portion of his processor mull over the choices. He pulled out the slim card Brainstorm had given him. He turned it in his tendrils. It was smooth, gray, and had no identifying marks. He wasn't sure how to interact with it. Soundwave laid it on his desk, next to Aquafend's gun.

Soundwave had inspected the gun last night, gingerly pressing all the buttons and observing what happened. He had quickly found the power up/down button sequence. He had resisted the urge to tear it apart. That was a task best suited for another. And he knew exactly who.

Soundwave was not an inventor, per se. He could not easily put together a weapon using spare parts, an old power cell, and his own expertise. But he could follow directions. If he could find instructions for building what he wanted, he would eventually accomplish the task. An inventor could make something new and exciting by drawing inspiration from the very air. Soundwave could make something functional and useful by drawing knowledge from processes.

But it would be more efficient if he could delegate the construction tasks to another.

Soundwave checked the results of his calculations.

Option One: probability of self-generated programs being identified within three days: 84%. Probability someone aboard can decode: 99.8%

A flash of surprise went through Soundwave. He quickly initiated his emotion-suppressing protocols.

99.8%?

Soundwave removed the partition in his processor and sank into his own thoughts. The medical file of an Autobot named Mirage popped up. Soundwave did not recognize him. He had not seen him in the halls or common areas yet.

Mirage: dimension 2938. Found in state of starvation with heavy-fuel poisoning. Location: military shuttle within 2938 Cybertron's solar system. Displays same outlier properties as 0001 Mirage.

That short biography was followed by the medical examination Mirage had been given, its results, and other various biometrics. Mirage had evidently been separated from his fellow Autobots, starved, and tried in vain to filter his shuttle's fuel into potable energon. Swaths of his entry were missing, notably those whose surrounding context hinted at whatever his position had been during the war.

outlier properties?

The definition of “outlier” and what its properties could be were unknown to Soundwave. 0001 Mirage's “properties” weren't listed anywhere. Soundwave filed “outlier” away with a flag. If he happened to come across the word again in the future, it would draw his attention.

Soundwave overlaid the accent of the foreign data net with Mirage's biometric data. They seemed to match up. His processor had noted this and concluded that Mirage was most likely the one who had provided the expertise and underlying programming for the camera's network. Perhaps his wartime function had been communications or security.

Soundwave took careful note of that and moved on.

select: option two

He would have to become more intimately familiar with the Lost Light's programming. Soundwave spent several hours painfully jabbing his tendrils into different wires, taking data samples and building a database. He spent another few hours comparing and contrasting everything he had observed so far: how mechs spoke, how their fields felt, the mysterious energy of the Lost Light, how Perceptor organized his discoveries, and so forth.

His processor ached by the time he had finished his preliminary evaluation. Soundwave took an unhappy slurp from his energon container. It was disgusting and painful, but it illuminated his fading biolights. After his line filters had done the best they could, the ache in his processor eased.

Soundwave paused a few minutes to sit calmly, letting the quiet of the room still his active mind. His processor unraveled complex, long-unused protocols. A shiver of anticipation went through him. Soundwave clamped down on it, running his emotion-suppressors once again.

Briefly, Ambulon came to mind, and Soundwave resolved to see him tomorrow about having his emotion-suppressing protocols properly reinstalled.

As his cool, emotionless interior was restored, Soundwave dialed his processing capacities up to full power. Laserbeak faltered slightly in its blasting of the walls, recalibrating itself to Soundwave's output.

Soundwave surveyed the guts of the Lost Light spilling into his room. He picked a thin, green wire and jabbed all ten tendrils directly into it.

A blast of white went through his processor, temporarily numbing his senses. Soundwave dove into the information stream, covering his tracks with data in the Lost Light's own language. He identified the security camera immediately and accessed its output.

Now he was looking at his own hab suite's door.

Soundwave evaluated the security camera's pulses and notifications. Once properly identified, he echoed them in his protocols. His helm jerked as the entire ship's security system illuminated and expanded outward from him, like a thousand tentacles of light.

Now he was looking through every camera.

It took a split second for Soundwave to readjust to the sensation of having countless eyes. It had been so long since he had done this on the Nemesis. It was like stretching a limb that had been curled for millions of years. With another pulse through the system, thousands of sounds filled his audials. If he could have, Soundwave would have reveled in joy right there, clicking his winglets together and sending Laserbeak to spiral around the ceiling in celebration.

Instead, he did an evaluation of the locations, numbers, and types of cameras now available to him.

The first thing he noticed was how few cameras there really were. Unlike the Nemesis, there weren't any cameras in mechs' private quarters and very few cameras in the habitation hallways overall. The Autobots were, it seemed, much more trusting than the Decepticons had been. There were a smattering of cameras in the public spaces, eateries, and bars.

Soundwave checked the hallway Megatron's quarters were in. He was not there. Soundwave found him on the bridge, talking to Ultra Magnus. They were discussing the ramifications of the use of a simile in, Soundwave assumed, some kind of Autobot rule book. Rodimus sat in his captain's chair sideways, his legs dangling over the armrest. He was tossing little cubes of energon at Blaster. Blaster was lobbing them back. Mainframe sat at his station narrating the interaction like a documentary. Rewind leaned against Mainframe's chair, tilting his head towards Rodimus, his tiny, built-in camera lens zooming in and out.

Some of the Lost Light's camera clusters had additional security, which Soundwave bypassed easily. They centered around the engine room, the supply/cargo bays, the shuttles, the oil reservoir, and the monitoring stations on the outside of the ship. The cameras in the engine room had distorted views. Soundwave guessed the cameras were encased in some kind of protective glass. There was also a camera in a large room adjacent to the engine room, which served no purpose Soundwave could ascertain. Its floor was scarred with colorful paint and tread marks.

Most importantly, there were a decent amount of cameras in the med bay. Soundwave concentrated on these, flicking back and forth between them all. There were four views of the main area, one camera in each of the private/quarantine areas, and two in the secret room. These had the worst video quality. The room was fuzzy and staticky, but the columns of energon were recognizable enough.

Soundwave watched the med bay for the rest of the day. He found a rather glaring blind spot in the cameras' field of view. He identified mechs as they came and went. Ratchet pulled broken glass out of Hound's chest, Velocity poked and prodded at vats of bubbling metal, and Ambulon cleaned and organized the equipment. Cyclonus came in to have his in-frame guns oiled. Chromedome had an appointment for maintenance of his hands. Toaster was given a thorough cleaning and reminded that he was not to put plastics in his slots. First Aid stopped by with refreshments for everyone. They had a quick meeting on the highlights of the day and tomorrow's plans. As there were no patients doing an overnight stay, the lights were dimmed. The little diagnostic drones were sent to their cubbies. Each medic wiped down their instruments and tidied their work areas. The doors were closed and everyone headed off to their own hab suites.

Soundwave waited a few minutes more.

The med bay was silent, calm.

Soundwave sent a pulse through the camera. He wasn't sure if it would work—cameras were not traditionally able to export information—but it worked well enough.

One of the little medical drones wobbled.

Soundwave sent another pulse.

The medical drone detached from its dock and began a sentry patrol around the med bay. Once it crossed into the blind spot, Soundwave modified the security cameras' recordings. They would show that the little drone had flown along its usual track and then disappeared without a trace.

In reality, it stole items from the medical stock and exited the med bay. As it floated down the halls, Soundwave erased its presence from the cameras' feeds. Once it got close enough, Soundwave removed his tendrils from the wire. The hundreds of eyes in his processor went dark. Soundwave took a moment to let his frame and processor equilibrate.

He checked on Laserbeak. It had successfully blasted precise holes through the hab suite wall and into its neighbor, then through that one's walls again into the next room down. Soundwave exited his own room and stood in the hall, antennae twitching.

Megatron had indeed handed him a strategic location. One of the benefits to being the only mech living in this hallway was that Soundwave had access to all its quarters. He reset the key code to each door on his side of the hall with a master password and busted into the rooms. This granted Laserbeak much greater maneuverability. It made its precision cuts much faster. Soundwave followed it from room to room, peeling back the walls, bunching together specific cords and wires. He checked each room's recharge station. They were all dusty or dented, but seemed to be in working condition. Soundwave carefully bound their leads together, trailing them back towards his own room.

By the time the medical drone arrived, all the hab suites had been opened into one long, jagged room parallel to the hallway, but with their individual electrical/communications/plumbing lines intact. Soundwave was careful to make sure the outside doors to the hab suites did not betray any of the changes within. He briefly thought of modifying the rooms so that if someone intruded, they would revert back to normal, but that would take too much time to set up. He was confident no one would come snooping around, anyway. There would be no need for them to.

The room at the far end of the hall was left untouched and separate from its neighbors. He had other plans for it.

The medical drone's little wings fluttered. Soundwave took it in his tendrils and went back to his main room. He sat at his desk. The air currents had changed. The very slight breeze coming down from the vent above him had been replaced by a horizontal current. It flowed in from the new length of the room, bringing with it the smell of laser-burnt metal and scorched oil. Soundwave shifted his plating minutely, taking note of the changes.

The drone beeped at him again. He directed his focus on it. “Display all protocols.”

The drone extended a flexible wire and plugged into the desk's cracked monitor. It displayed data describing the drone's functions. Soundwave memorized it all. While he watched, he traced every seam of the drone with his tendrils. A 3D wireframe of it materialized in his processor. After a short time, he had a good understanding of how it worked and what its limitations were.

Soundwave sent a command to the drone. The drone opened its compartments and removed tools. It surveyed Aquafend's gun and got to work neatly dismantling it. It set aside the power core and concentrated on the support rings in the barrel. The drone beeped and whirred, cutting and shaping the rings and writing circuitry in metal ink on their inside surfaces.

Soundwave extended his tendrils for the drone to evaluate. It measured them with a laser. The drone methodically constructed ten identical objects. They were short tubes filled with translation/capacitor-capable information filters. They were open at one end and had a connector for the Lost Light's universal inputs at the other. Soundwave pressed one tendril into each object, like prosthetic fingertips. He wiggled his tendrils. The adaptors weren't as fine and light as Soundwave had wanted, but he understood that a medical drone was no substitute for an actual medical engineer. It did the best it could with its limited abilities.

Soundwave sent the drone another command. It floated over to the berth's charging station. Soundwave jammed his newly-adorned tendrils into the Lost Light's guts. He found a few universal inputs and connected. A jolt went through his tendrils as the adaptors equilibrated. Soundwave hastily refocused his own processor to better accommodate the adaptors. After another moment, he settled into the data stream.

The eyes of the Lost Light were his again, but this time, quickly and painlessly. Soundwave did a check of the med bay's cameras. Everything looked normal. He skipped around the ship, noting which mechs were where. He caught sight of Mirage, sitting at the back of Swerve's bar with Hound. The audio wasn't clear enough for Soundwave to make out what they were saying. He could expend energy to figure it out, but he did not care. Hound had a patch on his chest. He touched Mirage's arm. Mirage pulled away from him. Soundwave couldn't see any particular security- or communications-based modifications on Mirage's frame. He was most likely a ground vehicle, given the wheels. Soundwave moved on.

Rodimus and Drift were walking together down the hallway that housed Drift's hab suite. They were laughing. Ratchet poked his head out Drift's door and yelled at them. They laughed harder. Drift waved goodbye and ducked into his suite. Rodimus gave a little wave and walked away, his yellow spoiler slumping.

Tailgate burst out the cafeteria door holding an enormous bucket labeled Candy. His visor was staticky with excitement. Cyclonus exited more furtively behind him, glancing around. He held a six-pack of engex in one hand. With the other, he took Tailgate's hand and they rushed down the hall.

Nautica and Riptide were in the engine room. Nautica was standing on Riptide's shoulders, whacking a bolt with a wrench. Bang! Bang! Little flakes of rust floated downwards. Riptide caught them on his tongue. Soundwave surveyed the room with interest. There were round portals in the floor, irises that would spiral open to let... something... come up into the room from the belly of the ship. The ceiling was a layer of clear glass or plastic, beyond which the blackness of space could be seen. Enormous, rounded red... things fit snugly into the ceiling, extending from the room out into space. Soundwave had no point of reference for them. Their function was absolutely unapparent. Perhaps they were part of Ultra Magnus's dire warning about the engine room. He put the entire assembly on his growing list of things to investigate.

Crosscut, Boss, Chromedome, and Rewind were playing a betting game in one of the recreation areas. Crosscut was making grandiose gestures, Boss looked bored, Chromedome was using his height to peek at Rewind's cards, and Rewind was smacking shanix on the table.

Soundwave checked the bridge. Megatron was there, sitting in his captain's chair, reading a stack of data pads. The evening bridge crew was sparse. Mainframe's seat was vacant. Siren had taken Blaster's place.

Everywhere, mechs were winding down for the late hours. At the moment, it didn't seem like anyone was paying a lot of attention to the Lost Light.

Soundwave pulled his tendrils from the inputs. His processor quieted, no longer sorting through camera data. That had been a test. The adaptors had survived the infiltration process and given him equal or better clarity than he had experienced when injecting his tendrils directly into the wires.

Soundwave glanced at the medical drone. It was lasering open the top of the bed's recharge station. The isolated power core of the gun sat on the berth, singeing it. Manufactured parts were laid out in rows around it, waiting to be integrated into the station.

Soundwave sent Laserbeak over to the drone and connected the two with a simplified comm line. The drone could direct Laserbeak to use its more powerful laser where needed, freeing the drone up to do its specialized work faster.

With that operation going more efficiently, Soundwave returned his attention to the tangle of wires. Accessing the ship's network of cameras was vital to his ability to control it. But being able to do so without having to plug in was even better. To do that, he had to infiltrate the ship's communication/intranet and related systems.

Soundwave grabbed another set of wires. His tendrils crept along them until finding an input site. He dropped his Nemesis filters and plugged in. Comms rushed through him.

.:-found another one under the-:.
-can't imagine how she's going to deal with-
.:YOU SPIKEWIT I'M GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN YOU GET BACK-:.
-lol we stole all the candy c'mon it's movie night-
.:-quill test normal, all quantum energy stable-:.
-I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss you I miss y-
.:-false fire alarm in hall 47B-1C-:.
-made a bet the field chasers couldn't handle it and YOW, THEY COULD NOT-

Soundwave's processor lurched. The inanity. The Lost Light was even worse than the Nemesis had been. Hundreds of whispers flitted through him along public and private comm lines, official/emergency lines, and miscellaneous communications. He was even picking up feedback from some of the cameras stationed near hab suites. On top of all of that was a robust social media system. These Autobots were much more connected than the Decepticons had been. Soundwave had allowed the Decepticon grunts the most primitive connections possible, for his own sanity. The Autobots seemed to have taken cues from humans and were broadcasting the most inconsequential aspects of their puny lives at all times.

Soundwave dissected his Nemesis filter and rebuilt it around the Lost Light's specifications. The whispers settled down. The filter automatically scanned all communications for key words. As conversations were flagged, Soundwave categorized them by speaker, time, location, and key words mentioned. He partitioned his processor and let that task run in the background.

Soundwave turned his focus to the nexus of the communications system. It was a sophisticated piece of hardware and software that allowed for the broadcast of the comms throughout the ship. Soundwave studied it for a time. Amplification and broadcasting had been relatively simple on the Nemesis. Interesting, that the Autobots had spent so much time and energy developing this system. Soundwave noticed that it had powerful long-range capabilities. Perhaps this had been done out of necessity. If someone, say Rodimus, wandered off and got himself stuck in a shadowzone, the Lost Light needed to be able to locate him through a tangle of unknown, undefinable, other-dimensional spacetime.

Long-range capabilities weren't currently Soundwave's focus, however. He observed the behemoth system in motion until he could confidently burrow into it disguised. It swept him up in a torrent of data, constantly updating, constantly broadcasting, constantly sweeping the airwaves. Underneath it all was that strange energy he could not define. Soundwave's fingers twitched. His antennae rustled.

The Lost Light was powerful.

A warning flashed across Soundwave's processor. He relinquished access to the system, pulling his tendrils from the wire. The adaptors sparked. Soundwave needed to connect the two systems he had infiltrated, but he couldn't do it alone.

Or, he could, but he would be at risk of damaging himself. Soundwave needed an external system for stabilization. The Nemesis had been just about the limit of what he could handle on his own. Compared to the Lost Light, it was smaller and had far fewer programs, and far simpler ones, at that. From what Soundwave had been able to decipher, the Lost Light's communication and security systems had been cobbled together over the years. The social media networks appeared to have been in competition with each other before being merged together, poorly. Not to mention, he could freely tap into the Nemesis at any time without the burden of needing to conceal himself.

Soundwave's plan was to use an external power source to support him through connecting the two Lost Light systems. Once that was done, and while plugged in, he should be able to access both security and communications remotely. However, he didn't have enough power in his own frame to access them both remotely and simultaneously. That is to say, while walking around, he would be able to either see through all the cameras or hear all the comms at any given time. The Lost Light just had too much going on and that strange background energy didn't help.

This issue would be fixed when Soundwave gained control of the ship and shed its nonessential systems. A deeply reduced crew count would eliminate most of the chatter, anyway.

Soundwave looked down the long hab-suite-inner-hall. The medical drone was finishing up in the furthest room. Laserbeak had landed on the berth, awaiting further instruction. Soundwave laid down, plugging himself into the recharge station using a second set of adaptors the drone had made. He waited patiently, going over the loop he had envisioned.

The medical drone returned. It floated over him and hovered just out of sight, doing some last-minute adjustments. Soundwave commanded Laserbeak to stay in place. The medical drone initiated a sequence.

One by one, the recharge stations in the neighboring hab suites lit up. Their wiring and power conduits had been rerouted to Soundwave's. His antennae crackled with energy as it gathered. The drone perched on Soundwave's chest. It wiggled and beeped at him. He ordered it to settle down next to Laserbeak. With a whine, it obeyed.

Soundwave slipped his tendrils back into the Lost Light's guts and was consumed in data. With a command, Soundwave connected the two systems he had infiltrated: security and communications. His visor flashed. His plating rattled. Laserbeak twitched as it temporarily lost connection to him.

The entirety of the Lost Light's systems lit up inside his processor, layers and layers of systems seething with data. Soundwave shuddered. His processor mapped furiously, following each branching tunnel of information down to its tiniest dead end. His antennae automatically tuned from frequency to frequency, building the map up in three dimensions, adding information to it exponentially.

After a point, Soundwave was able to jump into the recharge station loop he had created. The mapping continued without draining his own processor. He flushed heat from his plating. Whispers crawled through him, filling his audials with hissing static.

Just another few seconds...

The Lost Light snapped into his mind, a fully-formed, intricate map with details down to the millimeter- as many as could be gleaned by the information in all its systems combined. Due to the steadfast cataloging of physical and electrical systems by Ultra Magnus, Soundwave now had a nearly perfect, internal replication of the ship.

With that established, Soundwave could now access any of its systems remotely. His tendrils and recharge ports disengaged. Soundwave waggled his tendrils. The adaptors were glowing red hot. He shed them onto the berth. As a test, he focused his attention on the cameras in the bridge.

Megatron was writing on a data pad, a hint of a smile on his face.

success

The mythological Soundwave had returned. Harnessing the power of the ship, he could see and hear everything.

...nearly everything. The lack of total camera coverage left some things to be desired. But still.

Megatron had told him to listen. And now he could. Constantly, from anywhere, at any time.

“Heh heh.”

Soundwave froze. He had just uttered a laugh. A flat, dull laugh that threatened to blossom into full frame cackling. He rebooted his emotion-suppressing protocols again and inserted an appointment into Ambulon's schedule for the next day.

Soundwave needed to relax. He felt jittery. The surge of power had not mixed nicely with his dimensional wooziness. His biolights were lightening to pink. Soundwave flushed air through his frame. He had just undertaken a monumental task and performed admirably. Soundwave wound up his tentacles. He focused on the next steps of his plan to distract himself from his discomfort. There was no need to rush into exploring the intricacies of each system tonight. The jittery feeling soon fizzled into exhaustion.

The medical drone beeped and displayed its energy level. Soundwave plugged it into the recharge station beside him. Laserbeak returned to his chest. Soundwave locked down his connection to the ship: No sense letting anything he said or thought sneak out onto the airwaves. Then, for the first time in thousands of years, he powered down voluntarily into sleep.

Chapter Text

“-and Soundwave shall stand beside me!”

That voice was his Megatron's, the last echoes of a dream reverberating in his processor. The sound of fists shattering glass, the smell of blood– already fading. Soundwave stirred. He checked his chronometer. Still quite early in the morning. What had woken him?

beep beep beep beep beep

Soundwave shook his helm. Laserbeak was operating correctly. His own frame reported no errors. He glanced around.

beep beep beep

The medical drone. In his sleep, Soundwave had curled a tentacle around it. Its winglets fluttered against him as it tried to wriggle free. Soundwave retracted the tentacle. The drone rose into the air. Soundwave pointed at the desk. “Begin next task.” It flew over and busied itself welding piping together and writing circuitry.

Soundwave stood and flexed his plating. Though the recharge station had proved an adequate power source for processing purposes, it wasn't an energon substitute. It didn't engage with his frame the way the stations in his dimension did. No two-hour energy jolt here, just the dimensional unease crawling through his lines. Laserbeak was similarly unable to charge. Soundwave forced himself to take a tendril sip of energon from the canister Ambulon had given him. It was disgusting. Soundwave snapped his tentacles down the new lengths of his room. They were much longer than mechs tended to guess they'd be. Their purple rings undulated his distaste in the distant semi-darkness.

The recharge stations made a collective clunking sound and powered down. The station in his original room commenced furtively siphoning energy from the ship and charging the others. In a few hours they'd be ready to power up another loop, should Soundwave need it.

The part of his processor that worked through sleep, instead of foolishly wasting resources on dreams, had worked out today's plan. It was laid out before him in a neat checklist, with branching backup plans, in case anything untoward happened. He had found the key to this particular part of the plan buried in Ultra Magnus's fastidious guidelines on food inspection.

Soundwave interrupted the medical drone's work briefly, demanding it show him how to use Brainstorm's card. The drone plugged into the desk monitor and displayed a video, “Data Cards And How To Use Them.”

Soundwave watched as a mech inserted the card into a slot in her helm. Her eyes went white. Data ghosted over her face. From what Soundwave could gather, the card stored data that was only accessible by means of readers built into the helms of 0001 mechs. Readers which he lacked. He picked up the card in his tendrils, turning it. It was smooth and featureless. Silent, to his audials.

The drone gently took the card and slid it into the desk. A long access code blinked on the monitor. Soundwave seized it. After a split second on the ship's intranet, he gained access to Perceptor's library of dimensional data.

There was a lot of it. Energy readouts, mathematical models, sample scans. Soundwave spent a few hours combing through it, copying information into his desk. The desk didn't have a holographic projector built in, so he was unable to recreate the multiverse dome in three dimensions. It remained flat on the monitor, thousands and thousands of dots pressed against each other, each unique, each identified by a series of numbers and characteristics.

“Beep!”

The drone had finished its task. Using Ambulon's energon canister as a model, it had shaped debris and piping from the rooms. Soundwave picked one up with his tendrils. He pushed the single button on its side. The top of the canister opened. He pushed the button again. The top slid closed. Simple. But that's all it needed to be.

Soundwave peeked around the ship through the cameras. Mechs with early shifts were sleepily heading towards the cafeteria for breakfast. Soundwave's next target was already there, gleefully scooping handfuls of cubes onto his plate. Even for this dimension, he had a strange frame. Tall, pointy, properly noseless. He would've made a good Decepticon.

Soundwave checked the time. Once the drone delivered the canisters to the appropriate location, the next phase of the plan would commence. Soundwave plugged into the recharge station. The sights and sounds of the ship raced through him. He reviewed his repertoire of voice samples...

.:Riptide:.

Riptide's head jerked up. The cafeteria was noisy, full of mechs cramming down breakfast and tittering over the latest gossip. His table companions, Nautica and Blaster, glanced at him. Riptide looked back and forth frantically. “Who said that!”

Nautica's hand paused, a small blue cube halfway to her mouth. “Who said what?”

“I heard a voice!”

“In your head?”

“Yeah!”

Nautica rolled her eyes. “Is it your comm?” She shoved the cube in her mouth. She gave Blaster a thumbs-up. “These are great.”

Blaster dropped his suspicious look and dug into his plate of multicolored cubes.

“Oh yeah! Comms.” Riptide grinned. He screwed his eyes shut and concentrated. .:hello?:.

.:you are late with the next sample:.

.:Perceptor?:.

.:confirmative:.

.:but I did it last night!:.

.:more samples are needed. Report to the oil reservoir immediately:.

“Uuugh.” Riptide pushed his tray away and stood. “I gotta go do the stupid sample thing for Perceptor.”

Blaster nodded. Nautica said, “See ya later!”

Riptide grabbed a cube from his tray and shoved it in his mouth. He strutted down the hall, waving to his fellow mechs as they stumbled blearily to the cafeteria.

.:Riptide:.

.:whaaaaaaat?:.

.:you are not heading toward the oil reservoir:.

Riptide stopped. He glanced around. .:how do you know that?:.

.:irrelevant. Why are you not going to the oil reservoir?:.

.:I gotta get the sampling stuff! It's in your lab. Duh! I thought you were the smart one:.

.:sampling materials have been provided for you at the oil reservoir. Go there now:.

.:okay, okay! Sheesh:.

Riptide backtracked. He waved to Blaster and Nautica. They shook their heads at him. He grinned. He hummed a little as he went. Trailbreaker gave him a fist bump as he passed. First Aid patted his arm. Riptide whistled a tuneless song as he waited for the elevator. The lights at the top turned green. The elevator door opened. Riptide went inside. The elevator door closed.

Riptide made faces at his reflection. He stuck his tongue out at himself. “Ahhhh.” The elevator went ding! as it passed each floor. Its descent slowed gently. It came to a stop. Riptide exited.

“Huh.” Outside the door to the oil reservoir were about a dozen containers. They were different from the kind he had always used. He picked one up. He flipped it upside-down. He flipped it right side up. He scratched his head. .:Perceptor?:.

.:what?:.

.:are you sure this is right? This doesn't look like the right thing:.

.:it is correct:.

A simplified diagram of how to operate the container appeared in Riptide's processor: hold container upside-down in energon. Push button. Wait five seconds. Push button again.

.:ohhh... must be new gen tech. Cool:. Riptide gathered the containers in his arms, waved his foot around to activate the door, and entered.

Riptide really liked the oil reservoir. Even though some scary things had happened in this room in the past, it was a comforting place. The air was thick with the smell of oil. The oil was clean and slick on his plating. This was the only place on the ship where he could transform and get around. He resisted the urge to transform, though. It was too hard to push buttons when you were a boat.

The containers had little claws designed to fit into the grooves of the floor of Riptide's boat mode. Riptide clipped the containers into place. He spun, pleased with the jingling sound they made. He stood under the sanitizing rinse for a few minutes, making sure it ran across all his plating and between his seams. No one liked the thought of Riptide swimming around in the energon unclean, including him. His plating quickly shed the sanitizing fluid.

Now was his favorite part. Riptide ran and dove into the oil. It made a fantastic splash. He cut through it like a knife. Currents and eddies tickled his sides. As his vision went black, he switched on his navigation system. His specialized sensors perked up. It was impossible to see while swimming in oil. But he had sonar! The tank blossomed into a different kind of sight in his mind. He swam downwards, legs kicking, oil streaming across his fins.

The floor of the oil reservoir was fuzzy in his mind's eye. That was because it wasn't really the floor. It was the place where the oil and the energon layers met. Due to their different densities, they did not mix when left undisturbed. The ship's energon reserve was stored under the oil to keep it stable. No one wanted huge amounts of liquid energon sitting around exposed to air for long periods of time. Keeping it under oil was standard practice for ships going long distances. There were pipes at the bottom of the reservoir that let energon out to feed the ship. But if you wanted samples taken anywhere other than right by the pipes, you had to take them from above. And if you wanted samples not contaminated with oil, you sent Riptide to get them.

The fuzzy barrier between oil and energon got closer. As it did, Riptide's eyes picked up faint light. The smell of oil faded, tinged with that of energon. He got closer and closer, his mind filling with fuzz. Riptide poked his hand out, touching the barrier. The energon tingled across his palm.

Slowly, Riptide eased himself across the barrier. The energon glowed weirdly down here. Pink and bright, but with nothing to light up except the bottom of the oil layer. Riptide could almost see it with his eyes closed. Floating around in pure energon felt nice for a little while but wasn't really a great idea. Riptide didn't want to dawdle. Once he was fully submerged in the energon layer, he shook himself. Oil streamed from his frame and floated upwards, joining the mass above him.

Riptide retrieved a container, turned it upside-down, pushed the button, waited, and pushed the button again. It was impossible to tell if it had worked. He trusted Perceptor, though. He repeated the process until all the containers had been filled. For fun, he took a big gulp of energon. Perceptor had made him miss breakfast, after all. It was kind of gross, what with not having been filtered or flavored. In fact, it was downright nasty. Why did he do that? He swore he must've done it in the past. He should've learned by now.

Oh well! He stretched his arms upward and kicked. He crossed the barrier. Again, he shook his body and vibrated his plating. The faintly-glowing energon sloughed off and sank. Once he was clear of it and swam upwards, he could feel that the canisters were heavier than before. Success! Perceptor would be pleased. Riptide liked the new canisters. They were easier to use than the old kind.

Riptide's head crested the oil. “Woo!” He shook it back and forth, flinging droplets off his fins. He swam lazily over to the ladder and pulled himself up. He shimmied his plating, letting the oil drain down into the reservoir. Most mechs would have to shower again to get it off, but his plating was specialized for this kind of thing.

“Beep!”

“Huh?” Riptide looked over. One of Ratchet's medical drones was waving to him. It had a little wagon beside it. “Oh. Hi, Wingy!”

.:Riptide, place the canisters in the wagon. The drone will take care of them:.

.:are you sure?:. Riptide unclipped the canisters from his plating. .:they might be kinda heavy for the little guy:.

.:do as instructed:.

.:okayyyyy... By the way, the new canisters are great!:.

Perceptor said nothing. Riptide thought that was odd. Perceptor always liked to hear when his inventions were improved. But maybe he was having a bad day. He wasn't nearly as friendly or confusing as usual this morning. Riptide loaded up the wagon and gave the drone a pat.

.:all set:. Riptide comm'd.

.:dismissed:.

.:are you feeling okay, Perce-:.

.:are you done yet??:. It was Nautica.

Riptide grinned. .:yeah!:. He headed for the door.

.:get to the engine room. I grabbed you a sweet cube! You're gonna love it:.

.:nice!:. Riptide strode out of the room, the medical drone already forgotten.

The drone neatened the rows of canisters and covered them with a polycloth. It exited quietly and headed for a different elevator than the one Riptide had taken.

bambambam!

Soundwave sent the medical drone another set of directions, shoved a timed loop into the surveillance system, and disconnected from the recharge station. The dozens of comms going through his processor quieted, though he could still see through many eyes.

“Hey yo Soundwave!” bambam! “I'm your babysitter today. Get your aft up!”

Soundwave glanced through the camera trained on his door. The mech was yellow, red, and white, with a faceplate and blue visor. Soundwave identified him quickly, having picked apart the medical database and rearranged the mechs within by color. These Autobots were so egregiously painted, it was the fastest way to identify them.

That proved to be unnecessary, as the mech banged on the door again and shouted, “Get out here! The name's Powerfla- aahh!”

Powerflash stumbled forward as the door slid open. His still-moving, outstretched fist struck Soundwave's chest. “Waugh!” Powerflash jumped back and raised his gun. “No funny stuff, Decepticon! That was an accident! We both saw it! You made me do that!”

Soundwave silently ducked under his doorway. He towered over Powerflash. Slowly, with one arm, he pushed the gun away. His visor flicked up a clip of Rodimus. “Violence will lead to containment. Do you understand?”

Powerflash scowled. “Ambulon says you have an appointment and I gotta take you there. No funny business, Soundwave. Aquafend told me all about those”—he waved the gun at Soundwave's torso—“things of yours. You keep those inside!”

“Insiiiii- iiiii- iide,” Soundwave repeated, sampling his voice.

Powerflash swore and stomped ahead down the hallway.

Although Soundwave had specifically made an appointment with Ambulon, Ratchet was also in attendance. Ambulon had insisted that Ratchet was present for reasons Soundwave found weak and dismissible. Soundwave reclined on the med bed, stuffing down his annoyance. There was a holographic diagram of a typical 0001 mech's processor hovering next to him. It looked like a tiny moon, covered in cities and glowing craters.

Ratchet frowned at them both. “And what, exactly, is the problem?”

Soundwave extended a tentacle and jammed it into the medical console. Both medics jumped and protested. The monitor flared to life. It displayed a concise readout of part of Soundwave's processor. Unlike the 0001 diagram, Soundwave's processor splayed like a stack of fans. Pulsing lines and circuitry infiltrated their blades, connecting the fan structures in every direction. Soundwave labeled the image in his native alphabet. The labels duplicated. The duplicates flashed and twisted into the glyphs the Lost Light mechs used. The monitor glitched in places, giving the readout a sinister look.

“I see,” said Ratchet, leaning forward. He circled areas of the processor on the monitor, zooming in, making measurements and disapproving sounds. “Is this what I think it is?”

Ambulon read the translated label. “An emotion-suppressing protocol?! That explains some things.”

“Twenty-three emotion-suppressing protocols,” corrected Soundwave. “Stacked and interwoven. Highly stable. When they function correctly.” A graphical representation of the programs appeared, isolated from his processor. Red arrows pointed to the places where they had disintegrated, symbolically breaking the bonds between blades.

“And... what do you want us to do about this?” asked Ratchet.

“Reinstall the protocols. Damage occurred when I entered the shadowzone. Emotions are unwanted. Delete and reinstall. I will supply clean protocols.”

Ratchet crossed his arms. “That's not the kind of thing we do.”

“Suppressing and deleting parts of the processor? Kind of a war crime,” said Ambulon. “War's over.”

Irritation flashed through Soundwave's lines. “Protocols loop or terminate early. Numerous attempts to defrag and delete have failed. Emotionless status is desired.”

“Nope,” said Ratchet. “Not gonna do it.”

“Why'd you delete them, anyway?” asked Ambulon.

“Necessary for-”

“HEY.” First Aid burst into the room. “Hey! Where's Wingy!”

“'Wingy?'” asked Ratchet.

“Yeah, you know.” First Aid raised his hands and flapped them. “Wingy. The med drone. The one with the little wingy-wings.”

“They all have little wingy-wings,” said Ambulon.

First Aid scoffed. “Not like Wingy does! Nubby's wings are stunted with a fluted edge and Bob The Second's are decorative. He uses anti-grav propulsion. You should know that, Ambulon.”

Ambulon rolled his eyes. “Forgive me for the lack of pathologically fastidious attention to detail. My First Aid was merely normal in compari-”

“I'm your First Aid now. Wingy is supposed to assist me with a procedure today, but he's missing. We gotta find him! He's more high strung than Nubby and Bob The Second. If he's lost he'll become very distressed!”

“First Aid-” Ratchet made an exasperated sound. “He's around. Maybe got stuck in the maintenance closet again. Can you do this later? We have a patient right now.”

“Oh, right.” First Aid's visor flashed as he took in Soundwave for the first time. “Whoa. Is that your brain up close? Er, I mean... sorry, gotta go.” He jogged away shouting, “Wingy! Wingy?”

“Where were we?” asked Ratchet. His horribly nosed face had a deeply unamused look.

“Remove my emotion-suppressing protocols,” said Soundwave.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes. “What we don't currently know about your anatomy makes me disinclined to destroy part of it.”

“That part of my processor is malfunctioning,” said Soundwave. “Causing erratic behavior. Unwanted behavior. Abnormal behavior.”

“Hmph,” said Ratchet. He circled and moved data around on the monitor. Figures and graphs popped up. “I'd say it was restoring natural behavior.”

“Negative. Causing abnormal behavior.”

“Hold on,” said Ambulon. He looked at the monitor uneasily. “What's to say that an emotionally-suppressed Soundwave isn't the better option? What if the protocols were installed because his emotional circuitry makes him a danger to himself?” He lowered his voice. “That was done in my dimension. The Decepticons did it, I mean. Used protocols to try to restrain... certain mechs. Autobots used a different method. Maybe these protocols provide stability and functionality.”

“Yes,” said Soundwave.

“No,” said Ratchet. “You need to allow the protocols to fail and terminate. Stop running them.” He poked at one of the graphs. “They're suppressing more than just one sector of your processor. There's an unbelievable amount of activity going on in some parts of your brain, but other parts are completely unresponsive. They're functionally dead, locked up under the protocols. Soundwave, you realize some of these parts comprise memories, right? You're cut off from swaths of your lifetime-”

“Emotion-suppressing protocols must be reinstalled. I am unable to do it. Medical intervention: officially requested.”

“Denied,” said Ratchet. “On the grounds that I believe the installation of the protocols was inhumane. This stinks of wartime modification and we do not perpetuate such mods. Especially actively repressive protocols like this. You will be able to reassess, rebuild, and have a better life once they are gone.”

Soundwave sat up. He turned to Ambulon, but the medic didn't meet his gaze. He was fidgeting and scratching at his own plating. Soundwave stuffed down his irritation. “Medic Ambulon: requested.”

“N- no,” said Ambulon. He winced.

Soundwave's helm swiveled towards the quarantine area. “Medic Velocity: requested.”

“Denied,” said Ratchet.

Soundwave smacked the console with his tentacle. The display of his processor vanished in static. “Medic First Aid: requested!”

“Denied!”

Laserbeak twitched against his chest. Soundwave pushed himself up from the berth. He towered over the medics, tentacle darting through the air. Ratchet glared up at him. Ambulon shook, balling his fists at his sides. Soundwave saw himself through the cameras in the med bay. He stared down at the medics with chilly silence.

“Soundwave, I know this is hard to hear, but-”

Soundwave turned abruptly and left. He felt the relief in their fields all the way from the door. Soundwave couldn't order them to do what he wanted, but he knew who could. He slid out into the hallway and nearly ran into Powerflash.

The yellow mech scrambled to follow him. “Hey, where are you- aauugh!”

Soundwave wrapped his tentacle around Powerflash and hoisted him up to face level. Powerflash struggled, wrenching his shoulders, kicking his legs. His blue visor flashed yellow. “What the hell!”

Soundwave shook him. In Rodimus's voice, he said, “Megatron.”

“Okay! Okay!”

Soundwave dropped Powerflash.

“Augh!” Powerflash rolled and jumped to his feet. Backing away, he hit the comm at his neck. “Powerflash to Ultra Magnus! Soundwave's getting feisty, sir!”

Soundwave twitched.

.:Soundwave is no longer your concern:. answered Ultra Magnus.

Powerflash's biolights blinked. “What?”

.:you are dismissed from your position, Powerflash:.

“S- sir?!” Powerflash leveled his gun at Soundwave. “Don't you move! This is strange. Ultra Magnus wouldn't- I gotta get this sorted out.” He tapped his neck again. “Powerflash to Megatron. Soundwave's being weird. Can I shoot him?”

.:Soundwave is not a problem:. answered Megatron.

“What? Yes, he is. He just grabbed m-”

.:did he hurt you?:. asked Megatron.

“W- well-” said Powerflash.

.:did you provoke him?:.

“No!”

After a calculated silence, Megatron sent .:bring him to the bridge. Then you are dismissed for the rest of the day:.

“Yessir.” Powerflash's visor went green. “What the hell was that? That was extremely... weird.”

Soundwave shrugged, the motion comically exaggerated. In Swerve's voice, he said, “Maybe you're going crazy.”

“Shut up! Megatron never gives mechs evenings off. I'll take you to the stupid bridge. Then I'm going to the bar. I gotta get over there before he changes his mind! Hurry up. And put that horrible wiggling thing away or I will shoot it off.”

Powerflash escorted Soundwave to the bridge door. He activated it and ran for the bar. Soundwave entered, taking in the room with a sweep. He had his own view, plus that through the cameras hidden around the ceiling. A yellow alert went through his processor. He disengaged his attention from the security system of the Lost Light and diverted it instead to its comm systems.

The medical drone had dropped off its payload and was heading out again for its second task. Soundwave sent it a confirmative as he approached Megatron's chair.

“Captain Megatron.” Soundwave bowed.

“Ah, Soundwave. No need to bow.” Megatron glanced from side to side. He caught Rodimus's eye and made a frantic beaconing motion. Rodimus was talking to Mainframe. He shook his head with a grin. “Dammit, Rodimus,” Megatron muttered. “Ah, I must meet with-” he glanced around the bridge, “-with Ultra Magnus in a moment. I cannot linger.” He stared at Ultra Magnus with a burning gaze Soundwave had never seen this Megatron display before.

“Captain: two high priority issues. Can we speak privately?”

“Ah, no,” said Megatron. “No. I think whatever you need to say, you can say it here.”

Soundwave's processor stalled. He glanced around the bridge with many eyes but could not find a reason for Megatron's order. Perhaps there was something greater going on beyond his understanding which required Megatron's uninterrupted presence. Soundwave rethought how to state his issues. “One: communication with Drift. Dissatisfactory.”

Megatron gave him a wry smile. “Did you learn anything?”

“Drift speaks in a code that I do not know. He will not give me the key.”

Megatron frowned at him. “What code?”

“Auras. Fate. Meanings: unknown.”

Megatron gave a sharp laugh. “That's not code. That's just Drift.”

Soundwave puzzled over this. Megatron was aware that Drift was unintelligible? What value did Deadlock bring to the Decepticons, then? After a moment of fruitless speculation, he abandoned the train of thought. It was irrelevant. “Drift claimed Decepticon-”

“Ah, there he is!” Megatron jumped up from his chair and waved frantically. “Ultra Magnus! We're late for our meeting. Let's go!”

“Huh?” Across the room, Ultra Magnus raised an ocular arch.

“Excuse me, Soundwave,” said Megatron, stepping around him. “I must go.”

“Issue two: urgent. Medics unwilling to assist-”

“Dismissed.”

“But, high priority-”

“Dismissed!” Megatron jogged to Ultra Magnus and grabbed his arm. Megatron dragged him into a meeting room. Soundwave followed them. The door slid shut in his face. He stared at them through the window until Megatron pushed a button and the glass darkened. Soundwave stared at his own reflection.

dismissed?

A burst of red appeared at his reflection's side. “Tough break.” Rodimus grinned at him. “Though to be honest, if they go in there, I go the other way.”

Soundwave's tentacles clicked in their housing. Without a word, he turned and walked out.

Soundwave stalked very deliberately through the ship, brushing against other mechs' fields and getting in their personal space. He took note of who glared at him, whose eyes widened at him, and who tried nervously to initiate a conversation. All the mechs pulled their fields in abruptly. His experiment continued until Ultra Magnus took him aside and lectured him on the social norms and expectations of their dimension, and that it was rude to impose himself and intimidate others, and that this served as his first warning, and further truancy would lead to disciplinary action. Soundwave recorded the speech, but spent the time deciding how he would tackle the next part of his plan. It would require a lot of very careful focus.

“-and where is Powerflash? You are not to be unescorted outside your room!”

Soundwave displayed a recording of Powerflash. “I'm going to the bar.”

“Hrrmmm...” The deeply unamused sound reverberated through Ultra Magnus. Soundwave's antennae twitched. The mech was so annoyed, the sound echoed inside him. Ultra Magnus's frown deepened. He yelled into his comm. “Powerflash!”

.:aahh! What!:.

“Your location!”

.:Swerve's! Megatron said I could!:.

Ultra Magnus's field flared. “Lying about or fabricating orders from a superior officer is a violation of-”

.:ask him yourself!:. The comm cut out.

Ultra Magnus gruffly reset his vocalizer. In a calmer tone, he said, “Ultra Magnus to Megatron.”

.:yes?:.

“Did you dismiss Powerflash from his duties?”

.:I did:.

“I knew he was ly- oh.” Ultra Magnus stared at the floor for a moment. “You did?”

.:yes:.

“Oh.” Ultra Magnus's biolights flashed. “Why?”

.:officer's personal discretion, in accordance to section 58c 4419a:.

“Really? 4419a?”

.:correct. Dismissed:.

Ultra Magnus blinked as the comm cut out. He stared at Soundwave. For a moment, Soundwave thought he might have misrepresented Megatron's tone and Ultra Magnus was now suspicious of the communication. Perhaps Megatron would have sounded more formal when dismissing his third in command, but the comms Soundwave had intercepted from between the two of them had all contained a familiar undertone-

Unexpectedly, Ultra Magnus smiled. “He's read the new code for section 58c.”

Soundwave was escorted back to his room. He did not protest or deviate from his normal behavior. He didn't want Ultra Magnus poking around the hallway. Not that the mech had any reason to. After another short lecture, he departed. Soundwave watched him go through the camera.

Once Ultra Magnus had returned to the bridge, Soundwave exited his room. The camera outside his door looped an empty hallway. Soundwave went to the room at the end of the hall that he had left untouched.

“Beep!”

The medical drone, or... Wingy, fluttered up from the desk. The canisters Riptide had filled were neatly stacked. Aside them were various other tools, objects, and chemicals Wingy had stolen from the medical and laboratory supply closets.

Soundwave couldn't remember what he'd been like before the war. He didn't aim to ever find out. Since the medics refused to help him and he couldn't get an audience with Megatron, Soundwave determined he needed to accelerate his plan. Ambulon would be more than motivated to help him afterwards. Soundwave switched between monitoring the Lost Light's security and communication systems as he worked beside Wingy and Laserbeak.

Laserbeak made short work of opening the recharge station. Wingy did a delicate laser dissection of its power cell, very careful not to damage its housing. Soundwave pulled the housing out with his tentacles. Its walls were graded for exposure to the energy of the power cell, which ran on a mixture of energon and an electrical plasma primer. It was the closest thing Soundwave had to a containment vessel. If it broke during the experiment, well, ultimately that would become the Autobots' problem.

Just to be safe, Soundwave ordered his drones to seal off every plumbing and electrical line they could find in the room. Soundwave carried in peeled metal sheets from elsewhere and reinforced the walls. Distance between his experiment and the lifeblood of the ship was very important.

He recalled with perfect clarity what had happened on the Nemesis.

Soundwave ordered Laserbeak back to him. It settled into place with a click. Using his tentacles, Soundwave opened each canister, save one, and dumped their contents into the containment vessel. The pink energon poured out, its scent sharp and sweet. Wingy beeped faintly, a warning for the presence of raw energon. Soundwave directed it to set out the other ingredients he needed. Wingy had only been able to procure half the supplies needed for a filtering apparatus. Soundwave would have to proceed with raw. He wasn't sure what that would do to the experiment.

Soundwave called up Starscream and Shockwave's dark energon procedures. He had spent part of the previous night going through them step by step, comparing and contrasting the results his former shipmates had found. Using Perceptor's thorough scans on thousands of dimensions' energons, Soundwave mapped various models.

Soundwave was not a scientist. He would not be able to fix the mixture if it didn't work properly. He would not be able to analyze it like Shockwave or Perceptor could.

But he could brute force calculate his way into a formula with the highest probability of working.

After a few minutes of modeling, he determined that the variables were too numerous. His processor could calculate them, but not efficiently. He was limited by his own frame's ability to power itself. Soundwave commanded Laserbeak to stay with the containment vessel and Wingy while he retreated to the main room.

Soundwave plugged into his recharge station. It powered up. He disengaged from the Lost Light's security and comm systems. His processor lightened and quieted. With the strength of the ship supporting him, he ran through countless models. It was complex work and he went very carefully. It was like building the database he'd made last night, but the patterns were all foreign to him. Soundwave could dissolve himself into 0001 communications with ease, with a full understanding of what they were and what they represented in the real world. This was not the case with the dark energon calculations. Did that series of digits mean the dark energon would be green instead of purple? Or that it would explode at room temperature? Soundwave had no way to know for sure. But patterns were patterns, and math was math. He approached it like code cracking, like constructed language building, like translation. Match up, make note, assign value, move on. Over and over and over.

Soundwave's frame hissed. He separated his plating. The process wasn't mentally exhausting, because the ship was giving him basically unlimited power, but his frame had to serve as the heat sink. He waved his tentacles lazily in the air. With their surface-area-to-volume ratio, they were good ways to dispel heat.

At last his processor arrived at a set of instructions he could execute with the components he had available. Soundwave ran the model one hundred times. The dark energon product came out successfully each time.

This was the best work he could do with what he had.

Soundwave returned to the room. He broke the instructions down into easy-to-follow steps and sent them to Wingy. Wingy perked up. It busied itself gathering and sorting ingredients. Laserbeak returned to Soundwave's chest. Soundwave rested while Wingy slowly added elements to the containment vessel.

These Autobots who touched each other constantly, who ate meals together gladly, who rescued weaklings instead of leaving them to die starving and alone. Who had forced Megatron into inaction, who had corrupted Drift beyond competence. Soundwave would strike them in their collective hearts. He would record the weakest of them slaughtered by the strongest and present it to Megatron in all its agonizing misery. And that was just the first part of the plan. The infiltration, well, the Autobots wouldn't be around to see that, not most of them, anyway. But what a thing it will be.

If Soundwave was the kind of mech to express gratitude, he would've thanked Whirl for his gift of revealing the Lost Light's most belligerent members. It hadn't been hard to identify the room that housed Whirl's Punching Things Club. Even with such nebulous coordinates as “bottom of the ship” on a 14 mile long vessel. Soundwave merely had to listen and wait. Mechs began whispering about it around the ship's dinnertime hour. All he would have to do was pick one to follow. A glance through the ship's eyes showed Bluestreak heading down a nearby hallway.

After giving Wingy strict commands to contact him if anything happened, Soundwave headed out.

Chapter Text

Soundwave followed Bluestreak to the belly of the ship, where the hallways were curved and the air was thick with the Lost Light's strange energy. Bluestreak walked a dozen paces ahead, shoulders hunched, doorwings cinched together. His field blared nervousness. Soundwave was not subtle in his following. Bluestreak didn't say anything until he stopped, seemingly at random. Glancing at Soundwave, he whispered, “Tailgate's punchable face.” A section of the wall, carefully cut along preexisting seams, clicked and pulled inwards. Noise spilled into the hallway. Bluestreak darted in. The section was replaced. The hall went silent.

It was a hidden door. Soundwave approached. There, disguised among the seams, was a slot.

“Password?” The voice was familiar.

Soundwave played a recording of Whirl. “Tailgate's punchable face.”

“What the hell?” The slot lit up with red as the mech on the other side pressed his visor to it. “Not you.”

“Not you,” repeated Soundwave in Aquafend's own voice.

“Ughhhhh.” The hidden door was wrenched aside. Soundwave ducked and entered. Aquafend had patches on his frame and the glass repair in his visor was still wavy with newness. “I hope you get your skinny aft beat! You're lucky I'm on door duty or I'd do it myself!”

Soundwave feinted at him. Aquafend flinched. Soundwave merged a dozen mechs' laughter he'd copied from various comms. “Heh ha ha! Heh ha hehe!”

“Freak!” Aquafend, holding the chunk of wall by a handle soldered to the inside, hefted it back into place.

The air was hot and loud with the clang of metal on metal, shouts and taunts, and thick with fields. Soundwave kicked his noise filters up a notch. A crowd of mechs was gathered around an open space. The arena floor was gouged and crossed with paint marks and energon of every color. Some of the crowd in the front were spattered with blood. Whirl was off to the side, gesticulating at Jackpot. Shanix flowed out of the satchels at Jackpot's waist. His feet were covered in receipts and tickets.

A yellow warning flashed through Soundwave's processor. He looked up.

There was a camera in the corner of the room, high up, excellently disguised among the dents and dried blood. Soundwave concentrated. The camera's feed came to him, and he saw himself in the middle of a throng of mechs. Soundwave recognized the room now. He had seen it last night, next to the engine room. Whirl's Punching Things Club was under active surveillance.

But surely if Megatron and Rodimus were watching, they would have put an end to it...?

This was the kind of camera feed that was no doubt being watched live. Soundwave turned his visor away from the camera. It was too late to loop empty footage into it now. He would have to conduct himself knowing he was being watched.

Soundwave made his way to the back of the crowd. He could see over most of the mechs' heads. A pair of firetrucks was in the center of the floor. The air around them was cloudy with white powder. Soundwave guessed it was fire suppressant. Hot Spot had looped his fire hose around Inferno's neck. He yanked. Inferno was jerked backwards, clawing at his neck. Hot Spot pulled him closer, steam and powder rising from his frame.

Just as he got within grabbing range, Inferno extended his ladder, slamming Hot Spot back. The length of fire hose slackened. Inferno growled, venting hard. He turned around swinging. Hot Spot blocked the first punch but not the second. He staggered into the crowd. They pushed him back into the arena. He leapt to the side as Inferno came at him again, ladder extended.

“There he is!” Whirl's shout crested the clash of metal. He pushed mechs aside on his way to Soundwave. “Move. Move, dammit. Hey! What's your alt mode? You gotta fight someone with the same alt mode.” Whirl clicked his pincers impatiently.

Soundwave displayed a 3D image of his alt mode on his visor. It rotated.

“Hmm.” Whirl's single eye narrowed. “I was wondering what your arms turned into. We don't have anyone like you aboard.”

“ANNNNNNND HOT SPOT IS DOWN!” screamed Siren. The crowd roared.

Inferno stood triumphantly, pumping his arms, biolights flashing. Hot Spot was on the ground, rubbing his helm. Bluestreak, chest plates open a crack, ran to him and helped him up.

“Yeah, yeah, nice job, angel wings,” said Whirl. He snatched Soundwave's arm in his pincers and dragged him through the crowd to the middle of the floor. “Hey! Who wants to wail on the new guy!”

While the crowd jeered and shouted, Soundwave recorded them. Reticles spun around the faces of 57 mechs. They were cross-indexed with his crew database and identified. Soundwave classified them as belligerent, mechs who fought in direct violation of the most important rule of the ship. They would have to be dealt with specifically. Soundwave calculated the probability that Drift had identified these mechs.

0.01%

“Looks like if you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself!” Whirl lifted his arms. “Welcome to Whirl's Punching Things Club! Tonight we have a special treat! Soundwave from Dimension X!”

“I thought Trailbreaker was from Dimension X!” shouted someone in the crowd.

“Shut up!” said Whirl.

“This better be a better fight than Trailbreaker's!” someone else shouted.

“Shut up!” Whirl turned to Soundwave. “The rules are: no guns and no transforming. Whoever's-”

“And no force fields!” shouted someone in the crowd.

“Yeah, and no force fields,” said Whirl. “Whoever's still standing at the end wins. Oh and also, no killing anyone. This is a Punching Things Club, not a Killing Things Club. We don't want the you-know-whos finding out about it. They'll end it in a nanosecond.” The crowd booed. “Ready?”

Soundwave assumed a defensive position. Reticles centered around Whirl. Soundwave tried to gather biometrics from him, but the size of the crowd and its varying individuals made it difficult to concentrate. Soundwave refocused on the construction of Whirl's frame, extrapolating how he would move in battle.

“FIGHT!!” yelled Siren.

Whirl ran straight at him, laughing. His laugh reminded Soundwave of his Megatron-

For a split second, another arena materialized around him. The dark-clouded sky stretched overhead. The crowd was so large their screams smeared into an echoing cacophony. The floor was slick beneath his feet and littered with the remains of prisoners. A tall silver mech ran at him, powerful, red eyes keen. This was no prisoner, no disposable. A fellow gladiator, expensive. Meant to be fought and conquered without murder, so they could fight again and again and again. Soundwave braided his tentacles before him defensively: over-under-over-under-over-under, one-over-two, three-over-one, two-over-three. One of his unique, signature moves. One of the things the crowd loved best-

Whirl sprang into the air. Soundwave spun easily out of the way. Whirl smashed into the floor.

Soundwave debated whether or not to end the fight immediately with a stunning burst of electricity from his tentacles. The crowd whooped and shouted. Whether Autobot or Decepticon, now or millions of years ago, it was a show they wanted. The question was, did Soundwave care enough about what they wanted to give it to them? He had already identified the mechs, which was his sole reason for coming tonight.

Whirl popped up swinging at Soundwave, still laughing. Soundwave blocked the punches with his broad arms. He ducked, spun, and slammed the back of Whirl's legs with the thin edge of his forearm.

“Augh!” Whirl fell forward. He clicked his pincers together and sprang up again. “You're quick.”

Soundwave circled him. He replayed Whirl's, “Augh!” back at him, followed by a sample of his laughter. The effect was clear. Soundwave was laughing at Whirl with Whirl's own laugh. Some of the crowd laughed along.

“Hey! I don't sound like that!” Whirl ran at him again, eye flashing from yellow to orange with anger. He feinted to one side, spun, and kicked. Soundwave dodged. “Rah!” Whirl punched. Soundwave ducked and kicked for Whirl's head. Whirl grabbed his leg and twisted.

Soundwave twisted gracefully with it. His arms moved in a long, wide arc. He bent his leg, drawing Whirl closer, and grabbed his cockpit guns.

“Whoa!” shouted Whirl. “You haven't even bought me dinner ye-”

Soundwave tilted backwards, kicked, and wrenched his arms simultaneously. Whirl lost his grip and was thrown over Soundwave's back. He hit the floor and rolled. Soundwave shook out his hands. That move was rough on his fingers. Whirl sprang to his feet and charged. Soundwave spun to the side.

“Stop dodging!” yelled Whirl. The crowd shouted in agreement. Whirl windmilled his arms and stomped towards him, cackling.

Soundwave had shed his thick armor long ago in favor of a frame that best suited his needs for war. His hands were now delicate. When it came to situations needing fists, Soundwave had substitutes.

Soundwave unleashed his tentacles. One looped and curved through the air. Whirl aimed for it. The other went straight for Whirl's torso.

“Whoa!” Whirl deflected it with the ducted rotor on his forearm. He slammed it to the ground with his opposite pincers. The tentacles rushed at him again. Whirl batted them away, laughing and jumping from side to side. “Is that all you got?”

Soundwave displayed footage of Whirl smashing to the floor.

Whirl's eye narrowed. He snatched a tentacle and spun his arm. The tentacle wound around his forearm like a rope. Whirl jerked his elbow back. Laserbeak twitched against Soundwave's chest as he stumbled forward. Soundwave crossed his arms over his visor just in time. Whirl headbutted, hard. Soundwave lurched back. Whirl's helm prongs left twin dents in Soundwave's arms.

That strike would have cracked his visor.

The tip of Soundwave's free tentacle whirred like a drill. Whirl cocked his head at the sound. He yanked Soundwave's tentacle again. Pain radiated through Soundwave's chest. His feet screeched across the floor, sparking. Whirl ducked and twisted his shoulders. His rotor smashed into Soundwave's shoulder. Soundwave staggered off-balance. Whirl pulled him closer again. Soundwave's free tentacle jammed itself between Whirl's back and his rotor mast and drilled.

“Ahh!” Blood spurted from the wound. The crowd roared. Whirl swiveled away from Soundwave, pincers opening in surprise. Soundwave pulled his trapped tentacle free. Whirl jumped back. Both tentacles followed, tips spinning. They dove for him. Whirl laughed as he dodged. The tentacles missed, drilling into the arena floor. Chips of metal sprayed into the crowd.

Whirl was fast, strong, and chaotic. His behavior needed to be guided into something more predictable. The tentacles ceased their drilling. They twisted around Whirl in helical patterns, winding and unwinding, slithering just out of reach when he swung for them. After a solid fifteen seconds of repetitive helices, Whirl shouted, “Come on! This is boring!” He lunged and managed to smack a tentacle to the floor. He pinned it beneath his foot. “Ha! That's what predictability gets y-”

The other tentacle slammed into his windshield. Its four prongs gripped the glass as the tendrils crept out.

Whirl looked down. “Gross!”

A blast of electricity went through the tentacle and into Whirl's chest. His windshield exploded into a cloud of glass shards. Electricity coursed through his frame. His biolights strobed and he sank to his knees, vocalizer frying with static. His arms fell to his sides. His joints shrieked as their oils evaporated.

Soundwave disengaged his tentacles from Whirl. They undulated in the air around the slumped mech.

The crowd's screams went dead silent.

Whirl's venting was ragged. Smoke rose from his broken chest. The smell of burning energon filled the room. “Good... show...” He wavered on his knees.

One tentacle prong tapped the side of Whirl's head. He fell over, biolights dimming as he went offline.

“AANNNNNND THE WINNER IS SOUNDWAAAAAAAAAVE!!!” yelled Siren.

The crowd roared. Some mechs screamed about cheating, others defended Soundwave's use of his tentacles. Several mechs rushed onto the floor to attend to Whirl. Jackpot clutched his bag of shanix and sobbed. The overall impression Soundwave got was that Whirl rarely lost.

A piece of broken glass was wedged inside one of his tentacle tips. Soundwave plucked it out and tossed it aside.

pathetic

Soundwave let his tentacles waver lazily in front of him as he stepped around the new holes in the floor. Though the crowd sneered and yelled, they parted readily for him. Their fields blended together into a wall of anger. Aquafend swore at him and hefted the door open.

Soundwave paused in the silence of the hallway, letting its cooler air wash over him. He retracted his tentacles and shifted his plating. While his frame dumped heat, he sent an inquiry to Wingy. It responded with a chipper, “Beep!” Everything was going smoothly on its end.

The ship's odd energy was stronger here than anywhere else. Soundwave's antenna twitched. He switched his focus to the security system and fed the nearby cameras footage of himself returning to his room. In actuality, he followed the energy to an enormous, heavy door further down the hallway.

He was outside the engine room. Soundwave extended a tentacle and spread its tendrils. He wiggled them into cracks in the door and listened.

There were mechs within. Two of them. He heard them talking to each other, walking across the floor, filling the airwaves with their minute actions and motions. They would need to be disposed of or distracted so he could gain access to the room. Soundwave mulled over his options. He peered through the cameras in there. Because of their distortion, it took a few seconds to identify the mechs.

Soundwave lifted himself with his tentacles and wedged his frame between the ceiling and the heavy locking mechanisms of the door. He jabbed the nearest lights until they popped out. Glass tinked to the floor. He dulled his biolights as much as he could and pulled up his samples of Perceptor's voice.

.:Brainstorm. Nautica. Report to the lab:.

A flurry of confusion passed over the comm. Soundwave heard their replies through comms and the door.

.:did you get results for experiment 544D??” asked Brainstorm.

.:we're in the middle of something!” said Nautica.

.:the lab, now:.

Skeptical noises came through the door. Soundwave thought very hard.

.:please:.

He cut the comm.

A moment later, the locking mechanisms spun. The door pulled back and Brainstorm and Nautica walked out. Brainstorm's field shone excitement so far Soundwave felt it. Nautica was less enthusiastic, gripping a wrench and muttering that applied physics wasn't any less valid than theoretical. Her muttering was cut short when glass crunched beneath her feet. They both stopped, glancing at each other. Soundwave spidered in above their heads, unnoticed. He slid into the engine room just as the heavy door shut.

Soundwave jumped down. He identified several vents in the walls he could escape through, matching them to his map. He didn't plan on exiting the same way he had entered. And, of course, he ensured the cameras looped footage clear of his presence.

Soundwave glanced around the room. It wasn't like any engine room he'd ever been in before. There was no core, no fuel tank, and the energy was all wrong. It crawled along his plating and the only word he could describe it with was unnatural. The gigantic, rounded red... things were perched up by the clear ceiling, beyond which he could see space. The iris portals in the floor were cinched closed. Soundwave saw that the things matched up to the portals in the floor. If the things were mobile, they could be lowered down to meet the floor, possibly sink deeper beneath it.

Soundwave reviewed his catalog of Ultra Magnus's inspections. There were some encrypted files he hadn't bother to decrypt just yet. He picked a cluster concerning the engine room.

fuel quills...?

Soundwave pushed the thought aside. He could puzzle over that later. He was here now. Best to take advantage while he could. He strode over to the first bank of consoles and jammed his tentacles into it. Their secrets unraveled before him in a flood of data. It was a thrilling sensation. This was the second time Soundwave had accessed something so powerful in years, since before he'd been banished to the shadowzone. The feeling was almost overwhelming, almost too much for him. In fact, he must have made a mistake in his interpretation, because the data indicated that this ship operated on quantum energy-

Soundwave double checked his calculations.

quantum!

He had never experienced anything like it before. The closest he had seen were theoreticals and simulations in Shockwave's lab.

A grinding sound came from the door. Someone was trying to override its locking mechanism from the outside. Soundwave hurriedly embedded a string of code into the console's database. By the time the door swung open, he was making his way through vents back to his room. Soundwave noted they were specially insulated, shielded from the quantum energy that would otherwise radiate out of the engine room. When Soundwave got back to Wingy, his code had finished infiltrating the ship's engine systems.

Wingy had completed its task. The containment vessel held a substance that was, as far as Soundwave could determine, dark energon. Soundwave scanned it by all the means he had available to him. Temperature, light output, sound- they all came within 0.8% of the values of the dark energon in his dimension.

Soundwave had reserved one canister of Lost Light energon for a test. If he had managed to make dark energon, that was good. What he had been aiming for, however, was a catalytic form: a type of dark energon that turned regular energon into more of itself when they came into contact.

Soundwave held the canister as Wingy pipetted dark energon into it. The purple drops branched and spread, darkening the pink. The canister cooled slightly in his tendrils. Within seconds, the full volume of the canister had the sickly glow of dark energon.

“Success.”

There was only one more test Soundwave could do. A very important one. The Nemesis, an unliving thing, had gained sentience when exposed to dark energon. Soundwave needed to make sure that wouldn't happen to the Lost Light. It was a ship far too powerful to allow sentience.

Soundwave snatched Wingy from the air and threw it into the containment vessel.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!” The little drone flapped frantically, paddling in the dark energon. Its painted red cross turned black. Its lights changed from green to red. It shuddered. “Beep. Beep.” It launched itself out of the containment vessel and flew erratically, dripping.

Soundwave caught it between two sheets of metal. Its frantic wings and scrabbling arms scraped against the metal. “Beep! Beep!” Wingy wiggled and jerked, struggling to free itself.

But it did not gain sentience. Soundwave sent it messages on all frequencies, just to be sure. Its processing capabilities were unchanged. Its behavior had become more aggressive, but it could not think for itself.

“Success.”

Soundwave pressed the sheets against the little drone, pinning it tightly. Wingy's purpose was fulfilled. Now it was a liability, contaminated with dark energon and memories of its chores. It needed to be disposed of.

The other Decepticons of the Nemesis would have crushed Wingy in their hands, or ripped its winglets off and laughed as it flopped helplessly across the floor, or twisted it in half and thrown it out the airlock.

Such actions were typical of Decepticons, and not incorrect ways to dispose of used equipment. But they belied a need to establish superiority. They belied an inherent weakness that Soundwave never bowed to.

Soundwave didn't need to establish superiority over such an insignificant, tiny piece of scrap. He already knew he was superior. He would dispose of it properly: efficiently, without emotion. Soundwave tossed aside the metal sheets and gripped Wingy in his prongs.

“Beep! Beep! Beep!” The drone flapped its winglets as hard as it could. Its arms strained out to him, as if imploring for help. The dark energon coursing through its small frame burned Soundwave's tendrils. Its lights flickered from red to green to red.

Soundwave snapped two of his prongs together, puncturing Wingy's outer casing and cracking its primitive processor. “BEE! -eeeeeep...” The wings ceased flapping. The arms went limp. The drone was still and silent.

Soundwave extricated it from his tentacle and pushed it to the corner of the desk. It lay in the shadows there, broken. A thin trickle of dark energon dripped from it.

All tests had concluded.

The majority of the crew was resting. It was time to enact part one of his final plan. Soundwave filled several containers with dark energon. He gathered components from one of Wingy's medical kits and, with a glance around the ship's many eyes, headed out again.

Chapter Text

Soundwave navigated his way to the upper levels, manipulating the Lost Light's security cameras as he went. He avoided the few mechs walking about this late: mostly security sentries, bored out of their minds, comm-ing each other dirty word games. Soundwave passed the hab suite halls, the silent and dark bars, the empty cafeteria. He passed the elevator to the oil reservoir.

Soundwave stopped at the medical bay. The door slid open at his command. The med bay was quiet and warm. Little indicator lights twinkled green in the darkness. Machinery beeped faintly. The quarantine area's metal experiments bubbled beneath thick glass. The motion-sensing lights remained off as Soundwave strolled past the surgical beds and the labs and the three drone cubbies. Two held drones silhouetted with green recharge light. One was dark.

He stopped at the false wall. It parted for him.

The columns rose, massive, in the quiet night hours. Their disproportionate allotments of energon each held a contorted, mech-shaped shadow. An uneven pink glow illuminated the monitoring equipment. The columns pressurized and depressurized cyclically with faint hisses. The room smelled of energon and fresh soldering. Soundwave approached Spinister's column. He swept the little vials of innermost energon aside with his foot, forming a path to its base. The vials tinked together, bunching against the metallic flowers, falling over onto the hand-written notes.

Spinister was too big to be placed within his column properly kneeling. His knees had been bent and pressed up against the glass. His arms were bound and his frame tilted back so that his eyes remained below the level of the energon. One of his rotors and the tips of his helm were exposed to the air, gray and dull. His paint had burned and puckered in ripples, as if he'd been slashed by a plasma whip.

Soundwave located the access port on the side of the column. Its diameter was just wide enough to admit a needle. Soundwave drew up a syringe of dark energon catalyst and aimed.

thunk

Inky darkness torpedoed into the mass of pink energon. It spread in deep purple curlicues. They expanded, faster and faster, fractaling out until they brushed against Spinister. He twitched. His plating shifted, sending waves through the energon. The waves sparked when they collided. Spinister's fingers curled into fists. With a faint zzzt, his biolights flickered on. Their white-dotted red immediately shifted to an intense purple. The grayed tips of his helm and rotor crumbled away. Dark energon bubbled out from the new holes they left.

Soundwave moved on to Misfire, whose wings had been weighted down so they would remain safely below the energon. And then to Nickel, who had been placed in her column kneeling. Her column had the lowest level of energon: the exposed rings of her antennae collapsed as she stirred. Krok, Fulcrum. Crankcase. Soundwave injected each column. One by one, the mechs within succumbed to the dark energon. They shuddered and twitched. Purple energy sizzled through their frames. Their eyes cracked open, shining red light.

Proud Decepticons, once more.

Soundwave carefully stowed away his supplies. He extended a tentacle and infiltrated one of the computer consoles, overwriting the biostats-monitoring software. He set up remote access for the columns' release function. The Decepticons would remain at rest, suspended, until he gave the command for the dark energon to be drained away.

Soundwave slipped back to his command center. He ran through his lists of Lost Light mechs. One list was much shorter than the other. He shuffled the crew's shift schedule around while he waited for morning. Soundwave sent Laserbeak down to the engine room hallway for one last errand. He ran his emotion-suppressing protocols when glee threatened to rise in his chest.

.:Ambulon, report to Brainstorm and Perceptor's lab immediately:.

.:Ratchet?:. came the confused reply. .:what? Why? Is someone hurt? I'm off-duty. It's First Aid's-:.

.:now:.

.:yeesh, okay, okay!:.

Through the cameras, Soundwave watched the door to Ambulon's quarters slide open. He exited and took off in the direction of the lab. He, Brainstorm, Perceptor, and a few other mechs were corralled into safe rooms with barking orders. These were the mechs intrinsic to the Lost Light's functionality and upkeep.

Ambulon would arrive in approximately one minute and thirteen seconds. That was just enough time for all of Whirl's punching mechs to reach their gathering place for an 'emergency meeting.' That left the weakest mechs wandering off to breakfast, where their shifts conveniently placed them this morning.

Every mech had been accounted for and given a destination, save two.

If Drift was a Decepticon of any merit, he would recognize the situation once he stumbled into it and finally put those swords to good use. And if not, he would be destroyed.

As for the other... Soundwave walked to Megatron's quarters while monitoring the ship. The morning risers had descended on the cafeteria, grumbling about the schedule. Whirl's punching mechs were gathered in their arena, looking around at each other in sleepy confusion. They had not yet discovered that their only exit was sealed shut.

Soundwave gave the remote command to the columns to drain their contents and open. Through the camera he watched the Decepticons stand. They shook blackness from their frames and stepped unsteadily out, crushing the tiny gifts that had been left for them. Their biolights intensified. Their motions shuddered and jerked. Misfire's wings rose, snapping free of their weights. Spinister stretched to his full height. Dark energon leaked steadily from Crankcase's open helm. Fulcrum's large, curving panels jutted, their movement impeded by damage. Nickel powered up her frame-mounted weapons. Purple electricity crackled along their frames. They looked around the room with a primitive confusion. Soundwave signaled the false wall to pull aside. He adjusted his camera feeds as he sent them a command:

.:kill every Autobot you see:.

Spinister roared and punched the air. At that, they surged forward. Glass shattered and alarms shrieked as they bashed their way out of the med bay. They charged down the hall towards the cafeteria.

The cafeteria door slid open. The airwaves filled with screams. The cafeteria door sealed shut.

Soundwave disabled the Lost Light's internal communication system. The screams went silent. He pushed the camera feeds to the side of his processor and knocked on Megatron's door. He knew Megatron was off-duty this morning because he had changed the schedule to be so.

“Come in.”

Megatron was sitting at his desk, piled high with data pads. His posture stiffened upon Soundwave's entry. “Soundwave. I wasn't expecting you.”

“Lord Megatron.” Soundwave bowed.

Megatron gave the nose-pinching signal.

“The false title of 'captain' is no longer needed,” Soundwave said.

“What?”

“Decepticons: superior. Autobots: inferior.” Soundwave's visor displayed the Decepticon symbol. “Under your guidance, victory is imminent. Infiltration, devastation.” The symbol shifted to a wireframe of the Lost Light, which dissolved into an excerpt from Towards Peace:

The Functionist Council understands the power of symbolism and therefore symbols are highly regulated. Symbols are identifying marks: an integral part of the system, revealing the worth of the bearer. But for an individual who chooses his own, the meaning is that of the contents of his spark. What is loved most? What is holy? What is protected at all costs? Will a mech rest his head beside this mark in prayer? If he is so careless as to reveal this symbol to those more powerful, he has assured its destruction.

Megatron's eyes widened. “What?” He shot up out of his chair. “What did you d-”

The air filled with whispers. Snippets of conversations, shouts, laughter, bar glasses clinking. Megatron took a step back.

“Infiltration, as per your directive,” said Soundwave. He stepped closer to Megatron. His visor cycled through frequencies. Hundreds of voices crescendoed, louder and louder. Megatron's eyes darted. “Highly successful. No frequency dampeners on board. Security and communications systems easily accessed. Weaknesses of ship ascertained and exploited. Commence devastation. Efficient: Decepticons eliminate the weak. The strong eliminate themselves.”

The joyful conversations turned to shrieks as Soundwave switched his display to a live video feed from the cafeteria. Autobots ducked behind upturned tables on one side of the room. Decepticons were on the other, screaming and firing in all directions. They walked on twisted legs, clawing and grabbing nearby Autobots, ripping them apart.

“The Scavengers!” cried Megatron. He stared into Soundwave's visor in horror. “Soundwave, what have you done!”

The ship's alert system went off. Red light strobed through the room, accompanied by sirens. Megatron gripped the sides of his helm.

“In moments the Autobots will be destroyed,” said Soundwave. “The Lost Light is yours. All hail Megatron.”

“Soundwave!” Megatron grabbed Soundwave's shoulders and shook him. “Cease this battle! Command the Scavengers to stand down! Now!”

stand down?

Soundwave's processor stuttered. His visor flickered.

stand down?

“Decepticons shall rise, Lord Megatron.”

Megatron cursed. He shoved Soundwave aside and ran for the door.

“Lord Megatron!” Soundwave followed, confusion clouding his processor. His frame was not well suited to running. He lagged behind. The Lost Light's strobing red alerts irritated him and he shut the alarm system off. Megatron's footsteps pounded in the eerie silence of the hall. Soundwave strained ahead. As he caught up to Megatron, Grimlock came up alongside them.

grimlock?

Soundwave scanned his lists, then the last few minutes of surveillance footage. Grimlock had not reported to Whirl's Punching Things Club as directed. He had barreled out of his hab suite when the alarm had gone off.

No matter. Megatron could easily eliminate him.

“Captain!” Grimlock spared Soundwave a glance of the visor. “Are we being attacked? What's going on!”

“Cafeteria,” said Megatron. He grit his teeth. “Grimlock, some old friends have returned. Steel yourself.”

Grimlock's field flashed with confusion. He transformed and rushed ahead, roaring.

“Lord Megatr-”

Megatron growled and took off after Grimlock. Soundwave followed on foot, acutely feeling a lack of fuel, but the Lost Light's halls were too short for him to comfortably transform.

Soundwave stood back a ways when they came to the cafeteria door. It was locked, completely and utterly sealed. Grimlock was alternately bashing it with his head, transforming, and punching it. The door was heavily dented, but stood firm.

Soundwave braced himself for Megatron's conquering blows, but none came. He stood alongside Grimlock, punching the door.

Soundwave's processor reeled, struggling to find an explanation for Megatron's actions. Perhaps his lord wished to dispose of the Autobots himself?

“Grimlock, stand back!” Megatron planted his feet firmly and his eyes went black.

Soundwave felt an energy radiate from him. It was dark... but it was not dark energon.

Pain came through Megatron's field. Whatever he was doing, it hurt him. Blackness leaked from his eyes. Soundwave's internal reticles spun, jumping, reading, recording. The blackness was speckled with red. It roiled from his eyes. Megatron wrapped it around his arm. Was this a 0001 version of dark energon...???

Megatron pulled back his fist and punched the door. The metal shrieked, buckled, and burst apart. The mysterious energy disappeared and Megatron stumbled forward, spark turning so loudly Soundwave could hear it. Megatron and Grimlock charged inside.

Soundwave hung back by the destroyed door and scanned the room. The Autobots were screaming, hiding behind makeshift barricades. The Decepticons had carved a swath of carnage across the room and now stood in a bunch on the opposite side. It seemed the element of surprise had afforded them many victims at first. Now they fired in random directions, grabbing any Autobot that dared to get too close.

Rodimus was close by, behind a wall of tables and chairs, shouting orders at Ultra Magnus. He and a few of the larger Autobots were gearing up to rush the Decepticons. They shielded themselves from the volley of laser blasts and bullets with tabletops.

“Report!” shouted Megatron. He kneeled down next to Rodimus behind the barrier. “Ugh.” Megatron gripped his middle. Black streaks were burned around his eyes.

“I have no friggin' clue!” said Rodimus. They both ducked as a shot went over their heads. “One second we're all having breakfast and the next, they burst in! We thought they were injured. Some mechs went up to them to help, but-” Rodimus turned away from the chaos to finally look at Megatron. “Your eyes! What- did- did you-!”

Megatron nodded. Before he could answer, Grimlock howled. “Misfire! Krok!” Grimlock raged across the room, ignoring the blasts that slammed into his plating. He pushed past Ultra Magnus and grabbed Spinister, wrenching a terrified Swerve from his grasp. Swerve was tossed aside and landed in a heap. Velocity darted out from behind a table to try to grab him. Nickel fired at her. Velocity retreated hastily. Spinister snarled and punched. Grimlock ducked and swung. Spinister fell back. His torso split open. Dark energon spurted from his wound. Grimlock jumped away before it could touch him. Spinister clawed at the ground and pushed himself up again.

“Don't hurt them!” called Rodimus. “They're one of us! Or, some of us!” He shook his head. “Megatron, what happened to them?!”

Megatron glared at Soundwave. “Containment first, then answers.” He took the room in with a sweep of the eye. “Trailbreaker!”

“Yessir!” Trailbreaker ran over to him, jumping over fallen comrades, wincing away from errant shots.

“I'm going to corral them together. Once they're close enough, put a force field around them! We'll contain them while we work out what to do.”

“Yessir!”

Trailbreaker and Megatron raced towards the Decepticons.

Soundwave stared.

megatron... contain?

Soundwave flipped through his plans. In every scenario he had run, he had never accounted for this: Megatron stopping his plan.

As a precaution, Soundwave diverted some of his attention to the defense system and disarmed the Lost Light's force field.

“Help me with her,” came Rodimus's voice. “Hey! Soundwave? Hello?”

Soundwave glanced at him. Rodimus was kneeling, holding Anode. Blue seeped from her mouth. Her eyes were flickering. Laser fire had punctured her torso. Wires spilled out.

“Soundwave?” Rodimus shifted Anode to the crook of his elbow and grabbed Soundwave's arm. “Do you know what's happening here?”

Soundwave's field surged with anger. He wrenched his arm out of Rodimus's grasp.

“Whoa! Your plating is cold! Are you okay?”

Soundwave transformed and flew away from him.

Rodimus fell back from the force of Soundwave's departure. “What the hell, Soundwave!”

Soundwave hovered near the ceiling over the battle, reticles spinning and jumping from face to face. The Autobots' fields were blaring, private comms sending failed pings. Soundwave strained them out. He tried to aim at the Autobots, but Megatron kept getting in the way.

Grimlock slammed Misfire to the floor, pinning him beneath his foot, howling as if the motion hurt him and not the Decepticon. Misfire clawed at him. Grimlock's field pulsed with sadness as he ground his foot down. Nickel darted between Ultra Magnus's shoulders, biting and stabbing his helm. He flailed for her. She dodged, kicking his face. “Argh!” Ultra Magnus finally managed to grab her and wrenched her off his back. She took a chunk of metal with her. Ultra Magnus threw his arm back, aimed, and launched her at Krok. They crashed to the ground in a tangled heap. Ultra Magnus spared one second to touch the bite marks on his helm before hauling himself over to Megatron's side. Megatron had Fulcrum in a headlock, seemingly oblivious to the desperate kicks and punches he received. Ultra Magnus grabbed Fulcrum's arms. Megatron released him. Ultra Magnus spun and let go. Nickel dove out of the way. Fulcrum slammed into Krok, who was just pushing himself up off the floor. Nickel clambered over the two of them, growling and hissing.

Cyclonus's forearms had separated, revealing frame-mounted guns. He shot at Crankcase's feet, forcing the Decepticon off-balance. In that split second, Cyclonus spun close and hit his chest with the sides of his hands, crack crack crack! Crankcase flailed and stumbled back towards Tailgate, whose punch sent him crashing into the last standing Decepticon, Spinister. He fell backwards onto Nickel. Grimlock tossed Misfire on top of the pile.

The Decepticons moaned, their plating cracking. Then the pile surged, anger blaring in their fields. Electricity crackled across their frames. Cyclonus and Ultra Magnus stepped together, preparing for another round. Tailgate peeked around their legs. Misfire rose. His arms, streaked with dark energon, reached out-

“Now!” yelled Megatron.

Trailbreaker clapped his hands. A force field appeared over the Decepticons.

???

force field??

A stunned silence settled over the cafeteria, punctuated by coughs and gasps. Ratchet and Velocity jumped out from behind their barricade, yanking med kits from their subspace compartments.

Soundwave forced his processor from its stupor and ground through scenarios. Should he retaliate? Retreat? Beneath him, the Autobots slowly struggled to their feet, attending to their fallen comrades.

“What the hell just happened?” yelled Ratchet. “Velocity, get First Aid up!” Ratchet tapped his comm link. “Ambulon!” Static came. He swore. “Someone get the comm system operational!”

Velocity gently turned First Aid on his side. “Non-aligning spiral wounds. He was shot mid-transformatio- ahh!”

BAM!

The Decepticons threw themselves against the force field beside her.

ZZZT!

Patterns of squares lit up with the impact. The Decepticons snarled and clawed, but the force field held strong. Velocity grimaced and dragged First Aid further away from it.

Soundwave swung around in an arc. Even with his tentacles and Laserbeak, he could not hope to free the Decepticons while surrounded by so many Autobots. He was unable to determine where the force field had come from and thus could not neutralize it. His plan had failed. If Megatron had not interfered, it would have succeeded. Perhaps Megatron had wanted things done differently. Perhaps Soundwave should have shared his plan, but Megatron had not found time for him. Perhaps-

That line of thought was cut short by a small part of his processor noting that Drift hadn't bothered to show up.

useless

Soundwave would regroup in his command center and find a secure way to contact Megatron and-

“SOUNDWAVE!” Megatron shouted. “GET DOWN HERE!”

Soundwave obeyed, as always.

As he transformed and landed, wariness crept into his lines. Megatron's disarming of his plan was so infinitesimally improbable he had not accounted for it. This Megatron had proved himself even less predictable and stable than Soundwave's own. Something deep inside his processor, beneath the logic and the protocols, in a place he never listened to and always blocked out, was warning him that something was not right.

Megatron was covered in blood, venting hard with rage in his eyes. Soundwave would have approved of the sight of it if Megatron didn't seem so angry at him.

“Soundwave! Explain this!”

Soundwave glanced around the cafeteria. Autobots were staring at him, flashing their biolights, hurt and anger in their fields. The Decepticons gnashed their teeth and beat the force field with their broken fists.

The force field that Megatron had ordered to be put around them.

“Lord Megatron. I do not understand. I did as you commanded.”

A gasp sounded around the room. Mechs' jaws dropped, staring from Soundwave to Megatron. Rodimus appeared behind Soundwave.

“Megatron wouldn't do that,” Rodimus said, shakily. His frame was streaked with blood. His biolights were flickering.

“Of course not! He's lying!” Megatron pointed at Soundwave. “Do not address me as such! I am your captain! And I never gave orders for this!”

“You instructed me to listen. I gathered communications for you-”

“I never requested that!” Megatron's eyes flared white. “How dare you bring violence to this ship! I specifically told you the Decepticon movement was disbanded! I could not have been more clear!”

Soundwave analyzed these statements. Megatron's behavior was highly over-reactionary, absolutely illogical, and far too slavish to his Autobot charade. Why did he prefer to keep playing the part, when a Decepticon victory had been assured? Why was he denying his own orders so vehemently? Why had he opened the cafeteria door when it had been securely shut? Why had he contained the Decepticon warriors and handed the Autobots victory? Why hadn't he taken advantage of the situation and leveled the room?

Why had Megatron compromised the mission and then blamed its failure on Soundwave?

soundwave: loyal!

“Soundwave: completing orders as directed-”

“I gave no such orders!”

Soundwave's processor descended into a seething, writhing mass of confusion and errors. His frame shuddered. Half-formed answers flitted through him. Branches of logic turned inward, twisting, barreling towards the simplest possible explanation. Soundwave sensed it before it could fully form into words and his frame went cold.

There was no charade.

What Megatron had been saying all along should've been taken at face value. The war really was over. The Decepticons really had lost. Megatron was really an Autobot.

Megatron was angry because Soundwave had endangered his Autobot crew.

Megatron... was a traitor.

The conclusion was so absurd and antithetical to Soundwave's entire being, he nearly crashed. His processor sequestered and deleted the conclusion immediately. But it came back louder. It was the only thing that explained all of Megatron's behaviors. Soundwave swayed on his feet. His fingers twitched. His visor filled with static. A flash of pain went through his head. Warnings sprang up, red-flagged and urgent. As Soundwave's processor battled its logistical errors, the room spun. Autobots, horrified and angry, pressed closer and closer. They outnumbered him. They would destroy him for what he had done. And-

And Megatron would not come to his aid.

Soundwave felt sick. He felt something he had not felt in so long he could not remember its name at first. Fear. It gripped his core like a fist, squeezing into his lines. Soundwave's biolights crawled. His tentacles rattled in their housing. Laserbeak fluttered against him. He ran the emotion-suppressing protocols again. And again. And again.

Megatron approached, long angry strides and fierce swinging arms. His field preceded him. It was a wall of rage. “If you want orders, Soundwave, I will give them to you now! I am ordering you, under no uncertain terms, to cease all Decepticon-motivated activities! The war is over, Soundwave! There is no war here! This is a ship of peace!”

No Megatron had ever yelled at Soundwave before.

Reality had inverted. Panic welled up in Soundwave's body. He frantically dismissed the warnings overwhelming his processor. Images of his Megatron screaming at Starscream came to him. How Starscream had trembled and cowered. For the first time in his life, Soundwave beheld the memories not with a detached dismissal, but with a growing dread that he would soon understand how Starscream felt.

Megatron stood before him, eyes flashing, fists clenching, field clashing against Soundwave's. Megatron's spark radiated in his chest. The tiny white dots in his biolights shrieked. Soundwave winced. Their piercing sounds played across his visor in rippling graphs.

“Whoa, Megatron,” came Rodimus's voice. “Stand down!”

“The war is over! Do you understand!”

“N- no-” Soundwave fractured, as if every circuit were a fault line and they sheared apart under Megatron's rage. One thought struggled to the top of the mire. protect tentacles. protect laserbeak. Soundwave hunched into himself, crossing one arm over his chest.

“Soundwave!” shouted Rodimus. “Back up! Megatron, stand down!”

“I said, 'do you understand?!'”

Soundwave's processor grabbed the only thing that made sense. “Decepticons: superior-”

Megatron screamed. Soundwave didn't have time to dodge the punch. He was thrown back into the force field.

ZZZZZTT!

Soundwave slumped to the floor in a heap, electricity crackling up and down his plating. His tentacles couldn't unfurl. Laserbeak went offline. Soundwave tried to push himself up. The floor was slick with blood and drink. He flinched away from Megatron's raised foot. It was pulled out of sight before it could come down. Ultra Magnus and Rodimus were yelling. Soundwave forced himself up, forced himself to crawl away from the force field and its snarling prisoners. His long arms were desperately unsuited to the motion. His fingers ached from bearing his weight.

megatron hit-

but soundwave loyal-

megatron hit-

Soundwave's noise filters failed. On every frequency mechs were crying out-

crying out-
crying out-

spark pulses : pain! pain! pain! pain!

sparks shrieking

white-stippled biolights splintered

splintered

s p l i n t e r e d

i n t o

s o b s

>*>/>discordant tangle of throats<\<*< [decepticons]

rrrrrrraaaarrrr
ROARRRRR
rooARRRRrrr
raawrrrrrrllllll

a scream [megatron]

a long, tortured wail [megatron]

that ended in a choking sob [megatron]

“Soundwave!” [rodimus]

Warning: unable to contact Megatron
Warning: unable to locate the Nemesis
Warning: processor destabilizing
Warning: chronological destabilization of memory files-
---/Wwwwwaaaaaarrrrning!: priiiiiiiimaaaaaary teeentaaaaacllle link severed!
---/Warning!: chest wound!
---/Warning!: initiate emergeeeeennnnccccyyyy cauuuuterizaaaationnnnnnnnnn-
Warning: emotion-suppression protocols 1 - 14 failing
Warning: emotion-suppression protocols 15 - 23 failing

Soundwave's shoulder hitched and he collapsed.

megatron-

megatron hit-

The room blackened. Soundwave crashed.

Chapter Text

Blackness.

And then.

Stars, like the spark of Primus struck with an axe, spitting embers across the sky.

Beneath them rose a bloodstained arena. Hundreds of thousands of mechs shouted and jumped up from their seats. Comms were overwhelmed with betting odds. Between the stomping and the shouting, announcers boomed gladiatorial statistics. The air stank of burned spark casings, boiling oil, and blood.

Suspended between the arena and the starry sky was some pathetic mech, a prisoner or a criminal. He hung in midair by his wrists, arms pulled taut, Soundwave's secondary tentacles gripping him tightly. He begged for his life, though no one but Soundwave could hear him. The huge monitors displayed his face: eyes bright, lips quivering with fear.

Soundwave let him hang there for a few seconds. Once the mech's pleading dropped to whispers, Soundwave drew his long arms back, pushing his chest out. The audience pressed forward to watch. The iris portal in the middle of Soundwave's chest, just beneath his throat and right over his spark, spun open. A tentacle snaked out, clicking its prongs.

Thicker than the other two, Soundwave's primary tentacle undulated before him. Its metal was lighter than that of his frame, a pearlescent sheen courtesy of its power source. It shot upwards, hovering by the prisoner's face. The prisoner kicked and frantically beat his broken wings. The primary tentacle extended its tendrils, sharp and contoured like drill bits, and dove into the prisoner's chest.

Soundwave focused. The arena dimmed around him. His tendrils spread, seeking the prisoner's line system. They connected instantly. Soundwave plugged into the mech's system like the relay specialists plugged into a communications network. Emotional data rippled back down the tentacle to him: Soundwave felt the fear in the prisoner's spark, the memories of agony and torture that had been the last few days of his life. Soundwave pushed them aside. They were inconsequential. Useless. Merely distractions from his work. Soundwave hovered in those lines, absorbing the way the prisoner's spark spun. Within a nanosecond, he knew the sound of it, the light of it, the energy of it intimately.

Soundwave echoed the prisoner's spark energy inside his own spark. Only for a moment- that's all he needed. Just long enough to understand it. Just long enough to understand how to undo it.

His spark turned one way, then the other. It produced a specially-tuned pulsing wave and sent it down the tentacle directly into the prisoner's lines. The mech screamed and tugged against his restraints, but Soundwave held him tightly. The primary tentacle's tendrils began their retreat. Even though they were exiting from a dozen holes, Soundwave could still feel the prisoner's line system. It was humming, brightening, intensifying beneath his plating. The mech's inhalations came in gasps, his eyes pleading, struts popping. Patterns of light appeared on his chest. Not running through it, as biolights did, but illuminated so strongly from beneath they were visible on the outside. They spread across his frame, following the pattern of his line system. They glowed brighter and brighter, cutting through the plating, slicing his wretched face, until-

With a final scream, the prisoner split apart in a burst of his own spark light. A thunder crack accompanied it, a haunting sound filtered through the harmonies of the mech's life force. Soundwave flicked his tentacles so the mech's disintegrating arms flew further than they would have on their own. It was a fashionable move. It helped spread the carnage. Blood rained down over Soundwave. Chunks of plating and vital organs fell into the audience. The crowd fought over the spark chamber pieces.

The enormous monitors overhead flashed Victory: Soundwave! Slaves, their arms heavy with chains, hurried onto the floor. They swept the remnants of the prisoner away, leaving long, blue streaks in their wakes.

Soundwave shimmied his armor. It was stamped with special nanostructures that helped shed the blood. It streamed in rivulets down his frame. Soundwave's tentacles braided together in celebration. Their biolights were deep blue with the joy of victory. Soundwave caught sight of himself on one of the monitors- even the swirling biolights of his face were blue. He mimed inserting the thin edge of his flattened fingers into his mouth, an obscene gesture. The crowd exploded. Wherever the camera was, it cut away. Soundwave grinned. He kicked a splintered wingtip aside and headed for his platform. He waved to the crowd. They chanted, “Soundwave! Soundwave!” Holograms displayed his name intertwined with other glyphs, forming his sinister epithets:

Soundwave The Coiling Trident!

Soundwave-He-Who-Shatters-Frames!

Soundwave The Bloodless!

All very apt, though the last one wasn't technically true. Soundwave was wounded so infrequently in battle, he may as well have been bloodless. A medic ran up to seal the only injury he had sustained in nine rounds- a gash across his torso. The motorcycle alt in round four had smuggled a whip into the arena. But no matter. She had been shattered to pieces, like all the rest.

“Aannnnnnnd now what we've all been waiting for- the gladiator round! Tonight's winner claims this year's grand title. The gladiator to face Soundwave issssssssss... Megatronnnuuusssssss!!”

The crowd stomped and booed. The medic finished his work and scurried away. Another platform rose up from beneath the arena floor. Megatronus, a tall, heavily-armored silver mech, grinned.

“Megatronus has bashed his way to second place in the ranking in record time!” shouted the announcer. “Will he dethrone our reigning champion for this year's grand title?”

Megatronus pointed at Soundwave and boomed, “On this night you will submit to me, Soundwave!”

Soundwave laughed. So did the crowd. The audacity! “Soundwave: superior!” He flexed his thick plating. Within minutes Soundwave would be receiving his medal, his prize money, and heading back to his glittering cave. He raised his long arms and writhed his tentacles for the crowd. One, two, three: they darted and slid around each other, a deadly, braiding dance.

The crowd cheered. A few holograms flickered on that didn't match the others. Megatronus Rises, Megatronus The Conquerer, and, insultingly incorrect, Megatronus Superior.

Megatronus's ascension in the ranks hadn't gone unnoticed by Soundwave. Though such things weren't unheard of—Soundwave himself had done it, long ago—Megatronus was an unorthodox fighter. Once, he had ripped out the spark chamber from one prisoner and jammed it into the ballistic arm of another, creating an effective, albeit single-use, gun. Several of his fights had effected rule rewrites, adding specificity to the restrictions. Megatronus utilizing scraps of previously-killed fighters in the following rounds resulted in a tightening of the “no non-frame weapons use” rule.

Still, Soundwave did not worry. He was Soundwave, after all. Unique. Unconquerable. Superior. None could survive his fatal attack.

As the platforms brought the two gladiators together, Megatronus said, “Would you care to make a wager?” There was a glint in his eyes Soundwave had only seen in his maddest foes.

Soundwave's tentacles flicked with amusement. “State your conditions.”

“If I win, you swear your allegiance to me. I will take you to heights you have never dreamed of,” said Megatronus. “I have great plans, Soundwave. But I can only move forward with you beside me, not opposing me.”

“And when I win?” asked Soundwave. The possibility that he couldn't win made him laugh. His tentacles outlined the shape of Megatronus's silhouette. They wavered for a moment, then pulled apart violently, mimicking the shattering blow Soundwave was famous for.

Megatronus gave him a nasty smile. “If you win, I will depart the games forever. You can continue beating far inferior foes with no long term goals, wasting your time and your strength on hollow victories that mean nothing.”

“Hah! Wager taken. Savor your defeat,” said Soundwave. One tentacle waved a cheeky goodbye. He assumed an offensive stance.

Megatronus mirrored him.

The monitors above flashed red. A buzzer rang over the arena. “Fight!”

Soundwave's tentacles extended and their tendrils danced. They evaluated Megatronus's frame. Data coagulated in his mind: the pressure of Megatronus's feet on the ground, the brightness of his biolights. Qualitative data. No calculations, just the feeling, the length/breadth/width of Megatronus solidifying in Soundwave's processor. Megatronus's mode-lock collar was operational: he, like Soundwave, wouldn't be able to transform. Megatronus had no long-range offensive weapons available to him in robot mode. He was a brute-strength kind of mech.

Megatronus grinned at him.

It was unusual for an opponent not to come rushing at him, but Soundwave had seen this before. The smart ones knew that a battle with Soundwave was best done at proximity. Which was only productive if Soundwave's main offensive and defensive capabilities were nullified. Which was only possible if they were taken out at range. Which was only possible if they were nullified. To fight Soundwave was to fight an ouroboros: impossible and circular, the fight going on and on until the opponent weakened or became distracted enough that Soundwave could destroy them.

Assuming, of course, that he didn't destroy them immediately.

Soundwave broke the standoff. He lunged forward, secondary tentacles darting for Megatronus's arms. One went low, one went high. Megatronus spun out of the way, faster than Soundwave thought he could move. He snatched one of the tentacles. Soundwave wiggled it free and smashed him across the face. Megatronus growled and crouched, digging his claws into the ground.

Soundwave ducked. A piece of the arena floor hurtled over his head. He pulled his primary tentacle out of the way just in time. Its diameter was twice that of the secondary tentacles: it moved a little slower. He waved his secondary tentacles in a mesmerizing pattern as he ran.

Megatronus threw more pieces of the flooring. Soundwave dodged them easily. He struck Megatronus, one, two! on opposite sides of his shoulders. Megatronus spun. He reached out, grabbed a tentacle, and pulled. Soundwave let out more of its length, slackening Megatronus's grip. The other tentacle wound around Megatronus's neck. His eyes flared red and he clawed at it. Soundwave darted in close and punched.

Megatronus blocked him. Even clawing at the restraining tentacle, he had managed it. He fell back, putting all his weight on the tentacle, forcing Soundwave to either hold him up or let him go. Soundwave let him fall. He unwound the tentacle, the other preparing to snake around Megatronus's legs, and-

WHAM!

Megatronus punched him right in the face. Soundwave flew back, more surprised than damaged. He scrambled upright as the crowd roared. Megatronus was pulling another chunk of the floor up. Soundwave rolled and rolled again, then sprang to his feet.

“Soundwave The Bloodless,” said Megatronus. “Heh heh.”

Soundwave glanced down as pain registered faintly in his chest. His patch from earlier had cracked open. Blood trickled from it. It must've been wrenched when he rolled.

“A previous wound,” Soundwave chided. “No accomplishment of yours.” He made a rude hand gesture.

Megatron just laughed and lobbed another chunk of metal at him. Soundwave caught it in a secondary tentacle and whipped it back. Megatronus smashed it with his fist. It exploded into shrapnel. Soundwave sent his tentacles at Megatronus, all three, diving and braiding and weaving. Megatronus blocked most of their blows, though a few managed to get through. Soundwave pressed forward, focused, hunched, fingers curling as he neared.

His foot caught in a jagged hole in the floor. He avoided stumbling, but it cost him the next wave of tentacle assaults. Megatronus launched himself skyward and came down fist first.

Soundwave barely had time to curl his primary tentacle around himself. Megatronus's fist glanced off its curves, but the rest of his body smashed Soundwave into the ground. Soundwave raised his arms automatically, shielding his face.

Megatronus had managed to get himself within range. Few mechs could do it.

Soundwave spent a solid ten seconds blocking punches before he managed to place his secondary tentacles properly. As Megatronus reared back for another punch, a tentacle wrapped around his fist.

“Huh?”

Soundwave's other secondary tentacle wrapped around Megatronus's other wrist. He thrust the mech up and away from himself. Megatronus roared as his arms were forced apart. His feet gouged the arena floor as he tried to run towards Soundwave but was held in place.

Soundwave stood and pulled his shoulders back. The crowd cheered. This scene was familiar to them.

Soundwave's primary tentacle undulated lazily as it neared Megatronus. The long lines running down its length lit up. Not blue, like Soundwave's biolights, but the purplish-white of his spark. Megatronus snarled and redoubled his efforts, plating creaking with the strain. The primary tentacle crossed the remaining short distance with a surge and slammed into Megatronus's chest. Its prongs dug in, anchoring itself, and nanoseconds later its tendrils burrowed inside. Megatronus winced. The tendrils dug and twisted, seeking Megatronus's lines. In the time it took for Megatronus's eyes to widen, they had already infiltrated half his torso. He threw his head back and howled.

Various gladiators, media personalities, interested rich persons, and scientists had asked Soundwave to explain what it was he did. They weren't satisfied with his answer, but they were also unwilling to experience it first hand, so Soundwave was disinclined to elucidate beyond the most literal translation of the feeling. They called him Soundwave because there was no word for what he actually was. There was no glyph for what he could do.

My spark is linked to my primary tentacle. Its tendrils are my spark-senses-the-world, my ears-become-eyes and eyes-become-ears. Sound is energy. Light is energy. Energy is sound and energy is light. So sound is light and light is sound. My tendrils infiltrate my opponent. I reach inside, I stretch. I find the other mech's light, his energy, his sound. They become my light, my energy, my sound. I change his light, his energy, his sound, and he shatters, torn apart along his lines.

Soundwave concentrated. The real world went dull and fuzzy as his processor shifted its sensory input focus. Megatronus's spark was very strong. Soundwave felt the structure of Megatronus's line system fanning out from his spark chamber and intertwining with his fuel pump. Its branches lit up like the forks of a lightning strike constrained to a mold of his body.

Being this intimately tied into Megatronus's frame, Soundwave felt his emotions, faint brushes of memory. Not only the intensity of being inside another mech's field, but inside its point of origin. Megatronus's emotional architecture was overwhelmed by force of will. Soundwave found himself momentarily dwarfed in its presence. It was a wall, an encompassing desire to rule all he touched and never be ruled.

Soundwave was dimly aware of Megatronus moving his arm in the real world. It blurred, as everything there did when Soundwave prepared his finishing move. Soundwave girded himself and pulsed a wave of light/energy/sound into Megatronus's lines. Megatronus screamed-

The lightning lines suddenly went dark. Energy washed back into Soundwave. He stumbled, shock bright in his field. He hastily nullified the energy barrage before it could hit his spark. His processor spun. What had happened??

Soundwave's focus snapped back to the real world. Megatronus had yanked the primary tentacle out of his chest. It hung limply in his hand, still gripping a chunk of his own plating in glowing tendrils. A fine webbing of Megatronus's own line system trailed from it, spitting sparks. One of Megatronus's eyes twitched. He bared his teeth.

The crowd went silent. One of the announcers swore.

No one had ever escaped Soundwave's final grip before.

“Heh heh heh.” Megatronus ripped his own line webbing free from the primary tentacle and shoved it unceremoniously into the hole in his chest. He dropped the primary tentacle. He didn't break eye contact as he pulled the secondary tentacles from his wrists. He patted his chest. The wounds were so deep, spark light shone through. Megatronus threw his head back and laughed.

Dread flooded through Soundwave, chilling his lines. Megatronus had pulled out the tentacle that had been enmeshed with his life force. Megatronus had been holding back the entire time he had bashed his way up the ranks. He had only used a fraction of his savage might, saving it all up for this fight with Soundwave. A mech who could resist Soundwave's fatal attack could not be defeated.

The realization stung. Soundwave reeled back, curling his secondary tentacles, whipping them against the arena floor. His primary tentacle did not respond to the pings from his spark. It was powerless, shocked, limp on the floor. Defiant pride rose in his lines. “Soundwave: superior!”

“Your arrogance weakens you!” shouted Megatronus. He darted forward, faster than he had moved in any fight yet, and grabbed Soundwave's secondary tentacles. He bunched them into coils in his hands, forcing Soundwave closer to him. Soundwave pummeled his face and chest, kicked at his knees, his waist. Megatronus didn't even bother blocking him. The blows had no effect.

When Soundwave was within arm's length, Megatronus pulled his tentacles taut. In a fluid motion, he threw Soundwave to the ground and stomped on the coiled tentacles, trapping them beneath his feet. Hands free, he caught Soundwave's forearms.

“Augh!” Soundwave wrenched his frame upwards. Megatronus thudded down on top of him. He bent and shoved Soundwave's long arms under his own knees. Soundwave's primary tentacle finally onlined. It shot up at Megatronus.

Megatronus darted to the side and grabbed it. He gripped it, squeezing and crushing it until it wound up in self defense. Once it was short enough, Megatronus flattened it to Soundwave's chest beneath one hand. He raised the other to the sky.

“Yield!” shouted Megatronus.

“No!”

Megatronus brought his fist down on Soundwave's left eye. It shattered, spewing blue.

“Augh!” Soundwave's vision halved. The edges of Megatronus's sneering face and the arena above glitched in purple.

Soundwave struggled with all his might. His secondary tentacles wrenched and coiled. He arched his back, kicked his legs, tried to free his arms, but Megatronus was too heavy.

Megatronus shook wet ocular glass from his hand. He shoved Soundwave's collar plating aside and gripped his throat, crushing its cords. “Yield!”

“No!”

Scraps of serrated metal sprang from Megatronus's fist like knives. He slashed Soundwave's face, severing the biolights in his cheek. They spurted fluid and flickered. Their light went out. “Augh!!” Soundwave had never felt deactivated biolights before. The pain was excruciating, even worse than the broken eye and the tentacles being ground into the arena floor.

“Yield!”

“No!”

“Yield, or you will never fight in this arena again!”

“No!”

“Very well.” Megatronus snarled and gripped the base of the primary tentacle. He squeezed it between his fingers. With a roar, he ripped it out of Soundwave's frame. Soundwave screamed.

The world went dark at the edges. Time slowed. Spurts of blood and metal shards burst from Soundwave's chest. The trailing wires and lines from the primary tentacle snapped back against Megatronus's arm, leaving a pattern of dashes and dots in blood. Brilliant spark light erupted from the wound. The crowd's roars smeared into a long, low bellow.

Errors careened through Soundwave's processor.

Warning!: primary tentacle link severed!
Warning!: chest wound!
Warning!: initiate emergency cauterization!

Soundwave did not register the warnings. The processor components that were once linked to his primary tentacle screamed darkness and confusion and silence. The absence of sensory input echoed through him, a wave of nullification, a wave of negation of the self, a wave of not-Soundwave.

Absent of orders, his processor reverted to emergency prioritization. The tentacle had been rooted into his spark chamber. Now it was ruptured, an entire hemisphere gone. Soundwave's spark was exposed to the elements. The surrounding outer layers of the chamber shuddered, straining to close. The grotesque feeling jolted Soundwave from his stupor. Time sped up again. The arena went bright, too bright, and Soundwave's audials filled with screams and buzzers and Megatronus's voice. Soundwave gasped and heaved, his limbs twitching, chest jutting up and down from the ground.

Megatronus was still holding the severed tentacle. Its lights flickered between his fingers. It was dying.

“N- no-”

Megatronus threw it to the ground. It writhed, curling around itself, gushing blood and light. Its prongs scratched at the arena floor, the tendrils darting in and out, reaching for Soundwave. His chest ached for it. He reached back with all his might, willing his arms to untangle and his secondary tentacles to throw off their restraints. If he could get it in time, reconnect it, he could save it-

Megatronus idly pushed the tentacle further away. Soundwave heaved his body, kicked, flailed, but Megatronus held him down. The tentacle spasmed. Its tendrils curled one final time and went motionless. The deactivation spread, freezing the prongs in place and dulling the lights, until the entire tentacle went still.

Megatronus chuckled.

Soundwave fell back and wailed. He threw every severed line into the sound. The arena speakers crescendoed and cracked. The microphones shrieked reverb. The crowd covered their audials. Even Megatronus winced.

Soundwave would have kept going, would have undone each and every mech in the arena, but one critical processor error among the countless managed to grab his attention. His spark was bare, leaking light, vulnerable. Soundwave ceased his audial assault and initiated his emergency cauterization upgrade. His armor simultaneously sprayed the chest wound with a silica compound and swept it with laser light. The wound fused shut under a perfect circle of steaming glass.

It protected his spark, but it destroyed the delicate lines that had run from it to the disembodied tentacle. Soundwave would never be able to reattach it. His spark spun beneath the glass- too loud, too fast. It was still sending light out to lines that were no longer there. The glass glowed like a biolight.

Megatronus grabbed another tentacle and squeezed it meaningfully. “Yield!”

Soundwave shuddered. The most important part of him had just died. He could not bear the loss of another tentacle. With rage pulsing from him, he spat, “M- Megatronus: superior.”

The crowd roared.

Megatronus smiled. “That wasn't so hard, was it?” He yanked Soundwave up.

Soundwave stumbled, struggling to place his feet flat on the ground. His limbs initiated resets. The arena spun, a smear of faces and lights. His remaining tentacles wound around each other in patterns that were all wrong, missing their third. The glass in his chest throbbed. The spark light that should've been channeled through his primary tentacle was bouncing around inside his chest, burning and hollow all at once. His entire frame wanted to curl into itself and mourn.

“I claim victory! And Soundwave shall stand beside me!” Megatronus shook him. “The only mech worthy!”

The crowd erupted in applause. Monitors overhead blared light and alarms. The announcers gleefully proclaimed the end of Soundwave's long reign. Gladiators on the sidelines jumped up to hail Megatronus, schadenfreude loud in their fields. Soundwave had fallen at last. Megatronus had been true to his word. Soundwave could never fight in the arena again.

Megatronus was saying something. Soundwave struggled to hear him over the din and the pain. Megatronus was waving to the crowd, but talking to Soundwave from the side of his mouth. “Your capabilities are immense. But you've been focusing them in the wrong direction.” Megatronus moved Soundwave like a puppet, pushing their faces together. His eyes were wild. “I have plans, Soundwave. I know exactly what you need to do. Swear allegiance to me and you will never taste defeat again.”

Soundwave forced his mouth to move. The side with the deactivated biolights wasn't responding. “One condition,” he said, vocalizer scratchy and flat. He sealed off the optic wiring to his destroyed eye. The staticky, purple shadows around Megatronus disappeared.

“And that would be?”

Soundwave pointed at his tentacle. “It comes with me. Don't let the scrappers take it.”

Megatronus looked like he was about to laugh at Soundwave's request. Then his eyes brightened. “Indeed, Soundwave. A thought occurs to me... yes. Yes, your appendage will be returned to you. Improved.” Megatronus grabbed it from the arena floor and thrust it at him.

Soundwave's two remaining tentacles coiled around it with longing. They tried to braid with it, but it was frozen in death. Its metal was darkening. “Quickly,” Soundwave said, though he knew there was no hope.

“You!” Megatronus shouted at one of the medics at the side of the arena. “Get that tentacle in energon.”

“Yes, Megatronus.” The medic put his arm around Soundwave's middle. Soundwave didn't have the strength to push him away. He was led off the floor, broken and bleeding, face cast down as anger and humiliation burned through him. His spark sent light out to severed lines again and again. It scattered and swirled away to useless nothingness in his broken chest.

“Look up,” said the medic gently. “It'll pull your collar plating away from the wound. It'll hurt less.”

Soundwave raised his chin. Blood streamed from his broken eye down his cheek: hot as it flowed over living skin, nothing where the biolights had been severed, then hot again.

As he glared at the sky, the arena faded. The touch of the medic's hands fell away. The stars above brightened. Filaments of light spooled out, connecting them together into a latticework. They vibrated like light, like strings, like the lines in the prisoners he had slaughtered, like the lines that had been ripped from his chest. The sky stretched far and wide. There was nothing but vibrating stars playing notes that were data, plucking at Soundwave's processor, begging to be remembered.

Chapter Text

Soundwave heard before he saw. He heard the faint whir of Laserbeak against his chest. He heard the mechs around him talking, felt their fields float over him, heard the sounds of their lips and their tongues and the energon that pulsed through their lines. If he wasn't careful, he'd hear the electricity in their brains. He heard instruments beeping and pinging. He felt pulses of medicware scanning his frame and, beneath it all, the alien quantum energy of the Lost Light.

He onlined his visor.

Above him were medical monitors, Ratchet's cross face, Velocity biting her lower lip, and Rodimus, whose expression shifted from worried to ecstatic in a split second.

“He's awake!” shouted Rodimus.

Soundwave groaned, dialed his hearing sensitivity down, and reinstated his filters. Everything was too loud, too close. He made a fist and found his arms had been restrained. He looked down. His legs, his chest- all covered in bands of metal and force fields that scattered light. He struggled against them, to no avail. “Release me!” His vocalizer was weak and staticky, pathetic to his own audials.

Ratchet looked at one of the monitors. Velocity raised an ocular arch. “Can we?” she asked. “I need to check his dorsal spines for damage.”

“Not advised,” said Ratchet. “He's about to run a self-assessment.”

Soundwave found himself doing just that.

Initializing self-assessment.
Warning: restraints detected
Warning: unable to contact Megatron
Warning: unable to locate the Nemesis
Warning: unable to connect to geosynchronous satellites
Warning: location unknown
Warning: suppression protocols 1 - 14 failed
Warning: suppression protocols 15 - 23 failed
Warning: suppression protocol reboot failed
Warning: suppression protocol reboot failed
Warning: suppression protocol reboot failed
Warning: suppression protocols fatally corrupted

The warnings skittered across Soundwave's processor. He dismissed them with irritation. As the warnings faded, his last waking memory was restored, and he went still. Megatron screaming. Autobots bleeding and shouting and then quiet, so quiet. Megatron. Contact. Pain.

Soundwave's spark, which he hadn't noticed in years, froze in his chest.

“Er,” said Rodimus, poking at one of the monitors. “Is he broken?”

“No,” said Ratchet. “He's less broken than he's been in millions of years.”

megatron-

lost light-

decepticons-

megatron-

“Hey!” said Rodimus. He leaned over and put a hand on Soundwave's shoulder. “It's gonna be okay. Chill out.”

“M-Megatron-” started Soundwave. His vocalizer stung. His vision wavered. “Decepticons-”

“The war's over,” said Rodimus. “It's okay, though. You're here! You can stay here and-”

“Decepticons: superior!” Soundwave thrashed in the restraints. The irises to his tentacles opened but they thudded against the force field around his chest. “Autobots: inferior!”

Ratchet shook his head. “He's a one-track mech. I don't know how we can get through to him.”

“Decepticons: superior!”

“Megatron did tell him, right?” asked Velocity.

“A bunch of times, according to him,” said Rodimus. “And then one last time.” He leaned closer to Soundwave. “The war's over, Soundwave. Really. It is. You can keep being loyal to Megatron if you want. That means being loyal to a new cause, one of peaceful discovery and adventure! Or you can just... stop. Your old work is done. You can choose a new path.”

Anger and resentment washed through Soundwave. They were bitterly unwelcome. “Where is Megatron?”

Rodimus shifted uneasily. “He doesn't want to see you.”

“Coward!”

“You're a loyal Decepticon, Soundwave,” said Rodimus. “There's nothing that Megatron is more afraid of than going back to that.”

“Traitor.”

“I know it's hard to put the war routine behind you, but it's over. You're free of it. Freedom! The sweetest word in the universe! You can be your own mech now,” said Rodimus.

Anger swirled. Soundwave gripped it. He had used it once, a long time ago. He had forgotten what a venomous fuel it was. His frame gave off hissing static. “I have always been my own mech.”

“You sure about that?” asked Rodimus. He glanced at Ratchet. “You don't have to take orders from Megatron anymore. I mean, you do, he is co-captain. But... you don't have to dedicate yourself to him anymore. You've spent the last three-to-six million years following his every order. Now you can be your own person.” Rodimus plunked down on a stool next to the medical berth. He laced his fingers together and set his chin on them. “Trust me, Megatron wants you to be your own person. Do you have any hobbies?”

His field washed over Soundwave, positive and calm. Soundwave twitched.

“Like, uh. I dunno. Collecting little animal friends? Composing music...?” Rodimus looked at Velocity. “What do Soundwaves like?”

She shrugged. “I've only met four. They weren't in hobby-sharing moods.”

“Soundwaves like murdering Autobots,” muttered Ratchet.

“That's helpful,” Rodimus said. He jutted his chin at the door. “Can we get some privacy?”

Velocity glanced at Ratchet. His expression soured. They walked out.

Rodimus slumped forward, elbows on his knees. He dragged his hands down his face. “Ugh. I'm sorry, Soundwave. This is- this is partly my fault. I brought you aboard. I should've been there for you! Megatron couldn't step up so I should've... I should've tried harder. Of course you'd need an adjustment period. Of course you'd be-”

“You're sorry?” Soundwave repeated.

“-lost and- uh. Yeah,” said Rodimus. “I am. It's very mature of me.”

“Pathetic,” spat Soundwave.

Rodimus's face fell.

“Pathetic Autobot.”

Rodimus's gaze flicked to the side. Soundwave followed it. A small vial of pink energon sat on the table next to his medical berth. Soundwave's field pulsed with contempt.

“Do you know what that is?” asked Rodimus.

Soundwave's visor lit up with a graphic of the vial. “A gift of your blood,” he said. “Which is poisonous to me. Idiot Autobot.”

“No,” said Rodimus. “It's a-

“I already know it's poisonous. I will not consume it.”

“Soundwave, it's not poison.” Rodimus put his hand over his spark. “It's a promise.”

A big red X went through the graphic on Soundwave's visor. “Your promise of destruction is nullified by-”

“No! Soundwave!” Rodimus clenched his fists. “Shut up for ten seconds so I can humbly apologize!”

Soundwave's visor lit up with symbols.

“Okay, I don't know what all that means, but I'm gonna assume it's not good.”

“Inferior Autobot-”

“Soundwave! If you let me finish my apology I'll make Megatron come here and talk to you!”

Soundwave's visor flashed red at the mention of Megatron's name.

“Ugh.” Rodimus shook his head. “Soundwave, that is my innermost energon. People pay good money for it. But I gave you some because it's a promise. Okay? It's a promise that I'm gonna help you get a new life here. A new life on the Lost Light. And it'll be good and you'll be happy and we'll all be happy and you'll stop trying to destroy everything!”

“I reject your promise.”

“You don't get to reject my promise,” said Rodimus.

“I reject the premise of your promise.”

“What?”

Footsteps sounded from beyond the door. Soundwave tilted his helm towards it. Rodimus followed. A moment later, Drift stalked through. His plating was scratched and smeared with blood. His fists clenched and unclenched. Drift ignored Rodimus and leaned close to Soundwave. His field was heavy with anger and his lips curled back, revealing sharp teeth.

Soundwave let out a breathy, amused sound. Drift looked like an Autobot doing a terrible impression of a Decepticon. Useless, pathetic Drift.

“Forget the fact that the war is actually over,” said Drift. “Why did you join it?”

Soundwave didn't know what he had expected Drift to say. This wasn't in his top ten guesses, given previous interactions. Still, the answer was as clear to Soundwave now as it was on that day. “Megatron: superior.”

“And? That's it? Just physical superiority? He didn't promise you riches, or status, or freedom from an oppressive governing body?”

Soundwave said nothing.

“A planet? A billion organics to crush?”

Soundwave said nothing.

“He didn't even promise you energon?”

“Megatron: superior.”

“Yeah,” snarled Drift. “But why?”

Were the Autobot's audials broken? Soundwave didn't care to repeat himself again. He turned his helm away.

“No.” Drift forced Soundwave's helm back. Soundwave hissed static at him. “Shut up. Every dimension's Decepticon rising had a tiny, tiny seed of good to it. In some dimensions, Megatron calls for the end of corrupt leadership. In others, he calls for an end to slavery. Ends to religious oppression, political oppression, social oppression. Ends to resource limiting and planned famines. Which one was it for you, Soundwave?”

Soundwave's visor lit up with angry red lines. “Shut up,” he repeated in Drift's voice.

“Which tiny, minuscule, barely-there reason did Megatron have to wage war in your dimension?” Drift gripped Soundwave's helm tighter. “Tell me what was worth dedicating your life to, Soundwave!”

Soundwave's visor displayed a video of Drift. “The Decepticon path is guided by principles of superiority and violence. Negative actions and negative forces, intertwining. Like the harmonies in this crys-”

“Shut up!” Drift pushed Soundwave's head back, exposing his neck. Soundwave's tentacles thudded against the shielding around his torso. His frame shook. His field pulsed with anger.

“Whoa, Drift-” started Rodimus.

“If your Megatron is so great, why did Rodimus find you starving and alone?!”

Soundwave's biolights deepened from blue to purple.

“If your Megatron is so great, why didn't he crush the Autobots in the beginning? Why did your war go on for millions of years? If your Megatron is so great, why are you on this ship right now?”

Drift's fingertips pushed into his helm, threatening to force their way under his visor. Soundwave heaved his shoulders and kicked, but the shields held firm. Laserbeak sent a warning that its wings were scraping against the light shield. Even so, Soundwave couldn't stop himself from struggling. The smell of burning paint singed the air.

“I'll tell you why. Because he wasn't. Because whatever tiny seed of good change he planted grew up into something twisted and wrong, and it twisted you with it. And as soon as you realize that, you can fix it. I joined the Decepticons because our Megatron promised us a better world. We had Functionists, Soundwave. Did you have those?”

Soundwave strained against the light shields. “Release- me-”

Drift squeezed Soundwave's helm. “I said, 'did you have Functionists, Soundwave?'”

“Negative.”

“They're horrible. Megatron promised us something better! And we fought. But then we never stopped fighting.”

Soundwave's visor lit up with words. They filled the screen, the glyphs deep blue and shadowed.

Drift's eyes widened. His grip slackened. “That's Towards Peace! You read it?”

The words kept scrolling.

“But... but the addendum, at the end, didn't you see that?! Where Megatron disbands the Decepticons??”

“False words. Lexicon analyzation did not match his established writing.” Reticles spun around the glyphs. “Obvious Autobot propaganda added to manifesto. Dismissed data.”

Drift stared open-mouthed. “You are the most single-minded mech I have ever met. Do you believe Megatron now??”

That was the question Soundwave had not yet dared to ask himself. What he knew to be real and what reality claimed to be clashed in his processor. His visor displayed static. Pain pulsed from him, leaking out around the restraints.

“Stop,” said Rodimus. He grabbed Drift's arm. “With me. Now.” Rodimus pointed a finger at Soundwave. “You. Remember what I told you.” With some difficulty, Rodimus dragged Drift out of the room.

Soundwave fell back against the medical bed. He hadn't realized how tense his body had coiled against the light shields. His processor, already reeling, had no capacity to understand an unpredictable, hostile Drift. Since waking, his mind had built lucidity on a foundation of denial and anger. It cracked under the weight of Drift's question.

“What are you”—Rodimus glanced around the busy med bay and lowered his voice—“doing in there?”

Drift seethed. One of the med drones flying overhead went out of its way to avoid him. His field spat anger. Rodimus couldn't see his aura, but he guessed it was dark.

“Breathe, mech. Find your center and stuff.” Rodimus tried to do the same. He scrabbled for happy memories, like Drift had taught him, but the smell of blood was distracting. It had been a long time since the Lost Light had suffered like this. The crew was hurting. The ship was hurting. Anger and fear had clung to him in the hallways as he had made his way to the med bay. They threatened to pierce the nonchalant armor he wore.

“Soundwave's a Decepticon through and through, Rodimus,” said Drift. His eyes flashed green. “He won't respond to heartfelt words.” Drift's hand trailed to his hip and gripped a sword hilt. “There's only one language he speaks.”

“We don't speak that language here,” said Rodimus.

“I know, that's why I-” Drift took a step back. He closed his eyes. After a moment, his field settled. He took a deep breath. “I've been where he is. He won't listen. We've tried that. I told him what he should do when he arrived and he didn't do it.”

“So, what d-”

“The Decepticons were wrong. I joined for a reason but by the end, that reason had dissolved.”

“Yeah, but-”

“We have to find the reason he joined. Crack him open with it. That's what I was trying to do.”

“Do you really think the right time to 'crack him open' is just after he wakes up from a hard crash?”

“There's never a right time for a Decepticon to have that conversation. He's a captive audience now, though. He's-” Drift took another deep breath. His eyes were vivid blue around the edges. “If I could do it, so can he. So should he.”

“Yeah,” said Rodimus. He put his hand on Drift's shoulder and squeezed. “We'll help him through it.”

Drift frowned and stared at the floor. “And...”

“Yeah?” Rodimus pushed his field out with positivity, even though he wasn't really feeling it. His friend was hurting. The little tells were there: Drift's eyes flickering through colors, the slow spinning of the wheels in his shoulders. Plus the big tell of going for his sword. “And?”

“I'm mad that he got that far, that he hurt so many of our people before we even knew what was going on. He knew just where to hit us. I'm angry that I wasn't able to stop it. I should've thought of that sooner. I should've known.” Drift pressed his hands to his face, smearing his make-up. “Wing's teachings didn't hit me at first, either. I should've used more practical methods. I'm gonna go get some crystals-”

.:Rodimus, Drift. Come to my office:. Megatron's voice rang in both their helms. They glanced at each other.

“Guess the preliminary reports are ready,” said Rodimus, distaste plain in his field. “The crystals will have to wait.”

Rodimus, Megatron, Ultra Magnus, and Drift sat around the table in Megatron's office. They all had smears of blood on their plating. For once, Rodimus was not fidgeting. He did not loudly snack from the bowl of stale cubes that comprised the table's permanent centerpiece. He did not look at the ceiling and make amusing images from the perfectly-aligned rivets. A mournful and angry feeling permeated the room.

Ultra Magnus reset his vocalizer. “First and foremost, Ratchet has sent an update: 73 total crew members injured. The majority of them suffered light to medium severity wounds and are stable.” He touched the patches on his own helm in illustration. “24 are critically injured. Aside from the Scavengers, Ratchet says he is confident the critically injured will eventually regain full functionality.”

“I was just in the med bay,” said Rodimus. “They'll pull through.”

“A team has been sent to harvest metal from the lower corridors. Once the metal specialists purify it, repairs will begin. Ratchet is at a loss for what to do with the Scavengers. They've been heavily sedated and returned to their columns, though the columns are empty. If we cannot find the missing 0001 energon soon, he will fill them with our current mix, although he doesn't know what that will do to their bodies. But... if they stabilize, it will prevent their sparks from going out.”

Drift bowed his head and spoke a short prayer.

“As for... Soundwave...” Ultra Magnus shuffled data pads. “He has been contained in what remains of the quarantine area of the med bay. Ratchet has cannibalized one of the exploratory force field suits to immobilize him. Soundwave is stable but unresponsive. I sent-”

“He's responsive,” said Rodimus. “We-” He glanced at Drift. It was probably best to leave Drift's interaction out of it. “I just talked to him.”

Drift lowered his eyes. Megatron sat up straighter. Ultra Magnus reset his vocalizer.

“Sorry. Continue,” said Rodimus.

“I sent a team to investigate Soundwave's quarters and they found”—Ultra Magnus nudged a data pad across the table to Megatron and Rodimus—“a nest. A nasty thing. A command center only he can use. He's left no trace of his plans, certainly no written notes of any kind. Information has been downloaded into the desk. Mirage is in the process of decoding it. We're certain there was a Phase Two of his plan, which was aborted when he crashed. Either he needed to supply some kind of code to enact it, or... some other factor we don't know of. Blaster, Mirage, and Perceptor have been sweeping the Lost Light's systems. Mirage says Soundwave's infectious coding is very difficult to detect. Soundwave has circumvented Mirage's 2938 locutions and mimicked our native language perfectly.”

“He was barely here three days,” said Drift. “Three days!”

Megatron and Rodimus bent over the data pad. Rodimus shook his head over and over, tanks churning. Megatron asked, “Is there a third phase of his plan?”

“Ugh,” said Rodimus. “I didn't even think of that!”

“Unknown. Perhaps when Phase Two is understood, we can determine that.” Ultra Magnus nudged another data pad across the table. “There is also a room in the same hallway as Soundwave's command center, albeit not connected, which the team hasn't breached yet. Perceptor took energy readings and recommended great caution going forward. He's putting together a proposal for how to safely enter and investigate the room.”

Megatron flicked through the data pad. “All of the physical service lines leading into the room have been disconnected.”

“An isolated space,” said Drift. “Perhaps where he felt he could come up with his plans without any risk of detection?”

“We do not know,” said Ultra Magnus.

Rodimus looked at the data pads in disbelief. “How did he... do all this?”

“Soundwaves are masters of communications. He's probably infiltrated our comms systems. Perhaps even our security system. That would explain a few anomalies we've identified in the camera footage from the past few days.” Ultra Magnus sat up straighter. “We are now at a unique crossroads of justice and mercy.” He looked at each of the others, one by one. “For the safety of the ship and everyone aboard, we must remove Soundwave from the reaches of the populace.”

Rodimus's spark hitched as he considered the implications. The mech he had rescued and brought aboard had put everyone in danger. There was no way Soundwave could stay, but... “I get it, I totally get it. But what would we do? Banish him in the next dimension? He'll die. He won't have an energy source anywhere off-ship. And we can't send him home.”

“Hence the crossroads,” said Ultra Magnus. “A fine balance between due punishment and metered mercy.”

Megatron muttered darkly, rubbing his arm. Blood had splashed there during the fight and pooled in the old connectors for his fusion cannon. He had been picking at it ever since.

“As the only person here who has been banished,” began Drift. Rodimus looked away. “I must say, I am torn. My banishment was my choice and it was based on false pretenses. That is not the case here. But at least I had resources. I could eat the food I found. I don't think banishment is the morally correct thing to do, here.”

“Imprison him indefinitely,” said Megatron. He was doing a poor job of hiding the anger in his field. “The safety of the crew is paramount. His plan was premeditated. He sequestered mechs he had identified as integral for the Lost Light's functioning. They were to be spared the onslaught, but the rest were intended to die. Isolate him.”

“Isolation is what lead to this,” said Rodimus. “If someone—anyone—had bothered to talk to him-”

“I did,” said Drift. “I told him exactly what choices like this would lead to. I told him his time aboard was an opportunity to divert his course. But he did not.”

“I told him in no uncertain terms the Decepticon movement was disbanded,” growled Megatron. His eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, but Rodimus had learned to recognize the faint motion. “This invites a new problem as well. If Soundwave no longer feels loyalty to me, however misguided, then we do not know where his loyalties lie. 0001 Soundwave remained devoted to the Decepticon cause even after I left it. He tried to found a Decepticon homeworld in Earth's solar system. This Soundwave is a dangerous mech. You should have let me lock him up when he arrived, Rodimus.”

“You know that wouldn't have been right,” said Rodimus. His hands shook. He pushed them flat onto the table. “Look, no one feels this more deeply than I do. I'm the one who brought him aboard. I should've stuck closer to him. He's crashed. He's gutted. Everything he knows is wrong. Now's the time to let him rebuild into something better!”

“Your empathy is commendable,” said Drift. “You've truly centered yourself.” His expression twisted with doubt. “But...”

“But? Is there a limit to empathy, Drift?” asked Rodimus. “That's not what you've always said.”

“Blind empathy is imprudent,” snapped Megatron. “One might rather think you are deferring your own guilt, Rodimus.”

“Hey! You of all people know we have a policy of peace and integration-”

“Making a policy based on idealized hypotheticals and then seeing that policy fail are two different things,” said Megatron. “Being flexible is a strength, here. We can change our policy at will to suit new situations.”

“That is an invitation to a long and arduous argument,” said Ultra Magnus. “Some rights are immutable. We selected ours. We can't adjust them every time the status quo is challenged.”

Rodimus cradled his head in his hands. “There were no fatalities. Except the fatal mistake Soundwave made trying to use the Scavengers as weapons of mass destruction.”

Drift's field flared with bitter amusement.

“Ironically, we would probably be in a worse place if Soundwave had done what I actually told him to do,” said Megatron. “If he had talked to the mechs aboard, he would have learned the Scavengers are no warriors.”

Ultra Magnus glanced at the report from Ratchet. “Although the Scavengers initiated the assault, they sustained more injuries than anyone else. Once they were contained, Nickel fired on every single one of them, and when Spinister couldn't punch the others to unconsciousness any more, he started punching himself.”

Drift shook his head. “So many injured mechs and the med bay is completely smashed to pieces. It's going to take forever for Ratchet to clean it up. Swerve, Velocity, and Anode's experiments are destroyed. And the 0001 energon...” His finials dipped. “The temple to home...”

“I saw it,” said Rodimus softly. The sight of the smashed bottles of innermost energon had felt like a physical blow. Ambulon had gently pushed him out of the containment chamber, promising to take care of it. Rodimus was silently grateful for that. No 0001 mech should've had to bear the chore of sweeping up the splintered glass and broken flowers.

“He did that purposefully,” said Megatron. “He could have poisoned our food supply. Practical. Easy. But he chose to...” His frown twisted with distaste. “Before the... incident, Soundwave came to my hab suite. He quoted Towards Peace, a passage concerning the importance of symbols. I thought at first he was defending his use of the Decepticon symbol in a display of loyalty to me. But I think... I think he meant it figuratively. One can crush one's enemy if they reveal the contents of their spark. Ambulon had explained to him that the Scavengers and the 0001 energon were sacred to us. Our last tie to home. Soundwave deliberately targeted them to destroy that which we hold most dear.”

“Infiltration,” muttered Drift. His eyes flicked to Megatron and away again. “Devastation.”

Megatron's field went noticeably cold, then was hastily retracted. “Soundwave is too dangerous.”

Rodimus scoffed. “He's done less injury to the crew than some of us on board have, in the past.”

“That's not a fair point,” said Ultra Magnus, glancing at Megatron. “That's not-”

“How so?” asked Rodimus. “We let Brainstorm come back. He changed the timeline. Like, all of space and time. And we let him come back.”

“Respectfully,” growled Megatron. “Brainstorm has proven himself useful aboard.”

“Hey, we all know how dangerous the 'you're only worth having around if you're useful' stipulation is,” Rodimus shot back.

“Brainstorm had the good sense to only humiliate himself,” spat Megatron. “How many hundreds of years will it take me to repair my good standing with the crew? Everyone witnessed Soundwave saying I ordered him to orchestrate the attack!”

“Yeah! And then they all witnessed you deactivating him and helping the injured to the med bay! And don't think your tears were missed by anyone, either!”

“They weren't tears-”

“I saw the anguish in your aura,” said Drift. “I felt it in your field.”

“This isn't about your ego, Megatron!” shouted Rodimus.

“Of all the mechs to preach about ego-”

“Order!” Ultra Magnus banged his fist on the table. “Let's not get heated, here.”

“Everyone breathe deeply. Recenter yourselves,” said Drift. Rodimus and Megatron both shot him venomous looks.

“If I am to remain impartial in this,” said Ultra Magnus, “which, despite the difficulty, I do intend to be, I must relate to you that Brainstorm has written a, for lack of a better term, letter of recommendation for Soundwave.”

“What?” said Megatron.

“I shall summarize,” said Ultra Magnus. “He says the black liquid he scraped from the floor of the cafeteria is a form of energon we've never encountered before. It has the potential to be extremely energy-rich. I cannot understate his excitement in this regard. He underlined the words 'energy rich' three times. They were followed by 14.5 exclamation points.” Ultra Magnus shook his head. “The mech is a travesty to punctuation.”

Rodimus rolled his eyes.

“That said,” Ultra Magnus tucked his fist under his chin thoughtfully, “I would like to know where he's going with this. I believe a mech of Soundwave's talents would benefit the Lost Light.”

“He hasn't demonstrated an ability to change,” said Megatron.

“I don't think we gave him the opportunity to,” said Rodimus. “I told Soundwave that he was getting a second chance here. But he was sequestered. He's been hungry. He's lonely and tired. I can't look at myself in the mirror and say, 'yup, Rodimus, you sure gave that mech a real second chance. Good job!'”

“I thought this wasn't about ego,” muttered Megatron.

“It's not about ego when it's about me,” said Rodimus.

Ultra Magnus snorted.

“We can't abandon him. We all know that's not right,” said Rodimus. “And I don't like the idea of hauling someone around in a seclusion chamber for the rest of our lives. We have to integrate him. We have to try this time. I know if we give him a chance, he'll do amazing things. Just like the rest of us have.”

“Velocity has already proposed a medical device she can install that would disrupt his ability to access our communication systems,” said Ultra Magnus. “I would be... personally more amenable to his integration, were he to voluntarily take on the device.”

“Integration, if chosen, will be on our terms, not his,” said Megatron.

“We could give him the choice,” said Drift. “He could choose. If he would rather be isolated, maybe that would be for the best.”

Silence descended on the room. Megatron sat back with a frown, eyes distant. Ultra Magnus turned his head to the side, no doubt mentally scanning thousands of court cases and laws. Drift slouched forward just the tiniest bit, his field sad.

Finally, Ultra Magnus broke the silence. “I feel this is the fairest conclusion. We can determine a just punishment in the near future. Right now we should focus on having him dismantle his infiltration framework and expunge his plans.”

“Hrmm,” said Megatron.

Rodimus slapped the table. “Sounds good! Who's gonna ask him?” All three mechs looked at him. “Oh, no. Not me. You should do it, Megatron. You need to talk to him.”

“No,” said Megatron.

“He asked for you.”

Megatron scowled.

“He's already done the bad thing you were worried about. And look at you. You're just fine! You're not exhibiting any genocidal tendencies, as far as I can see. You haven't even punched anyone!”

Megatron gave him a grim look and scratched at his arm.

“Er. Except for Soundwave, himself.”

“I think it would be a good idea,” said Ultra Magnus.

Drift nodded. “He still doesn't believe us. He needs closure. From you.”

Megatron sighed. “Is he damaged?”

“What, physically?” Rodimus put his hand over his spark. “I don't think that's where the damage is.”

Megatron rubbed his forehead and groaned.

In an attempt to understand and address its multiple problems, Soundwave's processor split itself in half. Then fourths. Then eighths. Each part struggled to grasp the enormity of what had happened. Three of the parts came together again. Another part split off. Soundwave darted from thought to wordless thought. Understandings weren't just in numerical data anymore. They had a depth now, an emotional undercurrent that continually swept him away. For seconds or years, he could not tell.

emotion-suppressing protocols, corrupted-

megatron-

autobots. autobots??

anger

promise-

critical destabilization-

“Soundwave, listen well.”

That voice catapulted Soundwave to wakefulness. His processor lined itself up in a hasty jumble. Soundwave onlined his visor.

Megatron sat beside him, hunched, his field awash with discomfort. His helm was tilted down, shadows cast over his eyes. “I apologize for striking you.”

...apology??

Soundwave stared at Megatron. Emotions hammered through him: pain, helplessness, humiliation. This apology was something his spark had no idea what to do with. It seemed to spit light in all directions every time he felt something. Laserbeak rustled against his chest. Out of habit, Soundwave summoned his emotion-suppressing protocols, but they were gone.

“I speak no duplicities now when I say that the Decepticons are disbanded,” continued Megatron firmly. “Violence is not tolerated here. The Decepticon ideals are not practiced here. Do you understand?”

Soundwave's processor collapsed again.

loyal-

superior-

why-

“Answer me, Soundwave.”

“I hear you,” said Soundwave, scratchy and dissonant. He focused on Megatron's voice: its elemental pitches, underlying undulations and that one cycling, sonorous component that identified him as Megatron. Soundwave's processor clung to it, structuring itself around it like a snowflake crystalizing around its dusty nucleus. “I hear you. I do not understand.”

Megatron sighed. “You must obey the rules of this ship. There is no other survivable recourse for you.”

The delicate snowflake melted away.

obey-

decepticons: superior-

reboot basic thought protocols-

lost light-

Discordant again, Soundwave fastened himself to the idea of joining the Lost Light properly. Anger pulsed through his field. “Unacceptable. I will return to my home dimension.”

“You cannot do that. You know you cannot do that.” Megatron waved around the room. “Your two options are to live peacefully with the mechs here or be imprisoned for life so you do not harm them.”

imprisoned-

Laserbeak cresting over the canyon wall-

starless sky-

Soundwave's processor dissolved into the sepia-toned landscape of the shadowzone. The thought of being sequestered away on the Lost Light, like he had been there, made Soundwave's chest ache. The years and years of emptiness, unnoticed while he was living it, registered as unbearable loneliness now. He rejected the thought with his entire being. He would fight imprisonment with every weapon available to him, every fiber of his frame-

Freedom.

That word, whispered in Rodimus's voice. His processor clung to it. Like a frenzied beast, his mind built itself up from the idea. Protocols finished running. Thoughts returned in stable, orderly fashion. Angry red lines appeared on Soundwave's visor as he truly understood, for the first time, what Optimus Prime's favored word meant. He tried to push the realization away. “You are a Decepticon!”

“No, I am not,” said Megatron. “But I haven't forgotten how to think like one. Perhaps you will feel a twisted sense of pride in that I thought of a third option for you.”

“I feel nothing!” Soundwave felt the lie vibrate in every atom of his being. He pushed it, pushed all of it, but it pushed back harder.

“Oh, I doubt that very much,” said Megatron. “The third option is not the Autobot way.”

“Then I will take it!”

“Are you sure? We would abandon you. Dump you out on whatever planet we find first in the next dimension and then hop away. You will be free to terrorize whoever you like there and we will leave you to it.”

Soundwave shuddered. His visor lit up with his fuel gauge. “I will die in any other dimension but my own.”

“Exactly,” said Megatron. “That would be the Decepticon way, after all, would it not? If you were strong enough to survive it, then you would be worthy of surviving. Are you proud of me, Soundwave? Are you happy that I reached this conclusion? Are the basic horrors of the Decepticon way not revealed to you?”

“But... but I have been loyal-”

“Yes, you have,” said Megatron. “And I am entirely curious to see where your loyalty shall lie going forward. But you have not answered my questions.” He sat back and looked at Soundwave expectantly.

“Traitor.”

Megatron sighed. “I suppose I should thank you. You made me face my greatest fear and I escaped largely unscathed.”

“Decepticons: superior.”

“So you would be abandoned in the next dimension?”

Soundwave said nothing.

“No, you won't be, Soundwave. The truth is, abandonment would not be the Autobot way. And I am an Autobot. And so it is not my way.”

Soundwave's field pulsed with anger. Though he had spent a lifetime cataloging every word his Megatron had ever said, these words fell across his processor half-heard. Born of weakness, they were not the words of a superior warrior.

and yet

he beat

you

Soundwave's processor threatened to shatter again.

“Let's approach this from another angle, Soundwave. Ultimately your plan was undone because you had relied on the Scavengers to serve as loyal Decepticons. You didn't know a thing about them, did you?”

The insult curled inside Soundwave. “The plan was undone because you are a traitor! No plan could account for Megatron the- the- the-”

“Autobot?”

“Yes.”

“But I told you that myself. You did not listen. Soundwave, I didn't want you to infiltrate the comm system. I wanted you to talk in person to the mechs that live here. They are your shipmates, now. Or will be, if you choose to integrate. Peacefully integrate.”

The thought of living with Autobots disgusted Soundwave. But what else could he do? Soundwave's processor fought itself, both accepting and rejecting Megatron's words. His spark lurched. Everything inside him scrabbled for a path that made sense.

freedom...

Freedom on the Lost Light? Or from the Lost Light?

What he needed... was a plan.

Soundwave's processor skipped around again. Conversational snippets from the past few days flitted by. Something he had heard once came to the forefront. “Is it true every dimension falls to the Autobots?”

“Yes, Soundwave. Every dimension where the war has ended, the Autobots won.”

“The outcome is still undetermined in some dimensions?”

“Correct. Mirage's, in fact. One of the very few where the war has not yet ended. His Megatron was- is- most unusually cruel.”

Soundwave's visor called up Perceptor's data for Mirage's dimension. Reticles jumped around, highlighting various numbers.

Megatron frowned. “If you are plotting how to get to Mirage's dimension so you can help his Megatron win the war, I will throw you out the airlock.”

The data froze. It was replaced by a video of Megatron saying, “I am an Autobot.”

“Don't you dare play that back to me. 2938 Megatron tore his Soundwave apart with his bare hands.”

Soundwave twitched.

“Ripped his face off, pulled his brain out slowly, and ate it. Then pulled his spark out and shoved it into Astrotrain's.”

“Designation Astrotrain: unknown.”

“The designation was the least important part!” Megatron waved a hand dismissively. “Do you really think unfettered cruelty won't apply to you?”

“Decepticons: superior.”

Megatron scowled. “You are unusually loyal. Why, Soundwave? Why?”

Soundwave said nothing.

Megatron's stare was invasive and unyielding. He scrutinized Soundwave's antennae, his blank visor, the segmentation of his plating where Laserbeak anchored itself. Megatron tilted his head and studied Soundwave's long limbs. “So very, very loyal. Such loyalty undoubtably placed you in good favor with your Megatron, in high standing in the chain of command. And yet you have such thin plating. No battle armor.”

Soundwave's visor flashed with indignation.

Megatron tapped the console by the bed. The monitor lit up with a diagram of Soundwave's processor. “It might interest you to know that I spent several centuries training to become a medic. I can read this diagram.” He reset his vocalizer. “I'm going to make an assertion about your life, Soundwave. Correct me if I'm wrong. Your Megatron stripped you of your armor. He forced you, or at least, forcefully suggested you to install emotion-suppressing protocols. Your world shrank down to the height of the dark halls of a Decepticon base. For millions of years, you never strayed far from his side. You were always listening, but you yourself were the truly captive audience: an unwavering, finely-crafted tool with no way to escape your confines and no purpose other than serving at your Megatron's will.”

Soundwave bristled.

“Fast forward to now. Now you have no orders. Certainly without armored plating, you have no chance to survive alone in a foreign dimension. With no emotions, you have no personality and no memories. You have nothing left.”

Soundwave's visor went dark.

“You are lost now. Aren't you?”

The well of sadness and anger deepened in Soundwave's chest.

“Your entire life's purpose has been to support the Decepticons and to obey my counterpart in your dimension. But that's all gone now.”

Soundwave said nothing.

“Well?”

“Yes, traitor!” spat Soundwave. “It is all gone! What am I now!”

“What, indeed?” Megatron shook his head. “You're very, very good at your tasks. We found your command center made of recharge stations and rubble. Impressive. Perceptor and Brainstorm tell me synthesizing the strange energon you did was no mean feat. These are indications of an amazing mind, Soundwave. One that is, nonetheless, terribly focused on the wrong thing.”

The words shook Soundwave to his core. A phantom pain flared in his spark. “My Megatron said the same thing, many years ago,” he hissed.

“No doubt just before refocusing you.” Megatron glanced at the monitors floating above Soundwave. “Tell me, who were you before your war? What did you do?”

Soundwave's visor flashed red.

“Do you even know?” Megatron leaned forward in his chair. “What else did he take from you?”

The arena dream thundered back into Soundwave's processor. His visor displayed bursts of data, discordant, words in his native cyphers, flashes of video. “He took my first, which I wrap around with my second and my third. He took the eyes and ears of my spark. He took the definition of Soundwave.”

Megatron stared at him thoughtfully. “He took the definition of Soundwave... And then he stripped you down and rebuilt you to his liking?”

“Soundwave: superior!”

“Break and rebuild,” said Megatron softly. “A reliable method for producing monsters.”

Bitterly, Soundwave said, “Broken: again.”

“Then rebuild: again,” said Megatron. “Into something better than a monster. It is possible. If you do the work for it. I will not ask again. What will it be, Soundwave? Integration or incarceration?”

Soundwave couldn't bring himself to say it in his own voice. He played a clip of Rodimus on his visor. “Freedom.”

Chapter Text

Rodimus always found Megatron's quarters an off-putting place. There were no decorations, nothing to really say it was his in particular. Except that the scratches under the desk where Ravage used to sleep had never been buffed out of the floor. Every rivet and seam was perfectly aligned, but still those claw marks remained between Megatron's feet. The desk was so laden with data pads that Megatron had pulled out the desk extender. Each data pad was covered in script and diagrams. Megatron's frown dominated his face, his field, the room.

“Hey, Megsy,” said Rodimus, striking a pose opposite him. “Hiding away in here?”

“No. I'm thinking. It's much easier to do somewhere quiet and away from-” Megatron glanced at Rodimus. “Everything.”

“Oh, yeah? How's that going for you?”

“I've hit a wall. The interviews and the unscrambled surveillance data provide a straightforward timeline of the assault: a small number of mechs is called to various locations, Whirl's Punching Things Club is assembled, and the rest of the crew goes to the cafeteria. Drift and Grimlock are left to their own devices and Soundwave comes to see me personally. The Scavengers exit the medical bay in the most destructive manner possible. Battle ensues. But the exact reasons for those particulars still elude me. Why Grimlock? Why the Punching Things Club? I do believe Soundwave had a second and third phase to his plan. The sooner we discover what they were, the better.”

“Yeah.”

“Not to mention, the injured could really use the 0001 energon. Have you determined its location?”

“No. Blaster and Perceptor modified a sensor thingy but they can't find it. I asked Riptide and Nautica to check out the oil reservoir, but it wasn't there. Soundwave claims he can't remember where it went.”

“Hrmm.”

“Yeah, convenient. But Ratchet says Soundwave has processor issues and some of that could be short term memory loss, so... we don't know where it is.”

Megatron pointed to a diagram, a myriad of pipes. “The Scavengers' containment tubes are linked to the ship's plumbing. Did you look into that?”

“Ultra Magnus said it's a closed loop. He closed it himself when the tubes were installed.”

“Then we know it was done right. Any other developments?”

“Repairs are going okay. As okay as it goes for us, I mean. Morale is low. My little pep talk from the other night seems to have worn off already. Everyone's jumpy about finding the 0001 energon. But you were right. I'm glad we told the crew it was missing. Otherwise they'd probably tear us apart tonight when Ratchet does his thing with the current mix. And Perceptor keeps pinging me about the supernova. I told him we should just jump to the next dimension but he said no, the last time we did that during a gamma ray event the quills cracked and-”

Megatron waved impatiently. “I'll deal with that. Has Soundwave shown any signs of improvement?”

Rodimus shrugged. “He's still angry. You can only tell if you get real close. He lies on the bed like this, perfectly still”—Rodimus held his arms rigidly at his sides—“but you can feel it in his field. And he hisses static when you get near him.”

“Hmmh.” The sound had the faintest tinge of amusement. “Deadlock used to do that. We'll have to ask Drift how he broke himself of the habit.”

“I'm sure he's been thinking about it a lot.” Rodimus pictured his friend, eyes downcast, clearing rubble out of the medical bay alongside his conjunx. “He's beating himself up about it all. Even though I told him not to. I should order him not to.”

“Don't. It'll send him into one of his existential spirals.” Megatron held up a data pad. “Rodimus, humor me for a moment. If I asked you what the definition of Soundwave was, what would you answer?”

Rodimus scratched his helm. “It's like, oscillations of frequency divided by spacetime or something, right?”

Megatron groaned. “The mech, Rodimus. Soundwave the mech.”

“Oh! I... I have no idea what you mean. Our Soundwave? 0001 Soundwave? Another Soundwave? The definition has to be different for all of them, right? How do you definition a mech, anyway?”

Megatron tossed the data pad to Rodimus. “Read that. A transcript of our talk.”

Rodimus caught it. He tilted his head. “'He took my first.' What the hell does that mean?”

“I don't know. I've been ruminating on it for two days. I scanned everything in my personal notes about Soundwaves. I have no idea what that means.” Megatron sighed. “The 'he' is his Megatron. Of course.”

“He took the eyes and ears of my spark.” Rodimus set the data pad on the desk gingerly. “Well, that sounds terrifying. Literal or otherwise. No optics, no audials. Maybe that's why his whole face is a visor! Now I'm curious what's under there...”

“Beyond the bizarre and haunting implications, one thing to note: Soundwave asked me 'What am I now,' not, 'Who am I now.'”

“Does he know he's supposed to be a person and not a thing?”

“I think so.” Megatron tapped his chin. “Do you think he is capable of remorse?”

Rodimus stuffed down the urge to blurt out a jovial, “Sure!” He wasn't sure. And Megatron would know it. He settled for, “I hope so. I believe anyone can change. Was 0001 Soundwave?”

“Yes. 0001 Soundwave felt deeply. Shockwave was the emotionless one.” Megatron's expression turned rueful. “Emotions were forcefully taken from him, too. Hmm. Perhaps Soundwave is a victim of his dimension's version of shadowplay and empurata.”

“Mirage muttered something about that.”

“But the societal forces that shape those procedures don't align with his statements. Not as we understand them, anyway. His Megatron seems to have been the singular destructive force.” Megatron scrolled through a series of data pads. “I suppose we must prepare for the possibility that Soundwave will never express remorse for his actions. If not, we will have to isolate him, regardless of his choice. He cannot assimilate if he does not understand that what he did was wrong, and why it was wrong.”

“He'll get it. We'll help him. Speaking of which, kind of, Ratchet's shooting me eye daggers about keeping him in the med bay. Where's he gonna stay?”

“The brig,” muttered Megatron.

“Integrated mechs don't live in the brig,” said Rodimus. “I was thinking... Drift's old room. He doesn't use it anymore.”

Megatron gave him a curious look. “I approve. You're satisfied with that arrangement?”

“Yeah,” said Rodimus. “Yeah, I think that would be good.”

“Very well.” Megatron pushed the data pads aside and leaned heavily on the desk. He cradled his head in his hands. “I'm not certain how to address the crew tonight. We need to honor the wounded while also asking them to welcome and accept Soundwave.”

“Grotusque's been working non-stop on the memorial. Should be done in time. That will help.”

“Good. Soundwave needs to be held accountable. Publicly.”

“Yeah,” Rodimus said. “We'll give him ten rounds of the tier one chore cycle. That's punishment enough for any mech.”

“Make it twelve rounds.”

“Fine. But we need to tell the crew that this was ultimately our fault.”

Megatron growled.

“I'm serious,” said Rodimus. “Because it is. He was our responsibility and we failed him. And we need to deflect the crew's anger away from Soundwave. He chose integration. It's on us to make that happen. It won't if everyone hates him.”

“It's not just on us. If you read that data pad carefully, you'd note that he didn't choose integration.”

Rodimus glanced at the data pad. “Oh, yeah. Huh. Used my voice, I see.”

“Is that pride I detect?”

“No way. I'm the humblest mech on the ship.”

“Right...regardless, this Soundwave is very deliberate in his actions,” said Megatron. “As he so emphatically demonstrated to us, he interprets the world and expresses himself in a literal sense. Do you see how these dots connect?”

“Um.” Rodimus stared at the transcript. Freedom. Take freedom literally. “He wants to leave? But where would he go?”

“Exactly.” Megatron tilted his chair back and stared up at the perfect rivets in the ceiling. “If he finds himself incapable of integrating, I think he will try to capture the ship again and force it back to his dimension. I am a disappointing Megatron. He will want to reunite with his own.”

Rodimus let out a laugh. He couldn't help it. “That's absurd. How the hell would he do that?”

“I don't know,” said Megatron. “But I imagine his unyielding loyalty will propel him towards such a goal.”

“Pff.”

“There are few creatures as loyal as a Soundwave,” said Megatron. “And this one is exceptionally loyal. You know this.”

“Yeah.” Rodimus scrolled up and down the transcript. “This whole thing reminds me of the good old days. You couldn't go one month without someone's alternate-reality coffin showing up, or someone dying and then being dramatically saved, or some kind of parasite magic.”

Megatron's face was one shade darker than unamused. “The constant in all those events was us, Rodimus. Yes, most of us survived events worse than Soundwave's assault. But we've also learned to be more careful. An unknown living among us is more dangerous than anything outside of us.”

“You sound like Magnus.”

“I'll take that as a compliment. Speaking of whom, he's waiting for you at the med bay.”

“Fine. But one more thing.” Rodimus glanced at Megatron's arm. The blood had been scoured from the connectors for his cannon. “Are you... okay?”

Megatron took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I think so. I am stronger than my past. I must be. I shall be more vigilant going forward. Drift and I—actually, I don't think I've told you this—every once in a while we get together for a sort of 'ex-Decepticons check-in.' It really helps with that lingering darkn-”

“You're having meetings without me?!”

“Are you an ex-Decepticon?”

Rodimus pouted. “No.”

“Then count yourself lucky.”

“Okay. But did you ever invite Ambulon?”

Megatron blinked. “It hadn't occurred to me. He seems remarkably well-adjusted. But we could... extend an invitation.”

“Good. Even if he doesn't accept, he'll appreciate it.”

There was a short silence. Megatron reset his vocalizer. “And... and you?”

“Never better!”

Megatron shook his head. “It's one thing to lie to me. I can see right through it.” His focus shifted past Rodimus's face. Rodimus hitched his spoiler up to a proper cheerful height. “But you shouldn't lie to yourself.”

Rodimus half-listened to Ratchet's update. Beside him, Ultra Magnus made concerned little noises at every detail. Rodimus shifted, peeking around Ultra Magnus's bulk. Beyond the hole in the wall, Soundwave lay perfectly still on the med bed in the remains of the quarantine bay. Dull, gray structures had been placed over his antennae.

It was a stillness that made Rodimus uneasy. Soundwave had a lot of quiet power simmering in that lanky frame. It wasn't the quiet power of Ultra Magnus, tucked away in consecutive, reliable shells. It wasn't the quiet power of Megatron, whose very presence demanded respect, as if his broad gray plating were laced with magnets tailored to attract it. Soundwave's was a different kind of still power: stillness steeped in cold fury and the internal chaos of a mech who, accustomed to molding everything inside himself to his own sense of order, had shattered.

When Ratchet came to a pause, Rodimus jumped in. “How's our little angel?”

“So, you weren't listening. Big surprise there,” said Ratchet. “He's angry. And hungry. I'd wager he hasn't filled his tanks in years. Despite the height, he has a very efficient frame. Not much extra kibble to lug around. His energy expenditure must've been much lower in his 'shadow zone.'” Ratchet indicated a monitor displaying a graph. Rodimus glanced at it. Unintelligible squiggles, as always. Ultra Magnus gave it a nod of approval. “Soundwave came to us extremely low and his reserve has only gone down since then. Makes sense he'd expend most of it planning destruction and so forth.”

“Good thing we got this,” said Rodimus, hefting a thermos. “And that.”

Ultra Magnus unceremoniously held up a gigantic container. It sloshed. “Have the signal blockers been installed successfully?”

“As far as we can tell,” said Ratchet. He waved frantically across the room. “Ambulon! Not that blade! And you're flaking all over the patient. Let me do it.” He took off.

Soundwave was already looking in their direction when they entered. “Hey, sunshine,” said Rodimus, giving him a huge grin. “How are you feeling today?” Red lines lit up Soundwave's visor. “Hungry?”

Soundwave repeated his question back to him in answer. “Hungry.”

“Good thing I got this for you!” Rodimus held up the thermos. “Fresh from the engex... squeezer? I dunno how Brainstorm and Perceptor make this stuff. But it has the Brainstorm Stamp of Approval, so it should be good.” Rodimus turned the thermos to reveal a sticker of a cartoon Brainstorm giving a thumbs-up: Premium Best Quality Approved, Guaranteed! “Take off your visor and open wide.”

Soundwave's visor lit up with a diagram of a tentacle. It opened its prongs and extended five dainty tendrils. “Must feed through tendrils.”

“Really?” Rodimus indicated the destroyed room. “Cuz you can see why we would be reluctant to unleash you.”

“Tendrils.” A curved piece of light shielding enclosed Soundwave's torso. Beneath its glittering surface, the irises to his tentacles opened and closed.

“You don't have a mouth?”

Soundwave said nothing.

“Just like you didn't have a voice?”

“Tendrils.”

A deep, irritated noise emanated from Ultra Magnus. He set the container down and pointed his arm at Soundwave. It transformed into an enormous gun. Soundwave's visor lit up with a schematic of it. “Soundwave. You may extend one tentacle for the sole and singular purpose of feeding, for the minimum amount of time it will take you to feed. Do not attempt to make any other motion during the course of your feeding. I will not hesitate to use this.” He bobbed his gun arm up and down. “Normally I would refrain, but the med bay is already ruined.”

“Yeah. What he said.” Rodimus opened the thermos and set it down next to the bed. He darted forward and tapped a command on the light shield encasing Soundwave's torso. Half of it flickered and powered down.

The iris to Soundwave's right tentacle spun open. The tentacle curled outwards, its biolights weak. Soundwave made a strange sound, almost a laugh. The tentacle moved in slow motion for Rodimus's knee, then dove downward before Ultra Magnus could object. Soundwave jammed his tendrils into the thermos.

The reaction was immediate. Soundwave sat up, or tried to. His limbs were still restrained. His tentacle biolights lit up in a wave of purple. A display of his fuel gauge appeared on his visor. The fill percentage increased slowly but steadily. After a few minutes, Laserbeak rustled beneath the shield. Its own biolights illuminated.

“Taste good?” asked Rodimus.

“Unexceptional,” said Soundwave, though his field pulsed with relief. The fuel gauge stopped at 14%. “More.”

Ultra Magnus, gun arm still pointed directly at Soundwave's helm, nudged the container towards him. Soundwave dove in. His shoulders relaxed as the numbers climbed.

“Glad it works for you!” said Rodimus. “By Primus, that... that really is a slurping sound, isn't it?”

Ultra Magnus grit his teeth.

Soundwave drained the container, stabilizing at 79%. He flicked the tentacle back and forth. Its biolights shone, subtly shifting from purple to blue and back again, so that Rodimus was never sure which color they really were.

“Put it away,” said Ultra Magnus.

The tentacle drooped. It wound itself up again. Rodimus reactivated the light shield with a swift jab. Close up, he saw the structure of the signal blockers on Soundwave's antenna. Ratchet had said something about them being made of a metal that Velocity, Swerve and Anode developed. The blockers were stacks and stacks of incredibly thin, equally-spaced sheets of metal soldered together. They were shaped to fit snugly over the antennae. Looking through them had the same effect as looking through a fine screen: the more Rodimus moved his head, the clearer Soundwave's biolights beneath the blockers shone. If Rodimus held still, the structures obscured their light.

Ultra Magnus tapped at the medical bed and the restraints retracted. “Get up. We're going for a walk.”

Soundwave had never appreciated the equilibrium of his own frame before now. His limbs were precisely proportioned and weighted to balance each other out. He had three seconds to enjoy standing properly upright before Ultra Magnus grabbed his arms and bound them behind him. They hit the backs of his legs. Soundwave tilted his knees subtly, tangling his fingers in them. “Unable to walk. Release me.” But Ultra Magnus merely pulled his arms to the front again. Soundwave could walk with his arms bound before him- barely. He had to bend all his limbs and lean back to settle his center of gravity around his middle.

The signal blockers, combined with being forced to sleep confined to the bed, had led to a restless few nights. There was an emotional shadow to tiredness that Soundwave hadn't felt in millions of years. Frame fatigue was one thing. Annoyance and anger were another. Soundwave tilted his head as he was led through the med bay. The blockers threw off the weight of his helm, giving him a slight disorientation. Soundwave couldn't connect to the ship. No surprise there. He tried to hail one of the little med drones. It didn't move from its cubby. Comms were out. Audible sounds were muffled and flat.

A red and white mech—Soundwave's processor tiredly pulled up the name Grotusque—sat on the floor surrounded by shards of glass and metal. Soundwave recognized the debris: the broken innermost energon vials and flowers from the Scavengers' containment room. Grotusque studied the pieces. He gently nudged one, puzzling its jagged edges together with another. As Soundwave exited the med bay, distance revealed the glyphs for “Scavenger” and “peace” in the arrangement.

pathetic

The Scavengers would never be at peace. Not with dark energon running through their lines. Soundwave allowed himself a brief, internal grin. The damn Autobots kept asking him where their 0001 energon was and he kept telling them he didn't know.

But he did know.

engine room

And as soon as he could access it again...

...he didn't know what he was going to do. His processor hadn't been stable long enough yet to churn out viable plans, but one thing was clear: that dark energon would serve him. Somehow. And he had to get back to his dimension. There was nothing but agony for him on the Lost Light. Soundwave had spent an entire restless night contemplating how to feed dark energon into the navigator to get home, before realizing the Autobots would've already tried that with their 0001 energon, and the corrupted supply had nothing physically in common with his own dimension. foolish. He never would have wasted his time like that if his processor was functioning normally. But he was confident he would think of a real plan soon.

soundwave: superior

Rodimus and Ultra Magnus flanked him. Both held their fields at a professional distance. Their expressions were grim. Occasionally, Ultra Magnus pushed Soundwave forward, though the Autobot only had himself to blame for the slow pace.

It didn't take long for Soundwave to figure out where they were going. They got in an elevator and went down. And down. And down. Ultra Magnus scowled at the door. Rodimus looked from wall to wall, tapping a thigh with a thumb, tap-tap, tap-tap. The sound was muted. Belatedly, Soundwave realized he could still sense the Lost Light's unique energy. It thrummed around him, unaffected by the signal blockers.

The elevator opened, revealing a familiar hallway. Lights had been hastily installed along the ceiling, casting the pitted metal in sharp relief. Every hab suite door was open. At the far end of the hall stood Perceptor and First Aid. Ultra Magnus prodded Soundwave. As they passed his command center, he peered inside. It was as he had left it, save Blaster was poking at his desk.

How dare the Autobot touch his desk! If he weren't in restraints, he would-

“Soundwave!”

Soundwave, Rodimus, and Ultra Magnus spun around. “Goddammit,” said Rodimus.

There, shadowed in the light of the neighboring elevator, was Whirl. He pierced Soundwave with a half moon glare. His biolights pulsed. Whirl rushed for them, his footfalls rendered dull and strange by the signal blockers.

Ultra Magnus held up his arm.

Whirl skidded to a stop, glaring at the three of them in quick succession.

“Whirl,” said Rodimus, “Whatever it is, we'll deal with it later, okay? We gotta talk to Percept-”

“No! Not okay!” Whirl smashed a ducted rotor against Soundwave's chest. Spack! The shielding spattered light. Soundwave hissed static and lurched backwards. “This no-eyed freak impersonated me! No one impersonates me! I'm unimitable!”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Rodimus. His spoiler hitched up. “Please, just-”

“He summoned my mechs to the Punching Things Club room! He locked us in there! Sealed the door! Why!”

“Go back to the upper levels,” said Ultra Magnus. “We can talk about this later.”

Whirl swore. He swung for Soundwave again. Rodimus blocked the punch. Clang! Blue paint scarred his forearm chrome. “Ow!”

“Rematch,” Whirl said. “I want a rematch. I wanna smear you into the floor.”

“No,” said Ultra Magnus. He grabbed Whirl's elbow. “That's not how it works.”

“I don't care-”

“Challenge accepted,” said Soundwave. His tentacles quivered in his torso. This was an unexpected silver lining. Whirl's Punching Things Club room was next to the engine room.

“Good,” said Whirl.

“No,” said Rodimus. He touched an exhaust pipe. “I just polished these!”

“Wager: Punching Things Club room becomes domain of the victor,” said Soundwave.

“No,” Rodimus and Ultra Magnus said together.

“That's if you win,” said Whirl. “Which you won't. What if I win?”

“Your final blow may be fatal,” said Soundwave.

“No!” shouted Rodimus.

“Yes. Deal. I'll find you,” said Whirl.

“Savor your defeat.”

“Savor this.” Whirl wriggled out of Ultra Magnus's grasp and flicked Soundwave's visor. It rang with a sharp ting!

The sound/vibration funneled up into Soundwave's antennae. It bounced along the inside of the signal blockers, mutating into a high-pitched screech. The sound manifested on his visor as yellow barbed wire piercing a red grid. Soundwave shook his head, static blitzing out the top of the signal blockers. Laserbeak scratched against the light shielding.

“Whirl, get outta here,” said Rodimus, grabbing Soundwave's arm to steady him. Soundwave's field burst with anger. “Or there won't be a Punching Things Club anymore.”

Whirl's eye narrowed further. He clicked his pincers and stormed off. The lengthy declaration of an epic battle echoed with his footsteps.

destroy-

“There will be no fight,” said Ultra Magnus, pulling Soundwave back. “Whirl will be cited for violating ordinance 21.2, aggression towards a fellow-”

“Autobot hypocrisy,” spat Soundwave. “Whirl's Punching Things Club is known entity, yet presented as underground establishment. Direct violation of foremost rule.” He played a clip of Rodimus on his visor. “-there are some ground rules we gotta lay out, the first and foremost being: no fighting. No violence.”

“You are in no position to question our extraneous pugilistic energy mitigation techniques, Soundwave,” said Ultra Magnus. He pushed Soundwave down the rest of the hallway. “I shudder to think that the Decepticon equivalent was the war.”

“Stupid Autobots!”

“Takes one to know one,” said Rodimus. He plastered on a huge grin. “First Aid! Perceptor!”

“Captain,” said First Aid, nodding to each of them. There was a massive patch spiraling around his midsection. “Magnus. Jerk.”

Perceptor gestured down the hall. “Some kind of issue with Whirl?”

“Nothing we can't deal with later,” said Rodimus. “Do your thing.”

Perceptor waved a device. “Tell us what we need to know before entering this room, Soundwave.”

The device was emitting signals. Soundwave dialed his antennae input up all the way. His processor strained. He could barely hear the signals, like a whisper, too muffled to interpret. If he could just connect to something, surely his processor would revert back to its usual capability-

“Soundwave?” Perceptor said. “What's in there?”

A dark, mirthful thought came to Soundwave. “Art installation.”

Ultra Magnus raised his gun arm. “You want to try that again?”

“Completed sample. No raw material. All components stable.”

“Yeah, right,” said First Aid.

“The measurements I took support his statements,” said Perceptor. “I believe it is safe to enter the room as-is.”

“What is the key code?” asked Ultra Magnus.

“0058.”

Each mech stiffened. That number sent the same wave of pain and anger through all their fields.

“The dimension the Scavengers were grievously wounded in,” said Perceptor bitterly. “Do you think that's funny?”

Amusement coursed through Soundwave. At the time, it had been meant merely to reference the course of his plan, with no particular benefit to himself. But now? “Affirmative.”

Rodimus's eyes flashed. First Aid vented sharply, his hands curling into fists. Ultra Magnus punched the numbers into the key pad. The door slid open.

“Ugh,” said Rodimus. He covered his nose. “What is that smell?”

Ultra Magnus brandished Soundwave like a shield and the mechs entered the room.

“Holy shit,” said Rodimus. Ultra Magnus sneered.

The place was as Soundwave had left it: a mess. The walls had been torn apart and reinforced again with jagged sheets. The recharge station was cut open and scarred, its tank on the berth.

“Ugh, it smells like... like what the Scavengers smelled like,” said Rodimus.

“The smell of something that eats you from the inside,” said Ultra Magnus. He glared at Soundwave. “What was the-”

“Wingy!” First Aid cried. Soundwave froze mid-lurching step. First Aid rushed to the desk. He gathered the little drone in his arms, carefully tucking its exposed wires inside its broken shell. “He's- he's-” First Aid stomped up to Soundwave and jabbed him in the visor. “You monster! Why?! What did he ever do to you?? He's a fucking med drone!”

A 3D wireframe of Wingy appeared on Soundwave's visor. Sensory memories mixed in his processor: the feel of Wingy's casing cracking in his prongs, 0001 Megatron slamming him into the force field, Megatronus ripping his primary tentacle out. A shuddering pain burst from Soundwave's spark.

megatron hit-

but soundwave loyal-

wingy loyal

primary tentacle offline

no, wingy is a drone. it followed orders

soundwave destroyed it, though it was loyal

megatron hit-

wingy: an object of the autobots. it would have betrayed the plan

it was loyal. laserbeak is loyal

megatron hit-

“Uh. Soundwave?”

Rodimus was staring at him. Soundwave snapped out of the emotional memory loop. It ran in the back of his processor, threatening to engulf him again. Perceptor and Ultra Magnus had gathered around First Aid, touching his shoulders, touching the little drone. First Aid's visor went white, his vocalizer thick, his field a mixture of anger and sorrow.

“Take Wingy to the med bay,” said Rodimus. “Maybe... maybe Ratchet can save him.”

First Aid swore at Soundwave, a torrent of filthy and cruel words that made Ultra Magnus gasp. Soundwave stood perfectly still, visor glitching. “You're not even worthy to have that on your face!” First Aid stomped away.

“Forgive me for stating the following,” said Ultra Magnus, “as it is both woefully unprofessional and ineloquently encapsulates my feelings: I hate this. I hate this room and I hate whatever was done in it.”

megatron hit-

“Same,” said Rodimus. “Perceptor, take the scans you need. Then we'll grab whatever heavies are free and tear the place down. We'll have Swerve and Velocity melt the metal. If it's safe to use, we'll brick it and save it for repairs. If not, we're dumping it.”

soundwave loyal-

Perceptor and Ultra Magnus nodded. They all kept talking, words that were muffled and lost as Soundwave's processor lobbed images and emotions at him.

laserbeak is a part of me. it follows orders

primary tentacle-

laserbeak is a drone. wingy is a drone. wingy was loyal

Desperate for something concrete and logical to ground himself in, Soundwave called up Laserbeak's wireframe beside Wingy's. He compared them, highlighting their internal structures, trying to find commonalities.

“Soundwave,” said Perceptor, snapping his fingers. “Your attention, please.”

Soundwave shook himself. Rodimus was staring even more intently at him.

“The energon derivative that you created in this room. Is it volatile?” Perceptor listed off a long series of numbers.

Something in Soundwave's processor perked up. The number chain described a volatility threshold. The dark energon did not exceed it. “Negative.”

Perceptor heaved a sigh of relief. “Alright, that was my main concern. For now. Soundwave, is this the only sample of the energon derivative you created?”

technically not

“Affirmative.”

Perceptor placed a device on top of the tank. It expanded out and down, enveloping the tank like a tent. “Rodimus, I believe this room does not pose a risk to anyone who enters it. There don't appear to be any lingering energon derivatives that will cause harm. Deconstruction of the room may commence at your discretion. Despite appearances, he was very... clean about it. Containing it, I mean.”

Ultra Magnus openly scoffed. “Efficient, perhaps. Not clean.”

megatron hit-

“Thank you, Perceptor,” said Rodimus.

soundwave loyal-

“Let's go.” Ultra Magnus slammed a hand down hard on Soundwave's shoulder.

The impact was so strong, the memory loop shattered and the signal blockers jutted upwards a few millimeters. Slivers of sounds and comms plowed through Soundwave's processor. His visor lit up with jagged, clashing shapes.

“Maybe... don't touch him,” said Rodimus. His voice sounded purer than before, less muffled.

signal blockers: compromised

Ultra Magnus grunted. “Soundwave, move or I will move you.”

Soundwave walked slowly out of the room, as slowly as he dared. He didn't want to jostle the signal blockers back into place. He turned his audials and antennae sensitivities up as high as they could go. Ultra Magnus followed close behind.

Perceptor's voice was audible, even with the growing distance. “Waste of a fine mind. What he did in this room, with these supplies, is remarkable, unfortunately. I had to force Brainstorm not to come or he would have praised Soundwave's 'ingenuity.'” He sighed. “You look like you're thinking.”

“Did you see Soundwave's visor?”

“Hurry up, Soundwave,” thundered Ultra Magnus, voice artificially loudened by the heightened auditory sensitivity levels.

Soundwave scowled. They were almost to the elevator. Soundwave strained as hard as he could to catch the faint conversation. He got a flit of a comm from Blaster to Mirage. .:-full of weird repeating data. Dimensions??:. Soundwave focused and caught Rodimus's voice.

“Because I think... I think something happened here.”

“Yes, Rodimus. Something did happen here. That's why we're here.”

“Oh, shut up. I meant something happened to Soundwave just now. When he saw Wingy. I think maybe he felt bad.”

As they stepped into the elevator, it clicked and whirred. It signaled its departure to its neighbors. Soundwave's spark spun. The command was truncated, but he had heard it! Yes! The transport system acknowledged the command and the elevator moved.

access to ship! soundwave: superior!

“Oh. You're misaligned,” said Ultra Magnus. With a deft tap of his fingertip, the signal blockers sank back into place. The tiny sounds of the elevator died away. “There we go.”

Soundwave howled inside his mind. His tentacles slammed into the light shielding.

megatron hit-

wingy was loyal-

Rodimus looked down over the bridge. The crew of the Lost Light, minus those incapacitated or on essential duty elsewhere, was settling into its usual groups. A huge polycloth screen hung opposite him, partially obscuring the windows and the star field beyond. It displayed Signal Disconnected with a flashing cursor. Ultra Magnus and Drift stood behind him, each indomitable in his own way. Between Rodimus and Megatron was Soundwave, arms shackled. His hunched posture was even hunchier than usual. The biolights of his antennae were faint pink beneath the signal blockers. It took Rodimus a moment to work out that they shouldn't have been visible.

Soundwave was shaking. Almost imperceptibly. His overall demeanor was one of cold stillness, but he was not still. Rodimus took a casual step closer and yes, there in his strange field pulses, was fear. Well, at least it was some kind of break from all the anger.

“Hey,” whispered Rodimus. “First time in front of a crowd?” Soundwave snapped his helm towards Rodimus. “What're you afraid of? You don't have to make the big speech.”

Soundwave said nothing. He made a concerted effort to stand straighter. It threatened to pull him off-balance. He hunched again.

“I imagine he thinks we're going to publicly execute him,” said Megatron softly.

“What?!” The milling crew below looked up at him. “Uh.” Rodimus waved. “Nothing, never mind! Just another minute. Get a snack.” When they stopped shooting him dirty looks, Rodimus lowered his voice. “Soundwave? We're not going to kill you. Why the hell would you think that?”

“Because,” said Megatron through gritted teeth. “Mech in chains before the entire crew? After attempting to kill them all? That's what the Decepticons would do.”

“Oh.” Rodimus smacked Soundwave's arm. “This isn't a Decepticon ship. We don't do that here. You chose assimilation, right? So you're going to fucking assimilate. And it would be a lot more pleasant for everyone if you started now.”

Soundwave's visor flashed with a jumble of glyphs and graphs Rodimus didn't understand.

“Whatever,” said Rodimus. “Just remember, you chose this.”

“Rewind has completed setting up,” said Drift. “Blaster will switch to his live feed in the med bay on your cue.”

“Great, thank you.” Rodimus stepped up to the edge of the deck. “Fellow Crusadercons!”

The crew quieted down enough for Swerve's muffled, “Yes! I never get tired of that!” to come through.

“Thank you for coming together tonight for this important gathering. We never gave you all a proper introduction to Soundwave, so unfortunately, he made one himself. And what an introduction it was. I'm not going to lie. It was bad. I know it, you know it, maybe even Soundwave knows it. But in this, our hour of pain and sorrow, we can draw on our greatest strength.” Rodimus paused dramatically. “Each other.”

A dissatisfied rumble went through the crowd.

“I know, I know,” said Rodimus, holding up a hand. “Leadership has a certain amount of responsibility to take for Soundwave's actions.” He took a deep breath and glanced at Megatron. Megatron nodded. “I brought Soundwave aboard and... and I should've worked with him closely during his first few days. I let him down and I really let you all down. I'm sorry.”

“And I should've played more of an active role,” said Megatron. His voice rang clear, but his field darkened. “I... apologize, as well.”

Rodimus grabbed the edge of Soundwave's arm and pulled him forward. His plating was cool and shaky. “So, to that end, this is 3244 Soundwave. His dimension's an 11, whatever that means. Brainstorm already programmed his dimensional additive into the food management system. Anyone who refuses to serve him rations will answer to me. Soundwave has chosen, of his own free will, to assimilate. He wants to be one of us. But we need your help. We need you all to welcome him.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” came a shout.

Rodimus scanned the crowd. Mechs helpfully parted and Rodimus's gaze settled on Lug. She was perched on Inferno's shoulders. “My wife is in a medical coma with half her gut hanging out right now! And you want me to welcome the mech who did that?!”

“I know it's hard, but-” started Rodimus.

“Boo!” shouted Whirl. “Boo!”

“Hey!” Rodimus shook a finger at the crowd. “If you're on this ship, then you know what a rough start is. You know what it's like to be the fuck up. But you also know-”

“Boo!”

“Whirl! You also know what it means to make friends and to get better. Right, Whirl? How many clocks did you make between now and four jumps ago?”

“Hey, I see what you're doing, you're deflecting my boo-”

“How many clocks?!”

Whirl clicked his pincers impatiently. “Seven. Seven clocks.”

“Seven of the best goddamn clocks you could ever find!” shouted Rodimus.

“Yeah!” said Whirl. “Wait-”

“And who helped you do that?”

Whirl narrowed his eye. “Swerve,” he muttered.

“Woo!” shouted Swerve.

“There you go. Friends plus helping equals clocks! Are you following me?” said Rodimus. “Now just imagine what kind of clocks a mech who can infiltrate an entire ship in three days can build with the help of his friends!”

“Rodimus,” Megatron said from the corner of his mouth. “I don't think that's the right way to say that.”

Angry muttering and shouts came from the crew. Several mechs on the edge of the crowd walked for the exits.

“Hey!” yelled Rodimus. “I didn't say it would be easy and I didn't say we were done! Get back here. Now, yes, a good number of us have been hurt and no one's saying that didn't happen. Soundwave will do twelve rounds of the tier one chore cycle as part of his rehabilitation.”

“Ha!” yelled Swerve. The crew erupted into laughs and jeers.

Rodimus let the crew wallow in their schadenfreude until Soundwave's antennae biolights glowed bright pink. How does someone standing so still shake so hard? “Okay, okay. Shut up now. We aren't here tonight to linger on who made bad decisions and who's to blame. We're here to remind ourselves what it means to be a part of the Lost Light. We're here to be together and draw strength from each other. We're here to honor the wounded. Rewind?”

The screen opposite Rodimus lit up. The crew turned around to watch. It was a live video feed from Rewind's camera. He had a different view of Grotusque than the one Rodimus was used to.

Grotusque was standing in front of an out-of-focus blur, tapping his hands together. Splashes of blood stained his chest.

“Go ahead, they can hear you,” Rewind's voice thundered through the bridge. Soundwave winced.

“Hey everyone!” said Grotusque. He waved. Rewind stepped forward and the blur came into focus. “This is my memorial to the wounded. It's made of, um, well, you know.”

The crew quieted as Rewind zoomed in and out. A mosaic was set into a newly-rebuilt false wall in the med bay. Hundreds of fragments of metal flowers and glass vials had been painstakingly polished and placed. They formed curling patterns, like ripples in energon, ebbing and flowing across the wall. The glyph for “Scavenger” gracefully elided into the glyph for “peace.” As Rewind walked back and forth, smaller glyphs could be picked out from the spiraling background: friends, adventure, we miss you, come back safely, see you again soon.

“It's beautiful,” said Rewind.

“It is,” said Drift reverently.

The crowd murmured.

“Thanks!” said Grotusque. He transformed and launched himself upwards. “Did you see this part?” Rewind craned his neck and zoomed in. Grotusque pointed a claw. A glass pane was set into the false wall above the mosaic. Waves and foam were etched into it. Multicolored fluid, mostly pink, with streaks of blue, green, and red, streamed down the inside of the glass. “It's everyone's innermost energon, all together.”

“Like the falls in the old stories!” said Rewind. “Those at rest, honored/mingled hearts flowing/separately, til together-”

“Yeah,” said Grotusque. “Til together all are one.”

“Til all are one,” said Rodimus. To his delight, and admitted relief, the crew echoed him. “Thank you, Grotusque.”

“No problem.”

“It's a beautiful monument,” said Megatron.

“Yes!” said Rodimus. “And just like the wall, we too, will rebuild. Better than before.”

Grotusque landed and transformed. “Do I open it now?”

“Yes,” came Ratchet's voice from off-camera.

Grotusque slapped a button hidden in a bouquet of glass and metal. The false wall shuddered and pulled aside. Ratchet strolled into view. Rewind followed him into the containment room.

The floor was stained and scratched, though it was evident someone had tried to polish it. The Scavengers' tubes loomed tall in Rewind's livestream. Spinister, plating black and damaged, biolights faintly glowing purple, was crouched in his empty tube. His eyes were distant. Rewind zoomed in on his claws. His fingers slowly curled and uncurled. Gaping holes and gunshot wounds covered his frame. Purple seeped from them.

Ratchet reset his vocalizer. Rewind swiveled over to him. Ratchet frowned at the camera. “The medical team has done all we can for them. They're heavily damaged, but they are comfortable. We're going to induce stasis, as we did before, and flood the tubes with our current energon mix. They'll rest undisturbed until we can help them further.”

Mutters went through the crowd. “You still haven't found the 0001 energon?” someone cried.

“We're looking,” said Rodimus. “All information concerning its whereabouts is welcome.”

“Thank you, Ratchet,” said Megatron. “We defer to your expertise.”

“Hmm, yes,” Ratchet said. “Velocity?”

Rewind swiveled his head again. Velocity gave him a smile and a wave. She pushed a button. Rewind turned back to Spinister's tube. Pink liquid rained down from above, spattering his plating, splashing on the tube walls. Spinister looked up dully. As the liquid rose, purple light flashed through it.

“The energon,” said Drift. “Something's wrong with it!”

The pink energon hit Spinister's plating and turned purple. He moaned, a muffled sound that Rewind barely picked up, but which, magnified by the speaker system of the bridge, rumbled uncomfortably through everyone's plating. Soundwave's visor burst with ragged stars of purple and white.

The liquid rose, higher and higher. With sluggish movements, Spinister clawed the glass. The energon flowed into his wounds, sparking purple. He winced and jerked.

“Ratchet?” said Rodimus. “Please don't tell me we're gonna watch this mech drown live.”

“He's okay,” said Ratchet. Rewind followed his pointing finger and focused on Nickel. Her eyes were closed, forehead gently rolling back and forth along the curve of her tube. “Sedative boost just takes longer in the big guys.”

Rewind walked around the tubes. Each Scavenger was heavily damaged, but resting. They all sparked with purple as their tubes filled. By the time Rewind circled back to Spinister, he was also offline. Rewind did a cinematic sweep of the room. The tubes cast a malevolent, sizzling purple light. Rewind's gaze settled on Ambulon, typing furiously at a console in the corner. Rewind zoomed in. “What are you doing?”

“Double checking the outbound filter system,” said Ambulon. “So none of that nasty stuff gets into the rest of the ship.”

“Oh. Good idea.”

“Are they gonna be okay?” someone shouted.

Ratchet shrugged on the big screen. “We'll find out. They'll be monitored at all times.”

“Captains,” Ultra Magnus said as quietly as possible. Rodimus jumped and turned around. “I have Perceptor in one ear and Brainstorm in the other. They're both yelling the same things, but, I think, from opposite mathematical points of view. Something about the energon derivative. I'm not well-versed in this field. I can't provide any more detail than that.”

“If Brainstorm's excited, it's gonna be good news,” said Rodimus. “Or bad news. Whatever it is, it'll extremely be some kind of news.”

Megatron groaned. “Yes. Yes it will.”

Rodimus stole a glance at Soundwave. He had stopped shaking.

“And here we are.” Rodimus stopped at the door to Soundwave's new quarters. When Soundwave had first arrived, he had been assigned a room at the bottom of the ship, away from the rest of the crew. It had been Megatron's suggestion and everyone had jumped on it. No one wanted to be around Soundwave. Rodimus felt a little guilty about that. Now was the time to rectify it. “Congrats, Soundwave! Big ol' quarters upgrade. You're right next to me.” Rodimus slapped the door. “I gotta keep an eye on you. We're neighbors now.”

Soundwave loomed. Primus, how he loomed. His dark plating sucked up every particle of excitement and positivity Rodimus radiated. At least he wasn't angry anymore. His field faintly pulsed with a wary nervousness.

“For now, I'll be the one who knows the key code.” Rodimus punched it into the pad, covering his hand. “Soundwave, for fuck's sake, say something. Literally anything. I'll even take 'Decepticons: superior.'”

“Do you know how Megatron-” Soundwave stopped himself.

Rodimus gaped at him. He hadn't expected anything beyond Decepticons: superior. But an actual sentence had almost tumbled out of the mech. “...yeah? Megatron?”

“My Megatron. Do you know how he honored the wounded?”

“How?” asked Rodimus. He took the eyes and ears of my spark rolled through his processor.

Soundwave's tentacle irises swirled open and shut beneath the shielding. “He didn't.”

“Oh. Uh. I'm sorry. I hope you'll find that we do everything differently here than your Megatron did.”

“What is twelve rounds of the tier one chore cycle?” Soundwave asked, replaying Rodimus's voice.

“Hah! How do you think we keep the Lost Light running? Someone has to scrape the comms tower muck and mold the cubes. The tier one chore cycle is all the worst chores scheduled in a row. You're gonna do twelve rounds of them. You'll see.” The door slid open. “Don't wreck this hab suite or you will do the tier one chore cycle for all eternity. I mean it.”

Soundwave didn't walk in. He stood expectantly.

“Well? Go ahead. It's very nice. I've been in it lots of times.”

Soundwave held up his arms. “Release me.”

“Ah ah, can't do that yet,” said Rodimus. He winked. “Maybe if you do your chores and prove you're a good boy, we'll let you out.”

Soundwave's field pulses flooded with anger. The air felt twenty degrees colder. He made a discordant sound and stalked into the room. The door slid shut behind him.

“Good niiiight~!” Rodimus sang. He strutted next door, entered his key code, and flung himself on his berth. “Uugh.” He moaned into his arms. “Why?”

The walls didn't answer. They did erupt into shifting holograms, photos and looping videos. Some were of Rodimus posing for the camera, action shots of him in battle or meteor surfing. Over the years, most of the solo images had been replaced by grinning selfies with friends, arms around shoulders, hoisting up a minibot or two.

Rodimus's favorite picture was a panorama over his bed, captured by Rewind after the crew had helped some organics divert a lava flow headed for their city. The Lost Light was in the distance, perched halfway up a massive mountain, partially obscured by foliage and the oncoming twilight. The organics had set up colorful lights for a celebration. Chromedome took up the far end of the picture, reaching down for Rewind. Across the rest of the panorama was the whole crew. Even Cyclonus. They were all laughing, dancing, cheering. Rodimus himself was smack in the middle of the joyful crowd, eyes closed, mid-laugh, one arm on Nautica's shoulder as she proudly held up her wrench as if it were the Matrix itself.

Rodimus's spark felt a tiny bit lighter, as it always did when he looked at the picture. He turned slowly on his berth, taking in all the images. Amica ceremonies. Conjunx ceremonies. Adventures in places so exotic Perceptor had to invent new math to describe them. The planet whose sunsets turned the oceans brilliant green. The planet that rained diamond shards and finally validated Brainstorm's invention of diamond-proof umbrellas. The planet where Minimus won a poetry contest in a language he had taught himself overnight. He'd smiled so hard Ratchet had to recalibrate his mustache to fit his face.

Across the room was a collage of special images. Rodimus with the original crew of the Lost Light. Individual pics of him with 0001 Mirage and 0001 Trailbreaker and 0001 Skids. A pic of 0001 Ambulon with the rest of the medic crew. Tripodecta, Shock, and Ore sitting down for a drink together. Rodimus didn't have a picture with 0001 Atomizer. He did have a security footage loop of him and Whirl sneaking down a hallway.

As always, Rodimus's gaze shifted from the photographs to the section of wall they adorned. It had once been a door. A door between his and Drift's room. After Drift had... volunteered to be banished, Rodimus had had the door sealed. And when Drift came back, he roomed elsewhere. Hopping around a bit, eventually settling in with Ratchet. But never with Rodimus again. And...

And that was good, Rodimus thought to himself firmly. Drift deserved that stability. Looking back now, Rodimus saw where he'd been careless and brash. Selfish. Where he had lost something that, in retrospect, he hadn't been able to recapture.

It had been a long time since Rodimus had thought about Drift and... that whole thing. They were good now. Really. They were. They'd talked about it. Drift had forgiven him a hundred times over.

But no matter how many times Rodimus dragged Swerve or Anode up to reseal the door, he could still see its fucking seams.

Rodimus groaned and rolled over, away from it. His arm smacked into his desk. “Ow!” Dust puffed up in a dull cloud. He rubbed his arm and glared at the desk. It wrapped around the periphery of the room thanks to multiple, nested desk extenders. It was laden with dimensional souvenirs, its drawers overflowing with Rodimus stars. Rodimus groaned again and flopped onto his back. He wiggled his spoiler, getting comfortable.

Rodimus pointedly didn't look at the ceiling, Thunderclash's Matrix map to Mederi. He sighed. No matter how hard things on the Lost Light got, it was still worth it. It was worth it all to see his crew happy, to adventure, to help others, to kick ass and look good doing so. No, look great doing so. And someday, dammit, Soundwave would be one of them. If today didn't go perfectly, then there was always tomorrow.

There was always tomorrow.

Chapter Text

broken: again

then rebuild: again

Stars in the darkness, stretching over Soundwave's processor like a planetarium's dome. The spark-pure threads vibrated like plucked strings. The sound and the sight of them flowed freely together, twining and untwining. When they twined, a new data formed, gossamer field pulses filling the spaces between the stars...

Soundwave felt them more clearly now than ever before. The arena dream had not had this depth at its end, though the latticeworks were the same. Now, now he could feel them, as not just field pulses, but emotions. No longer sensing them as another's feelings through the lens of a field, but as his own, inside himself. Of course, his emotion-suppressing protocols had failed-

No, that was not quite right. The sounds, the light, they resonated like emotions, vibrations that felt like field pulses. The difference between being the object and being the reflection-

No, that was not quite right, either. The-

Soundwave

The dream had never called his name before. Soundwave moved in the nothingness, scanning the stars and the latticework that connected them, unsure how to answer. A muffled beat began.

bmmf bmmf

Soundwave

bmmf bmmf

Soundwave!

bmmf bmmf

“SOUNDWAVE!”

Soundwave startled awake, the dream lost in a wash of panicked energy.

?!

bam! bam!

The hab suite condensed into view. Soundwave's somatic systems pelted him with morning diagnostics. Arms, audials, and antennae bound. All other systems normal. No danger, merely the door.

Soundwave hauled himself off the berth and stumbled over to it. The door slid back, revealing a disgruntled Boss standing next to a slice of Ultra Magnus. Boss had blue plating, red windows, and a gun.

“Your tier one chore cycle begins now,” said Ultra Magnus. “Your schedule is as follows: every morning you will be accompanied to the cafeteria for breakfast. You will be accompanied to your chore location. You will complete your chore. You will be escorted back to the cafeteria for an evening meal. Depending on the chore, you may be escorted to a social gathering afterwards. At the end of the day you will be accompanied back to your quarters. This schedule will rehabilitate and socialize you properly to your surroundings. Do you understand?”

Soundwave let out a garble of static.

“Due to the nature of the tier one chore cycle, you will most likely have to be freed from your restraints. Therefore, your escort will always be a member of the Security Team. Today's escort is Boss.”

“This was supposed to be my day off,” said Boss. He powered up his gun. “So please, try something, Decepticon. Make my day.”

“Security Team members have been authorized to use force if necessary. I urge you to comply with all directions. Your day begins now.” Ultra Magnus gave Boss a firm nod and marched down the hallway.

Boss gestured with his gun. “Let's go.”

Soundwave's walk was made notable by a number of Autobots cursing and making (assumedly rude) gestures at him. Boss had to wave away a few when they got too close.

The cafeteria had been restored to functionality. The broken tables and chairs were stacked against one wall. The floor had been cleaned of blood, though gouges and paint streaks remained. Soundwave sat in the furthest corner, away from the muttering Autobots shooting him death glares. Boss set down three tall glasses of purple liquid for him.

“I know you gotta drink outta yer, whatsits, nasty things,” said Boss. He jabbed the light shield with the tip of his gun. “Hurry up. Put it away when you're done.”

Soundwave took the noisiest, grossest tendril slurps he could. Boss shuddered but said nothing. To the energon's credit, it was smooth and easy on Soundwave's system. When he was done, the light shielding was relit and they headed off.

Boss lead him on a winding path through the Lost Light, down elevators and eviscerated hallways. Near the bottom of the ship, Soundwave picked up a thudding, even through the signal blockers. It grew louder and louder, strong enough to thump under his thin plating. It wasn't the quantum energy. It was something rooted in the physical. The volume peaked outside an enormous, reinforced door. The air was thick with the smell of energon.

Boss banged on the door. It swung aside. Inferno greeted them with a nozzle-handed wave. His frame was slick with water and smears of energon. Inferno wasn't quite as tall as Soundwave, but he was among the bigger Lost Light mechs. “Hey, Boss,” he said. He looked Soundwave up and down. Inferno curled his lip and bade them come inside.

The room was huge, far bigger than Whirl's Punching Things Club room. It was filled with pipes: fourteen gigantic pipes with diameters almost as big as Soundwave was tall, and innumerous smaller ones. Liquid thudded through them, courtesy of enormous pumps. The room nearly shook with the noise. Soundwave dialed up his sound filters. “This is the filtering/recycling room,” shouted Inferno. “Did anyone explain how the chore cycle works?”

Soundwave shook his head.

“Certain chores gotta be done at specific times a month. If it's a frame-dependent chore, like this one, then the mechs who can do it get stuck with it.” He grinned. It wasn't a nice grin. “But we always get assistants. There's roughly 200 mechs aboard, and almost everyone cycles in and outta the chores. A regular mech might not have to come back to this room for another 150 cycles. But me? I gotta come every other cycle. Cuz only me and Hot Spot are made to do this.” He hefted his nozzle arm. “It's the most important job on the ship! It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it, and that someone has to have high-pressure hoses. See that pipe?” He pointed to the first gigantic pipe in the line. The u-bend had been removed. Inside was a spongy material, encrusted with pink shards and smears of red and blue. “That's the filter. I'm gonna spray it clean and you're gonna scrape up all the shit and shove it out the airlock. Got it?” Inferno pointed to a wall where wide brooms were hung up, then to a hole in the floor labeled, “To Airlock.”

The cuffs on Soundwave's arms unlatched. He stumbled forward at the sudden loss of balance. Soundwave shook out his arms in irritation. Boss stuck the cuffs to his hip and leveled his gun. “Go on, Decepticon.”

Anger flared through Soundwave. He headed for the wall.

Rodimus tapped his chin. “Say it again, in Neocybex.”

Perceptor threw his arms into the air. The holograms and graphs floating around him fzzt'd out. All the hovering screens went dark. “The energon derivative is a catalyst. Really, Rodimus, I don't know how much clearer I can be-”

The door to the neighboring lab slid open. Brainstorm popped into view. “Is that you, Rodimus? The only time all the holograms go out is when you're here.” Brainstorm sauntered over. He tapped Perceptor's helm with a sealed tube of purple liquid. “You really need to disconnect from the projector's emotional response module.”

“No, he needs to learn basic science literacy-”

“Brainstorm!” said Rodimus. “Can you say the thing in Neocybex?”

“The magic purple energon can turn normal energon into more magic purple energon.”

“So... so pink to purple?”

“Yes!” cried Perceptor.

“Cool. But so what?” said Rodimus. “We don't need more purple energon.”

Perceptor smacked himself in the forehead. “If we can figure out how it works,” he said slowly, “and we find the missing 0001 energon, then we can turn the energon that is currently in the oil reservoir into 0001 energon.”

“What?! Why didn't you just say that! That's amazing!” Rodimus clapped Perceptor's shoulder. “That would solve, like, all of our problems! One hundred Rodimus stars for you! We gotta tell everyone!”

“I don't think that's a good idea,” said Perceptor. “We shouldn't get their hopes up before we have definitive results. We have to identify the catalyzing-”

“Make it happen!”

“It's not that simple,” said Perceptor. “We can't just make things happen-”

“Sure you can! Brainstorm does it all the time! Don't you?”

Brainstorm's wings fluttered. “Yup! I've already begun printing a testing vat. Now that we have a good supply of the energon catalyst, we don't have to be precious about the single sample scraped from the cafeteria.” He tilted the tube in his hand. “Thanks, Misfire.”

“We don't have equipment fine-tuned to this... mixture,” said Perceptor. “Energon differences can be minute and we don't fully understand the elemental make-up and properties. Even the slightest miscalculation could be disastr-”

“I have every confidence in you!” said Rodimus cheerily. He headed for the door. “Keep me updated! I'll step up the search for the missing 0001 energon. I can't wait to tell Megatron!”

Hours. Agonizing hours of cutting the flow, unsealing and pulling down the filters, waiting for Inferno to blast them, pushing the junk into the airlock receptacle, putting the filters back, resealing them, and turning the flow back on. Soundwave's arms ached. His antennae were numb from the rushing liquids, though he had turned all his noise filters on as high as they would go. He begrudgingly admitted to himself it would be worse if the signal blockers were not in place. His fingers hurt from gripping the slippery brooms. And his plating... the less said about what was all over it, the better. At least Laserbeak was protected by the light shielding.

The only good thing about it all was that it made Soundwave so angry, he didn't slip into any panicked emotional loops. Soundwave found the scattered and unanchored nature of his processor supremely irritating. Perhaps part of the problem was that his primary objective was currently “freedom” in the form of “recapture the Lost Light and return to the home dimension.” But this was impossible in his current state. His first priority ought to be to fix his processor. Fortunately, loathsome as this tier one chore was, it didn't require much brain power, and he could dedicate this time to doing so.

priority: fix processor

…

…

Usually once the priority was identified, his processor autogenerated a list of objectives so that he could complete his goal. No list was forthcoming, on account of his processor being the problem.

predictable, but irritating, outcome

Alright, he would do this the hard way. What was the most pressing issue? The emotional loop. It had played over and over and over yesterday, blending his worst traumas together until he was convinced the Autobots would tear him apart. They hadn't. Of course they hadn't. They were weak and foolish. But so was Soundwave, cowering on the inside as he had. No more!

Soundwave needed to define the problem in exact terms, so he could combat the loop. Emotions were irrational, but the loop itself wasn't. It was triggered. He would remove the trigger by precisely defining and then obliterating it.

define wingy

Wingy was a drone. It had several basic structures and functions in common with Laserbeak. Drones could be loyal if they were programmed to be such. Laserbeak was a special drone: not a drone in the traditional sense, but a piece of Soundwave himself that had been reshaped. “Laserbeak will be your eyes and ears at a distance,” Megatronus had said. “And, of course, a weapon.”

A mournful feeling washed through Soundwave.

focus!

Wingy. Wingy was a drone. Soundwave had programmed Wingy to obey and it had obeyed. Soundwave had rewarded Wingy for its loyalty by destroying it.

And while this was, as previously noted, a perfectly acceptable way of disposing of used equipment, a terrible parallel did not escape Soundwave. A direct line from Megatronus destroyed me to-

Soundwave pushed those thoughts aside. Best to stay angry. It was easy: powerful and simple.

Wingy should not have been destroyed.

and neither should i-

Soundwave pushed that thought away, too.

Wingy should not have been destroyed. Its memory should have been wiped! Simple, easy, and leaves the drone functional afterwards for further use.

leaves the drone functional afterwards for further use-

Soundwave angrily shoved that thought aside, too. Wingy was a lost cause. But, the next time he enslaved a Lost Light drone, he would be sure to deprogram it instead of destroying it. Yes! Logical. Soundwave congratulated himself on this revelation. One small step on the path towards victory.

Soundwave's processor ached. The thudding of the pipes was the worst kind of mesmerizing. He decided to put off the rest of his processor-fixing until he was in a location where he could hear himself think.

This drew his attention back to his wretched work. His field pulsed with disgust.

stupid autobots

Though, if this was the very worst they could throw at him, Soundwave could endure twelve rounds of it. He would emerge stronger than ever. With a plan. Because as tempting as it was to engage Boss and Inferno in combat right now, without his arms, tentacles, antennae, Laserbeak, or the ability to plan an attack in such a dynamic environment, every guesstimate as to the outcome was the same: Boss shot him through the chest and Inferno dumped him out the airlock.

As Starscream had often said: the most important factor in any given situation was being alive. Everything else was dealt with after survivability was assured. And, though there were numerous flaws with such logic, Soundwave believed the gist applied here.

After the last lumps of waste had finally, finally been shoved out the airlock, Boss snatched the broom away and cuffed Soundwave's arms tight. Soundwave didn't have the strength to fight him. Boss pushed him towards a shower. Water sprayed over him, washing most of the filth away. Soundwave flinched. The water was too hot, too loud.

Inferno held up one of the data pads they'd found in the muck. He had a tiny pile of treasures- broken data pads and snapped disks, things mechs were eager to flush. “I hope it's not poetry again,” said Inferno. “I really could use another installment of Bluestreak and Hot Spot after dark.”

“Eugh,” said Boss. “Call me if it's got Blaster and Nautica.” His visor flashed. “Part one was real good.”

“Can't account for taste...”

Soundwave ignored them. The indignity of it all! His lines burned with anger. He called up his map of the Lost Light. To his surprise, it actually manifested in his processor. He added data to it, the locations of the pipes and filters. The map fluttered in and out of his consciousness. He grasped for it, tried to hold it steady in his mind-

thump!

“Hey! You listening?” Inferno smacked him again. “I said, why'd you lock us in the Punching Things Club? We know it was you. Whirl told us.”

Soundwave shuddered back to reality. In lieu of answering, he displayed a video of his fight with Whirl. Whirl falling to his knees, smoke rising from his exploded chest. Soundwave zoomed in on his dimming eye.

“Oh, fuck off,” said Inferno. “Get him outta here.”

“How'd he do?” Rodimus set his tray down and sat across the table from Soundwave and Boss. Despite the usual delicious scents of the cafeteria's offerings, a distinctive stench hovered in the air. Rodimus wrinkled his nose. “Filter duty, huh?”

Soundwave said nothing. There were four empty glasses on the table in front of him. One tentacle was deep in a fifth glass of bright purple energon.

Boss said, “He's slow. But he did it. Eventually.”

“Good.” Rodimus popped an assortment of cubes into his mouth. “Did we learn anything?”

Soundwave's frame was totally still, save: ssssslluuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp

ssssskklurrrppp

sskk-sskk-LURRRRRRP

“Uh huh, mmm hmm, I see,” said Rodimus conversationally. “Boss, you're dismissed. I'll take it from here.”

“Oh, thank fuck,” muttered Boss. He gave a tired salute and practically ran away.

Rodimus waved at the lingering smell of waste in the air. “Let's cut to the chase. I'm sure you didn't enjoy today's chore. But I have a proposition for you, Soundwave.”

sluuuurrrrp

“You tell me where the 0001 energon is and you can skip tonight's socialization.”

sluuurr-

Soundwave tilted his head. Data flashed across his visor. “Location: unknown. Memory corrupted.”

“Really? Really?? C'mon, Soundwave. I don't believe that.”

“Memory corrupted.”

“You'd rather socialize than tell me? You don't strike me as that kind of mech.”

sluuuuurrrrrrp

Rodimus sighed. Then he straightened and slapped on a smile. “You'll be attending your first Most Recents Club meeting tonight. Me, you, Ambulon, Trailbreaker, and Mirage. In my office. You'll get to know your fellow alt-dimensioners. Doesn't that sound fun?”

sskkkluuuurrrrp

“Do you know what it's like to fill the empty space of someone who had your name, who looked like you, but isn't you?” demanded Mirage. He paced Rodimus's office, gracefully stabbing the air with his forefinger. “Hound asks me about things he and 0001 Mirage did all the time. 'Hey, Mirage, remember that time we saw the blahblahblah?' No! I don't! That wasn't me! He forgets, even though I bare my endorements and insets.” Mirage pointed to the gold symbols on his frame, the purple gems. “There's nary a possibility that 0001 Mirage had these. But Hound forgets. He knows me by my shape, by my name. But does he ask me about these? No. They are important to me!”

Note to self, thought Rodimus. Ask Mirage about his make-up. When he's feeling less hostile. “Hound's trying his best. He's trying to relate to you.” Primus knows you don't make it easy for him.

“I do understand that. But I tire of it. I cannot fill this space for him. I believe he had a-” Mirage stopped himself. He huffed. “I believe 0001 Mirage meant a great deal to him, but I cannot fill that empty space in his spark.”

“I see. Thank you, Mirage.”

Ambulon took his turn to stand in front of the little group. “Everyone's fine, as always,” he said. “But there's something about the other-you being sliced in half that makes people treat you differently. The, uh, recent incident.” He glanced at Soundwave. “Has made it worse. I swear Ratchet yanked a scalpel out of my hand three times today. I know what happened to 0001 Ambulon, but that wasn't me.” He scratched his arm. Flakes of paint fell to the floor. “I'm not delicate. I need to do my job. But I can't get my work done when my coworkers treat me like I'll split at any moment.”

“Nice,” said Rodimus flatly.

“Heh. Sorry,” said Ambulon. He fought to hide his smile as he sat.

Trailbreaker said brightly, “I love the Lost Light. I get lots of hugs. I like my job. I like my friends. And the engex is pretty good.”

“I'm so glad you're here,” said Rodimus. You're the only one that seems happy... speaking of which. Cramming his resignation down as deeply as he could, Rodimus turned to Soundwave. “And you?”

Soundwave, knees jutting out awkwardly in a chair too comically small for him, somehow still looked menacing. His plating practically vibrated with disgust and anger. His visor remained resolutely blank.

Mirage sniffed. “Your captain asked you a question.”

Soundwave slowly turned his visor towards Mirage. Ambulon grimaced. Trailbreaker nonchalantly folded his hands together. Mirage didn't blink.

“Well?” Mirage managed to look down his nose at a mech taller than him.

Soundwave said nothing. The irises to his tentacles, visible under the sparkling light shield around his torso, opened and closed.

“You don't frighten me,” spat Mirage. “Faceless as you are. Your kind ravaged worlds of minds in my dimension.” He rattled off a series of numbers which meant nothing to Rodimus. Soundwave went still. “And you thought I would not find you? Skilled as you may be, you left traces of yourself everywhere in our ship.”

'our ship,' noted Rodimus. At least he feels like he belongs...?

Mirage turned toward the other three. “The faceless deprogrammed mechs in mass numbers in my dimension. Among other things.”

The corner of Ambulon's mouth pulled back. He shifted uneasily in his seat. “Orphaned the processor?”

“Yes. The entire processor. Via radiating signaling.”

“Yeesh,” said Ambulon. He said to Rodimus, “Imagine if mnemosurgery was a bomb. And nowhere near as precise.”

“Ugh.”

“That's not the half of it,” started Mirage. “Megatron-”

“Ah.” Rodimus held up a hand as Soundwave's helm tilted. “If you don't mind.”

Mirage followed his gaze and snapped his mouth shut. He gave a curt nod.

“Let's get back on track,” said Rodimus. He willed his field out, easygoing and bright, and gave them all a big smile. “What do you need?”

Mirage crossed one arm over his chest. “I've already told you what I need.”

“Yes, Mirage. You have. Isn't there anything else that would make you happy?”

Mirage's eyes flashed. “No, captain.” The hand by his throat twitched. “My spark shall not rest until then.”

Rodimus forced himself not to sigh deeply or roll his eyes. “Ambulon?”

Ambulon shrugged. “Tell First Aid and Ratchet to lay off? Velocity's cool. I'm satisfied with my life here. I want to do my work unimpeded.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Rodimus. “Hopefully we can upgrade that satisfaction to actual happiness someday.”

“Well... the rec center could use a dart board...” said Ambulon, stroking his chin.

“Oh? Do you play?” Rodimus asked.

“Used to.” Ambulon made a dart-throwing motion. “Probably pretty rusty. I'd like to see what my average would be now.”

“Okay. Yeah! We might have some bullseyes around somewhere. We used to have an expert in that kinda thing.” Rodimus pushed memories of Atomizer out of his processor. Another one to find... “Trailbreaker?”

“I'm good!” said Trailbreaker. He held up his left hand. Two fingers, the corner of his palm, and half his thumb were missing. “This isn't ideal but my force fields still work, so I'm alright with it.” Soundwave's helm snapped over to Trailbreaker. “Yeah, I'm really happy here. I lost a lot of friends... back home. It's great to see them again.” He leaned forward in his chair conspiratorially. “Swerve has his own bar? I can't tell you how great that is. Still. Even thousands of dimensions later.” A tiny, tiny wave of grief came through his field. It brushed against Rodimus's field, fizzing out strangely at the edges, a result of their differing dimensional origins. Before Rodimus could take a breath, the grief was gone. “So happy to see the lil guy doing well. All of us. We're all doing really well.”

“I'm glad to hear that,” said Rodimus, unleashing another, more genuine smile. He focused it on Soundwave like a laser beam. “I don't suppose you'll grace us with an answer, Soundwave?”

Soundwave unfolded himself from his chair and stood. “Release me.”

“Sorry, we can't do that just yet.”

Soundwave's visor flickered. A recording of Rodimus appeared on it. “Freedom.”

Mirage sucked air in between his teeth. He muttered something that sounded like, “Propaganda faceless.”

Rodimus stood, putting himself between Mirage and Soundwave as subtly as he could. “Freedom and trust go hand in hand, Soundwave. We have to trust you before you can have free rein of the ship again.”

Soundwave hissed static.

“Do you really think that behavior puts us at ease?” snapped Mirage.

“If he gets outta line again, I'll just-” Trailbreaker clapped his hands. “And we'll be all set!” Ambulon failed to hide his snort of laughter with a cough. Trailbreaker gave Soundwave a grin. “Anytime, Decepticon.” He stood lazily, but every lazy shifting of plating felt deliberate and calculated.

Soundwave stepped forward, his restrained arms making the motion jerky and alien.

“Okay! I think that's good enough for today,” said Rodimus hastily. He pushed against the light shielding around Soundwave's chest, forcing him back. “Ambulon, I'll see what I can do about First Aid. Trailbreaker, keep up the good work.” Trailbreaker gave him one and a half thumbs-up. “Mirage, please stay.”

Mirage eyed Rodimus suspiciously. Trailbreaker and Ambulon filed out. Once the door had shut, Rodimus said, “Tell me, what does your make-up mean?”

Mirage's eyes widened. His biolights flashed joy, but his jaw dropped in unmistakably insulted shock. “That! Is not make-up!”

“Sorry,” said Rodimus. “What is it?”

Mirage glared at Soundwave. “I'd rather not discuss this with him present.”

“Alright.” Before Mirage could protest, Rodimus grabbed his elbow and pulled him out of the office. He locked the door. “There. He's not going anywhere. And neither am I. What's wrong, Mirage?”

“I told you, I want to go-”

“-home, yes, I know. And I told you, as soon as we can, we'll let you go. I promise. I swear on my spark and all its light. But until then.” Rodimus poured as much pleading into his field as he could. “You gotta throw me something here, Mirage. You're miserable as hell and I don't know what to do about that. Your Megatron is the worst, by your own description, yet you want to go back? I'm missing something.”

Mirage took a shuddering breath. His frown deepened. The corners of his eyes took on a shine.

Rodimus watched his face carefully. Like 0001 Mirage, this one was adept at hiding his emotions when he wanted to. Especially since his biolights didn't match them properly, from Rodimus's point of view.

“Please,” said Rodimus, more gently. “You're important to me. Okay? Everyone on board is. I really, really want you to be happy here. But ever since you arrived, you've been so angry. But you were happy right before then! We found you on that shuttle and you... you seemed really happy to come aboard. You wanted to come aboard. Right? We didn't force you to. You chose to.”

“I didn't know they would go silent,” said Mirage, vocalizer staticky.

Rodimus waited a moment for him to elaborate. He didn't. “Who went silent?”

Mirage slowly crossed his arm over his chest. His gold eyes were even shinier at the edges. Rodimus held as still as he could. This was the most he'd ever gotten out of the mech. “When I boarded and we jumped away,” said Mirage, so faintly Rodimus strained to hear him. “When we moved from my dimension to the next, they went quiet. The song of my spark... the last connections to... my only remaining source of joy, was silenced. How can I be happy when all joy is forever gone?” An iridescent liquid fell from the corner of one eye, down his cheek, and landed on his arm. It wound between the inlaid purple gems and dripped to the floor.

“I'm sorry, Mirage. I didn't know that.” Rodimus's processor raced. Even though these answers didn't make sense, at least Mirage was finally talking. “It sounds like something went wrong in your spark when we jumped dimensions? Maybe Perceptor and Ratchet can-”

Mirage shook his head. “Not my spark.” Between the static in his voice and his accent, Rodimus's processor worked double time to understand him.

“What, then?” Rodimus asked, as gently as he could. He wanted to embrace the mech, but didn't think Mirage would appreciate it.

Mirage answered him, an unintelligible whisper of static.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that-”

Mirage shook his head, tears streaming from his eyes. Embarrassment and fear crept into his field. Before Rodimus could assure him he had nothing to be afraid of, he vanished. Rodimus stepped back instinctively. “Wait! Mirage!”

There were no audible footsteps. Rodimus scanned the hallway back and forth. Tiny iridescent stains appeared on the floor to his right. He almost took off after Mirage, but remembered at the last second that Soundwave was still locked in his office. Rodimus swore. He slapped his key code into the door and stepped back. He wouldn't put it past Soundwave to smack him with a chair or something when he entered.

Wait, how would he smack me with a chair, his arms are cuffed-

Silence.

Rodimus cautiously poked his head in.

Soundwave had found the deepest of the meager shadows in the room to lurk in. Given Rodimus's propensity for brightly-lit spaces, Soundwave stuck out like a villainous figure from one of Crosscut's many, many plays. The amusing thought gave Rodimus an idea. He tucked it away for a future socialization night.

“Did you have fun?”

The darkness bristled.

“It was your choice, you know. The offer still stands. Tell me where the 0001 energon is and you won't have to go to the next socialization.”

The darkness shifted indignantly.

“Fine. C'mon. Back to your hab suite. Hoist needs you well-rested for tomorrow's chore.”

The next morning Soundwave was woken by an angry Powerflash banging on his door. “It's my day off,” he whined, leveling his gun at Soundwave. “Get your aft in gear. I hate being space-side. Ugh. And don't think you can trick me with comms again! I got in trouble last time! Ultra Magnus revoked my bar access until you fucked everything up and I could prove the comms were all your fault!”

Soundwave snickered inwardly. Truly, this Autobot was an exemplary example of his kind. Although the line about the day off did not escape him. Twice was not a coincidence. “Who sets the schedule?”

“Ultra Magnus, of course,” said Powerflash bitterly.

of course

Purposefully scheduling the Security Team to guard him on their days off would make them irritable and more likely to use force, which in turn would prompt Soundwave to be more compliant, if only for his own safety. Soundwave had to concede the point. He didn't know Ultra Magnus had enough emotional depth to be vindictive and remain true to his convictions. The mech had weaponized scheduling.

Soundwave was escorted to the cafeteria, where he slurped down three glasses of energon, and then was taken to an airlock compartment. Powerflash gingerly placed a metal cube on a chain around Soundwave's neck. He pulled a wire from the cube and shoved it under the signal blockers. “Out in space, we use inter-Autobot radio,” he said. He tapped the signal blockers. Soundwave winced. “But we can't risk letting you join unfettered. This cube is a single-channel radio. It's how you'll communicate with me and Hoist.”

Soundwave seized the connection. The cube lit up. Static filled his mind. It was useless, but it was something.

“It's not on yet,” scoffed Powerflash. He threw two slabs of purple to the ground. “Step on those. Magna-clamps, so you don't float off the ship.” In demonstration, he stepped onto a pair of his own. The metal transformed up and around his feet. Soundwave followed suit. “Yikes. You're even taller now. Great.” Powerflash waved his gun and slammed a button on the wall. The space-side airlock spun open. The cube hissed static in Soundwave's antennae as Powerflash comm'd, .:go out:.

Soundwave stepped onto the hull of the Lost Light. The muffled sounds and pulsing energy of the ship fell away. All around him, the blackness of space, dotted with stars and nebulae. He was dwarfed by their magnitude. Soundwave wondered how many pulsars and quasars there were in this sector: their steady signals provided excellent navigational reference points when he did long range calculations on the Nemesis. Their beats were reliable, unwavering. Digital: on or off. Simple. In retrospect: comforting.

Soundwave shook himself. It was cold, though the temperature did not bother him. Comfort was not a word for Decepticons. He pushed thoughts of quasars away.

His arms were floating before him. Soundwave wished he could unleash his tentacles, let them waver weightlessly in all directions. Their irises spun open and closed. Soundwave fluttered his winglets and dorsal spines.

i want to fly

The thought struck him out of nowhere, a novelty both for its desire and its intensity. When had he last transformed? During the incident, as the Autobots called it. But before then? Some time in the shadowzone. Years and years ago, when he had fuel to spare.

freedom

That word again, whispered in Rodimus's voice.

foolish thoughts!

Soundwave shoved it all aside. Wishing had nothing to do with reality. He had a plan. He needed to stick to it.

fix processor. take lost light. return to home dimension.

.:move, Decepticon:.

Soundwave followed Powerflash, great stomping steps that shuddered through him, but made no sound. Space was so quiet, so quiet and vast. Soundwave stared at its star-scattered darkness.

why are the stars arranged like that?

Deja vu washed through him. Soundwave shook his head, willing his frivolous, curious thoughts away.

A purple plane flew overhead. Soundwave cocked his helm, zooming in on it, trying to identify the mech. The plane flew purposefully, a trajectory that was straightforward and predictable. Soundwave lifted his arms and pointed one long finger at it.

.:that's Cyclonus:. comm'd Powerflash. .:he does the flyovers and locates the barnacles. Then we—or, you, actually—go and scrape them off:.

barnacles?

Soundwave repeated the word back to Powerflash in his own voice. Powerflash rolled his eyes. .:what, you didn't have them in your dimension? Or your Decepticon grunts took care of them for you and you never got dirty hull-side?:.

Soundwave didn't answer.

.:pff. They're like, organic things. Every once in a while we go through organic-heavy space areas and they cling on. Little fuckers:.

They walked along the hull. Over the curve of the ship, another mech appeared. He was green, faceplated, feet also encased in magna-clamps. He had two weapons, like spears with broad, flat ends.

.:this is Hoist:. comm'd Powerflash. .:do whatever he says:.

Hoist looked Soundwave over. .:this is the most important job on the ship. He will need his hands:.

Powerflash removed the cuffs. Soundwave stretched his arms, permitting himself one second to enjoy their weightlessness. Powerflash raised his gun. .:no funny stuff:.

Hoist clomped soundlessly over to them. He handed Soundwave a spear. Soundwave resisted the urge to stab Powerflash through the spark with it. It was cold and sturdy and, of course, weightless. Without a word, Hoist trod off. Soundwave and Powerflash followed. They walked for some time. Soundwave counted windows and tried to identify what part of the ship he was outside of. His mental map wavered, unable to be focused on, useless. The underside, perhaps. Below the bridge.

They came to a stop outside an airlock. Organic-looking brown ovals with frilled edges were stuck to it. Powerflash gave them a look of disgust.

.:barnacles:. comm'd Hoist, holding his spear aloft.

Soundwave thought he would stab the barnacle with it. Instead, Hoist shoved the flat end of the spear under the barnacle and, using it as a lever, popped the creature off the hull. Hoist tapped it, sending it spinning off into the depths of space.

.:that one came off easily:. comm'd Hoist. .:they are not all like that:.

Soundwave found that Hoist was right. And he made the chore look easy. Pushing against the spear-lever in space meant that Soundwave was essentially pushing against the ship. If it weren't for the magna-clamps, he would be sent flying. The magna-clamps strained, and after the first few barnacles, he felt the force of the lever action pulling at the pistons and lines in his legs. And after all the work of prying them off the hull, Soundwave didn't even get the satisfaction of smacking the barnacles into outer space. He had swung his spear back and whacked his first barnacle so hard it exploded. Organic goo spattered all over him. Soundwave shuddered, field pulsing with anger. Hoist shook his head. Powerflash swore over the comm.

.:do it gently! We're in friggin space!:. comm'd Powerflash. .:just a little push will get it away from the ship!:.

Soundwave resisted the urge to smash a window with the spear. It would likely only get him a thirteenth round of the chore cycle.

After several hours, Soundwave was able to identify fourteen different species of barnacle and the best method for prying each off the hull. Some species had defensive capabilities, like sharp teeth, squirting acid, or flashing strobe-like lights. Soundwave hated them all. He hated prying them off the hull and he hated tapping them gently away.

There were only two saving graces: one was that Hoist was the quiet type. Other than general guidance and barnacle identification, the only thing he said was .:I honestly think I'd rather be alone than with you:.

.:oh-ho:. comm'd Powerflash, as if Hoist had served up the most scathing insult this side of the ship.

.:likewise:. spat Soundwave. He nudged a barnacle at Hoist. Powerflash glared at him and pushed it away with the tip of his gun.

The second saving grace was the radio. Soundwave clung to each transmission like a- well, like a barnacle to a ship's hull. Or tried to, at least. Grasping at the data strands was like carrying fistfuls of water to shore. The transmissions flooded through and away from him. He couldn't trace the datastreams like he used to. He couldn't send microprograms creeping back through the connection. It was frustrating, but still a tenuous link to his old self. His competent self.

The chore was endless. Unlike the filtering/recycling station's fourteen pipes, there was no finite number of objectives Soundwave had to fulfill. The barnacles grew everywhere, some spaced out widely, some in clumps. Soundwave swore he came across the same bunches time and time again. Perhaps it was a trick. The barnacles they pushed away didn't float out into space. They flew back and latched on again once Soundwave had turned around.

.:what about the quills?:. asked Powerflash.

.:I'll do those with Nautica:. replied Hoist. .:quill barnacle removal techniques are advanced. Soundwave needs much more practice so he doesn't damage them:.

The chore, endless and annoying as it was, did require a certain amount of concentration to perform. Every time Soundwave tried to organize his thoughts, a new species of barnacle popped up. Soundwave did not make any headway on his processor repair plan.

When Hoist finally gave a silent thumbs-up, they stomped to the nearest airlock and waited for the pressurization equilibration. Soundwave's frame ached. His arms were sore. His legs were sore. His feet hurt. His plating was gross and sticky, covered in organic sludge. The beauty of the star field had long ago faded and he glared at space now. Disgusting, barnacle-filled outer space.

Waiting for Soundwave beyond the inner air lock was Rodimus, grinning vapidly and sparkly clean, field rife with his abhorrent cheerfulness. Worse than that, after toiling under the vastness of space, the ship felt claustrophobic. The feeling intensified as his arms were cuffed again and the inter-Autobot radio was removed. The freedom of movement and the scraps of static were gone. Before he could stop himself, Soundwave wailed aloud. Rodimus's grin vanished. His expression of concern was so earnest, a tiny, desperate piece of Soundwave actually believed Rodimus cared.

Soundwave clamped down on that mite of hope before it could spread. Anger flared in its place. Autobot empathy was only good for its exploitative features. But Soundwave refused to engage with it like that. That's not what he would have done before.

“Hull scraping is pretty rough. It's one of the chores where you get the rest of the day off,” said Rodimus. He'd led Soundwave up to the hallway of officers' quarters. Rodimus leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “No mandatory socialization. But if you tell me where the 0001 energon is, you can skip tomorrow's.”

“Memory corrupted.”

“Fine. But since you haven't earned the right to move freely through the ship yet, you'll have to stay in your room.”

Soundwave held his arms up. “Release me.”

Rodimus regarded him. “I'm not supposed to. And it's a bad idea. But maybe we could try a little trust exercise. You feel trapped and I feel bad for you. I'll let you have your hands while inside your hab suite if you promise to behave. If you can be trusted for one night, maybe you can be trusted for future nights. What do you think?”

If he could get his arms free, then... then maybe he could remove the signal blockers.

A plan, simple as it was, had actually solidified in his processor. Soundwave clutched it. “Release me.”

Rodimus slapped the key pad and the door opened. Soundwave entered his hab suite. Rodimus removed the cuffs from Soundwave's arms. Soundwave stuffed down the urge to encircle Rodimus's throat with his fingers.

patience

“Be good.” The door slid shut.

Once again, Soundwave was left to his own devices in a hab suite. The Autobots knew he couldn't be trusted alone in an empty room. But with his tentacles and antennae locked away, what danger could he pose?

Soundwave semi-transformed his elbows. They ached from the day's labor. He ignored the pain. He pulled his arms back as far as they would go and strained... and touched the signal blockers. Success! Soundwave scrabbled at them, managed to grip them in his long fingers. He pulled upward, shaking with the effort, going as gently as he could, unsure if the Autobots had entangled the blockers with his antennae.

They had not.

After another few minutes of delicate prodding and pushing, the blockers slid off.

!!!

A rush of sounds and signals hit Soundwave. He stumbled back. His processor curled away from the data, like a broken wing folding in supersonic flight. “Hgh!” Soundwave gripped his crown of antennae. There was so much noise. Unfiltered and raw, it screamed through him. Soundwave jammed an emergency multi-layered filter protocol through.

Blissful silence prevailed. Soundwave came back to himself and found he was crouching. He straightened slowly, plating clicking as it unlocked from its defensive positioning.

What he had just experienced was a paltry data flow for the Soundwave of legend. A paltry data flow he could no longer handle. A deep feeling of mourning struck him. He had lost his ability to process communications data. When the emotion-suppressing protocols had failed, something else had also been lost.

Soundwave teetered on a precipice of despair.

no!

Surely his ability was not lost forever! That was illogical. He would regain it.

soundwave superior!

But it obviously could not happen all at once. Maybe he could ease back into it.

Soundwave lifted the first tier of protection on his filter. Data streamed in, constant but bearable. He focused. It was a tiny communication from the fire detection system. Soundwave gripped the signal. No fires currently detected. He watched for a short time. It was steady, a cyclical check of the ship every 14.5 seconds. A small victory that he could access it, but ultimately not useful to him.

Soundwave lifted the second tier of the filter. A fragment of a personal comm flitted through his mind.

.:-wanted to see you tonight. If you wanted?-:.

As soon as the comm ended, his grasp of it did, too. Soundwave stuffed down his irritation. He lifted the third tier of the filter. Data screamed through his mind, a whirlwind he could neither parse nor harness. Soundwave slammed the filter protocols back into place.

Anger and frustration raced through his lines, red-hot, rattling his tentacles.

megatronus took the meaning of soundwave!

i was rebuilt! → mythological soundwave!

the autobots took the meaning of mythological soundwave!

megatron said: rebuild again

how can i rebuild again!

there is no foundation!

I AM RUINED!

Laserbeak jerked against his chest. Soundwave curled his fingers and punched the wall with the tip of his forearm. The metal sheared back with a fantastic scream. Soundwave yanked his arm out. It was deeply scratched. Little curlicues of blue paint rolled across the floor.

Footsteps outside the door.

Soundwave had just enough time to throw the signal blockers back over his antennae before the door slid open. Rodimus launched himself inside. “Soundwave! What the hell are you doing!”

Soundwave's fingers were still by his antennae. He moved them up higher, as if he were raising his arms in surrender.

Rodimus took him and the room in with a glance. His eyes narrowed at the wall. “Scraping barnacles not exhausting enough? You wanna go back out there?”

Soundwave displayed a tiny version of himself on his visor. His display-self's head exploded.

“Yeah, I'll bet.”

“Release me!” The irises to Soundwave's tentacles swirled open and closed beneath the light shielding.

“No. You just failed this simple trust exercise. You know the deal. We release you when we trust you.”

A pulse of anger went through Soundwave. Before he could reply, something tugged at the back of his processor. It was the part of him that lived to absorb information, find patterns, arrange data.

find dimensional data

soundwave superior

Soundwave thought fast. He didn't have access to his tentacles, nor to the adaptors he needed in order to use them on the ship. He didn't have comms. He couldn't intake data like how he used to, and even if he could, he didn't think he could process it right now anyway. But he could still read.

“Brainstorm and Perceptor,” he said.

“What about them?”

Soundwave replayed a clip of Rodimus asking, “What do you need?” Soundwave said, “Dimensional library data.”

“Why?”

“Public data. Available to anyone. No reason to deny me.”

“Yeah, but why?”

Soundwave let frustration seep into his vocalizer and picked the least offensive answer, which was also not technically a lie. “Because I am bored.”

“Yeah, and your idea of having fun is dangerous.” Rodimus shook his head. “Put your arms down, you look ridiculous.” Soundwave hissed at him. “Tell you what, I'll ask Perceptor nicely if you can access the library, if you do one thing.”

“What?”

“Tell me where the 0001 energon is.”

“I don't know.”

“Yes, you do. Tell me.”

“Memory corrupted.”

“Then no library for you.” Rodimus darted, pulling cuffs from his subspace compartment. “And since I can't trust you won't tear this place apart-” Rodimus smacked the cuffs around Soundwave's arms.

Soundwave howled, discordant, a sound blast of all the anger and frustration inside him. Rodimus winced and fled. “You can change! I believe in you!” The door slammed shut behind him.

Soundwave kicked the door so hard it dented. He threw himself on the berth, disgusted with his own petulance. Anger was exhausting and annoying and ultimately unproductive. How had the mechs on the Nemesis managed to function on it?

With a start, Soundwave realized that they really hadn't. Most of the grunts had favored apathy. Starscream and Knockout were more prone to wallow in their own vanity than run around seething.

And Megatron had-

Soundwave forcefully powered down into recharge.

Chapter Text

bam bam!

“You rotten piece of shit!”

Aquafend's voice. Soundwave groaned.

“This was my day off!”

Soundwave made Aquafend wait another full minute before stumbling to the door. He put extra loom in his stance, but Aquafend was unperturbed. He glared and prodded Soundwave all the way to the cafeteria. He only gave Soundwave two glasses of energon, and when Soundwave asked for another, he just sneered through his field.

To Soundwave's dismay, he was marched to an airlock. “Barnacles again?” His limbs still ached from yesterday's labor. He stepped onto the magna-clamp slabs, trying to calculate if he could hit Aquafend with a spear fast enough to disarm him.

“Hah! No, no one does them two days in a row,” said Aquafend. “Though maybe you should. You're cleaning the long range sensors with Blaster.” He tossed the inter-Autobot radio over Soundwave's head and connected it to his antennae. The crackle of static provided little comfort.

Again, into the bleak barnacle-forever of space, only this time, they were on the other side of the ship. The constellations were different. A large, red star caught Soundwave's eye. He tilted his head. Even without his amazing processing power, he recognized the wavelengths of its light.

iron-heavy core

Soundwave pointed his bound arms at the star. .:supernova imminent:.

.:yeah, whatever. Nothing you have to worry about:.

Soundwave did some mental comparisons to previous red supergiants he had observed. He couldn't calculate exact numbers, but he had catalogued many while aboard the Nemesis. Wariness flashed through him. .:it is too close:.

.:shut up:.

Aquafend led the way to a huge communications tower poking out of the ship. Or, what would have been a huge communications tower on the Nemesis. It seemed smaller than it truly was, compared to the vast stretch of the Lost Light's hull. It was a tangled jumble, the physical counterpart to the complex, patchwork software Soundwave had once infiltrated. A central tower was studded with countless nets and towerlets, cords and wires. Satellite dishes of unusual shape and proportion poked out like grotesque kibble.

At the top of the tower perched a red mech, Blaster. He waved. .:hello!:.

Inter-Autobot radio comms were largely unhindered by the effects of the signal blockers, since the wire ran under them directly to Soundwave's antennae. Blaster had a friendly, sonorous voice, multi-layered and pleasing. It was the loveliest thing Soundwave had heard since his emotion-suppressing protocols had been installed. Laserbeak twitched. Soundwave's spark gave a tiny flare.

It took Soundwave a moment to understand what was happening.

He yearned for pleasing sound.

!!

useless emotion!

Sounds did not exist to be pleasing!

.:yo:. sent Aquafend. .:your muck glitch is here:.

Soundwave played one of his recordings of Aquafend. .:fuck you:.

.:uh-:. went Blaster.

.:that was him! He's a Soundwave! He's doing his stupid Soundwave shit!:. sent Aquafend.

.:right... Come up. This is the most important chore on the ship! We gotta get started:.

Blaster gave Soundwave a tour of the tower, pointing out the general components and which systems connected where. He gestured at a long, tapering black pyramid. .:that thing is our subspace communicator. Back in 0001 we were really far from Cybertron. Heh, not as far as we are now... It didn't work very well then, but I've modified it quite a bit. Hauled it over here with the other long-range sensors. You know about the dimensional energies? The navcomp kinda works when we're in a level 1 dimension. The subspace communicator will spark to life. Sometimes I can even get it to lock onto a level 1's Cybertron:. Soundwave did his best to catalog it all. It was very useful information. The tower hummed under his fingertips. He could just barely sense its power. If he didn't have the signal blockers, he would probably be incapacitated.

The chore was straightforward. Space debris, dust, and the occasional squishy thing needed to be cleaned out of the sensors. Blaster provided soft cloths, cleaning liquids, and disposal bins. Soundwave's arms were freed and he was unleashed on a particularly dirty mirrored array.

Blaster played music over the radio. It was foreign and strange, too many ugly chords and staccato beats. Soundwave responded with a barrage of static.

.:what's wrong, mech? Don't like it?:.

.:negative:.

.:huh. Never met a Soundwave who hated music before:.

.:that is not music:.

The chore was long and boring. Aquafend was a constant irritation, goading Blaster into singing along or pontificating on the importance of music in inferior organic cultures. Soundwave fantasized about smashing his own head into the communications tower until the signal blockers disintegrated and he was swept away in a processor-destroying miasma of data.

From the top of the tower, Soundwave spotted a few colonies of barnacles. Brown, textured ovals and light blue ovals with white rings, the extra-sticky and venomous species, respectively. Soundwave imagined launching himself in their direction and obliterating them with Aquafend's gun. After obliterating Aquafend first, of course.

Soundwave's reveries were interrupted by a fourth identical loop of something Blaster called a “sea chanty.” Anger flared. Soundwave searched for something, anything he could do to disrupt the noise. He held up an arm to grab their attention. Aquafend and Blaster warily clomped over.

.:what?:. demanded Aquafend.

.:inquiry for Blaster: how good was part one?:.

.:what?:. sent Blaster.

Soundwave displayed a clip of Inferno holding up a dirty data pad. He relayed Boss's voice through the comm, .:call me if it's got Blaster and Nautica. Part one was real good:.

Blaster's field rippled with shock. .:that's! I-! We're not-!:.

.:HAHAHA!:. Aquafend doubled over laughing. .:what a little snitch! What happens in the filtering/recycling room is supposed to stay in the filtering/recycling room, Soundwave! Neither Blaster nor Nautica chore cycle through there! Finally, juicy sweet confirmation. Jackpot's gonna be pissed when he finds out he lost that bet:.

.:she wants us to keep it quiet!:. Blaster's expression was a mixture of horror and dismay. .:they're her wishes! You should respect them and keep that clip to yourself!:.

.:hah! Respect?! He doesn't care about anyone but himself:. sent Aquafend. .:he'll prolly broadcast it to the whole ship:.

.:no!! You owe her more than you know, Soundwave!!:.

.:you might as well plead with the navcomp:. Aquafend gestured with the gun. .:get back to work, Decepticreep:.

Blaster's beautiful voice lost its melodic edge. He stopped sharing his music through the radio connection. Even though Aquafend's statement about broadcasting stung, because Soundwave knew he couldn't do it, Soundwave was very pleased with himself for the rest of the chore.

“Ambulon gave me the next batch of Orthox-8 films and I'm really excited to see what they're like!” said Rewind. His visor was bright, just visible above the huge box of energon treats he carried.

“They're not horrors, though, are they?” asked Tailgate. He hefted the bucket of mini cubes they had stolen from the cafeteria. “Not that I don't like a good horror, but-”

“Tailgate!”

Tailgate swiveled around. Rodimus was barreling down the hallway towards them. Tailgate forcefully quelled the panic that threatened to rise in his lines. Nothing good ever came of Rodimus running straight for you.

Rewind's visor dimmed. “Don't suppose we could outrun him.”

Before Tailgate could respond, Rodimus skidded to a stop next to them. “Hey! Rewind, too, great! Yes! How're my favorite minibots doing?”

Rewind's field oozed suspicion. “Why?”

“Can you guys do me a favor?” Rodimus struck a co-captainly pose. “Soundwave needs socialization. With nice bots. Like you two. Have him at one of your Movie Nights. Tonight! Are you doing one tonight?”

“Yeah, but-” started Tailgate.

“Great! Your hab suite? Aquafend will drop him off. Thanks!” Rodimus nabbed a handful of cubes from Tailgate's bucket, popped them in his mouth, and transformed with a flourish. Within seconds, he was gone back the way he had come, a trail of dust wafting through the air.

“Um,” said Tailgate. The hallways darkened. Whether there was something wrong with the lights, or it was all in Tailgate's processor at the thought of having that Decepticon invade his sacred Movie Night, he did not know.

“Aft,” said Rewind.

Tailgate tried very, very hard to ignore the angry, black monster hunched on the end of the couch. He tried very hard not to see its weird, smooth biolights that slowly shifted from blue to purple and didn't have any white dots like a normal mech's. Tailgate tried very hard not to hear its hissing laughter, when it deigned to laugh. If that was laugher. Was that laughter?

Tailgate glanced at Cyclonus. Cyclonus would protect them. He was sitting magnificently on the other side of their hab suite polishing his great sword like a warrior. He sensed Tailgate's gaze and his eyes flickered up. He sent a wordless inquiry via comm.

.:I'm okay:. Tailgate comm'd back.

Cyclonus flared his biolights just the tiniest bit. It was his way of quietly saying I love you from a distance. Tailgate felt his nervousness dissipate somewhat.

“Aww, c'mon,” said Swerve. He spat crumbs as he spoke. “Who wrote this? Everyone knows the third act is where you put the reveal scene, not the second act!”

“I keep telling you,” said Rewind, pausing the movie he was projecting. “0001 Earth storytelling structures aren't the standard. Other cultures have other ways of telling stories.”

“Bah,” said Swerve. He tossed his empty snack container aside and grabbed some energon sticks. “Can we watch a talking dog movie?”

“1331 Orthox-8 doesn't have dogs,” said Rewind. “This is dimension 1331 movie week. You know that.”

“Yeah, but this is boring,” said Swerve. “All their movies are about princesses and plowing fields.”

“Fields are an important part of their societal-”

“Blah blah, societal this, societal that. I want something exciting!”

“They did find that princess buried in the field,” said Tailgate. “That was exciting.”

“No, they didn't,” said Swerve. “What princess?”

“The princess. In the- the egg thing. I don't know. Like a recharge chamber-”

“I didn't see a princess,” said Swerve.

“There wasn't a princess,” said Rewind. He turned to Tailgate. “Where did you get a princess from?”

Tailgate took a sip from his curly straw. “Wasn't it in the beginning?”

Rewind tilted his helm. “That was two movies ago. How The Aurora Princess of Dawn Raised The Sun.”

“Aka the princess of redundancy,” muttered Swerve. “The aurora princess of dawn. Am I the only one who caught that?”

“No,” said Rewind.

“Are you sure there's no princess?” asked Tailgate. “I thought every Orthox-8 movie had one.”

“This movie's from the cinematic era of anti-royalty backlash.” Rewind tapped the side of his head. “Do you doubt me?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Great. Can I continue?”

Tailgate nodded.

“Thank you.” Rewind resumed the film.

Fields of wheat or fish or whatever waved in gentle breezes on the screen. The princess—oh she was dashing, in a bright blue and white dress, no doubt super talented in a thousand disciplines—wandered cheerily through the field. Tailgate watched her intently, but he also watched the couch monster from the corner of his optics. Something in the field stirred. Tailgate tensed. A shadow appeared in the field. It lengthened, a curling rope of darkness pulled taut and thin. A spiky head, long, long menacing arms. It reached out, and Tailgate was running! Running through the field, looking back at the camera, shock and fear on his face! The monster struck!

Tailgate grabbed Swerve and screamed. Swerve screamed in response, energon treats flying. Rewind jolted at the noise and the movie flickered. Tailgate reset his visor. The field was empty. There was no princess. The huge pointy monster was back on the couch. Cyclonus was shaking his head. “Wait, where'd the princess go?”

“Are you kidding?” Rewind paused the movie with an impatient click.

“No. Wasn't she just there? Running through the field?”

Swerve grabbed a cube from the floor, shoved it into his mouth, and spoke around it. “Tailgate, you're losin' it. There's no princess-”

“There is! She was just in the thing! You saw her. Right? Super charismatic? Everyone loves her? Am I wrong?”

“Are you talking about the combine harvester?” asked Rewind.

“No! I know what a princess is,” said Tailgate. “She's there. You're not watching it right.”

“There's no princess, Tailgate,” said Swerve.

“There is! There is a princess!”

“No, there's not.”

“Yes, there is!”

“No, there's not!”

“Yes, there is!”

A pulse of anger went through the room. The minibots froze. Cyclonus's head snapped up.

The smooth-biolight-ridden monster at the end of the couch unfolded itself to its impossibly tall height. Its visor displayed a noseless mech screaming like he was being tortured. The minibots clamped their hands over their audials. Cyclonus leapt heroically to his feet. The monster leaned down, far, far down, and stuck its visor inches from Tailgate's face. Tailgate shook. His eyes brightened with panic.

“There is no fucking princess,” it said with the voice of a thousand haunted houses in the movies where all the humans split up and get murdered one by one. It turned and stalked out of the room. Cyclonus followed, sword in hand.

“Told you,” whispered Swerve.

Soundwave stalked down the hall as quickly and quietly as he could. The minibots were absolutely intolerable. The sooner one of them was squashed underfoot, the better. The excruciating socialization event had been worth it, though. Aquafend had abandoned his post outside the door. Soundwave had escaped and now-

Something grabbed one of his winglets and spun him around. Soundwave's field rippled with shock. He caught sight of Cyclonus's pale face, then he was off-balance, falling. Cyclonus caught him by the throat.

“On your knees,” said Cyclonus. A blade slid along the side of Soundwave's visor.

Soundwave spat static at him.

Cyclonus squeezed, his claw tips digging into the cords of Soundwave's neck. Cyclonus's eyes paled for a moment as he tilted his helm. “Rodimus, Soundwave is in need of an escort back to his hab suite.”

Soundwave twisted and surged upwards. Cyclonus jumped back. The sword glanced off the hardlight around Soundwave's chest. He bent his knees in a defensive stance and held up his cuffed arms like a shield.

thwak! thwak!

Cyclonus forced Soundwave back until his heels hit the opposite wall. He pointed his sword at Soundwave's throat. Electricity jumped from the sword tip to Soundwave's collar plating. It twitched.

Cyclonus glared up at him. “When you are in my hab suite, you will treat my family with respect.”

“You carry yourself like a warrior. Release me and fight me like one!”

The tip of the sword tapped Soundwave's chin. “I do not need to fight you. In every battle you could conceive of, I have already won.” A blast of electricity surged into Soundwave's visor. He screamed and fell to his knees.

Soundwave's frame shuddered. He flicked through his memories, searching for anything related to Cyclonus, anything he could use in a fight. One very interesting phrase stood out. “Why aren't you a Decepticon? You are capable. I can feel it!”

“For the same reasons you are not an Autobot,” said Cyclonus.

Soundwave hissed in disgust.

“You have nothing but your anger,” said Cyclonus. “You are a mech who belongs nowhere and who has no belongings. Save one. A precious gift that you left behind.”

“What?”

Cyclonus pulled the sword away. The crystal in its hilt was glowing. He pressed something into Soundwave's fingers. It was small and made of glass. Soundwave pulled his arms up as far as he could.

It was a vial filled with pink liquid. Rodimus's innermost energon.

“You have one ally on this ship,” said Cyclonus. “One person who gave to you freely and earnestly, expecting nothing in return. Only a fool would throw that away.”

“What does it matter to you?!”

“Because I was where you are, once. If you do not alter your course, your journey will end in defeat. A weak spark either grows strong or snuffs itself out.” Cyclonus's voice lowered to a growl. “I do not want weak-spark mechs aboard the Lost Light.”

“My spark is not weak!”

Cyclonus bent down, fangs nearly grazing Soundwave's crown of antennae. “Then why is it so small?”

Aquafend had accompanied Soundwave back to his hab suite. He signaled the door shut so fast it nearly clipped the ends of Soundwave's dorsal spines off. Soundwave burned with frustration. He whirled around.

The room felt different. Off. It smelled like solder.

He scanned it with a critical eye.

There. The hole he had punched in the wall was gone. Someone had repaired it. Soundwave inspected the patch for cameras or other spyware. It was clean.

Soundwave uncurled his fingers. The vial of innermost energon glittered. He threw it under the berth. Useless trinket. No, worse. Poisonous trinket. He idly wondered if 0001 mechs' energon was poisonous to the other alt-dimensioners. Trailbreaker, maybe. His biolights were so alien: neon green with little dashes and curlicues of white flowing through, not dots, like the 0001 mechs had.

Soundwave swept the room again. The desk, much nicer than the one in his command center, looked different. He touched it. With a click, an extender popped out. On top of it was a slim card.

???

Soundwave picked it up. It looked just like the card Brainstorm had given him. He slid it into the desk. The top of the desk extender transformed into a little projector. A hologram of Brainstorm's head appeared in staticky green.

“Surprise! Hello, Soundwave.”

?????

“From one genius to another, I really must say, I admire your work. And thanks for separating me and Perceptor out! Guess you must like us if you weren't planning on killing us immediately. Don't take that the wrong way, though. I don't condone taking over the ship, despite what's beneath this mask.” Brainstorm tapped his face mask. “You'd blow your processor if you knew. But the less said about that, the better. Anyway. I can tell a bored, cannibalistic mind when I see one. Perceptor and Rodimus don't want you to have this, but I do. I know you'll see something in it that we can't. When you find it, share it. Remember: I didn't have to do this for you. So you owe me.”

Soundwave leaned closer. The hologram swirled and changed into a menu. Brainstorm's voiceover continued.

“The navigation system isn't all that intuitive. I had to slap it together at the last minute, but you'll figure it out. And for Solus's sake, don't let Ultra Magnus find this desk extender. Weird little hobby he has, building them. 'The intersection of precision and utility. Nothing like a precisely machined desk extender to supplement your working space.' Lucky for you I found one with a holographic projector. I'll assume you're still cut off from the ship's communication systems when you get this, though I wouldn't be surprised if you find a way to worm back in. Watch out for Mirage, he's on to you. This is a download of the dimensional library, not a link to the real one. But I'm confident you can do what you need to do.” The menu dissolved back into Brainstorm's head. His eyes cinched with delight. “And Soundwave? Go absolutely mad.”

The hologram fizzled out. The projector whirred, tiny parts transforming into a grid of glassy lenses. With a flash, a hologram of the domed multiverse model appeared.

Soundwave gaped at it for a moment. It had all happened so fast. The thought of being expected to report back to the Autobot was distasteful. But that thought vanished in a tide of all-encompassing excitement. Soundwave ran his fingers through the dome. The little points of light deformed around them. He touched one. A window popped up, displaying the characteristics of dimension 0822.

!!!

Soundwave touched dots, one after another, reading the windows and trying to memorize the data. He found he could rotate the model, organize the dimensional points by different preset filters, or select a cluster of them and zoom in. He could make the Lost Light's journey appear, transecting the dots in chronological order. He could compare and contrast data in tables or charts. It was a thorough and well-crafted database.

All thoughts of the Lost Light, its denizens, and even Soundwave's own grievances melted away. He pulled over a chair and sat, absorbing window after window of dimensional data.

bam bam!

Soundwave groaned. He pushed himself up. He had fallen asleep at the desk. The desk extender had timed out: the projector had turned off, transformed back into a smooth surface, and the extender had tucked itself back beneath the desk.

Soundwave's tanks felt queasy. He checked his chronometer. It was far earlier in the morning than it had been the past two days when security mechs banged on his door.

Dogfight stood out in the hallway. He was a blue mech with an orange face, a blue visor, and wings. Instead of the usual Security Team issued gun, he had a heat ray rifle. He swayed a little on his feet and smelled of engex. He opened his mouth.

Before he could speak, Soundwave said, “It is your day off.”

“Yeah,” said Dogfight. He swung the rifle around and pointed it at Soundwave's chest. “You wanna explain to me why I gotta babysit you today instead of competing in the tactichess championship in the rec center? I don't like losing my place.”

In that moment, Soundwave wished more than anything that he could tap into the ship and see what this mech's standing was and then mock him for its low placement. It was a supremely petty wish, one in direct violation of Starscream's self-preservation rule, given the direction the heat ray rifle was pointing. Instead, Soundwave said, “Ultra Magnus.”

“Hmph.” The heat ray rifle lowered a bit. “Move, soldier.”

The halls were dimmed for the early-morning hours. The cafeteria was totally empty. To Soundwave's surprise, Dogfight made no motions after he had completed his breakfast. The mech stared blankly at Soundwave, trepidation seeping from his field. “No... no...” he said softly. Soundwave wasn't sure if the mech was experiencing a flashback from his war, or if the next chore was just that bad. Or maybe Dogfight, not knowing his day off was cancelled, had been sent from the bar straight to Soundwave's door without any recovery time in between.

Soundwave knocked his empty glasses over. The sharp tinks! startled Dogfight from his inner torment. Dogfight shook himself, grabbed a flask from his subspace compartment, and gulped something down. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Okay,” he said. “I think I'm ready.”

Soundwave rose and made for the exit.

“Ah, ah,” said Dogfight, tapping his shoulder with the heat ray rifle. “Not that way.”

“Of course they send me the freakishly tall mech.”

Soundwave stared in disbelief. Dogfight had escorted him the short distance to the cafeteria's kitchen area and now stood in the doorway, clutching his rifle like a dying mech clutched his medic. Toaster, the mini-est of minibots, strutted back and forth across the counter. His tiny feet pattered, patpatpat.

“What'd they have you doing so far? Plumbing? Scraping the hull? Hah! This is the most important chore on the ship and I am its unsung hero!”

Soundwave wanted to squash him. Instead, he bent way, way, way down and made a scoffing noise in Toaster's pointed little face.

“You think this isn't important? Wait til the next dimension is mixed into our current energon stock. People will be complaining, 'Oh, weh, the food hurts my delicate tankies. Why can't you do anything right, Toaster?' Bah! I'm the smallest mech on the ship! I'm the environmental indicator. Do you know what that means?”

Soundwave didn't say anything. He didn't care. He was still trying to process Dogfight's reaction to this tiny, insignificant speck of a mech. Dogfight was hugging his rifle now, chanting, “No... no...”

“It means I taste-test everything first and if there's something wrong with it, we know right away, cuz I'm so small!” Toaster pounded a tiny fist into a tiny palm. “Unsung hero!”

Soundwave displayed a single firework on his visor accompanied by a wheezing party horn.

“That's more like it! Finally, some appreciation around here. Let's get started.” Toaster motioned at the ceiling and a holographic monitor floated down. It displayed numbers and recipes. “Every morning you pour 1000 regular-sized cubes, 200 big cubes, and 200 gigantic cubes.” Toaster pointed to racks stuffed with silicone molds. The “gigantic” cubes were regular-sized for Soundwave. The “regular” cubes were mini. “I do a nice variety of healthy and concentrated flavors every day. And, of course, to keep the complaints down, ya gotta make some candy.” His field gave out a wave of anger. “Someone keeps breaking into here after-hours and stealing it all! When I find out who, I'm gonna wrap my coils around their thick necks!!” Toaster held his little hands out, miming strangulation. “Cooking is an art, Soundwave! An art!”

Dogfight gave out a faint whimper.

“You have your regulars, right, that's like 98% of the ship. Then your specials. That's you and the other alt-dimensioners. The dispenser is preprogrammed with your additives. You do the crew cubes first, then the special cubes for Trailbreaker, Ambulon, and Mirage. And you. I color coded them so they don't get mixed up with the regular food. Trailbreaker is green, Ambulon is red, Mirage is blue, and you're purple.”

Toaster strutted around, demanding Soundwave to pull down this and that. The kitchen was optimized for mechs of average Lost Light height. Soundwave had to duck to maneuver and his broad arms smacked into things constantly: pots and pans hanging up, carts and racks, glass vessels suspended from the ceiling for reasons he could not divine. Even his winglets caught in a tangle of flexible tubes leading from the main energon line down to the additive processor.

Toaster talked endlessly, baseless, ludicrous claims that Soundwave did not believe. “I'm a triple changer, you know. But I've sworn to Ultra Magnus to never reveal my third mode. You think you're the only one with secrets? Hah! There are things I know about Megatron no one else on this ship knows. Except Magnus. Cuz I told him. Stop dribbling the mix everywhere! What, you think we got an infinite supply?! I survived the DJD once.”

After the past few days of intense physical labor, the energon pouring was no great burden. But Toaster was so irritating, Soundwave found himself fantasizing about scraping barnacles with Hoist. The glorious silence. One of the barnacles was Toaster-shaped. Soundwave flung it into the vastness of space.

smack!

“What're you doing?” cried Toaster. He grabbed Soundwave's arm. “Mixing additives one and three?? Follow the recipe! Can't you read?! It goes one, two, three. Uuuuuughhhhhhh. Go pull down the gigantic molds. I'll do this. No, not those molds! Read the labels! NO not those molds either!!”

And it was then that Soundwave realized why working with Toaster was in the tier one chore cycle, despite not being particularly physically demanding. He glanced over at Dogfight. Dogfight was covering his audials with his hands. The heat ray rifle leaned against the wall beside him.

if i could reach the rifle-

“AAIEE!!” shrieked Toaster. “Who taught you how to mix?? Acid into energon, never energon into acid! Even a protoform knows that! Look at the fumes!” He waved his hands at the rising white mist. “I'll have to dump this whole batch! You're worse than Mirage. I can't believe I actually get to say that! I didn't think it could happen. Worse than Mirage. Just imagine. I need to adjust my ranking board!” Toaster clapped. A hologram shivered into view.

WorSt MecHs EveR was hand-scribbled above a ranked list of mechs' pictures and names.

“Hah! There! You're number one now!”

The picture of Mirage dropped down a spot. Soundwave's picture appeared in the number one place. In order, the worst mechs on the Lost Light at making energon to Toaster's specifications were: Soundwave, Mirage, Spinister, Rodimus, Whirl, Grimlock, and Siren. The list continued, though thankfully Toaster did not scroll down.

“Hurry up! If the cubes are late for the first shift, you'll really hear it!” Toaster scampered around, yelping and waving his arms. “The fourth batch is done! Get it, get it! No, not now. Finish what you're doing, first!” Toaster ran across the counter, dodging bowls and spoons, and took a great, flying leap right for Soundwave. Before Soundwave could react, Toaster parkoured off his arms and landed on the additive processor. “Ugh! There's no time to show you how this works today! I'll have to show you tomorrow!” He scaled down its side, punching buttons at lightning speed. The machine churned to life. The tubes above filled with energon.

“Tomorrow?” repeated Soundwave.

“Yeah! Didn't anyone explain the chore cycle to you? Some chores get done once a month or once a week or whatever, but this one needs to be done every day. So any day you don't have another chore scheduled, you come here!”

no!

Soundwave dropped the bowl he was holding and grabbed Toaster.

“Ack!! Put me down, you overgrown-”

fweeeeEEE~

The sound of a weapon powering up. Soundwave snapped his helm over to Dogfight. He was on the floor, leaning against the wall, wings twitching. The end of the heat ray rifle was smoking, spitting little red sparks. “I like him better than I like you, Decepticon. And that's really saying something.”

Soundwave set Toaster down, but not before giving him a painful squeeze.

“-hhk! Ouch!!” Toaster smacked Soundwave's fingers. Soundwave hissed. “Just for that, you're ladling the candy molds one by one!!!”

“Oh god,” said Dogfight. He slumped back, though the rifle remained trained on Soundwave. “The candy molds.”

Hours later, Soundwave emerged from the kitchen in a daze, covered in spatters of fresh energon, audials buzzing. Dogfight stumbled behind him, heat ray rifle forgotten. They plunked down into chairs and stared at each other.

“You should have shot me,” said Soundwave.

“You don't deserve it.”

It was a statement that could go two ways. Soundwave didn't have the wherewithal to analyze it.

They were still staring in blissful silence five minutes later when Rodimus appeared. “Hello!” Soundwave winced away from him. “If you tell me where the 0001 energon is, I'll let you scrape barnacles tomorrow instead of going back to the kitchen!”

For just a moment, Soundwave entertained the idea of telling him. He could just... tell Rodimus and the promise of Toaster tomorrow would be nullified.

But only for tomorrow.

And dark energon was forever.

Soundwave shook himself from his stupor. The dark energon. He didn't have a plan yet, but he would soon. He just knew it. Recent memories came back to him: Whirl betting the Punching Things Club room, Brainstorm's gift with expectations. Together, he could do something with that. There was a plan there-

“Soundwave? Hello?”

“Memory corrupted,” said Soundwave resignedly.

Rodimus gave him a look of grave disappointment. “You know,” he said, his voice taking on a bit of an edge. “You know...” He glanced at Dogfight. He made a fist. “There are things we could do, Soundwave. We won't, because they're unethical. But the option's always there, and I hate to admit it, but sometimes the temptation to call Chromedome gets a little bit stronger than I'd like.” Rodimus took a deep breath. He blinked. “Is that what it's like to be Megatron?”

“Please,” burbled Dogfight. His field was ragged. Drool seeped from the corners of his mouth. “I've been awake for two days straight. Please can I go back to my hab suite and die?”

“Dismissed,” said Rodimus.

Dogfight tumbled away. Rodimus took his place. He set his hands on the table, palms down. “Soundwave.”

Soundwave gave out a faint, staticky noise.

“It's not in the med bay. It's not in the hab suites, the command decks, the bridge. The cargo bays, the oil reservoir, the engine room, the fuel rod containment cages. It's not in the rec center. It wasn't jettisoned out into space. Where is the 0001 energon?”

Soundwave played a clip of Toaster. “AAIEE!!”

Rodimus scrunched his eyes shut. “God, that's just... that's horrible.”

Soundwave laughed inwardly. Behind Rodimus, Dogfight trotted sheepishly back towards the kitchen and grabbed his heat ray gun.

“Fine,” said Rodimus. “I hope you're in the mood for classical music. Tonight's socialization event is a very special recital.”

“AAIEE!!”

The only good thing about the venue was that it was properly dark, like the Nemesis had been. Also, the seating. It was comfortable. Mostly.

Soundwave was wedged between Rodimus and Ultra Magnus on a large, squishy bench. The room was toward the top of the ship, lined with blue and pink neon. The word “Visages” glowed on one wall. There was a bar. Bluestreak and Swerve were behind it, busy mixing drinks out of crates labeled “Swerve's” they'd brought in with them. Mechs lounged around, talking softly, sipping from fluted glasses.

Judging by various holes in the walls, the seating seemed to have been ripped up from its original placement and arranged in a half circle around a makeshift stage. A good number of the Lost Light crew were there, including Megatron and Whirl, who both glared at Soundwave.

Soundwave found that he did not care. Not with the apathy he had had before his emotion-suppressing protocols had failed, but with the apathy of exhaustion. The lack of sleep, coupled with the excitement of exploring the dimensional data and the pain of enduring Toaster's shrill direction, had settled into his frame like lead. Soundwave didn't care what Megatron-the-traitor and Whirl thought. He didn't care about anything except getting back to his hab suite.

Cyclonus stood from his place next to Tailgate. He walked onto the center of the stage. Mechs hushed and sat back. Without an introduction, Cyclonus raised his arms gracefully and began.

“UNDERRRR THE SKIESSS OF LUNA ONNNNNE-”

Soundwave jolted. The volume! Rodimus snickered beside him. Ultra Magnus gave both of them his most withering glare. Across the way, Tailgate clapped and sang along.

“-THE WARRIOR GOD HAD COME UNDONNNNNE-”

Soundwave winced. This was terrible. What manner of self-proclaimed “strong spark” dared to produce such noise! Soundwave couldn't imagine what it was like without the slight muting effect of the signal blockers. He looked around the room. Half the mechs were wincing and the other half were failing to hide their winces. Megatron and Ultra Magnus's countenances were stony and impenetrable. Only Tailgate looked delighted. Trailbreaker, far, far in the back of the room, in the deepest shadows, had a small, glowing bubble around his head.

Something obviously had to be done about this. Soundwave wasn't inclined to endure any more of it. Especially from Cyclonus.

ksss-krak!

From somewhere near the bar came the sound of glass shattering. Swerve and Bluestreak jumped. “That's glass!” said Swerve. “Glass breaking!”

ksss-krak!

Swerve waved his arms at Bluestreak. “Protect the glasses!”

Bluestreak uncertainly glanced around. “Which ones are breaking?”

“I don't know but they're irreplaceable! Cyclonus!” yelled Swerve. “Shut up, would you! You're breaking the glassware!”

“CYBERTONNNNN- hmm?” Cyclonus gracefully lowered his arms. And glowered.

Swerve stood on the bar. “Everyone! What's breaking? They said it couldn't be done but I think it's finally happened! Cyclonus has ascended to a higher resonant power! Everyone's windshields okay? Someone check the neon bulbs!”

Everyone looked around in confusion. Mechs patted their chests, headlights, biolights. “Are my biolights okay?” Bluestreak asked, blinking them at Whirl.

“Yeesh! Warn a mech before you blink like that! You owe me a drink, now.”

fools

Rodimus was looking at Soundwave suspiciously. “Soundwave...?”

“Rodimus.”

“It was Soundwave,” said Megatron.

“Negative.” Soundwave shook his helm. Cyclonus leveled a red-eyed gaze at him. Soundwave's shoulders shook. Just the tiniest bit.

“That's not funny!” cried Tailgate.

“Negative,” said Soundwave. “It is very funny.” His visor lit up with an oscillating wave as ksss-krak! sounded across the room.

Rodimus made an uncaptainly snort. “Knnchht.” He coughed. “Ah. Ahem. I mean.” He elbowed Soundwave's arm. “Let the mech sing in peace. That's an order.”

“He destroys peace,” said Soundwave. He pointed to himself. “Towards Peace.” He pointed at Cyclonus. “Away from peace.”

Complete silence descended on the room.

Megatron glared.

Swerve gave a jutting laugh. “Awkward.”

“Yeah,” said Rodimus.

The silence stretched and stretched, mechs looking uncomfortably at and away from each other, until-

“I had tentacles once,” piped up Bluestreak brightly. “Scorponok turned me into a sparkeater.”

Soundwave tilted his helm. Rodimus burst out laughing. Swerve joined him.

“What?” Bluestreak shouted, over their laughter. “It's true!” He hunched into himself. “I'm trying to talk about something we have in common! Make a connection! None of the rest of you have tried!”

A deep, growling sound came from Cyclonus. Rodimus and Swerve coughed and ahem'd their way back to composure.

“Please, continue,” said Rodimus graciously.

Cyclonus gave them all a terrible, sweeping glare and raised his arms again.

For the first time in all his life, Soundwave turned his audials completely off. Normally such a thing was unspeakable, unthinkable. But he could no longer sense communications, vital or otherwise. He could not concern himself with missing them, or with what his Megatron might want at this particular moment, wherever he was. All Soundwave wanted was to return to his hab suite and find patterns in the dimensional data library. Such a want was appropriate to the circumstances, did not require auditory input, and would further his goals in the long run. Cyclonus's deep voice rattled the signal blockers against his antennae, but he could deal with that. Beside him, Rodimus stared straight ahead, the hint of a smile on his lips.

Chapter Text

bam! bam!

On the fifth day of the tier one chore cycle, Soundwave met the Security Team's final member, Strafe. He was a white and red mech with a red face, a blue visor, and wings. He carried a heat ray rifle. In fact, it was his heat ray rifle that Dogfight had had the day before. On the way to the cafeteria, Strafe recounted the tale of Dogfight's mistaken, drunken theft multiple times, each iteration more outlandish than the last. Soundwave ignored him.

What could he do to get out of this? Soundwave didn't have his tentacles, his antennae, his arms... he could beat Strafe over the head with the flat of his arms, hope that stunned the mech long enough for him to sweep his legs out from under him, try to grab the gun, and kill him. And then...? Run away and hide somewhere on the ship? Try to sneak into the kitchen at night to get the energon specially formulated for him? Try to remove the cuffs- maybe there was a powerful, unguarded energy source somewhere he could rub them against? Try to remove the signal blockers- maybe he could do it in a way that didn't completely overwhelm him and remind him of all the things he used to be-

No. He needed a plan that was achievable by the chronically tired and emotionally downtrodden.

At the cafeteria door, Soundwave went limp. He fell to the floor. He flopped his limbs out in every direction.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” Strafe nudged him with his foot.

“Gyroscopic malfunction. Cannot stand,” said Soundwave.

“Yeah, right. Get up.”

“Negative.”

“Do it!”

“Unable to comply.”

Strafe powered up the heat ray rifle. “Everyone does this their second day with Toaster. Spare me. Your gyroscopes are probably top of the fucking line, you aerial. Get up.”

Soundwave just flopped harder.

Strafe sighed. He aimed the heat ray rifle. fweeEEE- “Last chance, Decepticon.”

“Negati-”

FWOOSH!

Soundwave rolled out of the way just in time. Heat seared across his back. His dorsal spines protested. A fireball went up beside him. Smoke filled the air in rising currents. A tiny ring of lights on the ceiling turned red.

“Fire detected!”

With an audial-shearing BEEEEEEEEEEP the fire alarm went off. Water sprayed from the ceiling over Soundwave and Strafe. The heat ray gun sparked. Strafe swore and powered it down.

“Look what you made me do!” yelled Strafe. “Fucking hell, now I've got Hot Spot on the line.” He slammed his hand against his own audial. “No, there's no fire! It's perfectly fine! The Decepticon did it!”

Soundwave pushed himself to his knees. It was very difficult, given that his arms were cuffed and the floor was slick with water. “Liar.”

“Liar, am I? Whose gyroscopes aren't working?”

Soundwave flopped down to the floor again.

“Fucking hell.” Strafe threw the gun aside, grabbed Soundwave's foot, and dragged him through the puddles into the kitchen.

Agonizing hours later, Soundwave stumbled out of the kitchen to find Ultra Magnus waiting for him in the cafeteria.

“Oh, I know what this means.” Strafe's wings bobbed. His field gave out a wave of schadenfreude. “Please, do me one favor, sir. Don't put him in the courtesy chair.”

“All mechs are offered the courtesy chair,” said Ultra Magnus. “I shall take it from here. Strafe, report to Hot Spot for weapons confiscation and to assist with rewiring the fire alarm system. You should know better than to use a heat ray rifle inside the ship.” Strafe scoffed and stomped away. “Soundwave, follow me.”

Ultra Magnus led a circuitous route to an area of the ship Soundwave hadn't been to before. “As part of your socialization, you are required to attend at least one night at every club aboard the Lost Light. If you find you have a particular inclination for one, you are welcome to attend again. This will introduce you to the crew in a constructive and personal manner. Tonight, you have the distinct pleasure of attending my club.”

Soundwave almost had another gyroscopic attack. Ultra Magnus's enormous gun arm kept him from succumbing. “What... club?”

With grave and intense pride, Ultra Magnus said, “Precision Manufacturing Club.”

The club room was a workshop: sturdy benches, big monitors, tools of every kind, saws and lasers, raw materials. Everything was perfectly clean and polished. Sheets of metal were organized by color and size. Little boxes of screws and nails were meticulously labeled and placed in neat rows. The central monitor displayed images of a hexagonal structure and a fuzzy green insect with stumpy wings. There was only one object in the room that felt wildly out of place: a plush chair with a very high back. And restraints.

Unlike the two clubs Soundwave had attended so far, there were no other mechs present.

“I find the fastidious blueprinting and manufacturing of functional three dimensional objects for office spaces most rewarding,” said Ultra Magnus. “To that end, do you recognize the insect on the monitor?”

“Negative.”

“That is the rrlexû, an insect from Verdana #33, dimension 0128. As Rodimus found you on your Earth, you may be familiar with its analogous insect: the bee.”

Soundwave displayed a clip of Bumblebee.

Ultra Magnus frowned, studying the clip. “An unusual Bumblebee. Unsurprising, given our dimensional differences. And yes, the name choice is a point of some amusement across the multiverse. But I digress. The rrlexû is a pollinating insect that I feel quite the kinship to.”

Soundwave felt that the kinship between an organic insect and a large metal war machine ought to be nonexistent, and that that ought to be common sense to any mech with half a processor.

“The rrlexû is a small, green, hard-working unit that resides within a larger hive of identical units. It spends its life meticulously gathering materials and constructing precisely-made structures. Every step it takes, every mote of wax it painstakingly shapes, is done methodically and with great purpose.” Ultra Magnus pointed to the hexagonal diagram. “This is a nearly mathematically perfect use of three dimensional space within the confines of the rrlexû's particular environmental and societal needs. I think the parallel is clear.”

It was not.

“Tonight we will be machining a blueprint I've spent the past few weeks perfecting. It is a hexagonal tube closed off on one end by a base.” Ultra Magnus waved. The monitors brought up a blueprint covered in measurements done out to the ten-thousandth decimal place. “The keen eye will notice that this structure can hold up to five regulation-sized styluses. It will be a welcome addition to my desk.”

To Soundwave's right was a machine, a saw of some kind. Partway up its frame was a dent.

“Each measurement on the blueprint was verified for accuracy by laser model fifteen hundred times. Measure fifteen hundred times, cut once, I always say.” Ultra Magnus strapped on a set of heavy-duty goggles.

The dent had barely-discernible streaks of paint in it. Red, blue, white, black. Every color.

“The machines we will be using tonight have already been calibrated. I don't mean to deprive you of the joy of following the manuals to the very last letter, but I am aware of the time constraints. We will be starting on page 16i of chapter one of Millertron Radial/Beam Laser Saw Type 7 (Models 3552-01, 3552-02) Manual: Suitable For All Common Workshop Metals, Available in Thirteen Languages. You may have already noticed that I have alphabetized the metals. I found a mistranslation in Vosnian Dialect III, however, so to reduce the chances of a mishap, I have a duplicate set of metals ordered according to a scholarly interpretation of the transliterated alphabet used at the time of publishing. Sadly, I am unable to download manufacturer updates to my manual, as we have left the dimension.”

The dent was up off the floor the same distance as the height of an average Lost Light mech.

“The most important rule of precision manufacturing is to never trust your instincts. You must follow the directions exactly.” Ultra Magnus reset his vocalizer and read aloud: “To run laser saw in normal mode: 1a) Ensure all wires and conduits are free of impingement and damage. Check. 1b) Flip the main power switch up to turn on the power.” clunk. “Check. 2) Wait until the energon lines fill halfway and the green light is steady. The red light must be off before proceeding. Check. 3) Pull the Start/Stop lever into the Stop position, if it is not already so. Check. 4) Set laser saw blade into position. WARNING: for model 3552-01, move mirror backstop to the rearmost position to prevent breakage. Model 3552-02 mirror backstop is mounted on a spring and will move with the laser saw blade as needed. Check. 5) Position the metal sheet and ensure it is tightly clamped to the table. We recommend Millertron brand clamps, but any 14-21x7 clamp will do. WARNING: although the laser saw blade has been calibrated in-factory to reduce shrapnel spray, protective gear should be worn over optics and/or visors and any other glasslike frame materials. Check. 6) Pull the Start/Stop lever into the Start position. WARNING: the laser saw blade-”

Soundwave walked over to the saw and slammed his head against it. A new dent formed above the preexisting one.

“Ah,” said Ultra Magnus. “That's my fault. I was swept away with excitement. I should have offered you the courtesy chair from the beginning.” He pulled Soundwave over to the plush chair and strapped him in. “Where were we? WARNING: the laser saw blade-”

Soundwave banged his head against the worn cushioning. It didn't help with the pain of precision manufacturing.

And so it went.

Every morning Soundwave was rudely awakened by a disgruntled Security Team mech. Soundwave decided Boss was his least-hated escort. He was quieter and less retaliatory than the others. Every day Soundwave worked. Every evening (except after barnacle scraping) he attended a socialization event. Every night he pored over the dimensional library data.

Though Soundwave had toiled for weeks, he still hadn't completed an entire chore cycle. His existence was an exhausting gauntlet of cleaning, scraping, cooking, cleaning, ferrying materials from one location to another, cooking, scraping, and cooking. Roughly half his labor time was spent with Toaster. Soundwave learned how to read his lips and body language so he could turn his audials off.

Soundwave had so far endured: one recital, another Movie Night with the minibots (“Alien,” “Alien vs Predator”), two poetry readings, one play, one musical, one dance party and two theme parties (“Worst Dimension Adventure,” where Swerve had won the costume contest with an anti-matter shark outfit that accidentally burst into flame, and “Holoavatar Night,” where for some godforsaken reason everyone showed up as hardlight humans. Soundwave had gone as a xenomorph and hunted and chomped the other avatars until he was kicked out).

He still hadn't made his way through all the clubs, but aside from the weekly Most Recents Club meetings, attended meetings so far included: Painting With Grotusque, Holographic Knitting Club led by Xaaron, Tactichess Club led by Nautica, and Dart Club led by Ambulon. Not a word was spoken about Whirl's Punching Things Club. There had been a mischievous day shadowing Blaster at his announcer duties. There had been a less amusing day trailing behind Rodimus, wherein Soundwave suffered wave after crashing wave of false cheerfulness from the mech's field.

The imminent supernova star got closer and closer: Soundwave saw it while scraping barnacles or cleaning communications towers and windows. He wished he could tap into the ship's systems. Someone was going to do something about that, right? Soundwave had no love for the Lost Light, but he knew he needed it to survive. He needed it to get home.

His emotions leveled off over the weeks. His base state was a begrudging, unhappy, temporary acceptance of the situation. No longer constantly angry, he was too tired for that, but still quick to anger. His plating was scraped and discolored by the toll of the chore cycle, unable to be fixed by the medics. None of the specialists felt particularly inclined to research metals or paint for him. Laserbeak twitched against him constantly. It hadn't been permitted off his body since before the incident. His tentacles rattled in their housing, cramped and restless with disuse. Unlike in the shadowzone, Soundwave was well-fed, and the discomfort was more acute than if he had drained them and wound them away.

Throughout it all, Rodimus asked him, “Where is the 0001 energon?” and Soundwave always answered, “Memory corrupted.”

The only thing keeping him sane was the dimensional library data. Something inside him spurred him forward, steadfastly assuring him there was something to be found in it. Soundwave pored through the data, memorizing the layouts of the nodes, the differences between dimension types, searching for patterns.

And after weeks of searching, he finally realized what he had found:

nothing

There was nothing. Nothing to be found. Not with his processor the way it was now. Soundwave clicked the hologram off and stared into the dark, empty space it left behind.

Before, it took mere minutes to determine that data was random. Soundwave remembered what it felt like to take in the 11 dimensional model of the multiverse in a single glance, to understand its organization in an instant. The ability was truly gone.

To make matters worse, his protocols were degrading. Not only had his emotion-suppressing protocols failed, the data-processing protocols he had used to sort through reams and reams of data were regressing and simplifying. They no longer responded to any data he gave them. They responded to nothing at all. Soundwave had demanded that Ambulon scan him. Rodimus had ordered Ratchet to do it instead and it had been confirmed: Soundwave's processor was changing. It was not deadly or indicative of any particular disease. It was just... changing. Ratchet said it was to be expected and embraced. Soundwave had hoped finding a pattern in the dimensional library data would slow the change, but he could not find anything. In fact, it seemed like the more he looked at the data, the worse the regression became.

The twin pangs of anger and disappointment curled inside him. All this time! Wasted! All the dreams of data, all the data before him, and he couldn't assemble anything from them! And that dark energon he kept secret, what use was that to him? He could not think up a single achievable application for it! Soundwave threw himself to his feet. He would take the chair and smash the window open. He'd fling himself out into the horrible vastness of space and be done with it all-

knock knock

That was Rodimus. He was the only mech who didn't bang on the door. Soundwave stalked over. He glared down at the Autobot.

Rodimus's smile faltered. His yellow spoiler dipped up and down. “So angry. What's wrong?”

Soundwave's processor raced with all the scathing answers he could give. Before he could say a word, Rodimus gingerly reached out and touched his arm. Soundwave snatched it away.

“Primus, you're wound up. Today's socialization is just what you need. Something soothing to calm you down.”

“What is it?” asked Soundwave, preparing himself for an influx of irritation.

Rodimus grinned. “We're visiting Drift.”

Soundwave screamed inwardly during the entire walk to Drift's hab suite. He expressed this on the outside with a glowering, looming pace that Rodimus laughed off.

no. no! incompetent. irritating. illogical. nonsensical!

Soundwave recalled with clear agony the long conversation he'd had with Drift before the incident. A constant barrage of meaningless, absurd words. The most useless ex-Decepticon in the multiverse. The few times Soundwave had seen him since the incident, Drift acted in his flaky, flighty way around others. But when they weren't looking, his eyes flashed, he bared his teeth at Soundwave, and touched the hilts at his hips.

Rodimus stopped outside the door festooned with metal flowers and curlicues. He knocked. “We're here!”

The door slid open. “Welcome,” said Drift.

The room was what Soundwave remembered: white walls adorned with various things, shelves and shelves of crystals. But this time, there was no music or faint discordant ringing from the crystals. Like stifling humidity pressing upon the plating, the room was saturated with sound. Not even the signal blockers could muffle it. Soundwave flinched. Rodimus didn't react. Either he couldn't hear it, or he didn't care. Soundwave tilted his head back and forth, trying to identify the noise and its origin. After a moment, he determined it was dozens of tiny, clashing sounds weaving together into a nauseating cacophony.

“What can I do for you?” asked Drift. His smile was pointedly directed at Rodimus.

“We're here for meditative guidance,” said Rodimus. “Soundwave is... the opposite of relaxed.”

“You don't say.” Drift thought for a moment, idly strumming the hilt at his left hip with a finger. “I know just the thing! We'll alter the energy of the room to something more soothing.” He grabbed various crystals off the shelves. “Please, sit.”

Rodimus sat. Soundwave remained standing. He displayed the discordant noise on his visor in jagged sine waves. It made him uneasy, as if he were in the sights of an invisible enemy. Laserbeak fluttered against his chest. The irises to his tentacles swirled open and closed.

“What's wrong, Soundwave?” asked Drift. “Besides the obvious, I mean.” He approached, holding up a milky pink crystal. “This is one of my favorites. It promotes inner peace. Hold it! It'll calm that dark aura of yours.”

As the crystal neared, one of the many discordant sounds in the room got louder. Soundwave realized that it was the crystals making the noise. He backed away, shaking his head. The light shielding around his torso felt tight. Laserbeak twitched and transmitted a message along a priority line. Soundwave couldn't parse it. Between the stress of the chores, the irritation, and the noise, his processor couldn't do it. Laserbeak sent the data again, tagged with urgency.

It was dots.

It was lines.

i have seen this before-

Drift placed the crystal into Soundwave's fingers. The crystal was shaking. No, his arms were shaking. Laserbeak rattled against him. The light shielding was so tight, so tight. It was muting the world, darkening the world. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear. He had to break free. The irises to his tentacles spiraled open and they pummeled the light shield. Spak! Spak!

“Soundwave, stop-”

“What're you doing-”

Spak! Spak! Spak! Spak!

FZZT!

With a cry, Soundwave's tentacles burst through the light shielding. Shards of hardlight sprayed outwards and vanished. His tentacles unraveled in a fury of undulations. The crystal slipped from Soundwave's fingers. His tendrils caught it. They wrapped around it greedily. Sensory data raced into Soundwave's processor. The room around him faded away as his mental landscape exploded into latticework. Dots and lines, thousands of them. The nodes were stars, or were they atoms? Filaments of light connected them, vibrating like strings-

It was the crystal. He could see its structure. He could hear it. He could feel it, down to the spaces between its atoms. The crystal was made of two tones, off-key, clashing together, trapped within the latticework. They had a melody, and the melody was ugly. But he could correct it! It would be simple. Soundwave saw how the strings connected. He could fix it. He wanted nothing more than to fix it and stop it from being so loud and fundamentally wrong-

Soundwave's spark sent out light. It flashed along the inside of his chest, useless. It tried again. Soundwave made an agonized sound. What was it doing? Someone called his name. The room rematerialized around him. Rodimus and Drift were aghast, looking from his visor to his tentacles. “Spark,” Soundwave said. “Aberration.” Warm hands grabbed his arms. The crystal's horrible noise pierced his brain. His spark sent out another flash of light. It hurt. Just like so long ago, when-

when-

spark, trying to communicate with primary tentacle!

But there was no primary tentacle. Nowhere for the light to funnel to. Soundwave's spark flashed again. Rodimus and Drift were shouting, asking what was wrong, but Soundwave couldn't answer. He could barely understand what was happening. The light! It had to go somewhere! In desperation, he retracted the glass circle over his spark. Better for the light to shine out into the room than stay shut up inside. Laserbeak shuddered. It rearranged its docking structures and settled into the round space. Soundwave's spark sent out light again. Laserbeak absorbed it. Its biolights turned brilliant white. Energy shot from it into Soundwave's lines, down his tentacles, through his tendrils, into the crystal-

CRACK!

The crystal snapped. Its horrible noise ceased, replaced by two faint, pure tones. The pressure in his processor subsided and Soundwave slumped. His tentacles fell, draping across everything around him.

“Hey!” Drift's field flashed with indignity and hurt. “Why did you do that!”

Soundwave couldn't answer. The constellations of his dreams rose in his mind's eye, bright and shining. The data they weaved settled into place. The answer had been buried for millions of years by the emotion-suppressing and data-processing protocols. The answer was the resonance between the atoms. Now memories soared like mountains, surrounding him, glittering with thousands of facets of light and sound and emotion. Laserbeak and his spark were communicating directly-

like they used to-

Soundwave couldn't fully grasp it- was it light/sound, or was it energy/structure? There was too much. His spark felt like it was exploding. His processor felt like it was imploding. The protocols that had changed had not regressed, they had returned to what they were before. What once had organized and sifted through reams and reams of data realigned itself. Now the world was swept up and suspended, organized in a new way. Not lists, but hovering clusters arranged in crystalline structures in his mind.

His processor felt clearer. The room became more manageable. Soundwave's tendrils wiggled, sensing anew. Everything was bright and loud. He couldn't take it all in at once. The crystals on the shelves still made hideous sounds, but he understood them now. Sort of. The sounds were packed away in hundreds of identified or identifiable labeled sensations. Memories surfaced. He knew these notes. He knew the shapes of the crystals that held them-

Drift snatched one of the crystal halves from his tendrils. “That was the only one of its kind I had! Oh.” Drift boggled at it, his field awash in shock.

“What the hell just happened?” asked Rodimus, loud and close. Soundwave realized he was leaning against the Autobot for support. His tentacles had fallen and caught between Rodimus's spoiler and shoulders. Rodimus's paint was high quality, glossy and smooth against Soundwave's biolights. Soundwave pulled himself hastily away.

“I don't... I don't know,” said Drift. He held up his crystal piece.

Soundwave held his piece up next to it. The crystal had broken, but not cleanly in half. It had split along strange, interlocking layers, an impossible jumble of thick spines that had somehow separated without shattering.

Drift stared into his piece like it was a tiny utopia in his palm. “Its harmonizing power is gone.”

“That was not harmony,” said Soundwave. His spark spun. Laserbeak ruffled against him. Soundwave vented quickly. He needed to explain this. His processor hummed, trying to translate all the feelings and shapes into something concrete and measurable.

“But it feels like... it feels like...” Drift closed his eyes and brought the crystal close to his chest. “It feels like a tiny piece of cheerfulness.”

“What?” Rodimus inched closer. “It looks clearer now.”

“Affirmative. The...” Soundwave struggled for the right word. essence, concentration, nature, elemental substance... None of them were right. He chose the simplest word to describe it. “The sound trapped in the crystal structure has been corrected.”

“Huh?” said Rodimus.

“You changed the aura of the crystal?” breathed Drift.

“Negative. The resonance.” Soundwave displayed equations on his visor, half-formed. Drift and Rodimus stared at him blankly. Soundwave tried again. Dots appeared, joined by lines, the latticework he had seen in the crystal. Colorful shapes hovered inside it.

Drift looked thoughtful. Rodimus took the crystal from him. “Whoa! It does feel like cheerfulness! Why?” He tossed it from hand to hand, grinning.

This answer, at least, was obvious. “Your field receptors are activated by the resonance of the crystal,” said Soundwave. “Your field receptors detect the frequency and send its signal to your processor. Your processor interprets it as an emotion.”

“The aura,” repeated Drift in breathless wonder.

“No,” said Soundwave. “The frequency.”

“Do all crystals have emotions?” asked Rodimus.

“Negative,” said Soundwave. “They do not have emotion. They resonate. You interpret the-”

“Could you put an emotion into a crystal??” asked Rodimus.

Soundwave answered without thinking. “Affirmative.” Curiosity blossomed inside him as he realized that was true. If he could figure out what the hell had just happened between his spark and Laserbeak, why couldn't he? He tilted his helm. “Must determine protocol for imbuing crystal with specific resonance.”

“Ignition,” said Drift reverently. His expression softened.

“Ignition,” repeated Soundwave. “I used to... know how...”

“Would you teach me?”

“Negative.”

Drift scoffed. “Why not?”

Laserbeak fluttered against Soundwave's chest. “You cannot learn.”

“I can learn-”

Rodimus put his hand up. “Wait,” he said. “I think Soundwave means that literally.”

“Affirmative.”

“I think he's an outlier,” said Rodimus.

“Oh,” Drift sighed. “That makes sense. 0001 Soundwave was, too, wasn't he?”

A red flag flashed in Soundwave's processor. Among all the strange, new data in his mind, Mirage's picture popped up. “Define: outlier.”

“Someone who can do special stuff,” said Rodimus. “Like... like abilities most mechs don't have.”

“Example,” demanded Soundwave.

“A mech who can touch a crystal and break it apart into cheerfulness and”—Rodimus grabbed the other half of the crystal—“contentment.”

“Different example,” demanded Soundwave.

“Uh,” said Drift. “Do you remember when you... you know...” He waved his hands around. “Tried to kill us all and Trailbreaker put up a force field around the Scavengers? He's an outlier. He can make force fields.”

That explained a few things. “Understood.”

“You never know who could be an outlier,” said Rodimus. He winked.

“Define: Mirage's outlier ability.”

“He can-” started Drift.

“Ah, ah,” said Rodimus. “Why don't you ask him that yourself? It'll help you make friends.”

Soundwave made an unamused hissing sound and flicked his tentacles dismissively. Rodimus and Drift tensed, as if they just remembered who they were with. They retracted their fields and sank into defensive postures.

“You have to put the tentacles away now,” said Rodimus.

“Negative,” said Soundwave. They undulated, freer than they had been in millions of years.

“Trust me,” said Drift, gripping the swords at his hips. “It would be infinitely better for you to put them away and advocate for their permanent release later, than fight us now.”

Anger flared through Soundwave. “Inhumane.”

“Are they the eyes and ears of your spark?” asked Rodimus. Drift shot him a look of utter surprise.

“Uncertain.”

“That was uncharacteristically poetic, Rodimus,” said Drift.

“That was my first. They are my second and third.”

Sshhlnnk. One of Drift's swords was slowly pulled from its sheath. “Put them away now.”

“Negative.” Soundwave's tendrils flitted from crystal to crystal. Latticeworks burst in his mind, each with its own resonance. He yearned to study them, understand them more completely, explore this strange, new universe of information. Soundwave flashed a clip of Rodimus up on his visor. “But maybe we could try a little trust exercise.”

Rodimus and Drift looked at each other. Drift tilted his head. Rodimus blinked. They were having a comm'd conversation.

“Under what conditions?” asked Rodimus carefully.

Soundwave held up his cuffed arms and wiggled his tentacles. “Time not bound, to study new ability. I will not attack. You will not attack.”

“Promise?” said Rodimus.

Soundwave played the word back to him. “Promise.” He stood completely still. Rodimus uncuffed his arms. Soundwave plucked a green crystal from the shelf. His tendrils roved over it.

“Will you show us what you're doing?” asked Rodimus.

Soundwave's visor flashed. Crystal structures appeared, dots and lines connected. As his tendrils moved, the image scrolled around the crystal. “I knew this structure, before the war. I knew this...”

Drift's hand relaxed from his sword. “What does that one feel like to you?”

“Amalgamation. Undirected. Unignited. Natural crystal.” It spun in his tendrils. “Field receptors interpret it as... dismissal of woes.”

“Yeah,” said Drift. “Close enough. Wow. That crystal is used for recovery. Letting go of pain.”

“Messy,” said Soundwave. “There is a better configuration for that resonance.”

“Really??” Drift ran to his shelf. “This one? Or maybe this one?”

Soundwave shook his head. “No. Ignition required.”

“What does that mean?” asked Rodimus. He rubbed a crystal on his arm. “Why can't I feel this one? I felt the cheerful one.”

“You're not in tune with your aura,” said Drift smugly.

“Negative,” said Soundwave. “Heightened field receptor sensitivity required for impure specimens.” He wished they would shut up. He wanted to properly study the crystal he held.

“I have an idea,” said Drift. “I'm going to the oil reservoir. And maybe to see Brainstorm. Soundwave! Don't break any more of my crystals! If you do, I'll never let you touch one again.”

damn

“Understood.”

Drift launched himself out of the room. Rodimus shrugged and flopped down into a chair. He grabbed a game controller. At the click of a button, part of the wall pulled aside, revealing a monitor.

Soundwave ignored the game and Rodimus's ensuing shouts and swears. He gathered a bunch of crystals together. They were all different colors and sizes. Soundwave methodically took them in his tendrils, running over every crevice and facet. Crystalline shapes appeared in his processor with a strange deja vu, as if they'd always belonged there but had only recently come home. With every new lattice, he understood a bit more of what he was sensing. There was so much complexity to even the simplest crystal. For the sake of organizational ease, he constructed his own nomenclature and assigned values for the characteristics. The nomenclature was primitive, like describing a geode by its outside appearance, a vain attempt to define the secret brilliance within. But it was the best he could do:

green latticework, blue latticework, green-blue energy, discrete amalgamation, manufactured crystal, low frequency (1.37)

green latticework, yellow latticework, yellow-green energy, intertwined amalgamation, natural crystal, variable frequency (2.33, 3.33, 5.10)

red latticework, yellow latticework, orange energy, intertwined amalgamation, natural crystal, variable frequency (3.29, 4.44, 6.70, 6.77)

blue latticework, green latticework, blue-green energy, intertwined amalgamation, natural crystal, variable frequency (3.33, 5.10, 5.47)

red latticework, red energy, pure, ignited crystal, high frequency (9.00)

pattern detected: natural crystals contain intertwined latticeworks and variable frequencies

...

pattern detected!!

Soundwave grabbed another crystal. According to his burgeoning database, this one ought to resonate with variable frequency at a point far below the red one he'd just set down.

affirmative!

Soundwave had just predicted something accurately! Something so abstract, he didn't have a word for it. It was the essence of the matter comprising the crystal. It was the crystal's sound/light, its spatial orientation. It was the shape of the energy that flowed where the matter wasn't.

It was the meaning of Soundwave.

!!!

“Whoa!” yelled Rodimus. Soundwave startled. His attention returned to the room. Rodimus's hand was trailing down his arm. “Did I just feel something happy come through your field??”

Laserbeak fluttered against his chest. Its biolights were swirling blue and white. “Con... confirmative.”

Rodimus smiled. “Cool.”

Rodimus was still smiling hours later when he threw himself onto his berth. Soundwave had finally, finally found something constructive to do. Drift had returned with a bucket of energon and petri dishes full of tiny “seed” crystals. He and Soundwave had talked excitedly about all kinds of things Rodimus didn't understand. In fact, Rodimus knew even less about crystals now than he had before.

But that didn't matter.

Soundwave was a real mech! With real feelings and a real, non-homicidal hobby! Sure he and Drift had yelled at each other a bit, in between all the excitement. Something about Drift being an obnoxious fool and Soundwave denying the nature of the reality that existed before his own eyes. And sure, at one point, a sword may have found its way into Drift's hands, and then tangled and been broken in a flurry of tentacles. And Soundwave had successfully argued afterwards that that didn't constitute a breach of their trust exercise because Drift had started it. But overall the two no longer seemed to want to completely murder each other.

Progress!

.:Rodimus:.

That was Megatron. Rodimus sighed. Time for the nightly ship update. He tapped his audial. “Yeah, Megs?”

.:report:.

Rodimus thought back on the day. What had even happened before the crystal thing? “Uh... 0001 energon is still missing. Perceptor's going apoplectic about the star thingy. Something something the quills. Riptide says we'll need to start scouting for a new energon source soon. Gotta top off the ol' oil reservoir. And Soundwave-"

Rodimus paused. Megatron was deeply distrustful of Soundwave. Any indication that he was making progress had to be expressed without an admission of him becoming more powerful. At some point Rodimus would have to tell Megatron that Soundwave was an outlier. Rodimus didn't know what all that crystal stuff meant. He didn't know what it could lead to. But Megatron would take that scrap of information and draw it out to its most horrible, logical conclusion, which would probably end with Soundwave getting thrown into the brig-

.:Soundwave?:. sent Megatron.

“Uh. We visited Drift today. It didn't go horribly! Only one broken sword.”

.:hmph:.

To Rodimus's relief, Megatron didn't linger on the subject. Megatron gave his update. Rodimus nodded, even though Megatron couldn't see him doing so. He snapped his fingers. A picture of Drift and Soundwave appeared on the wall. He had sneakily taken it earlier in the day. It was ostensibly a selfie of Rodimus winking. But behind him, Drift was touching a crystal wrapped in Soundwave's tendrils. Drift's expression was one of pleasant shock. Soundwave's visor displayed multicolored math shapes. That's a good one, Rodimus thought to himself. He waved his hands at the walls, debating where to place the picture.

.:-event will occur the day after tomorrow:. sent Megatron. His tone was heavy and apprehensive.

Uh oh. I wasn't paying attention. Rodimus knew, given that tone, he should have been. “Sorry, you broke up. Repeat?”

.:Perceptor has calculated that the supernova event will occur the day after tomorrow:.

“Oh.” Rodimus's tanks felt like the bottom had fallen out of them. He didn't understand how a supernova interacted with the Lost Light, but the last time it had happened, the quills had cracked. Everyone in the engineering department had needed a lot of yelling at and Rodimus stars to return to normal.

.:Magnus has already set the schedule for tomorrow. Hab suite lockdown for all non-essential positions:.

“What's the plan?”

Megatron scoffed. It was a scoff that told Rodimus the plan had been explained to him more than once already. .:we're going to buffer the shield with quantum foam. Stream it through the quills:.

“Okay. Sure. What?”

Megatron growled. .:Perceptor and I have been planning for this for weeks. Just be on the bridge. Bring your comforting words, the crew may need them:.

“I can do that.”

Soundwave set his armful of crystals on the berth. His plating rippled with excitement. He had convinced Rodimus to let him have his tentacles and arms free for the night. It was exhilarating. He touched the walls with his tendrils. Beneath the metal sheeting, he could feel the hum of electrical and energon conduits, the faint thudding of the plumbing. Laserbeak undocked and flew around the room in circles, chittering.

During the war, Soundwave was always aware of Laserbeak's position by way of geospatial information correspondence. Now it felt like... it felt like one of his tentacles. He could feel where it was without needing to communicate via signaling, like he was aware of his wings when flying, or his feet when walking. Laserbeak mapped the room and it appeared in Soundwave's mind. Soundwave had taken in the bare minimum before. It wasn't like he hadn't looked at his room. But now he saw the amenities that marked it for its officer's quarters.

There was a monitor behind one wall, probably accessible via vocal command. The window was of variable glass, able to tint itself in the presence of bright lights. There were several small vents, unobtrusive, for air and temperature regulation. The lights were smoothly set into the ceiling and walls, with a row of emergency lights leading from the washroom to the berth to the exit.

Rounded shelves ringed the periphery of the room, no doubt where Drift had stored his crystals and swords. Soundwave studied them.

shelves: not deep enough

Soundwave set his tendrils against the wall he shared with Rodimus. He strained. He couldn't hear, exactly. Not like before. He couldn't tell if Rodimus was in his quarters. Maybe he could train himself to sense spark energy. Then he'd know where all mechs in his periphery were!

focus

Shelves.

Soundwave used Laserbeak to slice a long line in the wall opposite Rodimus's hab suite. Very, very slowly, he peeled it down. The metal creaked a bit, but nothing too loud. Soundwave pulled and shaped the metal. Ah, yes. This was what he wanted. Big, jagged functional shelf with a backdrop of the ship's guts, accessible at a moment's notice.

Soundwave looked at the colorful wires and insulated cords in the wall.

He could... he could jam some of his tendrils into one, as he did when he had first arrived on the ship, and try to parse the data stream.

But...

The crystals tinged from the berth, their little sounds and shapes pulling at his tendrils, pulling at Laserbeak.

But previous attempts to connect to the ship's communications had resulted in pain and frustration.

Surely he should figure out all the crystal stuff, first. He had a new way to organize information! A burgeoning database! A new way to detect patterns! Any knowledge gained while exploring his newfound ability would only serve him in future attempts at infiltration.

soundwave superior!

Soundwave snatched the bucket of energon that Drift had retrieved from the oil reservoir. “Crystals need energon to grow,” Drift had said, as if Soundwave were a protoform. “If you put one of my already-formed crystals into energon, it might grow a bit more. But if you can ignite a crystal, it will need energon to grow in. Here, these are crystal seeds from Brainstorm's lab. He said they're the purest you could ever hope to find this side of 0001 Luna 1...”

Soundwave set Drift's crystals on the new shelf, spaced out evenly so their tones did not mix and clash. The bucket went on the desk. There were only two petri dishes, filled with crystal seeds. Soundwave would have to find more vessels for individual experiments.

He needed to continue constructing his new database first, though. There were patterns to find!

patterns!!

Soundwave grabbed a red crystal and sat, turning it in his tendrils, diving into its structures.

There was so much to learn.

Chapter Text

Powerflash arrived far too early the next morning. His visor burst with yellow light when Soundwave answered the door, tentacles waving. “AHH!” His biolights strobed in the dim hallway. Powerflash aimed his gun. “Why are they out?!”

“Permitted,” said Soundwave. He gripped the gun in his prongs and pointed it away from himself. “Freedom preferred.”

“AHH!” Powerflash dug his heels in and pulled. Soundwave let go. Powerflash fell backwards on his aft. He scrambled up, fumbling with the gun.

“Your aura is so dark. You need to do something about that.” Drift bowed on Soundwave's visor.

“Don't you give me that, Decepticon!” Powerflash finally got the gun going the right way. Lines of light illuminated down its length. “Do you know how fucking creepy that is? The mech slaughters us then comes to our side, throwing happy crystal bullshit in every direction?! No thank you!”

Rodimus's door slid open. He leaned into the hallway, yawning. “What the hell is all the noise?”

“Sir! Soundwave's unleashed, sir!”

Rodimus blinked slowly. He pointed at Soundwave's chest. “Put 'em back.”

“Negative.”

“If you tell me where the 0001 energon is, you can leave them out.”

“Sir!” protested Powerflash.

Soundwave thought. And thought. After a full minute, he said, “Memory corrupted.”

Rodimus tsk'd. He tapped Soundwave's chest. “Wind 'em up.”

Soundwave flicked on the additive processor. He changed the settings while Toaster bounced around, filling candy molds and chatting incessantly. Soundwave dispensed an ultra finely filtered cube of purple energon for himself. His alt-dimensional peers, of course, got regular grade.

Toaster waved his arms, blissfully muted. It was the, “Fetch me flavoring particle 137” arm wave. Soundwave snatched it from the drawer. He tossed it down on the counter. Now the, “Cooking is an art, Soundwave” finger waggle. Followed by the, “Why can't I put you any further higher than spot number 1 on my worst list!” tiny foot stomp.

Soundwave sauntered away. Powerflash was poking at the mini cubes. He raised a blue one to his face plate. His visor flashed and he threw it down again. It was one of Mirage's cubes. Soundwave silently agreed with the assessment: they smelled weird. Soundwave stalked over to his armed escort. With exaggerated motions, he slowly picked the cube up between slender forefinger and thumb and set it back in its place. He leered down at Powerflash. It was the most fun the morning promised. Powerflash gripped his gun tighter. “Get back to work.”

Soundwave piled dirty trays into the dishwasher. He plucked a clean bowl from the shelf and set it aside. When Toaster wasn't looking, he waved it across the magnetizer. He took another bowl and magnetized it. At the end of his shift, when he obediently held his arms out for Powerflash to recuff, no one noticed four small bowls stuck to their undersides, blending in with his frame.

Powerflash returned Soundwave to his hab suite, where he had just enough time to tuck the bowls away on his makeshift shelves before Rodimus knocked. Powerflash was dismissed and Soundwave followed where Rodimus led.

“Query,” said Soundwave.

“Yes?”

“Why does co-captain of Lost Light accompany prisoner to socialization?”

Rodimus scoffed. “Okay, first of all, you're not a prisoner. You said you wanted to assimilate. You're one of us. We just have to take precautions. Secondly, if you have to know... I'm avoiding a meeting with Ultra Magnus.”

Soundwave immediately and regrettably was transported back to his evening at the Precision Manufacturing Club. “Understood.”

“Thirdly, this isn't tonight's socialization. This is a medical thing. Your socialization is afterwards. And fourthly.” Rodimus turned and stared him straight in the visor. “You might not understand this, but sometimes people care about other people and want them to succeed.”

“Soundwave: long history of succeeding without Rodimus present.”

Rodimus threw a hand over his chest. “You wound me, Soundwave.”

Soundwave played an edited clip, inserting various voices over a recording of Starscream. “Rodimus has fallen. I, Soundwave, lead the Lost Light!”

Rodimus stopped. He touched his golden crest, eyes distant with disbelief. “Was that a joke? Did you just tell a joke? Do Soundwaves tell jokes?”

“Affirmative.”

“Pro tip: jokes are supposed to be funny.”

Soundwave played a clip of Rodimus snorting at Cyclonus's recital.

“That's different! That wasn't at my expense.”

Soundwave played a clip of Inferno. “Can't account for taste.”

“See that? That's all stolen material. Get some of your own.”

Soundwave tilted his head. He played a clip of the Scavengers ravaging the cafeteria.

Rodimus's field darkened. He scowled. “You sure know how to ruin the mood.”

A section of Brainstorm and Perceptor's lab had been cleared away to make room for a row of five chairs. Soundwave sat in the fourth seat. The presence of Mirage, Trailbreaker, and Ambulon gave him an idea of why he was here. But Nautica sat in the fifth chair, smiling at him nervously. Soundwave flicked through the medical data he'd stolen so long ago. Nautica's file didn't indicate she was an alt-dimensioner.

Brainstorm approached with a weapon. Or. A something. It looked like the unholy union of a crossbow and a gigantic syringe. “Open up, your spyfulness.” Mirage partially transformed his right arm open. Brainstorm set the tip of the thing inside. Mirage grimaced. Red liquid ran up into the syringe.

Brainstorm spun the syringe. An empty cartridge swung into place. He moved on to Trailbreaker, whose blood was green. Ambulon's was pink, just like what Soundwave had seen of Rodimus's while on Earth. Just like the blood of the mechs who had been hurt during the incident. Next up was Nautica. Her blood was blue, lighter and brighter than Soundwave's own. She squeezed her fists as the sample was taken, staring at the floor.

Brainstorm came up beside Soundwave. “Your turn. Open up.”

“Why?”

“We monitor all alt-dimenioners' somatic energon. A sample every 100 days. To make sure that the supplements we make are still good.” Brainstorm pointed at Trailbreaker. “His numbers have a habit of changing over time. We adjust the recipe so he can eat in comfort.” Trailbreaker waved. “Mirage's have been steady. Ambulon's are-”

“Hey!” said Ambulon. “You're not supposed to give out private information like that!”

“Psht,” said Brainstorm. “That's medic's rules. I ain't no medic. Come on, Soundwave. Pick a juicy wing slab and unfold it.”

Soundwave turned his broad arm back and forth. “There are no ports to lines within.”

“Hmm.” Brainstorm tilted his helm and studied Soundwave. “Is this an invitation to poke some experimental holes in you?”

“His shoulder,” said Ambulon. “We took his initial somatic samples from there.”

“Fun spoiler,” said Brainstorm.

“You're just mad I didn't let you cheat at darts.”

“The D.A.A.R.T. upgrade isn't a cheat! How is it cheating if I used my brain to make it? I use my brain to aim my hand.” Brainstorm leaned towards Soundwave. “Discreetly And Automatically Registers Target. Latest in aiming software. Like all brilliant technology, it's highly controversial. And unappreciated.” Brainstorm lifted the crossbow-syringe.

Soundwave tilted his upper arm back and semi-transformed his shoulder open. It hurt when Brainstorm's instrument slid into the port there. They were incompatible. Blood oozed up around the tip of the syringe.

Brainstorm whispered, “Did you get my-”

“Oh!” said Nautica. “Soundwave, your blood is blue!”

“Affirmative.”

Nautica's winglike structures bobbed. “Are you from a colony world in your dimension, too?”

colony world?

Soundwave's visor displayed question marks.

“Ah. I guess not.”

“You can thank Nautica for your dimensional additives,” said Brainstorm. He pulled the crossbow-syringe from Soundwave's shoulder. “Until we picked up Trailbreaker, she and Velocity were our test subjects. Well, and Nickel, until the 0058 accident. They're all from colonies. Populations separated from Cybertron, which evolved independently. Cybertronian, but different. They're slightly more resistant to the effects of alt-dimension energon. We studied their blood. The technology we use to make your additives stemmed from those studies.”

“Thank you, Nauticaaaaaaaa.” Trailbreaker gave her a teasing smile.

“You're welcome, Trailbreakerrrrrrrrr.”

“What can we ever do to thank you?”

“Just don't sing the song.” Nautica shook her head. “Anything but the song.”

“The song?” Trailbreaker jumped up and bellowed, “Thank you, Nautica, thank you, Nautica, thank you thank you thankyouNAUTICAAAAA-”

“AHH!! STOP!” Nautica threw her hands over her face.

colonies

colonies?

Soundwave didn't know what to do with this information. He filed it away into a data node, connecting Nautica, Velocity, Nickel, independent evolution, and other relevant markers into a web of information. Fleetingly, Soundwave noted that if this web structure were copied and properly anchored, the resulting crystal would be red.

“Oh!” Nautica waved her arm. Its holographic display of the time flashed. “I need to go! You're all coming to the ceremony, right??” Before anyone could answer, she rushed out of the room.

Mirage and Ambulon also excused themselves, citing various duties. Trailbreaker followed Perceptor over to a table laden with samples of metals bubbling over flame. Rodimus chatted with a wildly-gesturing Brainstorm.

Soundwave didn't think he could get away with touching anything. He sat quietly, watching Trailbreaker and Perceptor. Without the signal blockers, he would've been able to hear what they were saying. As it was, he could guess the course of the conversation.

Trailbreaker unscrewed the protective cover on his half thumb, revealing glittering circuitry and biolights beneath. Perceptor poured a sample of the first metal into a shallow dish. Trailbreaker dipped his open thumb into it. After a moment, he shook his head. Perceptor wiped off the liquid metal. He poured another sample. Trailbreaker dipped his half thumb in. He shook his head again. They repeated the process another three times, Trailbreaker rejecting each sample. Perceptor's posture drooped. Trailbreaker laughed, clapped him on the back, and screwed the cover back on.

“Aaannnd my scheduled meeting time with Magnus has passed,” said Rodimus. “We're safe to go now. Unless you want to hang around and get experimented on.”

“Hehehe.” Brainstorm clicked a couple of metal swatches together. “I'm up for it.”

Soundwave was struck by how Decepticon the mech seemed in that moment.

unfortunate waste

“Negative. Prefer to observe experiments, rather than be experimented on.”

“Suit yourself.” Brainstorm tilted his helm away from Rodimus and winked at Soundwave. “Let me know if you change your mind. You never know what you'll find out about where you came from.”

This was Brainstorm asking for an update on his work with the holographic star map. Soundwave likewise tilted his helm. “Understood.”

“Perhaps a more suitable time will present itself in the future.”

“Affirmative.”

Soundwave followed Rodimus out of the lab. Rodimus led them to the elevators. “Are you a religious mech, Soundwave?”

It was an entirely unexpected question, but one with an easy enough answer. “Negative.”

Rodimus signaled the elevator. He grinned. “I yelled at god once.”

Their long trek across the ship ended at a large, circular room with a vaulted ceiling. Stern statues were carved from the blue metal of the walls. There were 13 statues, each armed with a different weapon. Behind and above them rose reliefs of buildings. The effect was of standing in the middle of a city. From the center of the ceiling hung a 0001 brain module, intricately detailed with its projections and moats of light.

The tallest statue stood behind a stage on the far side of the room. Seats were installed in concentric rings around it. Rodimus directed Soundwave to a row near the front. Velocity, Nautica, and Lug were on the stage, rushing around an arrow-shaped table. Velocity and Nautica had painted their faces white with red lines around their eyes. They wore long capes cut in the shape of stylized flames. The colors clashed with their frames. They stumbled on the hems, laughing as they threw arms out to steady each other. The table was laden with dozens of clear glasses of different sizes. Soundwave zoomed in on them. “Swerve's” was etched on the side of each. Lug had two pitchers, one of water, one of energon, and strained upwards to pour liquid into the glasses. Velocity pushed the glasses around, arranging them in order of size, with the tiniest glass at the narrow point of the table. Nautica tapped a glass. She shook her head at it. She raised it to her lips and took a sip. She tapped it again. She nodded and tapped the next glass.

Cyclonus approached. Nautica made a complicated gesture. Cyclonus hit a series of buttons on a control panel embedded in the side of the stage. With a rumble, the statue-studded section of the wall separated from its surroundings and jutted inwards. It was an articulated ring, sliding along a track hidden in the floor. The tall statue centered behind the stage moved clockwise, replaced by a succession of its brethren, until the ring settled on a figure holding a hammer.

“That's Solus Prime,” said Rodimus. “One of the 13 Primes. You had Primes, right?”

“Some had Primes,” said Soundwave.

With another button push, curtains and banners unfurled from the ceiling. They were stylized flames, bright against the metal walls. Two framed Solus Prime at either side. Irises at the periphery of the stage floor spun open and thin rods rose up from below.

whoosh!

Fire ignited from their ends. Warm light caught in the glasses, refracting different spectra depending on whether they were filled with water or energon. Nautica waved to Lug. Lug hopped off the stage and took a seat in the front row. A monitor sat on the seat next to her. Lug tilted it back and forth. For the brief moment it faced Soundwave, he saw that it displayed a sleepy-looking Anode. She sat up in a medical berth, connected to a life support module.

Mechs filed in and took their seats. They spoke softly. Some made reverent gestures to the statues. Drift strutted in, followed by an unamused Ratchet with crossed arms. They both wore cloaks threaded with ornate patterns. Cyclonus donned a plain, golden cloak and took a seat next to Tailgate. When Cyclonus wasn't looking, Tailgate took a corner and tucked it around his own shoulders.

Velocity and Nautica clicked microphones to the sides of their helms. Rewind walked back and forth in front of the stage, grabbing footage from them at every angle.

“H- hello?” Nautica's voice bounced around the room. Blaster gave her a thumbs-up from the front row. She smiled. “Th- thanks for coming, everyone! Velocity's better with crowds so I'll turn it over to her.”

Velocity gave the audience a magnificent smile. “Welcome, everyone! Thank you for joining us today. Nautica and I were both... outsiders by the standards of Camien society. I think it's why we get along so well with the rest of you.” The audience chuckled. “Instead of mosaic-setting, Nautica pursued quantum mechanics. And instead of theater, I pursued medicine. Needless to say, we never succeeded much at the performing arts.”

“Nope,” said Nautica. “Not at all.”

“Despite that, we've decided to subject you all to our interpretation of it. We were talking recently. Even though we weren't model Camiens in the traditional sense, we both really enjoyed the festivals. It's been so long since either of us have attended one. We miss the experience. We don't have the means to host an entire festival on the Lost Light-”

“Afraid we'll have to skip the fire sacrifices,” said Nautica wryly.

“-but we can bring a small piece of it to life. Before the droughts and starvation years, when there were enough resources for this instrument-”

“Energon harp,” said Nautica, gesturing to the table.

“-we would all assemble before the Forge and listen to a special performance which marks the beginning of the Festival of Solus. This is a very important religious festival with an emphasis on renewal and prosperity. We don't know how much time has passed on 0001 Caminus since we started jumping, but we're sure a festival must have happened by now. That, plus recent events”-her eyes flicked to Soundwave—“made us both feel it was the right time. Every Camien learns how to play the energon harp at a young age. So, while our songs are beginner-level, we do hope you'll still enjoy them. To the fragments of Solus within us all! By the flames, I declare: Ave Solus, creatrix flammarumque animarum. Ave Caminus, corpus mundi.”

“Ave, ave,” said Nautica. “Lights, please!”

The room dimmed. The assembled mechs' biolights brightened. Orange firelight caught the details of the statue of Solus Prime- the crystals set into her eyes, the faceted edges of her hammer, the curling tentacles of her helm. Nautica and Velocity set their microphones on the table. They pulled gloves on, open at the palm but extending their fingertips with glittering golden talons. They raised their arms in unison and stepped sideways away from the other. Nautica wobbled. They both made concerted efforts to set their expressions to something solemn, but smiles peeked through. Nautica lowered her hands. She tapped a glass with her golden talon.

tink

Soundwave straightened in his seat. The sound was so pure.

tink tink

Velocity lowered her hands and they began: a storm of clear, glittering sounds that filled the room. Their gold fingertips flashed between the glass and the flame. The large cups gave out lower-pitched sounds, the small cups were higher-pitched. The energon-filled cups' notes lingered longer than the water-filled. Nautica provided a steady beat of low chords as Velocity darted around her. Rolling tides of melodies paired up and played off each other. If this was a beginner's song, Soundwave direly wished to hear that of an expert.

“Hey,” whispered Rodimus, elbowing him. “You singing along?”

Soundwave realized his visor was bright with sine waves. He hastily darkened it and focused inwardly. His newly-reorganized processor seemed made for this application. Soundwave charted the notes effortlessly, following them like winding paths through a forest, like a constellation on a star chart-

-a cave sparkling with crystals, a stream of energon bubbling up from the heart of the planet, Soundwave playing a concert for an audience of none-

As the Camien melodies soared, slivers of memory unlocked. Soundwave found himself in a cave whose layout he could just recall. The dark metal of Cybertron, carved away by rivers of energon long gone, leaving a trickle in their stead. Stalactites and stalagmites, black flowstones with glistening draperies, walls marred with natural crannies. And everywhere, everywhere, crystals glowing in the darkness. Crystals he had created, had ignited and guided to maturity. His tentacles waved lazily, all three. The batch of seed crystals he had traded for sat in a heap at his left. He plucked one up in his primary tentacle. It was so tiny, so pure and empty. He concentrated, sending a wave of envy down his tentacle. The seed crystal flashed. He placed it in a bowl of energon. It was a good ignition. Of course it was- Soundwave was the best at what he did. Soundwave superior!

“-you gonna clap or what?” Rodimus was nudging him again. The audience had roared to its feet with thunderous applause. Velocity and Nautica, panting, clasped hands and bowed.

Soundwave held up his bound arms.

“Oh yeah,” said Rodimus. “Never mind.” He stood and whistled.

soundwave: superior!

but-

energon harp: good

Soundwave got to his feet and loomed his appreciation at the stage.

“Did you like the Camien concert?” Rodimus led them back to their quarters on the upper decks.

“Only acceptable socialization event.”

“Hah! Is that an 'affirmative' in disguise? I could ask Velocity to teach you the instrument, if you want.” Rodimus wiggled his fingers. “You could probably play both their parts with your tentacles.”

Soundwave hadn't even thought of that. It was true. The thought of darting his tendrils to and fro along an infinity of tuned cups was intriguing. He was confident he could out-maneuver the Camiens in every capacity. However- “Glass inferior. Crystal superior.”

“I won't tell them you said that.”

Soundwave ignored Rodimus's comments as they went. He couldn't wait to get back to his room. More memories had surfaced during the second song. They all relied on using his primary tentacle, but Soundwave hoped his frame, spark, and Laserbeak would figure it out. He had a tentative plan. He wanted to enact it as soon as possible-

The pressure around his torso loosened. Soundwave shook himself from his thoughts. He was outside his quarters. Rodimus was uncuffing his arms. “-promise you won't do anything bad,” Rodimus was saying.

“Previous deal still in place.” Soundwave turned his arms. They felt so much better when free. His joints were sore from the constant weight of his long limbs being forced into unnatural positions. His tentacles burst from his chest. He snapped his prongs at Rodimus.

Rodimus winced, then tried to cover it up by stepping back. “Yeah... yeah, you're really instilling confidence here.”

“Confidence: irrelevant. Deal still in place.”

“Yeah. Remember what I said about tomorrow.”

tomorrow?

“Good night, Soundwave.”

Without a word, Soundwave turned and entered his quarters. A faint, “Rude!” slipped through the door just as it closed.

Soundwave sat at the edge of his berth, a tiny seed crystal nested in his tendrils. It was pure and empty, a clean slate ready to be ignited. In his memories, Soundwave relayed resonances from his own spark down his primary tentacle and infiltrated seed crystals with them. He imbued the seed crystals with the meaning of Soundwave at a resonance of his choice. As Drift and Rodimus had discovered via their own field sensors, resonances often coincided with emotions. A shortcut Soundwave had quickly discovered for referring to specific resonances was by the emotion they triggered sensation for. Once the seed crystal had been imbued with the resonance, it was placed in a bowl of energon and allowed to grow. The resonance dictated the crystalline structure that would result in the mature crystal. That energy would remain trapped inside the crystal lattice, bouncing around like laser light shone into a sphere lined with mirrors.

In his memories, Soundwave's artificially created crystals were perfect: not a bubble or impurity to be found. He doubted he could achieve perfection now, what with Laserbeak-plus-secondary-tentacles serving as substitutes for the function of his primary tentacle. But Soundwave was nothing if not persistent.

Soundwave pulled the glass in his chest aside. Laserbeak settled back over his spark. Its biolights swirled white. Soundwave selected the resonance – the emotion - most readily accessible to him: irritation. He concentrated, summoning all the memories of successful ignition he could. His spark shot light out inside his chest. Laserbeak ruffled. A thin fork of energy went down his tentacles and fizzled out at the seed crystal.

failure

Soundwave readjusted his tentacles. He concentrated on the pulsing of his spark. He thought of all the foolish things the Autobots did, day in and out. Irritation built up in his lines. With a curse, his spark flashed light. Laserbeak rattled. Energy shot down his secondary tentacles into the seed crystal.

crack!

Soundwave's tendrils stung. He flung the crystal shards to the floor and shook out his tentacles. He took up another seed crystal and tried again.

crack!

The irritation doubled in his lines. Obviously this method did not work. Perhaps he was trying to shove too much energy into the tiny crystal. It needed a cushioning material to rest against which could absorb the excess energy.

Soundwave poured energon into one of the pilfered cafeteria bowls. He dropped a seed crystal in. It floated. Soundwave held the bowl and touched his tendrils to the seed crystal. His spark flashed light.

crack! fssssshhhhhht

The little crystal exploded and evaporated the energon around it. Soundwave flicked his tentacles, flinging drops around the room. He hissed static.

That wasn't the answer either.

Soundwave tried again and again, summoning every emotion he had the strength for: anger and boredom. He tried picking a resonance that didn't register as emotion. The crystal fared slightly better. It didn't explode, merely cleaved apart without fanfare. Soundwave tried switching tentacle positions, standing, even commanding Laserbeak to hover before him and collect his spark light from a greater distance.

Nothing worked.

Soundwave whipped his tentacles against the floor, wham! wham! The crystals on the shelves tinked at the force. Something rolled out from underneath his berth. Soundwave grabbed it.

Rodimus's innermost energon.

Soundwave squeezed it in his prongs, aiming to burst it apart like all his failed experiments, when a thought struck him: Rodimus's energon was poison to him because they came from different dimensions. Perhaps his spark light was incompatible with the seed crystals for the same reason. The art of ignition was incredibly precise and occurred at an atomic or sub-atomic level. It made sense that Soundwave wouldn't be able to shove his 3244 energy into an 0001 structure.

Soundwave tossed the vial back under his berth. He would figure out how to ignite seed crystals. He would.

soundwave: superior!

He stretched out on his berth, letting his tentacles waver. Laserbeak detached and flitted among them. Soundwave's processor chewed on the problem while he stared at the ceiling. His mind flitted from crystalline structures to the layouts of the Lost Light's systems, from the patterns of the stars to the patterns in the multiverse hologram. After a time, Laserbeak returned to his chest and his tentacles came down in coils around him. He blanked his visor for rest.

Soundwave was woken by knocking at his door, rather than the usual banging of a Security Team mech.

“No chore today, Soundwave,” said Rodimus. He stood in the hall, casual, nonchalant. But his slumped spoiler, if it was anything like Starscream's wings, betrayed his worry. “Today's the big supernova! For safety's sake, we're asking everyone to remain in their quarters unless they have essential duties. Observing me is the most essential duty there is. So, if you want a front seat to the star show, you can come with me to the bridge. You'll have to be cuffed and shielded, of course. Or you can stay here. Your choice.”

supernova...

Though Soundwave wanted to stay with his crystals and avoid contact with Autobots, curiosity got the better of him. He stepped out of his hab suite. Rodimus smiled.

Soundwave stood beside the captain's chair Rodimus lounged in. It felt... strange. Standing beside the captain was his place. And yet it wasn't supposed to be this captain. But Megatron had given him a distasteful glance and nothing more.

traitor, Soundwave reassured himself. irrelevant.

Mechs rushed around the bridge, tones and words sharper than usual. Mainframe and Blaster were at their usual stations, hunched over their consoles. The main screen showed the star field. Data flashed in a marquee across the bottom. The star field looked... strange. Misty. Soundwave was familiar with the phenomenon.

visual distortion due to considerable power source

And, indeed, the large red star pulsed ahead. Soundwave wasn't sure of its distance. It was so close that the Lost Light was unable to get out of its damage range, even with advanced warning. The ship faced the star at an angle. Probably keeping its delicate quills in the lee of the imminent blast.

Mainframe hunched over his station console. “Captains, the energy wave is approaching.”

“How quickly?” Megatron stood.

“Uh... really quickly,” said Mainframe. His hands flew along the consoles. “It's at the upper maximum Perceptor had predicted.”

“Initiate shield buffering sequence.”

“Aye aye.”

Soundwave watched the data marquee. In the past, he could have glanced at it and instantly understood everything that was going on. Now, his processor danced alongside the flowing numbers and symbols. It was picking random numbers and highlighting them, diverting his attention to them. But they didn't make a pattern. They were random, just nonsense. Why was it doing this? Soundwave's field pulsed with frustration. Laserbeak rustled against him. Without thinking about it, Soundwave pulled the glass in his chest aside. Laserbeak settled in.

The on-screen data describing the supernova wave burst through his processor like lightning. It was a sound, a chord, an essence without a lattice. Soundwave reeled. As he grasped this, the ship's shield went up. The star field took on a golden tinge. A hexagonal pattern faded in and out along it. A window appeared on screen. It showed the shield in a simplified format: photonic clathrates, like hundreds of cubes, joined together at their nodes.

Soundwave was familiar with shields. The Lost Light's worked on the same principle as that of any starship. Soundwave didn't have to parse or translate most of its data. He could intuit it from past experience. And what he saw shocked him.

The photonic clathrates were empty. The shield was full of holes.

Not holes torn into it by battle or projection failure. Its innate structure was spongy, like a filter. Normally that wasn't a problem for physical ballistics or asteroids or other deep space dangers, but high wavelength energy was another matter.

Megatron was comm'ing Perceptor and Nautica. As he spoke, different windows popped up on the screen. They showed quantum foam streaming out from the fuel quills. It was absorbed by the shield, filling the empty clathrates. Data describing its properties and positioning flowed across the marquee.

Soundwave didn't know the words for what Perceptor and Nautica were trying to do. The physical expressions of all those equations were not coming to him. His processor was replaying past observed supernovae as a steady stream of notes/shapes/energies. He compared the meaning of Soundwave of the supernova and the Lost Light's force field. The quantum foam was not opaque to a supernova's wave. Processor straining, Soundwave played out the impact scenario.

The supernova wave hit the shields. The shields failed. The ship disintegrated.

undesired outcome

Soundwave ran the scenario ten times. The ship survived in only one, with heavy damage and 85% fatalities.

high probability of total shield failure

nexus point: opportunistic advantage. allow lost light to succumb? take advantage of reduced crew count?

Soundwave thought of the Lost Light in its totality. Forget the allure of a reduced crew count, just the sheer task of organizing and running the enormous ship... he had a much better understanding of it all now, having labored from its filthy depths to its shining hull.

what is minimum percentage of crew required to run lost light? 40%?

additive machine: essential

Perceptor: essential

loss of quills: deadly

loss of oil reservoir: deadly

at least one medic: essential

Soundwave's processor darted from thought to thought: from evaluating individual crew members to ship-wide infrastructure.

focus!

Soundwave constructed a hasty list. Based on his observations, he would definitely need Brainstorm and Perceptor to survive. He would need the engineering crew. He would need mechs to do the dirty work. He would need Blaster and Mainframe to maintain the comm towers, Riptide for the oil rig, the medics and the metal specialists for basic survival. Hoist to de-barnacle the quills, Ultra Magnus to orchestrate the scheduling and keep the underlings in line, for as much as Soundwave hated to admit it, organizing it all was a daunting task he could no longer reliably perform. Ultra Magnus did it so well the ship functioned despite the myriad personalities aboard. Soundwave would need mechs for ship maintenance and repair. He would need Toaster, because to hell with him preparing his own food after ascending to a leadership role. He would need...

...he would need them all.

Everyone aboard the Lost Light was needed for one reason or another. Except maybe Rodimus and Megatron. In this hypothetical, Soundwave would be performing their duties as the singular captain.

everyone needed except megatron...

It was an uncomfortable realization. Soundwave pushed it away and shifted his focus to the problem at hand.

current autobot plan untenable. must intercede

The shield needed something more robust than quantum foam to fill its photonic clathrates. Something highly energetic and disposable, because it would absorb the oncoming blast of energy instead of the ship. Something liquid or gaseous that the quills could expel, because they were capable of delivering material directly to the shield. Something Soundwave could control directly, because there wasn't much time and he didn't trust any of these Autobots with the task.

Soundwave knew what could fill the shield. His last hidden advantages, his last secrets.

He would have to give them up.

Soundwave turned to Rodimus so fast the Autobot jumped. “Release me.” The irises to his tentacles spiraled open and closed. “Current plan will not work. Buffer is inadequate. I will reinforce the shield with material opaque to supernova wave. Tentacles required.”

“No,” said Megatron. “The plan is fine.”

Rodimus glanced from Megatron to Soundwave.

“Release me,” said Soundwave. A tiny bit of strain came through his voice. “The Lost Light will be destroyed if current plan is followed through.” Soundwave displayed the essence of the supernova and the essence of the shield and how the wave penetrated and shattered the ship. Partial equations and simplified diagrams flitted around his visor.

Rodimus watched him carefully. “I dunno what all that means, but I believe you.” Rodimus tapped the sparkling shield around Soundwave's torso. It powered down. Soundwave's tentacles shot out of their housing and writhed in the air.

“Rodimus!” yelled Megatron. “He's taking advantage of this delicate and crucial moment!”

Rodimus shrank back. Soundwave stalked over to Mainframe, who flinched away from him. “Give me access,” said Soundwave.

“Uh,” said Mainframe.

“No!” said Megatron.

“Yes,” said Rodimus. “I believe him. He'll help us.”

Megatron glared at him. “No.”

“The quantum foam is inadequate. I will repel the assault.” Soundwave shoved Mainframe out of his chair with his tentacles.

“Hey!” Mainframe scrambled up from the floor. Soundwave was already in his seat, tendrils flying across the consoles.

“Don't you dare-” started Megatron.

Rodimus grabbed his arm. “Let him try.” He held Megatron's gaze. “Or at least see what he thinks the problem is.” He lowered his voice. “I don't think Soundwave can fake emotion. He's scared. I felt it pulse through his field.”

Embarrassment burned Soundwave's lines like hot acid. His tentacles paused in their work as he curled into himself. The shame of his fear being sensed by another, by an Autobot-

“Soundwave! Whatever you're doing, put it on screen,” said Megatron.

Traitor or not, that voice issuing a command resulted in action. Streams of data and diagrams cascaded down the screen. Mainframe gasped. Megatron growled.

“What's he doing?” asked Rodimus.

“He infiltrated the ship some time ago with a latent kill code,” said Megatron. “He's activating and modifying it now.”

“A kill code?” Rodimus said weakly.

Soundwave heard the tremble in Rodimus's voice. He brushed the notation aside, focusing on his task. “A previous plan. Useful now.”

“You said you didn't remember your plans,” said Rodimus.

Soundwave didn't answer. His fingers joined his tendrils on the input pads and consoles before him. The kill code granted him access to most of the ship's systems- almost as much control as he'd had before his emotion-suppressing protocols failed. His old information organization methods splayed before him. Soundwave's processor ghosted them over its current setup. The data moved and changed, rearranging itself. With difficulty, Soundwave prodded the ship's systems into the correct shape in his mind. The kill code was rewritten. The Lost Light appeared before him again, this time in a hastily-constructed, graspable format. Soundwave called a schematic of the quills up on screen. Their cores were illuminated in orange. As data flowed around the schematic, the orange slowly turned to purple.

“What are you doing?” demanded Megatron.

“Modifying quill structures for alternate input,” said Soundwave.

“What alternate input?” Megatron squinted at the screen.

Soundwave's field pulsed once with amusement. “Proprietary recipe. Different requirements.”

“Perceptor to bridge.” Perceptor's voice cut into the tenseness of the room.

“Talk to us,” said Rodimus.

“Ultra Magnus and the engineering staff have been locked out of the engine room consoles. The quills are behaving abnormally. They've been infiltrated by what I believe is a quantity of energon derivative.”

“'Energon derivative?'” Megatron repeated. He glared at Soundwave.

“The purple stuff,” said Rodimus. “Perceptor, Soundwave's working on the shield. Tell the engineers to stand down til he's done.”

“The quills aren't calibrated for the energon derivative! Brainstorm has already begun calculations to remove it-”

“Tell him to stop,” said Rodimus.

There was a disbelieving scoff. “Very well.”

Megatron stomped over to the console. “What energon derivative is this, Soundwave?”

Soundwave didn't answer right away. His biolights flowed from blue to pink as he worked. His visor was awash with graphs and reticles. Just as Megatron reached for the console, Soundwave said, “Dark energon. Threading it through the quills for expulsion. Dark energon will increase opaqueness of shield's photonic clathrates.”

“What?” said Rodimus.

“Where was this dark energon?” Megatron's voice was low and dangerous.

Soundwave said nothing.

Mainframe shook his head. “The clathrates weren't designed to handle energon buffers. That's why we're using quantum foam. An energon buffer will rip the shield apart.”

“It will not,” replied Soundwave.

“Perceptor to bridge.” This time Perceptor's voice had a tinge of panic.

“Go ahead,” said Megatron.

“Why is Soundwave anchoring the shield to the quill output?”

“Show him what you're doing,” said Megatron.

Soundwave reached briefly for another console, then resumed his steady typing.

“-ah, we're receiving a diagram.” There was a pause. “Oh, I see. Clever. We had calculated to retain the quantum foam. Soundwave has removed the retention element entirely.”

“Will it work?” asked Megatron.

“I haven't done a thorough analysis but... most probably.”

“Woo! Good enough for me!” Rodimus flopped back down into his co-captain's chair. “Does anyone know what the Swerve special is today?”

“Vosnian crystal curls,” said Blaster quietly. “With spicy red sauce.”

“Mmm,” said Rodimus. “Spicy sauce.”

“Not now,” muttered Megatron. “Visuals for the oncoming energy wave, on screen.”

The bridge screen split. One side showed the star field with a pulsing blue wave heading for them. The other side flashed with data and diagrams.

“Initiating shield recalibration,” said Soundwave. The star field dulled with a netting of orange. “Initiating buffer saturation.”

The gaps in the netting of the shield filled with deep purple. The ship shuddered. Mainframe grabbed the console. Megatron rocked backwards and Rodimus almost fell out of his chair.

“Prepare for impact,” said Blaster. He gripped the edges of his monitor.

Rodimus activated the PA system. “Attention: the wave is here. Hold tight to something. Til all are one.”

Mainframe, Megatron and the other standing mechs kneeled down and held onto whatever they could. On the screen, stars winked out behind the wave of blue energy. The Lost Light shook.

“Rerouting all non-essential power to shields,” said Soundwave.

Megatron glared at him. That was a command only a co-captain was able to give. Or, should have been able to give. And everyone on the bridge knew it.

superior kill code, thought Soundwave smugly.

The lights dimmed. The mechs' biolights intensified, throwing reds and oranges and purples across the monitors. The ship shook violently. On the screen the shield brightened.

“Saturation complete,” said Soundwave.

The purple blotches in the shield reached outwards like aquatic creatures, squirming until they completely overtook the orange grid. The supernova wave slammed into the ship. The screen went black. A chorus of grunts and shouts sounded as mechs fell backwards against the walls. The lights went out. Emergency lights sputtered on. Red fell across the crew, cutting their silhouettes from the darkness.

“What... what is that?” asked Blaster, as the Lost Light shuddered.

“The wave,” snapped Megatron.

“No, not that,” said Blaster. “There's something... in the ship.”

“You feel it in your field?” asked Rodimus.

“Yeah.”

The mechs looked at each other, each feeling something new in the air. It seemed to come from the walls, a deep, dark, writhing, living thing that felt like energon but moved like the field of a mech who was very ill.

“What the hell is that?” said Mainframe.

Soundwave raised his helm. His tentacles were arching rings of biolights. “Dark energon.”

The Lost Light lurched. “Ugh,” said Rodimus. “That toxic smell again. That can't be good.”

“Do you have a containment plan for after the wave has passed?” asked Megatron.

“Unnecessary,” said Soundwave. “Dark energon is being burned away by the wave. What you detect now is its dissipation.”

“How much longer?” asked Rodimus.

“Ten seconds.”

The Lost Light shook for another processor-shattering 10.02 seconds, then finally went still. The emergency lights faded as regular lighting returned. The sickly feeling vanished. The bridge crew jumped to their feet and ran to their consoles. Rodimus activated the PA. “Attention: we've cleared the supernova wave. Report to your usual stations and check for damage and anomalies. Notify the med bay of any injuries right away.”

“Blaster, initial assessment.” Megatron stood, one hand gripping Soundwave's shoulder. Soundwave sat very still.

“Minor damage to the wave-facing hull,” said Blaster. “I'll send Cyclonus and Whirl to assess.”

“78% of check-in points reporting,” said Mainframe, tapping at his console around Soundwave. “Small pockets of damage all around the ship. No injuries as of yet.”

Rodimus breathed a sigh of relief. “Get the screen working again.”

The screen flickered. The star field appeared, unobscured and twinkling.

“Where is the dark energon?” asked Megatron.

Soundwave slowly moved his fingers away from the console. “Gone. Burned away by the supernova wave.”

“All of it?”

“Affirmative.”

Megatron glared at him.

“Can you detect it anymore?” asked Soundwave. He pulsed his field meaningfully at Megatron.

“And the kill code?”

“Exterminated.”

“I don't believe that.”

“The bare code was displayed during the buffering initialization. Mirage will know it now. He can sweep for it. There are no remnants.”

Megatron grit his teeth. He looked over at Rodimus. Rodimus blinked. Megatron released Soundwave and headed for the door. As he exited, he said, “Perceptor, report. Now.”

Rodimus exhaled as the door shut behind him. “Okay, good show, everybody. Good work. Especially you, Soundwave. Thanks.”

Soundwave stood. He wound his tentacles back into his chest. Mainframe shuddered and edged over, trying to sit in his seat without brushing against him.

Rodimus grabbed Soundwave's arm. “With me, please. Now.” Soundwave hissed. Rodimus ignored it and dragged him to his office. He sat behind his desk and dimmed the windows. “Okay, first: thank you. Second: you don't have any other kill codes lingering in the ship's systems, do you?”

“Negative.”

“What was the... the source... the dark energon, it can turn pink to purple. What pink did you use to make the buffer? Is our energon reservoir in danger?”

“Negative, energon reservoir unconnected. Dark energon source was isolated supply.”

“What isolated supply?”

“Energon from Scavenger tubes, catalyzed and siphoned away weeks ago.”

Rodimus's biolights blinked. His spoiler jerked. He stared at Soundwave, mouth moving slowly. “The 0001 energon?”

“Affirmative.”

“Are you telling me... are you telling me all the 0001 energon is gone?”

“Affirmative.”

“You said you couldn't remember where it was! I asked you ten thousand times!”

Soundwave was silent.

“No! No!” Rodimus slammed a fist against his desk. “Soundwave! We needed that! We fucking needed that!”

Soundwave said nothing.

“You! You!” Rodimus flailed. “Is there any of it left??”

“Negative. All 0001 energon was catalyzed weeks ago and just now burned away by the supernova wave.”

“Soundwave! What the hell am I going to do with this! How am I supposed to tell everyone the 0001 energon is gone?!”

“It was used for the shield,” said Soundwave. “It saved the ship.”

“Augh!” Rodimus threw his arms into the air. “Yeah, it saved the ship! But it's also gone forever!” He paced in angry circles. “You couldn't just- just use your fucking Soundwave superpowers to save the ship any other way?? You had to do it in the worst way possible??”

Soundwave immediately thought of ten worse ways he could have gone about acquiring energon. “Preferable to bleed out the crew? Time was of the essence.”

“No! What is wrong with you?? We have a whole goddamn oil reservoir! Pink and purple equals more purple, right?? Why didn't you just use that!” Rodimus flailed his arms. “There's so much pink in the oil reservoir!”

“Oil reservoir too far from quills-”

“Oh my god. 'The oil reservoir was too far away so I had to destroy your only link to your native dimens-'”

“Dark energon was in proximity to quills. Oil reservoir is miles away from engine room.”

“I know that! Everyone knows that!”

“So you agree: oil reservoir was too far aw-”

“Soundwave!” Rodimus pinched the bridge of his nose. Soundwave tilted his helm. “Are there anymore traps or tricks hidden in this ship?”

“Negative.”

“As if you couldn't be lying!”

“Search. You will not find any.” Bitterness edged into Soundwave's voice. “Exposing and transliterating the kill code means Mirage will know my most latent signature.”

“If you think Brainstorm can't find a way to hook you up to a lie detector-” Rodimus's eyes flashed. He tapped his audial. “I'm here. Go ahead.” He glared at Soundwave. After a moment, he said, “Switching to internal comms.” Rodimus sat, chair squealing across the floor with the impact.

Rodimus was emanating pure anger. Soundwave found himself wishing he had a seed crystal. Maybe he could transmit Rodimus's emotional resonance to a seed-

“Where was that dark energon hidden, Soundwave? Is there any more of it?”

“Negative. All was sacrificed to the shield.” Soundwave's visor displayed a wireframe of the Lost Light. It spun and zoomed in to the belly of the ship. The wireframe was replaced by a simple representation of the engine room hallway. “Approximate storage location.”

“In the engine room?! We searched there-”

“Negative,” said Soundwave. The view on his visor progressed down the hall and ghosted through the hidden door to Whirl's Punching Things Club. It tilted up and zoomed in on a ceiling vent. “Vents and ducting above engine room are specially shielded to prevent quantum energy leakage. Dark energon was shunted from medical bay to these shielded ducts. It was not detectable.”

Rodimus glared at his desk again as he relayed the information to whoever was on the other side of the comm. After a moment, he asked, “If you could shunt it from the med bay whenever you wanted, why did you keep it there?”

“Phase Two of infiltration plan: mechs identified as belligerent sealed into room adjacent to engine room: Punching Things Club room. Dark energon to be released through vents overhead. Belligerent mechs succumb and eliminate each other.” Soundwave's visor went blank. “Efficiently reduce crew count.”

Rodimus stared at him. “You were gonna rain dark energon down on Whirl's Punching Things Club and let them kill each other?”

“Affirmative.”

Rodimus's face pinched. He clutched his abdomen. “That's- that's disgusting.”

Soundwave merely said, “Efficient.”

Rodimus swallowed.

“Why does Whirl's Punching Things Club exist?” Soundwave flicked up a clip of Rodimus. “Violence is not tolerated.”

“Don't change the subject! Was there a Phase Three to your plan?”

“Affirmative.”

“And?”

“Jettison bodies. Initiate kill code and rewire Lost Light. Essential mechs sequestered for use ordered to return to dimension 3244.”

Rodimus's eyes flashed. “Your dimension.”

“Affirmative.”

“Even though you know we can't navigate there? You were gonna kill everyone for a mission you knew couldn't succeed?”

“Before emotion-suppressing protocol failure became permanent, discovering key to navigation was only a matter of time.” Soundwave's visor cascaded data and half-formed numbers. “Using Lost Light as stabilizing energy source, I would have run enough calculations to find it.”

“Sure you would have,” said Rodimus.

“100% certainty.”

“But now you can't.”

Soundwave's frame twitched. “I synthesized dark energon. With scraps. Translating between dimensions. Soundwave superior,” said Soundwave bitterly. “Until he is not.”

“You got that right.” Rodimus shook his head over and over. He stared at the floor. “What am I going to do with this? What am I going to do?” He dragged his hands down his face. “Bright side, find the bright side, Rodimus. Oh, Primus, help me. If we don't spin this the right way, everyone is going to kill you. And I might just have to let them.”

“Ungrateful Autobots. Core plan components given up for their survival-”

“Do you hear yourself? 'The super deadly things I was gonna kill everyone with saved them all instead. Why are they mad at me?'” Rodimus's face lit up. “Wait. You did save everyone. You told me Phases Two and Three.” Rodimus tapped his chin. “Why?” His expression shifted from anger to wariness. “You have nothing left to lose, do you?”

Soundwave stared down at him in resentful silence.

“The dark energon and the kill code were your last assets, weren't they?”

Soundwave was very still.

“But you used them to save everyone.”

“Personal survival rate higher if Lost Light remains intact, regardless of ability to return to home dimension.” Soundwave's tentacles rustled uncomfortably in their housing. “Return is impossible. Processor can no longer sort data at rate and consistency needed to calculate navigational pathway. Crystal project takes precedence. Infiltration... delayed.”

“Well,” said Rodimus. “I'm horrified, frankly.” He strummed his fingers on the desk. “But also... thank you. I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't modified the shield.”

foolish autobot

How many times did he have to tell them? Soundwave displayed the supernova scenario again. “The Lost Light would have been destroyed-”

“That was rhetorical, Soundwave.” Rodimus studied him. After a moment, he declared, “I need a fuckin' drink.”

Chapter Text

Rodimus's seat squeaked as he swung down into it. “Promise you won't get mad.”

The neon lights of Visages threw stripes of pink and blue across Drift's plating. He crossed his arms, mouth a thin line. Rodimus took a swig from the thermos he had brought. The engex sat heavy in his tanks.

Given what Rodimus had seen of the Scavengers' reactions to the dark energon, he could barely process the idea of the Lost Light's strongest mechs drenched in it and turning on each other in a closed space. For the first time since he'd made his promise to Soundwave – to help him get a new life aboard the Lost Light – doubt crept across Rodimus's spark. How could he possibly rehabilitate a mech like that?

But Megatron had once thought that way, too...

Drift didn't touch the thermos Rodimus graciously and thoughtfully set on the table for him. “Is this about Soundwave?”

“Maybe,” said Rodimus. “Maybe. Promise on our amica bond.”

“You know if I make a promise on our bond and you force me to break it, the friendship ends forever.”

“No, it doesn't! We make the rules. Nothing has to end.”

“So... so, you are gonna force me to break this promise you want me to make?”

“Ugh. You've been spending too much time with Megatron.” Rodimus rubbed the sides of his helm. “There's something I need to tell the crew, because of the transparency rules, and I don't want another M-word on my hands-”

“No one's gonna mutiny-”

“Shh! Shh. I need to figure out how to say something everyone will hate. A lot.”

Drift grabbed his thermos. His eyes went green at the edges. “What is it?”

“Promise you won't tell anyone until I can figure out how to say it. Oh! Also promise you'll help me figure out how to say it.”

“I don't like this,” said Drift. “I don't like talking behind Megatron and Ultra Magnus's backs. We're supposed to meet them for the post-wave brief. The Lost Light can't afford to have leaders who sneak around, making promises and decisions in abandoned bars.”

“I know! That's why- that's why- look, I'm going to tell them. They have to know. I just wanted your... input on how to say it.”

Drift sighed. “Say what?”

“Make the promise,” said Rodimus. He traced a circle over his spark.

Drift rolled his eyes. “Fine. Promise.”

“Okay. Soundwave saved the ship, right? You heard about that?”

“I haven't had time to read over Magnus's report. I heard something about 'dark energon.' I'm not exactly sure what that is.”

“It's the purple stuff, like what the Scavengers are in now. Soundwave used it to strengthen the shields.”

“Oh. Okay...” Drift's field edged out with apprehension.

“And that was good! Right? That was really good, cuz according to scenarios he'd run, the quantum foam plan wouldn't have worked-”

“Whose scenarios? Soundwave's?”

“Yeah. He said the shields needed energon, so he put the dark energon in the shields and saved the ship.”

“Uh huh.” Drift twisted his thermos open. “And?”

“And...” Rodimus forced his spoiler up, forced his field to remain positive. “And that dark energon came from our 0001 energon.”

Drift blinked. “What? Wait. What?”

“The purple, it comes from pink, right? We saw the Scavengers turn the pink to purple?”

“The catalyst?”

“Yeah! That.” Rodimus waved a hand. “Science magic. The pink that Soundwave used, it was our 0001 energon.”

Drift's eyes went red. “All the 0001 energon is gone?”

“Yeah.”

With a metallic kkxx! the thermos cracked. Drift took a deep breath. Energon ran out between his fingers. “Where is he?”

“Soundwave? He's- he's under guard. He's not going anywhere.” Rodimus sure as hell wasn't going to tell Drift where Soundwave was. In his room, as it were. With Boss and Strafe outside the door.

Drift ground his teeth. “Where was it?”

Rodimus summarized Soundwave's Phase Two and Three plans as quickly as he could. Drift traced angry glyphs on the table in spilled engex.

“So,” said Rodimus, “He did a bad thing a while ago, but he ultimately used the dark energon to save us, but also it sucks and is real bad.”

“Yes,” said Drift. His eye twitched. “Why do you always drag me into these things?”

“Because you're important! To me and the crew. You need to know about all the things going on.”

Drift thought for a moment. “Formally submitting reassignment request: I want to swap positions with Hoist. I'm gonna fulfill my ultimate destiny of communing with the stars.”

“Reassignment denied,” said Rodimus. “C'mon, I could've never told you. I could've kept this from everyone. This is real growth on my part.” He struck a pose. “Actions and consequences and stuff. Like you always say. Except I'd like to, ah, mitigate the consequences as much as possible.”

“Rodimus-”

“And! He did save the ship! A fully intentional, conscious decision!”

“He saved himself.” Drift groaned. “Rodimus, I don't know what to do about this. Megatron was right. We should've thrown him in the brig.”

“You don't mean that.”

Drift shrugged. “Look at all the things he's done-”

“And? Have you looked in a mirror? He needs time! We've already been over this-” Hurt rippled through Drift's field. Rodimus cut himself off. “Wait, shit. I'm sorry-”

“I love when my best friend throws Deadlock in my face like that.”

“I'm sorry!” Rodimus grabbed his hand. “Really, I am-”

“I know.” Drift shook his head. “Stings every time, though.”

Rodimus grimaced. “I'm really-”

“Yeah, I know.” Drift sighed. His eyes faded to orange. He squeezed Rodimus's hand. “You believed in me when no one else would. Barbs notwithstanding, I shouldn't be surprised you're trying so hard.”

“Thank you.”

“Assuming it's not just about your ego.”

“Pff, never,” said Rodimus. “Soundwave just needs more time. I hope.” Drift's hand was warm in his. Rodimus didn't want to let go when Drift gently pulled away. “What if Soundwave went to one of your ex-Decepticon meetings?”

“You know about that?!”

“Yeah! Speaking of keeping secrets.”

“I don't think he'll get anything out of them. Honestly, I don't. He's not ready. He won't care. He wouldn't listen to a word we said.”

“Damn. Okay.” Rodimus stared past Drift at the hole in the wall behind him. “We're already punishing Soundwave for the incident. We can't get the 0001 energon back now. We've lost other things in the past. This hurts the most... but all we can do is keep going.”

“Yeah. 'Keep going' is the one thing we're really good at. But the crew will be out for blood.”

“They will. But other than making Soundwave's tier one chore cycle permanent, which I think will annihilate any hope of rehabilitation... I'm not sure what else we can do that falls within peacetime punishment parameters.”

“Got that right,” said Drift. “I can think of lots of not peacetime punishments.”

“They won't work. None of it will work. You can't grind a mech into the ground and expect them to rise. What if we... turn this whole punishment thing upside-down?” Rodimus snapped his fingers. “What if I reward him for his good behavior instead?”

“What.”

“To encourage him to keep choosing to do good.”

“Oh no, green aura with yellow rays,” said Drift. “That means you're up to something. Whatever it is, don't do it-”

“I need to make an announcement!” Rodimus leapt from his seat. “I need to call a ship-wide meeting!”

“Wait-”

“Thanks, Drift!” shouted Rodimus as he ran out of the bar. “You're the best!”

Soundwave balanced a white crystal on the tips of his fingers, straining. His arms, still bound, ached with the effort. His tentacles were sealed away beneath the light shield. Soundwave tried to ignore the reproachfulness coursing through his lines. Boss and Strafe had hauled him to his hab suite and shoved him inside without setting him free.

should have let supernova wave obliterate the ship!

reversing previous conclusion. reduced crew count: desired!

But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn't a tenable plan. Soundwave gripped the crystal tighter. He sank into it as best he could. Laserbeak shimmied against him, unable to set itself into the hole over his spark. All Soundwave could hear was the crystal's faint hum, pure and light, teasing the edges of the signal blockers.

He set the crystal down. Soundwave contemplated angling his helm against the edge of the shelf and pushing the signal blockers off his antennae. He wondered if his processor could handle it. He wouldn't be able to put them back on again, though. When the Autobots found them off, Ultra Magnus would force Soundwave to watch him design and manufacture an elaborate head contraption to permanently secure them. Soundwave elected to keep them in place.

bee-EEP!

Soundwave tilted his helm. That was the signal for an incoming high-priority PA announcement.

“Attention everyone, your handsomest co-captain here! Report to the bridge immediately for a ship-wide meeting. Til all are one!”

bee-EEP!

…

meeting?

…

ship-wide meeting?

Soundwave didn't get a chance to think further. The door slid open and Strafe waved his weapon. “Get out here, 'Con.”

Soundwave, flanked by his escorts, was marched to the bridge. The halls were crowded with mechs all heading in the same direction. The Autobots quieted when he joined their streaming throng. Soundwave settled at the edge of the bridge's lower level. Rodimus, Megatron, Drift, and Ultra Magnus were in their usual places on the upper level. Rodimus leaned over the railing, scanning the crowd.

not on mezzanine with captains: good sign. must not draw attention to self.

“There you are!” shouted Rodimus. “Boss, bring Soundwave up here.”

fuck. The word played in Aquafend's voice in his mind.

The muttering and whispers around Soundwave grew angular. The crew pulled their fields in, away from him. Soundwave plodded behind Boss: across the floor, up the elevator, across the mezzanine.

“C'mere,” said Rodimus, waving at the air next to him. “Right here. Boss, you're good.”

Boss fled back down the elevator and Soundwave reluctantly took his place beside Rodimus. The crew stared up at him, faces of all shapes and sizes, but of a singular wariness.

They weren't crawling up the walls to pull Soundwave apart, though. Maybe Rodimus hadn't told them about the 0001 energon, yet. Maybe he would never tell them.

Maybe he was going to tell them right now.

autobots won't kill me, Soundwave assured himself. autobots: inferior

“Rodimus,” Ultra Magnus said in his grumbling impression of a whisper. “You announcing a ship-wide meeting should not be the first time we hear about a ship-wide meeting.” He gestured to himself and Megatron. “We haven't had our debrief yet. We can't project a united front on the leadership level without fully understanding-”

“It's fine!” said Rodimus. “Just go with it.”

“I'm the least go with it mech in the multiverse and you know it,” said Ultra Magnus. “How-”

Rodimus clapped his hands. “Attention everyone, attention! Thank you for assembling so quickly. I have a couple of announcements. First, good job with the supernova wave. No injuries and no irreparable damage to the ship! That's a major accomplishment! A round of applause for you all!”

Soundwave glared down at the crew. applauding themselves. i did all the work!

“Okay, okay, shut up now,” said Rodimus. “Next: a teeny, tiny bit of bad news. But first, let me set the scene for you. We're on the bridge. The supernova wave is about to approach. The initial plan for the shield is to fill it with quantum foam. But it's not working! The foam won't hold against the wave! Fortunately, the quick actions of one mech save us all. He calculates that energon can be used in place of foam. The shield is filled with energon and holds against the wave! We're saved! Yay!”

“Woo!” yelled Swerve.

“However, and details are murky at this time, and I will personally head up an investigation, a small quantity of energon had to be sacrificed to save the Lost Light and all of our lives. And it seems that small quantity of energon... was our 0001 energon.”

The crew went silent. Shock flared through 200 mechs' fields simultaneously. It was an impressive force against Soundwave's plating. Ultra Magnus's eyes flashed. Drift shot Rodimus a murderous look. Megatron glared.

Rodimus continued, chipper as ever. “As heartbreaking as it is to hear, it was not for nothing. Without this great sacrifice, we wouldn't be standing here now. As my best friend Drift says: without being present, we can't be anything at all.”

“I don't say tha-”

“And so I'm happy to swivel us to the next talking point: we're honoring the mech who saved us!” Rodimus thrust his arms out with a huge grin. “Soundwave!”

Soundwave froze.

i-

what-

Another wave of shock went through the crew, boiling over into confusion.

“Wait, what was that about the 0001 energon?” called First Aid.

“Are you fucking kidding?” yelled Lug.

“No,” said Rodimus, pulling a Rodimus star from subspace with a flourish. “Soundwave did save us and we are thanking him for it.” He smacked the star onto Soundwave's chest. It tingled magnetically against his plating. “Thank you, Soundwave! Without your quick thinking and selfless courage, we wouldn't be standing here right now!”

what-

“But what about the attempted murder?” cried Lug.

“You can't give someone who's still on the chore cycle a Rodimus star!” yelled Whirl. “You told me that 7 dimensions ago when I saved us from the radioactive clock cultists!”

“Wait, what happened to the 0001 energon?” shouted Inferno. “It's gone?”

“Yes! It's gone!” Rodimus waved his arms erratically. “But we're here and that's what counts. The Lost Light and her crew are more than capable of going forward without it! And if you think about it, we've been without it for a long time anyway.”

A powerful field hit Soundwave's side. Megatron, eyes like two red stars about to explode, strode up next to Rodimus. He gripped the railing. His voice remained steady and calm. “I will also be investigating the incident with the 0001 energon. But if it is truly gone, then we must unite and move forward as one. The 0001 energon did not define us as a populace.”

“Exactly,” said Rodimus. His grin faltered for a nanosecond under Megatron's glare. “We can, of course, set a time for proper mourning or something. Whatever you guys think is good.” Rodimus waved at Ultra Magnus. “Assemble a committee and see what kind of symbolic thing the crew wants to do.”

“Yes, captain.”

The crew's fields settled into uncertainty. As they talked amongst themselves, Megatron leaned closer to Rodimus. “What the hell are you doing? We never discussed any of this!”

“You'll see! I have a plan,” said Rodimus. “A good plan. Thanks for playing along. Keep playing, I'm not done yet.”

“Wha-”

“Hey! Announcements aren't over,” yelled Rodimus. “To thank Soundwave for his actions and acknowledge his steadfast dedication to his tier one chore cycle, I'm going to allot him a bit more freedom around the ship. No cuffs, no armed escort except to chores. He'll have limited rein of the public areas and I expect you all to treat him like the hero he is.”

?!?!

“What?!” yelled Megatron.

“Hero my aft!” shouted Lug.

“Mine too!” yelled Whirl.

The crowd erupted into chaos. Rodimus ducked under Megatron's reaching arms and scooted to Soundwave's side. “Captain's decree!” he yelled. “It's law now! It's law!” Rodimus slammed his palm against the light shield. It crackled apart. Soundwave was too stunned to release his tentacles, though their irises spun open and closed. “Soundwave, don't fuck this up for me,” muttered Rodimus, reaching for the cuffs.

“Rodimus! You can't seriously mean to let him roam around unbridled and unattended!” cried Ultra Magnus.

“No,” said Rodimus with a grin. He unlatched the cuffs. Soundwave shook his arms and centered his stance. “No. He keeps the signal blockers on.”

“That's not enough,” said Drift. He looked down at the rioting crew and gripped the hilts at his hips. “I thought you didn't want an M-word, Rodimus!”

Guns fired into the air. Megatron turned from accosting Rodimus to jabbing a forefinger at the crew. “Settle down at once! The next mech to fire a weapon in the bridge goes straight to the brig!” He ducked as a barrage of empty engex bottles were thrown onto the mezzanine.

freedom? of movement? ulterior motive must be present. ...crew can find me unescorted and ambush me??

rodimus's goal: unknown. undefinable-

“Woo! What a rush,” said Rodimus, backing away from the railing. “Hey, Soundwave.” He fluttered a hand against his chest. “My spark is spinning. Can you hear it?”

????

Soundwave barely registered the question. It was utterly illogical, misplaced among the shattering bottles and the murderous glares of every mech around him.

“Hellooo? Can you?” Rodimus guided him further away from the railing. “Try real hard, Soundwave. You super owe me.”

Soundwave focused, if only to give his floundering mind something to do. Even with the signal blockers, he could hear the layers of death threats and curses from the crew. He could hear no somatic sounds, save his own lines pounding with confusion and anxiety. “Negative.”

“Great!” Rodimus grabbed Drift and Ultra Magnus and pulled them close. “Dismiss the crew. Tell them if they're still on the bridge in five minutes, they're getting a round of the tier one chore cycle. Meet me in my office-”

“What the hell are you doing?!” said Drift, wrenching his arm out of Rodimus's grasp. “Soundwave can't go free. We never discussed any of this as a leadership team-”

“Don't you get it?” said Rodimus. “They're too mad about Soundwave now to be mad about the 0001 energon. And they're too mad at me to be mad at Soundwave. Meet me in my office. I have to make a special call.”

Chapter Text

“Ugh. I can't believe I gave the mech the exact thing he's been begging for all this time and he doesn't even try it,” said Rodimus. He glared at the monitor poking up from his desk. Security camera footage of Soundwave played on a loop. “Every night for the past four nights: opens the door, looks out at the hallway, and goes back into his hab suite.” Rodimus scowled at the walls of his office. “'Release me,' my aft.”

Drift sat on the desk, leaning back on his arms. One leg swung up lazily and shifted a pile of data pads aside. He nodded at the monitor. “You don't think he can sense-”

“No,” said Rodimus. “His signal blockers are on.” He hadn't wanted to install the secret camera across from Soundwave's door, partly because it also monitored his own door. But also because he had wanted to cling to the idea that they were giving Soundwave the illusion that they trusted him.

But not everything was up to Rodimus. Unfortunately.

After he had explained the second half of his brilliant plan to Megatron, his co-captain had acquiesced, but not before demanding some stipulations of his own. And thus, the hated camera.

“At least the crew hasn't M-worded,” said Drift.

“Probably because Soundwave darts back to his hab suite the moment his chores are done,” said Rodimus. “That doesn't stop the rumors, though. Somehow no one ever sees him, but he's also every looming shadow in the corridors. Tell me, how could a mech as tall as Ultra Magnus possibly sneak around?”

“Maybe if he turned sideways,” said Drift with a wry smile.

“Pff.” Rodimus waved at the data pads. “All these are complaints from Magnus and the Security Team. Hallway fights and graffiti. And no one agrees who's supposed to clean it up.”

Drift shrugged. “Stick it onto the tier one chore cycle.”

“Oh yeah. Can't wait to see Soundwave's reaction to Soundwave: inferior with seventeen variations of 'frag' stuck in there. Not to mention the drawings.” Rodimus sighed. “Still, it's going better than I thought it would. I'll let the crew express themselves another few nights, then threaten to take away Whirl's Punching Things Club. They'll go back to fighting where they're supposed to fight.”

“Hopefully.”

Rodimus caught Drift's tone. “What? Have you heard something?”

Drift shifted. “You know, having a Decepticon on board reminds everyone that a few of us used to be Decepticons.”

“Someone giving you trouble?”

“Not really. But I can feel it, when I pass mechs. Pulling their fields in. Quieting down. They expected me and Ultra Magnus to talk some sense into you. We didn't. He gets a pass because of his perfect record of adherence and dedication to Autobot law. I don't.”

“Still? After all this time?” Rodimus pushed the piles of data pads away. “Did someone say that to you or are you projecting?”

Drift's field flared with irritation. “It's a logical assumption-”

“You know what they say about assumptions,” said Rodimus. “Remember the plan. Just blame me.”

“I tried.” Drift sighed. He pulled something from subspace. “I didn't want to show you this, but-”

It was a Rodimus star, crumpled and dirty, like it had been stepped on. Rodimus's spark squeezed with a jolt of sadness. “Oh.” He flipped it over. “Aquafend?”

“How'd you know?”

“There's a little number scratched into the bottom,” said Rodimus. He cradled the broken star, spoiler lowering.

“He said it wasn't worth anything if Soundwave had one, too,” said Drift. “He threw it at me after I said we're following your plan.”

“Oh. That's. Hmm.” Rodimus clamped down on the sadness trickling through his lines. It was just a Rodimus star. Just a little scrap of metal. Just his own likeness that he handed out with pride whenever his crew shone bright. “Okay, I see what you mean.” He tucked it away. “I gotta amp it up. I know Soundwave will pan out. It'll be okay.” Rodimus forced his spoiler up and injected cheerfulness into his field. “Just gotta drag him outta those quarters! Good thing I have an excuse tonight. Got a little surprise lined up, and Primus, am I looking forward to it. You should come! What are you doing after the first chore shift?”

“Something special with Ratchet,” said Drift.

“Lucky Ratchet.” Rodimus grabbed a little box of energon treats and tossed one into his mouth. He stared at the security footage looping on the monitor. “I don't get it, though. He's not even, like, going to the cafeteria for an evening snack. Or sneaking into the engine room to kill code it.”

“He's a Decepticon,” said Drift. “Whatever you say to him, he's going to take it the opposite way that you meant it. And not just a regular opposite way: the stupidest, most devious opposite you could never think of.” Drift waved a hand. “As demonstrated with Megatron and the listen command.”

“Hmm.” Rodimus chewed. That sounded like a challenge.

Soundwave hurried back to his hab suite, taking a longer, but less populated route. He had noted the neon images and curses springing up in the halls, no doubt marking ideal ambush locations. It wasn't that Soundwave was afraid of being attacked, never! Just... wary. Acutely aware of the fact that he was on a side of one. The most hated mech on the ship.

Which never used to bother him. But now it was sharp, like a knife, cutting away at him. Digging into a weakness he suspected he didn't have before the emotion-suppressing protocols failed. He didn't need approval or acceptance. Especially from Autobots! Just because, in retrospect, that was the default state he had enjoyed under his Megatron-

Just- just because his entire role on the Nemesis had been shaped around total loyalty and compliance-

Soundwave let out his tentacles. They wavered as he went, tendrils trailing along seams in the walls. He distracted himself from his thoughts by trying to map the electrical systems. They were faint, little branching networks in his mind, brightening and fading as he moved. Like flying between the roots of a gigantic, humming tree, lights illuminating the sprawl.

The morning's loathsome plumbing chore had been slightly less loathsome on account of the supervisory mech, Hot Spot. He was a quieter, kinder mech than Inferno. Which was to say, he left Soundwave alone and didn't make obnoxious comments. Soundwave had scraped everything up as quickly as he could and was rewarded with a few free hours before the evening's torturous socialization event. He would spend them showering and glowering.

SOUNDWAVE: INFERIOR

Of all the graffiti he had seen so far, this one was accompanied by a diagram Soundwave couldn't ignore: his frame, tentacles ripped off, chest cut open, spark being snuffed out by the end of a gun.

Tendrils dug into the wall, ripping the diagram apart in a shower of flashing metal.

SKKRRCCCHHH

“Soundwave: superior!”

A moment later, a security mech poked his head around the corner. “Hey! What're you doing?”

Soundwave hurried on.

After he had scrubbed the last traces of the filtering/recycling room from his plating, Soundwave surveyed his quarters. He had mapped all the crystals Drift had loaned him to the best of his ability. He wanted more. New crystals. New patterns to explore. And he had yet to figure out how to ignite his supply of seed crystals-

knock knock

Rodimus smiled up at him when he opened the door. “Guess what, Soundwave!”

“1.8 hours of free time remain before socialization event,” said Soundwave. He signaled the door to shut.

“Hey!” Rodimus stuck his foot in the door. “Overridden. Today's the last day of your first tier one chore cycle! You did it! You completed one cycle!” He threw a handful of multicolored confetti at Soundwave.

Soundwave staggered back. He was never privy to a calendar or the schedule, but he thought he had completed at least two or three cycles by now. “All that time... for one cycle?”

“Yup! That's why you gotta not be a bastard and break the rules,” said Rodimus. “Eleven more cycles to go.”

“Eleven... more...”

“Come on!” Rodimus reached into the room and grabbed his arm. “We're gonna celebrate!”

“Before ye get a drink from me, ye must answer these questions three!” Swerve reset his vocalizer and leaned against the bar top, fists under his chin. Behind him hung a handmade sign, CONGRABULATION SOUNWAVE! 1 CHOR CYCLE! “What is Laserbeak? Is she like... a cassette thing?”

“It is part of me,” said Soundwave. “Non-sentient but mobile.” He hunched on his stool, picking bits of confetti out of the seams of his tentacles with his tendrils. Nautica sat to his left, regarding him with wary friendliness. Rodimus was on his right, chatting away to Rewind and Bluestreak. Rodimus had assured him it wouldn't be a big party, a collection of “hand-selected mechs, good people,” and he had told the truth. Only a few mechs milled around Swerve's, but Soundwave still felt outnumbered and exposed. Cyclonus glared from a few seats away. Soundwave was under the impression Tailgate had dragged him along. He hazarded the crumpled party hats impaled on his horns were also Tailgate's doing.

“But is she separate? Were you forged together? Or”—Swerve added hastily—“constructed together? We don't discriminate here.”

“It is part of me,” repeated Soundwave.

“Yeah, but, was she made separately, or-”

“Is your head part of you or was it made separately?” snapped Soundwave.

“That's a good question,” said Nautica. She winked.

“Shut up, you,” said Swerve. “If it's not alive, then why does it have a name?”

Soundwave displayed an image of the Rod Pod on his visor.

“Oh.”

Nautica giggled. “That was at least three questions. Soundwave gets his first drink! Put it on my tab and give me a triple. ”

“Har har,” said Swerve. “Soundwave, your first drink ever at Swerve's is always free, but small. If you complain about the size, it's not free anymore. Here are all the flavors I can make with your dimensional additive.” Swerve held out a data pad.

Soundwave reached for it. For the first time since he had arrived on the Lost Light, he took note of the shape of a data pad. Something sparked in his processor, something he had purposefully ignored while aboard the Nemesis. It ran rampant through his mind now. Soundwave could do nothing but fixate on it. The shape! His tendrils froze in midair. A 3D wireframe of the data pad appeared on his visor. His vocalizer hissed. “Hhhhhhh...”

“Uh,” said Swerve. “Something wrong...?”

Soundwave's frame shook. Swerve and Nautica stepped back.

“Hhhhhha,” said Soundwave. His frame shook harder. “Haa. Haha. Ha!”

Swerve's eyes darted. “Are you laughing?”

“Ha ha! Ha! HA!” Soundwave's visor flashed, the wireframe data pad on it spinning. The mechs around him took careful steps back.

“Soundwave?” asked Rodimus. “Are you okay?”

“He's lost his fucking mind!” cried Bluestreak. He curled his arms around the cups on the bar.

“AHA HA! HA! HA!!” Soundwave hunched into himself. His tentacles undulated in long, S-shaped curves.

“Guys... I'm kinda scared,” said Rewind, ducking behind a barstool. His camera blinked. “Great cinema, though.”

“Very dada,” agreed Nautica, crouching behind Cyclonus. He put a hand on her shoulder as Tailgate dove into his lap.

Soundwave laughed for a minute straight, screeching across every frequency. His visor displayed the data pad, glitching and duplicating into colorful, ghostly doubles. The Autobots cringed and covered their audials.

“What is wrong with him?” Bluestreak shouted. Rodimus shrugged. “Did the chore cycle break him already?!”

“Maybe he hasn't laughed since before his war!” shouted Tailgate. “Maybe it's all coming out now!”

“-ahhh! Hahaha! Ha. Ha.” Soundwave straightened. He pulled his tentacles in closer. “Heh.”

“What the hell was that about?!” yelled Swerve, cautiously removing his hands from his audials.

Soundwave held up the data pad in his tendrils. “Rounded corners,” he said, pointing to the data pad's rounded corners.

“So?!”

“Data pads in my dimension have squared-off corners.”

The Autobots looked at each other, dumbfounded.

“And... and that's it? That's the joke?” said Tailgate. “The corners here are round?”

Soundwave snickered, a chilling, hissing sound.

“Um. Well. Okay, then,” said Swerve. “Wow.”

“Maybe Ultra Magnus can explain the joke,” said Tailgate quietly. “It sounds like an Ultra Magnus joke.”

“That was a disturbing display,” said Cyclonus. He folded his arms. “I don't say that lightly.”

“Um,” said Swerve. “Well... what do you want?”

Soundwave read the data pad, field still pulsing with amusement. “Newcomer's Firebrand.”

“Gotcha,” said Swerve. He snatched the offending data pad from Soundwave and tucked it under the bar. “What kind of faulty Soundwave is this? No face, no Ravage, tries to murder us all, laughs at data pads...” He and Bluestreak set off to make the beverage.

Rodimus leaned close to Soundwave. “Okay- okay. I'm not gonna say that was the worst it could have gone, and I don't want to tell you that you can't be yourself, cuz that's important within reason, but... maybe tone down the laughter a little bit next time?”

“Hehehe.” Soundwave flashed the 3D wireframe of the data pad again.

“Primus, you're weird,” said Rodimus.

“Here,” said Bluestreak. He placed Soundwave's drink on the bar and pushed it towards him with one finger. “Do you, uh... need a straw?”

“Negative.”

“Do you have a mouth?” asked Swerve.

“Swerve!” said Nautica.

“What? It's a legitimate question.”

“Rude!”

Soundwave plunged his tendrils into the drink.

ssskkkkllllrrrrrp

Bluestreak wrinkled his nose. Nautica's smile become more toothy and she pushed her barstool further away.

“Yup, classic Soundwave.” Rodimus tapped the bar top. “Swerve, next time Mirage comes in here, put his drinks on m- uh, Ultra Magnus's tab. The mech could use a little pick-me-up.”

“Aye aye,” said Swerve.

Soundwave sklrp'd his way through the small drink, then through the entire menu available in his dimensional additive. They all had the same taste lingering beneath the flavors- that dimensional additive taste. Or, as close to taste as he could get through his tendrils. Soundwave didn't plan on ever taking his visor off.

“Urayan Pitch,” said Soundwave, tapping the bar top with his prongs.

“Again?” said Swerve. “You, uh, sure you can handle that? Your giggle fest happened before you started tonight.”

“Giggle fest: incorrect assessment-”

“What's your FIM chip set to?” asked Nautica.

“Permanently engaged,” said Soundwave.

“Oh. That sounds fun,” said Swerve. “Well, then. Whatever.” He dispensed a tall glass of pure black liquid. “Enjoy.”

sklllllrrrrrp

Soundwave remained quiet as the mechs chatted around him. They had all been together for a long time. Half their conversation was inaccessible to him, comprised of inside jokes and phrases he didn't understand. Occasionally someone would give him an in on the conversation. He responded with short, succinct sentences. They accepted that and moved on.

After a while, Soundwave realized that the anxiety had left his lines. He was just sitting there, observing, and... not planning. Not angry. Not scanning mechs' body language for aggression. Despite Cyclonus's rendition of some ancient ballad, no one was screaming or running around or even grimacing. Rodimus grinned, throwing an arm around Nautica and reminding her of something about a volcano. Bluestreak was expertly juggling glasses out of Swerve's reach. At some point, Riptide had ambled in and watched with huge eyes, his own drink untouched.

defenses: dropped!!

Soundwave straightened up. He gripped his glass. He scanned the room over and over.

None of the Autobots were displaying threatening signs. They all laughed and smiled and joked and touched each other- hands on shoulders, hugs, playful punches to the arm.

“Hey,” came a gentle voice.

Soundwave swiveled around. He didn't see anyone. Something tapped his elbow. He looked down into Tailgate's bright, blue visor.

“You okay?” Tailgate pulled himself up onto the stool next to Soundwave. He stood, one foot planted on the bartop. “You were doing fine and then all the sudden I saw you get all-” He stiffened his arms at the sides of his frame and went completely still.

Soundwave's tentacles undulated as he stared at the little Autobot.

“Hey, I get it. Quiet type, dangerous type. I get it,” said Tailgate, making placating hand motions. “I've found those kinds of mechs tend to be the most interesting. But hardly anyone ever gets to really know that.” His visor went white at the edges. His hands shook. “You gotta get over the petrifying fear, of course, but I've found it's worth it.”

The Autobot was afraid of him.

The Autobot was afraid and clearly not a threat. Shaking pathetically, looking up at Soundwave, his field a blend of fear and hopefulness.

???

motive: …?

Soundwave leaned close. Tailgate's fists shook harder. “What do you want?”

“J- just what I said,” said Tailgate. “You come to Movie Night but you never say anything. Except that one time. But I saw you be a xenomorph at the holoavatar party! You liked that movie, didn't you? It takes time to customize an avatar like that.”

Soundwave issued a short, hissing laugh. He displayed a snippet of the party from his point of view: the xenomorph's inner mouth snapping out, impaling Bluestreak's female human avatar through the right eye. She disappeared in a flash of light shards.

Tailgate laughed nervously. “Yeah, that. Gross. Uh. But yeah.” He tapped his fingers together. “Um. I guess... I guess, if you're going to keep coming to Movie Night, it would only be fair... if we let you pick a movie. One time.”

A silence settled between them, untouched by the surrounding frivolity.

“Um,” said Tailgate, voice pitching higher. “That is, if you wanted-”

“Organic movies: unknown. Organic races: inferior.”

“Ah. Right,” said Tailgate. “Of course you'd think that.” He sighed. “We do have some Cybertronian films. They're made by various Thundercrackers-”

As the Autobot babbled, Soundwave searched his database for Thundercracker. The name had appeared in a few notes in the multidimensional star map. This mech tended to be agreeable across dimensions when the Lost Light crew met up with him. Depending on where in the post-war timeline a particular dimension was, they would seek him (along with other key mechs) out to gather information and samples. This assessment had been intuited by attribution listings like, Dimension 0157: Pop culture, engex, and energon samples provided by Thundercracker in return for copies of movies from 0001 Earth.

“Thundercracker: Decepticon or Autobot?”

“-the- oh! Uh. Decepticon, usually.”

“Movie Night proposal: accepted.”

“Oh!” Tailgate's visor lit up. “Great! Rewind will send you a list you can choose from before the next Movie Night. Congrats on finishing your first chore cycle, by the way!” Before Soundwave could respond, Tailgate hopped off the stool and ran over to join Cyclonus.

…

???

Soundwave replayed the conversation, searching Tailgate's body language for hidden signals, his words for duplicitous meanings.

He couldn't find anything definitive, though Soundwave knew his processor wasn't up to its old standards.

Unbidden, Rodimus's statement from a few days ago went through his mind. “You might not understand this, but sometimes people care about other people...”

Rodimus was right. Soundwave didn't understand it. He had dismissed the statement outright. He had no idea what that could even look like in terms of a mech's behavior and field output.

Did it look like... mechs offering innocuous choices with neither repercussions nor expectation?

Did it look like... a small party thrown for a trivial reason?

Did it look like...

A quick succession of images passed through Soundwave's processor: his Rodimus star, First Aid cradling a broken Wingy, Blaster telling him he owed Nautica more than he realized, the misspelled sign, Grotusque piecing together shattered metal and glass, the vial of Rodimus's innermost energon...

Soundwave's processor hurt. It was trying to connect all these things together into a lattice that made sense. The actions were all there, but Soundwave was missing something about their depth, as he had once missed the Soundwave in the lattices of his dreams-

“There he is! The mech of the hour.” Rodimus flopped down on the stool next to him. “Or, of the past several hours.” His eyes were bright, his field broader and more widespread than usual. “How's it going? You like your party? These mechs- they're all great. They're all really great. I love 'em.” He held up his glass. “I love you guys!”

A chorus of similar sentiments echoed around the room.

“See that?” said Rodimus. “That's good stuff. That's what it's all about. Everything.” He brushed against Soundwave as he gestured. “All the things. Did you like your party?”

Soundwave leaned away from him. His processor was obviously compromised by ingestion of engex. Based on observations Soundwave had made on the Nemesis, he could expect Rodimus's complex protocols – judgement, acuity – to be likewise compromised.

He was in an amiable state, a manipulatable state.

Soundwave was dimly aware of his former self refusing to engage with Autobots in this capacity: through trickery, direct contact, playing upon their emotions. Messy. Illogical. Time-wasting.

Rodimus was staring at him expectantly.

“Follow,” said Soundwave. He set his glass down on the bar top and made his way to the exit. No one stopped him. In fact, the other mechs applauded, and Rodimus followed without complaint.

“Oh, didn't know you wanted to come here,” said Rodimus. He stared at the flower-encrusted door to Drift's hab suite. “Yeah, Drift's cool. Yeah, we should bring Drift back to Swerve's. Good idea.” He banged on the door. “Hey, Drift!”

“Negative,” said Soundwave. “New crystals: desired-”

“Shh, shh. He's comm-ing me,” said Rodimus. He tilted his head. “He's mad. Why is he mad? He's- oh. I forgot it's a special night with Ratchet.” Rodimus banged on the door. “Hey! Ratchet! Do that thing to his pauldrons, he really likes that! Did you hear me? Do the thing with the- Ow! Oh, he's really yelling now.” Rodimus giggled. “Okay, okay.” He banged on the door two more times as he yelled, “We're leaving!”

Rodimus hummed as Soundwave led them through the halls. “Where to next?”

“Brainstorm,” said Soundwave.

“Why?”

“New crystals: desired. Sample library may contain crystals.”

“That sounds boring! Let's go back to Swerve's.”

“Negative.”

“Aww,” said Rodimus.

Soundwave waited for Rodimus to order him back to Swerve's. He didn't. In fact, it seemed like Rodimus had forgotten he could do such a thing. He followed Soundwave all the way to Brainstorm and Perceptor's lab.

Brainstorm's eyes lit up when he opened the door. “Soundwave! Oh- and you, captain.”

“Hey!” said Rodimus.

Brainstorm studied him a moment. Then he looked at Soundwave. “I think I understand... come in, captain. I have all manner of shiny things to show you.”

“Oh? Shiny like 0001 energon?”

Brainstorm tilted his head. “Perceptor?” he called. “Light of my spark? Would you please briefly entertain the captain?”

Perceptor exuded the most eloquent grumbling Soundwave had ever heard. He took Rodimus's arm and pulled him towards a table laden with glowing energon in glass vessels.

“Finally,” said Brainstorm, leading Soundwave to the far end of the lab. “The library! You got it, right?”

“Affirmative.”

“Have you found a pattern?”

“Negative.”

Brainstorm's wings dipped. “You're certain? Did you flip the data all kinds of ways? Invert the points?”

“Certain: affirmative. Flip and invert: affirmative. No pattern.”

“Damn. Damn! I was so sure you would find something.” Brainstorm put his hand to his chin. “You were the one who synthesized an energon catalyst from a broken recharge slab and stolen supplies, right?”

Irritation flashed through Soundwave. “Affirmative. Processor has been... altered by recent events.”

“Hmm.” Brainstorm's expression was unreadable, his field carefully pulled in. “Then... if you didn't find anything, what do you want?”

“Crystals.”

A loud snoring noise came from Rodimus. Perceptor's aggravated, “Captain, please,” was audible across the lab.

“Quickly,” said Soundwave.

Half an hour later, a jumble of crystals were screaming in Soundwave's arms. Representatives of a dozen dimensions, they clashed and thrummed through his processor. The closer they got to their hab suites, the thicker the excitement in Soundwave's lines ran. Brainstorm had allowed him to peruse the sample library and Soundwave had greedily grabbed all the crystals he could, until Rodimus came into the room whining and Perceptor yelled that they had to leave.

Rodimus had grabbed one of his tentacles and was swinging it by his side as he walked. Soundwave tolerated it: it prevented Rodimus from wandering off, or worse, back to Swerve's.

“Don't look at that,” said Rodimus, pointing to graffiti on the hallway wall.

GET OUT, SOUNDWAVE. FUCK YOU!

The glyphs for “Soundwave” elided into several other surrounding glyphs, expanding the original sentence into a complex system of insults that could be read forwards, backwards, and diagonally. It was both intricately and intimately insulting.

“I said don't look at it!” said Rodimus. “Don't. They don't mean it. Well, they do. But that's because they don't know yet. They don't understand. The ones at the party- they understand. But not everyone does. Give them time. Like how you need time.”

Soundwave didn't know what Rodimus meant. He erred on the side of not caring.

“You never said if you liked your party,” said Rodimus, his spoiler sagging a bit.

“Irrelevant.”

“No! It's relevant.” Rodimus sniffed. “It's important.”

“...why?”

“Because. Because it is. I'm captain and I say so, so it is.”

They continued, only the crystals filling the silence of the halls.

“Well?”

Soundwave said nothing.

“I'll stop asking if you answer.”

Soundwave said nothing.

“Soundwave, did you like your party? Did you like your party, Soundwave? Soundwave? Did you like your party?”

Irritation built up in Soundwave's lines. Even the screaming crystals could not obscure Rodimus's voice.

“Did you? Did you like your party? Soundwave? Soundwave? Soundw-”

“Party: acceptable!” Soundwave wrapped a tentacle around Rodimus's middle and shook him. His frame was warm, the energon flowing through his lines just able to be sensed by the tendrils that swept across his plating. “Rodimus: intolerable!”

“Whoa!” Rodimus gripped the tentacle and tried to pull it away. He wasn't strong enough. Soundwave shook him once more and let go. Rodimus stumbled back. After a moment of stunned silence, he laughed. It cut through the screaming of the crystals like a clear stream through mud.

“What?”

“I dunno,” said Rodimus. “But you liked your party. That's good enough for me.”

Soundwave sped up. They had finally reached their hallway. It was bereft of graffiti. His hab suite door was right there-

“Hey, wait,” said Rodimus. He touched Soundwave's arm. “What was that thing with the data pad?”

Soundwave's processor blanked.

data pad?

The outline of a data pad appeared on his visor. Oh right. “Hhhh... heh heh.”

“Hehe. Yeah. What's up with that?”

“Hhhh... heh heh.” Soundwave tapped the code to his hab suite into the key pad. “3244 secret.”

“Awww,” said Rodimus. “Tell me! Tell me or I'll keep asking. Soundwave. Soundwave! What's up with the-”

Soundwave did the only thing he could think of to shut Rodimus up: he shoved Rodimus face-first into his own door while shouting, “Good night!” and then ducking into his hab suite.

“Ha haaaa!” A victorious cry from the hallway.

Soundwave ignored it. He gently placed his treasures on the berth. He called up the multidimensional library. He hadn't told Brainstorm why he wanted crystals. He supposed, at some point, Drift or Rodimus would let his burgeoning ability slip. Soundwave wanted to keep it to himself for as long as he could.

He held a crystal from 1331 in his tendrils. It was bright red and something about it reminded him of Ambulon. Soundwave concentrated, deepening his focus, diving into a new dimension's latticework...

Chapter Text

With his tentacles free, Soundwave poured candy molds four times faster than Toaster. Toaster showed his appreciation by becoming even more intolerable. With great fanfare, Soundwave was removed from his #1 spot on the WorSt MecHs EveR list and demoted to #6. Regardless of any supervisory assessment, Soundwave preferred to complete his kitchen duties faster. It meant he could leave sooner.

But no matter how fast Soundwave worked, there was no stopping Toaster from stamping his little foot. It was the something is actually important foot stamp. Soundwave groaned inwardly and turned his audial input back on.

“-you even listening to me? I said, 'We have to change the additive processor's parameters for Trailbreaker and Mirage.'”

“Why?” Soundwave didn't actually care. He asked because it annoyed Toaster.

“Because your alt-dimension bodies can't handle things being easy for me.” Toaster held up a data sheet as long as he was tall. “A-hem. Open the additive processor menu, the one I showed you last week. No, not that one! The other one. Yeah. Okay, hold button 7 down for five sec- yeah, like that. Okay. Scroll down to Trailbreaker. See the sets of numbers? We gotta make what's in the machine match what's on this data sheet from Brainstorm.” He held it out to Soundwave. “Do that while I stir the spicy red sauce and I'll check your work.”

Ah, Brainstorm. The additive changes probably had something to do with the recent blood drawing. Soundwave took the data sheet. He stared at it. He made two short lists in his mind.

following orders correctly:

• pros: toaster is quieter, chore finishes more quickly
• cons: obeying toaster, does not irritate toaster

sabotaging trailbreaker's additive:

• pros: humorous, irritates toaster
• cons: toaster yells, chore time extended

The humor-to-Toaster ratio was not in his favor. Three seconds of chuckling did not correlate to three extra seconds of Toaster. It correlated to 300 extra seconds of Toaster. Reluctantly, Soundwave punched in the correct numbers.

“Good!” said Toaster. “You actually did it right. Hooray. Now do Mirage's.”

Soundwave navigated the menu again, selected Mirage's submenu, and entered his numbers. He paused at the last one.

filtration: 3?

Toaster hated the filtration setting going over 1, and if you pressed Soundwave for his own opinion, he would agree. Extra filtrations took extra time. The intricate dance of the kitchen was always thrown off by changes to filtration times.

Soundwave pointed to the data sheet. Toaster squinted at it. “Oh! A 3? Mirage thinks he's so fancy, he deserves triply-filtered energon? Well. Keep it at 1, Soundwave. He won't know anyway.”

That was fine with Soundwave. He finished with the settings and turned the data sheet over to Toaster to check his work.

“Hey!” said Toaster. “I told you to keep it at 1!”

Indignation rushed through Soundwave's lines. “1: entered!”

Toaster pointed at the display. “That's a 3, Soundwave!”

!

It was a 3. As Toaster scowled and changed the setting, Soundwave reviewed his footage. He hadn't changed it! Before he'd turned away, it was definitely set to 1.

“There,” said Toaster. “That's how it's done.”

Behind Toaster, the 1 changed to a 2, then a 3.

Soundwave pointed.

“What?” Toaster turned. “Hey! Stupid machine.” He reset the filter number. After a moment, it flicked back up to 3. “Dammit!” Toaster kicked the machine and reset it to 1.

2.

3.

After kicking and cursing and punching the machine for five minutes, Toaster finally relented. “Fine. Be a stupid 3. Hurry up, we've lost enough time on this already.”

For the rest of the morning, Soundwave kept an eye on the additive machine. It didn't exhibit any other unusual behavior. He even sneaked Ambulon's 2 setting down to 1 and waited. It remained at 1.

It was a puzzle, but ultimately an irrelevant one. Someone would come fix it and Toaster would find something new to complain about. Soundwave dismissed it from his mind.

After the morning chore, Soundwave lurched through the hallways, arms heavy with stolen, magnetized cafeteria bowls. If he hurried, he would have a few hours to himself before the evening's socialization. His tendrils dragged across the walls. Soundwave tore through the worst of the graffiti. If the damn Autobots wouldn't clean it up, he'd ruin the walls. He shouldn't have to look at this neon garbage, he saved their sorry plating-

“Ey! Soundwave!”

Soundwave whipped around. Aquafend raced toward him, accompanied by a roaring Grimlock. Soundwave glanced behind him. No one there.

ambush

poorly planned ambush

Soundwave crouched, tentacles up, their ends spinning like drills.

Aquafend's tires screeched as he braked and transformed. He powered up his gun. “Hey! Fuck you!”

Grimlock lowered his head, his thundering footfalls rattling Soundwave's signal blockers. “You hurt my friends!”

“Hhhhhheh.” Soundwave combined their voices together and played a staticky, “Fuck your friends.”

Grimlock launched himself into the air and transformed. Soundwave spun out of the way. Grimlock landed with a floor-crunching crack!

zzzt! zzzt!

White laser light shot past Soundwave's helm. He sprang up sideways, tentacles digging into the walls. He spidered up and across the ceiling, dodging laser fire.

Aquafend swore and transformed his hand. He stuck the gun on the end of his arm and aimed.

thoom!

Soundwave unlatched from the ceiling. He flattened himself to the floor as a ball of plasmic energon went by overhead, singeing the tips of his dorsal spines. His vision went hazy with heat distortion. Soundwave shook his helm and focused on Aquafend. Something flashed next to the security mech. another plasma ball? Soundwave flipped himself over, preparing to latch onto the ceiling again. Grimlock grabbed him by the neck.

“Skinny Decepticon!” He yanked Soundwave up from the floor. “Easy to break!”

Soundwave pummeled Grimlock with his tentacles, drilling into his thick armor. Grimlock tightened his grip on Soundwave's throat. Its collar plates bent outward, threatening to snap. Laserbeak sprang off Soundwave's chest.

tchew! tchew!

Laserbeak fired directly at Grimlock's face. “Aaugh!” He released Soundwave and staggered back, gripping his helm. Blood gushed from his visor.

thock!

“Hhnn!”

That was Aquafend. Soundwave turned. Aquafend was laid out on the floor, arms spread, biolights fading, gun spinning just out of reach. Soundwave ran for the gun. He scooped it up in his tentacles-

“Soundwave!”

Soundwave turned again, aiming the gun with his prongs.

“Whoa! Hold on!” Boss was at the end of the hall, hands up. “I'm unarmed! Stand down, Soundwave!” He approached, visor flashing as he took in the scene. “What happened?”

“Ambush.” Soundwave pushed the gun against Grimlock's helm. He was struggling to stand. Laserbeak circled overhead, its laser sights tracing across his yellow chest.

“Yeah, not surprised,” said Boss. “Easy, easy. Put the gun down. Grimlock? Stand down. Fight's over.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Soundwave lowered the gun. Grimlock swore at him, shaking his hand. Blood and glass spattered the hallway floor.

“Oh no,” muttered Boss, looking past them both. “Don't tell me that's Aquafend.”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave displayed Aquafend running at him, gun up. “Hey! Fuck you!”

Boss groaned. He patted Grimlock's massive forearm, completely unfazed by the mech's powerful, angry field. “Calm down, big guy.”

Grimlock growled.

“Yeah, I know. I'm not a fan of him either.”

The audacity! Soundwave turned away from them, scooping up the bowls that had been flung from his arms during the battle.

One had landed next to Aquafend. Soundwave prodded him with a tentacle, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. Perhaps a lot harder than necessary. One of his forehead lights cracked. The mech was out.

???

Soundwave mentally replayed the last few minutes. Even with Laserbeak's observations, he was unable to determine what had knocked out Aquafend. Blowback from the plasma ball? Gun malfunction? His own massive idiocy rupturing a processor aneurysm?

“Soundwave,” said Boss. “Go back to your hab suite. This is going to take some paperwork. Expect Ultra Magnus.”

Soundwave suppressed a shudder and hurried past him. Laserbeak followed, swooping to dock in his chest.

“Soundwave? Leave the gun.”

damn

Soundwave dropped the gun and rushed back to his quarters.

Soundwave refused to let Ultra Magnus into his room. He stood in the hallway, tentacles wavering, as Ultra Magnus scribbled on a data pad. Soundwave took note of its shape, but nothing in the moment felt humorous.

Ultra Magnus's questions were more focused than Soundwave had predicted. Instead of ordering Soundwave to retell the event in excruciating detail, Ultra Magnus concentrated on a handful of questions. Who struck whom first? When, exactly, had Laserbeak detached from his chest? Had Soundwave fired the weapon? Had he noticed anyone watching him or acting strangely before Aquafend and Grimlock approached?

Soundwave answered succinctly and truthfully. Ultra Magnus nodded and hmm'd and wrote. In the end, Soundwave lost 0.75 hours to the failed ambush and subsequent interview.

And that was, Soundwave noted as he washed energon from his frame, a very short amount of time. The ambush had ended before it really began. Soundwave wouldn't put it past the Autobots to be actively surveilling him through security cameras. But to his recollection, there weren't any in that particular hallway. Probably the reason Aquafend and Grimlock had chosen it, rather than shepherding him towards the surveilled, dead-end hallway parallel to it. How had Boss known to come so quickly...?

alternate surveillance method?

...

???

tracking?

Soundwave hunched in the shower far too small for him. He couldn't imagine where or when the Autobots could have installed a tracking device. The signal blockers weren't electronic. They were simple physical barriers: interrupting signals, not generating them.

Erring on the side of caution, Soundwave gave his frame a quick once-over with his tendrils: quite a few scrapes and gouges, his dorsal spines were burnt and bent-

!!!

Soundwave plucked the Rodimus star from his lower chest. It had sat below his field of vision, its slight magnetic tingling long forgotten. He held it up to his visor and sent probing pulses through it.

No electronics, no signaling properties. It was a solid piece of metal molded into Rodimus's face against a shield-shaped flame. There was a number scratched into the back. Soundwave wasn't sure what the purpose of the thing was. It certainly hadn't dissuaded Aquafend and Grimlock from attacking. Would wearing it mark him as subservient? Compliant? Defiant?

Soundwave tossed it out of the shower. It tinked and bounced in the other room. He resumed his search for tracking devices. No other foreign bodies were detected. Soundwave prodded his collar plating back into place. For the first time, he considered that a tracking device didn't seem like Autobot behavior. During the war, yes. But now? These Autobots? The crew was admittedly multifaceted and multi-motivated. To his best guess, the ones who tolerated him wouldn't do that, and the ones who hated him would rather express their displeasure physically.

It was the most charitable thought Soundwave had ever given Autobots: that they were not a monolith to be opposed at every turn. Soundwave terminated the line of thinking immediately and exited the washroom.

Soundwave gathered several pilfered cafeteria bowls together. Laserbeak undocked and hovered, laser ready. By heating and bending the bowls, Soundwave formed two small, rudimentary containers. He crimped the openings with his prongs. Soundwave filled one with seed crystals and tucked it behind the plating of his left side, beneath the workings of his shoulder. He tucked the second, empty container on the right side. Would other mechs notice them? They were small, unobtrusive...

Something glinted from the floor. Soundwave plucked the golden Rodimus star in his tendrils. It certainly caught the eye. It would serve as a good distraction from his new accessories. He stuck it to his chest, between his collar plating and Laserbeak's longest wing.

Now all he had to do was wander... preferably somewhere he wouldn't be attacked again. Soundwave would not turn away from a fight, but it would delay him from his objective. It was too bad he hadn't had a seed crystal just an hour ago: Grimlock's anger had been pure and unwavering.

Soundwave set out for the public areas of the ship. He unwound his tentacles and tucked them up against his chest. They extended out before him like little arms. His tendrils curled and writhed as he went, sampling the air for emotional frequencies. Mechs stopped short when they saw him. Some turned and ran. It took a few hallways for Soundwave to realize there was nothing subtle about his tentacles' positions. He wound them up.

The rec center was perfect: full of mechs busy at leisure. Comfortable seating was placed between the entertainment areas. Huge windows lined the hull-side wall. Tactichess tables, game boards, and assorted video game stations were scattered around. There were a few candy cube dispensing machines with colorful, cheery signage. Soundwave recognized the various candies' molded shapes, even anthropomorphized and dancing on little treads and wheels. At the far end, Bluestreak and Huffer were shooting darts. A dart wibbled in the middle of the bullseye. With an overly-dramatic throw, Bluestreak bisected it with a second dart. “Woo hoo!” Huffer glared. Beyond them was a staircase leading down, out of sight. Soundwave wasn't sure where that went.

Blaster and Hound sat together nearby, discussing something. They were as good test subjects as any. Soundwave walked towards them. Their conversation quieted.

must not affect emotional output

Soundwave turned stiffly and sat down. His frame remained positioned straight ahead, sinking into the plush cushion. He swiveled his helm to watch them.

Hound squinted one eye at him and Blaster frowned. Blaster got up and moved two seats down. Hound followed. Soundwave waited a moment, then did the same. Blaster got up and moved two seats down again.

Hound looked back and forth between them. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Not any joke I know,” said Blaster. “Go away, Soundwave. We don't want any part of whatever you're doing.”

mission: compromised. retreat

Soundwave went to one of the huge windows and pretended to look out into space. He focused on the reflection of the room behind him. Mechs heading in his general direction swerved to avoid him. Soundwave's attention wavered as the frilly edge of a barnacle crested the window.

they find me even when i am inside!

Soundwave inwardly cursed at it. He crept along the wall towards Jackpot. The golden mech chatted incessantly at Mainframe. Maybe if Soundwave moved slowly enough, neither would notice him-

Mainframe's visor flashed. Jackpot's chatter ceased. He turned, the exuberance of his field curling away. “What do you want?”

annoyance and fear. impure sample will result

Stuffing down his own annoyance, Soundwave said nothing. The behavior of these mechs was in stark contrast to those at Swerve's the previous night. Soundwave retreated and sank into a chair to reevaluate his approach.

need pure emotional expressions to ignite crystals

subjects prone to complex emotional expressions once aware of my presence: anger/fear/annoyance

next attempt: collect pure fear with a direct attack?

As Soundwave mulled over which mech he should confront—select most pathetic autobot: one sitting alone with distance from others—a hand squeezed his shoulder.

“Soundwave!” Rodimus smiled at him, exuding his usual false cheerfulness. “Socializing yourself now, are you?”

“Negati-”

“That's great! I'm glad to see it. You still have to attend your mandatory socialization, though. Tonight's isn't a socialization thing. It's a medical thing. It's a socialization-medical thing. C'mon!”

The med bay had been cleaned and returned to a hazardous functionality since Soundwave had been in it last. The walls bore fresh patches. The experiment tables and quarantine area were gone. Ratchet, Ambulon, and First Aid rushed in and out of the private rooms. Velocity and Hoist restocked trays at lightning speed, swapping dirty tools for clean. A med drone with stumpy wings and fluted edges zoomed overhead. Rodimus strode past it all, heading for one of the private rooms. Soundwave followed, noting Wingy's dark, empty cubby.

The private room was crammed full of tables laden with chemicals and glass vessels. Anode lay on the medical bed, eyes closed. Lug paced, occasionally darting out a hand to straighten cans of powdered metals. A small vessel of red paint bubbled over an open flame. It stank in an artificial and additive-y way. Soundwave guessed it wasn't 0001 paint.

“Lug!” Rodimus patted the top of Lug's head. “Keeping the mobile laboratory running, good, good.”

Lug pushed his hands away. “Hey-”

“Lookin' good, Anode!” Rodimus strutted over to the medical bed.

Anode cracked one eye open. “Oh. It's you.”

“It's me! And a special guest.” Rodimus stepped aside with a flourish.

Soundwave loomed down at Anode. Neatly arranged cords and lines ran from her frame to the medical bed. Her biolights were dim, armor cracked, torso open.

Anode glared up at him. “You.”

“You,” repeated Soundwave.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to add him to your metal and paint research,” said Rodimus. “Look at him! All banged up and scratched. Even if you run into trans-dimensional issues, like with the others, I still want you to try.”

“Really?” Anode waved to her open torso.

“That's an order,” said Rodimus, his smile taking on an edge.

Anode's mouth twisted. “Lug.”

“Yeah?”

“Get the silver-28. You know, in the big bottle.”

“Oh! Are we going to take a sample?”

“Yeah,” said Anode. “A sample. Can't start up the ol' research without a sample.”

Lug darted around the room, collecting bottles and tools at Anode's direction. “And the catalyst?”

“The blue stuff,” said Anode.

“The blue stuff?” Lug's hand hovered over a container covered in red WARNING stickers. “Are you sure?”

“He's blue, isn't he?”

“Uh,” said Lug, craning her neck to look up at Soundwave. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Silver first, then blue. Like I've shown you before,” said Anode. She pushed herself to a sitting position, eyes brightening.

“Stick your arm out,” said Lug. Soundwave complied. She scooped a mound of silver stuff onto his plating. It was cold. “Hold still!” Lug smoothed it out with the back of a spoon. Using a pipet, she gingerly transferred a few drops of blue liquid.

drip drip

Lug backed away. The blue liquid seeped into the silver. Soundwave's arm warmed. “Temperature: rising rapidly.”

“That's normal,” said Anode.

The silver took on a blue sheen. Little plumes of smoke rose from the edges of the circle. Soundwave's arm stung.

“Temperature: exceeding tolerable parameters.”

“Just give it a second,” said Anode.

Soundwave held his arm away from the rest of him. Rodimus took a few steps back. Blue smoke billowed up from the silver circle. It crackled and hissed.

“Uh,” said Rodimus. “That doesn't sound g-”

bang!

With a blinding flash, the silver exploded. Soundwave's arm felt as if a diamond dipped in acid was drilling into it. He wailed, a short, discordant sound that rattled the glassware.

Rodimus clamped his hands over his audials. “Soundwave! Are you alright?!”

Soundwave shook his arm. The pain dissipated rapidly. His plating was dark and shiny where the silver circle had been.

Another sound rose in the room.

Anode was laughing. She laughed so hard, some of the cords running into her torso detached and a medical alarm went off. Lug ran to her side. Anode pointed at Soundwave. “That's for fucking with the Lost Light! That's for landing me in this bed! That's for worrying my wife!”

Soundwave hissed static at her.

“Ugh, Anode,” said Rodimus. “Not helpful.”

“I know!” Anode snickered. Lug covered her own mouth, trying not to laugh.

“Fine. You've had your petty, petty revenge. Now add Soundwave to your research list. Actively work on repair paints and metals for him. That's an order. If you don't, you're going right onto the tier one chore cycle as soon as you can stand.”

Anode scowled. “That's a bit harsh. It's not even permanent damage.” She sneered at Soundwave. “A liquid firework, really. You'll be fine. And I'll be”—she looked down at her gaping torso, liquids leaking where the cords had come out—“well, you better hope I'll be fine, too.”

“Yeah!” said Lug.

Ambulon hurried in. “I told you not to pull those out!” He deftly stuck cords back in place as Anode narrowed her eyes at Soundwave.

Soundwave ignored her, staring at Ambulon. He thought back to the 1331 crystal he had held the previous night. Soundwave reviewed his memory files. Yes, 1331 was Ambulon's dimension. The boiling paint could be for him- it was medic red, certainly not for Trailbreaker or Mirage. Soundwave faintly recalled Ambulon saying something about 0001 paint not sticking to his frame.

“Did anyone else's food taste off this morning?” asked Ambulon.

“No,” said Anode, yawning.

“Nope,” said Lug. “It was pretty good, actually.”

Rodimus shook his head.

“Negative,” said Soundwave.

“Don't you work in the cafeteria?” asked Ambulon, giving Soundwave a suspicious look.

“File all meal complaints with Toaster.”

“Hrmm.” Ambulon gave the cords a final, firm shove.

“Ouch!” Anode swatted at him. “I'm on the other end of those, you know!”

“If you'd stop popping them out I wouldn't have to interrupt my other work and come in here to fix them, now would I?” said Ambulon.

“Miserable medic.”

“Blasted blacksmith.”

“Speaking of which,” interrupted Lug with practiced precision. “Am I taking an actual sample or what?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Anode, waving a hand dismissively.

Soundwave stood totally still as Lug scraped paint samples from his frame. She scowled at the Rodimus star. There was a brief discussion about where to take a metal sample from. Soundwave was vehemently against any sampling of his frame. They argued until Rodimus threatened them all with tier one chore cycles. Soundwave finally assented, allowing for the tips of two dorsal spines to be clipped. He made Lug measure three times.

“I know what I'm doing,” she said, snapping huge shears open and shut.

“Zero extraneous armor. Imperative to remove equal weight from both sides,” said Soundwave.

“Yeah,” said Lug. “We wouldn't want you to be off-balance or anything.”

shinkt

It hurt. Soundwave's tentacles shot out. Lug yelped. Soundwave just managed to stop himself from picking her up and throwing her across the room. His tentacles coiled and grated against each other. Blood poured out of the open dorsal spine. Rodimus grimaced. Ambulon darted forward with a patch, shaking it to activate it.

“Why didn't you suggest something that wasn't vascularized?” shouted Lug. She threw the shears down and backed away from the spattered floor.

“Zero extraneous armor!” Soundwave's tentacles curled as Ambulon slapped the patch over the wound.

“Sample that, too,” said Anode. “Blue blood. Neat.”

“Ugh!” Lug backed into the bed. She braced herself against it. “I don't have it in me to permanently disfigure a mech. Even a Decepticon.”

Anode laid a hand on her shoulder. “It's alright. We can make do with one sample.”

“Off balance,” said Soundwave, crouching into himself. “Take the opposite matching spine tip.”

“I can't!” said Lug. She shuddered.

Ambulon picked up the shears. “I'll do it.” He eyed Soundwave's coiling tentacles. “If you could, uh, put those away-”

Soundwave hissed static. Rodimus stepped up to him, right into his personal space, uncomfortably close.

“Hey, Soundwave!” Rodimus gripped the tentacles and held them firm. Instinctively, Soundwave wrapped them around his arms. “Look at me. Focus on me. Hey! Hi. Hi. What's up? Look at me. Hey, how'd you get that awesome Rodimus st-”

shinkt

“-hhhhhhhk. Okay. Ow. That's quite a squeeze.” Rodimus let go. He shook out his arms, muttering about his chrome.

Soundwave wound his tentacles up into his torso. Ambulon slapped another patch on. Soundwave's back throbbed with twin points of pain.

far more grievous wounds in the past. why is pain response so high?

…

correlation between loss of emotion-suppressing protocols and pain tolerance?

Lug wrinkled her nose and plopped the two metal samples into a beaker. Its glass walls smeared with blue. Lug wrapped it in dark, sticky film. Anode scrolled through a holographic cascade of numbers and paragraphs. “Looks like Perceptor has done some analyses already.”

“Yeah,” said Ambulon. “We did the usual somatic sampling when Soundwave boarded.”

“Bor-ing,” said Anode. “The real fun is in the experimentation. I'll make Swerve help me when he brings me my food later. Oooh and what's Velocity's schedule today?”

As Anode and Ambulon chatted, Soundwave felt a nudge. “All done here, I think,” said Rodimus. Soundwave followed him out. “I want to visit the Scavengers.” Rodimus gestured at the mural wall. “Want to come?”

Was Rodimus giving him a choice? Of course Soundwave didn't want to see the hallowed failure of his devastation attempt. “Negative.”

Rodimus looked disappointed. “Okay. Wait here. I'll just be a minute.”

Soundwave waited for the wall to close behind Rodimus. When Ratchet and First Aid had both gone into private rooms and Hoist turned around and Velocity looked away, he ducked down a short hallway labeled Medical Offices on the official Lost Light map.

There were four doors, each labeled with the name of a medic. Ratchet's and Ambulon's were locked. Velocity's was open. Soundwave ducked inside. Her office walls were covered in medical illustrations and posters of colorful mechs with face paint. The desk overflowed with data pads and sheets, styluses in the shapes of animals, and animal-shaped carvings. Like Anode's private room, there were tables of chemicals and beakers. Half the beakers' contents were dried up and dusty. Wall-to-wall filing cabinets bore labels like “Patients A – D,” “Patients B – D finalfinal,” “Patients A – D final2,” and “All The Bloods.”

Soundwave unwound a tentacle and pulled open “All The Bloods.” Racks of test tubes clinked together. The tubes were arranged by color. The closest racks were hand-labeled, “Ambulon: 1 – 14,” “Mirage: 8 – 12 and also 14 because Swerve broke 13,” and “Trailbreaker: 1 – 6.”

blood samples!

Nebulous, hypothetical crystal-igniting plans blossomed into testable reality. Soundwave snatched up three of each. He tucked them into the empty container on his right side. Soundwave shoved the file drawer closed and exited.

Soundwave didn't expect First Aid's office door to open for him, but it did. He ducked inside. The walls were covered in damaged Autobot badges. Tables of data pads and medical tools were strewn around, though nowhere near as haphazardly as Velocity's. On his desk was a glass vessel filled with dark energon.

??

Soundwave neared. He bent to inspect it. Inside the vessel was a primitive processor, flashing red and purple light. Behind the vessel—obscured so that Soundwave hadn't seen it at first—was Wingy.

Or, Wingy's empty outer casing. Its wings were neatly tucked back, little arms resting in a neutral position. The punctures Soundwave had dealt it had been filled in. Soundwave touched the casing with a tendril. It was smooth, skillfully straightened and repaired. A fresh coat of paint would hide the faint hammer and sanding marks.

Instead of disposing of Wingy, or even cannibalizing its parts, First Aid had painstakingly fixed it.

Unbidden, Soundwave's mind replayed the crack! of Wingy's casing breaking in his prongs. The shouts of an arena followed, and the hideous metal screech of Megatronus ripping out his primary tentacle-

Something hot and acidic flashed through Soundwave, a painful emotion he didn't have a name for. Before he could snatch his tendril away from Wingy, the door slid open behind him.

“HEY! What're YOU DOING?!”

Soundwave knew First Aid by his voice before he turned. The medic was gripping the doorway, visor flashing, biolights strobing. He held up a wrench, ready to throw. “Here to finish the job?? Get away from him!”

Soundwave slowly moved away from the desk.

“I don't understand mechs like you!” First Aid's hand shook. He stepped forward, field chaotic. “You hurt and you take and you have no regard for any life that isn't your own!”

Soundwave said the first thing that came to his processor. “Wingy was loyal.”

“What??” First Aid's biolights surged red.

Soundwave moved further from the desk. He wanted to leave, but First Aid blocked the exit. Physically removing First Aid from his path would probably result in another few chore cycles-

“Whoa!” Rodimus skidded past the door. “Hey! Found you!” He glanced at Soundwave and threw an arm around First Aid's shoulders. “Hey buddy!”

“And you, Rodimus!” First Aid ducked, pushing Rodimus's arm off. “Throwing all your energy into this black hole as if you could fill it! As if you could stop it from sucking up everything good all around it!”

“Hey, now,” said Rodimus, his smile turning pained. He reached for the wrench. First Aid backed away from him. “We're all works in progress here-”

“He doesn't care! You can't make progress with a mech who doesn't care!”

“Ugh. Come on,” said Rodimus, placing himself between First Aid and Soundwave. He held out his hand. “Let's go, Soundwave. Let's go-”

“He was going to break Wingy again!”

“Negative!”

First Aid's visor flashed. “Yes, you were, I just saw you!”

“Negative. Wingy should not have been destroyed.”

First Aid gaped. Rodimus waved frantically. “Come on, Soundwave!”

Soundwave walked towards them. The smoothness of Wingy's mended casing lingered on the tips of his tendrils. “Repairs: done well.”

“Y- yeah! No thanks to you!”

Rodimus grabbed Soundwave's arm. “Okay, we gotta go now! Bye, First Aid!” He yanked Soundwave through the med bay, past the confused glances of the other medics, and into the main hall. “What were you doing?? You can't go into the medics' offices!”

Soundwave said nothing. The mechs walking by stared at them, mouths pulling into frowns.

“Dammit.” Rodimus dragged him to an empty side hallway. “Promise me you won't do that again! We can't have faith in the medical records compromised.”

Soundwave said nothing.

“God dammit, Soundwave. Did you touch anything? Did you break Wingy again? First Aid will go right to Ultra Magnus and I can't cover for you if he saw you with his own eyes-”

“Negative,” said Soundwave. He displayed an image of Wingy on his visor. “Wingy: untouched. Only damage dealt in med bay was to dorsal spines.” Soundwave angled his torso and wiggled his spines.

“You-” Rodimus blinked. “I didn't know those could wiggle.”

“Soundwave: superior.”

“...yeah. Okay.”

Soundwave's insides twisted. Whatever had happened to him upon seeing Wingy made him feel sick. He wanted to go back to his quarters. “Mandatory socialization: complete?”

Rodimus sighed. “If you promise you won't go infiltrating anymore, upon threat of losing your limited freedoms.”

Soundwave thought very hard. Since Rodimus hadn't precisely defined infiltrating, he felt confident he could logic his way around any issues that might come up while he worked on his crystal project. “Agreement: accepted.”

“Good.”

The acidic feeling reeled through Soundwave. “Wingy should not have been destroyed.”

Rodimus tilted his head. “Yes. That's right.”

Soundwave's tentacles rattled in their housing. Laserbeak rustled against his chest.

Rodimus looked up at his visor. Jagged lines of red reflected off his golden crest. “Let's get you back to your room.”

Soundwave had refused to let Rodimus in his hab suite, so they were in Rodimus's quarters instead. The walls were bare, the room was messy and filled with stuff, and Rodimus was pouring himself a drink of something so strong Soundwave could smell it from where he sat on the berth.

“Okay,” said Rodimus. He took a swig. “Something nasty was coming through your field back there. I've felt similar from other mechs. It's always a bad time. I'm not the right mech for this, but to be frank, I don't think anyone else will listen to you.”

Indignation rose in Soundwave's lines. Before he could retort, Cyclonus's voice rang through his processor: You are a mech who belongs nowhere and who has no belongings. You have one ally on this ship.

“It's me now or psychological damage later, Soundwave,” said Rodimus. “Or more psychological damage. There's plenty in there already, I'm sure.”

A mixture of disgust and embarrassment washed through Soundwave. “Discussion: unnecessary.”

“No, very necessary,” said Rodimus. He leaned against the long, strange desk that ran the border of his room. A pile of data pads shifted precariously. “Get it out. It's making you weird and if there's any part of your weirdness we can actually do something about, we really should.”

Soundwave said nothing. His insides churned. He slumped, his fingers resting on the floor. Cyclonus's voice pounded through his mind: If you do not alter your course, your journey will end in defeat.

“The sooner you say what the problem is, the sooner you can go back to your hab suite and your crystals.”

“Exposing vulnerability is weakness.”

“Hhhhggggh.” Rodimus held his head in his hands. “Soundwave, of all the things I think about you, none of them are that you're weak. You're weird. You're powerful in a scary way that none of us know how to deal with. You're the product of your war and whatever your Megatron did to you and, I don't know, the shadowzone? You're anything but weak, Soundwave. Even when you were crawling away from Megatron on your hands and knees, none of us thought you were weak. Temporarily less of a threat, sure, but not weak.” Rodimus stared right at him. “Does that sound like a compliment to you, Soundwave? That even at your most vulnerable, everyone was still afraid of you and hated you?”

It did sound like a compliment. For a second. Then it twisted into something sad. “They do think I am weak.” Soundwave displayed Cyclonus on his visor, bending close. “A weak spark either grows strong or snuffs itself out. I do not want weak-spark mechs aboard the Lost Light.”

“Cyclonus?” Rodimus looked puzzled. “I guess he has a point. I was talking about physical weakness. I didn't think you cared what anyone thought about your convictions.”

“I-” Soundwave stopped. He didn't. Did he? No. No? Autobots would automatically reject his convictions. Such was a fundamental law of the universe, of the war-

“Cyclonus thinks everyone is weak in one way or another. Including himself. You should hear him talk about how strong Tailgate is sometime.” Rodimus shook his head. “Stop distracting me. Let it out, Soundwave. Weak? Not weak? Who fucking cares. Tomorrow you'll get up and do your tier one chore no matter what. Do you want to feel less like garbage while doing so? And don't get all mad and indignant and deny that you feel like garbage, because your field is pulsing with it so strong I want to take a shower.”

Soundwave did feel mad. And indignant. And like garbage. And also whatever the hot, acidic emotion of earlier was.

“Ugh, you're making this so hard.” Rodimus tapped his chin. “It started with Wingy. What did you say? Wingy didn't deserve to be broken?”

“Wingy should not have been destroyed.”

“Yeah, that. Explain that.”

Soundwave's insides burned. “Wingy was loyal. Its loyalty was rewarded with destruction.”

“Uh huh.”

“Destruction was unnecessary. Alternate, less destructive methods of coercion could have been deployed for better results.”

“Uh huh. Okay. That sounds like a terrible thing trying really hard to do the right thing and almost making it.”

“Wingy was broken...”

Rodimus nodded.

“...”

Rodimus nodded again.

“...and...”

“Yeah? And?”

“...and...”

Rodimus walked over to him. “And??”

“...and...”

Rodimus grabbed his shoulders. “C'mon, Soundwave, you can do it.”

Embarrassment and loathing washed through Soundwave. “...and so was I.”

“...oh.” Rodimus let go.

“I knew it before. 0001 Megatron told me.” Soundwave played a clip of Megatron leaning over him, the med bay ceiling above. “Break and rebuild. A reliable method for producing monsters.” Soundwave's tentacles extended and wrapped around himself. Layers and layers of coils around his waist. “But I can see it now. I can feel it now. All diagnostics read normal. But it feels. Sickening.”

Rodimus backed away.

“Every chore, it plays in my mind. I work in silence. But it runs beneath everything. It chews through everything. I lose myself in data. I lose myself in lattices. Distractions: effective. But it gets louder when I see-” Soundwave flashed images on his visor: injured Autobots in the cafeteria, violent neon graffiti, Wingy broken and oozing dark energon, Megatronus grinning down at him. “I push it away. Weakness! But it gets louder and then I see-” more images: the Autobots' ceremony for the Scavengers, the tier one chore cycle party, Wingy's repaired casing, Rodimus slapping the star on his chest. “They are all linked and they writhe and I see a truth I do not want to see!”

Rodimus stared at him. “I don't- I don't know if I understood all that. What truth?”

Soundwave shot to his feet. Laserbeak sprang off his chest. Rodimus threw his hands up, backing away. “This!” Soundwave touched his fingers to the bright circle on his chest. “Where everything begins and everything ends!”

“Your spark?”

“Affirmative! Recessed beneath warrior's glass!”

“Warrior's what?”

“Emergency cauterization for dismemberment!”

Rodimus shook his head. “I don't understa-”

“He took the eyes and ears of my spark!” Soundwave leaned down. Rodimus shrank away from him. “My first, my primary tentacle, the eyes and ears of my spark. That which knew the meaning of Soundwave.” Soundwave displayed ancient promotional clips of himself as a gladiator: thick plating, three tentacles, no Laserbeak.

Rodimus's eyes widened. “You had a tentacle coming out of your spark?”

“Affirmative!”

Rodimus's hands flew to his own chest.

“Megatronus defeated me in the arena and ripped it out.” Soundwave played the clip from his own point of view. Megatronus, a hand, the glaring arena lights, blood, the trailing lines and dulling metal of his primary tentacle.

“Oh my god.” Rodimus's face took a sickly tinge.

“The meaning of Soundwave: destroyed!”

“That's-” Rodimus swallowed. “I don't-”

“And then I see this!” Soundwave displayed a clip of Rodimus leaning over him, a vial of his innermost energon beside the medical bed. “And then I see this!” An image of the glittering mural Grotusque had built.

Rodimus shook his head. “You're going too fast, I don't understa-”

“Do you know how my Megatron honored the wounded?”

“No. Wait! You told me this one. He didn't?”

“He didn't!”

Rodimus's field crinkled with confusion.

Anger flashed through Soundwave. Anger and revulsion and Rodimus was going to make him spell it out- “My Megatron destroyed me! Destroyed me and played off my foolishness and pride. He offered to remake me and I assented, for how could I be superior if I could be defeated? But I was not remade into a better Soundwave. I was remade into a perfect servant.”

Rodimus nodded.

“But this Megatron. 0001 Megatron. Do you know what he did after he struck me? After he broke the mythological Soundwave, who hears and sees all?”

“Mythological-?”

“He did this.” Soundwave played a clip of Megatron, helm tilted down, eyes lost to shadows. “I apologize for striking you.”

“Oh.”

“And you.” Soundwave displayed a clip of Rodimus dragging his hands down his face. “Ugh. I'm sorry, Soundwave. This is- this is partly my fault.”

“I remember.”

“What am I to do with this pathetic display? And your promise of a happy life? And the rediscovery of lattices and crystals? And the meaning of Soundwave that only returned because you apologized and let me remake myself?”

“I- I-”

Soundwave played one final clip of Megatron. “...abandonment would not be the Autobot way. And I am an Autobot. And so it is not my way. Mercy and freedom: ridiculous Autobot nonsense. But when they are granted to me, I see where they were missing before! I see how my Megatron stripped me of myself. Nothing of me for me. All of me for him. Evidence I cannot deny. How can the Decepticon way be superior?” Soundwave winced.

“Ohh. Now I get it,” said Rodimus. “Autobots: superior, huh?”

Soundwave squeezed his tentacles around himself tighter. Laserbeak returned to his chest, obscuring his spark light.

“Hey, that's- that's a lot. Especially for you to process. But it's gonna be okay.” Rodimus reached up and straightened the Rodimus star. “I promise.”

Chapter Text

kkxxxxxchh

Soundwave spun his prongs like a drill, grinding seed crystals in a cafeteria bowl. Flakes sprayed out, settling in a glittering layer on his frame. A vial of pink blood tink'd against the desk.

Soundwave's dorsal spines hurt. His lines pulsed with the shame of telling so much truth to Rodimus... balanced by the relief of finally expressing it. It had festered, Soundwave realized. Festered between scenes and images and Autobot touches to his frame, like bitter ore veining through rock. That truth so loathsome he couldn't even think the words.

kkxxxxxchh!

It flitted through his processor in Rodimus's voice, instead:

“Autobots: superior, huh?”

Soundwave wound down his prongs and tapped them against the side of the bowl. Powdered crystal fell onto the pile of shards within. Beside the bowl were curved strips of metal- another bowl that Laserbeak had lasered apart. Soundwave scraped his prongs clean with a strip.

“It's gonna be okay.”

Soundwave tilted the vial labeled “Ambulon 14” in his tendrils. The pink liquid crept up and down the glass. It was the color of 0001 blood, slightly thicker. He unscrewed the cap and poured a few drops into the bowl. Using strips of metal, Soundwave prodded the energon and crystal shards into a translucent, grainy lump. He scooped the mixture out onto his desk. It crinkled and cracked as he flattened it into a thin layer. With a strip, he scored it into three equal parts and smeared blood on top. He flipped the right outer third onto the middle third and the left outer third onto them both. Soundwave pushed it flat again and rotated it 90 degrees.

“Autobots: superior, huh?”

Over and over. Flatten, score, smear, flip, flatten. Soundwave had no 1331 seed crystals, so he was making his own. The lattices might align if he laminated the mixture until it absorbed all the energon. If he were really lucky, the crushed 0001 seed crystals might serve as anchor points for the 1331 blood to crystalize around. There was nothing else he could do with the tools he had without digging into the ship. Trying to induce crystalization electrically? The Autobots would definitely notice. Soundwave did not savor the idea of another round added to his chore cycle count.

“Of all the things I think about you, none of them are that you're weak.”

Soundwave's tendrils faltered. He didn't know how true that was. But Rodimus hadn't beaten him or mocked him or punished him. No ship-wide meeting had been called to publicly display Soundwave's pathetic confession. Rodimus had let him retreat to his quarters and he had woken to a blinking message in his desk that read:

No chore today. Most Recents Club Meeting at 0900. Rest of your day is free.
-handsomest co-captain

A Rodimus star icon completed the signature. It was Soundwave's first day without a chore since the cycle had begun, other than the day of the supernova. He was secretly, exhaustedly, appreciative.

The crystal mixture shrank as he worked it. When Soundwave had pressed the whole vial of blood in, the mixture was a fifth its original size. Soundwave took the two metal strips with the finest edges and sculpted it into a diamond shape. He pressed and squeezed as hard as he could. Smudges of pink bled out onto the strips.

Soundwave wiped his creation on a cleaning cloth liberated from the cafeteria. He held it up to the light. It reflected! Primitive facets, not as well-developed as the original seed crystals. Soundwave gripped it in his tendrils. Its structure bloomed in his mind. It was composed of thick layers of 0001 crystal. Between them were thin wisps of 1331 crystal.

success!

soundwave: superior!

Though it was probably more because Ambulon's blood was pink, like 0001 mechs, than due to Soundwave's manipulations. Ambulon's additive processor values weren't nearly as extreme as the other alt-dimensioners'. He might be from a dimension with energy 1, like 0001 was. Soundwave would check that later. He concentrated. The layers were as pure as he could manage with his current setup. Empty of resonance, empty of Soundwave. He hoped the amalgamation would hold up to the ignition process. All he needed now was to stand within Ambulon's field.

The desk beeped. Time to depart. Soundwave arranged his tools. He grabbed another vial of Ambulon's blood and tucked it into his right side, beneath his shoulder. Soundwave hid the pink seed crystal in a curled tendril.

Soundwave's tendrils touched the corridor walls, touched the lights, touched nothing at all. He had never walked with his tentacles out in the Nemesis. It felt more right, though. After weeks and weeks of being locked beneath hard light shielding, he reveled in their movement.

Soundwave turned the corner and stopped dead. A giant red graffiti covered the elevator doors. It was elaborate: Soundwave holding the Lost Light in his tentacles, his visor displaying a stylized supernova. When the doors opened, it would look like he was tearing the Lost Light apart. It was certainly the most artistic protest of his presence he'd seen so far. But that wasn't what had stopped him.

Mainframe was scrubbing the elevator door with a cloth. The smell of solvent hung in the air. Red smeared the door, stained his fingers. Mainframe's visor flashed and he jumped. “Ahh!”

Soundwave's tentacles froze. He tilted his helm.

“I-” said Mainframe. He twisted the cloth in his hands. “I don't like you, but I know this isn't true. Not the supernova. I saw Perceptor's calculations afterwards. You were right.”

They stared at each other.

Mainframe's field flared with uneasiness. Soundwave backed away. No need to interrupt an Autobot doing something correct for once. He took an alternate route to Rodimus's office.

Trailbreaker and Rodimus were chatting when Soundwave arrived. He folded himself into a seat. Mirage entered a moment later. His eyes and biolights were dull. His face was slack, not set to its usual expression of disdain. He was followed by Ambulon, who went right to Soundwave. Ambulon stood behind him and touched his dorsal spines. “Does that hurt?”

Soundwave hissed static and leaned away.

“Incompatibility reaction,” said Ambulon, pulling Soundwave back again. “Sit still. We always hope it won't be this way, but it often is. I need to remove the patches. They're doing more damage than good.”

Rodimus and Trailbreaker's chatter ceased. Mirage glared at Soundwave with particular contempt. Ambulon slid something thin and sharp into Soundwave's dorsal spines. Soundwave curled his tentacles against himself.

“I'm folding over the damaged tissue so it can try to heal,” Ambulon said. “We should've made the wounds at angles, so we could pinch them shut. Something to remember for the future.” He poured cold liquid over the spines. “This numbing agent works for Trailbreaker. Hopefully it will work for you.”

The moment of relief shifted Soundwave's attention to the pink seed crystal digging into his tendril. And Ambulon's field, radiating concern.

opportunity!

Soundwave gripped the pink seed crystal and hunched forward. Laserbeak shifted. As it seated itself over Soundwave's spark, its biolights whitened. Soundwave coiled his tentacles in front of Laserbeak, hoping to hide the change with an affectation of pain.

His tendrils writhed and coiled and there-! Yes! The shape, the energy, the Soundwave of Ambulon's concern echoed in his spark. It spun and shot a beam of light into Laserbeak. Laserbeak shuddered and sent a signal down his tentacles. Soundwave curled his prongs around the pink seed crystal as it flashed.

successful ignition?

Soundwave needed to get the seed crystal into 1331 energon as soon as possible. Or in this case, Ambulon's blood. He glanced up to see if anyone was watching him.

Mirage's previously exhausted expression was replaced by an intense, appraising stare. Trailbreaker's biolights blinked as he scratched his head. Rodimus said, “What the hell was that? Is he okay?”

“What was wha-” started Ambulon. Soundwave stood, throwing Ambulon back. “Hey!” Soundwave ran for the door. The hallway was empty.

only have seconds

Soundwave grabbed the vial of Ambulon's blood from beneath his shoulder. He unscrewed the cap and shoved the crystal in. He shook it and held it up to his visor. The crystal was peeling apart. Energon seeped into the cracks between its layers. The force of ignition had been too great, had split it. Was there enough left intact...?

The core of the crystal flashed and gave out a faint light. The energon around it coagulated into an opaque, pinkish-white.

ignition!

Black crept between the peeling layers, infiltrating the coagulated energon with dark, triangular shapes.

imperfect ignition. expected outcome. must trim away imperfections as it grows

0001 ignition will be more successful with 0001 seed crystals. must get-

The door flew open. “Hey!” said Rodimus. He grabbed Soundwave's arm. “You okay? Come back.”

Soundwave shook off Rodimus's grip with a flurry of coils and simultaneously tucked the tube away. Rodimus didn't give any indication he had seen it. Soundwave followed him back inside.

“I do recommend you not flee while I am in the middle of fixing you,” said Ambulon, pointing to the floor. A trail of blue marked Soundwave's quick departure. Soundwave resigned himself to the chair.

Trailbreaker laughed and said something about Decepticons. Mirage stared at him, golden eyes narrow, arm inching over his chest.

“Okay! That happened. Let's get started,” Rodimus said.

Soundwave didn't pay much attention as Rodimus ran through recent events. Ambulon resumed pushing the jagged ends of his spines in on themselves. A cooling energon sealant was dabbed on. The numbing agent dulled the worst of the pain. Soundwave was grateful, a foreign and unwelcome emotion. But Ambulon didn't have to know.

“Come to the med bay if it gets worse and not better,” Ambulon said. He took a seat next to Mirage.

“I could use a break,” Mirage was saying. “Look at me. Even my endorements are dull.” He gestured to the golden symbols on his frame.

“I know, I know,” said Rodimus soothingly. “All in good time. Are your rations sufficient?”

“Yes,” said Mirage, glaring at Soundwave.

“Good. And you, Soundwave?”

Soundwave thought of all the tools and resources he could use, instead of stealing and modifying bowls from the cafeteria. But he didn't want anyone to know what he was doing. Instead he said, “Graffiti,” and displayed several images on his visor.

Trailbreaker failed to cover up a snort of laughter. Ambulon's mouth pulled back.

“Ah, right,” said Rodimus. “To be honest, we were trying to figure out how to get that clean without putting it on the tier one chore cycle. But! The cycle just got two new participants. So yeah. I anticipate that'll be dealt with.”

“Oh?” said Ambulon.

“Who?” Trailbreaker leaned forward in his seat, biolights brightening.

“I'm sure you'll hear about it soon,” muttered Rodimus. “Trailbreaker?”

“Stuff is good. Biggest complaint I hear, other than the obvious”–Trailbreaker's green eyes flicked to Soundwave–“is some of the fast mechs are complaining about the recreational race track. The rubbery stuff from 3204 breaks apart under their tires.”

“It does," said Rodimus, picking something blue out of the wheel on his forearm.

“Not under mine,” said Trailbreaker smugly. “They don't like it when I pass 'em cuz they've spun out, heh. Big, ol' Trailbreaker, lumbering along, beating them at their own game.”

“We're going energon-hopping soon. When we find a good 0001-equivalent, we'll look for more synthetic rubber. Anything else?”

Trailbreaker prattled on. Soundwave ignored him. He held himself absolutely still, quelling the urge to grab the tube from his frame and run to his hab suite. When the meeting finally ended, he rushed out before anyone could ask him to stay.

Soundwave returned to another message blinking on his desk. He wondered if he would ever be able to take the signal blockers off and grab messages out of the air like a real communications officer again.

Movie list attached, pick one for tomorrow night. Tailgate wants to know what kind of snacks you like.

-Rewind

That could wait. Soundwave poured the contents of the tube into a cafeteria bowl. The ball of coagulated energon careened back and forth. Soundwave gently pushed it to the middle with a tendril. It flipped a few times before righting itself. The whiteish coagulation pulled back, revealing a pink and black crystalline point.

Soundwave reeled as memories came to him. The coagulated energon was a mediary. As the crystal grew, it absorbed energon through that mediary, like a filter, removing impurities. On a baby crystal the mediary layer was thick and noticeable. On a mature crystal in energon, it clung to the submerged structures, thin and oft-overlooked.

His tendrils wiggled. Fragments of old memories pressed against them, ghosts of past ignitions. As the crystal grew upwards and out into whatever shape it was destined for, the seed crystal would remain at the top. It would need to be pruned off before the crystal reached a height equal to... to... to the width of his forearm! Soundwave bent and held his arm next to the bowl. Yes, the pose felt familiar now. He had always checked the crystals like that. When it was tall enough, he would prune it with a laser cutter.

He needed a laser cutter.

He needed an energon supply... and more bowls. Not shaped like these, no. There were better shapes, like amphora with flat bottoms that encouraged healthy growth and held more energon. There were tuning forks and measuring tools and special pens to mark the crystals so he could track their growth. There were lights he could get to check for internal imperfections, and laser scalpels for removing them-

Soundwave started a list of the things he would need. He wasn't sure how he would get them. Maybe Brainstorm. Maybe the med bay. In fact, if he were going to message the list to anyone, it would be wiser to write it out in his desk.

After Soundwave had done so, he scrolled through the movie summaries Rewind had sent:

The Josh Boyfriend Trilogy
romantic comedy
Josh Boyfriend
Josh Boyfriend II: the Rejoshening
Josh Boyfriend III: Return of the Human Boyfriend
Bonus features: Behind the Scenes of Josh Boyfriend II, Director's Commentary on Josh Boyfriend III

In Starscream's Shadow
autobiographical
An award-winning account of Thundercracker's personal history as part of an elite Decepticon trine.

Cybertron From Above
documentary
Footage of pre-war Cybertron from above taken by Thundercracker while in alt mode (note: default volume setting is LOUD).

Megatron Rising Duology
documentary
The Day Megatron Rose
The Day Megatron Fell

None of these struck Soundwave as interesting, even the last one. He didn't savor watching the fall of any Megatron in the company of Autobots. His own name caught his eye.

Soundwave's Kids
comedy
When Soundwave comes to Earth, he and his cassetticons help a high school basketball team of human teenagers reach the state championship.

A Soundwave? Helping humans? Unthinkable. Intolerable. Even less likely to happen than:

Starscream's Sacrifice
drama
The planet-eater has come for Cybertron. After Starscream sacrifices himself to save the universe, tensions rise among Decepticon ranks as a secret he kept about Megatron finally comes to light.

Starscream would never. Soundwave kept scrolling.

Grindcore
horror
Decepticon prison guards are haunted, tortured, and killed by the ghosts of the Autobots they murdered.

Because The Night
horror
Adaptation of Thrinaxian folk tale. A group of Decepticons are separated from their ship on an eternally dark, organic planet. Their biolights summon native creatures that feast on metal.

Sunderella
romantic comedy
Adaptation of Earthian folk tale. Sunder loses his eyes at the ball. Prince Froid travels Cybertron, looking for the optic sockets that will fit them.

Do Not Destroy It
horror
Something evil boards the Lost Light while the crew is in suspended animation. Only Rodimus is awake. He must get help from an unlikely source halfway across the galaxy- Prowl. (note: based on real events aboard dimension 1818's Lost Light)

Ravage's Big Day
comedy
Ravage has an ordinary, boring cassetticon life until he sneaks into Wheeljack's lab and steals a jetpack.

From Plug 'n Play to Valves and Spikes, A History of Interfacing
documentary
An in-depth look at-

Soundwave read the description three times, more confused each time than the last. He got the gist of it, of course... it sounded like something no one should watch in a room full of potential enemies. He wondered why Rewind had added it to the list at all. Perhaps Swerve had dared him to. Soundwave was definitely not choosing that one. Though maybe he would request a copy to peruse on his own time. For research.

The list was endless. At least 30% were iterations of Josh Boyfriend. Thundercrackers were prolific producers. In the end, Soundwave replied:

because the night

snacks not made with my dimensional additive

And sent the message off.

Rodimus groaned. Between the emergency meeting last night about Aquafend and Grimlock, Mirage's detailed (and eloquently complainy) report, the club, the meetings with Brainstorm and Perceptor, and his usual duties, the day had gotten away from him. He hadn't had time to sit and think. He had wanted to catch Soundwave after the Most Recents Club, but it was obvious the mech didn't want to talk. Soundwave had run out of the office. Twice.

It was a lot. It really was a lot. All that, that Soundwave had said.

Rodimus dimmed the lights and grabbed a laser pointer. He flicked it on and shone it at the opposite wall, where his old desk hung. He traced the symbols and lines he had carved long ago. Magnus had made it clear he was not to carve into his current desk: “It's not just a desk, Rodimus. It's a symbol of authority. It's a way of life. It won't do to carve symbols in it, no matter how prophetic.” So, Rodimus had taken to retracing his old work with laser light. The beam glinted off the uneven edges of the carvings, throwing little crescents of red around the room.

Soundwave. That mech had occupied Rodimus's thoughts more than any other since he'd boarded. Not that that was uncommon. First Trailbreaker, then Ambulon, then Mirage. Each holding his attention hostage until they assimilated. Rodimus had carried their 0001 equivalents' losses with him for so long. It was rewarding as hell to fill those empty spaces. Even though things weren't perfect, they were here.

And now...

Rodimus grinned. It was just as he had thought- it was the compassion that had struck Soundwave. The mech hadn't complained once about the tier one chore cycle. Autobot mercies had dragged Soundwave out of his silence. The clips he'd shown! Megatron's bowed head: his eyes were rarely dark, rarely closed, as that was itself a sign of vulnerability and trust. Megatron had closed his eyes to Soundwave and apologized. Maybe Rodimus needed to cut him a little more slack. Maybe.

The wild eyes of Megatronus came to mind. Rodimus's grin disappeared. It had been just a flash, a split second clip, but the ferocity. They'd come across many accounts of “Megatronus” over the dimensions. Megatrons came in several major iterations. Some started as miners, some as gladiators. Some started high class and conned the seething masses into supporting them, despite the obvious loathing he had for them. The Megatron-Soundwave dynamic was ubiquitous and well understood. Megatron rose and Soundwave went with him, usually serving as communications officer. It was rare for a Megatron to abuse his truly loyal soldiers. Though, if that's what it took to attain his goals, it would be done.

he took the eyes and ears of my spark!

Rodimus touched his chest. His spark was safely in its chamber, hot and spinning, healthy and whole.

Rodimus looked at the matrix map on the wall without seeing it: that path they had taken so many dimensions ago. Over three thousand dimensions ago. Lifetimes ago, if you really thought about it. And not once, that he could recall, had they met Cybertronians who had appendages coming out of their spark chambers.

What did that feel like? The brightest, innermost essence of you, reaching out into the cold open world, to do... what?

It was a deeply alien thing and, despite all he had encountered in their travels, Rodimus shuddered. He had seen organic and metallic beings of every shape and size, yes. Eyes embedded in palms, metal fur and feathers. Biolights that moved like worms through frames full of holes (there had been many diplomatic misunderstandings in that dimension). Not to mention the 0779 Cybertronians. They had T-cogs made of gold, so soft that they deformed with use until they stopped working. Those mechs only transformed in their youth. Adulthood started when the T-cog no longer functioned. If an individual was lucky, they were stuck in their favored mode for life.

Hell, even 2957, the dimension of tentacled horrors, hadn't had Cybertronians with tentacles coming out of their spark chambers. Everywhere else, maybe, but not there.

As gross and scary as your spark having a tentacle sounded, it paled in comparison to said tentacle being ripped out. Rodimus pressed his hand against his chest again. Yes. His spark was very firmly and safely seated inside.

the eyes and ears of my spark...

No wonder Soundwave had begged to be released. No wonder the irises to his tentacles had constantly spiraled open and closed beneath the hard light shielding. No wonder Soundwave had finally busted through the shielding when- when whatever had happened in Drift's hab suite had happened.

The shielding!

“Oh, damn.” Rodimus slumped. He didn't know if Soundwave's other tentacles were eyes and ears, but he himself had ordered that shielding on. Maybe he had deprived Soundwave of his senses in another way without even realizing it.

Something in the back of Rodimus's processor poked at him. Something Drift had summarized for him once. He shoved the data pads on his desk around until he finally found it: Soundwaves: An Exhaustive Compilation of All Previously Encountered Soundwaves.

Rodimus flicked through the index. Dimensional numbers and attributes flew by. He stopped at Soundwaves, Unencountered: oral descriptions given by compatriots.

Here it was. An account of dimension 2919's Soundwave, given by Sunstorm:

“How bright the spark light from his chest! An abomination unto Primus: lightning down his coiling limbs. Here mechs stand and here they fall. The shape of sound creeps into their chambers, their life-chambers, and ah! Behold, he undoes them as fiercely as Primus shall undo the World on the Day of Reformatting.”

Beneath that were notes from Nautica:

A very strange account with little context to guide interpretation. 2919 Sunstorm, like many, is a frazzled and devout mech. He did not expand on “coiling limbs,” to which I can only ascribe some kind of antenna (??). Of note, “the shape of sound” used here has no direct translation to our Neocybex. He spoke it with several modifiers that denoted: energy, emotion, light, spark light, sound, and shape (abstract).

Rodimus thought there was more. Hadn't there been more? The lecture had certainly been long enough to hold more... but at least the coiling limbs made sense. 2919 Soundwave had the same outlier power as their Soundwave did. Rodimus scrolled through, checking and rechecking. No other mentions of a tentacled Soundwave, and nothing at all about a tentacle specifically coming out the spark.

Rodimus tossed the data pad aside. He didn't know what he had been expecting. As always, research was a waste of time. It was best to find out things for yourself. Rodimus pushed himself up from the desk, strode out the door, and-

clang!

-right into Riptide's chest. “Captain!” Riptide grabbed him before he fell backwards.

“Ow!” Rodimus rubbed his face. “What did I say about skulking outside doors?”

“Sorry.” Riptide stepped back. “It's just- we have a meeting. I have to tell you about the oil reservoir.”

Rodimus groaned. “Right. Come in. Let's get it over with.”

Rodimus lay on his berth, legs up against the wall, distorting the holo pictures. He wiggled a foot through Ultra Magnus's face. He just needed a few minutes and then he'd bother Soundwave. Talking to Riptide usually wasn't a lot, unless it was about the oil reservoir. The mech's eyes shone and everything was “ambient pressure” this and “energon-oil barrier” that. Far too many numbers came out of Riptide's mouth for Rodimus's liking. It wasn't natural.

In the end, the numbers meant they had to go energon-hopping a little sooner than they previously thought. No big deal. Once the hull was de-barnacled and the quills were flushed clean, they'd go. Perceptor would take care of it. Most of it. And they'd head straight for the next appropriate dimension's- “Enceladia! Yes! Best planet ever. One of them.”

That was something to look forward to. It would get Rodimus through the crew's inevitable whining. Energon-hopping was a thing they had to do! Did they all have to whine every time? Though it really would help if Toaster wasn't so damn dramatic about it. Rodimus flicked through pictures from previous Enceladiae, grinning to himself.

Once the number haze had faded, Rodimus sat up. Soundwave probably didn't want to talk. But someone not wanting to do something never stopped Rodimus from making them do it before. He marched to the door, running through sentences, phrases, what could he say, raised his hand- and stopped.

This was the door to Drift's room.

No, this was the door to Soundwave's room. The one they shared. The one Rodimus had sealed up over and over. He lowered his hand. Wrong door.

Rodimus went out into the hall, trying to ignore the camera he knew was there. He knocked on Soundwave's door. “Hey! Soundwave! I wanna talk to you!”

The door slid open just wide enough for Soundwave's visor to poke through. It was covered in a layer of sparkling dust.

“Uhhhh... hey! What's the mythological Soundwave?”

The door slammed shut.

“Hey!” Rodimus banged on it. “Open up! That's an order!”

The door slid open again, just wide enough to emit a sparkly tentacle.

“What's with all the sparkles?” Rodimus poked the tentacle. It reared back. He inspected his finger. “What is this?”

“Crystal.”

“Oh. I should've guessed.” Rodimus stuck his foot in the door. “You gonna let me in?”

“Negative.”

“Then come out here.”

A pulse of irritation came from the darkness. The tentacle receded. “What do you want?”

“Mythological Soundwave. What is that? Was that you?”

The visor reappeared. Soundwave displayed a picture of himself- same frame, but without the scratches and burns he sported now. “Crew perception of me aboard the Nemesis.”

“Why do Decepticon ships always have names like that?” muttered Rodimus. “Never mind, don't answer. So, mythological Soundwave. What... what did you do?”

“Complete access to all communications.”

“Oh.”

“Complete access to all security systems.”

“Ah.”

“Complete control of deep space navigation and sp- other technology.”

“What other technology?”

Soundwave said nothing.

Complete control of communications and security were what Soundwave had accomplished on the Lost Light in mere days. Rodimus had to give him that. “Mythological” wasn't the word he would've used, though. “Scary” was more like it. Rodimus glanced above the visor with its red, jagged lines. The signal blockers were firmly in place. Soundwave could remove them if he really wanted to. His tentacles were free. They had been for a while. Rodimus reached for them. “Why do you-”

The visor pulled back. A tentacle pushed his foot out of the way and the door slammed shut.

Rodimus sighed. Soundwave needed time. Rodimus knew that. He was just bad at giving people time, sometimes. It took too long. Rodimus gave a half-hearted knock. “Good night, you big weirdo.”

The next morning when Strafe came to collect Soundwave at the early hour, he was lead to an airlock, not the cafeteria. “Aquafend's got that covered,” said Strafe. “We're prepping for energon-hopping. Gotta get all the barnacles off before we jump.”

It was an exhausting morning. Security mechs never helped with the chore, but Strafe stuck his gun to his back and worked alongside Hoist. So did Hot Spot, Nautica, Ultra Magnus, Blaster, and Lug. Cyclonus and Whirl flew overhead. A few hours in, to Soundwave's surprise, Cyclonus came down and helped, too. Whirl remained overhead, zig-zagging around the ship. The whole group worked together at first, then Ultra Magnus split them off into pairs.

Soundwave was paired with Hot Spot. As they trudged to their designated area, Hot Spot sent, .:this is better than the filtering/recycling room, eh?:.

Soundwave silently agreed.

.:hey Blaster, how about some tunes?:. sent Nautica.

.:hmph. Soundwave doesn't like my tunes:.

.:aww, really?:.

.:who cares what Soundwave likes:. sent Strafe.

Soundwave played a recording of Aquafend. .:fuck you:.

A stunned silence went over the comm.

.:was that Aquafend?:. sent Strafe.

.:it was Soundwave:. sent Blaster. .:damn, mech. Get over yourself:.

.:a little decorum, please:. sent Ultra Magnus.

Soundwave responded with a recording of Nautica and Velocity's energon harp performance.

.:oh!:. sent Nautica. .:I didn't know you were listening! That's a lovely quality recording. You can really hear the water cups under the energon! You must send that to me when we're done:.

Blaster grumbled over the connection but did not demand the music to be changed.

Soundwave played the concert. After the second playthrough, he faded the music out. He didn't want to concentrate on it anymore. He concentrated instead on pushing his thoughts away as he stomped soundlessly across the hull. Conversations came and went in the background. Soundwave ignored them all.

But he couldn't ignore Hot Spot waving excitedly at him from a meter away. .:come here, Soundwave:. Hot Spot kneeled beside a big, striped barnacle.

Soundwave assented, if only for a moment's respite. He stared down at the organic thing, leaning on his spear.

.:I think it's going to replicate. See the stripes?:.

The barnacle's stripes flashed and moved. This, as far as Soundwave knew, was a hypnotic, self-defense action it took against predators. The barnacle scrunched and extended its body repeatedly. A slit appeared at its apex. Glistening white lay beneath.

A tiny frill adorned in tiny stripes appeared in the slit. .:awwwwh:. sent Hot Spot, bending closer. The barnacle scrunched up again. A miniature barnacle slid out of the slit and hovered above its parent. Hot Spot made an agonized sound. Soundwave thought the barnacle had wounded him, until he cried out .:it's so cute!:.

cute?!

Soundwave recoiled in a flurry of tentacles as Hot Spot gathered the thing in his hands and stroked it. It curled around his fingers. More of the tiny horrors slid out of the parent, floating around it. The parent barnacle arched upwards, sticking the babies to itself.

.:I want to keep it:. whispered Hot Spot.

.:hey!:. sent Lug. .:we can hear you! Don't you dare!:.

.:bringing an organic creature onto the Lost Light is an infraction of Section 2, Part 1 of the ship's boarding/import guidelines:. intoned Ultra Magnus.

.:it's just a baby. It can't do any harm-:.

.:until it gets into the console wiring:. sent Nautica.

.:and bites its way out of the ship, seeking the hull:. sent Lug. .:I remember dimension 0055. Does anyone else?:.

.:yes:. sent Cyclonus.

.:yes:. sent Blaster.

.:yes:. sent Whirl. .:I have a missile here with your name on it if you bring it inside. I'm inscribing it right now. Hot Spot. Is that one word or two?:.

.:hypocrite:. Hot Spot put his finger over his visor in a signal for silence. His thigh armor parted. He tucked the edge of the frilly baby into the seam.

Before he could stop himself, Soundwave displayed an image of the additive processor and spat out, .:what would you feed it?:.

Hot Spot's visor flashed. .:ah. Right:. He sighed and placed the baby barnacle onto its parent. .:be good:. He pet the babies, tickling them so they curled and waved. Hot Spot slid his spear-lever under the parent and dislodged it from the hull. He tapped them out to space. .:safe travels:.

Soundwave shuddered inwardly. It must be nice not to have to worry about what you ate every day. Most of the 0001 mechs probably never thought about it. They didn't have to.

.:Soundwave, confirm that Hot Spot has not smuggled a baby barnacle into his frame:. sent Ultra Magnus.

.:confirmed:.

Hot Spot sulkily returned to his work. Soundwave shoved his spear under a barnacle. It reared back and shot out a cloud of acid. He stepped to the side. Loathsome things.

The group reconvened for a fuel-up from Swerve. Liquid rations with straws were handed out. Soundwave pierced his ration with a tentacle.

.:skkkkklurrrrrrrpppp:.

A chorus of grossed-out sounds came from the radio. Whirl powered up his chest-mounted guns. Ultra Magnus positioned himself between Soundwave and Whirl, glaring at both. Pairs were reassigned. Cyclonus and Whirl blasted off. Ultra Magnus went with Hot Spot. Nautica went with Soundwave.

Nautica led the way to a colony of pink barnacles. .:would you like to learn how to play the energon harp?:.

Soundwave mulled it over. The crystal project took precedence. But the energon harp couldn't possibly take long to master. .:affirmative:.

.:great! I bet you could do all kinds of interesting things with your limbs. The most famous harpist on Caminus, Heartstring, had seven limbs. She could play three harps at once!:.

.:Heartstring: inferior. Soundwave: superior!:.

Nautica laughed. .:Blaster said you talked like that. I didn't believe him:. Nautica shoved her spear under a barnacle. The spear was carved with unfamiliar symbols. .:I'm glad you came to your party:.

Soundwave's spearing faltered. Her tone, in as much as he could tell, sounded sincere. What advantage could she glean from her statement? He didn't know what to say in response.

.:Swerve worked hard on that sign, even though he didn't think you were going to come. Rodimus was really excited for it. And it was nice:. Nautica wrenched the spear. The barnacle popped off the hull and hovered. She tapped it out to space. .:I like smaller parties:.

Soundwave said nothing.

.:Phew, this is hard work! I don't know how you can handle so much tier one chore cycle:. Nautica grimaced and wrenched her spear again

.:Soundwave: superior:.

.:hehe:.

They worked for another few hours. Nautica wasn't a very chatty partner. When she asked Soundwave to play the concert again, he obliged. She paused him at intervals, explaining how she and Velocity had positioned their arms so they wouldn't get in each other's way.

Finally, Hoist comm'd .:first shift is done. Second shift is up. First shift is dismissed. Reenter at nearest airlock:.

.:woo hoo!:. sent Nautica. She twirled her spear. It went flying. .:oh no!:. Soundwave darted a tentacle out and grabbed it. .:oh! Thanks!:.

.:...affirmative:.

Soundwave and Nautica skipped the nearest airlock. They reentered where they had come out. It was easier to navigate the doors in a group than in pairs. The second shift mechs were lined up in the hallway, waiting for their turn. The first in line was-

!!!

megatron? megatron does chores?

Behind the co-captain were Boss, Chromedome, Inferno, Drift, and Brainstorm. Brainstorm held up a strange gun with a scoop at the end and winked.

Megatron gave Soundwave a curt nod. Soundwave looked away and hurried to his hab suite. As he showered off space grime, he replayed the morning's work. Nautica's statement about the party was sincere. Soundwave didn't know how to feel about that. And Ultra Magnus had done something interesting. He had trusted Soundwave to confirm that Hot Spot hadn't brought a horrible, deadly baby aboard.

Naturally, Soundwave didn't want a disgusting, unpredictable organic thing on the ship. But if the baby had been a weapon? If Hot Spot had been a Decepticon in disguise?

Well- well of course then he would've lied and confirmed the very same. And Ultra Magnus would've believed him.

Or had it been a test? Perhaps Hot Spot and Ultra Magnus had conspired to see what Soundwave's reaction would be-

Soundwave shook his head. irrational. unlikely. He had better things to occupy his mind and only a few hours until Movie Night started.

He had a plan for Movie Night.

Soundwave hadn't been to this part of the ship before, though it was easy to find. Most of the habitation hallways were identically arranged, stacked on each other midship and hull-side. Swerve's hab suite was messy. Unlike Rewind and Tailgate, he did not have a roommate. He had pushed the recharge slabs together into one big bed. Human entertainment memorabilia hung everywhere. A haphazard library of bar/drinks-related data pads was built around his window.

Swerve activated a giant monitor as everyone settled on the slabs. “Yeah, Movie Night! Hope you got some good snacks, Tailgate.”

“You know it!”

“Before we start, let's check the scores,” said Swerve.

“Uuuugh,” said Tailgate. Rewind crossed his arms.

Swerve waved. A holographic scoreboard appeared:

Scoooooooooores!

“-57?!”

“You fucked up the ship!” said Swerve. “That's -100 points. But then you saved the ship, so that's +100 points. But you also lost the 0001 energon, so that's -100 points again. You got a Rodimus star, +15. You laughed at a joke none of us understand, +8. And you annoy Cyclonus, which I personally enjoy, so +20.”

“Hey!” Tailgate nudged him.

“State: purpose of point system.”

“There is none. The point designation is completely arbitrary,” said Rewind.

“I'll give you completely arbitrary-”

While they bickered, something prodded at the back of Soundwave's processor. There were far more movies in Rewind's list than he recalled seeing in the totality of the Lost Light's cultural archives. When he had been the mythological Soundwave and mapped the ship down to its last rivet and data packet, he had not seen Josh Boyfriend II: The Rejoshening.

“Query.”

Rewind was on his back. Tailgate kneeled on his chest, hands straining for Rewind's neck. He was held back by Swerve, who dug his feet into the slab and pulled. All three minibots froze and looked up at him.

“Uh. Yes?” said Rewind.

“Where are these movies stored?”

“In the dimensional library.”

Soundwave displayed an image of Brainstorm's multidimensional library. “Sample library only. No cultural artifacts.”

“Pff,” said Rewind. He wriggled out of Tailgate's grasp and sat properly. His camera blinked and projected a hologram. “Not Brainstorm's library. My library.”

The image of a glowing... thing hovered in the air. Soundwave peered at it. It was a black cube of layers and layers of slats with flickering lights between them.

“I may be a memory stick, but even I can't hold all the data we gather. We've been to thousands of dimensions! You can get Delta's Malady from storing all the information in just one dimension. No, thank you. Brainstorm made this for me, based on plans we found in an abandoned omniglobe. His specimen library is a mini version of this one.”

Soundwave reached for the hologram.

“Ah, ah.” Rewind clicked it off. “It's not connected to any other part of the ship. You never infiltrated it.”

“Are there other information systems disconnected from ship?”

“Maybe,” said Rewind. He settled back on the slab. “Maybe.”

Soundwave scowled inwardly. Regardless of the ultimate failure of his past self, he was still proud of what he had been able to accomplish. Apparently, it wasn't as much as he thought it was.

“Can we start now?” asked Swerve.

Tailgate flopped down. “Fine. Oh! Snacks.” He hopped up and went to the door. He picked up a pile of boxes. “Here you go, Swerve. All your favs. Rewind. Soundwave. Annnd me!”

???

Soundwave pushed the box at Tailgate. “Snacks not made with dimensional additive.”

“I know.” Tailgate pushed it back. “I had them made special.”

!

Soundwave took the box in his tentacles. He opened it. Inside was a row of sealed liquid cubes. They were multicolored, though each had a purple undertone. Soundwave peeled the cover off a yellow cube. He stuck a tendril in.

!

It was- well, if he was tasting it with his mouth, he was sure it would be sweet. It was cool and smooth and definitely not poison.

“Is it good?” asked Tailgate. He transformed his mask aside, revealing his strange, grindform mouth.

Soundwave didn't know what to say. He didn't want to express appreciation. He settled for, “Acceptable.”

“Good,” said Tailgate. He shoved an energon stick into his mouth. “Mmm.”

Soundwave found himself wondering what Toaster had said when Tailgate had made his request. Soundwave had never asked for candy or snacks or anything before. It had never occurred to him. If it had, he would have dismissed it outright. Soundwave pulled the cover off of an orange cube. This one was fizzy, tickling the inside of his tendrils. They wiggled.

“Hehehe.” Tailgate's laugh.

Soundwave looked up sharply.

Tailgate wiggled his fingers. “I saw you.”

Soundwave hastily set the box down and grabbed a red cube. He tested it for fizziness before balancing it on his thigh.

“All good? Okay, let's start. Soundwave requested Because The Night,” said Rewind.

“Oooh, good one,” said Swerve. He shoved an energon bar into his mouth and dimmed the lights.

While the others were engrossed, Soundwave pulled a thermos of cafeteria energon from his side. It was energon for the general crew, no additives. He set the thermos on the floor beside him, easily within tentacle reach and out of sight. The minibots jumped and shrieked as the on-screen characters were dragged away to their dooms. Soundwave covered his chest as best he could when Laserbeak flashed with spark light. He ignited three crystals with fear, one from each minibot, and plopped them into the thermos. Not ideal conditions, but he was confident. Would they look different, because the energy had come from different mechs? They shouldn't. At least, in his dimension, they hadn't. But you never knew, with 0001 mechs.

The minibots screamed and laughed nervously and elbowed each other. Movies were good at provoking emotional reactions. Soundwave could turn Movie Night into his own emotion factory!

soundwave: superior!

The minibots' company was a small price to pay for easy access to resonances. With this tentative plan in place, Soundwave returned his attention to the movie itself. The beasts of planet Thrinaxia were rendered as cheap special effects. Microphones and even a cameramech were visible at one point. Thundercracker movies didn't have big budgets. No matter. They did what Soundwave needed them to do.

The last Decepticon bravely crawled his way back to the safety of his ship. He dragged himself into the pilot seat, slamming the ignition. The movie ended on a pan from his exhausted, happy expression to two glowing eyes in the darkness beside him. There was a musical assault and the credits rolled.

The minibots clapped. Swerve turned on the lights. “Did you like it?” asked Tailgate.

“Oh yeah,” said Swerve. “Love watching Decepticons get dragged away by- uh. I mean-”

“It's a classic,” said Rewind.

“Movie: acceptable,” said Soundwave. “When is next Movie Night?”

The three minibots looked at each other. Soundwave had never asked when the next night was before.

“Um. Four nights from now, at Tailgate's,” said Swerve. His visor flashed. “Do... you want to pick again?”

“Affirmative.”

Swerve smiled. “Alright. Your turn to get the snacks.”

So it went for a few weeks. Soundwave's kitchen work was reduced by 66%. Grimlock was in spot #1 and Aquafend in spot #2 on the WorSt MecHs EveR list. Aquafend's inclusion pushed Soundwave off-screen. Soundwave felt a tiny flicker of pride at that-

!!! ridiculous!

-and squashed it immediately.

Barnacle scraping took place every other day. Soundwave found himself watching Cyclonus and Whirl overhead. Cyclonus's flight path was efficient and graceful, covering his area in parallel lines. Whirl zig-zagged, changed height, sometimes swooped down to scare mechs. He was rewarded with smacks from the spear tool. Soundwave held his arms out, weightless, approximating their positions when transformed into wings.

i want to fly

Once the ship had been cleared, a scrubbing process began. Spears were swapped for bristled mops. Nearly the whole crew turned out. As many mechs as there were magna-clamps to hold them down. The current dimension needed to be scrubbed off the ship, so as not to contaminate future dimensions.

.:sometimes we fly through a star's corona to burn the ship clean:. comm'd Hoist. .:but we're far from the star type we need at the moment, and the protective sheets for the quills are still ripped from last time:.

It was grueling, and with Aquafend and Grimlock in the kitchen, the food tasted bad. Complaints piled up. Toaster's nerves were shot. Interestingly, he yelled less at Soundwave. Perhaps he was getting it all out on Aquafend and Grimlock.

One morning, Soundwave's rations burned his tendrils and his line filters screamed. He stomped into the kitchen, pushed Aquafend and Toaster aside, and checked the additive processor himself. His numbers were all wrong. Aquafend scratched his head and shrugged, claiming not to know how it worked. When Toaster turned his back, he made a hand gesture Soundwave had seen a few times in the hallways.

Soundwave grabbed Aquafend in his tentacles and wrenched him up. His three helm lights scraped the ceiling. “Hey-!”

In Aquafend's own voice, Soundwave said, “Do not fuck with my food.”

Toaster wielded a spoon like a sword and whacked Soundwave's shins. “Put him down!”

“I work here, too.” Soundwave gave Aquafend a powerful squeeze and tossed him to the floor.

Soundwave didn't have any more food problems after that.

Fortunately, it wasn't all intolerable. Soundwave ignited new crystals every few Movie Nights. There were some he knew he wouldn't be able to get in that environment, so he stalked the ship. He watched the rec center from the furthest corner, so his own presence did not affect results. He learned who sat where and when. The patterns of their movements slotted into his mind in lattices: mech-nodes connected by relationship-lines, suspended on planes denoting time and location. All incoming information was like that, now. It hovered in structures, folded away when not in use. With the signal blockers on, Soundwave couldn't tell what mechs were saying, but he was learning their biolight patterns. He saw who was happy, excited, sad, and more. He looked at the furniture arrangements and made his own plans.

For the most part, Rodimus left him alone. Soundwave pushed his uncomfortable thoughts away and focused on his project.

His little collection of ignited crystals grew.

Chapter Text

Soundwave had subtly rearranged the furniture in the rec center into a maze. He pushed a huge, poofy chair up behind the sofa that Cyclonus and Tailgate sat in every other day. They were used to the chair, hadn't checked it for an occupant the last few times. Soundwave hunched in it now, limbs stiff and field tucked in, tentacles gripping the thermos in his lap. In it was a clear seed crystal, bobbing in energon. Where were they? They always came here at this time-

whoosh

Weight hit the sofa cushion behind Soundwave. Tailgate's field flowed out, followed by a soft giggle. Cyclonus uttered a low, “Hmm.” The sofa creaked as they settled in together. Even with the signal blockers on, Soundwave could almost hear their sparks.

“Remember Chrysalis-9, in dimension 1145?” asked Tailgate.

Cyclonus made a rumbling noise of assent.

“Remember how the sunset turned the oceans green?”

Another rumbling sound.

“That was so nice.”

“It was,” said Cyclonus. Tailgate let out a happy little sigh. His field flared.

there!

The resonance of Tailgate's field echoed in Soundwave's spark. Laserbeak shuddered. Energy flowed down Soundwave's tentacles. The crystal flashed.

“What was that!” Tailgate shrieked. Cyclonus jumped up, reaching for his sword.

Soundwave was already halfway across the room, moving as quickly and quietly as he could through the furniture maze. He clutched the thermos to his chest. He escaped the rec center without being spotted.

There was no one in the hallway. Soundwave yanked the lid off the thermos. He couldn't wait until he got all the way back to his room to see it. The seed crystal spun. It had taken on a rosy pink color. A thick coagulation clung to it.

There were several crystals Soundwave had never grown, back so long ago on pre-war Cybertron. This was one of them. Soundwave had always wondered what it looked like. Tailgate's field provided a strong ignition.

love

Soundwave had almost made it back to his hab suite hallway when Rodimus appeared. He had a bunch of data pads in the crook of one elbow. His field flared with false cheerfulness. “Hey, Soundwave. It's been a while! How're you doing?”

Soundwave wasn't sure what kind of answer would make the co-captain go away quickest. He had learned a lot about sarcasm from Movie Night. But he felt it would not work properly in this situation. “Functioning within acceptable parameters.”

“Pff. You been hanging with Ultra Magnus?”

“Negative.”

Rodimus followed Soundwave to the elevator. Damn. They were definitely heading in the same direction. It was too late for Soundwave to turn back now without it being apparent Rodimus's presence was the reason, and there was no alternate route to his hab suite.

“Has anyone told you yet that we're energon-hopping in two days?”

“Negative.” Soundwave wondered where he was supposed to get ship updates from. He had never been given a schedule for his tier one chore cycle. He still went wherever he was escorted to in the morning.

Rodimus preened in the elevator's mirrored walls. His eyes were dull. His spoiler sagged and wasn't as shiny as usual, though Soundwave didn't know why: it's not like Rodimus ever joined the rest of the crew on the hull. Soundwave caught sight of the signal blockers over his own antenna. Mechs probably connected to some kind of shipwide database/schedule. But he couldn't.

“Most Recents Club meeting tomorrow. Ambulon will be there with medicine,” said Rodimus, tilting his helm in the mirror. “Alt-dimensioners need it to get through.”

“Medicine: unnecessary. Soundwave: superior.”

Rodimus squinted at him. “I sincerely doubt Soundwave is superior in this particular way. A bunch of 0001 mechs need it, too.” He stepped out of the elevator and stopped in his tracks. Soundwave almost walked into him. “Oh.”

It was a hub hallway: several different elevator paths converged here and you had to either go up or down flights of stairs to catch the next elevator you wanted. The arrangement was a strange quirk of the Lost Light, the Nemesis didn't have it. Across from their elevator was a paint stain: graffiti, new this morning, but already wiped away. The rips in the wall Soundwave had dealt it remained.

Rodimus walked to the wall. The false cheerfulness of his field drained away. He traced the curlicues of sharp metal. “You know,” he said softly. “You know... Can you keep a secret?”

secret??

Rodimus stared at him expectantly. Soundwave replayed his voice, “Keep a secret.”

“This isn't the adventure I wanted for us.” Rodimus uncurled the metal, bending it back. It was too warped to flatten properly. “I didn't want us hurtling through space, slowly becoming more and more injured with no way to fully heal ourselves. No reliable source of energon. I didn't want to worry so much about everyone and everything all the time. I wanted adventure! Exploration! Excitement! We do a lot of good things but we're being worn down. Sometimes... sometimes I think, if I had known how hard it would be, I wouldn't have made the jump. Maybe things are better back on 0001 Cybertron and we're missing out on an easier life.”

Soundwave said nothing. What a secret it was. Something Starscream would've twisted and turned to his own devices: replayed it to Rodimus during his lowest points. Whisper it constantly, widening the gulf of doubt and seeding self-sabotage. Excellent blackmail material.

But Rodimus had not done that to him. He had not once mentioned Soundwave's pathetic admission of being broken. No one on the crew seemed to know. Rodimus had not said anything to anyone else.

Soundwave considered the wall. The graffiti had been cleaned. He raised his tendrils and pushed and prodded the metal, dodging around Rodimus's fingers.

“But I can't just say it. I'm the captain! I can't express doubt. It's so exhausting not saying it. But I guess it's a moot point.” Rodimus pulled his hands away from the wall and sighed. “All we can do is keep going.”

The wall was crumpled, the slashed edges didn't line up. Soundwave leaned back. Laserbeak sprang off his chest.

“Ahh!” Rodimus jumped and threw his hands up. “What-”

Laserbeak fired at the wall. The edges melted together into jagged scars. Laserbeak returned to its place. Soundwave touched the wall with his tendrils. “Imperfect, but still functional.”

“I-” Rodimus lowered his hands. “I wasn't expecting that.” He was quiet the rest of the way to their hab suites.

victory: silence obtained.

further specification: silence obtained through startling, non-violent action

When they got to their hab suites, Rodimus activated his door, tossed the data pads inside, and closed it again. “Can I see what you've been working on?”

Soundwave froze.

“I know you're doing something in there. Maybe other people can't tell your frame apart from the thermoses you always have stuck to you, but I can. All kinds of stories are going around the ship, you know. Mechs sitting peacefully and all the sudden, bam! Mysterious flash of light. Then a tall, pointy shadow pops up out of nowhere and retreats at full speed.”

Irritation flashed through Soundwave.

“Please? I wanna see. I'm asking nicely. Not ordering.” Rodimus leaned against the wall and smiled. “I could order it.”

There it was. The choice that was not-a-choice. Soundwave was familiar with them. Fortunately, Starscream had been something of a teacher in this regard. Sometimes choices could be bargained into something slightly more palatable.

“Condition: entry may be made, if you do not touch anything.”

“Deal!”

Well, that had been easier than Soundwave thought it would be. He typed his code into the key pad. They stepped inside.

“Whoa...” Rodimus spun in place, eyes brightening.

Soundwave activated the lighting. It was soft and cool. There was a strange smell, like raw energon and blood. The berth was cordoned off by a sheeny, black curtain. The desk extender was covered in tool kits and bowls and energon. Its hologram projector flicked open and displayed a three dimensional star map. The outer layer of the walls was peeled down into tiers of jagged shelves, on which shallow bowls of energon crowded together. In the center of each was a small crystal.

“Hey!” said Rodimus. “What did I tell you about the walls! And does that tool kit say 'Property of Med Bay' along the side?” Soundwave thought Rodimus would throw him into the brig right then, but the Autobot's field poured with delight. Rodimus reached out to a crystal. Soundwave darted towards him. “Relax, I won't touch it. Wow.” Rodimus's spoiler fluttered up and down. “This is amazing. Where did you get all these!”

“I grew them,” said Soundwave. To his annoyance, Rodimus's awe had an effect on him. It felt... good. Like an accomplishment, a success of some kind. Soundwave tried to push it away. He failed. A compulsion to share, to brag, ran through him. “Successful ignitions from mechs' fields. Look. Listen.” Soundwave touched a series of crystals. Each let out a faint tone. The sounds blended and harmonized.

Rodimus tilted his helm, the tell-tale motion a mech made when dialing up their audials. “That's super pretty.”

“They are not just for sound,” said Soundwave. “Come closer.”

Rodimus stepped closer. Soundwave repeated the pattern and held his fingers over the crystals. He nodded at Rodimus to do the same.

“The crystals have their own fields! I can feel them!”

“Affirmative. Primitive, compared to a Cybertronian's, but present. Strong ignitions and pruning result in purer crystals. More easily sensed by average mechs.”

“Ohh. Like before? In Drift's room?”

“Confirmative.”

“Oooh,” said Rodimus. He tilted his palm back and forth over them. “It tingles.”

“These are still young. When they mature, they will expel light. The light and the sounds mix, and they resonate. Songs within songs. Fields within fields.”

“That's amazing,” said Rodimus. “How do you know about all this?”

Soundwave took a bowl from the shelf. He touched the crystal nub within. “Before my emotion-suppressing protocols were installed, I grew gardens.”

“Cool!” Rodimus spun around the room again. “Drift would kill to see this. Uh. Don't tell him I said that.” He walked parallel to the shelves, palm passing over the crystals. “Wow! I can tell what these are. This one's scared. This one's also scared. This one is, too. This one's happy. This one is scared. You have a lot of fear crystals. This one is...” Rodimus blinked. “Love?”

“Affirmative.”

“Really? Why? Why do all this?”

It was a deeply personal question. Soundwave considered it. The answer ultimately showcased his superiority. Soundwave tapped a tentacle against the center of his chest. “My first was confusing. No one else had one. They attacked me for it. I fled underground. A cave. I heard the crystals' songs. They captured me and I captured them. The cave became my home. I studied them. They focused my first. I practiced the raveling and unraveling of their patterns.”

Rodimus scratched his helm. “You mean... you stared into crystals and learned how to hear everything in the universe?”

“Simplified interpretation.”

“Holy shit,” murmured Rodimus. “Isn't that what Drift does?”

Soundwave's posture stiffened.

“He stares into crystals all the time, too.”

“Drift's methodology does not include application of any observable data,” said Soundwave.

“This is- wow, confusing. Really not something I would've thought you were into. Weren't you a gladiator?”

“Affirmative.”

“So, isn't this kinda... I dunno. Not a very formidable hobby to have?”

Soundwave's visor lit up with a crystal diagram. Concentric lines emanated from it. “Not a hobby. A life. Without the cave, there was no arena. I heard things that others could not hear. I wished to create things others could not create. Soundwave: superior.”

“You've lost me. So you... you ran away, and you heard crystals-”

“I heard them, I felt them, I saw them. There is not a word for what I did. The spaces between atoms are filled with Soundwave. I learned to sense it.”

“Wait. That was your name.”

“Affirmative. They called me Soundwave because there is not a word for what I did. I could make crystals. I could break crystals. As done in Drift's hab suite.”

Rodimus nodded.

“Crystals have Soundwave like sparks have Soundwave. A spark is Soundwave without crystal. My first-” Soundwave's visor flashed with static. “I... I learned to understand the energy of the spark. The essence of the spark—the resonance of the spark—I could... my first and my spark, together, they could sense the Soundwave of another spark, and they could undo it.”

“Like... it exploded?”

“Affirmative. Along the lines. My crystals were so pure. When they came for me, I weaponized it. They liked that. I was made a gladiator.” Soundwave displayed a video of a prisoner, captive in his tentacles, bursting apart. “I was an excellent gladiator.”

“Eugh,” said Rodimus. “You can't do that anymore, right?”

“Unknown,” said Soundwave. “My first is... different now. It cannot connect to others like it used to.” Soundwave held a tentacle up to Rodimus's chest, tendrils rigid. Rodimus stepped back. “Like drills, into the chest. Connect to the lines. Know the fullness of the spark within. Send an anti-spark pulse into the mech. Then death.” Laserbeak disengaged from Soundwave's chest and hovered beside him. He ran his tendrils along it. “Laserbeak is constructed from the remains of my first.”

“Whoa.” Before Soundwave could stop him, Rodimus reached up and pet Laserbeak.

“Skra!” Laserbeak shrieked and flew up to the ceiling.

Soundwave shuddered. Rodimus's hand was warm and smooth, had dealt him no injury, but no mech had ever dared touch Laserbeak like that before. He hissed static.

“Sorry! Sorry! Oh my god, I just pet your dead spark tentacle.” Rodimus wiped his hand on his thigh, grimacing. “Won't happen again. I should've asked.”

Laserbeak chittered and swooped down to dock into Soundwave's chest.

“Sorry, sorry. Uh, uh, what happened to your cave??”

“Megatronus ordered me to destroy it.”

“Damn.” A pang of empathy washed through Rodimus's field. It reminded Soundwave that he hadn't collected that emotion yet.

“I destroyed everything—my crystals, my work, my home—as a show of loyalty. My crystals had no place in Megatronus's plans. My work would be aiding the Decepticons. My home would be with the Decepticons. I destroyed my things. I did it efficiently. It did not hurt and I did not grieve. The emotion-suppressing protocols functioned perfectly.”

Rodimus frowned. “Do you like it better now? With emotions?”

Soundwave tapped the tiny crystal in the center of the bowl. It flashed and rang with a pure tone. He waited for it to fade before answering. “Uncertain. Emotion: difficult. When I lost my first, I lost the meaning of Soundwave. The definition of Soundwave changed. When I lost my emotion-suppressing protocols, I lost the meaning of Soundwave again. My spark cannot do what it used to do and my processor cannot do what it used to do.”

“Sure it can! I mean, you're doing all this, right?” Rodimus waved at the room. “Maybe you can relearn it all and do both! ...oh god, double Soundwave. You'd really be Soundwave: superior.”

A pulse of amusement went through Soundwave's lines. “When the emotion-suppressing protocols fully collapsed, the memories of the crystals resurfaced. So perhaps. Recapture the original meaning of Soundwave. Although it cannot be expressed as it once was.” Laserbeak's biolights flared white.

“Well that's... that's good, right? It sounds good. Emotions and stuff.” Rodimus put his hands on his hips. “We really need to get a ship psychologist.” He sighed. “Soundwave... who you were before and during your war, what you did then... it's part of what made you who you are. But unless you have a time machine, you can't change what happened. You have to accept it and move on. You don't have a time machine, right?”

“Negative.”

“Thank god.” Rodimus heaved a sigh of relief. “Now's your chance to pick the good of what you were and make a new definition of Soundwave.”

“Affirmative. Ongoing process,” said Soundwave.

“It would really help if you stopped skulking around and scaring people, though.”

“Due to the structural makeup of the 0001 seed crystals, I cannot ignite them myself.”

“Oh. So you're stealing fields from other mechs?” said Rodimus. Soundwave handed him a bowl with a seed crystal floating in energon. “Is this from the cafeteria?”

“Hold it in front of your chest.” Soundwave touched a tendril to the tiny crystal. He held it steady on the bobbing surface of the energon. “Give it an emotion.”

“How?”

“Use your field. Flare out an emotion. I will convey it to the seed crystal. The seed crystal will trap it.”

Rodimus stared at the tiny crystal. “Which emotion?”

“Your choice.”

Rodimus grinned. His field flared out with excitement. “Meteor surfing. Dashing from rock to rock, hurtling through the nebular glow of space. You gotta try it some time, Soundwave.” Excitement echoed in Soundwave's spark, strong and lively and true. Laserbeak's biolights surged white. Soundwave's tentacles shuddered. A spark jumped from his tendrils to the seed crystal. It flashed red and spun. Rodimus watched it, grin widening. “That's me! Right?”

“Part of you.” Soundwave took the shallow bowl from him. He held the crystal close to his visor. The energon coagulated and peeled back, revealing a tiny red crystalline point. “Successful ignition.”

“Cool. I don't know how you did that, but you probably shouldn't tell Brainstorm.” Rodimus poked the crystal. “Does it eat blood? Is that why it smells like blood in here?”

“Current energon mix sufficient for 0001 ignition. Blood unnecessary. The energy will resonate as the crystal grows. I will guide it until the internal pattern is permanently established.” Laserbeak ruffled its wings. “This ignition process is a work-around. My first could do it directly, without translating the energy. Crystal suffers impurities as a result.” Soundwave pointed to his first ignited crystal- the one made from Ambulon. It was pink and black, a few inches tall, standing in a dry bowl. Soundwave had run out of blood: the crystal had stopped growing. He pointed to the black parts. “I will trim impurities as it grows. Mature crystal will be pure. Soundwave: superior.”

“Naturally,” said Rodimus with a grin. “Why haven't you shared with anyone yet? This is the perfect kind of thing to talk about at the Most Recents Club meetings.”

“It is not ready,” said Soundwave. “Pre-war, it was my great work. I never finished it.” His visor displayed a wireframe of the Lost Light. “I intend to finish it here.”

“Psst. Hey, Soundwave. Soundwave.”

Soundwave onlined with a start. He sat up on his berth. The sheeny curtain around him blocked all light, but not sound. He pushed it aside. A staticky, green hologram of Nautica's head floated over his desk.

“Soundwave, are you there?” she whispered.

“Affirmative.”

“Oooh, great! Come down to the race track. Quietly.”

Soundwave groggily pulled up his map of the Lost Light. The race track was under the rec center. Soundwave had appended it with a note, 3204- disintegrating rubber. “Purpose?”

“You'll see.” The hologram winked.

Soundwave descended the stairs in the rec center, senses on high alert. Nautica didn't seem like the type to lay a trap, but distrust flowed through his lines. As he went, the race track came into view: a huge, crumbling, blue oval lost to darkness in the distance. The ceiling was at least two floors high. Spectator seats ringed the track, dim and shapeless. The last step creaked. Soundwave froze.

“Easy,” came Blaster's voice.

Soundwave whipped towards it, tentacles rearing. Blaster stepped out of the shadows. He held a gun, pointed at the floor.

“I'm here for Nautica's sake. I didn't want her doing this but she insisted you could be trusted. You behave and you won't see me at all.”

They stared at each other. The uneasy silence was broken by a cheerful, “Soundwave! Is that you?”

Blaster waved the gun. “Go ahead. It took an hour to get all that stuff down here. You better not disappoint her.”

Soundwave walked to the pool of light at the edge of the track. Nautica flitted around a triangular table, filling cups with water and energon. Beside her were empty boxes labeled “Harp Stuff” full of fluffy packing material. Nautica beamed as he neared. “Hi, Soundwave! This was the best place I could think of for us to practice. No one comes here late at night. Careful of the floor. It's all crumbly.”

A chunk of rubbery stuff stuck in Soundwave's foot. He plucked it out and flung it aside. “Purpose of meeting?”

Nautica tapped a glass. A beautiful ting sounded. “Lessons!”

Soundwave looked around. There were so many places where Autobots could hide. Blaster had disappeared. He could be anywhere. Soundwave couldn't remember if there were cameras in the racing arena.

“Come on, don't be shy!” Nautica waved him over. “Stand here, you have to look at it from this side.”

Soundwave approached. Her field was brimming with excitement. He should've brought some seed crystals.

“Right there. Perfect! This is a Camien energon harp,” said Nautica. “Traditionally, water was not used. It was substituted in as energon became rare. Velocity and I learned how to play with the water cups, though, so I have them here. The energon of Caminus is slightly different from what we have available on the ship. We've tuned it the best we can. Maybe you'll hear it differently. I'm open to improvements.” Nautica ran her hand along the edge of the harp. “The base—the table—is sloped so the cup rims are all at the same height. That's so it's easier to play.”

“Understood.”

“Deeper sounds on left, higher sounds on right. Therefore: big cups on left, smaller cups on right. With me so far?”

“Affirmative.”

“The glasses have magnets on the bottom. They stick to the base so they don't fall over.” Nautica poked a tall glass in demonstration. It remained rooted to its spot. “We've corrected for the presence of the magnets so they shouldn't interfere with the sounds.”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave touched a glass with a tendril. It was cool and smooth. Regular glass. No metal threaded through it, as some industrial glasses had.

“I should've sent you the schematics,” said Nautica. “And our note system. 0001 Cybertron has a different notation for the musical scales than we do. Cybertronian notes are based on numbers. The scale goes 1 – 12. Camien notes are based on glyphs. You have to memorize them. They start from the middle and fan outward in both directions, up and down. It's kind of a strange system if you're not used to it. Inefficient, perhaps. But it's traditional.”

Soundwave nodded.

Nautica pulled a set of palmless, taloned gloves from her subspace compartment. They were carved with details Soundwave had been too far away to see before. Blocky fire motifs and words in, he assumed, Camien glyphs. “These look like gold, but they're not. That would be too soft. It's a special mixture we call strikemetal. Gloves are traditional. They standardize the metal used for striking the cups. Everyone's fingertips are made of slightly different metals. Gloves ensure everyone's hands sound the same. The palm is open for flexibility.” She leaned close and whispered. “And also because strikemetal is expensive.”

“Is there a strikemetal source?” Soundwave thought of the adaptors Wingy had manufactured. He could have his own made from strikemetal, perfectly fitted to his tendrils.

“Here? No.” Nautica curled her fingers. They flashed golden light. “Maybe Swerve could try making it. But it's tricky.” Nautica tapped her taloned forefinger to an empty glass. “This is the exact middle of the harp. The sound this cup makes is the exact middle of the range we have available to us.”

ting

Soundwave's processor clutched the sound, understood the length and breadth of it in an instant. It appeared as shape/energy in his mind. He displayed it as best he could on his visor.

“Oh! Is that the mathematical expression of the note?”

“Negative.” Soundwave didn't feel like explaining his notation system. It would take too long. His visor could only display flat, two dimensional images. It would only be confusing to her. “Personalized system for understanding Soundwave.”

“Huh. Okay.” Nautica tapped the glass again. “The notes all have cultural names that I would be super excited to explain to you but we can skip that part for now. This exact center of the harp is called fire. The twelfth note above it”–she moved her hand to the appropriate glass and tapped it–“is fire-rise. The next twelfth note above that is fire-seeker. Next above that is fire-sky. There are more designations for even higher tones, but this harp isn't that big.”

“Understood.”

“The twelfth note below fire is fire-spark. Twelfth below that is fire-city, and again below that is fire-core, meaning the core of the planet. The general... cultural feeling is that bass sounds are more like home. The things we have inside us, the place we live in: spark, city, core. The higher-pitched sounds are above us, things to aspire to: the motion of rising up, the sky. That kind of thing. The spatial orientation of the note gives more depth to the feeling, if that makes sense. You wouldn't write a song about being homesick using high-pitched notes.”

Soundwave charted the notes and designations. “Understood.”

“Great! The note one cup above fire is hearth. The twelfth note above hearth is hearth-rise. Above that again is hearth-seeker. Above that again is-”

“Pattern detected: hearth-sky.”

“You got it! I knew this would be easy for you.” Nautica tapped through the harp, naming the notes. “And, of course, you can't have a Camien instrument without some deviation from the pattern. There are special words for the very lowest cup and the very highest cup: the anvil and the hammer.”

“Understood.”

“Any questions so far?”

“Play entire scale.”

Nautica did so, starting from the anvil.

The notes blended and shimmered. Soundwave shook his helm.

“Something wrong?”

“Play entire scale. One by one. Silence the previous note before continuing.” Nautica gave him a curious look, but she did so. Soundwave catalogued the sounds. It was easy, as easy as any other sound he had ever heard. The pure tones prickled through his mind. They had an almost stringy quality. When Nautica finished, he played the range back to her.

“You sound just like the harp!”

“Affirmative.”

Nautica pulled the gloves off. “I don't know if you'll be able to wear these...” She held them out. “But you're welcome to try.”

With some finagling, Soundwave shoved his tendrils into the talons. They were warm inside, retaining the heat of Nautica's hands. He tapped a cup: tang!

“Whoa! Gently, gently,” said Nautica. She grabbed the glove. “Like this.” She demonstrated, tapping the cup.

Soundwave's tendrils coiled tighter into the talons. “Desired: properly structured strikemetal.”

“Yeah, I can see,” said Nautica. She bent her fingers in a wave, copying the movements of Soundwave's tendrils. “I'll talk to Swerve. For now, just do your best.”

Soundwave bent over the harp. He tapped every note, displaying its name on his visor. Nautica nodded and made little encouraging noises. Soundwave played through several scales. They were not perfect: the gloves slipped off sometimes and hit errant cups. He tempered his irritation as best he could.

“You're doing really well! Have you ever played an instrument before?”

“...unknown.” Soundwave didn't know. He could emulate an instrument easily enough. That was just arranging data in the right order. He couldn't remember if he had ever played an instrument before the war. Perhaps he had constructed one from crystals?

“Well, you do now!” Nautica clapped.

Soundwave silenced the cups and stared at them, resonances and half-formed mathematical formulas flowing through his mind. The sounds were beautiful, but he felt something was missing. Something... something... He shed one of the gloves and touched bare tendrils to a glass. The liquid inside was, by definition, not crystalline. He could not glean its structure as he could with a crystal. The atoms flowed, blurry, untamable. But perhaps...

“Query.”

“Yes?”

“Are notes ever moved... away from the harp?”

“Uh.” Nautica's pleasant field flopped over with confusion. “I don't understand. What do you mean?”

Soundwave plucked the hearth-seeker and seer-seeker cups from the table. He walked to the race track's spectator seats in front of the harp and placed hearth-seeker on one. He did some mental calculations and placed seer-seeker a few seats down.

“Uhh...” said Nautica.

Soundwave tapped hearth and cocked his head. The cup played its note, but he had been expecting something else. Something more. He tapped it again. Nothing more. He tapped seer. Still, no expected result.

“Query.”

“Yeah?”

Soundwave pointed. “Stand there. Hold hearth-seeker at exact height of harp base.”

“Er. Okay.” Nautica picked up the cup and held it. “Like this?”

“Place on back of hand. Flat surface. Somatic plating must not interfere with cup.”

Nautica set the cup on the back of one hand. “Like this?”

“Affirmative. Hold very still.”

From the corner of Soundwave's eye, the darkness stirred. Blaster came forward, holding the gun. “You're not doing anything weird, are you?”

“It's fine!” said Nautica. “Don't worry. We're getting along splendidly.”

Blaster stood at the edge of the light, gun trained on Soundwave. “One yelp out of her and you'll get it, Soundwave. I mean it.”

Soundwave said nothing. He tapped hearth. Still no expected result. “Hold very still.”

“I'm trying,” said Nautica.

Soundwave tapped hearth again. He tilted his helm, straining beyond the signal blockers.

There. Faintly, oh so faintly, hearth-seeker gave out a tone. Soundwave tapped hearth again. Hearth-seeker answered.

Nautica gasped. “Transferred resonance,” she whispered. “How did you do that?” As she spoke, the cup dipped up and down, losing its connection. Its tone faded.

Soundwave displayed two frequencies on his visor. “Transferred resonance: success.”

Nautica stared down at the cup on her hand. “Can you do it again?”

“Affirmative. Soundwave: superior.” He tapped the cup. Nautica's answered.

“Amazing,” said Nautica. “Could you do that with all the cups?”

“Unknown. Crystals are superior medium. Lattices: unbroken. Energon harp: liquid. Hearth determined to be best Soundwave for transferred resonance.”

Nautica nodded. She set the missing cups back into their places in the harp. “I, um, did you still want to learn a song?”

“Affirmative.” Soundwave tapped the cups, sounding out a song he knew from his gladiator days. The melody that got the audience all riled up. It was strangely innocent on the energon harp: pure tones instead of the bold, brassy instruments it was usually played on.

fweee~

Soundwave looked up. Blaster's gun was primed, aimed right at him. Soundwave's tendrils froze.

“Blaster!” cried Nautica. “There's no need for this!”

“That's The Empyrean Suite,” said Blaster. “There's only one reason a Decepticon plays that song.”

“Negative,” said Soundwave. “It is The Gladiatorial Suite.” He displayed a pre-war clip of himself in the arena. The song blared, tinny and staticky.

Blaster watched the clip with narrowed eyes. “Turn it off. I hate that song.” He lowered the gun. “It's getting late.”

“But he didn't get to learn a song yet-”

“First chores start in just a few hours.”

Nautica sighed. “Okay. I definitely do need some rest before tomorrow. There's a lot of prep for the fuel quills before we jump.” She smiled. “Good work today, Soundwave! I hope we can get together again soon. Perhaps after the energon-hopping is done.”

“Affirmative.”

The Most Recents Club meeting came too soon the next morning. Soundwave's frame was heavy with tiredness, though the energon harp lesson was worth it. Soundwave hunched in his chair, tentacles slithering around him. The rest of the Most Recents Club members looked at him with varying shades of annoyance.

“Soundwave,” said Ambulon, grabbing the sides of his helm. He paced Rodimus's office back and forth. “All of us take the medicine. Trust me! You really don't want to be awake for energon-hopping.”

“I say let him suffer,” said Mirage. His biolights were paler than ever. “I cannot wait to get some rest.”

“Mirage-” started Rodimus. Mirage's glare cut him off.

“It's just a normal sedative,” said Ambulon. “Look, see? I have one. Mirage has one. Trailbreaker has one.” He held out four small cylinders. “And you have one.”

“Soundwave: superior.”

“I'll take Soundwave's!” said Trailbreaker.

“No,” said Ambulon. “They're precisely configured for mass-”

“What are you afraid of?” asked Rodimus. “Seriously? Everyone goes to their hab suite. You'll be in your room. Locked up. Safe. No one will touch you or your stuff or-”

“Soundwave: superior!”

Ambulon's teeth ground so hard it was audible. “Don't you remember how you felt when you came to the Lost Light? It's like that, times a hundred.”

Soundwave's tentacles froze.

“Yeah,” said Ambulon.

“0001 energon: incompatible. Medical patches: incompatible. Injectable sedative: incompatible.”

“It's made with your additive,” said Ambulon. “None of the rest of us have ever had a problem.”

Soundwave displayed video on his visor. It was Lug, holding up a vial. “I don't know. I think it'll work.”

“Rrrrgh.” Ambulon waved his arms. “There could be anything in that vial! When did you take that video?”

The video panned over to Anode in her hospital bed. “Soundwave's sedative didn't pass tests 2 and 3. He's such a pain in the ass. Oh, hi Soundwave.”

Ambulon smacked himself on the forehead. “Fine. I tried.” He handed out the cylinders and gave Soundwave's to Rodimus. “When he starts screaming, you know what to do. I gotta go do things worth my time.” Ambulon stomped out of the room.

“So dramatic,” sniffed Mirage. He squinted at his cylinder and made a face. He licked a fingertip and rubbed it clean.

“Whatever,” said Trailbreaker. He stood and saluted Rodimus. “See you on the other side, captain!”

“At ease,” said Rodimus.

Mirage stood. “Safe passage, captain.” His mouth twisted. He turned to Soundwave. “To you as well, I suppose.”

Trailbreaker and Mirage left. Rodimus held out the cylinder.

“Negative.”

“Yes.”

“Negative.”

“Yes.”

“Injected substance will flow through lines faster than it can be sequestered. If formula is incorrect, death could result.”

Rodimus pinched the bridge of his nose. Soundwave twitched. “Soundwave... I don't know what to say. Fine. I think you'll really regret this. But whatever. You will spend the passage time locked in your room, so I advise you at least hide your crystals away so you don't flail into them, or something.”

Soundwave sat on his berth. He had stood and sat several times now, unsure whether he really should put his crystals away. He could put them in the washroom and lock the door. They would be safe in there. But did he really need to? He was satisfied with their current arrangement. It had taken all night to figure it out.

Ambulon's warnings ran through his processor, superimposed with video of Anode sneering at him. Soundwave didn't trust Anode. He did trust Ambulon. Sort of.

And Rodimus. Sort of.

Soundwave stood. He locked his desk extender shut and tucked his supplies under it. He gathered all his bowls and put them in the washroom and locked the door. The exit to the hallway was already locked: auto shutdown, as per ship protocols.

“Five minute warning,” came Ultra Magnus's voice, booming through the PA system. “Last chance to take sedatives.”

Soundwave sat on the berth. He wrapped his tentacles around himself, securing Laserbeak. This was ridiculous. Of course he would be fine. He had been fine after arriving on the Lost Light, right?

The minutes crawled by. Soundwave tried to amuse himself with a recording of Swerve playing a prank on Lug. He didn't laugh.

Something changed. Soundwave held very still.

The energy... the strange, quantum energy of the Lost Light... had gone away. Soundwave was so used to it flowing beneath his plating, its sudden absence left him empty and cold. He backed up on the berth to the wall.

He shivered.

“First jump, commencing,” boomed Ultra Magnus.

Nothing happened. Soundwave glanced around the room. Everything was exactly how it had been before. He loosened his tentacles and let out a nervous laugh.

“Hhhhhhheh. Soundwave: supe-”

Quantum energy surged through his plating. It writhed and tore at him with stinging tendrils. It was loud, so loud. It ripped through his frame and peeled his processor into blinding stripes of light.

Soundwave screamed.

“First jump, successful,” said Blaster. His face had a sickly tinge to it. “Nothing on the navcomp.”

“Noted,” said Rodimus, gripping his captain's chair. Disorientation flowed through him. Nothing he couldn't handle. The bridge was cooler than usual, a byproduct of their dimensional jump. “Give it another minute. Nautica?”

Her comm from the engine room was distorted. “Quills are doing fine, captain.”

“Good. Ultra Magnus?”

“Ship structure stable.” Ultra Magnus had crammed himself into Mainframe's chair. Mainframe didn't do well on jumps. Like a third of the crew, he was locked in his hab suite, sleeping through it all.

“Good. Perceptor?”

“Quantum levels are stable. We can make another jump if needed.”

“Great.”

“It's needed,” said Blaster. He tapped at his console. The main screen displayed dozens of graphs. “This is a level 3 dimension.”

“No good,” said Rodimus. “Let's go again.”

Ultra Magnus pushed a button on his console. “Second jump, commencing.” His voice boomed twice on the bridge: once from the PA system, once from the mech himself.

Rodimus gripped the chair again. He swallowed. The main screen went dark. The PA system hissed. All normal things. All normal. “All totally normal,” he said to himself. Energy swept along his plating. Rodimus didn't know what it was. It didn't make him feel sick. Just... strange. His frame knew it shouldn't be there, but it didn't know what to do about it.

The main screen burst into pure white. It darkened in patches, creeping and spreading, leaving only points of light. A new star field.

“Dromeda Quadrant,” said Blaster. He took a deep breath and let it out. “Nothing from the navcomp. Probably a level 5 dimension, given the readings I'm seeing.”

“Dammit,” said Rodimus. For the zillionth time, he wished they had some way to navigate. The PA system hissed. “Give it a few seconds.”

“Aye aye,” said Blaster.

“And fix the PA system,” said Rodimus irritably. “It's not supposed to hiss after we've arrived.”

Blaster tapped at his consoles. “Uh.”

The hissing grew louder. Rodimus's plating flared. “'Uh'? Not one of the things I want to hear when we're jumping, Blaster.”

“Uh.”

Another sound came through the PA system now. A series of faint tings. Different notes. Distorted.

ting ting ting

“Unknown sound source,” said Ultra Magnus. He glanced at Rodimus. The look was as close to trepidation as the big mech ever got.

Unknowns were extremely bad news when they hopped dimensions. Rodimus stood and set his spoiler back. It was time to look captainy. “Hold position. We won't jump again until we figure out what's wrong. Nautica?”

“Quills are sta-”

Her comm was drowned out by the tings. They increased in volume, louder and louder. Blaster slammed his hands over his audials.

“What the hell is that?” yelled Rodimus.

“S- someone-” said Blaster. His eyes squeezed shut. “Someone is screaming.”

“Screaming? It's not screaming. It's like-” Rodimus couldn't find words to describe it. He glared at the main screen. The star field twinkled.

TING TING TING

Rodimus had heard this before. Recently. Little crystalline sounds that rose and fell-

The PA system exploded into a scream of tortured harmonies. Dozens of crystalline sounds shrieked along. They drilled through Rodimus's audials at a volume he didn't know the PA system could reach. Blaster collapsed to the floor. Ultra Magnus winced.

There was only one mech Rodimus knew of who could do something like that.

“Soundwave!” Rodimus's voice was lost. He couldn't even hear himself. Ultra Magnus gave him a confused look. Rodimus pointed to the door. He scrabbled for the subspace compartment in his thigh- the cylinder! He had it! Didn't he?

He did!

Rodimus ran for the door.

Rodimus screeched down the empty hallways. He drove, pedal to the metal, until he was forced to take the stairs. The scream changed as he got closer to his hab suite. Beneath the agony and the crystals were words. Layers of whispers and shouts in hundreds of voices. Rodimus heard his own voice in it.

The only respite came in the hub hallways with the oldest PA system wiring. The speakers had busted. Their eerie silence tempered the scream echoing in his brain.

Unfortunately, the hallway their hab suites were in was newer. Rodimus spun and transformed. He had turned off his audials minutes ago, but it didn't matter. He could still hear it.

Rodimus slapped an emergency override code into Soundwave's door and jumped back.

Wham!

A tentacle shot out and slammed into the opposite hallway wall. The prongs snapped open and closed. Rodimus wasted no time. He didn't even glance into the room. He grabbed the cylinder from his thigh, wrenched the top off, and fell to his knees, stabbing the needle into the tentacle as hard as he could.

The tentacle went limp. The screaming decrescendoed. Rodimus cautiously reactivated his audials. He heard his own labored venting, the pounding of his spark, and something dripping. He looked down at the tentacle. He had punctured a biolight. Blue liquid poured out. There was some on his hands. He wiped them on the floor.

Rodimus stood on shaky legs. “S- Soundwave?” He walked around the tentacle and into the room.

Soundwave's frame was twisted, blood oozing from his seams. His tentacles had dug long gashes into the walls and fallen in coils around him. The bed was trashed. The crystals were gone. Rodimus had no idea what had happened to them. In the split second his processor spared for them, Rodimus figured they had somehow disappeared in the jump. “Soundwave!”

As he rushed in, something screamed from the ceiling and swooped down.

“Ahh!” Rodimus covered his face and ducked.

“Skra!”

Rodimus peeked between his arms. Laserbeak hovered before him.

“Uh, hey-”

Laserbeak flew right at him-

“Ahh!”

-and clamped onto his chest. It wrapped its wings around him and pushed against him tight. It was shaking. Its talons rattled against the curve of his yellow flame.

“Um.” Rodimus patted it gingerly. He smeared blue across its dark body. “Um.”

Laserbeak made a pathetic chittering sound.

“Um. Okay. Just gonna go with it.” Rodimus knelt next to Soundwave, pretending Laserbeak wasn't stuck to him. He touched Soundwave's helm and neck, checking for damage. Soundwave's biolights were dim, visor black.

His signal blockers were gone.

It had been so long since Rodimus had seen him without them, Soundwave's antennae looked small and strange. He touched them. Soundwave didn't move.

Rodimus tapped the side of his helm. “Ultra Magnus?”

“Go ahead.”

“Soundwave's signal blockers came off while he, um, when we jumped. I think he was screaming through the comm system. Guess that answers the question of if he can still connect to the ship.”

“Understood.”

“I've subdued him. Have Ratchet and Velocity come to his hab suite. Is Blaster okay?”

“Yes, captain.”

“Good. I'll wait until the medics get here, then return to the bridge. Is there any damage to the ship?”

“Nothing except some speakers reading as offline. Internal comms are jamming because everyone awake is pinging the bridge all at once. How do you want me to explain this?”

“Dimensional anomaly. That covers anything. When I get back, we'll continue jumping.”

“Aye aye.”

Rodimus sat against the wall and stretched. Heat rose from the chrome pipes in his legs and arms. Laserbeak pressed harder against his chest. “You can't dock with me, little guy. That's a matrix-only zone.” Rodimus pet it gently. Its chitters grew more agitated. He stopped. Laserbeak relaxed.

There was nothing but the sound of blood dripping and Rodimus's own spark, pounding through his lines. He stared up at the ceiling, torn apart from every angle. Ductwork and piping and wires showed through. It was a wonder Soundwave hadn't ripped open plumbing lines and caused a flood. And then electrocuted himself from the exposed wiring.

“Maybe you'll listen next time,” said Rodimus. He went to wipe his face. There was blue all down his arm. “Eugh.” He opted not to wipe his face.

Laserbeak made a sad, wheezing sound.

“Don't say anything. Not one word.” Rodimus stood stiffly by his captain's chair. He was covered in blue blood, Laserbeak plastered to his chest.

Blaster and Ultra Magnus glanced at each other.

“What's with the-”

“Not. One. Word,” said Rodimus. “Except dimensiony words. I'm guessing where we are now is no good?”

“Correct, captain,” said Ultra Magnus.

Rodimus sat in his chair. Laserbeak ruffled against him. “Then we keep going. Nautica? Perceptor?”

“Quills are ready, captain.”

“All systems are stable.”

“Good.” Rodimus pointed at the star field. The arms of his chair were smudged with blue. “Go.”

It only took two more jumps for the navcomp to light up and for Blaster to declare they had arrived at a level 1 dimension. Rodimus promised them all a round of Rodimus stars, set course for Enceladia, and excused himself.

Soundwave's door was propped open with debris. Rodimus entered. “Go on,” he said, shaking his shoulders. “Shoo. Go back.”

Laserbeak chittered and rose from his chest. It flew over to where Soundwave had been laid on his berth. The signal blockers had been found and returned to their place over his helm. Soundwave's limbs were neatly arranged, his tentacles coiled up and tucked under his legs. His wounds were patched with blue gel- probably his own blood suctioned off the floor, filtered, and mixed with additive energon and a gelling agent. Fragile, last-minute bandages. Soundwave's chest transformed and Laserbeak settled in. His biolights brightened from his core outward. His fingers twitched.

“Soundwave?” Rodimus didn't think the sedative would wear off so soon. Laserbeak's proximity seemed to lend him some strength.

Soundwave made a strangled noise in his throat.

“Don't talk,” said Rodimus. “Rest now. We'll definitely talk about this later.”

Soundwave's visor lit up. It showed a wireframe of Laserbeak. Its core was jagged and purple, pulsing erratically.

“Yeah. Laserbeak is back now. Don't worry. I took good care of it.”

The Laserbeak wireframe expanded. A Rodimus wireframe appeared behind it. The center of the Rodimus wireframe glowed orange and pulsed.

Rodimus studied it. “My spark?”

The wireframe Laserbeak's erratic core pulse slowed and matched to the wireframe Rodimus's.

“Oh. Laserbeak was seeking a stable spark pulse. That... makes sense.” Rodimus touched his chest. “I think.” He headed for the door.

“Hhckh.”

“Shut up, just rest. That's what I'm gonna do. Think you'll trust us next time?”

“Th-”

Rodimus paused. He looked back.

“Th- thANK. Y- y- you you.”

Chapter Text

He ran.

They hated him. They hated him! They hunted him and hurt him and so he ran.

It was too dark to fly. His bleeding wounds, biolights, and the dim veins of ore around him provided the only illumination. The ground was uneven and slippery. He stumbled as he went. His tentacles flitted along the tunnel walls. They provided a hasty, three dimensional map of splintering, dripping metal. He twisted and turned, cramming his frame through tight junctures. The more claustrophobic, the better: the tank mechs wouldn't be able to fit-

The crunching treads of his pursuers ground to a halt. Their taunts and laser blasts faded until even he could not hear them. They were afraid of the underground. They were more afraid of its maddening whispers and sharp edges than they were angry at him. No one in Kaon dared go underground.

He slowed, letting his vents cycle down. The tunnels were dark, the air clean but stale. He had never been somewhere so empty. There were no street lights, no electrical systems, no mechs crowding around, their chests loud and tantalizing with sparks. His secondary tendrils roved, exploring the cracks and nicks in the walls. His primary tentacle coiled before him, pearly even in the darkness.

Fear settled and panic rose. The weight of the planet pressed upon his plating. He was lost. He was underground. Safe from above, but what of below?

His primary tentacle sensed something. It was thick fullness of being, the high and low-pitched extension of life into the auditory senses. It was the thing without words that he could not explain, no matter how hard he tried.

It called to him.

Not by name- he didn't have one. It pulled his primary tentacle like a magnet, a desperate yearning concentrated into a physical force. Wordless, it beaconed him deeper into the tunnels.

He followed.

He heard his footsteps, his venting, his tendrils crawling across the walls. His spark turned in his chest. His primary tentacle thrummed with its warm power. As he went, he heard more things: liquid dripping in different beats, tiny streams trickling, and an unfamiliar melody.

The veins of ore changed. They grew thicker, brightened from coppery golds to vivid blues. The smell of energon and dust wafted from up ahead. He turned another bend and the tunnel opened into a cave.

It was large and toothy with dripping stalactites. Black flowstones with long draperies glistened. The walls were marred with crannies and secret places. A thin stream bubbled up from the opposite side and cut lazily across the floor. A crop of crystals grew along its banks, tinging.

At the sight and smell of the energon, his throat clenched with thirst. He threw himself to the ground and stuck his face into the stream. It was unfiltered, too metallic to his liking, but potable. He drank to his spark's content. He splashed his tentacles in it. Energon ran along the seams of his biolights. It tickled.

Thirst quenched, he gathered himself beside the stream. His primary tentacle darted among the crystals. They had fields! He plucked one from the bank. As his pearly tendrils wrapped around it, its lovely tings intensified.

ting ting ting

The thick fullness of being of the crystal flowed through his primary tentacle and into his spark. His spark opened. Not his spark chamber- his spark. His processor burst into visions of... netting? Like the electrified nets the enforcers threw, but not flat. Layers of them, connected and swollen. Like the data nets he had seen on Kaon's gigantic market square screen.

ting ting ting

He had found a piece of himself distilled into reality! All the things he could not say, could not explain, were here! Shaped into this blue crystal. The physical manifestation of the thing without words.

TING TING TING

He stared into the crystal with his eyes, his ears, his tendrils, his spark, his processor. Energy flowed freely through him- sound and matter and nets and feelings and so much more. His processor lit up and stretched with shapes. His spark brightened. He was no longer lost, no longer afraid. This was what he had been made for. The universe unlocked for him. In the magnitude of its power, his power, he wept with joy.