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A/N: Ooh, it's short. Luckily, another chapter will follow, either tonight or tomorrow. :)
4. Changing Times
When I mentioned to Starscream that I was considering finding myself a proper occupation, he laughed. He slagging laughed at me.
“Respectable young noblemechs don’t have functions,” he chuckled, grinning wickedly at me. “They hunt turbofoxes by day and throw parties by night. Besides, what occupation would you be content with? Nothing’s good enough for you. Prime’s spoiled you rotten.”
I recovered enough to shout at his retreating wings. “I’m not that spoiled!”
He flashed a grin over his shoulder.
“Oh, yes, Nova, you are.”
Optimus was right; my new body suited me. Not only did I look different, I felt different. Being taller and stronger felt wonderful. All the disbelieving looks, even the disgusted ones, delighted me. Let them look. Let them whisper. I was a Seeker, yes, but I was an Autobot. And if they couldn’t see that, well, they didn’t deserve to call themselves Autobots.
Though sometimes the looks held unexpected emotions. Some of the older Autobots did double-takes when they first saw me, and watched me strangely later. The same happened, I noticed, to the Decepticons. Perhaps it was the shock of seeing a Seeker wearing the red Autobot insignia. They would stare at me, halting in their work to do so, until I gave them my best haughty glare and they turned away. Even Starscream, though he spent so much time with me that he ought to be used to it, occasionally looked at me as though he hadn’t expected to see me. It was utterly infuriating.
When I became fed up with one Autobot too many goggling at me, I stormed down to the slave quarters to demand answers from Starscream. I pounded on the door. “Starscream!”
A moment later. “Nova?”
“Yes. Let me in.”
There was a rather suspicious scuffling sound. “Wait a klik.”
“Now,” I commanded. There was a pause. Then Starscream opened the door, looking apprehensive. Wondering why he wasn’t his usual unflappable self, I looked past him into his room. My initial fear that I had accidentally interrupted an intimate rendezvous was mercifully unfounded, but there seemed to be some sort of activity going on at what passed for a desk. I walked over, Starscream just behind me. Various complicated-looking parts and tools were arrayed across the surface surrounding a partly-finished cylindrical object. My Spark skipped a pulse. Surely Starscream couldn’t be… Half-dreading the answer, I asked, “What is this?”
He hesitated, optics going from me to the workspace and back. “It’s a null ray,” he answered finally.
“And what is that?” Again he paused, looking more nervous than I’d ever seen him. “Tell me.”
He flinched at the command. “A weapon.”
My vents stopped their circulation. A weapon. Starscream—a Decepticon, a slave—was building a weapon. It was unthinkable. It was impossible. It was certainly illegal, violating the first and foremost article of the slave code. I picked it up, noticing that some parts had been cannibalized from Starscream’s nonvital systems, while others must have been stolen. These parts… Primus, these tools shouldn’t even have been in Starscream’s possession. The implications made my energon run cold… if Starscream could get his hands on these, then what else could other Decepticons be stockpiling?
“Slaves aren’t allowed weapons.”
“I know.”
That bold admission! Didn’t he realize what it meant? If anyone found out about this, there would be an uproar! Slaves with weapons… slaves stealing parts, maybe energon, maybe worse…! Didn’t he know what the penalty was?
“If I were anyone else… slag, if you were anyone else, I’d have you terminated,” I told him. Though he was still anxious, he met my optics steadily.
“I know.”
“Then why?” I demanded. “Why are you doing this?”
“In anticipation.”
That brought me up short. “Of what?!”
He was beginning to look like his old self again, especially the smirk that played around his mouthplates. “Well,” he said, a bit too innocently, “if anything were to happen, I imagine that it would begin in Iacon. Best to be prepared for that sort of thing.”
“Don’t speak of such things!” I snapped, dropping the null ray back where I’d found it and taking two steps back, resisting the urge to offline my audios. Why me? Why, of all mechs, did I own the most impudent, arrogant, fragging fearless slave on all of Cybertron? Why was he telling me this?
The horrible thought struck me—was it because my Seeker build and red optics encouraged him? By all rights, I should have called in security, had him terminated right there… had I allowed him to manipulate me into a pitiful Decepticon sympathizer?
“Welcome to reality, Nova,” Starscream said. “We won’t remain slaves forever.”
“But that’s the way things are, Starscream! Decepticons are slaves, Autobots are masters… that’s how it has to be! It’s always been that way!”
He shook his head, still smirking. “It hasn’t. That’s what the Autobots say to make themselves feel righteous… we weren’t meant to be slaves. We were so much more than that, Nova, we will be more than that again!”
“What ‘we?!’ I’m an Autobot.”
He paused, optics flaring in surprise and irritation, but regained his composure in a nano-klik.
“I can tell you everything,” he said softly. “Everything that they never told you. Everything that they lied about or covered up or ignored. Or are you afraid of what the truth might do to you?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” I responded automatically. But it was a lie. Somehow, deep down, my confidence was shaken. I wanted to believe everything that the Academy had taught. I had to believe it. Otherwise, what could I believe, if everything I had ever accepted to be true about Autobots and Decepticons was a lie?
“The truth may turn everything you think you know upside-down.”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” I repeated. Starscream smiled and gestured towards a rickety chair.
“Then I suggest you make yourself comfortable. This is a long story.”
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