Caro Transmutata Metallo 41 Bonds

“It’s a pity that I did not offline him when I had the chance.” The venomous statement was flung into the air, aimed at no one in particular, but fired with great force.

From his position curled into Predaking’s side, Daybreaker gave a nearly inarticulate murmur and a negating twitch of his wings. The Predacon smiled and pulled the Seeker closer, gently nuzzling Daybreaker’s helm. “My spark is filled with far too great a joy to hold such nonsense against you, brother,” Predaking responded with amusement in his voice, “but do try not to quote human stories at me with regard to serious matters.” Daybreaker looked confused for a moment and Predaking let out a deep rumbling laugh. “Yes, those words you just used and the sentiment behind them did come from a human story. You will remember in time, little brother.”

The odd synthesis of tenderness and violent power, of touch as light as a vent of atmosphere and reassurance as solid as the mantle of Cybertron, fascinated Jazz as he scrutinized the interaction from the screen in Ratchet’s office. Jazz felt a spark of jealousy as Daybreaker responded to the Predacon and forcibly brought those thoughts in line. Optimus’s sparkling was going to need everyone who was willing to help him. Prowl stood tall beside the saboteur, equally focused on the interactions playing out before them, but still managed to extend his field to offer comfort and Jazz responded with gratitude.

Ratchet had sent the two brothers into the private room that had been allotted to Daybreaker for quarters as long as he was confined to the medical ward. Meanwhile Ratchet was briefing First Aid and Shard. Smokescreen had shortly thereafter been summoned by Ultra Magnus and had reluctantly made his apologies to Daybreaker over the comms. The guards had been disdainfully dismissed by Predaking, who had simply refused to relinquish his embrace of his reclaimed brother after their initial greeting. However, the moment Daybreaker had shown a sign of weakness, Predaking had pulled him up onto a medical berth where they now sat with both of their considerable masses curled so close together that Jazz was fairly certain a few laws of physics were being bent if not broken.

“In any case, I apologize for my interruption,” Predaking continued, his servos gently massaging the sensitive joints between Daybreaker’s wings. “Continue with your story.”

“Like I said, my memories kept getting more and more scattered,” Daybreaker continued. “I don’t think I could have survived another reset…not if they hadn’t come to rescue me…”

“They?” Predaking inquired when Daybreaker faltered.

“Uncle Jazz, Prowl and their team,” Daybreaker murmured. He glanced around quickly, disengaging himself a bit from Predaking. “They are probably somewhere close. Uncle Jazz especially has been watching out for me since we got back. And Glyph…” The Seeker hesitated and produced a forced smile. “Glyph was awesome. She’s just this adorable little pillar of moral strength. After I was injured she took care of me like a pro.”

A deeply curious look creased Predaking’s faceplates, but Daybreaker had leaned back in and was continuing the story in more detail now that he had reached the part where his memories were clear. Jazz’s faceplates twisted in wry amusement at the Seeker’s careful phrasing. Daybreaker was dancing around Jazz’s misdeeds with the skill of a professional diplomat. It was downright impressive how steady Daybreaker’s voice sounded.

“Jazz must have been insanely stressed and I couldn’t tell him who I was – I wasn’t sure who I was – and so he was interrogating me and it got weird,” Daybreaker explained.

“Weird?” Predaking demanded.

“Yeah. I would know an answer one session and not even know the question the next,” Daybreaker clarified.

The conversation wandered on, with Daybreaker painting a careful picture of what had happened on the Pit Spawn. Predaking would not be able to say that anything was hidden from him if the dirty details ever came out, but Jazz was being presented in the best possible light. It was not the first time that some ally had felt the need to obscure Jazz’s action with partial truths and skillful rhetoric, but somehow hearing it from Daybreaker made Jazz’s tanks twist. Every time Orion’s smile flashed disarmingly when Daybreaker deflected Predaking’s questions left a queasy sensation of wrongness in Jazz’s processor. Orion never had that much guile. He told the truth and let the consequences fall where they may. This benevolent deception should be alien to his sparkling’s nature. The saboteur shook off the uncomfortable thoughts and forced his attention on the strange terminology Daybreaker was using.

Jazz found an immediate answer in one of Ratchet’s personal medical files and prioritized it over the general language data. These specific files were full of practical care and feeding instructions for humans. Jazz had taken a particular interest in the files on the therapeutic uses of music. He made a quick mental note to let Ratchet know he had swiped them; preferably when the medic was in a better mood. The data set that his search had marked as relevant detailed the code similarities between individuals in human families. Uncle-paternal and uncle-maternal, were listed as a family member sharing either a quarter of the family specific code or just over a quarter. Uncle-by-marriage was listed as only sharing incidental code.

“Uncle? Far as I know I ain’t got nearly that much code in common with a Seeker.” Jazz commented, pinging Prowl with a questioning glyph. “A lot less than you anyway, and I know I don’t got any in common with a human.”

“I believe that in this case he is referring to the intentionally formed emotional bonds rather than the strictly genetic ties that are discussed in the Ratchet’s biology files,” Prowl replied and Jazz perked up. The question was clearly taking up quite a bit more of the tactician’s processing power than Jazz had expected it to. “I would infer that he is presuming upon your close relationship with Orion Pax and then Optimus Prime. Extrapolating from the fact that he would have called Optimus father and the likelyhood that Optimus would have spoken of you as his brother, ‘Uncle’ is actually an appropriate term.”

“That makes him my … nephew?” Jazz asked, sifting through the human language files himself. This whole situation was making him uncomfortable on many different levels, but the fact that these thought patterns were exactly what he had been trained to detect and report as a cultural investigator … he honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“Correct,” Prowl replied. “And as Daybreaker has yet to use this terminology with anyone else, I would speculate that he considers it critical that Predaking see you in this light.”

The saboteur nodded slowly. “He’s a peacemaker like his Guardian.” Jazz sent a thread of amusement through his field. “Too bad there’s no equivalent word in Cybertronian,” he commented. “Sounds like it’d come in useful the way folks are grouping up to take care of their sparklings.”

The way Prowl stiffened at the offhand observation actually jerked Jazz’s attention away from the screen. The Praxian’s wings were high and tight and his vents had the perfectly timed sound of someone who was trying very hard to maintain his control. Jazz let out an apologetic trill and gently, hopefully, bumped Prowl’s shoulder-guard with his own. Prowl finally turned to look at him after a long moment of silence.  The smile he gave Jazz was sincere but haunted with ancient pain.

“There is,” Prowl murmured.

“Is what?” Jazz asked, honestly confused.

“An exactly equivalent Cybertronian term for uncle,” Prowl explained, then hesitated and Jazz saw that deep well of strength he had come to depend on surge up to meet the pain that suffused his friend’s field.

“Well?” Jazz pressed.

Jazz could swear he saw the last clinging threads of fear fall off of Prowl’s wide shoulder guards as he made the decision to take the risk.

<Patruus> Prowl spoke softly but the old Cybertronian word seemed to fill the room.

Jazz shuttered his optics rapidly behind his visor as he parsed the deep and layered meanings the accompanied the spoken sounds. It was a simple word and carried an obviously Praxian accent. The glyphs that surrounded and underlay the sounds were ancient enough to predate the formation of the city. Each glyph linked to and modified not only every other glyph but also every syllable that was spoken. The words might have been innocuous enough individually but together they were forbidden permutations, belonging to a language that a corrupt culture had desperately tried to erase: ~storge, cognacy, collateral bond, give and receive in turn, Guardian.~ Pain, sharp and acute, lanced through Jazz and he couldn’t help the words that came next.

“That’s what Rollbar would have called you.” Jazz had to turn his gaze away from his friend when the implications of that fully hit him. “It’s wrong.”

Prowl moved closer to soothe his friend and let his field pulse with question at that.

“I spent my life leading up to th’ war destroying these kinda bonds,” Jazz explained harshly. “I ain’t got no right to claim one. Especially not with Optimus’s sparkling.”

“That is inaccurate,” Prowl snapped.

The sharpness of the emotions underlying the statement jerked Jazz out of his own angry thoughts and he focused on Prowl.

“What you think you ‘deserve’ is utterly irrelevant,” the tactician explained, his voice firm with certainty. “This bond exists between you and Daybreaker and it is your duty to maintain it to the best of your ability. That is where your attention needs to be. Not on some arbitrary definition of your personal worth.”

Jazz stared at him for a moment and then gave a crooked grin. “You’re right, mech,” he muttered, turning back to the screen. “Ya always are.”

Prowl’s field indicated he might pursue the matter, but just then their comms were pinged with a summons from Ratchet.  *I think they are about done in there,*the medic informed them. *I am going to call Predaking for a conference and I want you here when they come out.*

*Are you certain that our presence will be beneficial at this point?* Prowl asked. *I would have thought one of the medics would be more relevant to the discussion.*

*You two are going to need a working relationship with Predaking,* Ratchet explained shortly.

*And introducing us as the ones who also care about Daybreaker is probably the best foot we are ever going to get off on with a mech like that,* Jazz speculated.

*Exactly, Uncle Jazz.* Ratchet somehow managed to make the human term sound slightly ominous and

Jazz winced despite the fact that his processor had perked with interest. *Now get in here.* For a moment the saboteur wondered why Ratchet was using the human term; did he not know the Cybertronian one? However at the moment it was irrelevant.  

“Time to face the beast,” Jazz said with a grin at Prowl. Jazz took the lead and added a deliberate swagger to his step. Just before they reached the door Prowl halted him with a servo on Jazz’s arm.

*Remember – * Prowl brought the full weight of his field to bear on his friend – *this is your duty, your right. Do not hesitate or waver.*

Jazz nodded curtly and swept into the central medical ward with his most assured façade firmly in place. Like all Autobot medical facilities it was arranged for efficiency and Jazz was able to scan the room in a moment. The circular space held only three medical berths arranged in a row in the center of the room. The walls alternated between doors to long term privacy chambers and shelves and monitors. Shard and First Aid were conferring over energon mixtures by one shelf and were handling an interesting array of vials and solids. Ratchet greeted the two Autobots with a raking gaze and gave a dismissive ex-vent.

*We’ll do, I guess,* Jazz sent to Prowl with an amused glyph.

*Indeed,* Prowl replied dryly.

The door to the only occupied private room opened and Predaking led a still talking Daybreaker out. When the Seeker’s optics fell on Jazz, he broke out into a wide smile and darted forward to wrap the shorter mech in a hug. Jazz was slightly surprised by the genuine affection he felt in the Seeker’s field, even if it was balanced out by some calculating unease.

“This is Uncle Jazz,” Daybreaker introduced him to Predaking, and to Jazz’s surprise instead of the human term the Seeker used a word nearly identical to the one Prowl had spoken, though Daybreaker’s carried slightly different glyphs and obvious traces of an Iacon accent. “And this is Prowl.”

“Howdy!” Jazz chose the human greeting and waved cheerfully up at the massive mech.

“Greetings.” Prowl went for a more formal half-bow.

Predaking ran critical optics over them in the slightly awkward silence that followed. “My brother – ” when he finally spoke, the words were backed by very deliberate possessive glyphs – “tells me that I am in your debt for rescuing him from the clutches of the horror known as Shockwave.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t claim that that was the plan going in,” Jazz admitted, “but that was how it worked out. ’Cept for the fact that Daybreaker there did as much of the actual rescuing as anyone.”

Predaking gave an amused, if slightly derisive, ex-vent and stepped forward to reclaim Daybreaker, who willingly curled back up against him. “My brother always has shown reluctance to accept his rightful due.”

“I really couldn’t have gotten out of the rock without them,” Daybreaker insisted.

“Oh, you would have found a way eventually, I am sure,” Predaking replied dismissively before turning his attention back to the two mechs watching them. “But you do have my gratitude.”

Jazz noted that the large mech’s focus was not primarily on him but Prowl, oddly enough. In fact, Predaking was blatantly scrutinizing the tactician. “You are Praxian?” Predaking demanded.

“Indeed,” Prowl responded and Jazz was equally surprised to note a sudden stiffness in his friend. “I was sparked and raised to serve as an enforcer in Praxus.”

“Guardian-raised,” Predaking observed.

Jazz might have imagined the spike of true fear that flashed through Prowl’s field at that, but there was no chance he imagined the sharp look that Ratchet shot Prowl, or the far more subtle interest that Shard showed.

“Ep, ep, ep!” Ratchet interjected before Prowl could respond. “There will be time for personal discussion later. First Aid, you get Rung over here to determine what we will need for Daybreaker’s procedure. If he balks, tell him the data is coming. Shard!” The Seeker abandoned his scrutiny of Prowl to turn his attention to Ratchet. “You will be in charge of Daybreaker’s care until First Aid relieves you. Jazz, Prowl and I will be conferring with Predaking.”

Shard dipped his helm and splayed his wings in a show of obedience. Daybreaker began to disentangle himself from Predaking, with obvious reluctance, but the Predacon shifted and in a single step had reached out to grasp Shard’s shoulder-guard. Shard froze and looked up at Predaking with calm inquiry in his field.

“Who is this?” Predaking demanded without taking his optics off of Shard.

“This is Shard,” Daybreaker responded, “my friend.” A large transfer of contextual glyphs accompanied the simple word, but Jazz wasn’t close enough to determine their meaning. Whatever they conveyed, it relaxed Predaking and he released Shard with a curt nod.

The smaller Seeker glanced between Daybreaker and Predaking curiously before gesturing his patient back toward the private room.  “Should we try to get some medical grade down you?” Shard suggested.

“I’m game if you are,” Daybreaker replied with a rueful grimace.

“You know I might be able to get you some of the lighter off-grades,” First Aid offered. “They are not as mineral dense as medical grade and the texture is far more soothing to upset tanks.”

“Aren’t most of the off-grades on the market right now somewhat suspect?” Shard asked with an arched optic ridge.

“Well yes but Macadam just released a message to the effect that he was back in business,” First Aid explained.

“Look into that,” Ratchet ordered curtly. “Ask him if he has any Polyhelixian spark-fizz and get back to me.”

“Yes Ratchet,” First Aid replied, turning back to the consol.

“Jazz, Prowl.” Ratchet jerked his head towards the door. “Predaking? If you wouldn’t mind?”

“I will not be far,” Predaking assured Daybreaker as they made their way out of the medical ward.

Ratchet rolled his optics as he followed them out of the main door. Jazz cast a last friendly grin at First Aid before leaving. Ratchet led them down the corridor and Jazz felt a surge of satisfaction when they stopped in front of a small conference room. Inside was one round table that filled most of the room leaving plenty of space for Predaking to move around it. The room had been designed for private meetings, with thick soundproofing and signal dampening walls that would make eavesdropping difficult. It would take hardly any of his special skill set at all to make it reasonably secure.

#

“My brother will be safest at the Well,” Predaking said, opening the discussion with the finality of a decision made as soon as he had seated himself at the table.

Ratchet was still easing himself into one of the uncomfortable seats and fought back a groan of frustration. Jazz and Prowl were circling the room for security purposes. Predaking was, perhaps justifiably, suspicious of anyone who had not communed at the Well with him. His deep personal antipathy for Ratchet had waned over time into a grudging respect and then an odd sort of antagonistic friendship but Predaking still saw the growing civilization that Ratchet was working towards, and the bureaucracy that it entailed, as some sort of powerful specter that might at any moment drag even Ratchet back into the habits and thought patterns that marked sparklings as resources and anyone who dared differ an enemy. Hopefully Jazz and Prowl would be able to make a good impression on the Guardian of the Well. Meanwhile Ratchet could use the discussion to gauge how soon they could be safely included in the new government’s goals.  

“Well, we could waste time debating that,” Jazz drawled out as he tossed himself into a chair, seemingly satisfied with the room’s security for the moment, “but just cuz ya might be able ta keep anyone from snuffing his spark out easier doesn’t mean my ~storge, cognacy, collateral bond~ nepos ~give and receive in turn, ward~ would be best served by being taken to a place with no real medbay and – ” Jazz leaned forward to emphasize his point with a raised servo – “no Ratchet.”

Predaking bristled at the possessive subtext of Jazz’s statement, but Ratchet noted hints of satisfaction and surprise in the Predacon’s frame language and field. “Daybreaker has always spoken highly of you,” Predaking offered with a cagy look on his faceplates, “and you do seem to be in the habit of rescuing him from … unpleasant situations.”

“One rescue is hardly a habit,” Prowl protested automatically, “even if you count our assisted escape as such.”

Predaking glanced sharply at Prowl, but Jazz let out a rolling chuckle and flickered his visor at his friend in a good impression of a wink. “Yeah,” Jazz drawled, addressing Predaking. “Given how many laws we broke that first time, his Guardian and me decided it’d be best not ta spread that story around. Good old law-and-order here definitely never heard about it.”

Prowl was frowning in outright confusion now and Ratchet could practically hear his processors skipping over the data, trying to figure out what the two of them were referencing. The medic couldn’t restrain a smug smirk. It was rare indeed for him to know something non-medical before Prowl. Predaking snorted in amusement and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“I presume we can both agree that Daybreaker will be best served by a situation surrounded by trusted family,” Predaking offered smoothly, “mechs he has spent significant amounts of time with.”

Ratchet felt something relax inside of him. Everyone present was concerned for Daybreaker’s well-being, of course, but to have the mercurial Predacon so quickly recognize Jazz’s claim to Daybreaker was a coup that the medic had hardly dared hope for.

<Family> Prowl finally spoke up.

Predaking and Jazz both turned to Prowl in surprise at the interjection. Ratchet narrowed his optics. It was very interesting that an enforcer would know a word like that.

“It is the proper term,” Prowl explained as if he were discussing accounting. “I see no reason to use human terminology for so sacred a concept when one already exists in Cybertronian.”

<Family.> Predaking rolled the complex Cybertronian word over his glossa experimentally, and teased at the associated glyphs. “That term was not included in my original language downloads,” he said, “nor was it introduced later.” He shot a meaningful look at Ratchet, but Prowl interjected again before Ratchet could respond to the unspoken accusation.

“That is hardly surprising, as the Senate ordered the term erased near the midpoint of the Golden Age,” Prowl explained. “It was forbidden for individuals to retain it in their memory and enabling its spread was punishable by forced reeducation.”

Predaking stared long and hard at Prowl and then turned his attention back to Jazz with a fierce grin. “Good old law and order?”  

“That’s what we tell folks,” Jazz replied with a smirk. “And do ya ever have a good point about family. Now, since Shard’s pretty much the only friend who’s been by Daybreaker’s side these past ten years, wouldn’t it be something cruel to separate them now?”

“I said nothing of separating them,” Predaking countered, oozing smug satisfaction at their collective surprise. “This Shard ... ” He lingered over the name somewhat smugly. “I speculate he might be equally welcomed by the Well.”

Ratchet rubbed his faceplates and set that aside to make sense of later. He had already concluded that there was something special about Shard. It was interesting indeed that the Guardian of the Well thought so, too, after such a short introduction. Predaking was continuing to press them to have Daybreaker released to come to the Well, but that keen intelligence and powerful reasoning capability that Ratchet had observed from the first time Predaking had spoken on the Nemesis were obviously telling and the emotional force of Predaking’s arguments was already weakening. The fact that he was still arguing at all was revealing in its own right.  Ratchet knew that ultimately all Predaking would need to convince him to leave Daybreaker in their care was Ratchet’s solemn word it was best for the Seeker’s health. However, the medic was not going to push the issue just yet. It was clear that something beyond logic was fueling Predaking’s insistence. While Ratchet sometimes questioned the young Predacon’s ability to discern between his own emotionally driven desires and the deep stirrings of the Allspark’s communication, it was best to let Predaking work through that determination himself – or in this case, with the aid of Jazz and Prowl.

“Gotta let the mech speak his piece,” Jazz had said once of Optimus, when Ratchet had complained about listening to the young Prime’s idealistic and often long arguments. “He hasta know that we are listening, that we care about his opinion.”

The sentiment was just as true in this case. Also critical was forming a working relationship between Predaking and these two mechs. Ratchet sent a grateful thought Daybreaker’s way. Whether it was some fragment of shattered memory or simple instinct, Daybreaker had very deliberately established Jazz as family and Prowl as a friend right off the bat.  From what he was seeing, both mechs were capitalizing on that beginning quite well in this situation. So the medic stayed silent as the argument wound around the issue towards its inevitable conclusion.

Ratchet kept a fragment of his attention on the discussion and used the time it allowed him to go over the data Jazz and Prowl had given him. The report was arranged in three interconnected layers. Ratchet quickly scanned through the first that positively glinted with Prowl’s signature style. It was a bare, concise summary that held almost nothing the medic had not expected. The important conclusions were highlighted: Shockwave was aware of the mental degradation and did not know the cause; the newly minted Alpha Seeker’s frame had no known physical health concerns; the method of transformation had been nearly a pure matter to energy conversion. Ratchet forcibly choked down his fury.

“But are your medics even aware of all of his needs?” Predaking’s sharp question distracted Ratchet for a moment. “He was clearly starved for physical attention when I greeted him. Has he not received a single hug since he returned? That manner of deficiency can make the difference between life and death for a human.”

“Well, ya got a point there,” Jazz admitted. “Smokey’s been real touchy with him, now that you mention it. The rest of us, though, we’ve been running around doing the other things that are gonna be needed to keep ’im online, so maybe we didn’t stop ta think about that.”

“A situation easily remedied.” Prowl flicked his wings in agreement. “We will greatly appreciate any instruction you care to offer on how to best serve Daybreaker’s needs.”

They had the current situation in hand. Ratchet drew in a long quiet vent and refocused, choosing to ignore the second, more detailed layer of the report. It was thoroughly cross-referenced with the last and largest layer that contained the raw data. There were no doubt video files and exact descriptions of the procedure: the dirty details. Ratchet might not yet know exactly what Shockwave had done to Jackson, but it would be best if he faced the full impact of the horror in the privacy of his own office. Perhaps with Ultra Magnus present for emotional support … perhaps not: this might be something he would want to rage in silence about.

Unfortunately, determining what Shockwave might have uncovered about Jackson’s connection to the deeper underlayers of Earth in his investigations was a more pressing matter. While establishing who knew what was connected tangentially to keeping Daybreaker healthy, it irked Ratchet to have to divert energy to what was ultimately a political matter. Of course, if Shockwave or Starscream knew that they could trigger a near extinction-level event of the only real organic ally Cybertron had, it would quickly become a matter of health.  Ratchet carefully selected a swarm of search-and-retrieve AIs, the kind that every medic had. He considered the parameters painstakingly, weighing the risk of someone figuring out what he was looking for against the risk of someone finding something he had missed. Ratchet finally threw up his mental hands and made his decision.

*Search reference: Others, spirits, clan-cultural subgroup devoted to supernatural interactions.*

He tweaked the parameters to include both ancient and modern Cybertronian glyphs for the supernatural and the semi-supernatural. He generated several separate searches and unleashed them on the raw data layer. They would search the data for any information that needed to be classified in order to protect the fragile peace the humans maintained on their planet. Had Prowl noted anything in the data that would have revealed the Others, it would have been as meticulously recorded as everything else in the summary, but Prowl might have easily missed subtle social cues. Jazz, however, might have seen something but let his prejudices blind him to the need to report matters of an otherworldly nature. Ratchet had to know for sure if the tell-tale signs were there before he let Rung get ahold of the mass of raw data.

*Jazz,* Ratchet pinged the saboteur on a private command line when he was satisfied that the AIs were doing their job. He had wrestled with how to best ask this question and found no good way, so he simply settled for blunt honesty. *Was there anything in Shockwave’s data that struck you as being overtly supernatural?*

Only his long experience as Jazz’s medical officer allowed Ratchet to note the tightening around the saboteur’s optics. Jazz didn’t look at him, didn’t visibly turn his attention away from Predaking as he responded. *Shockwave spawned a Cybertronian spark out of an alien species, mech,* Jazz sent, with the glyph equivalent of a full frame shudder. *He’s literally playing Primus, Solus, and Liege Maximo. Don’t get more supernatural than that.*

Ratchet had to suppress a snort of dark amusement at that. So wandering that close to hints of their creator had discomforted Jazz. Still, vague references to Cybertronian mythology did not answer the question Ratchet needed answered. *Did Shockwave delve very far into the source of Jackson’s Sigma Gift?* the medic asked. If anything could remove the naturalistic blinders that Shockwave had crafted for himself, that issue might have.

*He mentioned that it was a mystery and Starscream griped about it constantly. They couldn’t even agree on a proper classification. It sure as the Pit didn’t fit into any of the thirteen official functions. They just knew he could mess with energy fields he shouldn’t’ve been able to even sense. As far as I could tell they seemed to chalk it up ta humans are crazy complicated and need lots more study,* Ratchet could feel Jazz’s curiosity piquing. *You would know better than me.*

Ratchet grunted in acknowledgment and settled down to wait for the AIs’ search results. Predaking was in the middle of a passionate description of Daybreaker’s need for someone to protect and provide for and had not noticed the exchange, so Ratchet resumed pursuing his own thoughts. It was not entirely unexpected that Shockwave had failed to see, to comprehend, the significance of Jackson’s abilities. The scientist had long ignored any evidence that contradicted his rigid worldview. The medic felt a minor surge of relief. If he could simply turn the entirety of Daybreaker’s data over to Rung with the implied understanding that it was only the conversion process – yet another paradigm-shifting revelation guaranteed to disrupt Cybertron’s already troubled peace even further – that had warranted the high security, it would make his job so much easier.

Of course Rung was no Shockwave. He had an open and inquisitive spark that had instigated no little trouble during the Golden Age precisely because he blatantly questioned everything. There was no doubt Rung would seize on the Sigma Gift. He would go looking into the records on human psychology and physical capacity. He would see the seam in their culture, the overlap of those who dealt with the Others and those who dealt with the voidwalkers. Ratchet had very little hope of keeping the secret from the psychiatrist once Rung started to unravel it. But so long as that happened after Daybreaker was whole again, it could be dealt with in due time.

“I am not saying that your security measures are inadequate,” Predaking protested, pulling Ratchet back to the conversation at hand. “I am simply saying that having a Guardian of the Well present, here or at the Well itself, will be a boon to both his safety and health.”

“While I cannot speak to your benefit to his health, you are assuming a respect for Primus and the Well that we well know does not exist among the Decepticon forces,” Prowl reminded him gently.

This was getting interesting, Ratchet mused. Somehow Prowl had managed to take the upper hand in the conversation without infuriating Predaking. It was an application of skill that Ratchet would have enjoyed analyzing, but at that moment the first of the AIs pinged back with its results. Ratchet made short work of reading through the medical data that Shockwave had recorded. He felt relief wash over his spark even as the next AI reported in. There was nothing. No mention of the Others, no mention of Zech or Sal as Jack’s instructor – only, as Jazz had indicated, a few irritated rants about the ambiguous nature of the Sigma Gift and no real speculation. That last was confusing to Ratchet. Surely Shockwave would have questioned where Jack’s abilities came from, but the only note on the matter was a disparaging comment on the gross lack of scientific studies on the matter.

As each of the AIs returned with the same null result Ratchet began to relax. Unless Jazz had figured out far more than he had admitted and had deliberately removed any references to the Others, Earth’s secret was safe for another day. Ratchet pinged Rung and left a message for him that all of Shockwave’s data on the medical aspect of Daybreaker’s condition was available for the psychologist’s perusal. He glanced up when he noted the room had suddenly gone dead quiet. Everyone was staring at him uneasily. Except for Prowl – confound him – who was simply staring at him in polite expectation. With a start Ratchet realized that he had been chuckling. He flared his plating in aggression and gave each of them a “what of it?” stare.

“I have completed the initial review of the data that Jazz procured from Shockwave,” Ratchet stated flatly as he stood. “I need to go over this with Rung to determine proper treatment. Predaking – ” Ratchet turned the full force of his glare on the young mech – “you and I both know that your connection to Daybreaker is deeper perhaps than anyone’s save Star’s Warmth’s.” Predaking dipped his helm in agreement and sat back in his chair as Ratchet continued. “As she is currently unavailable, responsibility for his life now falls primarily on you.”

“I am aware of this, Doctor,” Predaking said with a low growl in his voice. “What is your point?”

“As you yourself observed, what Shockwave did to Jackson is an abomination and the physical aspect is entirely irreversible,” Ratchet clarified. “By some miracle Daybreaker preserved his memories through every attempt of Shockwave to destroy them.” Ratchet leaned forward and let his tone turn grim. “However, the process took a terrible toll on Daybreaker’s processor.”

“What manner of toll?” Predaking demanded and there was real fear showing under his gruff exterior.

“Daybreaker’s core coding is dangerously unstable,” Ratchet informed him flatly. “If we cannot stabilize it, he will offline within a matter of weeks.”

Predaking jerked back as if he had been struck. There was a long moment of silence in the room until Predaking slowly stood and placed his hands flat on the table. He glowered over at Ratchet, his frame stiff with deep emotion.

“My frame, my processor, and my very spark are at my brother’s service,” Predaking declared in a low, intense tone. “Tell me what I must do.”  

Ratchet felt a tightness under his spark uncoil that he hadn’t even realized was there. In war or love, knowing that Predaking was on your side was a great relief. “I need you here,” Ratchet said firmly. “I have established a treatment that will be effective, but it will be traumatic in and of itself. Daybreaker will need much support. Take this – ” he sent Predaking a file describing a manual mnemonic gauge – “and study it. I will need you as a witness for the time period that Jackson spent with you at the Well.”

Predaking’s optics lost focus as he absorbed the data and he nodded slowly. “I can do this,” he affirmed.

“Excellent,” Ratchet replied. “Now, mechs, I must go consult with Rung.”

“Rung,” Predaking rumbled warningly and he narrowed his optics at Ratchet. “I have only met this mech once, and I was not pleased with him.”

Ratchet gave a bark of laughter. “Few mechs ever are,” the medic agreed. “It is the nature of his skill set. But he is without question the most able psychologist Cybertron produced in my lifetime, and he is the only one who will be able to successfully manage the procedure Daybreaker needs.”

Ratchet noted a smug look on Jazz’s face that did not bode well for his plans, but ignored it as he turned to leave. He made it all the way to the doors before he understood. The panels opened freely, but on the other side was a wall of determination and stubbornness that went by the name of First Aid. Ratchet sent Jazz a venomous glyph cluster that suggested vulgar things about his data transfer habits and got a wickedly cheerful response. Ratchet was winding himself up to put the junior medic in his place when he felt Predaking’s giant hands on his shoulder-guards.

“You need rest,” First Aid interjected quickly into Ratchet’s moment of confusion. “You are ready to drop. You will do Daybreaker no good at all if your skills start slipping from exhaustion.”

“You need to listen to First Aid,” Predaking stated from behind him. “I would not take it well if my brother is ill served due to your pride and shortsightedness.”

Ratchet sputtered in indignation – he was certain he heard Jazz laughing – and promptly rediscovered that it was impossible to aim a glare in two different directions at once. “You planned this!” he shot accusingly at First Aid.

His former apprentice grinned widely and looked far too proud of himself. “It was actually Predaking’s idea,” he said cheerfully. “He also offered to sit on you if I asked him to.”

Predaking’s field was humming with amusement, but Ratchet had no doubt that he would follow through with the threat. Ratchet shot a vicious glance at Prowl and Jazz, who had their helms together and were pointedly ignoring the confrontation between the medics.

“Fine!” Ratchet whirled on First Aid. “I will – ”

“Ten hours of standard power-down or six of forced deep power-down,” First Aid stated flatly, crossing his arms over his chassis.

“I need time to consult with Rung first and give you instructions on who to gather for the procedure,” Ratchet insisted.

“Rung will meet us at the medical ward and will assist with your procedure,” First Aid countered promptly.

Ratchet hesitated and nearly cursed at the realization of what First Aid was doing. Daybreaker had absolutely no reason to trust Rung. This would give the Seeker a chance to see the psychiatrist in action and demonstrate Ratchet’s trust for Rung in a very material way. Ratchet sent the junior medic one final furious glyph and then stormed out of the conference room. First Aid followed along behind and Ratchet did not respond to the triumphant little grin on his faceplates.

#

“If his dedication to Daybreaker is as firm as he claims it to be, Predaking will make a powerful ally.” Prowl was leaning forward to examine a data pad that was displaying the schematics for the roof of Iacon Tower.

“Oh, it is,” Jazz answered the implied question. “If I had ta pick the one spark on this planet who’s genuinely more concerned ’bout Breaker than anything else, it’d be Predaking.”

“Not Shard?” Prowl asked.

“Shard’s loyal to him,” Jazz pointed out. “But he’s deep. That little Seeker has got more going on in his helm than just keeping his Alpha safe and sound.” Jazz gave Prowl a searching look. “I am starting ta think you might know more about that than I do, though.”

“Praxis and Vos were connected long before the war,” Prowl responded simply.

It was both more of a reply than Jazz expected from his distracted friend and far less than satisfying. However Prowl was clearly focused on other matters at the moment and Jazz knew that pursuing the cryptic hint before Prowl gave it a higher priority would be an exercise in futility. Prowl would tell him in due time and given the sheer number of processor blowing revelations they had already weathered Jazz was content to wait on his friend’s timing. “He really perched up on the roof?” Jazz asked, shifting the subject.

Prowl nodded and set to data to a holographic display. Predaking had left soon after the medics, stating his intention to contact the Well to see if the Retrieval team had made it back safely. When Prowl had offered to arrange temporary quarters for the duration of his stay, the Predacon had only stated that the communal barracks would be more than adequate. A short time later Predaking had appeared on the uppermost point of Iacon in his dragon form, a fact Prowl had immediately divined from the security footage.

“Well, a flyer like him probably doesn’t care for enclosed spaces,” Jazz speculated before turning to more prosaic matters than ancient legends come to life. “So Smokey is back in the Elite Guard office handling things,” Jazz informed Prowl. “Ultra Magnus is still working the problem with the spacebridge. They should have it functional sooner than they thought. They managed ta ping the other end somehow all techy, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of that. It’ll be too dangerous to send a mech through, but they got someone on the other side who thinks he can make it okay.”

“Peculiar,” Prowl murmured.

Jazz arched an optic ridge. “What is? A green mech like Smokey in that office when there’s a mech like Magnus’s ta run it?”

Prowl sent a ping of confirmation and steepled his servos as he stared off into the middle distance, mulling the mystery over in his processors. Jazz sent him a file with all of his observations of Ultra Magnus’s behavior and the way various assignments had been handed out to the senior Autobot officers. A frown creased Prowl’s faceplates as he processed the information.

“I cannot draw any conclusion with certainty based on the data available to me,” Prowl finally said.

“But?” Jazz prompted.

“Taking the aggregate of the senior officers’ behavior along with several layers of information that I have found to be classified above my current clearance level – ”

“Yer what now?” Jazz asked, and yet found that he wasn’t truly surprised. They were not the only ones with secrets coming out.

“A significant quantity of data related to the current government has been very carefully classified above the clearance of the second-in-command of the Autobots,” Prowl stated grimly. They both paused a moment, considering the implications of that. “As I was saying,” Prowl continued with a concerned flick of his wings, “I have seen this behavior before. When I worked as an enforcer, occasionally a political situation would demand the sacrifice of one of the higher-ranking officers. If this was known in advance, the chosen officer would be removed from active investigations and essentially put on administrative leave so his punishment would not affect current cases.”

“They’re setting him up for a fall,” Jazz murmured, anger beginning to quicken through his field.

“It appears that way,” Prowl agreed. “However, it also appears to be Ultra Magnus himself who is primarily orchestrating the matter.”

“He’s th’ only one with the background ta really think of that as a viable option,” Jazz commented. “But why?” He snapped to his peds from where he had been sitting and began to pace back and forth, agitation running through his frame. “Mags was always by-the-book, the rule follower. That’s why he was th’ one chosen ta whip the Wreckers inta shape. Pit! If he thinks anything he did during the war is enough to put his neck on th’ chopping block, then I should just line up for my turn in the smelter now!”

Jazz paused in his pacing and glanced back at Prowl. His friend was staring at him with a familiar determination in his optics and Jazz felt the sudden urge to run. He knew that Prowl detested wasting time, and now that their schism had been revealed Prowl would not rest until he had fully confessed whatever it was that was still eating at him. From the way the conversation had turned, Jazz could guess what was going on behind that visor now. Jazz’s processor searched around for an out, but there really was nothing he truly needed to be doing at the moment, so he took a long vent and paced over to the chair next to Prowl. He swung a leg over it and spun around so he was facing his friend, gripped the back of the chair and rested his chin on his servos.  “Well, whatcha need ta get off your chestplates, Prowler?” Jazz asked with a blithe grin.

He saw Prowl twitch in annoyance at the attitude, but again the enforcer ignored it in favor of addressing the matter at hand. “I suspect that Ultra Magnus might not be preparing himself to face charges for his conduct during the war,” Prowl said slowly, carefully, a touch hesitantly, “but for his conduct before the war.”

Jazz sat up straighter and shuttered his optics rapidly. This was not where he'd been expecting Prowl to go and it took a moment to reorient himself. “Come again now?” he asked, his helm tilted to the side.

“Jazz.” Prowl leaned forward and there was suddenly a terrifying intensity in his gaze. “You said that you might have helped me if I had come to you with my situation before the war. Does that offer still stand?”

Okay, now Prowl was actively trying to throw him for a loop. There was no other explanation. But one thought cut through the sea of confusion Jazz found himself in. Jazz spun the chair around again and reached out to take Prowl’s hand.

“You don’t have ta ask,” Jazz said in a low, rough voice. “Not now, not ever. I’m with you, my mech.”

A painful smile flashed across Prowl’s faceplates and Jazz felt his field pulse with guilt. “This’d probably easier for ya if ya got whatever’s buggin’ ya off yer chest-plates first,” he suggested helpfully.

Prowl nodded slowly. “That is probably for the best, considering that what I am asking of you might very well be treason.”