Transformers: Alone and Unafraid

[General Havoc]

Lauding Megatron was typically the easiest way to convince Cavalier to cause a high-speed collision between his fist and the speaker's faceplate. It remained thus. As Deathstrike talked up Megatron's greatness, Cavalier visibly shook, like a skyscraper in an earthquake, his hands balled into fists, his optics flaring slightly, despite his best efforts to keep them even. But Cavalier did not lunge out or shout, whatever effort it took to not do so. Instead he stood and waited, and his only comment regarding the entire notion was spoken in a low, monotone voice.

"You and I know different Megatrons, Deathstrike."

He said nothing more on the subject. Megatron was not the issue here.

"I'm not asking for a reason to trust you," he said, turning back to the subject at hand. "You can't give me one here, not with all the talk in the universe, you're right about that. I'm saying that I will do my damnedest to find a way to trust that you mean what you say, without any talk. Because I can't afford to wait until you've had a chance to prove it one way or the other. And you can't afford to make me wait. So I will find a way."

He slowly unclenched his hands. "But if you can make it easier to do along the way, well," he nodded his head ever so slightly, "I'd be most obliged."

[frigidmagi]

Breakout reached out and knocked on the table.

"Troops, we're not here to debate history. Whatever political or theological disagreements we have, defeating Starvous is vastly more important. For now, in this squad, what happened on Cybertron... Should stay on Cybertron. At least until we can be sure that a slave empire of utter depravity and genocidal tendencies isn't going to dominate the galaxy for the next million vorns. Concentrate on the mission at hand. Am I clear?" He said.

[Cynical Cat]

"I am interested only in victory," said Deathstrike. "I will have neither the time nor the inclination to sooth the feelings of Autobots. A warrior does not need his hand held. I have an empire to crush. Come with me and fight or stay behind."

[Dark Silver]

At this, the continued needless prattling of Cavalier, Grindstone was irked. A warrior, in Grindstone's mind, did not need to speechify as much as Cavalier was prone to do, or show such outrage about every thing.

On Cybertron there was war, there were two sides, and multiple different stories, of all things on Cybertron - of the two great leaders, for the reason for the war, of the depravities the two factions did to each other.....and to civilians who got in the way.

Grindstone was normally a Mechanoid of few words - he was known for doing the jobs placed before him, with stoic solitude, speaking his mind only when absolutely necessary.

Such, he felt, was a time. "This is a volunteer mission," Grindstone spoke, "Deathstrike has been placed in the leadership role for this mission by Command. You come, or you do not come. There is no need for boasts, or grandstanding. If you feel it so, I vouch for Deathstrike's ability and skill as both a warrior, and a commander, with my own honor. There are times he could have left me behind on combat missions, but remained to assure my own retreat from lost battlefields. There is no other mechanoid in this facility I would more willingly follow into combat - other than Commander Breakout himself. By our hands, this Greater Decepticon Empire, a Empire which sullies the very name Decepticon, will be crushed, and I will take a grain of personal satisfaction from seeing the traitorous mongrel melted into slag."

With that, Grindstone was on his feet, looking to Cavalier and settling the other tank with optics that nearly burned in intensity, "If you are as honorable as you speak, if you care as much as you claim to care about anything other than your own grandeur....you would cease this prattle, and allow us to get down to the task at hand."

With that, Grindstone once more took his seat. He was finished, speaking more in that brief moment than he had over the last meta-cycle.

[Cynical Cat]

"Enough!" shouted Deathstrike. "Everyone. Grindstone, we have been comrades in arms for millenia. We have fought side by side and placed our lives in each others hands. You are a true brother to me and I do not say this lightly. But the past is the past. They are Autobots and we are Decepticons. There is too much death between us to ask them trust unconditionally. And our ranks are not devoid of those who are deserving of scorn.

"I will not to commit to tactics and strategies on too little information. I am not leading an expedition to burn and pillage, but to protect a multispecies alliance and ruin the Greater Decepticon Empire. I will not throw away the lives of organics, but this is war. There will be casualties. There will be losses. You Autobots will not be alone nor will you be helpless or voiceless. If you feel I have overstepped, you can make your will known. One way or the other.

"Further bickering is pointless. We either fight together or we do not. There is little time left before departure. I suggest everyone take care of any unfinished business. We will be gone for some time. I will be supervising loading if you need me."

[LadyTevar]

Shimmer rose from her seat. "I already told you I will speak my mind if I feel it's needed," she told Deathstrike. "Until then, I have no problem with your leadership."

She turned and walked to Cavalier, looking up at the taller 'bot. "You, on the other hand, need to come with me to the shooting range so you can get that frustration and anger out of you."

[General Havoc]

Cavalier's temper, already balanced on a razor's edge, simply disintegrated when Grindstone decided to chime in with his complaint that people were actually taking the time to question what the rules of engagement would be when dealing with a hundred-billion-strong army and under the command of a Decepticon. Deathstrike, at the very least, seemed to be willing to meet Cavalier, if not halfway, then somewhere. Moreover, Deathstrike was the commander, which ultimately did have to mean something. Grindstone was none of these things, and was offering a complaint that if Cavalier was honorable he would stop questioning the orders of a Decepticon and fall in line like all the good little cons would. It would have been funny if Cavalier had had any other kind of day.

Fortunately for all concerned, before Cavalier could turn to Grindstone and do something singularly unwise (his options started with decking the slagheap and got more extreme from there), Deathstrike spoke first, managing to shut Grindstone down, if not the way Cavalier would have, at least enough to permit him to recover some semblance of equilibrium. As it was, all he did was glare at Grindstone like the churning engine of war he was, not trusting himself to say so much as a word, lest he lose control entirely and feed Grindstone his own tailpipe.

Cavalier's knife-edged balancing act was obviously not missed by those around him. Shimmer walked over, and said that he needed to come with her to the shooting range, leaving unstated the message that he probably needed to shoot something inert before he wound up shooting someone else. He did not respond for several seconds, his optics locked on Grindstone's, seething with nuclear fires that boiled beneath his olive drab frame. And when he finally did speak, his words were clipped and short.

"Damn right I do," he said. And then he turned and followed Shimmer out, it taking every bit of concentration he had to avoid slamming his fist through a wall on the way.

[LadyTevar]

Once out of the room and on the way to the shooting range, Shimmer looked up at Cavalier. "I'm impressed you held your temper that long," she said quietly. "But you're going to be a liability if you can't chill your exhaust and get used to working with those you would rather slag on sight. Otherwise," she grinned wickedly, "You're going to be wasting a lot of ammo on the firing range."

[General Havoc]

Just being out of the room filled with Cons he was supposed to be taking orders from was a major improvement. By the time Cavalier and Shimmer had gone more than a couple dozen meters, his frame had gone from rigid to semi-exhausted, as though he'd just spent three weeks in mortal combat.

At Shimmer's comment, Cavalier laughed, shaking his head. "It's not my exhaust I'm worried about," he said. "It's what exactly they're gonna want to do while we're working together."

They reached the doors to the firing range, and he slid them open. "Besides," he said to Shimmer, sounding slightly more like his old self, "swords don't need reloading."

[LadyTevar]

"Energon does," Shimmer retorted, following Cavalier in to continue the conversation. "And right now, you're slumping like a Grey. If it is that hard to stomach the 'Cons, maybe you shouldn't be on this mission."

"Look, Cavalier, this isn't the first mission I've worked closely with 'Cons. I've had to get a lot deeper into their mindset just to complete my missions," Quietly, Shimmer let her brand switch over, to see how long it took Cavalier to notice. "We are fighting fire with fire, and simply having Deathstrike in the lead may cause some of Stravus' 'Cons to re-think their loyalties. He's an asset to this mission."

Left unsaid was the implication Cavalier was showing himself a bad asset.

[General Havoc]

Cavalier stopped.

Unsaid or not, Cavalier had had just about enough of people who wanted to take him to task for saying or even thinking mean things about Decepticons. And he had absolutely had enough of being told that he was a liability to the mission because he refused to countenance typical Decepticon behavior on it.

"This isn't my first time at the dance either," said Cavalier. And then he turned around.

"You ever seen what happens when you peel the skin off an organic?" he asked Shimmer, conversationally, as though it were the most normal topic in the world. "Most of 'em will die if you even try it, but there's a couple species out there who can survive it a while. I've even seen one recover, sort of, if you call it recovering to live in a plastic bubble for the rest of your life. Of course that one lost his optics and auditory sensors too, so he might not have known where he was. It wasn't easy to tell what he was screaming after all, since the cons tore out that thing organics use to talk."

"You see," said Cavalier, "the 'con who did that was just broken. The ones that really get to you are the ones who are more casual about it, the ones who just don't care what happens to anything besides themselves. The ones that'll core a planet to get some rare mineral they want and just exterminate everything living on it. You see that one enough times, and it gets to the point where, when you come across the slaver cons, it's almost refreshing. The slavers, at least, have to keep their little organic fiefdoms alive."

Cavalier folded his arms. "You may have worked with cons before, but so have I, my own way," he said. "I've seen what they mean when they say they'll protect those who 'deserve it'. I've found out the hard way what their definitions of 'justice', 'mercy', and a few other words are. Maybe that's not all of them, but it's the balance, because they take their queue from Megatron, and Megatron defined those things different than Optimus did. And I may not know Deathstrike from a Quintesson, but far as I know, neither do you. I don't care what his reputation is, I care what he stands for, and what he does. And if he stands for and does the things that the cons I tend to deal with stand for and do, then I will drop him like a bad habit, and that's a quote. We're gonna be responsible for the well-being and survival of hundreds of billions of organics. I will not countenance Deathstrike or Grindstone or any other 'con we wind up with engaging in standard Decepticon practices with those organics. I will not do that. And if that's inconvenient for our mission, then we all need to think long and hard about what in the Pits we are actually doing out there, because last I checked, we're supposed to bring the Decepticon Empire down, not replace it with another one."

Cavalier stopped, catching himself before he got too carried away. He took a few moments to recover his equilibrium, noticing as he did so Shimmer's altered symbols. He seemed to consider it for a moment, before emitting a sound much like a sigh and shaking his head.

"You may think that Deathstrike won't do that sort of thing," he said, "but you don't know. And I don't know either. And even if he doesn't, every other con he manages to lure over to our side has the same potential. And when one of them steps over the line, organics will die. By the planetful. If I don't go, then are you gonna stop them?"

He shrugged. "You can wear their livery if it makes your job easier, Shimmer, but you're an Autobot. I have to assume that, at some point, there was a reason for that. Because if the cons are just like us now, and I'm such a bad person for saying mean things to them, then why in the name of Primus did I fight all those vreems for Optimus, trying to stop Megatron and all his ilk from having their way with the galaxy?"

He crossed his arms once more.

"And for that matter, Shimmer, why did you?"

[Lys]

Blastcap did not say or show anything through the entire briefing. There was, put simply, nothing to be said. All strategic, operational, and tactical concerns had the same answer: we'll figure it out when we get there. That was precisely why a flexible, multi-purpose, self-sufficient task force had been assembled, and why the team of Cybertronians were experts in diverse fields. Deathstrike could not, and would not, commit to any particular course of action. The narrowed the possible range of useful discussion down to personal politics, a subject matter that Blastcap preferred to keep private. So she simply leaned against a wall opposite Cavalier, and looked on at the proceedings with disinterest.

The moment it was clear that Deathstrike had dismissed them, she stood away from the wall and strode out of the room. A minute later she was walking down an empty hallway. With soft mechanical sounds, several armour panels in her body retracted and folded against themselves. Hover Unit 02, a matte grey hovering utility robot-drone, floated out in front of her. It chirped, whirred, and clicked, communicating in high speed data language.

"Yes he said that my opinion of him did not matter. If you had bothered to pay attention past that, you may have noticed that it does matter. It was subtle, but I could see him encouraged by just four words from Grindstone. Any commander worth the energon in his tank values the trust and confidence of his subordinates. What Deathstrike was saying is that he would lead us to victory with or without it. The old soldier is just that hard."

Whirrr click click-chirp

"It does not concern the others, and to bring it up would have helped nothing and quite possibly made complicated matters. This is between me and Deathstrike, if he wants to be disappointed that I would not openly express support, so be it. However, I expect he prefers such matters to not be made spectacles of, if at all possible."

There was silence as three organics ran by them in a hurry, then Blastcap and her little minion turned the corner to a crowded hallway. They kept quiet as they navigated through the throng of people, then entered an empty lift and began to descend.

Click chirp-whirr click

"Ignoring the fact that I was sitting on armed atomics on a dead man switch, fratricide is a bigger mess than a splintered door. Between the perceived options of letting two of his subordinates kill each other and pulling out the fusion cannon, the option he took was the lesser spectacle. The problem is that he could have just walked past and there would have been no spectacle at all."

The lift doors opened, Blascap left it and a group of mechanoids crowded in. The doors closed and the lift went away.

Chirp whirr whirr chirp

"Because I feel he needs to know, and because it is highly informative in regard to my capabilities. The better a commander knows his assets, the better use he can make of them. My skill set is particularly relevant to the task at hand. Though I specialize in demolitions, I am still an engineer and a damn good one at that."

Click-click-click clak

"What does that ridiculous notion have to do with anything? He needs someone trusted and respected by the others to be his second in command, someone to whom he can trust the mission if he were to fall. I am a rogue with no allegiance and suspect judgement. Surely someone else is better suited. Do you expect him to look upon me favourably because I declared loyalty for him? Don't be foolish, words are cheap."

Silence.

"Why do I even bother talking to you? You are an extension of my own conciousness, a fragment of me. There is no perspective you can offer save me own. Go after Deathstrike, find him alone, and deliver the message and data cube. Bring back to me his response, if any."

HVR02 hovered away and out of sight. Blastcap sighed and continued on to the quartermaster's office. She had arrangements to finish regarding the requisition of certain special items. Then it was off to other business.

[Cynical Cat]

Deathstrike watched as equipment was loaded. Schedules and cargo lists streamed through his cerebral circuity and were matched against the gear lists. This was the dull and boring machinery of war. Not the bright, terrible, and glorious combats where life and death were at stake but the monotonous preparation where the battle could be won or lost before the first missile was launched. In this field too he strived for mastery.

It was not hard to endure the jibes and insults of Autobots. When had they ever offer even rudimentary respect for his kind? Other that Optimus, of course. It was not surprising that Breakout was one of the few that followed in his lord's footsteps. It was the pettiness of it all.

He had followed Megatron and brought the benefits of science and technology to the moreshka and now he was condemned to serve alongside prattling self righteous fools who accused him of every possible crime while claiming their own hands were clean, pretended that all the Primes were like Optimus, and white washed their history to create the illusion that Cybertron had been in a golden age of peace and prosperity before the Decepticon uprising.

Of course, they still needed him. That prancing, hot tempered, self indulgent blowhard Cavalier was what passed for a great warrior among them. The Greater Decepticon Empire was a tyranny armoured in lies and built on hypocrisy, but without the skill and drive of Decepticon warriors Breakout's Autobots would fall to it. Too few of them were cast in their leader's mold. That was a fundamental difference between the two camps. Autobots worshiped their Primes and used them as crutches. Decepticons respected their leaders and strove to emulate, or surpass, their greatness.

Another data file slid int streamed through his processors, activated by his memory functions. Only part of it was his work and that made it even more precious. The Plan. They had worked on it and begun to bring it to fruition. New pieces and modifications had been written, revisions to take into account new situations. Flamewind. Metalstorm. Starjammer. All of them almost assuredly dead, but this remained. Their last, greatest work.

It had been meant to transform a backwards star system into the beating heart of an interstellar empire. Vast orbital construction yards and huge array of solar mirrors. Factories and universities. Asteroids devoured for raw resources and moons turned into defence bastions. Settlements on every world and fleets leaving for new star systems, billions upon billions striving to build a golden age where the galaxies themselves lay at their feet. The Autobots had ended that but now the files remained. Everything from identifying iron ore and smelting steel sickle blades to beanstalk design. It might live again.

The chirping of a hover unit attracted his attention. It wasn't part of the cargo loading detail. He focused his optical receptors on it. "Report," he ordered. A slot opened and it presented a memory cube.

Anonymous gifts in a city that contained a sizable number of beings who wanted him dead were rarely harmless.. He firewalled his higher functions and released hunter-killer programs into the cube. Finding no threats he then uploaded the data into a buffer and activated analysis programs. There were no threats. He processed the data file.

"I wish to thank you for your intervention in the matter between me and Cavalier. Do not get me wrong, I am not happy about it. You stuck your fusion cannon where it did not belong and caused me much unwarranted annoyance. Your intrusion wasn't wanted, it wasn't needed, and most certainly wasn't helpful. "

Self serving Autobot junk. Disappointing. Blastcap may have been confident that she could have talked Cavalier down without his intervention, but that was irrelevant. He had acted because their sufficiently high probability of violence occurring without his intervention. That alone justified his action.

"The matter would have stayed in that room if you had minded your own business instead of minding mine. Thanks to you thirty Primus dammed witnesses heard Cavalier's voice accuse me of murdering twelve million, and in addition I had to tell the whole story to three Autobots who really had no need to know the least thing of it. I am not happy, at all."

That confirmed what he had already knew, that Blastcap's highest priority was keeping her secret. Of course her lies to him and when the security squad arrived had told him that. The data on how she and Cavalier reacted to that situation was quite valuable. His future subordinates had revealed much about themselves.

"Nevertheless, I thank you, sincerely and honestly. Because, regardless of my other opinions, what you did back there is something I can appreciate and respect. You are my commanding officer Deathstrike, and you stuck your neck out for me. You care, on some level, about the responsibility you assumed and the role that I play in it. It doesn't matter to me whether you see me as a comrade, a subordinate, or a mission asset, what matters is that you can see beyond your own back plate. It, in fact, matters a lot.

Over the ages I have learned to value good officers, whether commanding me or under my command. They have a certain quality that escapes all measure, and yet can be recognize by those who know how to look for it. Something that only truly shines through when a judgement call is made under pressure. It doesn't even matter whether the call was good or not, it's there. And as annoyed as I am, and as unnecessary as what you did was, I saw it. You can count on me for anything, Sir, to the best of my abilities. "

A peace offering. Interesting. Just as the good of the mission meant Blastcap's high bodycount secret was not just Cavalier's business, the good of the mission demanded an appropriate reply. Diplomacy was not a function he had ever needed to engage in, but this mission demanded it of him. He might as well start practicing now.

"Perhaps your confrontation with Cavalier would have ended without violence if I had not intervened, but perhaps you are wrong. It was clear from the sensory input I had received that you were on the brink of violence if violence had not already been initiated. I acted to preserve two valuable 'bots based on the information I had available and the intervention was successful. Calculate how long it takes Cavalier to kill another 'bot in close quarters combat, subtract from that the amount of time required to distract him, and you have the amount of time I had to gather data and make a decision. Available data indicated that a desirable outcome was more likely if I intervened and I did. However, if you try lying about me or undermining me again as you did with Autobot security and I will rip your laser core out the smoking scrap heap that used to be your chassis" He removed the last line. Diplomacy. Think diplomatically. Besides, Autobots are touchy about blatant threats. Even when, like Cavalier, every third sentence out of their mouths was one.

"Having said that, I am pleased to possess your confidence and support. I am sure your skills will be of great use to the mission and your personal life and secrets are your own. Whatever is between you and Cavalier is your business and I have no intention of inquiring into it, as long as whatever baggage is associated with it does not disrupt the team. I look forward to seeing you again."

[LadyTevar]

"And for that matter, Shimmer, why did you?"

Shimmer's head lowered slightly, her optics clouding. "I believed in Optimus," she said softly, turning away. Optimus was gone. Megatron was gone. As she'd often asked herself, why did they still fight?

"Go stab something, Cavalier," she added, but her voice had little sting in it. Instead it held the weight of her own fatalism and the Vorns of fighting without hope of winning. "If you can't work beside Deathstrike, once you blow off steam tell Breakout you'll be quitting the mission. We need calm heads on this mission, those who can see working together is the only way to beat Stravus."

And, maybe, working together they might finally build a bridge over the gulf between.

[rhoenix]

The various reactions amongst the varying members of this new team were... interesting, to say the least. In Farshot's view, too much of the present was filtered through assumptions everyone made, based on an individual's experience with either being an Autobot or Decepticon, and assumptions based on the other side.

Perhaps the organics that were in so much danger right now were in the best position to see things like this, with their much shorter lifespans. Carrying on old grudges from one's predecessors becomes much more difficult when one has no personal experience with such a thing. With Cybertronians, with their thousand-year (and more) lifespans, it was much easier to retain old predjudices, even as events change.

This was one reason Farshot had torn off his Decepticon logo before he even left the base where he'd finally awoken. The heroes and causes of both Autobots and Decepticons were now the stuff of myth and legend, with those remaining following the same course they'd followed since their activation, almost fearing deviation from what they knew. He knew in this galaxy, and universe that was now, new ways of thinking would be needed. Respect for those who came before, certainly - but not to the point of servo-jerk reactions.

He thought about all of this as he appeared impassive, leaving the first team meeting with the others, though more quietly than some, he thought as he watched Cavalier stomping out.

But, preparations needed to be made. Farshot walked to the materials & supply section, and gathered the required raw materials to fill his reserves to their maximum - if he needed to make more sensor swarms or shells, far better that he be prepared than not.

This was but the work of a few moments - once this was done, he walked over to the medical engineer, to ensure that he was working at top capacity.

[General Havoc]

Shimmer sounded completely deflated, which was something of a surprise, if Cavalier was being honest. Her comment that she 'believed' in Optimus, past tense, was worrisome for several reasons. And her suggestion that he should go tell Breakout that he would quit if he couldn't find a way to work with Deathstrike was not exactly calculated to solve the problems he was having, not to his liking. Shimmer said that they needed calm heads on the mission willing to work together, but her body language said more to Cavalier than her words did. She was about to ship out under the command and in the company of Decepticons to attempt to do something nigh-impossible, with no support and no backup. If the reports read anything like right, this was not an uncommon situation for Shimmer, and yet...

He looked back into the training room, where the simulators and live fire targets were already set up. Paused for a few seconds, and turned away.

"I've gotta handle something else first," he said. "I'll be back later." And without explaining what he was doing or where he was going, Cavalier walked off.

*----------------------------------------------------------*

In the briefing, the only ones who had spoken forcefully about what was to happen were Deathstrike and Grindstone, Decepticons both. Grindstone was an idiot, but he had the bull-headed confidence that had taken Decepticons like him far in the universe. Cavalier would know. He had it himself. As to Deathstrike, this was his command. Breakout might or might not have given him marching orders, but Breakout would be on the other side of the galaxy. Deathstrike was being afforded the chance to do what he wanted the way he wanted to do it. All the agency was his.

But the other Autobots? Such as they were remaining in the mission? They hadn't said a word.

Not literally of course, Shimmer had talked a good enough game, but her message had been one of bending to circumstances and accepting Deathstrike as a commander. No doubt she had plenty of reasons for this, she had worked with cons far more congenially than he had after all. But it wasn't until she had answered his question the way she had answered it that another interpretation had occurred to him. As to the rest, not one (save himself of course) had said anything. Cutter had looked attentive, but had not seen fit to speak. Farshot and Shunt had contributed a comment or two, but neither one were Autobots. Nobody else had spoken. Nobody else even questioned Deathstrike as the leader of this mission. Cavalier was the only one.

And that bothered him.

Cavalier wouldn't have been himself if he'd been overly concerned about being thought a loudmouth or a pain in the tailpipe. He was both of those things after all, he admitted it, Pits, he cultivated it. Nor did Cavalier generally care one whit about being on the narrow end of a branch of opinion, ranged against all his fellows. Most of Cavalier's missions were simple affairs, simple at least in terms of operational requirements. Finding cons and bringing them down, generally ones who had managed to make a sufficient nuisance of themselves to warrant his attention. This was what he did. Sometimes he did so alongside organics or other bots, sometimes by himself, but the reasons were never in question. Indeed, they were usually written all over the walls. For this reason, he had never had patience for those who questioned the utility or purpose of the war the Autobots were fighting. The alternative to winning was surrender. And the Decpeticons Cavalier usually dealt with were not the sort of people that anyone, no matter how battle-fatigued or disenchanted with the state of affairs, would ever consider submitting to. When the choice was between upholding the rights of sentient beings to choose their own destinies, and submitting to empires of death, misery, and debasement, there was no choice at all.

Perhaps other people had different opinions, but Cavalier was not other people. He was built to fight against unthinkably evil forces, and that was what he did. This whole situation, turning a massively important Autobot command over to Decepticons, the only ones who still seemed to have any sense of fire in their sparks, to say that sat poorly with him was an understatement. Shimmer and the others might have thought him a hot-head, but that was downplaying the matter significantly. It wasn't a matter of orneriness. This situation was a complete betrayal of everything Optimus had fought for, and perhaps even died for. A complete betrayal of the very purpose for which he and the rest of the Autobots had been created for. It was a betrayal of the FWA, of every ally they had ever had, all in the name of expedience and the lesser of evils. It rendered every sacrifice that every Autobot had ever made, from the living to the dead, completely meaningless. It was capitulation to the nihilistic notion that Optimus had been wrong to fight in the first place, that there was nothing to separate Decepticons and Autobots, a pox on both their houses and the whole race of Cybertron. It was everything Cavalier abhorred. Merely to think of such things ate at his spark like acid.

And yet nobody else seemed to give a damn. Whether because they didn't see it that way or they didn't think it mattered anymore, and believed those sacrifices had already been rendered meaningless. The very notion made Cavalier sick, but there it was.

Duty was considered by most a burden. Cavalier had been lucky, he knew, that his duty dovetailed with what he enjoyed doing anyway, fighting the cons in defense of the galaxy. But there were sharp sides to duty, sides Cavalier didn't often encounter, but knew to be there. Duty sometimes involved doing things you hated. Things that were personally unwise in the extreme, even fantastically dangerous. Cavalier was no spit-and-polish soldier, and certainly no stranger to disciplinary actions. Nobody would have described him as particularly dutiful. He was a brash, arrogant, cantankerous engine of war, forever running off on some personal quest for glory. But Cavalier did understand what duty meant, even if he practiced it all too little. And in his own way, confronted with this... this grotesque betrayal of everything he had ever shed mech-fluid for, this was enough to show him that there could only be one path forward, the one duty demanded. No matter what the consequences were for him personally, he would not see the Greater Decepticon Empire replaced with a new one. He would not permit the great war to come to an end with a Decepticon ruling the galaxy. It would not be borne. It would not be done. And if nobody else would act to stop it... then it would fall to him to do what was necessary.

And though he knew what the cost would be to himself of what he was about to do, as Cavalier entered the shuttle bay where the computers told him Deathstrike was, he felt a calm pass over him, the silence that always came right before a terrible, terrible storm.

It was peace of a sort.

Deathstrike stood by a set of loading cargo shuttles and space barges, as automated machines worked about him. He seemed to be paying none of them any mind, engrossed instead in a memory cube, entering some sort of message to someone. Cavalier stopped as he laid optics on Deathstrike, hesitating on the threshold of what he knew was about to follow, and had to force himself not to move his hand to his sword hilt, for whatever else he might be, Deathstrike was no idiot, and would know what a gesture like that portended.

He took the robotic equivalent of a deep breath, and stepped forward.

"Deathstrike," said Cavalier, and he even managed to make it sound conversational. He waited for the Decepticon flier to recognize his presence, assuming of course that he hadn't done so already, before asking a question that was much less simple than it sounded.

"Can I talk to you for a moment?"

[Cynical Cat]

"Speak," said Deathstrike.

[General Havoc]

Deathstrike asked him to speak. And Cavalier suddenly found that he could not.

He hesitated, not visibly perhaps, but palpably nonetheless, standing before the living emblem of everything he had fought since his creation to stem and stamp out. His optics remained riveted in place, as though having come to the moment of truth at last, he was having trouble bringing himself to take the fateful step he knew he had to take, if he was to remain true to himself. When finally he spoke, he had the even, monotone voice of one who was clearly keeping very close control of his own temper.

"I wanted to ask you something, away from everyone else, about what you said in the briefing room. About Starvous."

He gave himself a nanosecond to organize his thoughts, and continued.

"I don't know Starvous from Primus, 'cept by reputation. But apparently you do. You said that you hated him and everything he stood for, and you sounded like you meant it. And I was wondering if you would tell me why."

[Cynical Cat]

"When did you come online Cavalier? I was built early in the war, built when there was still an army of Guardian Robots and the Autobot Elite Guard acted as the fist of the Senate. The first, early successes had already occurred. Megatron had rallied an army and seized Kaon. The insurrection had survived long enough to become a war.

"Optimus held no power then. The Senate and the Council of Ancients ruled in the name of Primus, order, and stability while serving the interests of the great industrial and resource magnates. There were plenty of Primes and Magnuses to go around. Plenty to lead the armies that would try and crush us.

"And who were we? I was newly born, but many of my brothers shared their memory banks with me. We were the defeated of the last civil war, reconfigured and condemned to the lowest social strata and the most dangerous, degrading, and least rewarding tasks. We were the political dissidents who had gone too far without patrons or status enough to protect us. We were the social malcontents who wanted to reform the system. We wanted work that paid better than mere survival and we wanted the freedom to be something other than what our social superiors mandated we must be. We were the angry, the betrayed, and the embittered and exploited. And with us traveled an army of the dead, those the system had already destroyed.

"Thugs and opportunists bolstered our ranks and we were in no position to turn them down. Our enemies controlled most of the planet's wealth and already possessed a professional army. Rage and a commitment to total war were our only advantages. Our only assets were each other.

"You understand what it is to believe, do you not? What it is to wish freedom? The right to pursue your dreams? To stand shoulder to shoulder with your brothers against tyrants? For you the leader that embodies those virtues was Optimus Prime.

"Imagine someone cloaks himself in Optimus Prime's name, claims his blessing, while embodying none of his virtues and all of his worst enemy's vices. He builds a hell like the one that you were forged to destroy and stamps on this hell everything an Autobot should hold sacred. He calls his hellpit paradise and this is supposed to be fitting because you will be given a throne and called a lord of this place and a share of its treasures. All you must do is become the enemy you have dedicated your existence to destroying."

He paused. "Do you have any other questions?"

[General Havoc]

It was some time before Cavalier responded.

"This is a longshot," he said. "But did you ever know a 'con by the name of Massacre?"

"I can't imagine that was his real name, but it was the only one I ever knew him by. I ran into him a couple megacycles back, on a planet not too far from here. He had a crew of escorts with him, two or three, and was running a little tyranny of his own on a planet with these organic walrus-people. They were stone-age, practically, hunter-gatherers, small villages, nothing impressive. He was ruling over them like a despot, but his favorite trick, whenever he was in a bad mood, was that he would go to a village, line all the people up, soak them in gasoline, and make them shoot each other with flares. Before I cut his spark out, I asked Massacre why he would do that, on a planet with nothing worth having where he was already a God. He told me, he liked watching them burn."

Cavalier sighed. "And... by that point, I wasn't even surprised. Because that's what the cons I know are like. All of them."

"I was built a little after you, I think," he said at length. "I never met a Senator or a Council of Ancients, never saw an army of Guardians or any other thing, really. Optimus was the only Prime I ever knew. I was activated right about the time that your little band of social miscontents and political dissidents were burning Cybertron clean of my kind." He paused, and smirked at his own comment. "My kind..." he repeated. "We were a crash program. Optimus' idea I assume. A desperate effort to build military models capable of fighting off the worst you all could throw at us." He shook his head and sighed again. "Wasn't enough I guess. By the time I joined in, Megatron was burning cities down with orbital strikes because they wouldn't knuckle under. I was in the raids on the slave processing units around Kaon. I stood the line at Iacon when Megatron took the city. I saw hundreds, maybe thousands of civilians disintegrated or torn apart by shocktroopers because..." he trailed off. "... I never figured out why. Because they could be, I guess. That was my introduction to the Decepticons. And when Optimus led us all away, I went all over the place. I've fought cons on more planets than I can catalog. Slavers, dictators, outright murderers, Decepticon remnant groups cobbled together under some hulking brute with a fusion cannon, everything. I went looking for that sort of trouble, because I'm stupid, and very good at what I do, and because I enjoyed it. I honestly did. I enjoyed taking these... psychotic... would-be tyrant lords and showing them what happens when someone stands up. The accolades and the kill-boards and the organics cheering you on like Optimus re-incarnated, I loved that stuff, but the biggest win for me was when I got to bring one of those mad dogs down and watch them die with my sword in their lasercore."

He shook his head. "I... hate everything Megatron stood for. Everything he really stood for, everything I saw his people standing for. The Megatron I know, stands for the strong ruling the weak because they can. It's not just the brutality, it's the casual... arbitrary brutality. The concept that all life in the universe exists to serve him. And maybe Deathstrike, we know different Megatrons, because Primus knows I never met him in person. If I had, I wouldn't be standing here, because I'd have gone at him, and nobody survives that. But I know what goes on in the name of Megatron. I've seen it all over the place. And maybe I only deal with the hard cases, but someone has to do it. And maybe things just as bad happen in Optimus' name, in fact I know they do, because I caught an Autobot with Massacre, and I should have killed the slagging bastard, but I didn't. But none of that changes who I am and what I do. I despise everything about the Decepticons as I've seen them. Everything. I can't not, not after what I've seen them do."

Cavalier paused, his speaker falling silent, watching the Decepticon without giving a sign as to what he was thinking, until suddenly he seemed to wilt, ever so slightly, his frame slumping by several millimeters, as he lowered his head and averted his optics.

"I don't..." he said, hesitating in a very uncharacteristic manner. "I don't know how to do this," he said. "I've killed or tried to kill every con I've ever had dealings with, every one without exception." He looked back up sharply. "And they all deserved it. Not because of that," he gestured at the Decepticon symbol on Deathstrike's badge, "but because of what I saw them do." He dropped his head again. "But now you're here, and you're supposed to be leading some grand crusade to take down one of the worst offenders ever. And you've... clearly got reasons. Someone came up and pretended they were setting up an empire of misery in Optimus' name, I'd stake their heads on a pike and mount them on the parapets. I'd fight for two thousand years to do that if I had to. But having reasons or not, you're still here, and you're the one in charge. And we can tell Breakout whatever we want about what's gonna happen out there, but this isn't an Autobot operation, not really. Most of us are cons or fence-sitters, and the few that aren't don't care what symbol people wear. All except me." Cavalier's voice grew brittle with frustration. "And I don't know how to... how to make that not matter any more. Because the way I see it, it matters more than any other thing. It matters what a bot stands for. What he'll fight for, what he'll die for. That matters. Sometimes that's all that matters. And I can't just... I can't turn that off. I look at you, and all I see are the hundreds of billions of organics you're gonna be responsible for. Hundreds of billions. I have fought decade-long crusades to keep numbers far smaller than that out of the hands of Decepticons. People I've known have died for it. I've come damn close more than once. And now..." he hesitated. "... now here we are."

He shook his head, clenching and unclenching his fists, looking agitated and almost nervous. "Maybe everything you've told me is crap, and maybe it isn't. Maybe I'm the one whose full of it, wouldn't be the first time. And Pits, maybe it doesn't matter at all. It's not like Starvous doesn't need fighting, whoever takes his place. And this mission's impossible enough without... this."

He trailed off again, steadying himself, taking his time as he slowly raised his head to the Decepticon warrior Breakout had selected as commander. When next he spoke, his voice was calmer, but more rigid, as though he was steeling himself for a step unthinkable.

"Believe it or not," he said, "I didn't come down here to make a long speech. I came down here to tell you that - " the words caught in his speaker, and he forced his way through, " - that... what I do or don't know how to do is... my problem. And I can't make it anyone else's. Not even yours." He hesitated again, his voice distorting just slightly as he forced, physically forced himself to say the next few lines. "There's too much at stake. Too many lives... too much for any of it. So... I'm here to apologize." His entire frame locked up, just for a second, even his optics flickering, but he persisted regardless. "For what went down with me and Blastcap. Maybe I should have shot her and maybe I shouldn't but..." there was the faint sound of gears grinding, "... but I was out of line. And I can't... I can't guarantee I won't be again, because I know how I get sometimes... But I'll... I'll try."

By now, Cavalier was vibrating enough to actually cause the floor under his feet to rattle slightly. Try as he might, he could not arrest it completely, but he opened his optics once more, and looked Deathstrike in the optic regardless, and forced himself to finish.

"I'm an Autobot," he said. "That's what I'll always be. That's who I am. That's what I was built to be. And that means more to me than any other thing. And I don't know if that makes sense to you or not but..." one final pause, to fortify himself for what must come, "but I came down here to tell you that... you won't have any more trouble... out of me."

Nobody, not Deathstrike, not Breakout, not his own builder, nobody would ever know what it cost Cavalier, deep inside his spark, to say the one, final word that he had to say.

"... sir."

[Cynical Cat]

"Thank you," replied Deathstrike. "I know how much that cost you. I am grateful to have a warrior of your caliber committed to the success of this expedition." And that was true. Cavalier could fight and had no shortage of either audacity or tenacity.

There was more he could say on the subject of the war or Megatron, but it would be pointless. So he did not. No revolt by any underclass in any history that Deathstrike had studied had ever been anything but brutal and long wars only made them more terrible. Peace and mercy had only brought shackles. What kind of peace could one make with those who had placed their foot on your neck? When the world burned and those you loved died, what was left besides revenge?

He would have it one day. Starjammer. Metalstorm. Flamewind. Millions upon millions of moreshka. If it took him until all the suns in the galaxy died, their killers would face his wrath. "Feel free to depart if you have nothing further to say. I am sure you have friends you would much rather spend the remaining time with."

[frigidmagi]

I have been asked, by organics, mechanicals, and everything inbetween. By Cybertronians of all stripes, why? Why did I chose Deathstrike of all cons and bots to lead this mission. There are those who think it's a political choice. That by giving a depecticon warrior such an important command, I'm quelling any division in the ranks. I hope no Cybertronian is foolish enough to think that. When I hear the word politics, I automatically think of the Remnants Council, the remains of the Autobot Council that constantly attempted to impose authority whenever Optimus' back was turned. I hated them to my very spark, I could never see why we allowed them to continue such foolishness. My comparable youth may be a problem. I am with the exception of my headhunters and possibly Cavalier, the youngest Bot in the League. I am also the highest ranking, the irony does not escape me. I have no real memory of any Golden Age. Nor would I truly experience peace until I was stationed on a organic colony world for nearly 20 Vorns. I only knew fighting and getting ready to fight. Such things as political councils that interfere in military decisions are utter madness from what I've seen. But I stray from the point. Why did I pick Deathstrike? His prior loyalties are and were irrelevant. I picked Deathstrike because he had the needed skills and experience for the job. Because he has led before and done great things in the leadership role. Unlike my older bots, the fact that he did so on a pile of Bot bodies doesn't phase me. The idea of Cybertronians killing each has been a fact of my existence since my laser core was activated. But there's another reason why I chose Deathstrike, the real reason that I tell no one. Deathstrike defeated me. Not in personal combat, else I would not be here. On Cybertron, I briefly gained large scale command, at the time I had just realized that Cybertron was approaching resource depletion but the implications hadn't occurred to me, beyond the immediate military ones. Knowing this, it was easy to see that the road to victory was in denying and destroying resources. Victory was to be measured not just in dead bodies and gained ground, but who lost the least energon to do it. I destroyed an entire Decepticon border sector to prove it. Let me repeat, I didn't take it, I destroyed it. There were no grand battles, no great victories, just constant low level attacks and operations, wrecking infrastructure, blowing up factories, looting stockpiles and breaking whatever we couldn't take. I led ambushes, surprise assaults, never committing to a conventional battle. The deathcount for once was lopsided. I was winning. Then Megatron put Deathstrike on the job. Deathstrike refused to play my game, he instead escalated, ratcheting up the pain and the cost of my tactics to the maximum. He believed and rightly so that the Autobot command would not allow me to carry on in the face of such costs. I was relieved of command, we fell back. Deathstrike won. No, I didn't pick him for politics sake. I sent a Cybertronian on a vastly difficult mission that would tax me completely for one reason. He was good enough to beat me once, he should be good enough to do this. If he's not then no one is.

Breakout personal log.

It was the day of departure, the fleet fell into formation, troops ships fat and bulbous under the care of sleek brutal looking warships. Aboard the command space station Breakout and his command staff stood, watching the lead ship prepare.

"Metalhead, contact Deathstrike, inform him that the spacebridge is ready to go on his command." Breakout ordered.

[Cynical Cat]

Deathstrike tied himself into the base telecom net. "All expeditionary units, this is Deathstrike. Whatever unfinished business you have, finish it now and report for departure. The mission is a go."

[rhoenix]

The comm from Deathstrike had come in as Farshot was in the shooting range. Firing one last shot from his forearm bracer cannons, the barrels retracted back into the bracers, he cleaned up the area, and moved double-time toward the meeting area.

A short time later, he arrived, and saluted. "Farshot reporting for duty, sir. All systems and reserves optimal."

[LadyTevar]

"You're a little late, I'm already onboard, Deathstrike," Shimmer privately comm'd back to their leader. "Our quarters are ready, just waiting for the slowpokes to get here."