Radio Silence

“I mean, seriously,” Ratched muttered, “What kind of sicko welds an interface hatch?” He lit his plasma cutter. “Not a big deal. Have to replace the hatch door itself, really.” He squinted to look up at Ironhide. “Any idea why they’d do this?”

“Sick fuckin’ ‘cons.” He’d had all of the other repairs fixed first, and was still a little numb from sensor block.

“Well, yes, but…they could have killed you. Instead they did this?”

“Sicker this way.”

“Well, that’s true.”

For a long moment no sound other than the hiss of the plasma cutter slicing through the weld. Then. “What the--? Any idea what this is?” Ratchet extracted a Decepticon datatrack.

“No idea.” Ironhide grabbed for it. “Remember, I was unconscious at the time? Don’t think I’d be awake and let them near me with welders, do you?”

“Huh,” Ratchet rocked back on his heels. And buzzed Optimus. “Ratchet here. You might want to come down here. I think they sent us a message.”

Optimus crossed to the hangar they were using for repairs as soon as he could. “A message?”

Ratchet held up the datatrack. “Welded inside the interface hatch.”

Optimus took it, gingerly. “That seems…excessive.”

“Maybe we should hear what they have to say?”

Ironhide growled. “Don’t give them the satisfaction. Throw it away.”

“Well, I doubt it's anything good,” Ratchet admitted. “Unlikely they’d submit a surrender this way. Unless,” he teased, “You’ve been instrumental in it.”

Ironhide glared pure hatred at Ratchet. His teasing grin faded.

Optimus sighed. “Probably not anything good. But the humans have a saying: Forewarned is forearmed.” He crossed to a console and input the datatrack.

At first the screen was blank. Then a voice. “This is not an act of war. You agree that we could have left your Ironhide for dead. We would have been well within our rights.” Video cut in, of hands applying a hoseclamp to a module’s energon connector hose. Ratchet paled.

“Barricade’s voice,” Optimus muttered. “That’s one of them.”

“His hands, too,” Ratchet added. The shot pulled back, and they could identify an access hatch, then the bronzy green plating. “Starscream.”

Barricade’s voice continued, nasty, ice cold. “Let’s rewind and see how this happened.” The video blanked again, then started a lowlight.

“Ironhide?” they heard a voice say faintly, the video rolling to take in the unmistakeable silhouette of the Autobot. The whole scene played out in front of them, red-screened as again and again, Ironhide caused the jet’s sensor net to fire alarms at him. Ratchet’s hand flew to his mouth when he saw Ironhide tear the module from Starscream’s body and throw it. The jet’s sensors blared alarms. The screen cut to an object falling from the sky, then a jumpy sequence over a low rise to see Ironhide bent over the jet, thrusting his module into the still-screeching jet’s access port.

Then, the blue puddle, clotting sand. And the damaged module. Barricade’s narration picked up again. “This, I repeat, was not an act of war. If we had killed him, you would have taken it as an escalation. Instead, this is a question. Two questions. Both beginning with ‘if’. “ The image flickered out, replayed, this time with full audio. Even Ironhide blanched at his ravings. Optimus stared stonily away.

“If,” Barricade cut in, “Ironhide is an Autobot, and Autobots believe in that honor and integrity you preach, he will not deny the truth. As we have shown it. And if.” Long pause. “And if you Autobots believe at all in any notion of justice, he shall be held to account for this brutality.” The video froze on the damaged hatch. “If. We are waiting.”

The datatrack stopped.

Optimus shivered with horror. “Ironhide,” he breathed. “What have you done?”