Ep1.5 – Decode – Closed

“I am off my charge-cycle,” said Optimus neutrally, which could mean he had simply extended his recharge hours some time previous and therefore was not cycling down in accordance with earth-standard night cycles… or, like now, was simply a way to say, yes, he could not recharge. He didn’t think openly admitting to the totality of his anxieties, even to Rhinox, was advisable. Not with Shadow missing, Ironhide off the roster, and no word yet that Shadowrunner had checked in with any of Team Prime simply to confirm she was still functioning.

“I am also still keeping the main command line open.”

For Shadow, was implicit in the manner that Optimus kept his optics on the code set before him, the numbers and ciphers suddenly coming together again. Faced with the possibility of Rhinox, ever perceptive to the underpinnings and sub-directives of distracted Primes, suddenly in the vicinity, his focus on his task improved dramatically. Half a dozen glyphs lit up instantaneously across the screen, green symbols freezing and glowing red before he applied the decryption cipher.

Still completely neutrally, he deflected to Rhinox: “What keeps you from shut down?”

Optimus glanced briefly toward where Rhinox had settled just at the edge of his peripheral scanners. Looked like the engineer was settling in for a bit. As a consequence Optimus dismissed immediately from his mind any notion that he was going to get away with simply trying not to think about the troubles afflicting Team Prime of late.

On an operational and strategic sense they were in a better position than ever before: energy consumption was down, Rhinox, Rattrap and Airazor’s technical expertise having contributed significantly to making the base near self-sufficient on a combination of energon and electrical optimization. Their energon stores were higher than ever after Arcee had sacked the Nemesis for their pure-grade cubes, and their ever rising numbers and presence of mid-rank soldiers made operations, patrol, and down time… essentially livable. They were starting to feel like an Autobot military outfit and slightly less like… refugees.

The shadow over them all, however, remained Shadowrunner’s MIA status and Ironhide’s suspension from active duty. What happened at the Neutral Base. The team knew. He’d told tell some of it, the basics, the important sections: Megatron had been damaged but recovered, Barricade was not KIA but, in fact, live and well, (The look on Bluestreak’s face: he would have to forgive himself for that later.) , and Shadowrunner as a result had gone AWOL. No one had missed the argument between himself and Ironhide. Those who’d been off base at the time of the argument, of course, had likely overheard from the others… and he was wondering what Rhinox thought of that.

The computer beeped.

“If I am going to be out of recharge, I may as well get something done,” said Optimus evenly. “Do you require this console?”

It was a long and companionable quiet. Rhinox sitting there, refueling, watching Optimus work somehow had a settling effect on the Prime’s agitated thought processes. It may have just been the infectious calm the engineer tended to put off, radiating zen like a small and very laid back sun. Optimus smiled inwardly as four dozen cipher-strings ran code blocks through his tertiary sub-processes, the mathematics of the code-breaking running parallel to his thoughts about the Autobot keeping him company just now. The other mechanoid’s presence did not undo anything, did not negate the tension in his morph-core, or the bind in his gears that came on at every thought of Shadowrunner. The responsibility he felt – not knowing what had happened. Not understanding what Barricade had done, that lack of knowledge failing to inform any of his decisions regarding the infiltrator.

Ironhide.

A section of the encryption resolved itself and Optimus regarded the unlocked data matter of factly. Most of this was… historical data. There had yet to be any data of significance regarding this planet. A handful of lost artifacts scattered to distant parts of the galaxy, none localized to this star system of course. He would keep at this task though.

“I never did get to ask,” said Optimus, breaking the quiet finally, “how your trip with Jazz went.”

“If duty allows,” repeated Optimus warmly.

His hands moving across the console seemed to have reacquired their fluidity, the encryption running across the screen having hit its stride and begun the lengthy process of pulling the data from the complex Iaconian ciphers. Here, now, going through them, it felt so very familiar that it was almost alien in its nostalgia. How long had it been since such a task was required of him? How long since Iacon fell and the Halls were ransacked and destroyed? A long time. His fingers over the touch keys hovered momentarily, stopped over a spinning glyph, watching the digital display through his optics and through his HUD where the sub-strings for the block-cipher were running.

A tension had passed suddenly into him, running like a bloom of electricity through his endomass and settling in his linkages.

“I doubt it will though,” said Optimus, thinking of Ironhide relieved of duty for the time being. That tension again, more intense than before. Persistent and gnawing. “There is much that still needs to be done.”

Optimus blinked at the bright tye-dye length of cloth now deposited on his arm, not even large enough to match the size of even on of the wind-shield panes mounted into his chest, it took a moment’s careful work to pick it up between his thumb and forefinger. Spreading the small souvenir in his palm, the Prime briefly cross-referenced the meaning and significance attached to the colors and symbols and additionally the ‘Pride Parade’. For a moment, he thought of the Million Mechanoid March, of Cybertron’s streets ignited with the bodies of cold constructs, laborers, and the populace of Tarn turned out – a million and some bodies lit up, luminal-lingo throwing messages of equality across the tower structures of the lower plates, lighting up the atmosphere with the collective call to action.

He looked at Rhinox, closed his hand at his side over the small token and it was subspaced quietly.

“Thank you, Rhinox. You are forever thinking of your comrades. For my part, your time and your thoughts spared for myself and my Autobots is much appreciated." The pitch of his engine noise warmed slightly, his expression softening somewhat from its previous cool focus. "Tell me about this event you attended."

“There in the crowd?” said Optimus, EM field plain with amusement. “Your control of hardlight projection is either top notch or the populace did not mind the truck. Either way, I am glad you and Jazz were afforded the time to spend this way.” He turned from the control panel, one hand resting still on the touch-interface. “Too often the task of guarding ourselves and our human allies alike leaves us out of touch with those same allies. Long enough at it… it is just a task, another fight on another world… and it is, but that is no reason to fall into apathy.”

Like the war for so many. A comfortable background noise even for thousands of years neither side moving for so long it was almost peace. How many war-builds dying without even recalling the atmosphere for which the war came. When it came down to it, if there was a reason beyond Decepticon threat, beyond national security, beyond obligation to protect… the presence of Jack, Miko, Raf and their other human allies, to Optimus, was important simply so that his ancient Autobot soldiers might see the faces of those they were protecting – not the anonymous populace. Not the violent race of organics their history and databases made them out as – but rather the boring, average citizen. Video games, pizza, and doodles in colored pencil.

One may not fight for any cause, nothing so grand or cold. But one could, perhaps, fight for doodles on a fridge held there by Alphabet magnets.

“What else did you and Jazz do with your leave?"