Chapter Text
No matter how long Orion stared at the lines of data on the file in his servo, his optics couldn’t take in any of the information there. His processor was a raging whirlwind, his fuel tanks churning hard enough to make him feel faint.
He was being sent to Kaon. Kaon, of all the Primus-damned pits in the world, where the one mech he’d hoped to never see again held complete and utter dominion over everything there. And it was an order from the Prime, whose word could never be refused.
What made it worse was that he couldn’t admit to Sentinel, or anyone, the real reason why he’d been able to “negotiate” with Megatron—the shame associated with the incident still made him sick with fury. But he couldn’t run away from this. There was no escape, no way to persuade Sentinel to take a different course of action like he had last time.
He’d never felt more trapped in his life.
A deep-seated, cynical part of his processor bitterly wondered if telling Sentinel the truth would have even made a difference. The Prime didn’t seem very concerned with the personal lives of common bots unless it affected his duties or Cybertron itself in some way. His current top priority appeared to be convincing Megatron to pledge Kaon’s allegiance to him, and he certainly seemed ready to go to any length to achieve it.
At best, Sentinel would simply brush him off or not believe him. At absolute worst, he would see Megatron’s lust for Orion as an advantage to exploit, and hand Orion over to him in chains as an offering in exchange for his fealty.
A wave of disgust rolled through Orion’s circuits at the thought, turning them cold, and he clutched the datapad hard enough to threaten cracks. But at the same time, his array gave an insistent throb, his valve growing wet and warm behind its panel. He bit his glossa in irritation, firmly forcing down the unwanted swell of arousal that threatened to make his spike strain against its modesty cover, and put down the datapad on top of a stack before he could break it.
For a nanoklik, he regretted throwing away that false spike he’d bought. He could have used it again to try and get the slagger out of his processor, even though it would likely have failed.
“Orion?”
He jumped, nearly knocking over the stack of datapads. Orion barely caught it in time to push it gently back into place, his fingers shaking before he spun around.
Alpha Trion stood in front of him, worry etched all over his faceplate. “What’s wrong?”
“Huh?” The word came out as a rasp, and Orion reset his vocalizer before he spoke again. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve been very quiet since you returned from your meeting with Sentinel Prime.” Alpha Trion’s voice was soft and overly cautious, clearly expecting Orion to snap at him. “What happened?”
Orion firmly fixed his gaze on the nearby datapads to avoid the older mech’s eyes. He kept his tone as level and calm as possible. “He told me I was being sent to Kaon. As an envoy for Iacon.”
“What?” He heard a sharp, shocked inhale from Alpha Trion’s intake. “But—why you? You’re not an aide or a senator, and you don’t work for him.”
“He said…” Orion wondered how to word it. Shame returned to claw painfully through his processor. “He said I proved my skill at negotiating with Megatron. In Kaon.”
He had told Alpha Trion the basics of his journey with Jazz and Ironhide, tactfully leaving out as much as he could about the visit he’d been forced to make to Kaon. There was no way he could have avoided mentioning the trade of the Requiem Blaster for Jhiaxus, but he hadn’t said a word of what he’d had to do to get it.
It hadn’t really been a lie. All he’d said was that Megatron had been in a generous enough mood to give him the Requiem Blaster after hearing him out. And, in a very technical sense of the word, that had been the truth.
Alpha Trion’s brow ridges creased. “You didn’t mention negotiating. Didn’t you tell me that Megatron simply gave it to you after you told him your story?”
Orion froze in place. His optics darted to the wall above the datapads. Frag. “It wasn’t—it wasn’t that much negotiating. I asked, and he—he didn’t…”
He swallowed. “He didn’t believe me, at first.”
“Ah.” Alpha Trion sounded pensive. “What did you say to make him believe you?”
“Well…” Orion carelessly shrugged one shoulder, hoping he seemed indifferent. He turned back toward his mentor, keeping his face perfectly neutral. “I just pleaded. He took pity on me, I guess because I was so pathetic.”
He tried to make those last words sound light, as if to play it off as a joke. But Alpha Trion pressed his lip-plates together in a firm, strained line. “I see. Orion…”
He paused. “Are you sure there isn’t anything else you want to tell me?”
The casing around Orion’s spark felt tight to the point of being torturous. He held back the urge to look down, knowing that would give himself away, and met Alpha Trion’s gaze as clearly as he could. His voice was soft. “I’m sure. Please, don’t worry about me in Kaon.”
“I’m afraid I can’t promise that.” Alpha Trion put a servo on Orion’s shoulder, then smiled gently. “But I know you’ll work hard there. You are the best protégé I’ve had the honor of teaching.”
Warmth unfurled within Orion’s spark, spreading through his core. In that moment, he was seized by a desperate, all-consuming longing to let the truth come out and tell Alpha Trion everything. If there was only one bot he could trust with his confidences, it was him. Orion had never known any other guidance but his. His entire function, his knowledge of right from wrong, everything he’d learned in his formative cycles—all of it had been shaped by Alpha Trion’s kindness, his patience, his words of wisdom. If he just told him what had happened, surely, Alpha Trion would understand. He would know what Orion was supposed to do.
But Alpha Trion’s next words crushed that warmth, putting out the flame as he gave Orion’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I can think of no one better to represent the dignity of Iacon and its populace. You will set a fine example.”
Orion’s mouth grew dry. He thought of his moans as Megatron’s massive spike had expanded inside his valve and pounded him over and over, his pleading to be filled with Megatron’s transfluid. His plating crawled at the memory, his circuits contracting with a helpless shudder of charge.
Dignity. Where had that been, while he’d been writhing and overloading on top of a terrible Kaonian lord?
No. He knew, with a chilling and final certainty, he could never tell the mech he loved and trusted more than anyone else on Cybertron. Alpha Trion would be pained beyond words by the knowledge of the Kaon incident. He would never be able to look his mentor in the eye again.
So, he only nodded. He managed a faint smile of his own, and ignored the guilt that ate at him. Somehow, in some way, he could bear this weight alone. “Thank you, Alpha Trion. I’m glad you think so.”
He’d barely taken more than a step out of the Hall of Records before he received a comm from Jazz, inviting him to Maccadam’s for a farewell drink before he left for Kaon. Orion didn’t bother asking how he already knew that; Jazz, being an active intelligence agent in Sentinel Prime’s service, had numerous ways of finding out everyone’s secrets from the get-go sooner or later. He couldn’t think of any other time he’d been less in the mood for a drink, but he accepted for lack of any other plans.
Maccadam’s was a little less busy than usual, and he found them—Jazz, Ironhide, and Prowl—already sitting at a booth in the corner when he arrived. Ironhide and Jazz both waved him over, while Prowl was too busy tapping at a datapad next to Jazz to notice.
“Hey there, you!” Jazz grinned at Orion, reaching up from his seat to give Orion’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “So, Kaon, huh? At least that won’t be new to ya.”
Orion gave a tight-lipped smile before he slid into the booth, sitting next to Ironhide. “I guess not.”
“It ain’t as horrible as everyone says it is.” Ironhide was gruff as he clapped Orion on the back. “Not like it’s sunshine and rainbows, but that doesn’t make it the Unmaker’s birthplace.”
“I mean, how would you know? You’ve never been there.” Jazz was watching Orion in a way that made him vaguely nervous, as though there was something in Jazz’s visor that let him see right through him. “But Orion has. ‘Cause of the Requiem Blaster thing.”
“Nothing I’ve heard about it makes it sound like the nightmare it’s cracked up to be,” Ironhide retorted. “It’s one of the biggest city-states, right? Lots of bots live there. It can’t be some desolate, hellish wasteland if they’re still managin’ themselves. It’s just…not ideal, that’s all.”
“Kaon ranks as the number one hotspot for illegal gladiator pit fights,” Prowl said absently, not taking his optics off of his datapad.
Jazz’s helm whipped in his direction, clearly annoyed. “Prowler, come on. Say hi.”
“Hello, Orion Pax.” Prowl did glance up then, expressionless and formal. “Good to see you again.”
“Uh, likewise.” Orion still wasn’t exactly used to Prowl’s presence, now that he and Jazz were dating. He’d only joined them once before in the previous week, and he’d said little. But Orion would’ve been able to adjust to having him around, if it weren’t for the fact he would be leaving the very next day.
Thank you so much, Sentinel, he thought sourly.
“Evening!” Orion’s spark shot sky-high at the sound of a light, feminine voice. He looked up to see a familiar pink femme, standing over the table with a stylus and a small datapad in her grip. “What can I get for you folks tonight?”
She spoke the words as per her routine before her eyes found and focused on Orion’s own. Her optic ridges rose slightly, surprised recognition forming on her face, and there was another stab of guilt to Orion’s circuits, completely unrelated to what he’d felt earlier.
He liked Ariel, he really did. He'd enjoyed the stroll they had taken together in the local park. But the shock of seeing Megatron's face in his mind, when he should have been focusing on kissing her, had taken away his will to go on a date again with anyone in general. He couldn’t stand the idea of continually disappointing prospective partners with his inability to focus on them.
“I’ll have a Polyhex passion,” Jazz said to Ariel, breaking Orion out of his thoughts, and he nudged Prowl’s arm. “What do you want, Prowl?”
“Just energon.” Prowl gave his datapad another tap.
“And a Darksyde destroyer for me,” Ironhide added. He gave Orion an expectant glance.
“I’ll take a plain energon, too.” Orion felt too listless for anything else. He ignored Jazz’s disappointed look.
Ariel scribbled it down and nodded, the surprise now gone from her face. “Alright, those will be out soon.”
Once she left, Jazz stared after her. “She’s the one you asked out, right? Two weeks ago?”
“Yep.” Orion drummed his fingers against the table. “It was—fine. But it didn’t work out.”
“Why not?” Ironhide sounded curious. “She seems nice. Cute, too.”
“Well, yes, but…” Orion wondered, briefly, what his friends would think of him if they knew. He shoved that thought aside before it could take root and make him even sicker. “I’m not ready for a relationship. Not right now.”
“Yeah, committing to one bot can be pretty hard,” Jazz agreed. That got him the stink-eye from Prowl, and Jazz gave an apologetic grin and an addendum. “But not always.”
That got Ironhide and Jazz talking, their conversation mostly going over Orion’s head for the next several kliks as he leaned back in the booth and studied the ceiling. His mind slid its way toward Kaon, and he thought about what Megatron could be doing. He must have received the news by now about the Iaconian envoy he was going to receive, and who it was.
Would Megatron be angry? Pleased? Indifferent? He was so inscrutable that he was virtually a cipher to Orion. They had fragged for longer than they had spoken.
“Here are your drinks.” Ariel’s voice was followed by the sound of clinking glasses, and Orion glanced down. Jazz and Ironhide took their drinks from Ariel’s tray, while Prowl accepted his without looking up from his work. Ariel held out the last cup of fuel to Orion, waiting for him to take it.
“Thank you.” As Orion gingerly took the drink, his fingers brushed against Ariel’s. There was no visible change in her expression.
All she did was nod, smiling pleasantly at him like he was any other customer. “Enjoy.”
She turned and left with the tray at her side, and Orion wanted to kick himself. He took a swig from the energon, not tasting any of it.
“I would’ve thought you were gonna order something from Kaon,” Jazz said suddenly, and Orion nearly choked. His vents sputtered, the fuel sliding down his throat, and he hastily set the glass down. Ironhide thumped his back. “Y’know, since you’re going there.”
“I don’t—” Orion coughed at the burn in his throat, swallowing. “I don’t really like the Kaonian stuff.”
“Fair. It does taste a lot like oil sludge.” Jazz sipped at his fuel again before continuing. “What was Megatron like? You didn’t talk much about him.”
Orion’s spark dropped into his tanks. “He was…”
He flicked a finger against the edge of his cup. “He was rude.”
“He’s a ruling lord, of course he’s rude,” Ironhide scoffed. “Not much different from good ol’ Sentinel.”
“I guess.” That didn’t truly sound right, but Orion couldn’t figure out why. Not that he cared enough to dwell on it. “But it’s Sentinel’s order that I go to Kaon. I have to represent Iacon, no matter what.”
“And you’re gonna be great at representin’ Iacon,” Jazz said firmly. He held up his glass. “Ya proved the Prime wrong and saved Alpha Trion, and now you’re goin’ to bigger places. Kaon won’t know what hit it. To Orion!”
“To Orion!” Ironhide agreed, clinking his glass against Jazz’s, and Orion was almost as embarrassed as he was moved. He smiled, and held up his glass too at the same time that Prowl did.
Once they finished their drinks, Orion volunteered to go and pay the tab. Jazz and Ironhide had both protested, but Orion insisted—it was probably going to be the last time in a while that they’d be able to drink together. He headed up with shanix in hand to the counter, spark pulsing much too fast.
Naturally, Ariel was working there. She regarded him with perfect politeness. “Hello, Orion.”
“Hi.” Orion cleared his vocalizer awkwardly. “Ariel. I…”
He tried to find the right words. “I’m sorry. For not calling you back. I just—I wasn’t ready to—”
Ariel looked calm, obviously waiting for him to finish. Orion felt more and more stupid by the klik. “What I mean to say is, um, I enjoyed our date. A lot. And I like you. But I’m not ready to…”
Gently, Ariel finished the sentence for him. “You’re not ready for a relationship?”
“Yes.” It was better—easier, actually—to say that, and leave it at that, than to admit the entire truth. She had nothing to do with the problems that a certain mech had caused him. “I’m not…very good at that kind of thing. I just wanted you to know that.”
Ariel’s expression was hard to read. She looked slightly skeptical, as though she knew there was more to his story without him saying it. But for all Orion knew, that was just his paranoia talking—it was impossible to tell. She smiled softly at him, regardless. “Hey, it’s okay. Really, I get it. It was just one date—it’s not like you promised to be my conjunx.”
Relief immediately swamped his circuits, and he managed a smile of his own in return. “Thank you. If it’s fine with you, I’d like to—”
He reset his vocalizer again. “I’d like to be friends. If that’s alright.”
“Sure.” Ariel sounded a little relieved herself. Her smile took on a sheepish edge. “I’ll admit, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little disappointed. But I’m good with being friends, if that’s what you really need.”
“Yeah.” Orion’s spark was doing terrible flip-flops in his chassis. “I would—I could need that.”
“Great.” Ariel’s optics dropped down to the shanix in his palm. “That’ll be nineteen shanix for the tab. You’re paying for all of them, right?”
“Yes.” Orion sorted out the shanix and handed it to her. As she typed the payment into the screen in front of her, he felt the need to elaborate. “They’re the last drinks I’m getting them for a while. I’m going to Kaon tomorrow.”
Her optic ridges shot up at that, her voice startled. “Kaon? What are you going there for?”
“It’s diplomatic business. For Sentinel Prime.” Orion hoped he didn’t sound bitter. “He ordered me to be the envoy for Iacon.”
“Ah.” Ariel sounded puzzled, but she didn’t press the issue. She probably assumed Orion wasn’t allowed to discuss the details of why Sentinel had chosen him. “You should be careful while you’re there. It could be in danger.”
That was certainly the first Orion had heard of Kaon being endangered, rather than being dangerous. “What do you mean?”
“It might be annexed by Vos.” Ariel’s voice dropped to a tone low enough to be a conspiratorial whisper. She glanced around the bar before she continued. “Or at least, that’s what my sister told me. She used to be a guard for Vos’s crown prince until recently, and she overheard him telling his brothers how much he wanted to conquer Kaon and add it to Vos’s territory. That was almost a month ago.”
“…Oh.” There wasn’t much Orion could say to that. He remembered reading once about the rulers of Vos, but it had been a few lines of text in a datapad he had read and filed away vorns ago. He vaguely recalled the designation of the heir to the throne, but all he remembered was that it had started with a “Star”.
“You didn’t hear it from me. I probably just told you a state secret.” Ariel deposited Orion’s change into his palm, then closed his fingers around it. She smiled warmly at him again. “Here’s your change. And take care.”
“You too.” Orion hastily stuffed the change into his subspace. His processor was racing with the shock of the revelation, almost making him nauseous. As if he didn’t already have enough rationale for not wanting to go to Kaon. “Have a good night.”
All the way on the drive back from Maccadam’s, Orion’s helm was ringing. Jazz had hugged him goodbye before leaving, Ironhide had followed suit, and Prowl had shaken his hand. When Orion found his habsuite, he didn’t have the energy to do more than drag himself to his room and hit the berth.
The next morning, Orion walked into Sentinel Prime’s office with an unavoidable sense of dread crawling around his fuel tanks. Sentinel was staring down at his desk, not even looking up as he entered.
Orion spoke up. “Sir?”
Sentinel lifted his helm, and an inexplicable chill shot through Orion at the coldness in his optics. He couldn’t explain it, but something about their usual icy blue seemed—there was no other word for it—hollow, now. It was as though he were looking at a statue of a Prime, rather than the mech himself.
Sentinel’s voice was low. “Orion. How nice of you to come.”
Confusion permeated Orion’s processor. “Thank you?”
The Prime stood up, pushing back his chair. The loud scrape of the chair’s legs against the floor made something in Orion’s circuits strain, tight and painful. “Do me a favor and close your optics.”
Orion stared in disbelief. What was going on? “Sir—”
“That’s an order.” Sentinel’s voice was now an unmistakable snarl. “Close your optics. Now.”
Befuddled and left with no other choice, Orion complied. His optics closed, his frame tensing up.
He stood there in silence for several prolonged nanokliks, resisting the impulse to peek, as he heard footfalls and another scraping sound. Slowly, gradually, a cold and heavy weight began to settle around his neck cables. Orion felt his lip-plates form into a frown. What…?
There was a loud click, followed by a painful snap at the base of Orion’s neck. His eyes shot open in shock. He looked down—and wished he hadn’t.
A collar lay around his neck. It was plain black metal, attached to a chain looped around Sentinel’s knuckles. Icy horror washed through Orion’s processor as the realization hit him, flooding his frame to the core and down to his numbing circuits.
This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening. His voice was a weak rasp. “No—”
“Come along, Orion.” Sentinel yanked on the chain, and Orion stumbled forward, completely unprepared for the momentum. His servos flew up, grabbing hopelessly at the length, but all it did was tighten the collar’s grip on his throat. He gave a helpless venting sound, and Sentinel regarded him with cold indifference. “You have someone waiting for you.”
“No!” Orion’s voice erupted into a scream. He dug his pedes in against the floor, scrabbling madly for purchase, fingers clawing frantically at the collar locked around his throat. His spark was thundering, his audials roaring. “You—you can’t do this! Sentinel, please—!”
“Silence,” Sentinel hissed, and he yanked the chain so hard that Orion lost his balance. He hit the side of his helm against the floor, and Orion bit back a cry of pain as Sentinel began to drag him along. “Not another word out of you!”
Orion stumbled as he pulled himself back up to his pedes, staggering clumsily along as Sentinel pulled his chain. The collar squeezed down agonizingly around his throat, clenching at the cables, and Sentinel yanked him down the hall and out the front doors.
The moment the doors opened, Sentinel let go of his chain and swung his orange-gold pede against the back of Orion’s knee joint to kick him forward. Orion nearly tripped and fell from the impact, barely catching himself. The end of his chain flew through the air and landed, with a snap, in a waiting hand.
Megatron was standing over him, a sickening smirk on his lips. He looped the chain around his own knuckles and pulled on it, leaving Orion choking as he was dragged forward. His pedes kicked and struggled against the ground, but all that did was send him downwards. He landed on his side, gasping as he shakily pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Black spots were flickering in his vision, his helm screaming with pain.
Overhead, he heard Megatron’s pleased purr. “Thank you for the thoughtful gift, Sentinel.”
“Of course. And the agreements?” Sentinel sounded terse, as if this was just another negotiation, as if he hadn’t just given Orion away like chattel—
“I’ve signed them all, as you requested.” Orion realized that Megatron was holding several files in his free servo, which he handed over to Sentinel. The Prime snatched them out of his grip like a beggar presented with shanix.
Sentinel’s gaze greedily took in the datapads with Megatron’s signature, and he tucked them away in his subspace with a pleased air. “Good. Our business here is done, then.”
The Prime’s optics landed on Orion, distant and disdainful. “He’s all yours.”
“Perfect.” Megatron hungrily drew his glossa over his lips, and Orion’s fuel tanks wanted to purge at the sight.
Insistently, Megatron began yanking again and again on the chain, dragging Orion closer. Orion thrashed and struggled with all his desperate might, heaving himself back up to his pedes, his intake opening on a howl aimed at the Prime’s back as he walked away. “Sentinel—Sentinel, PLEASE! You know this isn’t right!”
“It’s right for Iacon, isn’t it?” Sentinel sneered at him over his shoulder, and Orion froze. “It was a small price to pay. You’ll get used to it.”
“No—!” Orion choked as the collar gave his throat another tank-churning squeeze, and that was all it took for Megatron’s final yank on his chain. Orion collapsed, and Megatron hauled him to his pedes, arms wrapping around him.
Orion gave a strangled sound, pushing ineffectually at Megatron’s chassis. Megatron’s glossa was at his audial, sloppily licking along the length of his antenna. His voice was a monstrous rumble. “You’re mine now, Orion Pax. Don’t even bother fighting back.”
“I am not!” Orion kicked out, swinging his pedes to stomp on Megatron’s, but he might as well have been hitting a wall more solid than Cybertron’s surface. “I don’t want you! Let go of me—”
“I’m sure your valve says otherwise…” Megatron broke into a low, awful laugh, and his fingers found the panel between Orion's legs, rubbing it adamantly. Orion jerked and shuddered, groaning with horror as Megatron continued in a softer, silkier tone. “Just give yourself to me, and I'll give you everything.”
“Never!” Orion gasped, and Megatron's optics narrowed into a hateful glare.
Megatron opened his mouth, and out came Sentinel's voice. “Orion? Orion? Orion Pax!”
Orion blinked wildly in bafflement. “What—”
“ORION!”
His optics shot open, his entire frame jolted violently, and Orion woke up on his berth with an unholy aching in his helm. He gave several slow, steady blinks as the world came back into focus, his optics landing on the ceiling above.
There was noise in his audials. His commlink was active.
“Orion Pax, I have been trying to reach you for the past five kliks.” Sentinel Prime’s voice was a dangerously low snarl of rage, seeping right into his processor and kicking it unwillingly online. “Now that you are done recharging, I want you to be out of your apartment in ten kliks or less. My guards will be taking you to Kaon.”
“Y-yes…” Orion couldn’t manage more than a weak rasp. His head was practically spinning. Slowly, he pushed himself up by the elbows into a sitting position and cleared his vocalizer. His fingers reached up to rub instinctively around his neck cables. “Um, can it be a little more than—than ten kliks? I—”
“No. Be ready in ten kliks. That is an order.” Sentinel ended the comm.
Orion, still reeling and feeling half-dead, squinted out the window next to his berth. The sky was a faint pink, with light barely visible on the horizon. It was far too early to be awake.
He slumped back down onto the berth, groaning. What a nightmare he'd had. To be given away to Megatron, as though he were something to be bartered off and traded…
Knowing that Sentinel would have his head on a platter if he didn't hurry, Orion forced himself out of the berth and into his kitchenette. He poured himself a cube of fuel and gulped it down, barely registering the bland and expired taste.
Outside his habsuite building, a convoy of Sentinel’s guards awaited him. They were still transformed, their alt modes rumbling, and Sentinel was at the front. At the back, Orion glimpsed Ironhide’s red plating.
Orion transformed hastily, rushing to join them. He drove closely behind Sentinel, determinedly not thinking about anything but the metal beneath his tires.
By the time they reached Kaon, it was almost evening. Orion’s cables stung with exhaustion from the drive, and he returned to his root mode with a quiet, prolonged sigh. Next to him, Sentinel quickly did the same and strode briskly towards the entrance of the citadel. Orion followed, his pedes moving as slowly and reluctantly as he could.
The citadel itself appeared around the same size as the Senate building in Iacon, possibly even bigger. Shining silver turrets and serrated pillars supported the place, with a stairway that led up to the front doors. Sentinel managed to place his pede on only one step before the doors swung open.
Megatron stood at the top of the stairs, arms behind his back and his expression stoic. Next to him was the unnervingly motionless Soundwave.
Orion ignored the contractions his spark was making. He stood very still, waiting as Megatron’s gaze slid over him. There was no shift in Megatron’s features, no indication he was looking at anyone but a stranger.
Which, in a way, Orion was. He still knew nothing about Megatron outside of what he’d learned when they’d first met.
“Lord Megatron.” Sentinel Prime’s voice was cool. “I trust that you will treat my envoy with the respect he deserves, as a representative of the prosperous city of Iacon.”
“Of course.” Megatron’s words were quiet, his optics never leaving Orion’s face. Orion wondered what he was thinking.
Sentinel’s tone gained an irked edge; he was clearly not pleased that Megatron wasn’t looking at him. “You will swear that he will not be brought to harm under your roof during his tenure.”
“I swear he will not be brought to harm under my roof during his tenure,” answered Megatron. He sounded a little bored, as if reciting words from memory. “He will be treated as an honored guest.”
Sentinel’s optics narrowed, then landed on Orion. “I will return in one month to check on your progress in negotiating with Megatron. Understood?”
“Understood.” Orion had never itched more for the chance to make a break for it than he did at that moment.
Sentinel looked back at Megatron, and kept his voice curt. “That will be all. Farewell, and good luck.”
The Prime turned away, marching back to the convoy, and Orion helplessly watched him go. He saw a red arm stick out from the back as Ironhide quickly waved a goodbye to him.
Orion lifted his servo to wave back, very weakly. Then he turned his back just as quickly, knowing it would be too agonizing to watch them leave.
There was a rumbling sound as the group departed to return to Iacon, leaving dust in their wake. Orion stood stiffly with his hands behind his back and fixed his optics on some particularly jagged spot on one of the citadel’s towers, not daring to look Megatron’s way.
An eternity seemed to pass before Megatron spoke again. “It’s strange, isn’t it?”
Orion was too startled to keep looking away. Megatron seemed a touch amused, his lips slightly curved. “I certainly didn’t have any reason to expect to see you again. Especially not like this.”
What was Orion supposed to say to that? He wondered if he should try to smile, but immediately dismissed that impulse. Megatron would instantly see through it. Instead, he kept his tone as calm and measured as he could. “Neither did I.”
He paused, then awkwardly added, “…Lord Megatron.”
Megatron tilted his head slightly. “Come along, then, Pax. I’ve got your room prepared for you.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and headed back through the front doors. Soundwave followed, and Orion had no choice but to walk up the steps and go in after them.
His spark lurched at the sound of the citadel doors swinging shut behind him.
The front hall was exactly as Orion remembered—large, bleak, and all plain grays and blacks, more like a prison than a ruler’s fortress. Banners of purple wirecloth hung everywhere, but that was the extent as far as decoration went. Their footfalls echoed as the three of them walked, with Orion lagging behind Megatron and Soundwave.
They turned three corners and went up a winding flight of stairs, then down another hall, before they finally stopped at a door. Soundwave pulled it open and waited, and Orion slowly entered, his spark hammering hard enough to hurt.
His room was enormous—probably twice the size of his entire apartment in Iacon. A long pewter berth took up the center of the room, and a sleek carpet of deep red steelcloth covered most of the floor. An alcove with a window was set into the opposite wall, with a fuel pump and several long shelves of neatly packed datapads close by. Each corner was set with a potted cropping of blossoming sapphires, the gemstones glowing faintly to shimmer against the walls.
Orion couldn’t help but gawk as he took in the sight. He hadn’t known what to expect, but he hadn’t expected something so… nice. And decorated with crystals right out of an Iaconian garden, at that. He had to save up an entire paycheck just to buy one of those plants, but here were four of them.
“These are the guest quarters,” Megatron intoned behind him, and Orion looked back over his shoulder, not bothering to try to hide his surprise. Megatron looked oddly pleased with himself. “They’re to your liking, I take it?”
“Ah…yes.” Orion wasn’t sure what else to say. “Thank you.”
A moment of silence passed. Finally, Megatron said, “We’ll begin our negotiations tomorrow.”
Orion blinked in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“We can save the political nonsense for tomorrow,” Megatron repeated. He waved vaguely around at the room. “Go on, enjoy it. Read the datapads. I’ll see you in the morning.”
He jerked his thumb toward Soundwave. “If you need anything, call for Soundwave.”
Orion only nodded, knowing he would never call on a servant to do anything for him. “Of course.”
Megatron’s face seemed impassive as ever, and it was driving Orion up the wall at this point. What was he thinking? Were they ever going to address how their first meeting had gone, or was Megatron now silently agreeing with him in his desire to put it behind him and pretend it never happened?
He didn’t know how he would feel if it was the latter. A week ago, he would have felt pure relief at the idea of Megatron moving on from the incident and never seeing him again. Now, while he was forced to live in Megatron’s home for Primus knew how long, he wasn’t so sure.
Without another word, Megatron turned away and left the room. Soundwave was close on his heels, leaving Orion alone.
Once the door had closed behind Soundwave, Orion was able to take a slow, shaking vent. That had gone better than he’d had any reason to expect. He hadn’t messed anything up, and Megatron hadn’t done anything to him.
He could only hope the rest of his stay would go just as smoothly, because he couldn’t wait to leave. Lovely as his guest room was, it still didn’t change the fact he was trapped with the last mech he ever wanted to see or speak to again.
Orion wandered over to the shelves, fingertip skimming over the edges of the datapads there. A small one tucked away at the very end caught his optic; it looked shabbier and more discolored than the rest, as though it were the oldest and most used.
Interest piqued, he pulled it out. One corner of the datapad was cracked, and he handled it carefully as he sat down on the floor, propping his back against the berth.
His eyes roamed over the file, taking in the text. It was a poem. Though the datapad was worn out, the words that the glyphs inscribed stood out in sharp relief. He started to read.
Stand there calm and resolute,
Like a convoy close and mute,
With folded arms and looks which are
Weapons of unvanquished war.
And if then the tyrants dare,
Let them drive among you there;
Shoot, and crush, and slice and tear;
What they like, that let them dare.
With cold optics and joints locked,
And little fear, and without shock,
Look upon them as they kill,
Till their weapons have gone still:
Then they will return with shame,
To the place from which they came,
And energon shed will then speak
In dark blushes on their cheek.
Every mecha on the road
Will point at them as they go
They will hardly dare to greet
Their amica on the street.
And these words shall sing true
Like the Primes’ unending doom
Ringing through each spark and mind
Heard on and on for all time
Rise, like Titans after slumber
In unvanquishable number!
Shake your chains to ore like dew
Which in recharge fell on you:
You are many—they are few!
Faintly, Orion heard his spark pulsing. His optics were wide, his mind drinking in the words as greedily as a turbofox did from a wild stream. His fingers were trembling slightly as he tightly gripped the datapad.
How had he never seen this before? This kind of poem was nothing like what he’d read in the Hall of Records—the words of the state-sanctioned poets he’d read before for his studies had always seemed pretty, but empty and repetitive, and they were all the more lifeless in comparison to this writing.
He’d never read anything like it. The captivating words rang down to his core, touching a deep and hidden part of his spark that whispered with delight to finally be seen.
Orion ran a finger down the very bottom of the datapad, searching for the author’s name. But unlike every other poem he had read, there was no designation etched below the text.
There was only a set of numbers, so small that he could barely make them out: 071-980.