War and Wings: Chapter 15--Prelude to Orsis Part 1

Moving quickly, not wanting to make Prowl and Optimus wait any longer, Ratchet and Io left the daunting visage of the Grand Oratory behind them, crossing the Promenade and slipping between a series of closely nested buildings toward a combination of roadway and pedestrian ramp, one of the more direct routes between the Grand Oratory and the Hall of Records.

Their trodfalls echoed as they attempted to make time, the tinny taps of Io's heel-turbines submerged into the boom-flaps of Ratchet's metal-and-rubber support struts, legs stretched out in front of them, their pace a little short of a sprint.

Ratchet considered Io out of the corner of his optic.  She wasn't looking up at him, though the old medic was quick to notice that her lips were set into an exuberant smile.

He allowed his own features the freedom to replicate the expression.

As far as he was concerned, life couldn't get any better than this.  Having Io name him as her partner, running beside her down the streets of his home--as opposed to running for their lives and dodging mortar shells in an active battlefield--was wonderful, simply wonderful.  Especially, because he could finally allow himself to feel contentment in the here and now and not feel guilty from the experience. He hadn't felt this way in ages. In fact, he couldn't recall ever having felt so happy--not in the whole of his two million stellar cycles of existence--and the raw ebullience bubbling away in his spark made him want to sing, as if it were an sensation best emoted lest his spark explode from joy.

Of course, before he could actually sing, or anything else so embarrassing--all he knew were odes to the glories of the caste system and some ribald drinking songs that Servo had taught him, similarly inappropriate here--Io intruded on his thoughts.

"Just curious," she said flashing him with a coy optic.  "We're trying to make time so that Prowl doesn't blow a gasket, right?"

Ratchet nodded.  "That's the idea."

"Wouldn't transforming would get us there sooner?"

Ratchet tilted his head in her direction and looked at her down his nose-plate.  "Call me 'old-fashioned', but that would sort of negate the whole 'getting there at the same time' deal."

Io's lips drew into her trademark smirk.  "I never said I was going to transform."

Ratchet slowed to a walk and turned so he could fix her with the full intensity of his stare.  "Are you suggesting...?" He began, but her intensifying expression, coupled with a sudden feeling of determined mischief in his spark, answered his question.  Chuckling lightly, the old medic shook his head and began to assume his altmode.
 
The transformation only took a few moments, but even amidst his rapidly rearranging armor, he could still see her watching him bemusedly.  

His optics darkened as his head tucked away amidst the rest of his compacted protoform, though his sight was restored moments later in the form of a secondary sensory array built into his headlights and mirrors.

"Unless you're going to cling to my roof for the entire trip," He said after a moment. "I'm not sure this is going to work."

Io patted his hood affectionately.  "If I'm not mistaken, your vehicle-mode is a standard GHL-47A.  Your rear canopy should retract."

"I..." His voice cut off suddenly as he processed her statement.  Upon transformation, his elaborate back-plate became the cargo bay of his vehicle-mode.  Originally, it had served him by housing all of the tools and parts essential to his caste-assigned profession; now the structure was largely empty save for a few select tools that had use in both the medical and engineering fields.  Yet despite having been a medical repair tech for millions of stellar cycles, using his back-plate like a toolbox as he made his rounds, he never once opened it in vehicle mode.

In fact, he had never given it a thought.

But he knew she was right... even if he honestly couldn't remember the control pathway necessary for the transformation.  

This won't do...He mused to himself even as he ran a quick structural diagnostic.  After a few moments of searching the schematics, he found the pathway that he needed, and sure enough, with just the right amount of concentration directed toward the proper plates, he was able to withdraw the panels covering the top of his cargo bay, tucking them neatly into narrow recesses above his wheel-wells.

It was a decidedly odd sensation, having the interior of the compartment exposed.  It wasn't inappropriate by any means...just strange.  

"You do realize how ridiculous this is going to look." He said after a moment, still trying to shrug off a lingering feeling of vulnerability. "Granted, not realizing I have that kind of functionality in my own body..."

Io smiled in response as she considered it, but then her expression darkened and her intakes vented a mechanical sigh as if his comment had conjured up an unpleasant thought. Lowering her head to hide her expression, she ran her hands lightly along his rails, evoking a sensation that proved strangely comforting for both parties.  "Other than you, I could care less what others think about me."

Had Ratchet been able, he would have cocked his head to the side, questioningly--a nuance that he and almost everyone else at the clinic, seemingly, had picked up from Io--at her unexpected change in tenor.  Her statement was a compliment, that much was certain--to say nothing about the emotion supplied by her claws--but the melancholy tone to her voice and the pall to the brilliance of her spark gave him a sudden sense of buried hurt.

Hurt he couldn't help but feel she could attribute to both sides.

As realization dawned on him, he suddenly wished that there was some sort of physical comfort he could offer. Linked as their emotions now were, he surmised that if he were feeling this downhearted, that, being only a shadow of her true feelings, she must be warring mightily against a pronounced sense of dejection.

Which provoked in him a desire to do anything to reinstate a smile to her face-plate.
As if in answer...an idea flitted through his processor.  Starting his engine and disengaging his brakes, he allowed the gentle incline of the road to pull him forward a
mechanometer or so, while at the same time activating the hazard lights built into his roof.  

Through his mirrors he watched her expression change from self-pity to one of curious bewilderment.  Even her optics flared questioningly.  

"Well?  Aren't you going to join me?" He asked, flashing his lights again for good measure.  
In his opinion, there was nothing more exhilarating--and therefore uplifting--than feeling the road beneath one's tires.  And with the way energon was being rationed for the war--it was rare for 'Bots to waste their extra rations joyriding, when intoxication offered a faster and more gratifying high--driving anywhere, for any reason, was a real treat.  

And though their drive was not a true joyride--Prowl was at the other end, after all--it might uplift Io's spirits just the same, especially since she had never done it before.

He could hope at least.

Io cocked her head and smirked through the gloom.  "If you insist."  Pushing her legs into a light jog, she closed the distance between them, and then--with a beauty and grace that only a 'Bot of her size and build could pull off--jumped up into his cargo bay.

Io was light--quite light compared to the old medic--and her weight did nothing to encumber him, but the sensation of her standing in a place normally reserved for tools, a place he didn't, to this very solar cycle, even knew he could open in vehicle mode was...odd.

But Io interrupted this musing with an excitement that put his spark at peace.

The moment she settled herself against interior of his tool compartment, leaning across the left side of his roof to maximize her view of the road, her face underwent a complete transformation, all traces of melancholia gone in a suddenly breathless expression.
"I've always wanted to do this." She said and slapped his roof as if willing him to take off in a moment.

It occurred without warning, and Ratchet disengaged his brakes a second time, but without thinking, and began to accelerate down the road. "Really?" He wondered, trying to reign in his spinning faculties.  

"Haven't you ever wanted to fly?"  She replied with another slap.

Checking his mirrors, the old medic  focused on merging into traffic.  Granted, there was hardly anyone out this time of day, so such caution really wasn't necessary, but he had always been obsessive about transportation rules.  And with the repeated slaps coming at intervals just sporadic enough to be unexpected, he could easily see himself colliding with something.

"Not really," he admitted after he was fully within the roadway portion of the bridge, a long straight stretch with nothing around but door-high, metallic guide rails.  "I suppose I've been a truck for so long that I can't really imagine what it would be like to be anything else."  Then, he chuckled, finally able to accommodate the situation and truly share in Io's delight.  "Also, could you imagine what I'd look like as a...?"  He would have said more, but a sudden squeak from Io made him hit his brakes.

"What?  What is it?" He wondered, alarmed, his mirrors twisting up and back so that he could check on her.

But, surprisingly, despite her optics being as wide as they could go, a huge grin split her face-plate from audio-receptor to audio-receptor, and her spark resonated with delight.

Slap! She struck him hard.

"Will you cut that out!" He chuckled with mock annoyance. "Just because you had to show me how to open the compartment doesn't mean it is completely without sensation!"

"Then go faster!" She exclaimed happily.  "This is great!  Terrifying, but great!"
 
"There is a limit, you do realize." He replied with a chuckle, putting himself back into drive and increasing his speed a few TPGs.

Keeping one of his mirrors trained on her, he watched her expression gradually broaden.  "Is the limit based on your model?" She wondered.

"No," Ratchet replied, enjoying her enthusiasm.  "The limit is dependent on the size of the roadway and time of day.  During business hours, when pedestrians are more likely to be using the walkway, the speed limit is 30 TPG."

"And...during off hours?"

"A bit faster..." Ratchet replied, coyly.

Io leaned forward and looked directly into one of his upturned mirrors.  "Then the two of us will have to take an off-hour drive at some point."

Ratchet's spark fluttered at the almost provocative tone to her comment.  Then, following a series of imagined images of the two of them driving together down Iacon Drive --wouldn't Prowl just love that, he couldn't help but think to himself--a second--admittedly more intriguing--option began to scrabble for attention.  At first, he dismissed it as potentially inappropriate, given the fact that they had only just become partners, but the more he considered it, the more appealing it became.

Eventually, his curiosity got the better of him.  "H-have you ever considered...becoming a car?" He managed after several failed starts.  He was careful to keep his tone low and submissive, lest he accidentally insult her.  Despite this, his processor was aflutter with dozens of possible vehicle designs that would be compatible with her tiny frame.

Needless to say all of the possibilities were...lovely.

The look of intrigue on her face-plate afterwards made his spark leap.  "So, you think I'd look good as a car, huh?"  She mused after a moment.  Then, cocking a sly brow-ridge, she smirked.  "And here I thought you had a wing fetish."

Ratchet's engine sputtered at the comment, causing the former Deception to laugh.  He had no idea how to respond, and the next several cycles saw the two medibots lapse into an impromptu silence, though Io still smirked down at her partner, arms crossed with a look of smug satisfaction.  

"Well?" She asked after a time.  

The sound of Io's sultry voice forced him to refocus.  "It's not that I don't think you're..." He attempted, insecurity and embarrassment adding a high-pitched twinge to his normally reserved mannerisms.  "Your design is..." Again, his voice cut out.  

Thinking that his partner had an attractive frame was one thing, admitting it aloud was something else entirely.  
 
Io seemed to understand this, and she laughed.  It wasn't a malicious or mocking, not in the slightest.  If anything it was...compassionate.  " You know..." She leaned over his hood a second time, studying his curiously upturned mirror with a knowing optic  "You don't have to feel ashamed for thinking about me in such a way."  Her smirk softened, and she trailed her claws lightly across his mesh.  "You're my partner, after all."

Ratchet rotated his mirrors quickly, breaking Io's line of sight.  Being the introvert that he was--that he always had been, it seemed--telling her that she was beautiful was quite possibly the hardest thing that he had ever done in his life.      

And the fact that his processor wouldn't stop thinking about different body designs didn't help matters, any.

Eventually, her gentle coaxing calmed him enough that he was able to produce nearly a complete sentence, if broken.  

"I think y-you'd look beautiful as a car."  Then, cursing to himself, he added hastily.  "Not that I don't already think th-that...y-you are..erm...I..."  His voice box seized up and he lapsed into yet another, flustered silence.  

The femme giggled.  "I know what you mean, silly."

A sudden wave of encouragement, no doubt originating in his partner's spark renewed his courage.  "Driving free on your own wheels...it's probably one of the best feelings in the world."

"I might say the same about flying..." She said, still smirking.  "Though I hardly fly anymore..." A slight frown tugged at the corners of her lips.  "My altmode makes people twitchy."  

Had he been capable, Ratchet would have lowered his head, ashamed with himself for even thinking that he could compare driving to the ultimate freedom that one must experience while soaring above the clouds.  "I-I'm sorry," he said.

Immediately Io's expression brightened.  "What have I told you about beating yourself up about stuff like that?"  She shook her head.  "If I was displeased, you would know..."  She considered him, again, optics glowing pleasantly.  Just as she opened her mouth to continue, the road dipped beneath a bridge, glowing with various pro-Autobot advertisements.  Within astroseconds they had passed the structure but were now confined to a nerve-wrackingly narrow stretch of highway that tunneled through the heart of a large building that looked as if it had been constructed from a series of large plates, stacked at a 45 degree angle and welded together along their dorsal surfaces.  

Io's optics widened and a huge smile split her face-plate as a stronger headwind began to buffet them. "This is nice." She said softly.  "Almost like flying at t'sero level."  
 
Having been a truck all of his life, Ratchet didn't understand her analogy, but he could definitely agree that the sensation of the wind as it whistled through his armor was quite pleasant. To imagine it without tires on the road...

Io's wings dipped slightly in disappointment when at last they cleared the tunnel, but the happiness bubbling away in his spark coupled with her serene smile gave Ratchet the resolve to ask.  "What do you think about driving?"  

"It's wonderful." She replied.  Fixing him with a jubilant stare, she continued.  "And if it's something we can do together..."  Looking even more excited, she leaned forward.  "If I can earn the right to be reconfigured...you'll teach me how to drive?"

"Of course." He replied, spark fluttering at the thought.

Her optics brightened, and she giggled pleasantly. "And in return...I'll teach you what I know about energon."

Ratchet braked suddenly in surprise causing Io to jerk forward against his hood.  "You...y-you'll..."

Regaining her footing, the femme straightened her posture and smirked.  "You're my partner," She said softly.  "What's up here..." She tapped her helm with the tip of her index claw.  "Is just as much yours as it is mine."

To say that he was surprised would have been an understatement.  He had always assumed that Io would keep her extensive knowledge of medical energon to herself.  Despite her chosen allegiance, Ratchet knew that she still harbored feelings of mistrust in regards to the Autobots.  Her knowledge was a fail-safe, a way that she could stay one step ahead of those who had wronged her in the past.
 
For her to openly offer such a thing to him, an Autobot...it spoke volumes about just how far their relationship had evolved.  

He disengaged his brakes and started again down the road, mind aflutter with the implications of their growing partnership and general excitement about the knowledge she would share--of the work they could do together. Yes, his life was becoming definitely different than he had ever believed it could be. Always a loner, all of the skills he had gained through vorns of research were lodged firmly in his processor, a lifetime of knowledge he had acquired on his own, information and insight that was uniquely his. And now, he had someone to share it with... and more amazingly, someone who had initiated the exchange, someone to whom his contribution was reciprocal. It was nearly impossible to wrap his processor around, and he had to avoid trying lest he manage to hit those straight guide rails...

"I.." He started to say, but just then, the buildings next to the road appeared to draw back, set as they were at different levels below the roadway, giving a semblance of space though the road itself didn't change width or orientation.  Further on, a single building dominated the landscape.  Tall, wide and cylindrical--with a metallic finish so well-polished that it bathed the entire area in hues of gold and copper--the Hall of Records truly was one of the most beautiful buildings in Iacon.  A fitting structure to enclose the collective wisdom of their entire culture.

"Ooo!" He heard Io coo above him.  "I've only ever seen it from the air; it's much more lovely at ground level."

Ratchet smiled internally.  "Wait until you see the inside."

Io grinned and her wings fluttered at the prospect.

But the expression was short-lived.  In front of the Hall of Records stood a lone, authoritative figure exuding such sanctimony that quicker than Ratchet could even make the mental connection necessary for identification--and there was no question it was easy, even from this distance--Io had already growled "Prowl" in a voice dripping with open disgust. Only a 'Bot with Prowl's behavioral quirks could project arrogance, disdain, and self-righteousness from a distance of five toranometers. His head was cocked in a position that broadcasted calculation and his shoulder-caps were set in vain conceit; even his door-wings bespoke of some hidden bemusement.  And he wore this so openly that Ratchet could digest all of this in a glance... while driving... and carrying a passenger in a compartment he just "discovered" for the first time in two million stellar cycles.

It also helped that Ratchet and Prowl shared basically the same body design minus a modern exterior and a "snazzy" black-and-white paint job.

And that they both harbored general dislike for each other.

Checking Io in his mirrors, Ratchet was surprised to see the same expression on her face that he had seen when she had confronted Foray. Which, of course, filled him with an overwhelming sense of foreboding even as he took the off-ramp.

"So, I take it that you two have a history?" Ratchet questioned softly as they descended onto the service road that paralleled the main thoroughfare.

"Let's just say he didn't make it easy on me following my defection."  She replied in a cold monotone.

Despite a sudden seething anger that filled his spark at the thought of Io being interrogated by Prowl--an emotion powerful enough that his partner must have felt it, given the look of stunned surprise that she flashed down at him--the old medic had long ago forced himself to accept Prowl's rather uncouth methods regarding intelligence and military strategy.

Prowl was the epitome of pragmatism, solving problems with a cold, calculating logic that--in Ratchet's optics--walked the wire between what was acceptable and what was deplorable.

He made hard choices...the sort of choices that saved lives and maximized use of their ever dwindling supplies of energon.

But the cost...

As Ratchet applied his brakes and came to a gentle stop alongside a pedestrian walkway, he couldn't help but think that there was no point in carrying on the war if it meant that the Autobots won by compromising the morals that they swore to uphold.

Io clearly picked up on this dichotomy because he felt a reverberation in his spark, a willingness to at least reconsider someone with whom she had had previous, negative dealings. This of course did not stop her from projecting her self-authority as she leapt from his cargo bay to stand next to him, wings rotating forward and up in a way that made her look as large and intimidating as she could manage with her small frame.

Bringing to mind the foreboding again.

This empathy is going to take some getting used to, he thought suddenly.

Io must have thought the same thing because she involuntarily raised a brow-ridge at him. Turning to Prowl however, her face quickly became a blank mask, and she reignited the fire of her dislike, seemingly drawing upon Ratchet's former anger...

Oh yes, this can easily become a tangled mess.

Prowl observed their approach with what appeared to be a look of surprise, given the raised brow-ridge and slightly parted mouth.  Granted, the former police officer was notoriously difficult to read, but he seemed genuinely confounded by their behavior.

Cybertronians really didn't make a habit of riding around on top of one another, after all.

Eventually, he dismissed the otherworldliness of the situation with a shrug of his large, armored shoulder-caps--"sparklings", he would say with mild distaste, had they not been within audio distance--and made to approach; his door-wings fluttered languidly behind him.

Everything about the pragmatist's behavior screamed "lecture," no doubt berating them for their tardiness, or more likely for the drunken brawl that Ratchet had instigated at Maccadam's.  

Unable to roll his optics, Ratchet revved his engines in a light sigh, and called to mind the command that would allow him to resume his bi-pedal form.
 
But before he could execute the command, Prowl pivoted lightly on his wheel-struts, changing his trajectory so that he made a b-line straight for Io.

It was an unexpected action, so much so that the old medic reacted instinctively, abandoning his vehicle-mode in a flurry of rearranging metal plating and pistons and placing himself between Prowl and his partner.  His shoulder caps and bracers flared, and he barred his dental plates in an almost uncharacteristic show of aggression.

Prowl paused and fixed the older mech with a look that was as questioning as it was calculating, though Ratchet was quick to notice a slight smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips.  It was as disarming as it was alarming--even more so because the change from aggression to calm introspection was instantaneous. Yet despite the sudden twisting in his chest as he pondered the meaning behind Prowl's expression, an even more potent feeling of admiration and assurance calmed him, and he couldn't help but smile as he felt Io's claws thread their way, carefully, through his fingers.

*You're a sweetspark.* She said, privately, and gave his hand a light squeeze.

Prowl watched the interchange and his smirk deepened briefly before vanishing behind something that might have been his approximation of a friendly smile.  "Look, Ratchet.  I understand that the two of us don't always see optic to optic...but you could have just explained what was keeping you." Turning his head, he focused on Io. "Finding any sort of happiness in the middle of this conflict is a victory, however small."  With an almost congenial shrug of his shoulder-caps, he gestured toward the entrance to the Hall of Records.  "Come." He said, softly.  "Optimus is waiting."  

As he turned away, the friendly mask vanished in a flash...giving way to the same mysterious smirk, causing Ratchet's frown to deepen.

*What is he playing at?* Io said, her tone echoing his thoughts.

*I don't know...* The old medic admitted with a shake of his head, even as the two of them fell into step behind Prowl.  

Ahead of them, the main entrance to the Hall loomed, two massive et'chtarian doors that--like the blast doors leading into the Clinic's Bay--were exquisitely decorated with cameos and lasered quotations from some of Cybertron's most decorated writers, scientists and philosophers.  

"Io..." Prowl began, slowing to a stop--ironically enough, in front of a bust of the logic-obsessed, late scientist, Perceptor.  Turning, he fixed the former Decepticon with an intense, yellow stare.  "You are being afforded a great honor, being allowed an audience with Optimus Prime."  His brow-ridges narrowed.  "Megatron has sent many, seemingly genuine, turncoats into our midst, assassins and spies geared at shutting down our resistance."

Io's posture stiffened and her optics flared with emotion, but she remained silent.

Prowl seemed to study her reaction for a moment before continuing.  "That said, if you so much as move a servo without being told to do so, I will not hesitate to put you down permanently.  Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

The black-and-white mech smirked.  "Good." As if on cue, the door opened behind him.  He allowed his yellow stare to drift from Io to Ratchet.  For a moment their optics locked, and though Prowl said nothing, it was clear from his expression that Ratchet's partnership with Io would not be a deterring factor should she break protocol.

As much as the old medic understood and agreed with Prowl's reasoning--without Optimus' leadership, Megatron would have decimated Iacon vorns ago--Ratchet had to suppress a sudden desire to punch the smug strategist for even suggesting that his partner might have impure motives.  Io was Io.  Sure, she was a bit rough around the edges--not at all the sort of 'Bot that Prowl would think highly of--but a spy?  No.  His waveform resonated with her regret, rose and fell to the tune of the anguish that still plagued her thoughts every time she thought of returning to a home or family that no longer existed.  

She might revile the Autobots for their hypocrisy...but in the end, it all came down to which faction she hated more.  
 
As these thoughts flitted though his processor, the old medic felt himself calm.  It was difficult, that much was certain.  His relationship with Io had tapped into a reservoir of youthful energy--or perhaps recklessness was the optimal word, considering the difficulty he had in restraining his temper--but he was wise enough to realize that attacking Prowl was the last thing that he should do...especially if he was serious about his newfound commitment.

Which he was.

*Thank you* Io said softly in the back of his mind, her fingers tightening around his.
 
Suppressing a smile--he didn't want to unintentionally provoke Prowl--Ratchet lowered his optics and retreated a half-step, a non-verbal acknowledgement of Prowl's authority and his willingness to obey the rules that he had set in place.
 
Prowl accepted this with a nod and marched quickly through the open doors, motioning for them to follow.

Suppressing yet another wave of dread--a feeling that Io seemed to reciprocate, especially as the mysterious smirk made yet another appearance--they fell into step behind him, their trods echoing loudly along the narrow corridor.

The entrance hall was squat and simple.  Smaller hallways branched off here and there, though there seemed to be little symmetry or reason to the manner of their divergence.  
"The hallways are for the clerks," Ratchet explained aloud to Io, sensing her unspoken question.  Granted, he could have used her private frequency, but knowing that her life was on the line for the duration of their visit, he felt it prudent to include Prowl in their conversation.  A dearth of conversation would have immediately suggested silent chatter, a suggestion of collusion that Ratchet knew neither of them needed. "Each one connects with one or more monitoring stations tied into the Global Datanet."

Io's optics brightened and she opened her mouth to speak, but was immediately silenced by a curt "ahem" from Prowl, who was now glaring at her over his shoulder.  

Though her face remained passive, Ratchet felt his spark churn with her indignation.
Unconsciously his free hand clenched.

"Permission to converse with Ratchet, Sir?" Io asked, respectfully, after she had calmed herself.

The ex-police officer considered her request for a full, four astroseconds before turning his unnerving, yellow stare back to the hall.  "Granted." He said finally.

*He's enjoying this...* Io growled.

*Most likely.* Ratchet replied, while at the same time, continuing his earlier thread aloud...if only to make it seem as though there had been no disrespectful talk in private.  "What was it you were going to say?"

"I was going to ask why the clerks bother continuing their work during the war?"

"The war is a part of our history as much as it is a part of our present.  Even if Iacon is destroyed...the hope is that some part of our culture will survive.  Even if it only serves as a warning to future generations."

Io nodded.   "I suppose that makes sense, though I can't help but think it an exercise in futility. Somehow I don't see the Decepticons caring much about recorded history or..." she gesticulated futilely with her unencumbered hand. "...cultural concerns."

"Perhaps it is," Ratchet admitted with a tired nod.  "Something tells me that no matter how much of a resistance we put up, it's still going to end badly for us..."

"'Only those who desire failure admit defeat.'"  Prowl interrupted, softly.

Ratchet recognized the quote from the Covenant of Primus.  As a 'Bot of the law, Prowl had probably committed the entire document to memory.    

Io's optics narrowed.  *He's bating you...* she marveled  *He's actually trying to make you say something incriminating.  Ooooo, he makes me so angry.*  
 
*He does this to all former discontents.* Ratchet replied, stifling a sigh.  *It bothers him that a caste shirker, like me, was never brought to justice despite openly flouting law for so long.* Then, smirking, he continued.  *But two can play this game...*   Adjusting his voice-box to an appropriately neutral tone, the old medic responded to Prowls comment with a second quote from the Covenant. "'Only in admitting one's predicament, can one recognize the means to avert it,'"

Prowl's doorwings twitched, irritably, and his pace slackened, but before he could round on the medic with a witty retort, the three of them emerged into the Hall of Records' main gallery and all possibility of rebuttal withered to dust at the magnificent vista that awaited them.

The gallery was beautiful and vast, even by Cybertronian standards.  Spanning fifty toranometers by double that distance tall, the space could have easily housed an entire fleet of heavy artillery with enough room left over for three separate games of cyber-ball.  The size of the room, however, was only part of the wonder.  Each steel tile comprising the gallery floor--in addition to housing a data cylinder--had been polished so impeccably that it reflected nearly all incoming light, mirroring the tall windows and the downtown skyline so perfectly that it was hard to tell which was real and which was the reflection. Supported by gleaming pillars like so many sea stacks, floor and sky were frozen forever in an ocean of glass.

Ratchet smiled, drinking in the elegant simplicity of the building.
 
Even Prowl paused for a moment in reflection though to him this sight was a daily occurrence.

"This is..." Io attempted, optics wide with wonder.  "And I used to think the Nova Galleries were impressive."

"The architects that designed the Nova Galleries drew heavily upon Armature's original designs for the Hall of Records," Ratchet replied in an upbeat lecturing tone.  "Unfortunately, with Nova Cronum being located along the down-warping edge of the Sormani'i Plate, Finial and Keystone had to modify their designs to better accommodate ground strain as a result of plate motion."

Io cocked a brow-ridge.  "Are we aspiring toward a future career in architectural history?" She asked, slyly.

Ratchet blinked rapidly as he stared down at her.  Golden Age architectural engineering was a hobby of his.  He didn't pursue it to the same degree as he did groundbridge work, but he still enjoyed reading schematics and critiquing papers relevant to the topic.  "Perhaps..." He replied averting his optics, his hand resuming its usual perch pressed against the back of his neck.
     
Io chuckled lightly, but Prowl's sudden unhappy sigh and quick departure prevented him from saying anything further. 

*You weren't kidding,* Io said with a shake of her head.  *It really does bother him that you're so well-rounded...* Her voice cut off and she looked around clearly perplexed as they followed on Prowl's heels.  The three of them had changed course, and were now plodding  across the main gallery expanse, directly towards one of the support pillars.  *Where in the Pit is he going?* She wondered.

*There's a dropshaft in the central pillar, one of only three access points for the upper levels,* Ratchet explained.  *There's a room up there, an old drawing room, that Optimus has been using as his base of operations since the start of the war.*

As they neared the pillar, the smooth, steel skin of the shaft parted like molten lead, flowing and deforming until it had formed a doorway large enough for the three of them to enter the hollow recess within.

There were no windows in the lift and the ride was uneventful and boring, but Ratchet--and the bundle of emotions in his spark that was Io--recognized it as decidedly awkward, seeing as they had to stand much closer to Prowl than either of them would have liked.

Ratchet could only imagine what Prowl must be feeling at the proximity.

A calming sensation from Io's spark encouraged him not to try.

With a beep and a gentle gust of air, the lift doors opened, revealing a long, rectangular room, framed on both sides by tall, brilliant windows--one side looking out over the vast, lower gallery while the other provided an unimpeded, and also stunningly beautiful, view of historic Iacon.
 
Prowl was certainly the first out of the shaft. Ratchet then made way for Io, allowing her the first view of their new surroundings. True, he hadn't been here in ages, but once you've seen one Autobot command room, you've seen them all.

The main floor of the room was crowded with variously-sized workbenches and tables, most of which were covered with maps, data-pads, and empty energon cubes.

One such table had two occupants, both of whom were pouring over a detailed holographic overlay of what looked to be the Amertas Basin.  

The smaller, mostly white, mech was Jazz.  Judging from the pleasant feeling of familiarity now flitting about his spark, he could tell that Io recognized him, no doubt from her times at Maccadam's.  Beside him sat a large, imposing, red mech with heavily armored shoulder-caps, a longtime friend and follower of Optimus, the indomitable Ironhide.

Though not nearly as old as Ratchet, Ironhide wore his many thousands of vorns of life experience with the same pride as he did the hundreds of welding scars that marred his crimson finish.  He was resourceful, and quiet, a 'Bot of few vocalizations' as the saying went, preferring to converse with various nods and grunts...or with a magazine of energon ammo if you happened to catch him on a bad day.  But, at the end of the solar cycle, it wasn't his gruff demeanor or extensive knowledge of weaponry that made him an invaluable member of the Autobot command staff, but an almost limitless tenacity forged in the ore refineries of Praxus.

"Finally decided to join us, I see," Jazz called out over his shoulder, optics still trained on some brightly colored object within the map area.  Eventually, he pushed himself away from the table, and reclaimed his full posture, but not before stretching his arms over his head and flaring his shoulder caps so they could settle back against his mantle.

He was the essence of poise.

"Where's Optimus?" Prowl wondered.

Jazz nodded his helm towards a large door that had been built into the far wall.  "In back.  Got some strange chatter from the front.  Seems like the 'Cons are preparing for an offensive against our troops in Valatex."

Prowl's mouth became a flat line of contemplation.  "Interesting..."  Tapping his chin-plate, the former police officer turned his back on the quartet of 'Bots and began to slowly pace the length of the room, muttering to himself from time to time as he digested this new revelation.
 
"Yeah, tell me about it," Jazz replied and made to continue, providing his two nars of energon on the subject, but when it was clear that Prowl had lost interest in their conversation--such must have been routine as Jazz barely blinked and showed no signs of anger at being summarily dismissed--he moved past the pacing police 'Bot so that he could clap Ratchet affectionately on the shoulder-cap.  "It's good to see you again, old friend." He said with a light chuckle.  "Two solar cycles in a row...you're going to spoil us if you keep that pace."

Ratchet rolled his optics at the good-natured jab, though a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"And you must be Io," He said shaking her free hand.  "It's good to put a face to the name." His lips stretched into a sly smile.  "Ratchet's told me a lot about you."

"Has he now?" Io wondered, cocking a brow-ridge up at the old medic who merely stared back, optics wide with what might have been panic.

"I...um..." Ratchet managed, but was quickly silenced by another clap on the shoulder and a mischievous grin that all but split Jazz's face-plate in two.  "Oh, yeah.  From what Ratchet tells me, you're Perceptor's second coming.  'Gonna solve all of our energy problems by figuring out how to synthesize energon."

"What?" the old medic protested.  "I never said..."

Ignoring his friend, Jazz smirked.  "Don't listen to him; he talks about you all the time...says you're really talented."

Io giggled, modestly, and looked up at her partner.  "Well, if Ratchet says so..." She squeezed his hand lightly, drawing out of his scowl, a delightfully sheepish grin.  "Comparing me to Perceptor... That's quite the bar to set, Se'vei."
 
The old medic's scowl resurfaced at her use of the word "se'vei," though it was clear from her tone that she had used the term in a more endearing sense, almost like a soven'th, a private nickname used between partners.

Eventually his stern visage crumbled, and he chuckled.  "What can I say?  I have high standards."  Then, pausing for good measure, he added. "Na'veh."

Io's head cocked in her typical, questioning way, and she blinked rapidly, surprised but also highly amused, given the smirk that began to stretch her lips.  

Na'veh was an interesting word.  It wasn't Cybertronian, but had fallen into common use during the latter half of the Golden Age.  It meant "child" or "infant," but in a biological sense.  It was generally used as a derogatory word for someone who had so little life experience that they might as well have just crawled out of the Well of AllSparks; a synonym for "sparkling" or "protoform," but much less dignified, given its organic origin.

"You're something, you know that?" She purred, drawing closer to his side.

"So are you." He replied, imitating her tone, and reveling in both her proximity and the wonderful fluttering sensation that had claimed his spark.  

"By the Spark of Primus...Ratchet's flirting!" Jazz called out, stalling any additional, amorous, thoughts.

"What?!?" Ratchet demanded.  Face-plate warming furiously, he dropped Io's hand and made a lunge at Jazz as if to silence him with a well-placed hand over the faceplate but the nimble 'Bot dodged his advance. It wasn't that the old medic was embarrassed of his relationship with Io--on the contrary, he was finally starting to accept his role as her partner--but he absolutely abhorred being thrust into the limelight...especially if it only served to satisfy some 'Bot's twisted sense of humor.

To Ratchet's utter horror, however, rather than realize the discomfort he was causing the older 'Bot, this only embolded Jazz further.  Manipulating his voice into nearly a high-pitched shriek and clasping both sides of faceplate as if swooning with delight, he crooned: "It's adorable!"

Io chuckled heartily, so much so she had to grab onto the wall for support.

At another lunge, Jazz danced further back into the room and he cocked his head to one side, his voice now a confused bass: "And sort of disturbing, in a way."

"Hey!" Ratchet shouted apoplectically.

"Ironhide!  Prowl!  You have to see this!"

Ironhide didn't look up from his map, even considering all the commotion, but did mutter something that sounded like "That's nice."

Prowl, on the other hand, was not amused. Whether from the thought of a Ratchet-Io coupling, or more likely because of the sheer volume of the audio assault, he rounded on the younger bot, angrily. "Jazz, really," he snapped.  The way he glared at the younger 'Bot, doorwings lowered threateningly, one would think that  Jazz had just burned an Autobot insignia in front of him.  "We have one, potentially two, large campaigns looming on the horizon.  This is hardly the time or place for such..."

"Such what?" A gentle voice called out from the back of the room.

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Continued in part 2