Since the final hardening of the clones in the Incubation Vault, Starscream had ordered the seven T-series sergeants to stage the new units within the Transit Deployment Hub.
They had been standing by for hours.
Cybertronians possessed immense patience when hunting or calculating trajectories, but standing idle in a sterile metal hallway was a different matter. Even the T-series units were beginning to experience logic-lag from the inactivity. It was the primary reason the two clones had started their earlier scuffle; the Decepticon spark—or in this case, the synthetic core—was a volatile thing that demanded input.
"T-22, what do you calculate our first deployment will be?"
T-24 had been trying to initiate a data-link with Nathan for some time. Seeing Nathan's optics dimmed in a state of passive standby, T-24 began to run through his own projections.
"Will we begin the deep-range sweep for Lord Megatron? Or will we be tasked with securing the AllSpark?"
Nathan offered a brief, low-frequency pulse. "Data insufficient. We wait."
As long as it's away from this bunker, Nathan thought. He was done with the silver-white walls. He needed to be on the surface, where he could map the route to Hoover Dam without being shadowed by base-security.
"It feels strange," T-24 continued, his vocalizer buzzing with a trace of melancholic static. "We were forged here, activated in the dark. We've never felt the atmosphere of this planet, nor have we seen Cybertron. I wonder if our core-code will ever recognize our original home."
Nathan looked at the sergeant. He felt a rare flicker of empathy. To T-24, Cybertron was a mythic paradise, a lost Zion. To Nathan, it was a ruined graveyard from a movie he'd seen once. He didn't share the "homeland" sentiment, but he understood the existential dread of being a newborn soldier in a dying war.
We aren't even infants by Cybertronian standards, Nathan realized. We're just hardware with a week of uptime. He also realized that for the last 168 hours, he hadn't "slept." He had functioned at peak efficiency without a single cycle of stasis. It was the ultimate industrial dream: a worker that never tired, a mind that never wandered.
"I want to find the Autobots, T-22. If you detect their localized signal, you must transmit the coordinates to my bus first."
T-24's optics flared with a sudden, aggressive crimson. "I want to be the one to dismantle them. To prove our batch is superior to their ancient veterans."
Nathan stared at him, his processors processing the sheer absurdity of the request. You want to take point against the Autobots? The guys who have been fighting for millions of years? He pictured T-24 trying to trade blows with Bumblebee—the legendary scout known for punching far above his weight class. T-24 wouldn't last two cycles.
"Very well, T-24," Nathan replied, his voice a smooth, neutral baritone. "If I cross a signature belonging to a scout like Bumblebee, I will ensure you are the first to be notified."
"My gratitude, T-22." T-24 began to cycle his weapon systems in anticipation.
Don't mention it, Nathan thought, turning his optics away. I'd rather not be in the splash zone when they turn you into scrap.
The massive interior blast doors groaned open.
A high-pressure atmosphere of authority flooded the room as Starscream entered. He looked agitated. He didn't say a word as he strode toward the two clones who were still wrestling on the floor. With a casual, brutal efficiency, he seized them by their neck-cables and hoisted them up like broken toys.
CRASH.
He delivered a twin set of kinetic kicks that sent the clones skidding across the hall. "Cease this mindless friction!" Starscream shrieked. "My deck plating is worth more than your entire manufacturing run! If you scorch these walls, I will recycle your cerebral modules for target practice!"
The clones scrambled to their feet, their optics dimming in terror. Starscream ignored them, turning his focus to the seven sergeants.
Nathan noted the dark cloud over the Commander's faceplates. Starscream had just concluded an interstellar quantum-transmission with Soundwave. The Spymaster had been demanding results, accusing the Air Commander of stagnation and threatening to relocate the search party to Earth personally.
Starscream needed a distraction. He needed to generate "activity" to keep the high command off his back while he continued his secret work in Egypt.
"Vanguard! Assemble!"
Nathan and the others moved instantly, organizing the twenty-eight clones into a rigid tactical formation.
"Seekers!" Starscream's voice took on a theatrical, commanding tone. He stood before them, wings flared, relishing the sight of his own private army. "The time for incubation is over. Today, you prove your utility. You will deploy across this continent with a singular mandate: Locate the High Protector. Find Megatron!"
Finally, Nathan thought.
"T-19!" Starscream pointed to the first sergeant. "Units E1 through E4 are now under your command. You are designated as Seeker Squadron One. You will handle the northern sectors."
T-19's frame seemed to swell with prestige. "By your will, Lord Starscream! We shall not fail."
Starscream moved down the line, distributing the remaining clones. Nathan was assigned units E17 through E20.
"T-22," Starscream said, his optics lingering on Nathan for a fraction of a second longer than the others. "You lead Squadron Seven. Your sector is the southern desert corridors. Do not return without data."
"Understood, Lord Starscream," Nathan replied.
He was now a commander of his own small unit. Four clones—E17, E18, E19, and E20—stood behind him, their red optics awaiting his first directive.
Squadron Seven, Nathan mused. The southern corridors. That puts me directly between this base and the Hoover Dam. The board was set. The pieces were moving. And for the first time since he woke up in a metal body, Nathan was the one holding the map.