Chapter Text
This, of course, was the most important day of Starscream’s life.
He was hoping that Thundercracker would get his engine stutters underneath control before they had to begin the ceremonies, but his nervousness also showed the gravity of this day. Thundercracker was the rock of their trine. The only other time he had been this nervous was for their actual trining.
Thundercracker must have felt Starscream’s optics on him. “Ready to be silent for a whole day for the first time in your life, Star?”
Starscream rolled his optics.
“Oooo, he’s already practicing!”
“One more hour and I get a blessed break from your voice, Warp.”
Skywarp grinned in reply, throwing an arm around Starscream. “Nah, you’re gonna miss me whispering scraptalk in your audial while General Rainstorm gives his speech.”
“Urgh, don’t remind me. The fact that his underlings haven’t forced him to accept work from a speech writer is a crime.” Starscream knew they tried to get the mech a pre-written speech every time, but Rainstorm would only accept minor edits on his own. He was an improbably squeaky clean mech in that the only dirt their trine could find on him was his penchant for annoying his direct underlings and the expected nepotism given to his kin.
“Are you going to accept a speech writer now?” Thundercracker’s field flickered with amusement.
Starscream sniffed. “I’m already set to keep Deepdive’s on. They've been studying my past public speaking work to write mine off of cliffnotes I’ll give them.”
“Of course you’ve preplanned admin, Star.”
“You’re going to be thankful for it.”
Thundercracker nodded in agreement. “We’re not going to have our own lives anymore.”
Starscream’s wings fluttered at the thought. He couldn’t wait to become the most important mech in Vos.
New Winglords ascended in the Hall of Winds. It was a large circular tower with three floors near the bottom and a tall space to fly up into reaching from that third floor all the way to its star-seeking ceiling. Storm shutters of various sizes and shapes lined the tower’s walls. They would be opened to allow in wind currents, creating an artificial wind storm of various strengths inside the tower.
The Prime had the Matrix, but this is where the Winglord and their trine talked to Primus.
Speeches had been given all day now. A summary of recent major events both in Vos and from all around Cybertron, to record what state the planet was in when Primus called for the change in leadership. Unlike Primes, who died in office whether by old age or horrific circumstances, Winglords often got to enjoy a retirement.
Deepdive was ready for hers. Her exit speech was joyous, both a tasteful reminder of her accomplishments while celebrating Vos as a whole.She deftly paid her dues to major political players from inside and outside the city-state.
She finished her retirement speech to a roaring applause and signalled for the next speaker to take the stage.
Sunstorm had become Vos’ Head Priest of Primus later during Deepdive’s reign. This would be his first time performing such a large ceremony. His garnish, yellow plating caught everyone’s optics as he took center stage. His frame was so bright he made Split Second, a member of Deepdive’s trine, look tame with her slightly more golden hue.
“And now as the illustrious Deepdive has earned a long and joyous rest, it is now time to call forth her chosen Winglord-elect. The last gift of Deepdive’s wisdom is that General Starscream of the Military Research Division is her choice of successor. General, may you and your trine now step forward and take off. May you hear the words of Primus and ascend to Winglord or be struck down by our God Himself.”
Starscream and his trine had been out of view until now, watching all of the various proceedings on a vidscreen. As they stepped up onto the stage from a hidden alcove underneath it, the sound of the waiting crowd was so loud it couldn’t even be called a roar, it was a force unto itself, a wall of noise Starscream felt all over his plating. His spark shuddered with anticipation.
The three of them got to the centre of the dias, took bows four times, turning to face one of the four directions for each. Then, with a slight bend to their knees that signalled their ease of taking off from a standing and stationary position, the three of them launched into the air.
It was exhilarating to finally fly. The wind tunnel was going full force around them—all of the main shutters were wide open, Primus setting the pace for their ascension.
Starscream sent a binary signal all Seekers knew—the warning for dangerous weather ahead. It was not a good omen. He followed it up over their comms. Power through.
It had to be a test and his trine would meet it.
There was no time to judge the reactions of their audience. They tightened their formation, close enough to catch each other, but spacing so that one member losing control of their flight path wouldn’t take another trine member out. Not that Starscream expected that to happen. He expected his partners to prove that their trine was composed of the best flyers of the modern generation.
They were controlled all the way to the top. Starscream ordered a plunge back down. That’s when they finally heard their god.
Sentinel of Iacon does not hold the Matrix of Leadership.
Thundercracker’s engines stuttered so hard he wavered in the air for a moment. Skywarp’s hiccupped. Starscream sent the binary command to hold steady.
You are Starscream, He Who Rides in on a Tumultuous Storm. Soar, Winglord.
Despite everything, the three of them landed flawlessly. There was a tense energy as the shutters closed.
But Deepdive hadn’t been one of the most successful Winglords in history for nothing. That tension didn’t phase her; she stepped forward to perform the next part of the ceremony, her trinemates Split Second and Slipstream following her in perfect formation, each slotted comfortably behind Deepdive’s wings.
The leaving ruling trine was silent alongside Starscream’s as they met in the middle of the dias for all to see. Unlike the Prime and their Matrix of Leadership, the Winglord didn’t carry a mystical artifact; the Winglord always heard Primus’ voice on the wind. But, symbols were useful, clean with the iconography that became attached to them over the millenia. Deepdive stopped two paces in front of Starscream. Starscream and his trine deeply bowed, bending straight at the waist. Then, she reached up, servos gracefully grasping the edge of the golden, bejeweled crown cresting her helm. As she smoothly pulled it off, her and her trine fell into one-knee kneels with practicing synchronicity. Starscream and his trine rose from their bows as the leaving Ruling Trine kneeled.
Deepdive held the crown out to Starscream. Carefully, he took it from her servos, and placed it upon his helm himself, for the Winglord had to lead through self-sufficiency.
And now, Starscream was that self-sufficient Winglord.
Starscream’s voice rang out for the first time that day. “I have heard the voice of Primus. His guidance is immediate and my trine shall begin acting on it tomorrow. For tonight, I Winglord Starscream, He Who Rides in on a Tumultuous Storm, say let the festivities you’ve all been waiting for begin! Primus forever guides Vos! Let us honour him with joy!”
Thundercracker was already on their private comm line as they left the stage. We’re not waiting until tomorrow right?
No, we have to start sending out discrete warnings for Vosnians to come home now. This situation is going to escalate rapidly.
Deepdive’s trine had followed them. Starscream flicked his wings in the warning for danger and Deepdive’s optics widened before she nodded. Starscream was loath to have to immediately rely on his predecessor, but no preparations that had been made before the transfer of power could have predicted this.
Primus truly was testing his aft right out the gate. It felt like they couldn’t wait, and yet they all still had rolls to play.
There was a gala to be attended in which the new Ruling Trine was to be seen but graciously not disturbed for its duration. It was primarily a send off for the old Ruling Trine. So, while Deepdive was entertaining, Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp were reviewing emergency documents and procedures, seeing what was relevant to their ridiculous situation.
Thankfully, the contingency plans for inter-city-state war weren’t too out of date, but well, declaring the Prime was a fraud was something no one had planned for.
Thundercracker was quietly sipping some high grade as he pulled records on all Vosnian citizens on work transfers to other city-states. He wouldn’t get drunk, it was just a little bit to calm his nerves. Thundercracker had worked his way to the top of the military's records branch, so pulling the files was second nature to him, and his new found status gave him direct and remote access to most of Vos’ data systems now.
Starscream and Thundercracker had started dating because of how often Starcream had insisted on working with him. Starscream had been the General-ranked Air Commander of the Research Division before being selected as Winglord, and Thundercracker’s assistance with both research and recordkeeping had been influential to Starscream’s operational success and so his rise in the ranks.
Skywarp always joked that he was the trophy-mate tagalong, as if didn’t hold their social statuses together by threads even with how much he liked to prank people.
Starscream had met Skywarp tracking down some wayward troops at a bar. He had already known of Skywarp—someone with a Sigma ability like his had caught the optics of military recruitment the moment it had manifested. He had acquiesced to completing basic and becoming a reserve member, but then had left to enter a career of culture blogging of all things.
His teleportation abilities allowed him to quickly attain camera angles of live events that most other media personnel didn’t have the chance to capture in the heat of the moment, so most of the mech’s money came from selling clips to major outlets. The military had even been buying footage from him before Starscream had met him. Skywarp’s personal blog was mostly a passion project.
So, when Starscream had walked into one of the dives that recruits were discouraged from visiting to see his wayward recruits with Skywarp huddled around a Quick Wits table, he let Skywarp gouge them for their credits. The mech did so fairly. Quick Wits was all based on reaction time, and Starscream had read the file on what the Research Division had managed to catalogue about Skywarp’s Sigma ability during his time as Manager of Experimental Projects.
Skywarp’s Sigma required him to have reaction time in multitudes.
After Starscream had reamed out the now-poor recruits and had sent them back to the barracks, Skywarp had called him “even hotter when angry,” said “thanks for letting me have my fun,” and then had proceeded to ask Starscream out on a date.
At this gala now, Skywarp wasn’t as open as the first night Starscream had met him. He was crowd watching, but not interacting with the crowd like he normally would. He was supposed to be reviewing media release plans, but Starscream would let his distraction slide tonight.
They had been hoping to ease Skywarp into official government work, not having to throw him right off the aerie balcony as the current situation called for.
A roar of laughter rose from the crowd around Split Second; she was the true hostess of Deepdive’s trine and had already agreed to mentor Skywarp over the next couple of years. The sound made Starscream take stock of the gala again. At least everyone else was enjoying themselves.
The new Winglord sighed before creating a new checklist to begin organizing the press conference where they may just throw the whole planet into Unicron’s metaphorical intake.
Starscream ignored the want for another drink.
Orion Pax only ever worked with three Seekers at one time. Usually, they were untrined workmates, except when it was a group of trined archivists that took the position. But the Iacon position was often given as work experience to recently successful graduate students, fresh-faced Seekers hoping to see a bit of the world before returning home to settle down.
Softwind, Ramjet, and Hurricane were untrined
“Do you not know?”
“Do I not know what?”
“Softwind, Ramjet, and Hurricane were all called back to Vos early.”
Orion Pax’ expression fell. He did not question Transcribe; they were a very serious mech. “That was very abnormal.”
“It was said the new Winglord had a specific need for them, though, of course, we did not receive any details.”
Transcribe’s field said it all, even if their expression was perfectly neutral. The Vosnian archivists were only ever recalled as a whole trine for emergencies. (Of course, individuals had returned for personal emergencies, but the whole trine? Never. They were a key support of Vos’ wider relationships across Cybertron. They were to always be ready to aid the Prime.
It was said they were lent as a sign of the Winglord’s support.)
The conversation fell. Many like it were held in the Archive throughout the day—quiet worried whispers aborted once the wondering and speculation turned to possible discontent.
The wondering did not last. The news came the next day.
Orion Pax had been travelling on the public train to Kaon, going to verify match data and gladiator biographies when the news had shattered world politics.
The train had news vidscreens precisely so important public addresses could be simultaneously casted across the planet. Usually, the full broadcast system was only used by the Prime, but the naming of a new Winglord was so rare that Vos was granted access to the system for the occasion as they would be hounded for copies of the first press release from the new Winglord by every other city on the planet otherwise.
The first look Orion Pax got of the Winglord of Vos was him standing in the Vosian Assembly Hall, a historic building first used for organizing Seekers into battle groups, in which it already had a large capacity for such a use. Now, it was mostly used for important public addresses, such as the new Winglord’s First Address in office, in which the Winglord delivered the exact wording of whatever message they had received from Primus from their ascension, in which the crowd was even greater than during wartime as every attendant could be more closely spaced together.
And word must have spread that this one would be important because Orion Pax would bet that they had allowed the hall to be filled over capacity. As far Orion knew, the new Winglord had been named in the Hall of Winds three days ago.
Without preamble, the new Winglord introduced himself, and his trine, and then called Sentinel Prime a fraud before the whole planet. He then asked for the Primal Office to get into contact with his, so they could begin planning “suitable arrangements to that the Prime can present the Matrix of Leadership to the planet as a whole, and ease both the processors of every Cybertronian, and that of the very spark of their planet from which they call came.”
That was all that Orion and everyone else on the train got to see before the broadcast was cut.
That had been at the beginning of his journey. An archivist like Orion couldn’t afford an express route, so he sat quietly in his spot, listening to the chatter being brought into his car as new riders entered and others left with each stop along the way.
“Did you hear? The new Winglord has rejected the Prime.”
“Earlier I heard from a friend in Tetrahex that all Seekers and their bondkin in their city had returned to Vos overnight. He’s been arranging freight from their moves to Vos all morning.”
“To call Sentinel Prime a fake…”
“Well, he somehow survived the death of Lord Protector Straxus.”
As the train began to move again Orion mulled over that last statement. It was true, Sentinel had survived the death of Lord Protector Straxus, a feat that had never been recorded before in all of Cybertronian history. Thought ever bond between Prime and Lord Protector was different, ranging from practically sworn enemies that somehow always managed to work together to usher in one of Cybertron’s early golden ages, to a pair of lovers so disgustingly affectionate that the diaries and records of the works underneath were half complaints of having to pry the two apart, it was a fact that once a new Prime was named, somebot would be named their Lord Protector, Primus binding their sparks together so that when one passed, the other would follow them into the Well of Allsparks. The Prime would not be retired like a Winglord could be; they all died, whether it was a peaceful death or violent.
Lord Protector Straxus had died by assassination. Sentinel Prime had declared that his survival was a miracle from Primus that also signalled the injustice of the taking of Straxus’ life. He had been ruling solo ever since, cycling various generals through the responsibilities and tasks that would normally be the Protector’s so that there would be no bias towards a mecha that hadn’t been chosen by Primus for the position.
Other than that, there wasn’t too much notable about Sentinel Prime’s rule, until recently. There was continually growing unrest as energon shortages continued to rise, but Orion knew from a colleague that they were still below the numbers of what was considered the greatest energon shortage in history. Granted, that shortage had been during a massive war with a techno-organic civilization about five solar systems over. Cybertron was currently in one of the longest peace times it had ever known. Sentinel had been named Prime during this peace time, when his predecessor, Nova Prime, had been one of only two Primes to die of purely natural causes.
Intuition had Orion wanting to mull over the details of Sentinel’s rather boring rule further (by Cybertronian standards, a boring rule still included quite a few intergalactic relationship blunders), but finally, after a whole morning of travel that spilled over into the afternoon, the train came to a stop in Kaon.
Orion Pax practically ran through the streets of Kaon from the train station. Their holo-projector often failed to maintain a connection to the Grid. And though he was sure the mecha of the gladiatorial pits had heard the news, Orion wanted to make sure they had all of the finer details they should know.
Well, at least that Megatron knew those details.
Orion Pax arrived. The gladiators’ mess was full with arguing voices and EM fields fluctuating with wild emotions.
Megatron’s voice rose above the din. “Quiet!” His burning optics met Orion’s. “Is it true?”
Orion Pax’ breathless voice replied. “It is. The new Winglord is questioning the rule of Sentinel Prime!.”
Orion connected to the terminal, his status as an archivist allowing him a priority connection to the Grid that overrode the cheap bandwidth the pits paid for on the terminal here in the fighter’s mess hall. The video of the broadcast was in a ridiculous state of re-uploads being quickly pulled or blacked out by the host site, but news sites were already running segments with or without clips of the announcement. Orion pulled up a headline to be shown clear as day to everyone else in the room.
BREAKING: The new Winglord of Vos, Starscream, has accused Sentinel Prime of being a false Prime. Vos calls for Sentinel Prime to showcase the Matrix of Leadership in the Winglord’s presence.
A true Winglord would only answer to a true Prime.
That had been the logic that had seen Vos agree to join an unified Cybertronian, planet-wide government. Vos had a Senator and elected officials, but like the Prime and their Protector, the Winglord and their trine were Primus-appointed leaders and so carried immense power and a right to rule nearly unquestioned when deemed necessary by emergency.
This all Orion Pax explained to a now quiet mess hall. Most mecha here groaned whenever Megatron accidentally set Orion off into lecture mode, but they all gave him their full attention now.
“Vos hasn’t declared emergency since the last Questinesson War. Winglord Starscream has done so now. He won’t lift it until Sentinel Prime shows him the Matrix of Leadership in his chest.”
Grimlock was a gladiator just as popular, both in the ring and as a local figure, as Megatron. They worked together often. “And what does this mean for the rest of us?”
Orion glanced at Megatron. “You told me not to ask too many questions the last time I came to verify match data.” Orion cringed internally, the only reason an Iaconian archivist verified match results and statistics was because of how many Senators and officials placed bets on the matches, including the Prime himself. Orion was the one allotted to do so because mecha like Megatron and Grimlock knew he thought their working conditions were deplorable and Orion snuck in treats and media whenever he came.
Orion’s servos clenched. “The discontent in Kaon is ready to burst, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, if the Prime cannot appease the Winglord, then I can only assume this will fracture the alliance of city-states.”
Meg’s face split into a grin. “So, rebellion.”
Orion opened and shuttered his dataports. Archival mechs had about 75% more ports than the average mech, and the rapid shuttering was a personal tick that many of them had, denoting various emotions depending on the context. Right now, Orion was nervous, thinking out his next words carefully. “Yes.. no…” He sighed. “Not in the way you all want, at least not immediately. Vos has enough personal political might that we’re more likely to enter some sort of global stalemate, that then either the Winglord or the Prime will push another city to break somehow. That would at least be my guess.”
“That sounds like it’ll bring no change at all,” Grimlock growled.
“Oh, it will, just not the rapid, explosive change you all were preparing for. And if it goes to a stalemate, I do mean that it will eventually be broken, not into a rebellion but into a full blown war of the likes Cybertron hasn’t seen since Tetrahex fought Altihex over the Titan Mountains. And this would most likely be worse, as in that conflict Vos abstained. The whole reason even Iacon will acquiesce to Vos at times is because of how ill-prepared the rest of the planet is for dealing with the Vosian army, especially now since a majority of planetary defense is manifested through their flyers. Most cities just don’t design their infrastructure or train their own units to deal specifically with Seekers anymore. The whole point of the creation of the Prime-Winglord agreement was to gain Vos’ power for the planet, but Vos’ leverage even if they are supposed to answer to the Prime and the Senate is that their allowed military might is a threat to everyone else.”
Grimlock snorted. “So, Vos is a leashed nitrotiger?”
“Exactly, but with the cunning of a turbofox.”
Megatron stamped a pede, drawing attention back to himself. “We cannot afford to sit around and wait, not when an opportunity like this presents itself. Senator Ratbat will continue to let the lowest castes here in Kaon suffer for his gains. Vosnians have their comforts while we’re all struggling for energon.”
Orion Pax winced. “It’s not that we shouldn’t do anything, it’s just… how much do you lot speak with other city-states?”
Grimlock growled, “Our access to the Grid sucks and we don’t get to travel because of the match schedule. How much do you think, archivist?”
“Right. Give me time, let me see if I can help with that. There are other groups of discontents all around Cybertron.”
Megatron was interested. “Can you get me contact with Vos?”
“That… will not be so easy now, I think. Before, yes, but any professional connection I have access to will certainly be cut off because of this political turmoil.”
“Well, try, Orion, and try fast.” Megatron broke optic contact with Orion to look at the group they had gathered around themselves. He could feel the malcontent coming from Grimlock beside him, and Megatron was sure others in the Pits had the same desperate, low reserves of patience. “We don’t have the time to spare for politicking. Especially…” Megatron chewed over a sudden thought. “Kaon’s own forces are minimal. Senator Ratbat doesn’t care for the army, and it’s cheaper to run the mines and the Pits here.” He clenched his fists. “I, for one, am not going to be conscripted.”
Quick agreements rang out from the gathered gladiators.
Orion vented; he was hoping Megatron wouldn’t make that conclusion, but he also agreed with its logic as a long-term possibility. He should always trust in Megatron’s ability to plan for the worst.” Give me some time. I’m sure there’s better options for you all than… aggressive activism that may get this whole city caught in a crossfire.”
Grimlock snarled. “You think we’ll hurt our own people.”
“I think if you act too early, Sentinel Prime’s going to see Kaon as a quick example to illustrate how no other city-state gets to join Vos in questioning his rule. Megatron just reminded us all of how poor Kaon’s defenses actually are. Don’t give Sentinel the chance to remind us all too.”
That even out the growing agitation of the crowd, dampening the collective EM field to a wary hum.
Megatron took back control. “Get us a connection then, Orion. And fast. There’s groups in the mines and the smelting factories that have to agree to answer to me when we act, but if we here in the Pits take too long they might move on their own.”
Grimlock was never a mech to mince words. “Not like he’s going to be able to do much else for us.”
“Right.” Orion sighed, unable to think of a defense for himself at that moment. “Well, I should be off then. Let me grab that match data and I’ll head back to the archives and see what I can arrange for you.”
“Fine.”
Orion couldn’t help but think how he hated the word ‘fine’ as he left.
It was odd, how despite the news, the ride back to Iacon felt average, as if it was still any other ride back from Kaon after Orion had grabbed the matched data he was always assigned to grab.
Sure, there was only one topic of conversation on the train, but other than everyone’s conversations mirroring each other, there was nothing weird. The level of sound in the car was even average. Somebot had their music playing aloud; the one beside Orion was unabashedly reading a raunchy romance datapad. It was full of regular commuters.
The normalcy of it all really just left Orion with his usual time to think. Often, he would plan his work for the next day, the trip to Kaon allotted as a full day affair whenever it was assigned. Sometimes, he was also reading for pleasure on this commute back.
Right now, his processor was full over the considerations of the day.
Orion had no clue how to get Megatron a contact within Vos. The archivist trine was his first impulse, but of course, the Winglord had rightly seen fit to recall them home before shaking up global politics.
He shunted all of those lines of thought to the side, marking them as a “to do later” task, but only putting a very general stamp on it to be reminded about the task in three days. Orion felt like he needed space to think.
About what? Well, he had tried to sort his work tasks, but the most immediate issue was to prepare the match data for the Pits. Data which was to be sent to Sentinel Prime’s office directly, alongside a mailing list full of other Senators, senior officials, and various important political and cultural figures, not just in Iacon but all around the planet. Yes, the Pits published all of the data themselves, but Orion got access to stats not officially publicly available through average means, and many senior politicians didn’t trust the Pitmasters to not change statistics. There had been a lot of careers made and destroyed through betting results, influences, and scandals.
Orion couldn’t help but think Sentinel Prime probably wished he was dealing with a betting scandal instead of the Winglord calling him a fraud.
The current situation with the Matrix of Leadership was literally unprecedented before Sentinel Prime.
Orion Pax held an odd position amongst the Archivists of Iacon Guild. As Alpha Trion had told him plainly, he was always too-invested in the projects that he cared about, and though he could complete any work assigned to him, Orion could not hide what did and did not interest him. That made Orion Pax a poor choice for assisting Senators and the Prime in their own research projects, which all were the prestige projects more archivists strived to earn the seniority and right to work on.
Lacking the personality needed for such jobs. Orion had to be put to different uses. Alpha Trion may have been a long-standing official advisor to the Senate, but even he had to justify all of the funding he requested each year. All of Orion’s assignments were assigned by Alpha Trion, carefully constructed so that he was supporting work tied to Senate requests while not having to actually meet with any Senators, advisors, or their various staff members. (The staff members did have to meet with Orion at times, but that was considered low risk for professional embarrassment for both Orion and by extension Alpha Trion.)
Still on the train on the last leg between the suburbs and Iacon, Orion pulled up an old project file still stored on his local work processor. Archivists were upgraded with additional research storage processors, ones built to be nestled into each of their shoulder pauldrons so that they maintained proximity to their main processors and could be projected by slightly thicker than average shoulder plating. Orion always kept the timeline of Lord Protector Straxus’ life on himself, as even though he originally built it for Straxus’ memorial proceedings, it proved to be one of the most useful projects Orion had completed to date, as Sentinel Prime’s continued life and reign meant that the deceased Lord High Protector was often included in official proceedings through acknowledgements of his past involvement in supporting various fields and projects, let alone of his own personal military accomplishments.
For all that some of his colleagues treated Orion as naive, he was rather old. He pulled up the timeline he had written for Straxus’ predecessor and Nova Prime’s Lord High Protector, Star Saber. Since both timelines had been written by Orion himself, it was easy to compare the two. He began searching through both, tagging any instances where he had originally noted any key video files containing speeches, presentations, interviews, anything of that like that involved both the Primes and the Protectors.
The trains always came to a gentle halt at Iacon station. It was the bustle of everyone else getting off that alerted Orion to their arrival. He marked where he was in each timeline, and rushed back to the Archives.
Handing in the match data was simple. Orion’s second processor had been running a routine to sort it while he had been explaining global politics to all of the gladiators, and he had double-checked that work as he had waited for the next train at Kaon station. There wasn’t another immediate task assigned to Orion, and though normally, he would seek Alpha Trion out himself as a last check in before signing out of work, he did not today.
It was not abnormal for an archivist to stay and work on personal projects after their shift. It was considered an admirable trait at the Iacon Archives, the managers here always seeking a balance in their hires—mechs who loved to get invested in their work but could still manage to get assigned tasks done correctly and on time. Rewind was another mech who often had his own projects going on, and Orion nodded to him as he settled into his own work station.
The rest of that evening was spent further tagging video files to review later, and seeking out new ones Orion hadn’t seen the need for himself to watch and catalogue before. The Prime and the Lord High Protector both made a lot of public appearances, but even without doing any deeper analysis or dedicated statistics, Orion was already guessing that Nova and Star Saber made far more public appearances together than Sentinel and Straxus had.
Orion’s first thought was that potentially didn’t mean much of anything. Minerva Prime and Lord High Protector Windshear had famously hated each other. They had only been seen in public together when absolutely necessary. However, the relationship between Sentinel and Straxus had been considered extremely friendly by the public consciousness, on par with Nova and Star Saber’s. As he wandered home, Orion considered what he should focus on. Doing the statistics would be an interesting line of inquiry, but it wasn’t what he was originally planning on looking into.
No, instead, Orion had had an errant thought earlier, thinking about how Primacy’s always started the same way—the Prime would exit the Temple of Iacon, Matrix of Leadership clearly on display in their chest. They would announce the name of the mecha Primus had named Lord Protector, and then the next step would be that Protector being brought to the Temple so that the two of them could be bonded by Primus (the length of the ceremonies to welcome in a new Prime always varied because of the various travel times that could be added in by how far out from Iacon the new Protector lived).
Sentinel had shown off the Matrix then, but Orion wasn’t sure if he had done so since. He knew for sure Nova Prime had shown it a couple of times during his reign, mostly to reinforce that he was Primus’ will made mecha, when it needed to be done. That usually was enough to prevent strong divisive schisms in the Senate, and had prevented Cybertron from going to unneeded war twice during Nova’s reign.
It was very odd that he could think of no instances during Sentinel’s reign where the Prime had thrown around his most powerful right of status.
Orion grabbed his cube of energon for the night, and forced himself to work on a puzzle, just to give himself a small break before he really threw himself into researching tomorrow.