Step. Step. Soft sploosh, causing an instant cessation of motion as finely crafted sensors strained for any other notice of the sound, any small electronic surge that would indicate an alarm had been tripped. Step. Step.

They were in the waste-pipes under the Ark, a pitch-black, foul-smelling, narrow series of tubes and tunnels which drained away the filth of the Autobots. The physical manifestations of it anyway, Carly thought to herself, trying to hold her breath. Some of the foulness of the Bots was purely internal, a part of their core programming.

She continued to ride the great panther, whose enhanced senses could better tell where not to step in this alarm-ridden periphery. His optics were dimmed down to their minimum, barely visible in the oppressive darkness as he silently moved through the waste and slowly moving muck. He was intent and confident as to the direction to take, having undertaken the dangerous mission of infiltrating the Ark several times over the long months of the war on Earth. This time, he was relieved to stay away from the tunnels leading toward the medical bay and his route to spying on the Autobot leadership, and instead move into the warmer tunnels indicating the areas near the plasma reactors.

Carly wrinkled her nose as the increased heat made the smell worse. She didn't want to know what it was as a plethora of foul scents, putrid organic and sharp mechanical, assaulted her. She pressed her face down to Ravage's cool metallic neck in the darkness, wondering how he could stand the stench with his enhanced olfactory senses.

Step. Step. A soft thrumming sound became audible the further they moved up this tunnel, and as they moved upstream and passed more tributary branches the smell actually diminished in intensity, replaced by the sulfuric smell of hot ground water. The trickling of water could be heard around them now, the outflow from the backup coolant systems of the great reactors. Carefully, slowly, the stealthy panther took them steadily forward.

Gradually, Carly realized that she could make out the outlines of Ravage's head. A dim blue-white light was diffusely filtered through oddly spaced gratings and seams of the tunnel, allowing the human's eyes enough light to make out some of the tunnel detail. The dirty water would have been knee high on her, coming half-way up Ravage's forepaws, in a tunnel made of dull gray metal whose ceiling was barely high enough for her to sit up straight on the panther's back. Black encrustations were scattered in large patches along the tunnel walls, as were various small metallic bumps and projections.

They stopped abruptly, the black cat's head coming up sharply and his optics flaring a brief, brilliant crimson, staring intently at an small boxlike protrusion on the tunnel wall.

"A new trap," he said, the softest of rumbles, and cocked his head slightly in concentration. Carly waited in apprehension as her friend worked his invisible magic, the intricate weave of electronic deception that was his specialty. A few moments later, he relaxed slightly and started moving forward again, keeping a close optic on the box, but remembering to look for secondary and redundant alarm systems. Red Alert was a fascinating and challenging opponent, and always there was some new system or addition to deal with in each of his subsequent incursions into the Ark.

Finally, Ravage's goal came into view. Cautious to the end, the black panther advanced to the barred circular opening until they were standing directly underneath. The thrumming sound was much louder now, as if the originating apparatus was very close. The water hissed and burbled about Ravage's ankles, a light brown moving stream.

Together, they looked up at the grate, which was set just out of arms reach for Carly, still sitting on Ravage's back. In total, the opening was about two meters in diameter, large enough for some of the smallest Autobots to fit through. The bars were about thirty centimeters apart, too small for any Cybertronian to fit through. For a thin human girl, however. . . .

"It'll be a squeeze," Carly whispered, eyeing it speculatively, "But I'll fit."

"Toss Frenzy through first," ordered the panther softly. No way was Carly going to be the first one in. Too dangerous, even during this risky undertaking. He studied the circular opening intently, optics flaring slightly in the dim light as he scanned for alarms and circumvented them one by one. Since they didn't actually need to open the thing, his job was considerably simpler than what would otherwise be the case.

The girl opened her jacket and removed the small red cassette, and with a flick of her wrist launched it neatly through the grating. A soft transformation sound was heard, and then a black metallic hand attached to a red arm was extended between the bars to Carly. She took it, and was pulled through up to a deeply shadowed, small room, with soft illumination provided by a light in the outside corridor. Around them were carelessly stacked crates and boxes with a thick layer of dust carpeting their surfaces.

Frenzy set her down carefully and turned again to the grate, sticking his hand down between the bars. Carly could barely hear the sound of Ravage's transformation over the thrumming, which sounded as though the source was very close by. The red and black cassette withdrew his hand holding a black cassette, which as soon as he was clear twitched and leaped out of the black hand to expand into the familiar panther.

Ravage immediately padded over to the doorway, crouching hidden in the shadows cast by the soft light just outside in the tall corridor, his optics glowing softly as he examined every crevice for hidden alarms.

"Out of the frying pan . . ." Frenzy muttered softly, clearly unhappy about their location. "So we're inside. Now what?"

"Now, we find a computer terminal for you, and you'll work your usual tricks and tell us where we need to go," the panther answered dryly from near the door, peering cautiously out into the corridor itself. Gesturing sharply with his muzzle for them to follow, he slunk out into the passageway, keeping to the shadowed orange walls.

The blond woman and the slightly taller red robot shared a grim glance, then followed as best they could. Ravage was absolutely noiseless as he prowled the passage, every sense stretched into hyperawareness. Carly also was nearly silent, rubber-soled boots quiet on the metal floors, while Frenzy occasionally made a soft clank that never failed to earn him a quick, sharp glance from the panther leading them.

They passed several rooms similar to the first, but without any entrances to the sewer system. Their corridor was dim and unkempt - Carly doubted that even many Autobots came down here, let alone cleaned or maintained it much. The light that had been just outside the room from which they had emerged proved to be an exception in its function, as they passed under empty fixtures or lightless panels.

The thrumming grew ever louder as they walked, to the point it was a relief to finally see its origin. The tunnel emptied into a large, spherical space illuminated by the hulking plasma reactors at its center. The slow rhythmic sound came in time with the steadily pulsing lights of the silver reactor. Power conduits snaked in from all directions to carry away the electricity generated by the reactor to its destinations throughout the Ark.

A large terminal stood to one side of the generator, and swiftly the small party descended upon it, Frenzy immediately going to work, standing on Ravage's back to reach the keyboard. Nervously, the other two kept an eye or optic out for any Bot who should happen to come down here, but all was quiet save for the rapid tapping of keyboard components.

"There," the red and black robot grunted finally. "Thank Primus you didn't want to find an officer's quarters, though. There's more safeguards around that level of information than Wheeljack has loose transistors." He hopped down from the panther's back after resetting the screen to its original display and erasing all traces of the inquiry from the computer.

"Bumblebee's quarters are tucked between a main air vent and a power conduit, in the main level of the Ark," he reported, conferring with Ravage as to the best route.

"Good job, Frenzy. I can get us there - Carly being here will actually make it easier, since she can carry us through some tight spots," the panther hissed quietly. "Now transform back to cassette - you make too much noise for us to sneak around."

The small robot gave Ravage a wounded look, but with the soft, familiar sound, he did launch into his transformation sequence, once again landing in Carly's outstretched hand to be placed in an inside jacket pocket.

The master spy's route involved crawling through a series of air vents, simply accessed from the nearby maintenance hatches. It was at least a good deal better than creeping through sewers, Carly thought to herself. There was even light in most places, gently shadowing the walls as it slipped in through the occasional grated access points to the system. Yet even here, there were alarms, and one or two traps even; but the black and silver panther evaded them all, crimson optics narrowed in concentration.

There were a few places that simply were too narrow for any transformer Carly had ever seen to get through; but with some determined squirming she slipped through these points and transported her friends along in cassette mode, allowing them to keep to the relative safety of the vent system. Occasionally they heard voices of the Ark's inhabitants, as their path took them over rooms and hallways. At last, Ravage slowed, and pointed with his muzzle to the next vent.

She watched and waited in the air vents, looking down into Bumblebee's quarters from behind a grated opening. She had an odd angle of vision that let her see Spike's ledge and cage, but not the other end of the room where presumably the yellow mini-bot had a recharge berth. Below her, she could see Spike, who sat on the edge of the shelf which supported his cage, arms wrapped about his body and rocking a little, his head bowed against his chest.

"It's all right now, Spike," a chipper voice came from below, and a yellow robot walked in to her field of view. He was short, as robots went, but bigger than any of the cassettes, with small horns on his helmet. Strangely enough, his bodyshell didn't look at all rusted from what she could see, but Carly was experienced enough with transformers to see that this was obviously the robot form of the car in which Spike had arrived at the base. Bumblebee approached Spike with something tiny in his hand, about the size of a small human flashlight, and held it out to the human enticingly.

Spike lifted his head wearily to regard the device with a face devoid of expression, and slowly reached out to take it.

"Go on, you'll feel better," urged the mini-bot, turning away, revealing that indeed, he did have some rusty panels on his right side that had been hidden by the way he had been standing. He crossed the room again, out of Carly's sight, and so she watched Spike intently.

Hesitantly, the hand holding the device brought it up towards his neck, but at a few inches away, it stopped.

The subdermal injector promised oblivion, and a distant twist of nausea in his belly reminded him that the last, small dose of the drug had been hours ago . . . what now seemed a lifetime ago. Had he only been reunited with his father that very morning?

He couldn't think, or even breathe for a moment. Had he actually been with his father for the last time? His hands trembled and shook, to the point that he had to use both to grab the dose of rho-fentanyl, or else drop it. Across the room, Bee had finished replacing the right-sided panels with his normal glossy ones, and turned to notice the struggle.

"Here now," he came back over. "I hadn't realized that you were this far gone into it." He plucked the hypo from the human's unresisting hands, and delicately administered the shot himself, afterwards picking Spike up and placing him in his cage. He gave Spike a concerned glance.

"Look, I'll be back again as soon as I report in to Prowl." The mini-bot's expression changed to one of gleeful triumph as he thought ahead to the praise - and energon - that would be his. "Try to sleep." With that, he skipped to the door, which opened rapidly for him, and exited the room.

"Spike! Hssst!! Up here!" Carly whispered loudly from behind the grate as soon as the door had closed again. Spike looked around in comic agitation for a moment, then managed to locate the source of the sound. Blearily, the drugged human located her form behind the grate above him, a pair of quiet crimson optics also peering in over her shoulder.

"Caarly? What're you doing here?" he slurred, not seeming to quite focus on her position.

She seemed upset at his condition.

"I followed you, of course," she answered matter-of-factly. "How long has he been drugging you, Spike?"

"I - I," he stammered, awkwardly clambering to his feet amidst the cushions that formed the floor of his cage. "I don' remember any more." He shook his head blearily as the rho-fentanyl kicked in, startled and even frightened by another human's invasion into his private world of shame. "Just go away," he mumbled, gripping the bars of his cage for support. "Please, jus' go 'way."

"How could you do this, Spike? How could you betray your own father?!" her angrily whispered words triggered the slowly igniting powderkeg of emotions swirling through his broken mind.

"I don't know!!" he screeched suddenly, arching his head back in clumsy anguish. "You don't understand, I had to do it!!" He repeated more quietly, "I had . . . to do it. . . .

"Go 'way, dammit. You can't understand. I can never go back . . . I'll die if I do . . ." the words spilled from his mouth, the phrase so often spoken to him.

The girl was incensed. "And you're so afraid of dying that you'll betray us? Turn in your own father to the Bots? Do you know how often he spoke of you, wondering where you were, wondering if you were alive?" Contempt was rife in her voice. "Better you were dead, I think."

Every word hammered through his soul like bright daggers of truth. His torn mind flinched away, and he responded with the only weapon that he had to make her leave. Terrible, ugly words erupted from his mouth.

"Yeah?" His voice cracked. "Well, you're gonna be dead too. They'll kill you, jus' like they kill everything. Better run, Carly - better run and hide with your 'Con friends. Run away now, or I'll tell Bee you were here. You'll get caught, y'know, and they'll give you to Percep'tr, which you won' like. I know." One hand unconsciously reached up to run over the scar behind his left ear, and suddenly he sank to his knees among the pile of cushions, his head leaning against the smooth metal of the bars.

"Just leave . . . now . . ." he began to sob, a pathetic wretch in a cage of spirit as well as body.

Carly thought about trying to get him out of there. She thought about shooting him and putting him out of his misery, but her mind instantly flinched away from the idea. In the end, hearing the lock on the door being opened, she did leave out of necessity, Ravage padding along behind, his optics bright with anger at what he had just seen. Her questions, at least, had been answered.

The yellow mini-bot entered his quarters to find his human crying in his cage, and frowned. That dose of rho-fentanyl should have put his pet to sleep long since. His short report with Prowl had gone well, however, and he had even been promised an audience with Prime in the morning.

"You did very well today," Bumblebee soothed and praised his pet. He dimmed the lights in his quarters to a comfortable soft glow, talking softly until the young man had quieted. He turned to bring out a medium-sized energon cube from subspace and hide it in his secret compartment, missing the human's glance at the air vent which revealed that the girl had finally gone.

Bumblebee continued, "You're probably better than any organic I've ever trained, in fact. I don't know that Zerephys would have come through this sort of scenario for me, or even Mourin."

Spike blinked, confused and distracted. Bee had never mentioned those names before.

"Wh- who are they, Lord Bumblebee?" he asked, sniffling.

"Ah, Spike, Spike…" the mini-bot trailed off, coming over to stand right next to Spike's cage and look in with bright optics. "Hadn't you guessed yet that I've had pets like you before?"

Spike looked back into his master's optics and felt as if he were drowning in their light. "You - you have?" His voice was small, wavering.

"Long before coming to Earth, of course," Bumblebee explained, appearing to relish the memories. "Prime first placed me in charge of infiltrating native resistances many vorns ago, on a planet far from your solar system. It was called Jureth, I believe, and rather like the humans here the Jurethi were inclined to rebel against the natural rule of the Autobots." His voice took on a dreamy quality as he recalled the long-ago success.

"I was merely on scout-patrol duty in those days, and had found a young male of the Jurethi species named Kereas. I kept him, you see, and after a few of Jureth's orbital cycles he was quite . . . devoted to me. When the opportunity came to use him to lure some rebels into a trap, we jumped at it. One success led to another, and within five orbits the resistance of that world effectively had come to an end, and I had managed to win the notice of the great Lord Prime." The young human listened in shock to the story. He hadn't realized - he had never thought - his drugged mind swirled in confusion and a dim horror.

"I was advanced, given new opportunity, given the aid of some others, like Perceptor, to better accomplish my duties. One planet after another fell before us - of course, until Yerin Three." The horned Bot rambled quietly, as if not liking this particular memory as well as the others. "It was the last planet the Autobot Empire touched before the discovery of Earth, and our mission to intercept the Decepticons before they could reach it.

"The loss of the Yerin wasn't my fault," Bee commented defensively. "Mourin was a wonderful pet, so obedient, so loyal. No, it was simply that the Yerins were as a group tenacious to insanity. That, and somehow they got the attention of the Decepticons enough for ol' Megs to take pity on them and decide to meddle in our business again." Bumblebee sighed. "But then we came here . . . and you arrived on our doorstep, like a little gift to me from Primus. I might have had my doubts at the very beginning, but you certainly have pulled through for me." The yellow robot smiled at his pet, certain his praise would have a positive effect.

"I might even take you back to Cybertron with me, when it's time to leave this mudball. But for now, goodnight and sweet dreams, my Spike. It's been a day!" He reached in through the bars of the cage to gently stroke the human's hair with a forefinger, then turned, switched off the lights completely, and with a soft clank, clambered into his recharge berth.

Spike was left in the dark, the insidious drug in his system, but with emotions so torn and ragged that for once, the rho-fentanyl was having trouble calming him. Dad . . . oh, Dad . . . I've betrayed you. I've betrayed you. The fragments of his mind came loosely together for a few moments, bringing the realization that the more he cooperated with his master in destroying human resistance the less likely it was that Earth would survive . . . he would doom it, the way all those other planets had been doomed. . . .

I can never go back… I'll die if I do. . . .

For the first time, that thought was answered.

Better you were dead, I think.

Although he struggled, the drug at last pulled him into nightmarish sleep.

Once outside the immediate zone of the Ark's radar detection, they had flown home at low altitude, Frenzy gently cradling Carly in his arms to make the journey, this time with Ravage in her pocket. She buried her face against his chestplate to shelter it from the rushing, cold air, an intensely unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach as she considered the events of the night.

They didn't attempt to evade the perimeter on the way back, so everyone, including Bluestreak and Dart met them at the front doors, all with grim faces as Frenzy landed and set her down, dimly visible in the starlight. She took the time to take out Ravage before approaching into comfortable speaking range, flanked by her Decepticon friends.

"Carly!" It was Rick who first approached them, and she could make out an expression of intense relief on his face. "You're safe, thank God!" He grabbed her by the arms, a little roughly out of relief. "Why in the world did you leave like that? We were all worried sick!"

"I was fine, Rick," the girl frowned back at him, shrugging out of his grasp. "I was with Frenzy and Ravage," as if that fact alone should have relieved their worries.

"And where, exactly, were you?" Paul asked, coldness in his voice. This side of Carly, the stubborn, independent streak, always appeared unexpectedly. Sparkplug and Chip watched expectantly for her reply, and Lyn actually seemed subdued, barely even glaring at the four Cybertronians.

"We went to the Ark," she started, and got the predictable reactions and interruptions.

"The Ark? Are you nuts?" Rick yelped. Paul shook his head in disapproval, and Dart let out a growl. Carly raised her voice to continue.

"We weren't seen, and . . . we did see Spike." She focused solely on Sparkplug, waiting for the voices to die down before adding more softly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Witwicky." She spoke formally, slowly, walking to stand in front of him. "Bluestreak was right. The Autobot that holds him uses a drug of some kind, and has used God only knows what else to control him. We couldn't rescue him - the Bot was back too quickly, and Spike actually threatened to alert the Bots that I was there." She frowned, deep blue eyes troubled and searching for some sign in the sad, weary face before her.

"Thank you, Carly," Sparkplug said finally. "Thank you for doing what I wanted to do, and for coming back safely." He also grasped her shoulders, more gently that Rick had, and pressed his lips briefly to her forehead. When he drew back, the girl could see the brightness in his eyes, and compassion for her friend, who had become almost like a father to her, swelled up within.

Sparkplug blinked back the tears, and voice rough, pushed down his emotions to concentrate on the present.

"We've been planning while you've been gone. Frenzy, Ravage," he paused to walk over to where the two Decepticons stood in the darkness, the light of their optics softly illuminating their faces in crimson glows.

"We know, for certain, that Autobots are going to be ready for us when we attack the caravan. Considering that they now also know that Bluestreak's going to be there," and he looked up at the brooding Cybertronian, who hadn't been at all happy when that had been revealed, "they may send out a decent strike force. This is a chance to fight them, away from a city or town or much else of importance."

The two Decepticons looked at each other, probably swiftly making a few comments to each other by internal radio.

"We will inform Megatron of the situation, but we can't promise anything." Frenzy finally answered. "We'll be back as soon as we have an answer." The cassette frowned, wishing he could commit their forces to an attack himself.

"Speaking of which," Ravage added in his deep voice, "Skywarp's probably going crazy wondering what's been keeping us." Frenzy nodded, but first drew out two human sized phase rifles.

"The latest from Bombshell," he said, the original reason for their visit now almost an afterthought, and shook his head at the irony. Sparkplug accepted them with a nod of thanks.

"They'll be needed," he said grimly. "And now, we have a lot of work to do, since not only do we still have an ambush to coordinate, but we'll have to move our base to a back-up site, since the Bots know where we are now."

The Deceps nodded, and with last glances at Carly, Frenzy transformed to fit back into Ravage's shoulder compartment, and the black panther took off at a run to the west.

They all went back inside, to grab a few hours of much-needed rest before the marathon of activity to come. Bluestreak and Dart returned to their base for energon and recharge, agreeing to return in the morning. Chip had paused Carly as she walked past him towards her room, and she turned, expecting another condemnation of her actions.

"That was very brave, what you did," he said softly, his brown eyes intensely gazing up into hers. "I wish that I could have gone with you." He took her unresisting hand between his for a moment.

"Thank you, Chip," she said just as softly, "for understanding." She let her hand linger in his, surprised and pleased at the words and the contact. He simply nodded, then wished her good night and wheeled away to his own quarters. She watched him go, then turned back to her quarters and a good shower to get the stench of the sewers out, and kept his words in her heart.

Lying on his back in his bed, Sparkplug looked across the room to the makeshift bed he had made for Spike that very afternoon . . . no, surely it had been longer than that . . . how could all of this happened in a single day? It was almost pointless to try to sleep, but he made an effort anyway. His mind was restless, focused on the emotional quandary that defined his existence at this moment in time.

Spike . . . oh my boy . . . what have you become?

The near-darkness of his office suited the Lord Prime's mood. The warlord sat back in an ornate chair behind a massive polished desk of ebon metal, upon which his immense laser cannon rested in a lethal gleam. Next to it sat his battlemask, a shine of quiet silver against the pure darkness of the metal beneath. Between the fingers of one hand he held a chalice filled nearly to the brim with a softly glowing pink fluid. His free arm was propped up on the chairarm and supported his chin as he regarded the room.

The Matrix smoldered within his chest as always, its fierce and siren song subdued for the moment. It was almost quiescent as it often was when he was not in combat, with only a few tendrils of dark music rising up to entwine themselves deeply into the core of his central processor.

He cast his fiercely glowing optics upon his treasures, his trophies which filled the shelves lining the room. Each one was a masterpiece, a triumph of ferocity and strength over weaknesses such as honour or compassion. Every individual prize carried with it a story and reminded him that his ultimate victory was merely a matter of time and the proper application of violence.

Upon his return to headquarters that morning, the Lord Prime had received a report that inspired him to rearrange his shelves. With malicious anticipation, he had made room for the next trophy that he planned to add to his grisly collection of Cybertronian heads.

Bluestreak's head will serve me as a valuable reminder. Matrix-song surged darkly at the thought, restless and rankled. The taking of that prize would once again affirm to him that offering second chances was a course of action for the weak; to those Autobots who visited his sanctum, it would serve as a warning of the inevitable fate of all who dared betray him.

And now, he sat behind his desk in the soft darkness, from time to time absently sipping energon from the dark blue chalice, also a trophy of war. The processor of a veritable god of armed conflict mapped out battleplans as all foreseeable conditions were brought into account and the members of the Autobot assault team chosen.

At last, details settled, the massive Autobot held up the metal goblet and reflected upon the victory that this particular piece represented. This had been his preferred energon cup for vorn upon vorn, since a fateful skirmish outside Darkmount had resulted in the death of a highly placed commander of the Decepticon forces. The helm of this commander, one Straxus by name, had made an excellent chalice once properly reforged. One day soon, he would make its twin from Megatron's current second-in-command, that flying annoyance, Starscream.

And then - he gazed back at his shelves - and then, he would finally add Megatron's head to his collection. The few glimmers of light caught by long-deactivated red optics did not disagree. Nestled within his chest compartment, the Matrix flared with seething energy for a moment at the thought of the hated enemy.

Drawing a deep draft of energon from what was left of Straxus' cranium, the Lord Prime emptied the chalice.

Bluestreak and Dart returned just after first light, ready to help with the transport of the rebel's equipment to their primary back-up site. Sparkplug had always made it a top priority to have at least one secondary site at all times, and this one had been selected very shortly after the human's initial adaptation of the silver mines to their uses. It was nearly a hundred miles to the west, and consisted of a series of natural caves that had at one point been a site of recreational use for spelunkers. Its main disadvantage in comparison to their current site was the utter lack of prior construction, including the lack of a piped water system.

Sparkplug was fairly confident that it was far enough away to avoid detection by anyone watching for traffic to their old site, and close enough that no Autobot would believe that humans would dare to live so near to a discovered base.

Rapid and near-frantic packing was the order of the day. The most important and irreplaceable items went first, in particular the tools, their sadly diminishing supply of gasoline for the regular vehicles, the cannibalized Autobot parts, and their precious stock of medical supplies.

Ravage arrived near midday, as formal and solemn as Carly had ever seen him.

"Megatron sees the opportunity inherent in the plan, and will himself lead a number of warriors to battle," he reported to all of them in the Living Room, which had been stripped of nearly all of its equipment and furniture at this point. Several of the humans took the opportunity to sit down for a moment, and sat in a weary semicircle around the crouching sable panther. Chip wheeled himself over to take his place in the circle. Sparkplug and Lyn remained standing, although the latter did not hold a weapon as was her usual wont when around Cybertronians. Bluestreak and Dart stood behind the small row of humans, their heads nearly brushing the ceiling and Dart stirring restlessly at the relative inactivity of listening.

Ravage turned gleaming, but not unfriendly, crimson optics to the tall silver ex-Autobot and the fidgeting Courier, both of whose chestplates were significantly bare of all insignia.

"To the both of you, Megatron extends the offer of truce. You will not be troubled or detained," he nodded reassuringly at Dart, "by Decepticon forces, for so long as neither of you attack us."

Bluestreak considered the thousands of hours he had logged in combat and in the holodeck fighting Decepticons, but for once kept his mouth components shut and contented himself with a somewhat skeptical look.

"Megatron keep promise," Dart murmured to him quietly, albeit somewhat grudgingly.

The panther returned his attention to the group at large.

"Now here are the tactics Megatron proposes. . . ."

Some time later, Ravage prepared to take the amended battle plans back to Decepticon Headquarters. His quiet padding to the great metal doors was interrupted by the blond-haired Carly, who quietly lay one hand on his shoulder.

He stopped at the touch and turned to regard the girl, who gazed up at him out of worried blue eyes. Taking pity on her, he gave her his normal greeting, and gently touched his muzzle to her hair before speaking.

"What is it, Carly?" he asked gently, though with an edge of impatience. He had already taken longer then he had planned.

"I just wanted to know . . . are you and Frenzy in trouble with Megatron because of what you did for me?" Her voice was small, as it seldom was. Emotional strain had taken its toll, and under the first question Ravage sensed another.

He recalled Megatron's reaction even without wanting to do so. You are a pair of my best operatives, not newly minted creations without the barest minimum of common sense! Megatron had been as truly angry as Ravage had ever seen him when he had learned of their unauthorized foray into the Ark. Standing beside his feline brother, Frenzy had darted him an "I told you so" look. Besides, and then his leader's voice had softened, how would I ever explain to Soundwave if I lost either of you?

The guilt at Soundwave's invocation - how he missed his father! - had been almost worse than Megatron's anger. But looking down at his human friend, Ravage found that he didn't have the heart to vent his troubles on the already-burdened rebel.

"Nothing we cannot manage," he responded truthfully, then gave her a small cat-grin. "And nothing for which we blame you," he added in answer to the unspoken question. "All will be as well as strong spirits and good planning can make it, Carly. I will see you tomorrow." Again he softly touched her hair, and then he was gone from her side. He darted out the doors into the late afternoon sunlight and disappeared among the rocks.

Left behind, Carly lifted her fingers to the strands of hair he had touched for a moment, then turned back to the relentless packing at hand, the others already hard at work around her.

Their small convoy was ready to leave by three hours before sunset. With last, regretful looks at the mines that had somehow become home for the last eight months, the humans drove their four salvaged vehicles: two pickups, a large freight truck, and their ex-Army Jeep, all of which were loaded with equipment and possessions. Dart and Bluestreak, carrying some of the more fragile supplies, escorted them.

As well that no one has time for knick-knacks any more, thought Chip, strapped into the passenger seat of the Jeep that Paul was driving. He didn't possess anything extraneous to his existence; everything he owned was related to the needs of daily life or to his research and work. Certainly it kept our packing time down to a minimum. As he was less useful than others in loading equipment, he had spent as much time as possible today feverishly assembling duplicates of his new invention. All told, after several days of assembly, they had eight metallic viroballs.

I hope they end up being worth all the time and effort, he thought darkly, undistracted by the mountain scenery or the lowering sun. At least with Decepticons allies fighting with us, less depends on these. Damn, I hope that we kill some Autobots tomorrow. We have to start winning soon, or else. . . .

He didn't like thinking about the 'or else'.

They arrived at their new home within a couple of hours, the final leg of the trip consisting of a wooded, ascending stretch of trail that required careful maneuvering with the freight truck to reach the top. They reached the top of the trail through a break in the tree line, the tall trunks of pine and cedar giving way to a large, rock-studded clearing. The bulk of the mountain reared up before them, the far-distant snowline gleaming above them in the late evening sun.

The primary entrance to the natural caverns was hidden in the landscape, and was just large enough to admit their truck. The other vehicles followed, piercing the gloom of the interior with their headlights. Inside, the first, main cavern expanded into a wider, somewhat lower-ceilinged version of their old Living Room, with drooping stalactites and pointed stalagmites scattered throughout the chamber. Dark holes irregularly spaced in the walls indicated passages of various sizes leading further into the mountain.

Leaving the truck's headlights on, Sparkplug stepped out into the gloom, running a hand tiredly through his hair. Quietly, the other humans joined him.

"Welcome to home sweet home, everyone. Cozy and outfitted for optimum comfort," Rick quipped, shaking his head. He turned off the last engine, one of the pick-ups, dropping the room into silence.

"Grab what you need to for tonight and tomorrow," Sparkplug ordered the others, ignoring Rick's feeble attempt at humor. "Paul, if you'll break out the rations, the rest of us'll unpack Bluestreak and Dart here."

"As long as it's not for Optimus' comfort," Carly teased Rick back, glad of any humor, however lame. She moved with Paul to help Chip out of the truck cab and into his wheelchair.

They went about the business of unpacking, and wearily but quickly bedding was unpacked, weapons and needed equipment was found. Lyn was dispatched to fetch water from near the back of the cavern, where a small underground stream appeared for a few yards before vanishing again with a quiet trickle back into the rock. Everything was done with flashlights, as the larger fluorescent lights were not a priority to install at the moment.

When the human's items had been removed from their interiors, Sparkplug led the two Cybertronians back outside, where they transformed into their robotic altmodes. Dart's transformation resulted in her familiar crouching posture, where she stayed for a moment, her intent cobalt optics taking in her surroundings. Sparkplug could hear the soft flutter of her air vents as she continued to sample the environment around her.

"Like I told you before, there's a secondary cavern a little higher up the ridge," the gray haired human said, gesturing up the slope of the mountain. "There's no trail to it, but I found it kinda by accident when I was scouting this place out a few months back."

He led the way up over patches of weathered white stone interspersed with areas of browned grass, the Cybertronians following slowly behind as he climbed. The entrance to the second cave was only a few hundred yards away from the one the humans had claimed. The cave entrance faced west and headed straight into the bulk of the mountain, and illuminated for a few yards into the interior by virtue of the setting sun behind them. While the opening was large enough for the giant robots to enter, it was small enough that Bluestreak had to crouch down to fit vertically.

"This is going to get old pretty fast," he muttered as he bent over to enter, his door-wings nearly scraping each side of the irregularly shaped entrance.

Dart regarded the site dubiously. It looked like a large hole in the ground to her, but after proceeding a few meters on entering, they both were able to stand upright in a large, dry cavern.

"I thought I remembered that it opened up like this," Sparkplug said in some satisfaction, turning his flashlight to see the walls and ceiling, and then back to the Cybertronians. "You guys okay with this, or would you rather stay with the rest of us?"

"This is fine, thanks," Bluestreak answered shortly, his own blue-opticked gaze taking in the dimensions of their shelter. Dart nodded in affirmation of her companion's words.

"Then we'll see you in the morning," the human nodded gravely at them both, then left to make his tired way back down to the first cave.

The two Transformers settled themselves along the bare, rough stone of the natural cavern, both relieved to finally see an end to this particular day. They sat with their backs to a wall next to each other in the medium-sized cavern. The last light of day provided a small amount of illumination from the west-facing cave mouth. Uncharacteristically silent, Bluestreak divided the last of their energon between them, then stared at his portion a moment before consuming it in a single long draught.

Dart contemplated the small amount of glowing fluid she held between her hands, then looked to her left at Bluestreak.

"Go on, drink it," he told her wearily. An air of desperation and depression hovered about him as he slumped back against the wall, the doors to his altmode spread winglike against the dry stone, his long legs stretched out before him. He turned his head from her to stare at the opposing cave wall a dozen meters away, absently toying with the cube-shell in his hands.

Almost hesitant, Dart bent her head to the small energon cube and drank, the precious liquid flowing down her main intake into her fuel tank. When she was done, she subspaced the shell and curled her arms around her knees, limbs softly clanking as she moved in the dimness.

"None left now," she said softly, her optics turning again to her larger companion.

"No. That was the last of it," Bluestreak affirmed, his head tilted back to rest against the wall as he stared out into the near-darkness.

"Get more tomorrow," she asserted, a hint of anxiety creeping into her form as her arms tightened for a moment about her legs.

Bluestreak answered with a pensive sigh. "I hope so, Dart." He brought one hand up to rub briefly at his optics, the available light dimming for a moment as he did so.

"Have you ever fought against Prime, Dart? Directly?" he asked abruptly.

"Seen in battle. No fight." Her voice held a strange undertone to it, as if she wanted to growl and whine at the same time. "Dangerous," she concluded.

"Very." The once-Autobot nodded. "And despite the fact that we'll have help tomorrow, I'll still be a main target. Bluestreak the traitor." His words were bleak and troubled. "Prime has always been known for vengeance against those who desert the Autobot cause. If I had any choice at all in the matter, we wouldn't be going through with this raid at all."

"Die without energon. Could die in fight." Dart summed up, a distressed whine finally escaping her. "One choice, only."

He finally turned to look at her and gazed into the anxious cobalt optics of his friend, the Femme's slender frame subtly gleaming in the low light.

"Dart, if I die tomorrow . . . take some energon, if you can, and run. Survive. Promise me."

She lifted her head proudly to meet his optics. "Not promise. Won't leave you." She shrugged a little, obstinate. "Besides, we win. You see."

He looked down at her, sidetracked and bemused at her confidence. "And just how do you know that, Dart?"

She lifted one silver arm in an expressive gesture directed at the cave walls around them, now barely visible as outside, the twilight deepened. "From here, can only go up." She sent air through her vents in a sound of amusement, a gentle huff, and sent him a sideways, mischievous glance.

A snort of laughter escaped the silver Datsun before he could stop it.

"Dart, you're irrepressible. And impossible."

"Yes," she agreed, optics sliding into a warm vermilion. "Not face Prime alone. Never alone."

He smiled at her then, a small uplifting at either side of his lip components. The cave was finally lit only by the soft gleam of their optics as full night descended upon the mountain.

"Thank you."

They made themselves as comfortable as possible on the uneven stone floor, and quietly slipped into uneasy recharge.

Paul McCurry prayed as he had never prayed before, as though he hadn't given it up as useless during the last two hellish years. Let me avenge my son, O Christ, O Virgin. May your divine power be my strength and my shield. May your holy justice smite our enemies, Lord of Hosts. Hidden in the rocks with Carly, each of them grim and armed with Bombshell's latest human-sized plasma rifle, he clutched at the small crucifix he wore at his throat and asked for a chance at vengeance.

The morning of the ambush had dawned cold and gray. Beside him a young woman crouched, sharing the crevice with him. Carly's blond hair was hidden under a hard hat, her eyes peering from underneath the short rim toward the road that ran from northwest to southeast below them. They huddled, tense and waiting, in the lee of a hillside not far from southern edge of the road. That road continued about a hundred yards to their right to wind through a narrow pass in the mountain. Rumble and Frenzy were stationed on either side of the pass, with the intent of collapsing it at the proper time.

To their left, still to the south and west of the road, the rocks continued for a short while, then the hill steeply descended into a lower area of shrubs and trees. Privately, Carly was amazed that there was any greenery at all on this route; she would have figured that some bored Autobot doing escort duty would have burned everything by now. At the moment though, the trees were certainly convenient cover for the larger of the two groups of Decepticons, along with the other humans, Bluestreak, and Dart.

The trees and rocks were replaced by scraggly, knee-high grass closer to the road, which was a black, smooth ribbon of well-maintained highway, a rarity in all roads except for those frequently used by the Bots. On the other side of the road, a wall of red-striped gray rock formed a hundred and twenty-foot boundary to the ambush site. Reflector and the remainder of the Earth-stationed cassettes lurked in their smallest transformed modes in crevices along the rock face.

Above, the sky was hidden by low-lying dark gray clouds looming threateningly over the site.

Those Decepticons already here had all powered down to the bare minimum to avoid radiating their distinctive energy signatures. A few small devices developed by their resident communications specialist aided in their non-detection.

The trap was set, and had been for hours. Now the hardest part, the waiting, was nearly done. The wind came as a chill, ominous and steady breeze underneath a hard blue sky, chasing the few restless wisps of clouds that dared to watch over the impending scene. It blew from the north and west, and brought with it the faint echo of diesel engines.

The convoy was nearly here, and precisely on time.

Hidden in the trees, settled somewhat apart from the Con forces, the humans and their two Cybertronian allies heard the sound.

"Heh," Chip remarked wryly. "Now I know for a fact we're going to be ambushed. Autobot convoys never run on time." He was secure in his hoverchair and inside Dart's modified passenger side.

Sparkplug gave the ghost of a grim smile and ran the last checks on his equipment. Rick actually unbent enough to chuckle at the gallows humor as he loaded the first of the viroballs. Dart and Bluestreak, in car modes with their tops down, somehow gave the impression of exchanging glances, both wound too tightly with tension to laugh.

"Here they come, soldiers," Sparkplug murmured softly. The convoy crested the hill leading into the small valley of the trap, and so far appeared normal. The escorting Autobots became visible on either end of the line of the half-dozen radio controlled flatbed trucks stacked high with glowing pink energon, safely nestled behind forcefield walls. He eyed the Autobot in the lead, a small red car.

"Cliffjumper," Bluestreak identified, and as the tail-end of the line of vehicles came into view, "and Brawn." The silver Datsun shifted slightly in his tracks, nervous energy finally translating itself as motion. Only Sparkplug, in his driver's seat, could hear him softly continue, muttering to himself, "Cliffjumper is sent out to ambush humans a lot, but he also runs escort duty. We'd better be careful - he loves to kill, and messily. Note to self - Brawn is stronger than he looks, don't forget it. . . ."

"Only two?" Dart sounded a bit dubious.

"Heh, they just don't want to scare us off," concluded her young passenger grimly.

Sparkplug looked to his right, through the open passenger window, and peered through the thirty yards of wiry branches that separated his band from the main Decepticon force. Megatron was there, kneeling among the trees to hide his massive silver form. As if he sensed the human's gaze, his crimson optics turned to look back at the human commander. Gravely and with eerie calm, the veteran of thousands of battles nodded to the rebel, sending a silent assurance.

Sparkplug looked back to the road to where the convoy had nearly passed their position, heading toward the narrow pass to the southeast. It was time.

Bumblebee came back from his meeting with the Lord Prime elated. The first thing he did was to scoop Spike up in both hands out of his cage. He then proceeded to swing the human around and above his head, laughing in glee.

"Oh Spike, this goes down as one of the most successful missions of my existence!" he exulted. "I've never had the opportunity to help track down a traitor before!" He held Spike straight above his head, like a human parent playing with a child, before swinging the human back down to sit on his shelf.

The human, although drugged, did not display his by-now customary glazed smile or share in his master's jubilation. He was dressed completely in black in the clothes picked out for him that morning. The boy remained dull and quiet, not even mustering a congratulatory phrase for Bee's audios as he was settled down onto the shelf.

Bumblebee looked at his pet in consternation. It was unlike his Spike to be this surly and uncooperative.

"What's wrong with you? Are you sick?" he speculated in distaste. The last time had involved Spike coming down with what he called "the stomach flu", and Bee wished heartily not to be involved with an episode like that again.

The young human looked up at his master, despondency written across his face. His mind was a whirl of confused emotions and muffled thoughts, with one set of thoughts slowly growing stronger. Old habit and conditioning kicked in and he answered.

"I don't think so, Lord Bumblebee," he said slowly. "I'm . . . I'm confused?" He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair distractedly. Too much had happened in the last day for his wreck of a mind to cope with. Better off dead, a girl's voice whispered to him. Haven't you guessed I've had pets like you before? said another. His father's face strayed across the vision of his mind's eye. More thoughts, perhaps his own, scuttled across the surface of his mind like clouds before a storm.

The yellow mini-bot was relieved that a messy sickness was not forthcoming, but was annoyed that his pet was not responding properly.

"Well, what do you suppose would make you unconfused?" he groused, placing his hands on his hips and leaning forward to stare Spike directly in the optics. The human gazed into the azure light of the Autobot and felt mesmerized, trapped as a mouse is before the hypnotizing dance of a snake.

And yet underneath the haze and the slow-growing despair, something was stirring. Emotions that had not surfaced for nearly two years roiled underneath the only mildly distressed surface of his expression.

Better off dead. . . .

"I think . . ." he trailed off, then started again. "I think I need to see these other rebels die, Lord Bumblebee. Can we go watch it happen?" His expression was completely earnest, his dark eyes pleading. "Once he's gone, there won't be anything else left besides you."

Bee looked down at his pet, somewhat astonished. He had trouble remembering the degree of attachment organics felt for their creators, even though he had instinctively used it to control Spike during this latest mission. The feeling of astonishment gave way, somewhat hesitantly, to a pride and satisfaction that caused his optics to surge for a moment with a brighter glow. Despite the strength of the attachment, Spike would choose his master over his creator.

"I'll see what I can do," the Autobot said softly, almost fondly, a small smile tugging at his lip components. The Lord Prime had not selected him for the raiding party, but surely staying out of the way and watching the action he had helped to bring about would not be punished. In all likelihood, the Lord Prime would be amused at his enthusiasm at seeing the fruition of his work. Truth be told, it always was enjoyable to watch the traps he helped set up being sprung, to take in the spectacle of rebels earning their bloody and just punishment.

Spike seemed to consider a moment. The darkness of his eyes reflected the light of his master's flared optics, then hesitantly he appeared to relax a bit, an edge of his normal drugged smile coming to his lips.

"Thank you, Lord Bumblebee," his soft tenor dropped into the space between them. The mini-bot grinned across at his pet in return, and reached out and ruffled the boy's brown hair.

"All right, we'll be tagging along after the assault team tomorrow," Bumblebee promised. "In the meantime, tell you what, let's head outside behind the Ark and relax this afternoon. You can explain cowboys and - what was the other group? - Indians to me again." He turned to rummage in the compartment hidden in the wall, turning back with a small cube of spiked energon.

"Sounds good, Lord Bumblebee," Spike answered in something resembling his usual carefree tone.

Carefully subspacing the cube, which contained a substance a bit more unstable than regular energon, the Autobot picked up his pet and settled him into the crook of one yellow arm. After locking the door behind them, the minibot skipped to the entrance of the Ark, his human easily riding with the lurching gait.

Carried gently in the Autobot's arms through the warm orange corridors, Spike's expression gradually settled into a haunted frown.

Later that evening, Spike emerged from his cold shower to hurriedly towel himself off. He shivered a little until he finished pulling on his loose nightclothes, then at his master's call emerged from the area behind his cage to sit obediently on the shelf before it.

"And what do you have to say to me?" Bee asked in their nightly ritual. He had no worries about Spike's reply tonight.

"I love you, Lord Bumblebee. You take care of me and I love you," came the ready response, and the minibot smiled briefly as he dropped the small hypo into his pet's hand. Distracted by the thoughts of his nightly fuel, Bee turned away, his audio receptors picking up the soft hiss of the applicator as it released a dose of his human's drug. He carefully measured for himself a moderate amount of the glowing pink fuel. While the spiked energon had coursed warmly and enjoyably through his systems, regular energon was necessary for normal function.

When he had finished his evening rations, he turned and retrieved the hypo from Spike's hands. "All right Spike, time for bed."

"Yes, Lord Bumblebee," the young man replied obediently, and without further protest clambered up to walk the cool metal of the shelf. After he had entered his cage, the yellow Autobot secured the door.

Good night, my Spike, Bee sent through the neural implant. "Sleep well," he said aloud, and walked back to his own recharge berth.

Behind him, the human began a night of restless sleep.

As had another morning only two days before, this one began early.

"Wake up, Spike." The human was instantly alert, jerked out of restless sleep. Bumblebee had as usual awoken to his internal chronometer's prompting, and activated the lights in his quarters as he awoke his pet.

The human sat up, wiping away the sweat of nightmares. In truth, he had had very little sleep, and he awoke with the distant sour taste of bile in his throat. Swallowing hard, the boy clumsily clambered to his feet amongst the cushions and waited by the cage door for Bee to let him out.

The abbreviated morning routine went by quickly, but not quickly enough for Spike's wire-strung nerves. Again, Bumblebee handed him the hypo and turned back to his own morning ration of energon. The soft hiss of the rho-fentanyl being released was followed by a soft trickling sound as the minibot gulped down his breakfast.

Less than a hundred astroseconds later, the two had exited Bumblebee's snug quarters. Soon after that they were outside in the chill, clouded predawn, and had found a suitable spot to wait for the exit of Prime and the selected strike force.

The plan for the counter-ambush was simple. The regular convoy left the energon processing plant, escorted by Cliffjumper and Brawn. The remainder of the strike team, led by the Lord Prime, followed discretely about ten miles behind on the road. Prime had no intention of frightening off his prey. Warpath, Scopeshot, Sideswipe, and Hound made up the bulk of the squadron.

And trailing far behind, agilely avoiding any type of visual contact with the other Autobots, a small yellow Volkswagen followed. It had been years since Bee had had cause to exercise his old scouting and spying skills, but the passage of time had not dimmed his abilities. Quietly, doggedly, he remained within a mile of the others without detection, an old familiar excitement stirring within his central processor.

Spike was quiet and tense in Bumblebee's passenger seat. The young man was dressed in his most common outfit, jeans and a T-shirt, and the yellow jacket decorated with Decepticon wiring and optic fragments.

The day was overcast and gray, and chill with the edge of mountain winter. The waiting was interminable and nerve-wracking, and despite the mild cold of Bumblebee's passenger compartment Spike was sweating and restless. All was silent save for the subtle rise and fall of the Volkswagen's engine as they traversed the mountains, winding up and down the switchbacks and curves along the well-maintained road. Bumblebee, concentrating on remaining undetected by the Autobots they followed, was too distracted to make his normal conversation.

They drove for nearly two hours, in a mostly southeastern course, when at last Bumblebee let out an audible noise of surprise.

"The Lord Prime and the others just took off at several hundred miles an hour!" he exclaimed. "The trap must've been sprung!" Reacting, the Autobot accelerated himself to his maximum speed and hurtled along the mountain road like a large yellow cannonball.

In the passenger seat, Spike clutched reflexively at the dash and door handle as his master apparently turned suicidal. Bee's tires squealed as he curved around a bend in the road, the inertia pressing Spike against the door. Each time they hit a small rise in the road, the small car nearly left the ground, which had a sickening effect on Spike's already-uneasy stomach.

Ignoring the effects on his human, Bumblebee kept his speed, deftly managing the curved road. In dry conditions such as this, his mastery of the road was little less than any of his kin, for like any other Autobot the road was his domain. In fact, he resolved to do this more often as he accelerated out of another turn, and the exhilaration of the drive grew like a bubbling fountain within him.

Grimly, trying not to be sick, trying not to think about what he was about to see, Spike held on.

The sound of laser fire from beyond the next bend announced that they were nearly to the scene of combat. They had heard the sound of distant, crashing rocks some time ago, leaving Bee to assume that some sort of avalanche had taken place. Slowing down a bit in caution, Bee noted a set of tire tracks heading up the steep incline to the left. Surmising that the cliff above would offer the best view of the spectacle along with the best chance of avoiding becoming a target, the yellow Volkswagen ascended the trail quickly, the high pitch of his motor going unnoticed in the general clamor.

The steep slope ended in a broad plateau of grass and scattered rock. As Bumblebee eased over the top, he instantly spotted Scopeshot kneeling behind a set of rocks near the edge of the cliff, finishing a final check of some sort of a long rifle held in his hands.

The large blue Autobot, in turn, noticed the minibot's arrival. Wha - oh, he'll hear about this from Prime, the sniper thought, glaring for a moment at the impudent newcomer on the scene. Wasting no words, he turned to the battle below, edging the point of the rifle over the edge, attempting to secure a clear shot at a certain silver-colored traitor below.

When Scopeshot dismissed him with a glance, Bumblebee transformed and, holding Spike in his arms, walked over to the edge to the left of the sniper to see the action. The human squirmed to get a good view, leaning forward from his perch in Bumblebee's arms to gaze anxiously at the scene below.

The dark gray sky overlooked a scene of Autobot triumph. On and around the pock-marked road, two cars, one silver that Spike recognized as Bluestreak, and a black one he didn't know, were scrambling away from a semi-circle of ominously advancing Autobots.

Motion from the left side of the battlefield caught his eyes. Cliffjumper in robot mode had been jumping and diving to avoid the shots coming down like acrid rain from the southeastern rock face, his relatively small red form agilely avoiding the blasts.

"Stop quivering behind those rocks and come out and fight!" the red minibot challenged, as he finally found a bit of cover close enough to the humans' niche to shoot out a cloud of his 'glass gas' that floated up to envelope several square meters of the rock formation.

The laser fire from the rebels abruptly stopped, and the eager Autobot rushed up the steep gradient of the mountainside to make certain of his kills.

"Can't take the cold, can you, flesh creatures?" Cliffjumper sneered, nearly reaching his goal before a smaller black and red form crashed into him from above, piledriving arms repeatedly slamming into the small Autobot's chest.

"Stay away from Carly!" Frenzy howled, each punch leaving large dents in the chassis of the stunned minibot. The battling duo lost their tenuous perch on the cliffside and fell together down the rocks, with an enraged Frenzy taking every opening he could get with resultant sounds of metal impacting metal.

They bounced down the hillside together, until finally the cassette was thrown aside by the larger Autobot. Cliffjumper scrambled to his feet hurriedly, preparing to fire at the prone Decepticon, when laser fire once again rained down from the rocks above, this time at a clear target with devastating effect.

Spike anxiously grasped the supporting yellow arms as the two humans, apparently unharmed, emerged from the rocks above the struggling pair and started firing down at the horned mini-bot. Squinting, he could make out strips of colored fabric wrapped around the stocks of the guns the rebels held, protecting them from the residual cold. With a choked cry, Cliffjumper attempted to turn enough to aim once again at the resilient rebels, but after a final series of shots to the midsection, the red Autobot crashed to the ground in a heap.

Simultaneously, action was occurring on the other side of the field. The advancing Autobots transformed, blue optics gleaming dangerously - particularly those of the large red and blue Autobot in the lead. The green, feral shape of Hound stepped forward eagerly, ice blue optics narrowed and focused on the prey before him. To Prime's left, Sideswipe advanced more impartially, a hint of what might have been regret crossing his face; but the emotion, if present, did not affect the steady aim of his gun. Warpath rumbled along, remaining in tank mode, turret turned to the renegade Autobot and his companion, and behind him the ebon form of Trailbreaker advanced into the battlefield.

The renegade Autobot was silent, and with his unmarked companion reversed slowly in car mode. Two humans were visible standing up from the tops of the cars, and curiously, not firing the heavy rocket launchers they carried. The nearby Brawn held his attack at a gesture from the Lord Prime, although by the anxious way he carried his frame, obedience to the command was an effort. Heavy soot marks marred his olive and tan appearance, evidence that he had bounced a few shots before the Autobot reinforcements had arrived.

"So, Bluestreak, did you actually think that you could walk away from us?" Prime rumbled, almost casually, tracking the silver Datsun with his massive rifle. "Did you believe that there is anywhere in the galaxy to which you could run that I would not follow?" A moment of tension grew and held as the cars continued to back slowly away, remaining curiously silent, a moment suddenly broken by a challenging voice.

"You don't control the galaxy yet, Optimus!" The defiant shout split the air as Megatron rocketed straight up from hiding among the trees, his silver form a symbol of hope. His mighty fusion cannon sparked a threatening purple a bare fraction of an astrosecond before emitting a high-powered blast directly at Optimus Prime.

The Lord Prime dodged with a speed that belied his size, Matrix-song loud and surging within him. Megatron! A few Decepticons had been expected, but the possibility that the Decepticon leader would take a personal interest in this particular group of humans had been negligible. A fiery blue haze clouded his vision as the Matrix howled in hate at the sight of his ages-old enemy, its wierdling music dark, seething, and fully aware.

Even as the Autobots hurled themselves to the sides, evading the blast radius of Megatron's weapon, another ominous sound carried across the battlefield from the same trees from which Megatron had appeared. A single voice snapped out a command, one that filled the unprepared Autobots with dread.

"Constructicons! Unite and form - Devastator!"

In a tense moment filled with scrambling for cover, the sound of repeated firing of Megatron's great cannon mingled with the sound of a massive transformation. Optimus Prime started firing back at the opposing commander, providing the distraction his troops needed to find positions of strength. Warpath stayed at his side, training his turret on the tantalizing form of Megatron and trusting in the strength of his armor to protect him.

Amidst explosions and fusion cannon fire, the Autobots reformed to face the Decepticon leader and the rapidly approaching gestalt.

Scopeshot had not forgotten his orders despite the temptations of other targets, and focused on his designated victim. Particularly after that encounter in the hallways of the Ark a few months ago, he had little regret on firing on the renegade. Tracking carefully, he fired, feeling the massive rifle kick in his arms.

Bluestreak flipped over from the shot's impact, reflexively transforming as he did so and losing Sparkplug as he rolled. The ex-Autobot looked dazed, and had a smoking hole through his right leg. The human tumbled nearby, rolling on the grass and scrambling quickly to his feet.

The incident did not go unnoticed by Devastator, as the projectile had passed directly in front of him. The massive gestalt frowned. The shot had come from the cliff, and by craning his neck a bit he could see over the edge and immediately espied the prone sniper, with a smaller yellow Autobot clutching something in his arms nearby.

"Oh, do pardon me sir, but the mechanism you're sniping at is an ally of mine," Devastator commented in a clipped accent before reaching up with an immense hand in a powerful downward swat.

Scopeshot shot at the descending limb with no effect, and was just deciding to dodge when the impact hit, driving him several feet into the ground with a loud crunch.

Dismissing the yellow Autobot, who had fallen from the close impact, Devastator turned his attention back to the larger players of the battle. Optimus Prime himself seemed a wonderfully appropriate target, and the titanic robot lumbered toward the Autobot leader.

Dart paused in her rush to the treeline when Bluestreak was hit, then seeing Devastator remedying the problem, resumed her course. She paused for a brief moment as Chip and hoverchair got out, then transformed. The ebon and silver Femme crouched at the edge of the treeline, head turning to where Bluestreak had recovered enough to stand and start firing at Brawn, who was advancing angrily on the renegade despite the blasts.

Her optics glowed a fierce blue, and almost unconsciously she let slip her wrist-daggers. Chip looked back over as he heard the soft hiss of their release, simultaneously tossing the rocket launcher aside and bringing out a human-sized laser rifle.

"Be careful," he told her, words the Courier did not acknowledge as she espied an old foe among the Autobot ranks. Her attention had been caught by Hound's form, quietly slipping along the rocks and cliff that formed the barrier to the north side of the valley. The green Mech's face was in a rictus of hate, and was rushing toward the unsuspecting Bluestreak from behind.

Coward. Attack from behind? Think not.

Chip barely heard the beginning of her rumbling growl before she was gone, charging the boxy green Autobot.

From behind him, Chip heard muttered cursing along with the loud rumble of an Earth-manufactured engine as Lyn rushed their battered ex-Army jeep into the chaotic battle. Rick stood in the passenger seat, with the old baseball rifle supported on the windshield frame. Aiming at the nearest Autobot, the blond rebel chose the tan and green Autobot that had nearly reached Bluestreak and the nearby Sparkplug.

"Go toward the tan one!" he shouted down to Lyn, who compressed her lips and altered their course in acknowledgement. They angled in on an attack course and were basically ignored as a threat by the Autobots, who if they weren't firing at Bluestreak had plenty to keep them busy in the forms of Megatron and the gigantic Devastator.

"Almost in range . . ." muttered Rick, narrowing his blue eyes and riding with the bucking of the Jeep as it drove over the rough ground. The drive smoothed out suddenly when they hit the road, and aiming carefully, Rick squeezed the modified trigger.

The black sphere hurled towards its target, its impact not audible in the general chaos of the melee, but its effects immediately visible as Brawn arced in a paroxysm of agony, and then dropped to the ground in a heap.

"Yeeeeees!!!"

Rick and Lyn whooped in excitement. The viroballs worked! Bluestreak tossed them a quick salute in thanks, astonished at the results of the humans' invention. Lyn screeched into a 180 turn, retreating momentarily from the battle as Rick reloaded.

Freed from the threat of Brawn's not-so-gentle attentions, the renegade Autobot quickly turned to the direction he was certain he had seen Dart and Hound intercept one another. However, he was immediately distracted by a laser shot that came within millimeters of his face. Flinging himself immediately backward and transforming into his alt mode, he evaded the next shots that would have drilled him through his helmet.

The pain of his leg wound forgotten in the urgent data streams currently being handled by his central processor, Bluestreak scanned for his assailant, cursing all the while having to fight in the open like this. He barely registered the presence of Sparkplug, who was sprinting to the treeline to join Chip.

The convoy of energon was still in the middle of the road, and at some point during the battle Reflector had emerged from hiding among the cliffs and started sowing multiple small black devices around the radio-controlled flatbed trucks. Bluestreak decided that avoiding trucks piled with explosive fuel when one is being fired at was likely a piece of the better part of valor, and swerved behind one of Devastator's limbs.

If anyone had ever told me that I would someday be using one of Devastator's legs for cover, I would have reported them immediately to Perceptor for personality readjustment, he thought bemusedly, transforming back to robot mode. Even though the gestalt was in motion and attacking Optimus Prime along side the bravely flying silver form of Megatron, it was still possible for the silver Mech to keep the bulk of one leg - he rather suspected it was Mixmaster - between himself and. . . .

Sideswipe. Sideswipe had found an outcropping of rock near the mouth of the pass to take cover behind, and in response to shouted orders from his commander had turned his firepower from the gestalt to the traitor. Loyalist faced off renegade, and for a moment their optics met, one pair regretful, the other set suddenly grim.

Bluestreak dodged a couple of additional shots, bringing his rifle up to bear on his friend, when something occurred to him.

Sideswipe was a better shot than this. There was no way that he should have missed that first hit, and the subsequent shots felt a little off. Bluestreak had been dodging Decepticon fire for meganiums, and this felt like. . . .

It felt as though his onetime friend was deliberately missing. Adjusting his own aim slightly, the sliver gunner sent a trio of shots past Sideswipe's helm. The red Autobot flinched back, and then his optics met Bluestreak's again.

Beyond faction, beyond orders, they were connected by hundreds of battles spent watching out for each other's back, by countless shared cubes of energon, and by the bonds of a unique friendship built slowly over thousands of vorns. Gravely, their gaze met and held, and each nodded slightly to the other in understanding.

Devastator rocked back then from a combined hit from Prime and Warpath, and Bluestreak dodged the giant's steps, bringing his rifle up to bear on Sideswipe's position. The silver Mech realized soberly that his friend was taking an awful chance in deliberately missing his target. If Prime even suspected for a moment what Sideswipe was doing, the red Autobot - or what was left of him - would end up as Perceptor's next experimental subject. To pull this off, they would both have to make it look good.

With grim purpose, yet with a lighter spirit, Bluestreak began returning fire once again.

Hound's purpose on this battlefield was singular, and had nothing to do with Decepticons. He saw the renegade and the growl bubbled up in his chest like the slow roiling of a chemical reaction coming to fruition. It slipped past his ruined vocalizer and was released into the chill mountain air, echoing slightly against the walls of stone that framed the Autobots as they first entered the scene. He had his target, and was only marginally delayed even by the appearance of Megatron and Devastator.

Bluestreak. . . . Hound had hunted him once, for sport, and doing so now in deadly earnest sent the old familiar thrill through his frame. After the initial moments of confusion in the Autobot forces following Devastator's arrival, the green Transformer refocused on his target, who was paired with a trim black car the hunter recognized as yet another old foe. Hound noted with disgust that they both carried flesh-creatures in their passenger compartments. His growl increased in volume for a moment, and then Hound stilled himself. There was no use in warning the prey of his approach.

A shot from the northern cliff hit Bluestreak in his cowardly retreat from the main Autobot forces, and as Hound fluidly circled around to the northwestern edge of the battlefield. The traitor was further distracted by Brawn's lumbering approach, and scrambled to his feet to fire at the oncoming small powerhouse. Hound dismissed the Courier as she continued to the west, apparently at the direction of the flesh creature she carried.

Hate glared from Hound's azure optics, and he prepared to charge in for an immediate kill. The silver Mech was still unsuspecting of the danger behind him and was continuing to fire at Brawn. Hound withdrew his knives from subspace, snarled in silent malevolence at Bluestreak's back, and started the rush to attack.

An angry growl was his only warning as an ebon form flashed by, striking as it went to leave a near-surgical slice across his upper chestplate. The Courier!

His attention forcibly diverted, Hound attempted to track her movements, with little success. His growl renewed itself as he stabbed in frustration at the lithely moving form. The Femme moved like ebon lightening, dodging and feinting with each attack and tagging him nearly at will until he dripped fuel from half-a-dozen shallow slashes. She fought with all the heart and courage of a wolf protecting her own, and the mastiff-like Hound, however strong, could not match her fluid movements.

Dart finally settled into a fighting crouch for a moment, air intakes hissing with the volume required to cool her systems. Her optics gleamed cerulean with anger, and Hound's own fuel was visible on either wrist-dagger.

The hunter's optics narrowed in concentration for a moment, and then he charged straight for his adversary, heavy hunting knives coming in from either side to strike. Dart dodged, wolflike, away from the attacks and circled to her right, then abruptly reversed course, almost falling as she scrambled backwards from the suddenly looming form of Optimus Prime. Momentary panic coursed through her as the Lord Prime advanced on her. For a moment the Femme saw the scene not as overcast day, but as moonlight on snow with encircling shadowy figures, and heard the low rumble of Prime's laughter. A remembered, bitter taste of betrayal came to her, but even as she realized that she couldn't smell the approaching figure, a heavy knife lodged itself in her shoulder joint.

She yelped and reflexively rolled forward, through the hologram, and turning to meet her enemy, found that her left arm was effectively immobile. The image wavered, and then winked out as if it had never been, to reveal the scarred, leering face of its originator.

Her right arm still functioned. Her opponent had lost one of his blades.

He had also awoken memories better left buried, had triggered a seething, white hot rage that lurked deep within the Courier's soul. Optics blazing, she returned to the attack.

Growling, Hound met her.

He managed to parry her first few strikes, better able to anticipate blows coming from just one side. Frustrated, Dart increased her speed, feet barely visible as she sprinted in a literal circle around the hunter. Coming around to his right, the side that did not hold a knife, she struck at his neck and pierced the outer layer of metal, coming dangerously close to his main fuel intakes. Mutely seeming to roar with pain, the hunter swung a heavy backhand, causing Dart to jump backward and stopping the progression of her blade.

This time, she did not give him any time to prepare a hologram, and immediately returned to the attack. Leaping forward, she snarled and thrust her right wrist-knife directly at Hound's optics. As he reflexively blocked her, seeking to obtain a hold on her arm, she reversed the feint, and slipping to the left, she thrust her dagger into the Mech's side and savagely twisted it back out.

The boxy green Autobot managed to twist around and connect with a frenzied blow to her midsection, then drew back, fuel flowing from the wound in his side. Dart flew from the impact, her relatively weak Earth-forged armor denting from the blow, but pulled herself to her feet to growl defiance at her enemy. She staggered a step or two as her internal gyroscope malfunctioned briefly, then regained her equilibrium to stand in a fighting crouch.

Hound was wounded, but the hint of weakness the Femme showed in those few faltering steps was too much for him to resist. He held his remaining knife in his right hand, and with a rumbling howl began his charge.

"Yeeee-hah!!"

Both combatants turned to watch the unlikely threat of two humans in a Jeep, ironically nearly the exact image of Hound's alt mode, zooming across the ground toward them. Hound noted that one of the humans had a weapon pointed at him, but dismissed it as likely unable to harm him, choosing to return to his attack on the black and silver Femme.

The viroball hit Hound as he was in midstride. Mouth opening in a silent scream, he convulsed for a few moments, then went still. Rick tossed Dart a jaunty wave as Lyn swerved the Jeep into another turn to allow Rick time to reload the heavily modified weapon.

Dart looked at her fallen enemy in numb satisfaction, then scanned the battlefield for Bluestreak, holding her injured left arm to her body and ignoring the myriad of warning signs starting to be generated from her central processor. She thought that she finally saw him in a most unlikely position, behind one of Devastator's legs, when a heavy barrage of fire hit the gestalt's junction points.

Devastator fell apart.

The battle was not going well for the Autobots. The Matrix screamed violence in his audios, but the secret to Prime's success in battle had long been his ability to resist the urges for all-out attack in favor of strategy. Shouting a quick stream of commands that were immediately followed by his well-trained soldiers, the Lord Prime led the counterfight against the attacking Decepticons.

The fight progressed for several minutes without advantage being gained by either side. Megatron and Devastator attacked in a combative force, which kept the Autobots for the most part pinned down to the mouth of the pass. A few of his force managed to slip to the sides to engage the traitorous Bluestreak, leaving himself, Warpath, Sideswipe, and Trailbreaker to contest with the Decepticon leader and the gestalt.

One of Devastator's first moves was to take out Scopeshot on the cliff above, leaving the Autobot unit bereft of sniper support.

"Warpath, Trailbreaker - focus on Devastator's junction points," the Lord Prime commanded. "I'll keep Megatron busy. Sideswipe - take out the traitor."

Laser rifles flared and cast forth their deadly lances of light, their whine occasionally punctuated by deeper sound of plasma and fusion cannon. Explosions shook the ground and reverberated along the cliff. Devastator's steps did the same, and his great fists slammed into the cliff to bring a small rockslide on the Autobot's heads.

Not requiring the command, Trailbreaker extended his forcefield to repel the rocks, his massive black form nonetheless becoming covered with dust.

"Keep me busy, Optimus?" Megatron taunted, deliberately using the Autobot leader's name instead of his title. "Your evil ends today!" The silver Decepticon commander's powerful form paused in his flight to deliver a series of shots even Prime's Matrix-enhanced reflexes were hard-pressed to evade.

"Heh. Lousy aim, as always, Megatron," the red and blue Autobot sneered back, returning fire with his mighty plasma cannon. Beside him, the blood-red form of Warpath fired steadily at the giant gestalt, his deep rumbling war cries almost palpable as the sound waves passed through the Cybertronians' metal forms. ZOOOM. KAKOOOM.

Beyond Warpath, Sideswipe was trading fire with the traitor, who of all places was taking shelter behind the moving and therefore dubious protection of Devastator's left leg. The gestalt in turn had turned his attentions to the tank.

"Excuse me, but that's an intrusion on my person," Devastator told the tank, attempting a similar solution to how he had handled the sniper on the cliff, preparing to bring his arm down in another powerful swat. Warpath's reaction was to track and fire a powerful round at the gestalt's descending hand, which penetrated Devastator's palm and caused him to recoil.

"Well now, that was rather rude," the gestalt forced out, lifting his right leg to kick at the tank, who immediately transformed and rolled out of the way.

"POOOWW. There is much more where that came from, ZOOOWW!" Additional shots from his turret followed the slow thunder of Warpath's speech.

Amidst all the confusion, the Lord Prime still was aware of the positions of Hound and Brawn. When Brawn went down, he frowned in consternation beneath his battlemask, and when the same humans appeared to be responsible for the fall of Hound, he immediately decided that they had to be dealt with.

"Sideswipe! When those humans come back around for another pass, shoot them!" Prime ordered, shifting his position a bit to get some extra shots in at Megatron.

"Yes, my Lord," was the immediate response as the red Autobot ducked away from another near miss from Bluestreak. Firing back, the red Autobot's shot glanced harmlessly from Devastator's leg.

Exasperated in his fight with Warpath, Devastator finally brought both hands together in a double fist, preparing to smite the blood-red tank. He fell to one knee to further power the blow, which Warpath attempted to evade by diving to one side among the rocks. He wasn't entirely successful, and the titanic robot crushed one of Warpath's legs against the road.

"Now!" roared the Lord Prime, and Sideswipe and Trailbreaker responded by immediately shooting at Devastator's exposed shoulder joints, with multiple shots finding their marks. The giant bellowed in pain, rearing up and away before all of its components fell apart, resulting in six moderately stunned Constructicons sprawling on the road.

"Forward!" Prime commanded, lifting one red arm to the foreboding gray sky. As individuals, the Constructicons were not designed for warfare. If he and his Autobots could manage to take even one out, they could disable the enemy gestalt as a whole permanently.

The collapse of Devastator also revealed Bluestreak, whose cover had disappeared. Further out on the battlefield, the humans in their Jeep could be seen coming in for another run. Their strange weapon, looking like a very small cannon, was more visible now without the gestalt in the way.

The Autobots advanced at their leader's command, save for Warpath, who attempted to stand but found that his mangled right leg would not support his weight. Megatron attempted to halt their advance by renewing a barrage of fusion cannon fire, but without the additional presence of Devastator the Decepticons could not hold back the Autobot leader flanked by two trained warriors.

A few of the Constructicons started to shoot back, and one started to try to drag a wounded comrade away from the direct battlefield. From the south, a group of humans and cassetticons attacked, firing on the Autobots as they advanced from their cover.

Trailbreaker, on the right flank, threw up a protective forcefield that had no problem deflecting the shots from the human rebels and small Decepticons. On the left, Sideswipe momentarily targeted Bluestreak, then altered his aim and fired at the still distant human-driven Jeep. It flipped quite satisfactorily, sending the humans flying away to tumble onto the grass.

Returning fire to the Constructicons, Sideswipe started firing at the green and purple Mechs. A thought occurred to him then - there was Megatron, now heading in a dive toward Prime, and there were Constructicons and the annoying little cassetticons. . . .

Where were the Seekers?

Bumblebee stood near the edge of the cliff above, with Spike leaning forward from his perch in the yellow mini-bot's arms to better observe the action below. To their right, Scopeshot lay among the rocks at the edge, waiting for the gesture to fire. He wouldn't make the same mistake his target had made, he wouldn't fire too soon. . . .

"So, Bluestreak, did you actually think that you could walk away from us?" Prime rumbled, almost casually, tracking the silver Datsun with his massive rifle. "Did you believe that there is anywhere in the galaxy to which you could run that I would not follow?" A moment of tension grew, and held, as the cars continued to back slowly away, a moment suddenly broken by a challenging voice.

"You don't control the galaxy yet, Optimus!"

Bumblebee's mouth components fell open in surprise and dismay at the appearance of the Decepticon leader. Megatron wasn't supposed to be here! And Devastator! The other humans had only mentioned Bluestreak and Dart as allies in this venture, with the possible addition of some cassetticons. What had drawn these massive reinforcements to a relatively minor energy raid?

Processor working quickly, Bumblebee came to the only possible conclusion. He had been recognized while at the rebel base, and the humans had deduced that they were walking into a trap, and somehow managed to arrange a counter-trap for the Autobots!

And if Bumblebee could figure this out. . . . He glanced down into the melee at the Lord Prime and shuddered. I didn't know that I'd been discovered . . . didn't realize . . . I'm gonna be scrap metal!

Beside them, Scopeshot focused on his pre-designated target, focused past the titanic gestalt, and scored a clean hit on Bluestreak that disappointingly failed to hit any vital parts. The blue Autobot cursed to himself, and refocused on his target's now-supine form, but quickly became aware that one of the opposing combatants objected to his choice of victims.

"Oh, do pardon me sir, but the mechanism you're sniping at is an ally of mine," Devastator commented in his clipped accent before reaching up with an immense hand in a powerful downward swat.

Scopeshot shot at the descending limb with no effect, and was just deciding to dodge when the impact hit, driving him several feet into the ground with a loud crunch.

The edge of Devastator's hand glanced off Bumblebee's head, sending the mini-bot tumbling to the ground. Spike leapt out of Bumblebee's arms to land in a sprawling heap, managing to slowly get to his feet while his master was still recovering.

The boy gazed for a moment on the yellow mini-bot's collapsed form, a distant pain in his gut reminding him of what he needed to do. Almost hesitant, fighting the conditioning of two years that demanded he stay by his master's side, Spike turned to the southeast and the newly-formed gentle slope of the collapsed southern pass.

He reached the top of the collapsed portion, and mind awhirl with struggle and doubt, began his descent. He cautiously climbed and slipped down the new hillside, which was mingled rock and loose soil. Below, he saw Rumble and Frenzy lift the two humans on a very short flight to the northwestern edge of the woods, where Chip waited. Where was his father?

Spike spotted him, out in the open in the northern side of the valley, rushing to join Chip. So far to go . . . can I make it?

:Spike! Where are you?: The loud, insistent voice in his head indicated that Bumblebee had recovered from the blow to his head, and was now searching for his vanished pet.

Spike almost answered. Part of him needed to answer, needed to obey and please his master. Another part fought that impulse with all its strength.

"Nooo . . ." he moaned, voice rough. A moment's inattention resulted in a scrabbling slide down the remainder of the hillside, and left him liberally smeared with dirt. Not remembering to be thankful that the slide hadn't resulted in any injured bones or joints, Spike staggered from the landing and made his way to the nearby road.

:Spike! Answer me!: The tone had shifted from almost worried to the impatient, demanding timbre Bumblebee used when he was angry with his human. Far above, the yellow minibot finally looked down and saw his dirt-stained pet staggering northwest along the road. :What in Primus' name are you doing? Turn around!:

Again, he almost obeyed. Shivering with the mental effort, he put one foot in front of the other and continued to progress toward the western treeline.

The sounds of battle were overwhelming, even from a few hundred yards away. Metal impacted metal, laser gun fire whistled through the air, and the very ground shook from explosions and Devastator's footsteps. Not far away, two humans driving a Jeep were turning around to return to battle, having just felled a block green Mech - Spike recognized Hound's form.

I have to . . . have to make it to him . . . Spike's thoughts were slow and tortuous.

:Spike! Turn around!: His master's voice was significantly louder as Bumblebee remotely increased the volume on the implant in the human's skull.

"No!" The boy cried out in anguish, holding his head with both hands but continuing to plod onwards. The chaotic battle continued, centered in the northern pass to this valley. Devastator reared back for a powerful strike, coming down on one knee.

"Now!" The Lord Prime's voice carried across the battlefield, and even from a distance Spike could see the Autobots unite their firepower on the gigantic robot, resulting in the dissolution of the gestalt link. To the west of the pass, tiny figures had lined up to present their portion of firepower against the Autobots.

"Dad . . ." Spike mumbled, breaking into a shambling run. :Spike! I'm warning you!: Bumblebee turned up the volume another notch, and just the physical sensation of his voice nearly drowned out any other thoughts. Spike hesitated, the internal battle between obedient slave and awakening, rebellious human starting to turn.

The sudden hit on the rebel's Jeep changed his internal war-tide once again. The vehicle flipped over, catapulting two forms - Lyn and Rick, Spike realized - to the ground, where they lay unmoving, perhaps a hundred yards ahead of Spike's position. Glancing behind, he realized that Bumblebee was climbing down the cliff himself, coming to reclaim his wandering possession.

Another distant stab of abdominal pain served to reinforce his decision. Even though wasting those two doses of drug had been among the hardest things he had ever done, the burgeoning physical effects of withdrawal somehow heightened his mental clarity. Grimly, he made himself think about what he would be returning to, using the pain and nausea as a focus. He turned his staggering run into a sprint, ignoring the numerous commands to turn around, to return.

Better off dead, his mind repeated it like a mantra. Better off dead . . . than in chains.

As he approached the overturned Jeep, he spotted what appeared to be a weapon, a tube-like thing with a wide mouth. Scattered near it lay several black round spheres of the correct size to fit inside the tube.

Ducking to retrieve it, he scooped the weapon and two of the spheres up, then ran around to the other side of the flipped Jeep. Crouching down, he frantically tried to figure out how to fire the thing. He could hear the soft familiar roar of an Autobot engine approaching - he would know the sound of that motor anywhere. Bumblebee was coming for him. . . .

Finding the trigger, he prepared to stand and fire, fighting the confused, conflicted voices that battled inside his mind.

I can never go back. I'll die if I do. . . . Yes, he would die. . . .

Better off dead, better off dead. . . . Carly's voice floated down from the ceiling vent.

Only you among humans are acceptable to the Autobots . . . you are special, Spike, whispered Bumblebee.

TRAITOR!! A blond rebel about to die screamed at him. I love you, Lord Bumblebee. You take care of me and I love you. . . . No, that was wrong.

Dad . . . oh, dad . . . you're alive. . . .

Tears streaming down his face, Spike sobbed out his father's name. He rose and turned with the weapon in hand, not knowing exactly what it would do, but knowing that his slavery ended here.

Only a few yards away from the other side of the Jeep, Bumblebee had transformed and paused in midstride, scarcely able to credit what his optics told him. His pet was not only trying to run away, it was aiming the barrel of some sort of weapon at him!

"Spike?" he said cautiously. "Put that . . . thing down, Spike." The yellow Autobot's eyes gleamed a soft, reassuring blue as he held out a hand, realizing that entreaties might work where threats had failed.

"Come on, Spike," Bumblebee smiled, slowly stepping forward. "Put it down and we can go home together. . . ." The Autobot trailed off as the expression on Spike's face did not change from its stern, anguished expression.

Face covered in dirt, sweat, and tears, Spike fired the weapon.

Bumblebee instinctively threw up his hands to guard against the shot, but the black spheroid struck his arm, the magnetic clamps immediately activating. The electromagnetic pulse hit the Autobot's systems, as did the carefully constructed virus. Bumblebee screamed, the sound almost lost in the background of cannon fire and Cybertronian battle cries, and fell to the ground convulsing before finally becoming still.

"No. No, we can't." Spike said slowly, then turned to look at where the main battle continued to rage, about another hundred yards to the north. Despite the Autobot losses, they seemed to be pushing forward into the Decepticon forces. Trembling with anxiety and emotion, the boy pushed back strands of sweat-slicked hair, then crouched to attempt to reload his weapon. Fumbling at first, he nonetheless was able to intuit how to do so - living in the Ark for two years had not been without its advantages.

Ignoring the unconscious pair of humans with a twinge, the young man pocketed the second metallic sphere and began to skirt around the battle to the west, trying to make his way north to where he was certain his father was fighting. He passed a green and tan Autobot body collapsed on the road, and gave it a wide berth before continuing.

Behind him, Bumblebee began to stir.

On the northern side of the valley, a small group of humans and cassetticons held their positions among the rocks, and were trying to focus enough firepower on Trailbreaker's force field to short it out.

"This ain't workin'!" Rumble yelled, firing again. They weren't even distracting Trailbreaker enough to keep him from firing into the small knot of Constructicons.

"Do you have any better ideas?" Chip shouted back, attempting to find a weak point at the bottom of the shield. His hoverchair barely fit into their cover, and he frowned as he worked on the problem at hand. Beside him, Paul knelt, keeping up a steady stream of shots.

Frenzy spat out a few syllables the humans suspected were Cybertronian curses. "Not really," the red robot admitted.

"Frenzy! Watch your slagging language!" Carly tossed out over her shoulder before leaning out from behind their rocky cover to fire a few more shots, trying to shoot past the outer edge of Trailbreaker's shield to reach Optimus Prime. The girl was a mess, with some of her clothing having crumpled away after exposure to Cliffjumper's glass gas, as had several inches of hair on one side.

The two cassettes stared down at her open mouthed for a moment before finally having to laugh.

"Focus, people," Sparkplug snapped. The older rebel was covered with sweat and dirt from the dive from Bluestreak's passenger compartment. He fretted about Lyn and Rick, but didn't have the time to run to the flipped Jeep.

"Hang on - looks like Megatron's going to close in on Prime!"

Beyond Trailbreaker, Megatron had finally descended from the sky to crash into Optimus Prime, and the two commanders commenced to hand-to-hand combat. Scavenger and Scrapper immediately formed up on either side of Megatron, the two hardy Constructicons going up against Trailbreaker and Sideswipe. Bluestreak and several other Constructicons provided additional fire support, but that didn't last long as Warpath painfully dragged himself up into a position from which he could fire, supporting himself against the wall of the pass.

THOOOM.

The shot took Long Haul near the junction of his leg and torso, who fell with a started cry. Immediately, Bonecrusher, who bore some marks of damage himself, moved for his injured partner and dragged him backward out of the thick of the fight.

Hook and Mixmaster remained standing, grimly trying to target the Autobot tank past the front line of their comrades.

POOOW.

Bluestreak found himself tackled sideways by a very insistent mass of black and silver Femme, one of Warpath's mighty powered blasts going through the space he had just been occupying to whiz past the payload of energon on one of the convoy trucks. Dart clenched her mouthplates, but could not avoid a grunt of pain as the tackle jarred her injured shoulder.

Bluestreak immediately rolled them both over, relieving the pressure from his door hinges, and half-carried Dart to the eastern cliff, trying to find some shelter from the deadly barrage coming from the mouth of the pass.

"You're hurt," he said, concern gleaming in his optics. Fuel stained her left shoulder and arm, which she held close to her body.

"Not bad," she replied, turning a half-accusatory gaze upon him. Her optics were curiously dim for the only moderate damage she had accumulated. "Do own dodging. Both safer, then." Her air vents fluttered, a curious gasping sound coming forth, and the renegade frowned as he recognized the symptoms of energon depletion.

"Heh. One of these days I'll learn when to duck," Bluestreak told her, concerned with the Femme's condition, but immediately distracted by more shots winging dangerously close to their position.

Turning away, sheltering the Femme with his door panels, he started firing again into the fray, almost chuckling as he came to a realization. I wish I had a nice gestalt leg handy to provide cover right about now. . . .

KAKOOM.

The battle waged on, and Bluestreak glanced in frustration at the sullen gray sky.

Where the Pit were the Seekers?

In the middle of the pass, the ground rocked as two age-old enemies struggled for dominance. At first the Decepticon leader held his own, matching his opponent blow for blow. There was no witty repartee now, only a fight in deadly earnest. They pounded back and forth along the pass, each depending on their followers to guard their flanks from other attacks. As the seconds passed, it became clear that the Autobot leader held a metal-shaving's worth of advantage over his counterpart. The Lord Prime's optics gleamed in pure fury, and his swings hammered at his enemy with incredible speed and power. His silver gleam dulled from the surrounding dust, Megatron evaded the blows, his motions circular and graceful in contrast to his opponent's more straightforward and belligerent attacks.

Frenzy was worried. The Seekers should have been here minutes ago. Easing against their shelter, he ceased fire for a moment and sent out a desperate radio signal.

There was no response, and he realized that communications had been blocked! But how long had the jamming been up? Frightened, but now appreciating the wisdom that had caused Megatron to post Ravage to Starscream for the battle, the small red robot dimmed his optics and risked attempting communication with his brother.

The battle around him dimmed as he entered the web of connections that stretched among Soundwave and all of his children. Distantly, he felt his father's sudden awareness that several of his creations were in battle, but regretfully passed that broad golden cord to find the much closer, familiar silky black thread that led to Ravage.

Where are you? Frenzy sent the sounds and images of combat into his cry.

What? We're on our way! The panther's mind-voice was startled and dismayed.

Frenzy reactivated his optics, about to report to the others what had happened, when the blue cassette beside him stood and let out another flurry of shots.

"C'mon, we gotta get around this shield!" Rumble let out a frustrated cry.

"Then let's go!" Carly darted out from behind the rocks, trying to find a clear target as she moved to the south, becoming in turn an extremely exposed target herself.

"Will you stop giving her ideas?" Frenzy snapped at his brother, then followed Carly out into the open, startled out of reassuring the others that the Seekers were finally on their way.

"Why ya blamin' me?" the blue cassette asked, sounding wounded, before following them.

"Carly! Come back - oh! Keep shooting from here," Sparkplug directed Paul and Chip, doing the same himself while sending a scathing look toward the headstrong girl.

It started to work. The trio in moving south created a new angle of attack, one that was too wide for Trailbreaker to maintain his defensive shield against while simultaneously engaged in combat with an aggressive Scavenger. A few of the human's shots got through and tagged the black-armored Autobot who winced away in distraction, leaving him open for a powerful punch from the attacking Constructicon. The rebels and cassettes whooped in victory, concentrating their attacks on Trailbreaker. The Autobot was soon bellowing in anger, and scorched and leaking fuel in several places.

DOOOM.

Warpath's shot took Scavenger in the chest, propelling him backwards and leaving the boxy black Autobot to turn, grinning malevolently, at the exposed small figures who had been shooting him. As his weapon came up to fire, Frenzy roughly grabbed Carly about the waist and flew upwards, quickly joined by his brother. Not wanting to waste time firing at small aerial targets, Trailbreaker leaned out of the pass to get a better shot. The ground exploded around the rebels as the first round hit their sheltering pile of rocks. Sparkplug lost his grip on his rifle in the process, crying out in pain as a stone fragment hit his left leg. Paul fared better, as did Chip. The two fired grimly at the Autobot, but the same model of rifle that had incapacitated a mini-bot earlier in the battle fared considerably less well against the larger target.

Sparkplug saw Trailbreaker's gun descend on their position again, and could only press against the rock wall for protection.

"NOOOO!!" the ragged scream came from the south, followed by a soft sound, a gentle clunk of metal on metal that was almost lost in the raging fight.

Trailbreaker convulsed and collapsed in the middle of the pass.

Sparkplug turned his head, relieved and expecting to see Rick's familiar form as his rescuer.

A yellow-clad figure greeted his eyes instead, holding a thick round tube that had once been a recreational toy. Covered in grime, the brown-haired young man stood perhaps forty yards away, and had knelt to reload the weapon with a savage urgency.

"Spike. . . ." his father said the name softly, in a kind of wonder. The battle seemed to fall away from importance, faded away from the ultimate reality of this moment in which his son had appeared to save him. Spike chose that instant to look up, and once again, one set of brown eyes looked into another pair of the same shade. Spike's mouth moved.

I love you, Dad, he seemed to say, face at once tormented and at peace.

"I love you too, son," Sparkplug murmured, brows drawn together in puzzlement, a soul-deep surge of hope running through him.

A motion behind Spike caught his attention, breaking the moment, and he pulled himself to his feet to point and shout at the yellow robot that staggered toward Spike from behind. The boy whirled, finding himself confronted with his old master yet again.

"Why . . . my . . . Spike?" Bumblebee forced out, motions stiff and jerking. In his right hand he now held a small gun, muzzle pointed directly at the young human. "Why . . did . . . you . . . betray . . . me?"

"Don't you understand?!" Spike screamed out, holding the tubular weapon. "I hate you! I hate you!" Tears ran down his face anew as he shrieked out his hate and rage. "I'd rather die than live with you!"

"That . . . can . . . be . . . arranged," the horned mini-bot said stiffly, still barely able to believe what was happening. He had failed! All that time and effort and affection poured into such an ungrateful and traitorous recipient - the thoughts made his optics flare with anger and hurt. He switched to communicating via Spike's implant, frustrated by the strain on his speech programs that was proving to be an aftereffect of dealing with that nasty little virus.

:You will die now, but you belonged to me! In life or in death, my Spike, you will always belong to me!: Bumblebee straightened his arm to shoot, face ablaze in anguished rage.

Rumble dropped out of the sky on top of him.

"I heard about you," the blue cassette growled. "Ya like to pick on people smaller than you are. Well, try me on for size!" With the soft clanking of transformation, he transformed his arms to pile drivers and commenced to beating.

Bumblebee fell backwards with a loud 'thunk' that was immediately followed by repetitive hammering. Rumble only got in a few solid hits before the mini-bot's stiff yet frantic blows knocked him away. The yellow Autobot scrambled up to target the cassette, a large tear and several serious dents apparent in his midsection.

A savage yell was his only warning as with a soft sound, another viroball connected to his back.

"Nooo . . ." the yelp started out high pitched and faded to nothing as Bumblebee collapsed, and for the second time, Spike stood over his master's body.

"Good shot, kid," Rumble grinned over at him, seemingly no worse for being knocked aside. "Just don't aim that thing at me, and we'll get along fine, huh?"

Spike could only nod numbly in return, shaking.

Overhead, the dark clouds rumbled with thunder. The humans looked up, confused. There had been no lightening.

The giant robots, on the other hand, all knew what that particular sound meant.

"It's the calvary!" Bonecrusher crowed.

"Took their sweet time, didn't they?" muttered Hook, and the Decepticons renewed their efforts as a trio of jets appeared in the southern sky, engines now plainly audible. They swept low across the valley, targeting the Autobots in the northern pass, with deadly laser fire, hitting Warpath squarely. The silver jet risked a missile into the melee, which exploded against the outcropping of rock that had provided cover for Sideswipe. The red Autobot dove away just before it hit, nearly landing on top of the damaged tank.

As the three jets banked sharply the left in tight formation in preparation for another pass, the Lord Prime came to a disturbing realization.

His forces could not stand against these odds.

The Matrix howled against the thought, its blind rage seeking only destruction of the enemy. Pitting his will against that of the Matrix, the frustrated Autobot leader conquered the berserker impulse in favor of reluctant strategy. With a final snarl of hate, he managed to connect a single blow to the middle of Megatron's chestplate and knocked the Decepticon backwards. The sturdy Mech rolled with the punch, gracefully recovering to stand again at guard. Prime quickly stooped to recover his massive plasma rifle and fired, more to keep Megatron at bay than with any real hopes of connecting a shot.

"Autobots! Pull back and retreat!"

Hound had just started to be able to move again when the bellowed voice of his leader rang out the order for the retreat. Whining in pain and systems still recovering from fighting off the virus, he stiffly transformed to his vehicular alt mode and made a beeline for the mouth of the pass and his leader, not even swerving to try and hit the nearby humans.

Another fallen Autobot, forgotten in the press of battle, had also started to rise when he heard the call. Brawn's relatively simple systems had been hard hit by the electromagnetic pulse that was the initial phase of the viroball's attack, and he shook his head in confusion at the command. Retreat? That was something the Decepticons did. . . .

The sound of a rough engine attracted the clumsily moving fighter's attention, and he turned to see Cliffjumper moving toward him from the sound end of the field. With an effort, Brawn managed to transform, and together the two Autobots revved their engines and crashed through the rear line of Constructicons to rejoin the others of their kind.

"Brawn, put Warpath in my trailer," the Lord Prime ordered, irked at the necessity of it as he triggered the release of the trailer from subspace. His audios picked up the sound of falling rocks behind him, and he turned to see Scopeshot's rather dented blue form half-sliding down the slope from the cliff above.

"Scopeshot, Sideswipe, Cliffjumper - provide cover fire for the retreat," Prime snapped, preparing to transform.

"My Lord Prime - what about Bumblebee?" Sideswipe asked the logical question, having snatched a few looks at the appearance of the yellow mini-bot. What the little addict was doing out here without orders, Sideswipe couldn't guess.

"We leave him," snarled the Autobot leader, heaving a sideways punch at the red Autobot, frustrated nearly beyond reason and using any irritant as an excuse to strike out. The blow caught Sideswipe squarely in the shoulder, ruining the aim of his next shot and crumpling the metal. Holding back any cry of pain or similar sign of weakness, Sideswipe settled for beginning a steady stream of silent curses as he resumed laying down cover fire for the retreat.

Once again, his optics met those of Bluestreak, who stood out strangely as a silver, winged form among the lime green Constructicons. They each nodded fractionally in silent understanding. Each had chosen their path, yet neither would allow the difference in faction or allegiance to influence one to destroy the other. The remnants of their friendship held true. The moment passed as the end of the battle drew near, yet Sideswipe was left with a very small smile on his face.

Prime transformed completely and hooked up to his trailer, its rear doors remaining open with Warpath sitting painfully on the edge facing outward. The red tank was a mess, his entire right leg mashed by the blow from Devastator; yet he continued to rumble his thunder-like war cries and fire round after round at the Decepticons. He, along with Cliffjumper and Sideswipe were keeping the enemy ground troops from consolidating a position at the mouth of the pass as the Autobots abandoned it in their retreat. Scopeshot had drawn another rifle out of subspace to take aim at the Seeker jets, who had circled around for another run up the valley.

Megatron looked over his Decepticons as his counterpart called the Autobot retreat, noting that many had serious wounds. Too many casualties to press our advantage, he thought tiredly. The only ones fresh are the Seekers, and I can't send them to chase so many Autobots alone. We'll have to abandon any attempt at pursuit. Damn!

"Hold your positions, but continue to fire!" he ordered those still left standing, and commenced firing himself, attempting to hit a few more Autobots before the battle ended. The sound of the Seekers coming on their second run roared behind him. The Autobot marksman in the pass started shooting at the oncoming Seekers, apparently singling out Starscream, singing his wing and causing the silver jet to veer away and abort the run. Skywarp and Thundercracker continued, firing more freely at the Autobots now that they were removed from the vicinity of their fellow Decepticons.

The Autobots were long adept at dodging Seeker-fire, and did so despite their generally wounded condition. The two Decepticons were met with an upwards hail of fire at their underbellies as they swept past, the two jets turning to the right this time to place the cliff between themselves and the enemy below, again in an impressively coordinated maneuver.

"Scopeshot! Blow the energon!" The Lord Prime commanded as the convoy of Autobots prepared to limp away. He was at least determined to not allow the Decepticons any spoils of victory. Obediently, but snarling at not having more badly wounding the silver Seeker, the blue Ferrari lowered his rifle past the intervening knot of Constructicons, at the four convoy trucks piled with glistening cubes, preparing to jump away as soon as the fuel exploded.

His shot bounced.

Frowning beneath his mask, the blue Autobot fired again as soon as he found a clear line of sight, then repeatedly. His rapid fire caused a brief shimmer to appear, extending close over the beds of the trucks.

"A forcefield," he cursed, the vents in his facemask blazing for a moment. He ducked away as the Decepticons started firing at him as the single target remaining in the pass. No time to switch to another weapon. And no more sign of Starscream, slag him, he regretted, then with a last, frustrated shot at the energon, painfully shifted into his Ferrari alt mode and sped off after the retreating Autobot convoy.

It was over.

The dust produced by the battle was slowly settling, and the Decepticons looked at each other with building grins as they realized that they had won the day. A few scattered cheers turned into a riot of sound as Cons and humans alike began to celebrate the victory.

As the Seekers looped around and descended to land, the pair of older rebels walked slowly towards Spike, who was kneeling dully in the ground beside the unmoving form of Bumblebee. Paul bore evidence of the battle in the form of multiple tears and scorches in his clothing, and was supporting Richard Witwicky, who limped beside him. A large bruise was beginning to form along one cheek where it had been scraped against a rock. He appeared to ignore it all, and focused his blue eyes, as cold as any Autobot's, on the boy kneeling on the ground before him, but withheld the words he wanted to say in consideration for the man beside him.

So you expect forgiveness for all you've done, just for one moment of glory? Paul wanted to say. Damn you . . . if not for you, my son would still be alive. I will never trust you, traitor.

Spike trembled at the harsh gaze of the white-haired man, then had eyes only for his father. He was still in the jacket with Decepticon optics and wiring, and huddled on the ground as the pains of withdrawal began to rip through his belly.

"Spike!" The gray-haired man collapsed beside his son and unexpected savior. The older rebel bore his share of scorched clothing and scrapes, and his right pants leg was dark with a growing stain of blood.

"You came back," Sparkplug reached out to hold his son, who collapsed in relief against his father's chest. "You came back," he repeated, his hold tightening and his voice cracking in emotion.

Spike huddled against his father, trembling. It was nearly over now, and it was all worth it for this moment. He was held by his father, and could hold him back without pretense, without another voice whispering commands and threats in his ear.

He was going to die, but he would be free, and had been now truly reunited with the person he had loved the most on all of Earth.

Shuddering, slowly letting go emotions he had held in check for days in order to deceive his master, relieved and overwhelmed, Spike was finally able to cry.

"Oh Spike," he heard his father murmur. "You're back, back to stay . . . ."

He had to pull back a moment, had to correct this thought. One look at his father's face, who was smiling slightly through his tears, was nearly enough to break that resolved, but he spoke anyway.

"I'm dying," he quavered. "I'll be dead by tomorrow." He turned slightly, looking over one shoulder to where Bumblebee remained on the ground, fuel leaking from the large gash Rumble had pounded in his chest, and missed the subtle change in Paul's expression. Looking down at his own yellow jacket for a moment, Spike's mouth twisted in revulsion and he stripped the thing away from his body despite the chill air, tossing the vile piece of clothing away and remaining in a thin white T-shirt.

The tormented young man slowly turned his head to look at his father, more tears escaping his brown eyes.

"He drugged me," he explained slowly. "Without it, I'll die . . . but I'll never take it again!" He said it fiercely, even as the tears came faster. "At least I'll die free!"

Face creased in sorrow, Richard Witwicky bowed his head over his son.

"No . . . no, there has to be a way," he said, heart aching. He was emotionally exhausted, from Spike's return to his betrayal, his unexpected heroism and now to his own announcement of impending death.

"There has to be a way!"

Nearby, Lyn stirred, slowly pulling herself to her hands and knees.

"Someone get the license plate on that car," Rick moaned, sitting up and gently clutching his head with both hands.

"Heh. It's an Oregon plate, B-O-T," the petite Asian woman returned, painfully sitting up. They were both a mess, smeared with dirt from their tumble into the ground, but were alive and miraculously intact.

A soft hum alerted them to Chip approaching them in his hoverchair.

"Are you guys all right?"

"I'll be a lot righter in a coupl'a days," Rick responded ruefully. The blond-haired young man considered a moment, then slowly stood up. He wobbled a moment and put a hand out for support, which Chip caught and held until Rick was able to stand on his own. As Lyn also cautiously stood, they paused a moment to regard the scene of cheering Decepticons. The less wounded Constructicons had gathered in a kind of knot, and were tossing Rumble repeatedly up in the air. Megatron leaned heavily against the eastern wall of rock, watching the antics with an increasingly wide grin.

"We actually won, didn't we?" Lyn breathed, dark eyes looking on in a kind of wonder. For almost the first time she looked at their giant robotic allies and forgot to hate them.

"Victory," Chip responded quietly, a rare, true grin passing across his features, then called their attention to where Sparkplug held Spike in his arms. "He saved us," he added, realizing that the other two hadn't witnessed the standoff against Trailbreaker. He then pointed to where Bumblebee lay in a collapsed yellow heap, two viroballs visible, one firmly attached to his back and another to his forearm.

"Huh?" Rick said brilliantly, not quite able to piece together what he was seeing. Chip nodded, then left them to approach the Decepticon commander, who had waved an arm at him in an inviting motion to where Megatron was conferring with the slightly singed form of Starscream.

"He did?" Lyn responded in some amazement. Shaking her head, then immediately regretting that motion, she wobbled toward the three humans standing there.

"There has to be a way!"

Lyn winced at Sparkplug's volume, coming up to Paul's side. "A way where?" she asked, eyes searching the form of the young man huddled up against his father.

"He says he's dying," the white-haired man answered quietly, a hint of puzzlement joining his stern expression. "Says that without a drug the Bots gave him, he'll be dead by tomorrow."

"What?" Lyn looked askance. "A drug?"

"Can you help us, Lyn?" Sparkplug's voice was rough.

"Spike? Did they ever tell you what it was?" Lyn knelt down beside the pair, attempting to think, heart aching in sympathy at the pain in Sparkplug's voice.

"No use . . ." Spike trailed off as pain started in earnest. Gagging, he turned from his father to fall on all fours on the ground as he was sick on the grass.

"Spike . . . please." His father's voice was gentle, almost broken.

The heaves eventually paused, and the suffering boy shivered, a sheen of sweat apparent on his face.

"Rho-fentanyl," he finally answered, knowing that the answer wouldn't help.

"Fentanyl?" The word was familiar but elusive, and Lyn struggled to remember what it was.

Come on Lyn, she bit her lip, trying to concentrate despite the tremendous headache. Where did you hear that before? Damnation, what I wouldn't have given for just one year of med school right now. . . . Poor kid, throwing up, he looks cold - look at the hairs standing up on the backs of his arms . . . wait a minute. . . !

"Opiates," she breathed, knowing the answer. "Sparkplug, they addicted him to an opiate! We have to get him back to base - I think… I think I know what to do!"

As soon as the Autobots finally left, Bluestreak turned to ch