Deep within the administrative maze that was known as the Imperial Palace, secure from any assassination attempt, was the rambling network of rooms called The Warlord's Lair. Libraries, guest chambers, quarters for his elite commanders, a private medical center . . . anything Magnus felt was particularly important was kept close. And at the heart of all this, Ultra Magnus's private quarters.

Rumor held that the dark heart of the Imperial Palace was to be avoided at all costs. Unspeakable terrors resided within. Dark whispers suggested that trespassers were seldom seen again, their bodies dismantled for spare parts . . . or worse. Few were brave enough to even want to seek out Lord Magnus. Not when everyone knew that to do so was to dance with death. Rumors varied, but every last one of them held that the Lair was dark, dank, and a terror to behold.

Of course, rumor was wrong.

Exotic pieces from across the Empire decorated the private sanctuary of Ultra Magnus, Lord Regent of the Autobot Empire. Extravagant oil lamps filled the room with a warm glow, a silent testament to the prosperity he had brought about for the Empire.

Of course, he didn't keep them as statements of his power. Rather, it was a simple matter of taste; he preferred the warm glow of oil lamps over the bland light of regular lighting strips. To say nothing of the way the flickering lamplight shimmered and caressed a Femme's form.

The young Femme reclining on his recharge berth watched with unmasked desire as he crossed the room. She wasn't interested in him as much as she was attracted by his power. Magnus knew it, but he didn't particularly care. It only made it easier for him to use her.

Ultra Magnus heard somone enter his apartment. A light footfall, the steps spaced fairly close together, which could only mean one of the cassettes. The cadence was bipedal, ruling out Morpheus's animal spies. That left Eject, Rewind, and Remix. He pretended not to notice, listening sharply as the footfalls stopped briefly before continuing towards his bedroom. Rewind then. No one else would dare.

"Lord Magnus!"

"This had better be good, runt," Magnus grumbled, barely giving the cassette-bot a second look.

"Forgiveness, Lord Magnus, but the Prime is waiting to speak to you."

"Impossible!" Magnus growled, swiftly taking a menacing step towards Rewind. "Optimus Prime cannot possibly still function."

"I wouldn't lie to you, my lord," Rewind whimpered, groveling before him. Magnus grunted, kicking the cassette-bot out of his way.

"Then I'd better not keep him waiting."

"Ultra Magnus, Guardian of Cybertron. I was beginning to wonder if you had perhaps . . . forgotten yourself."

"My apologies, Liege. I was otherwise occupied when your transmission came through. It has been so long. I was . . . skeptical."

"I don't doubt it," Optimus Prime replied dryly. "I will be returning directly. I trust you will be prepared for my arrival."

The Lord Prime did not even wait for an acknowlegement before cutting the connection. Glancing down at the control board in front of him made it clear that the Autobot warlord would be landing in a matter of hours.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he demanded as he turned around. "Springer, Arcee, see to it the city is ready for the Prime's arrival. Find Blurr and see if he has any . . . volunteers for the arena. Dismissed."

The two Autobots saluted crisply with the dull thump of fists to chests, then turned to leave. Ultra Magnus paused a beat, then spoke: "A moment, Arcee."

"My lord?"

"Two things. One, I need Springer alive a while longer. You are to keep away from him, understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Two, find Elita. Explain to her that I have no intention of putting up with her usual tricks. If she tries anything while the Prime is here, I will add her to the arena. And you as well. Do not fail me."

"As you command, Lord Magnus," she intoned, bowing before leaving. Magnus stalked out of the command center, his footsteps beating out an angry tattoo as he retreated to his office.

Why can't that son of a filter cleaner stay nicely missing? Or dead. Dead would be even better. Then the Matrix would be free for the taking, free for me to claim. As it should be.

But no, he has to survive and return. Now I'll have to deal with his twitchiness in my city. As if I don't have enough problems already.

He stared at the stack of reports on his desk, quietly awaiting his approval. With a growl, he swept them all aside. There wasn't enough time to plan an assassination, not before Optimus arrived anyway. So an alliance was in order.

No sense in playing out my hand too soon. Perhaps he has found something useful in his absence. . . .

Blurr paced the balcony outside his office, deep in thought. The balcony was one of the special perks allotted to him as Keeper of the Imperial prison camps, a luxury Grapple had reluctantly added to the modified bunker that served as offices and quarters for himself and his minimal staff. Hunkering beyond Iacon's city limits, it sat in judgement over the camp fields that stretched out beyond it. Separated as much because no one cared to see the slave camps as because of the labor that they produced, Blurr's domain was rarely a host to willing visitors.

But, for once, Blurr's thoughts were not on the state of his domain, or even the artificial distance between himself and the other Autobots. His thoughts rambled with his attempts to distract himself, but they kept returning to the same thing: Starlight, Lord Magnus's newest conquest. If "conquest" could be applied to a Femme Blurr had sent to the Lord Regent. He hadn't seen her in three stellar cycles and, as much as he tried to tell himself he didn't care, he was starting to worry.

Blurr's thoughts were suddenly and rudely interrupted by a flash of silver and a crash of metal on metal. He stopped dead in his tracks, surprised to see Springer slightly ahead of him, his sword sliced through the balcony railing.

"Sod it, Springer! If I wanted the railing replaced, I would've said so!"

"Like I care. Lord Magnus wants volunteers for the arena."

"Yeah? Well I haven't got any."

"I don't think you're reading me clearly," Springer growled, stepping closer to tower over Blurr. "Lord Magnus wants volunteers for the arena, now. The Prime is returning. I'm sure you can find someone . . . unless you want to be the volunteer?"

Blurr scowled up at Springer, sorely tempted to just haul off and clock the bully. He didn't have anyone to send to the arena. And he refused to simply pick someone. The arena was a death sentance, to be used to inspire fear, not merely to satisfy some random whim for brutality.

"I don't have to put up with you, Springer," Blurr growled back, refusing to be intimidated by the larger Mech.

"Oh yeah? And what are you going to do about it?"

Springer didn't wait for an answer, punching Blurr in the abdomen. Blurr doubled over, winded and caught off guard. He tried to straighten up, to defend himself, but Springer was raining blows on him furiously. Blurr felt something in his back give way, heard Springer howl with glee. A howl that was suddenly transformed into a choked gurgle.

"That's far enough, Springer."

Blurr looked up in hazy surprise, not sure what to think of his unexpected savior. Hot Spot had one hand closed around Springer's throat, holding him up against the wall. His optics gleamed brilliant azure, every line of his pale blue body screaming righteous anger. Springer clutched at the other Mech's hand, wriggling in a desperate effort to free himself from Mercury's commander general.

"Lord Magnus doesn't pay you to bully his staff," Hot Spot grumbled, thumping Springer's head against the wall for emphasis. Springer immediately stopped struggling.

"Blurr, you all right?" he asked, never taking his optics off Springer's face.

"Y-yes sir."

"Good. Now then, Springer, what brings you out so far from the city?"

"Th-the Prime," Springer gasped. "He's coming back. Lord Magnus wanted to know if Blurr had any volunteers for the arena."

"And you either didn't like his answer or thought you could get in some easy hits, right?" Hot Spot growled, his hand squeezing slightly.

"He said no," Springer wheezed, one hand clawing weakly at Hot Spot's grip.

"Lucky for you, I'm in a good mood," the commander growled, thumping Springer against the wall again before releasing him. Springer collasped to his hands and knees, coughing and gasping for breath.

"Now get out of here . . . before I change my mind."

Springer didn't have to be told twice; he scurried away like a whipped cyberhound. Hot Spot watched him for a moment, then turned towards Blurr. Confused yet grateful, Blurr didn't know what to say.

"You look like you could use a medic," Hot Spot said quietly, genuine concern creasing his features.

"I'm sure it's nothing," Blurr temporized. The thought of braving the camps' medical facilities did not appeal in the slightest. He knew full well that no medic of value would ever be assigned to the prison camps.

"Trust an old soldier, Blurr; your back needs attention. Come on, we'll have First Aid take a look."

"F-f-first Aid?" Blurr sputtered, floored. No one but no one had walk-in access to Lord Magnus's personal physician, the chief medic of the Mercuries. First Aid didn't even treat members of the other two units unless it was a dire emergency.

A faintly amused smile flashed across Hot Spot's face, and then he was carefully steering Blurr through his own office and out towards the city. Blurr managed, with a great deal of discomfort, to transform, but he could already tell his usual blazing speed was beyond him.

Just as well, he thought to himself worriedly. Hot Spot can't keep up with me ordinarily and I can't even get close to First Aid without him. But why? Why is he doing this?

In the face of Hot Spot's silence, his troubled thoughts were his only companions for the drive into Iacon.

Ultra Magnus read the last segment of Hot Spot's report with an angry hiss. Springer's attitudes were quickly turning him into more of a liability than he was worth. Fortunately, Hot Spot's mission had been a success; in addition to quelling a minor uprising in the Chehalis sector, his task force had returned with prisoners. Hot Spot had already ordered half a dozen sent to the arena holding cells.

First Aid's own report on the incident was no comfort either. He was holding Blurr for a full stellar cycle, for ongoing repairs and observation. There could hardly be a more inauspicious time to be without Blurr's skills.

Perhaps seeing the arena will be enough for that paranoid idiot. If not . . . if not, then I will have no choice but to trust in the competency of Blurr's staff.

As for Springer. . . . It would seem I need to . . . remind him of his proper place. . . .

"Lord Magnus, the Prime's shuttle has entered Iaconian airspace."

"Is all in readiness?"

"Yes, Lord Magnus."

"Very well. You have your orders, Kup."

Magnus flicked the comm switch as he stood up. The time had come.

Sideswipe stood at the hatch, waiting for the signal from the bridge. They were home. It hardly seemed possible. True, it was just a visit, but even a visit held it's appeal after cycle after tedious cycle of the mud and organics of Earth. If nothing else, these few stellar cycles would give him a chance to remind himself of the glories and accomplishments of the Empire.

"Sideswipe, we're down. His Lordship is on his way."

He didn't even bother to respond; there wasn't any point. Disengaging the security locks, Sideswipe cycled the airlock and then started the ramp cycle. As soon as the blast doors opened, Sideswipe stepped out onto the exit ramp. The sight that greeted him was an Iacon transformed from the one he remembered.

For as long as he could remember, Iacon had been a dark and brooding fortress, cold and forbidding. But the Iacon stretched out before him was something else completely. The city was still a fortress, but somehow it had become a triumphant declaration of ultimate victory instead of a brooding vessel of promises not yet kept. It was a brutal reminder that they had been offline for a long time.

Heavy footsteps recalled Sideswipe to his duties. A quick survey of the landing pad revealed Ultra Magnus and an honor guard of ten Mechs. The pad was clear, with no place for a sniper to hide. Apparently, security was as tight and effective as ever.

Sideswipe fell into step behind the dark presence of the Lord Prime as he disembarked. He kept a sharp optic on the gathered Autobots, ready to jump to Lord Prime's defense at a moment's notice. Not that he expected trouble, but he had learned long ago that it paid to be prepared for anything. And as the Lord Prime's bodyguard for this trip, he was not about to let anything get past him.

There was a charge to the air as Lord Prime crossed the short distance between the end of the ramp and the gathered Autobots. A tension in the warriors waiting with Ultra Magnus that Sideswipe found curious. Wonder what's going on around here.

"Ultra Magnus, I see you have kept busy in my absence."

"Of course, my Liege," the other Mech replied, bowing his head. Sideswipe caught the flash of Prime's optics, the telltale twitch of his trigger finger that meant the warlord of the Autobots was angry at something. However, in a rare show of restraint, Optimus Prime did nothing.

"I have much to share with you, Liege. Please. . . ."

Ultra Magnus gestured towards the city. Sideswipe watched him fall into step at Lord Prime's side as if the Ark had left only a few lunar cycles past, instead of several thousand vorn.

They said little as Magnus escorted Prime through the city, aside from his general tour guide comments. Everywhere he looked, Sideswipe could see the signs of success and wealth. While he did not doubt that this was intentional, he was still impressed. The Empire had done well in Prime's absence.

The tour ended in a lounge. Sparsely furnished yet easily large enough to hold half the warriors of the Ark in comfort, it underscored Magnus's success. A calculated move, like the rest of this tour, Sideswipe thought to himself. He took up a position by the door, giving warlord and regent some semblance of privacy.
 

"Enough prattle Ultra Magnus," Prime rumbled. "Report."

"The Decepticon rebellion has been crushed, liege. The fortunate ones are dead, the others in Imperial prison camps. Strike units are even now hunting down those who would flee our power, in addition to scouting out new territory. The Empire holds ten star systems, with more waiting to be conquered.

"There are minor pockets of rebellious individuals still on Cybertron, but they are little more than an annoyance. Your consort. . . ."

"Elita-1 still lives?"

"Yes, liege, and she has aquired quite the following of thieving Femmes. They are, however, no real threat."

Optimus Prime nodded, his expression dark but otherwise unreadable. Magnus couldn't help but wonder how much of the tour the broody warlord had actually absorbed. Enough to revise his previous opinion of his chosen regent? Somehow, he doubted it.

"What else?"

Magnus was about to speak when the door from the administration skywalk hissed open, Rewind running in clutching a datapad.

"Lord Magnus! Groove's patrol unit found a settlement of Decepticon rebels!" the cassette declared, waving the datapad frantically.

"Let me see," Ultra Magnus growled, snatching the 'padd from him. It was as Rewind said; Groove's unit had stumbled across a small outpost. Small, but well defended; he was also requesting support troops.

"Well, well, well . .. dispatch unit Antares Gamma. Make sure Backspin understands that Groove is in command. Oh, and Rewind . . . remind Groove to get me prisoners."

"As you command," Rewind replied, hurrying out of the room. Such good news was more than enough to compensate for Rewind's sudden entry. But Magnus's pleasure was short lived.

"You have done well in my absence, Magnus. Perhaps too well. . . ."

Magnus could hardly believe what he was witnessing. Prime had his rifle out and pointed at his head, his optics burning an intense blue. By Primus . . . he can't be serious!

"There can be only one warlord in this empire, Ultra Magnus."

Ultra Magnus was peripherally aware of both Hot Spot and Sideswipe arming themselves. But at that moment he was more focused on trying to stay alive.

"My liege. . . ."

A rare vase rather suddenly and quite violently ceased to exit. Prime's rifle smoked as he reaimed on Magnus's head.

"You were saying?"

"Everything I have done, I have done for the Empire. I did not seek this title; it was given to me. Need I remind you, my liege, that you and your crew were missing for several thousand vorn? There were some who doubted you would ever return."

"My lord," Sideswipe offered cautiously, "he has a point."

Prime lowered his rifle slowly.

"Perhaps. . . . You have certainly proven to be an able steward. As I must return to Earth, I suppose I should let you continue as Guardian of Cybertron. . . . For now."

"Thank you, my liege," Magnus murmured, the foul taste of his own groveling still strong in his mouth.

"Now . . . what was this about an arena?" the twitchy warlord asked, shunting his rifle back into subspace.

"This way," Magnus replied, gesturing towards the far set of doors. From there it was a short walk to the arena, a slightly longer walk to Magnus's private, and rarely used, box.

You win this round, Optimus Prime. But enjoy it while you can. Some day, the Matrix will be mine.

By the end of the first combat exhibition, Ultra Magnus was ready to see his leader's back. The separation of time had allowed him to forget Prime's brutal nature, the way he reveled in the gore and death of the arena. It sickened him - one of the reasons he rarely used his private box - but there was no possible way for him to escape. So instead he sat through round after vicious round, each one less a combat contest and more a senseless slaughter.

After perhaps a dozen rounds, the arena's master gladiator stepped into the ring. Ultra Magnus had not had many opportunities to interact with the Mech before, but he could tell something was bothering him.

"My liege, with regret, I must call these games at an end."

"What?!?!" Optimus Prime roared, surging to his feet. Magnus could see both Hot Spot and Sideswipe wincing in sympathy for the target of Prime's ire.

"Forgiveness, Liege, but we have no more combatants to match. Perhaps in another day or so. . . ."

The Mech trailed off as the enraged warlord turned his back on the ring below. Then, with a barely audible growl, Prime spun around and fired at the gladiator. The other Mech raised a shield, but the blast still tore into his flank. Prime grunted, then stalked out of the arena, Sideswipe close on his heels.

Ultra Magnus slowly rose to his feet, walking forward, towards the box's railing. He could see the gladiator below, writhing in agony. It required all his self control not to do something foolish. Like attempting to shoot Prime in the back.

"Hot Spot. . . ."

"First Aid is already enroute, my lord," his commander general made bodyguard murmured quietly.

"And the surveillance units?"

"Already at full alert status, m'lord. His every movement is being monitored and recorded."

"Good," he murmured, at last feeling enough in control to stalk out of the arena, ostensibly to follow the Lord Prime. However, he was in no hurry. Optimus Prime had proven himself as volatile and violent as ever; Magnus had no interest in being caught in the middle of that violence.

Sideswipe followed Lord Prime, keeping a wary optic on their surroundings. He knew they were being monitored. He could even offer half a dosen reasons why. But he was having a hard time justifying his commander nearly killing a Mech for something that was beyond his control.

Sideswipe enjoyed a good fight as much as the next Mech. And in combat he was not above using dirty tricks. After all, in war, nothing was more honorable than victory. But the conquest of Earth was different.

Having never been involved in a conquest before, he supposed it was simply his own ignorance. Certainly, he understood that brutal ruthlessness broke a resistance faster than anything else. The destruction of major cities, the execution of resistance leaders, the enslavement of the native population . . . he understood them all. A part of him could even understand Skids' little game, even if he found it revolting; cleaning off caked blood and mud was not his idea of a good time.

Really, he had no problems with the major policies. It was the little things. Like Trailbreaker constantly picking on the snipers. And Lord Prime's tendencies to shoot his own troops for little to no reason.

"Sideswipe!"

The red warrior skidded to a halt, his head snapping up as the angry tones of the Lord Prime cut through his thoughts. He found himself staring at the business end of Optimus Prime's rifle.

"I would prefer if my appointed bodyguard paid attention to things such as where he is going," the warlord growled warningly.

Sideswipe held his ground, barely, his mind racing for something acceptable to say. It wasn't that he hadn't been paying attention to their surroundings . . . well, maybe he had lost a little focus, but not to the point that some sniper would have been able to get more than a shot off. Not that he could say that to Lord Prime.

"My fault," a warm, deep voice rumbled from the shadows. "I was reviewing a little something with him."

Prime's rifle swung around as the warlord attempted to re-aim on the source of the voice. Sideswipe's own weapon leapt into his hand as he followed suit, but he couldn't get a lock. A softly amused chuckle echoed around them.

"Show yourself or be destroyed!"

A larger Mech stepped out of the darkest shadows, wrapped in an air of sleek power and mystery. The outer panels of his transform gleamed an almost brushed suede black that shifted tones as it caught the light, giving him a hematite shimmer, in sharp contrast to the flat, matte black, charcoal, and white of the rest of his armor. His optics glittered a brittle ice blue, alive with secrets as he offered an elaborate bow. Lord Prime's grip tightened, then froze, his optics locked on the paired symbols on the Mech's shoulder. One was a dragon wrapped around a stylized psi symbol. The other was barely visible but no less distinctive - the black fist and lightning bolts of the spymasters.

"Special Operative Morpheus, Spymaster and strike unit Draconis subcommander, at your service, my lord. Please, put up your rifles. Are we not all comrades here?"

Sideswipe had subspaced his weapon without even realizing what he was doing. Understanding suddenly dawned on him as a rifle-less Prime hissed sharply.

"Telepath," Prime spat, as if the word left a foul taste in his mouth. Sideswipe did his best to suppress a shiver; he had heard more than a few rumors about the dark powers of the Telepath Guild.

"Among other talents. As I repeatedly assured your bodyguard, you are quite safe here, my lord."

"No excuse," Prime rumbled.

"We were discussing the situation of Earth," the master spy continued placidly. "He is quite the warrior. Impressive."

"Of course he is!" Prime snapped. Sideswipe watched his commander, in awe of the growing irritation he read in Prime's stance. Almost as awe-inspiring as Morpheus's almost careless attitude. As if he felt no need to fear the Autobot warlord. He knows something, Sideswipe thought to himself. But what?

"Well, I shan't distract him, or you, any further, my lord Prime," Morpheus murmured, stepping back into the shadows. Long experience told Sideswipe that Optimus Prime was absolutely livid, and yet he did nothing. In fact, for several tense moments, it was as if he were frozen in place. Then he sprang forward like a coil suddenly released, an enraged roar echoing off the surrounding buildings. For a moment, Sideswipe seriously feared for his own life. Then, silence. Optimus Prime turned on his heel and walked back towards his shuttle in utter silence. Sideswipe hurried to catch up, his mind racing with unanswered questions.

Prime stopped as soon as they were aboard. Optics flaring brilliant azure, he turned on Sideswipe.

"Bring me Ultra Magnus. I don't care how, just bring him here."

Sideswipe sketched a hasty bow and hurried out of the shuttle. Transforming, he sped down the landing pad and across town, towards the heart of Iacon: the Imperial Palace. From there, finding Ultra Magnus's location was easy. Getting to him, however, was proving to be another matter entirely.

"ID please."

Sideswipe stared at the guard blankly.

"ID . . . you know, your clearance card."

"You want my clearance?" Sideswipe growled irritably. The guard nodded, apparently not used to being questioned.

"Here's my farking clearance," he rumbled, shoving his rifle into the other Mech's faceplate. The guard's optics visibly widened, then he pushed Sideswipe back, shunting in his own rifle with a quiet growl.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," he sneered from behind his facemask.

"Look, you snivelling toad, I am the Lord Prime's bodyguard. He sent me to escort Ultra Magnus. Now, would you like to explain why I couldn't carry out his orders?"

The guard stepped back a pace, his grip tightening on his rifle, but what was visible of his expression remained obstinant.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I need proof of identity."

"It's all right, Fallout. I'll vouch for him."

"Y-yes, sir," the guard stuttered, stepping aside as he subspaced his weapon. Sideswipe narrowed his optics at Morpheus. What's he playing at now?

"After you," the spy murmured. Sideswipe grunted, but subspaced his rifle and walked past the guard. He tried to ignore the black Mech behind him, but it wasn't easy. Even his silence felt wrong, unnatural. Knowing that he was a telepath didn't help any.

"Hold it right there."

"Not again," he grumbled to himself. Glancing up, he frowned; this was one of the Mechs he'd seen with Magnus earlier.

"I need to see Ultra Magnus."

"Well wait in line. Lord Magnus is in a meeting with his advisors and is not to be disturbed. Under any circumstances," the Mech replied with a cold look.

"Tough. Lord Prime wants to see him. Now."

"It's all right, Blades. . . ."

The lean warrior hesitated a moment, then nodded and stepped aside. Looks like maybe Lord Prime was right. Too much loyalty to Magnus and not enough for the true warlord of the Empire.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ultra Magnus demanded as he rose to his feet.

"Lord Prime wants to see you. Now."

"I dare say it's me he'd rather see, blown to bits," Morpheus murmured with an amused smile.

"Is that so? Well then, for your sake, I hope your report is worth all this."

Sideswipe watched the two of them, confused at their calmness and yet impressed at the same time. The calm assurance, the understated loyalty, the underlying tone of mutual respect . . . they were qualities he hadn't seen in exchanges with Lord Prime very often in the past few lunar cycles. Worse, he hadn't even noticed how much the respect had been replaced by fear and hatred until now. It was almost depressing.

"You are coming, correct Sideswipe? It wouldn't do to keep Lord Prime waiting."

"No, sir, no it wouldn't."

"Another case of being . . . otherwise occupied?" Prime inquired mildly. Yet, despite his tone, Ultra Magnus could read the anger in the warlord's posture. It was time to walk softly . . . and move by misdirection.

"A small matter of security, my liege."

"Is that so. . . ."

Ultra Magnus watched the warlord pace the length of the shuttle lounge with slow, methodical steps. He had to admit, he was impressed that Optimus Prime had not shot him yet, given his well deserved reputation.

"It would seem that I overestimated your abilities, Magnus. Discipline among the troops appears to be . . . lacking, shall we say?"

"Morpheus meant no disrespect, my liege. As you know, the Telepath Guild was never firmly allied with either faction. I . . . convinced them to join the Empire, but they tend to view their affiliation as an alliance."

"He is a subcommander in one of your elite strike units!"

"A recently acquired position, I assure you. Prior to this, I had no reason to think ill of him."

"Now you do," the warlord grumbled sourly. He stopped his pacing to stand before Ultra Magnus. Cold blue optics shone with unbridled ire. Magnus was certain he was going to shortly be forced to kill or be killed. And then something . . . changed.

"Mind the city better this time, Magnus. I will not be so forgiving when next I return."

"By your command, my liege," Magnus murmured, bowing to keep Prime from seeing his own anger . . . and surprise. Still, if this meant the pompous idiot was leaving, he would not complain.

"We leave within the hour. Sideswipe, escort Regent Magnus off my ship."

"Yes sir."

Magnus suppressed a growl and followed the red warrior out of the shuttle, watching him closely. Morpheus did not act without reason. But what his reasons were remained a mystery . . . for now.

"It is unfortunate you are not staying longer," Magnus commented casually as he stepped down onto the landing pad.

"Yeah, I was kinda hoping to spend more time here myself. After so long. . . . I mean, yeah, we were offline for most of it, but so much has changed. Would've been nice to see what all victory has done for the Empire."

"Well, perhaps you'll have some leave soon."

"Yeah, right. . . . Oh, hey, sir . . . if you see Morpheus, could you thank him for me? I owe him one. . . ."

"I will. Come back to Iacon when you get a chance, Sideswipe. The city has a great deal to offer."

"I'll sure try, sir!" the warrior responded cheerfully. With a grin and a wave, he disappeared back into the shuttle.

Magnus smiled to himself as he transformed and drove back to the palace. Morpheus had done well to have one of Prime's bodyguards indebted to him. A bodyguard who, if Magnus read him correctly, wasn't as thrilled with the honor as perhaps he could be.

He must be quite the warrior if he's earned enough rank to be a bodyguard at such a relatively young age. Either that or Lord Prime needs more warriors badly. Or perhaps a bit of both?

Ah, now that might be just the solution to Springer. If Prime isn't staying, then the situation on Earth must still be in question. A shipment of support troops would no doubt be appreciated.

Magnus allowed himself a satisfied chuckle. Yes, Springer and Optimus Prime deserve each other.

Sunrunner carefully picked his way through the south field of solar collectors, towards the hunched figures of his mother and sister. They had been out most of the day, hunting down faults in the outpost's solar collector battery systems. He smiled to himself as he watched them; even he had to admit Starchaser and Irradia looked more like twins than he and Starchaser did.

Flat stealth black from helmet to heel spur, the almost oppressive color scheme was only occasionally broken by their respective accent colors. A cool sage/foliage green for Irradia, stark white for Starchaser. Compared to his warm yellow and blue colors, they were truly stealth operatives. Not for the first time, Sunrunner caught himself wondering what his mother's original training was. Both Femmes had a grace and smoothness to them, somehow mirroring the sleek lines of their shared alt-mode more fully than he did.

Not that Sunrunner was some hulking mass of a Mech. The sleek, bullet-trim profile of his scout-class spaceplane alternate mode didn't allow for it. Still, where Starchaser looked like a carbon copy of their mother, he was noticeably different. Taller, a slightly more squared upper torso, even the wrap of his wings was subtly different, giving him more solid legs than his sister's delicately heeled legs. But more than just the physical, there was something . . . else. As Onslaught had once put it, Sunrunner was the quiet, noble paladin to Starchaser's elusive gypsy charm.

"That had better be the last one. Primus, what I wouldn't give for a resupply ship about now."

"I know, Starchaser, but I wouldn't hold out too much hope. With the Autobots ruling Cybertron, we're pretty much on our own out here. Maybe if we were a little closer to trading lanes. . . ."

"Do you think there's any hope, Mom?"

"Starchaser! Don't talk like that! Of course there's hope. I pray you and your brother will get to see Cybertron with your own optics some day."

"Hey ladies," Sunrunner interrupted, "how's it going?"

"I think we're done, Bro," Starchaser replied, a tired smile dim in her violet optics.

"Great! Cuz, you know, between us, I think Octane was starting to worry."

"About what, the power or the fact we were out here all alone all day?" his sister smirked, dusting off her hands as she stood up.

"Is he still pining after me?" Irradia asked with a touch of annoyance. She shook her head as she packed up the tool kit. "Sweet kid, but about as bright as a sack of rocks."

Sunrunner grinned, shouldering the tool kit as they headed back to base together. At least if he was carrying the tool kit he could feel useful. Primus knew he had been feeling pretty useless lately; Outpost Canis was one of half a dozen desperate attempts to hide from the Empire and just live. Irradia and Starchaser were welcome additions; between the two of them, they could fix just about anything. His role here was a little more ambiguous, at least in his own optics. He could follow maintenance and repair directions reasonably well, but he had more value as someone handy with a weapon, even if he did say so himself. That was certainly where most of his training and aptitude lay. Not that anyone seriously expected the Autobots to find them in this desolate sector of the galaxy, but anything was possible.

"Irradia! We were beginning to wonder if everything was okay."

"Yes, Octane, we're fine. How are things here?"

"Quiet, as usual," he replied with a grin, waving them in.

Sunrunner lightly tagged his sister's arm before heading deeper into the outpost. Maybe he was just being paranoid, letting his imagination run wild with his boredom, but something felt . . . wrong. It was probably nothing, but there was no reason not to ask her. Between the two of them, she had always had a better handle on their rather limited precognitive abilities.

"Yeah Bro?" she murmured as they walked into the storeroom.

"I didn't want to say anything out there, but . . . I gotta know. Sis, have you . . .you know, noticed anything different lately?"

"You mean like how it feels around here lately?"

"Just anything," he replied, trying to sound casual. As much as he wanted to know what she thought of his worries, he also didn't want to just come forward and tell her. If she was sensing something, he wouldn't have to tell her anything. But if she wasn't and he told her . . . well, he knew how strong the power of suggestion could be.

"I dunno," she confessed, shrugging. "I keep thinking I'm missing something, but I don't know what. Almost like . . . like something nasty is building."

"Well, at least I don't feel so crazy anymore," Sunrunner sighed. "I was beginning to think I was just being paranoid."

"Maybe we both are, Bro. I mean, really, what could possibly happen? The Autobots? Even if they did know we were here, why would they even bother? It's not like we have anything here of value. That's why we came here; this rock has less than no strategic value. I guess what I'm trying to say is, maybe we're imagining the worst because things have been so quiet. Try to relax, okay Bro?"

"Yeah, you're probably right," he replied quietly. He wanted to believe her, but something wouldn't let him. He didn't know what it was, but something was building. Something dark, something that could change everything.

Groove stood at the bridge's communications post, listening to the message from Iacon for the third time. He was getting the support he had requested . . . in the form of an Antares team. While it was better than nothing, he would have happily given up command of the mission in exchange for support from his fellow Mercuries.

"Well sir? What's the word?"

"The word is . . . we wait. Antares Gamma should be here in five days. In the meantime, we do recon. And if we can take out their long range sensor nets, all the better."

Streetwise grinned and left the bridge to spread the word of their orders. Groove walked over to the tactical display screen, already plotting out his next move. So Lord Magnus wants prisoners. Messy, that. But what Lord Magnus wants, Lord Magnus gets.

Groove allowed himself a small smile. This outpost was heavily defended, especially for such a remote bolt hole. But with two attack shuttles and twenty warriors, he could take out this outpost at his leisure. Still, there was always an element of risk when he had to plan on captives. Much easier to simply burn the place to the ground.

"Sir, we have video from the remote interceptor."

"Patch it in to this screen," he ordered brusquely. His comm specialist nodded, fingers flying over his control board. Within nanocycles, recon video feeds replaced his tactical schematics. He scanned over them, noting certain patterns and weaknesses. In the last twelve hours, their probe had recorded a great deal of information. Some of the video feeds were worth more than others. But his fuel lines nearly froze when the last video feed came online.

Well now, this changes everything. Foolish Femme, did you really think you could escape forever?

Irradia stood outside the main base and stared up at the seemingly endless expanse of stars. A part of her longed to be on the move, but it was only a small part, easily ignored. Or at least, it had been. The urge to leave was growing stronger, and with it came the sinking feeling that something terrible would happen if she didn't. And yet, she feared something worse would happen if she left.

"It's lovely, isn't it?"

"Hmm?"

"The stars," Octane replied with a gentle smile, "the way they glow and sparkle. Almost poetic, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," she murmured, not really wanting to get involved in a coversation with Octane.

"Deep thoughts?" he asked quietly. "Or did you just want to be alone?"

"A bit of both, I guess," she confessed. Maybe he would take the hint and leave her alone.

"Sure you don't want to talk about whatever's bothering you? It might help. . . ."

"I'm sure, Octane."

"Well, okay. . . ."

She watched him walk away, surprised at the hurt in his posture. Had she really been so insensitive? She really hadn't meant to hurt him, not like that.

It's better this way, kid. You don't want to get involved in my problems.

Backspin looked up from his brief just as the shuttle completed the transition back to normal space. Groove's vessel, Chimera, hung silent and deadly just beyond their bow, the light of the nearby primary, Alpha Nictu, glistening darkly on her stealthy hull.

"Open a channel."

"Channel open, sir."

"Commander Groove, Wraith and unit Antares Gamma stand ready to assist you."

"Excellent. I am transmitting the plan of attack. Battle commences in thirty breems. Chimera out."

Backspin called up the battle plan, surprised to see the main thrust was capturing the base with minimal loss of life. It was contrary to Groove's reputation to leave any chance of survivors escaping. Still, it was refreshing to be involved in a seizure that didn't involve utter destruction or occupation. Grinning to himself, Backspin gathered his unit for breifing.

Sunrunner walked into his sister's lab, trying not to act as twitchy as he felt. Either his paranoia or his precog was working overtime. He was hoping it was just paranoia, but he was having a hard time convincing himself.

"Hey, 'Runner, what's up?"

"Not much, yet. It's gonna happen soon though, isn't it?"

"I wish I didn't know what you're talking about," she sighed. "But yeah. I've told anyone who'll believe me, but there's not many of them."

"They all believe you now," Karma murmured as she walked into the lab. "All our long range sensors are offline. The outer sensor bubbles were destroyed. We don't know how or why, but we have a pretty good idea of who."

"The Autobots?"

"No one else could have pulled this off, not like this. Your mother says it's probably an elite strike unit, but she doesn't understand why they haven't attacked yet. Still, base defenses are on full alert."

"Thanks for letting us know, Karma."

"They know we're here, sir."

"Impossible!" Backspin growled over the commlink.

"There's no other explanation, sir. That base is on full alert."

"Doesn't matter," Groove announced calmly. "This doesn't change anything. We go in, break their defenses, and round up every last one of them. If Lord Magnus wants prisoners, then we'll get them for him."

Irradia felt dead inside. One by one, the outpost defenses were being taken out and overrun. While their Autobot attackers were hardly hesitant, she could tell they were holding back. She was managing to hold her own, barely.

A sudden warmth blossomed in her side. With a sharp pain, she felt herself loose control, transforming as she fell from the sky. The ground rose painfully to meet her back, winding her. Then a familiar face was standing over her.

"Groove?" she wheezed, shocked.

"Surprised, Irradia? Then more the fool you are. Did you really think you could escape us forever?"

Field commander Groove stood on the bridge of his vessel in triumph. The Decepticon outpost in the Alpha Nictu system was nothing more than a smoldering memory; anything and anyone of value was crammed aboard Wraith and Chimera wherever there was room. Cybertron itself loomed large on the viewscreen, a silvery gem in the blackness of space.

"Hail the palace. Inform Lord Magnus that we have returned with the prisoners he requested."

"Aye, sir."

It is good to be home, he thought to himself. After half an orn on patrol, he could think of no better way to close this tour than with such a decisive victory. Perhaps he would get some extra leave for this. He could certainly use it.

Bringing her back will surely earn me some favor with his lordship. Primus knows he has been looking for her long enough. I wonder what he'll do to her, he thought idly. A small smile touched the corner of his mouth as the possibilities floated through his thoughts.

Command and control was, as ever, a virtual hive of activity. Ultra Magnus stood as a center of calm in the midst of controlled chaos. Monitored video feeds from across Cybertron kept the High Command informed on the state of the Empire's homeworld. Messages came in regularly from the outer reaches of the Empire, both from their outposts and from their patrol ships. To say nothing of the ship traffic itself. The heart of the Empire did brisk business in the trade commodities of over dozen worlds. Traders and freighters from across the Empire and beyond, cargo vessels filled with energon, passenger shuttles, frigates and larger cruisers . . . it was little wonder the command center kept so perpetually busy.

"Lord Magnus, incoming vessel sighted."

"I'm sure you can do better than that, Springer."

"Er, it's the Chimera, sir. They report a successful mission, my lord, with the prisoners you requested. They are proceeding to the holding pens now."

"Excellent. Kup, I trust you can handle the command center for a few hours?"

"Of course, my liege," the elder Mech rumbled. Magnus favored the seasoned veteran with a small smile at the familiar exchange, then left the room. Magnus had every faith in Kup's abilities; he had trusted him for untold vorn now. He knew exactly where he stood with his former mentor and trainer. Likewise, Kup, in turn, knew exactly where he stood with Magnus.

The drive from the Imperial Palace to the prison camp holding pens outside Iacon was unexciting, to say the least. By the time he arrived, both Chimera and Wraith were down, venting steam and unloading their respective cargos with some assistance from Blurr's team. Blurr himself stood with Groove, watching the line of prisoners entering his domain with a careful and critical optic. While the two units of elite warriors all carried their rifles in plain sight, very few of their captives looked interested in making any trouble. In fact, most of them shuffled forward in silent compliance, their optics filled with the tired resignation of brutally defeated foes. Which was as much as he expected from survivors of one of Groove's campaigns.

A sudden snap of rifles into the air caught Ultra Magnus's attention. Angry voices shot across the open spaces of the landing zone, half a dozen elites ringing a smaller grouping. Groove left his place at the gates, transforming with practiced ease, and raced to join his warriors, arriving at the scene just ahead of Magnus himself.

"What's going on here?" Groove demanded stonily.

"Get your farking hands off her, you sodding murderers!"

"Back off, you 'Con scum!"

"You back off!"

"You wanna make me, punk?"

"ENOUGH!" Magnus roared. Three sets of blue optics snapped around at his voice, one filled with murderous hate. Striker stepped aside, anxiously gripping his rifle as he did so. Groove merely bowed his head once in acknowledgment of Magnus' authority. The Decepticon Mech, meanwhile, held on to a petite black Femme protectively, silently daring anyone to touch her or even dare to approach him.

"What is going on here?" he demanded.

"No . . . oh Primus, no. . . ." the Femme murmured, cringing. The voice sounded hauntingly familiar.

"Mom? What is it?"

She pulled free of the yellow Mech and turned around. Red optics filled with fear turned up to meet his, recognition lighting in them . . . and instantly dimming their fire. He could hardly believe it. After so many vorn, she had been found.

"Striker, take her to my quarters."

"No! Don't touch her!"

In an instant, Magnus's pulse cannon was in his hand and pointing menacingly at the youth's head. Irradia cringed, taking a half step away from him.

"Striker, do as you're told. As for you, boy, you'll not interfere if you know what's good for you."

"Sunrunner, don't. Don't do this. I'll be fine, you don't have to get killed over this. Your sister, 'Runner. You have to take care of her now."

The yellow Decepticon glowered at Magnus, a low rumbling growl rising from him. Then he spat something in a language Magnus didn't recognize and took a symbolic step backwards, his arm immediately snaking around another Femme. She was almost an exact copy of Irradia, only she wore white where her mother was green. Violet optics met his briefly, then looked away with a flinch.

"Groove, take them in and have them . . . seen to. . . ."

"My lord?"

"You heard the order," Magnus rumbled. He watched the siblings closely as Striker escorted an unresisting Irradia back towards the Palace. To their credit, they didn't break down or offer any further protests on her behalf. However, when Groove stepped forward, a stubborn look settled into the Decepticon Mech's optics.

"Get moving, boy."

"Bite me," he snapped back. Groove's optics narrowing was the only warning as the commander backhanded the young Mech. The Femme yelped, pulling away from her brother to watch Groove warily. Sunrunner rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand, but otherwise didn't move.

"Get moving. You're not that badly injured that you can't walk."

"Go interface with a pipe cleaner," Sunrunner hissed back.

"Sunrunner, stop it!" another Femme called out, struggling against one of the Antares warriors. "Can't you see you're giving him what he wants? Think of your sister!"

"I'd listen to her, if I were you," Magnus rumbled. "Groove, one way or the other, I want them in the Lair in ten breems."

"As you command, Lord Magnus," Groove replied with a crisp salute. Magnus forced visual contact with Irradia's daughter for a moment, then turned away with a grunt. He had an old score to settle.

Irradia glanced around the room, surprised at how little it had changed over the course of sixty odd vorn. Dark, yet warm and relaxing, it was every bit the haven she remembered. Memories rushed back to her, memories of the orn she had spent here so long ago. Memories she had hoped to forget, though not because they were terrible. On the contrary, her time here had been rather pleasant.

She drifted towards the desk, trailing her fingers along it's silver and black surface. A neat stack of datapadds sat to one side of the terminal, waiting for the warlord's notice. Otherwise, the desk was bare. A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, memories of stolen moments and feverish trysts filtering through her thoughts. I fell hard for you, Magnus. I never should have come here, never should have stayed. I was a fool to think I could be free.

She pushed back the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks when she heard the soft whoosh of the pneumatic door. The heavy footsteps told her immediately that he had finally arrived. She kept her back firmly turned to him, using the precious few nanocycles it would buy her to compose herself.

"It has been a long time, Irradia."

"Perhaps. Perhaps not long enough," she murmured.

"You should not have left," he purred. She could almost feel him standing behind her.

"I couldn't stay, you know that. . . ."

He spun her around suddenly, his grip on her arm almost painful. Sapphire optics shone brightly, anger clear on his face.

"I know that you betrayed me, Irradia. You abused my generosity, stole from me. . . ."

"I didn't take anything you didn't willingly give, Magnus. My only mistake was thinking I could keep it from becoming personal."

"Personal . . . is that all you have to say? That you regret your poor judgement?"

"I didn't say that," she murmured, looking away as she tried to pull free. But his grip remained firm. His free hand lightly cupped her chin. She tried to resist, but he was stronger, turning her face back towards him, his intense gaze locking onto hers.

"And Sunrunner and the Femme?"

"How did you know?"

"I didn't . . . until just now," he rumbled quietly. She winced automatically, then reason took hold. They had a better chance of being treated decently if Magnus knew the truth.

"Yes, yours. Ours."

"And do you regret them as well?"

"No," she murmured, once again breaking visual contact. "No, they've brought me too much happiness to ever regret them."

"You should not have left me, Irradia," he crooned, his thumb rubbing her cheek. "Now I'll have to . . . do something."

"Wha-what do you mean?"

"My dear, dear, Irradia. . . . You're a renegade, a Decepticon no less. Did you really think you could just walk back into my bed?"

"N-no, of course not. . . ."

A cold smile touched his lips and she shivered. She knew that smile, had seen it a hundred times, directed at others. The smile of a predator to its doomed prey. Familiarity with the consequences that smile so often indicated only made it worse. So he means to kill me. I don't know what I expected. At least I won't have to fear him anymore. . . .

"And then there's the small matter of Sunrunner and his sister. Of course their betrayal of the Empire rests on your head, but there is still the matter of precedent."

"I . . . I don't understand. . . ."

"No . . . no, I don't suppose you do. . . ."

Irradia searched his expression, praying for some clue as to what he was talking about. But he was as unreadable as ever. And that worried her.

"Sunrunner could become a threat," he drawled quietly, releasing her at last. She stumbled backwards a half step, surprised and confused at this turn of conversation.

"He carries himself well, like one trained to combat. Charismatic, is he not?"

She just nodded, her subprocessors screaming at her in horror. Irradia could see clearly now where Magnus was leading, but she could hardly believe it. He would kill his own son. . . .

"Ah, I see you understand me. Good. He could have a future in the Empire as my ally. You understand, I cannot allow him to live on as my enemy. . . ."
 

Ultra Magnus could see the horror in Irradia's optics. Satisfied that she understood him properly, he stepped closer to her, a gentle smile touching his optics. She took an involuntary step backwards, fear rising to the fore in her body language.

"We don't have to be enemies, Irradia," he murmured gently. "Join with me, stand at my side."

"I . . . I can't go back to who I was, Magnus. That's not who I am anymore. I'm not sure it's who I ever really was. . . ."

"For five orn, you had Elita-1 cowed, fearful of our combined strength. . . ."

"It was an act, all of it! I was a spy, just trying to do my job and get out!"

"It's wasn't all a lie, Irradia," he murmured, lightly cupping her cheek. "You can't deny that. . . ."

She turned her head away from him, but not before he could see the pain of conflict in her optics. Her arms wrapped around her waist, a noise not unlike a soft whine escaping her. Magnus moved to stand behind her, sliding his arms around her waist. Irradia immediately leaned back against him, remembering just the right spot even after sixty vorn of separation. They stood like that in silence for some time, the vorn seemingly melting away, at least for a little while.

"No, it wasn't all a lie," she confessed at last. "I tried to forget, to pretend like nothing had happened. I wiped what few memories they had and deactivated the link. I used every last favor to have them given new bodies, though I could still see touches of you in Sunrunner. I was glad Saberwind practically copied my shell for Starchaser; her brother was reminder enough."

"Starchaser and Sunrunner . . . lofty names."

"They were my one hope for absolution. . . ."

"Absolution," Magnus murmured quietly, stepping back to turn her around. "Perhaps it will be you who is their savior."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" she murmured, not meeting his gaze.

"If I must."

"Please . . . I'll do anything you want, just don't kill him."

"You know what I want," he whispered, drawing her closer. She trembled in his arms, unconsciously tilting her head up towards his.

"You know what I want, Irradia," he repeated. "Give yourself to me, and he will be spared, I swear it."

"You promise?"

"He will be spared, you have my word."

She sighed heavily, an old and weary sound. For a moment, she sagged against him, like a puppet suddenly cut loose of its strings. Then she visibly gathered herself, crimson optics gazing up at him with resignation . . . and something more. He brushed a light kiss across her lips and another tired sigh rattled through her slight frame.

"You knew from the start, didn't you? You always do."

"Enough talk, Irradia."

A seductive smile crept across her face. He favored her with a smile of his own. Welcome home, Irradia.

Starchaser sat perched on a medical berth, looking around curiously. This medical facility was much nicer than any she had seen in a long time. Sterile and austere, it carried the overt tone of a chief medic who preferred everything properly organized and catalogued. Unlike the outpost, everything here was metallic, in shades of orange, gold, grey, and silver. The orangey hues especially lent warmth to her alien surroundings, a warmth that tried in vain to replace a sun that wasn't there.

The flash of light off a yellow panel caught her optic; Sunrunner was pacing again. He never had cared much for confinement. Knowing that they were under heavy guard, despite being left alone in this room, didn't help any. But his pacing was tiring.

"You're wasting your energy," she pointed out quietly.

"As if I have anything to save it for," he grumped back. "I've looked at it every way I know how and I don't see any way out. Even if we did break out of here, where would we go? They have quantum torpedoes, transvector drive shuttles, a whole farking planetary army to shoot us out of the sky. . . ."

"The cloak. . . ."

"Eats power and we'd still be left with where to go. Besides, we can't leave Mom here and we have no idea where she's being held."

Starchaser sighed, scooting back on the medical berth to give herself room to pull her legs up and rest her chin on her knees. Her brother was everything she wasn't: strong, self-assured, calm, and always in control. Even his pacing was controlled, thoughtful to the point of brooding. If there was a way out of this, he would find it.

And if there isn't a way out? a little voice asked quietly.

There must be a way out.

And if there isn't?

I'll deal with it then, she told herself firmly. She didn't even want to think about what would happen. She had heard enough rumors to know she didn't want any of it happening to her. Not that I'm likely to have much choice, she thought bitterly.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay, Sis. I won't let anyone hurt you."

"What makes you think you can stop them?"

"I'll find a way. As long as I draw power, I'll find a way."

Starchaser just sighed. She saw no point in reminding her brother that the Autobots would happily kill him for his trouble. And then she really would be alone.

The Hand of Fate holds us now. I only pray that Fate will be kind enough not to let them torture us too long.

Ultra Magnus stood beside his recharge berth, a faint smile touching his lips as he watched Irradia recharging lightly. She had learned a few new techniques during their separation. Then again, so had he.

Rest well, my dear. I suspect I will have something for you to do soon. . . .

A final lingering caress, and then he strode out of his apartment. He was only mildly surprised to see Hot Spot waiting for him. The commander general of Mercury fell into step beside him without saying a word.

"Trouble?" Magnus asked quietly.

"Not yet. All slaves have been offloaded. Wraith transloaded it's cargo to Chimera and is now returning to the Antares hangars where it belongs. It'll probably spend the next three lunar cycles in repair; that Backspin is an utter incompetent when it comes to handling an assault shuttle. Chimera herself is now enroute to the appropriate warehouses."

"Naturally," Magnus murmured, striding into his office, a touch of amusement reaching into his tone. The rivalry between Mercury and Antares was long standing and rather well known. They would work together at his command, albeit reluctantly. Hot Spot was convinced the Antares commander, Duostrike, was an utter incompetent, and Duostrike, in return, felt much the same about Hot Spot. Their records were both beyond reproach, leaving Chronotrigger, commander of Draconis and the third leg of the High Command, at a loss to explain the continued infighting.

"What of the two Decepticons, Sunrunner and Starchaser?" he asked after a moment's silence.

"They are in First Aid's lab, under heavy gaurd. We are leaving them alone, pending your additional orders."

"Have you had a chance to assess them?"

"Not yet, my lord."

Magnus nodded thoughtfully as he settled himself at his desk. He had been dead serious about disposing of Sunrunner if he proved to be a threat. Perhaps Blurr had heard something. . . .

"Lord Magnus. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"What have you heard of a 'Con Mech, Sunrunner?"

"The blue-opticked son of Irradia? Quite a lot, surprisingly. The new inmates speak of him as though he were some chosen savior. Paladin, they call him, champion warrior of the cause. He made quite a splash with his defiance. A few are already whispering 'martyr'."

"He should be so lucky," Hot Spot grumbled.

"Sir, if you are seeking my advice, killing him will only make him stronger. If he were here, I would have him in solitary. The last thing I need is his youthful hope infecting Shockwave, not now that I have him nicely broken in. A living paladin is a dangerous thing, but a martyr is even more powerful . . . as I'm sure you are aware, my liege."

"Understood," Magnus replied, breaking the connection with a flick of his thumb. The news was not hopeful. Still, sentiment made him reluctant to actually kill his own son. Not if there was a chance at turning him to the side of the Empire. Together, they could rule the Empire as it was meant to be ruled, with cold, logical steel.

"We shall . . . experiment. Perhaps seeing the inner face of the Empire will cool his fire against us. See that Irradia joins them when she awakes."

"By your command," Hot Spot murmured. Magnus watched the pale blue commander leave, quietly thoughtful. Certainly he had much to consider.

Hot Spot strode purposefully into First Aid's medical facility. The unit medic held up one hand, putting the finishing touches on a repair job. In no particular hurry, Hot Spot leaned against the doorjamb and crossed his arms nonchalantly. The optimal functioning of his team was infinitely more important than the state of some Decepticon prisoners, in his opinion.

"Now, try not to catch anymore bolts with your shoulder, okay Neo?"

"Sure thing, First Aid," the young warrior replied cheerfully, a warm grin lighting his dark sapphire optics.

"Stick around, Neo," Hot Spot rumbled, pushing himself off the wall. Neo nodded, absently rubbing at the new armor plates on his charcoal grey shoulder. Hot Spot quietly drew First Aid aside, out of Neo's immediate audial range. The medic gave him a curious look, but complied without comment.

"How are they doing?" the larger commander rumbled.

"She's withdrawn," the medic replied quietly, wiping his hands with a towel. "He's going to wear a hole in my lab floor if he doesn't stop pacing."

"Any chance of either of them changing loyalties? Joining the Empire as allies?"

"Be easier to make energon from cold stone," First Aid grumbled, tossing the used towel in the nearest reclamator chute. "He's dead set against us and I seriously doubt she has the inner strength to oppose him, regardless of what any of us might say to her. Not that either of them would even consider the idea right now; we're pure evil, you know."

Hot Spot sighed, a surprisingly weary sound even in his own audios. He had hoped to hear something more positive, for Lord Magnus's sake. Perhaps there's still room for hope.

The commander unlocked the lab, stepping forward to open the door. The moment the door opened, the Decepticon Mech froze, caught in mid-stride. The Femme looked up from her contemplation of the floor, violet optics filled with fear.

"All right, come on you two."

The Femme started to slide off the medical berth when her brother growled menacingly. She froze, her head shifting back and forth between Sunrunner and Hot Spot. For a brief moment, she reminded Hot Spot of a trapped enkhidu, caught between two hunters with nowhere to run. He half expected her to bolt at any moment.

"Why should we?"

"You're in no position to be asking questions, boy."

"Don't call me, 'boy'," the Decepticon hissed, raising up on his feet, leaning forward tensely. Hot Spot narrowed his optics; he wasn't in the mood for this nonsense.

An ominous hum suddenly filled the room as Neo, a charcoal wraith that appeared as if from nowhere, stepped up to Hot Spot's side, his plasma rifle drawn. The Decepticon Femme strangled a yelp, immediately slidding off the bed and staring hard at her brother. He, however, didn't even flinch.

"Get moving. Don't doubt that Neo here won't fire."

"Please," the Femme murmured as she inched closer to the door,though it was unclear to whom she was speaking. The Mech growled a moment longer, then he appeared to deflate. He nodded faintly, stepping forward to stand at his sister's side.
 

Hot Spot keyed open the guest apartment just beyond his own. It was far nicer accomedations than renegade Decepticons deserved. However, he could understand Lord Magnus's reasoning; kindness won more converts than harsh prison camps.

"In with you," he grumbled brusquely. The Decepticon Mech bristled briefly, then appeared to notice the two additional guards for the first time. With a snap and a growl, he let his sister pull him into the apartment.

"Neo, Crosswise, make sure they don't leave these quarters alone. If they try, follow them. Variance, you're on call to support them."

"Yes sir!" the three warriors chorused. Hot Spot nodded, then turned on his heel and headed for Lord Magnus's apartment. However, he was not in a hurry; he did not care to interrupt Irradia's napping. He still remembered how violent her temper could be when she was interrupted.

Sunrunner paced the apartment like a caged animal. He didn't trust this at all. They were in a stateroom, large enough to be home to ten people comfortably, not just the two of them. It was illogical to think the Autobots would just give them state quarters. They were the enemy for Primus' sake!

"Would you stop pacing already!"

"And what would you have me do, Sis? Look at this place! They're trying to lull us into compliance!"

"Obviously. So what are we going to do about it? Sit here and pout or find a way out?"

Sunrunner winced at the biting sarcasm in his sister's voice. Naturally, she wasn't any more interested in being an Autobot prisoner than he was.

"So . . . use the cloak to recon, see if we can't find Mom and some way out of here?"

"Sure, but first things first. . . . I don't know about you, but I could use some energon and maybe even a recharge cycle."

A gentle smiled softened her otherwise sharp, hunter's features. He reached out to briefly touch her cheek and nodded.

"Go ahead, Sis. I'll sit here and try to think a few things through."

"Don't forget to rest and re-energize yourself," she replied with a smile. He nodded, collapsing into one of the chairs. Right now, all he wanted was to be far and away from Cybertron.

Irradia woke suddenly, the imposing pale blue bulk of Hot Spot standing over her. She bit back a strangled yelp as she scooted away from him, sliding off the opposite side of the recharge berth. He seemed surprised at her reaction, straightening with a faint frown.

"W-what do you want?"

"I am to escort you to your quarters."

"No, there must be some mistake. Magnus made it clear I was staying here. . . ."

"Lord Magnus told me to escort you to new quarters."

"Well . . . well, you must've heard him wrong," she murmured.

"As much as I am certain his lordship would welcome your company, there is the matter of your children."

"What about them? What have you done with them?"

"They are here, in The Lair . . . for now. But if you're not interested in keeping them, I'll just send them on to Blurr," the elite commander drawled with a decidedly cold and cruel tone. Irradia shivered in spite of herself.

"After all," he continued conversationally, "if you're not interested, there is no reason to keep random slaves here. Waste of resources."

"Slaves," she repeated numbly. Irradia felt as though her primary operating systems had shut down at that word. Her son . . . her daughter. . . . She fell back against the wall, trembling.

"Ah, so you are interested then. Good. Come. I imagine they are anxious to see you again."

Irradia, nodding silently, slipped around the recharge berth to accept Hot Spot's outstretched hand. She watched it tremble in his upturned hand for a moment. Then his fingers curled around hers, a strong, reassuring grip as he drew her forward. A rare warmth lit his optics, and then he was guiding her out of the apartment. She followed in silence, disjointed memories and thoughts of Magnus jostling with worries for her children and a hypersensitivity to her arm, now looped through Hot Spot's in a gentlemanly fashion.

She remembered him now, far more clearly then when she had first awoken. More than just some soldier at Lord Magnus's beck and call, Hot Spot was one of the three generals of the High Command, one of Magnus's few trusted advisors. In fact, he was arguably one of the shadowy warlord's few friends. Her memories of him, and there were more than just a few, did not include the cold cruelness he had shown her.

"Hot Spot," she said quietly, stopping in her tracks, "why?"

"Why what?" he asked, startled but fighting valiantly to hide it.

"I remember now, Hot Spot. You were always special as someone . . . compassionate. A counterbalance to Duostrike's unending bloodlust and Chronotrigger's cold detachment. And yet, just now, you were cruel. Why?"

"You've grown soft, seeing things that are not there. A weakness of your gender," he replied dismissively.

"Perhaps, but not that soft. And I can still best you," Irradia replied with venom. For a moment he looked as though he might accept her challenge. Then he laughed, a surprisingly warm sound that echoed off the dark grey walls with an odd sense of a sound not often heard.

"Ah, Irradia . . . for a moment I worried for Lord Magnus's sanity. But he was right; you have not changed. Welcome home, Irradia."

She wanted to contradict him, to scream at him that of course she had changed, but it was generally considered rude to scream at someone if that someone was hugging you like a long lost sister. So instead she did nothing, waiting for Hot Spot to get this affectionate moment out of his system.

"I dare say I understand some of why you left when you did, my dear," he said gently, stepping back though his hands still rested on her shoulders. "The rage he held in his heart for you . . . but that is over now, yes?"

"Yes," she replied quietly, glancing away from him. The intensity in his optics . . . it frightened her. This Autobot . . . he did nothing by halves. The strength of the emotions she saw in him terrified her more deeply than she had thought possible.

"I was wrong; you have changed," the older warrior murmured. His touch light yet firm, he guided her into a conference room, locking the door behind him.

"What happened? Tell me, what changed you so, to make you so afraid?"

"What makes you think this isn't the real me?"

"You were here too long, my dear," he murmured, a soft smile drifting into his optics.

"I was a spy," Irradia hissed.

"Yes, I know."

She blinked, sitting down heavily. He knows? How does he know? Does everyone know?

"Don't look so surprised, Irradia. Magnus knew within the first lunar cycle. It took me a good bit longer. The truth never went beyond the High Command. We gave you the information we wanted you to have. I admit, I was surprised when you stopped sending information."

"I couldn't betray him anymore. I loved him," she replied, looking down at her hands. "I still do."

"And they hated you for it," Hot Spot murmured, his hands reaching out to take hers. Understanding lit his optics, his whole face. "You're here now, Irradia. That's all that matters."

"I'm not one of you, Hot Spot. I'm a Decepticon. I always have been, and in my spark I always will be."

"If that is the story you must tell yourself, Irradia, then so be it," he replied quietly, releasing her hands. "Choose them if you so desire; in the end it will get you nothing. Except perhaps a trip to the camps. I would rather that didn't happen, but the decision is, as always, yours alone to make."

"You're as bad as him," she whispered, breaking free from Hot Spot's burning gaze. Yet there was no anger in her. If anything, she felt . . . relieved.

"Thank you," she murmured a moment later. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear someone say that."

He said nothing as he offered his arm, a smile twinkling in his optics. She smiled, her spark finally feeling light again as she looped her arm around his. He was right, this was where she belonged.

Sunrunner narrowed his optics, glaring at the door as he stood up; he could hear someone using the keypad. And he refused to meet his enemies sitting down. He might be a prisoner, but he was not defeated.

Shock rooted the yellow warrior in place as the door whooshed aside to reveal a familiar pale blue Mech . . . and his mother. Her arm was looped loosely through the Autobot's arm, as if they were old friends. She was even smiling at him!

"Thank you again, Hot Spot," she murmured, briefly resting a hand on his shoulder in a familiar gesture.

"My pleasure, ma'am," he replied with a quiet nod. Sunrunner couldn't believe what he was seeing. They were prisoners in the dark heart of the Autobot Empire and Irradia was acting like she was surrounded by old friends. He waited for the door to hiss shut and lock with a quiet click before turning on his mother.

"What the pit was that all about??"

"Don't you take that tone with me, Sunrunner! Where's your sister?"

"Here, Mother," Starchaser murmured as she slowly walked into the room. Irradia nodded once, the faint traces of a smile in her optics. Then she crossed the room to open a storage cabinet.

"Mother, what is going on? And what are you doing anyway?"

"Touching up my paint. Ah, there it is. Now, the brushes. . . ."

"Mom! How can you possibly be worried about something so trivial at a time like this? And where are you going to get paint? I searched the room and there wasn't any."

"And just when would you suggest I worry about it?" she inquired as she dumped her find on the dining table: a small mirror, a soft cloth, and two brushes. "As for the paint, Hot Spot gave me some."

Settling the mirror against the can, she began to methodically peel the Decepticon sigil off her chest. Sunrunner was so shocked, he couldn't even think clearly for a moment. And then it hit him like a ton of bricks - his mother was abandoning the Decepticon cause.

Cold rage settled over him as he watched her peel off the last peice of her sigil. He watched her casually sweep the symbol of the one hope for this galaxy and beyond into a refuse bin, as if it were nothing more than used binding tape. And the rage within him grew hotter.
 

"Mother, how could you?"

Starchaser cringed at the icy rage in her brother's tone. And yet, she too longed to know why her mother was abandoning them.

"I'm doing what I need to do to survive."

"You're betraying the cause!" Sunrunner shouted, his optics flashing dark blue as he glared at Irradia. But their mother didn't even look at him, instead taking a moment to touch up the bare space where her sigil once lay.

"Why, Mom? After everything we've done," Starchaser asked quietly. Red optics met hers for a moment, then Irradia turned away. She eased her frame onto the table, resting her right leg on a chair. Starchaser studied her mother carefully, surprised to catch hints of hurt as her mother unlocked and flicked out the wing on her leg.

"Because I will not be his slave. I have my pride."

"To the pit with what's right, just so long as you're comfortable, right Mother?" Sunrunner hissed.

"They call you Paladin. Do you know what that means? A champion of the weak, a warrior of the light. I remember thinking only Decepticons could be paladins. And then I grew up."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hot Spot is also a paladin," she replied, carefully painting over the purple sigil on her wing. "There is no black and white law on who is right, Sunrunner. I pray your optics will be opened before Magnus tires of you."

"Tires of me? He won't get the chance. We're leaving."

"You really think you can get away from the Empire? Take it from someone who tried, it won't work. Magnus will never let you leave this planet alive."

"You . . . you're selling out to share his bed!"

Starchaser waited for Irradia to deny it, but she said nothing, calmly testing the fresh paint on her wing before folding it back into place.

"You whore!"

Irradia flinched minutely as she switched legs. Starchaser could see her brother fuming, his righteous rage threatening to get the better of him. And deep in her central core, she feared something terrible was coming.

Irradia painted over her left wing sigil, fighting to keep her hand steady. She refused to let Sunrunner see how badly his words hurt her.

"You would betray us for so little? Have you no honor?"

"Don't you dare question my honor, boy. You have no idea what's going on here. If you were smart, you would listen to me."

With a metallic click, her wing folded back into position. She slid off the table, at last meeting her son's smoldering gaze.

"I love you, Sunrunner. That is why I'm telling you this. Wake up. The Empire is what matters now. Either you flow with it, or you'll be destroyed by it."

"You are not my mother," the yellow warrior hissed.

"No . . . you are solely your father's creation," she spat back. Ignoring the pleading look in her daughter's optics, she stalked out of the room. She had chosen her path. Now it was their turn.