Lord Regent Ultra Magnus sat at Irradia's bedside, the utter rage spawned from his daughter's insolence completely subsumed in the wrath inspired by this attack on his chosen consort. It required all of his willpower to keep him from joining the hunt and personally ripping out Morpheus's optics. That anyone would dare do this. . . .

Unfortunately, he was unlikely to have the opportunity. Off-duty warriors from all three elite strike units were hunting for the renegade telepath. But Chronotrigger was right; Morpheus was Guild Master and most telepaths still swore primary allegiance to the Telepath Guild, not the Empire. Morpheus would likely remain hidden until he chose to resurface.

The door hissed open and a timid cough broke through Ultra Magnus's dark thoughts. He turned his head fractionally, turning more when he saw Rewind in the doorway.

"Well?" he demanded harshly.

"Lord, Commander Groove and Operative Streetwise report that they have found his trail. What are your orders, my lord?"

"Inform Hot Spot he is to dispatch Blades to assist. He will then find a trustworthy telepath to aid the capture. Until this renegade is brought to justice, operatives will remain in the field. He's an elusive bastard and I will not allow him to escape because we relaxed our guard."

His fist slammed into his palm as he emphasized his point. Rewind flinched, then bowed deeply before scurrying away on his appointed task. The rage within Ultra Magnus swirled into a deepening void, threatening to break his resolve. His field of vision darkened, focusing on the display screen next to Irradia's bed. That anyone would even think of doing this. . . .

Twin beams of crimson light speared through the false darkness. Reality crashed through the murk of his rage like a lethal tidal wave; Irradia was awake. He clasped her right hand in both of his, his rage tempered by concern for his mate.

"How do you feel?"

"Numb," she sighed.

"An after effect of your surgery. It will pass soon enough."

"I know," she replied with a quiet smile, squeezing his hand weakly. "Morpheus. . . ."

"He will pay for what he has done to you, Irradia."

"Take care, Magnus. Things are not as simple as they appear. There is more to this than can readily be perceived."

Magnus nodded, once more surprised at the calming effect she had upon him. Even as she spoke, he could feel his boiling rage cool into iron resolve. A thin smile crossed her features.

"I guess this means I shouldn't take Variance for my personal bodyguard."

"I can think of several people who will be relieved to hear that," he replied, freeing a hand to cup her cheek.

"And would you be one of them?" she teased.

"The stamina of youth does appeal," Magnus replied enigmatically.

"Why, Ultra Magnus, are you becoming jealous in your old age?"

"Not hardly," he laughed. "Experience can make all the difference, you know."

Irradia laughed softly, red optics sparkling with amusement. She turned into his touch, trying to hide just how much of a drain her ordeal had been on her. But Ultra Magnus wasn't fooled.

"Perhaps I should go so you can rest," he murmured. Her hand closed on his reflexively, her optics turning to him with a disquieting look.

"No . . . please, stay. . . ."

He simply nodded, drawing his chair closer to her bedside. A relieved smile flitted across her face as she powered her optics down to half.

"Don't kill him, Magnus."

"Who?"

"Morpheus. Don't kill him until you're sure you have the right mechanism."

"You who was without pity now pities your attacker?"

"Allow that time can change a person, Magnus. I fear there is unrest in the Guild."

Magnus frowned, thoughtful. Before her betrayal, he had trusted Irradia to keep tabs on the Telepath Guild. Even though she was not a member, she had always been able to keep appraised of Guild politics. If she suspected trouble in the guild . . . and yet, he would be a fool to trust her completely. She had been gone for more than sixty vorn; much had changed while she was away. And she had already betrayed him once.

"Talk to Variance," she sighed, turning away from him in defeat.

"My liege. . . ."

Magnus glared at First Aid, ire smoldering at the medic's audacity in interrupting. The medic bowed slightly with his arms crossed. Magnus quirked an optic ridge at his actions, filing it away for later contemplation.

"Forgiveness, Liege, but your consort needs a cycle's recharge. Also, Variance wishes to speak with you."

A faint smile touched Irradia's lips. She squeezed his hand weakly, then switched off her optics.

"Keep me appraised," he said gruffly, standing. First Aid bowed again, again with his arms crossed over his chest. Magnus pretended not to notice as he exited the room, but his thoughts were another matter.

This is not like him. Polite, yes, but submissive? If he is trying to hide something from me, he is going about it poorly. I will have to discover what is on his mind.

Variance stood outside First Aid's medical unit, rechecking the charge on his rifle's power pack. It was a nervous habit and he knew it. Certainly, the charge wasn't likely to change here in the hall. On the other hand, it was nervous business, seeking an audience with Lord Magnus.

How could I have been so stupid? I'm not doing myself any favors, admitting I have known things and not reported them. But if Irradia tells him first. . . . Primus knows what she's capable of doing right now. Maybe she wouldn't share her knowledge with Lord Magnus, but then she'd have blackmail on me.

No, better to lay my cards on the table and pray for mercy. It means giving up my edge on Morpheus, but at least Irradia won't have one over me. Perhaps . . . perhaps this way I won't need to hold anything over Morpheus. I hope.

Variance nodded to himself, unslinging his rifle to recheck the power pack. When he realized what he was doing, he swore under his breath. He slid the power pack home, then clipped his rifle back into place.

The medical unit doors hissed aside, disgorging Lord Magnus. Variance found himself caught in the warlord's powerful aura, momentarily forgetting his purpose.

"M-my lord. . . ."

"My office," the warlord responded simply. Without even waiting for a response, Lord Magnus turned and stalked down the hall. Variance fumbled for a moment, then hurried to catch up. He fell into step a pace behind the lord regent, as was proper for a lower rank officer. The nervousness that had abated momentarily when Lord Magnus had first appeared was now back, four times stronger. He realized with a start that, despite nearly eighty vorn of service in the Autobot army and almost sixty-two vorn as a part of Mercury, he had never been this close to Lord Magnus before. Close, yes, but as Irradia's bodyguard, forgotten at the door. This . . . this was entirely different.

The door to Lord Magnus's office hissed shut behind him, clicking slightly as it slid home. He lingered by the door, uncertain what to do next. Magnus strode across the room, his every movement imbued with purpose and supreme confidence. Variance was having some trouble staying focused on his own purpose.

"All right, Variance. You wanted this audience. Speak."

"Sir, I . . . I have reason to believe Morpheus has been keeping information from you."

"Such as?"

"The survival of the Ark and Lord Prime's recent revival. I . . . I can't be sure how long he has known, but my information suggets that Lord Prime has been active on that planet, Earth, for approximately one lunar cycle."

"I find it strange and rather incredible that Optimus Prime would wait forty stellar cycles before re-establishing his power within the Empire," Lord Magnus commented diffidently.

"Sir, I remind you that Draconis in general and Morpheus in particular are responsible for the integrity of our computer networks."

"Your point?" Lord Magnus growled. Variance stepped back involuntarily, surprised to bump into the door.

"Neo says the master logs can confirm that Teletran 1 has been logging into the Empire's interstellar computer networks for the past thirty-eight steller cycles. Logs that Morpheus is keeping to himself."

"Neo says . . . in other words, you have nothing to support your accusations against a member of the High Command except hearsay."

Put in those terms, Variance realized he was wasting his time. He was only Groove's lieutenant; what credibility did he have compared to a member of the High Command? He needed something more, but Neo would never betray Morpheus to Lord Magnus. Whatever ugliness that happened between them at the end, their long history before was enough to negate it.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time, my lord. Neo will never confirm my words. I only know this much because he finds it easier to share guild secrets than make a commitment."

"Guild secrets? Is the whole of the Telepath Guild now conspiring to keep information from me?!"

Variance tried to step back again, chagrined to realize his back was already against the door. Lord Magnus's expression has shifted from bored disbelief to keen interest, tinged with ire. With effort, Variance stepped away from the door.

"I . . . I didn't get that impression, sir, no. But if Neo knows these things, other segments of the Guild's hierarchy must know as well."

"What else has Neo told you?" the warlord inquired, settling back in his seat.

"The Guild has received reports from a field agent planted on the Ark. Earth was captured in three days. Resistance is scattered and not considered much of a threat by Imperial forces on the planet. The soldiers you sent were received with mixed reactions. Lord Prime is proceeding with assimilation and energon harvesting as per his usual manner. Early reports suggest the biosphere will cease to support the native lifeforms in approximately twenty-five orn, less if resistance persists. This is, of course, a best-case scenario estimate. It is entirely possible the planet will be dead within seven orn, though few credit this possibility."

Variance watched as Lord Magnus assimilated his report. As guild secrets went, these were relatively benign. But the information he had just shared was obviously having an impact on the warlord before him. He was impressed with the subtle changes in Lord Magnus's posture as his mood became colored with something akin to righteous ire.

"I assume you have some pet theory to explain this."

"I believe Morpheus is in contact with The Prime, my lord. Given Lord Prime's reputation, I further suspect he is attempting to use his position to gain favor with Lord Prime . . . at your expense. Neo refuses to even consider the possibility, but he has no alternate theory either."

Ultra Magnus nodded thoughtfully. He stood then, an almost-smile twisting at his mouth. It was unsettling, an impression that wasn't helped by a faint click from the door mechanism behind him.

"Go home and . . . compel Neo to aid us in apprehending Morpheus."

Variance paused, for a moment not certain he had heard Lord Magnus correctly. But there was no mistaking the look on the warlord's face.

"By your command."

Saluting crisply with his fist to his chest, Variance hurried out of the office. He allowed himself a slight smile as he broke into an easy lope. Neo was in for a surprise.

Deep beneath the pseudo-surface of Iacon, an icy streamlet carved a channel through shadowed bedrock. Faintly glowing ferns clung tenaciously to the banks, eeking out an existence from the hazy water, their feeble light only emphasizing the darkness around them. Little else willingly lived so far below the glittering city.

Footsteps echoed in the darkness, then three pairs of blue optics pierced the gloom. They stopped beside the streamlet, looking around as if searching for someone.

"I thought I told you to come alone, Avatar."

Pale teal optics flickered online, startling one of the newcomers. The tallest of the three stepped forward, the light from his optics picking out the scowl on his silvery face.

"And I thought I told you not to arrange any more meetings here."

"After this, we need not meet again at all. The plan is in motion."

"Don't tell me you dragged me all the way out here just for that," Avatar growled.

"No," the first chuckled, "no I didn't. Security found your uplink; I wouldn't try connecting to the network any time soon."

"How the frag could they . . . you bastard."

Something silver flashed dully in the low light as it sailed through the air. Avatar snatched it, surprised to discover it was a decryption card. Installed in their computer, it would let them link into . . . into someone's network.

"A gift, Avatar. The Guild network is better than a hacked uplink."

"A gift? At what price?"

"No price. It's a gift."

One that you can cancel any time, Avatar thought darkly, but he kept the thought to himself.

"Watch your step, Avatar. The hunt is on."

"The hunt? What hunt? Hypnos?!?"

But the teal optics were gone, the room reading empty save for himself and his two companions.

"Damn him!" Avatar swore. Not that it did any good. No one ever got any more from Hypnos than the telepath was willing to give.

Hidden by virtue of being out of phase and crouched on a ledge thirty spans above the cavern floor, she palmed the tiny receiver and shunted it into her subspace pocket. The exact science of her phasing ability eluded her; no matter how many times the science-types explained it, she couldn't reconcile the seemingly arbitrary way she could phase through walls but rarely phased through floors. Something about the effect broadening at her feet to give her support. The truth was, however it worked, she didn't really care, as long as it did work.

In due course, Avatar's group left the cavern. Spectra measured out a safe time before jumping down to the cavern floor. She phased back into normal space, ruffling the leaves of one of the ferns briefly. A tiny pick-up all but leaped into her hand. She subspaced the pick-up with a grim smile, then shifted back out of phase to head for the surface. All in all, it had been a rather productive afternoon.

Morpheus crouched in a dark alley, watching the Guildhouse. Streetwise was arguing animatedly with the doorkeeper. Morpheus couldn't make out their words, but he could follow their thoughts easily enough: Streetwise wanted into the compound and Countersyne wasn't about to let him. The arguing continued for some time before Countersyne managed to close the door. Streetwise slapped his palm against the door, obviously frustrated. He then kicked the door twice before flicking open his wrist comm.

Undoubtedly calling for backup. Morpheus sighed; if he went into the Guildhouse, he would likely be caught. At the same time, he needed to get to his quarters.

Easing backwards, he rechecked his signal dampers before circling around to the rear of the Guildhouse. He transformed quickly, using his unique access code to slip into the building through a service entrance. The passage was empty, not that it mattered. Within the Guildhouse, he was at least partially safe. Still, he needed to hurry if he was to get away before Streetwise's backup arrived.

Streetwise glanced skyward, reaffirming Blades's relative position. The helicopter was circling lazily at a three-block radius, successfully presenting an inconspicuous appearance. Which, given that it was Blades, was a major feat on it's own.

"Target is still painted. Scopes running hot."

"Rear approach?"

"That's an affirmative."

Streetwise chuckled to himself; Morpheus had not only taken the bait of his little scene with Countersyne, but he was also behaving exactly as predicted.

"Let's not get cocky," Hot Spot cautioned. Streetwise nodded once, noting Groove and Variance circling around to the rear. Neo, standing on Hot Spot's far side now, appeared ill at ease.

"Relax, Neo," Hot Spot cautioned gently. The young Mech nodded, but the way he was clutching his rifle worried Streetwise. To Streetwise, who had worked closely with Neo for several vorn, the young warrior's actions only confirmed his suspicions. Already officially off active duty for stress, the operative was clearly on edge. For all that the telepath had sworn an oath of fealty to the Empire and Lord Magnus as it's regent, that oath had never been put to the test. The Empire had never been in conflict with the Telepath Guild before, not like this.

"I thought I told. . . ."

"Silence, Countersyne. Stand aside."

"Y-yes sir," the Femme stuttered, hastily backing away from Neo. All overt signs of nervousness were gone; this Neo was calm, competent, and very much in charge.

"Sir. . . ."

"Just stay out of the way, Countersyne," Neo muttered. Streetwise watched the Femme, saw the protest dying unsaid as she turned away. Neo watched her for a moment, then shook his head and gestured for Streetwise and Hot Spot to follow him.

The entry hall was dark and forbidding, the light from the wall sconces failing to reach the peak of the high vaulted ceiling. The walls were blank, dull, gunmetal grey, relieved only by the dim wall sconces that almost necessitated a change to nightvision. He could pick out a handful of doors along its impressive length, though he doubted many others could.

Halfway down the hall, Neo stopped. Streetwise watched the operative, but he honestly couldn't tell if he had stopped voluntarily or not.

A glint of light caught Streetwise's attention just as Hot Spot lashed out to strike the telepath. With lightening-quick reflexes, Neo ducked under the blow, spinning around to a crouch.

"You told him!" the commander hissed.

"I didn't, she did. The Guild is not a slave to the Empire's whims. I will help you, but I won't betry him."

Streetwise felt his own anger rising. He's playing games with us, the spoiled little punk. At least now we know where he stands. And so will Lord Magnus.

Groove and Variance watched the rear entry to the Telepath Guildhouse in comfortable silence. They had campaigned across Cybertron together, quickly developing a working partnership not only between themselves, but with Hot Spot as well. Variance still remembered the celebration he and Groove had staged in honor of Hot Spot's promotion to Commander General of Mercury. He could also remember his more private pleasure when Groove was appointed as a field commander.

Variance had kept quiet after that, distancing himself from Groove. As he thought about it now, he wasn't really sure why. Perhaps a sense of propriety. He had drifted back and forth between Groove's team and the main strike team, never doing anything to call attention to himself. In fact, he had worked very hard to not stand out at all, to keep from being noticed. And yet . . . Groove had remembered him and their old friendship anyway.

"Variance," Groove murmured, interrupting his revery, "keep focused. Last thing we need is this telepath getting past us because we're not paying attention."

Variance noded slightly, gazing up at the forbidding Guildhouse. Twice as tall as any of its neighbors, the Telepath Guild's compound lorded over the entire district. It was easy to see where Neo got his superior attitude. Watch towers stood vacant, but Variance had the uneasy feeling that they were being watched.

Variance.

Variance started, clutching his rifle tightly for a moment. That voice. . . . But it couldn't be . . . could it?

Vari. . . . By the Pit, don't act deaf now!

Neo? He thought incredulously. But how?

Don't ask stupid questions, Var. You wanted my help, well here it is.

As sudden as thought, detailed floorplans scrolled across his field of vision, floorplans of the Guildhouse. With them came the knowledge that Morpheus was waiting for them. He knew where and he knew exactly how to catch the telepath. He also knew he needed to move quickly, or Neo's gift of information would be wasted.

Thank you, Neo, he thought gratefully.

"Groove, come on. I know where Morpheus is hiding."

"Whoa there, Variance. Our orders were to stay out here and make sure he doesn't slip past us."

"But I know where he is and how to get him. Neo. . . ."

"Did he contact you on your commlink?"

"No, the Guild is probably monitoring our comms."

"And you think they're not doing the same with . . . with whatever frequency it is that telepaths use?"

"I didn't say that. They probably are in fact."

"Then whatever he told you was probably a smokescreen," Groove declared matter-of-factly, as if that were the end of the discussion.

"No! I know this wasn't a ruse. I'm going in."

"You'll stay put, Variance, and that's the end of it," Groove countered harshly.

"But I know I have to do this!"

"Variance," Groove sighed with uncharacteristic patience, "what is the first rule of combat communications?"

"Trust no transmission. . . ."

"Exactly."

". . . unless you can guarantee it's security. And I can, for this."

"How?"

"Neo and I . . . well, we have a . . . a special bond. It gives him a way to reach me that they can't monitor and can't control. Trust me."

Groove studied him warily, then nodded once. Variance chambered a round before gliding forward almost silently. Using Neo's access code, he unlocked the rear entry, gesturing Groove ahead of him, then sealing it again behind him. A few quick hand signs and they were climbing the stairs to the third floor. Variance wove unerringly through the maze of halls, following the blueprints Neo gave him.

» There « he signaled, gesturing to the door at the end of the hall.

» Certain? « Groove signed back.

» Positive «

» On three «

» One «

Variance readjusted his grip on his rifle.

» Two «

Please Primus, don't let this be a ruse!

» Three «

Variance burst into the room, Groove right behind him, sweeping the room with his optics. They were in a small library, the walls lined with shelves full of disks and 'padds, except for a small break for a window. Morpheus stood there at the window, turned away from them.

"So Neo did bond with a non-telepath. That is unfortunate."

"You don't scare me. And don't try anything."

"What an inattentive little playmate you've been. A pity, for your life to end like this."

Variance was suddeny frozen, rooted in place by a power outside of himself. Fear gripped him then; Neo had promised he would be safe. That promise was all that had kept him from balking at Neo's suggestion in the first place. And now. . . .

"Ah, but you are safe, little Variance. A walking corpse, but safe."

"Release him," Groove growled, his rifle suddenly pressed against the back of Morpheus's neck.

"Or what? You'll kill me? Foolish Mech. Never realizing that my death is exactly what he wants. . . ."

"This shot wouldn't kill you. You're of no use to his lordship dead, after all," the veteran warrior hissed.

"Nor much use to the malcontents as Lord Magnus's . . . guest. A threat, then, a very real threat to everything they want, everything they have worked so hard to create. Better then, to insure that I never leave this Guildhouse alive. Something I'm sure they're more than capable of assuring."

"They? They who?"

"I suggest," Morpheus drawled, quietly settling his bulk at the desk, "that you ask Lord Magnus to join us. And perhaps that other corpse as well, Neo. No reason to deny you two a few last moments together."

It was no secret that Lord Magnus was subject to extreme mood swings. Violent rages that had very nearly cost more than one mechanism his life, often swiftly followed by bouts of shrewdly calculating logic. Fortunately, unlike the Lord Prime, Ultra Magnus's rages were rare . . . and never without very good cause.

"He said WHAT?!?!?"

"Please, Liege, don't kill me! I'm only the messenger!"

Ultra Magnus dropped Remix without another word. A corner of his thoughts found it curious that she was delivering this news instead of Rewind. The cassette Femme cringed, scuttling away from him as he continued to pace.

Demanding my presence. How dare he! I'll not tolerate this anymore. If it's an audience he wants, so be it. It will be his last.

In the vast cyberrealm of the Imperial networks, datapackets zipped back and forth, heedless of boundries and distances. Library subroutines circulated the network, archiving here, sorting there, retrieving whatever tidbit the users sought. Security programs traversed the whole of cyberspace, keeping watch for malicious code fragments and breaches. Monitors ticked and hummed, recording every keystroke, every voice input, ever bit of data traveling the network.

One monitor beeped cheerfully, noting the input of data from an Operative Spectra. Subrountines activated, flagging the datastream and routing it to Lord Magnus's secured comm. Another two copies were made, archived to the most secure servers on Cybertron. Once that task was complete, all traces of the original were systematically purged, even the logs of the operation removed.

Meanwhile, in a completely different part of the network, an illicit interlink switched to active. Masked behind Telepath Guild firewalls, the newest part of the network tentatively essayed a half dozen queries. Monitors logged the faintly anomolous activity, but did nothing else.

Further afield, an archiving program faithfully encoded experimental results. Tolerance, reaction time, vital stats, experimenter's notes, all flawlessly recorded and encoded. The file closed and the archive program nestled it back into the penal servers.

And in a very different segment of the network, a monitor recorded the activation of the Teletran-1 uplink. Dozens of queries ranged outward from the Earth-bound supercomputer, gathering information on a number of varied topics. A new cracker algorithm was launched at Cybertron's top security server collective, but access was resolutely denied.

Elsewhere, the monitor that managed and recorded the general status of the entire network watched it all, silently compiling its own report.

Pensive, Ultra Magnus paced his office in meditative circles. His trip to the Telepath Guildhouse - hard to believe it had already been three stellar cycles past - had been . . . quite enlightening. Disturbing, after a fashion, though it had confirmed Irradia's nebulous fears of trouble within the Telepath Guild. He had few solid answers . . . and two elite operatives who were constantly on edge, afraid that, despite his personal assurances not to hand them over to the Guild, some telepath assassin hunted them, waiting to catch them unawares. While the chances of any such assassin gaining access to the heart of the Imperial Palance were slim, it was not impossible. And Neo and Variance knew it.

What fools we become in love. Foolishly thinking we are invincible, above the law, beyond reprimand or reproach, no matter what we do. Primus knows what possessed Neo to break one of the Guild's most basic laws, bonding with a nontelepath.

No, scratch that, I do know, he amended with a slight smile as he recalled Variance standing in his office. The lean warior was understandably upset with his partner now, of course; Neo hadn't told him they were risking death, though, in his defense, the telepath hadn't expected such a harsh reprimand.

The warlord looked up sharply as his office door hissed open. He was surprised to find he was not only grateful for the interruption, but relieved to see Neo and Variance walk in together. Perhaps they had found a way to mend the rift between them.

"Something you gentlemen need?"

"I don't know about him," Neo grumbled causing Magnus's hopes for the pair to deflate, "but you asked for a copy of the latest Tracker report. I'm sorry, Liege, but the trail died at Point Omega. They are, of course, still searching, but if Hypnos has gone to ground somewhere, it may be several quartexes before we find him . . . or longer."

"Too convienent," Magnus rumbled darkly, scanning the cover page of the report. "Blame everything on another telepath, a rogue who suddenly and mysteriously disappears. If I didn't know better, I might think the Guild fabricated him purely as a scapegoat."

"Liege?"

"Nevermind. Anything else?"

"Morpheus wishes to know when you intend to lift the reward for his death."

"When he assures me that you and Variance are not risking termination by leaving the Lair."

Something akin to resignation flickered through both warriors, an odd reaction, to Ultra Magnus's mind at least. He was offering them the full power of his protection, yet they showed little gratitude for that fact. It was . . . bothersome. But before he could question either warrior on their reactions, Neo bowed submissively and left.

"Well?" he addressed Variance with a slight scowl.

"Permission to speak frankly, Liege?"

"Very well, speak."

"I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I think I'd rather die than keep living with Neo. Frankly, I'm glad he's staying at the Guildhouse."

"He's what??"

"Says the Guild needs him with the Trackers out hunting Hypnos. Which is fine by me."

"I thought. . . ."

"Oh I still love him . . . at least, I think I do. But he lied to me. Lied so deeply, so completely, that even with the bond I never knew how far his lies went. He made a joke of my faith in him, betraying my trust. So yeah, I'm still pissed at him too."

Variance sighed heavily and Magnus could clearly see the conflict within the younger warrior. This was no easy situation and he felt for the Mech. Such a deep-seated betray by the very person you had come to trust with your very existence . . . and worse, had trust enough to forge a link with that person that would last for their rest of their lives. . . . Magnus knew well how deeply Variance was hurting.

"Is that why you came to me?"

"That and I saw Neo coming this way."

"Then I suggest you get back to work, Variance."

"By your command," the dusky blue warrior intoned, bowing once before slipping out of the room. Lord Magnus watched the door hiss shut, then resumed his earlier pacing.

He could recall every detail of Spectra's report, but for the moment he was content to just sit on it. Prime loyalists were not uncommon; more than a few Autobots wondered if perhaps the chosen regent hadn't quietly assumed powers above and beyond his place. Until recently, there had been no need to worry unduly. Remove the few vocal leaders, and the threat was quelled.

Of course, that was before Lord Prime had made his public return, perhaps a double quartex past. Now malcontents had a clearer rally point. And each loyalist cell was another threat to Ultra Magnus's plans. One that could not be removed publicly, and one more problem that made underground attempts to quell loyalty to The Prime that much harder.

He should have died in that crash. Damn him to the deepest pits anyway, this is my hour of glory! How dare he return to life!

Magnus stopped at his desk, staring at the pile of paperwork awaiting his attention. On the top of the stack: another angry missive from the Lord Prime. Teletran-1 had found a server node it couldn't access. Everything the Ark-based Autobots tried invariably failed. This was, of course, completely unacceptable to the Lord Prime.

Idiot. I've already told him why the connection is refused. What part of "an interstellar link is not sufficiently secure" is so hard to understand? But of course the Lord Prime must be denied nothing. Power-sucking, raving lunatic.

Of course the truth of the matter was Lord Magnus didn't want his rival gaining access to the servers beyond that node. That collection of servers, secured from any off-world uplinks, were, in fact, the most secure server collective in the whole of the Empire, housing private records on everything from the Telepath Guild to Prime loyalists, energy production numbers to the status of the Imperial fleet. Information vital to the proper administration of the Empire. Information that would bring Lord Prime rushing back to Iacon to set straight all the free-will, self-governing nonsense that had, oddly enough, done more to forward the Empire's cause than all the terrorizing and mass destruction Optimus had unleashed in prior meganiums.

"Well, you look fit to be tied."

Ultra Magnus glared down at Irradia, irritated with himself for not realizing she was even in the room until she was standing in front of him. An amused smile curved her lips, slender fingers reaching up to stroke his cheek, and his anger melted to mere discontent.

"What news, to set you in such a mood, hmm?"

"They haven't found him yet. I can't help but wonder if they didn't just let him go. Loyalty to the Guild ahead of loyalty to the Empire and so forth."

"I doubt it. Without Hypnos, Morpheus has no proof. We do, but he doesn't. And he doesn't know about Spectra or Avatar."

"No, though something will have to be done about Avatar's uplink into the Guild's network. He cannot be allowed access to the larger network."

"Why? Guild computers are already restricted. Tighten the strictures - I'm sure you can think of ways to do that without raising undue suspicion - and Avatar's threat is largely neutralized. Simple."

"Ah, my dear, I knew I would find a use for you yet. This sounds like a job for your delicate touch, wouldn't you agree?"

"If that is your desire, my lord," she purred, her hands resting lightly on his chestplate, the distance between them shrinking to almost nothing.

"But you didn't come here to discuss Imperial policy regarding the Guild. Why are you here?"

"What, your consort can't just wish to see you?" she replied innocently, crimson optics widening skeptically.

"Ah, Irradia," he chuckled, cupping her face in his hands, "you could almost convince me, my dear. Now, why are you really here?"

"The twins" she sighed at last. "When will you release Starchaser to me? She can't be held in First Aid's ward forever."

"Though he might wish to argue differently," he murmured, absently stroking Irradia's cheek. "Releasing her would be a reward, one she has not earned."

"But she'll go mad in there! No one will even look her in the face except First Aid! They treat her like substandard goods!"

"They see the mark of slavery on her. Thus, in their optics, she is substandard goods."

"Magnus, please, be reasonable. You can't keep her locked up like some Burrower. It'd be like caging one of your Couriers."

"Then convince her to shed her sigil, Irradia," he rumbled coolly, releasing her.

"Shadow lord, as cold as the sunless planet you rule," she muttered, stepping away from him with a cold frown. "I was worried how much I had changed, how little I would fit in here. I forgot to think that you might change as well. So cold, so callous . . . have you not a single care that this is your daughter, crafted from your spark as well as mine own?"

"If I have changed, it is because I have needed to adapt to better rule the Empire. I do not do this to my daughter for the joy of it. This is the road you have forced me to take.

"But we have been through this before, Irradia. Trust that I know what I am doing."

"You had better," she muttered darkly, "lest it cost you more than you are willing to pay."

Magnus scowled briefly at her back as she stalked out of his office. An ethereal darkness settled upon the office, as if she had taken all of the light with her. Shaking off the whimsy, Magnus refocused on the papers awaiting his attention.

Starchaser stared intently at the vid screen, trying to lose herself in it's serene replay of a fly-over of Iacon. She had been a . . . guest . . . in First Aid's private ward for a little over half a quartex. Fortunately, she had been offline for the first three stellar cycles. Otherwise, she wasn't sure she wouldn't be dead by now. Or at least quietly insane.

The walls aren't closing in, it's just a trick of the mind. Just focus on the simulated fly-over. Lose yourself in it. The walls aren't closing in. . . .

She repeated her mantra a few more times. Slowly, the panic attack passed, leaving her shaking and drained. Starchaser had known for several orn that she was claustrophobic. On Outpost Canis, it hadn't mattered; her phobia was relatively mild and easily subdued by the knowledge that she could walk outside and go flying at any time. But now that she was a prisoner. . . .

Might as well have killed me that first day. The panic attacks are coming more often. I gotta get out of here, gotta feel the wind whistling past my audios, pressing around my wings. . . .

She was halfway through the main ward when the familiar sight of the medical telepath sent to keep a watch for her suddenly appeared in her path.

"Going somewhere, Decepticon?" she murmured, her tone dripping with venom.

"Guess not," Starchaser replied, swiftly decloaking when the telepath summoned a thin wand from subspace. It was a tool with which Starchaser was all too familiar, a device for torture, in fact, capable of flooding a mechanism's neurocircuitry with pain messages without causing any actual damage to the subject.

"Well then, I suggest you get back to your room. Unless you'd like to volunteer to assist me with my research? I've always wondered how Decepticon neural networks differed from Autobot systems in their tolerance and management of pain."

Starchaser suppressed a shudder, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much her presence bothered her. Did I willfully forget she would be here, waiting with her little toy? Or was I just being overly optimistic?

Watching the telepath from the corner of her visual range, she trudged down the hall towards her room. Aside from that one Femme, the other nurses and techs were studiously ignoring her.

"You, slave, get over here."

She studiously ignored the command, focusing intently on her destination. A tiny proximity monitor coupled with angry footsteps alerted her to the approach of one of the techs. The sudden appearance of a vindictive grin on the telepath's face didn't improve her feelings of dread.

Just as her hand reached out to trip the door control to her room, someone reached out and swung her around violently.

"You defective or something?" the tech growled angrily. "Just who do you think you are, ignoring me?"

She opened her mouth to speak when he backhanded her, sending her sprawling across the floor. She carefully rose to her hands and knees, running a quick diagnostic. The scrolling green text confirmed a lack of injuries, a small comfort.

"Stupid Con scum," the tech muttered, approaching her again.

"Here, try this. Works better to make her behave like she should."

Starchaser fought back a shudder at the telepath's voice. She knew what was coming next and braced herself, even though she knew it wouldn't help. Pain coursed through her like molten lava. She bit her lip, determined not to scream, tightening her jaw against the pain. She could feel a trickle of energon gel leak into her mouth as her metallic skin broke under the pressure. She was mildly surprised at the bitter tang, expecting the milder spritz of straight energon. Desperate to ease the power of the pain, she focused on the difference, fighting to focus her mind on analyzing the differences. Unfortunately, finding the answer - the addition of vital agents, coagulants, and repair nanites - took far too little time to carry her past the pain.

As suddenly as it had begun, the pain was gone. She collapsed to the floor, aware of First Aid's authoritative tenor demanding an explanation. Firm, paternal hands clasped her shoulders, helping her into a sitting position. Hot Spot's face swam into view as her vision faded and hazed, green text flashing to red with low energy warnings. The shadows of an impending forced recharge cycle encroached on the edges of her vision, the sounds of an irate First Aid fading into the background. She thought Hot Spot was trying to say something to her, and then darkness swept over her, blessed oblivion embracing her in cool relief.

Hot Spot settled the young Femme that so reminded him of Irradia on the medical berth. A thin, sluggish line of gel betrayed the split in her lip, her only injury and that self-inflicted. To keep from screaming in agony. Hot Spot liked to think it was a sign of the Autobot nature of her spark.

"Looks like you're losing control of your staff, my friend," he murmured quietly.

"It's that farking medical telepath, I'd bet a double-quartex's pay on it. No ethics, medical or otherwise," the elite warrior and expert physician muttered, wiping the energon gel from Starchaser's chin.

"So file a complaint, get rid of her."

"Oh you can bet on it! Better to chain the girl than keep that vexing banshee around my staff any longer. Of all the telepaths at the Guild, they have to send me her?"

Hot Spot remained silent, simply listening as his unit's medic waxed verbose on the glaring and numerous character flaws of the unwelcome addition to his staff. The seasoned general watched his friend, once more impressed and amazed at the deft ease with which he made repairs. Not that Starchaser's split lip was a difficult repair, by any means. A few quick motions and Hot Spot was hard pressed to find even a trace of the injury, a fact he was certain the young Femme would appreciate when she awoke.

"How much longer are you expecting to hold her?" he asked quietly. A shadow of worry flickered across First Aid's features, clearing quickly.

"I was hoping you might have some answers for me on that. Not that I object to her but . . . she should be in personal quarters, not cooped up in my telemetry room. What does his lordship say?"

"He doesn't. But we both know he wants that sigil off of her. And frankly, I can't say I blame him."

"It would be so easy," First Aid mumbled, a finger tracing the outline of the Decepticon decal, a purple schmear on Starchaser's chest. A glaring splash of color on her otherwise monochrome exterior, it drew the optic, shouting it's presence to the universe. And branding her apart as a captive slave.

"You could, but it wouldn't change anything. You know as well as I do that she needs to reject them, not just slide into neutrality."

"I know," First Aid sighed. "But it's not like she's getting much encouragement here. This is hardly the first time that . . . that pit viper has used her little toy on her. Suggestions?"

Hot Spot studied her, frowning beneath his battlemask at the steady drip of an infuser, the line inserted cleanly into her elbow.

"Since when has she needed an infuser? Is she trying to starve herself in protest?"

"Panic attacks. They haven't been enough to create a serious disruption, but with cloaking and then the attack . . . she's almost on empty."

"Panic attacks," Hot Spot repeated thoughtfully. The symptom nagged at him as something familiar, something he should remember. And then it came to him.

"Dear Primus, you mean she's a claustrophobic? Does Lord Magnus know?"

"Claustrophobic? I don't know what causes the atta--"

First Aid cut himself off as Starchaser bolted upright, the monitors beeping crazily with panicked readings. Her optics glowed brilliant amythest, her gaze darting around the room. Her movements struck Hot Spot as deeply wrong, spastic and jerky instead of the fluid grace he associated with her mother. An odd rattling wheeze poured out of her; it took him a moment to realize it was her air-coolant system shutting down.

"Starchaser!" he called out, trying to get her attention focused on him. But if she heard him at all, she was ignoring him.

"Easy, Starchaser. Relax, hon, it's okay," First Aid crooned, forcing her to look at him. Hot Spot watched, wondering how many times his friend had done this before.

Startlingly black shields closed over Starchaser's optics for a moment. When they slid back, the unthinking wildness was gone from her gaze, replaced by the shades of doubt and confusion.

"First Aid?"

"That's right. You're back in your room now. It's over."

"Still hurts," she murmured, plucking weakly at the line feeding into her elbow.

"I know it does, hon," First Aid murmured, gently taking her hand. "It'll wear off in a little bit. And I'm going to deal with . . . our telepath friend. Okay?"

She nodded mutely, laying back down with an obvious sense of resignation. A dark cloud seemed to descend on the entire room, a sadness that faltered only briefly when she noticed he was in the room as well.

"Starchaser. . . ."

"Please . . . please just leave me alone. Or kill me. I . . . I can't live like this."

"Starchaser," Hot Spot said gently, "I want to help you."

"Then let me out of this prison. Let me and my brother go. We're not a threat to you, can't you see that? Please, just let us go."

"I can't do that, you know that. Even if I could, your brother can't go anywhere."

"Hot Spot. . . ."

But it was too late to keep the silence. What little he had said had attracted her attention like iron to a lodestone. As was intended.

"What about my brother? What do you mean he can't go anywhere? What are you people doing to my brother?!"

"I can't discuss it with you, Starchaser."

"That's what you all say!"

"You're twins. Maybe the question you should be asking is why you need us to tell you anything at all."

"What . . . what do you mean?"

"He means," First Aid interjected, playing his part flawlessly despite being unrehearsed, "that you were created as linked twins. But such considerations are hardly relevant right this moment. What's important is that you rest and regain your energy."

"Why, so I can sit here and do nothing?"

"You remain a prisoner by your own choosing," Hot Spot reminded her gently, tracing the outline of her sigil. "They don't see you, they see this; the tech admitted as much. Clinging to this isn't going to win you anything but hardship."

Starchaser's gaze flickered between them with a growing sense of disbelief. She scooted away from Hot Spot, distrust in her expression.

"You . . . you wouldn't . . . not even you could do something like this. . . ."

"No, Starchaser," First Aid agreed gently, perching on the edge of her medical berth, "no, we would never plan anything like this. But you and I both know this was no isolated incident."

"First Aid. . . ."

"I know you think you're doing the right thing. But is your pride really worth all this pain?"

Starchaser looked away from First Aid, unable to feel surprised when she noticed Hot Spot silently slipping out of the room. She fought against it, but her body betrayed her, shivering at her own haunted thoughts.

Is it worth it? Is anything worth it? Worth the all-consuming, burning pain again . . . and again, and again. . . . It would be so easy to just give in. To do what Mom did. . . .

Despair wrapped around her, shrouding the room in shadow. She wanted to be strong like her brother, to think of what he might do in her place. But she couldn't lie to herself. Despite her best efforts, she had always been the weak one. She had spent a lifetime depending on his strength. On her own, she didn't know what to do, didn't know how to react. She was adrift, without any sense of direction.

Is this what Mom felt? Is this how she came to be around them, to eventually be one of them?

Primus . . . Primus, why have you forsaken me? Have my sins been so great? Will you not guide me? Please, Primus, please . . . why have you forsaken me?

Tears silently slipped down her cheeks, the ducts of optic cleanser refusing to obey her commands. She was so embarrassed by her own weakness, waiting for the taunts, the rebuke that she expected from an Autobot. Instead, First Aid dabbed at her streaked cheeks with a clean cloth. Surprised, she looked up at him.

"I know, it's not an easy decision, to break from a cause you believe to be morally right. But they're wrong, Starchaser. Can you see that now?" he asked quietly, genuine concern shimmering in his sapphire gaze as he dabbed at her tears.

Unbidden, words sprang forth aching to be spoken. This time she was able to catch them before they burst out of her. She was surprised at their fit, at how easily they slipped out of her.

". . . I've been wallowing in my own chaotic, insecure delusions. . . . See my shadow changing, stretching up and over me. . . ."

She looked up at First Aid, smiling at the quiet confusion she read in him.

"Change is coming," she murmured, "now is my time. Time to step into my shadow, come out the other side."

A quiet sigh whistled through her. She wouldn't live a slave. She could never believe that the Decepticon cause was wrong, nor could she accept the Empire's manifest destiny was to rule the universe. Perhaps someday she would be asked to choose again. For now, however, she would skirt the shadows and become factionless.

She picked at the edges of her sigil, surprised at how tenaciously it clung to her armor. But she too could be tenacious, and though it came off in chunks and strips, eventually it did come off.

"Please, can I go home?"

"I'll have to talk to your father first," First Aid replied quietly. "Stay here and rest."

He squeezed her hand, then surprised her completely by hugging her. A lightning quick peck on the cheek - she really wanted to know how he got that facemask off and on so easily - and he was gone. And she was left alone with her thoughts.

Great All-Father, I pray I've done the right thing. . . .

Octane stood in the shadow of the imposing administrative building, waiting for Shockwave. Karma was convinced the Autobots were slowly killing Sunrunner, refusing to believe him no matter how many times he and Shockwave assured her that was not the case. So they had come here, intending to put her worries to rest. Of course Dyne had absolutely refused to allow any of them into his domain. So instead, Octane waited outside with Karma while Shockwave went to Blurr.

"I don't like it, Octane. Too many shadows; he can't break through them."

"I think you're letting your fears run away with you," he replied gently. "They won't kill him, Karma, not like this. If anything, killing him will only make him stronger."

"I know what I know, Octane," she snapped back. His optics widened, wings flexing slightly as he stepped back in surprise.

"I'm sorry, Octane, I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just . . . he's in so much pain right now. He's trying to be strong, to fight against them, but he's getting lost. I . . . I'm losing him, 'Tane. Please, you must believe me!"

"Even if I did, what would you have me do about it?"

"I don't know," she confessed with a sigh, closing the distance between them timidly. She held herself tightly, her slender wings drawn tight across her back, as if that alone might help Sunrunner somehow. Octane wrapped a supportive arm around her waist, surprised when she relaxed against him.

"Why are they doing this?" she asked quietly. "Why do they even bother? What possible threat could he pose to them?"

Octane didn't know what to say to her. Fortunately, he was spared from responding by Shockwave's sudden return. He studied the ex-general acutely, but he still didn't know the Mech well enough to know his body language.

"Well?"

"I was allowed to see him from a distance, nothing more. Dyne insists your friend is still in a coma, so there was no point in letting me closer. I have nothing with which to press the point, thus I was forced to concede the point. From what I could see and read in the reports, he is recovering, albeit very slowly. But, even under ideal conditions, it will be some time before he is conscious again."

"That's a lie and you know it. He's already aware of what they're doing to him!"

"I expressed your concerns to Blurr, Karma, and he assures me the Empire is neither killing him slowly nor torturing him. Lord Magnus himself ordered Sunrunner's treatment expedited with all haste. He offered no explanation of why, merely that it was so."

"How can you trust him?!" Karma demanded angrily, pulling free from Octane with a twitch of her shoulders. "He's one of them!"

"Because, my dear, I have known Blurr from the first day of my imprisonment, many long vorn past. He is an Autobot and loyal to the Empire, yes, but he is a Mech of honor. More importantly, I know I can trust him. He is my friend."

"You think he's actually telling you the truth?!? He's an Autobot! He'll tell you whatever they tell him to and to the pits with the truth!"

"Karma, enough," Octane murmured, trying to soothe the agitated Femme. He understood her fears, but he had come to know Shockwave quite well and saw no point in antagonizing the former general. Certainly, he was not saying these things to be cruel or hurtful.

"I have listened to you, against my better judgement," Shockwave responded stiffly. "I have tried to ease your fears, as is my role. I see now that my efforts were wasted. I shall not make the same mistake again."

Octane watched the former general walk away with a heavy sigh. Karma glared at him, as if his sigh was some sort of accusation, then stalked off.

Primus below, why me? I try to serve my people, but sometimes I wonder if they even want my help.

He looked out across the camp, a vision of false dawn suddenly overlayed on the scene before him. He shook off the false memory. Cybertron was a rogue planet, consigned to a lonely existence traversing the depths of space; there would never be the light of an impending sunrise kissing these dismal buildings.

Pushing himself forward, he stepped through the shadow around him, contemplative and mournful as he walked through the unchanging ever-night.