Disclaimer: I do not own the Transformers (kicks self repeatedly), nor do I have any rights to the brilliant performances or storylines contained in the Transformers movies, animated series (I'm talking about the 25 year old version, now), books (yes, I actually bough the books and comics…here lies true geekdom), or action figures. I wish I did. Though I'd just be happy to have the Autobots (and Soundwave and Barricade) on a permanent loop in my brain and house. This is my first foray into the wide world of Cybertron and I must admit that I have been inspired by the fantastic writing in this section.

Author's Note: This story begins on Cybertron, before the Autobots and Decepticons came to Earth. Anyone with any opinions, suggestions, reviews or thoughts, feel free to let me in on them. Any comments are welcome. Love it, hate it, think I should burn my harddrive, tell me. Reviews are truly love and if you like the story, reviewing will make writing happen faster. On the other hand, if you hate it and don't review, my muse may kick me back to my other genres out of spite or happiness.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Chapter One

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Samarra blinked slowly, optics still fuzzy after the beating she'd received. Megatron had not been happy and had let his displeasure be known on the first mech stupid enough to wander into the room. She, sadly, had been that mech. It hadn't helped that Starscream had offered to take over where Lord Megatron had left off. She was certain that airborne sociopath would have smashed the spark out of her if he hadn't gotten distracted by a report of Autobot activity.

In the confusion that followed, Barricade had easily scooped up the red femme and dragged her from danger. All the while cursing her in clicks and whistles for her impetuousness at following him.

Which left her lying now in an alley, curled up in a ball. Barricade had deposited her in the shadowed alley and returned to the Decepticon base to clean up the aftermath of Megatron's meltdown. He'd be back in a little while, he'd promised. Samarra weakly pushed herself up. Her internal chronometer told her that she had missed her check-in. Jazz would be royally pissed off. She let her sensors flare out for a moment, confirming that neither Autobot or Decepticon were within range.

The comm link in her helmet flared to life as she finally allowed herself the freedom to talk to her boss.

"Primus, girl, you better be headed in or I'm gonna let Sunny and Sides loose on your ass!" warned Jazz through the private communication link.

Samarra's vents cycled slowly and she winced. "Jazz, I'm hurt."

Jazz's voice was instantly contrite. "Shit, Samarra, where are you?"

Samarra sent her coordinates, attempting a smile at the alley walls before the darkness overtook her again.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

"She's gonna be okay, right? Ratchet?"

Ratchet looked up at the saboteur. Jazz had turned the little red femme into one of his agents, sending her into the lion's den of Megatron to spy. He'd warned that she was too vulnerable--an easy target. And now he was crouched beside her prone form, assessing damage. It was clear that heavier mechs than Samarra had taken care to pummel her curvy chassis. Dents covered her red armor. Already her repair subroutines were working overtime, bringing the mech back online. "I am going on record that you should not have sent her in. She's a sparkling nurse, for Primus sake."

Jazz shook her head. "Look, man, she volunteered. No one put a plasma cannon to her head and told her to infiltrate Mega--"

"Jazz?" came the weak voice, cutting across the argument as she struggled to sit up.

Jazz crouched down next to the battered femme. "Hey, Sweets, had me worried."

A yellow hand pushed her gently back down to the oil-slicked ground, startling Samarra. Her head swiveled and her eyes widened as she took in the slightly blurry countenance of Ratchet. "Ratchet," she murmured, blue optics widening.

Ratchet continued his assessment, his mouth a grim line. "You took a beating." His red beam was tracing over her form as he spoke, forcing the metal of her body to reknit itself at lightening speed.

She wheezed a laugh, groaning as her internal systems erupted with displeasure at the pain coursing through her circuits. "Really? Thought I went to the opera."

Jazz chuckled, his hand covering his mouth. "She must be doing better, Ratchet. She's got her sense of humor back."

Ratchet glared at Jazz. "At least two mechs beat her, Jazz."

Jazz nodded. He'd figured as much, taking in the dents to her armor. Even though she was a tough femme, she was no match for the heavy fists and kicks that the Decepticon mechs doled out. "We should clear out, Ratch. Can she be moved?"

Ratchet nodded, already scooping the femme into his arms.

Samarra felt the medic lifting her and began to panic. "What are you doing, Ratchet?" she gasped, her vents cycling frantically.

Ratchet looked down at the red femme, glaring, though his arms tightened around the frame in his arms. "Carrying you back to base."

Samarra shook her head, ignoring the remnants of wooziness that edged her perception. "You have to leave me here. Barricade's gonna come back and wonder what happened."

Jazz and Ratchet shared a look. "Barricade?" grated out Ratchet, blue optics glinting with scarlet.

Jazz scanned the area. No Barricade. They were still clear. "Samarra, we gotta get you back to the medbay. I'm all about completing the mission but you got owned."

Samarra shook her head, twisting out of Ratchet's arms until she precariously stood on her own feet. She was still near enough to Ratchet that the yellow medic had a grip on her. "Barricade brought me here. He got me away from Megatron and Starscream. He will come back."

Jazz sighed. "You sure?"

Ratchet shook his head. "No, Jazz. We can't leave her."

Jazz sized up his agent in front of him. He'd trained the feisty red femme, let her loose on her first assignment. She'd done better than he'd ever expected. If she said that he had to leave her, he had to take her word. "Yes, Ratchet, we do."

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

The wrench that spun past Jazz's head collided with the bulkhead behind the intelligence agent, luck and training allowing Jazz to narrowly step out of its path before it smashed into his face. "Damn, Ratch, why don't you tell me how you really feel?" chided the Autobot second in command.

Ratchet glared at the intelligence officer. "We left her."

Jazz blinked. They hadn't talked about it since they'd left Samarra in that alley. They'd watched from a safe distance as Barricade did indeed return for the red femme. They'd watched the Decepticon carefully lift the femme, cradling her to his spark chamber as he'd furtively darted into the shadows of Cybertron. She was safe. Well, amended Jazz, as safe as one of his undercover agents would be in the presence of Barricade. There hadn't been a peep from her over their comms. And as the silence grew longer, Ratchet got more and more…ratchety. "Ratchet, it's part of the job. She's good at it."

Ratchet growled. "She's going to be a sparkling doctor. Did you know that, Jazz?" He glared at the sabouteur. "And you have her risking her life."

Jazz shrugged. "It's part of what we do. It's how we get intel."

The clatter of tools being thrown down filled the medbay. Ratchet seethed, his vents cycling fast. "That's how YOU get intel, Jazz. She's just a sparkling herself. Trying to prove something to you and Prime and Prowl and Hound and Wheeljack."

Jazz's blue optics narrowed before one of his optic ridges rose in disbelief. "You care about her."

Ratchet scoffed. "I care about all of my patients."

Jazz shook his head, chortling. "Damned if I'm right. You know that's not what I mean, you old rust bucket. You're sweet on my sparkling."

The medic spun away, focusing on the tools still lying on his workbench. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jazz stalked the medic. "Look, Ratch, I know she has Creator issues." He grinned as he recalled Ratchet trying to beat into Samarra's head that she didn't have to act like every older mech was her Spark Creator. It had let to an…interesting…argument. Now he began to wonder if the red femme might have some squishier feelings for his old friend. "But she can handle herself."

Ratchet grunted and moved away from the blue mech. He began to pick up the tools that he had been lobbing. "Sure, she can."

Jazz waited for a moment more, watching as Ratchet slowly gathered his weapons of choice before slipping from the medbay. He had an intelligence report to pass on to Prowl and Optimus.

888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

Barricade watched from the doorway as the red femme recharged. She had been recharging almost from the time he'd brought her here. It was safe. Well, as safe as they would find, he thought. He hadn't thought that Megatron and Starscream would beat her as bad as they had. He had forgotten that Screamer didn't like femmes.

Kicking at the debris that was scattered on the floor, he wondered why he even cared. It had been made clear to him that the red femme was not for him. She was a prize to be won by the upper echelons. The fliers, he thought angrily.

The slow stirring on the pallet where she lay told him she was starting to come around. He crossed the warehouse slowly, watching as she came aware. Crouching beside her he offered his sharp-toothed grin. "Better?"

Samarra nodded slowly. "Yes, Barricade. How long have I been out?"

Barricade shrugged. "Two days."

Samarra groaned. "Two days? Crap."

Barricade watched the femme slowly sit up. He'd taken the beatings before, just like Samarra. Fought back just like her too. It made the beatings worse but better to be pummeled than cower like Starscream, he thought. He looked down at the ground. "Samarra, maybe you should get off Cyberton. For a little while."

Samarra's blue optics narrowed. If she was going to get the intel that Jazz wanted and prove to Jazz that she was a good asset, she had to stay close to Barricade. He was her in. Besides, she rationalized, the black and white mech seemed to have a soft spot for her. She reached out, her smaller hand closing around the mech's bicep. "Trying to get ride of me, 'Cade?" she asked softly.

Barricade shook his head, crimson optics meeting her blue ones. "No, Samarra." He leaned forward, his hands coming down on either side of her smaller chassis. "Not trying to get rid of you." He watched as her eyes widened. Pushing her back, he covered her form with his own. He smirked as he felt her arms come around him, holding him to her.

She might not be his prize to win, he thought, but he'd definitely won her.