Arc 2: 11 Journey

by Macx

The Tji have pulled back, but are they really gone? Nebulos struggles for survival as the radiation disease hits not only the Nebulans but also the Headmaster. Somewhere else Midnight tries to come to terms with his origin.

Journey
by Birgit Staebler

The truck lumbered along the dirty and lonely highway. Now and then a few cars passed it, but most of the time it was alone on the streets. Empty, barren landscape went by, now and then dotted by a small town popping up left or right. The towns looked abandoned and burned. Abused farmland sprung up for a few miles, then was replaced by more empty land. The farmland had been burned, just like the towns, and nothing would grow here for years. Battered signs told the driver he was heading north, toward the space port. The truck was of a dusty red color, the trailer grayish white. Both looked like they had seen better days.
Hours later the truck arrived at the city border and was checked through by one of the many robots here to help them, who simply motioned him to go on. The truck was one of many coming into the barely recognizable main city -- or what was left of it. The city was like a lonely port, a safe haven, for those in desperate need of help. Huge ships towered on the space port platform, all of them marked as EDC first aid vessels or Cybertronian help ships. The EDC ships were automated since no human was allowed on Nebulos since the contamination effects had been discovered.
The truck stopped in front of a box-like building, a quickly set-up field hospital run by Nebulans and Autobots. One of the Autobots now exited. It was a female, not overly tall but slender, colored in red. Everyone of the drivers coming here knew her. Her name was Chaos and she was continuously trying to help, be there for the suffering Nebulans, and find a way to cure the contamination disease. People were coming here either to help or to die. The 'cargo' of the truck was probably only the latter.
"Hello, Chaos," the driver greeted the Autobot.
She smiled, but her optics were sad and haunted. "Hello, Myros. How are you?"
Myros sighed. Like many, he was showing first signs of the illness. "Same as everyone. These people are the sole survivors from Than." His face took on an equally haunted look as he remembered the devastation and the desperate people he had picked up searching through the rubble for relatives, friends ... anyone who might have survived.
Chaos sighed softly and walked with him to the back, opening the trailer. Her fuel-pump missed a beat as she looked inside. Side by side a group of six or seven men huddled in a corner, dark eyes wide with fear and
anticipation. They were clad in torn and burned clothes, covering themselves with blankets. Some were clutching a bag with their meager possessions to their chests, others had nothing at all. No word was uttered. They all came out one after another, though some had already difficulties coordinating their movements, looking weak and sick. Nebulan helpers rushed to the truck and checked the new-arrivals.
"How is Styler?" Myros now asked.
Chaos rubbed her optics in frustrated exhaustion. "Not much better. We'll have to separate soon."
Myros briefly closed his eyes. He knew Styler and he had come to know the Chromedome/Styler partnership. He knew what it meant and he knew that it marked the death of a wonderful partnership.
"How are they taking it?" he asked softly.
"Chromedome is not talking much and Styler..... I have no idea. He is barely responsive. I still have to talk to Chromedome but I want to separate them as quickly as possible."
"I understand. Where are they?"
"Box 15."
Myros nodded. "Thanks. I'll just pay a visit and then continue my shift."
Chaos smiled dimly. "Take your time, Myros. They both need all the friendship and help they can get."

* * *

Since the attack on Nebulos, the Tji had been quiet. There had been reports of them popping up here or there, but mainly to steal supplies in form of metal, steel, energon and things like that. No more kidnappings had been reported, though that meant nothing. They could be taking robots from places where word of the abduction got out only weeks later. Optimus Prime didn't like this state of semi-information, solely depending on the Tji to show their faces to know where they were. That was one reason why he had initiated the strike force program now. He had offered it to Megatron and the Decepticon leader had accepted. Now it was time to make this dream a reality. It was a risky move, but they had to play risky in order to survive and maybe even win a battle here or there. None of the past encounters could be seen as a complete victory for the Cybertronians. The Tji had always left the place of the battle with devastating effects for the survivors. And other planets suddenly began to fear what would happen to them, Earth being the first among them. That Nebulos' destruction had been mainly because of Fort Max was of no interest to those afraid. They thought the presence of an Autobot or Decepticon would kill their kind.
Optimus couldn't really blame them for their fear. This war was brutal and no one involved came away unscathed when encountering a Tji. Because this war was so totally different from any he had ever fought, he had had to change his way of thinking, become as ruthless as his enemies. And he had started to delegate work, to employ 'monitors'. Kup was such a monitor, keeping an eye on disappearances, noting down who had been taken, when and where. He inquired about circumstances, origin of the particular abductee and his powers. His files were immense and they were growing. Still, there was no connection between the abductees except that they were all robots. Ultra Magnus and the Monolith would stay at Nebulos, keeping invaders away, as well as handling aid vessels. It was a dirty job and he and his ship had had some nasty encounters with raiders, as well Earth company ships who had tried to land and claim some rights on the dying world. It wasn't that the Cybertronians were taking a position of claim themselves, but the radiation set free through the bombings was lethal to most humanoid life, including human beings. Spike was an example of what might happen.
Ambassador Witwicky was another problem, a big one where Optimus was concerned. He knew Spike for about 40 standard years now and he regarded the human as a very good friend. That he was now dying should be nothing to be concerned about because humans had a shorter life span, but the circumstances under which it happened were. Spike had been on Nebulos throughout the bombing, had survived by a nick, and when he had been declared physically healed, the contamination had shown. He was currently undergoing a radical treatment. Since there had yet to be a cure discovered for those contaminated, doctors had proposed to substitute the dying muscle tissue with supra-light metal. Spike was turning into a cyborg and this alone was reason for concern. He was human, not a robot, and right now he was coming closer and closer to turning into one. Everyone involved was taking it with incredible strength, but Prime knew that if no cure would be found, Spike would end up being a human brain in a robot body.
Rodimus was doing his share of taking weight off Optimus shoulders. He and Daniel had set out on attending conferences on Earth, trying to reassure the delegates that Earth was not in danger. Optimus knew it was a futile task. Everyone had seen what had happened to Nebulos. It was a frustrating job and Rodimus had never been one to like delegation work. Optimus couldn't say he did either.
Well, now it was time for a different kind of delegation work, giving Megatron almost free reign concerning the strike team. It would not only consist of Decepticons, but also Autobots. He had thought long and hard about the offer he had made not so long ago and it was the only solution. They had to strike back the way the Tji struck at them. It was time.
And that was why he was on his way down into the doorway chamber to recruit the last, possible participant for this new direction they were taking.

Nightmare was, as most of the time, in the doorway chamber, which was now a 'restricted area' and except for the doorway team and Sphere, no one was allowed down here. Council members were an exception as well, but rarely ventured down here. So it came as a surprise when Optimus Prime entered the room.
"Nightmare, I need to talk to you."
Nightmare looked at Raven, who understood and silently left the room.
"Yes?" he then asked.
"I have a proposition for you ... no, a request," the Autobot leader began. "It concerns your past and it also concerns our future."
Nightmare felt his fuel pump clench. He and Optimus had never been on the best of terms because of his past as a Decepticon Assassin. In the last decade Optimus had come to accept him as an ally, but never as a friend, and Nightmare had made sure he wouldn't get too close to the Autobot.
"Yes?" he repeated, this time much more wary.
And Optimus explained.

* * *

Mel hadn't been to Earth for a long time and now that she was back, she couldn't really feel joyful. Her visit to her homeworld had a specific purpose with a terribly negative side to it and what was to come would be a trial. She knew it. She had heard all about it. She was prepared for it -- mentally and physically. The accident in the doorway chamber that had effectively blinded her was now just a memory, but it was a painful and quite vivid one. Her injuries had healed, except for one and because of that she was here.
She was still blind.
Dr. McGregor had had hopes that some of her eye-sight might remain and in the beginning it had looked really promising, but the sight had rapidly declined, robbing the young woman even of the fuzzy images she had been able to distinguish, plunging her slowly but surely into darkness. The only way out of it had been and still was the implant called 'Net'. Even before her condition had worsened, McGregor had informed her about this experimental technology and, after hearing everything about it from all kinds of different people, Mel had decided to risk it.
And now she was on her way to the small hospital run by Dr. Brian de Palma who had not only thought up the idea but had also implanted the Net several times already, though never in completely blind people. McGregor had contacted his colleague, telling him about what had happened and de Palma had agreed to look at everything and decide whether or not he'd risk it. In the end he had said yes.
Mel sat through the first examination like a good patient, though she had had enough of those already. Back in the hospital on Cybertron she had been examined thousands of times and she knew the drill. Dr. Jonathan McGregor was present throughout the session with Dr. de Palma and he answered all of de Palma's questions concerning the accident and how he had treated Mel. He watched her suffering through the tests, and it was suffering, judging from the young woman's expression as she had to recite what had happened to the surgeon. Those were painful memories, though she dealt better with them than others involved.
"All right, Ms. Witwicky, everything looks good." De Palma smiled a professional smile, aimed to assure patients he was the right person to do the job. Well, Mel couldn't see him, but somehow she felt the smile. "The skin injuries look worse than they are. We can smooth out the worst scars and the others will disappear completely."
"Smooth out?" Mel asked carefully.
"Well, some of those burn marks are quite severe and I can only guess how painful they were at the time. I want to tell you the truth, Ms. Witwicky. I can't restore your sight as it was before, but I can implant the Net in a way that it will smoothly fit into your face. There will be reminders," de Palma went on, "but not as bad as before. I will do everything in my power to remove as much of the scar tissue around the Net as possible. We could start tomorrow."
Mel nodded. "Sounds good."
De Palma smiled at that. "I will do everything possible."
After a few more formalities, Dr. McGregor and Melissa left the office and went outside, meeting with Daniel, who had been talking to one of the nurses. He had insisted on coming along, but had told Mel he would stay outside and let the examination go on in private. Mel had argued that he had work to do, but since he was between conferences and wasn't expected to make an appearance until in two days, he had come here. He had told her that Rodimus had almost kicked him out of the hotel and dragged him here to see his sister.
Daniel laid an arm around her shoulder.
"Hi, sis," he greeted her.
She smiled back at him, though she couldn't see him. The presence of her brother was incredibly reassuring and she never took his support or that of her whole family for granted.
"How did the session go?" he asked.
They walked a distance, with Mel telling him about her meeting with de Palma. Dr. McGregor accompanied her for some time and then said good-bye. He would meet Mel tomorrow for the first go at the Net.

* * *

Highbrow grabbed his head and hissed in pain.
It's happening> Gort whispered.
Highbrow clenched his teeth. He knew it. It was proceeded stage one.
Go to Chaos and tell her>
She can' do anything, Gort>
Gort sighed. You know she can do something to ease the pain.....>
NO! No, I mean, not yet... please?> Highbrow whispered.
No, Highbrow. The sooner the better. It gives you a chance.>
And you will die>
I will die anyway> Gort answered calmly. Highbrow trembled a bit. Highbrow, go to Chaos. You know we have to do it. It is the only way>
The Headmaster was silent for a long time, then nodded. All right> he whispered, sounding defeated. I ... just want a last ride> With that he transformed and shot off, Gort riding with him in his exo-suit.

* * *

The Tji might have decided to lay low for a while to let their forces get back to strength, but they were still busy in many other departments. One of them concerned experiments on a body shell where the personality had yet to be extinguished. Ath'antheia had no plans to remove the personality ever because that would mean they'd have yet another mindless armor. He was thinking about something different, something new, and it looked like they were actually achieving it. He looked at the motionless shell. The optics were bright with life, the skin held no gray, tell-tale film of a Tji possession and there were no signs whatsoever to show an outsider that this robot was not under his own control.
"We have to run the shell through several more motion and equilibrium tests," Riss told him, straightening from a work console, "but it looks very good."
"Any problems with the personality?" the Tji leader wanted to now.
"Not the least. We trapped it and locked it away in his own mind. He can still hear and see everything, but he can't interfere."
"Perfect. Make sure that whatever he tries he won't get out. When will insertion start?"
"We already had out first tests. The soldier you choose is adaptable and handles the still existing personality well."
Ath'antheia nodded. His choice had been hand-picked and he knew it had been made well. "Proceed."
Riss nodded and went back to work. Another Tji stepped up to his leader and said something in a low voice. Ath'antheia nodded and they left the lab.

On the work bench, the body shell of the robot lay motionlessly, his limbs only moving when the Tji commanded him to do so. His mind was trying to break through the shields surrounding it, but there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell he'd ever break them. Whatever he tried, he was always thrown back.
He cried in frustration, anger and rage. He had thought he'd simply die when the Tji had taken over, but he hadn't. They were keeping him alive for a specific purpose and whenever the nasty, cold and somehow slimy invading presence of his new 'user' entered, he knew that it was nothing pleasant -- for his own kind. But he could do nothing. He was helpless.

* * *

Phoenix checked the last incoming data, then straightened and nodded with satisfaction.
"Up and running," she told the dark blue robot standing behind her. "We have one hundred percent performance on all levels."
Tornado nodded. "Good. Log in and send the signal. I'll get in contact with Sentinels."
Phoenix nodded while the Seeker leader went over to the com station. Tornado keyed in the right coordinates and waited. Finally the blinking Seeker symbol disappeared and was replaced by F/X.
"Heya, Tornado," the Sentinel greeted him cheerfully. "What's cookin'?"
Tornado smiled. "Nothing much yet, thank Cybertron. Just calling in to let you know that Mernan is now operative and ready to receive customers."
F/X nodded. "Roger that. I'll get it into the right channels. Good work, guys."
Tornado smiled, then shut down the line. As he turned he discovered Phoenix.
"Everything logged in and signal has been sent to the perimeter defenses. We are prepared."
Tornado's silver eyes fell on the tactical map of the Mernan system. "Let's just hope we are well prepared," he only muttered.

* * *

The ship had left the warp gate a few days ago and was closing the distance between the gate and the small planet slowly and carefully. It evaded all EDC and Cybertronian vessels with great delicacy and finally settled in a watcher's position.

On the planet, where the largest of all help camps was, a storm had broken lose, making life and work hard for the doctors, nurses and volunteers. All container homes had been closed down and moving between them was only possible through flexible tunnels, which had been quickly installed between the containers. For the trucks and shuttles bringing in the wounded and suffering it was mostly impossible to get through and those who got through had even more difficulties getting the people into the containers.
Chaos felt helpless and defeated by Mother Nature. All she could do was organize the work in the containers and keep her files updated. Chaos had made it her personal responsibility to open a file on every case they had and on every passing ill Nebulan who had opted to leave and die among his family and not here. There were thousands and they grew more and more. It was another futile battle, she knew, but as a medic she was used to these losing fights. She only hoped to win the war.
"We got a load of about twenty more stage one and twos coming in," someone said and tore Chaos out of her thoughts. It was Dr. Lenoi, a Nebulan who had been diagnosed stage one two days ago. He had said he'd work with them as long as he was able to tell a spleen from a kidney.
"All right. Box 3 and 7 are partly empty. Get them over there."
Lenoi nodded and walked off again. Chaos sighed deeply and shut down the files. She knew she'd be adding some more soon. Then she followed the doctor through the tunnels into the box containers.

* * *

Spike had been through countless operations, some only to adjust some of the implants, others to take away yet another part of himself and replace it with cybernetics. His limbs were no longer organic, as were some of his inner organs. He hated to think of his heart as a fuel pump, but that was more or less what it was. Sighing, Spike moved his fingers, wriggling them. It was so strange. He still felt everything, though he knew that this might soon change. Sensor deprivation would be his first problem and he was already fearing it. His metal parts were not made of steel or some other, rather heavy metal. It was a supra-light alloy Disaster had presented them with. Some of the very old Decepticons had been constructed with this, though it had later proven to be a disadvantage because it didn't serve as the best of armors. It made the individual very light, very fast and generally very flexible, but that wasn't enough for a warrior. Many of them had not survived the war and those who had, had gone into hiding.
"Spike?" Carly stepped up to him, touching his arm which was covered by an artificial skin. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"Yeah, fine."
Carly knew it was half a lie and he didn't really mind. His response was automatic and he gave it when confronting one of his friends as well. Most swallowed it, but some, those who knew him better, realized he wasn't fine. Carly, as his wife and the only person to be with him night and day throughout every operation and his hospital stays, knew him even better. She had been a pillar of strength to lean on and he had leaned on a lot. Spike laid an arm around her shoulders and kissed her head.
"No, I'm not," he sighed.
She smiled her 'I know smile', but didn't say anything.
"I talked with Dr. McGregor before he and Mel left for Dr. de Palma's clinic. He said to give my body some time to readjust. The contamination has been slowed down by the implants."
"And?"
"I thought we might take a vacation and also pay our daughter a visit."
Carly smiled at him. "Yes, we should. Are you sure you want to leave?"
He nodded. "Yes. I think we should take some leave of absence. We need it. I need it."
She hugged him. "Then let's pack."
Spike chuckled. "I'll leave that to you."
They walked back into the house. Three hours later the Witwickys were on their way.

* * *

On Cybertron, moods varied. Some people were shocked and angry, some were trying to cope with this new war after the hope of peace, others lived on as usual. Midnight did not belong to the latter. At least not since he had received the email from the now deceased Tji Jaimaa. The coordinates he had received were always on his mind and he was nervous, as well as angry. And most of his anger was projected at his Interface. Steven Parker faced his irate partner, face a mask, lips thin, blue eyes icy.
"It's madness!" he hissed.
"You don't understand it!" Midnight yelled.
"I understand that you want to venture out to an uncharted planet! I understand that you want to walk into a Tji lab! I understand that you are obsessed!"
Midnight's aura flared. "This is our chance to know what we really are!"
"It's our chance to get killed!" Steve stated flatly.
His partner growled.
"I know you want to go there and see what this lab holds," Steve went on. "I understand that, but you have to understand that it is dangerous! It could be a trap!"
"Jaimaa might have been a Tji, but she also helped us!" Midnight retorted.
"Oh, yeah, and she helped us even more by leaving an ominous message and committing suicide!" Steve shot back.
"If you are afraid you can stay here!" Midnight hissed.
"I'm not afraid, but I'm also not a suicide case!"
Both glared at each other. Midnight whirled around and stalked out of the lab, leaving his frustrated human friend behind. Steve released some pent-up breath.
"Damnit!" he muttered.

* * *

There was nothing more boring in Rodimus Prime's eyes than meetings and diplomatic functions. He didn't know how Optimus could stand it. Going to conferences with smart-talking people in suits and slimy grins, shaking hands with guys you couldn't stand, answer dozens of questions from nosy reporters and discuss the same topic over and over again without tiring. Optimus probably had a chip that cut off his conscious mind from his sensors.
Rodimus was frustrated beyond words. It was incredible how dense and single-minded diplomats could be. Diplomats, hah! These people had probably been given a crash course on what others thought was diplomatic behavior and had then been released upon this conference. The opening of the meeting had been rather civil, but then it had rapidly declines, with different delegates yelling accusations, making demands and generally making a mess of things. The main demands were that the Autobots tell Earth officials what was going on, beside this war, and also remove their presence from Earth.
"Why don't they see that this is not the solution?!" Rodimus growled.
Shanygn, who had been present throughout every conference, trying to keep her partner stable and his emotions evened out -- which had been a real challenge -- sighed. "They are afraid and I understand them."
"So do I, Shan! We all are afraid whether we confess it openly or not, but this is not the basis for a conference that is supposed to help us solve some problems!"
She nodded. "I know, and I think they know as well. Roddy."
Of course they knew, but still. Rodimus couldn't tell them the real identity of the Tji, only give them the 'official' version that they were after robotic bodies to house their energy bodies. And he couldn't give in to the demands to remove Autobot City. It had nearly floored him when he had heard about it. The Autobots had the right of land for the next 200 years to come and the treaty had been signed almost 40 years ago. In Cybertronian terms this was a short period, in human terms it was quite long, but it all came down to the fact that this was Autobot territory. The Americans had been under a lot of pressure from other countries and states to make this proposition .... no, demand, and Rodimus had seen that the American diplomat had felt unwell delivering this blow.
"If we remove Autobot City, everything will go down the drain. It would be like leaving a sinking ship, it would be symbolic! I can't do it!" He started to pace the room. Daniel would be back tomorrow and the next conference was scheduled in the afternoon, concerning Nebulos this time. It would be a meeting with company officials and Rodimus already dreaded that.
Shanygn sighed. She hated conferences just as much as her partner, but it was in his job description. "Want to get out and stretch your wheels a bit?" she asked.
Rodimus nodded. He desperately needed some time away from here, however short it might be. He couldn't exactly race away from here and beat the speed limits, but he could simply take a stroll through the city in car mode and try to think of something else.
Ten minutes later they were on their way.

* * *

It was winter on Alean, though snow didn't fall as heavily here as on Earth. The storms were a greater problems, raging over the barren and desert-like surface with several hundred miles per hour. But this didn't bother the Sentinels down inside the deep canyon that was housing their base. The base had been cut and drilled deep into the rock and was shut against the howling winds.
Winterhawk nodded as he looked down into the depot. "Looks like we are getting ready for something big," he said softly.
Spellbinder and Labyrinth, both standing beside him, nodded.
"Something really big," Labyrinth agreed.
"The last cargo ships have left the surface now," Spellbinder told Winterhawk. "Let's shut the depots and get the word to Cybertron. Alean is up and running."

* * *

Megatron surveyed the small assembly of robots, all looking either curious, indifferent or wary. There were both Autobots and Decepticons here, something he wasn't bothered by. The alliance had grown and the new enemy had forced them together, though their union was far from being stable and peaceful. The Decepticon leader glanced at the blue and black Gatekeeper beside him. Nightmare looked apprehensive, but that was only to be expected. Optimus Prime, also present, was a tower of silence, leaving it to Megatron to introduce their plan.
"This meeting is high level security," Megatron started. "All of you were called for a specific purpose, maybe because of your past experiences, your abilities or your professions."
The assembly looked at each other, slightly confused.
"You all know our enemy; you all know what they are capable of. It is time we strike back!"
A murmur passed through the room. Cyclonus, also present, looked even more curious, though his face was completely passive. Though he was the Decepticon second-in-command he had not been privy to those decisions. Everything was as new to him as they were to the others.
"You were chosen to be that strike force," Optimus now said calmly. "You will be trained and assigned in different teams, complimenting each other's abilities or knowledge, though each of you will be able to act on his own as well."
"Strike force?" Razorclaw growled. "Does this mean we are finally taking some action?"
"Exactly."
The Predacon grinned nastily.
"For those of you belonging to a combiner, you will be separated because even though a combiner is powerful, we don't need raw power. We need speed, cunning, swiftness and fast action."
The combiner members nodded. Not all separate parts of a combiner had been called. Divebomb, Rampage and Razorclaw were the only Predacons, for an example.
"Nightmare will be one of the training officers," Megatron went on. "Those of you who doubt his abilities will soon learn not to take him lightly. Each of you will learn what you need for this and also more about who you are facing. Everything is classified. No one is to know. Counterstrike doesn't exist to the outside. The Council and a few selected people know and that will stay this way."
"Sounds like a suicide squad," Mirage muttered.
Optimus' eyes narrowed. "We are not sending you into death. None of you. You are expected to pull off the mission and return. Those of you who want to get out of this can leave now."
None left. All wanted to get back at the Tji for what they had done.
"That's settled then. Nightmare, I think they are yours now."
The large Gatekeeper nodded. It was time to strike back, yes.....
Operation Counterstrike had begun.

* * *

It was time. Chaos looked at her hands and noted they were shaking. What she was about to do was against all her ethics of a medic, but there was no other way. She looked at the operation table, which was currently occupied by Chromedome. The Headmaster's condition had declined rapidly lately and it was only a matter of time until he would shut down and fall into a coma. She had to act now. And then there was Highbrow, now also diagnosed with stage one contamination. He and Gort had decided to separate as soon as possible to lessen the effects of Gort's pain on his Headmaster partner.
"Ready?" the soft, calm voice pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked down at the Nebulan doctor and her team of nurses.
"Ready," she whispered.
Trciza smiled encouragingly. She was one of the few Nebulan helpers who had yet to fall victim to the first stage of the contamination, but like everyone here she knew it might happen sooner or later. She was also the one who helped Chaos trying to discover why the contamination attacked every Nebulan -- and now also humans --, even in small doses, and possibly develop a cure. Now she was Chaos' helper in this crucial operation. Chromedome had been put under some minutes ago and they would have to do it now.
Chaos sighed. "I hate this job," she whispered.
"Me too," Trciza told her and motioned her nurses to start with the preparations.
Chaos began the operation by separating Chromedome's core from his mind, to make it easier on him. It wasn't recommended to leave him connected to his memory circuits because every trauma he would go through while the operation lasted would affect his functions. As she looked up and over to where the small team of nurses prepared the life support for Styler, she discovered Hardhead standing outside the restricted and sealed area of the operation room. His optics were blank, completely emotionless, and his face was a mask. Their optics met briefly, then he simply turned and walked away.
"Let's begin," Chaos told her helpers, voice catching a bit.
Five hours later it was over.

* * *

Byte had been busy in the last weeks. Not only had he programmed his machines in record time, he was also running several other projects simultaneously. On one side Byte was ambitious and could never rest before one project or the other wasn't finished, but he was also greedy and the amount of energon Starscream paid him to do all of this for him was quite enough to put in a lot of overtime. And somehow it was pleasing to see what his work was used for. Byte was not a warrior, but like every other Cybertronian or robotic life form he had developed a deep loathing of the Tji.
"Target eliminated," one of the many screens suddenly displayed and Byte felt like making a scratch somewhere. He grinned and went back to work on connecting his little base of operations to even more channels and links.
That was his main job. Link his machines up to whatever satellite connection, transmission signal, surveillance satellite and deep space research probe he could find. Starscream wanted to keep track of the Tji's movement, find out where they had their bases, their refuel depots, their repair docks, and then blow them up. Byte sometimes thought this was suicidal. Starscream was only one robot, but he seemed to be driven by something, and it weren't suicidal tendencies.
Well, whatever, Byte would work for him as long as the payment was coming in. He finished another link and connected their new spy eye to the main data base. Then he continued his other work.

* * *

Blaster looked around the room, his face displaying surprise. "Wow!" he exclaimed. "Now that's what I call fancy!" He grinned broadly and began to examine his new 'playground'.
Soundwave took a more moderated approach to the new task he had been given. Both of them had been called to Megatron's office -- which Blaster hadn't liked at all -- and had met not only the Decepticon leader, but also Optimus Prime there. Both leaders had explained what was expected of them, as well as the fact that this was top secret. Neither of them was to talk about their job and neither were the cassettes, who would be privy and essential as well to the work. And it wasn't an easy job. Soundwave walked over to the main computer and checked the status of every machine here. Everything was in prime working condition.
What was expected of them sounded simple: track the Tji's movements, find their bases and watch them. But it was more difficult than it initially came across. The Tji moved in secret and when they moved, it was quick and barely detectable, beside the fact that both fortresses were gigantic.
"Well," Blaster announced with a grin, "let's set to work!" He sat down on one chair and swiveled it to face the communications console. "Systems check!"
Soundwave nodded and took his own place. He activated the computers and began to his own checks, linking himself up to the machine through sub-space and taking inventory. Like Blaster had said, this was high tech and sophisticated, but he wouldn't trust any of those read-outs unless he had seen the inside and outside of his work station.

* * *

Wild Card stepped into the room and immediately found his target. Well, it wasn't hard to spot an absolutely black spot in a brightly lit room. Midnight stood with his back to him, hands clasped behind his back, optics fixed on something in the distance of the horizon. His aura waved about him, sometimes contracting, sometimes expanding.
Whew!> Jeff muttered. Very bad mood>
I know> Wild Card answered with a sigh.
He felt kind of reluctant to approach his friend, mainly because of the aura. It set Midnight apart from everyone else and it was a deadly weapon if let loose. He had killed with it in the past, though not actively, not wanting it, and Wild Card had no idea how volatile his temper was now. Then again, he had to try it. Midnight was his best friend and right now he was in the worst possible mood and situation. It was no secret among the Sentinels that something had happened, something that had affected the Interface partnership between Steve and Midnight. Approaching Steve was a futile task because he kept evading the questions and Midnight .... no one wanted to approach him because of his dark mood.
Dark mood, yeah, right, Wild Card thought.
The former Seeker had not been chosen to talk to his friend. He had volunteered. Their friendship was on a base of trust and just how much Midnight trusted him had been revealed to him at the time of Midnight's violent flashbacks. Wild Card had been the only one to get through to him and he hoped that this time it would be the same.
"Mid?" he asked softly.
"What do you want?" the black Sentinel asked coldly.
Wild Card winced. "Help?" he then offered.
"No thanks," Midnight said dismissively.
Oh, no, my friend. Not like this. You won't scare me away.
Wild Card and Midnight shared a close and special friendship that dated back to Midnight's birth. Of all Seekers, only Wild Card had earned his trust enough for the young robot to open up a bit. And Wild Card returned that trust. He had only two trusted friends, one his own Interface Jeff Winters, the other Midnight. It wasn't that Wild Card wasn't afraid of the black aura around his friend sometimes, something that might kill him without warning and without Mid wanting it, but this fear had soon made way for a healthy respect. He would always be careful around Midnight, but he wouldn't back down like others.
"Want to talk about it?" he simply asked.
"No."
"But I do."
Midnight turned around and the expression in his visor was lethal. Wild Card stood his ground.
"I don't need psychological help!"
"I never said you did."
"Then what are you doing here?" Midnight demanded. "Did they send you?"
"If you mean the other Sentinels, no. They said to leave you alone, but I opted not to do it." Wild Card smiled slightly. "You know that this is affecting all of us! What is going on?"
"Nothing."
"It's a big nothing if it drives you and Steve into arguing and going your separate ways."
Midnight shot him another acid look. "It's our personal business."
"Not when it affects others."
"Listen!" Midnight hissed. "This is not your business, understood!" His aura flared.
Wild Card stood his ground. "No! It is my personal business! It is mine and Skywolf's and Voodoo's and Aurora's and everyone else's! You might get rid of the others and get some of them to adopt the philosophy that they shouldn't bother you, but I am not them! I'll never be them! I'll stay here until you talk!"
Midnight hissed again and walked past Wild Card. The other Sentinel grabbed his friend's arm and held him back -- and found himself flat against the wall, facing a very irate black hole with a gun.
Ooops> Jeff muttered.
He won't shoot> Wild Card whispered back.
Sez you>
"Mid... look at you!" Wild Card said intensely. "You are not yourself. Something is eating you up inside! I'm your friend! Talk to me!"
Midnight looked at him, then let the gun fall to his side. "It's personal," he repeated.
"No, it isn't!" a new voice stated and Steven Parker stepped into the room, his blue eyes angry.
"Why don't you keep out of it!?" Midnight growled.
"Because it concerns us all! Why don't you tell him? This is not your personal secret and if you have to go and kill yourself, do it with back-up!"
"Oh, this makes this secret even more interesting," Wild Card remarked dryly.
Midnight shot him a dark.
"If you won't, I will," Steve added coldly.
"You wouldn't!"
"Watch me!" was the reply.
Both partners looked at each other and Wild Card saw that Steve was serious. He would tell.
"All right!" Midnight finally exploded. He looked at Wild Card. "My office," he told him, then walked off.
Wild Card shot Steve a questioning look.
"His office," Steve only said and then followed his partner.
The other Sentinel sighed and then did the same.

* * *

Mel knew the treatment and the operation were dangerous. It was new, it was experimental and had yet to be successfully tried on a completely blind human being. Former trials had been with people who had lost part of their sight and all had been successful, so that Dr. Brian de Palma was quite pleased with his device. When the Witwickys had approached him concerning Mel's blindness, he had been doubtful but ready to try it. The next small problem had been the money. It was a costly operation and the treatment before and after the surgery would take some time. Spike had some savings from his work as an ambassador, but Mel had argued that her parents were not responsible for paying this operation and they also had to pay -- at least partly -- for Spike's operations. The Cybertronians were out of the question since there was no hard currency on Cybertron and all deals with Earth and other planets were done in energon or similar payment. Her parents had gone into a new argument with her until Kayla had suddenly appeared at the Witwicky home one day. She had handed Spike a small credit card.

"It's Mike's," Kayla said.
"Mike's?" Carly echoed, looking at the small rectangular piece of plastic in her husband's hands.
Kayla smiled sadly. "His heritage."
"But... I don't understand..."
The alien woman sighed softly. "When Mike and Archer Interfaced, it wasn't like that Mike left Earth forever. He had had a life as a race car driver there and he returned now and then. All his savings were turned over to a trust, a small company of people running hundreds of thousands of accounts with special instructions. It's not a bank, it's something different. You entrust your money to them, tell them what to do and they do it. It's a family firm and they will continue taking care of your money throughout centuries. And they will invest it. Mike did it and now that he died....the money fell to us. We don't need it, Spike. What are we to do with it? No one of us is officially alive and all we could do is put it back on this special account until someone does need it. And you do."
"We can't take that!" Carly protested.
"You can. Mel needs it." Kayla's face had shown that she would not accept any argument.

And so it had been.
The nurses were quite nice at the hospital and they ran her through every check there was. Mel was getting tired, but she knew it was necessary. The first surgery was scheduled for the next day. They would implant several small chips that would later be necessary to activated the Net. All in all the Net was a quite complicated, though easily operated device. Chips were implanted throughout the skull, most of them around the optic nerve. Mel's optic nerves were barely damaged and de Palma was positive that they wouldn't have to do a complete implant, simply repair the damage and then activate the implants. The visible part of the Net would be fine wires running along her temples and her eyebrows, meeting at the bridge of her nose. Small 'knots' decorated the wires. The wire would be in Mel's skin so there was no danger of her ripping it off. The knots were the connections.
Melissa sighed. It would be hard; it would be difficult, but she was positive that it would help. All she wished was that Nightmare were here with her. She knew he was still feeling guilty despite her reassurance that this mess wasn't his fault. They would have to talk again, several times.
"Are you ready?" de Palma now asked.
Mel nodded slightly. She knew she was lying flat on her back. A nurse had connected her to not only an IV, but also several machines that had all been explained to her. She knew she was being monitored, especially her heart, brain and lungs.
"We'll now start to put you asleep, Melissa," the doctor went on. "You know what we are going to do. Are you still feeling comfortable?"
"Yes," Mel answered. "Go ahead."
Today would be the first step, the implantation of basic chips. They would sit at her temples and would later be connected to another implant at her optic nerves.
Mel felt someone inject something into her IV line, then a breathing tube was placed over her mouth. Within a heartbeat she lost complete awareness.

* * *

Riverdance walked down the corridor to the training room. The room was a large hall, equipped with small holographic projection units, machines, sensors, cameras and much more. She liked it and came here often to train. But today was different. Today she had a class. Riverdance smiled slightly. This reminded her a lot of her past; a past when she had been Rakayha, the martial arts specialist, the highest ranking female in the Decepticon army. It had been a happy time until the war had broken out and the madness had started. She had been left to die by her own leader, had survived and come back by the name of Riverdance. She had vowed never to look back and simply go on. Now her path was leading her back to her past and she didn't know whether to look forward to this future or not.
As she entered, she noted the robots already there. Her task was to teach them the finer arts of close combat, of how to move faster even though the body didn't seem to be able to do it, how to use the weapons available and not just the guns. Nightmare would teach them as well, but while he concentrated on where to hit the target and how to slip away into the darkness, even if it was bright daylight, Riverdance's job was to lead the assembled team away from old concepts. And that was quite hard.
"Welcome to your first lesson," she greeted them, noting the various expressions and who stood where. Some kept away from others and she knew that this was a crucial lesson as well. From now on they were a team. They would have to work together without prejudice. "You all know me," she went on, "and those who have only heard about me, let me tell you that in the next weeks, you'll get to know me better." She smiled slightly.
Let the lessons begin.....

* * *

"We are done."
Ath'antheia looked pleased. Very pleased. He examined the flaming red and golden body shell in front of him, noting how healthy the skin looked and the live look to the optics. There wasn't a trace of the grayish film anywhere.
"And it holds up under pressure?" he asked.
Riss nodded. "The personality is still functional, as is the complete core unit, but the mind cannot access the core and it cannot return to the brain unit. We separated it and stored the data in an unused part."
"It is still aware?"
"Yes. It can still see and hear everything, but it cannot take over. Even if it would ever be able to crack the shields of its prison, Coshoff has been trained on how to a) detect the slightest crack in the wall, b) prevent the escape and c) if it should escape, how to get it back without showing to the outside that something is wrong."
The Tji leader nodded, feeling pleased. He turned to look at the Tji who would now take over the shell. Coshoff was a glittering mass of energy with tentacles slowly waving in a non-existent wind. Now he moved forward and sank effortlessly into the body shell.

Inside the shell, in the prison Riss had mentioned, the former owner winced. The slimy presence had returned and again he couldn't do a thing. He wished they would have let him die. It would have been more merciful than to keep him alive like a pet, show him what they would do with his body, and gloat. Coshoff wasn't very prone to gloat openly, but whenever they had been in contact, the Tji had made his superiority felt, had teased the Decepticon with what they would do with his body.
"You have your orders," the leader of the Tji said..
He shivered.
"Yes," Coshoff answered, using his voice box.
"A small team will drop you off on a planet where Cybertronians live. You will proceed from there."
Coshoff nodded and then commanded the shell to move. It did with the same fluent movements as it had done under the control of its original mind. Inside his prison, the robot cried in frustration.

* * *

Steven Parker had a headache. No, it was a full-blown migraine. And it wasn't even a physical disorder, it was coming in from the already heavily shielded Interface link and no shield in the world could lessen the pain he felt. Midnight was furious and his fury translated into a direct, emotional assault on his partner.
"Do you want a pain-killer?" Disaster asked in sympathy.
Steve sighed. It might be the only way, though he hated drugs. But he hated this pain even more and he knew there wouldn't be any relief any time soon. As long as Midnight was in rage, Steve would suffer. Mainly because he had shut his partner out.
"Yeah, okay," he sighed, closing his eyes as another pain attack came.
"I know I'm a novice to this Interface business," the Decepticon said as he handed the much smaller human a, for him, tiny bottle, "but shouldn't you and your partner have a word?"
Steve smiled dimly. "Believe me, I tried. Really. No chance of getting through. I have to go through this and then, when it's over, have a really long word with him. Thanks for the painkiller."
Disaster nodded and watched the dark-haired human go. He knew that Steve's body would soon get used to the drugs and then they would have no more effects. He just hoped that both partners would solve their problems before this happened.

* * *

Sphere stood in the doorway room, her eyes fixed on a spot no one else could see. She seemed to be in trance, but her optics were still very much alive and now and then a finger twitched or her body shifted ever so slightly. A lot had changed for her, her outlook on life, her position in general. She had made her last step away from her humanoid side, a part of her she had always treasured, but which was slowly but surely joining completely with the robot she now was. She would always be different, but now the difference was even more so. She wished she could talk to someone, but there was no one here she could trust with this. Everyone was very supportive concerning her nightmarish experience at the hand of the Tji, but she had managed to work through this quite well. That she had spent nearly six months in a nearly catatonic state was something no one was ready to simply forget, but she was back now and showed no instability problems. But no one knew why she was back. It hadn't been because she had wanted to come back. Sphere had wanted to stay inside the safety of her mind and never emerge to the cruel reality of war. She had returned because of her new sense of duty, a duty no one would understand.
A duty toward Ralyk.
The ancient entity had changed as much as Sphere had changed. It was free now, in a sense, and it could act. There were no more restraints concerning itself and Sphere knew that it was ready to do what needed to be done. And she knew that this meant the future was far from pleasant. She tried not to think of it too closely. The present was uncertain and terrible enough.
Yes, the present.
Sphere sighed. They were at war, they had suffered casualties and they were now preparing to strike back. But not the conventional way. Optimus Prime had finally made the last step away from conventionalism, from the Old Days, and was now turning to new tactics and strategies. The doorway system was down thanks to Ralyk blowing the main centerway, the space station, and her brother, Starscream, was missing. Well, not really. There were ways to find him but she knew he didn't want to be found. He was on a revenge trip and no one and nothing could stop him. He had severed his links to Ralyk and his sister, which hurt Sphere even more. She knew there would be a time when she had to look for him, but not now. Starscream needed this rampage and as long as his anger was directed at the Tji, it had something positive as a result anyway.
Sphere winced. When had she started to think like this? When had she grown so cold? And was it emotional coldness or just acceptance of fate, of things you couldn't influence or change? She didn't know. She only knew that she no longer was the person she had been before the kidnapping. Inside and outside...... It was frightening, but it was also a relief.

* * *

Ralyk had finished the separation of the links that bound it to the Council members. All of them were now in full possession of parts of its own abilities, though they still didn't have the activation codes for it. That would come later -- when it was time to take the final step.
Alpha Trion cast a worried look around, noting how busy all of Ralyk was. He didn't like what the entity was doing. Vector Sigma didn't react in the slightest way. And why should he? He was nothing but a former tool of Ralyk and now its host. He would never rebel and Alpha Trion was afraid to interfere with the entity. It might end with his ectoplasmic body dead or worse.
He shivered.
-- Complete -- Ralyk whispered.
The old robot didn't even dare to ask. He watched Ralyk move to the only still existing link: Sphere. It checked on her, then, pleased, returned to other tasks. Alpha Trion had a vague idea what Ralyk had given the Key to guard, and it frightened him even more.

* * *

The planet was nothing but a rock floating through space. There was no atmosphere, no life, no nothing. A barren place, dark and uninviting. Midnight thought it fit the whole idea of a hidden lab. The system's sun was so far away from this lonely planet that the light was weak and murky. Steve expressed his unease, but he didn't say anything. Both were still not on the best of terms, though Midnight already felt ashamed of himself and quite foolish. It was Steve's right to be cautious. It was his right to voice his concerns out loud. And Midnight had thrown all caution over board and come here, his partner had argued, which was, effectively, the truth.
Wild Card landed beside the black Sentinel and gave his surroundings a critical look. "What a dump," he muttered.
Midnight only nodded.
They had left Cybertron two days ago, telling the Council there was something Midnight had to check out. Optimus had only frowned, but not tried to hold them back, and when the other Sentinels had heard of it, Skywolf had protested briefly. Midnight's angry optics had silenced him. Wild Card knew everything Midnight knew and he had been less explosive and agitated about these news than his younger friend. But he was more cautious and, like Steve, had advised Midnight to take some more back-up with him. It had ended in another argument which Midnight had won. Now they were here.
Midnight called up the second set of coordinates and compared them to his position. The lab had to be here, somewhere.
An extensive search brought them to the only building on this planet. It looked rather good for a million year old lab and a strange tingle ran across Midnight's skin. There were no lights, no visible security, but something was not right here. Steve was tense, he felt.
"You feel it as well?" Wild Card asked, voice nervous.
Midnight nodded. "Like an energy field...." He walked slowly closer to the building. The feeling increased.
"My sensors can't make anything of it," the other Sentinel reported. "It's ....."
"Bubble shield," Midnight whispered suddenly, then blinked.
"How do you know that?" Wild Card asked, perplexed, the same question coming from Steve as well, only over the Interface link.
"I ...I ... " Midnight shook his head. "I've no idea... It suddenly popped up."
Wild Card gave him a strange look.
Midnight ignored him, walking ever closer, his mind suddenly filled with a definite idea what this was. "A bubble and time distortion shield," he whispered. "It's only around the building, keeping it in a different time zone to protect what is hidden inside."
His friend looked uneasy. "I don't like it, Mid. Really. We should leave and come back with some back-up."
Midnight walked on.
"Mid!" Wild Card yelled. "No! Come on, be reasonable!"
"I am," the Sentinel leader answered and touched the walls of the lab. They didn't crumble beneath his touch and actually felt like they had been erected only a few hundred years ago, not a few millions. He began to search for an opening mechanism to the door.
"Reasonable, yeah, right," Wild Card muttered. "Don't wanna know what he calls unreasonable then!" But he joined his leader. Wild Card was determined not to leave the younger Sentinel out of his sight.
Steve was silent, though his emotions told Midnight quite clearly what he thought. It ran along the same lines as Wild Card's complaints.
The door opened almost immediately. It wasn't even locked.
"This is not good," Wild Card mumbled as he pulled his weapon out of subspace. "Not good at all."
His Interface partner, Jeff Winters, agreed whole-heartedly. "At least they left out the 'Welcome, fools. This way to the traps, thank you' sign," he growled.
Wild Card had to smile, then he hurried after Midnight, who was already inside. "If he doesn't get himself killed here, I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind in my fist later," he vowed softly.
Jeff smiled.
The inside of the base was lit by emergency lights and looked rather clean. There were signs of age, but also that someone had taken care of it. The corridor they were now walking in, led to an intersection. Signs were posted on the walls and Midnight discovered an elevator as well. There was a sign with what apparently were floor descriptions. He couldn't read them. The language was unknown to him.
"Okay, what now?" Wild Card asked, not at all happy to be here.
"We search for the main lab or base's computer," Midnight decided.
"Oh, right. Lead the way."
Midnight gave him a glare, but didn't say anything. He simply walked down the next corridor. It turned out to lead to a hangar, which was completely empty of everything. It was simply a big hall. Midnight shrugged and they continued.
After several hours and the discovery that the elevators actually worked -- 'Creepy,' as Jeff had stated -- they arrived on what had to be the last level, the one furthest down. Like all the others it was clean, though looking old, and barely lit. But compared to the other levels this one was big. The corridors were higher and much broader, the doors of reinforced steel and the signs had the distinct look of warning signs.
"Guess we found it," Wild Card muttered.
Midnight nodded, approaching the first door. It opened as if it had sensed him, making him stop. All the other doors had been with locks, though all locks had been open, but none had been automatic.
"Mid..." Wild Card started, but his friend simply went on. Wild Card gave a moan of frustration and followed.
The room behind the door was unmistakably a lab. Rows upon rows of lab equipment was stored here, computer terminals, experimental chambers, glass tubes the size of Optimus Prime, computer banks, doors to glass-encased rooms.....
"Oh my...." Jeff muttered, his feeling of unease increasing. "I don't like it. I really don't!"
Wild Card agreed silently and followed his friend into the lab. Chambers, strange machines, drawers, file cabinets, petri-dishes, flasks, containers ... everything neatly kept in place and clean. Someone had taken care of this stuff! But who?! Midnight was examining the computer terminal and the computer banks. It looked like it had been shut off only yesterday....
"Mid, this is eerie," Wild Card told his friend. "This base doesn't look millions of years old and even if it is surrounded by a time distortion bubble.... it should look old and decayed, not this clean!"
Midnight nodded. "I know, I know. Just keep your sensors on alert."
"As if I'd fall asleep here," the golden-brown Sentinel muttered.
Midnight flashed a quick grin.
Suddenly there was a shuffling, scraping noise. Both Sentinels whirled around in time to see a shadow whisk past the open door. Wild Card, gun ready, was the first out of the lab, all his defenses up and Jeff completely Interfaced, closely followed by an equally battle-ready Midnight. They ran after the retreating figure, almost invisible in the murky light, and gained considerable ground. The figure was lurching, not really running, and they heard the distinct groan of stressed joints. Wild Card leveled his gun and released one blast, aiming at the ground in front of the figure. The fugitive gave a frightened yelp and staggered, almost losing balance, then tried to get into a room close by. Midnight grabbed him and threw him against the wall.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
The stranger, a robot they now saw, gave them a wild and wide-eyed look, clearly afraid of both of them, not just Midnight's threatening appearance.
"Mutations!" he screamed. "Mutations! No, no, no!!"
The Sentinels looked at each other. Mutations? Midnight shook his captive slightly.
"We are not mutations," he told him firmly. "Who are you?"
His voice held a slightly sharp edge, a tone of command, and it seemed that this was exactly what worked on the stranger. He stared at Midnight, still terribly afraid.
"Mutations," he muttered. "Ish knows when Ish sees..... Terrible, terrible... Evolution... bad."
"Evolution?" Wild Card echoed.
Ish nodded. "Mutated. Not the original. Not us."
Midnight looked at the badly washed out sign on the chest of the strange robot. His visor flashed with recognition. "First One," he whispered.
Wild Card gazed at the symbol, slightly shocked. It was a symbol of the first generation, but neither warrior, nor security, nor Key or Gatekeeper.
"What are you? What is your function?"
Ish looked at them. "Caretaker," he mumbled.
"Of this base?"
"Nooooo..... Caretaker of children. Caretaker of life."
A cold feeling spread thought he black Sentinel. Children? Spook had always used this term on him and he was a First One. Jaimaa had been the same, though she was Tji. "Are there more like us here?" he asked.
Ish nodded. "Asleep."
The cold feeling turned into an Antarctic winter. "Where?"
Ish gestured down the corridor, his joints protesting.
"Show me!" Midnight ordered.
The ancient robot lumbered off, the two much younger Sentinels following him closely behind. Unlike the other doors, this one was locked and Ish opened it with a complicated code. The door opened noiselessly and he went inside. Midnight exchanged a look with Wild Card, who nodded that he was ready, then he followed.
-- and stopped dead in his tracks.
"Oh .... no ....." was all he managed.

* * *

Highbrow walked into the med bay, or better said: the hospital container, looking around. Dozens of Nebulans lay in the primitive beds which were slowly replaced by more sophisticated ones, though there would never be enough for all those streaming into the med unit. He was greeted by several of the patients and it hurt him to recognize them and many more. They were friends -- friends sentenced to die. He tried not to think of this, but it was hard. Highbrow felt Gort's reassuring presence, but he knew it was a temporary relief. He would have to separate from his Nebulan partner soon .... like Chromedome. They had already set a time and date and he was dreading the day.
His fellow Headmaster lay in a separated room, one equipped for Cybertronian medical technology. The operation had been yesterday and Chaos had told him that they would bring Chromedome back on-line slowly but surely. Styler was conscious, but weak and already at the end of stage two of the contamination. He had moments of lucidity, but most of the time he was delirious and close to slipping into a coma.
"Hi, Chromedome," Highbrow greeted his friend.
Chromedome turned his head and a smile passed over his features. He was on an energon feed and machines were monitoring his brain and core activities. At least he had not flipped right upon waking up and it was a good sign. Perceptor was keeping an eye on things here while Chaos was with the Nebulans. Chromedome had yet to see Styler, but Highbrow knew that whatever time that would be, it would be too soon.
"Hello," Chromedome whispered.
Highbrow flinched as he heard his friend's weak voice. "How are you?" he asked.
"I don't know.... I feel ... different."
"I understand." He walked over to his friend.
"Have you seen Styler?" Chromedome wanted to know.
Highbrow hesitated, then nodded. "He's in stage two."
Chromedome winced. "Why won't they let me talk to him?" he asked no one specific.
"You have to get back to your old strength first," Highbrow told him. "Chaos said you'd be off the energon feed tomorrow and then they'd reconnect your transformation circuits."
Chromedome sighed. "Yeah. How are the others?"
"Difficult situation. Hardhead ... he's somewhere loose on the planet. Well, if he isn't over-energizing, that is. I think it hit him much harder than he thought it would. He won't talk to anyone and he nearly beat up Brainstorm when he tried to."
"He's afraid."
Highbrow laughed humorlessly. "Aren't we all? Brainstorm is feeling guilty in a way because he is not affected, though Chaos said that they don't know whether our skins are isolation or just a barrier that will soon be overcome by the radiation."
"Feeling guilty?" Chromedome echoed. "He should be happy that he isn't affected! Wait till I'm back on my feet, then I'll have a word with him!"
Highbrow chuckled. That was the spirit. "Take it easy and follow the doctor's orders. I'll be back tomorrow when they reconnect the transformation circuits."
"See you then."
Highbrow left the medical tent just as a new load of sick fugitives came in. He immediately went to help them.

* * *

Melissa Witwicky woke slowly and she felt slightly sick. She had been told that it might be possible that the anesthetic would leave her nauseous. She let her mind get used to this feeling, as well as her body, trying to take inventory as much as this was possible. She felt the needle in her arm, a bandage over her eyes and a distant headache. She tried lifting her hand and was surprised that it worked. She carefully touched her bandaged head and eye.
"Mel?"
"Kim?" she asked, surprised.
Kimberly Moya-Witwicky chuckled. "Yes. The doctor said you could wake at any hour and since Daniel is still busy with this conference business, I thought I might drop by. Your parents have announced that they want to come by soon as well."
Mel smiled. "How does it look?" she asked.
"I have no idea. Your head if covered in bandages but they didn't cut your hair or shave it."
"Everything in due time," Mel sighed. "Dr. de Palma mentioned that they need to set an implant in the back of my neck as well. They'll have to shave my hair for it." Mel didn't like this idea, but it there was nothing she could do.
"I met Dr. McGregor. He said they'd test the implant you have now when you are awake."
The door opened and Mel heard steps. "Hello, Ms Witwicky," nurse Felder said. "How do you feel?"
"Sick," Melissa sighed.
The nurse chuckled. "That will pass. I'll check your temperature and blood now, Dr. de Palma will be here right away."
"I'll leave now," Kim announced and squeezed Mel's hand.
"Thanks for visiting," Mel called.
"Anytime."
Then nurse Felder began her checks.

* * *

Lightspeed looked at the test results with a frown and did another run. It came up with the same result again. His frown deepened and he took the print outs over to Strafe.
"Take a look at that," he told his fellow Technobot.
Strafe glanced at the sheets. "Oh," he muttered and then read them more closely. "Does Chaos know?" he asked.
Lightspeed shook his head. "I want to confirm these results first -- by Computron."
Strafe nodded. "I'll call the others. If this is really true....."
"I know," the other said softly. "I know....."

* * *

Chromedome entered the hospital container and looked around. A lot of Nebulans were here, among them his friend. It was impossible to give Styler a first class treatment and Chromedome understood. As he reached the cot, he knelt down and looked at the fragile, pale humanoid he had last seen in his 'natural' form when they had joined. Every time Styler had separated from him, he had worn an exo-suit and he had never taken it off, mainly because 90% of the time he had been inside Chromedome anyway. Now.... now he was without the suit and he looked old and weak. Nebulans aged much slower than humans, but Styler hadn't been a teenager to begin with when they had joined. Now his hair was stringy and white, his skin a pale green and his face wrinkled.
"Hi," he greeted the Autobot.
"Hi, Styler. How .... how are you?"
Styler smiled slightly. "You know it, Chromedome. Stage two. I'm lucky I can still talk to you."
Chromedome nodded. "I miss you, friend," he whispered.
Styler's eyes grew sad. "I miss our partnership, too, but you know this is good-bye."
"Yes."
"It was an honor to work with you, Chromedome. It gave me something no one else could enjoy this way. Thank you."
Chromedome felt his energon pump clench. "You gave me a lot too, Styler." A smile passed his features. "Maybe ... maybe they find a cure...."
Styler shook his head, though it was a barely perceptible movement. "You know this is terminal, Chromedome. Don't live on false hopes."
His features twisted with pain and his breathing grew labored. His skin turned even more pale.
"Styler?" Chromedome exclaimed.
"I ... I'm all right."
A nurse came over and checked on him. "You should take it easy," she told the Nebulan Headmaster partner.
"I'm dying. What is there to take easy?" Styler joked.
She grimaced and walked off.
"She is right. Get some sleep. I'll be back tomorrow," Chromedome said.
Styler's eyes met his optics. "I might not be here to talk to you tomorrow, Chromedome. I might not wake up .... only slip into a coma."
Chromedome looked shocked. "Please..."
"No false hopes, Chromedome," the Nebulan repeated. "Face reality. Help your friends do it as well."
Chromedome nodded. "I promise."
Styler nodded, satisfied. "Good. Now I'll sleep. See you tomorrow."
See you," Chromedome whispered. Then he rose and left the container.

When Chromedome returned the next morning, Styler had slipped into coma, entering the last phase of stage two.

* * *

Rodimus had returned to Cybertron with frustration boiling just below the surface. Optimus could see his second's mood even from a distance and a black cloud hovering above his head would have been the best way to describe Rodimus' mood.
"It didn't go well," the Autobot leader stated.
"What gave it away?" Rodimus growled and flung himself into a chair.
Optimus smiled. "Well, there are a few tiny tell-tale signs....." He grew serious. "What happened?"
"Except for this meeting going down the drain the moment the ambassadors and diplomats discovered that screaming was a nice past-time?" Rodimus asked sarcastically. "Oh, nothing much. I got insulted, yelled at, more insulted and left with the impression that if I'd placed a cardboard cut-out into my place, no one would have noticed!" His optics burned with an angry fire. "Optimus, this wasn't a diplomatic meeting, this was a bar brawl! Earth is violently demanding we either remove Autobot City or place all our ships around their planet! This is insane! They have threatened to move against us if we don't comply!"
Optimus was shocked for a second. "Move against us?"
Rodimus sighed. "Yeah," he snarled then. "The first time they agree on anything. They'd gather all their forces, ally themselves, to get us off Earth. I told them what I could about the Tji, but it was apparently just another bit of oil to feed the fire. They want to know exactly what's going on and who they are, not just the usual stuff. I explained why Nebulos had been a target, but to no avail." His eyes shadowed. "We have an ultimatum."
"What?" Optimus exclaimed.
"We have two weeks to remove the city or form a protective circle around Earth. The ultimatum also says that both flag ships are supposed to guard the planet," Rodimus said flatly.
"We can't do that!" Optimus hissed, anger lacing his voice.
Rodimus nodded, looking tired. "Guess what I told them over and over again? They won't listen. There is a panic spreading, Op, and it won't simply die down after a few rumors. Other planets have expressed their fear, though Arcee and Daniel have talked to them outside the heated conference and convinced them that the Nebulos incident was solely connected to Fort Max present on the planet. Many have calmed down and agreed to let us visit their homeworlds and keep our trade agreements. They also said they think Earth is overreacting."
It was a small success, but in the light of the ultimatum from Earth, it was a victory, Optimus thought.
"Do you think it might help if I talked to them?" he now asked.
Rodimus shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm through with them. Any more meetings like this and next time I'll bring my gun."
Optimus smiled humorlessly. "How is the situation at Autobot City?"
"Tense. I went there just before departing. No one is sure what the future holds and more rumors have spread. I'll return in two days and brief them on what has happened. The ultimatum starts in two days....."
Optimus nodded. "All right. So be it. We are removing our presence from Earth. Autobot City will be relocated to Cybertron. Everyone who wants to continue his work here is welcome to do so. I want us to find jobs for those bound to Earth. I hate to see them suffer because of this decision."
"Agreed."
"Go and get some rest now," the older Autobot advised.
Rodimus smiled tiredly again. It would be hard to rest. His body might shut down for recharge, but not his mind. He was much too agitated about this. Nevertheless he walked back to his quarters. As he entered the room he became aware that someone was already expecting him.
"Silhouette?" he asked in surprise.
Silhouette smiled at him. "Hi. Welcome home."
"Uh, thanks. What do I owe this visit to?" Not that he wasn't happy about it, but normally Sil never did such welcome-home-visits. Normally they met after he had recharged.
"Roddy, we need to talk."
A feeling of foreboding hit him. "Yes?" he asked cautiously.
"It's about a decision I made after I was approached about this."
The feeling increased.
"Yes?"
"Roddy, I'm a member of Counterstrike."
Rodimus' mouth dropped open and, if it had been possible, his lower jaw would have hit the floor.

* * *

Optimus had paced around South Port, his mind going over and over his decision again and again. He had had to make one and now he wondered if it had been the correct one to make. Leaving Earth was like admitting defeat, but staying would mean risking a confrontation -- and armed confrontation.
"Still thinking whether or not it was the correct decision?" an unsympathetic sounding voice suddenly asked.
Optimus turned and discovered Megatron. The Decepticon's face displayed a sarcastic smile.
"In a way," Optimus told him with a shrug. "On the other hand, it is the only action we can take."
"We could fight for our right to stay here."
Optimus gave him a cold look. "And risk a war at two fronts? No."
Megatron looked a bit surprised for a second. He had apparently expected another reply. Something more along the lines and codes of the Optimus Prime he had fought for millions of years.
"I came to tell you that the final team-ups have been suggested," Megatron now said, handing Optimus a data file.
The Autobot leader looked at the names. Some of the team-ups surprised him, but he nodded as he recognized that they were made for complimenting abilities and powers, as well as personalities. Volatile characters were teamed up with calmer ones to counter-act outbursts.
"All right," he agreed. "How is the training program proceeding so far?"
"As planned. We'll be ready for a trial run the moment the Com Center has a target."
Optimus nodded again. They were about ready to strike back.

* * *

They were in a gigantic hall which stretched apparently endlessly into the darkness. Dozens of different-sized but similar built tube-like chambers lined the wall. Midnight looked at the tubes with a strange expression. It was the same expression he had worn when coming back into the Creation Chamber on Cybertron, only this time it wasn't only memories.... it was also shock.....
"Great Cybertron!" Wild Card whispered, walking slowly into the hall.
Ish accompanied them with his swaying walk.
"Are there any of them alive?" Midnight asked, voice toneless.
"Huh, some," Ish answered, shaking his head. "Shame, shame, shame. Should be dead."
Midnight whirled around his optic visor flaring with bright green. "Should be?!" he cried. "What kind of caretaker are you? You want to see those lives extinguished?"
Ish wasn't fazed by this outbreak, though he moved back a bit. He seemed to have grown used to the two Sentinels, though Wild Card didn't trust him any further than he could throw Cybertron.
"Caretaker of this," he explained, making a wide, sweeping gesture. "Not that." He pointed at the tubes. "Ish was told to leave alone. Mutations. Don't touch."
Midnight trembled slightly, then turned back and walked to the nearest tube. It was occupied, but inside was only a dead shell. All life signs were flat. The body shell was bearing the symbol of a Sentinel, but it was oddly shaped. It was barely recognizable as a humanoid form and its skin was covered by what seemed to be pimples. The hands were twisted claws, the face covered by a visor and mouth shield.
"What is it?" the Sentinel leader asked.
Ish lurched over to him and activated a small information screen. "Mutation," he said, then gestured at the screen.
Midnight read the data displayed there and suddenly felt violently sick. He stumbled away from the tube and looked at the dozens of others stored here. "No!" he breathed.
Wild Card walked over to him, concern written on his face. "Mid?"
Midnight was trembling. "No," he repeated. "Why?"
"Why what?" Wild Card had no idea what was going on.
Midnight's look frightened him. He had never seen such utter shock and disgust. Wild Card decided to have a look at the screen himself.
"Gods!" he breathed when he was finished. "They are ... guinea pigs?!"
Ish tilted his head. "Not alive," he said. "Not dead. Mutations."
"Mutations? What do you mean by that?" Wild Card asked.
"Where is the main computer?" Midnight interrupted whatever answer Ish was about to give.
"Main computer? Down the corridor. Second door on right."
"Show me," the black Sentinel whispered coldly.
Ish blinked, then nodded and lurched off. Wild Card put a hand on the other's arm. "Mid..." he began.
The icy look in Midnight's eyes let him stop. The Sentinel leader followed the caretaker out of the vast hall. Wild Card sighed and then did the same.

* * *

He was facing three attackers, all of them robots, all of them obviously possessed by Tji. They stood in a battle-ready stance and had their weapons drawn, aimed at him. One move and he'd look like Swiss cheese. Suddenly there was a shadow moving in and he instinctively let himself fall to the right.
Two of the Tji whirled around and one suddenly grunted in surprise as his shoulder was clearly torn off from the rest of his body, spilling liquids all over the place. His head soon followed the arm. The second Tji fired at their new foe, but the enemy was already gone, moving fast and stealthily. Cyclonus used this opportunity to jump the other Tji, tackling him and both of them went down. But he had not thought about this body shell's immunity to blows and injuries. He was treated to a fist into the face. He hissed angrily and rolled around, trying to get away, but the Tji was quicker and his foot landed square in Cyclonus' mid-section. He was thrown back. Cyclonus used the momentum to make several quick jumps and rolls, then aimed his own weapon at the Tji and fired. The body shell was ridden by blasts and finally collapsed. The third Tji wasn't far behind his own expiring date and collapsed into a smoking heap.
Silhouette transformed and dusted off imaginary particles. "You okay?" she asked.
Cyclonus nodded and looked at the heap of metal. It disappeared right in front of his eyes, as did the landscape around them. They stood in a barren battle room. Nightmare approached them and nodded.
"Not bad."
Cyclonus' optics flashed briefly. "Not bad? We terminated their existence."
"Yes, but with too much effort on your side, Cyclonus," Nightmare explained calmly. "You need to change your fighting style."
"To become an Assassin?"
"No. You couldn't do that even if you wanted to. We were constructed to be Assassins. I'm only trying to teach you how to get your body and mind further in sync. You need to watch your enemy, try not to get in body contact with them and use you firepower reasonably and only to a minimum. Try and find an enemy's weak spot, then act. The more energy you spend on mutilating the body shell, the more time the enemy has to either call reinforcement or take you out. Tji are much stronger than we are but only because they don't feel the pain and can use a body shell until the exo-skeleton is too weak for them."
Cyclonus frowned, but he nodded slowly. He knew what Nightmare was getting at, it went against everything he had acted by for millennia. "I'll remember that."
"Okay, then let's try this again."
Nightmare walked over the controls and a new battle ground appeared. Sil exchanged a look with Cyclonus and nodded ever so slightly. Cyclonus, who had worked with the female Dinobot from the start, having been paired with her as his team mate, understood and readied himself.
And then a new attack came.

*

Rodimus Prime stood outside the battle room, his optics fixed on the surveillance screen. He watched how Silhouette tore apart a Tji, disabling him quite thoroughly, then dodged a blast, transforming in the process and seeking a new position for another attack. He movements were graceful and fast, her transformation back and forth between robot and dinosaur mode without a second's delay or hesitation.
"She good," Grimlock said in a deep rumble with more than just a note of pride in it. Of course he was proud. Silhouette was his sister and he was quite fond of the youngest member of the Dinobot team.
"Yes, she is," he said, almost absent-minded.
"Rodimus, you troubled." It wasn't a question. Grimlock had a strange way of appearing like a dumb dinosaur one moment and noting even the slightest emotional change the other.
"Yeah," the young second-in-command muttered.
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"Silhouette," Grimlock then stated confidently and Rodimus wondered when Grimlock had opted to become a mind-reader.
"In a way."
"You not trust her to fulfill missions?" the Dinobot leader wanted to know.
Rodimus shook his head. "No. I'm certain she can complete these missions."
"But..."
He shrugged again.
Grimlock rumbled slightly.
"But you not want her to. Maybe because she female?"
"Grimlock, that's crap," Rodimus told him forcefully. "It has nothing to do with her gender or her construction. She is strong, she is fast and she is an enemy I wouldn't want to face in either mode. Humans might make differences between male and female, but Cybertronians don't."
"Uh-huh. Then why?"
He sighed. Rodimus thought back to the moment Sil had revealed to him that she was taking part in the strike team training. It had shocked him in a way. Of course she was a warrior, as she had proven numerous times in the past. It was just .... for him she was someone to talk to, to rely on -- he always knew she was there when he needed her support. She was like Shanygn, only that she was of his own kind.
And now .....
"Maybe because I don't want her to put herself into danger," he muttered, staring at the floor.
Grimlock tilted his head and a frown passed his features, though the visor and the mouth cover showed now expressions most of the time. "Silhouette always in danger. Here, Earth, space. Everywhere danger. She no more in danger out there with trained back-up than here."
Rodimus knew that Grimlock was right. Silhouette was a warrior and she was in danger wherever she went. The Tji threat was everywhere. Still ... as a member of he strike team she was putting herself voluntarily into danger! He didn't like the idea, but then: others out there might feel the same about their friends and companions. For instance, not all Predacons had been chosen and the two remaining ones had raged on about this for a time and finally quieted down when Razorclaw had given them a piece of his mind concerning their behavior.
"Yeah," he muttered. "But I don't have to like it."
"Who does?" Grimlock asked philosophically.
Rodimus only nodded and then left the observation room. A smile passed Grimlock's features.

*

Chromia jumped out of the way of the laser blast and rolled around, wishing she had a weapon to use. She jumped again as a blast came to close to her, then heard a cry of annoyance. She whirled around and saw Divebomb transform and take cover behind some crates, which were then pounded by volley after volley. Chromia was hit by a cold feeling as she took in the situation. They had run into the security measures after rounding a corner. An impenetrable wall had slammed down behind them and lasers mounted on the wall were now making their life quite hard. Chromia was very agile, thanks to the training sessions with Riverdance in the past, and it was easy for her to jump out of the way, mainly because the lasers had been built to react to large, moving targets, not a more slender version of a Cybertronian.
"Divert their attention," she signaled the Predacon and he understood, taking off with a powerful blast of his thrusters. He was immediately targeted by the lasers and Divebomb employed all his evasion maneuvers to get out of their way.
Chromia made a dive for a piece of metal splintered off a crate. The lasers targeted he as well and came very close to her this time, but the female Autobot was a blur as she turned around and threw the piece of metal. The dagger-like piece slammed into the motion and infrared sensor. The lasers whirred for a few more seconds, then stopped, unable to find a target.
"Gotcha!" she whispered.
Divebomb transformed and landed beside her. "Not bad," he confirmed, giving her one of his ironic looks.
Chromia grinned. "I'd say pretty damn good."
Divebomb was not ready to give her that much credit and simply walked out of the training chamber. Chromia chuckled and followed.

* * *

Music played in the background and the laughter and drone of voices were going on his nerves. Wherever he looked he saw people with Champaign glasses in their hands, drinking the expensive liquid like it was water, having fun, laughing, talking, eating. Everything on his expense. Some were dancing in the middle of the room, their bodies not really moving, just swaying a bit in the rhythm. There wasn't enough room for them to dance like they would have in a ballroom, so they were constricted to simply standing together and pretending to dance. His eyes locked on one particular pair, a dark-haired woman in a stunning evening dress, and a young man in a dark suit. He was whispering something in her ear and she laughed, blushing a bit.
Robert Evans felt annoyance creep up inside of him as he watched the pair. His expression remained calm and polite, but his eyes sparked with barely surpressed disgust. As the music changed and part of the dancers walked over to the buffet table he walked to the young, apparently happy pair. The man was refilling the woman's glass of Champaign and they seemed oblivious to his presence. But not for long.
Some people addressed Evans, congratulated him on this really great party, as he walked through the crowded room. He acknowledged them with a nod or a smile, but his attention was always focused on the young pair. Suddenly someone stepped into his view.
"Sir, we have received a message from the ship," Mark Keller said in a low tone.
Evans gave him the same annoyed look he had cast toward the couple. "And?"
"They arrived in the target area and are now attempting to use the secret door," his assistant answered. "We expect the next transmission to come from the target zone itself."
Evans suddenly smiled. "Good," he said. "ETA?"
"Two standard hours."
Evans nodded. "Keep me informed."
Keller affirmed this and then walked off. Evans concentrated on the young couple again.
"Julia," he addressed the young woman, satisfied as he saw how she startled at the sound of his voice. Her dark eyes fixed on him in mild shock. "Are you having a good time?" he asked, smiling sweetly. Then he bent down to kiss her.
"Yes, Dad."
"One more hour," he told her as he surveyed the room. "One more hour and then we'll close this party down." He took a grape and chewed on it. "They're are only here to drink as much as they can." He let the annoyance he felt get into his voice.
"Dad, this is my party!" she protested.
"Which I'm paying for, so it's my rules."
She shot him an acid look, then took the arm of her boy-friend and walked off. Robert Evans only smiled.

* * *

Chaos read the reports over and over again, disbelief in her eyes. When she looked up, Lightspeed's face was one of understanding.
"We have to inform the Primes," she then said.
The Technobot nodded. "I already arranged a video conference. Rodimus is on Earth, but Optimus is on Cybertron."
Chaos strode out of the lab and over to the cargo container housing their communications center. The storms had passed, leaving everything in dust and the air around them was still laden with fine particles. It made breathing for the humanoids difficult and everyone was wearing filters. She smiled at several nurses and doctors, as well as volunteers and patients. There was no one here who didn't know the flaming red robot. Strafe nodded as she came in and vacated the chair in front of the vid screen.
"Optimus Prime," she greeted the tall Autobot leader.
"I heard you had important news concerning the contamination," Prime said.
She inhaled and nodded. "Yes, but I don't think they are good news....."
Prime's eyes displayed his sudden foreboding feeling. "Yes?"
"As you know the radiation affects every Nebulan and every organic unit on this planet, whether he has been in the center of a bombing or lives in a region that had only felt the after-shocks or was never hit at all. The slightest amount of radiation infects an organic but it doesn't affect machine life. And it doesn't cling to us when we leave the planet."
Prime nodded. He knew all of that.
"I ran several scans, biological, chemical, molecular, physical and genetical. I had doctors perform autopsies on different bodies, those dying in the bombings and those now dying though they never came even close to a bomb site. I have the results now and I had them checked by Computron.... they are 95% correct. Optimus, the radiation was engineered to affect Nebulan life. It's genetically linked to them, attacking only Nebulans and similar humanoid life, nothing else."
Optimus stared at her. "Genetical?" he whispered.
"Yes. Apparently those bombs were more than met the eye. They were destructive and had they been nuclear, the radiation would kill as many people, but it would not spread to such a wide area, even though 90% of all cities have been eradicated. This radiation attacks the people here, Prime. It was engineered to do that."
Optimus was silent for a very long time. His optics were icy and Chaos recognized disgust and devastation, as well as fear and shock, and an emotion she couldn't define.
"Thank you, Chaos," he finally said, voice emotionless. "Send the report to me as fast as possible. Prime out."
The screen went blank and Chaos sagged in her chair. Strafe placed a supporting hand on her shoulder. She gave him a tired smile.
"Now we have to tell the others," she said, sounding much calmer than she felt. "I'll call a meeting of the doctors and nurses, as well as the helpers in an hour."
Strafe nodded. "You know that we also have to talk to the other Headmasters...?"
She sighed deeply. "Oh, yes..."

* * *

A Nebulan was steering his vehicle over the rough ground, careful not to hit one of the ditches or run his vehicle against one of the many boulders protruding from the sandy ground. His destination was a ship standing not far away from him. A small group of men was leaving it. The team from Earth had arrived about one hour ago, in the middle of one of the storms passing over the area around the city. The former airfield, used by hobby pilots and the air courier service, was several miles outside the city. Some rain was currently coming down, but it wasn't heavy enough to even muddy the ground, and wind dried the humidity immediately. It looked like there would be no more storms tonight.
The team had unloaded their vehicles and hidden the unmarked ship under a special cloak where the authorities in form of the Cybertronians and what was called a 'government' now wouldn't stumble over it right away. With its unusual design, looking like a very large stealth fighter, able to carry several vehicles, equipped with large fuel tanks and a high tech computer gear, it would be hard to hide on the official airport among the automated EDC vessels. Luckily the plane didn't only look like a stealth fighter, it also had the abilities, passing under the radar and slipping into the atmosphere unseen beside its size.
The Nebulan stopped beside the team leader. They were wearing battle armor, but no all-environment protective suits. The Nebulan, whose name was Margch, found that an unnecessary risk, but it was their lives in danger.
"Everything prepared?" the team leader asked.
Margch nodded. "The representative is ready to meet with you."
"Good. Lead the way."
Margch turned his vehicle and drove slowly off. The Earth team followed him.

* * *

Hardhead had seen what they had done to Chromedome and he had witnessed Highbrow's first symptoms of stage one infection. He was suffering from them himself, but he was numbing most of his physical and emotional pain with energon. It was like alcohol for humans, though it never had had lasting effects. He over-energized for some time, then his body consumed the energon and he was operating again. It only helped for a short time, but lately he could run on the amounts much longer. The more concentrated the energon was, the better he could numb himself.
Duros had fallen silent, no longer protesting this abuse of circuits and chips. He was slipping slowly but terminally into stage two and there was nothing Hardhead could do. He could only try and help him through the pain and delirium he was suffering spells of.
Brainstorm had yet again tried to talk to him and this time Hardhead had thrown a punch at him, hitting his friend right in the head and making him stumble. Then he had transformed and shot off. He didn't need Brainstorm to talk some sense into him. Brainstorm didn't understand. He was healthy and Arkana was not dying. But Duros was!
Hardhead sank to the ground and buried his head in his hands. Somewhere in there his humanoid partner was slowly slipping away, taking part of Hardhead with him.

* * *

Midnight was sitting at the computer of the main lab and tried to get to the files he wanted. Like the control cube for the doorway, the 'keyboard' was a quartz cube. Pushing certain spots resulted in one reaction or another. Ish was watching him, making tsk-tsk noises and sometimes helped him here or there. Finally the screen lit up with the wanted data and Midnight started reading. The more he read, the more sick he felt.
Wild Card walked over to him, a worried look on his face. He had been watching Ish all the time, as well as keeping an eye on what else was in the lab. He was expecting an attack any minute now.
"Something wrong?"
"No one ever told us the complete truth," Midnight whispered. "Not Vector Sigma, not Alpha Trion and least of all Ralyk."
"What?"
Midnight shook his head. "It's all in there. Jaimaa was right. The truth about us, our origin, the true purpose..... everything. And now I know why Ish calls us mutations."
Wild Card looked at the screen. "Oh .... my ....." he muttered.
Midnight nodded.
"You think Spook and the others knew it?" Wild Card asked softly.
"I have no idea. I think no one knew the whole truth." Midnight looked at the screen again.
"Who will you tell?"
"I'm not sure....."
"There are few of those called Ancestors left. Maybe we should talk to them...."
Midnight looked unsure. "I don't know."
"Ancestors?" Ish echoed. "Still alive?"
"A few, yes."
The ancient robot looked struck. "Unbelievable...." He shook his head and muttered to himself.
"Mid, this is what we came here for. Let's download on an information disk and get out of here," Wild Card said. "It's dangerous to stay here any longer than necessary."
The black Sentinel nodded. "I need to think about this anyway, take a look at all the other files....." he muttered.
Wild Card got busy and began the downloading procedure. Midnight decided he needed to take a walk and left.

* * *

Kup stared at Rodimus as if he had just grown a second head. "They want us to do what?" he finally managed.
"Clear the premises," Rodimus repeated as calmly as possible. "We have fourteen days to pack out stuff and leave."
"Fourteen days!" Kup exclaimed. "That's madness!"
"I know. I've to make the announcement tomorrow. I just wanted to let you know what will hit you soon."
"Thanks, kid," the old Autobot sighed. "This city will turn into a mad house when they hear about it. And there was nothing anyone could do to change their minds?"
"Believe me, Kup, I tried. No chance. They are determined to get us off the planet ASAP. Optimus gave us a go and I won't stay here any longer than necessary. I know it sounds hard, but right now I'm tired of this." And Rodimus looked tired. He knew tomorrow would be a hell day.
Kup nodded. "We have a lot of friends here."
"We are not leaving forever, Kup. Whoever wants to come to Cybertron is welcome, but not everyone will be able to make it because of family ties or personal matters. We'll do what we can for those."
The security chief nodded.

And the next day proved to be a hell day for real. Rodimus stood in front of all the employees of Autobot City, as well as every Autobot or Decepticon currently here.
"You all know about the Nebulos battle," Rodimus began, "and its catastrophic results. Because of what happened at Nebulos, many governments are frightened and scared and we all know they have every right to be. What happened on Nebulos was terrible and we all are afraid that it might happen again, on every world. But we also know that the Tji were after Fortress Maximus and didn't just strike against a helpless planet. Now Earth has called in a conference concerning our presence here on Earth."
There was a murmur going through the crowd. Rodimus looked at the suddenly worried faces.
"I'll cut it short for you. You don't want to know all the gruesome details of this conference. It comes down to one fact: Autobot City has to be removed from Earth."
The murmur went up into a cry of protest and Rodimus waited until it died down.
"I know about your concerns. We have 14 days to leave and we'll start tomorrow. Everyone working here is offered the chance to come to Cybertron with us, but those who can't, I understand. We will do everything in our power to get you new jobs. Please come to us and let us know. All others, the moving plans have been set. Metroplex is leaving in three days, the underground base of Autobot City will be cleared and then broken down."
Voices grew loud again and Rodimus lifted his hands. Silence descended.
"People, I know this is a shock, but we have to honor Earth's wishes. I know we owe this land, but if we stay, diplomatic conflicts will grow and we might face an attack by a united army. I don't want this to happen. When this war is over, we can talk to Earth's governments again. Until then ... please understand our decision. I won't risk another crisis."
He stepped away from the podium and the voices rose again. Kup called for silence and began to explain the moving plan. He assigned teams and gave his office hours for those who wanted to talk to him concerning either coming with the Autobots or staying here. Rodimus left the room, his steps heavy. Shanygn gave him silent support as always, but this time there was nothing to lessen the burden.

* * *

Midnight stood in the large hall containing all those dead or half-dead shells. Steve stood at his side, having phased out of him only seconds before. Midnight walked over to one of the tubes and looked inside, pain crossing his features. Inside lay an almost angelic looking female, her face passive, the optics dead. She looked so peaceful, but her life signs were dead. Walking along the bottom row Midnight was faced with undisturbed shells or badly mutilated ones, those who had either suffered the backwash of their own power or had been used as lab mice, running a deadly maze.
Anger rose inside of him, quickly transforming into the usual fury. He didn't see Steve stagger a bit, clutching his head. He didn't feel the pain he inflicted upon his partner. He only saw those who had been like him and had not survived. What made him so special? Why had he survived?!
Because you were Jaimaa's pet project.
More hatred surged up and his aura flared a bit.
And he heard a faint gasp.
Turning around he saw Steve leaning against one of the cylinders, bent over as if in pain, clutching his head. All the anger transformed into worry and he reached out for his partner by mind-link ..... coming up against a cloud-like barrier. It was like a hazy mist and he had no idea what it was.
"Steve?"
"I'm okay," Steve gasped, trying to straighten and actually managing it. Through the closed visor Midnight couldn't see his partner's facial expression, but he knew him long enough now to see it even without seeing it. Steve was in pain.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Maybe something I ate," Parker muttered. "Uhm, I think I'll go back and see how Wild Card is doing...." He started to walk back.
"Steve....."
"I'm all right, okay?" the human nearly snapped and Midnight felt like hit in the face. Further probing revealed nothing except a shield behind the cloudy mist.
What was wrong?

* * *

On Earth, the last implant was inserted in Mel's head and Dr. de Palma was very pleased with the way her body accepted the metal. Mel was in good health and she was growing more and more confident concerning the Net.
"We'll connect the sensors tomorrow," de Palma told her as he made his daily visit.
Mel smiled. "All right! When will I be able to test this neurological wonder machine?"
De Palma chuckled. "We'll start slowly, Melissa. You know that this implant won't restore your sight as it had been. You will see another way because your eyes are getting sensor input and the implants will relay this images to the brain. Since you have a machine in your head, you'll have machine vision. You have to get used to it. By the way, you have a rather unusual visitor. Your mother cleared him and though we had to revive nurse Thomas, I think we might get used to him."
"Who is it?" Mel asked. She heard claws on the floor and the rustle of leathery wings. "Bat!"
"Oi! You found out!" the lizard complained. "You can see, can't you? No, wait, your eyes are bandaged...."
Mel felt his soft snout and gave it a slight smack.
"Ouch," Bat muttered.
"Okay, you two. I don't want to see you scaring other patients," de Palma told them. "Your friend here decided to give you some independence and since Mrs. Witwicky gave me a vague idea who he is, I can sanction his presence. Just don't obstruct the nurses." The last was clearly aimed at Bat, who muttered something only Mel could hear. She had to grin. Then de Palma left.
"All right, Bat, my friend," Mel said and turned to where she heard him. "What is the news?"

* * *

Chaos sat in her office, a tiny space in one of the containers, her optics fixed on the computer screen. She had done nothing but stare at it for the last hour, her optics not even seeing the data. Her mind was somewhere else completely and replaying the staff meeting over and over again. She had told her helpers what the truth behind the contamination was and she had seen the shock and disbelief in their eyes. Everyone had secretly hoped to find a cure to this plague, but now all hope was lost. A genetically engineered sickness.... Chaos had never seen anything like it before. The virus that had attacked Springer had been genetical in a way as well, but there had been an anti-virus and a basic cure to battle it. And it had not spread. Everything they had tried here had failed.
The Technobots had merged into Computron to battle this problem, to maybe find a way to get down to the same level of genetical engineering and find a counter-virus, but she had no hope that there was a way.
"Chaos?"
The female Autobot looked around, facing Trczia. The doctor looked composed, but her eyes displayed her shock.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay?"
Chaos gave a bark of humorless laughter. "Me? I'm okay. I just wish I could say the same about Nebulos."
"As long as we have hope, we live," Trczia said philosophically.
"I wish hope would be the cure for your problem," Chaos sighed. "But it isn't."
The Nebulan smiled. "I know. But I won't give up. I will battle this contamination to the end."
Chaos had to smile at such ferocious spirit. "And I will be here as long as it takes to defeat it."
"Or admit defeat," Trczia added.
Chaos looked at her, their eyes meeting. They had always been very open toward each other and Chaos knew that there was a fifty percent chance she might not succeed -- ever.
"Yes," she whispered. "Or that."
I just hope I'll never see the day where I have to make that confession.

* * *

They had returned several hours ago, Wild Card carrying all the data disks. Midnight had yet to decide what to do and a key to his decision might be the one he was facing now. He looked at the large half-serpent, trying to get his emotions under control. Spook and he had never been friends and he doubted they ever would be, but Spook was the only one of the Ancestors currently available since Raven was needed down in the doorway, and the other Gatekeepers were too far away. Still, Spook had been a choice Midnight could have lived without. Steve was not with him and Midnight's worry about his partner was slowly comign through to his anger-shielded core. He had vowed to himself to talk to Steve after this was over. He had made mistakes and he had let Steve feel his anger, an anger that was not directed at his partner but at the Tji and Veneran in general.
Golden-yellow optics looked down at him, a gentle expression crossing Spook's dragon-like face. "Why did you come here, child?"
"Don't call me that!" Midnight hissed, his aura flaring, and Spook's head reared back as in shock. "Sorry," the Sentinel muttered, rubbing his head.
"Apology isn't necessary, Midnight. What is wrong?"
"Do you know where you really came from?" Midnight asked.
Spook frowned. "I was created by the Tji and later chosen to be a part of the security teams."
"Yes, yes, I know. But do you know what this meant? Does 'Ancestors' or 'mutations' mean anything to you? Did Jaimaa ever mention the lab she created us all?"
Spook's frown deepened. "No." He lowered his head until he looked directly into Midnight's optics. "What do you know?"
Midnight hesitated. "Jaimaa left me a final note, something like good-bye letter. It contained coordinates and... I went where she wanted me to go."
"That was foolish," Spook whispered softly. "It could have been a trap."
Midnight looked at him. "You talk about traps when it concerns Jaimaa? I thought you knew and trusted her."
"There is a difference between knowing and trusting, Midnight. I knew her, but I never trusted her. She is Tji. They are unknown to us and Jaimaa was among the scientists who created our race. That she merged with one of you Sentinels, helped us and later sacrificed herself is still no reason for me to trust her."
Midnight's features showed surprised. "Uh," he muttered. "Aha."
"Now, what did you find?"
"Too much. More than I ever wanted to know."
Spook curled up and folded his wings. "Care to tell me?"
Midnight hesitated again.
"You didn't come here just to make small talk, Midnight. Your knowledge bothers you."
"Yeah ... but .... it concerns not only us, but the Autobot leaders as well...."
"Then invite them."
The Sentinel sighed deeply. There was a long silence, then he nodded and walked over to the intercom.

* * *

Mel had grown used to her guide dog, though you couldn't really say Bat was anything like a normal guide dog. First of all, he was a reptile. Second, he had wings, and third, he could talk. And talk he did. He commented on everything he saw and gave Mel quite a good idea of her surroundings. The nurses had grown used to the new addition to Mel's treatment, though having a small dragon around -- to a human Bat wasn't that small at all -- had needed getting used to. Mel was thankful for Bat's presence because it enabled her to have some independence, despite her blindness. And it gave her a link to Cybertron, a planet she called her second home. It also gave her an insight in Nightmare's continuing guilt and his new job. She really needed to talk to him again when she got back, though that might take some time.
Several weeks after the first implant had been set and the sensors had been inserted in the skin around her eyes, Dr. de Palma finally took off the bandages. Mel had been here for such a long time now, she didn't even know what the world outside was like.
"Keep your eyes closed," he told her as he began to examine her. She felt his hands on the still slightly tender skin. "Does it hurt?"
"No."
"Okay, open your eyes now."
Mel did so. She didn't see a thing. "Black," she told him.
De Palma chuckled. "I know. We still need to activate the last link. Ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
And then she blinked. The blackness had suddenly changed to a colorful world, though it was still blurry. After a few seconds the fuzzy images, like those of a distorted satellite image, became clearer and finally turned into a normal picture -- except for a few oddities; like the frame around the center of her vision and now and then she could see numbers dancing around this frame. She blinked again and the vision shifted from colorful to black-and-white and then to something like infra-red.
"Uhm.... wow..." Mel muttered, amazed and stunned. "I ... can see..." She looked around and then, for the first time, saw her physician, though he kept shifting from color to black-and-white and then to a red blob. "Hi, doc...."
De Palma smiled. "Hello, Melissa. How are you doing?"
"Well, if I could find a way to switch off the changes between different visions...."
De Palma smiled even more. "Like I said, it's different."
"It sure is."
"And that's what we have to teach you how to use."
Mel looked around the room, smiling as she saw the slighter less red blob of Bat. "Did your other patients have the same whole array of vision?"
"No. Like I told you before, we have to mimic your eyes functions but this is only a machine. And you told me that you wanted the whole length of it." De Palma shifted back to color and she saw him lift an eye-brow.
Melissa smiled. "Yeah, and thanks for that."
"Now let's see that we get you over to the examination room. You have some nice tests ahead of you."
Mel grimaced. "Oh, fun."

* * *

Rodimus had come to Cybertron on special request, though he hated to abandon the 'evac program', as Kup cynically called it, of Autobot City. But this had sounded important and Optimus had made it clear that he was needed. Rodimus was still surprised when he discovered that of the Council, only Optimus, Midnight and he were present. And then there was Spook. The large half-serpent regarded him with troubled optics.
"What happened?" he asked.
Optimus nodded at Midnight and the young Sentinel folded his hands. "A lot," Midnight sighed.
He gave a brief summary of the letter he had received from Jaimaa and how he had decided to find out about those coordinates, no matter what. Rodimus frowned slightly at the unnecessary risk his friend had taken, but he knew he would have done the same. Midnight described the base and its caretaker, the ancient robot Ish. And he told them about the files.
"Whatever Alpha Trion, Vector Sigma and later Ralyk told us, it was never the whole truth," Midnight said, his voice telling of suppressed anger. "We were created by the Veneran, but not the easy and simple way they made us believe. And Ralyk had a bigger part in our creation than it ever admitted."
Rodimus shot Optimus a surprised look, but his older friend's face was such an impenetrable mask, he had no idea what he was feeling right now.
"Those we know as the first creations, the Old Ones or First Ones, robots like Spook or Raven or any of the original Gatekeepers, were our Ancestors. Their data is all stored in the files I found. They were not created with a purpose like protecting the doorways, they were created for study and experiments. Out of them, we came: the Sentinels and the first generation of Autobots and Decepticons. We are mutations of the Ancestors, pure and simple. The Veneran began applying changes to the core personalities and their abilities, and they programmed Vector Sigma to continuously apply changes to all its creations. Like Alpha Trion said, all personalities were stored in the super computer already, but he didn't mention that they were blank personalities. They were to be programmed with new factors according to what the results of previous generations' studies had revealed. The Veneran didn't let us run lose and develop on our own. They set up the Quintessons to construct a gigantic lab and Vector Sigma was the chief scientist!"
Rodimus stared at the black Sentinel. "But.... "
"I know, Roddy, I know. You talked to Alpha Trion and he told you it was a benign action from the Veneran, but it wasn't. They realized that they couldn't continue their experiments in the confines of their own labs, so they let the Quints construct a new one. With random factors. These factors were applied to the new personalities and they were changed accordingly. Vector Sigma had been given this programming and he was executing it step by step, with no faults. The Quints had no idea about this and they also had no idea that they were mere assistants in this experiment."
Shock was displayed on both Primes' faces, but Midnight was not yet finished.
"The Ancestors, the basic models, were nothing but simple versions of what was to come later," the Sentinel went on. "They were unable to Interface but all possessed one ability or another. Gating, for instance. Since this was a useful ability, some of the later generations were outfitted with similar abilities that came close to Gating. Vector Sigma applied this ability randomly or in a changed form, and, as in my case, set a trigger to it. My trigger was an Interface partner. When the Ancestors were created, Interfacing had not yet been considered because all experiments concerning a bonding to another life form had failed. None of the Veneran had yet thought of bonding to an intelligent robot. When the idea surfaced, it was attempted, but the robot died immediately upon invasion and more years passed until Interfacing was developed. By this time, a majority had voted to let this experiment run its own course and see what the Interface-able robots could do before risking their own lives. That's how the Veneran Civil War broke out, separating them into the Tji and Veneran." Midnight looked at his hands. "When the first Autobots and Decepticons were going on-line, they were a mutation, a changed body and core programming, from our Ancestors. At the time, they were only slave products with no mind of their own. When this was no longer the desired wish of the customers and when the Quintessons grew too lazy to operate the machines themselves, Vector Sigma gave birth to the next mutation, drawing on the experience he had made with a robot encountering organics. When we, the Sentinels, were born, he had made the first step concerning transformation. We were experiments and we succeeded, so later generations were all born with transformation abilities. Had we failed, none of you would be able to transform at all. Those of our Ancestors who had transformation abilities before this were oddities, abnormal robots. They were left alive because the Veneran saw that transformation was actually a good thing."
"But...." Optimus shook his head. "I mean, what about the changes invoked by Alpha Trion when he constructed me and others? I was the first of a new line of Autobots and Vector Sigma had nothing to do with it."
Midnight smiled sadly. "No, Optimus. You were simply the same personality in another body shell. We are not talking about bodies, only about abilities you always possessed. We are talking about core programming. The older our race got, the more we drifted away from what the original had been; robots like Spook. He is so vastly different, he wouldn't be recognized to be part of our line."
Spook gave a low rumble. "And we'd never recognize you as our descendants. The Sentinels are rather close to us, but Autobots and Decepticons of the last generations are not the least bit related to us, except you."
"Us?" Rodimus echoed. "But that's impossible. I'm from a younger generation and Optimus was born over nine million years ago!"
"That doesn't matter," Midnight sighed. "Alpha Trion told you that you were marked by the Matrix, that it doesn't matter who or what you are, only that you bear a mark no one but the Matrix can see."
Rodimus nodded.
"There is more to that." The Sentinel looked at them. "You are hybrids."
"What!" the younger Prime exclaimed.
"Hybrids? Explain," Optimus told him calmly.
"You are Autobots by birth and construction, but a part of you is not. Your core program has been slightly altered to resemble that of the Ancestors. It sets you apart from your own race and it makes you special. All Matrix bearers were and still are a link between generations."
Rodimus touched his chest as if he could feel it. "Why has no one ever found that out in a check-up?" he demanded.
"Because it is what you'd later call the Matrix circuitry, and it mimics normal circuitry. Would you ever have thought of becoming Rodimus Prime? Did you feel different?"
"Uhm, no.... but Optimus was not chosen by the Matrix."
"In a way I was. Alpha Trion had the Matrix for years until he gave it to me. I don't know if he ever tried to give it to someone else, but he told me he had finally found the right robot. Me." Optimus looked thoughtful. "So Vector Sigma was also producing the Matrix bearers?"
"Yes. There were several of them, but except for you two, all perished. It was a selection program. Evolution." Midnight looked at Optimus. "When you died and passed on the Matrix, it never accepted Ultra Magnus. It also never accepted Galvatron, which had nothing to do with the fact that he was a Decepticon."
"So there could be possible Matrix bearers among the Decepticons?!" Rodimus exclaimed in shock.
"Not any longer."
Optimus' eyes flashed. "There actually were some?"
"Yes, Vector Sigma ran a short experiment concerning this, but it was abandoned and later killed." Midnight shrugged. "I don't know why. Vector Sigma was never programmed to take sides, but on this occasion he did you a favor."
"Gods!" Rodimus whispered. "This is impossible!"
"And it is the truth." Midnight looked at the table. "We found he proof of the files in the lab. There are dozens of dead body shells in that lab, all looking horribly disfigured. Some of them are ..... Sleepers..."
Rodimus looked compassionate. He knew what Midnight felt because he was the last of the Sleeper race. All the Sleepers on Cybertron had been killed by the uprising slaves and his only hope to find more of his kind had been destroyed as well.
"It's better this way," Midnight added softly.
Spook moved slightly closer, as if to support him. Rodimus was surprised by this gesture, since Spook and Midnight were more or less enemies.
"We are mutations as well," the Sentinel leader said as if to himself. "Extreme mutations. We were what the Veneran used to test all their outrageous ideas on." He shook his head. "That's why I have organic skin. There are no benefits from having a soft skin with liquid nutrition tubes running through them. It made me more vulnerable in many ways, but adding to that the strange aura ... it gave me a weapon..... Many of the first Sleepers died because their abilities were too extreme or made them too vulnerable. I survived and I found out that there are at least two more Sleeper-descendants alive."
"Oh?" Rodimus was intrigued. "Any names?"
"I have to go through the files first," Midnight said.
"Where are those files?" Optimus wanted to know.
"I have them with me. There are more in the lab and I intend to go back one more time."
Somehow, Rodimus didn't like the sound of this, but he didn't say anything.
Optimus simply nodded. "I want them all analyzed," he told the Sentinel. "It's our history and it might give us a lot more insight and maybe a way to fight the Tji with what was given to us."
Midnight was silent for a moment, then he nodded. "I'll send you everything I have."
When he had left. Optimus rubbed his optics. He looked tired and emotionally exhausted.
"Will you confront Alpha Trion about it?" Rodimus asked.
"For what?" Optimus sighed. "He'll give us an excuse and go on about destiny and things like that."
His second smiled. "Most likely."
"Definitely. I intend to use this information as best as we can."
Rodimus nodded. It was the only thing they could do.

*

Spook followed Midnight down the corridor and watched his young 'descendant' trying to control his aura. It was like an approaching thunderstorm and Midnight was fighting it.
"You didn't tell them about Ralyk," the old robot finally said.
Midnight kept on walking in silence.
"Why?" Spook asked.
Midnight stopped abruptly and the half-serpent nearly crashed into him. Angry, green optics looked at the taller robot.
"Why?" Midnight hissed. "Because it wouldn't change a thing. And because it concerns only me!"
Spook smiled slightly as he faced the much younger and very irate robot. "No, it concerns everybody, Midnight."
"Not after I'm done with Ralyk!" Midnight almost yelled, walking away from Spook and aiming for the entrance down into the chamber of Vector Sigma.
Spook growled a curse and followed him.

And Midnight wasn't cooling down. He was, if possible, even more angry. He successfully hid it behind a practiced facade, but it would soon crack if he didn't talk or make way for his anger. His relationship with Steve was utterly strained, with Steve -- though Interfaced right now -- barely responsive to him, and he knew he'd have to seriously apologize to his partner sooner or later. But not now. Now was time to talk to the only ancient entity he had yet to confront with what he had found on the planet.
Ralyk
Vector Sigma's chamber was as empty as ever and he large globe rested on the small pedestal. Midnight heard Spook slither into the chamber after him but he ignored the serpent.
"Ralyk!" he yelled.
-- Child -- was the soft answer-
"Don't call me that!"
-- It is the truth --
"Oh, yes, it is! And how long were you planning to hide your involvement into these experiments? How long before you confessed in using us as lab mice to run your maze?!"
-- I never meant you harm --
"Tell it to someone who didn't see your rejected models! Tell it to someone who hasn't read the truth! You were raised on that station where our core programs were born! You helped Jaimaa and the others with their projects! You even ran your own, sick little tests!" Midnight hissed, his aura flowing around him.
Ralyk was silent for a long time.
"Do you deny it?" Midnight demanded.
-- No --
-- I was raised there --
-- I helped Jaimaa and the others when they asked for my help --
-- I never took pleasure in it --
-- Experiments are always trial and error, child --
"Of course! But you created life, used it, then threw it away! How many of those shells were still alive when you discarded them because they didn't meet your requirements? There is a difference between running tests on a lifeless shell and equipping it with a personality and emotions first to see how it reacts then! This is sick! It's disgusting!"
-- It was necessary --
"It wasn't!" Midnight screamed. "It was nothing but a game! You used us all! How many had to die before your advised Jaimaa to cut her losses? To propose to let the Quintessons 'steal' Vector Sigma? To continue the experiments outside this controlled environment! And what about the Gatekeepers? You linked them to the doorway system!"
-- It was necessary --
Midnight's aura flared and Spook reeled back from the black hole. "No! It wasn't! When you blew the station you could have killed them all! The shock could have killed them! If the doorway system breaks down, you'll sentence the Gatekeepers to death as well!" the Sentinel screamed. "You tortured and killed my kind! Now you are still doing it! You are using the Autobots and Decepticons! You are still running your plans! You recreated Starscream and you gave Sphere a new body! Why? What purpose do they have? Personal pawns? Will you erase their lives as quickly as you killed all the others when they no longer entertain you?"
-- You do not understand --
"Oh, yes, I do," Midnight snarled. "You are nothing but a gambler, a player in a game. You were raised by the Veneran and you have become like them! The Tji are no worse than you are! You sit back and watch, sometimes interfere, but you never act! How many have to die still until you close down another file?!"
The aura strengthened and brushed around the room. Spook had curled up far away from the Sentinel, watching it all with unease.
-- Stop that --
"Why?" Midnight whispered dangerously. "Afraid of a creature your dear dead Jaimaa gave life to? One she called her pet project? One she gave all the experimental powers she could think of? One who could destroy you!?"
Ralyk rumbled softly, uneasily.
-- You are making a mistake, child --
"Don't. Call. Me. Child!"
And the aura struck.
Spook had no clear memory of what happened next, only that Vector Sigma seemed to distort, then a part of it exploded outwards, forming into a tentacle and hitting Midnight straight in the chest. The Sentinel was flung back and hit the wall. The tentacle followed, slamming him hard against the wall, starting to crush him.
Midnight cried out, though it wasn't more than a gasp, and Steve's yell of surprise echoed through him. The human Interface partner reacted automatically, merging on all levels, getting up shields, pushing Ralyk back. But they had one thing against them: Matrix energy. It was pouring out of Vector Sigma like a tidal wave and went directly at Midnight. Steve slammed up complete body shields, crying in strain and fury as the power was seeping through, affecting his partner on all levels.
>> NO!
Midnight screamed in utter pain as the energy attacked and Steve fell right into an Interface coma, the deepest level of merging, something few Interfaces ever did. It meant surrender to the robot side while also having control over it. But it was of no use. Midnight felt like getting flayed alive -- and it was a feeling he knew from past experience.
Spook roared and finally moved, a part of him screaming to back away, to keep out of this, but the part that knew that Midnight was right, was furious about Ralyk's actions and acted instinctively. And he also knew he had to protect the young robot -- at all costs.
"Leave him alone!" the half-serpent hissed and attacked the tentacle.
Ralyk pulled back in surprise and Midnight gasped, stumbling and sinking to his knees. Spook settled in front of him, wings stretched out, head drawn back to strike, sharp fangs glistening in the artificial glow.
"He is right, isn't he?" Spook demanded.
Ralyk didn't answer, simply pulled back.
"Oh, yes, he is," Spook whispered. "You are behind all of this as well. You helped the Veneran."
-- I did what had to be done to insure your survival --
"By killing others?" Midnight coughed, anger clear in his voice, still kneeling on the floor. Steve was unconscious and what he was receiving from the unresponsive human was frightening and devastating.
-- Evolution happens through death --
"Yes, your death," Midnight growled.
Spook's tail curled around him, holding him back, though touching the cold aura made him shiver and want to cringe away from the Sentinel. Their optics met and Spook was confronted with all the fury, all the pent-up pain, of one individual who had suffered for so long, who was the last of his race and who had always been confronted with the worst of all.
"Don't, Mid," he said softly. "Don't play into his hands."
"What do you know?!" Midnight screamed.
"I know what you know. I am what you were created from, Midnight. I am the basic model." He lowered his head. "I am a guinea pig just like you!"
The black Sentinel trembled and finally relaxed. But Spook didn't. He kept his hold on the slender figure and gently pushed and pulled him out of the chamber. Outside, Midnight sank to the floor, burying his head in his arms. He was weak and beaten, his partner almost comatose and his mind open to him. Midnight could read all the pain he had inflicted on Steve through his anger and his fury quite clearly, and he felt ashamed. They would need to have a long, long talk.
Spook simply sat there with him, silent and trying to be supportive.

* * *

First Aid had his job laid out for him. The dozens of files he had been given by Optimus Prime contained vital and fascinating information about the original, basic and core programming of the different groups of robots, including the Guardian race. But that wasn't all. There were DNA sequences for the artificial skin some of the Sleepers had been outfitted with and they matched his own data file on Midnight's skin. Blueprints of the different generations had already filled a sizable file and there were more coming. He had no idea which file contained what information, so he simply opened them one after another and began to sort the information into his own sub-directories. Suddenly he stopped. He had been at this for two days now, rarely taking a break, and a lot he had found needed further study, but this ....
"Disaster?"
The anthracite colored Decepticon who was a very valuable help and the most effective and brilliant scientist First Aid had ever met -- except maybe Perceptor, though Disaster was a better conversation partner and knew when to stop with the scientific technobabble and talk normal -- looked up.
"Yes?"
"Take a look at this and tell me whether or not it is what I think it is."
Disaster came over and read the files, his face taking on a deep frown. "Protogen?" He met First Aid's visor. "I think it is what you think it is, First Aid. I'll take a closer look at it and then contact Dr. McGregor. We need his expertise on it as well."
First Aid nodded and went back to work, part of his mind still busy with what they had discovered. It meant hope. Hope for Spike's survival.

* * *

Nightmare made his last notes and then closed the file. He had done a check on the team-ups and everything was ready for the next training. He shut down the computer and walked over to the conference room. The Council was holding a meeting, concerning not only the recent developments on Earth but also Nebulos and internal matters. Nightmare was now a member of those called the Council, though it was not official. As one of the training officers for Counterstrike he, and also Riverdance, needed to know what was going on. It was vital. Firefall had not yet returned and the Venerakkin were still holding back, watching what was going on. Nightmare felt anger rise inside of him whenever he thought of them, passive and never getting involved. Not many hung around South Port any longer and fewer were even on Earth. Tarakk and Rikkochet, two Venerakkin who had spent so much time among the Cybertronians, were rarely seen and whenever Tarakk tried to talk to Midnight, she received icy silence. Nightmare knew the anger sat deep, in all of them because the Venerakkin might have turned the tide and saved Nebulos from the almost complete destruction it had suffered.
As the Gatekeeper entered the conference room, he discovered that most of the Council was already there. Megatron came last, accompanied by Cyclonus and Soundwave.
"Counterstrike is complete," Megatron started his report. "We currently have seven working teams and all have absolved their training." He looked at Nightmare, who nodded.
"We have specialized groups," the former Decepticon said. "Riverdance and I need some more time to even out a few rough spots, but we can run a first test in maybe a week."
"Good," Rodimus said. "Some good news. You all know that the relocation of Autobot City is proceeding. Metroplex is on the way. We found a spot where to rebuild the city and connect it to South Port. The Constructicons are currently there to clear the premises and fortify the place. It will be called West Central and receive the same protection South Port has. Most of the human workers are relocating. Not much problems there." He looked at the papers in front of him. "Another matter is Nebulos."
Optimus, who had been keeping in contact with Chaos, had suddenly a very mask-like expression.
"The Technobots have discovered the truth behind the contamination and its devastating effects," the Autobot leader said calmly, though his optics were as icy as his face. "We know that the bombs were spreading radiation similar to nuclear radiation, but it should not have affected those far away from the hit sites, but even minute doses kill people, though slower than others. I talked to Chaos ..... the contamination is genetically engineered."
Shocked silence reigned.
"Bastards," Midnight whispered. He looked cruelly tired, but no one had yet remarked about it, though Rodimus' look had been enough.
Megatron, never someone to have sympathies for a 'race of squishies', simply stared ahead, optics furious. He might not feel much for the Nebulans, but this was just another addition to his already highly fueled anger.
"So there is no cure?" Tornado asked silently.
"We don't know. Chaos is now falling back to the research technology used by the ancient Decepticons on biological warfare, concerning the virus that hit Springer some time ago. We might have a little success there."
Rodimus nodded slowly. "I hope," he said softly.
Optimus met his optics. "And if we don't, the Tji are not only paying for the destruction, but also the death of Nebulos," he vowed.
Megatron's lips curled into a cruel smile. It was what he was waiting for: action against the Tji. Counterstrike was a first step, but more would follow. Mernan was ready as a refuel station and repair dock for the ships, Alean had been set up as a supply base under heavy shields and Moon Base One had enough defense technology hidden inside to vaporize their own flag ships.
They were about as ready for their strike back as they ever could be.

* * *

It was a beautiful summer morning. The sun had yet to develop its full strength and the sky was a clear blue with only a few clouds dotting it. A soft wind blew over the plains. Raoul stood in the shadow of a lonely tree near the mighty river. He had no eye for the beauty of the day. His whole attention was focused on what had once been Autobot City and was now a bustle of people and machines. Mostly machines. Metroplex had left the other night after he had been cleared and was currently on the way to Cybertron with most of the regular staff. What remained behind were the sub-levels of Autobot City, the living quarters for the humans and Cybertronians, as well as the emergency power and generator rooms. Those were now being dismantled and all the materials were loaded into waiting shuttles to be brought to Cybertron as well.
"Hey, Raoul."
He looked up and gave Tracks a sad smile. "Pretty depressing sight, isn't it?" he asked.
Tracks nodded, mirroring the sadness. "It's a shame. I liked it here."
Raoul chuckled. "Me too."
"You are coming with us to Cybertron?"
The human shrugged. "Yeah. What else can I do? I'm too old to learn another job, to conform to some other standards."
Tracks nodded slowly. He had known Raoul for over forty years now and they were close friends. He understood that Raoul wanted to come with them, but he also knew that it meant a big step.
"I'm leaving with the last shuttle," Raoul added and then slowly walked toward the de-construction site.
Tracks followed him silently.

* * *

-- Protogen data removed --
-- Work proceeding --
-- Data input ready --
-- Waiting --

Ralyk was pleased. It surveyed the progress the Cybertronians made concerning the data recovered from the secret lab and was even more pleased when it saw how First Aid and Disaster were applying the data. Part of Ralyk was still ashamed at its reaction toward Midnight's accusations, but at the time its emotions had boiled up and blown. That would not have happened a few months ago. A few months ago it had had restraints, but those restraint were gone now. Sphere had taken a burden off the ancient entity.

-- Closing last file --
-- Moon Base One on call --
-- Alean secure --
-- Mernan systems on-line and receiving --
-- Transmitting data --

Ralyk watched his past finally fall away from him, his responsibility dwindle down to a single task: eliminate the Tji. Everything else had now been taken care off. Cybertron was safe, the Council had its modifications ready for use and Ralyk's burden was gone. Midnight had been correct that Ralyk had willingly helped the Veneran with their experiments, but mainly because they had raised it. Its ties to their race had been close. It had never known its own race and throughout its long life it had found out that there were so few of it left, it would be a big coincidence if one of its own kind came here. When Ralyk had finally realized what it was actually doing, the pattern had been too deeply set. It had taken over life in the space station and simply continued its 'programming'. It had taken the millennia of sleep and the rediscovery of its own 'children' to change its perception, to wake it from its semi-awareness and make it act. The problem was that throughout the sleep, it had changed as well.
Ralyk sighed deeply and stretched out a tentacle-like feeler toward Sphere, checking on her. She was very important for it now; she was its future. The entity rolled around Vector Sigma and then finally settled down.

-- All data transmissions complete --
-- Shutdown --

Not much longer. Not very much longer.

* * *

Starscream stood on a cliff and watched the building down below go up in flames. Explosions ripped through the former fuel depot and it went sky-high.
"Scratch another one," he whispered.
Starscream had not come out of the sabotage unscathed. He had sustained some damage and he needed repairs, but he knew where to go. He had his contacts.
Transforming, he shot off into the sky, already planning his next strike.

* * *

Somewhere else, another building blew. Midnight watched the lab go up in a bright mushroom, then collapse and leave a deep crater. He felt incredibly pleased.
"All gone," Ish muttered.
Midnight had guided the degenerated and sometimes confused robot outside before he had blown the lab that had killed so many of his own kind, that had been the breeding ground for a whole race and which was, for him, like a bad omen. Ish had been reluctant to leave, but he had left nevertheless, too intimidated by the black Sentinel.
"Let's go," Steve said softly, standing beside his partner.
Ish shook his head. "Not Ish. Not go."
Midnight looked at him. "You want to stay here? This planet has nothing!"
Ish smiled. "Your planet has nothing for Ish either. Born here, live here, die here." He gave Midnight a serious look. "You go, you live, you win. You young.... mutation....." Ish glanced at Steve and smiled. "You achieve more than ever thought up."
"Thank you," he said softly.
Ish began to walk off, away from the lab.
Steve watched him until he was a small spot on the horizon. "What now?" he asked.
Midnight looked at his partner, then at the destroyed lab. "Now we go home." He transformed and opened his canopy. "Care for flight?"
Steve smiled. He still looked pale, somehow reflecting Midnight's own tiredness, but his eyes were alive. "You know I do."
As he climbed up and strapped in, Midnight searched for the right words.
"Steve, I'm sorry about everything that I did or didn't do in the last days..... I know I caused you pain..... I .... I ... would never hurt you, but I did. I'm ashamed. I'm sorry."
"Well, you had worse moods," Parker said dismissively.
Midnight chuckled. >>I did?
>>Yeah
The mind-link answer was weaker than normal and Midnight knew it would remain like this for some time until Steve was back to normal.
>>When?
>>You know....
>>Yes?
Steve shrugged. >>Well.... maybe not. Forget it. Just try not to blow again the next time we get a piece of our past solved, okay?
Midnight shot away from the planet and prepared to Gate. >>Promise
>>Uh-uh, don't promise. Just say yes, so you won't break a promise you made
The Sentinel chuckled. >>All right
And then he Gated, his target exit being Alean. He and Steve needed some time for themselves -- to really talk.

* * *

Brainstorm stood in the ruins of the former capital city of Nebulos, his optics fixed on nothing in specific. He felt so helpless, so guilty.... so alone. Of course, he wasn't alone. At least not completely. He still had Arkana, which was more than his friends could say. Chromedome was alone now, Styler in a second stage coma. Highbrow had separated just this morning. Gort was relatively okay, though he showed progressive stage one symptoms and would soon be unable to move on his own, losing his equilibrium and finally have respiratory problems so badly, moving much would be out of the question.
Then there was Hardhead. He was missing and Brainstorm had a pretty good idea where he might be -- out there, running from something he couldn't fight the conventional way. Brainstorm wanted to go and search for his friend, but he knew there was no way to convince Hardhead to come back. There was no help back here..... though there was support.
And he, Brainstorm, was still okay. Arkana was still okay. He was thanking every deity there was for this luck, but it set him so much apart from his friends, he sometimes had the irrational wish he'd been infected as well. Every time he thought about this, he also felt incredibly ashamed, though Arkana had told him he understood it. He felt the same. He saw his race dying through Brainstorm's eyes.
"Brainstorm?"
He turned and discovered Chromedome. "Yes?"
"Are you okay?"
Brainstorm thought about lying, but he knew it wouldn't work. They knew him. Only too well indeed. "No," he whispered. "And I won't ever be."
Chromedome nodded, understanding. "I know. We all feel the same."
"You can't possibly understand, Chromedome, not ever. Just like I will never be able to understand your pain and despair."
A weak smile flickered through his optics.
Chromedome was silent for a long, long time. "I know," he finally whispered.
They stood together for a time, both silent, until the sun set, hidden behind upcoming, heavy clouds. Brainstorm walked back to the hospital camp then, still silent, followed by his friend.
A soft wind blew up the dust and more dark clouds told of another storm coming in.