Adolescence

Stahlhand knew something wrong the nano-klick he stepped through the door of his domicile. The air inside was thick with tension. The silence unnerving.

"Tripwire?" he called.

"Here!" his sparkmate barked from deeper inside the apartment.

Stahlhand resisted the urge to sigh. He could tell by her voice that Tripwire was upset, and that never boded well. If there was one thing he'd learned over the stellar cycles in a family unit full of femmes was the art of judging the severity of a situation by the tone of their vocal processors. Stahlhand went to the apartment's main living area. His sparkmate stood near the window, her arms angrily crossed over her chest. His daughter, Dynamite, sat on the lounge, sullenly glaring back at her mother.

"What happened?" Stahlhand wearily asked.

"Ask your daughter," Tripwire spat.

"Dynamite?"

The femme-child turned to Stahlhand and speared him with a frustrated look. "It's not my fault! Those stupid mechlings had it coming! They said I couldn't play War with them because I was a femme. One tried to push me, so I fought back!"

Stahlhand did sigh this time. "Fighting? Again?"

"This is the third time in last five deca-cycles," Tripwire growled. "I was contacted by the education center in the middle of a job - which took me forever to get if you remember! - and had to go collect her. The administrator says if it happens again they're going to expel her."

"Everyone's just upset because I beat those mechlings without any help," Dynamite defiantly protested. "They couldn't beat a scraplet they fought so badly."

Tripwire growled between gritted dentals. "It was not your place to antagonize them. You shouldn't have even been trying to play War in the first place."

"Why?" Dynamite demanded, her facial plates pinched together with indignation.

"War is a mechling's game. It's not for femmes."

"But that's not fair!" Dynamite wailed. "I like playing War. Why do mechlings have all the fun?"

Tripwire looked ready to launch into an angry lecture. Stahlhand could tell by the irritated narrowing of her optics.

"Tripwire, I'll take care of this," he calmly intervened.

Tripwire turned her glare on Stahlhand. "Fine. Maybe you can talk some sense of propriety into her. Primus knows I've already done everything I can!" Then turning her back on the two, the espionage expert stormed out of the living area into the next room. Stahlhand heard the crash of Tripwire taking her frustration out on some helpless inanimate object.

Sighing, Stahlhand turned his attention back to his daughter. Dynamite's body language had become more relaxed in the wake of her mother's departure. She stared at him with questioning optics as Stahlhand walked over the lounge and tiredly dropped down onto it beside the miniature femme. He took a moment to let his tension cables relax and his gears resettle before finally speaking.

"How many mechlings did you beat?"

"Four," Dynamite muttered.

"Impressive," Stahlhand nodded. He couldn't deny the surge of pride that filled his spark at the count. Schooling his expression, he studied his daughter out of the corner of his optic. Only ten stellar cycles old and already Dynamite displayed a fiery personality that no one - not administrators, other younglings at the education center, or her own maternal unit - could quell. It was no surprise that she and Tripwire continually clashed like this. They shared the same hard-headed stubbornness.

"Father, why can't I play War?" Dynamite interrupted Stahlhand's musing. "I'm always the best soldier on the team."

"I'm sure you are," Stahlhand agreed. "But you cannot keep getting into fights like this. It is upsetting your mother and I grow weary of coming home and finding out you've gotten into trouble again."

"But why?"

Stahlhand hesitated. How could he explain the dynamics of their society to Dynamite so that she could understand? How could he make her understand the restrictions and prejudices against her gender? How could he explain to her the idea that Predacon society dictated that she live and be treated as a second-class citizen to her male counterparts? It didn't seem right to have to explain such complicated things to a youngling who hadn't even had her third upgrade.

If only Dynamite had come online as a mech, Stahlhand wistfully thought. Then everything would be simpler. No one ever made a fuss when two mechlings scuffled at the education center. In Predacon society, such fights were expected and even encouraged. But for a femme to do so? It was tantamount to indecency.

"It's just not what most bots consider proper, Dynamite," Stahlhand lamely balked. "Femmes aren't suppose to like games like War."

Dynamite made a disgusted face. "But I do. It's like what you used to do for real when you were in the army."

"War is nothing like being the army. It's only a game. Only the fiercest warriors can fight for our faction. Only the strongest."

"Then I want to be a warrior like you were," Dynamite said. She stared up at Stahlhand with determined optics. "I want to join the army and fight just like you used to."

Stahlhand sighed, unexplainably saddened by his daughter's naïve declaration. In a perfect world Dynamite would be free to fight and become a warrior just like she wanted. But their world was not perfect. Far from it. Theirs was a world steeped with prejudice and injustice. As much as he would have loved to assure his small daughter that she could, in fact, achieve such a dream he knew such encouragement would ultimately only lead Dynamite to heartache and disappointment. Their world was not ready for such strong females yet.

Yet Stahlhand couldn't bring himself to admit such harsh realities to his daughter. He loved Dynamite too much to burden her with so many cruel facts of life at such an early age. To him she was still his little sparkling - a creature to protect and coddle like a treasure.

"If you want to become a warrior than you must learn to control your emotions in the face of conflict," Stahlhand said. "True warriors know when to attack and when to wait for the opportune moment to strike. A true warrior knows when to use their strength and when to retreat. And your fight at the center today was an example of a time when restraint would have been the best course of action."

Dynamite's expression fell, her facial plates filling with distress. "But I only wanted to prove I was just as strong as them!"

Stahlhand nodded. "I know. But a true warrior does not need to prove himself through brute strength alone. A true warrior proves himself through his demeanor and bearing in all situations."

The little femme leaned back on the lounge beside him, her body language dejected. Stahlhand felt his spark soften at the sight of his daughter's self-chastised disappointment.

"If you wish, I will train you in the ways of the warrior so that you can learn to control your emotions on the playground."

Dynamite's head shot up and stared at him in naked excitement. "You will?"

"Yes," Stahlhand nodded. Again, his pride swelled at the sight of his daughter's enthusiasm. "But you must not tell your mother," he cautioned. "She would probably not take kindly to the idea of me training you in the martial arts."

Dynamite eagerly shook her head. "I won't tell." Scooting closer to her father, she looked deep into his optics as though swearing a promise. "I'll become the best warrior there is. You'll see, father. I'll be the best warrior Cybertron has ever seen."

"Perhaps you will," Stahlhand rumbled indulgently.

Although an ample amount of doubt still shadowed his thoughts, Stahlhand couldn't help but wonder if maybe his Dynamite wouldn't yet prove herself to be such a warrior. Perhaps not as a warrior in the Predacon army, but one that fought for the betterment of their race in a different way, a different capacity - the very first one of her kind.

Yes… Perhaps you just might…

To be concluded

Only one more part left. It won't be happy.