Ratchet had cobbled together a long range early warning system that was supposed to give the base warning of any approaching craft, from space or otherwise, but he was no engineer and the system was offline more often than not. As their first task, the Maximals, with the exception of Blackarachnia, who had been assigned to help hunt down the Decepticons using the 'net, were in charge of getting it up and running.

Easier said than done.

Rhinox lifted the heavy cable that would both supply power to the dish and connect it to the base equipment in one hand, and then sighed. "This ain't gonna be pretty," he said mournfully. They had spent the past twelve hours and then some working on it and most of that was Rhinox rewriting the operating code from scratch in order to make it fully compatible with the base's systems, and he'd had to do some work on those as well.

"No one said it had to be pretty, Rhinox,", Primal pointed out, "all it has to do is work." He picked up the heavy dish and those into the air to put in place atop Backrock.

"Oh, it'll work," Rhinox replied, "just won't be pretty." He let the cable fall. "Slag! Is it too much to ask for even the beginnings of ionic plasma?"

"But it's the 21st century," Cheetor pointed out. "They used ionic plasma for—"

"For Autobot City, yes," Rhinox interrupted, "but Autobot City was built around Metroplex and Wheeljack had already taught humans about ionic plasma in the early Nineties. But that was in our timeline. Here, Prime has forbidden giving tech to the humans."

"Yes, he has," Primal agreed in a tone that suggested that he did not agree with the order. "So we'll work with what we have."

"Indeed we will," Silverbolt agreed. "This system may be our only warning against a Decepticon attack."

"Eh, I dunno 'bout that," Rattrap said, "I mean, missiles are probably gonna be a pretty big clue."

"And 'Cons shooting at us," Cheetor chucked.

"Oh yeah, that's gonna be really good indicator."

"And Starscream flying around going 'Decepticons! Retreat!' the moment he gets his aft shot at."

"Don't underestimate Starscream," Primal said sternly. "We've fought him once already and nearly lost. Okay, the dish is connected." He let out a sigh. "Besides," he added in a much more subdued tone, "so much is different in this timeline, we can't be sure of anything."

"Okay, Bossbot," Cheetor agreed, and then; "Oh hey! You think his spark is immortal here too?"

"Don't know, don't wanna know," Rhinox observed, turning to the console. "Commencing POST." He threw a switch. "POST is green, beginning startup sequence . . . also green, Acquiring data feed . . . looks good."

"Very nice, Rhinox," Primal approved, having come back down. He leaned over to get a better look at the screen. "What's that blip?"

Rhinox tapped keys. "Based on speed, direction and distance from us, I'd say Reno to Vegas flight."

"Oh man, Vegas," Rattrap chuckled. "I remember when I was a youngling, an' Great Aunt Arcee took me there. Y'know, they were the first human city to build hard light holos into—" Rattrap broke off as they heard the roar of a car engine and a frantic beeping of the horn.

"Isn't that Bumblebee's engine?" Cheetor asked.

"Yes, and something must be wrong," Primal replied and took off at a run, the Maximals close behind.

As they rounded the hanger, they watched as Bumblebee screeched to a halt and the humans spilled out. ". . . conversion is defined as three c over four to the twelfth!" Sam was yelling as he was pulled out.

"Miles, Samuel," What is going on?" Primal asked. Other Autobots were drifting forward, drawn by the noise.

"Uh, 'scuse you," Miles replied, slapping his hand over Sam's mouth. "That's Doctors Lancaster and Witwicky, thank you very much."

"Doctors?" Bulkhead laughed, "since when?"

"Well we might as well be," Miles grumbled. "He spent the entire trip yelling about astrophysics. It was like taking a math class taught by Gilbert Gottfried."

The slight vibrations in the ground told them that Prime was approaching and Sam suddenly burst free and ran towards him. "Quantum flux is incompatible with organic neurofiber," he yelled.

"Oh good," Miles muttered, "we've gone from astrophysics to xenobiology. Much simpler."

"Organic neural net compatibility with core spark is rated by thickness of myelin sheathing and defined as six equals forty-three over D!" Sam was yelling as he fell to his knees hunched over, clutching at his head. "Continued exposure results in cranial biomatter implosion!"

"Sam?" Prime asked.

"Breakdown . . . breakdown . . ." Sam looked up at Prime. "Help me . . ."

Prime reached out with one hand and Sam stiffened as though he was being shocked and then he glowed, energy and other things the gathered mechs and two humans couldn't even name arched out of Sam's body and into Prime's hand like a vacuum. Perhaps even more unnerving, Prime's eyes were glowing with the same kind of energy that was flowing into his hand.

Then it was over, and Sam collapsed, Bumblebee darting forward, scooping up Sam's unconscious body and running towards Ratchet's med bay.

"What in the Pit?" Cheetor asked.

"He pulled the Allspark energy out of Sam's body," Primal breathed.

"He can do that?" Rattrap looked at Primal. "Did you know he could do that?"

Primal blinked down at him. "Until just now, no." For that matter, he wasn't sure how he knew what had happened.

"I don't think Prime did either," Rhinox observed. Indeed, Prime was staring at his hand, flexing his fingers as though he was trying to figure out what had just happened.

From beyond the hangers came a loud bang and something on fire flew into the air, arcing into the sky and then coming down straight towards them. Cheetor and Silverbolt yanked Miles and Samuel backwards as the flaming object crashed into the asphalt right where they had been standing. Other Autobots scattered as well, shields flaring up and weapons cycling their capacitors.

Primal sprayed the object with foam and with the flames gone, they could see the blackened dish of the early warning system, embedded into the ground. "Is that . . ." Primal started to ask, and then stopped as another explosion was heard and smoke belched into the air.

"So uh . . .we classifying that as a launch problem or a design problem?" Everyone gave Rattrap a look. "What?" he protested, "I like that movie!"

—

Sam harbored a secret fondness for Disneyland, one he hadn't shared with Mikaela originally because he feared looking uncool, but now, well, he wanted to take her there as a surprise date, but that took money he didn't have. Yet.

Still, he all but skipped down Main Street — with sudden lucidity, he realized that this wasn't Disneyland. None of the shops were open, there were no people, and Rarity the pony was seated on a bench in front of a candy shop, casually reading a magazine.

"What?"

"A dream, Darling," Rarity told him. "Leftover Allspark energy in your body."

Sam looked at his hands, half expecting to see them glowing.

"Oh none of that," Rarity told him. "Though we do have to keep this brief. That energy isn't going to last and it is the only way we can have this conversation."

"You're not Rarity," Sam said, seizing on the only part that made sense to him.

"Well of course I'm not—" Rarity broke off as she turned around to look at her reflection in the window. "Oh! Oh my. This is delightful. Well! I suppose I am Rarity after all." She turned her head this way and that. "Ah, I do love a sense of humor!"

"I . . ." Sam shook his head to clear it. "Okay, look. What. Is. Going. On?"

"Ask Samuel, Darling. I've already been over it with him, and we only have so much time until the last of the Allspark energy is gone from your body." Rarity took one last look at herself in the window before turning back around. "So, to put butter on the biscuit, as Applejack might say, you have a part to play in all this."

"You mean like Spike in the Maximals' universe?"

"Somewhat. Though really, that universe . . . well, it started out with a much different purpose than what it became."

"Wait. Purpose?"

"Everything has a purpose, Darling." Rarity patted the bench and Sam found himself sitting down beside her. "But that is neither here nor there at the moment. Here, take a look at this." Rarity flipped through several pages of the magazine and then showed him a photograph and Sam gaped, open mouthed.

In the photo, Jack Darby, a red-haired girl with dark skin and gold colored eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses, Sam, and Mikaela were all on the floor in front of a Christmas Tree. Each one wore a Christmas sweater that was clearly his Mom's handiwork and Sam recognized the sweaters he and Mikaela wore because they had posed for this exact picture their first Christmas together (just eight months ago) in those same sweaters. Neither Jack or the redhead had been there either

Sam took the magazine from Rarity without really realizing he'd done so. "Who is she?"

"Someone who is very, very scared."

"Scared of what?"

"You, Sam. Your good opinion matters very highly to her and she's afraid of your reaction if she comes forward. When she does - and she will because she has far more courage than she gives herself credit for - you need to accept her. Accept her for all that she is, and all that she's done. Because she needs that to forgive herself."

"Why? What did she do?"

"Oh the worst crime of all, M'dear; she lived."

—

The Army had taught Lennox to be awake and alert at any hour, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Especially since being called out to the base in the early morning hours meant he wasn't spending those same hours holding Sarah in his arms. Objectively speaking, that was his second favorite activity in the world. The first was being a dad.

Now he sat at the conference table with Samuel, Simmons, Bulkhead, Prime, Rhinox, Arcee, Primal, Ironhide and Ratchet, and listened with a mix of incredulity and dull surprise as Samuel recounted the events of the previous night.

"A dream." Lennox said flatly when Samuel had finished. "No offense, Samuel, but that's not exactly something I can report to General Abernathy."

"Yeah, it's cockamamie coo-coo," Simmons added. "Last thing I need is get pulled in for a psych evaluation - again - because the half-robot kid had a dream." Everyone looked at Simmons who shrugged. "He's one mind in two bodies. Half and half. Robot. Kid."

"Except, Agent Simmons," Prime spoke up, "it does explain a few things."

"Yeah?"

"Assume for a moment that there is a multiverse. Different universes where events played out in other ways. If that is the case, and if this Multiverse is being distilled down into a single coherent universe, then Samuel's presence, and that of Primal and the Maximals, becomes less of a strange coincidence and more of an effect of that distillation."

"And it is true," Ratchet added, "I did know a mech named Flora on Vega Six."

"First we're hearing about it," Ironhide noted.

"It was . . . personal," Ratchet sighed. "Most likely why -ugh - Pinkie Pie mentioned it."

Simmons' face was now a mix of confusion and anger, and Samuel had to admit; it was kind of funny. "Well ain't that all nice and neat," Simmons spat, "But I ain't never heard of no Jetfire so I don't see —" Simmons broke off, frowning.

"Simmons?" Lennox asked asked after a minute or so.

Simmons shot to his feet. "You!" He pointed at Bulkhead. "Green guy! We're going for a ride."

Bulkhead flicked a glance at Prime, who nodded. Bulkhead recalled his avatar and moments later, they were driving out of the hanger.

"Hey!" Miles entered the conference area. "The machine that goes bing just went bing."

"You mean the energonic spectrometer?" Ratchet asked.

"You say energonic spectrometer, I reference Monty Python," Miles replied. "Either way, it just went bing. Oh hey, who brought cupcakes? Dibs!" Miles started to reach for the cupcake in the center of the table but stopped when Samuel grabbed his arm. "Huh?"

Samuel's eyes had shrunk to pinpricks, his skin pale and his mouth open as he stared at the cupcake. It was chocolate, with white frosting and a pink P on it. Exactly like the one on the nightstand back at the Witwickys.

"Hey yo, man, you're squeezing to tight!" Miles shoved Samuel in the shoulder with his free hand, enough to jolt the other boy back to his senses.

"Apologies," Samuel said, letting go and seeming to pull into himself.

"Jeez, Mirror mirror, if you wanted the last one, you could have just said so." Miles rubbed his arm where Samuel had grabbed it.

"Apologies," Samuel mumbled.

"Nah, it's all good. Alien Robot Science'll fix it." Miles held up his arm. "Awesome bruise."

"It's not Alien . . ." Ratchet huffed. "It's . . . oh fine." He got up and left the room.

Rhinox rose to his feet. "We should be concerned with the rest of the dream."

"You're really taking it seriously?" Lennox asked.

"You've never met a Vok," Rhinox replied.

"You think the Vok of this timeline are behind this?" Primal asked, but he was rubbing his chin.

"Maybe," Rhinox flipped his hand back and forth. "If they're like our Vok, then they like to experiment, and they destroy whatever doesn't work. Maybe they destroyed the wrong thing." He pulled a whiteboard over to the table. "For the moment, we know that there's someone or something that wants to help."

With quick motions across the top of the board he wrote Allspark Piece, Kids getting along again, Jetfire, Poem, He is coming: 1 year, Sir Edward Burton, and Primal has mail. Then he drew a circle around Jetfire with a line branching out from it. At the end of that, he wrote Simmons, then drew another line connecting Jetfire to Poem. Then on the left of the board, he wrote Entity X and Multiverse Distillation on the right side. At the bottom of the board, he wrote Vok?.

"So what's with the freak-out?" Miles asked Samuel as Lennox, the Autobots and the Maximals began discussing what they knew.

"Remember I told you about the dream I had right before you woke me up?"

"Sure - at least the bits I could make out when Sam wasn't Jack Nicholson-ing all over the back seat." Samuel's expression clearly indicated he was thinking Miles meant something else. "Not that, I mean The Shining. 'All Work and No Play makes Jack a dull boy'? Come on, they parodied it on the Simpsons."

Samuel looked confused. "Jack Nicholson? The Simpsons?"

Miles huffed. "You . . . oh my god." He facepalmed. "I have so much work to do."

—

"Slipstream to Thundercracker."

Thundercracker raised a brow ridge. Slipstream was good - ruthlessly efficient, even - but there was no way she'd finished this soon and she was being uncharacteristically brusque. "Thundercracker here."

"Come to the Stalker's brig. Something you should see."

"On my way."

—

The Stalker wasn't a big ship, so the brig was essentially a half deck shoved in towards the stern and directly next to the hull. The ceiling was low and cramped, forcing Thundercracker and Skywarp to duck their heads as they made their way towards the back where Slipstream stood next to a blue and gold mech. Both of them were staring into one of the cells and occasionally glancing at each other.

"Well?" Thundercracker demanded.

"See for yourself," Slipstream said, stepping aside and gesturing at the cell.

Thundercracker gave her a look, but went and peered inside. There, he saw two mechs, both extremely small, sitting against the back wall. One of them was thin and spindly, the other slightly more bulky, but it was impossible to make out any more details as neither had much in the way of armor or even chassis. What they did have, however, was torn, shredded, and ripped. Blue and red-orange optics, respectively, met his gaze defiantly.

"Okay, so?" Skywarp shrugged. "They're small and fragged. Big deal."

"Look closer," Slipstream urged. "The damage pattern."

Thundercracker frowned, but then he saw it. "They're Combiners, and they were joined when they were damaged."

Slipstream nodded. "Which begs the question . . ."

"Where's the rest of their gestalt?" Thundercracker finished. "Have they talked?"

"Nope." The blue and gold mech shrugged. "We were passing through Deltan when we picked up a massive energy burst and found 'em lying in a crater. Bloodshine wanted to slag 'em both, but I pointed out that Megatron would probably want to see them first."

Skywarp snorted. "And he didn't decide that made you a secret Autobot?"

Blue and Gold shrugged. "Used to know a Sec Chief just as paranoid - maybe more - it's all in how you talk to them. Anyways, they're made of some weird alloys and there's organics on the armor. If I had to guess, they're a Nebulon experiment gone wrong."

Slipstream nodded. "Deltan is fairly close Nebulon space. Given the damage, maybe the rest of their gestalt was destroyed in an escape attempt."

"Or are hot on their tail, or the Nebulons want them back or dead." Thundercracker mused.

"Or both," Slipstream pointed out. "And if either or both go to the Autobots for help, we're in big trouble."

That was true enough. A Nebulon on their own posed little or no threat. The problem was, Nebulons traveled in packs and if they had figured out Combiner technology . . .

"We'll keep them as bargaining chips." Thundercracker decided.

"You mean hostages?"

"Potato, potatoe - slag, I've been on this planet too long." Thundercracker rubbed his hand over his face -another human gesture, damnit! He needed to stop watching human TV before all he could talk in was TV and Primus only knew how that would look. He looked at Blue and Gold. "Got a name?"

"Counterpunch."

"You a Decepticon?" Thundercracker asked, looking him over for a symbol.

"Depends. Is Lugnut allowed to recruit mechs at gunpoint?"

"Lugnut can barely tie his own shoelaces," Skywarp snorted, proving that he too, watched way too much human tv.

"That's a no," Thundercracker translated.

"Didn't think so," Counterpunch shrugged. "I'm a merc. Sabotage, smuggling, stuff like that. Though I am looking for work, so . . ."

"Then you're hired," Thundercracker replied. "We don't have creds, but we can keep energon in your tank."

"Better deal than I've had in the past. Would I have to slag anyone?"

"Did you want to?"

"I'm not exactly partial to it."

"That's a funny attitude for a merc," Skywarp pointed out.

"Said I wasn't partial," Counterpunch smiled unpleasantly. "Didn't say I wasn't willing."

Slipstream let out a bark of laughter. "He's competent, at least," she said to Thundercracker. "After Lugnut and Blitzwing slagged Bloodshine, he got the Stalker underway again and kept the crew reined in." Her expression turned sardonic. "Lugnut, meanwhile, spent the rest of the trip on the bridge waving that . . . weapon of his around and either ranting about how Counterpunch would know the glory of serving Megatron or yelling that the ship needed to go faster so that he could serve Megatron sooner."

"Mech's got issues," Counterpunch observed.

"Speaking of which," Thundercracker muttered and walked to another cell. Lugnut lay within, the glow of his optic showing that his repair nanites had fixed the damage Thundercracker had done to it.

"Kill me," Lugnut snarled, "I'll never serve you."

"I don't want service," Thundercracker replied.

"Lies! You seek to lead the Decepticons and replace Lord Megatron!"

Thundercracker laughed derisively. "Hardly. Starscream is off doing Primus knows what, and no one has seen Shockwave in centuries. I don't want to do this, Lugnut, but I will go to the Pit before I see us fall apart."

"And what of Lord Megatron?"

"If he comes back, I'll be happy to step down. But until then, I will do whatever it takes to keep us strong."

Lugnut considered this and then got to his feet. "Then I will follow you. For the Decepticons and the glory of our Master."

Thundercracker nodded and opened the cell door. With Lugnut, that was probably the best he'd get. "Slipstream is my second in command. You're her combat bodyguard. Any questions?" Lugnut shook his head. "Good. Go find Thrust and help him with the Vehicons."

"Since when am I second in command?" Slipstream asked when Lugnut had left the brig.

"Are you complaining?"

"No."

"Then congratulations. Counterpunch, you ground or air?"

"Oh ground, definitely." Counterpunch replied.

"Good. Go see Sunstorm; she's the orange and white Seeker. Tell her to assign you a couple of ground Vehicons and then go see Gripwrench and get checked out for combat."

"You know," Slipstream said, voice dripping with acid, "it's generally a good idea to include your second in command in the planning process."

Thundercracker looked back over her shoulder. The two small mechs were now next to the cell door, watching. "Yeah, but not here."

—

General Clayton Abernathy fit the archetype of Old Soldier to a T, from his close cropped, iron-grey hair, to his wrinkles and the wedge of his jaw. Intense dark eyes and a beaklike nose demonstrated why he was known as "The Hawk".

"Major." Even on a video screen, Abernathy had presence, presence bolstered by his voice, worn to a rasp by years of command. "Perhaps you could clear up a mystery for me."

"Sir?"

"I have two reports here. One, a perfectly standard report of recent events at your command. The other is a pile of hocus-pocus metaphysical mumbo-jumbo!"

"Yes, Sir."

"That is not an explanation, Major."

"No, Sir." Lennox took a deep breath. "The ordinary report is for files and records. The other one . . . is more complete."

Abernathy let out a snort that all but radiated contempt. "Lennox, your 'more complete' report reads like a bad episode of Star Trek. So perhaps you could explain exactly why I shouldn't hand you over to the psych boys and girls for an evaluation."

"Sir, let me first point out that we are in currently unknown territory and I noted as such in the report. Second, we are still attempting to gather information. It sounds absurd, but it does fit the facts as we know them."

"The remanding form is five pages long, Lenox."

"Samuel Witwicky or 'Red Sam' is from a parallel timeline. This was confirmed by Optimus Prime using the Matrix Red Sam brought with him. Secondly, the Maximals are from a parallel timeline where Cybertronians freely interact with humans, and Ratchet has confirmed their bodies are made of advanced alloys and techno-organic components. I'm not convinced of the time-travel part of their story, but their behavior and the way they interact with base personnel is consistent and I have observed nothing to indicate it's an act. It stands to reason that something would have to occur to bring them here and for lack of a better theory, a multiversal distillation is all we have."

"Five. Pages."

"Sir, Red Sam knew things he could not have known. I'd be tempted to dismiss his dream if it wasn't for the fact that Ratchet insists there was no way for him to know about the mech called Flora. More to the point, Optimus Prime has confirmed that a being such as Entity X is not only possible, but even likely."

"An all seeing cosmic entity who likes to irritate Agent Simmons'?" Abernathy's tone was flat and disbelieving.

Lennox shrugged. "To be honest, after working with Agent Simmons over the past year, I find that that's the most believable part."

"You still haven't given me a reason not to fill out this form, Lennox."

"General, I admit that the report is absurd, but this is an absurd situation and we don't have nearly enough intel to er . . . de-absurd it." Lennox lifted his hands in a helpless shrug. "It's obvious that we're in a rabbit hole, can't get out, may as well see how deep it is."

Abernathy considered this and nodded. "All right, Lennox, no form. And as for going down rabbit holes, next time I'm out there, remind me to tell you about a place called Cobra-La over a bottle of scotch."

"I look forward to it, Sir," Lennox replied, making a note to buy a bottle or two of scotch.

"Now, the SAS is pulling out of NEST, at least in terms of soldiers. They will still be providing funding and intelligence, but the only boots on the ground will be ours and the Autobots."

Lennox frowned. "Sir, Senator—"

Abernathy raised a hand, and Lennox fell silent. "Let me worry about Senator Stern. Now, I've managed to pry loose a fresh batch of graduates from Marine Spec Ops and they'll be arriving in two weeks, along with some of the equipment you've requested. The Marine CO, Captain Fairborn, will be flying into Vegas two days from now so that the two of you can get set up and in sync as Fairborn will be NEST 2IC."

"Yes, Sir. Be good to have some new faces around here." It wasn't exactly an unofficial lie, but at the same time, mixed service units weren't exactly common.

"I'm sure it would. Now, there is one more thing to discuss regarding Sargent Epps."

Lennox stiffened. Robert Epps was more than a trusted subordinate, he was a friend. "Sir, Epps has been essential in keeping NEST going. Both in terms of technical matters, and as a field leader."

"Yes, I'm well aware. And that's why we need to have this discussion."

—

In terms of size, Thundercracker's workspace in the main hanger might have been better described as a storage space for a small jet and they needed every square inch. In addition to himself and Skywarp, Slipstream, Counterpunch, Sunstorm, the Vehicon CO Nightbird, Lugnut, Blitzwing, Gripwrench, Arachnae, Sidewinder, and the holomatter avatar for Demolisher were also gathered around the worktable. A poor complement of officers, but it would have to do.

A flip of the switch, and a holographic two dimensional map of the planet formed on the workbench's surface.

"All right," Thundercracker said, "Let's start with the basics. The locals call this system Sol, the planet is Earth. No central government, but instead more than a hundred nation states divided mostly along along ideological lines. Locals are humans; fully organic bipeds who've just barely managed to harness the atom."

"Xenoanthropology?" Arachnae asked. "You don't seem the type."

"I needed a hobby," Thundercracker deadpanned. "Now, the Autobots are here to the southeast. across this ocean, the Pacific. They've allied themselves with the military of the nation state of America, and they're hunting us. We are here, in the nation state of Russia, formerly the Soviet Union, and they've got a history with America. In the two years we've been here, they haven't come looking for us, and we've tried not to give them a reason but that doesn't mean they don't know we're here."

"Does it matter, Sir?" Blitzwing asked. "As you're said, they're primitive, and no threat."

"Yeah, it does and they are," Gripwrench spoke up. He took out a cartridge. "The humans call this a Sabot Round and something about its electrochemical composition punches right through our shields and armor." He handed it to Sunstorm to be passed around. "Don't ask me how, I ain't an engineer or a metallurgist."

"In other words," Thundercracker added, "one soldier is a threat, and a group of them can kill us. They absolutely need to be taken seriously, is that understood?" There was a chorus of acknowledgement and Thundercracker nodded, and changed the hologram.

The image was now that of a crystal pyramid encased in some sort of metal sculpture. Faint runes were etched into the crystal's surface.

"Archeologists recently unearthed this in a region called the Patagonian Desert on the South American Continent." A touch of the button and the image expanded. "Take a look at the crystal. That writing is Cybertronian, more specifically, Iacan Lorekeeper."

"What would a Lorekeeper Archive be doing here on Earth?" Arachnae wondered.

"That's what I want to know," Thundercracker said. "Which is part of why we're going to steal it."

"And the rest?" Arachnae asked, leaning closer to Thundercracker, "is this why you've been cataloging this base? What are you up to?"

Thundercracker ignored her. "For an archive to be here, that means Cybertronians have been here - they might still be here. I want to know who, and why."

"Ah, Arachnae has a point, Air Major," Blitzwing ventured. "While the implications of the archive are curious, we have yet to hear anything about taking this planet and dealing with the Autobots. What of avenging Megatron's murder?" He slammed one fist down on the table. "How are you going to kill Optimus Prime and the humans?"

"We're not going to kill the humans or Optimus Prime," Thundercracker replied.

"What?" Blitzwing lunged over the table, but Thundercracker grabbed him by the crest on his head and slammed him face first into the table, directly into the middle of the projection, which readjusted itself to follow the counters of Blitzwing's head and Thundercracker's hand. It might have been comical in other circumstances, but right now, politics took priority.

"You are useful," Thundercracker informed him, holding his head against the metal surface. "But not indispensable." He cast his gaze around the room. "While I'm a reasonable mech, I'm also the second highest ranking Seeker in the entire Armada and Fourth in command overall. Most of you don't know me, so I've been patient , but the next one to raise their hand against me will have their limbs torn off and then I will drag their torso out in front of the others where I will rip open their spark chamber and let it expire." He pushed down on Blitzwing's head, feeling the armor beginning to dent as he met each mech's optics. "I'm not Megatron. I will never give an order without reason and I will never order you to do something I wouldn't do myself." He pushed down on Blitzwing's head even more and heard the sounds of plating buckle and circuits crack and spark. "At the same time, when I do give an order, you will obey it." There was a slight shuffle as every mech save Skywarp, Slipstream and Sunstorm took half a step back from the table. It was only then that Thundercracker released Blitzwing, who gave him a fearful look and then backed away from the table as well.

"Now, that we've settled that," Thundercracker said, calling up a map, "if we kill Optimus Prime, the Matrix he carries will simply move on to some other mech. So instead, we're going to hurt him, which brings us back to the archive. The archive is due to be shipped to the city of Shanghai in China. There it will have be cleared by customs before it's moved to the University of Beijing. Sidewinder, you, Demolisher, Arachnae and Counterpunch will each take two Vehicons and head to Shanghai. No attacks, but once in China, let yourselves be seen."

"China and America are arch-rivals," Slipstream spoke up. Besides second in command, Thundercracker had made her the intelligence officer. "As such, their espionage services are hyper focused on each other, so the moment we show ourselves, diplomatic and intelligence channels should light up like a supernova in a planetary nebula. The goal is to get China to ask the Americans to get involved, bringing the Autobots with them."

"Once they're here, Sidewinder, you, Demolisher, and the Vehicons will tear up the Shanghai port district. If you happen to kill any Autobots, fine, but your goal is to distract and force them to spread out and chase you. Counterpunch, meanwhile, will steal the Archive. As soon as you have it, everyone goes to the extraction point, where Skywarp will teleport you all back here. As for Arachnae, the Americans will set up a command base in the port district. You have the best sensors so spy on it. Specifically, I want intel on the Autobot medic Ratchet. Appearance, alt mode, weapons if he takes the field. Get data on any humans as well, but don't take unnecessary risks. The priority is is getting a solid ID on Ratchet and returning, everything else is a bonus."

Counterpunch was peering intently at the hologram of the Archive again. "Sir, a question."

"Yeah?"

"What if the archive is worthless? A history book on the Bananian Federation, or something like that."

Thundercracker hid a grin. The Bananians had a reputation for being the most boring civilization Cybertron had ever encountered. Rumor had it that reading one line of Bananian poetry would trigger stasis lock. "Then I get a desk ornament and you all get an extra ration of energon."

"Then I have just one last question." Counterpunch gave that same unpleasant smile he'd given to Skywarp earlier. "When do we leave?"

—

Author's Notes:

Rattrap is referencing the movie Real Genius.

Lennox's trip to buy scotch was not helped by Ironhide, who went to every drink site on the web and found the best scotch in existence. However, the nearest store that sold it was in the small town of Salton on the shore of the Salton Sea in California. While Lennox got the scotch for free, the Salton Sea is now the Salton Lakes and avocados are banned within the city limits.