Chapter 4

The cot was built for a bot Ultra Magnus' size. There would have been plenty of space for him and Knock Out to sit, had it not been for their supplies. They couldn't allow their backpacks to get damaged by the acid rain that was flooding under the cot, so they'd piled everything up in the middle of it. It made a kind of low barrier between them. For which, Ultra Magnus suspected, they were both grateful.

The soil under them had become so saturated that the slab, and the cot on top of it, had sunk quite a bit. Periodically one mech or the other would take the shovel and dig furrows in the sand to drain the liquid, or scrape sand and acidic solvent from underneath the cot.

"So how much energon was left, Commander?"

Ultra Magnus looked over to the other side of the cot, where Knock Out was sitting, hands resting on his knees, which were tucked close to his chassis.

"In your supply pack, I mean," Knock Out added, as if Magnus didn't know.

"It's not your concern, soldier."

Knock Out tilted his head, considering him. After a time he turned a bit to kneel on the cot, digging for his supply pack. "Here." He pushed a number of energon packs over the barrier.

Ultra Magnus took them, but only to prevent them from falling. He looked at Knock Out with narrowed optics. "You cannot afford to let your fuel levels fall. You must head for Autobot base tomorrow."

"My fuel levels are fine. I'll make it. Sir."

Only the fact that Ultra Magnus had already narrowed his optics and prevented him from narrowing them again. Knock Out's smile was slightly too bright and far too confident. And there was something calculating behind the glass of those strange black and red optics.

"Very well," Ultra Magnus grunted, setting the hydration packs to one side. Later he would do a taste-test for poison.

"Why is there a Decepticon in our base, sir?" Ultra Magnus had asked Prime, over a month ago.

Optimus' brow had furrowed. "Did no one tell you that he switched sides? When Starscream attempted to retake the Nemesis, Knock Out attacked him. Unfortunately he broke a relic in the process, but—"

Ultra Magnus had remained silent as Optimus went over a story he already knew. Had Knock Out been acting for the Autobots? Or against Starscream? There was a difference.

A Decepticon traitor was, arguably, more of a Decepticon than ever.

The night dragged on and on, and the rain came down and down. Eventually they started taking shifts, one of them sleeping fitfully while the other diverted the rain.

Ultra Magnus leaned just slightly on the barrier for support as he slept, just his elbow, and he rebooted exactly two minutes before they were due to switch.

He just caught the movement out of the corner of his eye—Knock Out quickly shifting something to his far side.

Hiding something.

"Changing of the guard already, sir?" The word came out more smoothly than normal. "I'll just get some shut eye, then—"

"What is that?"

"Pardon me? What is what?"

"That." Ultra Magnus pointed at whatever was hidden behind Knock Out's leg.

"Oh, that. It's just energon, sir. I did keep some for myself. After all, I—"

"Give it here."

"Sir?"

"I am stuck here, in a pit, in the rain, in the middle of nowhere, with you. I am not in the mood for games, Knock Out. Give it here."

Knock Out didn't actually move, but everything about him gave the impression of drawing back—the way he pulled his legs closer to his body and tucked his arms close, and above all the wary expression on his face. That expression didn't change as he reached beside him and held out an energon pack. The nozzle was open and it was three-quarters full.

The liquid's electric shade of blue raised Magnus' suspicions and a quick sniff confirmed them. "This is high grade."

Knock Out said nothing.

"You've been making high grade. You brought high grade on a mission."

"It doesn't take that much longer to process. No one even noticed, did they? Sir?" Knock Out's voice wavered between apologetic and defiant, like he couldn't decide which he was trying for. "And it provides more energy per liter."

"Leaving you overenergized! Drunk. We work and live around unstable infrastructure every day, we have no use for energon which impairs judgment and slows reflexes."

"I know! I know we live in a dump that's constantly under construction! It's not like I've been binge-drinking in my room!" Knock Out's voice rose. "But you can get farther on a tank of high-grade than on mid-grade or low-grade. I processed it in case of emergencies, and it's a good thing I did!"

"How much of this did you bring?" Ultra Magnus' voice became calmer, but no less stern. With an angry little huff of his vents, Knock Out picked his supply pack off the top of the pile and pushed the flap back.

Knock Out had left out half the items on Magnus' carefully prepared list, and filled the surplus space with high grade.

The Second-in-Command's engine gave a low growl. "Dump those out. Immediately."

"We can't. We need it. We won't get back without it."

"Why? How much mid-grade energon do you have left?"

Knock Out dug into his pack and pulled out a few energon packs. "Just these. I gave you the rest. How many do you have left, sir?"

Ultra Magnus frowned as he made the mental calculations.

Knock Out could have reached base with the mid-grade they had, easily. Ultra Magnus could have just barely made it back. But both of them? Impossible.

"Besides," Knock Out said after a minute, tossing the mid-grade back in the supply pack, "it may impair judgment, but it's not like we have any choices while we're down here, good or bad." He picked up the hydration pack beside him, flipped the nozzle open, and tossed back a gulp of high-grade. "So why not." This time there was a beat before he added, "Sir."

"We're stuck in a life-or-death situation, soldier. This is the worst possible time to get inebriated. It would be one thing if we were above ground—" Ultra Magnus stopped, conflicted, because he had just tacitly admitted that they would, at some point, in some manner, have to use some of the high-grade.

"If we were above ground, we'd risk falling into a hole. But we've already done that," Knock Out pointed out. "This is rock-bottom. We've hit it."

Possibly he was right. As long as they didn't get to the point where they were falling off the bunk, not much more could go wrong. Except the sand becoming so saturated that the pit flooded. Or the walls caving in.

Perhaps "not much could go wrong that they could do a damn thing about" would be more accurate.

Ultra Magnus picked up a pack of high grade.