(A/N: Sorry for the long wait. Besides moving and other things, I had a hard time trying to figure out Bulkhead's POV since I have no idea what an "Energon Farm" is, exactly. After extensive research I found that there is no official description of an energon farm, so I'm just going to have to make it up and hope it works. Here it goes.)

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Bulkhead's admission to the Autobot academy started almost from the moment he was sparked. His initial core programming consisted only of "add carbon filters to ore deposits in field #251, observe the emergence of energon rods, gather energon rods every 20 solar cycles, pack and ship to predetermined destination, repeat". He immediately set about adding his own programming "Get the slag out of here". Stranded in a desolate area, surrounded by ore-rich fields, there were no opportunities for other work. He didn't even see other transformers, he had no neighbors and no one ever stopped here, so he had no chance to talk to anyone.

It was at least a vorn before his simple Breem-wave transmitter, barely powerful enough to catch broadcasts of "As the universe revolves", saved him with an ad for joining the Autobot Army as a Space Bridge Repair Technician. A side benefit of being a Space Bridge Repair Technician is that you "Got the slag out of wherever you were", and you didn't even have to deactivate anyone to do it. By this point Bulkhead had learned to use a limited access library system available through remote downloads, and proceeded to study everything there was to know about space bridges. When he came of official age for acceptance to the autobot academy, he applied.

It had taken stellar cycles to reach this point, but at last the acceptance letter had come. A shuttle would arrive with in a deca-cycle to pick him up and take him to Autoboot camp. When the next harvest of energon rods arrived, he dutifully harvested it, packed it up and shipped it out along with his resignation letter. He had no idea who would read the letter or who would replace him, perhaps they would just throw together another sentiment being with a single operative command and keep it going for another few hundred vorn before it finally came into it's own and quit. He'd been tempted to add things to the letter about how bitter life here was, how dare they create a sentiment being and force it to live in such desolate condition as, basically, a slave. He'd even thought about adding a paragraph on revenge, then quickly deleted all that. Not becoming of an autobot cadet. Better to just compress the memory files of his early existence into one of his lesser-accessed data bases and simply start his life anew, retaining only the knowledge of Space Bridges.

After the letter, after it was all official that he was now considered a member of the Autobot army, everything over the little transistor seemed so much more real, so much closer than before. Suddenly he was concerned with the economy, and the politics, even the lingo of those he'd never even met and was now going to be sworn to protect. Listening to CNN (Cybertron News in a Nanoclick) every solar cycle became a solemn, almost religious duty that he did not fail.

And he even stacked up energon rod bales all around him, and practiced standing in the middle to simulate crowds, so he would easily assimilate from an isolated farm to the crowded city.

When the ship arrived, he confidently boarded, hiding his anxiety at being crammed into a hull deck with about fifty other transformers, pretending his enthusiasm for his first space-ship ride was just the excitement of joining the army, and covering his gasp in awe at the beauty of Cybertron seen from orbit as a cough from all the loose ore deposits in the air cilculation system.

"Geez, pal, you never intake ore dust before?", a nearby red figure remarked.

"Nope. Never had to be around ore at all", Bulkhead replied casually, not wanting to give the wrong impression. He realized from the narrowed optics of several figures that both the strange tang in his vocal processor unused to talking outloud to others, and the fact that his grimy body showed evidence of a life spent surrounded by ore pretty much betrayed him, and now he looked like a liar. His size alone already had the others resenting him in this tiny space, but it wasn't his fault that several of them had to transform just to accomadate him.

"You're so privalaged what'd you join up for?", someone asked.

"I want to be a Space Bridge Repair Technician", Bulkhead replied proudly.

This was met with resounding silence. All the listening to the transistor had not prepared him for actually corresponding with others, and since the broadcasts were never silent he had no idea how to respond now.

"Well, I signed up when I heard about that explosion in the carbon mines", someone else piped up, and this was met with cheering.

"Yeah, me too", a smaller yellow bot, probably the only able to find room enough to sit comfortably, piped up, "They need every bot they can get now, I mean, all of us got to pull together and fix everything we can."

"That carbon shortage is going to really hurt", another replied, "Bots are going to go offline left and right. I just want to find the two responsible and dismantle them slowly, in front of each other's optics. And I want it to be nice and legal", he added with a grin.

This too was met with cheers. Bulkhead was at a complete loss. He'd heard of the carbon mine explosion, and the escape of those responsible, but other than slight remorse that a service-bot had been killed, he hadn't felt moved by it at all. It hadn't really occurred to him to chase down those responsible and torture them. In fact, his persuing a Space Bridge Technician degree was to avoid chasing down and torturing anyone. He saw now that this was in fundamental opposition to the desires of the others here, and so didn't say another word for the rest of the ride.

TBC...