Disclaimers in Part 1

The top of Optimus' desk was getting crowded, what with Mearing, Li, and Simmons sharing the space with Lennox, Graham, Hastings, Torvald, Zain, and Glasco.

Prowl arrived, and apologized for being late, having been on hold with the quartermaster's office at Nellis. They had not been happy to learn that room dividers, bunk beds, lockers and other furniture were needed by quitting time on Saturday evening.

Prowl said, seating himself, "Ratchet has been called to O'Callaghan to consult in an emergency case there, and is out of communication at the moment."

Optimus nodded to his 2iC. "Then let us begin. Director Mearing, has the President had an opportunity to consider my proposal?"

"He did. And his orders are to form a new Sector—Sector 14—composed of you and your men, Mr. Zain. Mr. Hastings, he has also approved your request to continue recruitment efforts out of your facility in Portland. A committee consisting of yourself, Optimus Prime, and Colonel Lennox will sign off on all candidates, and submit the list to my office for final approval. Let's be clear: I don't see myself second-guessing you, but I do want to vet all potential Pretenders for security issues before bringing them on board. It would take only one bad apple to do a lot of damage."

Zain nodded first. In Afghanistan, there had been a real problem with extremists infiltrating friendly forces and carrying out attacks on US soldiers. He didn't want to see a disturbed person, of either the imported extremist-religious or home-grown off-balance variety, get into the outfit.

A wider pool of applicants increased the odds of someone like that slipping through. It was only common sense to use all their resources to prevent it.

Hastings said, "As soon as I have secure access to my computers, Prime, I'll get you the dossiers on our next few candidates. We're working with groups of twelve at a time, and we had planned for a full complement of sixty individuals—that being the number that we could reliably supply with energon."

Prime said, "Considering the energon requirements of mecha of your own and your men's frame class, Mr. Zain, I believe that to be reasonable." And it was—a day's ration for Optimus would be more than enough for sixty Pretenders, and that was around the amount that he estimated they had the ability to produce.

Mearing asked, "How long do you anticipate before being able to activate your Sector, Mr. Zain?"

"Our performance in our last mission taught me a lot, Director. We need to train against the bots, with Optimus' permission, and we also need to integrate our operating procedures with those of NEST before joint operations will be feasible. But I estimate that we can be ready for missions conducted strictly as a separate unit under a single command in as little as two weeks."

"Good. Optimus, will joint training exercises be feasible with the energon available to you?"

"We have instituted limited training due to the energon shortage, as you know. I believe it will be possible to have some of the more efficient bots train with S14 on at least an occasional basis, though I will have to clear that with Med-Sci before I can give you a definitive answer."

"Of course."

"May I suggest, Director, that some of the civilians might be effective in that role? I believe Icebreaker in particular would find it rewarding."

Mearing refrained from snorting; Lennox did not. Icy had made no secret about the fact that he was not happy about being bushwhacked so that some bunch of clowns, by whom he meant the Pretenders, could test a new weapon. The Pretenders were lucky that the Cybertronians tended to classify such an incident more as a prank than an attack, if no one got hurt, but Icy was going to enjoy the opportunity for a little payback all the same.

Zain asked, "How long are my men going to be held in that common area or whatever it is before you assign us quarters?"

"We don't have quarters available to assign you," Lennox said. "The new construction is coming along, but it isn't scheduled to be ready for inhabitation until next summer. You can set up camp in that area, or you can bivouac outside until we can get some trailers brought in, but that's the best we can do."

Prowl added, "I am in the process of ordering appropriate furniture and room dividers to make better use of the space, but please bear with us over the weekend."

Zain said, "That's fine. How about removing the excessive internet access restrictions and give us the same level of access available to other adults on the base?"

Mearing said, "As soon as you've been briefed on the precautions it will be necessary for you to take to go online, that can be arranged."

"There's also the case of Michael Sunderland, my computer science specialist. It would be best if he were in contact with his father. Ideally, Sunderland's father would be brought out here."

"Do any of the rest of you have dependents?"

"No, but one of my guys has a cat, and he's really worried about it. Is there a reason why Mr. Sunderland couldn't bring the cat down from Portland with him?"

Lennox said, "I don't see why not, once you build some sort of enclosure for it. Some of the civilian humans have pets, and the Cybertronians also have a few—is it right to call Steeljaw a pet, Optimus?"

"That is how I would characterize him in English, Will. —Mr. Zain, Mr. Glasco, I understand that you wish to have your unit operational as soon as possible. However, there is much that you do not yet know about your new forms. You have not yet learned how to form weapons, or how best to fight with them given the many ways that your frames differ from human bodies. I would advise you to take advantage of the opportunity to learn all that you can. If that means allowing more time to train, it will prove to be worth the investment." He smiled at Prowl. "Or at least it has for us."

Glasco said, "I hope the bad guys give us time to figure it all out, sir. But if they don't, my boys'll be ready to go in a couple of weeks."

Prime inclined his head. "Indeed, Mr. Glasco."

Zain said, "I apologize, but if we could talk a little more about the housing situation. We can camp out in that, whatever it is, that common room, as long as we have to, I guess, but if it's OK with you we'd rather build housing like the base housing that's already here and modify the plans for the needs we have now. It looks like we're going to be here for a while, so, if it's all the same to you—"

Optimus said, "I certainly would have no objection, but we do not have materials for such structures."

Lennox said, "Yeah, the budget..."

Hastings said, "Take that worry off the table. I own the biggest construction company in Chicago. I can get you whatever you need, as long as there won't be a problem with it falling off a truck here."

Optimus said, "We'll accept that generous offer, Mr. Hastings. Mr. Zain, I do have an idea. If you work with the Wreckers at the building site, they will assign you tasks which will teach you the skills you will need in order to build your own housing. That will further significantly reduce costs."

Mearing said, "That's one headache solved."

Lennox asked, "What about training? Do you need anything specific other than what's already available down at the proving ground?"

Zain accepted a file from Prowl detailing exactly that. "No, I think that will be fine. We'll need some heavier weights in the weight room. But we already have all that stuff in Portland, we just need to ship it down here."

Optimus said, "We will move your belongings as quickly as possible."

Hastings added, "That's something I can take care of too."

"Thank you," Zain said, nodding to both.

Mearing said, "Now, there's the issue of identities. We've all heard the old jokes about getting someone declared legally dead as a prank, but this is serious. Right now, you folks no longer exist as far as the IRS and the DOD are concerned. We need to get you set up with papers before we can put you on the payroll."

"With all due respect, ma'am..." Glasco began, to be ruthlessly interrupted by Mearing.

"Do I look like your mother, soldier? You call your mother 'ma'am.' You call me 'sir' or 'Director.'"

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

"You were saying."

"We did not expect to be around long enough to worry about needing papers, sir. We're the first guys off the boat."

Mearing nodded understanding. When the Marines stormed a beach, the first landing craft ashore took heavy casualties. These men were in that first landing craft—they were the first wave whose deaths would teach the second wave what not to do. "Thankfully that isn't the case, but it does create a logjam where it comes to getting anything done officially. We need to get it cleared as soon as possible. For your safety, I strongly advise against an overt attempt to reclaim your previous identities. Mr. Zain, you're the exception to this little problem. You've already created your new identity."

"Well, y'see, I wasn't sick. So I had to think of something else. And since I don't have a lot of relatives who'd ask questions, so it was easy to invent a nephew and leave everything to him when I dropped dead of a heart attack. When the ME agreed everything happened as described, there was no reason for anyone to have concerns about my next-of-kin turning up to take care of everything. The other guys have friends and relatives who would have asked questions, so we couldn't use that cover for them."

"Fair enough. Seymour, how fast can we come up with new identities for these people?"

"Not long for the first few. The problem we could have is that any police department could identify you as Pretenders if you get taken into custody. It would be easier to pass you off as Cybertronian immigrants than to try to keep your current status secret. In that way, your true identities could be marked eyes only and buried within the agency for at least a few decades."

"That would mean giving up our identities as Americans," Glasco objected.

Simmons paused a moment, and Glasco had the impression that he was gathering his forces. "Look," he said finally, "you did that yourselves when you died. We're trying to work around the situation that you created. If I give you human cover IDs, I can guarantee you that they will be blown inside a year, because not one of you has the training or experience to live in deep cover for an extended period. You are going to have a lot less trouble with John Law if you identify yourselves as Cybertronian up front than if you try to establish a human identity and your provable death is discovered later. At that point, the bell would be rung, and we don't have a way to un-ring it."

Zain and Glasco looked at each other, and neither of them looked happy with the situation. Zain admitted reluctantly, "There's no way we could prove our connection to our former lives anyway."

Glasco nodded. "The boys aren't going to like it, but that's just the way it is."

Mearing said, "You are still citizens. Cybertronians are recognized as persons, and you came online in Oregon. If I were a lawyer, I would argue in court that makes you citizens."

Prowl objected, "That was a reformat, not a reincarnation, Director. We do not want to set a precedent that we must re-establish our identities every time we need a new frame. That is far into the distance for most of us, but several of the refugees are due for a reformat now."

Mearing said, "That would only be an issue, I think, if they somehow found a way to reformat from Cybertronian frames into human bodies."

The corollary "And were mad enough to do that" was left unsaid.

The meeting continued, as first one person and then another thought of some detail which had to be addressed. No one was pleased to be there when so many things needed to be done. They were professionals, though, so they stayed, and got the the needed things done.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Jolt had never figured out the human expression "landing oneself in hot water."

He'd been troubled for a couple of days by the emails he had exchanged with Shad White, the child from the Eastland Church who was obviously living in an unsafe situation. Jolt didn't know precisely who to contact about that, but was about to toss the whole thing into his Craftmaster's lap.

The last email he got had been particularly troubling. "Jolt, my friend David, who's gay like me, we were talking and I think Reverend Dowling and his right-hand guy here on the farm caught us. I don't know what to do. It happened last night, and I haven't seen David today. I thought he escaped. I don't know what they'd do to him if they caught him."

That was troubling enough. It was the next paragraph that caused Jolt's spark to flash out of sequence: "Jolt, I don't know what they'll do to David to make him say he was with me. I don't know what they'll do if they find out. One of them was already by, asking me where I was last night. I don't know what to do, Jolt."

On reading this missive yet again, Jolt decided that he knew what to do. Or at least how to start finding out what to do.

But Arcee was busy on Borealis' behalf, and Chromia and Diarwen were on-base but doing translations, which he had learned not to interrupt. If he did, it was often many, many minutes later that he got a word in edgewise that didn't have to do with what a glyph's subtext and possible variations were.

Drift and Excellion were both busy.

Ratchet, he already knew, was at O'Callaghan, because he had been in medbay when the call came through. Another SEAL who fought in Chicago had been on leave in Las Vegas, and collapsed in one of the casinos. He'd had just enough presence of mind to tell the paramedics to bring him to the VA hospital, where a search of his medical records had revealed that he had been exposed to energon: he'd had open wounds throughout much of the Battle of Chicago.

Since Ratchet had been following Kenton's case before he became a Pretender, the attending at O'Callaghan had called him in. Ratchet had turned the bay over to Perceptor, shanghaied Kenton, and taken off for Nellis.

Jolt wasn't really well-enough acquainted with Perceptor to lay his, and Shad's, problem out for him. Which decision he would recognize later as his very first step into hot water.

Prime and Prowl were in a meeting with Lennox and Mearing, and Mearing's presence dissuaded Jolt from involving any of them. If Mearing was on base, Big Stuff was happening.

Jazz, whom Jolt might have felt comfortable speaking with because that bot probably knew more than any other about humans, was off doing whatever Jazz did...and Jolt was just as glad not to know what that was.

Sam was home for a day or two, so Bumblebee was occupied with him.

Flareup? No. Not the base gossip.

Barricade's name did not cross Jolt's processor as a possible confidant.

Ironhide? With the Big Twins, on his way to Nellis with the Pretenders and a fleet of non-sentient trucks, but Pit no to any of those three.

Brains and Wheelie? Not to be thought of.

Wheeljack? Tended to be more comfortable with his gadgets than with people.

The friends he had made among Excellion's crew? None of them were any older, or wiser, than he was himself.

Jolt was, he realized, on his own. What was best to do?

"That would be," said some part of his processor Jolt had no conscious access to, "going to get that kid out of there."

He had the next eight joor off. He ran the distances and the numbers. He'd be back a bit late for his next shift; he commed Moonracer, whom he was relieving, to let her know that.

Next he sent Ratchet an email saying where and why he was going, and that he had helped himself to sufficient ethanol to keep his lines clear. He knew it wouldn't be read until the medic's current consultation patient was in the clear, but it was the best he could do.

And then, in hot water up to his ankles, he headed north and east.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Just as Jolt was leaving the base on his self-declared mission to rescue Shad, Optimus had the commissary bring in dinner for the humans and energon rations for the bots.

Prowl's alt being a high-performance motorcycle, he preferred his energon with a little titanium to counter wear and tear. He suggested that the two Pretenders try a little, in much the same way that one would pass the salt, and they discovered that consuming energon could be, in fact, a pleasant meal—not just necessary sustenance.

It was a beginning. They were a long way from integrating the Pretenders with the Cybertronians, but it was a beginning.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Jolt's journey was about three-quarters complete when the Kansas Turnpike merged with I-70.

Problems began almost immediately. His hologram couldn't pick up the ticket the Turnpike spat out for him. Eventually, he shrugged and drove on.

But the Kansas Turnpike Authority neither sleeps nor winks. It does, however, take pictures of those vehicles which it suspects of being piloted by malefactors. The hot water Jolt was already in rose as far as his knee hinges.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Troop G of the Kansas Highway Patrol is tasked with keeping the peace on the Kansas Turnpike. There is always a trooper stationed at the terminus of the turnpike at the Missouri state line, this being where all drivers are required to pay before being set free into Missouri. Skullduggery around paying on their parts, should it occur, happens here.

The trooper on duty at the time of Jolt's exit from the Turnpike had been with the Patrol for thirty-five of his fifty-seven years; this was his last active-duty shift. He had enough smarts and experience to keep one eye perpetually trained toward the goings-on.

Before he went on-shift, he'd bought his eldest grandson's birthday present and the gift bag in which to present it; he'd be off at six AM, three and a half hours away, and had missed the birthday party, but he'd be by. He was shortly to be very happy that he had declined having it gift-wrapped.

This wasn't his usual gig. Influenza was sweeping through the Troopers, and most of his guys were down with it. One of the few who wasn't should have been standing this shift, but his wife went into labor.

Sometimes, you did what you had to do. Harrington had called his grandson, offered his excuses regarding the birthday party, and said that he would be by at shift's end in the morning, about six-thirty, just in time for his son's family's breakfast.

Jolt got into line. The hot water inched up to his skidplate, though he was not aware of this fact.

Jolt didn't refuse to pay; he simply had no cash with which to do so. He could complete an electronic transaction, but the attendant wasn't about to allow him to direct access to the system, and he had no credit or debit card. She sent a signal to Trooper Harrington, and asked the driver of the Chevy to pull into the Red Zone, reserved for troublemakers.

She didn't describe it that way, of course, just gave the average-looking guy in the Chevy directions.

Harrington pulled up behind Jolt, got out of his Crown Vic, and walked up the Chevy. "Sir," he said to the driver, "may I see your license, registration, and insurance, please?"

He was well ahead of the rest of Troop G for the weekly Most Out-of-State Busts on the Pike, and was quite sure he had another here. Even though the week didn't end until he'd been retired for a day, he was confident he'd have a full year's worth of Mosts.

He would, though by a narrower margin than he expected. Jolt's holographic "driver" said, "I am a Cybertronian. I am registered as an autonomous vehicle in the State of Nevada, and the Federal government has issued me a green card. I will have to transform, assume bipedal form, to get those documents and my insurance certificate for you."

Over the thirty-five years of his service, Trooper Harrington had seen his share of "I'm an alien" excuses. None of the others had ended happily. Therefore he narrowed his eyes at Jolt and said, "All right, let's see you do that."

"Please stand a little further back, Officer."

"It's 'Trooper.' And no, I won't. You just want enough room to run in."

Jolt considered his options, found he really didn't have any beyond a time-consuming argument with the trooper, and transformed. Trooper Harrington clapped his hands over his ears and narrowed his eyes again, this time against the rush of displaced air.

"Holy crap," he said, wide-eyed, "you weren't kidding."

"No," said Jolt. "But I don't have any cash to pay, and no credit card."

"You know what? If you'll sign a book I bought for my grandson's birthday, I'll pay your toll."

Which Trooper Harrington knew could not be more than $10.75. That was, he figured, a very cheap way to make his grandson extremely happy.

So it was that he paid $2.75, and Jolt signed both his English name and his Cybertronian glyph in the front matter of a book entitled, "Aliens Among Us: the Cybertronians on Earth."

The young medic bade thanks and farewell to Trooper Harrington and escaped into Missouri, the hot water back down to his knees.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The Wreckers, as they were wont to do, were consuming their day's ration of energon together when Wheeljack raised his helm suddenly.

"What's goin' on, Jack?" Roadbuster said.

"Oh...Ratchet's upset about something," Jack said, and finished off his energon.

Roadbuster and Bulkhead exchanged glances, but not, for a change, swears. The Contest was looming, and the Wrecker coding was ever more imperative that leadership of the clan be settled.

They didn't dislike each other, but attempting to ignore one's coding if one is a Wrecker works about as well as attempting to ignore an urgent need to use the restroom if one is human. They broke the gaze quickly.

Wheeljack's membership in the Wreckers had puzzled Hot Rod and Bulkhead until they realized exactly how skilled at explosives management Jack really was. That would have been an invaluable skill before the war got serious.

Once it did, Jack had proven himself over and over again: no coward he, though it was also true that he did not have frontliner's skills or training. Before the war started, he had not had the incentive to acquire them. Once it was underway, he realized he was too far behind the starting line, so to speak, to enter that particular race.

He had made himself as useful as possible, becoming the Wrecker's EMT among other functions, and that seemed to be enough. He was a valued member of the clan.

If, as the humans put it, you messed with any Wrecker, you messed with all of them. Messing with Wheeljack would bring their collective wrath down upon the messer.

So the glances that Roadbuster and Bulkhead exchanged spoke volumes. Roadbuster's glance said, "What are we going to do about this?"

Bulkhead's replied, "Nothing yet. They're big kids. They'll figure it out."

After a thoughtful pause, just before they broke optic contact, Roadbuster's glance added, "We may have to Have a Chat with Ratchet about it, though."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Ratchet raced from Mike O'Callaghan Memorial Hospital to Mission City with his lights and siren working. He'd justify it later, or pay the fine if he had to.

The noise did not interfere with a furious transmission to Optimus: ::I got an email from Jolt, and that young idiot has taken off to get a kid out of the cult compound in Missouri!::

Optimus returned a startled, if somewhat rude, glyph. ::The child is in danger?::

::It seems Jolt thought so! He didn't give me any details, but he's on his way there now. I haven't tried to contact him, since we don't know where Soundwave's bunch is.::

::Yes. Come straight to the airfield when you get here; we will be ready to leave.::

Ratchet didn't bother to transform, just horn-blasted Silverbolt's ramp clear of humans and rolled to a stop inside. Silverbolt sent, "Ramp closing: clear!" in human-audible frequencies, did that little thing, and joined his brothers in the air.

It was ten minutes to one of a Sunday morning; ten to three AM in Missouri. They'd be at Scott AFB in Mascoutah, Illinois in three hours; the airfield was roughly an hour away from the compound.

The go-team was formidable: Optimus Prime, Diarwen ni Gilthanel, Ironhide, Jazz, Prowl, and Ratchet himself. The only question left was whether they would get there in time to prevent a murder, or too late to do more than solve it.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

"Shad?" Zeph Neilson said, just as Shad finished with the horse he'd been plowing with that day, and was starting to clean the leather harness.

"Mr. Neilson?" Shad said, trying to ignore the pounding of his own heart.

"Where was you last night?"

Shad blinked. "Home in bed, sir."

"Alone?"

Another blink. "Yes sir."

"That's hard to prove, boy," Zeph said, and Shad was suddenly aware that so far as he knew, he and Zeph were the only ones in the barn.

"Why would I have to prove it, sir?"

Zeph eyed him, then snorted and turned away.

End Part 7