A/N Just over two weeks, not bad. Thanks again to Tinna Minor for beta reading.


1 week earlier

"So, what crawled up Arcee's tailpipe and died?" Miko was improving; she had waited until they were outside the confines of the base before asking.

"Well, it was close. You saw Bumblebee."

Bulkhead's sombre tone did almost nothing to dissuade her. "Aaaand?"

"And what?"

"This was different. Spill." She tapped her fingers on the dash impatiently. The huge Wrecker stayed silent around her. Miko sighed.

"I promise to… do my Maths homework?" Bulkhead rumbled in a way that was half irritated and half amused. "For a week?" That got a laugh.

"I'm not really supposed to tell you. One of the drones might have seen them, and… let them go." Miko's mouth formed an 'o' of surprise. "But it was probably mal-"

"Viva la Revolution! That's awesome!"

"It's not like that. Arcee said it was limping. Its optics were probably slagged too." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as her.

"But imagine how cool it would be if they all suddenly turned on their masters! The war would be won."

"And we would have killed how many potential allies over the years?" Miko's excitement evaporated. "Believe me, they're programmed Decepticon. They can't change." She stayed silent for an unusually long time, staring out at the passing landscape. Remembering the time only a few days after they had met, when she had seen him in action for the brutal first time. He had pulled a Vehicon's internals out.

She shuddered slightly and hoped he was right. Bulkhead noticed.

"Miko?" She purposefully lightened her voice to reply.

"You can really kill a mood when you want to."


Nemesis

Blade angled her arm to hide her namesake as she passed a group. She wasn't afraid of being found out, but she was practical enough to realise that her pride was less important than the little circle she was meeting with.

Dimly lit corridors blended into each other until she reached the room and cautiously entered.

It was a different room this time, but it seemed the same. They only used the few that had no cameras. Steel was there, of course, along with the miner. Cobalt had named him Double with his trademark creativity. The talkative idiot had somehow ended up naming most of them. The three waited in silence until Cobalt arrived, late and unbearably upbeat as usual. Only he wasn't alone. Blade bristled as she recognised the stiff walk and immobile wheels of his companion.

"Glad you could join us." Blade reminded herself to find out when Steel had become telepathic. He had the uncanny ability of knowing when she was about to do something stupid.

The Vehicon nodded once and spoke, her voice almost devoid of emotion. "Good news and bad news. Good news: Megatron noticed the amount of damaged Eradicons walking around. Knock Out started Eradicon maintenance at 1400."

Cobalt broke in, wings twitching in amusement. "After he fixed his paint, that is."

"Also: we've got another curious. An Eradicon that keeps to the back of groups."

"Cobalt."

"I'm on it."

"Bad news?" The Vehicon broke optic contact to stare at the floor. Her visor dimmed. "Dispatch?"

"Symmetry ran dry. He was patrolling outside M34, his heating systems failed. Ice formed inside his fuel lines and eventually his spark chamber." She buried the sadness in facts, as always.

"Symmet's gone?" Blade's right hand curled into a fist. Cobalt would go and reaffirm it, wouldn't he.

Dispatch nodded.

They stood in silence until the miner spoke, his twin optic bands flashing with anger.

"We need to get out."

"I know." Steel's voice was even quieter than normal, with a determined edge. Dispatch looked up.

"Not yet."

Blade spun to face their resident administrator. Her shoulder wheels whirled forwards. "Not yet?! Are you waiting for it to be safe? It never will be!"

"Blade-"

She ignored Cobalt. "Do you even realise that we. Are. Dying. While you sit there on the bridge and wait for a moment that will never come?"

Steel's calm voice cut off anything else she might have added. "Blade. Let her finish."

Dispatch cycled air, and Blade realised with a kind of satisfaction that the usually emotionless femme's wheels were spinning gently backwards. But the buzz faded quickly and she leaned back against the wall, glaring at anyone who came close to making optic contact. Cobalt glared back, wings flared confidently.

"The closest opportunity is a month away. Maybe less. Depends. Anything else?"

Double's rough voice broke the tense silence. "We lost another small mine to the 'bots. Five of mine, three of yours. Looks like it was the loner."

"Why?"

"He blew up what he didn't take. Complete waste." The miner sounded disgusted.

Steel sighed. All four visors swivelled to look at him as his claws tapped against the wall, the unusual alloy coating the tips flashing in the dim light. It wasn't often that he volunteered information from his post. "The next spark is getting processed this week. The batch will be activated in three."

Claws clenched. Steel pushed off the wall. They had to leave at intervals, so that a bunch of mixed drones didn't show up at once on the cameras. Outside of these meetings the various classes almost never spoke, never mind walked around together. Excluding assignments, of course.

"Two days. You know the drill. Cobalt, with me." The Eradicons left together. The others waited a few minutes in awkward silence. Then Double left and it became downright hostile. Blade ran her claws along her weapon, testing the sharpness out of habit. Dispatch stood completely still, arms folded, facing the exit.

"It's ironic…"

Blade didn't respond to the quiet observation, except by straightening and heading for the door. They had waited long enough. 'Inactivity' would have come right above 'being decapitated' on her list of enjoyable uses of time, if she had wasted enough time to make such a list. Dispatch followed, completing her sentence.

"Just how much variation there is in one spark."

Blade didn't answer. They walked in silence and headed in opposite directions at the first junction.


Autobot Outpost Omega One

Miko was bored.

This was not a good thing in any sense of the two words.

She had done everything there was to do in the limited area they had been unexpectedly confined to: racked up a killstreak of thirty against Jack, been run off the road three times by Raf and decided against further humiliation, watched Bulkhead practice in the base's tiny firing range. She didn't feel like repeating any of these activities.

However, it was getting to within an hour of the time they were usually dropped home at, and she hadn't seen Ratchet's mystery patient yet. She didn't have any idea who or what he or she was and this irritated her. An irritated Miko was a motivated Miko, and so she was planning an escape.

Raf, Bumblebee and Jack were racing. Bulkhead was watching. Arcee was probably in the firing range. If the femme came back, the chance would be lost.

She slammed her Maths book closed and stuffed it into her bag before stretching luxuriously and heading for the door. Bulkhead noticed. He would have noticed if she tried to sneak out too, and this way aroused less suspicion.

"Miko." His voice carried a note of warning that she was immune to.

"I'm going for a walk. I don't need a babysitter." His optics narrowed and he stood. There were times when he knew her entirely too well. Miko didn't even attempt an innocent face, instead going for a selective version of the truth to reassure him.

"I won't go near the hangar." Not the sparring hangar, anyway. The main hangar on the other hand…

He looked at her. She stared back, arms folded. The race continued in the background.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"I'm coming with you."

"Bulkhead…"

"You have the same expression as that time you painted tattoos on me."

"They rocked! And they wore off." She had been edging closer to the human-sized door throughout the conversation. It hadn't escaped her guardian's notice. "And have I mentioned that I won't go near the hangar?" With that, she darted out and started running. The base hadn't originally been designed with Cybertronians in mind, and even now getting around was considerably easier if you could fit through all of the doors, instead of just the oversized ones. She had maybe five minutes before Bulkhead reached the hangar.

It would take less than two minutes for her to get there. As she sprinted through the first cramped shortcut passage, she heard the distinct sound of transformation in the larger corridor. She wondered why they had been forced out of their normal place, instead of Ratchet treating the new 'bot somewhere else or even letting them watch. Maybe the patient was unstable, likely to kill everything in sight. What was the name Bulkhead had mentioned once? Sunswipe or something. A splitspark twin, like Dreadwing. And Skyquake.

She turned a corner and found herself in the corridor just off the main hangar. More mentions in war stories came to mind as she tried to quiet her steps. A femme who wasn't as uptight as Arcee could be good. There had been a sharpshooter…

She reached the corner. Ratchet was trying to fix the energon converter that had broken the day before. Moment of truth: She leaned around further, and for a moment she failed to comprehend what she was seeing. Simple, spiked, purple armour. One wing angling backwards. The pure weirdness of the context delayed the realisation that she was looking at a Decepticon.

A thousand questions and thoughts whirled through her mind, interspersed with the memories of her conversation with Bulkhead the previous week. They're programmed Decepticon. They can't change. So what was one doing in their base? Why was Ratchet fixing him? Maybe he had been an undercover Autobot, maybe… One of the drones might have seen them, and… let them go. Was this the same one, somehow? But how had he got here? Was he even a Decepticon? Potential allies. She stared at him, unsure and unused to the feeling.

She noticed the face below the blue-white visor. Why was the visor blue? Why did he have a face? His expressions flowed faster and freer than any other Cybertronian's that she had ever seen, moving too quickly for her to register any single one. He glanced around, but didn't notice her. What was he looking for?

"Thanks, Hatchet." The low mutter carried easily and Miko almost smiled. His voice was surprisingly normal, with one of those generic American accents that most aliens somehow acquired. He definitely sounded younger than Arcee, maybe younger than Bumblebee too, although his beeps made it hard to judge. Were they all that young? Did he somehow know Ratchet well enough to nickname him? Or he was confused? The results were going to be interesting either way, considering how touchy the Doc got over anything that wasn't his real name.

Her guess was confirmed as the medic squawked in indignation and turned amazingly quickly.

"What?! My name is Ratchet, not-" Miko clapped a hand over her mouth but couldn't stop the laugh escaping. It was half because she needed to do something to release some of her jumbled emotions. Cerulean rings of pure fury locked on to her, but she ignored him, having made a decision. The best way to get answers to questions was to ask them. Her attention was thus on the purple-armoured flier, who couldn't seem to decide whether he was curious, disgusted or scared.

For a moment there was stunned silence, then they all started talking at once.

"Miko! What part of 'off limits'-"

"Hi! So what's your name?"

"What. Is. That." A pause followed his flat question. "Humans c-come. In that colour?" Was he stuttering?

Ratchet ignored him, while Miko decided that since she had been seen there was really no point staying away. If he was a 'con, he was cuffed to the berth. If he wasn't, she needed to figure out why he was restrained. The medic approached her with his hands spread, as though he was trying to catch a wild animal. She ducked past him to stare up at the new 'bot. Or 'con. She was about to find out. He stared back, and his face settled on curiosity.

"Says the guy with a blue visor and a purple insignia. Are you a Decepticon or an Autobot? How did you get here? How-" She was interrupted by the approaching sound of Bulkhead's engine. Oh. Yeah.


I watch Ratchet scoop the little organic up in the moment it notices the engine echoing through the corridors. It still doesn't look at him, brown optics – eyes? – focused on me instead. I tilt my head at its questions. They're smaller than they look on screens, squishier. And loud. The compulsory briefing files did not prepare me for just how loud it is. She is. And small. She fits in Ratchet's hand. Can a sentient mind really be contained in such a tiny space?

Apparently, considering her questions. I don't even know what faction I belong to any more, so I can't answer the first one. And I was unconscious when I got here, though I assume the groundbridge on the opposite side of the hangar played a part.

Her optic ridges (or whatever the organic equivalent is) come down as she tries to figure it out. My head tilts further and she copies me. I straighten my neck, and so does she. The strange fibrous pink things attached to her head bob with the movement.

She sticks her tongue out and I recognise my reaction as disgust. The whole exchange takes less time than it takes Ratchet to walk to the entrance. He didn't notice it.

"If you had stayed with the others, you would know that Arcee is explaining this right now. Go back before I have to deal with Bulkhead. Again." Bulkhead? How many Autobots are there, anyway? He sets her down at the entrance. She begins to protest, but he glares at her. "Now." I don't think many people would argue with that voice. Pattering footsteps retreat reluctantly towards the rumbling of an engine, almost here now, accompanied by muttering in an Earth language I don't understand. He calls after her in what sounds like the same one, and you can tell by the tone that it's along the lines of 'I heard that.'

Then he turns, one hand at his helm. "Miko is returning now. Please feel free to keep her this time. Ratchet out." The engine cuts off, and voices echo instead. The one that isn't Miko doesn't sound happy as they begin to fade further, presumably walking away. Ratchet pauses for a moment before beginning another communication. "Where are you?... Understood." He's using a completely different voice, respectful instead of sarcastic. It's a little scary.

His tone is back to normal as he turns to me again. "Since you've gone thirty cycles without spontaneously losing consciousness, I'd say you're allowed official visitors. Regardless of what some humans think, we have protocol."

"Visitors?" It makes me ridiculously happy to manage a three-syllable word without stumbling.

"Optimus Prime."


A/N And I do not intend to do things vaguely from Miko's point of view again for quite some time.

Questions: What on Earth am I going to call my Nemesians, apart from Nemesians? Are they getting any clearer? Does anybody hate them with a passion or anything, and if so why? Why is naming them so addicting?