Disclaimers in Part 1

Just like all the other invertebrate hunters, Chip was outfitted with a trident (a spear whose business end was three heads, spaced closely together) and a UV headlamp.

The UV goggles he had developed weren't quite so effective as he needed them to be to clear the play area. He'd play with them when he got back, maybe ask Mikaela—Chip smiled—for help with the problem.

"They sure are pretty under the UV light," he philosophized, and speared another scorpion.

Jazz, currently haunting his chair, said, "Yeah, they sure are." And they were, a sort of screaming aqua.

Jazz would have preferred to hunt on his own, giving his new body another trial run, but Ratchet had asked them to team up.

"Chip's hunting with us. I want you to hitch a ride on his chair; your primary job is to keep any scorpions off it," the medic said, tinkering with Jazz' elbow. "Any other scorpions you get are a bonus."

Thinking about it, Jazz had put his disappointment aside. There were too many variables here—rough terrain being the most severe—for him to give the new place to live a good airing. And Chip, who had saved Skysong's life, very likely, was pretty high on Jazz' list of "People of any species I'd do a lot for." No, being unable to hunt scorpions with the rest of the gang was a small, a very small, disappointment once he remembered that.

The humans in the group wore heavy leather gloves, which allowed Chip to clean his spear of the kill. The Cybertronians had no need of such but a little thought had persuaded Ratchet (who rather felt it was his job to foresee and prevent disasters) that having a human climb up onto a venom-coated servo was…something to avoid. They too wore gloves, although they weren't leather. Que was quite proud of having come up with the fabric, and the US government had expressed intense interest in acquiring the formula.

Money rollin' in, Jazz mused.

Que himself was the source of bright-red puffs of light, directed by Diarwen. Alone of them all, she could "set" herself to find scorpions which had just molted, and were therefore not fluorescent. Que's weapon was a handheld laser, recently developed by himself, and of real interest to both the government and Ratchet, who saw it as a multi-metal welder.

And then, the puffs stopped, and Que's voice came across the desert floor. "I…can't kill that one."

Diarwen, sounding somewhat less than amused: "Why not?"

"She has her children clinging to her back."

"Oh, for Primus' sake," said the elf, and clambered down his plating. She took out a sample bottle, placed it upside-down over Mama and all her scorplings, and handed Que the lid. "Here. Punch some airholes into it. Lots of very small ones, please."

At the end of the hunt, Mama was escorted to med bay and given to Dr. Parker, who arranged a lovely week of catering for her and her brood to show her son and all the other NEST brats, including three very curious sparklings, what scorpions were like. On Day Eight she transported the lot of them a long, long way to a brand-new life, and gave them back their freedom.

Because no one on the base was willing to kill babies. Of any species.

Now, though, the Sidhe grumbled and put the baby carrier into her BDU cargo pocket, and went back on the hunt with Que.

Jazz used the stereo that Kentuckian had rigged on his chair to ask, "You got anythin' in your sights?"

"Not just now."

Jazz reversed the chair smartly, and crushed a scorpion under the wheels.

By two AM, they had finished: no screaming-aqua creepy-crawlies crept anywhere within the small forcefield Que erected to keep them out, not even after he had Optimus hold the VBUV (Very Big Ultra Violet) lamp as far overhead as possible, which filled the area with the ghostly purple light.

Fair enough. Time to go home. Parker had put herself on this shift, so that if anything went wrong she was there; she graciously accepted a jar filled with scorpions, and the hunt was over.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Optimus, Chip, Jack, Diarwen and Jazz had just finished their usual morning meeting. Jazz had his frame, and had spent the morning sparring with Optimus. He was keeping it slow, under strict orders from Ratchet—they didn't want damage to the frame, which would slow down the process of attaching to it.

Chip was modifying his tae kwon do katas to use from his manual, sports wheelchair. Jack was a beginner, still learning his first kata; Chip often stopped what he was doing to give him a few pointers.

After Diarwen finished her sword dance, she laid her weapons aside and offered to be his sparring partner.

She quickly found that she did not need to hold back any more than she would with anyone else. Dr. Parker had recently given Chip the go-ahead to do anything he was able to do in the gym, aside from falling farther than the lowest seat-height on his chair, or getting kicked in the back, since it would be a few more weeks before his fractures were completely healed.

They policed the circle of sand once more to be sure there were no rocks, but found none, since Diarwen had already cleared them out.

They couldn't do any defense against weapons moves, because Diarwen did her sword dance with a live blade and didn't have practice weapons with her. But she quickly ran through her beginning forms and then found Chip easily defending against intermediate to advanced moves.

This was not just some guy in a wheelchair. This was a United States Army Ranger who was adapting his combat style to his current situation.

After ten minutes, they had enough of a feel for each other's style to move on to contact free-sparring. "Contact" did not mean a full-out strike—it meant just that, a simple touch. They knew what the result of an actual hit would be.

Jazz, Optimus, and Jack all stopped and stared the first time Diarwen threw a snap kick. Chip caught her ankle and twisted, throwing her to the sand—and came out of the chair, landing several pulled punches on the back of her head. She got clear, but by the time she jumped to her feet, Chip was back in his chair grinning at her.

That scenario repeated itself several times, with both of them equally likely to be attacker or defender. Diarwen quickly demonstrated to the two bots that, in order to strike Chip, she had to step into his circle. Her greater mobility was useful to get out of his way, but if she could attack him, he was automatically in a position to counter-attack: and he wasted no opportunities to do so.

That was not to say he wouldn't have been at a disadvantage in a real fight, of course. But against an unarmed attacker, especially one who was not trained at his level, Chip Chase was not at the level of disadvantage one might assume.

After they finished sparring, Chip, Jack and Diarwen did a series of cool-down stretches, then settled down in a circle for fifteen minutes of meditation. Chip and Jack weren't so sure about that; meditation wasn't part of their background, as it was for the others. And, unlike Chip, Jack hadn't caught on to energy manipulation. This was a disappointment to him because he had hoped to learn healing magic.

They were heading back to base when Ironhide pinged Optimus. ::Want to make a trip into Vegas today?::

::I suppose so, why?::

::Sarah says that the playground equipment is there, and it will probably take both of us to haul it back here.::

::What do they have, anyway?::

Ironhide sent him a list. ::It looks like everything you'd find in a playground for human children. All we need to build are things for the sparklings to play on, and the shelter for the cooking area and picnic tables.::

::We will be there in a breem,:: Optimus replied.

Diarwen rode into town with Optimus, and Sarah went with Ironhide. They could have used their holoforms, but they had discovered that the holoforms sometimes caused the same kind of road hazard (creating double-takes from neighboring drivers) as trying to travel without any driver at all did.

Holoforms sometimes flickered, and maybe that was it, but Optimus was beginning to suspect that many humans sensed auras without realizing they were doing so. When they looked at a vehicle and saw a driver sitting there, but didn't see an aura, they knew something was wrong even though they couldn't explain what it was.

Que thought that was an interesting hypothesis. He was considering ways to add an energy field to the hologram.

When Optimus told Diarwen that, her eyes widened. "Is that possible?"

"I have learned not to use the word 'impossible' where Wheeljack is concerned," he replied.

Now, sitting in the "driver's" seat in Optimus' cab, Diarwen said, "These things cannot be cheap. How did Sarah pay for it all?"

Optimus said, "She posted a picture of some of the children playing in the sand on a web site frequented by military wives, and the donations flooded in. It seems that the company which makes the playground equipment gave them a very good discount on it as well."

"That was so generous of them! We will have to remember it the next time a similar appeal is posted on that site," Diarwen said.

"Indeed. I will put it on the list of sites that I monitor."

"Write them a paper letter as well, and be sure they know they have your permission to use it. That will generate business for them, the best way we have of saying 'Thank you.'"

"A very good idea. I'll do that."

A woman with a cell phone glued to her ear cut in between him and Ironhide. Optimus emitted a burst of energy that dropped her call, and when he was sure she had control of her vehicle, honked his horn at her. She gave him the hairy eyeball, which quickly morphed into a lightbulb-over-the-head moment when she realized exactly whom she was hairy-eyeballing, but she did drop the phone into the passenger seat.

Over the comms, Ironhide was laughing.

Diarwen shook her head. "Some sort of common sense test should be required to get a driver's license," she said, as Cell Phone Lady ducked down the first off ramp they came to and slunk away into the suburbs.

"I begin to understand," Optimus said dryly, "about getting one's license from a Crackerjack box."

"Oh, those are the good ones," Diarwen said. "Epps is sure some of these people cut theirs off the back of a cereal box."

A few minutes later, they pulled into a freight depot on the outskirts of the city, and the two Cybertronians waited while Sarah and Diarwen went in the office to sign the paperwork.

Workers with forklifts brought boxes out, and Optimus and 'Hide quickly loaded the trailers. Optimus helped Ironhide check all the tiedowns on his flatbed, then they let the warehouse guys take pictures with them before heading back to base.

Diarwen teased, "You will be a Facebook star again for a while."

"I do not think of myself as any sort of star, but Director Mearing feels that anything we can do to gain people's goodwill is likely to be beneficial in times to come," he said.

Diarwen nodded. "She is right."

"Diarwen, I have a question. What is the purpose of dedication? Is it the same as initiation?"

"You mean, the ritual?"

"Yes."

"Many people feel a need to dedicate themselves to their deities. It can be a statement of devotion, of love, of purpose, of gratitude...of family tradition...there are many reasons. In my tradition, not everyone dedicates him or herself to one of the Gods, especially exclusively. Many people honor all of the Gods. I did not dedicate myself to Brigit until I became Her high priestess.

"Initiation is a different thing, and typically follows one's year-and-a-day and takes place once the would-be initiate has learned whatever the tradition in question considers basic knowledge. It is a statement of the initiate's solemn, considered intention to follow that specific path. It is a commitment. For many people born into a religious path, it is a coming-of-age ritual. Does your tradition not have parallels?"

Optimus said thoughtfully, "We do...of sorts. As soon as I was made Ironhide and Chromia's fosterling, they took me to the temple at Simfur to dedicate me to Primus' service. My parents probably did so as well, but if they did I have lost the memory of it. Due to my caste—clerks were a lay priesthood—it was necessary so that I could receive my programming upgrades and training. There were coming-of-age ceremonies when I became a youngling and an adult mech, but by then I was known to bear the sigil. It was not my decision that was of any consequence, but that of Primus."

"At some point, Optimus, even if Primus Himself has given you your marching orders, you have to say 'Yes sir' and accept the responsibility. Is that not so?"

He replied, "Not in our tradition. I was never told that I had a choice. I was told that it is so, by the Will of Primus, and to disobey was to Fall."

"I see," Diarwen replied, troubled.

"I have always wondered how things might have been different if the Fallen, and later Sentinel, had been given the opportunity to reflect upon whether this truly was the path they were meant to follow. We are chosen as new sparks, but no one stays the same from sparklinghood to full mecha upgrade."

Diarwen nodded. "Perhaps this is one of the answers that you are meant to begin seeking during your year-and-a-day. I do not know—it may be that you made the choice in the Lands Beyond, before you were sparked a Prime."

"Perhaps. After all, had Jazz not made the decision to return to assist us in our fight against Soundwave, he would still be in the Well of All Sparks with his bondmate."

"That's so. Also, yours is a very old tradition. Traditions are shaped by the culture that gives rise to them, and by the religion which expresses them. Perhaps it was the decision of the priesthood that all young Primes would be raised to that life."

"To speculate on that was called blasphemy."

"It has been my experience that it is generally priests more than gods who define blasphemy," Diarwen replied dryly. "The Gods advise us that things are or are not likely to be beneficial to us. It is priests who decree, you shall, or shall not, do these things, upon pain of utter destruction. Only rarely do the Gods say to us 'I command' or 'I forbid.' And when They do, it has little to do with the exalted standing of priests, and everything to do with dire necessity."

"Yet, all the majority faiths here have their Ten Commandments, their Golden or Silver Rule."

"Yes. You will have to ask the chaplain about that...and I would advise you to do so. I can give you only a basic overview of world religions, and I think that you should understand them. As an outsider looking in, I see great similarities between the Cybertronian path and that of the various monotheists. But I am not the one to teach you of them—you know my history."

"I do. Few with your grievances would give their enemies such a fair hearing."

"To begin with, respect for our enemies is required of those who follow my warrior code. And for another thing...the Burning Times were a horrible nightmare. If understanding can help to prevent such a thing from ever happening again, then perhaps there will never again be a need for me to raise my sword against them."

"May it be so," Optimus replied.

"Amen," she replied, which puzzled him until he found its definition: it too meant "may it be so," in the ancient language of a monotheistic tribe.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

The playground site was already under construction when they arrived. Sarah had left the plans for the playground with Crossfire, and the Tractorbots had already made a good start on preparing the surface. A human contingent was constructing a tall chain-link fence around it, while the Wreckers were building the shelter. Killstrike and Burnout were digging a ditch for the utility pipes and cables from the base. Another group of humans were putting those in, and the Little Twins were filling the ditch behind them.

Sarah stood on Ironhide's running board, holding on with one hand and shading her eyes with the other. "Wow! This is coming right along!"

Ironhide called, "Hey, Crossfire, where d'ya want us to put this stuff?"

The gestalt leader considered, then pointed out a space that had been set aside for a basketball court. "Set it over there for now."

Sunstreaker and Jolt came over to help unload the trailers. Swings, sliding boards, a jungle gym, a "rock" wall, seesaws, other outdoor toys. Picnic tables, charcoal grills, the other necessities for the shelter. The materials for the shelter itself. Park benches. Light poles. Trash cans.

And that was just the part for the humans.

One of the foundations that they were building was for an odd-shaped structure of interconnected platforms and interesting shapes to climb on or fly around. There were several places to perch and watch the goings-on below, some designed for recharging in the sun, and some sheltered against the midday heat.

All could be reached by climbing, and all the climbing surfaces were designed to prevent a fall of more than ten or fifteen feet. Everything had been designed with Skysong's limitations in mind, but also made to remain of interest as she transcended them.

Another group of moms and older children arrived in work clothes, carrying tool boxes; Roadbuster and Crossfire consulted, then put them to work building the ball shed. Soon the racket of power saws and hammers added to the already-prodigious noise level.

Once everything had been offloaded and the trailers were out of the way, it soon became obvious that Prime and Ironhide were too big to be of much help. Prime offloaded Roller from his trailer, then he and Ironhide went back to base.

Diarwen stuck close to Roller. She knew that once Optimus got back to Admin, he'd have people coming at him from all sides with the million and one tasks he had to complete every day. Roller was just independent enough to get himself into trouble sometimes when Optimus' attention was on something else.

The Sidhe and the remote started out filling a pit at the bottom of the sliding board with soft mulch, because as sure as anything, some child would certainly try sliding down it head first.

Chip and Kaela began setting up the breaker box for the shelter house. It had started out as a place for a few picnic tables, with a community charcoal grill, but with the donation of a dorm fridge, a microwave and a sink, it had become an outdoor kitchen as well. Therefore, the breaker box. With the box in place, when the utilities got to them, they'd be ready to wire into it and then run wiring from there to everything else.

They were focused on their own part of the job, and so didn't notice that one of Epps' sons, working in the rafters above them, was having trouble with a long two by four—until it got away from him.

Kaela heard him yell and knocked it away from Chip and herself—only to land in the Kentuckian's lap, in front of everybody whose attention had been attracted by the boy's shout.

Kaela reddened and jumped up like she'd been scalded. Chip didn't say a word, just grinned ear to ear.

The young engineer handed the two by four back up to the Epps boy. "Bobby Junior, you'e working, not playing. Watch what you're doing up there! Someone could get hurt!"

"Yes, ma'am." But the thirteen-year-old was snickering as he nailed the piece into place.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Jazz had got permission from the Denver authorities to tap the feed from their traffic cams. He was inhabiting his frame at the moment, decidedly more comfortable than the mainframe, and when he wasn't in it, he could use the mainframe as a remote to process the data feed from the cameras.

The frame was still at a very rudimentary level of functioning—but he had movement and senses.

Wheeljack was working on the subsystems separately in his lab. Jazz knew there were a number of procedures in his future to get them all installed. He also knew that in many cases, "working on the subsystems separately" was a euphemism for "cleaning up and refurbishing things that had been salvaged from his original frame."

All right. A long time ago he had put in his medical records that everything possible should be salvaged from his frame if he went offline. Humans were getting to the point where they could do the same thing, transplant organs from people who didn't need them anymore to others who desperately did. It was just common sense. What they had consigned to the depths at his funeral—which, unlike Tom Sawyer, he had missed—had been so damaged as to be beyond recovery.

He also knew they didn't have the ability here to build most of those subsystems. He was lucky that Ratchet had been able to harvest what he had, and that nobot had needed them in the meanwhile.

But it still creeped him out.

He had always thought of life as one thing and death as something else. But now they were getting all mixed up, and it confused and even—Pit, he was mature enough to admit it scared the slag out of him. He didn't know if he was alive or dead or something in between, and that scared him.

Aaaand...it had absolutely nothing to do with figuring out what had happened to his web spider.

The mainframe, running the images from the traffic cams through recognition software, had just thrown an alert. He sent his consciousness down his link with the mainframe to see what it had found.

Outside an electronics store, a blue Ford hatchback was parked. A man was loading his purchases from the electronics store into the hatchback—several bags of computer components.

That man was James Smith. Oh, he had changed his appearance, and he was dressed like a computer pro, not a doctor. But it was the same guy.

He couldn't see the license plate.

Jazz followed his connection to that traffic cam for a look around, but the car was just turning the next corner—into a part of town that didn't have the cameras.

He zipped back to flag both Smith's image and his car, and waited for another flag, hoping to get the license plate. But he had no such luck.

The alarm he raised, though, moved the search for Smith from Beaverton to Denver.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Unaware that he had been spotted, Smith took a shortcut through Denver that avoided the traffic cams on his way home. He had acquired the electronic components for the prototype of the implanted DNI. Soundwave was getting the medical supplies necessary to create the implants from various Internet sources. Those things were esoteric enough that if they bought them all from the same place, someone would notice.

He had a two-hour drive north to his apartment near the Mountain Springs Data Center. By the time he got there, Wilburn was in a panic and Soundwave wasn't far behind.

Wilburn told him, "Get in here, get inside quick!"

Smith did so. "What's wrong, what happened?"

"You got yourself spotted, you idiot, that's what!"

"What are you talking about?"

"You were spotted on a traffic cam down in Denver! They got a BOLO out on you here, and now they know what kind of a car you drive!"

"Did they get the license number?"

"No, but they got your picture off the traffic cam. We gotta get the hell out of here!"

"Now, wait a minute, don't panic. If we take off running, we'll attract more attention. We can't just ditch the car, if they find it they'll get the registration. It's fine where it is, today, you can't see the parking lot very well from the road and there's no reason for the police to come on the lot. Tonight, we'll have to hide it somewhere it won't be found for a while. Then we need to move on." He sat down at his computer and pulled on his headset.

After a moment, his partner did the same.

Soundwave felt his new symbiotes' near panic and controlled his own.

Well, symbiotes they weren't, of course. But for the time being, they would do. Once they had the implants, the term symbiote might be closer to the proper term. "Echelon: access re-established. Satellite data: access re-established. Shipping company: ready to begin operations. Acquisition of headquarters near airport: in progress."

Wilburn fretted, "How are we gonna move you, boss? Even if we can link up a big enough LAN for you somewhere near the airport, somebody's gonna notice that much data being moved."

Soundwave paused for a full 30 astroklicks. His symbiotes were unwilling to leave him behind. Was it possible that a true symbiote bond could form with these organics?

"Soundwave: has been considering that. Robberies of electronic equipment: increasing in frequency. Soundwave's location: convenient to an access door. Staged robbery: feasible."

"We'll need a truck, but renting or stealing one both present their own share of problems."

"Lugnut: transportation. Located: route without energon detectors. Security cameras at data center: must be disabled."

Smith said, "Let me take care of that. We can assume I'll have to ditch this ID anyway, so it doesn't matter if they track that back to me."

Wilburn said, "We need a better disguise, if they can find us using traffic cams then we're in danger every time we buy gas or walk into a bank or a department store."

"Small holoprojector: desirable. Soundwave: will model possible designs."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Lennox and Ironhide were the last ones in to the weekly base meeting. Ironhide had just got back from taking Sarah and Annabelle school shopping.

Annabelle had wanted to see her school, so Ironhide had driven them past it and taken the same route back to base that her school bus would take every day. And he had been playing it back in his processor ever since.

Just past the school parking lot where the buses picked up and dropped off the children was an overpass. He saw it as a sniper's nest, or a perfect place for a 'Con to lie in wait for that bus. Beyond that were several city corners. A human bus driver would never know that a 'Con might be lying in wait behind a store building around any of those corners. And outside town? Several miles of barren desert between Mission City and the base perimeter.

"Optimus," he said, "We've got a problem."

"What's that?"

"The base children will be starting school next week. Every day they will be leaving base at the same time, taking the same route to school, then coming home at the same time along the same route every evening. We might as well paint a target on top of that bus."

Lennox was grimly silent, not disagreeing with a word his guardian had said.

Optimus looked back and forth between them. "Suggestions."

Lennox said, "I already considered teaching them here, but in the absence of a specific threat, we can't get that authorized. We need to escort that bus. And we need to work with the bus drivers, too, so if something does happen, they won't panic and get everyone on the bus killed. I'd send 'em to combat driving school if I could."

Optimus said, "Will that not panic the school district?"

Lennox replied, "So...they can say it's too dangerous for our kids to attend school there, then the district will have to pay for tutors to come here instead? Works for me."

Parker said, "We can't keep them restricted to base until they turn 18, sir. As much as I might agree with you in principle, it would be the wrong thing for the kids. I don't want John growing up afraid to leave the bunker."

Lennox said, "If the school district can agree to the security measures that we find necessary, I agree with you, Doc. I don't want Annabelle growing up with a bunker mentality, either."

Optimus said, "If that bus leaves here with the children of this base, we will be escorting it. We cannot force them to allow us to train their driver, but if they refuse then is there any reason we cannot take them to school in a NEST vehicle?"

"If they think there is, they're about to find out anti-terrorism protocols trump school board rules," Lennox replied.

So it was that, from the fall of 2011 onward, the NEST brats rode to and from school in the back of a deuce-and-a-half truck, escorted by at least one Autobot—and, more often than not, that was Ironhide or one of the Big Twins (one of whom would let a kid ride inside if they got 100% on a test [grades went up exponentially], the other of whom didn't want any sticky fingerprints on his interior).

They became part of the scenery, but it was a constant reminder to everyone exactly who those kids were. That they also provided free security for the whole school against anyone who might take it in mind to threaten it was something which, in these troubled times, no cash-strapped school board was going to argue with.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

It was in the quiet that followed putting her older five kids on the truck the first day of school that Monique decided Something Had To Be Done for her smallest.

Bobby Junior was thirteen, and starting the eighth grade. The rest, Jaisyn, Shaundra, and the twins Lamarr and his sister Latonya, were all still in grade school. The twins had been meant to be the last ones—they had thought four kids were plenty, and #5 had been a welcome bonus. D'andre had been a surprise, five years later.

Bobby had just been shipped out on his third tour when she had found out she was pregnant again. She had been scared how he would react—another kid added to the tremendous pressure he was already under—but once he got over the shock he had been as excited as she was. Lennox had even swung it for him to be there via videophone when she'd given birth to D'andre.

D'andre sat on the apartment building's front stoop, carefully lining up his blocks. First all the red ones, then all the yellow ones, then all the white ones, then the blue. Always the same, every time he played with them, and he wasn't happy when they had to go back into their box.

Then a truck backed up, and the usual loud warning beep sounded.

D'andre screamed, clapping his hands over his ears.

Monique ran to check on him; her first thought when faced with a screaming three-year-old was that he had been bitten by a spider or something.

But when she saw the look on his face, it wasn't that. It was...whatever happened to make D'andre's world not a happy place. She knew from experience that trying to pick him up and comfort him would only make things worse.

The truck drove off, and the screaming fit stopped after a few moments.

This was not an extended version of the terrible twos, as his pediatrician at Nellis insisted. This was not just a phase D'andre was going through. Something was wrong with her son, and Monique Epps was determined to find out what it was. She reached for her cell phone and called the pediatrician's office to make an appointment.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Chip Chase finished a few early morning adjustments to his exercise chair and pulled himself into it, fastening the quick-release strap that held his legs in place. Jazz was out putting his alt form through its paces on the dirt track at the proving grounds, and would meet them at Buzzard Rock. He and Jack Binns did a few stretches then headed out there, a roundabout route that gave them a two-mile run before they got to their destination. Chip let Jack set the pace. The kid was getting better, not quite up to running with a full pack yet, but he was getting there.

Mikaela Banes dropped into pace beside them. "Mind if I run with you?"

"Sure, the more the merrier. At least as far as Buzzard Rock, anyhow. You'll have to ask Diarwen after we get there," Chip said.

"What exactly is it you do out there every morning?"

"Wax on, wax off," Chip replied. He wasn't sure how else to describe the mix of martial arts practice, meditation and discussion that started their day. "It's...interesting. If Diarwen lets you stay, you'll just have to see for yourself."

Chip dropped back to let Kaela drop into place behind Jack. He had a real nice view from there. Real nice.

Kaela's guy alert made her suspicious. She pivoted, and caught Chip in the act of checking out her butt.

The next thing he knew, he got a generous squirt from her water bottle, right between the eyes—and somehow managed to snort water up his nose.

She continued on to Buzzard Rock, leaving Chip reaching for his towel and Jack bent over laughing.

Chip got himself dried out.

Jack teased, "You got it bad, my friend."

Chip spluttered, "What, that—that ice princess? Nah!"

"Suuuuure, Chipster, you just keep telling yourself that."

They got there about the same time as Jazz, who asked Chip, "What happened, man, this is the desert and you're drenched."

He muttered, "Water bottle malfunction."

Jack went into hysterics all over again. Diarwen gave her roommate a quizzical look, and was met by an innocent smile that did not ring true.

Kaela said, "I asked Chip what was going on up here every morning, and he said I'd have to ask you."

"I am not sure we have ever tried to define it before. Betony would probably call it a study circle. We are martial artists, of widely varying styles, but we have in common a habit of morning forms and meditation, and then there is usually time for discussion. It started out as a study of the Wheel of the Year, and has moved from that to various topics surrounding energy field manipulation and so forth which have a bearing on Jazz's situation, and Chip's project. If you have an interest, you are welcome to join us. I do not know if you have any religious objections to such things; I would not wish to put you in an uncomfortable situation if you do."

"I don't particularly have a religion," she replied. "No objections to other folks who do."

Diarwen simply nodded, and claimed a safe space to do her sword dance. Mikaela soon realized that they defined several points along the novice-master continuum; Jack was a rank beginner while Optimus and Diarwen were definitely masters of their arts. Chip and Jazz were very good but not at that rarified level...yet. Mikaela was much closer to Jack's level than Chip's, but she had been in a martial arts club at college, and knew the kata that Chip had him working on.

They were so focused on their form that the noise the bots were making a hundred yards up the canyon faded into the background. If anyone had told Mikaela four years ago that she would ever have ignored that, she would have thought they were nuts. Now it was just part of a normal morning.

Eventually they gathered in a circle in the shade. Mikaela had faint memories of her mother, who had died when she was seven, doing yoga and meditating, but she no longer remembered how to get started.

Diarwen saw at once that she was confused. She took her roommate aside so that they could talk quietly without disturbing the others.

"This is not Buddhist meditation. You do not need to chant a mantra. I will teach you as I was taught; I am told it is the same technique many karateka are also taught."

"Why is Jack sitting like that? On his feet?"

"That is called seiza, and it is part of the martial arts tradition that he is learning. Many Westerners find that uncomfortable. It is not necessary unless you choose to follow that tradition, nor is the lotus position—I simply sit cross-legged with my feet underneath. Look for scorpions and spiders before you sit."

Mikaela took the reminder seriously. When they cleared the area for the playground, she hadn't been able to believe how many poisonous creepy-crawlies had been there—and, she thought, she shouldn't have been. She had spent several years now around this area.

The whole idea of concentrating on her breathing and clearing her mind felt strange, but she had chosen a career which was the definition of high-pressure even if she hadn't come to NEST. She really didn't want to stress herself into a heart attack before she turned fifty. Before she knew it, fifteen minutes had passed.

Chip passed a bag of granola bars around to the organics while Jazz and Optimus opened energon cubes.

Chip said, "I have a question about Mabon. I don't mean to be disrespectful—I'm really curious. Y'say the bots are interested in joining in. But this is a harvest celebration, right? I mean, is it just a good reason for a party? What do Cybertronians have to do with crops and stuff?"

Optimus said, "That is a good question, Chip. It is the Sun which has given life to everything that is harvested at this time of the year. By the same token, all of the energon that we receive here also comes from the Sun. Even the energy within that based on petrochemicals originally came from the Sun. As the days shorten, so will our supplies—we too must store reserves or cut back on the amount we consume during the winter months. There is a web of interdependency that connects every living thing on this planet, and we are within that web now. We will be as affected by the Wheel of the Year as any other living creature on Earth."

End Part 9