A DeLorean , a Porshe, and a Mack truck followed the mustang through the hanger bay doors. The Mack truck stopped with an audible groan of his brakes, and Sam stared, wondering if that was a robot or just a vehicle.

DeLorean. That's a DeLorean. Gotta be robots.

Somewhat to his relief, when the Mack truck stood up and became a mech before his eyes, it was proudly wearing the Autobot logo. With remarkable coordination, the Autobot ejected a large metal case on his way upright and caught it in one hand.

Ratchet stood up from his work bench and regarded the three newcomers with his hands on his hips. "Wheeljack, Magnus, Hot Rod, it is about time we got some reinforcements. Please tell me you're not alone."

Wheeljack pointed skywards. "Twenty-four more 'bots upstairs, Ratchet. Chill your gears. We just took the hard way out of orbit with the first of the supplies because we heard it was a bit urgent. There's a shuttle for the others, but we need to know where to put it down, and the transport needs to navigate to a lower altitude for a good landing window, if we're actually going to land on a runway and not smash into the ground."

"Oh," Ratchet rubbed what passed for his nose with two fingers. "The undercover thing changed last week, and the runway here at the base is long enough for a shuttle. It's a long story -- we can fill you in later. Magnus -- Optimus is going to be damn glad to see you, I tell you what."

The tall 'bot shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. "I'm just a soldier, Ratchet."

"Oh, that's bullshit, and you know it," Wheeljack said, sounding irritable. However, his eyes were on Mikaela's "Mustang." He added, "Ratchet, you do know that the crappy-ass little Mustang here is a mech? It's got a thermal signature consistent with a spark."

"Yeah," Ratchet said, "We know. Grimlock, Wheelie's with the twins. You can come out now."

"Not," Grimlock said, with an cranky growl as he transformed, "A CRAPPY-ASS CAR!"

Wheeljack took a rather alarmed step back and made a startled, incoherent spluttering noise. Grimlock's transformation had been so fast that he'd displaced a puff of air, and the noise of all his mechanical bits rearranging had been deafening. Sam took that to mean that Grimlock had recovered quite a bit over the previous two nights.

Magnus just commented mildly, without sounding very surprised, "That's about the last place I'd expect to find Grimlock, particularly since he's supposed to be dead."

Wheeljack asked, after a moment's contemplation of Grimlock, "So, have Grim and Optimus tried to kill each other yet?"

"Nope. Not yet." Ratchet chuckled, "It's only been two days, though."

"Smash Megatron," Grimlock corrected, considered that, and then clarified his priorities, "First."

The two newcomers laughed, and Magnus, who was about the same height as Grimlock, rested a hand on his shoulder in a companionable clap. "Oh, my brother must have blown multiple gaskets when he saw you, Grim. Where have you been?"

"Stasis lock. Don't know where I was. Here now. Ready to fight."

Ratchet explained briefly, "He came screaming out of orbit and into the lake here on base. We figure somebody sent him, but we don't know who. He's taken some processor damage, as you can doubtless hear, but it's mostly output. We're assuming his data processing will be as efficient as ever when everything's been repaired that can be."

Wheeljack chuckled, "Meaning he's still as dumb as a rock?"

"Not dumb," Grimlock snapped, sounding offended.

Magnus said, mildly, but in a voice that made the Sam both wince and grin on the new 'bots behalf, "Wheeljack, I would observe that Grim is not only not stupid, he's also a good bit bigger than you. If you pick a fight with him, not only will I not intervene, I will shoot video for everyone else to watch later."

"Me smash," Grimlock promised. "Good video."

Wheeljack subsided with a mutter.

Magnus turned to Bee, now, dropping down to one knee to be closer to him. "Ratchet, what is wrong with Bumblebee?"

"Severe lack of maintenance compounded by predacon claws," Ratchet said, sourly. He gestured at the scattered bits of parts on his work table. "If you have some coolant valves and a pump in with the supplies, I can get him up and running immediately."

Bumblebee pointed at his voicebox.

"Oh, yeah, and a voicebox." Ratchet, reminded of that longstanding problem, added, "Bee can't even play music at the moment."

"Music?"

"It's how he has been communicating."

The tall Autobot made a sighing sound very much like Optimus. "Bee, I am sorry. This should have been corrected long ago."

Magnus stood up and set his package on the work bench. It was a metal capsule the size of a coffin, slightly charred, with a lid held shut by recessed latches. He popped the lid open, revealing the box was heavily insulated, and, without comment, he handed Ratchet two packages off the top of the contents. Even Sam could identify the first item as a voicebox for Bee, since the outer part matched Bee's "mouth." The second appeared to be a plastic-wrapped bundle of about a dozen valves and a pump.

Ratchet, peering into the case, seemed delighted. "Magnus, you work miracles. You brought Grim's struts, too. Excellent. We fabricated some from steel and I was worried about them bending under combat conditions ..." Ratchet grabbed the human-made pump off the work bench and tossed it overhand into a garbage can. "I can see I'll be working all night!"

He sounded happy about the prospect of pulling an all-nighter.

"Optimus is not injured, then?" Magnus sounded profoundly relieved.

Ratchet made a snorting noise. "Optimus had the shit beat out of him two weeks ago, but I made a point of packing some extra parts for him that he didn't know about when we left Cybertron. If he had, he'd have made me replace them with items for the rest of the team ... but he's the damned Prime and he gets priority on some things, like it or not. We were rather limited for space and in a hurry when we left ..."

"Yes. Very good thinking, Ratchet."

"I didn't think you would disagree. Problem is, I'm running out of things now, and Optimus made me use some of his spares on Grimlock. And Grim, that means you'd better be nice to Optimus or you'll answer to me."

Grimlock's laugh was a low, amused, rumble. "Me, Grimlock, very afraid of Ratchet. Will remember that."

Magnus turned his attention to Sam, and Mikaela, who'd joined him. He addressed them directly, "By the presence of the two of you, and the soldiers, I assume that we are now openly allied with humans?"

"Yes, sir." Sam didn't know why he added the 'sir' -- he wouldn't have even said that to Optimus, at this point.

"My name," the 'bot said gently, "is Ultra Magnus. I am Optimus's brother, in that my people consider mechs created at the same time to be brothers. But I am not a leader of any great stature -- I am just a field commander -- and you do not need to address me with any title since you are civilians."

"Oh," Sam said, blinking. That meant this 'bot was also Megatron's brother. He could see the family resemblance to Optimus far more than he could to Megatron. They had the same natural dignity and rather similar designs. Also, he was keenly aware of the scorn that even many of the Autobots had towards organic life forms. Ultra Magnus's words had been pointedly direct and respectful.

The novelty of being able to speak directly to human heads of state was rapidly wearing off. Optimus, who had spent millenia as a 'head of state' himself, had spent far too much time in various committees to have any illusions about politicians. They were just people -- and tended to be more stubborn and aggravating than most. He was in a fairly bad mood as he drove from the main hanger, and its video conferencing equipment, to the repair bay.

Thank goodness America's finally got some decent leadership. I'll let them work on the Russians. He'd about had it with certain foreign countries that were trying to turn this world's Decepticon problem into a political game, or, alternately, were trying to blame other countries for their problems. America seemed to be a popular target for blame, perhaps with some justification, but he failed to see how any reasonable person could think that the United States was responsible for an invasion of aliens from outer space. The answer, of course, was that they were being unreasonable. And he was all too familiar with unreasonable politicians.

Well, he recalled, America did try to keep Megatron on ice for years. If they'd just shot him into their sun they wouldn't be in this fix. For that matter, if I had properly calculated Megatron's ability to rise from the dead and launched him into his world's sun we would not be in this fix. We would be dealing with Starscream. Starscream, I can handle myself.

The Russians had a Decepticon base in Siberia. Nobody was disputing this. The Russians had snuck close enough to get good pictures of multiple 'bots, including Starscream and Scorponok -- pictures they had only grudgingly shared, and then only when Optimus had promised to provide information about the capabilities of the mechs they were facing. They had not been thrilled with the files Optimus had e-mailed over after seeing the images, and had promptly accused him of exaggerating the abilities of his enemy to make his own failures look better. They hadn't even been polite about it.

Optimus wanted to wait until he'd had a chance to pick off multiple Decepticon leaders, then lead a joint force of several country's soldiers on a strike against that base. The Russians wanted the base gone now and were insisting that they would do it themselves. Optimus knew that might result in the loss of thousands, even tens of thousands, of human lives.

That base is probably their center of operations. It will be very well defended and I would only be sending my soldiers to their deaths were I to attack it now. However, if the Russians try to take it without our help, not only will they lose -- and badly -- Megatron will likely move it.

When he'd pointed out that Megatron would probably just relocate the base after an attack, and that they would then need to find it again, the Russians had responded that if this resulted in the base being moved to another country then the Decepticons would no longer be their problem. Optimus had not been shocked by that response, but he had been frustrated.

One of the president's advisors had observed to him earlier that afternoon that, "It could be worse. They could have set up camp in North Korea."

And another advisor had added, "Or Cuba."

He was growing politically savvy enough to see the humor in those statements, but had not laughed. This was not a joking matter. Though it was heartening to know that at least some of the officials he was working with had decided that he was 'human enough' to joke with.

There were, indeed, a few bright spots in the whole political mess -- the US president clearly got the big picture, and was replacing his incompetent subordinates with alacrity. He'd inherited quite a few problems from the previous administration, including the official who'd made their lives difficult two weeks ago. That man reportedly was gone, and would not be plaguing him again.

As he approached the repair bay he transformed, as the doors were shut and they had deliberately disabled the remote opener until they could install something that was hack-proof. He didn't want the doors accidentally or deliberately opened by unfriendly forces who might see things they shouldn't. And speaking of secrets, he assumed that Grimlock was inside. However, when he pushed the Autobot-sized button high on the wall that opened the roll-up front door, he heard a familiar voice over the sound of the door's rattling chain: "... Are you sure you don't want me to upgrade your pulse cannon?"

Wheeljack, Optimus said, mood lightening considerably. Wheeljack is here.

He ducked under the half-open door and hit the switch on the wall inside to reverse it in its tracks.

Bumblebee was on his feet again, though he was still minus an arm. Optimus felt a bit of tension leave him at that sight -- Bee seemed to be alert and aware, and back to normal mentally. He also had a shiny new "Camaro bumper" across his chest that was not yet colored to match the rest of his body. Likely, he'd fix the paint after he fixed his arm ...

Bee's arm was in pieces on the work bench. Mikaela, Ratchet, and Bumblebee were all around the table with him. Bee appeared to be trying to remove the aforementioned gun for service.

"Welcome to Earth," he told Wheeljack, happily.

"Hey, Big Boss. Ratchet has been filling us in," Wheeljack said, "looks like you've got a big mess. The rest of the team will be down in a few weeks -- sooner, if you need them earlier -- but we thought we'd take the usual short cut and deliver some of the supplies you've been yelling for."

"That," Optimus said, fervently, "is very much appreciated. However, who is 'we'?"

"Oh." Wheeljack pointed behind Optimus, just as Optimus heard the doors open again. "Them."

Optimus turned around, half expecting to see another one of his 'bots. Instead, an electric blue Mack truck rolled under the door, followed by a fire engine red Porsche. Mikaela followed both of them on foot, and shut the door again. She then climbed up the running boards of the truck, opened the door, retrieved a pizza box from the front seat, then stepped back as the truck transformed.

"Ultra Magnus ..." Optimus said, in stunned disbelief. The Porsche stood up, revealing a 'bot he was nearly as glad to see as his brother. "Hot Rod!"

"You said you needed help," his brother -- his other brother, the one who he loved with all his spark, the one he loved as much as he hated Megatron these days -- said diffidently. "And I didn't have any other pressing engagements ..."

Optimus laughed, disbelief merging with delight, "Aren't you three supposed to be on Nieryl Six's moon, fighting predacons?"

"We won," Ultra Magnus said, no bragging in this, just simple statement of fact. "The moon is secure, and its energon with it, and ..."

... and he did that in half the time I expected. In fact, I was concerned I was sending my own brother to a fight that could result in his own death, and the deaths of many Autobots, but we needed that moon so very badly. We cannot fight if we do not have energon.

"... we didn't lose anybody this time, either," Magnus sounded simply relieved. He probably had no idea how this made him look in Optimus's eyes. He added, "The rest of my men are on the supply ship. And enough energon to last you for a couple centuries."

Optimus brightened even more at that. "You have brought them all here?"

"Well, you have been yelling for help for over a year," Magnus said, mildly. "They let me come when I insisted."

Translation: He pulled in some political favors. Magnus, I think you just turned the tide of the war.

Magnus's men were a hardened group of old warriors, veterans of a hundred battles, hand-picked by Optimus for Magnus's elite guard. Not that Magnus would ever admit that his men were 'elite', just like he refused to believe he was anything special as a leader. He insisted he was just another Autobot who'd answered the call to serve, and he was the first to claim he was no great leader. It was his brothers who were the leaders ... Magnus had always followed their orders. Though, when things had turned so terribly wrong, he had been among the first to turn his back on Megatron.

Yes, Optimus's bad mood was well and truly reversing itself.

The last time Optimus had seen Magnus had been a hundreds of years, several hundred light years, and four or five major battles ago.

Optimus watched, as they stepped out into the open, and was not surprised when his brother gave the horizon, the sky, and their general surroundings a quick scan. That was pure battle-hardened reflex, born of real combat experience. Magnus might claim he was no leader, and might resist any responsibility greater than the twenty-six 'bots in his squad, but Magnus was all soldier.

"First time I've ever been on an inhabited world other than Cybertron," Magnus said, watching humans in a Humvee pass with obvious fascination. The human soldiers returned his look with real curiosity -- he was a new Autobot, and there hadn't been time yet for introductions to be made, much less for the novelty to wear off. Optimus noted with satisfaction that there was no fear on any of the humans' faces. Magnus continued, "It's all been airless moons and lifeless worlds ... I think I prefer it that way, though. Nobody gets hurt if you blow half a hemisphere of lifeless rock up trying to root out a Decepticon base. This will be very complicated."

"Mm." Optimus could agree with that, and he suspected Magnus would quickly grasp the political end as well as the logistical problems. Even though Magnus had pointedly avoided political games whenever he could, he was good at them. I am not a leader, he would claim, Others are better at it. Let them lead. Fewer will die, and more battles we will win.

It was funny, really. Optimus had been designed as a laborer, and had become Prime. Magnus, who had been meant from the beginning to be an elite commander, was a reluctant and frustratingly diffident mech when it came to leadership. That he was commanding at all now said volumes of his personal beliefs. In happier times, so long ago it was hard to imagine the passage of years, Megatron had teased them that there'd been a mistake: that their Sparks had been swapped at conception. Optimus should have been the warrior, Magnus the civilian, and both of them would have been quite happy in their respective roles. Though Prime had a hard time imagining Magnus not being a soldier.

Willingly leading, on the other hand ...

"You are right about these people," Magnus said, in their native language. "They are delightful. The girl, Mikaela -- she peppered me with questions non-stop the entire way on our trip. She's worse than Bluestreak -- I have to answer! And she is so fearless, she climbed right into my cab without hesitation."

Optimus laughed. Mikaela had probably decided Magnus was safe because Bee and Ratchet liked him, and, well, it was Magnus. Ironhide claimed that Megatron had been late when they were handing out charisma to the newborn sparks, so his other two brothers had shared Megatron's portion between them ... giving each of them half again their normal share. "She's not normally like that at all. But allow me a guess: she was asking about our history, yes?"

Magnus nodded acknowledgment of that. "Yes. She seems to be fascinated by us. I did not think I was giving her any sensitive information by telling her some details of our shared personal history, was I? She was not even aware that you were once co-ruler of Cybertron with Megatron."

Optimus said, "I see no reason to restrict what they know of our general history, and, truly, our personal lives. In most cases she has simply not asked, and I have seen no reason to volunteer, the data. However, please be careful what you tell them about our science. This world is a long way from ready ..."

"Got that," Magnus held a hand up, stopping Optimus. "I've been processing quite a bit of their recent history. Messy, isn't it?"

"Quite."

"How much have you had to deal with the differing governments, and their individual factions ...?" Magnus's question made Optimus relax a bit. Magnus might profess not to be a leader, but on Cybertron, he had posessed a remarkable ability to analyze political problems and come up with pragmatic solutions. Had he even remotely been interested, Optimus would have made him one of his closest advisors. But Magnus had never been interested, or, at least, never confident enough in his own abilities to volunteer.

"Far too much," Optimus said, allowing some of his reserve to slip. "Come. Let us find a secure place to talk. I'd like your input on a few things ..."