Chapter 10

By the time Isis awoke it was already past 0800 hours. She frowned, then remembered where she was and how she got there, and sighed deeply. Refusing to cry or feel sorry for herself, (after all she'd been doing that for the last forty eight megacycles) she struggled to a sitting position. Isis slowly swung one leg over the side of the bed, then the other. Testing her strength, she planted both feet firmly on the floor and holding on to a small table by the side of the bed, she stood up as best as she could.

It was hardly easy. Her lower body felt sour and weak. After taking a few unsteady steps, she finally found the courage to let go of the table. A few more steps and Isis was finally convinced that her legs would not buckle under her weight.

She looked around and spotted a pile of cloth neatly folded on a chair that stood at the foot of the bed. Picking it up, Isis smiled to herself. The work of her rescuer, no doubt. She appreciated the kind gesture, and went into the bathroom to change.

In a different room, the male sat in front of a table littered with papers. He leaned back in his chair, his optics scanning a flex pad with the latest news o the peace talks. Once in a while, he would reach over to type something into the terminal sitting on the table or pick up another flex pad and read over that.

"And I thought Taratron's quarters were a mess," Isis commented upon entering the room.

He looked up from his work and graced her with a smile. "Good morning. I trust you rested well?"

"Well enough," she imitated his medieval accent. "Better than last night, at any rate. No nightmares… just darkness." She sat down across the table from him and released a deep sigh, burring her head in her hands.

"But sometimes the darkness is worse, is it not?" he sympathized with her.

"A lot worse," she admitted, "but I don't want to dwell on it right now. Let's talk about something else."

"Alright," he smiled, glad that she was returning to her self.

"Let's talk about you."

"Me? No, I am not a very interesting subject," the male laughed out loud.

"Sure you are. I mean, you're this mysterious hero who comes out of nowhere," Isis elaborated.

"I am no hero," he whispered, but she didn't catch it.

"Come on, there must be something else you do besides running around and saving people from mad scientist. You must have a day job or something like that." Thinking about what she'd said, Isis giggled.

The male raised an eyebrow and flashed a lopsided grin. "What?"

"Oh nothing," she laughed leaning back in her chair. "I was just thinking that this is exactly what Lois Lane must have felt when she first interviewed Superman. So, Superman, are you gonna reveal your secret identity or am I going to have to reefer to you as 'the mysterious transformer' for the rest of my life?"

"There is nothing secret about it," he replied.

"Then why are you avoiding the subject? Did you know I work at an infiltration unit? I'll find out eventually. Come on, at least tell me your name."

"My name? Well, my real name is Anárion, but they used to call me something else at the M.T.A."

"An-á-rion," she tried out the name on her tongue. "I like it. It's very… poetic and it suits you. Where does it come from?"

"Anárion was the younger of the two sons of Elendil, the king of Gondor."

"Ah!" Isis snapped her fingers. "Gondor! Say no more. My brother is a Lord of the Rings fanatic. Gondor was the greatest human country in Middle-earth, am I right?"

"Yes," Anárion smiled, "and I must compliment your brother on his good taste in earth literature."

"Oy," Isis rolled her eyes. "Another one. You should really meet Taratron sometime. I think you guys would make the best of friends. But how about a more interesting topic? You mentioned you trained at the M.T.A.? So, are you a soldier?"

"A pilot. I took a higher course on air battles once I completed my basic training. I don't mean to brag, but I can fly pretty much anything on two wings."

"And what did you say they called you there?"

"That," he replied a bit sadly, "is a long tale. I would rather not discus it right now, if you don't mind."

"No, of course I don't mind," Isis backed off, sensing she had touched a nerve.

"Hold on a moment," he rose and walked to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he walked out holding two steaming cups of coffee. He sat back down, and handed her one of the cup, taking a sip from his own. "What are you planing on doing now?"

"I…uh…I haven't had a chance to think about it," she admitted, thanking him for the coffee with a nod, "but I guess I have to call Taratron…and my commander. I have a few sweat words to share with him."

"Humm, do you suppose they may be able to bring in troops now that…" he trailed of.

"Now that there's a credible survivor?" Isis raised an eyebrow, tracing her finger over the edge of her cup. "That is what you wanted to say, isn't it? Don't worry, I won't get all weepy again. That's just the way life is, you know, and I won't give that bastard the pleasure of knowing that he has any control over mine." Anárion watched her for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. Now, it was Isis' turn to frown. "What?"

"Isis, you truly are an amazing woman," his smile was so warm. "You live through unspeakable torment, and you immerge victorious with strength and pride. They will write novels about you, I promise."

"Whatever you say," she got up. "Do you have a communicator in here? I'd like to call my brother and my commander to tell them what happened."

"Of course," he pointed into the living room. "Right over there."

"Thanks," she went in to the living room and picked up the head set. Dialing Taratron's number, Isis waited. "Come on, big brother, pick it up, I need your help," she muttered. "Taratron, where are you?" On the seventh ring, she became tiered and worried. Where could he have gone to? She hung up, and tried to connect to Prowl's office. This time, she succeeded.

"Commander Prowl here."

"Sir, this is Isis Khmer."

"Well, ready to get back here and retrieve your badge, Miss Khmer?" he didn't sound at all angry with her and perhaps rather amused.

"Yes, sir," she took a deep breath, "but that's not why I've contacted you. I…I have conducted my own investigation into the rumor of the Predacon treatment of the Maximal POWs."

There was a deep sigh of frustration from the other line. "Isis.."

"Half a moment, sir," she cut him off. "I think you should really hear what I have to say."

Prowl listened to the beginning of her story and soon realized that this was something serious. "All right, why don't you return to head quarters and we'll discus this then?"

Isis agreed and cut the connection. She stood in silent thought when she felt herself being watched. Turning, she saw Anárion standing in the doorway.

"I shall accompany you," he stated, and she nodded. If she brought him with her, he would certainly confirm her story, and that would help immensely. Plus, if nothing else, his presence was a comfort to her. There was something about him, something that made her feel safe whenever she was around him, something that made her trust him. Isis followed him outside, keeping a few steps behind him. Her optics never left his form. There was still one question she wanted answered: why had he helped her?