Well, my laptop computer is kaput! It's quite unfortunate, really. I had most of my work in online storage sites, so that's good, but it's annoying all the same. Anyway, let's jump right in, shall we?

And remember: on our tour of the Beast Saga, please keep all arms and legs inside the vehicle and please please please do not feed the Predacons!

Hasbro owns the Transformers, I just use them to launch my imagination into far flung spaces.

Tim Whitefeather was no fool.

He had known John Darby since he was a troubled twelve-year-old hanging around his ranch, had known Jackson Darby since his birth. "I'm fine" did not mean anything of the sort: rather, it meant that the speaker was troubled by something, but did not feel that he could tell anyone about it. Tim hated hearing "I'm fine". He had come back to the campground with John and the three miners, Hayes, Sully, and D'Marco to find Jack, shaken and silent, crouched next to the most massive paw prints he had ever seen.

They never got anything out of the boy other than "He was here. He was right here." They had all assumed that by "he", Jack meant the big cat they were tracking. Mr. Whitefeather, however, suspected that something more sinister was afoot. Seeing a gigantic feline far out of its natural habitat was probably enough to scare the pants off of most folk, but Jack was a Darby. Darbys didn't scare easy. No, whatever it was that had cowed him into silence had to be worse, and for reasons unknown to the old man, all he could think of was that the Spirits were somehow involved.

"Jack, Jack look at me." John climbed over the truck seat and out the back window to sit next to the teenager in the bed of the old pickup. "Come on, man. Look at me." The eyes that met his were wild, bordering on inhuman, and John had to make a conscious effort not to pull away. Once more, he had the uncanny feeling that his son had been replaced by some kind of changeling, as in the days of goblins and sprites. "Are you okay? Did you see the mountain lion yourself?"

A little of the boy he knew began to reassert itself over the changeling, and the fatal words left his mouth. "I'm fine."

John scowled, a look made all the fiercer by his re-emerging beard. "Like heck you are. You didn't say two words for ten minutes back there! Tell your old man, Jack. What's up?"

As quickly as it had come, the Jack he knew was gone again, and the changeling soldier was back. "Nothing, Dad. I just...have a bad feeling, that's all." He couldn't tell them the truth. Who would ever believe it anyway? An attempted kidnapping by an alien archeopteryx? Said would-be kidnapper being scared off by a gargantuan feline predator who—miraculously—had decided not to attack him? It went far beyond the accepted realm of possibility, that was for certain.

Jack was still thoroughly unnerved by the thought that a cat that size had been watching him the whole time, but stronger than the apprehension connected to his survival instincts was the distinct fear that Archadis had done something that would affect the Maximals...something that he could have prevented if he'd had his techno-pack to call for help. Barely aware of the strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, Jack stared out into the desert as the truck rolled along, dazed and very worried.

"It's gonna be okay, son. We'll call Animal Control, and they'll get some folks better suited to catching displaced animals out here to take care of it," John murmured. He gave the boy a rough hug, then slipped back into the cab of the pickup.

The first thing out of Tim's mouth was, "I don't like it." John raised an eyebrow at his old friend and mentor, but said nothing, allowing the elderly Paiute man to speak. "I know you boys. I know when something is working at you. That face goes way beyond fear, son. That's guilt I'm reading." Tim muttered, turning the wheel sharply. The battered vehicle made a rather precarious turn, then settled all four tires back onto the back road that would take them to the ranch.

John glanced back at the solemn teen in the back and ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Maybe he feels bad because the cat was there and he didn't know it. He might think he let the camp down." Mr. Whitefeather's weathered face creased into a deep frown.

"No, this isn't about the cat. Just trust me, John, this is about something bigger. God only knows what it is, but that boy's got a secret."

That, of course, was pretty plain to both men. The differences in behavior were too marked, small though they were, and the almost warlike way he went about some tasks worried both men.

"You want my advice, son?" Tim grunted as he pulled the truck up to his porch, "Don't take off again. Your research can wait, your son can't."

John Darby winced, nodding. "No...no I'm done traveling for a while."

He watched silently as Jack vaulted out of the bed of the truck to snatch that slim metallic backpack he always seemed to have on out of the deck chair. John had made him leave it behind, citing his "no technology on a hunt" rule. Apparently Jack had missed it more than he'd thought. As soon as the odd interlocking buckles on the straps were in place, most of the tension left the boy, replaced by something nearing dread as his fingers traced over the wolf's head emblazoned on the metal. Tim was right: something was up with Jack, and it was starting to scare his father.

As the boy slipped into the house, the adults didn't hear him whisper into his comm, "Apache? This is Jack. Just got back from hunting. Hey, can I have a Bridge in about an hour?"

Jack found that the Bridge deposited him directly to the medical wing, and wondered what was going on. To his surprise, he found that half the room had been transformed into a bedroom of a kind. One of the berths was now covered with layers of pink and purple blankets and sleeping bags in lieu of a mattress, and several shiny "Get Well" balloons floated in a sad state of half-inflation next to a stack of pillows. Said stack was currently occupied by a girl in gym shorts and a tank top, almost completely buried in a thermal blanket. She sat on Break's lap, holding a wireless game controller, and the two appeared to be engaged in some sort of mmorpg.

"Don't go in there!" the blue and white youngling warned, "My cohort and I have been trying to crack that dungeon for ages. There's a Thark boss in there!" Miko snorted and was about to reply, but then turned an interesting shade of puce and held up one hand.

"Gonna ralph, get the bucket!" she squeaked.

Jack turned away and gritted his teeth as the unmistakable sound of someone losing their lunch filled the room. When he turned back, Miko had put her headphones back on, and the two were engaged in a conversation with three "cohort" members on the screen, where several highly customized Barsoom characters were hanging around a cave opening.

"So who's the kid anyway, Break?" the assassin character in brown asked.

"Oh, this is Miko. She's a Junior Maximal on the Terra Team," the penguin explained nonchalantly.

Miko, in the meantime, had maneuvered her character so that it had a good vantage point to shoot at the level boss. "Hey guys," she interrupted the others, (whom Break referred to as "Tas", "Cobra", and "RāgeQuit") "I got like, twenty tank missiles. You've got about 45000 XP per weapon, about 12 weapons between the five of us. I say let's do this!" With a nonsensical shout of "Leeeroooooooy Jennnnkiiiiiiiinssss!", Miko sent her character straight into the boss level.

"Unbelievable." the female voice groaned.

"That was...really dumb. We're all dead. So dead!" Tas complained, but sent his character in after the others.

Cobra snorted. "T.K is right. That was pretty dumb. Primes, dude, what is she, a human?"

Break scowled viciously. "Shut up, Cohrada, that's racist." Jack shifted uncomfortably on the floor.

"Hey guys," he finally spoke up, waving slightly. The sick girl and the Maximal jumped.

"T.K., keep firing for me, I gotta make a call!" Break snapped. He meant it literally. Twisting in place, the youngling cupped both hands around his mouth and yelled, "APACHE! LIO! JACK'S BACK!" Then he turned back to his game.

"Uh...Miko? What happened to you?" Jack asked, staring at the homey setup.

"Did you know there are single-cell organisms in contaminated water, Jack? Because now I do!" the girl replied dryly. "I feel like my stomach got run over by a truck. The worst part is, this puts me out of the action for two weeks! Oh scrap, get the bucket!"

Jack winced and handed her the large basin as she was promptly ill again. Sick days were not very common back home, as Jack's mother was a nurse and kept them all in good health. Well, there was the time when he had his wisdom teeth taken out, but he didn't remember any of that day. He just knew that Bulkhead and Arcee would burst into laughter whenever they saw him for most of that week.

Musings were unceremoniously interrupted when a broad golden hand descended on him, blocking out the sight of the rest of the room. Jack squawked in dismay and tried to dodge, but the servos closed around him, pulling him away from the floor without so much as a by-your-leave.

"Apache!" the boy complained, "You know I don't like being picked up unannounced! It makes me feel powerless."

"Powerless?!" Apache sounded very upset. "You want to talk about powerless?" Jack quailed, caught off guard by the vehemence in the normally amicable medic's tone. "Where were you, boy?" the mandrill demanded. Jack squirmed in his grip, trying to puzzle together what could possibly be making the mech act in this manner. On the medical berth, Miko had set down her game controller and was apparently trying to disappear into Break's feathers, while said mech was studiously avoiding Apache's optics. Jack opened his mouth to explain that he'd been hunting, but was interrupted.

"I thought Archadis had you!" Apache growled, "He made me calibrate a small-craft Space Bridge for him before revealing that you were only a holoform! Why wasn't your comm on?!" He shook the boy lightly, rattling the human's teeth.

"Apache, stop!" Jack managed, trying to keep the dizziness from taking over. The medic didn't seem to hear him.

"You should have had that techno-pack on at all times, Jack. Why didn't you have it with you? I could have tracked your signal, and I would've known you were safe!"

A blue fist closed over Apache's wrist, stilling it. "Apache, that's enough!" Lio Prime said sternly. "You're hurting him!"

Apache's optics cleared for a moment, and he looked down at the human in his grasp with a mixture of surprise and horror. "Jack, lad, I'm...I didn't mean to..." Rather hurriedly, he shoved Jack into Lio's waiting hand and backed away several steps.

The flash of temper had been reminiscent of Ratchet, Jack thought, but with the exception that Ratchet would never have shaken him. Still struggling to make sense of what had happened, the boy chose to interpret the action as the mech forgetting that he was human and not Cybertronian. It was probably true anyway.

"Are you alright, Jack?" Lio asked calmly, holding him up to inspect him for injuries.

"I'm fine, just a little shaken," Jack replied. Apache flinched. Oops. Wrong choice of words. "What's going on, Lio? I mean, it sounds like Archadis made good on his threats, but I don't see how. I mean, the lion scared him off! He never grabbed me."

The Convoy stopped short. "What did you say?" he asked, astonished.

Jack gulped. "Um...well, I was alone in the camp, and Archadis tried to make me go with him...he threatened my dad, Lio. He said he would kill him if I didn't cooperate. Then he was going to grab me, but there was this growl, and he just froze. He scanned me, then he took off." The boy ran his hands through his hair and sighed. "I went to look for whatever had scared him off, but all I found were two black hairs and these massive paw prints. They were bigger than yours!"

Lio frowned, then looked up and noted Break and Miko's wide-eyed appearance. "We should relocate," he said, "Miko needs her rest. Apache, if you would?"

Glad to have something to do, Apache bustled back and forth, formulating the next dose of medicine for the ill girl, who groaned loudly at the thought of taking it.

Lio walked down the corridor and turned left, as though he were going to the main control room. Instead, however, he then took a second left turn and walked quietly down the long hall that Jack had learned held the armory and the supply room. At the end was a wide door that opened into a flat, sunlit room filled with a ropes course, a boxing ring, and what looked to be a wing chun dummy in the corner, albeit Cybertronian-sized. The Convoy knelt and gently placed Jack on the floor, then stepped over him and began running a safety check on the ring.

"I've...never been in here before," Jack stared around him in awe.

"No, you have not. It is our primary training center," Lio said in a conversational tone. "Star Upper was going to use it later, and I thought I ought to ensure that the safety perimeters are set in place. Primus knows Star Upper likes to push boundaries." Check completed, he transformed, once more taking the form of a great white lion. "Come along, Jackson," he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Still fascinated by the room, yet of the opinion that it would not do to keep an apex predator waiting, the boy scurried to catch up.

"I am going to make a call to Cybertron today, Jackson. I thought perhaps later you might wish to see my homeworld yourself." the warm basso shook the panels on the walls, and Jack felt his teeth vibrate.

"Really?" he could not hide the excitement in his voice. "That'd be awesome! I've only seen Cybertron once...but that was when it was dead, and I was being chased by an Insecticon, so I don't really remember a lot of the scenery." At this, the lion quickened his pace slightly, and Jack was forced into a light jog to keep up.

The journey took them deep into the base, in a wide room that had apparently once held some kind of stealth aircraft, if any of the leftover gear was evidence enough. In the center of the room was a raised, circular platform. Smooth, rounded hubs extended on all sides but one, where there was a place to stand.

Lio Prime transformed again and stepped into the indentation, letting his servos ghost over seven panels of lit screens, as though he were an organ player, performing a fugue. "I am setting a satellite link between the base and the Maximal communications network that spans between our planets," he explained. "This will activate the holographic representation of the Maximal Council when I contact them later." He paused a moment and turned to look down at Jack.

"Jackson," he said softly, "You remember the recordings that the Autobots left us, do you not?" It was a rhetorical question, and quite unneeded. Jack watched the message from Arcee nearly every day. Still, the boy nodded, wondering what Lio was getting at.

"Optimus Prime personally tasked me with protecting you and Miko and Raf. It is my responsibility to keep you safe until he can bring you home. Do you think it is easier, or harder for me to do that when I do not know where you are?"

Jack flushed, looking down at the floor in the greenish glow of the holographic station. "My father doesn't let me take technology on hunting trips," he said, barely audible. "He was adamant that I leave the pack behind." He hunched his shoulders. "I know I should've had it with me. I'm sorry." He looked up at the Maximal commander, stormy eyes displaying the same guilt that had plagued Apache.

"Aw, come on, Jack! It wasn't your fault, the circumstances were beyond your control!" said a voice behind him.

Jack turned to look up at the speaker, Thanks, Smokescreen already on his lips. The words never made it off his tongue as he fell into rapid stuttering. "W-w-who? How did...whaaaaat? You..but...who the heck are you?!" he spluttered in a decidedly undignified manner.

One side of the fanged mouth quirked upward, but the catlike audial fins twitched irritably. He honestly hoped he wasn't going to have to make the same re-introduction much more. The reactions were beginning to grate on his considerably more sensitive nerves.

Tired of the explanations, the spotted youngling said, rather flatly, "It's me, Jack. I got used as a 'Con's science project while you were out. Also, Alpha Trion says I have to call myself Cheetor now. So...yeah. That's a thing." Some of the tension melted away from the human he felt he understood best.

"Oh. Okay. Cheetor, huh? That...makes sense...I guess." Jack shoved his hands into his pockets. "How are you adjusting to the...upgrade? Is upgrade the right word?"

Slightly suspicious, Cheetor knelt, red optics shuttering rapidly. "You're taking this remarkably well," he observed dryly. His human friend shrugged, a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Well, I mean, if Trion was involved..."

Behind them, Lio felt his brows raise. "And what exactly does that mean, Jackson?" he asked.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish look. "Well, Optimus told me once that if I ever came face to face with Alpha Trion, I was not to question anything he said or did. He said that the old Prime would try to explain, but it would be in the most confusing way possible. So...I figure there's a reason Cheetor is Cheetor now and not Smokescreen, and that it's not going to make any sense to me." He tilted his head to one side, then the other. "Gotta say though, this is going to take some getting used to. Don't get mad if I forget to not call you Smokescreen, okay? You know how to fight in that body?"

Cheetor shrugged and was about to answer, but Lio's somber voice interrupted the boys. "He does not. That is why Star Upper was going to use the training room today. Cheetor, you are late!" With an ungainly yelp, the youngling made a slapdash salute and darted out of the room.

After a short silence, the Convoy cleared his vents. "Cheetor is right, though." Confused, Jack turned to look at him.

"Sir?"

The huge mech knelt for a moment and wrapped one hand around the human's back, although he did not pick him up. "You did not leave your pack behind out of carelessness or neglect, you were only obeying your primary caretaker. I apologize for assuming otherwise, Jack. Still, in the future, please find a way to carry some kind of communicative device with you, so that we do not have a situation like this again."

Embarrassed, Jack looked away. "Yes sir," he gulped.

The servos tightened ever-so-gently in something like a hug. That was something about Lio Prime that was a little unlike Optimus, the humans had realized. He seemed a little more open about giving and receiving physical affection.

"Alright Jackson. Thank you." The Prime smiled softly at the human, letting him know that he was not upset. "Now, I must contact the Maximal Council, but I do not believe they are ready—or willing—to meet and acknowledge human Maximals. Why don't you join Cheetor in his lesson?" He gently pushed the boy away towards the door. "You know how to find it." Jack mumbled something inaudible, but saluted and hurried out into the corridor.

Lio watched him go with a fond smile on his faceplates—an expression that disappeared as soon as he turned back to the interworld link. He sighed, and—not for the first time—wished that he could have put off the meeting. The Council didn't "demand" audiences unless they were displeased about something. Somehow or other, word had to have gotten out about his...less than orthodox recruits. Still, the ancient Autobot medic had called him a Prime, and Primes didn't run. It was time to face the music. Yet he could not resist one minor detour. The wide holographic table responded instantly to the coordinates he set into them and he watched as myriad bubble-like filaments of light spread out from the corners of the projectors, calibrating and taking color and depth into account to form a stunningly lifelike representation of his homeworld.

Tension melted out of the Convoy's shoulders at the sight before him. Out of the pillars of a thousand living trees, mighty structures rose: Iacon, restored to a glory she could never have imagined in all the long days of the war, gleaming like a golden beacon in the mountains. As the Great Upgrade had swept across the planet, the very last Prime to rule had begun a somewhat risky experiment: the limited terraforming of Cybertron. Many had protested at first, until their Prime had assured them that he was doing so at their Creator's direction as a way to protect them from the strange radiation that had permeated their solar system. Trees were imported from off-world, seeds of a hundred forests and a multitude of climates, and before long, the world was alive again. And not merely alive, but awake.

Of course, that was the In Between days, before the Maximal Council ruled, and before Lio Convoy ever emerged from the Well, but he knew the stories.

Smiling, he traced a servo over the lush green that so seamlessly complimented the living metal. Earth had never felt like exile to him: it was so like his own home that it was nearly impossible for him to get homesick. Nevertheless, to see the great towers of Iacon again was breathtaking. Perhaps one day he would take all the young ones to the Archives—a field trip of sorts—and the humans could tell him whether or not the Optimus Prime exhibit was accurate. Wouldn't that confound the curators! The rising sun over Cybertron glanced off of the tip of the High Council Tower like a beacon of fire, reminding Lio of his errand. With a heavy sigh, he shut his optics and entered the activation code that would patch him in to the Council's network. The image changed to that of a round chamber, surrounded on all sides by high seats. His image was projected from a spot on the lower floor, as though he were a criminal on trial. Ancient carvings predating the War and depictions of the lives of Primes decorated the walls, but stained crystal windows with images of plants and birds now occupied prominent spaces in the building as well. They filled the room with colorful light, yet did not do much to dispel the grim nature of the Council.

"Lio Convoy, you have been called on a matter of some urgency." To some, the being who spoke would have seemed grotesque, even frightening. A fusion of a lion, an eagle, and an elephant, the Right Hon. Magnaboss was a fearsome thing to behold to the uninitiated. To Lio Convoy, the sight of the monstrous Maximal was a relief, for while Magnaboss was well-known for his terrifying ferocity and strength on the battlefield, there were few who could deny that he had an intensely compassionate nature. Magnaboss leaned forward slightly, a stern look in his old optics that reminded Lio for a moment of his old Sire, long dead.

"I will be frank with you, young Convoy," Magnaboss said. "We have received some...disturbing reports. Reports suggesting that you seem to believe that the laws of our people do not apply to you?"

Lio was shocked. "Forgive me, your honor, but I am at a loss as to what you refer to! Have I broken a law?"

To his far left, a smaller mech snorted rudely. "As if you didn't know! All potential recruits for a Maximal exploration & enforcement team must not only be approved by the High Command, but must also be drawn from the academies!"

From the very back of the chamber, out of sight of Lio's holographic link, a cheerful old voice called out, "Ah, Cohrada! So glad you decided to join us after all! Tell me, have you finally passed that level of Barsoom Online you've been so upset about?" The green and gold mech fell silent, looking absolutely mortified. With this outburst out of the way, Lio Convoy turned his attention back to the Council.

"Am I to assume, then, that you believe I have been remiss in my choice of teammates?" he asked carefully. If he played this right, there might be no need to bring up the humans or the interdimensional travel at all.

"Lio, please understand that you are not outright being accused of any wrongdoing at present." the speaker was Air Hammer, a gentle spark of few words. "As the honorable Magnaboss mentioned, we've received reports. That's all. We wish to know the truth before we act on them."

Magnaboss nodded his thanks to the white avian and turned back to the accused. "Lio Convoy, is there or is there not an unmarked youngling among your soldiers, with neither kin nor faction? Reports of his appearance vary between spots and racing stripes, so I am inclined to take this rumor with a grain of rust, as it were."

The younger mech bowed his helm respectfully. "Your honor, it is true. The variance in description is due to the fact that he was captured and experimented upon by Predacons, and is coalescing in our base. However, I should like it stated for the record that he is not a Maximal yet, nor have we allowed him to act in any official capacity." He gritted his denta as a Council member asked the dreaded question: where had he come from? Suddenly reluctant to speak, Lio realized that he did not want to tell the ruling body of Cybertron about his interdimensional adventures. But why? Surely keeping them in ignorance could only serve to needlessly endanger lives later! Still, he found words in his mind of a voice far older than he, whispering, "Even here, among those who answer directly to Vector Sigma itself, there is the potential for corruption."

Seeing his hesitance, Magnaboss moved, mercifully, to the next subject. "Young Convoy, the representatives of the human governments have approached us with concerns that their kind are being endangered. You are, of course, taking care to keep all battles and missions well away from populated areas?"

The Convoy quickly agreed, but was interrupted by a mech sitting near Cohrada. "Convoy!" he said the title like a slur. "Explain the decision to acquire three human pets to this Council! Not only does that violate your directive of secrecy, but it contaminates the quality of your work!" Some other Council members rolled their optics or muttered behind their hands.

A bright Firebird near the back leaned forward and said condescendingly, "Ikard, your mouth is talking again. You might want to see to that."(a/n: sorry...Firefly happened for a second there...)Scattered chuckles followed, but Ikard was not swayed.

"Mechs and femmes of the Council, while it is, unfortunately, necessary to deal with lesser species in order to work for the greater good, can we really extend that to snatching three juveniles out of their nests?"

The Firebird shook his plumes in disbelief. "Humans don't live in nests, you ignoramus! Stop watching old monster movies!" He was, of course, ignored, and Lio felt his hackles rise as Ikard continued to speak of the human race with disgust and disdain. He clearly believed that they were inferior to Cybertronians, being completely organic. This was, naturally, a sentiment of deepest hypocrisy, as Ikard was half organic himself.

"I believe was Council Member Ikard meant to say," interrupted a very stern femme, "Is that it is wholly inappropriate for a Convoy of your experience to allow your little mascots to accompany your soldiers on missions, or to expect them to know anything about Cybertronian culture or technology. Frankly, I question your judgment, and wonder whether you haven't allowed yourself to be won over by the sparkling-like appeal of our...alien allies."

Servos clenched into fists, and armor flared out in a subconscious display of dominance as Lio's yellow optics practically oozed controlled fury. It is a regrettable fact that when one is angered, every now and then, there is the potential to do or say things that might not help the situation in the slightest. Thus it was that the red and white mech answered in a tone bordering sarcasm.

"Well then, Minister Circe, would this be a bad time to mention that I took the liberty of inducting them into the Junior Maximals?"

The Firebird, Air Hammer, and the shadowy mech that had reprimanded Cohrada all burst out laughing at his insolence. Cohrada, Circe, and Ikard were not so amused.

"This is an outrage!" the squid flailed tentacles about, looking hideously aggrieved. "This will make our proud institution a laughingstock! Convoy, as you hope to keep your rank, you had best return those creatures to the wild, or else dispose of them before we do!"

"Out of the question!" Lio snapped. He ignored the gasps, ignored Magnaboss's gentle rebuke of his temper. He felt his Energon Matrix hum to life for the first time in many years. It whispered back and forth to Vector Sigma and its parent Matrix, and the voices gave him strength. "Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, is it not, Maximal High Council?" he asked acid in his tone, "Not just the ones we think are our equals."

"Be careful, Lio Convoy, you overreach yourself," Bantor warned sternly.

"I meant no disrespect to you, Council Member Bantor," the accused said pointedly. He turned back to face Ikard, whose image wavered slightly as the projectors struggled to keep up with his enraged trembling. "Tell me, Ikard. Was I meant to salute and smile and let you terminate our Cubs? If anything happens to them, you can be the one to explain to Optimus Prime precisely why we failed to protect his charges."

The instant the words left his mouth, Lio regretted them. Now he would have to tell them about the Rift, or risk looking like a fool. The Convoy cursed his pride. He'd had to add the extra nail in the coffin, hadn't he? He'd had to prove a point. Whatever happened now was on his own helm.

Forgive me, children.

Apache leaned listlessly against the wall in the medical wing, staring down at his hands.

What were you thinking, Apache you old fool?! He berated himself sternly, opening and closing his servos. Almost lost a patient twice, let yourself get blackmailed by a Predacon, and now this! Did you ever think you'd lose your temper with one of the children? He cursed himself aloud as he roughly swiped a scanner from the counter. Even Predacons knew better than to shake a sparkling! What was wrong with him? Somehow, inexplicably, he'd forgotten that the Junior Maximals were not just as hardy as the scouts just a few ranks above them.

The old medic pushed off of the wall and moved to stare down at the pile of blankets Break and Stampy had scavenged. Before the last two days, he hadn't even considered human illnesses as a risk. Now it seemed he would have to rethink the defensive armor he'd built for them. As Apache stared down at the fragile figure, asleep in the tangle of pink and purple cloth, he wondered with a guilty start whether he ought to reconfigure the armor to activate around any Cybertronian life-signature, not just Predacons. Apache seated himself on the unoccupied berth beside the sick bed, reassured by the gentle rise and fall of Miko's chest as she slept.

It was time to go back to inventing.

"Convoy, explain yourself! How did these so-called "Rifts" come to be?"

As he had suspected, Lio had been forced to tell the High Council about the Autobots' brief time in their universe, as well as his own time in theirs, and the origin of Cheetor and the Junior Maximals. This was news to the Council, as the Predacons had been very tight-lipped about their prisoners, and they demanded proof. Reluctantly, he had showed them the message from Optimus Prime, albeit only the clip of him charging the Maximals with the care of the children until his return.

"By Primus, you spoke the truth!" Magnaboss gasped. There was a wonder in his optics, an almost childlike joy reaching beyond his recorded memory at seeing a familiar face again, and deep within the triple sparks of the mighty Maximal, three old Autobots were at peace once more. The massive mech turned to his fellow Council members with a wide smile. "Well then, it is clear that there can be no complaint against the three human juveniles, unless we wish to incur the wrath of not only Optimus Prime, but the Convoy he chose to defend his allies!"

This was mostly well-received among the mechs and femmes of the Council, though some did mutter darkly and warn of the downfall of civilization. With the matter of the humans apparently settled, Cohrada turned everyone's attention back to the other issue at hand.

"That's all well and good, your honor, but what about this "Cheetor"? The great Prime did not mention him at all! The fact remains that he is an unauthorized member of that assembly, contrary to protocol!" He crossed his one whip-like arm over his more normal one and glared at them all. "Add in the factor of this "angolmois" that the Predacons seem to have weaponized, and we are left with a wild card. An unstable, unpredictable mechling who may well be a sleeper agent!" No one wanted to admit it, but the youngest member of the High Council had a point.

"Certainly, he warrants further study," Torca said in a calm tone, contrasting with the others. "Lio Convoy, send us this "Cheetor" immediately. We will run some tests on the angolmois still residing in his systems, and determine whether he may continue on with your people."

Something about that proposition did not sit right with the Convoy. Given the rarity of angolmois, it would certainly be beneficial to have it studied, but he could not help the suspicion that "run some tests" might come to mean "experiment on the youngling", and while he had never been much of a conspiracy theorist, Lio found himself leaning more towards the Mulder end of the scale than the Scully end in that moment.

"Mechs and femmes of the Council, I cannot in good conscience allow that. Cheetor is only a youngling, still unused to his frame and dealing with several compounded incidents of trauma. To send him to a planet unfamiliar to him, to be experimented upon by mechs strange to him might send him over the edge. I would no more allow that than I would allow harm to befall my own son." he said, as respectfully as possible.

"Ah yes, your son..." Circe mused, a cruel glitter in her optics. "I'm sure you've missed him. Be comforted in the fact that you will have plenty of time with your sparkling soon enough: you're being recalled for insubordination."

"No, he most certainly is not!" a sharp voice interrupted. It was the old mech who had been mocking some of the other ones—the friend of the Firebird. The hulking shape of a black and red Maximal strode forth and slammed both palms down on the high walls surrounding the Council seats. "Lio Convoy is exactly where Primus needs him to be at this moment. He has done nothing wrong except perhaps sassing his elders just now...but I remember a young Archivist who was very similar, eons ago." A mischievous smile lit the ancient lion's faceplates as the other mechs and femmes quieted respectfully.

Alpha Trion turned burning optics on Magnaboss. "No one is on that strike team that I have not authorized. Not even the human children—and I would advise you, Cohrada, Circe, Ikard, not to be decieved by appearances. They are more than meets the optic—and I defy any of you to tell an old mech he's wrong!" He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow as if actually daring someone to speak.

Circe was brave enough—or perhaps stupid enough—to try. "Esteemed elder, what of the unmarked youngling? And protocol?"

Trion snorted rudely. "Blast protocol! I wrote most of it, I can break it if I want to! Listen you younglings, I hand-picked Cheetor for reasons of my own. Do you really want to argue with me about this?" He beamed and tapped his servos together when the hall fell silent. "No one? Oh come now, I haven't had a good debate since Zeta Prime! Oh we used to really go at it, too..." Then he straightened, stern once more. "Cheetor is there for a reason. Lio is there for a reason, and the humans are there for a reason. The Right Honorable Magnaboss really only has one item left on the agenda, as I see it."

No one dared contradict him.

The Lucky Draw hovered uncertainly before the skeleton of a planet.

"Th-that can't be Cybertron!" a Battle-Ravage gasped. "Where are all the trees? The lights? Where's the Core's glow?"

Archadis scoffed at the crewmate's ignorance and tossed his feathered helm. "This isn't the Cybertron you knew, chaps. This is Cybertron as it used to be, during the Exodus of the Autobots. In fact, I daresay we've stopped in some universe where the War for Earth is still in full swing." Feeling a little like a tour guide, the archeopteryx waved grandly at the viewports. "Keep your optics peeled, lads, and you may well see an Autobot or two!"

A brief look over the ship's overall systems revealed a copious amount of "unidentified colloid" sticking to the wings and engines. Archadis assumed it was something that they'd picked up in the Rift, but didn't feel like exiting the ship to see what it actually was. As the Lucky Draw coasted forward, neither her captain nor her crew noticed the faint, nearly imperceptible lines of a laser tripwire strung between two asteroids.

A line that was very soon broken.

Aboard the Nemesis, confusion reigned. Megatron was in a foul mood, and anyone with half a processor was staying well out of his way. Evidently his confrontation with Optimus Prime had not revealed anything about the mysterious absence of the Autobots, nor their odd-looking replacements. Soundwave had been in a state of near information-overload in his search for answers, but no one was turning up anything. In a case of desperate times calling for desperate measures, Megatron had decided to call back a particularly formidable asset that had been left behind on Cybertron long ago. Minimum details were given, promise of a designated workspace was made, as were a few threats.

In short, Shockwave couldn't have been more interested.

"Before I am Bridged to your location, my lord," the dull monotone said politely, "One of my monitors caught an unfamiliar cruiser orbiting Cybertron. It is of a make and origin unknown to me, but the technology appears to be more advanced than my own. It may prove useful to bring it to the Nemesis."

Megatron nodded on the other end of the link. "Soundwave," he ordered, "Prepare the Space Bridge and ready a tractor beam. We're going to have guests."

The training room, Maximal base.

"Owwww!"

Cheetor picked himself up off the mat and rubbed his shoulder ruefully. "Come on, Star, this isn't fair! You fight like a Cloaker!" He yelped and dodged—not quick enough—and was laid out flat by a lightning-quick double punch from the kangaroo's gloved hands. This was just embarrassing! Star Upper wasn't even in his robot mode and he was beating the tar out of him!

Star Upper crossed his furry arms and glowered down at his student. "Ah-ah! What'd I say when you jumped inta the ring, ankle-biter? Whaddya call me?"

"Coach," the youngling grumbled in deference. Then, rebelliously, "You still fight like a Cloaker though."

From his relatively safe place at the edge of the ring, Jack grinned at his friend. "A Cloaker, huh? I've heard Ratchet mention them once or twice, but I don't actually know what they are."

The gold and silver mech scowled and pointed an accusatory servo at Star Upper. "They're a pain in the neck-cables, like this guy! They never stand still and then they hit you when your back is turned!"

The older Maximal shrugged nonchalantly. "Hey, it ain't my fault you can't box your way outta a paper bag! Come on, if the Preds won't fight fair, why should I? Now put up your fists and try again!"

Cheetor groaned loudly and drooped. "How?" he complained, "I can't even land one blow on you when you're in beast-mode!"

"Exactly! You rely too much on your fancy Elite Guard training. It ain't always gonna save ya, kid. Try getting in touch with your animal instincts instead of copying old training-hall methods." He bounded forward, ready to begin the bludgeoning anew, and Cheetor whooped, flailing his arms and launching his torso backward just in time to miss the powerful fist. "You can do this, Cheetor! You scanned a living being, therefore you've got a share of its nature. Now use it!"

"Move your feet!" Jack laughed from the sidelines. He quickly scrambled out of the way as Star Upper made a mock threatening step towards him.

"Oi! Don't laugh at him, ankle-biter, you're next!"

Something seemed to occur to Cheetor in that moment, and he winked once at the human from behind Star's back. As if on cue, Jack set up a protest over the potential hazards of a human teenager sparring with a giant kangaroo. As the Nebulon boxer tried to reassure him that he would only be doing drills, Cheetor quietly slipped into beast-mode and crept up on his teacher. Then, with an incredible burst of speed, he closed the distance between them and pounced. Cheetor tackled the wiry tan and purple mech with a playful growl, but at the last second, Star Upper transformed. He snatched Jack with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Cheetor's neck, bringing them both to the ground.

"Better!" he laughed, "Nice use of tag-teaming! Little tip though, boys: if you're gonna coordinate something like that again, use static comm bursts, not your optics. Optics are the windows to the spark or whatever it is the old 'uns say, so if I see your eyes react, the game's up and you get a pounding again. Got it?"

"Yes, Coach," both young ones grumbled good-naturedly. Satisfied, Star let them up.

"Alright, now, footwork drills. Both of you!"

The external Space Bridge was certainly warning enough, to Archadis's thinking. The use of a tractor beam on his beloved Lucky Draw was just plain rude! The mercenary stood and leaned over to one of the Shattered Blade Brothers.

"Something's afoot, boys. Be ready for anything," he murmured. Then he turned to the collected Cruellocks, Dive-bombs, and Battle-Ravages and raised both hands for silence.

"Alright chaps, if I could have your attention for a moment? A moment, gentlemen?" His handsome features twisted into a scowl. "You, the dinosaur at the starboard atmospheric regulator: stop playing solitaire while I'm talking!" He folded his hands and schooled his features to neutrality. "Well, lads, it looks as though we may, in fact, be about to encounter hostiles of an unknown nature! I'd like to take this opportunity to direct you all to our economy-size emergency guest bunkers!"

The brightly colored mech gestured to panels in the floor that Doom-lock and Blackout were pulling up. Underneath were cramped compartments, invisible to scanners and highly shielded.

"Those are smuggler's holds!" Gore-drip exclaimed.

"Are they?" Archadis feigned surprise. "Why, I'd no idea! You're so terribly clever!" Then, with an impatient snarl, he knocked the mech out of the way with a swift kick to the rear. "Get in there, bird-brain!" Once the last of the crew were safely hidden and out of his way, Archadis let his hands collapse back into his wrists, reshaping and opening out into a pair of Magnetar Pulse blasters—smaller than the standard cannon and mostly illegal on 43 planets.

"Come on, lads," he growled to the Shattered Blade Brothers. "Follow me."

The Lucky Draw trembled as the Nemesis launched boarding cables, the clawed ends of which lodged in the ship's bow and stern with an iron grip. A flight of Seekers exited the ship, led by Megatron and Dreadwing, and headed for the captured cruiser. None of them noticed the three small figures crawling out of a hatch on the underbelly of the Lucky Draw.

"What the—hey boss! What is this stuff?" Doom-lock grunted, pulling his servos away from the hull in disgust. The "unidentified colloid" the systems had noted to be on the wings and engines glowed with a variegated, ephemeral rainbow of pulsing material that was neither solid nor liquid. On the undersides of the engines, the substance was pale, and gave off no light, only a feeling of unwholesomeness.

Angolmois.

"That, my dear Doom-lock, might just be what keeps us alive if my suspicions prove correct and that really was Megatron I just saw." Archadis snapped. "Whatever you do, don't touch it! Unless you want to turn out like poor old Elephorca, of course." The Divebomb and the Cruellock cringed and continued to climb, hand over hand, across the underside of their ship. Once the Decepticons had entered the Lucky Draw, Archadis and his companions scurried up the grapple lines and into the Nemesis.

"Right lads, make your way to the command bridge," Archadis whispered, "And keep to your beast-modes! It won't show up as quickly on security scans!" Doom-lock thought that perhaps this wasn't an extraordinarily accurate statement, given the brightness of his boss's plumage, but he didn't say anything. Like a trio of shadows, the mercenaries made their way through the Nemesis unseen. Luck was with them, for Soundwave had split too much of his attention between Earth and the Nemesis, and did not pick up on the three extra spark-signatures as he wandered the halls.

When Megatron and his patrol returned, frustrated at apparently finding nothing within the "ghost ship", they were greeted by a rather unpleasant surprise. Every Vehicon in the command center was dead. Some lay where they had fallen, a single shot through their helms or spark chambers. Others had been scattered across the room in several pieces by some heavy weapon. In the center of the chamber, a burly mech covered in tattoos held a massive blade to the base of Shockwave's helm. True to form, the scientist was not reacting emotionally, but he knew that the outcome was not favorable. To the larger warrior's right, a smaller, black and blue bird-like mech had an arm around the throat of a quaking Starscream, who also happened to be squealing like a femmeling at the moment.

"Starscream is as Starscream does!" the larger of the two laughed roughly.

They had a point, Megatron would give them that, but that didn't mean he wasn't furious to have been outmaneuvered by strangers. They had the advantage here, having managed to slip under Soundwave's radar—and Megatron would be having a long talk with his spy about this later—and unless he wanted to lose two officers, he was going to have to listen to whatever they had to say. Starscream...he could handle that loss. But Shockwave? He needed Shockwave alive. For now.

"You seem to have me at a disadvantage, gentlemen," Megatron said smoothly, calling on his old days as an orator to hide his irritation. "I am not acquainted with any warriors of your kind. But, as you've made such a point of getting aboard my ship, I cannot help but be curious. What can I do for you?"

Out of the shadows between the two pirates, a small, thin figure emerged.

"The question you ought to be asking, my lord," it purred, "Is what can we do for you." Archadis sauntered forward and swept into a low bow, pouring on the ceremony. "My name is Archadis, and these rather temperamental fellows are my companions, the Shattered Blade Brothers. I do try to keep them in line, you know, really I do. But you know what the young are like these cycles!" He shrugged blithely and then pointed out the surveillance screen to his captured ship. "Tell me, milord, have you ever heard of angolmois?"

Megatron raised an eyebrow. He had not heard of the...whatever it was, but he got the feeling that he was about to find out.

It was shaping up to be an interesting solar cycle.

Lio Convoy was not the only Maximal contacting Cybertron.

Once the link had been set up, the various members of the team were using their own personal screens and data links for their own purposes. Break had been using his link to play video games with Miko, but now that the ill girl was asleep, he'd been chased out of the med bay and wound up having to help Rattrap arrange for a supply drop. At least they didn't need food this time. With a sigh, the youngling signed his name alongside Rattrap's in the request for updated medical equipment and seven crates of nanite capsules, along with twelve crates of ammunition.

"Yer sighin' is getting' real old, kid," Rattrap grunted after the order was complete. "Get outta here, will ya? Yer botherin' me!"

Break wandered the halls, peering into each room to see who was doing what. Airazor was on a vidcomm chat with some giant tiger or other, and didn't look like she wanted to be interrupted, so he slipped past her door without greeting her. Lio was probably still talking to the Council, so that ruled him out, and Apache was still in the med bay. Grumbling about boredom under his breath, Break shuffled away. Razorback wasn't on the comm or the interplanetary link. He wasn't doing anything, apparently, just sitting in the dark glaring at things. The penguin moved rather quickly past his door. Star Upper, oddly, was not in his room, and Break decided to go looking for him.

Stampy, on the other hand, was not bored at all. He sat in the garden with Raf perched on his shoulder, staring at a wide holographic screen. On the screen were two giant rabbits even larger than Stampy himself, surrounded by several smaller ones.

"Raf, that's my Sire, Lightfoot, and my Carrier, Surefire," Stampy said happily. "Sire, Carrier, this is my new friend Raf! He comes from a big family too: he totally gets me!" The adult Cybertronians laughed at this and greeted the human warmly.

"Stampy, no offense, but how come they aren't transforming?" Raf whispered up into his friend's sensitive ear. The youngling shrugged.

"We live on a colony world, a little ways away from Cybertron. We're closer to the sun and the harmful radiation...it mixes with the raw energon deposits, and that's a total system overload for you! It's safer to just stay in beast-mode."

"We're pleased to meet you, Raf," Lightfoot interrupted his son gently. "How old are you?" He raised his furry eyebrows as Rafael proudly reported that he was now twelve and a half years old. Long ears flopped down over the male Maximal's face and he tugged one thoughtfully.

"Twelve years...and that's 365 solar cycles each, which makes you..." he trailed off and squinted.

"Would you like me to get you a calculator, dear?" Surefire teased.

"No no, I'll think of it in a minute." Lightfoot chewed his lip and twisted his ears and thought very hard. "That's a decivorn, add a quattuorvorn...do we have a word for that amount? I don't know if we have a word for that amount."

"Just round it, dear."
"Ah what the heck, let's round it. Put's you at about .1446 vorns old, don't it, little fella?" Lightfoot smiled down at the human on the vid feed, who smiled back.

"Give or take, sir. But where I come from, we don't count human lives in vorns. Ratchet says it makes our lives seem too short." He decided not to tell them that most humans lived about a vorn and a half at the most. "Stampy said you guys worked on a farm. What do you grow?"

"Young'uns, mostly," Surefire said dryly. Horrified, Stampy pulled his ears over his own face.

"Carrierrrrrr!" he groaned, "There's not that many of us!"

Lightfoot roared with laughter and threw a paw around his sparkmate's shoulders. "She's kidding, boys. We raise cyber-carrots. Yes, kiddo, that's "a thing", as you younglings say these days." Being rather proud of his specialty crop, the farmer launched into an explanation. "What we did is we took a crop of carrots from your world and decided to see what would happen if you watered 'em with energon instead of just plain ol' water. Turns out ya get something that feeds your organic half while still nourishing your techno half!"

In the middle of a—slightly boring—description of the harvesting process, Lightfoot was interrupted by a very small rabbit, probably give or take the size of a saint bernard, who leaped up over his Sire's head and landed in front of the screen. The little yellow and blue bunny hopped up and down in excitement.

"Big brother! Big brother, guess what!" he squeaked gleefully.

Raf smiled. "Hey Stampy, I thought you were the youngest!" Stampy shrugged and scratched the back of his head.

"Almost the youngest. That's Moon. He's only two decivorns old, so...yeah, he's still kinda annoying sometimes." Raf laughed at the description and shook his head.

"Hi Moon, I'm Raf!" he said, waving to the sparkling. Moon giggled.

"You're funny-looking! What do you turn into?" he asked. Rather than be offended by the question, Raf just shrugged.

"A grown-up, I guess! Humans don't get to switch forms like Cybertronians do. We don't have t-cogs."

"Oh. That's kinda sad." Moon blinked. Then, as small children will, he forgot all about it and moved on to another subject.

"Hey big brother! Me an' Artemis—y'know, Artemis from school? She doesn't have a beast-mode. She's weird—we're gonna join the Junior Scouts! Artemis says we have to sell energon chips, but I think she's lying. We get to practice bein' scouts, just like you!"

Eventually, Lightfoot and Surefire managed to distract their youngest sparkling with something else, and Moon scampered off to bother one of his other elder siblings.

"Do you know when you'll be able to come home, Stampy?" Surefire asked. There was the slightest quiver in her voice: her second youngest son's absence was beginning to take its toll on her. "Has your team come any closer to shutting down the Predacon's plans?"

"Sorry, Carrier. That's classified information," Stampy apologized meekly. "I wish I could tell you. I think we might get to go on leave before too long, though. I'll see you all then!"

Surefire warned him to eat his vegetables, Lightfoot told him to mind his footing in battle, and the seven older brothers and sisters all asked for souvenirs from Earth before they all shouted a boisterous goodbye. Stampy shut the link off and sighed, shifting back to his robot mode with a soft hum and several clicks.

"You really miss them, huh?" Raf patted his friend's foot sympathetically. Back home, there was no Cybertron as such to go home to. No thriving cities or relatives for the Autobots to miss. Their family was there, on Earth, as Bumblebee liked to say. Stampy wasn't much older than 'Bee, and here he was on a faraway planet, separated from his mom, dad, and eight siblings. For all that the technology was better and the Autobot/Decepticon war was over, Raf felt that this was almost the harder life, even if they were being supplied with all the energon they needed from their homeworld. Raf thought of his own parents and siblings and crossed his arms. It had been months now. He didn't know how Fowler had been explaining his absence, and he didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep his secret once he got back, but for now he just missed his human family.

And his Autobot family.

"Dreadwing."

At Megatron's call, the heavy Seeker turned instantly, giving Blackout a momentary reprieve from Dreadwing's never-ending "I'm suspicious of you" glare. It was getting irritating, honestly, but as they were the "guests", Archadis had said they weren't allowed to pick any fights with the locals. He needn't have worried where Soundwave was concerned. While the mech in question was a loquacious and mostly good-natured Predacon in their world, he was a silent, ghostly menace here. This Soundwave seemed unable to understand how he had missed the Predacons' first foray onto the Nemesis, and thus watched them. Always. Blackout was beginning to think that the faceless spy was more frightening than Lord Galvatron himself!

Dreadwing saluted his master and waited calmly for orders. He did not have long to wait.

"Dreadwing, you recall that I had asked you to do something for me?" the warlord said in a low voice. "A task I normally reserve for myself, but one that I, sadly, have no time for now." At Dreadwing's nod, Megatron continued. "You had planned to take Breakdown with you. Don't."

Dreadwing blinked at the odd phrasing. He would not have questioned the Decepticon leader, but he had to admit that it was very odd.

"As you wish, my lord. Shall I go alone, or take another officer with me?"

"I will leave that to your discretion, First Officer," Megatron replied, then waved him away. He had ordered Dreadwing to take Airachnid off-ship and terminate her—the price she had to pay for attempting to usurp his position during the Unicron Incident—and the Seeker had suggested taking Breakdown to make it appear as though it were a normal mission. At first he had agreed, but Soundwave had approached him afterwords with a warning, a premonition of sorts, that sending Breakdown would invite disaster. Megatron was a hard mech, used to a kill-or-be-killed life without the slightest shred of comfort or luxury. That did not mean that he was utterly sparkless; he had some regard for his soldiers, if they had distinguished themselves as warriors and loyal followers. Breakdown was one such mech. He gave every mission his all and took punishment silently when he failed.

The strange, feathered mercenary and Shockwave had been working in Knock Out's laboratory non-stop since their arrival a fortnight ago. The "angolmois" material seemed to have transformative properties that combined organic matter with the anatomy, forming a new creature altogether. That it was one with an organic alt mode might once have disgusted Megatron, but the reports that these techno-organic soldiers possessed heightened strength and endurance intrigued him enough to let the experiments continue. Two Eradicons and two Vehicons had been chosen as part of the experiment, but now Megatron began to think that a soldier with more initiative and a better track record of success might also be required.

"Breakdown," he snapped into his comm, "Report to Shockwave at once! You are to aid our guests in their experiment."

Break wasn't bored anymore.

He perched on the edge of the boxing ring, watching in fascination as Star Upper stood between Jack and Cheetor, sternly calling out numbers and patterns. The human and the cat responded with speed and accuracy, falling into certain stances or moves depending on what their instructor said, but Break could see that their energy was flagging.

"Yo Star!" he waved, catching the older mech's attention. "Can we take a time-out real quick? I wanna show the guys something."

Star Upper glanced down at his students, noticed Cheetor's trembling servos and Jack's sweat-covered body, and nodded. "Yeah, we're done for the day." He turned to go.

"Cat, get energon. Human, take a bath. You stink."

Jack looked up and muffled a snicker as Cheetor pulled a hideous face at the kangaroo's retreating form, then slowly climbed out of the ring.

"Good grief, I thought I was about to collapse!"

"Yeah, me too. You held your own pretty well for an organic though," Cheetor said thoughtfully as he climbed over the barriers. They both slumped to the cool stone floor and sighed in unison.

"You two look dead." Break teased before sitting down on Jack's other side. "Look, I wanna show you something!"

The penguin activated a small, notched disc in a compartment on his left wrist, and a hologram of Cybertron sprang up before them.

"There. That's Cybertron. Lio said that your Cybertron was still dead or dormant or whatever, so I thought you might want to see what it looks like now that the War is over."

Cheetor was speechless. He reached out, not caring that it was only a hologram, and ran his servos along the green and silver surface of the planet. "Can...can I see Iacon?" he asked, almost timidly.

"Sure. I'll zoom in."

Human and youngling alike almost gasped at the beauty of the jungle city. Break laughed at their childish excitement as they pointed out things they recognized.

"Look! The Archives building! That's where I was stationed when the Decepticons came!" Cheetor cried, pointing to one of the golden towers. Jack nodded.

"Can we move to the Southern Hemisphere, Break?" he asked. The hologram shifted to a land that was less green, but still unarguably alive.

"Kaon." Jack breathed. "Look, see that bridge over the waterfall there? That used to be part of the speedway! I know, I had to run down it with an angry Insecticon chasing me and Arcee. I definitely remember it." Both of his companions made disgusted faces at the mention of the misadventure.

"Insecticons. Blecch!"

"Man, you have all the fun!"

Jack stared at the two. "Break, I agree. Cheetor, you're insane." He turned back to the hologram and sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. If he followed the former speedway with his eyes, he could see the square where Vector Sigma had risen, the place where, briefly, the Key had become the Matrix of Leadership...Jack tried not to think about the implications of that and instead focused on the fact that there was now a beautiful pavilion of seven fountains over the space, surrounded by what appeared to be some kind of mutant cherry trees. He wished he could point it out to the others, but something held him back. It felt a little too secret to share with the Maximals, even if they were his allies.

Eventually, his protesting muscles overpowered his curiosity and he slumped back, letting his eyelids droop. Within minutes, he was out cold, slumped against Break's side. Mercifully, he did not hear the two older recruits seriously discussing drawing on his face and posting the photographic evidence on his social networking page. The mischief was curtailed by the entrance of Lio Convoy, finished at last with the grueling interrogation session with the Council. He'd given far more information than he'd ever intended to, but at least Alpha Trion wouldn't let anything happen to the youngest members of his team. He smiled and shook his helm at the whispered plans of Break and Cheetor.

"What are you two doing?" he asked, and was hard-pressed to hide his smile as they jumped.

"Uh...n-nothing, boss! We weren't doing anything!" Break stammered.

"Yeah! We weren't gonna paint his face, really!" Cheetor giggled nervously. The troublemaking pair scooted away from the human as Lio approached.

"Ah. I see." Optics twinkling, Lio ran a hand over his faceplate and crouched. "Cheetor, the Maximal Council has agreed to allow you to join our ranks. You are now a Cub-rank Maximal, orders effective immediately."

There was a moment of shock, followed by disbelief on the youngling's faceplate. It slowly gave way to wonder and the fanged mouth split into a grin so wide his optics nearly disappeared.

"You're serious? I can stay?"

He leapt to his pedes and grasped the elder mech's hands in his fervor of excitement.

"Yes, young one, calm down!" the nominal Prime laughed, and he ruffled Cheetor's helm. "I need you to do something for me."

"Anything, Prime!" Cheetor was practically shaking, but his smile was infectious.

"I need you to go with Airazor to take Jack and Raf home. She'll teach you how to move unseen in suburban areas, and it will give you a fair idea of where the boys live should I ever need you to pick up your fellow Cubs yourself." Lio answered. He carefully picked up the sleeping Jack and handed him to Cheetor. "Don't worry about waking him. We have discovered that if Jackson drives himself to exhaustion, it is very difficult to wake him afterwords. There have been some...incidents...connected to that, I'm afraid."

He escorted the young ones out of the training room and sent them on their way.

"Airazor outranks you, Cheetor. Do as she says," he called.

"I will!"

"And Cheetor?"
The silver and gold Cybertronian turned to look back at Lio excpectantly.

"Welcome home."

Archadis stood back and tapped his denta with one long servo. The facility was crude, but adequate. Shockwave had set up several tanks in an empty storage room that had been filled with the colorful angolmois which had been carefully scraped from the hull of the Lucky Draw. A separate tank in the back of the darkened room held the pale angolmois with strict warnings that it was not to be touched. Shockwave was certainly the mastermind here, but he seemed to regard Archadis as the resident expert on angolmois, and was thus affording him the courtesy of asking him for his input on the experiment.

"I have taken the liberty of selecting several appropriate alternative modes for the upgraded forms of the subjects," the soulless voice intoned. Shockwave handed the mercenary a datapad with five compressed files. Upon being opened, they revealed the scientist's choices, six of which were creatures that were decidedly extinct.

"Wait a moment, I remember now!" Archadis exclaimed, "You're the fellow who reformatted the Lightning Strike Coalition into the very first Dinobots, aren't you? Well, that certainly explains your selections here. I think we'd better leave off with the Spinosaurus and the Mosasaur. Maybe you forgot how good ol' Grimlock reacted to his reformatting, but I, for one, don't think Lord Megatron needs massive carnivores running amok on the ship. Oh, they'd be loyal alright, but they're a pain in the neck-cables to feed and house!"

Once the alt modes had been agreed upon, the subjects were summoned.

"Alright fellows, I really can't say what this will be like, as I've never experienced it myself, but I have it on good authority that you're about to feel better than you ever have before. Consider this an...extreme makeover."

Meekly, the two Eradicons and two Vehicons allowed themselves to be lowered into the tanks and shut their optics. Breakdown insisted upon climbing in himself, and kept his optics open.

"I want to know what's going on," he explained.

The change began immediately. It would have been impossible for Archadis to have seen it all even as he turned in rapid circles to take it all in. He caught the impression of an armored hand stretching into claws here, an arm sprouting a wing there, a frill of horns rising like a high collar around Breakdown's helm. The mechs were all silent, so he doubted the process was painful. Every now and again, someone (the faceless drones were impossible to tell apart) would mutter, "Well that's...interesting..." and fall silent again. Then, the colors began to change. The first Eradicon's helm grew rounded and the mask melted away to reveal a scarlet faceplate with wild yellow optics. Violet armor covered the rest of the red body, with two wings wrapping around most of him in the now cramped tank. The second Eradicon formed a coppery helm to match his arms and legs, but most of him was silver with dark green over-armor, also forming wide wings.

The Vehicons took bulkier forms, and thin cracks began to spiderweb across the tanks. The one nearest to Archadis leaned against the glass with round, friendly optics and a wide, almost crazy grin. He tapped pale orange servos against the barrier repeatedly and waved. With a light laugh, Archadis waved back. Apparently, the angolmois was also capable of giving personality. A lot of it. A bright yellow stripe ran over the back of the black helm and down the first Vehicon's spine, interrupted by a yellow, organic mass of what looked like folded material. Archadis wondered whether it might be some kind of frill or sail. The second Vehicon was definitely not as friendly as the first. He peered out at Shockwave and Archadis with half-lidded optics with a mean, calculating look. His helm had formed into something like an ancient crown, tall, red and gold. Megatron probably wouldn't approve of that, Archadis decided. The mech crossed steely grey arms over a pale lavender chest and scowled menacingly out of the tank. Archadis quickly decided that he didn't like this experiment. Not at all.

Breakdown's transformation was equally dramatic. The black eyepatch cracked and sank to the bottom of the container, revealing a perfectly healthy optic beneath. While his helm stayed much the same shape, what had been blue became the same shade of purple as the first Eradicon. Over one arm, a fearsome, reptilian head took shape, the mouth of which held both fist and cannon. The other arm had bulked up considerably, and interlocking plates of scale-like armor covered it down to the wrist. It would pack a nasty wallop if he chose to backhand someone!

At last, Shockwave declared saturation complete and moved to shut off the tanks. The subjects beat him to it. With a mighty CRACK! The tanks burst and five dripping mechs tumbled to the floor, some laughing and others stoic. The red-and-purple Eradicon shook out his sodden wings with great interest.

"Well noo, an' wot have Ah becoom then?" he turned in circles.

"Try shouting Terrorize," Archadis suggested coolly. "It'll help get your processor into the right place for transforming." The new Predacon nodded gratefully.

"A'right then. Terrorize!" The purple and red mech disappeared, and in his place stood an ungainly creature with a long beak and beady eyes.

"A pteranodon," the archeopteryx nodded approvingly. "Very nice! Those are some powerful wings you've got there, my lad!"

The pteranodon clacked his beak thoughtfully. "Thanks, mech. Yer no' so verra bad yersel'!" With that, he slowly shifted back into his bipedal form and shook out his arms with a grin that seemed more than just a little mad. Archadis edged away quickly and moved to the next Eradicon.

He crouched a little to look into the green and silver mech's optics. "Oh come now, dear fellow! Why the long face, eh? Say something, why don't you!"

After the garrulous purple and red pteranodon, Archadis wasn't sure what to expect this fellow to sound like. This Eradicon was very solemn, and lifted a gloomy countenance to the driving force behind his transformation.

"Lo! 't is a gala night/Within the lonesome latter years!/An angel throng, bewinged, bedight/In veils, and drowned in tears," he finally muttered. The other mechs made faces at the low voice and shuffled back a step.

"My...well...isn't that cheerful," Archadis wrinkled his faceplates. "I think I won't ask you to speak again."

"It's no matter. No one notices anyway," the gloomy fellow replied.

"Pathetic!" spat the proud-looking Vehicon-creature. He made a strange gesture with his servos, and suddenly he was holding a glowing sphere. He twisted his other hand over it, a dull-eyed expression taking over. "Is it any wonder your caretakers abandoned you to the Decepticon patrols when you were a first-frame sparkling?" he yawned.

The green and gold pteranodon turned, shaken. "H-how did you know that?" he demanded. The spiny mech held a servo to his lips condescendingly.

"Ssh...mustn't tell. You wouldn't be able to comprehend it anyway."

"Hey!" Breakdown—or rather, The-Mech-Formerly-Known-As-Breakdown—said sternly, "Leave him alone."

Separate from his squabbling companions, the black and orange Predacon with the frill sat up, shook himself off, and held out a hand to Archadis.

"Hola!" he said in a surprisingly husky voice, "Eso fue sin duda la cosa más loca que he hecho! Can we do it again?"

Archadis helped him up and smiled back. "Er...that might not be such a splendid idea. We've no idea what a second dose would do to you. You might turn into something truly unfortunate, like a chipmunk-squid or something!"

The frilled one shrugged gamely. "Es lo que es," he grinned, "It is what it is." Archadis quickly decided that he liked this ebullient fellow.

"Well, my fine fellows," he said to them as he opened a channel to Megatron, "It looks like the experiment was a smashing success! Why don't you give your boss the good news?"

With a sharp-toothed smile, The-Mech-Formerly-Known-As-Breakdown raised a fist. Recognizing him as the dominant member of the party, the others—even the "crowned" one—fell in behind him.

"Right. I think we're gonna need some new names, how about you, boys?" He closed his optics in thought a moment, then opened them. "Mayhem Squad, sound off!" he roared.

"Lazorbeak!" the red pteranodon shouted.

"Fractyl!" the green followed.

"Saberback!" the proud one growled.

"Crrrazybolt!" the frilled one cheered.

"And Killer Punch!" the Mech-Formerly-Known-As-Breakdown finished.

Archadis crossed his arms proudly and glanced over at Shockwave. "Well old boy, what do you think?"

"I think the Autobots have every reason to be afraid. Very afraid."

For the most part, the base was quiet.

Cheetor and Airazor had gone to take the boys home, and Star Upper—more worn out by training them than he let on—had shut himself in his quarters for a long nap. Break and Stampy had been goofing off in the hallway, but when their improvised "Team Rocket" chant woke up Miko, Apache had chased them out of the base entirely, shaking his fist and shouting dire threats. Rattrap was out scouting—probably to get out of having to call home and risk a confrontation with Big Convoy—and where Lio was at the moment was anyone's guess.

Polar Claw walked slowly out of his quarters, all four paws to the cool cement floor. The door to the training room was still open, he noted. For a the space of a moment, he contemplated going in and practicing on the wing chun dummy, but thought better of it and moved on. In the very back of the base, furthest from the surface of the desert, the doors to most of the living quarters were open. Video game boxes and a giant stuffed fish wearing sunglasses took up most of the floorspace in Break's room, and Stampy's was full of pictures of his family—that some of those pictures included the humans did not escape Polar Claw's notice. Airazor's room was very neat in the center and terribly messy at the edges, accumulated junk forming a low wall very like a nest. The bear shook his broad head in mock despair and shuffled on. Rattrap, oddly enough, had the neatest room of all of them. Nothing was out of place in the weapon-lined sleeping space, save for maybe a small stack of datapad novels by the berthside.

Lio's door was shut and locked, but that's how it usually was, so Polar Claw did not bother about it. Apache's room was spartan, almost bare. He practically slept in the med bay anyway, so there was really little else in the room save for some files and memorabilia from Cybertron. As Star Upper was napping, his door was also closed, but his snores could clearly be heard straight through the door. The former miner chuckled and walked on, then stopped, bewildered. Razorback's door was wide open, like the others, but the lights were dimmed. The warthog's silhouette dominated the center of what appeared to be a vast spider web.

"Razorback?" Polar Claw asked cautiously, "That is you, da?"

"What do you want, Polar Claw?" the warrior sounded tired.

The bear transformed and stepped partway into the room. What he had taken to be a web was a maze of laser lines connected to hovering data points. Each one was tagged with some kind of information on legendary swords and—seemingly unrelated—personalized cloaking devices.

"Vhat...is this?" Polar Claw asked slowly, squinting around.

"Like it?" the tone was morose. "It's my Doomsday Web." He gestured vaguely to a cluster of data related to the legendary CyberCalibur, Rhisling, and stories of breaching the walls between dimensions. "From the warnings from Trion," he turned to point to a photograph of the three children, "To varying...anomalies...about your little friends."

He moved to show Polar Claw a long file hanging from the ceiling involving the process of choosing a Prime, then a wall full of logged Predacon battles. Polar Claw caught a glimpse of several threads stretching from the sword to a holograph of a sea-green mech with a wide smile, his arm thrown around the shoulders of a much-younger Razorback. Catching his stare, Razorback quickly shut it off.

"That," he said, "Is just personal business. But it is also connected. I am sure of it."

Moving back to the center of his web, he threw out his arms. "It is all connected, somehow."

Polar Claw frowned, and sat down on the berth with a heavy thud. "Razorback," he mumbled, "This is wery big. All of...of this." He gestured to the tangled lines and sighed. "I am thinking perhaps our mission is not what it used to be, eh?"

Razorback glanced up, a soft frown hidden under his complex mask. "How do you mean?" he asked.

Polar Claw tried to think of what he meant. It was rather frustrating to know what one meant without having the words to say it. "We...were sent to this planet for capturing the Predacon piraty, yes? As Enforcers. I am thinking that is no longer our purpose here." Blunt servos reached up to trace an etching of CyberCalibur. "This...this is changing everything."

Razorback nodded gravely.

"No doubt about it, mate. This is war."

"Well hello there, sleepyhead!"

Jack groaned and opened one eye to find his father smiling down at him. "What, decided it was too much work to open the door?" the man asked teasingly. Jack sat up slowly and realized that he'd been sleeping on the porch in front of the door. "I...don't remember how.." he trailed off and blinked owlishly. John Darby laughed and ruffled the boy's hair, then pulled back his hand.

"Gross! You need a shower, man."

Jack playfully batted his hand away and stood slowly, groaning as he stretched. "Ow ow ow."

John raised an eyebrow. "What's the matter with you?" he asked.

Jack grimaced. "Friend of mine's martial arts coach decided I'd been watching from the sidelines too long," he groaned. "I've been doing forms for about two hours."

"I didn't know you were into martial arts, son."

"Neither did I!"

His father laughed and let them both into the house. Ray jumped up from his bed in the corner and bounded towards him. Jack held out a hand towards the barking dog and gave a tired smile.

"Wait."

Obediently the dog sat, ears pricked up and waiting. Jack shuffled into the kitchen and dug through the shelves until he found two slices of bacon. He turned back to the german shepherd.

"Okay, commere you."

Ray almost howled with pure glee and pranced around his younger owner in circles as Jack held out the bacon. Behind him, John hid a grin.

"Ray," he said sternly, "Only one."

The dog looked as though he were pouting enormously, but now that John was back, Jack wasn't the Alpha in the house anymore, so Ray restrained himself and only ate one piece of bacon. But it was still heavenly. Jack shrugged and shoved the other piece into his mouth. No sense wasting bacon, after all. He slouched to the floor and leaned back against the cabinets.

"Hey," he said suddenly, "Tomorrow's Father's Day." (a/n: at the time I am typing this, it is literally true.) "What do you want to do?"

John filled a glass of water from the sink tap and took a sip. He grimaced at the taste and dumped the rest down the drain.

"I was thinking you and I could go out to the ranch, actually," he said after refilling his glass with orange juice to wash away the taste of tap water. "I know we normally stay home and watch sci-fi movies, but Tim was sort of a father-figure for me when I was your age, and he doesn't have any family in this state."

Not for the first time, a pang of regret shot through Jack with the knowledge that this man he was coming to admire was not really his father, that eventually he would have to say goodbye to him and go back to a world where John Darby was so distant as to nearly be a figment of his imagination.

"That sounds like a good plan, Dad," Jack said quietly. He stood up. "He really helped me out a lot while you were gone."

John ran a hand through his bushy hair and sighed. "Yeah...about that. Look, son, I...I'm not going back out there anymore." He raised a hand to forestall the question he saw in the boy's eyes. "Yeah, I still have a lot of research to do before I'm done with this doctoral project of mine, but it can wait. I want to be here to see you grow up, Jack. I don't want to hear about it in weekly emails."

Jack faked a cough suddenly to excuse the sudden moisture in his eyes and turned away for a second to clear his throat. "So...uh, what...what are you going to do now, since you're staying home?" he rasped. The sound of rustling paper caught his attention and he turned back. His father held a sheaf of papers and was diligently hunting for a pen to sign them with.

"What's that?" Jack asked.

"Work contract," John answered briefly. "Where's that...ah! There's my pen!" He chuckled as he withdrew the offending instrument from behind his ear. "Never fails."

Jack tiptoed to peer over the man's broad shoulder. "You got a job? Cool! Where are you working?" He nearly tipped backward over the chair at the answer.

"Your school. I've just been hired as the new history teacher."