Author's Note: Sorry again for an even longer delay. As of now, the last chapter end epilogue are also nearly finished so when I get to the end, everything will be posted much faster. I apologize in advance for this and any future chapters when I gloss over the action. I'm just no good at writing it, and thus it's the cause of many of my writer's locks. I'll still try to put in as much as I can, but if it's not to your expectation, I'm sorry. Lastly, I don't think I mentioned the location of the city where the new arrival from chapter 16 dropped within the story itself, but I know I told several people it's New York City. It's not. As of right now, he's in Boston. It just works better that way. Enjoy and review.

Chapter 17

Vision

Tarantulas was, if nothing else, an intellectually vain individual. A character flaw, and one he loathed to admit to, because it gave him the tendency to overlook and underestimate the abilities of others. He had felt nothing but contempt and annoyance at the Maximals from the moment they had arrived, and currently it was no different. While the cat and the rat franticly searched for an exit, he stood in the center of the circular floor, arms folded, looking up at the mass at the top of the otherwise smooth dome.

"It ain't gonna dance for you," the rodent. "So why not stop starin' holes in it and come help us?"

"How?" Tarantulas asked. "The device I used to enter only opened the outer layer and then we followed the structure's natural tunnels. This," he waved his hand around the inside of the structure, "is made of a completely different material. This is why I am studying it. To put it simply, I don't know how to talk to it. Yet."

Cheetor's head snapped up, as if something suddenly clicked. "You can't, but maybe Rattrap can." He ignored Tarantulas' frowning and demanding gaze and whirled to face Rattrap. "I know you haven't transformed yet, but if your robot mode is anything like it was during the Technorganic War..."

"I gotchya," Rattrap grinned. "Worth a shot."

As it turned out, his robot form was something that looked like an even cross between his Transmetal 2 body and the technorganic one. His tail was the same as in his previous body, and there were still wheels for faster mobility, but they were only additions at the sides of his ankles. Power and options, Rattrap grinned. Not bad.

But when he looked around at the perfectly smooth walls that made up the dome, the burst of optimism sank.

"Ah, Spots? Where exactly am I suppose't connect to this thing."

"What about up there?" Cheetor pointed at the strange mass on the ceiling. "Looks like it could be... I don't know, its brain or something."

"It's not a brain, fur ball," Tarantulas objected. "This place may be Technorganic, as you call it, but it's hardly sentient. It's more like a heart with all the other structures on this planet making up the body of the web that will allow the Vok to enter this world."

The feline paid him no mind. "Even if you're right, there should still be a way for it to talk to, send signals to the other ones. That means some sort of commands that it'll react to."

"And even if you are right," and grudgingly Tarantulas had to admit that there was a chance of that, however remote, "how do you plan to reach that thing? The top of the ceiling must be at least fifty feet high. There is no way to scale these walls..."

"And the flybots are off elsewhere," Cheetor grimaced and wiped his face with his palms. "Okay, new plan."

The other two waited for a moment, but he said nothing. Rattrap changed back to the more discrete human shape and began to tap his foot expectantly.

"Well?"

"I'll tell you when I think of it."

Hours later, at least he could say he tried everything else, short of explosives which they did not have the materials to make. Cheetor was simply out of ideas. Conventional ones, anyway. He could hear Blackarachnia's voice in his head yelling at him that what he was about to try was extremely stupid and dangerous and that he would not do it without her present. But his sister was hundreds of miles away, and they were stuck here now.

"Rattrap," he lowered his voice, glancing warily at Tarantulas who was thankfully studying something on the other side of the dome, "do you think you can keep him occupied for a while? There's something I want to try, but I can't have any interruptions."

"Should I even ask?"

"Probably not. Just keep an eye on him."

He waited till Rattrap was well on his way before turning to face one of the walls, making sure his back was to Tarantulas. He did not know how long the whole thing would take. It took Optimus, who had practiced the technique of reaching into the Matrix, many long hours to establish a connection, but Cheetor doubted he had that long. There was already a chance of loosing himself forever in the vast abyss, but if Tarantulas got wind of it, he'd find a way to make sure Cheetor never returned.

He willed himself to shut down all his senses. With his eyes closed, hearing was the next sensation to go as even the most subtle sounds faded to nothing. He almost felt like he was floating, even though he knew his physical body had not gone anywhere. It was like that state between wakefulness and sleep, where one's conscious thoughts were still his own, but perception of the physical world was further and further away.

This has to work.

Cheetor did not know exactly how long he remained in the in-between state, but eventually a speck of light floated in the center of his vision even though he knew he had not opened his eyes. It grew bigger and bigger until it dominated his sight. At that moment, the light exploded into a countless flashes that quickly took the form of sparks. They whirled around him before collecting back onto the giant pool of light that formed the Matrix. Two remained, however, suddenly they were before him. He instantly felt a familiarity to the disembodied souls. He reached out for them, stopping just short of making contact.

"I know you," he said in awe.

Another presence whizzed by behind him and Cheetor whirled mid air only to come face to face with a figure that shifted between forms the same way it had when Cheetor first dreamed it. He smiled, feelings of reassurance filling him with warmth. Remembering why he was there in the first place, Cheetor sobered, floating closer.

"Optimus, we need help."

The gorilla merely smiled and raised his hand to point behind Cheetor. The young man followed obediently, expecting to see the two sparks he'd turned his back on, but it was not all he saw. They were floating above Earth, hovering patiently as if waiting for a sign. Optimus opened his palm, as if releasing them, and the two sparks sped quickly towards the blue and green planet bellow. Eyes wide, Cheetor looked at his mentor.

"Big bot?"

"You need to go back now, Cheetor," Optimus said softly, and the young man could do nothing but nod, even though he did not quite understand.

He opened his eyes back in the real world, still within the alien structure, but just in time to feel the walls and ground beneath him shake. The object at the top of the dome began to pulsate faster until it seemed to burst in a flash of light. His eyes adjusted just in time to see two figures descend from the above.

"By the Pit," Tarantulas cursed, and before Cheetor knew it, the spider had transformed into something that closely resembled his Transmetal form but of a silvery green color and with a definite Technorganic feel to it.

So much for that, the cheetah thought, briefly annoyed with himself for actually believing the arachnid when he implied that he could not transform. He did not have a chance to contemplate it further though, because as soon as he was in robot mode, Tarantulas instantly opened fire on the new arrivals.

Compromising was not one of Blackarachnia's strongest traits. In this case the compromise included being bored out of her skull while the general showed them around Hanscom Air Force Base, but not having to deal with working with Tarantulas on the alien structure in Virginia. It was the real reason she'd volunteered to go. She was better suited to mediate any interaction with humans, true, but flight was Silverbolt's area of expertise. He and General Barnett spoke a language nearly foreign to her. Hell, Nightscream understood it better than she did. Well, maybe not, but the boy was certainly more enthusiastic about being there.

She resined herself to the fact that she would not feel better until she was able to transform. She found herself finally able to empathize with Rattrap's frustration in the early days of the Technorganic War. It was not like she had been wrong about how to transform in these new bodies. Silverbolt had confirmed that the process was exactly how she'd theorized it would be, but theory and practice were two totally different things. Her mind had always been her greatest contribution to the team, but she was also used to being a fully combat capable individual.

On the other hand, the trip was proving to be more entertaining than she'd expected. Blackarachnia rediscovered her love of upsetting the established order. Among a base full of fly boys – predictably the human military was predominantly male – dressed in standard camouflage uniforms, all three of them stood out like sore thumbs, and none more so than herself with her form fitting black tank-top with the word 'BADGIRL' scrolled across her ample chest in bold scarlet letters. She caught more than a few men stop whatever they were doing and stare only to be yelled at by their senior officers. It amused Blackarachnia to no end.

The last toy they were to be shown before lunch turned out to be a tiny light-weight plane that could not have looked less like a military aircraft if it was painted neon pink. Silverbolt remained polity quiet, and Blackarachnia did not care enough herself, but Nightscream did not bother to hide his reaction.

"What's that supposed to be?" the youth was clearly less than impressed. "Besides target practice?"

The general responded before Blackarachnia had the chance to even glared at the boy. They were supposed to be making friends with these people. Insulting the human crafts was not a way to do it, no matter how unimpressive this one was.

"It's less than grand," Barnett admitted, "but it's pretty fast and had another asset that makes it invaluable. See that attachment on the nose?"

The trio shifted their attention to the contraption mounted on the cone of the aircraft. Blackarachnia thought she recognized what it was and was about to venture a guess, but to everyone's surprise Nightscream beat her too it.

"You mounted a sonic emitter on that thing?"

"Good eye," the general nodded. "It's just a prototype, but even this one has been implemented as a locater."

"Or as a potential weapon," Silverbolt and Nightscream shared a knowing look.

"We thought so too," Barnett agreed, "but we could never get the frequency quite right. Are sonic weapons common on Cybertron in your time?"

"Not as such," Blackarachnia tried not to smirk. Silverbolt was a bad lier at the best of times. The only reason it sounded convincing now was because it was half true. Nightscream was the only one they'd ever met to use sound as an effective offensive weapon.

"Ah, it's just as well. Like I said, it's still a prototype."

Silverbolt opted to skip lunch to talk more with the general, so Blackarachnia was left alone with Nightscream and two trays of military cafeteria food. She had not payed much attention to the cuisine until now, but the spider woman found herself missing the room service at the Sofitel Lafayette Square hotel. The various televisions mounted in the corners of the large dining hall were all set to news channels, and Blackarachnia briefly noticed the caption for one of the local networks.

"Break in at the Worcester Art Museum in Boston. Samurai sword theft."

Some people are really bored, she thought before turning her attention back to her companion. The boy across the table pushed a stack of mashed potatoes back and forth on his plate, and after a few minutes the repetitive action began to annoy her. Blackarachnia fixed him with a look.

"Alright, kid, spill."

"Huh?" wide blue eyes blinked up at her.

"You were practically giddy this whole trip and now you're in a funk. So what's up?"

"Nothing," he looked back down at his plate.

"Don't give me that slag. I'm not Silverbolt, so don't expect me to handle you with kid gloves. Out with it."

Nightscream looked around to make sure no one was paying much attention to them. Soldiers were moving around the cafeteria occasionally glancing at the direction of the pair they assumed to be civilians, but most quickly moved on. He lowered his voice and leaned in closer.

"I don't want to come off paranoid," he whispered, "and I didn't want to say anything in front of Silverbolt, but are you sure hanging our around here is okay for him?"

Blackarachnia did not have to ask what he meant. She had thought about it herself, even before they set foot on the base, but was unsure how to lead into the conversation she knew she should have already had with Silverbolt. His familiarity with the aircrafts was bothered her. He should not have had this kind of knowledge. Birds knew how to fly, but that did not mean they knew about the specs and properties of military jets. That was how Silverbolt had been; in all his forms, his flight derived from nature. All, that is, except one. She had gotten so used to having her lover back to normal bringing up his past life as the Vehicon general Jetstorm was the last thing she wanted to do.

"He'll be fine," she said, half to herself, half to Nightscream. The kid looked less than assured. "Don't you think he considered it before coming here?"

"I guess..."

"Then stop worrying."

It was a good thing Blackarachnia was more proficient at deception than her lover by many degrees of magnitude. She easily gave off an air of someone who was completely unconcerned, so Nightscream seemed more at ease, going back to his food with more enthusiasm. She only wished she was as confident as she sounded. A talk with Silverbolt might not be the most pleasant prospect, but it might also be the only thing to pacify her own concern. Blackarachnia made a mental note to do it in the near future.

Her cell buzzed insistently, and Blackarachnia slid out from the holster at her hip and looked at the display. After running out of work on the eight hour car ride, she'd occupied herself by adding avatars to the few contacts she had on her phone. At the moment, an animated cheetah with its tail moving from side to side and eyes blinking every few seconds was staring back at her. She flipped the phone open.

"If you need help setting up the clock on the VCR in that thing, ask rat face."

Cheetor was clearly caught of guard. "Ahh... what's a VCR?"

"An ancient human video player. Nevermind. What's going?"

There was a pause on his end and Blackarachnia could almost hear him fidget. Wonderful. She had a feeling problems were about to increase yet again.