Fallout: Apocalypse
Chapter 33
By Nan00k

Vortex tries to do politics, the grown-ups do some science, and Rachel… has a proposition. Many thanks, Shantastic! :)

Also, don't forget the poll, or Fallout: Adaptions, where I have a Rachel-growing-up story posted.

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Warnings: character death, foul language, violence, disturbing imagery and discussion, religious ideological discussions, theoretical science, and original characters
Disclaimer: Transformers © Dreamworks/Hasbro. The original characters found in this story were created explicitly for this story.

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Decepticon Stronghold
Earth

The Decepticons lived up to their ill-translated name in many ways that Vortex had never bothered to notice before. Megatron had been a genius at using words to manipulate the thoughts and actions of others. Starscream and other politically adept mechs had also either been sparked with or had acquired this skill, which had allowed them to climb the ranks and take positions of power within the Decepticon army. Eventually every mech that wanted to stay online learned how to twist the truth in his own favor, out of self-defense. As a united force, they had also developed other, far more insidious ways to obscure the truth. One of these tricks had been used to hide Galvatron this whole time.

There were many regions of the Earth where the humans would never think of looking for mechs, because they were uninhabitable by most organic life. Even if they did consider it, it wasn't like they had the ability to do a thorough search. Earth had far too many nooks and crannies, ecosystems of all sorts, which would hide even a Decepticon shuttle with minimal shielding or camouflage from satellites or military search parties.

After the situation with Megatron's entrapment in ice, the humans had considered the idea that the Decepticons might seek out the ice as a haven, and had thrown the concept away, out of ignorance. An ignorance that the Autobots, for some reason, had not challenged. The humans didn't realize that mechs could survive well below Earth freezing temperatures when they were prepared for it, the way that space faring mechs like Megatron had been. It had been Megatron's own failure plus the combined effects of the magnetism of the poles that had dragged him down. The ice of Earth was nothing compared to the frigid coldness of space.

Using human ignorance and Autobot laxness to their advantage, the Decepticons had chosen the frigid cold of the Siberian tundra as their central base of operations on Earth, selecting a site near a lake high in the mountainous central region. The shuttle Starscream's initial team had used, quite like the Ark, had been stored there, using complex energy screens and the vast mountain network to shield its presence from both satellites and any unlikely human observation.

Vortex, despite being stuck between two larger fliers each equipped with more weapons than he had, felt a hysterical twinge of nostalgia when they landed. At least I'm back in Europe.

They marched across the frozen ground. Vortex was entranced by the whiteness of it all; their snow had always been gray, or tinted brown, but he didn't have long to look at the environment. They pushed him roughly ahead and boarded the shuttle quickly. The air was stale and the first corridor was as quiet as a tomb, but there was movement to the air. There were other mechs nearby, according to his scanners. Vortex wondered if he knew any of the mechs there. He hoped not.

Having seen the reaction that the humans generally had when first seeing his and Thundercracker's size, Vortex felt that Cybertronian ships would boggle their minds when they were finally seen. They were very large, and even shuttles generally required that a lift be taken to reach the main level, and this was no exception. Vortex wished he could have pressed against the back of the lift wall for simple support, but he was flanked by his two guards at all times.

As they moved upwards, Vortex glanced between the two mechs with him. There was barely enough room for even the smallest of the fliers to fit in the lift with the three of them.

"Where is Nemesis? I thought Lord Galvatron would be aboard the ship in order to attack the humans," he said. The one to his right growled lowly at the question.

"Nemesis ain't even on Earth yet," the brown flier said. "We're stuck in this fragging shuttle while Cyclonus and his troops get to hang back in that asteroid field 'til Lord Galvatron says it's okay to move in. Fragging stupid, if ya ask me."

"No one did, you idiot!" the other guard snarled, radiating danger enough that Vortex edged back a bit to give him room to strike the first guard and not him. "Shut your vocalizer off!"

Nemesis was in an asteroid field? That would place it just beyond Mars. It made sense, but why the waiting… Vortex asked nothing else and kept his visor to the door. It opened up to a small alcove that led out to the command center, as he had expected.

The command center was packed with probably the majority of the shuttle's crew. The room was more akin to a meeting hall than a true strategy or command center. But that was how Decepticon ships carrying Megatron had always been built. He wanted an audience at all times, to be surrounded by his loyal subjects within his throne room, so the centers of the vessels were always built with a court in mind. Vortex felt uneasy walking into the room regardless. It all felt alien. It lacked the natural touch of Earth. It was all shiny blue-gray metal that intimidated instead of welcomed.

Optics of nearby mechs focused on him and Vortex ignored them. He was looking around as much as he could without seeming too nervous for their grand host. He knew Galvatron would not be able to resist a doppelganger of one of his Gestalt teams wandering about on Earth. One of the many reasons it was Vortex standing there, he mused, instead of one of his better companions.

The anxiety of waiting in silence for the ship's master to appear was relieved slightly when Vortex saw a particular mech walk through the crowd directly toward him. Vortex was grateful he kept his mask up, at least for now, because he almost wanted to smirk.

Starscream, just as huge and sneering as ever, stepped up to the helicopter with a smile that seemed out of place. Vortex braced himself.

"Well, well, if it isn't the mysterious doppelganger," the Seeker began, his iconic screechy voice at a falsely neutral level, barely traveling beyond the two of them. He had the nerve to seem politely interested.

Vortex peered up into the Decepticon Aerial Commander's faceplates. He knew it was the same mech he had known in his own world; the same sneer, the same arrogant swagger.

"Lord Starscream," he replied, gauging the other mech carefully, not ignoring the other Seeker he had trailing him.

What was notable was the absence of both Thundercracker and Skywarp. Vortex was glad. He would not have been able to deal with Thundercracker's double. Perhaps they had been killed in the earlier fighting. That actually would be a benefit.

"You are a curious case, aren't you?" Starscream asked airily. His optics raked over Vortex's frame with mock interest. Obviously, the story had spread since Vortex's capture. "I'm sure you have such a fascinating story to share. Granted you aren't the real Vortex, or else you'd be a deserter."

Vortex willed himself to ignore the veiled threat. "I am the real Vortex, one of two," he said shortly. He had no time for Starscream—at least not yet. He looked beyond the flier across the rest of the room. "Where is Lord Galvatron?" There was no trace of the purple lunatic.

Starscream dropped the feigned politeness and made a revealing expression of disgust. "Ugh. He'll be along," he said. He motioned sharply at the helicopter, optics narrowed dangerously. "And you will address me properly, mech."

One of his propellers twitched. "…yes, sir." Oh, he was going to enjoy the second part of his mission.

The aerial commander opened his mouth to speak again, but the sound of mech feet scraping loudly on the floor caught both Starscream and Vortex's attentions. Vortex wasn't able to see much further ahead in the crowded hall, with several taller mechs blocking his way, but he got a clear view of Starscream's expression. The Seeker's lips curled back into a snarl that was forcefully hidden as the jet took several steps back, standing rigidly to the side as mechs scrambled behind him.

Turning his helm, Vortex saw the sea of mechs disperse in a mix of panic and unease. He didn't have to guess why. The moment the wall of armor vanished, Vortex could see directly down the center of the command room. There was a command chair—a throne—just before the upper levels started. Vortex watched with muted feeling as a single, boldly painted mech started down the stairs to the lower platform.

"Hail, Galvatron!" the chorus of voices rang out around him, shattering any illusion of calm he could have had.

Vortex desperately tried to hide the shudder that went through his frame when he saw the tyrant enter his direct line of sight, purple armor gleaming like sickness incarnate.

He thought of Onslaught. Of Swindle. Brawl, Blast Off—all of them. He thought of their faces. Their ruined faces, the charred remains of their spark chambers.

He thought of Wheeljack, of Goddard, torn to pieces after making sacrifices to save their friends, to save Vortex. He thought of how much more they had to lose. How much Galvatron had taken from them.

Vortex's snarl caught up with a harsh engine whine; his systems choked with grief—and rage. So much rage. He watched as Galvatron sat down on his throne, smug smirk on his white faceplates, and all Vortex wanted to do was forget their plans and just kill the fragger now. He wanted to bathe in Galvatron's energon. He wanted to tear his spark in half, into enough pieces to make up for the loss of his gestalt, his brothers, his family—

Vortex was going to fucking kill him.

One of his guards behind him shook him from those dark promises by shoving him forward. Vortex let himself be pushed to his knees before his nemesis. The hurried instructions his ally had offered him joors ago resounded in his processors loudly.

This needed patience. This needed sanity. Vortex clenched his fists and held back his raw anger. Vengeance was not why he was there. That... that could wait.

For now, Vortex hung his helm and showed a submissiveness that Galvatron, in all of his horrid existence, didn't deserve. In an act that made him feel weak, he retracted his mask. He had to show he had no secrets.

"My Lord," the helicopter said into the silent air of the hall. His voice barely shook. He stared at the metallic floor. He prayed for strength.

This could not fail.

Galvatron was quiet at first. Vortex didn't look up until after several minutes had passed. Galvatron was just… watching him. No one else dared to speak; there was nothing else to hear except the sound of wind bravely and uselessly attacking the exterior of the ship. When Galvatron did finally speak, Vortex fought a wince.

"You… you are the would-be deserter." Galvatron smirked, the white metal twisting with dark intent. "Fascinating."

This was it. Vortex focused on his interrogator training, completed mega-vorns ago, and forced online his manipulation protocols. They had been ill used in all of the years he had been on Earth. Now, he wasn't interrogating, however; he had to make sure Galvatron thought he was doing the exact opposite. He was the victim of questioning; he was the one who was forced to bare all.

"Negative, my Lord. I have never deserted the Decepticon cause." Vortex braced himself—spark and all—and lifted his gaze long enough to meet Galvatron's head-on, to make sure the warlord was truly listening. "I am Vortex of Bruticus, but I am not the Vortex of this time."

Galvatron stared at him. "…What?" he asked, humor almost vanishing.

Vortex sank his servos into the floor, almost rippling the metal sheets. "I have come from a future, one in 2054 by human calendars," he answered.

The smirk on Galvatron's face grew two-fold. Around them, the mechs present murmured, mostly jeers. Vortex heard Starscream made a sound of disgust. Vortex kept his visor on Galvatron and steadied himself. He knew that the story would be questioned regardless of where they were.

"I am a survivor of the war, which spiraled out of all of our control," he continued, preparing for the backlash. "Even yours, Lord Galvatron."

The notion of time travel was, as expected, thrown out the window when Galvatron's part of the story was brought up. His reputation and power insulted, the tyrant immediately snarled, slamming his fist onto his throne's arm.

"Out of my control? !" he bellowed, the spontaneous rage something Vortex had been warned about, but it still made him cringe.

Vortex bowed his head, forcing himself to keep his hands on the ground flat in submissiveness. "I am sorry, Lord, but that is what happened. It was a disaster, but not by your hands." He dared to look up, hoping his anger was believable. It wasn't hard to get angry then, but not for the reasons he hoped Galvatron believed. "By our enemies'. Prime, and all of his blind followers."

The mention of the fallen Autobot leader made Galvatron's glare intense. He didn't lash out however, and Vortex dared to relax minutely when Galvatron sat back further against his throne, still radiating danger.

"You expect me to believe you?" the warlord spat.

"I have nothing but my word, my Lord," Vortex said, gesturing slowly at his chassis, "but if you would look closer at my presence, or perhaps the presence of the Seeker who also came with me from my original time, I do have evidence."

There was a murmur to the side, where Starscream was standing, but Galvatron ignored the Decepticons present. "What Seeker?" he demanded impatiently.

"Thundercracker of Commander Starscream's elite trine." Vortex held back a grimace at the idea of bringing one of his own into this, but for now, Thundercracker was his ace. "Surely during the attack on Plumas base, where I was trapped under this Prime's orders, Soundwave noted Seeker Thundercracker's presence."

That was their biggest gamble, using the attack for a reference as evidence that Vortex's story was true. It was one of the few times Vortex at least knew of where the duplicates had been noticed. Whether or not Soundwave had actually told Galvatron what he had seen wasn't difficult to guess, but the reaction they'd get from it was the real risk.

His answer had given everyone pause. Galvatron stared at Vortex in a moment of speechlessness, undoubtedly struggling and failing to find a way to break the evidence down on his own. Vortex was impressed he hadn't just taken a plasma canon to Vortex to make it simpler. Perhaps that meant the tyrant was saner than expected.

Vortex dared to look to the side at the remaining Seekers present. Starscream, for all of his arrogance, looked… stricken. Vortex knew then that his trine was gone. He pushed the image of a dead Thundercracker out of his mind; he felt no sympathy toward Starscream's losses.

Earth took from all of them. They'd all see it in time, no matter what happened at the end of this Primus forsaken war.

Galvatron finally stopped staring at Vortex long enough to sneer. "…A misidentification, I was told," he said at length, still impatient and now uneasy. He looked sharply to the side. "Isn't that right, Soundwave?"

Soundwave was still standing like an impassive stone statue to Galvatron's left. Vortex felt exposed as Soundwave slowly turned back and looked at Vortex with a judging, concealed expression. Anything could have been lurking behind his blank visor, his battle mask.

"Identification: possibly misplaced," Soundwave suddenly said. His mechanical voice was loud in the silent throne room. A tiny, impossibly small thread of uncertainty was weaved into his statements. "Situation: changed. Vortex: …unprecedented. Records on Revenge, not misfiled. Combaticons: still intact." Soundwave glanced back at his leader, his final reasoning solid. "This Vortex: anomaly. Conclusion: second Thundercracker likely not misidentified."

Galvatron roared again and slammed his fist into his chair. "What is the meaning of this? !" he bellowed, standing with violence promised in his posture.

Vortex sank down lower in unfeigned fear. "It is as I said, Lord Galvatron," he said quickly. "I am from the future, as was Thundercracker. He is… Neutral, now, sir. I am not." He paused, took a mental breath, and continued with fervor, "I have no intention of betraying the Decepticon name, nor you, my Lord."

"What occurred to have ended the war, then?" Starscream asked lowly, edging along the side up toward the front of the room. He eyed Vortex with increased suspicion.

"…We are still unsure," Vortex offered after hesitating a moment. "Even the Autobots, the few I did encounter who provided me with means of survival I regretfully acknowledge using, had no definitive answer." He looked to Galvatron. "Creatures that both sides lacked knowledge of quickly overtook our forces."

Galvatron's dark glare made him want to run the other way. "Yes?" the tyrant demanded, a snarl in the back of his voice.

"The drones." Vortex tried to keep the tremor in his limbs muted, even as he stared down the larger mech. This… this was one of the few ploys even Vortex didn't doubt would raise a reaction. "They were called… the drones."

While most of the room remained oblivious, Vortex kept his focus on Galvatron. He waited for an outburst of anger, or suspicion—perhaps even a positive one, where Galvatron would acknowledge Vortex's information as proof of his story.

But Galvatron did not lash out. He stared at Vortex in silence. It spoke volumes, however, and Vortex carefully kept his smirk off of his exposed faceplates. The tyrant said nothing, but his red optics betrayed the fact he knew what they were. He recognized the word—drones. He knew what they were, and probably where they came from.

There was no way Galvatron wasn't making plans for them, then. Vortex felt ill at ease with this knowledge, but he was grateful they now could confirm this threat. He hoped it was early yet. He didn't trust Galvatron's calm.

But the momentary flash of apprehension in Galvatron's optics did not slip his notice either.

Vortex raised a closed fist to his chest. "My lord, I am telling you the truth. I finally was able to escape the Autobots when Prime fell. I was unable to get into contact with any Decepticons until recently," he said, treading just barely on the edges of desperation and honesty. He bowed his head lowly. "I am grateful to be in your presence once more, Lord Galvatron, and I humbly ask that you accept my request to rejoin the Decepticons to get the revenge I crave against the Autobots."

On the inside, Vortex's spark burned with dark hatred. If Galvatron said yes, he was certain he would suffer a processor glitch.

I will never join you, you hideous monster. Even if it took him to the end of his own life, Vortex would dance on Galvatron's grave.

Luckily, Galvatron did not say yes. His silence had evolved into quiet contemplation. He stared at the helicopter with a hungry look that made Vortex shudder. He did his best to keep calm and avoid direct eye contact. He stared at Galvatron's feet, spark flaring with nervousness.

This had to work.

"Soundwave!" Galvatron barked, making Vortex nearly jump.

He turned and found himself staring down Soundwave's intense red stare from next to Galvatron's side.

Oh, Primus.

They had seen this coming, but it had been one of the worst-case scenarios. One of the lesser devastating, but still potentially lethal scenarios. For Vortex at least.

"Hack him," Galvatron said, footsteps like firing cannons as he marched back to his seat. He threw himself into his chair, grinning maliciously. "I want to know for sure he's what he claims to be."

Vortex glanced up again and saw Soundwave walking toward him slowly. Oh, Primus. Oh, shit. Vortex drew back as much as he dared and realized that unless he said something to distract Galvatron's attention, there was no way out of this. He'd just be killed if he avoided Soundwave's touch or got the telepath to stop.

We need this to work, he'll see right through this—

And then, by a miracle of Primus, an explosion rocked the ship. Galvatron snarled loudly, standing again despite how the shuttle shifted and the Decepticons around them leaped up for a fight. The whole vessel creaked and the sound of residual explosions beneath the hull echoed across the interior.

Vortex gladly slid his mask closed, knowing it would be interpreted as a part of his battle readiness protocols, and hid a grateful smile behind his mask; his allies were still holding up their end of the deal. He hoped the one on the outside could move faster than the Decepticons, who quickly scrambled to find their attackers. He forced himself to remain kneeling, however, as he gazed upwards in feigned surprised.

Humans thought they had a monopoly over acting; they had obviously never met the Decepticon Army's most infamous interrogator.

"What's happening?" he demanded, loud enough that other Decepticons looked his way, but not enough to attract Galvatron's already building anger.

Act confused. Be guarded, but concerned. Be innocent. That in particular was a hard to fake expression for a Decepticon, so he hoped his impression was believable. If he ever got the chance, he would thank Danny for inspiring his performance—

Everything stopped when Galvatron suddenly turned around in mid-stride towards the door and cast his gaze upon the kneeling mech in the center of the room. Under his attention, Vortex felt terrified.

"You!" Galvatron snarled, closing the distance between them all too fast, everything around them blurring into unimportant background noise.

Vortex couldn't help but fly back in fear as the tyrant fell upon him. He felt the massive clawed hands wrap around his neck—and then he was hauled into the air like a rag doll.

"Is this your doing?" Galvatron shouted, shaking the smaller rotorcraft viciously. Vortex could feel his neck strut strain under the pressure and several hoses were sliced. "Miserable traitor—!"

Vortex fought a wave of terror as the claws tightened and tore at his neck. "N-no, my lord!" he stammered quickly, forcing himself not to grab at the offending hands lifting him, showing absolute submission. "I know nothing!"

There was a flash of something—madness, something deeper—in Galvatron's blood red optics. It made Vortex's energon run cold. There was a touch of death, or worse things, to his gaze. Whatever this monster was, Vortex couldn't believe it was a mech. It had no spark.

With another howl of rage, Galvatron moved. He threw Vortex to the ground, sending the dark mech skidding across the metal floor. The impact jarred his processors and shorted his vision momentarily. Vortex felt pieces tear off his armor as he tumbled. When he stopped, he remained where he fell, spark pulsing wildly in apprehension. He saw Galvatron moving and he was flooded with the fear that the tyrant would simply take his cannon and obliterate Vortex right there on the spot—

"Dirge!" Galvatron bellowed over the noise of the alarm. He gestured violently at Vortex on the floor. "Take this wretch to the brig, and then go find the Autobot scum who dared to attack my ship!"

In a fit of violence, Galvatron whipped around and blasted the intercom blaring the warning bell out of existence with his transformed canon. Vortex winced and ducked low as Galvatron marched past him, waves of anger washing off of his EM field. The helicopter didn't have much time to cower on the floor; rough hands grabbed hold of his shoulder plates, indifferently jarring his propellers. Vortex fought his instinct to fight back. He let Dirge haul him up and snarl at him to hurry up as they headed through the chaos toward the doors.

This could have been so much worse.

He saw Soundwave watching him from the corner and he quickly averted his gaze, nearly tripping as the taller flier in front of him dragged him along. Yes, that could have been much worse.

The shuttle was big, so it took them longer to get to the brig than Vortex had expected. He tried to observe the layout of the corridors the best he could without being obvious as Dirge dragged him down. He didn't resist, even though his self-preservation instincts made him want to break away and get out of there. He had no guarantee that the plan would work; he could be trapped, enclosed there, for a long time. Or executed in a matter of cycles.

They needed time. Perhaps a few days, though his allies had hoped for longer. It needed time to blossom, their plan. Vortex prayed he'd make it through just the first few hours.

Dirge all but threw him into his cell, which was closest to the single entrance to the brig. Vortex stumbled and barely had enough time to take in his surroundings before the lights went out in an attempt to save power on the hidden vessel. Dirge left without a word, obviously called out to handle the problem outside, but Vortex knew the trouble had long gone.

From here on out, he was alone.

In the confines of the darkened brig, Vortex found himself cycling air faster to cool his overheated systems. The whole complex seemed still now without the alarm and he couldn't hear anything but his own systems. Slowly, he felt the pent up energy in his limbs die away as he leaned back against the wall. Behind his mask, Vortex dared to smile.

He was in.

0000

Plumas NEST Base
California, United States

Barns was not a true scientist, nor did he think he was suited to set strategy in the course of their inter-species war. He was a young man who just so happened to know a little bit about science and little bit about the situation at hand, namely, the drones. He hadn't thought anyone would pay him much attention during the whole information exchange. He had done his part by alerting WJ to his theories, and he expected that WJ would explain the data and its significance to Prowl and the rest of the Autobots.

However, it seemed that the senior members of NEST had a different idea. Prowl requested his presence as part of the briefing, and Barns agreed to accompany Jazz and Arcee back to the other hangar where NEST and the Autobots would decide what to do with the information they now had. How he ended up as the person with the microphone, he didn't know. And when a variety of eyes and optics—including those of a clearly very ill Director Keller from the video screen—were suddenly on him, Barns felt for the first time in his life momentary stage fright.

WJ was thankfully standing there beside him with the newly moved holo-table, but the scientist also had turned to look at Barns, as if Barns was the lead scientist here. The Frenchman fidgeted nervously on the catwalk, keenly aware of the twenty senior NEST officers ranged around him on the catwalk. When he glanced to his left, he saw Major Lennox and Agent Simmons staring him down. Epps gave him a covert thumbs-up from his position behind Major Lennox.

They were, apparently, waiting for the last person to show up, who turned out to be Thundercracker. Barns cleared his throat quietly and tried not to look anywhere in particular. Jazz smiled at him kindly when they made eye contact, but Barns could only fight against the overwhelming sense of pressure hanging over him.

"Alright," Simmons began, voice shattering the silence as he gazed around the room, focusing on WJ for once. "Care to enlighten us to the situation? What's all this about new information?"

WJ nodded and proceeded with the conversation. "Jazz's information on the location of the drones was very close to accurate, but we miscalculated the chance that those locations would match his identically," he began. He pulled up the data on the holo-table and everyone stared at it with varying expressions of surprise. "We made the first mistake with the loss of Shard by anticipating a total change in our world. We then made the reverse mistake in our search for the drones, by anticipating a completely identical world. We completely disregarded the minute changes that have occurred to the timelines, both before and after the arrival of our friends, here. Some things, no matter how small, have still changed."

"Such as the locations?" Lennox asked, frowning. "But we already knew they weren't the same…"

"No, when we looked for the drones at the locations that Jazz and Thundercracker gave us, we didn't find them. Therefore we posited that their arrival locations would be totally different since they clearly weren't the same exact places as they had been in Jazz's time," WJ replied, shaking his helm gravely. He and Barns exchanged a quick look. "But the truth is, according to our records, the drones landed in areas very close to the predicted drone locations, but you didn't find them because they weren't on top of the locations exactly."

"We've already looked all over those places," Ironhide interrupted. He didn't sound happy, but he rarely ever did. The others shared his incredulous expression, however.

Barns jumped in, mostly out of habit. "No. No, you only looked within a certain radius of each location. You must remember the difficulties of teleportation," he said. He froze when everyone stared at him again. He cleared his throat nervously.

"To assume that the exact coordinates would be used in our world as they had been in yours was folly," WJ added helpfully.

"Minute changes. They can make the difference," Barns continued. He felt better once he got started again. "We've taken Jazz's coordinates and placed them alongside a map of the gamma ray bursts picked up by NASA over the last few months."

He leaned over the railing and peered at the holo-table, which WJ adjusted accordingly. The gamma ray burst markers lay almost over Jazz's drone locations—just close enough to mean something, but far enough away that it explained their lack of findings.

"As you can see, the locations are close, but not identical," WJ said. "I believe that because of the minute changes, the drones are simply located just outside the search area we had chosen before, but the gamma rays will lead us to them regardless."

"Gamma rays?" Simmons suddenly interrupted, looking baffled, though he probably knew what they were, unlike Epps and Lennox who just looked confused over the term itself. "What do they have to do with anything?"

"Gamma ray bursts are an associated by-product of teleportation," Barns explained, glancing over at Jazz and Thundercracker, the two friendly faces in the crowd. "That is how WJ—er, we—picked up the trend. Our own appearance here was signaled by both a large gamma ray burst and by NEST's security alert." He pointed at the map for proof.

Stepping forward, WJ shook his helm again. "The gamma ray bursts aren't stopping either. They come in small numbers, but they are increasing, Prowl," he said. Every mech and NEST official seemed to wilt under that information. "They're being transported to Earth in small batches to avoid detection, but if we don't move against them soon, we won't stand a chance when they finally do move."

Prowl stared at the holo-table, taking in the information silently. His doorwings twitched, and from what Barns had experienced with Bluestreak, it must have meant he was bothered by it all.

"…Primus…" Jazz muttered, looking vaguely horrified. Lennox ran a heavy hand over his face and Keller's face remained staunch and dark.

"We have the proof of your arrival, Jazz and Thundercracker. The time and location of the gamma ray bursts aligns too perfectly with the NEST security information to be misinterpreted!" WJ tilted his helm, looking particularly at Keller. Something flashed up beside the video feed and Barns could see a map of what seemed to be the Atlantic Ocean. "Compare that to this other reading taken over the Laurentian Abyss, caught by satellite. That is where the Fallen teleported, yes? Well, there is a slightly larger gamma ray reading here than there should be."

He pointed down at the holo-table and brought up new data, with similar gamma ray markers. Barns swallowed hard at the inclusion of the larger marker, which clearly was meant to represent the Fallen on the time line.

All of this seemed to take their audience by even more surprise. The humans all looked pale.

"…how did we miss this?" Ratchet asked, stunned. None of the officers seemed to know either.

"We all missed it," Barns said, frowning. He glanced over at Prowl. "This also proves that there were scientists who came before us, but that is unimportant compared to the issue of handling the drones."

"There are several locations in North America. There are many more in Europe and Asia, and a few in Africa and South America," WJ leaned on the holo-table. "We must act, now, my friends," he said, ear-fins glowing lowly.

Barns wasn't sure who would be the one to make the call. The officers all looked at each other; Keller said nothing, simply looking yet another few years older.

"…Yes. We must," Prowl said, speaking up apparently for everyone, because Keller nodded and Lennox also agreed. "We will move out in scouting teams to the closest locations. We should prepare the teams within the next twenty four hours."

"We'll be ready," Lennox said, speaking for the human military.

"There are five within the boundaries of the continental United States. They're a start," WJ offered. He brought up a map of the United States on the holo-table, the mountainous terrain of the West coast glowed green. "One in upstate Oregon, two on the East coast, one in Texas, and another in Montana. There were smaller blips closer to Plumas and in Canada, but the larger ones held the most promise."

"And if we confirm they are there, naturally we must confront them before they become too large of a swarm," Barns added. He gripped the railing tightly. "With the Decepticons beginning their assault in calculated minor incidents, we can only surmise they are biding their time until the drones are ready."

"Well, we just gotta be more ready, then, huh?" Epps said, trying to sound positive. No one could really pick up the energy to aggressively challenge the difficult task that lay before them.

The military moved. Barns stood back willingly as NEST took over and began the tedious task of organizing a new search, this one far wider in range and with far more participants. WJ glanced his way as he stepped back to let Ratchet and Ironhide observe the data on the holo-table. The scientist's dim earfins revealed his frown beneath the mask. Barns could only mirror the gesture as he turned to get down from the catwalk.

"It don't make sense," Jazz said suddenly.

"What doesn't?" Thundercracker asked. Barns slowed and stared down at his two friends, Prowl and WJ also listening in curiously.

The silver saboteur hesitated visibly. "If they're only arrivin' in small numbers… how did so many take over Earth?" he asked. He glanced around him in alarm.

It was a difficult question to even fathom, let alone answer. Barns shook his head; he didn't know. He dreaded finding out.

"Perhaps they have a method of reproduction?" Prowl suggested, frowning.

"Mighty fast if ya ask me. But I am glad you two were on this," Jazz said, turning around to flash a grin up at Barns in particular. "Good job, Barns. Ya did good."

Barns smiled back weakly. "I can only hope that this will give us an advantage," he said. "If we can manage them in these small amounts, we might stand a chance."

"Yeah." Jazz nodded and his expression seemed to mirror the nervousness Barns was feeling. "Let's hope."

It was their only hope.

0000

While Prowl made plans for the military's movement, WJ focused on preparing all the proper data to give to each team and to organize all of the drone locations to make sense for the humans to understand. They had to use precise maps and leave nothing unturned. They only had a small time frame to get this done, out of concern they would antagonize their enemies and face counter-attacks.

They had approximately twenty-four hours, mainly due to the sheer magnitude of the search areas. Lennox needed time to get planes and men ready to move. They had to get help from other branches of the Army to get more man power, and coordinate subsequent attacks with their allies, should this new theory prove correct. WJ felt the pressure to get his responsibilities done on time, but at least with a day, he wasn't being rushed exactly.

They had to compare the exact locations where NEST had already looked with the much more precise visual representations of where the gamma ray shifts had occurred. The previous teams had gone to the locations Jazz had given them, but had only searched within a five or ten klick radius of each of the locations. None of them had considered the fact that the minute irregularities between their timelines might affect more than just who lived and who died.

The timelines were different; that meant that even smaller details, like the locations of the drones could be different. They had assumed perfect correspondence between events that were unrelated to what they considered to be important. That had been their greatest failure, and not one WJ would repeat in the future.

Their original questions had been answered, but now, WJ had new ones of his own. He hadn't said anything to Barns or the others yet, not wanting to distract from the matter of the drones. But he couldn't stop thinking about a glaring fact about their holo-map discoveries that he had overlooked the first time.

The drones had been found because of the gamma ray shifts. That was normal, because they were teleporting in. What wasn't normal, however, was the fact that the scientists and the ten refugees had also caused a huge gamma ray shift.

That made no sense. It made WJ even more perplexed. Time travel would involve gamma rays, yes, but not like this. All of the readings, including those that Perceptor had sent, indicated teleportation.

But the survivors hadn't teleported. They had jumped through time, as well as space. It… made no sense. At all.

This was not the time to try to unravel that scientific mystery, however. He had other obligations.

In his haste, WJ had ignored most of the flurry of activity outside of his lab. It was easy to tune out Ratchet's swearing, a bit harder to ignore the continuous commotion associated with readying the entirety of the NEST forces for battle. He knew that Ironhide was working furiously with Major Lennox to coordinate allied attacks on drones outside the United States. He had expected solitude until Prowl finally ordered him to get his information to the NEST commanders and their allies—

"WJ."

The voice, human, was unexpected in the expanse of his lab and the muted chaos beyond. WJ turned and saw one of the human refugees—blond hair, designation Rachel Cooper—standing in the doorway. She appeared distressed, with her shoulders hunched and her breathing erratic. Was this because of the information about the drones? Primus knew that was just one of the problems to plague the refugees.

"Miss Cooper?" he asked, surprised. He didn't know how to anticipate any of the humans' actions. While some were very calm as of late, others could still be distraught.

Rachel gave him a look he wouldn't soon purge from his processors. Her wild eyes were red and moist, but the rest of her small organic body radiated aggression—

Or was that fear?

"You say you're him," Rachel began, voice rising with intensity as she stalked slowly toward him; she was referring to his counterpart from another time. "Then prove it."

WJ stared, stunned. "How?" he asked, the only thing he could think to ask.

Rachel lifted her right arm where a strange device was clasped on her arm. Several other pieces of the same kind were on her other arm, and her feet. She glared at him, trembling.

"Make it better."

.

End Chapter 33.

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Grab your guns, folks, we're goin' huntin'.

First, however, we'll be checking out the fourth interlude where, well, Sam finally gets his job done.

A/Ns:
-Space is about 3 degrees Kelvin above absolute zero, or −273.15° Celsius, or −459.67° Fahrenheit. Mechs are susceptible to cold here, but if they're prepared for space travel, naturally they can withstand below-freezing temperatures on Earth, where the lowest recorded temperature to date is −89 °C (−128 °F) but which is generally not much lower than -70 °F, even in Siberia. Otherwise the whole "lol we're robots from space" thing really wouldn't work in this universe. Megatron just sort of botched things for himself plus the polar magnetism messed up his sense of direction, so he crashed. I have nothing to say of Bumblebee's capture by S7 agents with fire extinguishers, because uhhhh, no, Bay. That doesn't work at all.