Author's Note: Well I'm feeling much better. And look at this, new chapter already! Go me! I wanted to point out that this story is far from over. The creepy poetic bit is from The Lord od the Rings, thus it belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. E-mail me if you wanna know the translation. If, for any reason, you have spoiler info or are just guessing on the rest of the plot, PLEASE don't mention it in reviews! If you e-mail, I'll be more than happy to address any questions regarding the story line.

Chapter 9

Silverbolt immediately sensed that something was amiss when the door to his quarters slid open, and Blackarachnia stepped in. Despite his intuition, she appeared unharmed, but a certain inner light was gone from her optics. Concerned, he placed the flex pad he was reading back on the nightstand.

"Beloved?" he extended a hand to her in a sign of invitation. She sat down without a word, and Silverbolt, now convinced that something was seriously wrong, held her like one would hold a small child who was upset, stroking her hair. It was scattered around her shoulders, since she had dropped her helmet when she came in. Blackarachnia rested her head against his chest, silently listening to the steady, but fast, beat of his fluid pump. Over a few sleepless nights, the sound had become a source of great comfort. "What is wrong?"

She sighed and looked up at him. "Do you see this?" she pointed at the thin scar below her optic. Silverbolt frowned, for he hadn't noticed it before, and lightly traced it with his finger. Blackarachnia flinched and pulled away. "Funny how old wounds can still hurt," she commented. "It's really old, from before the Beast Wars." Very slowly, she told him everything she remembered and what she learned from Optimus and Dinobot. Silverbolt listened without judgment, and when she finished, he held her body tighter to his.

"He'll be dead before this war is over," the white knight swore, his usually golden optics flashed blood-red with anger.

"I know," the female nodded against him, "but to be honest, I really don't care what happens to him. I have neither the strength nor the will to deal with him right now. As long as he never hurts anyone else again, I don't care what becomes of him. I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing that his fate is somehow my concern. He took too much from me as it is."

After another hour of conversation, Blackarachnia was completely exhausted. Her last thought before she fell asleep was that she would never let Tarantulas take anything else away from her. First thing in the morning, she was getting her past back.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ash nazg durbatulûk...

Blackarachnia shuttered at the cold, unwelcoming atmosphere of the cave. The depth of it seemed to absorb all light, as a black hole would in space. The entrance provided little comfort. Even though it allowed some rays to pass through, the sun was only slightly visible at 0600 hours.

Ash nazg gimbatul...

The disembodied voice didn't help the situation at all. Tarantulas definitely knew she was there, and if he was trying to scare her, it was partially working.

"Quit it, you psychopathic sadist!" she shouted into the darkness.

Ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul!

After the last verse, Tarantulas emerged from the shadows. In his hands he carried the black backpack. "I assume you know who I really am now?"

She didn't answer, and the Predacon took that as an affirmation. He looked down at the carrier on his hands, and threw it at her. Blackarachnia caught it with ease. "Don't worry, there's nothing in there that'll explode or anything like that," he assured her. "It does, however, hold some of your memory chips which I recovered from the stasis pod, among some other personal possessions."

"How do I know they don't have some virus you cooked up that will hack into my core conciseness?" she narrowed her optics.

"A clever idea," Tarantulas raised an eyebrow. "I'll be sure to remember it, but no. They're clean. However if you don't trust me, and somehow I don't think you do, check them for yourself. You're a smart woman, Miss Khmer." Interestingly enough, he echoed his own words from over three stellar cycles ago.

Still extremely weary of him, she took a few steps back the way she came. It couldn't be this easy. "If the chips are really clean, what do you get out of all of this? Don't tell me you're doing this out of the goodness of your spark," she asked sarcastically.

"If I did, I'd be lying," the scientist shrugged.

"Nothing ever stopped you before," she pointed out. "What's different this time?"

"Because this time, believe it or not, I'm not the villain of the story."

"Are you kidding?! After what you did?!"

"Nevertheless. Alright, I'll admit I am the villain, but not the main one."

"Whatever," Blackarachnia was loosing her patience, "I don't have time for these riddles." She turned to leave.

"One last thing," Tarantulas called after her. "Say hello to Taratron for me."

"My brother is dead," she replied bitterly over her shoulder.

"Really?" the other spider's optics sparkled. "I am so sorry to hear that."

* * * * * * * * * *

Back in her quarters, Blackarachnia emptied the containment of the backpack on her recharge bed. First, three thick books fell out with a thump. Blackarachnia raised an eyebrow and examined them.

Not something I would read before bed, she decided after flipping through the first one, whose cover read The Fellowship of the Ring in goldm, script letters. Looks like ancient human literature, something Silverbolt might enjoy. Wait, why Silverbolt? It suddenly occurred to her that she had no basis on which to believe that the Fuzor would enjoy the books. None except her own intuition. Opening the book once again, she noticed a gold plate in the inside of the front cover with the words 'Property of Anárion' carved into it. So the books aren't mine, she decided, but then who's Anárion? Another person from my past? In any case this is too complicated to deal with before I regain my memories.

Reaching into the backpack, she felt around until her hand closed around three cold chips. She pulled them out and placed them on the table next to her terminal. One last thing remained in the backpack. As she took the stuffed animal in her hands, millions of emotions flooded her mind. There was something about the teddy bear that sparked another memory.

Blackarachnia saw herself, three years younger, sitting on the edge of a bed and holding the same stuffed animal. Her optics looked sad, filled with unshed tears. "Taratron, brother, where are you?" she barely heard herself whisper, then saw as the younger version of herself hugged the stuffed animal tighter and buried her face in its fur. "The last remnant of my childhood. Dear Primus, where has my innocence gone?"

Still emotionally raw, Blackarachnia sighed and put down the teddy bear, settling him on her table. It was something her brother had given her when she was younger. Now he was gone, and she would never know him again.