Chapter 6

It was a somber group that gathered in the common room of the Ark. While Wheeljack and Hoist operated on Ratchet the rest of the wounded were taken to the science labs, where Sparkplug could effect basic repairs that would keep the Autobots healthy until Wheeljack could take a look at them.

"I still can't believe this is happening." Sideswipe murmured, sounding slightly dazed as he stared into his cup of energon. "I mean, he's Ratchet. He doesn't get hurt. At least, he didn't used to."

"I know what you mean." Hound added. "It feels so…" he paused to search for a word, "wrong, y'know?"
"What I know is Ratchet wouldn't a' gott'n hurt in tha first place if th' scanners 'ad been workin' right." Ironhide commented. "That way, we'd a' seen th' Decepticons comin' b'fore the'd had th' chance t' rig their contraption or th' ambush."

"The scanners were working perfectly, I checked them on my rounds this morning." Red Alert jittered, almost daring someone to question his word. "Who was on watch?"
"Prowl was." somebody answered.

All optics turned to the tactician.

"The scans could only detect a minor anomaly." Prowl answered quietly. "The second sweep didn't detect anything. I assumed that it was a glitch."
"Assumed?" Cliffjumper asked. "Fat lot a good that's done us."

Prowl winced. Jazz, who was sitting next to him, sent a sharp warning glare at the minibot that quickly shut the red mech up.

"That's a moot point now." Bluestreak spoke up. "But what are we going to do if, y'know…" he trailed off uncomfortably. The average temperature in the room felt like it dropped about ten degrees.
"He's got a point." Windcharger said. "What if he doesn't…"

"ENOUGH!" Sunstreaker slammed his cup down on the table and stood up. "If Ratchet were here he'd be yelling at the lot of you for being so slaggin' stupid! But since he's not, I will!" He glared at the surrounding Autobots. "Ratchet AIN'T gonna die. Get that through your thick craniums. He's too stubborn to let go, and he's not gonna start giving up now. He's never given up on any of us before, so don't you dare start giving up on him."

He sent one final, disdainful glare around the room then spun on his heel and left, his twin in his wake.


Wheeljack worked as quickly as his fingers allowed him to, re-routing cauterised energon lines and splicing emergency power packs into damaged systems. Neither he nor Hoist had said anything other than the occasional request for tools or parts.

A bundle of charred wiring crumbled under the inventor's fingers as he dug through the partially melted armour and the circuitry beneath it. Wheeljack paused every few minutes to wipe off the thick paste of congealing coolant and other fluids that accumulated on his fingers each time he reached inside his friend's battered body, praying that he had the skill to yank Ratchet back from the point of no return.

Usually Wheeljack was not the most devout of mechs. But usually it wasn't his best friend lying under his laser scalpel.