Much love and cuddles to reviewers.

Yes, is short. I tired. Boring plot stuff, angst by truckload arriving next chap, promise. For now, I sleep.

The Food Chain

He observed the two of them without interest. It was easy enough to discern which one was his intended target, unless, of course, High Command had recently lost what little sanity it had left.

Longreach was a thin, elfin mechanism, and an oddity to look at. Arms, legs, neck all looked just a little bit longer than they should have. Large, fan-like protrusions stuck out his back, shoulders and lower legs. This was because Longreach was a satellite dish. And, oh, how he hated it.

Although, not for any particular reason. He hated most things on principal. Even in an Autobot command structure, there has to be one.

Another minor peculiarity were the green optics. Whilst not unheard of in an Autobot, green had traditionally been a color more favored by Decepticons. The fact that there were four of them was also notable.

Longreach was a Messenger. He wasn't too keen on that, either. Currently, his job involved bringing order to chaos. This was a pity, because it was rare to see Autobot forces in anything even approaching chaos, and he was rather enjoying the moment.

Ah, well. All things must come to an end.

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Jetfire paced. Optimus watched him.

Around them, the hall was in uproar. This was hardly saying much, as the Autobot definition of 'uproar' is 'any noise level exceeding that found in a mausoleum'.

"This is bad. This is bad."

"Yes, I think we've established that."

"This is bad."

"It's certainly alarming…"

"Nexus has been our second largest weapons deposit for the last three years. It's got the largest Autobot energon mine on the planet, this is badbadbad!"

Outwardly, Optimus was controlled, because counteracting Jetfire's violent emotional swings tended to come as naturally as loathing did to Longreach. Inwardly, he couldn't have agreed more.

Nexus was a massive, sprawled leviathan, almost twice the size of the Decepticon capital. It was one of the oldest cities still standing after four million and a half years of anarchy. Ugly as a dead rat and with outer walls almost as thick as they were wide, attacking Nexus was an endeavor on par with hitting a lump of iron with a twig. Were it not for one small matter; the monstrous seam of pure energon which extended from the heart of the city to three miles past the walls. Whether the Megatron's Decepticons knew how far it reached was unimportant. Surveys ordered by High Command had concluded that enough errant bombs in the right places would result in Nexus being blown high enough to breach the outer layer.

Despite its obvious importance, High Command was rumored to be finding fewer and fewer officers willing to reinforce the cities ailing barricades. The fact that High Command was also rumored to sent scouts out to find the reason behind such reluctance said a certain amount for its mental prowess.

As Jetfire continued to rant, Optimus reflected yet again on the flyer's peculiarities. Despite Jetfire's… less-than-admirable habits, when he wasn't semi-conscious or hung-over, he actually made a remarkably good soldier. His leadership skills, whilst nothing to shout about, were sufficient to earn him enough reluctant respect or fear to handle inexperienced recruits. Courage he had never lacked, and tactical skills, whilst sometimes overridden by blatant impulsiveness, were there in abundance. His morality ran deep enough to satisfy enough Optimus's high standards, although the larger Autobot had serious doubts as to his friend's devotion to either the Council or the Cause.

If only he wasn't so…it made Optimus feel distinctly guilty to think it, but…silly, he stood a good chance of rising to the level of Lieutenantsome day.

"We're slagged to krell with a rusty wrench. That's all there is to it."

Moderating his language might also count in his favor, Prime privately noted.

"They've got a good defense network at Nexus", he pointed out. What had been bothering him was not the announcement of a small Decepticon army laying siege to Nexus-although that was certainly worrying enough- but the announcement that had followed it; the small city-hamlet Raphael was in much the same situation.

Which was odd.

Up on the podium, Higher Officers were now engaged in fervent discussion, speaking in furtive voices lest one of the unworthy lent an audio to their concerns. Before Optimus could pursue his line of thought, one of them broke away from the huddle and stepped up to the platform again. It was the grim-looking officer who had first spoken, now looking grimmer than ever.

"Attention, please", he began, because there was something built in to the spark of every Autobot that demanded it. "Officers Hook, Threadwire, Skipper, Blaster, Gridwork and Targetline to report immediately to Rapheal with their platoons to provide backup. Officers Match, Watcher, Barricade and Inferno to report immediately to Nexus. All other Senior Officers, accompany me to the command centre immediately. In Officers Hook and Gridwork's absence, the Iacon Defense Headquarters will be placed under temporary command of a substitute officer. That will be all."

Jetfire made a whistling sound.

"A sub. Slag, but we're slagged…"

"Optimism would be appreciated", murmured Optimus, watching the commanders file out. Like Jetfire, his mind was running madly over the list of sub-commanders and officers who made up the Autobot Command food chain. The majority of key mechs had just been pulled into defending Nexus, leaving behind an almost embarrassingly skeletal crew. It was not that Optimus minded operating under such circumstances, but even he itched slightly at the thought of manning a base with less than ten officers and only three hundred soldiers to spare.

"Hold it, hold it…"

The sudden note of worry in Jetfire's muttering caught his attention. The shuttle looked like a man who has just added up all the little figures and performed all the delicate little calculations and doesn't like the answer he is getting.

"Gridwork, Hook and Watcher…and Barricade…Inferno…nah, that's not right…"

"What?" he said quietly. When it came to certain things, Jetfire had a mind like a laser.

The shuttle in question raised his optics to stare at Optimus, an oddly alarmed look suddenly upon his face.

"Then…who the heck does that leave…"

"Corporal Optimus Prime?"

Jetfire yelped and spun round. Optimus rolled his optics and thanked Primus that the shuttle had not been holding a weapon.

"Are you Corporal Optimus Prime?" queried the slender, holmium-white mechanism who had appeared behind Jetfire with movements as silent as a ghost.

"Yes."

Jetfire, to Prime's eteral gratitude, said nothing. He did stare, though.

Optimus was…surprised. He had met Messengers before, but usually only to offer them directions or, perhaps, to show them around the base. He did it with the weighted knowledge that no one else would, and aware that every set of optics upon him as he accompanied a Messenger would be imagining long spikes driven into his head.

In his experience, Messengers tended to be small, willowy and equipped with a miniature armada of concealed weaponry. Generally, they had some peculiar physical asset, a gun in the centre of their forehead, or, in one case, a tail. So the fact that the creature standing before him was in possession of four optics didn't come as a shock. What did come as a shock (and a slightly worrying shock, at that) was that now one of the fabled Angels of Death was addressing him.

The Messenger squinted all four green optics at him, the way he imagined Decepticon micro-scientists observed things under glass. And, in a way, he was relieved. He had generally assumed, with a sense of fatalism that belonged to the darker recesses of his personality, that when a message from High Command did affect his life, it would be in relation to Jetfire (and would probably contain the words 'drunk and disorderly', 'missing in action', or 'awaiting trial for insubordination'.)

Finally, he said, "You're Optimus Prime, are you?" with what sounded like amusement in his voice.

More nervously now, because he had NEVER known a Messenger to repeat his, her or itself, Optimus said, "Yes. My name is Optimus Prime."

"What's it to you?" asked Jetfire suspiciously, having obviously noted the small double-stripe beneath the Messenger's insignia, a mark announcing to all those who got close enough who he was and what power he held. Behind the mask, Optimus winced, and wished his partner's foot had been just a little bit closer to his own.

The word's broke the visitor's concentration, and he gave Jetfire an odious look. Returning to his quarry, he issued a short, sharp nod that made him look like an avian.

His voice, when he spoke, was more formal, and slightly tinny.

"Corporal Optimus Prime, under the newly relayed circumstances, High Command has ordered that this base be placed on green alert until such time as the threat to Nexus has been subdued. With officers Gridwork and Hook no longer available for command, High Command has ordered that you will substitute for them until their return."

Longreach smiled darkly at their reactions. The target in question stood perfectly still, only the almost-to-white brightening of his optics revealing his true emotions. The winged one reeled backwards as though physically struck, jerked back upright with a sharp, electric movement and swore loud enough to attract the attention of every Autobot still left in the hall.

"M…me?"

Had Longreach been aware that he was witnessing Optimus Prime's very first stutter he would have smiled even more.

"Yes. You."

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He was, Longreach would have had to admit, hardly much to look at. Certainly not for someone who had, supposedly, one of the most squeaky clean records yet produced by a corporal, and one of the most impressive Academy scores for the last three hundred and fifty years.

"Might I ask why I'm being allotted to the task?" Prime asked. He had calmed down impressively quickly. His ill-mannered friend's curses had run dry after a while, and were now being translated into furious pacing across the departure bay. All three had moved to watch the officers depart for Nexus, via one of Iacon's many warp facilities.

Longreach made a snorting noise he reserved only for those he considered miles and miles beneath. As this list included, basically, the entire universe, he did it quite often.

"As you may or may not have noticed, Substitute Base Commander Prime", and he observed with professional satisfaction the result this produced, "you are the only individual currently in this Sector with even two-thirds of the qualifications required for the position. Competent as the rest of the Training Officers are, your record exceeds them all, despite the fact of your"-snort-"youth."

The large white shuttle took a break from pacing to glare at the Messenger.

And it was true, Longreach would also have had to admit, he was young. Too young by far to be anything beyond a corporal, a position given, in the Autobot army, to those too inexperienced to make General, or even High Ranking Officer, but too good at their job to be anything less.

"Besides", he added, with a rather malicious gleam in all four optics, "you came highly recommended."

The fact that so many, otherwise entirely sane, Officers had suggested the young corporal had irritated him, for some reason. It wasn't, in his opinion, how the world was supposed to work.

"This isn't quite what you'd call normal procedure…", Prime pointed out, his voice perfectly level. He really was taking this rather well.

"No joke", muttered Jetfire. The Messenger ignored him.

"It's hardy difficult, Substitute Commander", Longreach commented, unable to help it. "You've only to ensure that normal procedures flow as they should until the rightful officers return to their posts. I'm sure you'll manage superbly."

"Thank you for your confidence", Prime said in a brisk, firm and utterly miserable voice. Behind him, the warp gate opened with a flash and closed with a whimper.