Authors' Note: Special thanks to SpiritofEowyn whose research led us to the May 2011 Lockheed Martin cyber attack (in the timeframe of this fic). IRL, this was a major breach that happened while the shuttle was in orbit. Still no word on which company/country is claiming Soundwave as their tech.

Also, Skids' and Mudflap's backstory is courtesy of IronRaven's excellent fic written in our 'verse: "Botosphere: Precursors: Etymology"


"Will it work?" Fassbinder asked Ratchet.

"Possibly," the mech grudgingly allowed. "We need a test subject."

"Don't look at me!" Sharsky said.

Leo rolled his eyes. "You ain't got the goods, mijo. We need someone with hardware and you are definitely one of the squishies."

"Not someone, something," Ratchet archly said. "I'm not turning your crackpot code loose on anything sentient."

"What about the C-17s?" Davis suggested. "They've got some Cybertronian upgrades but no sparks."

Epps was notified they had a possible solution and showed up to personally oversee the cyber-clinical trials. There were two planes on base with alien upgrades, and Davis connected the magic bullet drive into the first one's onboard computer. The query returned no variants at all.

"That can't be right," Fassbinder insisted. "We were detecting them all over."

"That isn't the plane we flew on," Simmons pointed out. "Has this one even been fired up since the outbreak began?"

Epps turned to the confused-looking Aircraft Maintenance Officer standing nearby. "Well?"

"Uh, no sir. It's been grounded like everything else here on DG since the order went out."

Ratchet's holoform sighed. "A null return for the query would make sense if the plane weren't infected. Let's try the other one."

"If at first, you don't screw up, try the other multi-billion-dollar thingamajig," Fassbinder muttered.

"Believe me," Sam said, "you've screwed up already."

"And now we're going to save the day," Sharsky confidently retorted, "if we can just find the right victim."

They all trooped over to the neighboring C-17 and watched in anticipation as the query ran. When the records search returned the first hit, Fassbinder attempted a victory dance while Sharsky ran in a tight circle like someone's chihuahua on meth. When no one else joined in, they managed to shut the celebration down post-haste.

"I believe we have a test subject," Sharsky said archly, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Nineteen variants detected."

Ratchet leaned over and typed out a series of commands on the console. "Fragging tiny keyboard," he grumbled. But the code ran much more quickly, and he ordered, "Run the query again."

This time, it returned zero variants.

Fassbinder punched the air, or meant to. Instead, his fists connected with overhead controls and there was a definite "O dios mio, que tonto," from one of the onlookers. Fassbinder slouched in his seat and folded his hands meekly in his lap. Lisbeth hadn't been there to see his victory, but at least she'd also missed that.

"Victim identified, victim cured," he announced in an uncharacteristically timid voice. "Shall we try another one?"

Davis smirked but didn't comment. Instead, he said, "Didn't one of the BINDS prototypes get infected?"

"What's 'binds'?" Leo asked, sounding a little too hopeful.

Sam whacked him up the back of the head. "Need to know."

Sharsky crossed his arms. "Well if I'm going…"

Ratchet cleared his throat and Sharsky amended, "...We're going to be curing all the possessed tech on base, I'd say we're in 'need to know' territory."

"You are going to go get some lunch," Epps ordered, "along with the rest of the team. Ratchet, do you and your guys have what you need to test the cure on BINDS?"

"Yes, I believe we do."

...

An hour and a half later, Ratchet and Davis were still sequestered away in the medbay, and the tech gurus were all milling about in the main hangar. Fassbinder and Sharsky were still pariahs, though, since no one was sure if Ratchet was going to emerge thrilled with their work or murderous.

"So what do we do now?" Sharsky whined, his feet propped up on his desk.

"We sit tight," Leo said, "until Ratchet gives us the go/no-go."

"But it's gonna work," Fassbinder insisted, sprawled back and spinning in his office chair.

"They've got to test it before they turn it loose on any mech," Sam said, rubbing his forehead again. "You're talking about code that'll become part of every single one of the Autobots. For all we know, it'll make everyone self-destruct in five months."

"Hey!" Fassbinder protested.

Sam soothingly added, "I'm just saying, Ratchet has to analyze it inside-out and upside-down."

"Let's try it out on a few more things, then," Sharsky said, dropping his feet to the floor.

"Oh! I know!" Fassbinder said, jumping up. "How 'bout those computers that all had to be put down."

"Cool your jets," Thomaczech said, her hand resting on her sidearm just a little too casually. "We wait right here for further orders."

Sharsky turned his best puppy-dog eyes on Sam. "Please? For old time's sake, roommie?"

Sam shook his head. "No strings to pull here. Optimus has been in a foul mood, and I'll be lucky to leave the island with you when you all head home."

"Really?" Leo asked.

"No, you're not allowed to stay, too," Sam preemptively declared.

"I'll ask for you about the decommissioned laptops," Thomaczech sighed, her hand drifting to her radio. "It's probably the least trouble you all could get into."

"Thank you," Sam muttered.

After a few minutes of negotiations with various authorities and an exasperated quartermaster, some military peon or another wheeled in a cart loaded with trashed computer components.

Fassbinder cracked his knuckles. "Right. Let's get to work."

They'd gotten one computer almost frankensteined together when Epps showed up.

"Thomaczech?" he said, more disbelieving than questioning.

"Easier to guard the prisoners when they're distracted," she retorted. "And this was the closest I had to a 1000-piece puzzle."

"Prisoners?" Fassbinder demanded.

"Dude, I need a functional ribbon cable!" Sharsky said, poking him.

"Just...don't try to take over the world or anything," Epps grumbled. Under his breath, he added, "Lennox had better get his aft home in one piece," before moving on to talk with the rest of the techie types on the other side of the hangar.

The medbay doors opened and Ratchet strode out. Epps stopped and turned expectantly. The mech opened his mouth to say something and then caught sight of what Fassbinder and Sharsky were doing. "What…? Why?"

"What else are they gonna do, Ratchet?" Sam said, then asked, "What's the news?"

"First, Fassbinder and Sharsky. Step away from whatever that abomination is."

They inched closer to Sam, and Ratchet continued, "Epps, I've modified the query slightly to speed it up and then integrated it into a standard Autobot antiviral program. Simulations look promising, and Optimus has given us permission to proceed."

"Then go for it, Ratchet."

He nodded and then picked up Sharsky and Fassbinder again. "You two are coming with me. If this doesn't work, I want you to understand exactly how badly you're fragged."

"Hey," Fassbinder objected, "we have legs. And we're here to help. You don't need to treat us like errant kittens."

Ratched huffed and, setting them down, stalked to the medbay. Fassbinder and Sharsky followed, with Sam and Epps in the rear. 'Bee was already there, everything about him drooping,

In the medbay, the medic lifted them onto the table, again near the head of the little orange mech. "These two are three times older than the pyramids," Ratchet said. "Do you understand just how ancient these beings are compared to you?"

Fassbinder had known them as the annoying twins so obnoxious they were forced to share a blog profile to cut down on their fighting and overall stupidity.

"I didn't know that," Sharsky softly said.

"They are brothers. This one," Ratchet continued, pointing to the orange one, "sacrificed part of his own processor core - his own brain, in your biology - to save his twin," he pointed to the green one. "If we lose one, we lose both, and to lose them is to lose something precious, even if they are aggravating. Don't frag around with Cybertronian code ever again or I'll find a way to lobotomize the two of you. Got it?"

"Got it," Fassbinder contritely echoed. Sharsky nodded mutely.

"Now, let's see if this kluged-up excuse for code actually works." He opened a port on the orange mech's wrist and inserted what Fassbinder could only assume was the alien equivalent of a jump drive. Then he picked up what looked like a 'bot-sized tablet. "Over 15,000 variants detected. Antivirus is being deployed."

They waited as the minutes ticked away, but neither Fassbinder nor Sharsky dared say anything. Finally, after ten minutes, Sam broke the silence. "Any progress, Ratchet?"

"We're down to under 12,000 variants. It's working - slowly. Patching in some extra processing power to give the antivirus a boost would probably help. I'll try that with Skids."

"On it," Arcee said and headed toward a back room, angrily bumping Bumblebee's shoulder as she passed. The mech absentmindedly rubbed his arm but watched in dejected silence. Fassbinder fleetingly wondered what kind of chewing out 'Bee had gotten for his role in all this. Probably worse, with the way BikerChick was beating on him.

She returned with some components that looked vaguely electrical and Fassbinder came close to peeing his pants for the second time this trip - this time in excitement. He was about to see Ratchet build some hardware of his own! Both techies watched in fascination as the components were networked together and then a similar Autobot jump-drive-chip was added to the custom-built extra 'bot brain and the whole, shiny amalgamation was connected to Skids.

The little mech started vibrating. Not like convulsing but rattling so hard Arcee had to pin him down to keep him from sliding off the table.

"Too much!" she shouted, and Ratchet frantically tapped at the tablet, muttering a string of mixed curses upon yet another too-fragging-small keyboard.

"He can't network in," Sharsky said, understanding dawning on why (at least partly) Ratchet was so grumpy. No matter how frustrating it was for a mere human like him to not have internet access, it must be a thousand times worse for a living, thinking, feeling computer on legs to also be cut off from all things digital. And unlike the medic, the green 'bot - Skids, was it? - couldn't even use a too-fragging-small keyboard right now.

The green 'bot stopped shaking, and Fassbinder asked, "What just happened?"

The femme's shoulders slumped. "We released the uppermost level of his medical lockdown code. It figuratively loosened the straps that were holding him down. That is what your modified Twitch actually does to a mech in the final stages."

"Oh," Sharsky dejectedly said.

Fassbinder got stuck on the words, 'final stages,' though. "But we're not too late, right?"

"That remains to be seen," Ratchet grumbled. "Now shush!"

Ratchet continued to type away on his device, and Arcee sat back on her heels, ready to jump in again if needed. This time, it was just Skids' fingers that twitched, and he almost looked like he was air-directing an invisible symphony.

Slowly - agonizingly so - Skids's twitching fingers drifted to a stop.

Ratchet sighed out a heartfelt, "Yes!" Lowering his device, he asked, "Skids, can you hear me?"

"I only gotz two words for you, Ratchet," the little 'bot mumbled. "Spongebob Squarepants."

"Hopelessly broken?" Sharsky asked with a wince.

"Or back to normal," Ratchet said, though he grinned as he straightened his shoulders.

"Same diff," Arcee added, shaking her head and climbing down from the medical berth. "Good to have you back, Skids. Ratchet, do we want to use the same device on Mudflap?"

"Yes, immediately."

...

Ratchet followed Fassbinder and Sharsky back to the main Autobot hangar, torn between getting the human military to lock them up and asking for permission to recruit them. They reminded him of Wheeljack - a destructive walking magnet for bad luck who sometimes was so blindingly brilliant that he made the rest of the mess he created worth it.

For the moment, he settled on letting the humans sort it out and recruiting them if he ever felt the need. After all, he did have Davis for a few decades anyway.

To the assembled Autobots and techies, he announced with profound relief, "We have an effective treatment."

"Is it something we can use on human tech?" Epps asked.

Sideswipe added, "How are we going to fix everybody else without letting the Decepticons get their hands on the antidote?"

"Logistically, we can't," Davis answered him. "If we want to get this antidote into human networks where it can repair everything, the Decepticons will eventually come across it in the wild."

"Who says we have to fix it?" Sideswipe grumbled. "It was a couple of humans that broke everything. And we know Megatron's caught it."

Epps glared at Sideswipe and was about to give a not very diplomatic retort when Optimus cleared his throat and spoke, "Without the Twitch's underlying Cybertronian AI, Misters Fassbinder and Sharsky would not have been able to break the humans' networks. We are the ultimate cause, and we will be part of the solution." His firm tone silenced any other debate.

"Right now it's dependent on a Cybertronian antiviral program to neutralize the worm," Ratchet answered. Looking to Optimus, he added, "Using the treatment on human networks would require releasing that antiviral program as well."

"Why?" Fassbinder asked. "I mean, couldn't you just give Earth what we need to kill the human-based code? That wouldn't neutralize the worm, but it would keep it from being able to slip past your own antivirals, right? And if it can't communicate with human tech, it can't infect it."

"And that would keep the treatment out of Decepticon hands," Sideswipe added.

Optimus looked to Ratchet. "Analysis?"

Frag those two squishies, Ratchet mentally grumbled. He was a healer, and all of his ethical programming was insisting that they share the antidote far and wide. But he was also an Autobot, and his battle computers were adamant that they not waste this tactical advantage. He was going to end up with a processor ache over this.

Rubbing his helm, he hesitated, trying to find a solution. He wasn't Prowl, but he could run the occasional statistical analysis himself. What would happen if the Twitching Awfuls were allowed to continue to replicate? Within a few astroseconds, he knew. "This modified worm is too aggressive, too alien. Even without the human programming, it'll very likely evolve into something that will come back to the Autobot ranks - with a vengeance. The only way to protect ourselves, now and in the future, is to wipe it out while we can. That means eliminating it in human networks as well as among the Decepticons."

Optimus looked to Sam briefly, and the human smirked at something said over their bond. Aloud, Optimus declared, "Then we release the full treatment."

"But," Arcee added, "we need to make sure the Cybertronian AI components are self-limiting and will not be loose in human networks for other squishies to find."

"Are you volunteering?" Ratchet asked.

Arcee let out a sigh, "Sure."

Ironhide, for all his bellicosity, made a genuine effort where his humans were concerned. He paid attention to their boundaries and their need for open communication on important matters. For all of his accommodations, however, he had never been what might be termed a good patient.

Not in the sense of Skids and Mudflap, who challenged themselves to make their medics suffer for putting them through experimental treatments, but in the style of someone who had searched medical texts through the world wide web and grew impatient with the disinterest of professionals to implement his recommended treatment.

Now, however, he was on mandated bedrest. There was no telling the duration of his illness or how he would fare through the worst of it. Ironhide, who was ready to roll out whenever invited to was anxious to take action, but had conceded to himself and Ratchet that he should keep his strength in reserve. Any form of stasis would leave him more susceptible to the virus, so he instead found himself occupying endless hours with mundane tasks.

As RaFly approached his improvised berth, she heard his gruff voice rumble a smug, "Go Fish."

"Come on," Sarah protested. "Statistically, you should have at least one jack."

"Statistics are irrelevant here," he responded. "Go fish."

This was the sort of simplistic process of elimination best exercised by small children, but it was unethical for any of them to play games of chance with beings of lower mathematical capabilities.

"Do you have...fours?"

As she suspected, he had shut off his optics, but RaFly's sensors could already detect a change in Sarah's breathing pattern that indicated slight emotional discomfort. As she came within sight of the pair, she noticed a muscular contraction between the orbital ridges. Ironhide had hit his mark and Sarah plucked two cards from her hand.

"Take them all," she muttered. Glancing up, she beamed. "RaFly! Any news?"

Even Ironhide's posture indicated that he was being more attentive. It was body language that he had mimicked from his human associates in NEST, since it relied on the angular position of his thorax and the manner in which he braced his right arm near his helm.

She shifted the news of updated drivers, unsubscribe requests for mailing lists, updated security settings, etc. She had been creating a folder for shared recipes on Sarah's computer when a long-anticipated e-mail had come through.

"There is news," she answered Sarah. Turning to Ironhide, she nodded. "I am instructed to have you reconnect so that you may receive a patch."

The cards went flying in his excitement, but she immediately sensed it when he returned to the connection. Sarah stood and pulled her chair to one side.

"I'm going to let you focus on this for now," she announced. "If you need anything, 'Hide, give a holler...or just shoot me an e-mail."

She walked calmly to the door, but her pace quickened as she approached the house. She was certainly making a beeline for others who could use some good news.

Ninety-five seconds later, there was a ringing whoop from the living room. With both of the Lennoxes sufficiently briefed on the situation, RaFly returned her attention to the transmitted instructions.

...

Davis got to be the face of NEST to NASA, and he took a deep breath as mission control patched him in to the shuttle. As much as he usually felt a twinge of envy for Calvin's day job, this time he felt nothing but anxiety for his friend. Delivering that news while standing on NEST's command scaffolding under the watchful eye of the Primes (mech and human) didn't help.

"Captain Stern here," the astronaut said, as he appeared on the screen. His expression grew more grim when he recognized Davis. "That bad, huh? Sending in my old friend Aragorn to deliver the news?"

Standing to the side, off-camera, Sam did a double-take and stared at Davis.

Davis inwardly cringed but just shook his head, "Naw, I'm here to deliver the good news."

He hit the send command for the antivirus code. "You should be receiving a data package, it will self-execute once fully uploaded and should clean out all the problems."

"Just like that?"

"Hopefully. That's Plan A, anyway. And it did work in the test environment."

"Just one test environment?" Stern caught that singular.

Davis winced a bit, "It has been tested on multiple systems but only on one Linux test bed and one C-17."

"Great, we're guinea pigs orbiting at 420 kilometers above the Earth."

"Only a bit-these programmers are very good. But I have been instructed to keep the connection live until the antivirus has fully run and all your diagnostics come back within normal parameters."

"Right." Nodding, Capt. Stern turned to his crewmembers. "We've got a shot at a safe landing, but we need to make sure everything works - and I mean everything. Flaps to landing gear to waste disposal. Prep now for a full shakedown. Get your checklists in order and be ready for my go." The crew members moved out of camera view as they followed their captain's orders.

In the resulting lull, Stern asked, "How's the weather there in Area 51?"

"Well, you know, as soon as the weather balloons make it back, I'll be able to tell you."

Stern smirked, "Haven't left the bunker in weeks, eh?"

Davis shrugged, fighting a grin. "Seen the sun and stars and waaay too many Monsters and RockStars."

"Little gray men and Elvis?"

"Sure, we'll roll with that."

There was a beep from one of the consoles and Stern looked at it. "The monitor says Upload complete. Running Antivirus."

Davis raised an eyebrow and looked at Optimus, wondering who had had the time to add human-friendly text alerts.

"Approximately how long should this take to run?" Stern asked.

A shimmer of light caught Davis' eye and Optimus' holoform (minus the usual Stetson) entered the camera frame. "Given the relative simplicity and isolation of the shuttle computer systems, the antivirus should complete fairly quickly. I would estimate no more than five minutes total running time and that includes the secondary and tertiary scans after the initial clean-up. The Antiviral code will then extract and destroy itself to limit its impact on your on-board memory systems."

"...And done," a disembodied voice called out.

Stern, who had been slightly gaping at Optimus, quickly checked his screen. "Antivirus run complete. This program will self-destruct in five seconds."

Stern briefly rolled his eyes but then turned to his crew, "Start the shakedown," he ordered.

The diagnostics and checklist completion took far longer than the actual run of the antivirus. Stern had to take part himself so Davis got to watch them wandering in and out of frame and repeating things back and forth to each other for at least an hour. Finally Stern came back to talk to him.

"Well, it looks like your friends from Area 51 came through for us."

"Actually…" Davis scratched the back of his neck.

"Actually what?"

"It was a couple of punk college kids who figured out a fix."

Stern snorted, relaxing with relief. "Bet that brought back memories. Are they on your payroll now?"

"Honestly, Calvin, they're lucky they aren't in the brig, but like all good techies, are okay with being paid in caffeine and enough processed sugar to make any nutritionist have a panic attack. You get three guesses as to why they might be brigged, though, and the first two don't count."

He shook his head, grinning. "You know, Aragorn, you're the only guy on Earth I envy when I'm up here. Must have been a helluva couple of days."

"You could say that. Over and out."

As soon as the call cut, Davis turned to Sam and pleaded, "Please, don't tell another soul. Especially Fassbinder and Sharsky."

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Natipati Fassbinder's lips will be sealed where unusual names are concerned. Sharsky will envy something less run-of-the-mill than Joseph."

Usually when Sam entered a bond dream, Optimus was waiting patiently at the end of the aircraft carrier's runway, looking out over the ocean. Tonight, though, Optimus was looking right at him when Sam stepped into his dreams. It was a bit unnerving.

"Well," Sam said, steeling himself against the inevitable argument. "The code for detecting the Twitch's GUI and killing it has been shared with all the human authorities. It won't be a problem on Earth much longer. Epps figures I'll be able to fly home on the same plane that brings Lennox here tomorrow night."

"The other humans will fly home," Optimus agreed. "I am concerned about you joining them, however."

"We've gone over this a dozen times in the last three days," Sam protested. "Yes, Megatron knows about our bond now. It doesn't change anything about me, though. I still need to go to college and work toward becoming the ambassador you will need someday soon. If I stay here on Diego Garcia, that won't happen. You'll have me here, but you won't be able to get any help from us humans when it comes to building the solar harvester."

Abruptly the scene shifted. They were on Cybertron, but not anywhere Sam recognized, and Optimus had blocked most of the flow of emotion over their bond. "Where are we?"

Optimus strode forward towards a square panel inscribed with a circle. In front of it was a platform where two figures were laid out. One was a lot larger than the other, but they seemed to be lacking something. It took a few seconds for Sam to realize what it was. Armor - these figures were completely lacking in armor.

"We have all suffered losses," Optimus said, resting his hand on the edge of the platform. "The War has left every Cybertronian bereaved. I was one of the first."

Sam blinked, trying to follow what he was saying, and then softly said, "Your parents?"

Optimus nodded. "I still had Elita and, through her, a functioning clan. I was also able to maintain severely-weakened bonds with a few others-younger brothers created by my father. But I was the first orphan of this War."

And then he fully opened their bond.

Sam dropped to his knees as the full force of Optimus' loss ploughed into him. Gasping against the sobs ripping through him, Sam curled in on himself. Even in the bond dream, his body reacted, and shock slowly numbed him against the grief.

Optimus set the memory in motion. Mechs and femmes gathered around, wordlessly touching the platform-a bier, Sam now recognized-or Optimus in affection and support. That, too, flowed over Optimus' bond until a new pain tinged it. Sam lifted his head to see Megatron approaching.

Sam staggered to his feet, anger flaring in him. "Didn't he murder Fortron and Sunset?"

"Yes, though none of us knew that at the time," Optimus answered. "I assumed he blocked our bond at the funeral due to his own intense grief. Only later did I realize it was to hide his guilt."

Megatron strode to the foot of the bier while Optimus walked around to its head. Sam could see the gaping hole in Sunset's frame where Megatron had crushed her spark. Now the mech stood hunched over in a posture of grieving, and Sam wondered if it was genuine or an act. He really doubted it was genuine.

"Until all are one, Father, Mother," Optimus solemnly declared, and the 'bots around him answered, "Until all are one."

Then Optimus and Megatron together lifted the bier and carried it outside to a tended garden, the mourners following in procession. A molten stream ran through the garden, and next to it were six short pillars arranged as a stand for the bier. They waited until all the mourners were gathered, and then Optimus and Megatron together lifted the empty frames of first their father and then their mother into the stream. Almost immediately, the metal of their frames began melting, and they were dissolved as they drifted together downstream.

"May you find rest in the Well of All Sparks, with all who have gone before," Optimus softly said.

Along with the remembered Cybertronians around him, Sam watched until Fortron's and Sunset's frames were out of sight. He'd recovered enough emotionally to figure out why Optimus was showing him all this. They'd argued for days now about Sam returning to school. Sam had refused to budge, so now Optimus was trying a new tactic: guilt.

He couldn't get angry at Optimus, though, not even when Optimus used his own parents' funeral as a way to manipulate him. Instead, he curiously tilted his head. "Did they?"

"Pardon?"

"Did they find rest in the Well? I mean, you were there. Do you remember?"

He blocked most of his emotions over the bond and vented a slow sigh. "Yes, they did. But even if we are able to recharge the Matrix, they will not be coming back. As you saw, they received a proper burial and their frames were returned to the Well of All Sparks. There's nothing left of them to reignite. When I am reunited with them again, it will be when I am extinguished." Turning his piercing gaze on Sam, he added, "Losing you would likewise be permanent."

Sam blew out his breath in frustration. "You can't know that. I'm Samuel Prime, aren't I? It's my fate to help you, isn't it?"

"Sam…"

"No, look, Optimus." Pointing to the stream, he said, "This was their fate, too, wasn't it? Fate isn't always kind. None of us get out of this dimension alive. Since when did you stop trusting fate?"

Optimus steadily stared at Sam for a long moment. When he finally relented and opened up their bond a bit, wry affection softened his words. "Since I got a stubborn squishy for a brother."

"And since when did you stop trusting me," Sam added, pressing his point. "Aren't I a Prime, too? Or am I just a stubborn squishy who has to do what the giant alien robot says?"

Optimus was almost fierce when he answered, "You are Samuel Prime."

Sam nodded his head, heart warming to hear him acknowledge it. "I'm willing to work with you on this, Optimus. I mean, there's Bumblebee, and look how hard I fought to get Leo and Simmons as my security detail, too. But you've got to let me be who I'm fated to be."

With another sigh, Optimus squared his shoulders. "And you are fated to be our ambassador to the human race. As your brother, I will continue to secure generous scholarships for you so you can focus on fulfilling your role as Prime."

...

Their flight home left at 08:00 hours sharp, which was fine with Fassbinder, since he honestly had no idea what day it was anymore, much less what time it was back home. No matter the hour, though, it was always time for donuts. Fassbinder and Sharsky made sure they were early enough to hit the snack section of the main hangar before takeoff.

He hadn't been near a mirror in a while, but Sharsky's rumpled-Jesus bedhead made him glad that he wasn't growing his hair out. Sam had the kind of red-eyed scowl that usually went with finals week and Leo's good mood was visibly established by coffee.

Meanwhile, the ladies looked unnaturally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed Lisbeth had her hair up in a high ponytail and was wearing what she considered 'minimalist makeup,' but just meant she didn't have eyeliner or bronzer. The course of true love ran smoother when Fassbinder didn't argue semantics when it came to her aesthetic choices.

"Hey, hon," he called. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

This prompted a round of laughter that made him sure that Mikaela and Lisbeth had girl bonding time he didn't want to know the contents of.

"Say no more," he said, holding up his hands and bowing his head in deference. "As long as someone showed you a good time."

"You got Sideswipe's email address, didn't you," Sam deadpanned.

"It was informative," Lisbeth said archly in a slightly Princess-Leiaesque voice, dodging Sam's question. "Someday, I might go into detail."

Fassbinder reached out and took her bag, earning a kiss on the cheek that smelled delightfully of peppermint. "Yeah, we had a bit of a learning experience, too," he said.

"But you haven't slept in a week," she observed.

"We haven't been here long enough," he protested. "Being a big damn hero takes its toll."

"Well, you have the thanks of a grateful world, probably." She even stopped to give him a proper kiss this time.

"Hey," Sharsky protested. "Don't hog all the credit. I was as big a damn hero as you!" Leo was closest, so there was the sound of a hand smacking the back of a skull and an indignant, "OW!"

Fassbinder broke off the kiss in time to laugh. "Yes, Sharsky will be getting more of a thanks than a 'cease and desist' letter this time." Turning to the rest of the group, he grinned. "All good, Kaela?"

"We kept ourselves busy," she said with a shrug. "But I think I'm tired of living out of this suitcase and I might even like seeing potholes and dust devils again."

"Your wish is my command-under the auspices of whoever's flying this thing," Sam said as he fell in step with her. "We're just about ready to blow this joint."

Sharsky looked predictably disappointed by that news, but didn't attempt to negotiate a delay. Having been hailed as a valuable member of the team, he stuffed half of one last doughnut in his mouth,

"So, how many stars does Casa Cybertron get?" Mikaela asked as they crossed the tarmac.

"Three," Sharsky weighed in as soon as his mouth was empty again. "Not enough food and the staff were really uptight."

"Four and a half," Fassbinder countered. "The staff were uptight, but it was a hands-on adventure. Like Jurassic Park."

Mikaela rolled her eyes at their answers and moved ahead to board the C-17.

"It'll be a sub-zero day on Jundland Waste before I ever let you plan my vacation," Lisbeth commented.

"Isla Nublada was filmed in Hawaii," Fassbinder shot back. "We could go for the scenery and skip the raptors."

"Now you're talking."

"The point is," Sam interrupted their flirting, "I don't think they're ever letting your hands on the adventure again. You were more problematic than Leo and he tazed himself in the Smithsonian bathroom!"

Both Sharsky and Fassbinder did double takes at the foot of the ramp.

"You never told us that," Sharsky protested plaintively.

"We weren't giving you ideas," Leo said, shooting Sam a dirty look. "You guys practically crashed NASA when you had spare time." Leo gave Sam another look, this time of disappointment, and then he disappeared up the ramp of the C17.

"Wonder if I can put that on a resume," Fassbinder mused.

Sharsky grinned. "Or on a background check."

"Thank God, none of this is going public," Sam said.

"Not until my best-selling deathbed confession," Sharsky agreed.

Sam rolled his eyes. "In the section that no one will believe because you'll also claim to have hosted intimate parties with an alien life form." Shaking his head he headed into the transport plane as well.

"I was there for that one," Lisbeth reminisced. "I feel like everything after the age of 19 will be redacted and highly sensationalized."

"That's the dream," Fassbinder agreed. "I've always wanted to be redacted."

He was about to ask Lisbeth where they wanted to park for the ride home when he noticed she had halted. No one was protesting-they just sort of flowed around her like a river around rocks-but she stood still with her face towards the island-paradise-cum-government-installation that had been their strange home for a few days.

Knowing that she probably had some profound reason for holding up their alone time, Fassbinder drew alongside her and glanced over to find a look of supreme serenity on her face. She could have passed for Galadriel, but her next words were definitely not Tolkien.

"O wonder! How many goodly creatures are there here," she intoned quietly, her gaze sweeping across everyone they were leaving behind on the tarmac. "How beauteous mankind is." Before he could figure out something coherent, she extended her arms and cried in her best this-is-for-the-cheap-seats voice, "O brave new world that has such people in it!"

Of the few people who looked up at her sudden Shakespearean moment, only one even cracked a smile. Since there were too many Philistines in the near vicinity, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"No, sir, she's human. But by the grace of God, she's mine," he quoted.

The spell broken, Lisbeth sighed and returned the side-hug. "That I am."