Disclaimer: I don't own Transformers. Just the OCs and plot.

Hey, I got a chapter done. Enjoy. ^-^

Chapter 21

With a heavy bang and jarring metal bolt thick metal bars slammed into place on a wall of cells down the under belly of Lockdown's ship. Through the pain eating up nearly every bit of Dustoff's conscious thought, the big mech hardly heard it though.

All he could do was collapse to his front where they tossed him. Landing in several different layers of filth he didn't even want to begin to break down the make up of. Even if he had the processing power at the moment to try such a thing. Which he didn't.

All he can do is try and swallow back the pained whine working its way through his chest. Bunching up on the dirty cage floor, trying to pull his heavy, leaking arms around himself. As if that would help the burning ache deep in his center.

Partly—in that long trained medical protocol part of his processor—he's aware what's happening to him. He drained every single reserve he had trying to keep that force field up. Currently, he's in the middle of a full frame shut down. One that might be permeant if he doesn't get to slowing down his panic systems.

He needs help.

He knows that all too well.

There isn't currently enough fine motor control in his whole damn frame for him to so much as try and patch the streams of energon racing down his frame.

It won't be the leaking that kills him though.

It will be the steadily slowly beat of his rung out spark.

In the back of his mind, he registered more doors slamming. The Autobots being thrown about—somewhere in there twins must have come to because he could hear their echoed snarling—but all that paled to the noise Wardrums was making.

He could feel it.

Dust knew that.

He didn't want him to, but filtering the pain his spark was festering it was beyond his reach at this point. So War had a front row seat to Dust's spark slowly growing dimmer. To the burn slicing through his insides as his frame slowly shut down piece after piece of what kept him alive.

Dust had always known to most the pair he and War made didn't make a lot of sense. They were as different as morning and night. They always had been. However, for the entirety of very long lives they had balanced each other out. Held each other up.

One no longer knew how to be one without the other. As what sparkmates were supposed to be. They were a part of each other, and though War never showed it as most thought he should, he loved his mate very much.

Above all else, War loved Dustoff. And for Dust he had done some both horrible and wonderful things.

Right now, he was on the verge of obliterating Lockdown's personal to nothing for they were standing between him and Dust sprawled out on a cage floor dying. Not because he was being chained with EMP locks in a cage across the hall. Not because Lockdown had been about to kill his nephew. Not because said nephew was currently likely alone in the sand somewhere now because the ship took off. Not because they were locked up on this damn glitches ship.

No.

Because he was desperately reaching through their bond and couldn't feel his mate besides the pain he was in. Because Dustoff was rapidly spinning out of his reach. And because he couldn't get to him, peal back plating, and share spark energy until the other evened out.

If Dust was breathing later they were going to have to have a serious conversation on the importance of other things beside him. You know, like the survival of their entire race on the shoulders of a mechling that was now not here. That was a little more important in Dust's opinion then his own stupid decisions.

If he was still breathing.

Claws digging deep into the filth around him, the large flier tried to work his knees under him. It worked about as well as he figured it would. Considering he went nowhere.

If he could feel more then this gaping pain in the bottom of his chest he would be so fraggin' annoyed right now.

Breathe. He hissed to himself. Calm down.

Easy to say, less easy to do.

Optics squeezed shut, he tried to tune out War's snarling and the harsh tugs across the bond. He needed to calm down. He needed to think. He need to stop the creep of shock through his systems.

If he let them shut down, they'd likely never turn back on.

Then, like a buzz in the back of his helm, he heard the twins snarling.

Rather close actually.

Twisting in his sprawl he forced open one optic. Blinking through the dull, dim light of the ships loud underbelly. Flashes of lights and movements too fast to follow were all he could process of War shredding anything that got close to him.

Lockdown's for some reason loyal even in the face of an angry ancient shuttle staff had managed to get the massive mech into his own cell. Pulsing cords of draining chains and EMP ropes the only way they were managing it. Yet still War them hard enough to get somebot near him and they were dead.

Still, they kept at it.

Groaning, Dust tried to roll. If he could get his arms under him he might be able to get up. Or at least cover some of the long tears leaking in his arms. That would slow down some of the shock.

A flash of red and yellow in the corner of his one open optic pulled what little focus he had.

Ratchet.

The Autobot medic was pressed against the bars separating the two cages.

Huh.

They shoved the medic in with the terror twins. Well, that or the medic hadn't let go of them after they moved the out of it mechs. Dust was more willing to bet on that one. But the twins were up now.

A little wobbly from the EMP, but up. Up and snarling, slashing through the shut bars that were between them and the bots still trying to wrangle War. All the others were already locked in cages, but were making enough noise that Dust knew they were alive.

He was the only one currently fighting to keep his vents going, and from the look in those deep blue optics staring back at him from the other medic it was clear Ratchet knew that too.

Remarkably, Dustoff found panic in that gaze. Fear.

Fear of what, he couldn't be sure. Maybe it had something to do with the medic felt he owed him for holding that field that long around Bumblebee. Maybe it had something to do with the pair of brothers he had claimed as sons. Maybe it was a little bit of both. For Dustoff had leaked to keep both alive as well. Right now, it mattered very little though.

Dust's vison was clouding and he had a bit more to worry about then a medic with a guilt complex. The sounds coming out Wardrums clenched in his spark just as the screaming of mechs that had no real need to die, but followed Lockdown's orders anyway.

War would feel no remorse for them, just as Lockdown wouldn't.

Dust did though.

He always did.

Another crash, though this was coming from where the twins were, and then over the snarling of a voice.

"What use is all of this if they both die!?"

Dustoff was doing his best to focus, but through the ringing starting up in his audios he couldn't tell much besides that was Ratchet. Ratchet yelling at . . . Lockdown?

What the pit was that young medic doing?

At the end of the hall, Lockdown turned. Slate grey armor dyed an eerie red in the flashing glow of ship hold lights. His burning green optics glowing through the dim to land on the Autobot medic shoving the two snarling abominations behind him. Turning his gaze from where Wardrums had fallen to his knees in his cage. Finally allowing some of Lockdown's obviously overpaid staff to chain him down like that. He had yet to stop making such an awful racket, but the energon suddenly leaking down his lips from his noseplate was new.

Green optics cut back across to take in Dustoff sprawled across the floor of his cage.

Huh.

Maybe the old mech wasn't acting after all.

Lockdown huffed, looking away from the seizing that had started in parts of Dustoff's frame. Pinning his gaze on the yellow and red medic glaring at him around a tight grip on the bars.

"He's dying!" Ratchet bit, mentally cataloging nanos and choices the longer it took him to make this damn bounty hunter listen. "And what do you think is going to happen to your damn prize when he does!?"

Throwing his hand out to where Wardrums had collapsed to his knees, snarling and shouting cut off into a terrified silence of strangled chokes. Energon streaming down from his nose as shock started creeping into his veins. He was loosing his grip on Dustoff's half of the bond. The binds between them slowly starting to unwind the deeper Dustoff sank into shock.

Lockdown scoffed, turning away and heading for the bridge. Chuckling to himself at the thought that the end of the mighty Wardrums could come from something as simple as a foolish mate and a bastard youngling of his greatest enemy. Really, it was almost poetic. "You make it sound like I care."

The strangled sound Ratchet made was amusing as well, but Crosshair's hand shooting out to latch hold of his elbow was less so.

Emerald fire optics narrowed into thin slits as they cut back to find the slightly smaller form of his obnoxity painted brother there behind him.

"Let go of me!" Snarling, he retched his arm out of the other's hold, but Crosshairs simply scoffed at him. Making that I-know-better-then-you face once again that Lockdown so often wanted to beat off of him.

"The medic is right." Crosshairs shrugged, those infuriating goggles still in place. "What was the damn point of loosing half our crew just to let the two of them die from spark shock? Ya won't get paid for a corpse, Lockdown. The bounty said alive."

Snarling, Lockdown swung his claws. The resulting spray of energon, Crosshairs stumbling back, and a whole cell block full of workers going very still left nothing but the sound of Lockdown's growling engine. The green mech before him slowly turning his helm back to show the stripes of glittering blue arching up the right side of his faceplate. Knocking his goggles halfway off so that the pale blue pools behind them could sparkle with anger.

Lockdown scoffed at them. Lifting his claws again to latch hold of Crosshair's front. Digging in and yanking him closer so that he could spit though clenched teeth. "Don't. Ever. Question. Me. Again."

And with that, he shoved him away. Watching with satisfaction as the smaller mech stumbled back. Helm lowering and optics darting away as the slate grey mech kept growling. Then, twisting on his heels, he made to stalk away only to growl over his shoulder as he made it to the stairs.

"Put the Autobot medic in with Dustoff. If he manages to save him all the more profit, if he fails, well, the wolves and hounds are mighty hungry."

Cackling and ped steps on thin metal stairs was all the sound that followed. An eerie silence broken only by Wardrums' choked coughing following until Crosshairs drew in a long breath. Shaking his helm hard, slinging energon as he did, he turned his attention back down the cell block.

Blue optics now visible that his goggles had been knocked askew, he locked them on that yellow and red form. Ignoring the twins growling on both side of him, Wardrums' coughing, and how quiet Dustoff had gotten. Instead, he just stared. Gaze sweeping up and down as he notched his mental tallies.

This was so far off his original plan that to say he was grasping at straws was an understatement. He needed War and Dust alive. If they died, he might as well kiss his freedom good bye. There was nothing he could do to directly help them though.

Lockdown would shoot him so fast in the back his head was spin.

So yeah, that was out.

The only option he had was this damn Autobot medic. Looking back at him with disgust and hope.

Pit.

If only he knew.

"Move him." Crosshairs rumbled to the staff War hadn't managed to kill yet—and weren't they really going to have to restock ranks when they stopped at the next colony, that was going to be annoying. Surprise, or something like it, flashed across the medic's broad faceplate as several lackies scrambled to obey.

The twins snarled, blades sprung and fists flexing as the bots approached the doors. And smartly—at least they had that going for them—the crew hesitated. Looking back at Crosshairs for orders. The chances those two would stand back and let the medic be moved was very slim after all.

Crosshairs smirked a truly dangerous grin as he drawled. "Tick, tock, mech. By all means, slow them down. Dust dies, War goes with him, and mah brother loses more credits then ya could ever dream of. Then ya friend there gets to be dog food. Which way ya want it?"

Sideswipe and Sunstreaker snarled.

Engines rumbling to match the pitch of their vocal processors. Then, as suddenly as they dared the sound, Ratchet reached between them. A hand closing around an arm each, tugging them back. The angry sounds cut off with almost a confused choke. Both larger mechs twisting down to blink confused optics at the medic that adopted them.

Ratchet glanced between both of them. Trying to ignore the fear flickering in their fields as he gave them a reassuring nod and pushed them toward the back of the cell. Sides drug his feet. Head shaking slightly even while Sunstreaker narrowed his optics but backed up a few steps.

For as much as they owed Dustoff, as much as they cared about him, Ratchet ranked above him. A part of them hated themselves for that, but it was true.

Ratchet's smile turned a little sad at the look in Sides' optics, but with a firm shove he pushed him away again. Staring hard at them until they both backed further into the cell. Neither looking happy about it, but staying where they were when the cell door cracked enough for Ratchet to slip out.

Like any mech with a sense of self-preservation in all this, as soon as Ratchet stepped beyond the cage bars—closed quickly behind him—his hands lifted above his head. Optics watchful to the prodding electric points pushing him along.

He paid little mind to the green and black mech standing there at the end of the hall watching him still. He hardly spared Wardrums a glance as the choking mech watched him through hazy optics from his place on his knees.

The door to Dustoff's cell sprang open and Ratchet was in with a blink. Paying no mind as the bars slammed shut behind him, and the crew of the bounty hunter filed away. He paid no mind to the green mech standing there a while longer. Watching him through curious optics as he hit his knees besides the massive helicopter mech. Quickly slipping into the familiar haze of medical protocols and tasks that needed done.

He could save him, he knew he could, now that he had the chance.

He'd bet his life on it.

He was.

It took three breams.

Three nerve racking breams. In which a billions thoughts raced through the back of his mind. None of which he paid all that much attention too. Not besides the rolling stream of steps he knew like the back of his hand. Protocols that demanded this action, followed by that, and then this.

He didn't have time to think.

Not truly think at least.

Between the energon staining his arms up to his elbows where he pealed back plating and dug into damaged systems, the wheezed breathing from a mech he didn't have the tools to sedate, and the chocked coughing of another, his own internal clock too quickly ticking down how few nanos he had left to get a hand on that stuttering shock.

He managed it though.

Slumped there on his aft with his knees pulled up and his sticky arms draped over them, he listened with an apricated audio to the sound of Dustoff's vents evening out. The massive mech slumped there against the wall beside him. Long limbs sprawled out around him with hasty welds and half patches. It was the now closed spark chamber that beat steadily again that was the testament to the miracle Ratchet had more or less just pulled off.

That, and Wardrums lazily pulling at the pulsing energy chains currently keeping him on his knees. His breaths had evened out as well, but were harder for Ratchet to hear over the still slight wheeze in Dustoff's as the big helicopter mech slumped next to him.

Arms crossed loosely around his middle, Dust slumped there beside him, simply breathing for a long while as Ratchet slowed his racing protocols and processor.

"Thank you." The huge flier breathed, voice still slightly catching as he turned his head slowly to stare down at the smaller medic slumped there beside him.

Ratchet gave a gruff huff. Not lifting his helm from its tired hand between his elbows. "Yeah, whatever."

Dust chuckled, head leaning back to thunk against the wall behind him. A heavy sigh leaving him as those pale red optics blinked across his cage. Finding the knelt down form slumped in the cage across from him.

The deep, dark glow of Wardrums' red optics shining back at him. Something between an apology and a swear brewing there in those dark depths. Both of them were a little more then rattled at the moment, poking and prodding at their bond. Repairing as much as they could of what had frayed from a distance. It would take a merge to truly fix all of it, but at the moment that was a little beyond their reach.

So they breathed, feeling the other down the bond. Breathing, resting, planning.

For they both knew they'd be dead if Crosshairs hadn't spoken up. If he hadn't took Lockdown's temper. And they both knew the mechling was still alive, for the big black adopted sire slumped in a cell next to the knelt shuttle was not having a fit. That was also because of Crosshairs.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

There were really only two questions left at this point.

One, how were they going to get off this ship because Lockdown broke atmosphere?

Two, where the pit was the little yellow mechling?

Dustoff wasn't sure, but he figured they'd be finding out rather soon. Until then, he was content to breathe while he had the chance. Lockdown would likely be back to gloat, or at least see if War and him were still alive.

Because now, they were going to see just how clever that young spark was. And just what he truly was hiding within him.

After the anchor lines had been yanked back into the ship sometime ago, Bumblebee stayed huddled in his dark, cold hiding place. Backed against the prickly steel cording drawing into a pully system at the base of the ship, he huddled. Shivering and doing his best to keep it quiet.

Stretching out with his spark in an attempt to keep up with the mechs being moved through the ship. Optics squeezed shut he danced a rope line of keeping his half of the bond closed up—though not enough to scare them about his state of still breathing—incase his looking tripped some kind of sensor in the belly of the ship.

Jazz had told him once that somebots kept spark radars throughout their ship to catch stowaways. Chances were this Lockdown mech had at least some. Without a spark dampener he was a sitting target if he was careless about tracking.

That was partly why time passed him so quickly. Sitting there in his little hole while he tracked mentally through different layers of the ship. Unable to see anything about what lay between him and his family now. However, he was more than able to see they were all alive and bunched together in the same place.

His connection with Dustoff and Wardrums was no where near as strong as the others, but he could tell something was wrong with them. Something that shook him down to his core. That left him clutching at his chest, breathing ragged for a long time. Shock making him unable to move as his spark wound itself up in the fear, panic, hurt, agony, severing that was going on between the grasping ends of the two massive mechs' bond.

Shaking with optics blown wide in the dark until slowly, the pain eased and the panicked connection evened out. Until with a whooshing breath the vice locked around his chest eased. Shaking out of him in a wheeze of his vents that left him slumped there against the pully housing.

Optics squeezing shut again as he reached out. Carefully poking around the edges of bonds to reassure himself that Dust and War were still there.

He . . . he didn't even want to begin to think about what he'd do without them now.

Once he was sure they were all alight—pissed about being in cages and hesitantly calling at him through links that he wouldn't answer—he let his head thunk back against the casing behind him. Optics opening in oppressing darkness as he tried to take stock of just what the pit they were supposed to do now.

"Well," He whispered to himself, mindful of how his voice seemed to want to bounce around the vast emptiness around him. "First thing first, figure out where they are. Then where this mech wants to take us."

From what he could tell—being raised on ships and all—this massive armed freighter hadn't done much but tuck itself back up into the thick clouds since it lifted off the ground. Bee wasn't a ship mechanic. He didn't know anywhere near as much about them as Jazz or the twins, but even he could tell they weren't moving yet.

A ship this big, it took a lot to get it going. Especially, to get it to break atmosphere. It would take time to charge whatever kind of drives were keeping it airborne. If it didn't, he had no doubt they would be gone already.

So Bee had time.

Not a lot, granted, but maybe enough.

Enough to think of something.

To do something.

Just as soon as he made himself get out of this hole he was hiding in.

Antennas pinned down in their grooves, doorwings and winglets plastered down behind him, Bee slowly pushed himself up. Slowly, carefully, peaking over the edge of his hiding place. Bright blue optics glowing neon in the inky blackness around him.

Well, nothing jumped out and bit him.

So . . . yeah . . . doing pretty good here.

Now get out of the hole. He told himself. Calm down and get moving. We're on a clock here.

It was true, the emotions and pain he'd picked up on had rattled him. Left him spinning in feelings that weren't his for longer then he had to waste here. He should have been moving a bream ago. He should have known better then to get lost in those feelings.

He should be able to shake them off and get to work.

It was hard though.

Fingers still shaking slightly and spark tight in his chest, he wavered there in the dark. Scared, confused, not knowing where to go or what to do.

This . . . this wasn't how his was supposed to go.

None of it.

He'd never planned on finding Dust and War. He'd never planned on them getting attacked by some crazy bounty hunter. This was only ever supposed to be a field trip through the desert to prove to them all he wasn't a sparkling.

That he could do what they didn't think he could.

Then prove it.

Jaw tightening, he scampered up.

Optics shifting ranges until he got as close to night vision as he had. He didn't have quite all the mods Jazz wanted for him yet, but he had good enough that he could carefully pick his way through the darkness around all the anchor pullies and trenches.

Slipping around dangling wires, stepping over creaking planks, and toeing his way on along the cold ship belly until he finally found a door.

Okay, so it wasn't so much of a door as it was a gaping hole with a broken staircase about half his frame height over his head.

Yeah . . . fun.

"Didn't any mech ever tell this mech to take care of his ship?" Grumbling to himself, Bee took a running start, nearly fell on his face, managed to catch a cable and haul himself up.

Then, he went to sneaking.

The lower levels of the ship were both as big and as empty as Bee expected, at least for a little while. He crept his way through boiler rooms, around engine bays, and up narrow work walks for what felt like far too long.

Ducking into alcoves and flinging himself under pipes when ever the sound of foot step or talking came near.

Several times he almost stumbled into workers down among the ship's inner mechanisms, but his size made it pretty easy to silently panic before diving for cover.

And so, one he went. Quietly climbing stairs, and slipping around corners until he finally reached the main center of the ship's belly. What he found there, drew him to a stumbling halt.

Rows upon rows of cages. Seemingly endless through the miles that stretched down the ships belly. Above him, he knew there had to be at least a few more floors just like it too. If those support beams overhead were anything to go by.

Optics blown wide, he sat there. Hunkered in a corner by the stairs he had climbed. Blinking at the cages upon cages. Then, a flicker of movement caught his attention.

Pushing himself up over the railing he was hiding behind, he bent. Trying to see down further along the seemingly endless stretches of empty cells.

Another flash of movement.

Curiosity flaring through his chest, he jumped the rail and headed for the stairs. He could tell already whatever was down there in that cell near the end of his line of sight wasn't his family. The tugging at his spark was coming from further up the ship, but there was something else tugging from that direction.

A heavy, old presence that hung in the dank air like a fog. Filtering to his spark and sticking to his focus like hive hawk wax. Drawing him down the creaking rails almost without his conscious thought behind the steps.

Half his spark hissing at him that he needed to go find Ironhide. That he needed to be getting them all out of here. While the other half pulled toward that fog. Curious as to what it was.

And why it felt like he should know what it was.

Steps pinging softly on the cold metal walk way as he made his way deeper down into the dripping cage rows. Slipping through hanging cabling and broken pipes as he crept. Checking over his shoulder, mindful what was around him.

Wary that any nano something was going to turn a corner.

Nothing came though.

Lockdown's ship—as massive as it was—was remarkably lightly staffed. It was a question of why that poked at the back of Bee's mind, but he didn't have much time to worry about it either.

That, and he was a little too distracted by the fog feeling tugging at his spark. Dragging him deeper down the cell block until he found himself outside the softly humming energy bars blocking the inky black cage on the other side.

Once there, he blinked.

Shaking himself as the heavy fog thickened around his spark only to shift. His conscious shoving it down now that he realized how thick it was making his processor. Rational thought sliding back in leaving him feeling a little dizzy and confused as to why he was standing down there blinking into a dark empty cage.

Huh.

Another hard shake of his head.

"What are you doing, Bee?" He mumbled to himself. He needed to be finding Hide, he needed to be finding a way out.

Turning, he made to head back up the stairs had had been on when a heavy shift banged through the darkness of the huge cell.

Startled, he leaped back. Optics widening as they shot into the heavy darkness just in time to watch two huge golden yellow optics flash open. Far larger then any he had ever seen before. As long and as wide as his arms. Split down the middle by a thinner black correlation of inner depth filers.

For a nano, he couldn't breathe.

Breath caught in his throat under that strut chilling stare that sank into his spark. Then, they blinked, and the spell shattered.

Bumblebee scrambling back with a squeak, nearly falling on his aft as he tripped back over a fall cluster of pipes and metal. Still, he couldn't take his optics off the huge shape behind those optics as it moved.

A shape that made Wardrums and Grimlock seem rather short as he moved a head the size of Optimus toward the pulsing bars. The inky black of the shape only becoming lit when the pulsing light of the energy bars lit back against deep red and black armor.

Those massive golden yellow optics held in that huge head. Long, sharp, with curling silver horns stretching back behind it and mandible like silver jaws that parted to show long, sharp grey fangs. The leathery flap of hardened protoform wings folded down that long, lean, shape and a long jaggedly spiked tail that swished back and forth behind it.

"Dragon."

He didn't mean for the whisper to get out, but he did. Hardly a breath really but it made those golden optics with that narrow black line through them thin in angry slits. A low, thunder shaking growl echoing through the very floor beneath them. Those fang filled jaws parting with a spark of glowing fire behind them only for a pulsing chain wrapped tight around the huge creature's neck.

A pained hiss suddenly left it. The whole massive frame shaking as it tossed its frame against the hissing of the pulsing chained collar wrapped around it.

As it shook against that collar, Bee noticed clamps on its massive wings, wrapped around its tail, and holding its huge clawed feet to the floor.

Standing there blinking, not sure what else to do, Bee watched it. Watched it growl and hiss in pain against the hissing, burning chains and EMPs holding it in place. Until finally slumped back to the floor where it had been laying.

A pained whine echoing through it as its massive head crashed back to the floor. Those burning golden yellow optics slipping shut with the tired, wheezing vents moving its massive frame. Unsure what to do, Bee stood there. Watching it breathe for a little while longer before he finally took a step back.

Then another, shaking more than he was willing to admit as he took another. Then he was running, desperate to leave that think fog feeling in his chest behind.

Up stairs, around halls, and around pips until he slumped into another alcove many floors up trying to get his breathing back under control.

What . . . what was that?

He didn't have the slightest clue.

A . . . dragon?

A real dragon? There . . . there were some of those left?

The memory of Dust's story of Wardrums' gestalt brothers pulled at the back of his mind, but he dismissed it. That creature down there hadn't felt like many lives linked into one. That was one spark all on its own.

One very old, very powerful one.

A shiver worked through Bee's quivering form as he tried to shake off the lingering fog of too much emotion. Too powerful a presence for him to know what to do with.

He'd thought he'd found something knew in the Dinobots' sparks once. Just as recently he had in Wardrums and Dustoff. But that creature down there, was different at the same time.

Enough that he had to shake off the building questions. He didn't have time for monsters Lockdown had chained up in his basement. He was running out of time.

Tightening his jaw, he shoved himself out of his hiding place and went back to sneaking.

He almost walked into several more workers the further he climbed up the ship. Seven to be exact, which lead the rational thought that there was far much more to be careful about now that he was getting into the populated part of the ship.

Halfway through a cell block trailing the feeling of Hide and Optimus, Bumblebee stopped short. The thought registering that he didn't yet have any fraggin' idea what to do even when he did get to the cell blocks they were in.

None at all.

What good was it going to do to pop up in front of them and freak Hide out about him wondering around this ship while they were stuck in cages. It wasn't like Lockdown was just going to have left the keys laying around.

Nothing in Bee's life was that easy.

No.

No, he had to come up with a plan.

Something that could get them off this ship before those warming drive he could hear softly humming in the bottom of the ship got charged for the jump they were likely to make.

If they left the planet, Bee knew just how slim the chances of them getting back where. There would be no help coming for them in space. Magnus, Roddy, and Prowl wouldn't have the slightest idea how to find them.

They might never come home.

No.

Bee wouldn't allow it.

They were going home. They were all going home.

He'd be damned if they didn't.

Turning away from the way to the cage blocks, Bee made his way higher through the quiet, back halls and stair ways curling through the innerworkings of Lockdown's ship. Picking his way past workers milling about the ship as he snuck his way further and higher into the ship.

Searching for something he was not quite sure what was just yet, but knowing he'd know it when he would find it. Because there had to be something. There had to be something that would work. Something that would help.

And then, quite literally, Bumblebee tripped over the answer and fell through the doorway.

The squeaky yelp that left him made far too much noise and yet, when he slowly pushed himself back up from his face plant on the cold, dirty floor, there was nothing. Well, nothing in the degree of bots. There was actually lots of other. Shoving himself up on his elbows he looked around to find himself glancing around at a room full of computer monitors.

The computer monitors. The ones that filtered, sorted, and streamed feed from every camera in the whole ship. His optics shot left, down the row of monitors to find a radio monitor. They shot right, rows and rows of keyboards with glyphs in languages he had never seen.

Hesitantly, gaze glancing around to make sure he was as alone as he seemed, Bee carefully pushed himself up. Checking over his shoulder as he slowly slipped the rest of the way into the room.

The door—which had for some reason been open—stayed that way. There was no hissing of hydraulic locks that wanted to close and couldn't. There wasn't even a real key pad lock.

A control room that couldn't be shut.

Damn.

Not that Bee didn't see the upsides for a captain but for somebot trying to keep a ship from taking off.

Yeah . . . this wasn't going to be simple.

He had no way to block himself in, or barricade himself against anything else.

"Have to be quick and quiet then." He whispered. There was no telling when whoever worked here would be back. If he was lucky—and them very unlucky—Wardrums had done enough damage to Lockdown's crew that he was short handed enough he wasn't worried about checking cameras in the cargo bays. It at least seemed to be that way at the moment.

Bumblebee could work with that.

He was gonna have to be fast though.

Tip-toeing forward he made his way to the center monitor stand. A circular divot in the floor that was surrounded by a 180 degree span of projection screen monitors. The keyboards that controlled them—that for the life of him Bee couldn't read—were over to one side while an old radio transmitter sat on the other. Stopping in the middle of the stacked screens the young yellow mech tracked through them. Empty hall, workers in hall, the a few stacked near each other that made a very detailed picture of the engine rooms.

"Dark matter drives." He mumbled, a bit of understanding flashing through him as he narrowed his optics at the pulsing engines currently being worked on by several pairs of mechs. "No wonder its taking a while to get this thing back up and going."

Dark matter was the fastest warp drives there was, but it came at a price. Those kinds of drives weren't made for atmosphere. They were too hot, burning too harshly in methane, nitrogen, and oxygen when the gases were sucked into them. Because of this—since most atmospheres had those gases—the drives were at a constant risk of blowing up when exposed to them too long.

It meant they had to be filtered after they were use on planet. Filtered, cleaned, checked, and then booted back up. Slowly climbing back through the gas rich atmosphere instead of just rocketing out of it like most other ships could do.

It was a trade off.

Nothing could out run dark matter warps once they got going in open space, but one planet those engines were a handicap. For a mech that did more business in the stars then on planets it was a logical choice, but right now it might just cost Lockdown his prizes.

Because standing there, gaze flickering back and forth between the screens, Bee got an idea.

A crazy one granted, but one that might just work.

That is, if he remembered anything about Outrider's morse code lessons. A step to the side, and he was falling down into a spinning chair before the old system. Quickly going about flipping switches and pulling on a set of audio covers. Through the old squishy old sensors he caught the faint underlay of static drifting through air and space.

A smirk curled up his lips and he snatched the transmitter closer to him. There was hardly a fools chance that Lockdown would be paying attention to morse code transmission pinging around his ship.

Pure radio signals?

Yeah, he'd be and idiot if he wasn't watching those, but the reason Outrider had taught Bee the pinging glyphs was because hardly anybot paid any attention to them anymore. They were outdated and over complicated.

Audios were hard wired to make sense of pings and dings—it came from sparklings—but over time bots thought themselves above it. That it was a youngling's game of communication and nothing to be bothered with by grown bots.

Outrider had grinned when he told this, sitting sprawled back in a chair in his, Hammer's, and Smokey's room. Grinned that smile that made mischief spark in Bee's chest and made him listen harder. For it was one of the scouts' hard learned lessons that had kept them alive. One they offered Bee because they knew sometime along the way his curiosity and desperate wish to see something beside a dying world meant he would be in need of it.

Right now, he was thanking them with everything inside of him. All while he was also praying with every fiber of his being that they weren't too far out yet. Because while a pinged message to Magnus and Prowl would be closer and easier to send, the chances that they would pay enough attention to it in time were slim. Red Alert might pick it up, but by the time he convinced somebot else to listen to his rambling it might be too late.

No.

It was Rider, Smokey, and Hammer that were his best shot at help at this point. Help he was going have to stall to give a chance to get here.

One more quick glance behind him and a stretch of his senses to make sure he wasn't going to get any unexpected guests, Bee bent to task.

Pulling up every memory he could think of for the language of pings, dings, and dashes and went to work. Twisting dials and satellite wires to point up and out near the direction he was pretty sure the scouts had left for this time. He bent over the transmitter and went to tapping.

Simple, clear, and fast.

:: Rider. Help. Bee.::

It didn't have to be much. It just had to be enough to get his attention. So he typed it. Over and over and over again. A ping, a ding, and another ping. Again and again.

Klicks ticking by as a nervous oil sweat broke out over his frame. Checking behind him ever time he sent the message. Glancing the other way to take in all the camera monitors. Watching workers walk halls. Watching Lockdown stand on the bridge. Watching that green mech that had pointed a gun at him then let him up standing near the aft of the shit near a massive panel of windows staring out at the cloudy sky around them. Watching his family pace and snarl in their cages. Watching the large rooms near the back of the ship full of rows and rows of static hounds and wire wolves.

His scrambled together plan clicking more and more into place the longer he watched. Then, just when he was about to give up this desperate attempt for help and try to make do with his idea on his own.

Until a crackle of static through the audios over his own paused him as he made to stand up. A whisper really, far and almost out of range, but there.

:: Pip Squeak?::

He almost broke down into sobs. A happy, scared whine leaving him as he tossed himself back into the chair. Hands shaking against the sudden wave of scared relief that crashed over him under the presence of help. Suddenly, he wasn't alone and his spark unclenched from the tight ball in his chest.

::Yes!:: He pinged rapidly back.

He knew that time and distance were quite different in space but the nearly immediate response coming in much clearer this time.

::What the pit you doing Pip Squeak?::

Huh.

Well, how was he supposed to explain that quick enough?

::Help.:: He pinged. ::Caught by Lockdown. Hide and others caged. With Wardrums and Dustoff. I have a sort of plan, but I'm gonna need help.::

The response came almost before he finished it.

::What the pit you mean caught by Lockdown with Wardrums and Dustoff!?::

Oh yeah.

He sorta forgot.

Hide and Optimus talked like Outrider and Smokescreen knew them. Dustoff mentioned it. He was pretty sure at least.

::What said.::

::Where are you? Where are Magnus and Prowl?::

Glancing around Bee fluttered his doorwings uneasily. He didn't really know where in the desert they were, but he couldn't imagine it would be too hard to find once one knew to scan for a ship on radar.

::Near middle of Rust Sea, not far from Mercury Sea, I think. I can't reach Magnus and Prowl without getting caught. I thought code might go unnoticed. So called you. Can you help?::

The silence that stretched between that answer was near maddening until finally another ping came.

::We're on the way. It'll take three breams for us to get back. Have you got that long, or is he launching?::

Bee shot a glance back at the screens that showed the engine room and the bridge.

::I can stall.:: He shot back, nodding firmly as he typed it. Because he could. He would. He'd have to. And . . . who knew, maybe it would even work.

::Pip Squeak:: It was kind funny how pings on a code graph could sound disapproving.

::Don't have another choice.:: Bee admitted, watching the warp drive workers.

It took a few moments for Outrider to answer but eventually he sent back.

::Be careful, Pip Squeak. We'll be there soon.::

::Okay. Gotta go. Hear something.::

Shoving the sensors off, he spun the chair back where he had found it, took one last look at all the monitors to take in as much as he could, and then bolted for the door. Slipping back down the dim hall and tossing himself behind a cluster of broken pipes and dangling cabling as a random purple mech came around the corner heading for the monitor room.

He stayed hunkered down in his hiding place for a few more klicks after he was gone, before carefully picking his way out and heading down back toward the engine rooms.

He had to stall and he had an idea. If he was lucky, and Lockdown was a as egotistical as Bee was betting, it just might work.

And he's back to crazy plans. I wonder how this one is going to go. ^-^ I hope you all liked it. I'm looking forward to what you thought.

See you next chapter!

-Jaycee