"...And you are out of your fragging processor!"

"You don't have to come with me if you don't want to," Starscsream sneered, arms crossed and a half hurt, half angry look on his faceplate.

"No!" Tealwing said, wings quivering with rage. "Leave Vos? Join some stupid groundpounder army? Why? Are you so upset about the Armada? Does being in charge matter that much to you? So much you're willing to stoop to leading lower life forms?"

"I will lead the seekers!" Starscream said. "I do have a plan for that."

Skywarp leaned over to Thundercracker and spoke almost too quietly to hear over Tealwing's shouting.

"He's really serious about this, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Thundercracker said, arms crossed.

"Joining a stupid groundpounder army doesn't sound like fun to me."

Thundercracker sighed. "Don't worry. It won't last long. He'll give up as soon as he realizes they won't just let him take over from them. We'll be back here in a couple of decaorns."

"…wouldn't expect you to understand it even if I did explain it, femme. And believe me, I won't miss your…" Starscream waved his hand as if searching for a word. "…stupidity. Stay here, you probably couldn't fight in an army anyway."

Oh pit.

Silence fell and Thundercracker didn't dare vent as Tealwing took one step toward him.

"WHAT!?" she said.

Starscream stepped back, ducking his helm. "Well, what I mean to say is…"

"No," Tealwing growled. "Just shut up!"

Starscream cowered slightly, but after staring him down for a few moments, Tealwing deflated.

Thundercracker's optics widened as her anger seemed to melt away and she stepped back again.

"You know what?" she said, lowering her wings and crossing her arms. "Forget it. I've been trying, really hard… for vorns. I've given up all kinds of things to stay with you, Screamer. And I'm done. I'm staying here, so it's your choice now. If you leave Vos… if you go join that stupid army, then I'm not going to chase after you, and I'm not going to forgive you, and I'm not going to bond with you. And I really mean it this time."

That wasn't good. Thundercracker looked at Starscream, trying to catch his trine brother's attention to warn him to calm down. He'd heard her say all of that before, but not with this sort of calm finality.

But Starscream didn't even look at him. "Fine then," he said. "You never understood me anyway. And I was only going to bond with you out of pity in the first place." He transformed and flew away.

Thundercracker watched him go.

"Frag," Skywarp said.

"I'll go after him—"

"No," Tealwing cut Thundercracker off. Andromeda crossed the platform, looking almost as concerned as Thundercracker felt, but Tealwing's voice was cold and hard. "Let him go."

There was a cheer off to the side, and Thundercracker shot a glare at the random little crowd of seekers who'd stopped on their way past to watch the argument.

He wished they'd go away and mind their own business. Starscream and Tealwing were a big gossip topic in this neighborhood, and he was sick of it.

"Actually," Tealwing amended. "If you two are going to leave Vos with him, then you should probably go too."

"I'm really sorry," Thundercracker said.

"Don't apologize for him," Tealwing snapped. "Just get out of here."

Skywarp transformed and flew toward the crowd of spectators, laughing as they screamed. They tried to scatter to avoid being hit, but he warped at the last moment and was suddenly up above Tealwing's platform, flying in the direction Starscream had gone.

"You'd probably better go," Andromeda said.

She probably wanted to talk to Tealwing in private.

And Thundercracker had a responsibility to try and keep his brothers out of trouble. He transformed and flew after them.

"I still don't think this is necessary," Prowl complained.

Orion hesitated at the corner of the street, checking the coordinates that Yoketron had given him, then kept going. They were close now.

"Or reasonable."

Sometimes he was almost as frustrating as Red Alert. "I think you should try it anyway. Master Yoketron is a legendary war hero. I am certain that he will have many things to teach both of us."

The street they were walking down was quiet, though they'd walked down a more crowded one for a while, and several mecha had stopped Orion to talk to him, so they weren't going to be early like he'd wanted to be.

"I have looked him up, as a matter of fact," Prowl said. "And I won't argue with you there, but we don't have time to spend learning how to 'bring our processors in harmony with the universe' or whatever it is he'll want us to do. Circuit-su isn't much use anyway."

"I have to agree," Ironhide said. Orion had tried to convince him to stay behind since it wasn't very far, and it wasn't going to be dangerous, but Ironhide had insisted on tagging along. "But I'm happy you're learning some way to defend yourself, Orion."

They turned left and kept going. past apartments. Orion had never been to this particular residential neighborhood, but it was kind of nice. A group of younglings were playing in front of a building further down, and wondered if he knew them. He couldn't tell from this distance.

"If you've got a gun and you know how to fire it, you'll do just as well in a war as anymech else," Prowl continued. "Maybe you have a slightly increased chance of surviving if you know other fighting skills, but becoming good enough to fight professionally—with Circuit-Su of all things—takes much more time and effort than it's worth."

"Well, try it for a decaorn," Orion said again. They passed the younglings, who didn't look familiar.

"Hmph," Prowl said. "I'll get so miserably far behind on things..."

"Maybe you could delegate," Orion said. "Haven't you picked out some mecha to fill spots in your department?"

"Not yet," Prowl said.

They were quiet for the rest of the block, then turned again at the corner. Prowl seemed troubled.

"What?" Orion asked.

The black and white mech didn't answer.

They walked in silence until they reached the coordinates, which turned out to be a large apartment building with enormous double doors in the front.

They stood looking up at the building for a few astroseconds.

"Are you sure we have the right coordinates?" Prowl asked.

Orion nodded. "The exact coordinates are somewhere in this building. Perhaps this is where Yoketron is staying."

"And he wants to train us in his living room?" Prowl raised an optic ridge. "Maybe you should comm. him."

"Come on," Orion approached the doors, which opened automatically to let him in.

The size of the doors had been a good indication of what was inside the building. Everything was larger than normal, and where Orion was generally considered a large mech, he felt very small here. It seemed this place had been built for transports or some other larger race of Cybertronians.

"The coordinates are this way," Orion pointed down the hall.

"I don't think Yoketron would be staying here," Ironhide said. "He's kind of on the small side. Maybe you should comm. him."

"If this turns out to be the wrong place, then I will," Orion said. "It doesn't hurt to find out first."

"Unless it's some sort of trap," Ironhide said.

"That is highly unlikely," Prowl said. "But it is going to be a waste of time, either way."

Orion led them down the hall to the exact coordinates Yoketron had sent him, and stopped in front of one of the large apartment doors. He reached up and pressed the entry request, and the three of them stood in the wide hallway, waiting. Ironhide looked ready to power up his weapons, and Prowl was practically pouting.

Of course, Yoketron had already met them both, and they had probably all made bad first impressions already, but Orion still wished that his friends would behave themselves a little better.

Finally, the door opened, revealing the smallest femme Orion had ever seen.

"Oh, good." She said. "Welcome, Prime and friends. We've been expecting you."

Orion stared at her.

She seemed to be holding back an amused smile. "Well, don't stand out in the hall all orn, come on in."

She stepped out of the way, and Orion entered, followed by Ironhide and then Prowl.

Yoketron stood off to the side of the room next to a large transport, who stepped forward and knelt, bringing him close to optic level.

"Optimus Prime," he rumbled. "It is an honor to officially meet you, though we did meet a few orns ago."

"Oh," Orion said. "You were the transport Yoketron hired."

"Yes," the mech said. "My designation is Landquake, and my bonded and I have been members of your organization for some time."

"Landquake and Petra are graciously allowing me to stay here, with them," Yoketron said. "And they have a very nice crystal garden that doubles as a Circuit-Su dojo, where they've agreed to let me train you. It is private, secure, and the only easy entrance is through this apartment."

Ironhide nodded appreciatively.

"We don't have much time to waste, especially seeing as you're almost two breems late, so Ironhide, you can stay here, while Optimus and Prowl accompany me to the garden."

"I'm going wherever he goes," Ironhide said.

"I assure you, there is not much that could endanger the Prime while he is under my protection."

Ironhide glared at Yoketron a few astroseconds, who met his gaze with a cool frown.

"Very well," Ironhide sighed.

"It is good to meet both of you," Orion said to Landquake and Petra. "Thank you for letting us come here."

"As my bondmate said, it's an honor." Petra crossed her arms. "Thank you for your service as a Prime, and for standing up to the Council before that. Someone had to."

Orion nodded, and then followed Yoketron and Prowl out the back door.

The door led to a long corridor which, in turn, opened up into a beautiful crystal garden with a large circular courtyard in the center and walls on every side that stretched up so far that the sky above was just a small, distant patch of dark blue against black. Hanging lanterns lit up the enclosure, making colorful lights and shadows on the lower walls and the ground. It was breathtaking.

"Well, this is nice," Prowl said. "But not very practical. We don't have much room in the center of the courtyard, and if we use weapons, we risk damaging the garden."

"Thank you for your input." Yoketron stopped at the center of the courtyard. The tiles beneath his pedes were crystal as well, set into the ground in an intricate pattern. "Please stand at the edge of the courtyard, at attention, until I call for you."

Prowl walked over to the edge of the courtyard and Yoketron sat down cross-legged in the center. He motioned for Orion to sit as well. "We will begin with you, Orion Pax."

Orion nodded and sat, trying to copy Yoketron's posture.

Then he realized what Yoketron had called him.

"Here," Yoketron said. "I will call you by the designation your creators gave you, peace-hunter. If that is agreeable?"

"Thank you."

Yoketron smiled. "And you may call me Master, or Master Yoketron. Outside rank does not matter here. You are my student, and therefore subordinate under these circumstances."

"Yes, Master Yoketron," Orion said, feeling awkward. As nice as it was not to be in charge, he didn't like things to be so formal.

Yoketron met Orion's gaze. "Balance," he said. "Is critical. It is one of the most basic laws of nature, that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. When you learn to control your actions perfectly, you may learn to control the reactions of things around you. So the first step, Orion, is to learn to control yourself—not only physically, but emotionally and mentally. Shutter your optics and turn off all sensors except basic pressure and audio."

Orion did as he was asked.

"This universe is vast," Yoketron's voice said. "We are nothing compared to it, and yet we are a part of it. Our part is not the part of a stone, or a piece of metal. You have something within you, Orion, that makes you different from anything that has ever been or will ever be. Your spark. Your soul. Focus on your spark…"

"Hey."

Elita looked up from the news report she was reading. "Good orn, Chromia."

"I need you to come and be diplomatic for me. Let's go."

Elita subspaced her datapad and got up from her desk. It was nice to have her own office again. She had been working on finding mecha for her department all orn, but had decided to take a break and look into how receptive the public had been to Orion's statement about the army.

As she'd expected, they were getting mixed reactions.

Her sister led the way out of the room, but Elita caught up in the hall to walk next to the dark blue femme. "Who am I being diplomatic to?" she asked.

"That noblemech," Chromia said. "He's going to give us all his credit."

"Oh," Elita said.

"It was you who told the Prime to put me in charge of resources wasn't it?"

"I did mention that you always did our finances."

"That's just because Moonracer would have spent everything we had, and you would have let her," Chromia said.

"But you are good at managing money."

"Hmph," Chromia said. "On a small scale, maybe. Do you know how many things an army needs? Do you know how expensive they are? I've spent most of this orn researching. It's insane! You wouldn't believe the numbers."

They got to a set of spiral stairs that led up to the one floor Mirage had kept for himself.

Elita hesitated. "We… um… should we really be going up there?"

"Well, I asked Red Alert, and he says Mirage is up there. And I'm not going to miss this opportunity, because last time I asked, Red Alert spent about five breems ranting about how Mirage was invisible and could be anywhere."

"Well, diplomacy generally dictates that you don't barge into people's private quarters and make demands of them," Elita said. "Have you tried comming him?"

Chromia shook her helm. "I don't have his comm code… though I guess I could have asked someone for it."

"Hold on an astrosecond then," Elita commed Mirage, and they waited for him to answer.

She had almost expected him to make her wait for a breem or two, but he responded quickly.

"Good orn, Elita One, do you need something? I have servants, you know, who are much better at granting requests than I am."

"Chromia and I would like to talk to you about the situation here, and our organization's dependence on you."

"Hmm…" Mirage said. "Very well. I'm on my private floor, in the main room if you want to talk now. Or would you like to schedule something?"

"We'd love to talk now. We'll be there shortly."

Elita cut the comm. and shot Chromia a pointed look.

"Ok, ok," Chromia said. "That's why I'm bringing you with me. I know my limits."

"You just have to be polite and choose your words carefully," Elita said. "Think about what you say before you say it."

"Too much effort," Chromia started up the stairs. "So, did you work things out with Orion when you talked to him?"

"Well… not exactly. He's got a lot to think about. But… we'll figure it all out eventually."

"Right," Chromia didn't sound convinced. They reached the top of the stairs and made their way to the central room on this floor. Mirage wasn't alone—he had that other noblemech with him, the famous racer.

"Ah, welcome," Mirage said. "Come, sit down."

Elita led the way to the table and sat down. Chromia sat next to her, looking annoyed about something.

"You know," Mirage said. "When you commed, I was hoping you'd be apologizing for the damage you did to my home."

Elita blinked. "What?"

"You fired a gun in my tower," Mirage said. "It made scorch marks on the ceiling. Under other circumstances, I'd probably have had the whole room repainted, but you all use that room too much and it's hardly been empty long enough for someone to come look at the damage. Also, you should be more careful when and where you use firearms. I was in the room at the time, invisible. You could have shot me."

"Oh," Elita said. "I'm so sorry about that."

"Thank you," Mirage said. "Your apology is accepted. Now, since you brought your sister along, I assume this has something to do with my money."

"Yes," Elita said. "Since Chromia has been appointed to oversee our resources, she'd like to have a better idea of what exactly our resources are."

"In short," Chromia said. "I need to know how much credit you have, and how much of it you're willing to let us use. Armies aren't cheap."

Mirage sighed, looking troubled.

"And who are you?" Chromia demanded of the other mech.

"My designation is Blurr," he said, raising an optic ridge. "I've already met you, if you'll recall. I'm part of your organization too."

"Oh," Chromia said.

"Here's the thing," Mirage said. "What happens to me if I give you all my credit? I mean, my home is already overrun with revolutionaries and commoners, so my social standing is… in shambles to say the least. My credit is the only source of power I have left. Can't the Council fund your army?"

Elita started to talk, but Chromia cut her off.

"Look," she said. "We're probably going to need to get some credit from the Council, even if you give us everything you have. In fact, if the Council's willing, we might be able to pay you back what we've borrowed from you so far. But we don't want to be dependent on them. If they pay for the army, then they own the army. I want to know how long we can last if they cut us off."

"Ah," Mirage said. "I suppose that's a good point."

"If you want to be in my department…" Chromia said. "I do need mecha."

"I've already been recruited into a different department," Mirage said. "And just because I have a lot of credit doesn't mean I'm good at managing it. I've never managed my own money, and I've thrown my lot in with your organization already. How about this: I'll give you full access to my accounts, but I want to retain access as well. I need to be able to see what you're doing with it all."

Chromia stared, and Elita wasn't sure what to say either.

"What?" Mirage asked. "Did you expect an argument? I decided orns ago that you can have it."

"We…" Elita said. "We can never repay you for this."

"Exactly," Mirage smirked, but she saw some sort of struggle in his optics.

She sat back and watched as Mirage got out a datapad and showed Chromia how to access his accounts.

He was pretending that he'd get something out of this, but there really wasn't anything for him to gain. This wasn't the sort of sacrifice to make lightly. His friend, Blurr, looked very concerned, but didn't object. Elita wondered if they were talking over an internal comm.

Eventually, Chromia sat back, studying the datapad thoughtfully.

"Mirage?" Elita said.

"Yes?"

"You're a good mech."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Mirage said. "But maybe I'll get there some orn."

What was that supposed to mean?

Mirage looked as if he were about to say something, but then shook his helm. "You can go now."

"What—" Chromia started.

"Thank you," Elita said, standing. "We couldn't do this without you."

Chromia looked suspicious, but followed her to the stairs.

"What was that about?" Chromia said. "That was way too easy, and he is definitely refusing to tell us something."

"I know," Elita said. "But he did ask us to leave,"

"You and your being polite," Chromia said. "Maybe Red Alert's right about him. There's no way to tell where he is when he's invisible. And we know for a fact that he listens in on supposedly private meetings."

"Well, this is his home," Elita said. "And even if he wanted to be on Megatron's side, honestly I don't think Megatron would want his help. I'd like to give him the benefit of the doubt anyway."

"That'll get you offlined some orn."

Elita laughed. "Right."

"Thank you, Orion, that will be all for this orn," Yoketron said. "Landquake will take you and Ironhide back to the tower. I would like you to return here at the same time next orn."

"Thank you, Master Yoketron," Optimus said, bowing.

Prowl watched him walk down the long corridor that led back to the transport's apartment, then looked at Yoketron. The old mech was just standing there, staring off into space. For a moment, Prowl wondered whether he had been completely forgotten.

He'd been standing here for almost a joor, doing absolutely nothing. If Yoketron had wanted to train them separately, he could have asked Prowl to come later. This mech had wasted an entire joor of his life. "Can we get this over with?" he demanded.

The old mech turned to regard him with a look of mild disapproval.

"Or would you like me to stand here for another joor doing nothing?"

"Doing nothing?"

"I have important things to get back to," Prowl explained. "I'm sure you wouldn't understand, but I can't be hanging around uselessly while you teach someone else."

"I see," Yoketron said. "What did you observe as I was instructing Orion?"

"What?"

"Were you paying attention?"

Prowl crossed his arms. "You mostly spouted a bunch of spiritual scrap at him, and then taught him some basic… I don't know, stances or something."

"And that is all you observed?"

"You didn't tell me to make observations," Prowl said, though he doubted there had been anything else to notice.

"That's fair," Yoketron said, scrutinizing him.

"What?"

"You know, I told you I needed someone to act as a sparring partner for the young Prime. I could have picked anyone. Why do you suppose I chose you?"

"I don't know," Prowl said. "I can suggest a few mecha who might be more suited to it. Maybe mecha who have more free time on their hands."

"I take it you object to this arrangement."

"Yes," Prowl said. "I don't have time, and I honestly don't think there's anything you can teach me that will be useful to me."

"Why not?" Yoketron said. "Do you think you know more than I do already?"

"It doesn't matter what you know, it matters what useful knowledge you have," Prowl said. "And I'm sure if there are things I still need to learn, I can figure them out without your help."

That seemed to give Yoketron something to think about. He was silent for almost a breem before speaking again. "I presume, given what you've said so far that you consider yourself to be of higher than average intelligence?"

"Yes," Prowl said. "As a matter of fact, I do. Most mecha can't even begin to keep up with me."

And he wished everyone would just get over it. They acted like his mental capabilities were some sort of offense.

"Excellent," Yoketron said. "Then perhaps we can make an agreement. I know Optimus expects you to train with me, because that is what I requested. However, if you can figure out the answer to one question, then I will allow you to turn down my offer, and I will pick someone else to train alongside the Prime."

Prowl frowned. There was a bit of a smile on the old mech's lip plates. He thought he could win in a battle of wits?

He was sorely mistaken.

"What if I can't answer the question?" Prowl asked.

"The deal is this: If you can answer the question correctly, then you can choose whether to stay or leave. There is no time limit on answering, but until you do answer correctly, you must agree to follow my instructions and allow me to train you."

"I am not easily fooled," Prowl said. "I won't agree to this unless you tell me what the question is beforehand."

"I have already asked the question," Yoketron said "Why did I choose you?"

Prowl shook his helm. "That's subjective. You could claim any random reason or change the answer on me."

"You'll have to trust that I won't," Yoketron said. "There is a reason I chose you. In fact, I want you to understand it. If I tell you what it is I doubt you will listen, but if you are as intelligent as you say you are then you should be able to figure it out for yourself."

Prowl looked down, thinking. Yoketron was trying to trick him somehow—he was certain of it.

"Well?" Yoketron said. "Will you accept the deal?"

Prowl took in a deep vent and let it out. This mech would underestimate him—everyone always underestimated him. "Fine. It's a deal."

So long as the other mech played fair, Prowl could have this figured out in just a few breems. And then he could leave.

"Good," Yoketron said. "Do you have an answer already?"

"Not yet," Prowl said, turning his attention to the question. "Let's see… Supposedly you're going to be teaching me Circuit-Su, but I already have training in self-defense. Furthermore, I'm not going to be a field commander, so it's unlikely that I'll need to fight anyone." He watched Yoketron's faceplate, but the older mech wore a calm mask that gave nothing away.

"Maybe you think I'm not in tune with the universe, or something, and you feel the need to remedy that."

Yoketron raised an optic ridge.

"Is that the answer?" Prowl asked.

"No. There are techniques that can bring a Cybertronian spark into harmony with the universe, but I'm afraid those take many vorns to learn, and neither of us have that time."

"I meant… metaphorically. As in, you want me to be more spiritual. I don't know if you know this, but I don't even believe in Primus. Sorry if that offends you."

"I did not know that," Yoketron said. "And no, while I do feel you could benefit from developing your spiritual side, that is not why I chose you."

"Then why?"

"If I answer for you, then you lose your chance to leave," Yoketron said. "If you are ready to give up for the orn, perhaps we can begin training."

"No," Prowl said. "Let me think. If you don't think I need to learn to fight, or to be more spiritual, then what exactly do you expect to be teaching me?"

"May I clarify something?" Yoketron asked.

"Clarify what?"

"I do think you would benefit from my instruction," Yoketron said. "I do think you need to learn better techniques to defend yourself, and as I said before, gaining spiritual knowledge and strength would certainly help you. But the question wasn't about me or my teaching. There are a multitude of mecha who could benefit by learning from me."

Prowl frowned, feeling uncomfortable.

"Why did I choose you specifically?"

There could be a lot of reasons for that. "Well, you obviously think I need to learn something." Prowl said. Yoketron wanted him to admit his faults, was that it? It wasn't as if he didn't know them, but there was no need to…

Maybe that was the test. Yoketron thought he wouldn't be willing to tell the truth about himself.

"All right…" he said. "Is it because… because I'm so prideful and self-centered and… and arrogant? Do you think you can reform me?"

Yoketron was silent.

"Because you can't. I've been like this my whole life."

The other mech looked at him expectantly.

"I see no reason to waste time begging for the approval of others," Prowl said. "I am self-centered and rude and I'm not apologetic about it. That's why you want me here, though, isn't it? So you can teach me manners? Admit it—I have you beaten. You thought I wouldn't say it but I did and now you have to let me leave."

"You are incorrect," Yoketron said "You gave up your career and your safety to join Autobot, and have been doing your best to help them despite the fact that it doesn't benefit you personally. Those are not the actions of a self-centered mech."

Silence fell. Prowl wasn't sure what to say, but he certainly hadn't expected Yoketron to…

"Furthermore," Yoketron said matter-of-factly, "Your arrogance is largely fake, and I do not believe your rudeness stems purely from inconsideration."

"What?" Prowl demanded. "That's ridiculous…" This mech had no idea what he was talking about.

"I won't claim that you aren't prideful," Yoketron said. "But pride is a brittle shield, and unless you lower that shield and try to think clearly about yourself, then you will simply have to hold up your side of the deal and allow me to teach you."

"You don't know anything about me," Prowl glared at him. "Whatever reason you think you have for wanting to teaching me, it's wrong."

Yoketron pinned Prowl for a moment with his penetrating gaze, and then shook his helm. "We made an agreement. Are you ready to give in for the orn, or would you like to keep trying to answer my question?"

There was something frustrating and unsettling about this whole situation. It reminded him of the time he'd played a board game against Soundwave. But in this case, he wasn't sure he understood the rules of the game. He hated not knowing the rules.

"Why don't you just tell me? I think at this point, I'll listen." Prowl was tired of this.

"No," Yoketron said. "Why are you angry, Prowl?"

"What?"

"Are you angry?"

"Well… yes," Prowl deflated a little. "I think…"

"Why?" Yoketron said. "Because I said you are not rude, arrogant, or self-centered? Why would my complimenting you make you angry?"

That… was actually a valid question. Prowl was undeniably angry about it. The idea that this mech would deny his faults was somehow infuriating.

"I suppose… I am proud of my faults…" Prowl said. "Though that seems absurd."

Yoketron nodded.

"And… it's what everyone else says about me. And it was difficult to admit those things—I'm sure you can imagine how frustrating it is to admit something like that only to have it contradicted."

"That is true," Yoketron said with a sigh. "And I am sorry for being so blunt. But I do not believe you have any of those negative characteristics."

"Then why does everyone hate me?" Prowl said it before he could stop himself. He looked away, feeling sick. He wished he could take the words back. That had sounded like something a whining sparkling would say.

"Prowl…"

The anger came back, but this time it hurt. "And don't try to tell me that mecha don't hate me. You might have been following Orion around, but you don't have doorwings, and you can't hear what everyone says about me when they think I'm not listening."

Yoketron was silent, but that only made it worse.

"It was easier than you made it sound, leaving Praxus. There really wasn't much to leave behind." He hadn't had any friends, and his co-workers had all actively disliked him. "Everywhere I go, I'm an outsider. I'm different. You have no idea what that's like."

It was perfectly still in the crystal garden. The sound of Prowl's own engine rumbled in his audios.

"And now I have to lead a department. Now it matters if I get along with Ironhide and Red Alert and the others. Because if they don't trust me…"

If they didn't trust him, then they wouldn't listen to him. He wouldn't be able to do his job. He couldn't direct armies full of mecha who hated him. He couldn't run a department of tacticians who hated him. He couldn't do it any more than he could figure out this stupid riddle, because he was good at board games and mathematics, but he wasn't good with mecha.

"You win," he said. "I give up. I don't want to play this game anymore. I can't figure it out."

The silence stretched on until Prowl couldn't take it any longer. He looked up to meet Yoketron's optics.

"You are a rare kind of genius," Yoketron said. "But that doesn't mean you can't learn skills that don't come naturally to you."

"What if I can't?" Prowl said.

Silence again.

"I… I'm afraid. I'm terrified that I'm not good enough for what I have to do."

"What is it that you have to do?"

"I have to win this war," Prowl said. "There's no way we'll have an advantage in numbers over the Decepticons. And our troops won't be better trained than theirs. So the advantage has to come from me—not just my ability to come up with a plan that will work, but my ability to convince everyone else to listen to me."

"Yes," Yoketron said. "That is true."

"And I… I can't do it. And I know I can't, but there's no one who can take my place."

"Hmm…" Yoketron said.

"But you can't teach me to be likable," Prowl said. "Can you?"

"You don't need to be likable," Yoketron said. "But mecha will trust you if you are consistent, balanced, and in control of your emotions. And those are all things I can teach."

Prowl stared at him.

"Good job," Yoketron said. "I'm surprised. You figured it out on the first orn. You can quit now, if you would like."

"What?"

"You just told me why I chose you, Prowl. You win."

Prowl shook his helm as the pieces clicked together in his processor. "I knew you had some sort of trick," he said. "But… no, of course I can't quit now. Do you really think… that you can teach me?"

"Yes," Yoketron said. "I am certain that I can. Would you like a few breems to collect yourself before we begin?"

"No, I'm all right," Prowl said, though he felt more than a little unsteady. Primus, what had he just…? He stared at the Circuit-Su master, who shot him a brief, knowing smile, and gestured toward the center of the courtyard.