"So what do we do now?" Ironhide asked. "Tell the Council we won't work with them anymore?"

An uneasy silence settled around the table. Orion glanced at the place where Ultra Magnus usually sat. Even though the mech hadn't been with them very long, it was strange—almost wrong—for his seat to be empty.

"Well," Prowl said. "We aren't relying on the Council for much at this point, but we do need their support, because Mirage's fortune isn't going to feed an army for very long."

"Actually," Chromia said. "It could feed our current army for quite a while, but that's not saying much."

The meeting had already gone long, and they were about halfway through the things they needed to decide. They'd spent a whole half a joor talking about evacuating Tarn—now that Ultra Magnus was secured in Mirage's vaults, Orion had decided to tell the other commanders about the attack there.

"That's beside the point," Prowl said. "We can't completely cut ties with the Council, at least not yet."

"But we can't let them spy on us!" Red Alert said. "I say we send someone else to talk to them this orn and say Ultra Magnus was too busy or something."

"That won't last very long," Mainspring said. "They probably already know he's compromised."

Orion took in a deep vent and sighed it out. He'd had a difficult time recharging again, despite being exhausted, and he was more than ready for this issue to be settled. "How about this? We'll send him back with the message that things aren't working out. We'll have him tell the Council that he can't be the second in command of the army any more, and that they need to come up with a different compromise."

"Will they really be willing to—"

"You can't just let him go!" Red Alert said. "He knows too much!"

"No," Orion said, frustration welling up inside of him. "Despite what he's done we have no right to keep him locked up. Furthermore, despite what you discovered, you had no right to put a listening device on him."

"And if I hadn't, he'd be snooping around, trying to find out how you know about Tarn," Red Alert said. "Pit, I don't even know how you know about Tarn. What would you have done if he'd asked you? You trusted him, didn't you? You would have told him."

"Hey!" Ironhide said.

Red Alert glared at him.

"Don't assume you're the only mech here with a working processor," Ironhide said. "Besides, this mech's our leader and he deserves respect from you, and everyone in this room. Magnus was right about that."

"It's all right—"

"No it's not," Ironhide cut Orion off and turned to glare at him. "You need to be in charge."

Orion was a little taken aback by the intensity in his friend's voice.

"Thank you, Ironhide," he said, then looked around the room. Elita smiled encouragingly at him. His spark jumped a little and he had to take a few more astroseconds to remember what he'd been saying.

"I understand that letting Ultra Magnus go doesn't help us, but we cannot afford to fight the Council right now. We may have to play their game to some extent, but I will not play it their way. Red Alert, I want you to take the listening device off of Ultra Magnus, and then we're going to escort him out of the tower and let him leave."

"But…"

"Red Alert," Orion said.

Red Alert threw his hands up in the air. "Fine," he said. "Fine, we'll just let him slink back to the Council and tell them everything."

"He's probably told the Council everything he knows already," Mainspring said. "Sending him back won't hurt us. However… Prime, Sir?"

"Yes?"

"The Council are a flock of scheming, venomous pit-spawn."

Orion nodded.

"Whatever new deal they draw up, there will be something in it intended to undermine you or double-cross you. They won't give up on controlling you."

Orion nodded. "I understand that."

"I know you don't want to stoop to their level, but it may be useful to employ some countermeasures."

Orion wasn't sure he liked the sound of that. "Such as?"

"I'm sure Ironhide still has friends among the Elite Guard. Maybe even some who are willing to keep an audio out and warn us about any move the Council might make against us."

Orion looked down at the table, then glanced at Ironhide.

Ironhide shrugged. "There are probably a few mecha I could talk to about that."

Despite everything the Council had done, spying on them felt wrong. "No," Orion said. "We will consider ways to work with the Council, but I doubt any form of espionage will become necessary."

Mainspring nodded.

"If that's settled, we should move on," Prowl said. "I have an appointment in half a joor."

Primus, the orn was disappearing too quickly. Orion only had a joor and a half before he needed to go meet with Master Yoketron too.

He had a lot to do before then.

The heavy door opened slowly, with a motorized humming sound. Ultra Magnus managed to stand smoothly despite the stasis cuffs on his wrists.

Optimus Prime stepped in, and then stopped, staring. "Oh, I didn't realize… Red Alert, you shouldn't have left the stasis cuffs on him. Here." He entered the small, vault-like room, but Ultra Magnus took a step away from him.

"Prime, Sir, don't take the cuffs off of me."

Optimus hesitated with a concerned frown. "Why? That can't be comfortable."

"I am fine." Ultra Magnus said. There hadn't been a comfortable position for him to recharge in, so he was tired, but the cuffs were on a low setting—not enough to be very painful even after a whole off-cycle wearing them. "But if you remove the cuffs I will be able to contact the Council."

He shouldn't have said that. In fact, if he was really trying to keep his oath, he should be attempting to talk Optimus into taking the cuffs off.

Optimus met his optics solemnly. "Very well. Come out in the hall."

Ultra Magnus stepped out of the makeshift prison cell into the hallway, where Red Alert and a couple of his security guards were standing.

Red Alert scowled at him.

"Red Alert?" Optimus said with expectant undertones in his voice.

The security mech sighed. "I suppose I should apologize," he said. "I put a listening device on you—that's how we knew you were spying on us for the Council. I'll take it off now, if you'll turn around."

Ultra Magnus hesitated, then turned. He forced himself not to flinch when he felt something pried off of his back.

"There," Red Alert said. "Hope you're fragging happy, Optimus."

"Let's go," the Prime said.

Ultra Magnus turned again, and followed them down the hall.

"So," Optimus said. "We don't want to keep you imprisoned here, so we're going to let you go. We would like you to tell the Council that this arrangement—with you as my second in command—isn't working out and that they'll have to come up with something else if they want a part in the army. Maybe we can negotiate making use of their resources in some other way."

Ultra Magnus looked down.

They were sending him back to the Council. He doubted that the Prime knew what that meant. Ultra Magnus had failed them, so being returned to them was practically a death sentence.

After the Autobots had locked him up, he had hoped…

But he was no use to them, anyway—not with his oath and the transmitter in his helm. This was probably for the best.

They reached an elevator—this one smaller than the main one. Optimus stepped inside, then gestured for Ultra Magnus to join him. Red Alert and his guards followed.

Ultra Magnus's tanks lurched as they started going down.

He was going to have to go back to the Council. What if they actually did decide to have him executed for his failure? He would never have worried about that before. They had trusted him completely, up until this mission.

Of course, before they'd asked him to spy on the Autobots, it had been easier to turn a blind optic to everything they did.

He really was pathetic.

"Ultra Magnus?" Optimus said quietly.

He didn't want to meet the Prime's optics. "I apologize," he said.

"It's all right," Optimus said. "I understand that you want to keep your oath—that's an honorable desire. If you are ever released from it, we would welcome you back."

Ultra Magnus didn't look up. "If I am ever released from it, I would gladly join you."

It was a nice sentiment. This mech really didn't understand, did he?

The Council never let go of anything.

They rode the elevator in silence until it finally came to a stop. Red Alert led the way out a side door and into the street, then got out a key for Ultra Magnus's stasis cuffs.

"Optimus?" Ultra Magnus said.

"Yes?"

"Good luck."

Optimus nodded, and then the stasis cuffs came off. Ultra Magnus rolled his stiff shoulders, trying not to grimace.

Then he transformed and drove down the street, headed to the Council Hall to meet his fate.

Mirage drove silently through the dark, empty streets of Tarn. Apparently, the Council here had initiated a curfew a few decaorns before, and so Mirage could actually drive invisible without worrying about anyone accidentally crashing into him. His mod kept his engine silent, and so the loudest sound came from the mech he was following.

He'd spent the entire orn wandering around, listening for mecha who spoke out against the Decepticons, eavesdropping on oilhouse conversations, and following anyone who looked like they might know anything interesting. And it had all come to nothing.

Then Mainspring had commed him with the designation of an enforcer who was supposedly going behind the Council's back, trying to help mecha prepare for the imminent attack. Mirage wasn't sure exactly how Mainspring had gotten his information, but it was more than a little annoying to spend a whole orn trying to figure something out and then have it handed to you.

So now he was playing errand mech instead of acting as an actual spy.

The profession was significantly less glamorous than he'd presumed.

Of course, a lot of things were like that.

Blurr still thought he was crazy for giving everything he had to the Autobots.

Sometimes Mirage agreed with that sentiment. Especially since it meant he now relied on the Prime for his own survival.

But he couldn't go back.

And if the Autobots lost, well… Mirage didn't think Megatron would treat the noble class kindly in any case, so he might as well do everything he could to prevent the gladiator from taking over the world.

The enforcer slowed down, and then turned off the street onto the walkway. Mirage stopped as well, watching in the silence. He was fairly certain this was the right mech, but until he was absolutely sure, he would stay cloaked.

It was a good thing Mainspring had found an enforcer for him to talk to, because no one else would be out past curfew like this.

The mech transformed into root mode and walked toward a group of tall buildings. Mirage transformed as well and followed him, jogging to make sure he didn't get left behind. They went down an alleyway and then the enforcer stepped through an open doorway into a dark, narrow hall that smelled of rust.

Mirage sighed silently and followed, trying to ignore the scent. For Primus' sake, why did anyone let buildings like this get so old and corroded? They should either keep them clean or knock them down and rebuild.

The enforcer's pedes on the floor echoed off the walls, until they reached the end of the hall, and went down a set of stairs that screeched and groaned under their weight. Mirage made sure to follow closely behind the mech as they descended—while his mod would mask the sound of his pedes hitting the ground, it wouldn't be able to keep the whole stairway from screeching.

At the base of the stairs, the enforcer stopped. His optics illuminated the wall and Mirage watched and listened as he fumbled until he found a button that turned on the lights.

They were in a small basement room piled with rusty, empty-looking crates. Several doors and passageways led off in different directions, but the enforcer didn't move to go down any of them. Instead, he went over to a crate and sat.

He looked old, though Mirage wouldn't have been able to tell at a glance. His blue paint—just a tinge grayer than Mirage's—wasn't scratched, and he still moved with agility, but there was something tired about his optics.

Mirage crossed his arms and waited for something to happen. He leaned on the rust-eaten wall for a moment, but then thought better of it and pushed away.—the place was disgusting. He hoped this mech didn't intend to just sit here all off-cycle.

The enforcer tapped a pede on the ground, glancing down one of the passages every few breems. Then he seemed to lose patience and put a finger to his comm.

"Mechling," he said. "Where the pit are you?"

His voice sounded old too—tinny and with a hint of static in it. Mirage didn't hear the response, but the old enforcer heaved a sigh.

"Fine, but hurry up. I want to check out that cave Clampdown was talking about. If it's as defensible as he says it is… yeah, that's why I want to look at it. Just get your aft over here… thank you."

He cut the comm and shook his helm, then put his faceplate in his hands, muttering to himself.

"Primus, how'd I end up with this rookie right when all this Decepticon slag… I don't know what I'm doing. We can't live in a fragging cave. We can't cross the wastes... I guess we could, and we'd have to hope we find an energon spring out there before we all starve… right…"

Mirage raised an optic ridge. The likelihood of a large group of mecha surviving the expanse between city-states was fairly low. The main highways surrounding Tarn were cut off, so their best bet would probably be to travel southeast until they got to the highway that led from Slaughter City to Simfur. That distance didn't look too bad on a map, but there were some alt modes that wouldn't do well on the rough terrain between city-states. On pede, the trip could take six or seven decaorns, maybe twice that long if you had to navigate through the underground cave systems.

Fortunately for this mech, things were about to take a turn for the better.

Mirage turned his mod off, but the mech's faceplate was still buried in his hands and he didn't look up.

"Excuse me," Mirage said.

The enforcer jumped off of the crate he was sitting on with a quiet yelp, and his hands shifted into guns. "Slag it!... who the pit are you?"

Mirage crossed his arms.

"Sorry, you startled me," the mech shifted the guns back into hands but watched him warily. "You lost, mech? What are you doing out past curfew?"

"You're Autoceptor, correct?" Mirage said.

The enforcer narrowed his optics. "Iacon," he muttered. "You sound like an Iaconian noble."

"Very good," Mirage said. "That is exactly what I am—in a manner of speaking. I'm here as a representative of the Autobots. Are you familiar with them?"

The mech shifted his weight a little and raised his hands like he was about to get his guns out again. "The Iacon Council's puppet army?"

Mirage snorted. "Hardly," he said. "We have to work with them sometimes, but we certainly don't answer to them. For example, from what I've heard, the Council decided to leave Tarn to its fate—didn't even bother to tell the Prime that the city was in trouble."

He narrowed his optics. "Then how do you know about it?"

"As I said, we don't belong to the Council. We have our own sources of information."

"Why are you here?"

"There's no reason to be hostile," Mirage said. "I was sent here to talk to you—to offer the Prime's assistance in helping those mecha who don't want the Decepticons to take over."

That didn't seem to appease him. "You think you can save Tarn?" he raised an optic ridge.

"No," Mirage said. "When Megatron attacks, he will take the city. But we can help you in other ways."

"How did you find me here?"

"I followed you."

"No," Autoceptor shook his helm. "I would have noticed you. How did you know I was going to be here?"

"Look, do you want our help or not?"

"You think I'm going to trust you?" the enforcer said. "You really think I'm going to trust some random noblemech who shows up out of nowhere and says the Council's pet Prime wants to help me? And what's this help of yours going to cost?"

"Must everything have a cost?"

"Usually does," the mech said. "And I'm broke. So you can either slink back wherever you came from or tell me how you found me here."

Mirage sighed. "I did follow you," he said. "And if you hear me out, then I'll show you how I did it when I leave."

Autoceptor scowled.

"We want to help you evacuate mecha from the city," Mirage said. "You don't have time to ferry anyone through the wastes. We've recently received information that leads us to believe a Decepticon attack is more imminent than you might think. In fact, it would be best if we could evacuate everyone who wants to leave before the end of the decaorn."

The mech's optics widened and concern crept into his expression. "Exactly how imminent is this attack?"

"I can't say," Mirage said. They had seven orns left, but he wasn't authorized to tell anyone that, especially someone who might spread it all over the city.

He let Autoceptor consider that for a few astroseconds.

The enforcer lowered his arms, but didn't look away from Mirage for a moment. "How do you intend to evacuate everyone? And where exactly would they be going?"

"They'll be groundbridging to Nova Cronum," Mirage said.

"You can't legally bridge anywhere but from a station to another station."

"Under certain, emergency circumstances, it is permissible," Mirage said. "And we're pretty sure we can get the go-ahead from Nova Cronum's enforcement department. Of course, we obviously won't be asking the Tarn Council's permission to open a bridge inside their city limits, but I don't know that that's something you should be worried about. We can get your mecha to safety. Are you really going to turn that down?"

"You still haven't told me what it's going to cost."

Mirage sighed. "It's not like they'll make you pay tribute or anything. Obviously, you and anyone who comes will lose their homes, and you'll be at the mercy of the Nova Cronum Council. But other than that, this is a free ticket to safety. If you don't believe me, we might be able to arrange transport for you to Iacon, where you can talk to Optimus personally about it."

Mirage wasn't actually sure if they could do that. After all, he was the only one who could use his private bridge, because it was attuned specifically to his spark chamber. But he could talk to Mainspring and see if they could find a way.

Autoceptor stared at him.

"What?" Mirage said.

"This is… this can't be real."

"If you need a little time to think about it, I can give you a few joors, but you really don't have long to decide. Reportedly, you're the best contact point for mecha who don't support the Decepticons, but if you won't accept our help, we can try to find someone else."

The mech sighed. "All right," he said. "I'll think about it and let you know in a couple of joors. You want to give me some way to contact you?"

Mirage nodded. "You have something I can write my comm. codes on?"

The mech pulled a datapad from subspace and handed it to Mirage, still watching him warily. Mirage took the datapad, inputted his codes, and handed it back. This mech had some paranoia issues—then again, from what Mirage had seen of the city, it was a rough place.

"Now," Mirage said. "I'll let you get back to waiting for… whoever you were waiting for. And I'll show you how I followed you on my way out. You'll probably hear me on the stairs."

The mech narrowed his optics.

Mirage activated his mod and watched as Autoceptor stiffened, optics widening.

With a smirk, Mirage turned to cross the room and climb the creaky stairs. He couldn't wait to get out of here—he was going to smell like rust for orns. They would have to arrange a better place to talk next time if this mech decided to accept their help.

Orion was about to get up and leave to meet Master Yoketron when there was an entry request at his office door.

"Come in!" he called. He hoped this wasn't more bad news, or something he needed to do. Landquake was probably already waiting for him at the base of the tower.

The door slid open and Elita came in.

Orion stood. "Elita. I… was about to go. I have to see Master Yoketron… But if you need to talk about something..."

"I don't want to make you late," she said. "I'll walk you out, though."

He stepped past her and she followed him out the door, then kept pace with him as they headed down the hall toward the main elevator.

"I'm proud of you." Elita said. "For standing up for yourself in that meeting, and saying no to Red Alert and Mainspring."

"I hope I didn't go too far..."

"You didn't," Elita shook her helm. "We need you to be like that. We need you to make decisions even when we don't all agree with you."

Orion nodded slightly.

"But…" Elita said. "But in all that, don't lose you, all right?"

Orion was silent. They stepped into the elevator.

"We still need Orion." Elita said. "We need Optimus Prime, but we need that honest, good-sparked, naïve archivist that I fell in love with too."

Orion shook his helm. He couldn't make any promises about that.

"What?"

"Nothing." Orion sighed.

She frowned at him.

"I can't say… I can't say what the future holds, Elita."

That seemed to trouble her and she was quiet for a few astroseconds. Then she vented a sigh. "I'm glad you're learning to fight," she said.

"Yes," Orion agreed, grateful for the subject change. "I don't know how I'd do in an actual fight, because that archivist in me might come out..."

"No, you'll learn," Elita assured him. "Ironhide and his friends are teaching my sisters and I how to fight too. Maybe you and I could spar sometime."

Orion shrugged.

"That idea makes you uncomfortable, doesn't it?" Elita asked.

"A little."

She smiled, but then looked down and her next words were subdued. "I wouldn't have needed to ask that three quartexes ago… has it only been that long?"

Orion nodded.

The elevator stopped and they stepped out, then crossed the entry room to the front doors of the tower.

As he had suspected, Landquake was already waiting for him. The transport's door opened as they approached and Prowl stepped out.

Wasn't he supposed to be waiting at Landquake's place so they could train together?

Prowl must have seen the question in Orion's expression. "Yoketron wanted more time with you this orn, since we were interrupted last orn," he said.

Oh.

"Well," Elita said as Prowl walked toward the tower. "I guess I'll let you go then,"

Yoketron stepped out of the transport.

"Master Yoketron," Orion bowed slightly. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes," Yoketron said. "Except that you are half a breem late."

"I know," Orion said. "I apologize."

"Accepted," Yoketron said. "And I merely accompanied Prowl here because we were out of time and I had a few more things I wanted to say to him." He turned his attention to Elita. "I believe I've seen you before, though I don't think we've been introduced."

"Elita," she held out a hand and he shook it politely. "Elita One."

"Ah, yes. It is good to meet you. I had the pleasure of meeting your sister last orn, and she mentioned you."

"Oh," Elita said, glancing at Orion. "She did?"

"Yes," Yoketron said, looking thoughtful.

"Well, it's good to meet you too," Elita said. "Thank you for what you're doing."

"I am honored to train the Prime," Yoketron bowed slightly.

"Well," Elita said. "If there's anything the Autobots can do for you in return, let us know."

"Thank you," Yoketron said solemnly. "I have everything I need at the moment, but for my services, I may ask you all to save the world once or twice in the future."

Elita stared at him for a few astroseconds, as if she wasn't sure whether he was joking. Orion would have been tempted to smile if he didn't suspect Yoketron was dead serious.

Eventually, Elita shrugged, then she put a hand on Orion's arm and shot him a quick smile. "I'll see you later. Good luck."

He watched her walk back into the tower, and then climbed into the transport. Yoketron climbed in after him and Landquake's door closed.

They were quiet for a breem as the transport made its way down the road.

"So," Yoketron said. "That's the femme you were bonded to?"

Orion nodded.

"I am very sorry about that," Yoketron said. "Alpha Trion should have said something to warn you."

"I didn't even notice," Orion admitted quietly. "When I was appointed… I felt something change, but I was so shocked I didn't even realize the bond had broken until I went back to Mirage's tower. It didn't even hurt… but it hurt her."

He couldn't meet Yoketron's optics.

"I wish I could make things right for her somehow," he said.

Silence fell.

"I suppose that's not the most pressing problem at the moment, but…"

"It's an understandable thing to be upset about," Yoketron said. "Even among all of your other difficulties."

"Do you know… will I…" He didn't want to ask.

"What?"

"When I receive the Matrix… will I stop loving her?"

Yoketron looked sorrowful.

Orion's spark sank.

"No," Yoketron said. "No, you'll still love her. You might both wish you didn't sometimes, but no, receiving the Matrix won't change that."

Orion vented a sigh of relief, but then realized he wasn't sure how he felt about it after all.

Landquake rolled to a stop outside of his apartment building.

"Let's see if you can get through that trial this orn," Yoketron said.

Orion nodded, and followed him out of the transport.

Ratchet stood at the base of the ramp leading up to the big double-doors of the hospital. It was the closest one to their makeshift base, and the director had said she was willing to talk about helping them.

Not willing to help them, just willing to talk about it.

He wished he'd gotten up the courage to ask Elita to come and talk for him. He wasn't very good at negotiating things.

But he couldn't miss this appointment.

He took in a deep vent and walked up the ramp and through the doors, which opened when he approached.

The main entrance of the hospital wasn't exactly crowded, but there were mecha coming and going, and there was a short line at the receptionist's desk. He got in line, looking around at the smooth, sterile walls and automatic doors. He'd never intended to work in an actual hospital. He'd been much more interested in the research side of things.

It didn't matter anyway, because he'd had to drop out of school.

He got to the front far too quickly.

"Hi!" The receptionist said in a bright, overly cheerful voice. "Can I help you?"

"Um…" he said. "Yes, I… I have an appointment with the director of the hospital."

"Oh," the femme's optic ridges shot up. "Ok, let me comm. her and see. It might take her a few breems to get back to me, so can you wait over there?"

She gestured to some benches by the wall where a few mecha were sitting.

Ratchet nodded mutely and left the line.

He sat on the nearest bench, next to a mech with a broken arm. He surveyed the injury, analyzing it, running through the necessary repairs and potential complications in his helm until the mech noticed him staring, and shot him a suspicious frown. Ratchet forced himself to look away. He itched to scan the mech's arm and maybe offer to help with it. But that would be a bad idea.

As the breems ticked by, it got harder and harder to avoid looking at the injury. It wasn't that bad—it would only take a few breems to repair. Why was this mech being forced to wait here, when he was almost certainly in pain? Didn't they have anyone who could see him?

Ratchet was about to say something to him when he stood up and met a femme coming from the front of the receptionist's line.

"She said we can go in to the waiting room," the femme said.

Ratchet watched them leave through a nearby door, relieved, but still concerned. They had to wait to get into a waiting room in the first place?

Of course, he wasn't really sure how hospitals worked anyway.

He glanced at the receptionist, and she beckoned to him, so he got up and crossed the room again.

"Okay," she said. "So… the director can't meet with you. She's too busy right now."

Ratchet's spark sank. "But… I have—"

"It's okay," the receptionist said. "Because I just remembered the assistant director sent me a memo earlier this orn saying he wanted to talk to you if she couldn't."

"Oh," Ratchet said. "All right."

"He should be in his office. It's through the south door, down the hall, first left, and then the third door on the right. Got it?"

Ratchet nodded.

"Okay," the receptionist said. "Thank you."

He nodded again, and she smiled and moved on to the next mech in line.

Ratchet replayed her instructions through his helm as he walked to the door he was pretty sure she was talking about.

The hallway was long, and the first left didn't happen for quite a while, but then Ratchet found the right office door without any trouble. He read the glyphs on it, taking in a deep vent. Assistant director, and head surgeon.

This mech was probably very busy, and an accomplished medic. Ratchet hoped this mech didn't ask too many difficult technical questions. He still studied whenever he had time, but he was probably never going to be a fully-qualified medic in any sense of the term.

He pressed the entry request and waited.

After a few astroseconds a blue, white and red mech opened the door.

"Good orn," he said mildly. "Can I help you?"

"Well, um…" Ratchet said. "The…"

"Oh!" the mech said. "Ratchet, right?"

Ratchet blinked. "I… yes, actually."

"Come in, come in," the mech said, backing away from the door and gesturing smoothly for Ratchet to enter his office. "I've wanted to meet you for ages."

Ratchet frowned as he entered the office. "You… have?"

"Of course," the mech said with a warm smile. "You're that student. The one who developed the cure for type alpha-gamma parasitic microbots, right?"

Oh.

"Yes," Ratchet said, feeling suddenly more confident. "Yes, that's me."

"Very impressive," the medic sat down in his swiveling chair and gestured for Ratchet to sit on a small stool by the wall. "I was very impressed. You know, if you ever need an internship, I'm sure I could arrange something here..."

"Well…" Ratchet looked down. "I dropped out of school. I didn't have a choice, but… I don't think I'll have time to go back."

"Huh," the medic said. "Well, I'm sure we can fix that somehow."

Ratchet looked up again.

"So—" the mech said.

"Actually," Ratchet cut in. "I've come here in behalf of the Autobots, about our soldiers…"

"Right," the medic said. "I've heard your army's not in very good shape at the moment. Primus, you're probably stressed out of your processor. Don't worry—we can help. We're a little busy this orn, but I've already got mecha in mind who I think will have some time over the next few orns to help you with check-ups. And I can get you in touch with medics who are looking for jobs who might be willing to work for the Autobots full time."

"Thank you," Ratchet said, feeling stunned. He had not expected this mech to be so helpful.

"Don't mention it," the medic said. "You know, I always sympathized with your organization, even before the whole fiasco with Megatron leaving… oh, I haven't even introduced myself yet. I always forget. I'm Pharma. Again, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"And you," Ratchet said.

Notes:

1. Oh noes! It's Pharma. D:

2. From this point forward, most of the characters I introduce will be at least loosely based on canon characters (except for femmes—there aren't enough canon femmes, so I'll probably have to invent a few here and there.)

3. In any case, this means you can blame all of the terrible names I use in the future on transformers canon. Like Autoceptor. What does that even mean?

4. That is all. Thanks for reading!