A/N: Yes, I know that 'sarge' is a shorter version of 'sergeant', not 'second-in-command' - but Rust thinks it sounds cool, so what can I do? It's just a moniker anyway, don't get upset over it ;)
On another note, this chapter turned out awfully pseudo-scientific. Sorry about that. Hope it's bearable.

Also, I've just taken a closer look at Tarantulas's little flashlights, and realized I should rather be calling them insectoids than arachnoids. But I don't want to/pouts/
A/N2: I can't believe how long this thing got. Let's hope it will make up for the long waiting.
Oh, and lots of love for those wonderful people who keep me going - Yana, Ima, and my reviewers. Love you all!

Disclaimer: Not mine, except for the things that are.

-

The cat must die

The cat does what cats do, and people get angry. Why?
And what's the deal with Rattrap and Rhinox anyway?

-

-

-

"Look what I've got."
Rattrap groaned, ground his teeth and decided to wait her out. The small femme didn't seem to notice his lack of interest, and produced a vial of yellowish liquid. "It's based on natural poly-lipids, but I've added a few synthetic preservatives as well."
"Uh-huh," he murmured noncommittally, crouching and glaring at the exposed wires of the first-deck fuse board, searching for the problem. Aha! Here it was."It reacts with epidermal cells, and prevents the decay."
"Uh-huh." He separated two fused wires, and sprayed them with insulation foam.
"Dinobot wanted it. For the clone pelt."
"Uh-hu-- What? What pel--" he visibly shook himself off. "I don't really wanna know. Why don't ya take it to Dinobot, eh? Ya know, tall, ugly, goes around with a pet?"

Kittar humphed, beastmoded and stalked away, nose held high. With an irritated sigh, Rattrap turned back to his work.
A mistake.
Never turn your back at the offended cat. A padded paw thumped at the back of his helmet, sending his face to meet the blob of a half-set foam. With a colorful curse Rattrap jerked back, wiping it off his optics, only to see the red blur already disappearing round the corner. He chucked a foam-can after her nonetheless. Cats!
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Building a mobile, remote micro cameras was, in a way, Tarantulas's hobby. In the same way a human could fold and fling through the window paper planes, while mentally calculating the influence of chaos factor on the state economy.
But even such man would occasionally go to the window to see how far his planes had gone. And he shouldn't be blamed for getting a little peeved upon discovering that half of them had been intercepted and shredded to pieces.

The yellow visor narrowed at the holo-map. The blinking lights indicating arachnoids positions were scattered in a random pattern over the land - except for one dark spot, a lightless void amid the constellations. An almost perfect circle, stretching for about two miles around the Axalon. Kittar's hunting grounds.
The spider legs twitched in annoyance. "You begin to irritate me, kitten."
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When the door to the control room hissed open before him, Rattrap's mood increased immediately. The place was graced with the presence of a femme - not of a feline kind, thank you - currently presenting Rhinox with some kind of a plant. Just now, the technician was putting it on the top of the radar console, thanking with a smile. A very nice family picture, in Rattrap's opinion. Rhinox could deny all he wanted, but he was very obviously protectoring over the femme. If it were anyone but Rhinox, Rattrap would have taunted them about it mercilessly. Since it was Rhinox, he was only taunting a little.

Airazor bid a goodbye, and turned to leave. Rattrap hastily rearranged himself, so that she'd have to brush against him on the way out. "'lo, Bird-lady!" "Hallo, Rattrap. You've got something on your face," she said, passing by him.
"Wha-?" He raised a hand, and insulation foam crumbled under his fingers.
"Damn cat," he murmured, wiping the remnants of the stuff away and watching Airazor's back disappearing in the corridor. Oh, well. Some other time, maybe. It wasn't as if they were going to leave the planet anytime soon.

"Ya've got yourself a charge," he teased, watching Rhinox smiling warmly at his present.
Rhinox emitted a small 'stop speaking nonsense' grunt, and turned his attention to his share of monitors.
Rattrap grinned mischievously, sitting down and putting his legs up. "Good ta know she thinks flowers are a good present, though," he mused, half to himself.

The technician's head jerked, as he picked up a familiar note in the rat-bot's voice. "Why?" he asked with the slightest undertone of warning.
"Ah, ya know, she might be sad one day, need some cheer up..."
Rhinox frowned. "Rattrap..." he drawled, the warning resurfacing.
"Yes, Rhinox, ol' buddy?" the picture of utter innocence could fool any judge in the galaxy - but not him. The green bot shook a finger at his friend. "Keep your hands to yourself, you spark-eater!"
"Eh, now, dat hurt. Can't a bot be nice to a femme with no hidden motive?"

Without a word, but with a telling frown, Rhinox took two steps to - there was no other word for it - loom over Rattrap, who hurriedly raised his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Awright, awrigth, I'll be a perfect gentlemech. Sheeesh, talk 'bout overprotective."
"It's never overprotective when you're involved," Rhinox murmured, going back to his station.

"Dat's almost a compliment," Rattrap muttered under his breath, smirking.
"What?" Rhinox inquired a bit suspiciously.

"Ah, nothin'. I've fixed dat lighting problem we've had. Anythin' else needs my lovin' attention?"
Rhinox pointed at the busy schedule. "Your duty roster," he said.

Rattrap followed his gaze, and groaned. He was due on scouting patrol with Cheetor. You'd think by now they'd have the nearby terrain mapped out and remembered by heart. Unfortunately, the terrain had a disturbing tendency to change a bit after every nastier bit of weather. They had to update they information every now and then.

Rattrap got up with a sigh.
"Oh joy, baby-sittin' duty again..."

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Far away from the unsuspecting Maximals, in the bowels of the dark ship, the dark forces were at work, the selected dark elite working on a dark project...

...All right, lets drop the dramatics. We all know the dark forces were just the Predacons, they didn't have any elite, and the selection went like: "you /click/ and you /click/ will do it." AND: "What about me? Why not? Oh geez, I CAN handle a torch. No, I'm not going to break anything. Yes, I'm SURE. Oh for Primus sake, sarge, there's nothing to short-circuit there!"

"You are crazy, and workaholic, Rust." Terrorsaur said with an air of a judge announcing a final verdict.
"Pft! It was either that, or the monitor duty," Rust replied. "And we all know how I love the fragging screen watching."

"Whatever." Terrorsaur jerked a wrench few times, making sure the nut was secured. "It's about time our glorious leader thought of this. I was getting sick of feeders. Pass me more bolts, Waspinator." There was a reason why he said other flyer's proper name instead of 'bug-eyes' or the such. Only yesterday Rust had raised a friendly dispute on the subject 'bots don't like to be called names'. The leftovers from it where still littering the main corridor. (1)

Waspinator checked the box lying near him. "Bolts gone," he said. "Waspinator bring more."
Rust nodded, absentmindedly passing Terrorsaur few bolts from his own supply. "Ah-huh. And fetch some energon crystals while you're at it, we're almost finished with this one, we may as well test it."
Waspinator buzzed a happy "OK," and flew away.

Terrorsaur placed the bolts from Rust in their places, and decided he deserved a little break. "So," he started, leaning on the soon-to-be refiner. "You've been traveling a lot, or were you just bragging to Blackarachnia about all those systems you know?"

Rust glanced at the flyer sidelong, and his optics gleamed as he smirked. "Why, you're planning your holidays already? Or are you just curious about the exotic currencies?"
Terrorsaur scowled. "No, just wanted to pester you. Turnabouts, and so on." After all, the blasted wolf had pretty much wrenched his whole life story out of him, when they were stuck together on a desert.
Rust chuckled. "O-kay, turnabout it is. Sure, I've been traveling a lot. Any place worth visiting you've heard of, I've been there."
"Oh yeah? Even Proteria?" It was the biggest Predacon colony, and the rumor had it the Tripledacus Council held their most important meetings there.
"Sure. But didn't stay long, it's not really interesting unless you're a merchant or politician or something equally boring."

Terrorsaur couldn't help a snigger. The blue terror had a point there. "All right, what about the All-plays Grand Casino?"

Rust smiled dreamily. "Ooooh yeah. Made a real big money there. I lost it right away on the Castelia, of course, but it was worth it." He patted his forearm. "Got some wicked upgrades there, grenade launchers included."

Terrorsaur hissed in furious envy. The All-plays Grand Casino was a golden dream of any game lover. He'd always wanted to visit it, but instead he'd been stuck on Gladius, until Megatron swindled him.
And Castelia? The illegal shellshops there were almost a legend!

"No freaking way you could travel from Grand Casino to Castelia and still have some credits left! The place is two galaxies away!"
"So?"
"So? You're kidding me! I don't believe you could win of the Grand Casino enough and get away alive!" Like any self respecting hazard establishment, the All-plays Grand Casino didn't look kindly at being relieved of large amounts of cash. "I know the transwarp transport charges!"
Rust smirked. "Who says I was paying for it?"
Terrorsaur snorted. "Oh please." He considered it for a nano. "No, really, please enlighten me: how can a bot get a free transwarp trip?"

"My pleasure." Rust glanced at the blueprints and readjusted some parts on the refiner. "There are three patented means for that. Your basic way is a stowaway. You get a good energy-signature dumper, some concentrated energon goodies, and, most important of all, you find a ship that carries boxes large enough to hide in."

Terrorsaur twitched lightly, and the blue bot grinned wolfishly. "Of course," he continued, "it's risky, and uncomfortable. You know, a little place to move, you're all crammed in and crumpled, and the air quickly gets so stiff, and you never know how many cargo they'd put on top of you, so you can very well end up on the bottom of a really big pile, and--"

"I gET the PICture!" the flyer's screech took an unusual swing along the scale, reaching the highest pitch Rust had yet heard from him.
He chuckled, but mercifully left the discomforting subject of being buried under a mass of luggage.
"The other way is to get a replacement-job on the ship. That only works on passenger cruisers though, where they need stewards. That's because you don't need any qualifications to serve drinks and smile all cycle round. And, you need to make sure they are down by one person just before the launch, and are desperate for a fill-in."
"A.K.A., kill the guy who dares to have the job you need," Terrorsaur translated. Rust snorted. "Geez, you're fluid-thirsty. I usually settle for getting them dead drunk. Speaking of which, I'm done here, you can connect the engine."

Terrorsaur moved to do that, while Rust went to the other machine. Why Megatron first neglected installing a single energon refiner, and then suddenly demanded three at once, was a small mystery. Or, as the flyer preferred to think, a perfect proof of his incompetence.

"So what the third way is?" he asked, shaking a welder to start it.
"Ah, that would be my personal favorite, sadly not often available," A slightly muffled voice said from inside the second contraption.

"And that is?" Terrorsaur said after a moment's pause.
Rust pulled out of the machine to flash him a smug grin. "To wallow in luxury in captain's private quarters," he said.

Terrorsaur froze in mid motion, and looked over at Rust in bewildered realization. There was a busy spaceport on Gladius, he could have been off the asteroid decades ago! "Why I've never thought of that?" he asked, more of himself than the other bot.

Rust smirked. " 'Cause you're not a genius I am?" he suggested.
It earned him a snort. "Genius. Sure. This coming from a guy who can't even spell his name right."
"Wha--?" Rust blinked, then followed the red bot's gaze. "Oh, you mean this?" he said, tapping two letters etched in his shoulder. "That's not from my name, that's abbrev from my, ahem, true nature."

"Oh, I get it," Terrorsaur nodded with a serious face. "You needed reassurance that, against all proof, you are Relatively Smart."

/Clang, swoop, clang/

The first sound was Rust's wrench hitting the floor, the second was a crate of parts being pushed aside, and the third was Terrorsaur's back-plate greeting the wall.

Frag. He forgot how fast Rust could be when he wanted. Rust grinned wolfishly at him. "What did I hear you saying?"
Terrorsaur raised his hands hastily. "Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean it."
Rust took a polite step back, letting the flyer slid back to the floor. "Really."
"Really, honest, for real." Terrorsaur assured, letting his babbling drown the quiet hum of powering-up jets. "What I meant to say was..." He glanced up to measure the distance to the ceiling. "...Really Stupid." His jets went off with a roar, taking him out of harms way just as Rust's fist connected with the wall.

&&&&

Blackarachnia smiled benignly at the monitors. Good old Rust. Can't live through a day without causing trouble.
"Oh, Tarantulaaas..." she coed in overly sweet tones.
The other spider grumbled something impolite, and pulled from the hole in the wall, where he was messing with wiring. "What?"

Blackarachnia smiled sweetly and stepped aside, revealing the screen, on which Rust was jump-climbing the wall in hot pursuit after the red flyer.
"The fifth brawl he started this week," she said, her voice going smoothly from sweet to business-like. "Pay up."

Mandibles curling in disgust, Tarantulas unsubspaced a set of small vials and tossed it at the femme without a word. And then, because he was a bad looser, and because he had been at the wrong end of one of said brawls, and because it was just something he did, he tweaked few cables so that the feedback from the cargo hold camera was sent straight to Megatron's personal computer.

&&&&

Rust leapt, and Terrorsaur dodged. He was starting to think that maybe insulting the fluid-thirsty hyperactive maniac wasn't such a good idea. But, slag it, he'd called him worst few times, and Rust simply laughed or whacked him upside the head. Now he was trashing around like some freaky droid-slayer. That's the problem with nutters, Terrorsaur thought. You never know when they will blow.
"We have a deal, remember?" he screeched a little panicky, as Rust rammed into the beam he was currently hiding behind.

"Oh, I remember," Rust said reassuringly, performing a complicated flip jump that brought him to the top of crate pile. "I won't deactivate you." He monkey swung along the ceiling to the small platform from where he could jump at Terrorsaur no matter which rout he might try to take to escape. "I will merely cause you a severe inconvenience."

The intercom suddenly roared with Megatron's voice. :: RUST!::

Rust dropped to the floor immediately. "Didn't do anything."
"Yet." Terrorsaur added, landing. He'd never thought he'd be glad to hear Megatron's voice. Not that he was scared or anything, but he quite liked his external structure as it was. Dents, scratches, missing limbs - these were not on his 'to-get' upgrade list.

:: Didn't I tell you not to attack my troops?:: Megatron seethed.
"Em, no sir, not exactly, you said you didn't appreciate me damaging them, and I haven't damaged him."
"Yet." Terrorsaur added.
Rust sent him a look. "Shut up, Terror."

:: Mr. Rust. :: Megatron's voice took the overly polite tones of the tyrant clinging to his composure. :: You are not to attack Predacons, and that's an order. ::

Rust's innocent expression contorted into one of a pure mischief. "Even Dinobot, sir? And what if they attack me first? Or if they attack you? Or if--"
Rust stopped. Megatron was growling, and that wasn't something you heard every day.
:: We will discuss the exceptions later,:: Megatron said after a while. :: Are you done with your assignment?::

"Kind of, sir, the first refiner's ready, and--"
"Waspinator brought crystals," the wasp-bot said from behind, peeking carefully into the hold.

"And Waspinator brought the crystals," Rust repeated dutifully. "We can test the machine now."
:: Yess, do that. Megatron out. ::

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Rhinox sagged slightly forward, as something heavy landed on his shoulders.
"Can we check if there are metals on this planet?" Kittar asked, nuzzling the side of his head. "We've made a full scan of our surroundings when we landed," he said, half turning. Kittar adjusted her balance to the movement without an effort as he pointed the computer across the room. "You can find the data there."
With a resonant 'prrru', the cat jumped in that direction.

'Prrru', Rhinox decided getting back to his work, was most probably her version of 'thanks'. It wasn't that she couldn't grasp the concept of small social niceties. She just had a little trouble with applying them to herself.

Kittar maximized in front of the console, making a hearty, whole-body shake. When she was sure that all of her parts were where they should be, she activated the computer and plowed through the data.

What happened sometime later, Rhinox first registered as sounds.

One: the hiss of upcoming lift.
Two: a grumble-grumble of displeased Rattrap.
Three: a splash of watery mud landing dangerously close to Kittar.
Four: a hiss of displeased Kittar
Five: metallic noises of Kittar beastmoding and seeking refuge at the top of the screen.

And six: a soft sigh of Rhinox, swiveling his chair to contemplate the scene. Near the lift were Cheetor and Rattrap, both wet and muddy, with respectively embarrassed and irritated expressions on their faces. Near the ceiling was Kittar, hissing and bristled.

"Rattrap, what happened?"
"Lemme tell ya, buddy," the addressed bot said, flicking some more mud off his hands in Kittar's direction. "I'm never gonna let any cat lead da way anymore."
"Hey!" Cheetor protested, waving his hands widely. "It wasn't my fault that-- Ouch!" Something in his arm screeched, and the teen-bot grasped at it with a pained scowl.
In a blur of red and a flash of yellow, Kittar appeared at his side. "What did you do?" Her hands flew to Cheetor's arm. "You've got two joints dislocated and full of mud!" Without further ado, she dragged the protesting weakly patient toward the Med Bay.

"If yer not back in a week, we'll come an rescue ya!" Rattrap called after Cheetor. "Maybe!" he added, looking down at himself, scowling. "Man, what's wrong wit' dat kid? I was tellin' him da ground didn't look solid fer me, but no, he just had to race in da middle of a slaggin' swamp!" He tugged at a small stick stuck in his elbow joint. "An when he got stuck, I told him to stop trashing about, but do ya think he'd listen?"

Rhinox stifled a fond chuckle. "Reckless, impulsive, wouldn't listen to reason..." he said.

"Precisely!" the small bot agreed, yanking the piece of wood out. Rhinox tapped his chin in a mock thoughtfulness. "Hmm... Why all that sounds familiar?"

Rattrap's scowl was sour as a lemon, as he chucked the stick at Rhinox's head. "I was never THAT young," he said with absolute certainty.
"Uh-huh."
"I was not," Rattrap insisted, and then retreated from the command room. Sometimes Rhinox's smile was just as scary as his frown.

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With a quiet buzz, the energon crystals disappeared on the one end of the refiner, to reappear in the middle in a liquid state of a third-grade, (also known as pre-tech-grade or, sometimes, scum). Then it continued its journey through the bowels of the machine, getting purified to become the common second-grade. And that, sadly, was it.

Terrorsaur lightly elbowed Rust on the hip. "Wanna bet he's going to set up a first-grade refiner in his quarters?" he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.
Rust scowled ever so lightly. "I know he is." He sighed. "Do you know how to make high-grades?" he asked without much hope.
"Huh. Sure I do. You go into the bar and say: 'Gimme your best poison'. "

They both looked at the appearing cubes. They sighed.

But Rust couldn't stay miserable for long. Jerking his head resolutely, he walked up to the glowing buffet, picked up a cube and took an experimental sip. He grinned.
"It could be much better. But it's still beats the feeders." He handed two cubes to Waspinator and Terrorsaur, and raised his own. "Cheers!"
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There are many ways the captain of a small crew can be stopped in his tracks, and Optimus knew a lot of them, but he had to admit that having a data-pad shoved into his chestplate was a new one. Now, a datapad shoved into your face, that's a fine, if unnerving, tradition. But of course, the bot in front of him could barely reach that high.

"What is it?" he asked, taking the pad out of Kittar's hand.
"We need those," she said, beastmoding.
She obviously wasn't going to say anything more, so Optimus looked through the data. There was a copy of their map of the continent, with several areas highlighted, chemical symbols scribbled on them. He scrolled down, to the list of few elements, grouped neatly into first-, second-, and low-priority. A hectic net of hand-drawn arrows was connecting the listed symbols with the areas on the map.

Optimus reset his voice-box. "I assume it's some kind of a mining campaign plan," he said. "Now just tell me, why do we need wolfram, titanium, beryllium, and so on?"
"For repairs."
Optimus made a 'go on' gesture. "Because...?"

"We're almost out." Kittar's tail started twitching - never a good sign. On the afterthought, Optimus should have realized he was asking for it when he said, "Kittar, I need a bit more information before I send half of my crew over..." - he checked the map, - "...five hundred kilometers away."

For a nano-klik Kittar was just looking up at him. Then she maximized, crossed her arms and flooded him with information. In just three cycles he learned:
- the precise percentage of the questionable metals in his own shell's alloys, (with different values for the armor and various bits of circuitry),
- same info on the shells of all other Maximals, (with same details),
- the durability and recyclebility of the trace elements in damaged parts,
- and the precise amount of said elements that was lost in each of recent repairs.

The fact that she switched to Breglay accent halfway through it didn't help the matter. Optimus raised his hands. "We need those," he said, shielding himself with the data-pad from further scientific assault. It worked like a charm.

"Yes." Kittar dropped to padded paws, and stalked off. And let it be noted that there aren't many creatures in the world that can radiate smugness as well as cats do.
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As long as a bot was blindly fulfilling his orders, Megatron was willing to let them get away with some quirks and oddities. But he could also recognize a bad case of malicious obedience when he saw it, and that he wouldn't ignore.
That's why, after he was briefed on precise circumstances when he WAS allowed to bodily harm his teammates, Rust left the control room flying backwards through the door.
"Aye, sir, understood sir," he said matter-off-factly, picking himself off the floor. A small satisfied giggle came from further down the corridor.

"In trouble so early in the shift, wolfie?" the one and only Pred-femme asked, a slight scowl on her lips betraying the apparent concern.
Rust blinked in what appeared to be honest surprise. "Who, me? Whatever gave you the idea?" he smoothened singed fur on his chestplate. "Anyway, I gotta go. Sarge wanted some parts." He beastmoded and trotted away.
"Suck-up" Blackarachnia murmured under her breath.
"The only thing that suck around here is your paint-job," the wolf murmured, rounding the corner.
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By now Airazor was pretty familiar with the layout of the ship. That's why she wasn't looking where she was going, and was taken by surprise when something furry whirled around her legs. Catching the wall for balance, she looked down. "Good afternoon, Kittar."
The cat acknowledged the greeting with a nod, and went straight to business. "You know plants?"
"Um, I'm aware of their existence, yes." Airazor said, smiling uncertainly.
Kittar nodded again. "I need some plants. For repairs," she added, seeing the inevitable question coming up. Why did everyone need to know what she was needing things for?

The flyer femme regarded the cat with dubious expression. "How can local plants, any plants, be helpful with our repairs?" she asked.
"Because of beast-modes" Kittar said in slightly impatient tone of a person who'd already had to explain that several times before.
The scant as the information was, it made something click in Airazor's processor. "Of course!" she exclaimed. "They origin from the local ecosystem!" Her optics gleamed. "Did you do any research? On how do flora and fauna coexist and influence each other on the molecular level?"

Kittar took a step back, and tilted her head in surprise. She intended to simply pass Airazor a datapad with specifications, but the other femme seemed to be honestly interested in the subject. Strange, but she didn't mind. It didn't hurt to have someone else who knew all whys and hows.
"Come, I'll show you" she said, and turned, heading for the Med Bay.

&&&&

In theory, Optimus was doing the leadery staff, i.e. figuring out how to get the needed metals and bring them back before Predacons realize what's going on. In practice, he was trying out Kittar's favorite tactic: ignore it; maybe it'll go away.
"Can't we just melt some parts of Axalon?" he asked, wincing even as he said that. It was bad enough that his ship was grounded. The thought of recycling her for the elements they needed felt like 'ugh'. But if it could help...

Rhinox shook his head. "They use different agents in space-alloys. And the few that we could use are much easier to retrieve from the natural formations."

Balancing nicely between relief and disappointment, Optimus looked down at the names of his crewmates. After a long discussion with Rhinox, (who had taken one look at Kittar's map and promptly made his own - an organized one), he decided it would be best to make the mining trip a one-time round, rather than several trips to separate locations. It would take just three-to-five days, and hopefully provide them with stellar's worth of all necessary metals.

All that was left was deciding who should go. Rhinox and Rattrap were the obvious choice. They've spent a better part of last three centuries working at Vespa system mines - there were virtually no natural resources they weren't familiar with. But they couldn't do all the job alone. According to Rhinox, they would need one other person to assist with the mining. According to Optimus, they would need second other person to guard their backs.

He didn't like the idea of sending Cheetor away for so long, but on the other hand, the teen-bot wouldn't be much help if Megatron decided to visit.
Sending Dinobot on a long mission in the same team as Rattrap was a Bad Idea, but leaving him in charge of Axalon was even worse one. (2)
He didn't know Airazor too well as of yet, but flyers generally had a distaste for ground works.
As for Tigatron and Kittar...

"Why have we run out of supplies so early?" the rather flustered captain asked of the world in general, and specifically of one very patient technician. "We were scheduled for a decade long exploration. It's only been few months!"

"As stated in official records, the average usage of CRs on exploration vessels is forty minor and ten major repairs per decade, and that's what we were originally prepared for." Rhinox looked up. "We would have been out of trace metals long ago, if the Council hadn't tripled our supplies after DepthCharge's performance."

"Heh." Even though the subject wasn't a pleasant one, Optimus couldn't help a smile at the memory of the guardian throwing a fit as the verdict on protoform X was announced. Just to shut him up the Council had stuffed Axalon's Med Bay and armory with enough equipment and supplies to match a battle cruiser. Which was a lucky coincidence, since they actually had to match up to one...

"Thank the Primus for DepthCharge's paranoia," Optimus sighed, looked at the pad in front of him, and pushed it away decidedly. "I'll go and help Rattrap with the equipment. The faster we're ready, the faster we'll go."
And who knows, maybe he'd think of some brilliant solution to the current dilemma by not thinking about it.
In the doorway he passed Airazor. She was linked up to a databox hanging at her hip, obviously downloading its content, at the same time reading the datapad she held in hand. "This is fascinating," she said, looking up from it. "Optimus, can my patrol rout be modified so that I can make some research on the way? Oh, and Rhinox, you wouldn't mind if I made a more thorough examination on the plants you've already tested, would you?"
"By all means." "Not at all." Optimus and Rhinox said together. The femme's already bright optics lightened up even more. In quiet understanding, the two mechs half-smiled at each other. No matter what the next few solars would bring, at least one Maximal was going to enjoy herself.
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"Knock, knock!" Rust pushed the lab's door and entered, smiling cheerfully. "Hi sarge! Supply run: I'm running low on grenades, my racer could use a speed upgrade, I need a manual for installing all the stuff, and here're those parts you wanted." Rust shot all this at the scientist at a head-spinning speed, and grinned a perfectly innocent grin, waiting for confirmation.

Scorponok sighed silently. He wasn't the fastest thinker alive, maybe, but that particular trick had been tried on him many times previous, and he only fall for it the first time. He calmly replayed the tirade from his short time memory banks, and addressed each issue individually.
"Leave the specification, NO, I'll brief you on each location before you leave, put them over there."
"But saaaarge," Rust whined, putting the parts over there, "it only goes 200 mph at most! I couldn't even out-fly Optimus!"
The scorpion's tail twitched in utter irritation. "Me not touch the thing, Megatron not like it."
"I can take double shifts and help you around the lab," Rust offered hopefully.

It was an unofficial law on the ship, that if you needed something war- or mission- related, Scorponok would make it for you without a fuss. But, if you wanted something just for yourself, you had to pay for it. The racer had been built, because the second in command felt that jumping off a four hundred feet high cliff to save their leader's life was a huge payment-in-advance. After receiving an audio-full from the leader who felt otherwise, however, he wasn't going to mess with the thing again anytime soon.
"No."

Rust made a low, impatient sound. He wouldn't try to threaten the scientist, because, a) Megatron forbade him to, and b) he kind of grew to like the old-timer, so he was limited to haggling old fashion way. "Do you need--" he started.
"I don't need more trouble with Megatron. Out you!"

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As an exploration vessel, Axalon was prepared to do all kinds of research, geological included. That meant that they did have anything they would need to acquire the natural resources. The only problem was, most of the equipment was taken to pieces and tucked away in crates. It needed to be found out, reassembled and given maintenance. And in some cases it seemed to have a very negative attitude to all that.

Some heavy and important piece of machinery clanged on the floor of a cargo hold again.

"Optimus, ya have no idea what yer doin', " Rattrap announced. "Why dontcha leave it to da professionals, eh?"
"Watch it Rat-face!" Cheetor heroically rushed to the captain's defense, ready to use the claws if necessary. Optimus pulled him back by his tail. "Easy, Cheetor, I really have no idea how this works." He turned to Rattrap. "Here, I'll leave it to you." He lifted a heavy crate and made a move as if to put it on the rat-bot's head.
"Eh, hey! Ya think yer funny?" Rattrap scrambled back, and huffed as the other two laughed. "Put it down, Big Banana, dat's a delicate thing!"
Optimus complied with a good grace, and let Rattrap boss them around for the next few mega cycles. After all, he didn't know the first thing about mining, while Rattrap knew every piece of equipment by heart. Plus, the sight of the small bot doing the worst job and being happy about it was unusual enough to make it all worthwhile.

"How are you doing?" Rhinox's voice asked from a doorway.
"Just finished," very dirty Rattrap said triumphantly, wiping some of the grease off his hands with a cleaning cloth. "Everythin' in tip-top shape, an all da credit goes ta me, since those two can't even tell a blower from a mower."
"Shuddup, Rattrap," Cheetor murmured half-heartedly, and ducked a dirty cloth tossed at his head. It landed at Rhinox's feet, and the green bot rolled his optics. The used cleaning cloth didn't bother him as such, but its origin did. Since Kittar was the only bot onboard who used and produced the items, it was pretty obvious that Rattrap had nicked it from the Med Bay. This would surely result in some kind of trouble in the future. Hopefully, he wouldn't be around for that.
"Well, I've got four freight hovers working," he said turning to Optimus. "I'll just load them with everything we need, and we can go at the moment's notice."

Optimus grinned. "I'll be sure to give the notice."
"I'll help you with the packing, Rhinox," Cheetor offered eagerly. He'd found most of the machines fascinating, and he was sure Rhinox could tell him heaps more about them than Rattrap. Plus he just wanted to help. In his eagerness he didn't notice a bit reserved expression on Rhinox's face, but the hand pulling his shoulder was hard to miss.

"I'll give ya a tip, kiddo," Rattrap said into his audio in a stage whisper. "If ya want to live happily ever after, never ever get between a mechanic and packin' his machines." He started pulling the teen-bot out of the packing zone. "Am tellin' ya, I once saw dat guy at Starbase Vert gettin' under feet while they were loadin' da shipment, an..."
The story and Cheetor's cries of disbelieve died away in the corridor. Optimus gave a small chuckle. He didn't know about technicians in general, but he remembered how reeled up Rhinox could get over misplaced cargo. Back in the bad old days their whole squadron feared the chief technician worse than the entire predacon fleet.
"You'll be fine?" he said, more of a statement than question, and Rhinox waved him away with a nod.
Of course he'd be fine, now that no-one was there to bother him. Rhinox heaved the nearest crate with a smile. Thank the Primus for Rattrap.

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Scorponok was 'flying' over the plains toward Axalon, when a small tap on the shoulder made him aware of other bot's presence. Twitching slightly in surprise, he redirected a feedback from one of his cyber-bees to the main screen, clearing his vision. Then he looked up, feeling a little groggy. It was always taking him a few nanos to re-adjust the perspective after remote scouting.
Rust politely waited till the scientist's gaze focused before he reported that he was ready to go, so how about giving him some pointers as to how exactly set up all that machinery Scorponok prepared?

More than a little gruff (he really didn't like it when people sneaked up on him when he couldn't see them) Scorponok just opened the right folder and told the youngster to download it and read for a change.
"Whatever you say, sarge," Rust agreed amiably, transferring and skimming through the data on how to convert a large mountain cave into a large energon storage. Since it looked simple enough, he redirected his attention to the screen showing visuals from the cyber-bee. His optics brightened. "Hey sarge, those bees are really cool. You think you could fix one for me?"
Scorponok stiffened.

Building mobile, remote micro cameras was, in a way, Scorponok's hobby. In the same way a human could spend most of his free time building plane models, sorting and painting the parts before putting them together, and displaying the results in a special glass cabinet. Such man shouldn't be blamed for getting a little peeved when a three-year-old relative barges into the room and asks if he could play with the toys.

That's why Rust found himself kicked out of the lab faster than he could say: 'why not?'.
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The comlink was beeping for some time now, and Tarantulas, hunched over the workbench, tapped it reluctantly. Just a little irritated voice of Megatron informed him ever so graciously that his presence was needed at the grid G4, and Tarantulas had better investigate the suspected Maximal activity if he wanted to get his share of second-grade energon. With voice so sweet that flies should get stuck in it, the scientist promised to do as told.
Then he closed the connection, and with a derisive snort glanced at the collection of small tubes he kept first-grades in.

Fixing a small refiner was one of the first things he'd done after they crashed on this wretched planet. Megatron would need something much better than mere energy to gain his cooperation. Just to have the purple tin can off his back, Tarantulas reached over to the console and tapped few keys.

Out on the plains a small arachnoid crawled from under the stone. The false signature emitter was activated, and a rout to grid G4 was uploaded into its navigational systems. For everyone looking at the radar, Tarantulas was unhurriedly making his way away from the Predacon base.

As were, in fact, doing Blackarachnia and Terrorsaur, he noted. That meant that Megatron was at the moment surrounded only by the loyal and stupid. He was most probably planning something idiotic again, and Tarantulas decided he'd investigate - after he was finished with the project he was currently working on.

Which was a new type of arachnoid - its energy trail was so weak it would be next to impossible to pick up, it moved just as quietly as real spiders, and its AI was upgraded to seek and find cover in almost every type of terrain.
It was complicated. It was technologically advanced. It was a moving proof of he's genius.
And most important of all, it was cat-proof.

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Outside the Predacons' base the racer was whirring, kicking up the clouds of ash in a series of complicated flip-turns and loops.

"Rust awful show off" Waspinator said, flattening himself against the wall as Rust came to a spinning halt in front of him.
Covered in ash head to toe, Rust grinned. "So what's wrong with that?"
"You are wasting energy," Scorponok said from where he was tugging at the straps on a packed sledge.

"Oh, come now Sarge. I am the energy. Besides, I gotta know how this baby reacts to sec-grade, she used to work on fresh scum." Rust patted the racer's side affectionately.
Scorponok shook his head impatiently, once again checked if the refiner was strapped to the sledge securely enough, and clicked his claws worriedly. It seemed to sit firmly, but if Rust was going to drive the way he was doing now...

Behind his back, a sight of fresh paint on the racer caught Waspinator's optics, and he sidled closer. "Pod?" he read aloud. "Why Pod?"
"PoD, actually, but you're right, Pod sounds better." Rust grinned. "And it was PoD for short from Platform of Death. Terrorsaur's idea." The grin got even wider. "Have no clue why he though it up."

Up, up, up above them, there was the faintest click, made by optic lenses readjusting to give the watcher even sharper zoom.
"Hmm. So these are Megatron's finest. I wonder what they're up to." A feminine voice murmured.

Down below, the three bots bustled about, and after a while the tallest one hopped onto some kind of hover-vehicle, and sped away, dragging a heavily loaded floater behind.

With a thoughtful expression, Airazor send a message to base.

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"Get in gears, people, you're moving out!" Optimus's invigorated voice sounded through the intercom. "Rhinox, take Rattrap and Cheetor and go, Dinobot will join you on the way. And does anyone know where Kittar is?"
"Who cares?" Rattrap asked, entering the control room. "An what's da rush anyway?"
Optimus was at the radar console, making a double sweeps over the path the mining crew was about to go, to make sure it was Predacon-free. "Airazor just reported that Predacons are scattered across the land, and their base is all but empty," he said. "A perfect moment to go. If we're lucky, they'll never notice you're gone." He turned to the small bot, smiling. Acting on impulse always made him feel better - even if he knew he was likely to regret it. "Well, what are you doing still here? Get moving!"
Rattrap rolled his optics and left, grumbling.
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And so the two parties, maximal and predacon, set off at the same day, in precisely opposite directions. It just shows that reality doesn't have a sense of narrative that they were NOT going to bump into each other, or come back at the precise same time. It would surely make for a good story, but sometimes it just doesn't work that way.

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-

-

After about a day on the road, Rust realized that he was being followed. His stalker was extremely cautious, but they didn't take under consideration just how sensitive wolf's hearing was. Rust was lying curled in a ball near the parked Pod, (he did need to rest every now and then), when the wind brought a sound to him. He jerked his head up, ears pricking and nostrils quivering. He didn't pick up any scent, and the sound didn't come again, but he knew what he'd heard. A roar of distant jets. Not of the crude jetpack Primal was using, but finely tuned engines of a built flyer. And not Terrorsaur's - those he would recognize everywhere.

So. There was a lady on his tail. Rust smirked, and went back to sleeping. He had no objections to being trailed by a pretty flyer. No sir, no objections at all.
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After about a day on the road, the Maximals realized that they had a stowaway. The person in question didn't even bother to hide their presence - upon waking up, they simply slid from under tarpaulin covering the cargo. Rhinox, Cheetor and Dinobot were sitting near the parked hovers, re-energizing, (they were driving in robot-modes, and the strong field-dumpers were draining them like crazy), when the heavily accented voice brought the news to them.

"What in da fraggin' Pit are ya doin' here, cat?!!!"
On Dinobot's face appeared a smirk, quickly disguised as a scowl. Cheetor jumped happily to greet the other cat in the team. Rhinox sighed.
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The small arachnoid detected an energy signature nearby, and scurried backwards, digging itself under the nearby branch. Once there, it slowly stuck out a small jib with a camera on it and directed it on the source of signature. The source's mandibles formed a pleased smile.
Cackling triumphantly, Tarantulas summoned the arachnoid and picked it up when it came near. "It works. How gratifying."
Now all he had to do was to build more of them, and send them to scout over the cat-infested area. Soon, he'd be able to monitor all movements of the Maximals. With this kind of advantage, he could do anything.

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The mining site number one was a scenic and peaceful place - which was about to change radically.

"Fire in da hole!" Rattrap yelled, ducking behind a rock.

The explosion shook the air, and a big slice of a white cliff wall slid majestically down, revealing a vein of rusty-pinkish crystals.
"Aaaaand jackpot!" Rattrap announced triumphantly, jumping back over the rock and skidding down the slope towards their prize.
"This?" Cheetor followed him and picked up a split off piece of scheelite. He turned it in his fingers. "But it's just a rock!"
"Huh, not after Rhinox is through wit' dem. Just bring it ta him an watch da magic!"

Rather doubtful but curious, Cheetor started gathering the small crystals in a heap, where Rattrap was cleaning them of any inclusions and remains of a host rock, using a small laser cutter. It looked very easy, and after he cleared the area of almost all visible pink rocks, Cheetor tried his hand at the clear-out.

Three cycles later Kittar was huffing and puffing over his cut fingers, and not only he had to suffer through the itching (and unnecessary in his opinion) repairs, but she also confiscated the spare cutter Rattrap had given him.
"Does she think I'm a sparkling?" he complained angrily, when she finally left him alone and went to explore the area.
"Yep, I think she does. Ya still like her, kiddo?"
"Oh, shuddup, Rattrap."

Cheetor continued sulking, until Rhinox called him over to the machine that looked mostly like three fused boxes of different sizes, the biggest one with two sides transparent. They filled that box to the brim with pinkish rocks, and then the magic began.
Cheetor's task was to feed the machine a steady flow of energon crystals. Each one was making its way down the short chute to the ignition chamber, where a short bite of laser was destroying its crystalline structure, releasing its energy in a chain of small explosions - and then said energy was being used to power up the c-ray box.

"Jumping gyros!" Cheetor almost forgot about energon in his hands, when the rocks started crumbling into a gray dust. "What's happening?"
"Keep the influx steady," Rhinox reminded him. He was watching control panel like a hawk, and for a reason. Ignition engines were extremely capricious things, with explosive temperament - and that's putting it lightly. Rhinox's hands were moving continuously over the dials and buttons, keeping the energy flow steady. "The c-rays are disrupting the molecular bonds in chemical compounds," he said in answer to Cheetor's question.

"Dey break things down to atoms, an keep 'em dat way," Rattrap added, coming up to them. "I get to do da honors, Rhinox?" At the technicians nod, he activated the antigravity driver placed at the base of the c-ray box, and readjusted the power carefully. The swirl of dust inside the box slowly stratified. Satisfied with the effect, Rattrap run his fingers along the sides of the box, pushing here and there, and lo, thin platinum plates suddenly popped up from the sides, closing up around the two layers of dust, making them in two small packages. Just like a magic box.

Rhinox powered down the engine, and Rattrap pulled the upper small box out. "So here kiddo, we have calcium, which we can just dump--"
"Cake it, Rattrap," Rhinox said. Rattrap scowled. "--after we cake it," he said, shaking his head and putting the box on a black plate on top of the split generator. The energy crackled over it for a cycle.
"Here," Rattrap said, ripping the thin layer of platinum off, and putting it away for future use. "One calcium brick for non-environmental-hazardous safety inspectors." He threw what indeed looked very much like a gray brick aside. "And here's what we came for." He repeated the process with the three times smaller but four times heavier lower box.
" 'Bout forty pounds of wolfram, if I'm not mistaken, an I rarely am." He handed the bar to awed Cheetor. "Cool!" The teen bot weighted the bright metal in his hand.
"Four more of these should make Kittar happy for a long time," Rhinox remarked, filling the c-ray box with the second helping of scheelite.
Cheetor looked at him surprised. "Just five bars? Why don't we make more?"
"Well, for one thing, I doubt this vein could give us more than three hundred pounds."
"An da others are much deeper in da rock face," Rattrap added.
"And for the other thing..." Rhinox gestured to the hover Cheetor had been taking energon from. The teen bot took a look at it, and whistled.
"Holy scrap!" Even though he was the one feeding the crystals to the machine, he didn't quite realize just how much he'd already used.
"Yeah, dis baby has an appetite," Rattrap said. Cheetor nodded automatically. Now he understood why three of four hovers were stuffed with energon crystals to the point where the person at the wheel barely had a place to stand.
"Well, lets get back to work and see how much we can do with what we've got," Rhinox decided.

In the end they produced in total eight forty-pound bars, which Kittar rewarded with extra loud purring after she came back from wherever she'd wandered off to. The sound of it almost drowned out the growl of freight hover engines when they set off.
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Rust was in really foul mood. He had to be mindful of his cargo, hence no stunt driving. He kept hearing Airazor's jets every now and then, but he couldn't get even a glimpse of her, no matter how hard he tried. He was obliged to maintain radio silence, so he couldn't talk to anybody. And to top all that, he'd somehow got fleas again. In robot mode!
They itchy little fraggers were happily hopping all over his beast-mode parts, and he could swear some of them had even crawled into his shoulder joints. The whole situation felt like 'auuUUuuUUUuu!'

Airazor swiftly swooped from one cloud to the other. Swooping was something hawks were apparently very good at, and she enjoyed the ease her beast mode performed the action with. If it weren't for the fact that she needed to keep pace with the young Predacon, she would happily stay hawk the whole time. As it was, she had to maximize every now and then to catch up to Rust's vehicle.
So far, the Predacon didn't do anything special - just drove straight ahead, stopping every few megas to reenergize and recharge, and she was using these periods to do the same.
But now he did something that didn't make any sense at all, and amazed Airazor wondered if it was possible for such young transformer to be suicidal.

Rust pulled the racer to a sharp stop near a small lake, and hopped off it. He briefly glanced back to make sure the floater stopped as well, and very decidedly waded into the water. He kept moving until it covered him completely, and then he beastmoded. He didn't care how much water would get into his gears in the process, or how long he'd have to stay there. Someone was going to drown today - either the fleas or him!

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Mining site number two was very much like the first one.

"Rocks again," Cheetor said without much enthusiasm. "At least they look kinda metallic this time."
"Ya just don't appreciate da beauty of da simple things, do ya, kiddo." Rattrap was actually smiling at the yellowish particles in his fingers.
Cheetor felt his jaw hinges going slack. He carefully made his way to Rhinox's side. "What's up with Rattrap?" he asked, bewildered. "I mean, it's an awful job, and he looks, like, happy." Cheetor spent a while observing Rattrap, a disbelieve written all over his face. Rhinox just smiled at the split generator controls. The secret behind the contentment radiating from the small bot was that he liked his job, pure and simple. He might claim there was no better place than Cybertron, but he'd never been as happy there as at one of Vespa system's colonies. As if in answer to mechanic's thoughts, Rattrap spoke.

"Just like good ol' times, eh Big Green? Just rocks an machines, no Preds, no cats, an no people shooting at us."
"Except for your creditors," Rhinox said with seriousness that almost masked his smile.

"Eh! Dat only happened once!" Rattrap protested, while Cheetor instantly perked up. Nothing like a good story to ease the boredom. "Someone was shooting at you? Why?"
Rattrap made a vague gesture that could mean anything. "T'was just da biggest strike of bad luck dis side of da galaxy." He looked at the hopeful expression on Cheetor's face, and decided to give the kid a full story. It sounded even crazier than when Rhinox first heard it, full of greedy cheats, hasty crime lords, rigged games and improbable card hands. All of this of course spiked with silly jokes that Cheetor laughed at, even if he didn't quite get them.
Someone else found the story amusing though. Rattrap suddenly turned to face a crate from the top of which a sound best described as purring chuckle came. "No one asked yer opinion, red-tail!"
The chuckle factor ceased, while the purring increased.
"Stop whirring an get away from 'ere, you're in my way!" Rattrap demanded, even tough he didn't really need that crate at the moment.

The amber eyes cracked a fraction, and the whiskered lips formed a lazy smile, but the rest of the cat didn't twitch. Rattrap gave a frustrated growl. She was simply infuriating!
Then he spotted a salvation approaching. "Oy, Chopperface! Ya've misplaced yer pet, come here an get it!"

Dinobot snarled, in a not threatening, but I'm-about-to-speak way. For the past two solar-cycles he'd been more or less left to his own devices, which qualified as perfect working conditions. Their current location was a good defensive spot, and there was no sing of Megatron threat. That meant the predacon warrior was in as good mood as he could get. Also, there was a small herd of funny looking antelopes on the neighboring plain. In fact, he was just heading to mention to Kittar that she couldn't possibly sneak up on them.
And now Rattrap's demand gave him even better excuse.
"We're going for a hunt, cat," he informed her.
Kittar opened an eye to look at him thoughtfully. After a nano or three, she stood up, stretched, and set off toward the plains.

The corners of raptors mouth twitched and eyes half closed in a smug half smile. "You shall owe me one, vermin," Dinobot said, moving to follow the cat.
"Yea, yea, a BIG one. Just keep 'er away, an everyone's happy," Rattrap murmured. None of them noticed one of the red ears flicking, and an amber eye shooting a curious glance at them. In the depths of Kittar's processor, an information was confirmed and assimilated. A favor for a favor. Got it.

While Kittar and Dinobot were decreasing the local gnu population, the rest of mining party got busy.
"Isn't that enough?" Cheetor almost whined after three cycles of retrieving the small metallic pebbles. Rattrap cast a glance into a sizeable crate, containing about three tons of bertrandite. "It might be. Rhinox, is da big lady ready?"
"Ready when you are," the deep rumble confirmed, and Cheetor almost jumped with joy. He rushed to the machine, and grabbed four energon crystals at once. "I'm ready!"

The split process looked a little different this time. For one, Rattrap vented the c-ray box before opening it. ("Hydrogen at da top, oxygen at da bottom - we don't wanna dose two mix over da equipment"). For two, this time it was the upper package they were going to keep, and even though it was approximately same size as wolfram bars...

"It doesn't have any weight in it!" Cheetor weighted the caked beryllium in his hand.
"About five pounds," Rhinox corrected good-naturedly. "Beryllium's a light metal."

And for three, the last product of the process was a bit surprising. Caking it, Rattrap used the lowest power settings, ("Just ta make sure dere ain't no wild isotopes, kiddo"), and then carelessly ripped the platinum wrapping off, spilling its content to the ground. Cheetor crouched over the small heap to take a better look. "Is that sand?" he asked incredulously.
"Silicon. Dat's what da sand is." Cheetor gave him a puzzled look, and Rattrap snorted. "Didn't dey teach ya anything in dat fancy school, kiddo?"
"Hey, I was learning to be a pilot!" Cheetor snapped defensively.
"Chill your circuits, bots, we've got work to do," Rhinox's calm voice interrupted the upcoming 'my background is better than your background' discussion. "We need at least three hundred fifty pounds."
Cheetor looked at the crate with a five-pound bar in it, did the math, and groaned.

When the hunting party came back at the sunset, two freight hovers were free of energon. Eighty bars of steel-gray metal lay on them instead. And beside the hovers lay a massive form of a rhino, a rat and a cheetah curled nose to tail at his sides.

Kittar's eyes gleamed with the starlight, as she sniffed at the motionless forms. "Sleeping," she informed Dinobot. He acknowledged with a small snarl. Then he silently stalked off to circle the camp, while Kittar sat near the sleeping Maximals. In the dark of the night, the two predators kept watch.

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The night still reigned the world when, after just a mega-cycle of resting, the wolf stood up, yawning. As entertaining as being followed was, it was time to part ways. He couldn't very well let the Maximals discover his destination after Megatron went to all the trouble to hide it even from the Predacons.

With any luck, Airazor would have got used to his traveling routine, and setting off earlier and in different direction would be enough to shake her off.
And to not leave too much to luck, Rust pulled his good old trusty backpack out of Pod's trunk and linked it with her nose. Of course, trudging as a wolf through the jungle, with a backpack and two hovercrafts in tow, could be challenging. Difficult, even.
Rust stifled a chuckle. No downsides, then.

&&&&

Optimus tapped a button to accept the incoming message almost before the first beep ended. Being the only one left at the Axalon made him just a little bit edgy. He hadn't left the control room since Rhinox&Co left, and he kept searching vid-screens and radar for any sign of predacon activity. Ironically, the unusual peace and quiet on the other side of the fence was getting on his nerves.
"Report?" he demanded curtly. Airazor voice at the other side of connection was half apologetic, half resigned.
:: Optimus, I've lost him. He must have set off earlier than usual. I've searched the path further on his earlier course, but he's not there. ::

"Did you scan the area for energy signature of his craft?"

:: I did. There's only a weak trail from yesterday, but it ends at the spot he'd stopped to rest. He just... disappeared. ::

"Prime. Airazor, make back to Axalon at top speed. I want you to be near in case of any trouble."
:: I'm on my way. Airazor out. ::

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The mining site number three made Kittar suspicious.

"A beach," she said, staring ahead. A vast shoal of dark, nearly black sand stretched out to a distant line of ocean. Ocean. Water. Wet.
Kittar's fur raised slightly.
"Yes, princess, a beach," came a biting voice from behind.
The cat wrinkled her nose. "Why beach?"
"Sand," the rat said cryptically, and went past her, keeping his tail up in a parody of her usual posture. Kittar looked at him, then sniffed at the sand. After a moment's thought, she maximized and took a handful of dirt, letting it slip between her fingers. "Oh," she said. "Titanium."
Rattrap spun in place, sputtering. "How did ya know?"
For a second she looked so lost as if he'd asked her how did she know the sky was blue.
Then an understanding flickered in her optics, and she raised a hand, palm first. "Sensors," she said. And, explanations completed, she beastmoded and went to find herself a nice, dry patch of sand.
"Sensors," Rattrap repeated, turning to Rhinox. "Now, that explains everything. Not!"
"Medics' hands are sensitive," Rhinox remarked, unpacking the rear half of his hover. All what he needed was there, neat and in order. "A surgeon has to know what they're touching."
"Yea, maybe..."
Come to think of it, on the rare occasions she wasn't parading around in fur, Kittar always kept her hands half curled, and never touched anything if she could avoid it. Rattrap twitched his whiskers, dismissing the thought. He stood up on his hind paws, reaching for the blower, but stopped to gesticulate as he spoke.
"But, if ya don't remember, we didn't have any female medic with us, so what say ya we pack da fur ball up and return to da Preds what belongs to dem?"

With a sigh, Rhinox picked up an energo-magnet, and set it on the sand very, very firmly.
Rattrap took a hint. "Awright, shuttin' up. Oy, kiddo! Come over 'ere!"
A very wet and very happy cheetah sprinted to them from the distant waves. "I'm ready! What do I do?"

"Well, ah, transformin' might be a nice start..."
"I mean beside that," Cheetor huffed, maximizing. Rattrap shoved one end of what seemed to be mostly a big elastic tube into his hands. "Ya just aim dat at dat ring on top of da magnet."
Cheetor did as told, looking curiously as the green bot pushed few buttons. /Hum/ went the magnet, and even Cheetor, inexperienced as he was, felt the change in the electromagnetic fields around. It felt a little uncomfortable - like there was a pack of ants crawling under his plating. Cheetor took two steps back, and the feeling lessened.
Rhinox checked the readings, readjusted some dials and gave Rattrap a thumb up.
The small bot tapped the switch, and then, when nothing happened, gave the engine a good thump. It coughed, started, and the tube went /swoosh/.
"Oh, great, a giant vacuum clea-- yip!" Cheetor started saying, and then yelped, as the sand that had been sucked in at Rattrap's end went out at his. The impetus almost ripped the metal rim out of his hands, sending into the air a big cloud of fine sand - just like a dryer version of a rabid water hose.
"Sorry," the teen-bot said sheepishly, after the coughing and optic-cleaning routine. To his amazement, Rattrap just waved his hand good-naturedly. "Happens to da best. Keep it firmer, dat's all."

They started again, the blower spitting the steady flow of dirt through the metal hoop of energo-magnet. Cheetor's optics went slightly wider, as he observed it split - part of the sand landed where by all rights it should - in a brownish heap behind the machine. But about half of it pasted the sides of the hoop with a black coat. "Ultra gear! What is it?"
"Almost pure ilmenite," Rhinox said in a very pleased voice, raising his gaze from the readings. "It contains iron, so it's easy to isolate." He nodded at Rattrap. "Enough for now, I need to cake it."
"An dat means, kiddo, we have a break," Rattrap announced, shutting down the blower and beastmoding with a content sigh.

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The Sentinel was on full alert, which was only to be expected. Airazor landed in a safe distance, commanding it to stand down. The force field shut down for just long enough to let her enter the lift. Had she moved any slower, it would have locked her out.
"Don't you think the admittance shut down should be a bit longer, Optimus?" she asked, entering the control room. No one answered. "Optimus?"
There was a small mumble from across the room, and Airazor had to put a hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter.
At the radar console, with his head nestled in his crossed arms, Optimus Primal was sleeping like a sparkling.

­---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There were a lot of sounds at the beach. The distant waves, the soft whisper of poured sand, the low hum of magnet and steady thrum of blower. Add to it sunrays sending their thermostats indo overdrive, and the easy job they didn't really need to think of, and what you get is three Maximals sinking slowly into a content stupor.

There is an ancient rule in the universe that says that when you're doing something important, no matter how simple, there will always be a complication. This rule has many forms, and is more commonly knows as Murphy's Law.
It was loitering around the Maximals for some time now, and this moment of relaxation was perfect to strike.

There was a sharp crack, a yelp of pain, and the air filled with sand gone berserk.
Blinded, chocking and confused, Cheetor still managed to do the right thing. He dropped his end of the tube, and threw himself in the direction he'd heard Rattrap's yell from. After just four steps he tripped over something, which proved to be the engine of the blower, still whirring and kicking up the small sandstorm. After a moment of blind groping for the switch, Cheetor slapped his forehead and simply lifted the accursed thing off the ground.

Without the reinforcements, the sand had to surrender the assault and return to the ground it came from. In the settling dust, a pair of red lights appeared, shortly followed by the vague outlines of Rattrap. He was kneeling on the ground, clutching tightly at his left upper arm. Coughing up a small cloud of sand, the rat-bot looked at the blower in Cheetor's hands, and gave him a pained thumb up. "Good thinkin', kiddo."

"Rattrap, are you all right? What happened?" Cheetor hastily switched the engine off and dumped it, rushing to help Rattrap up.
"Da tube ruptured an da cable backlashed," the small bot explained, getting to his feet on his own. "It got me over da shoulder, but I'm FINE."
The insistence in the last world was a little confusing to Cheetor, but only until a commanding voice behind him said: "No, you're not. SIT."

Rattraps legs folded almost on their own volition, and Kittar grabbed his cut arm, murmuring something about possible fracturing and sand in the fuel lines. Cheetor chuckled and performed a strategic retreat.

Teenager's word of wisdom: never ever get between a medic and her victim. True to his own advice, Cheetor joined Rhinox in inspecting the broken blower. "What's wrong with it, Rhinox? Can you fix it?"
Slowly shaking his head, Rhinox took a hold of the torn edge of the tube, and pulled. He effortlessly tore away a long elastic strip and handed it to Cheetor. The teen-bot inspected it, wondering what was he supposed to see. The cross section caught his optic. What at the first glance was a four millimeters thick carbon nano-tubes fabric, was in fact two thin layers of worn synt-fabric, covering a layer of some greenish substance, which crumbled under his touch.

"Hey, what's that?"
"A century old transilt, (3)" Rhinox said grimly. Rattrap felt obliged to expand on the statement.

"A technical word is: 'jus' ya wait till I get my hands on da bastards who sell used in-planet equipment as a new all-terrain type.' "
Kittar laughed quietly, and Rattrap scowled at her. "Ya better watch what yer doing, fur-ball, I don't wanna my cables mixed up!"
The medic huffed at him, offended. She was always watching what she was doing! And she was absolutely sure she'd never mixed up anyone's cables. Anyway, if he was watching what she was doing, he'd know that she was done with the cables already. She was now working on few scratched wires. And few cycles later she started closing the injury. With a microscopic precision.

Unaware of what went on at his limb, Rattrap craned his neck to better see what Rhinox was doing.
"Though luck fixing dat, ol' buddy. Do we have a duct tape?"
"Nope, it all went into engines," Rhinox answered automatically, and they both smiled a little crooked smiles. Cheetor looked from one to the other. "What?"
"An old story," Rhinox not-explained. "Here. Hold it to the light, we'll try to fix the least worn pieces together."

But, as it turned out, there weren't enough of solid pieces for that. After half a mega Rhinox gave up. "I can fix a new tube once we're back, but for now we're done with sand." He stood up and went to the already caked black blocks. "We've got about seven hundred twenty pounds of ilmenite, that should give us two hundred twenty pounds of titanium." He smiled and just on principal added: "Give or take few ounces."

"Will that be enough for her majesty?" Rattrap asked tersely, turning to glare at Kittar.
"For now," she said absentmindedly. Then she gave Rattrap's arm a long, quizzical look, and nodded to herself. "You're all fixed up," she said, and un-subspaced a cleaning cloth to carefully clean her tools before retracing them into her fingers.

"Great news," Rattrap murmured, and looked at the gash in his arm. Which wasn't there. That is to say, there was absolutely no trace that his arm had been injured. "Whatta--?" Rattrap raised his arm and turned it this way and that. If he focused, he could make out a slightly brighter line of fresh metal, and that was it.
Frag, she's good... Which doesn't change the fact that she's the biggest pain in the circuits on four paws, of course. Flexing his arm experimentally, Rattrap walked up to Rhinox. "So, we're goin' or what?"

"Yep. Just give me a moment to pack. You can call Dinobot back in the meantime."
"Ya really know how to make my day, ol' buddy," the small bot sighed theatrically.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I think they need more light," Airazor said, bending over her small plant collection with concern. "Do we have a large room with a skylight, Optimus?"
Optimus, refreshed and full of optimism after a full-time recharge, smiled at her. "Not yet." He activated the wrist cannon and aimed it at the ceiling. "Where do you want one?"
The femme laughed. "Somewhere on the upper deck, maybe?" Optimus lowered his hand with a grin. "Good point. We'll think of something as soon as Rhinox and Rattrap are back. They handle most of the improvements."
Airazor smiled a really charming smile. "Thank you."
"My pleasure."

­---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The fourth mining site turned out to be hostile even before they got there.

After suffering the shocks of energon surge for about forth time, Dinobot forced Rhinox to stop ahead of time.
"This is ridiculous! We are getting surges despite the dumpers. If Megatron chooses to attack now, none of us will be fit to fight him back."
Rattrap opened his mouth to say something on the lines of 'speak for yourself, Dinobreath,' but he surged after the first syllable, and it effectively changed his mind.

"He's got a point dere, Rhinox," he said, earning a few surprised stares. "We can't go on like dis."
"No we can't," Rhinox agreed, and pulled out few energon crystals and the feeders. "Let's get some energy, then I'll think of something."

What he thought of in the end was the simplest solution possible. They linked each two hovers together, which meant that only two of them where driving, while the other two rested in beast mode. Well, three, actually, but Kittar had been doing the latter all the time. And thanks to that fact she was the only one fresh like a clear spring morning when they've finally arrived to their destination. Hence, she was the one to go scouting - or loitering, if you listened to Rattrap - and she was the one to make a discovery.

The area was indeed spiked with energon in its all forms. Crystals, grain fields, geysers, pools... and one of the pools, by a freak accident of nature, was not an unstable variation at all. It wasn't even natural scum. It was in fact...
"A second grade," Kittar said incredulously, smearing a drop of it between her fingers. "I don't believe it."

&&&&

"I don't believe it," Rattrap said, sipping carefully at the shimmering liquid. For once Kittar's 'look what I've got' turned out to be a highly interesting find. "It's like winnin' on da roulette twenty times straight, an do ya know how likely is dat? "
"I have no doubt that you'll enlighten us, vermin, given your vast experience in playing pointless games." Dinobot's voice wasn't as full of venom as one might expect. It was mostly due to the fact that he was putting the better part of his venom supplies into a glare directed at the small pool. He hadn't yet tried the stuff, and wasn't planning to. Rhinox and Kittar could claim that it was natural and not tainted, but he knew better. One was not drinking processed energon of unknown origin at the time of war, end of story.

"None at all," Rattrap continued between the sips. "So it can only mean two things: either someone's cheatin', or da Universe has somethin' nasty headin' our way." He stood up decidedly. "So drink up, kiddo, we've got the Pit of a work to do."

And it was a very good choice of phrase, since they were going to leave one big pit behind once they were finished. But first things first.
"It is normally used in energon mines, " Rhinox said, fixing a flat box to Cheetor's midsection. "It prevents the energon surges."
"What? So why don't we use them all the time? I mean, instead of beast-modes?"
"Ya'll know soon enough, kiddo," Rattrap said, clicking a similar device to his own side. "As they say, once you try it, ya never wanna do it again." He ignored an angry snort from behind.

Kittar was sitting few paces from them, her tail sweeping the dust. She had noticed the blockers the moment Rhinox unpacked them, and she didn't like them one bit. Nothing that smelled of corodium could be a good news. But Rhinox explained to her that she was not to mess with the things. He even went as far as carrying her away from them by the scurf of her neck, completely ignoring the hissing. So now she just glared daggers at Rhinox's back, until it became clear he was not going to react. "I'll be near when da things cause da trouble," she said pointedly, and stomped away to the shocking distance of twenty meters, where she curled into a ball of angrily hurt dignity.

Cheetor looked after her with wide optics, then poked at the questionable piece of equipment. "Are you sure we need those, Rhinox?" he asked uncertainly.
Rattrap frowned and shook a finger at him. "Ey! Don't diss da mechanic, kiddo! He can save yer life one day. Ya know, we had a saying back at Vespa 3 - Dere's Bigstorm, and den dere's Primus, but when da tunnel starts ta crack all around ya, don't bother praying to Primus."
Cheetor looked at him curiously. "Who's Bigstorm?"
Rattrap jerked his thumb. "See dat big guy with a stormy expression on his face?"

Rhinox indeed had a stormy expression on his face, more so than Cheetor had ever seen on him. He crossed his arms and glared sternly. "Don't make up things like that, Rattrap."
"Cross my spark and hope ta die, we really used to say dat! Scraphunter came up with dat one after ya saved his aft in the shaft 18."
The stormy expression darkened a few shades - a black clouds and thunders approaching. "He'd be better off paying attention to what I said, than inventing proverbs." Lightening, thunder, and rain.
Cheetor was impressed. "Whoah, I've never seen that look before." Rattrap grinned. "No? We used to get dat all da time, 'specially when someone tried ta pull somethin' stupid."
Cheetor's face was a picture of curiosity. "Like what?"
"Like trying to go down the shaft while still intoxicated after whole night's drinking," Rhinox said pointedly, and Rattrap suffered a sudden coughing attack and an irresistible urge to get the job done. "Yea, well, lets get movin', kiddo!"

&&&&

After few cycles of fuming, Kittar uncurled and sat up to watch the works. It was pretty monotonous - few explosions, digging up the loosened earth. Explosions, digging, explosions, digging. Nothing interesting. She turned her head toward Rhinox. Not much of an improvement - he was stuck elbows deep into split generator's engine, readjusting it to work on sec-grade. Kittar puffed angrily in his direction.

So maybe it was necessary for working in strong energon fields, but she didn't like the idea of putting into bots' fluid systems a substance that was, basically, a poison. Of course corodium would prevent energon surges. It was disabling all kinds of energy transfer, fraggit! And there were stimulants included in the mix!
Kittar calculated the possible micro-damages after five-mega-cycles exposure, and sniffed thoughtfully. Then she maximized and unsubspaced a set of vials. She only had few basic solutions with her, but she could work with that.

&&&&

"So what are we getting this time?" Cheetor asked, trailing after Rattrap, as he placed another set of point-charges in the already sizable hole in the ground.
"A lil bit of everthin'," Rattrap said, backing away to the safe distance, and waving for Cheetor to follow. "We're mostly after nickel and cobalt, but we'll also get all kinda byproducts." He remote-detonated the explosives. The relatively quiet bang was followed by a sound of deep cracks in the ground opening. "Can't tell ya what exactly - with a low percentage meteorite ores it's usually one big lottery." He peeked into the hole, and nodded, satisfied. "Well, back ta work!"

&&&&

Two full syringes disappeared in Kittar's sub-pockets and she smiled to herself. Once again at peace with the world, she beastmoded and lied down, exposing her belly to the sun. For few moments she observed the working team, and after she was sure they weren't going to need her for some time, she let her eyelids close.

Her processor spun slowly, as she run through the data of the last repair she'd made on Dinobot. There was a minor skirmish over the energon, and Megatron's laser had cut right through Dinobot's central motoric net extension cord, and it took her nine point twenty cycles to get him mobile again. As he said and she agreed, it was Too Slow.
She found the schematics of the warrior's frame, put the virtual injury through it, and begun the repairs.

&&&&

Rhinox raised his head at the loud crack and few colorful words. "Can the Breglayish, Rattrap," he said, because he shared Optimus's view that Cheetor didn't need to learn this kind of vocabulary. He then came closer to look at the two miners inquisitively. "What happened?"
Rattrap rolled his optics at the reprimand, and raised a hand full of shards in answer to the question. "Da fuse snapped. Nothin' ta worry about." Rhinox nodded and went back to the engine. When it came down to explosives, Rattrap was a miracle worker. One broken fuse couldn't stop him.

&&&&

Kittar got the repairs under four cycles, and purred contently. Now, if the same kind of injury would happen to Optimus...
She tucked Dinobot's schematics back into the folder they belonged to, and unfolded another one.
...That would be much more hazardous for the bot's health, because of the jetpack worked into his design. The shot would either graze its fuel line, or sever it completely. In the first occurrence, the repairs were banal. She ran the simulation in under two cycles. The second possibility though...

&&&&

"How are you doing this?" Cheetor whined, watching Rattrap seemingly effortlessly moving the crumbled dirt over the hole edge. No matter how careful he was, Cheetor was spilling half of the load every time he tried that.
Rattrap laughed good-naturedly. "I've spent a better part of my life doing dat. Da practice forges a mastership as dey say." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Both in da minin' an survivin' yer technician goin' all terse on ya."
Cheetor snickered, stealing a glance in Rhinox direction. "But Rhinox isn't all that terse," he said. "It couldn't have been all that bad."
It was Rattrap's turn to snicker. "Don't let me start on how bad it could of be," was his answer.

&&&&

A little annoyed grunt escaped Kittar's vocalizer, as she found a twenty percent possibility of coolant leakage into Optimus's hardcore cavity. She backtracked few steps in repairs, put a small clamp on the fluid line, and made a note to remove it in four-to-five cycles later to avoid overheating the secondary ventral servomotors. Then she returned to moping up the mess that was Optimus's energon-flooded chest cavity.

&&&&

Cheetor stifled a laugher at the end of another mechanics-are-scary anecdote. "But you are, like, best friends," he said after a moment. Rattrap shrugged. "It's easy to get used to a guy who get ya outta Pit-hole," he said casually.
Cheetor blinked. "What? What do you mean?"
For a few moments Rattrap was quiet, digging thoughtfully, then he shrugged again and asked: "Ever been in a bad part of town, kiddo?"
Cheetor, whose short five decades of life would be best described as sheltered childhood, shook his head. Rattrap sniffed.
"Didn't think ya would. Anyway, dat's what my home colony became after da war - one big bad part of galaxy. Nasty neighbors, awful weather, an dose (&$&$$) Preds taking over almost everythin'. If ya were a Maximal, ya were only thinkin' of where to get some energy an how to survive da next mega-cycle. An one day Rhinox just popped up outta nowhere an said dat if I wanted to try my luck at Vespa System, he could try an smuggle me dere. Just like that."

I thought he was a slaver or something like that at the time. But at this point, I just didn't care...

"And he did it," he added. "I spent da most uncomfortable three solars imaginable, stuffed into a crate like so many spare parts, an labeled a luggage. An Rhinox was sneaking da energon bars for me from da crew supplier. T'was a miracle we weren't discovered an kicked outta air-lock." The transwarp-liners were infamous for they're strict rules toward stowaways.
Cheetor knew that, and his optics were big as plates as he looked at Rattrap and then at Rhinox in awe. "Wow."

"Yeah, dat was basically my reaction too," Rattrap smirked. "An now, kiddo, let's move this rubble."

&&&&

After thirty-six cycles to the point, Kittar put the last temporary weld on Optimus's chestplate. Then she spent twice as much time double checking the results. All seemed to be in order. She wiggled slightly, licked her nose, and begun the procedure all over again, this time at the highest speed she could work at without losing focus. She finished in eighteen point five cycles.

&&&&

Rattrap sat down heavily near Rhinox and looked over at the red cat with disgust. "Just lookit 'er, Rhinox, lyin' around all day, doin' nothing! What is she here fer anyway, huh?"

The red cat moved slightly in her 'sleep'.
The same kind of wound on Rattrap...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tarantulas put an arachnoid on the table, and it resolutely crawled from under his hand and began its long march toward Axalon. The scientist cackled. This was the thirty-third cat-proof mechanism that left his lab. He deemed that a perfect number to infiltrate the so far impenetrable part of the land. Now all he had to do was wait for any interesting information being sent to him by his little servants.

­---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once you try it, you never want to do this again. The words didn't make much sense to Cheetor when he first heard them. But after removing the blocker from his side, he was ready to subscribe to them. Twice. "Ooooh, jumping gyros..." he groaned, loosing his balance and sitting down heavily. Rattrap collapsed next to him with a groan. "Oh bot, I forgot how much fun dat was..."
"What's happening to us?" the teen-bot asked, confused and not just a little scared. There wasn't a single circuit in his body that worked properly, and the self diagnostic was displaying scrambled warning messages across his vision.

"A stimulant withdrawal and whole-frame poisoning," Kittar's sour voice sounded in his audio, and he felt his hand being lifted. "Hold still," she ordered, he felt a small prick on his fuel intake, and in few nanos he drifted away into a peaceful off-line.
"Keep dat thing away from me," Rattrap managed to murmur, before he too was sent to the la-la-land.

Rhinox sighed lightly but didn't protest. For one, it wouldn't do much good, since she'd already drugged them. For two, he trusted her to take care of them, and for three, now that the ignition engine was out of equation, he could operate the split generator on his own. He should be ready when the two wake up, and they'd be able to go back home. With that in mind, he got to work.

&&&&

Dinobot snarled, twitching his claws. The area was perfectly safe and peaceful, yet it was grinding on his senses for some reason. He was getting increasingly uneasy for the past nine mega-cycles, and quite suddenly he realized what was bothering him. There were no animals. He'd seen evidences of there being some inhabitants here, but no inhabitants as such. And he'd learn long ago not to ignore the native life forms. (It was a lesson hard to forget - Optimus still had that ill-tempered plant in his quarters). Making an abrupt turn, the raptor sprinted toward the group of Maximals.

The first thing he noticed upon arriving were cubes of different sizes and colors, scattered all over the place. Apparently Rhinox was very strict about caking every single byproduct.
The second thing were the hovers, packed and ready to go. Perfect.

"I believe we should clear the area," he said, stepping over yawning Rattrap. "There seems to be something amiss."
Rattrap punched raptor's leg as he passed.

"Oy, watch were yer goin', Scale-belly! An what is it, a day fer da preds feelin' twitchy?"
Dinobot bared his teeth at the rat. "Is your blabbering suppose to mean something, pest?"
"Kittar's been telling us to go for almost a mega now," Cheetor explained, too concerned to notice that he was cutting in. "And I had a really weird dream..."
"Eh, yer all goin' crazy," Rattrap murmured, and minced toward Rhinox. "We'd better go before dey all go postal on us."
"Uh-huh," Rhinox agreed, and turned to the rest of the party. "All right everyone, lets move."
Among the general bustle, no-one noticed Rattrap picking up and subspacing few small, dark bars. And even if they did, they wouldn't think much of it. After all, what kind of mischief can one cause with few pounds of magnesium?

Heh.

"Fasssster," Kittar hissed, jumping on Rattrap's hover. He pushed her off, but she was too upset to react. She couldn't tell what was bothering her exactly; all she knew was that they had to leave this place now, now, NOW!
"Will you go already?!" she yelled, frustrated with their snail-pace.

-

Two kilometers away from them there was a small fault.
Imagine two masses of rock keeping grating against each other, moving through the centuries a nanometer by nanometer.
Imagine a deposit of energon trapped deep underground at the verge of one of them.
Imagine it being constantly compressed under the pressure of rocks.
Imagine the rocks pressing just one nanometer too far.

-

Kittar's fur raised on its own in animalistic precognition. "Beastmode, everybody!" she yelled, and the alarm in her voice reached straight to the Maximals' cores, pushing the transformation buttons. Half a nano later a blinding column of light shot out of the ground in the distance, and a powerful wave of energy swept over them. Six nanos later, a thunder rolled over the pack of unconscious beasts.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In Tarantulas's lair all monitors went crazy, and Tarantulas himself almost got a spark attack when he saw what they were showing him.
No, no, no, no! Not now! He wasn't ready yet!
His hands were shaking when he frantically scanned the phenomena for any familiar frequencies. He collapsed into his chair in relief when he realized that, against all appearances, it was just a natural disaster. By the Pit, for a moment he was sure it was an alien signal. This planet certainly had some freaky weather anomalies.

&&&&

Megatron had noticed the anomaly as well - one would have to be blind not to notice a discharge that lightened up the whole eastern horizon. Since both Terrorsaur and Waspinator were, unfortunately, out on a long patrol, he ordered Scorponok to dispatch a cyber-bee to investigate.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

:: ...Rhinox, are you there? Report. Rhinox, come in. ::
With a groan, the rhino raised his head. "Sound-off, everyone."
"Dinobot reports." "Lemme alone." "What?" "Oooh, my head..."
"We're all still here, Optimus," Rhinox reported tiredly. At the other end of the line there was a huge sigh of relief.
:: Thank the Primus. What happened out there? We've got some wild energy readings here. ::
"Yeah, an we got some wild energy waves HERE, fearless leader." Rattrap said, activating his comlink. "So be so nice an call us back in a mega, ok?"
/chuckle/ I can tell you're fine, Rattrap. ::
"No I'm not!"
Rhinox maximized and waved a hand at Rattrap to be quiet. "I think there was an underground combustion of energon deposit," he said. "The compact wave knocked us out for a moment." Something occurred to him, and he went to check his overturned hover. Rattrap obviously followed his train of thoughts, 'cause he did the same.
"So, fearless leader, ya want a bad news or a bad news?" he asked after a moment.
:: I think I'll have the first bad news first,:: Optimus's voice decided. :: Shoot. ::
"Well, ah, our all reserves of energon have apparently evaporated."
:: Prime. And the second bad news?::
"Da hovers still hover, but deir jets are busted. We'll hafta drag dem."
:: Doubly prime. Rhinox, will you be able to make it back, or should I fly you some energon?::
"Leaving the base unguarded is unadvisable," Dinobot snarled from the side.
Rhinox nodded. "I agree. Stay were you are, Optimus, we'll manage."
:: I'll keep your word on it. Till your return, then. Optimus out. ::

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Megatron tapped his fingers on the armrest, looking at the screen thoughtfully. Scorponok had 'stumbled' on the Maximals on his way to the discharge site, and Megatron ordered him to trail them instead. "Give me a spectrographic analysis of the cargo," he said after a moment. The gray bot obliged, and Megatron raised an optic ridge at the list that appeared on the screen. Two of freight floaters carried some kind of machinery, while the other two were loaded with twin amounts of trace metals.
"It would seem that Maximals had run out of their supplies as well. I believe we should organize a welcome back party for them, yess."

&&&&

"Oh, finally," Rattrap sighed when the alluring shape of Axalon met his eyes. "I swear, my hover is the heaviest."
"It's exactly same as mine," Cheetor growled. He really didn't intend to be rude, but he was too tired to control his voice.
"Don't start all over again," Rhinox demanded. "We're back and now we all can rest."
How wrong he was...

&&&&

Megatron scrutinized the exhausted Maximals from the distance. They were in the Axalon's autodefences range already, and lowered their guard completely. Megatron smiled. "This will be easy, yess."
He turned to his assembled crew. "Flyers: I want the floaters that the rat and cheetah are dragging. Tarantulas - if you please."
With an ugly smirk, Tarantulas fired away a big missile with an electric discharger on it.
"Done and done. Their systems will be shut in a moment, Megatron."
"Excellent, yess. Predacons - fire at will."

&&&&

"I hate it when dat happens!" Rattrap screamed at the top of his vocalizer, mostly to get the point across the heavy gunfire. A clawed hand grabbed his arm, and when he turned, Dinobot pointed a big boulder nearby. "Cover fire!" the warrior demanded. Rattrap didn't need a translation. "Sure," he said, letting himself be tossed to the top of said boulder, where he flattened himself and provided a cover fire for Dinobot's charge. "Ya go first, I'll cover ya. No problem." And then an inspiration struck. He unsubspaced a handful of magnesium scraps and a small bit of clay-charge. A nano later he had both mixed together, and squashed into a ball. He tossed it high into the air.
"Shut yer optics, everybody!" he yelled on the Maximals' open frequency, and shot the small ball out of the sky.
It was so sad that not a single person listened to him, not even Rattrap himself.

&&&&

For a moment Megatron was sure that he was shot. Nothing else would explain the sudden whiteness and the furious pulsing in his optics. It took him a while to realize that he'd been simply flash-blinded. He hastily rebooted his optics, and opened his mouth to shout out orders, but they died in his vocalizer. How on Cybertron that happened he couldn't tell, but most of the Maximals lay on the ground with various injuries, Waspinator was spiraling away into the sky, shouting hysterically that he couldn't see, and Blackarachnia was half lying on one of the floaters, crushed under unconscious Terrorsaur, whose still on-line jets were effectively pushing them toward Predacons base. Megatron closed his mouth.
"Whatever," he sighed after a moment, beastmoded and walked away, a tip of his tail waving to the sides nonchalantly.

&&&&

"Dat didn't go as planned," Rattrap murmured, rubbing at his optics. Getting blinded by one's own flash-bomb was ridiculous, but he had noticed Airazor flying almost directly over his charge as he fired, and his optics widened in surprise, thanks to which he got it twice as bad as the others. "Dis just ain't my day."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After counting the dead (zero), and picking up the injured (four), the Maximals went on with the usual after-battle business. That is to say, Optimus and Dinobot ended up in CRs, Kittar herded Airazor and Cheetor to the Med-bay for some minor repairs, and Rhinox sat behind Sentinel consol with an exhausted sigh.
Not knowing what to do with himself, Rattrap hovered around the control room for a moment, glancing at the screens, pushing some buttons and trying not to fall on his face. Finally he settled in front of 'his' computer, and switched it on.

Sitting across the room and watching his friend pretending to play poker, Rhinox couldn't suppress the memory of one cold day on Breglay, where frozen crystals of nitric acid carried with the wind stung like so many cyber-bees, and a low, white building appeared in the gloom like a ghost.

&&&&

It was a fused police/hospital station; the victims of crimes could testify and get medical treatment at the same time. By the looks of it, they were doing it a lot. A hefty, green bot knock on the opened door of an office.

"Hi Skyjet, remember me?"

A police officer turned around and beamed.

"Bigstorm! What are ya doin' 'ere, old-bot?"

"I have a ship change here, I thought I'd come and visit."

"Come in, sit down! In da middle of da flight, huh? An where to?"

"I got work at Vespa System. They need technicians for mining equipment."

"Vespa? Ya lucky devil! But I can't complain myself. I finally got da transfer. One more week and I'll be off dis swamp."

"Hmm, swamp does seem to be a fitting description. I don't get it, what happened here?"

"Ya mean, to da colony?" The green bot nodded.
"Da war ended. Yea, I know, I know, it's a good thing in general, but, Storm, dis colony was livin' on weapon manufactures. Now dere are only few mines and lots of crimes. An it gets worse everyday. It's practically Preds' underground here. Every Maximal who has an official job begs for transfer to somewhere else. An dose who didn't manage to get a job..." Skyjet reached out and pulled a shade off a glass wall. "See dat kid over dere?"

Bigstorm looked. On the other side of the hall a small robot had curled himself on a chair, arms around knees. He was covered in dents, scratches and mech fluid, but his face was blank, as if he didn't notice damages, and his gaze was fixed on a white door near him.

The green bot frowned. "Why isn't he in CR?"

"Cause we only have two CRs, and dey're only used for life-threatenin' injuries. Dey work almost non-stop."

The police-bot noticed the shocked look on his friend's face and shrugged.

"Gang wars. Dat kid - Speeder - is from da Bombers, only maximal gang dat still exist, and mainly because dey're not really a gang, just a bunch of unemployed young bots from one street. Dey sometimes break into old warehouses, lookin' for anythin' dey could trade for energy, but mostly dey just stick together to survive. Not too successfully. He was brought here 'bout mega ago, along wid 'nother kid. Some Preds ambushed dem. He's waiting now to hear if his friend will make it or not."

Skyjet sighed bitterly.

"It's fifth time he's here. Most likely he'll go away alone... just like every time before."

Bigstorm gasped.

"Nasty business, ain't it? An da worst part is, I know who's killin' dem, it's da same group every time, Shockers, dey claimed 4th Alley their territory. Three decades ago dey were probably playin' swirl-ball together, and now... But da only thing I have on 'em, is Speeder's testimony. No one else care enough even to come an wait under hospital's door, much less ta answer any questions. An if I tried to arrest anyone wit' just one witness's word, his parts would be rustin' on a scrap heap before da shift's over."

He suddenly laughed bitterly and pushed a note-pad towards the other bot. "Look what he wrote me dis time."

Bigstorm picked up a pad and read

-- Me and Hoistlog were XXXXXX going to a XXXXX dispenser and XXXXXX XXX XXXXX Preds shot us from behind, and if ya wanna XXXX XXXXXX name's, ya XXXX move yer big XXXXX XXXXX XXXX skid-plate and read what I said before, cause they were the same XXXXX XXXXXXXX bastards every time, and ya XXXXXX know it and ya never do nothing, so ya can just XXXXX XXXXX and XXXXXXX for all I care!!! --

He shook his head sadly. "Lots of cross outs"

"Yea, he was upset. Not dat I blame 'im... oh Primus!"

Bigstorm followed his gaze. A bot in medic colors was talking to the small bot, with that universal 'I'm terribly sorry' expression of doctors everywhere. Speeder just looked up at him, then get up and stalked away. The med-bot called something after him, and, because the kid was just passing the office door, they heard his answer clearly.

"(#$$#&) off, I can ($&#$#) well repair myself."

Bigstorm shut his optics. How well he knew that dispassionate tone, that blank look on a young face...

"Skyjet, you should keep him here for tonight"

The police-bot nodded. "I will."

&&&&

Rhinox looked up at Rattrap, still bravely resisting the beckoning recharge mode. Every now and then the rat-bot was glancing at the humming CR-Chamber. Rhinox smiled softly. Every time one of the Maximals was injured and needed CR, Rattrap was hovering near, waiting.

I wonder if he even realizes he's doing it.

"Good thing we have a CR, isn't it?"

Rattrap glanced at the machine again.

"Yeah," he murmured. Then he leaned back, putting feet up on the console, and just then Kittar came in, and apparently judged that Rattrap would make a perfect cat-basket. She jumped.

"HEY!!! PUSH OFF!!!"

The cat was shoved brutally to the floor, and did a perfect witch-cat impression - flattened ears, arched back, bottlebrush tail and all.
Rattrap, optics dangerously narrowed, open his mouth to yell at her - and found out he was too tired. He turned away from the furious hissing and went back to the pretend poker playing.

Kittar stopped hissing, blinking in surprise. She smoothened her fur. She licked her nose. She licked her paw. Then she turned and stalked toward the lift. Without a care in the world and with her tail proudly raised, the cat left the building.

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The air in the mountains was cool and fresh, the snow blindingly white, and the gray cliffs waited impatiently for someone to scale them. Rust grinned at them, mentally promising to oblige in the near future. But for now he dug up the entrance to the cave he'd found the last time he was here, and pulled the Pod and the floater inside.
"Honey, I'm home!" he called.

home, home, ome, ome... Sang the cave in response.

"Hallo, echo!"

echo, echo, echo...

Rust whistled a few notes of the cave-tune.

The cave repeated it faithfully, multiplying it into a melodic background.
Rust chuckled to himself.
"I love echo," he confessed, and got to work.
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Rattrap woke up with a start, only to find everything in perfect order. Rhinox still at Sentinel console, Optimus and Dinobot still in CRs, and Cheetor and Airazor... well, probably asleep in their respective quarters. A quick glance at the CR-chambers controls told him that the repair cycles were almost complete. Good to know. Not that he was worried or anything, of course...

Yawning and working out the stiff cables, Rattrap limped his way toward Rhinox. "Eh, man, ya got any recharge at all? Why didja let me sleep?" he asked, leaning on the green shoulder. Rhinox nodded to the first question, and pointed to the toolbox standing on the holo-table in response to the second one. "We needed someone well-rested to do the repairs," he explained with a small smile.
"Ah, typical. Who gets to do all da work? Da rat gets to do all da work." The small bot picked up the toolbox and turned. "So what 'ave ya repaired already, and what's left over fer me?"
"I've got all internal systems on-line, so it's just the autoguns."
"They'll be done in a jiffy." He gave his friend a mock salute. "Rattrap out."

About two megas later Rattrap closed the paneling, and shook a welder at the autogun. "Ya'd better work dis time, or else!" he said, and commed the Axalon. "How's it now, Big Green?"
The gun whined to life, and targeted him. Rattrap took a surprised step back, and the barrel followed him.
:: /snarl/ The target lock works in perfect order,:: Dinobot's voice announced. :: Shall I verify its firepower?::
"Har, har, very funny. Who let ya behind da controls, Lizard Lips?"
:: He let himself,:: Rhinox's deep rumble sounded, the disapproving frown almost visible in it. Then it changed to an approving smile. :: All defense systems are online. You've sure fixed it fast. ::
"Just know how ta talk to dem," Rattrap said with a smirk, closing the connection.

Well, the working day's over. Now it's time for the small pleasantries of life. And unless his optics were playing tricks on him, it was a flyer's graceful figure standing in the shadows over there. What a lucky bot he was.

Rattrap sauntered in the direction were the overlaid moon shadows of Axalon and rock spires created a spot of cozy darkness. Sure enough, Airazor stood there, her gaze wandering among the stars. She turned at the sound of his footsteps. Rattrap shot her his most charming smile.

"Allo, Bird Lady."
"Oh. Rattrap. Hallo."
She smiled, but not before a surprise and a hint of disappointment flashed through her face. Oh-oh. Not good. She was hoping for someone else's company. The question was: whose.

One way to find out was to ask, of course, but he knew better than that. Despite what some people would think, Rattrap could be quite a diplomat when situation called for it.

"It's a nice night," he said lightly, gesturing toward the starry sky. "Ya were stargazin'?" Airazor looked up and nodded with a thoughtful smile. "Yes, this seems like a perfect spot." She hesitated, and continued in overly casual voice. "I've seen Rhinox here the other day."

Ouch. Rattrap cringed inwardly. She had it for his best friend. Which should in principal be his cue to back off, only there was this little catch...

Unaware of her audience's ambivalent feelings, the femme continued. "He was watching the stars, and... I don't know... he looked so sad..."

Oh, frag, rust and scrap, with few more colorful curses on top.
"...Don't... ah, don't tell him ya saw dat," Rattrap said very quietly. Airazor turned to look at him, surprised by the words as much as by the serious tone. "Why not?"
"Well, it's a..." Rattrap looked up at the illuminated sky. Just pretty lights for him, but if you were big and green and felt really gloomy, they resembled the thousands, millions of sparks lost in pointless wars. Rattrap winced.
"Might be wrong, but I think he was thinkin' 'bout his bond-mate."
Airazor almost jumped in place, stifling a startled choke.
Rattrap continued staring in space and pretended he didn't notice. He really shouldn't have said that, but on the other hand, he was sparing both Airazor and Rhinox a lot of embarrassment. And if he could cut something little of the top for himself of it, well, who could blame him?

Airazor moved her lips several times before she found her voice. "Rhinox is bonded?" she said in an admirably 'friendly interested' voice.
Rattrap did her a curtsey of responding with a friendly casual 'uh-huh,' and gave her time to deal with the fact.
"I didn't know that." Airazor said after a moment, during which she hastily run through her budding feelings, poking them back into proper shape. Her voice was set at the true friendly interest tone when she asked: "With whom?"
Rattrap shrugged. "Never met da guy. He died in a war, long before we've met. But, ya know, eternal feelings, bonded forever, all dat romantic sss-stuff..."
"You meant to say 'scrap'," Airazor observed with a half mocking reproach.
"I would nevah! I'm da romantic to da very spark myself!"
"Oh really. So maybe you could remind me if it looks similar from the Cybertron?" she gestured upwards. It was only partially a tease. While her memory wasn't near as blotched up as other pod-borns, there were huge gaps she'd like to fill.

Rattrap waved a hand dismissively. "Nah. Da stars don't stand a chance with all da streetlights. Though I can't be real expert, ya know, I only was on da Good Ol' C for a stellar, an mostly on da lower levels." He brightened at the memories. "Am tellin' ya, dere are da best joints in da galaxy down dere. Ya ever need a guide ta fun-Cybertron, just gimme a call."

Airazor couldn't help but smile, and then laugh softly as Rattrap went on with the advertising.
Rattrap grinned a glad, and maybe even smug grin, as Airazor let him engage herself in the idle chitchat. Apparently the crush-in-development she'd had for the mechanic had been successfully intercepted and terminated in time. Five points for the rat!

"Well," Rattrap said finally, stretching out his arms, "it's been a long day."

It was probably the oldest trick in the universe, used everywhere where one individual was looking for a cheap excuse to touch the other one. But before Rattrap's falling arm could rest on Airazor's waist, his face was suddenly full of dirt.

"I'm back. Missed me?"

The words that escaped Rattrap's vocalizer were pure Breglayish, and judging by Airazor's gasp, whatever points he'd earned so far were now sucked into the vast vacuum of non-existence. Possibly even spat on the other side with an ugly 'minus' before them.

He jumped to his feet and turned, all his diagnostic displaying 'CATCIDE' in red burning letters. He would probably act on it too, had the cat in question not been already whirling around Airazor, looking up at her with the expression that usually means 'where's my food?' in feline. Only in this case it meant:
"Got my plants?"
Expression (and feelings) somewhere between bemusement and amusement, Airazor nodded.

&&&&

"...and I have found another vine with a similar properties to the one you've got..."
Rhinox glanced at the two femmes, as they passed the control room, Airazor reporting her finds and the cat nodding every now and then. He smiled. The lift rose the second time. Rhinox stopped smiling.

Rattrap, mad and muddy, gave him a furious glare, jerked his thumb sharply across his throat, and jabbed a finger at Kittar's retreating posterior.
I'm going to kill this cat.

That gestured, the rat-bot stormed away.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tarantulas crept unhurriedly through the forest. His computer had informed him there was a movement detected in one of his webs, and since he couldn't get the visual for some reason, he decided to investigate personally.
Being the cautious bot by nature, he first circled the area in search for possible traps. He didn't find any, only detecting traces of a certain cat. He chuckled to himself. Maybe he'd caught himself a pet?
As it turned out, that wasn't the case.
What he found in his web instead, were the dissected shells of thirty-three cat-proof arachnoids, carefully arranged in a maximal 'K' letter.

The birds and small animals fled in terror, as the alien metal creature screamed in rage.

"DAMN YOU, KITTEN!"

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End of part ten

A/N: In case you were wondering:

Scheelite, bertrandite, ilmenite sand, - these are actual, existing minerals, ores for wolfram, beryllium, and titanium. Cobalt and nickel often go together, especially in places where a big meteorite hit. At least, that's what Wikipedia says. (Thank the Primus for Wiki!)

Carbon nano-tubes fabric - probably is being invented as we speak.

Freight hovers, c-ray box, caker, transilt, corodium - technologies still out of our reach ;)

And if there is some nice person with a lot of patience and spare time, for whom English is first language, please let me know - I need help in cleaning up the grammar in this series.

-


FOOTNOTES:

(1) The ironic part was, Rust called Blackarachnia 'Widow' not even five cycles later.

(2) He might not want to give it back. Give a Predacon the smallest amount of power, and prepare to pry it back with a crowbar.

(3) Kind of a rubber sponge, elastic and strong - IF not overdue, and kept in the stable environment of air-conditioned deep tunnels. And it's an 'at least four miles under' deep I'm talking about.