Author's Notes: I am utterly blown away by the overwhelmingly positive response this has gotten. Serious...I'm really surprised. I need to give a thank you shout out to Vege_chan on Live journal for recommending this story to other people. I appreciate the publicity.

Also, a few of you commented about the apparent Prologue/Epilogue mix up and I felt it needed an explanation. Despite how it might appear, I actually did that on purpose in my own attempt to be witty and overly philosophical. You see, despite it being the first part to a story, in the most strictest sense it is also the ending of a story: AKA Sam's life. Sorry if you guys got confused. I'll try to tone down the philosophical elements in the future...when I feel like it and if it doesn't help the story along. I also apologize for any and all spelling or grammatical errors. I haven't had much luck with consistent Betas and am still searching.

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Aporia

By Lindsay Smith

Chapter Two: Of Things We Once Remembered.

"A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen. " ~Edward de Bono

Everyone on the transport was staring at him. Servo pretended not to notice the tram's populous ogling the little Mech in his lap, but Sam noticed. He knew by now that he and those of the new Generation were considered a treasure and were protected fiercely. And were somewhat of a novelty. However, having so many optics on him, looking him over, and stopping to see his bright green optics…well it was not a pleasant feeling. It made him feel uneasy to be the center of focus. He did not want attention, he wanted a quiet corner and a puzzle box.

No. That was not quite true. At least not anymore…

His spark tugged faintly and he knew what he wanted without having to give it a name or devote any cognitive thought: Bumblebee…he wanted to see Bumblebee. But he did not know where on this planet his friend could be or where to even begin looking. And there was a more pressing problem to consider: Servo would never let Sam out of his sights long enough for him to look for Bumblebee. Regardless, he held onto the thing thread of hope that he would get the chance. And who knew, maybe…

Maybe Servo knew where Bumblebee was.

"Servo," Sam asked, looking up at the underside of the Mech's chin. "Do you know where Bumblebee is?"

His caretakers head snapped down as if whatever Sam had said was something extremely inappropriate. "What did you say?" He asked, his voice low and careful. His optics narrowed and for a fearful moment, Sam wished he had never spoken.

"…Bumblebee…" said Sam timidly, mentally retreating into himself and hoping dearly he would not get in trouble. He did not like being in trouble.

"Is there something wrong?" Servo asked, suddenly fearful and very attentive. He pulled the Sparkling from his lap and turned him to face him, looking him over and scanning furiously. "Do you feel alright? Are your systems malfunctioning?"

"…no," replied Sam. "Why?"

"You're talking weird. Maybe it's a side effect from that dent," Servo seemed to be speaking more to himself then to Sam and it was a little odd to see his caretaker in such a fit of near panic. "We need to get a doctor to look at you."

The rest of the trip consisted of Servo muttering to himself while he inspected Sam every quarter breem to make sure he had not abruptly deteriorated or started smoking. Mechs and the rare femme boarded and disembarked from the transport while only a few passengers remained constant. One such passenger, a dark blue armored Mech, had been watching them with disconcerting intensity for the majority of their trip. After the tram began to move after having just unloaded several passengers, he stood from his seat and walked over to Servo and Sa,, taking a seat across from them.

"Don't see many of you guys out and about the city," the Mech commented, looking down at Sam briefly and he smiled sadly at him. "It still seems so impossible to have new sparks around after so long..."

Sam looked up to see Servo's face twitched into a smile, barely concealed agitation underneath. He apparently did not trust the stranger. "Normally we don't risk the little ones by taking them out before they've had their first upgrade, but this one needs to have his head looked at."

"…oh?" The dark blue Mech looked back at Sam and then noticed the crack and large dent on his forehead. "Oh, well that must've hurt quite a bit."

"It did." Sam replied frankly, sensing a strange familiarity from the Mech. Blue. That shade of blue. He knew that color.

The blue Mech smiled. "Well, I hope the doctor can fix you up right, then." A pause. "Green optics," he mused. "Such an unusually color..."

"Yes," Servo replied, his earlier apprehension slowly fading. "He refuses to allow us to change them into a traditional color. He likes them the way they are."

The Mech laughed. "He'll certainly be a novelty come time to find him a home."

"It could go either way for him," Servo admitted a little sadly. "Most potential guardians might find it a bit…odd."

"So he's a little oddball then, eh?"

"Very much so."

"Meh," the stranger replied nonchalantly. "I know plenty of Mech were straight out loons as Sparklings. All of them upgraded into fine, decent Mechs. You should have high hopes for this one. Who knows, he might be the next Emirate."

Servo laughed at that. Sam then realized that he barely ever seemed to laugh. Honestly, Sam thought it was beyond his abilities. "Personally, I think he'll be more mechanically inclined."

"A little engineer then?" The new Mech seemed tickled by that and chuckled. "A fine occupation of any."

Sam had not looked away from the stranger since he sat down, studying his frame. He was so familiar. Was he part of his dreams? He remembered that shade of blue. Bright and sharp…like electricity.

"Do you know Bumblebee?" Sam blurted without thought. Sam felt Servo twitch under him. The new Mech however bore an expression that Sam was not familiar with. It almost looked…blank.

"Bumblebee…?"

"Now stop that," Servo told him sternly. "You shouldn't be asking folks such silly questions. When we see the doctor we'll have him check your voice box. I think you might have a glitch." The new Mech continued to stare at him, apparently unsure what to make of him. Sam hoped he did not upset him. He rather liked the blue bot. He was nice.

The transport slowed to a smooth stop and a monotone voice announced their location. Servo stood, Sam resting in his arms, and he turned to the blue Mech. "It was very nice talking to you."

The blue bot seemed to have broken from his stupor and stood. "Oh. Yes, you too. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name…"

"Servo. And this is D-17."

"I'm Jolt," said the Mech. He looked at Sam and smiled. "It was very nice meeting you…D-17."

Sam shifted in Servo's arms. "That's not my real name…"

Jolt tilted his head, curious. A spark of something lit his optics like fire. No…like electricity.

"D-17, I said not to-"

"…it's Sam."

Instead of looking weird the way he had when he had mentioned Bumblebee, Jolt looked…happy. He grinned and bowed his head ever so slightly before looking back at the caretaker. "Take care of that one, won't you?" he said as the two of them disembarked. "He's a special one."

Before Servo could reply, the doors shut and the transport moved ahead down the line and Jolt with it. He stood there with Sam in his arms, watching as the transport shuttle zoomed off further into the city. "Well," he said at last, sounding confused. "He was a strange one."

"I like him," Sam said, wiggling a little. "He's nice."

Servo smiled. "You take a likening to the strangest things," he said. "One can only hope you like the doctor just as much."

The Hall of Ancients, despite its name, was fairly new. The original structure had been destroyed during the Great War and been rebuilt not long after the decision to recolonize Cybertron was made. Despite that, the complex was very impressive; showcasing the best of Cybertronian engineering and architecture. Inside the Hall of Ancients, the Allspark was kept. It was here in this hallow place that the new generation was sparked and their shells forged from precious metals. As was its name, the Hall of Ancients was decorated in a way to make those wandering its parameter feel as if they were in the presence of something grand and glorious. And truly they were.

Sam did not like it. It was too big, too intimidating. And there was a strange energy coming from somewhere within that made his spark quiver. He did not like it at all.

Lucky enough for him, their destination was not into the Hall itself, but rather towards the medical wing of the complex. There, Servo explained his presence to the clerk and was instructed to wait until the doctor came to fetch him. As they waited, Sam looked all around him as Mechs or all sizes and colors and designs walked to and from different rooms, speaking fast and gesturing. It did not take long for Sam to notice several of the Mechs walking around were of similar design and only their color seemed to change. He saw red and blue and green and even black. Strangely enough, he found himself scanning the crowd for a specific color, but he did not know which one. He just knew he would know it when he saw it.

"Who are they?" Sam asked, pointing to the Mechs.

Servo followed Sam's line of sight. "Those are the doctors."

"How come they all look the same?"

"All medical programmed Mechs are that model. Whatever your function, that is what model you will be."

"So…will I have one too?"

"Yes, when you have your final upgrade. You will choose what you want to be."

"Is that the same for everyone?" Sam asked.

"Not necessarily. Not every Mech now performs the same function they were designed for when they were first sparked. The war made us all soldiers and after it was over, some choose different functions."

"Were you a soldier?"

"Yes."

"Was it scary?"

"At times," Servo said, running his hand over the top of Sam's head. "But you're too young to worry about things like that. You'll learn about the war when you're older."

"Will I be a soldier?"

"Not if you don't want to," he said and then placed his hand over Sam's mouth. "Now shush."

Sam complied with Servo's command and decided to continue to scan the area for the particular color. The design of the doctors was familiar, so familiar, in the same way Jolt had been. There was something there that he could not quiet see or make out, but he knew whatever he was looking for was there. Somewhere. He just had to wait and keep his optics open. Green optics scanned once more and he spotted an odd color, the color, and a jolt of something ran through him. Realization and remembrance washed over his processor. There! It was him!

Ratchet!

"Ratchet!"

"Hey!" Sam leaped from Servo's arms and ran towards the medic. It was him, he remembered. Ratchet! He dodged through large feet, ignoring the startled noises of the older Mechs as he barreled through the crowd. Reaching the Mech, Sam grabbed onto his leg, shivering. "Ratchet!"

And the world suddenly felt right to him, he felt an overwhelming sense of security that made him feel completely like mush and…

"Who are you?" The voice made Sam freeze and his spark fell. He looked up into the Mech's face and a horrid realization passed through him. It was not Ratchet. He looked like him, but his color was wrong. He was not the weird greenish yellow. He was just green. The sense of security dried up in an instant and Sam suddenly felt very scared and he backed away, very much alarmed. The Mech looked down at him with kind optics, slowly lowering himself to Sam's level. "Where did you come from, little one?"

"You're not Ratchet…" Sam whimpered, his insides churning with emotion.

The Mech tilted his head in confusion. "…Who?"

"D-17!" Servo ran up beside Sam and scooped him up. "What do you thing you are doing?"

"Not Ratchet…" Sam murmured, seeming to have fallen a state of mild shock. Not Ratchet. Not Ratchet…where was Ratchet…?

"I am very sorry sir," Servo said to Not-Ratchet. "He's a bit confused at the moment. He's sustained a head injury and hasn't been himself all cycle..."

The Not-Ratchet reached out and ran a gentle finger over Sam's forehead, inspecting the crack there, before trailing down the side of his face and light scratching under his chin. Sam did not respond to the touch, still too broken up over the Mech not being who he wanted him to be. "No harm done," Not-Ratchet assured the caretaker. "That is quite the scrap. Have you been attended to yet?"

"We are waiting for the Doctor. His name is Quickfire."

"I'll message him and see if I can't get him down here a little faster."

"Thank you, I appreciate it."

"No problem."

Not-Ratchet left, disappearing into the crowd and Servo returned to their place to wait for the doctor.

First Aid entered the lab and placed his data pads down atop the nearest table. Nearby, his partner was busying himself with a broken scanner. Without turning to face him, the Mech called out, "Did you get the reports back?"

"Yeah," First Aid replied. "No change."

"Drat. Maybe I can recalibrate the dampeners to compensate...hey, hand me that spanner will you?"

"Wheeljack?" Firs Aid walked over to stand next to his partner and handed him the requested spanner. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," said the Mech, his optics never wavering from his work. "Ask away."

"You and Ratchet both spent some time on that planet we found the Allspark on right?"

"Earth."

"Huh?"

"The planet's name is Earth. Nice place. Very green. Lots of vegetation. Didn't much care of the blizzards though. You were saying?"

"Oh, well I just had a rather...interesting encounter with a Sparkling in the lobby."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He asked me if I knew who Ratchet was. It sounded like the Earth Language I hear the boss mutter in sometimes—you know, when he gets really angry and doesn't think anyone's around?—so I figured you'd know if it was and what it means."

Wheeljack looked away from his work and regarded First Aid in bemusement. "Ratchet, you said?"

"That's right."

The engineer suddenly looked very intrigued, mystified even. "How very unusual…"

"What?" First Aid asked. "What is?"

"Well...It's strange that a Sparkling would know that word, or English entirely for that matter," Wheeljack said with an intense look of intrigue. "Ratchet was Ratchet's English designation during the time he and Optimus Prime's unit were on Earth."