Interdiction

"That's a very good question," Simmons was babbling, "That's why we wanted him to come with us. You know. To find out."

Jace frowned, moving around in the large hand so that he could see the situation on the ground. Two of the snipers were just visible beyond the halo of light, rifles now trained on Epps, who was holding Simmons by the front of his neatly starched shirt.

Four of the other agents were now aiming directly at Ratchet, while the other was leaning over to mutter something to Mr. Government as he calmly watched the whole show.

Not a good situation. Epps was in danger because of him.

In the distance, a familiar rumble was audible just over the natural sounds of the desert, and the click of weapons being taken off safety. Ironhide was on his way. Jace wasn't entirely sure how he knew it, but he did. Just like he knew that he was safe within Ratchet's grasp.

He was an officer. Risks came with the job– and the reputation of being a line-breaker. That's one of the reasons why he was first among the chosen of volunteers for this mission. He had a lot of skills that would be useful, even if they didn't meet any Decepticons. He double checked his weapons, and set them aside. The signal would come soon, and then he would know if he were needed as a fighter or a scholar. Patience was all he needed.

Jace froze for a moment as the memory floated across his mind.

Decepticons?

Sector Seven?

The touch of what he had mistaken for fear that had gripped him in the bus station returned. It was alertness to possibilities and scenarios. It was awareness of the smell, the sound, the sight of the enemy. It was anticipation.

Jace felt the smile cross his face. It was also familiar, just as the language that these robots spoke among themselves had been. He may not have all his senses (he didn't?), and he might not be as fast– but he could still do something.

Crouching in Ratchet's hand, he noted the soldier, and the gunmen who were no longer watching him. They had almost dismissed him as insignificant in the light of what they faced, and were about to face.

The roar of a tricked out engine, and the squeal of breaks preceded the sound of another transformation, as the large black vehicle arrived. The snipers' rifles dipped ever so slightly as the others turned their attention away from Epps and Ratchet to see the new arrival.

"Get Epps clear." Jace said quietly enough for the mechanism holding him to hear, then, without giving the other a chance to object, jumped off the hand.

Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, Jace thought, as he landed. After all, he was still recovering... But the adrenaline rush that had started with the half memory couldn't be denied. He needed to do this. Even if he got hurt– and from how Simmons had been talking, they certainly wanted him alive– Epps wasn't a part of it until Jace had gotten him involved.

Reactions were a little slower than anticipated, and one of the snipers recovered before he could get to them.

A shot whizzed past Jace's shoulder, leaving a stinging trail.

The barrel was still hot when he grabbed it, and pulled, twisting it away from its owner. And then used the butt to knock the second sniper– who was far too close to the first– unconscious. The first tried to fight back for a moment, but was subdued by a quick jab to the solar plexus.

More shouts from behind him, and Jace found himself dodging, and weaving to get close enough to hit the other four agents, who were suddenly panicking.

Jace didn't blame them. The grim smile had fixed itself to his face, and he was still moving. Lungs burning. Muscles aching. Recent wound afire.

He couldn't stop now, though. These people... these humans... they would lock him away, and perform experiments on him– while he screamed in pain, just like–

The last gun-toting agent was on the ground in front of him, just as insensible as the rest.

Jace wobbled, taking deep gasping breaths, as he stared at the unconscious man.

He ached. Strained muscles, cuts, bruises. The rush was burning away into vapor.

"We must not kill humans. They are innocent. This war is ours."

"They're not so innocent," Jace managed to tell the voice in his head, "Are they?"

"Jace?" Epps' voice came from behind. He turned to see that Ratchet had indeed separated the soldier from the government agents.

"I cannot say that for certain." Ratchet said quietly, "Who are you?"

"I... don't think I'm Jason Hunt."