Author's Notes: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more. I would like to once again extend my sincerest thanks to you all who read, enjoy, and review this story! As I said in my previous notes of the last chapter, I am trying to rethink a lot of the next parts of the story so it does not end up all emo and fairly uninteresting. There's only so much moping one can take without probably provocation. Which there will be. I, myself, find that some stories fall victim to this, making a character over react to a relitivly tame situation and have everyone else feel the theatrical response is warrented. Now, given the sitation one could have a charcter react in a fairly...borning way. Like fall into an unpenetratable (sp?) despair. Even though it is a likely response...I find it lacking. So I'm trying to concive something that will keep your attention. But you won't know about it for a few more chapters. Muwaahahaha! Also! I drew a picture of Kimberly! It's on my Deviant art page: transformergirl (dot) deviantart (dot) com/art/Kimberly-94456973. Take out the (dot)'s first. lol.

Phase Nine: Regrets

Chapter Nineteen

She opened her eyes and saw Kimberly sound asleep next to her, a large black hand hovering over her, one finger tip tracing down the girl's back. Groggy from too much slumber, Brea raised her head, feeling an uncomfortable amount of pressure in her temples, and looked around. Strands of hair floated about her head from static electricity and she lifted a hand to her face and pulled a few strands from her mouth. Recollection fell into place and she looked down to see she was indeed still laying atop of the red Mech. The Mech in question looked up at her, blue optics glowing, a small smile on his face.

"How long was I sleeping?" she asked, too drunk on sleep to yet feel any shame about having just napped on someone. She pushed her uncooperative hair down with an irritated swipe.

"Not long," The Mech said quietly as if not to wake Kimberly. "Little over a quarter of a joor."

"So that's…" Her mind was too foggy to do math. "…uh…I dunno…"

"Hour and a half," supplied the Mech.

"Right," she said, paused, and then flopped back down on the metal with a groan which vibrated as the red Mech chuckled. The strange thing about sleep, Brea noticed; too much makes you groggy and sleepy and just makes want more sleep that makes you even groggier and sleepy. Ah feedback loops. She opened her eyes, listening to the rhythmic Boming of the Mech's chest, wondering what it was exactly.

"Feeling any better?" The red Mech asked, his voice still soft but seemed louder as it traveled through the vibrations of his armor.

"Mm…yeah," Brea nodded, feeling her face blush as realization finally hit. "Thank you…"

"Hey, whatever it takes, you know," He said casually. "Works on Kimi anyway…" A pause, "It's funny though…"

Brea raised her head and looked at the Mech's face, slightly obscured by the top curve of his chest armor. "What is?" she asked.

"That Kimberly trusted you so quickly," He replied frankly. "Took me almost two orns before she would stop glowering at me. Viral had her pretty wound up and locked down. Poor kid."

Brea looked over at the sleeping girl and slowly sat up straight and continued to look over her. She was shorter then Brea and much frailer. Her chest rose and fell rhythmically and in her sleep, she looked very peaceful. It was hard to believe something so awful could happen to a child like that, even if she was only a year or so younger then Brea.

Brea had always been praised for her level of maturity. But she had never felt as though she was doing anything out of order. She did what made sense to her, and if her actions seemed to appear mature for her age then she supposed that's how it was. It never seemed to be a conscious decision. She just did it. Brea remembered the hoo-ha her family had thrown when they found out their daughter would be graduating high school an entire year early. It wasn't anything spectacular, she wasn't a genius or anything. She just happened to be in the advanced placement program. There had been seventeen other juniors who had graduated along with her. But her parents ignored the technicality and revealed in their child's accomplishments. She'd started University the following summer after getting a scholarship to Gibbs College in Boston; a long way from home sweet home of Boulder, Colorado.

Had she known what would happen on the night of college finals, walking alone back to her dorm from work, she would have gone to a community school or taken an online course. Maybe she would still be with her family…

Brea looked down at Kimberly, wondering what had she been doing before being captured. What routine, what mundane thing had she been doing when her world shattered?

"Somehow…" She said finally, sounding somewhat distant, "I'm not…really surprised..."

There was a moment's pause during which the red Mech looked at her quizzically. "And what would you know about it?" a sharp voice asked. Brea snapped her head up to see the yellow Mech glaring at her. She recoiled in surprised, but the red Mech lifted his hand to her and cupped her back as if afraid she might fall off.

"I...because," She said, grasping for words, his disconcerting scowl throwing her ability to articulate. "I…"

"You don't know anything about her," insisted the yellow one. "So don't pretend to."

She suddenly glared back in resentment. "I—!" A tugging at the hem of her dress cut her off and she looked down to see Kimberly shaking her head, looking almost as if she were pleading with her. "Huh?"

Kimberly just shook her head and sat up, still holding onto Brea's dress. Unsure what to do or what the girl was trying to get at, Brea simply nodded, agreeing to whatever it was, regardless, "Okay..."

Kimberly then turned around and hopped off the red Mech's chest, much to his alarm, and onto the grass, causing him to flinch. She walked up to the yellow Mech who watched her with suspicious optics. "What do you want squirt?" He asked as she paused at his feet, looking up at him expectantly. She marched over to his right foot as if to climb on but he shifted away. "Oh, no you don't. Go scramble around on Sideswipe. I'm not letting you get hand prints all over me again."

Brea watched, half amused and half nervous, as Kimberly tried to climb on his other foot. Under her, the red Mech, Sideswipe, laughed. "Ah, come on Sunny, she just wants to play."

The red haired girl had managed to clamp herself onto the yellow Mech's shin and he scowled down at her. One large black hand swept in and plucked her from her perch and deposited her back onto Sideswipe's frame, right next to Brea. "Well now she has another female human all her own to play with. So keep me out of it."

Looking over, Brea saw Kimberly smiling brilliantly. She failed to suppress her own smile, but when she caught sight of the yellow Mech scowling at her, she blanched and quickly wiped it away.

"Don't mind Sunstreaker," The red Mech, Sideswipe, told her. "He's just grumpy 'cause we're…y'know. Broke."

The other Mech's systems revved.

"Well if you'd have listened to me when I said we should've pulled out, we wouldn't be," Sunstreaker retorted, pulling out his strange metal and glass reader thing as Sideswipe made a face at him. The text and images scrolled by until the yellow Mech seemed to settle on a part that displayed more graphs then text. The malleable metal of his face contorted into a foreboding frown. "Pathos Delta's revenues dropped last session."

Sideswipe perked up, clearly surprised. "By how much?"

Sunstreaker didn't glance at his brother as he scrolled down through the texts of the reader, "20 units."

"Frag!" Sideswipe's frame trembled as he cursed. In a troubled tone he asked, "What about Kaxon?"

"Up .089 units," Was the straight reply.

The red Mech sighed. "Oh well that's good."

"But they dropped 5 two sessions ago, remember."

"Double frag." Sideswipe growled.

Sunstreaker's seemingly permanent frown faltered into a look of utter surprise. "Get this: Kaon Trading dropped 110 units."

Brea perked up to listen. Cupping his hands beneath the two girls on his chest, Sideswipe sat up and gently put them on the grass before turning to Sunstreaker. He asked, intently, "Really? Let me see."

Sunstreaker obligingly handed over the viewer and Sideswipe spent several long moments gazing out at the feed. He raised an optic ridge. "Well I'll be Prime…it did. Wow, that's one nasty drop."

"Must've been that news report," Sunstreaker commented absently. "Bad press equals bad business."

"Well I'm glad our keen morals kept our credits out of that," Sideswipe remarked in relief. He looked down at Kimberly and smiled, "See Kimi? You saved us from financial ruin!"

"You mean worse financial ruin," quipped the other. "We're still broker then a maintenance droid."

Sideswipe wilted and sighed, resigned. "You think Jazz has any inside info?" he asked, vaguely hopeful.

Sunstreaker snorted, a harsh noise that emanated from somewhere in his chest. "Oh I'm sure, but he'd probably demand our Sparks in exchange for it."

Sideswipe sighed, clearly discouraged. "Maybe we should take up a trade or something…"

"And do what? Prime needs us here, remember? The whole point of getting into stocks was so we didn't have to work," Sunstreaker snapped. "Unless we get more help this whole place might not last much longer. Prime can't keep this place a secret and expect to get the capital he needs to run it; unless we go convince the High Tower Elite to start a charity fund or something."

Sideswipe looked hopeful again. "You think that would work?"

"No." Sunstreaker replied grimly.

"What if we asked Mirage to pull some strings? He knows some of those gilded-afts glitches."

"Probably not gonna happen. Half of Kaon still wants his head on a spike, remember?"

Brea felt a small jump of alarm at that, and broke into the conversation, "Why would they want Mirage dead?"

The two Mechs looked down at her, seeming to consider answering her. Finally, Sideswipe shrugged, "It's…complicated."

"He double crossed them during the war. Pretty much what it was." Sunstreaker added nonchalantly. "And that doesn't take too well among the Kaon elite; which is a bit ironic considering they were all Decepticons. It's practically a prerequisite. They just like to think that they're Primus's gift to the Universe; an exclusive club you live and die in. They could trip and fall into the smelting pits and I wouldn't give a frag. More credits for the rest of us."

"When you say Kaon elite," Brea asked, "You mean…people like Xeon and Viral, right?"

The two Mech stared at her, incredulity and suspicion in their optics.

"You know about Viral?" Sideswipe asked. "How?"

Brea felt as though she had been caught in a lie of sorts, despite having made no such deception, and found herself shrinking away from them. "I…well. I use to…live across from her place. In the Emirate's tower."

"Xeon?" Sideswipe asked, optics wide, sounding astonished. "Xeon was your master?"

Brea nodded vigorously as if she might be punished if she didn't supply her answer right away. "Yes."

"Wow…I'm sorry," Sideswipe said, surprising her, and leaned forward so he was more at her level, "Really sorry. I've only met him a few times. That guy's a real crank shaft."

Brea's apprehension popped like a proverbial bubble and she smiled. "Yeah," she agreed with a laugh, "He is."

Sideswipe suddenly brightened as a thought struck him. "Oh! Hey, hey! Did you ever see Sunny try to chuck that one Mech off Viral's balcony that one time?"

Brea paused to think about it for a moment then she gawked as the memory resurfaced, turning to Sunstreaker. "That was you?" She did remember vaguely seeing a fight and some unknown Mech attempt to throw someone off the balcony. Sunstreaker looked down at her smugly and smirked, "He deserved it." A pause. "He was messing with Kimberly."

Kimberly suddenly scrambled to her feet and ran up to Sideswipe, pressing herself against his leg with wide eyes and pointed to the edge of the clearing. Brea turned around and saw a figure standing behind a tree, looking towards them as if afraid to show anymore of himself. She smiled when she realized who it was; Caleb.

She was about to call out to him when she heard both Mech's systems rev threateningly, almost like a growl. The sudden aggressive noise made her jump and she looked over at them, startled and confused. Kimberly was glaring in Caleb's direction too, her chest heaving as if she had just sprinted a great distance.

"You got some nerve coming over here, boy," Sunstreaker snarled, rising to his feet and taking a few stalking strides towards him. Brea could see the boy flinch, clinging to the tree trunk as if it was the only thing keeping him rooted there. She stared at the Mechs, stunned and a little more then alarmed. Why were they being so hostile towards him?

"I-I just came to find Brea…that's all!" He called out, voice shaking. He was terrified. "A-also…O-Optimus is here…and wants everyone to meet him at camp."

"Fine, thanks for the info, now get lost!" Sideswipe snapped fiercely and Brea saw the young man sprint back into the trees. Brea jumped to her feet to run after him, heart pounding.

"Caleb wait!" She was jerked back when Kimberly reached out and grabbed her arm. Looking back at the girl, Brea couldn't help but feel an angry swell of resentment at the way they had just treated the boy. Her eyes narrowed at the girl reproachfully, "What?"

Kimberly shook her head and pulled on her arm as if to say, 'Stay here'.

Brea scowled. "How could you be so mean to him? What did he ever do to you?"

Kimberly seemed to recoil at Brea's words, eyes wide and confused. And hurt.

"He attacked Kimberly," Sideswipe said irritably as Sunstreaker walked beside him to reclaim his seat against the tree. "That boy's a low life. He doesn't belong here."

Brea stared at the Mech and then felt red hot indignation rise up and she yanked her hand out of Kimberly's hand. Staring at each of them in turn, trying to broadcast her offense over the claim, she hissed, "I don't believe you."

Not waiting for a response, Brea ran into the trees after Caleb.

As she neared camp, Brea could hear several voices. She paused behind a tree and peered out from behind it and into the clearing to see the odd looking congregation. All the humans were there standing together, except Preston who was sitting with his back to a near by tree, and across from them was an assembly of Mechs who all had either crouched down or were sitting. She saw Ratchet and Fixit over by Preston, seeming to be conducting some sort of check up, and also she noticed Prowl, who was the only one not sitting or crouching. He stood farther back, observing everything from a distance. Three others however, she did not recognize. The one farthest from her was red and black with a strange tube looking protrusion on his right shoulder. He also seemed to be the shortest of the Mechs. Beside him was a white and grey colored Mech with green and red accents, a mask covering the lower portion of his face. Brea watched curiously as the sides of his head lit up with his words.

She turned to look at the last Mech and the first thing that struck her was his sheer height and presence. Easily the tallest Mech she had seen, his red and blue armor was pristine and he was down on one knee, talking with Craig. Tilting her head slightly so she could see his face, she noted he also had a face mask just like the white and grey one. Studying the scene before her, it felt crowded and apprehensions of exposing herself crept into her mind. However, before she could make her escape, the little girl Zoë caught sight of her.

"Brea!" The little girl bounded across the clearing, weaving in between Mech's legs, and came up to where Brea had been hiding. She suppressed the swell of annoyance and just smiled at the little girl. Zoë took her hand and guided her out from under the trees. "Everyone was wonder where you went."

Stepping into the camp, Brea could feel their gazes turn to her, making her feel uncomfortable and anxious. She looked around for Caleb and saw he had walked over to Preston and was sitting with him, looking perturbed.

"Found her!" Zoë sang as she released Brea hand and then walked over to stand next to Craig, who took the smaller girl's hand. Zoë looked up at the red and blue Mech and smiled proudly, "I found her!"

The large Mech's blue optics pulsed and he spoke to the little girl, a smile in his voice, "Thank you very much Zoë."

"You're welcome," She replied, clearly pleased with herself.

The Mech turned his attention to Brea, who stiffened under his gaze despite knowing he meant her no harm. But damn he was big! The situation reminded her of a trip her family once took to the Sequoia National park once and during the drive up into the California mountains, Brea had been seven at the time and was overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of the rocks that jutted out from the mountain sides. Pictures and video clips were nothing when one found themselves gazing up at a boulder (if it could be labeled as such) easily twice the mass of a skyscraper. Or when they had driven to one of the caves and found themselves banked by sheer cliffs 150 feet high. The impression that both sides of the mountain would suddenly topple over and crush everything beneath was ever present until they left.

She felt guilty for feeling so afraid when the Mech in front of her was, in all probability, the real reason she was still alive. He studied her for a moment, seeming to note her nervousness, before speaking. His tone was very courteous and gentle, "I am very pleased to finally have the chance to meet you, Brea. I apologize for not making myself available to speak with you sooner. I am Optimus Prime."

Brea was very aware she was likely as red as a beet, but nodded anyway, trying to keep her composure. "I-it's okay…I mean—I understand you were probably busy and all that…but…yeah."

His optics pulsed again and Brea was struck with the inane impression that he was smiling. "I would also like speak with you privately once we are through here if that suits you."

Brea nodded automatically, no daring to refuse. "Of course."

He nodded. "If you would permit me, I would like to introduce our new volunteers," Optimus Prime gestured to the two other Mechs Brea didn't know. He seemed to be speaking more to her then the group and she assumed the pleasantries had already been exchanged prior to her arrival, "Perceptor and Wheeljack."

The Mech with the lights on his head nodded and gave a small, "Hello," as did the red and black one with his own polite, "Greetings." Brea gazed at the two, waving in salutations and trying to remember which one was supposed to be the Mech who caused random explosions.

"And I assume you know Prowl," Optimus finished, gesturing off to the stoic figure off to the side.

"Yeah," Brea replied, hoping her response didn't sound as condescending as it did to her. "We've, uh…met. Briefly."

Optimus Prime nodded in understanding.

"How's your wrist, Brea?" Ratchet asked from across the clearing and she looked over, blinking, before looking down at her wrist. She recalled her earlier 'episode' and how much she had wanted to take the brace off, finding that she still wanted it to be removed. Perhaps the Medic would oblige.

"Fine," Brea admitted cheerfully, lifting her hand that was encased with the metal brace. "Haven't felt any pain."

"We'll keep it on a little while loner just in case," Ratchet replied, turning his attention back to Preston. Brea's face must have revealed her disappointment, for she heard several Mechs around her chuckle. Her face heated in a blush.

It took all of Brea's composure not to jump away and scream bloody murder when Perceptor suddenly crouched down beside her. She hadn't noticed him move at all, but apparently he noticed her alarm. "My sincerest apologies for startling you," he said, "I was merely curious as to the derivation of the peculiar markings upon your neck."

Brea stared for a moment, arms still clutched to her chest after the Mech had startled her, and she blinked. "You…mean my scars?"

"Scars?" Perceptor peered at her curiously, frowning slightly, "Forgive me, I was not aware they from the result of injury. They appear dissimilar from the examples of organic tissue damage I have come across in your species. I presuppose them to be some sort of tribal markings."

"That's because they're burns," Annie supplied, walking closer. "They look different from scars we might get from scraps or cuts. And most humans don't have tribal markings save for a few indigenous cultures. We're all of Eurpean descent; Anglo-Saxon, Scandinavian, etc."

"What's Aglo Saxon?" Izzy asked.

"Anglo Saxon," Annie clarified, "It mean's we're all white Caucasian. Unless someone here's albino Cambodian."

Sean and Rodney both snickered. Izzy still looked confused, so Rodney clarified, "It means we're all Vikings."

The little boy immediately brightened up at the prospect. Annie looked offended, "That's not exactly true…"

Perceptor nodded thoughtfully before turning his attention back to Brea. "Did these occur prior to your captivity?" He asked. Brea shook her head and he frowned turned mournful. "Am I correct, then, in assuming these originated from the actions, negligent or otherwise, of Cybertronians?"

"Yes," She answered. "It was technically an accident, but…they didn't seem too sorry for it. Except when they thought they would loose money because of it."

"Hm," the Mech seemed to be considering something. Turning his head to glance across the clearing, he asked, "Have you documented these as of yet, Ratchet?"

"No," The medic admitted, "I wanted Brea settled before going into anything like that. Allow her time to adjust."

Perceptor nodded in assent, "Likely a wise decision. What of the others?"

"We have the basic cases for everyone except Brea and Kimberly," Prowl stated. "Due to her inability to verbally communicate, we haven't gotten a chance to adequately document her apart from what we gathered ourselves or what Sideswipe and Sunstreaker have provided. It won't hold much weight in court."

"I'm confused," Wheeljack admitted, "What do you mean she can't verbally communicate? Is she damaged?"

"You could say that. She's mute," Annie explained sadly. "I believe Kimberly is suffering through what we call selective mutism."

Optimus gazed at the woman curiously, "Would you please elaborate? I am not familiar with all human terminology."

Annie nodded. "Of course. Selective mutism is a disorder commonly associated with various forms of trauma. The individual experiences inability to speak during certain situations or in times of strong emotions or in the presence of a certain person. But with Kimberly, instead of not being able to speak during those instances, she can't speak at all. I don't know it it's a conscious decision on her part or she is truly experiencing this disorder. It's a common affliction to those who have experienced trauma, especially in children and young adults. For one as young as Kimberly, already going the trials of being a teenager, it wouldn't take much in theory to induce selective mutism."

"What such trials are you referring to?" Perceptor asked, sounding intrigued. "What is a teenager?"

"I'm a teenager," Brea offered, her mouth shooting off with no real thought process behind them. She shrunk away slightly when the comment earned her the attention of all present Mechs and humans.

"But what is it?" Wheeljack asked.

"Teenagers are humans going through the process of becoming adults, biologically anyway. We call it Puberty. They tend to be very…" Annie struggled for an appropriate word.

"Unstable?" Craig offered offhandedly.

"Yeah, pretty much," Annie conceded. "They tend to be very emotional and prone to aggression. And it's worse for the females of our species because our bodies go through more drastic changes then males and we're more easily influenced by hormones and prone to mood swings…" ("Amen!" Rodney and Sean cheered) "…so add trauma, which releases certain chemicals into our bodies as a response, to that list and you have a hormone cocktail from hell."

"How do you know all that?" Sean asked from where he was standing with Rodney.

"From my psychology class in college," Annie replied as if it were nothing.

"And that was…how long ago?" Rodney asked incredulously, earning himself a very severe glare from the woman.

"Brea," Ratchet said and she turned obediently towards the Mech.

"Yeah?" She asked, perking up slightly as if it would help to hear him. He looked at her seriously and she vaguely wondered if she was in trouble. "Didn't you tell me both Kimberly and you were brought to Cybertron aboard the same transport vessel?"

Brea suddenly found herself the focus of the room again, everyone peering at her curiously. "I…did." She said, the effect of their stares giving her a small form of stage fright.

"Did anything happen during that time that might account for her mutism?" The Medic asked.

"The answer to that question is irrelevant," Prowl interjected before Brea could answer, "Sideswipe reported that Kimberly spoke before being taken from Viral's estate. It was only when she was brought here did she develop this condition."

"Selective mutism is a black and white concept, Prowl," Annie said with a little bite, annoyed at the sweeping generalization, "People develop all sorts of different conditions, even if they're all suffering from the same affliction. People with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD, can develop a number of symptoms but they're in no way a set order. One person could go into a depression while another could develop night terrors and another could be perfectly fine. Or commit suicide. It depends upon each person and their ability to cope with their situation. They can happen really at any time; even years after the initial trauma. So it would be relevant if you consider that her mutism might've been brought on by compounded trauma. In all likelihood she just couldn't take the pressure and just snapped. It could also account for her paranoia."

"Paranoia?" Wheeljack asked, astonished. "I would never have guessed humans were so susceptible to psychological damage."

"Ah such is the bane of humanity," Rodney swooned. "We're nice and sane in our own little world, but pop our happy bubble and we all go crazy."

"Kimberly's not crazy," Annie insisted. "She's just a very sick little girl who needs a lot of help."

"Help? She won't let any of us near her," Sean protested. "How are we supposed to help her? Whenever she comes to get food all us guys have to go stand to the side until she goes or she starts going crazy." He turned to Wheeljack and Perceptor, "You wanna see a human freak out? You should've seen the way she cracked on Caleb when she first got here! Talk about over reacting! You should've seen the scratch she gave him! Hey Ceb, you have any scars from that?"

The mentioned boy seemed startled and a little offended he'd been brought into the conversation, even more on by the topic, but he shook his head, "Nah. It healed."

"She's just scared of us," Craig spoke in a tone that indicated he wished to move on from that subject.

"But why?" Izzy asked. "We aren't going to hurt her or nothing."

"She's not scared of me," Zoë added cheerfully.

"That's 'cause you're a girl," Izzy replied, his nose wrinkled in distaste. Brea watched as the conversation hopped from person to person as they all gave their opinions.

"Brea?" Optimus Prime asked, causing her to jump and look up at him. "Do you have any thoughts about this?"

She was silent for a moment, attempting to line up her thoughts in any comprehensible order. Staring at her feet as if she could mentally line them up on the ground, Brea struggled to make sense of her words. As she ran them around in her head, they seemed to loose all meaning. They sounded hallow and unbelievable, insincere. She could still recall vividly seeing Swindle pluck the dead woman's body from the cage without dignity and drop her into a plastic bag like some diseased dead thing. She could remember Kimberly's screams as she was snatched up from the floor as she attempted a dash for freedom. She could still feel the terror…Somehow, trying to put all that into audible words seemed very inadequate. Offensive even.

"Something…did happen," Brea confirmed; voice low and feeling as if it wasn't her place to speak the words. She thought back to only a few moments ago when Kimberly had stopped her from telling Sunstreaker that she knew what had happened to Kimberly. Somehow it seemed like she was double crossing the girl by revealing something she didn't seem at all eager to reveal. Did anyone know about it?

Speculation gave way to silence and everyone turned to her, eager to hear what she had to say. It only seemed to make her more hesitant to speak. "On the ship, I mean. Something…" She stopped herself, ready to refuse anymore information. Warm metal press softly against her back and she looked up into cool blue optics.

"Yes?" Optimus prompted gently, seeming to sense her hesitance. She stared for a moment, debating her decision, and then finally conceded.

"Well…on the ship, she wasn't alone. I mean, there was someone with her, but…" Brea hesitated, swallowing thickly. "Her mom I think. She didn't make it. That is…she died on the ship."

A very stunned silence fell on the clearing. She took the quiet as a cue and continued. "When a Mech came to take the body—er, her away, she tried to escape…Kimberly tried to escape," she let that sink in. "They caught her and they told us if anyone tried to escape they'd kill us. I thought he was going to kill her, I think we all did, but he just put her back into the cage and left."

Brea continued to stare at the ground and it was only when she heard a shaky intake f breath did she look over to Annie staring off into space, one hand gingerly placed over her mouth, looking as if she were about to cry.

"That's probably it," Craig conceded sadly in a low voice. "Loosing a parent is hard enough, but at such a young age…and during such a stressful time? It'd be hard for anyone to deal with, let alone a teenaged girl."

There was a strangely heavy silence.

"What do you mean you say her Mom?" Perceptor asked carefully, as if afraid his queries would be considered inappropriate given the sudden divulgence. "I am unfamiliar with this word."

"Mom, short for Mother; a maternal procreator," Prowl explained mechanically. "Humans spend their early lives dependent upon their procreators until they are ready to become autonomous. From my understanding, humans have extraordinarily strong bonds with their procreators."

"Hm," Perceptor nodded. "I see. When is it considered appropriate for humans to become independent of their creators?"

"Well, there's two ways you could answer that," Annie answered, her voice seemed to be filled with sympathy. "Generally, we consider 18 years to be the age you leave home, but that's mostly for Western Society. Other parts of the world do things differently. But in our case, most don't leave until they have finished their higher education and have a reliable job. Unless the child runs away of leaves home on their own, but that's different. Most parents help their kids settle into an independent life, easing them into it. At least in our society."

"And how old is Kimberly?" Wheeljack asked softly.

"I'd wager she's about 15. Maybe 16." Craig said with a shake of his head. "I have a 14 year old niece and Kimberly looks a little older then her so I'd say 15 or 16. Too young. Far too young to be alone."

"So she is incapable of caring for herself by your species standards," Wheeljack concluded.

"You could say that," Craig said with a shrug and glanced around at the gathered humans. "Then again, I think we're all kind of in that category one way or another."