Disclaimers in Part 1

Nine hundred miles east, across a state line and a mountain range, a small town nestled in the foothills of the Rockies north of Denver. A sleepy place known mostly as a farm town on a state highway, it was the unlikely home of an outpost of modernity that had brought a certain degree of prosperity to the town. From the air, several neat rows of buildings might have been mistaken for a farmer's supply depot or any number of other agricultural businesses, but it was nothing of the sort. This was a server farm. The buildings provided a home for thousands of racks of servers. The roofs of the buildings were covered with solar panels, and secondary to that was a large generator. If the grid went down, the server farm would still remain operational. One of many such installations worldwide, it provided the resources that kept the Internet alive.

The technicians who worked in the scrupulously clean, air conditioned buildings had no idea that they harbored a parasite. Hidden among the server racks was a network that provided a "frame" of sorts for the consciousness of the Decepticon, Soundwave.

Awakening from a defragmentation cycle, the 'Con's first thought was to poll his symbionts, but with a pang of pain, he interrupted that process immediately. Ravage, Frenzy, Rumble, Lazerbeak: Deactivated. Ratbat, Buzzsaw: Status unknown, 95% probability of deactivation.

In a small apartment a few miles away, Soundwave's awakening pinged a local network. Alerted by the computer's alarms, two men settled themselves before their work stations and put on what looked like baseball helmets with attached earphones, mirrored sunglasses and microphones. Cables connected these helmets to the computers.

The older of the two men adjusted his helmet over his freshly shaved head. He imagined it made him a clone of Vin Diesel, but he'd have had to spend significantly more time in the gym to get that look.

While he tried to shed years, his partner had shaved facial hair and dyed his scalp hair gray in attempt to look older.

In their former lives, James Smith had been the director of the clandestine government agency known as Sector 2 as well as the owner of Premium Software, and his associate Dr. Thomas Wilburn was an inventor of direct neural interface technology which offered human beings the opportunity to connect themselves to the Internet with no need for keyboards or monitor screens.

And that was how they had met Soundwave.

It was a real shame about the employees of Premium Software. They could have been part of the next version of humanity. Instead they had chosen to be obsolete.

There was no room in James Smith's world for the obsolete.

Soundwave would not have admitted it in a million vorns, but he had found kindred spirits in Smith and Wilburn. They had filled the void left by his symbionts, and though they would not live long, humans had an advantage over Cybertronians in that they could breed their own replacements. These two had not been difficult to influence, because their own outlook had already been very similar to his. New ones should be even easier to mold and shape.

The necessary elimination of the Premium Software employees had presented a problem, however, requiring Smith and Wilburn to relocate and take up new identities.

It was that which he presented to them now, in the form of files that he sent to their work stations. "Eric Hasson: New identity for James Smith. Ronald Silvers: New identity for Thomas Wilburn. Occupation: Information services technicians. Place of employment: Mountain Springs Data Center. Status: Committed couple."

"You want us to pretend to be gay?" Wilburn, now Silvers, yelped. "There's one problem with that—we aren't gay!"

"Rationale: two unrelated males share an apartment and spend an inordinate amount of time together. Allays suspicions of neighbors."

Smith, now Hasson, said, "That's...actually not a bad reason, Tom—I mean Ronald."

Silvers thought about it and shrugged. "I guess, darling."

"Commencement of employment: Monday at 0900 hours. Memorization of details of new identities: critical."

Hasson looked through the file. "It's all here, but we'll need hard copies of our documentation. Especially driver's licenses."

"Forger: necessary to produce hard copies. Search: in progress."

Silvers said, "There are bound to be plenty in Denver."

Soundwave continued his search for a suitable forger, while the two men began working on their cover IDs. It was going to be a long weekend.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

At NEST HQ, Jazz received a packet of information from Mirage, with more data on the murder victims. The medical examiner still hadn't released a cause of death, but the packet contained photos of the murder victims. He opened the first image. It was identified as Nelson Rota, age 45, senior computer technician. Jazz was struck by two things—the look of abject horror frozen on the man's face, and the two quarter-size burns on his forehead.

"Hey, Chip—ya got a problem with lookin' at a picture of a body? It ain't pretty."

"Seen plenty of real ones that weren't, in Iraq," he replied. "What have you got? Jeez, what happened to the guy? Looks like somethin' scared the poor SOB to death."

"The ME ain't said yet. But look at those marks. They're like the ones on your back, only worse."

Chip zoomed in on one of them. "Could be, Jazz." He dug in a pocket on one of the equipment bags hanging from the arms of his chair, and got out a silver ziplock bag. From it he extracted a flat black rubber pad about an inch square. One side of it had a wire about three inches long projecting from the center of the pad and ending in a socket. The other side was coated with adhesive. "They all look similar to this. Some are different shapes, for different uses. See this spot in the center of the burn, that ain't burned? That's where the wire is, the pad doesn't contact the skin there. You better tell Mirage what they're lookin' for."

"So, these contacts are for connecting the human nervous system to a prosthetic device?" Jazz asked.

"That's what I use 'em for. You can look up TENS units on Wikipedia to find another medical use. But this is somethin' different, this is more like an EEG, but the contacts for that are different—and there are more than just two. I need to see for myself what the hell they were doin' out there," Chip said. "Do all the bodies have those same marks?"

Jazz checked. "Yeah, they do. That information hasn't been given to the press."

Chip called Lennox over and told him about Mirage's find. "I want to go up there, Colonel."

Lennox said, "I don't know, Chip. That's a twenty-hour drive—one way—then the investigation after you get up there. I'm afraid it'd be too hard on you—and then, if anything went south while you were there—we're not trained to help you. Is there any reason you can't do it from here by remote? You'll have the team's telemetry, and they can be your hands on-site. What more could you do there than here?"

Chip started to protest—but then he thought it over. If something did go south, he'd endanger the rest of the team while they got him out. "Nothin', I guess, sir."

"Chip, give it time. You're nowhere near being released from medical care yet. You still got bones healing, for cryin' out loud. This is for now, not forever."

"Yeah. I—I know, sir."

Lennox gripped his shoulder. "This is good work, you two. I think what you just did was crack this case, after we figure it all out. Let somebody else do the grunt work. This is the heavy lifting, right here."

"Thanks, Colonel."

After Lennox left, Chip smacked his hand on the desk. "God dammit!"

Jazz said, "Yeah, it sucks slag. I hate this."

"How long before you get your new frame?"

"Oh, Ratch and Que are workin' on it as fast as they can. An orn, I guess. That ain't that long..."

"Hell, yes it is," Chip said. "You don't have to pretend things are great when you're around me, of all people."

"Hey, how about this? When I get my frame, I'll design my alt form around your chair. Then after ya don't gotta worry about broken bones anymore, we'll both be back in business."

"That could work," the Kentuckian said. A slow grin spread across his face. "That could work like a charm! But there's a lotta places you can't go-"

"Chip, I'm technically a minibot. A lot of spec-ops bots are, 'cause we can get in places other bots can't. If I pick the same alt I had before, I'm almost a meter shorter than Bumblebee. I could go in a house if I wanted to. Not like the Sisters, but still, I could get inside. And—I could use a remote. Never had one before, never needed one, but didn't have to worry about teeny little human houses before either. I could attach to a remote as easy as I could this computer or a frame."

"Or—Jazz—you could attach to my chair!"

"Primus! Yeah!"

"We could install a motherboard and a lot of flash memory, you could use that for whatever you wanted to."

"Why is that thing completely unarmed?"

"'Cause I built it in a hospital, and they ain't exactly got an armory," Chip replied. "But it does have a hardpoint. I could mount just about anything that doesn't have a back blast."

He shared a diabolical grin with Jazz' holoform. Then the two of them got back to work, Jazz to tell Mirage what they'd discovered, and Chip to try to match the exact kind of contact pad with the burns on the victims.

If Lennox had known what the two of them were plotting, though, he'd have figured out a way to get Chip to Oregon. Quickly.

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Mikaela pulled into the base driveway and showed her ID to a guard at the gate. He made a call, then waved her through.

It was almost as she remembered—the Quonset huts had been freshly painted in desert tan, to reflect as much of the heat as possible without painting them bright white, which would have made them visible against the sand (and a blinding eyesore to the base's residents). There were a lot more vehicles in the lot, as well as in front of the base housing units, and a lot more people moving around. She pulled up in the lot, got out, and almost got knocked over by Brains and Wheelie.

She hugged the two minibots. "How are you guys? Are you OK? I heard about you crashing in the river!"

"Nah, it wasn't exactly a crash, just kinda an emergency landing. Gettin' outta the water was the hard part. They got these sheer walls along the riverbank, if Diarwen hadn't heard me yellin' for help we'd be sleepin' with the fishies!"

"Who's Diarwen?"

"She's this lady who helped us out in Chicago, I don't see her right now but she's around here someplace," Wheelie said. "She jumped in the river with me and helped me keep Brains from sinkin'-he was out like a light. This was after she did somethin' to shut down Sentinel's space bridge."

Bee rolled up and transformed before she heard the rest of what promised to be an extremely long story. He knelt to pick her up and held her to his chest plates for a moment.

"Bee, how the hell have you been? I missed you!"

"Missed you...too."

Neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room named Sam.

They went inside, and more people came up to say hello—the Little Twins, Epps and a few more soldiers who had been with them in Egypt. Epps asked, "Have a good trip out here?"

"Long," she said. "Spent last night on my dad's couch, and the neighbor's dog woke me up at the crack of dawn."

"How is he?"

"Eh—long story," she said.

Epps knew enough of her history to guess at what she wasn't saying, and simply nodded.

Kaela said, "I need to talk to Colonel Lennox pretty soon, if he's available."

"He's in his office—this way." Epps ushered her under the catwalk and across to Lennox' office. The door was open, so he simply tapped on the frame. "Colonel, look who's here!"

"Mikaela! Welcome!" Lennox got up and came over to hug her. "You're looking great! How's the new grad?"

"I'm good! How's everyone here?"

"Good—wait! Kaela, you don't know what happened—you remember Jazz?"

"Will, like I'd forget someone who gave his life to save mine."

"Well, he's—I'm not sure how to say this except say it. He came back as a ghost."

Her jaw dropped. "You're shittin' me."

"I am not. Come on, let's say hello." They crossed Admin, passed the medbay and Wheeljack's lab, then knocked on Jazz' door.

Soon afterwards, Kaela's joyous scream echoed through the hangar. The noise attracted Ratchet, Jolt and Que from med-sci.

It was a while, glad and joyous but still not too long, before they finally let Mikaela go to take care of the formalities associated with a new job. She asked Lennox, "What do I need to do now?"

"Fill out your paperwork and get your physical, then report to Ratchet to find out what your schedule's going to be."

She did all that, and by that time it was getting near the 1800 hours shift change. Ratchet asked her, "Have you found a place to stay?"

"Not exactly. I had planned to stay with my dad until I got paid, but that didn't work out."

Ratchet said, "You are my apprentice, so you will stay with me."

"You never have room for you, much less anyone else, in your quarters," she smiled. "But I was wondering if I could get quarters on base?"

Lennox scratched his head. "Right now we're full up on both sides of the commons. We have a few married couples with no kids sharing apartments. I'd like to have you on base, Mikaela, but I don't know of anyone who has a spare bedroom right now."

"Well, I guess I'll camp in my car till payday, if that's OK," she shrugged. To her, it was not a big deal, she had sacked out in worse places, and she couldn't imagine a safer crash spot than the NEST parking lot.

Wheeljack said, "I do not precisely have a spare room, but I do have room, in that my quarters are not stuffed floor to ceiling with medbay supplies. It would surely be more comfortable than the back seat of your car."

Lennox said, "Or anyone's couch, for that matter. You're not camping in your car. And one reason for moving out here was to minimize the security risk people living off base present. We know there are still 'Cons around, because Ironhide and his boys captured a bunch of them."

Que shot a look at Ratchet, and pinged a text to Lennox's phone. "Do not mention this to Ratchet, but does Diarwen not have a spare room?"

Lennox read it, then put the phone away as if the message were unimportant. "I'll check around and find you a bunk. Meanwhile, you're probably pretty hungry, aren't you?"

"Starving," she admitted. She'd been too mad at her dad to eat much earlier.

Lennox pointed her to the mess, then he went in search of Diarwen, finding her on her way somewhere. "Wait up a second, Diarwen."

"Of course, Will. What do you need of me?"

"Are you busy?"

"I promised my time to Jazz this evening, but I can spare a few moments."

"Mikaela Banes is here; she's basically a member of the family, Sam's ex, and she was up to her eyeballs with the rest of us from Mission City to Egypt. She's just got out of school, and she's coming home to work. We thought it was a done deal that she was going to stay with her dad but...that situation is complicated. It didn't work out. Right now, you've got the only spare room on base. I was wondering if it would be too much of an imposition if she could be your roommate for a while."

"It would be no imposition at all. I am rarely there except to sleep. May I meet her?"

"Thank you, Diarwen, that would be great. She just went to the mess hall."

"Let me tell Jazz where I will be, and then I will make arrangements with Mikaela to move her things in."

"That's fine." He went back to his office, and found a message light blinking. It was Mearing, and he had just missed the call. It was, what, 2100 on the East Coast. She was working late. He returned the call.

"Director, I'm sorry, I stepped out of my office for a few minutes. What's up?"

"Just wanted to give you a heads-up, you can expect a delegation from the Senate Armed Services Committee."

"Thanks for the warning. What are they upset about this time?"

"Your tax dollars at work. Be prepared to justify expenses. Between you, me, and the doorknob, I think they just want to meet the Autobots. Make sure the Little Twins and the Wreckers are sober, and it might be wise to keep the ex-'Cons out of sight."

"We can do that," Lennox assured her.

Three time zones away, the Director kicked her high heels off and stretched her feet under her desk. "I'm sure you can. The other reason I called is that Seymour may have a lead on S10. He wants Sam to talk to a potential witness. I'd like to borrow Epps."

"Okay. Why Epps?"

"The witness lives in Fort Walton Beach, and Epps grew up around there. Also, Epps has a level head and a lot of experience, and Sam pays attention to him. This guy is almost seventy, living in a retirement community, so it's probably an unnecessary precaution..."

"There are very few unnecessary precautions," Lennox replied. "I'll put him on a plane. You want him to come to DC, or meet Sam in Fort Walton Beach?"

"Might as well meet him there tomorrow afternoon; saves him one leg of the trip. I'll have Li text him the hotel arrangements. Sam can brief him when he gets there."

"Yes, sir."

"Is everything going smoothly at HQ, except for the invaders from Capitol Hill?"

"Sort of. We've got a housing crisis on the horizon. I had to bunk Kaela in with Diarwen."

"Will! They're civilians, you can't just assign them roommates!"

"Why not? They've got to sleep somewhere. Kaela sort of had arrangements with her dad...but that fell through.":

"I'm not surprised."

"No. If she's going to distance herself from him, I'll be the last to discourage her. I'd rather he wasn't too close to her the next time he boosts a car."

"I wish to hell he'd try to boost Ironhide," Mearing replied.

Lennox snorted. That was exactly the kind of learning experience the jerk needed. "Also I don't want her living off base to begin with, she'd be a high-value target for the 'Cons. I'd have to get Prime to assign her a guardian, and they're stretched thin already. I couldn't say much when she was going to move in with her father, but now that she's looking for a place, it works out better if she's here."

"I have to agree. If she has no objections, and Diarwen doesn't either, I'll push the paperwork through."

-Sidhe Chronicles-

Mikaela found an empty seat in the mess and dug into her chicken casserole. A moment later, a tall slender woman in BDUs, but with a long white-blond braid that was not remotely military came over. "Mikaela Banes?"

"That's me," she said, raising a hand. "What can I do for you?"

"I am Diarwen ni Gilthanel. Colonel Lennox has told me that you are looking for a roommate?"

"Well, yes."

"As it happens, I have a spare room, which you are welcome to use. Would you be interested?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact I would. Umm—You don't smoke, do you?"

"No, no I do not."

"OK, great! I don't either."

"I am in Building A, the fourth apartment on the right. I will make sure that I have not left things in the spare room. When you have finished your meal, please come over."

"Thank you! I appreciate this so much!"

Diarwen nodded a courteous bow, then left.

Kaela asked the soldier sitting next to her, "She isn't from around here, is she?"

The soldier laughed, and grinned at her. "You could say that, yeah."

Puzzled, Mikaela made quick work of her supper, then hurried over to Diarwen's apartment.

There was a wonderful smell when Diarwen let her inside, Mikaela quickly traced that to several bunches of herbs which had been hung up to dry. A harp and a tambourine also caught her eye, as did a chain mail shirt hung over a stand in the corner—and a sword and bow on a rack on the wall, quiver almost empty underneath it.

Mikaela realized she wasn't getting your average roommate.

"Welcome," Diarwen said. "Your room is on the left. I was unsure how to share a bathroom, and so I put my own things into a basket, to take with me in and out. Will that work for you?"

"I shared a two-bathroom house with seven other people, Diarwen, and that sounds like heaven," Mikaela said. "I'll get a basket as quickly as I can."

"Fair enough. Can I help you bring your things in?"

"Thanks! I'd appreciate that. I don't have a lot."

All Mikaela brought with her from Texas was her clothes, her TV and stereo, a box of CDs, some reference books, her picture albums. A phone charger and the sack of stuff that went in the bathroom completed the haul.

Diarwen detached one of two keys to the apartment and handed it to Mikaela, and as she did so her finger brushed the young woman's ring.

"Ow!" Diarwen popped her finger in her mouth.

"What happened? It's a new ring, does it have a sharp edge...? Are you all right?"

Diarwen inspected the injury; only a tiny burn. "No. It is iron, you see—I have a sensitivity to it."

Mikaela took off the chain she was wearing and used it to wear the ring around her neck. It would be safe inside her tee for the time being. There would be no way she and Diarwen could share an apartment without touching hands. "If just touching iron can give you a burn like that, how on earth do you live on this base?"

"Very carefully!" Diarwen grinned. "I wear gloves most of the time when I am around the buildings."

"OK, I'm thinking there aren't too many humans allergic to iron—considering that we need it to live. Are you an alien, like the Cybertronians?"

"The short answer is yes, although I do have a few human ancestors. I am of the Daoine Sidhe. Your people also call us the Fae, or the Fair Folk. Some confuse us with elves—they are Scandinavian."

"I've seen a ghost today, so don't look at me like I'm gonna run out the door screaming because you told me that. If I'd known, I wouldn't have worn my ring in here, and that's all that would be different."

Diarwen nodded. "It has significance for you."

"Yes, it's a symbol of professional commitment. It's worn on the pinky finger of my working hand, as a reminder of that commitment. But I don't think anyone ever meant for it to be a hazard to my roommate. I'm sorry."

"There is a learning curve to every new endeavor. My diet is usually more of an issue. I must avoid foods with chemical preservatives, that sort of thing."

"There used to be an organic market in Tranquility; if it's still there, we should go. I used to get the best tomatoes there. And mint, for tea." Kaela suddenly found herself longing for a cup of peppermint tea.

"I shall look forward to that. I have been limiting myself to the organic section of the same supermarket where everyone shops—and 'limiting' is indeed the word. I am afraid that I must go now. Jazz is waiting."

"Diarwen—thanks, again."

"Think nothing of it, you are more than welcome. I would ask one thing of you, though, Mikaela."

"What's that?"

"If you should hear rumors about me, please hear my side of it before making up your mind. I will tell you the truth, upon that I give you my word."

"Fair enough. Don't know yet what this is about, but look, military base, scuttlebutt? Goes with the territory. Best thing to do is ignore it."

"And that is precisely what I said! It does not, however, seem to be going away."

"One of those. Don't worry, I'll take anything I hear with a grain of salt. I mean, y'know, I'm the floozie who broke Sam's heart."

Diarwen said, "I have not known him long, but I cannot say that he seems in any way brokenhearted to me!"

"Well, there you go."

"Lock up if you leave. It is easy to forget because no one here would steal, but there are regulations."

"Sure thing, but I'm not planning on going anywhere. I drove two days to get here, then today was a pretty long day too."

"I see. Rest well, then. I will be quiet when I come in."

For all Mikaela knew, she might have been. She might also have played "Dueling Tubas" with Epps (or more likely Sideswipe) right outside Mikaela's door, and it wouldn't have made any difference.

End Part 4