Chapter 58

-0-Ops Center

Jazz studied the intel from the night before and the newest this morning, rising to walk from Ops Center to the Rec Room. He scanned for Prowl who was taking a break. Catching his attention, Prowl arose and came to Jazz, following him out as they walked toward the N.E.S.T. HQ. It was warm as a slight breeze kept the temperature in the 'perfect range' according to most of the humans they encountered. They passed troops and nodded, pausing with a couple to chat so by the time they reached the hangar where the teleconference was being held Prowl was up to speed.

They walked down the middle of the big space, avoiding the edges which were crammed full of equipment and their technicians as other men and women ran here and there doing work that required it. There was also a handful of civilians from the Pentagon and the State Department who worked at the base as a full time assignment as well.

Few did more than glance up, so common a sight was it to see Autobots come and go. One did, pausing in his work to look at the two as they walked toward Optimus who was in conference with the Pentagon and the State Department. They waited until he could turn, then began a silent conversation together. He watched them, wondering what they were saying as he sat no more than ten feet away. He wondered what mayhem they were concocting to get their two comrades back.

He'd sent texts to Intel-Martin's private mercenary bulletin board, First-Strike-Warriors telling them of the comings and goings of the big bots. He'd been lulled into more than that by these same people who wanted more than to just 'know about them as interesting military-related curios'. Nast and his company began to woo and groom him for the role he now played.

It wasn't hard.

A great deal of money was accumulating in an account in the Cayman Islands with promises of a good role in their organization once he was out of the Army, another incentive to have him be their mole. It wasn't ideological like it was with Nast. He just wanted a comfortable life and a career that could give him all the autonomy and adventure he wanted for himself. In short, he was a born mercenary.

Prime glanced at the monitors behind him the mole noticed, thinking perhaps of something. He once again felt admiration for what they were, how they were made and what they could do. Unlike Nast, he didn't find them odd, creepy or strange. He'd been around them long enough to understand their strengths, their way of life and their fearless warrior ethic. He admired that ethic, enjoyed seeing them out and about and loved their alt vehicle forms.

It was one of the great joys of being stationed here for a lot of the military as well as civilian men and women, seeing the incredible array of phenomenal, often concept cars, planes and trucks. Seeing them transform back and forth, knowing they were alive and sentient was a miracle to watch, a marvel of the universe in which they all lived.

Everyone had favorites and the two Lamborghinis were among the most remarked about and enjoyed. In or out of vehicle format, they were incredibly admired and discussed. They were also the most feared to be around, the uneven temperament of the yellow one evident. But they were often observed by groups of soldiers who came to see them when they worked on the obstacle course or in particular, when they would practice and spar with each other.

Right now, he knew that they were working to retrieve the femme, Arcee and the Top Kick mech, Springer. He'd heard about the Wreckers and their fearsome reputation as the last resort special ops team of the Autobots by accident and then by cultivating Kup who loved to yarn. He admired Springer, often seeing him with Kup lounging in the sun, a laconic figure of poise, humor and palpable competence. He was a soldier among soldiers. He had even ridden in Springer's bed once when they'd been transferred from an exercise to the hangar when it began to pour down rain.

He'd been told to give his controls inside information on a plan that High Flyer had told them he'd discovered. Flyer told them that Seekers were going to be in Australia and that they were going to be working on a 'grab'. He'd considered that, wondering who among the many Autobots in Diego would be the ones sought. He was to keep them informed when the group was sent and the aftermath. Who would be involved? That was the main question High Flyer needed to know.

Why? They didn't tell him.

He sent the intel. Bluestreak, Warpath, the new femme Autobot, Arcee and Springer were going. He sent it and was told to monitor the situation, to tell them if anything changed and the outcome afterward. He did. The Seekers showed up, the encounter happened and two of them, Arcee and Springer were taken. He felt only a twinge of guilt. Things like this happened in this business, the business of war. You lived and sometimes you died.

Prowl and Jazz nodded to Prime then walked out. He watched them, admiring their form and beauty. Jazz seemed cool, just cool. He had a perfect name for himself, he considered, a name that fit his personality. Jazz was a very much admired Autobot among the troops.

Prowl was harder to know. He had wings, too, which he'd been told were sensor devices and highly sensitive to touch. An airman had found that out when he'd accidentally slid his hand along the edge of Bluestreak's wing soliciting a strange response. It not only came from Bluestreak but from Sunstreaker who turned to glare holes though the airman. Profuse apologies aside, the airman never felt comfortable around Sunstreaker again. But then most people didn't.

He was seriously hardcore.

Both Autobots were tall, Jazz about 17-18 feet with Prowl about 19-20 feet. That still made them notably shorter than Prime who was at least 28-30 feet tall. Prowl had to look up at a sharp angle to see Prime. Even a tall figure like Prowl looked small and insignificant around someone as massive and brawny as Prime. He shook his head, his admiration for them overtaking him again.

He'd studied them a great deal trying to learn as much about them as he could, finding it not only personally rewarding but useful in his new found role. There wasn't anything that High Flyer and Nast didn't find interesting. The biggest focus after where and what they were doing were the personal details of their lives together.

He'd heard the rumors about Ironhide and Ratchet. After thinking about it a while, noting the lack of females among their ranks, he decided it didn't matter. Alexander the Great had a male companion. Together they'd conquered the world. So what?

Ironhide was one bruising bot and someone whose controlled mayhem he respected. The fact that he looked just about the baddest of all of them was another plus. Ratchet? He had little experience with the yellow medico but he'd heard among the troops that he was brave, fought well and was the best medic their kind ever had.

His favorite bot was Springer. The irony that he was the tool that allowed his capture didn't resonate in his head. It was just business. Turning to his work with one eye on the big Autobot commandant before him, he put it all out of his mind.

-0-Intel-Martin HQ, Houston, Texas

Bill Nast sat in his office atop a tall tower in downtown Houston, Texas. Floor to ceiling windows gave him a panoramic view of the entire Houston downtown area. His phone call just concluded had pleased him a great deal. High Flyer, an enigmatic billionaire who was supportive of his ideas and positions both financial and ideological had called and finalized the plans they'd been working on for a long time. It also confirmed something he'd been guessing at for a while.

High Flyer had contact with the Decepticons. How he did, Nast could only guess. His own contacts around the world paled compared to this. He wondered how it could be that these evil machines had made this alliance, for alliance it was. The 'Cons had helped to capture two Autobots. They together had helped the Decepticons capture two Autobots. He himself had helped the Decepticons capture two Autobots. It narrowed down to him, here, sitting and digesting the news.

The Decepticons had agreed to his fee for his help. They would help the 'Cons with this odd request, the capture of a specific Autobot or two and in return, he and Intel-Martin would get one of them to reverse engineer. He wanted the one called Springer. He surely would be of more value. But they had agreed to give him the female, the femme, Arcee. He was irritated. That bot was only about 24 feet or so feet tall and slimmer than the warrior mechs that he coveted. What could she possibly give them that could displace what they could mine from the other?

He swallowed his irritation. This was only the beginning. They were hooked together, Intel-Martin, High Flyer, Daniels, their mole and the Decepticons. Something told him that they were playing with dynamite, that the machines couldn't ever be trusted to keep their word or not turn on them. But it was too late now. He'd committed treason. It was go forward or go to prison. As he sat musing on his decisions, William Nast made a pact with himself that he would never ever go to jail.

-0-Far away

They came for Arcee. Springer couldn't help her. Starscream hit her with a null ray since she'd disabled two 'Cons who had tried to extract her from the cell physically. Springer cursing, throwing himself at the bars could only watch as they carried her away.

Starscream standing nearby watched him with an intense expression. When she was gone he came closer, the two of them glaring at each other. "If you ever want to see your daughter again you will have to do what I tell you. If you fail she will be dead. I will give her to my troops and then I'll personally cut her into confetti. Do you understand?"

Springer whose spark burned like napalm in his chest nodded.

Starscream smiled.

-0-Ops Center

"Here's the intel, Optimus," Jazz said handing the datapad that he had compiled to Prime. It detailed the cross traffic between 'High Flyer' and William Nast.

Prime read it with a frown as a sense of irritation burned in his tanks. "I want this to be priority one, Jazz," Optimus replied glancing at the maps on two of the monitors above security. The huge screens detailed the Earth, the eastern and western hemispheres gracing each one separately and in incredible detail. "Where do you suppose they will ship?"

"I would think from Europe, the Mediterranean area perhaps," Jazz said. "What we have to do is find out where they're goin' to come into Earth's atmosphere. They're avoiding Mars because they know we fly a lot around her. I would say they'll come in from behind Venus and hit the North Pole. Intel-Martin uses a shipping firm out of Cyprus often. We can watch that outfit and try to see if they message a confirmation to Nast once they get ready to send."

Prime nodded. "I want Arcee taken to Autobot City and I want her to stay there out of sight under radio silence. I also want to know what has happened to Springer. Any word on the shuttles?"

"Not yet. The Oort Field is pretty big and chaotic. The signal dead ends in line with our approach field for incoming Autobots from outside the solar well. I can assume they use it, too, because the density of debris is lighter through there."

"Keep them at it," Prime said. "Everyone must bring their 'A' game. Arcee depends upon us intercepting her before Nast gets his hooks into her."

Jazz nodded. He walked to the sensor station to watch and work his network of computer bots and spiders.

Looking around the command deck, Prime noted the efficiency and integrity of his Autobots and fellow Cybertronians. They made him proud. They weren't like Nast and his hired goons. They were beyond Nast's scope. The idea that they would cooperate or share technology and information with Nast made his tanks turn over.

Never, he thought. Never.

"Prime?"

He glanced at Jazz.

"We have a message coming in from beyond the solar well. It was zipped through in ultra high speed transmission format and can't be traced. I have it taped."

He rose to walk toward the main screen pausing to glance at Jazz. "Is it clean?"

"Yes," Jazz replied.

"Play it," Prime said as Ironhide and Prowl came to stand beside him.

A moment passed as Jazz diverted it to broadcast. It wavered, then opened. It was Springer sitting in front of a cut stone wall with a transmission device trained upon him, his manner tense but calm and his vision focused on something beyond the camera. Then his gaze took in the device as he looked at them directly. "Optimus, this is Springer. They have Arcee. They have our daughter."

-0-Far away

"Now that wasn't hard was it?" Starscream asked as the bars went up again.

Springer looked at him, then sat down relaxing against the wall as if he had no cares. He didn't answer. He stared at Starscream with a look of neutrality on his handsome face.

Starscream moved closer staring at him with an unreadable expression. "Optimus has stood in my way forever. I have control of our faction now with the end of Megatron and still he's there, a roadblock to my ambitions and desires. I hate him. I wish I could articulate how much."

Springer didn't reply. He stared with the same maddeningly blank expression as every sensor he had evaluated the figure before him. He knew from experience that Megatron was a mad man. He was as crazy as it got. But he was gone, to where no one knew. But now the faction was led by someone just as sociopathic. However, Starscream wasn't crazy. He was just evil. Given the two individuals he wasn't sure which was worse.

Then he knew.

"I want to hurt Optimus Prime. I want to dig a crater into his spark that can never be filled. I want him to remember me and know that I can reach out and harm what he loves, what he finds precious. I want him to suffer." Starscream crouched down to allow his optics to meet Springer's. The tall Seeker smiled with a malevolence that pierced Springer's spark. "I want to send you home with a token of my esteem just for him. A memento of our time together, you and I."

Springer looked at Starscream with an unwavering calm expression. He didn't allow the growing dread inside to show on the outside. He had a faint indication that he knew where this was going and it took all his immense personal control not to throw himself at the bars and reach for the Seeker's throat.

"Before we let you go and we will," Starscream said softly with a malicious gleam in his narrowed optics. "You and I are going to merge."

An icy frisson shuttered through Springer's circuits, a glacial freeze that reached from his peds to his processor and every circuit and file in between. He didn't flinch or budge. He kept his gaze locked with the Seeker. "You think you can do that and live?" he asked quietly.

"Do you think that I can't? I'm sure your daughter was sure she could stay with you but she isn't here is she? Do you think you can best my null rays?"

It was as quiet and murky as any situation Springer had ever faced. He stared at Starscream, his mental processes digging through data dumps he'd never accessed trying to find out what he could do to best the Decepticon.

"I want Prime to know I was here. I want him to know I haunt his dreams. I want him to know that I took from you what you give to him freely, that the product of this action is mine and he has to look at it every day. He will see me every day it lives."

"He will kill you," Springer said quietly. "I will kill you."

"No," Starscream said quietly. "But you will remember me," he said rising again. He looked down at Springer, at his big mech form and his handsome rugged good looks. "The best part is, Springer, you will not know when it's coming. But it is. It's my present to Prime. Paybacks as the humans say. And as they also say, they're a bitch." He smiled slightly, malevolently, then walked away once more.

Springer sat for a length of time he couldn't determine, absorbing and battling the cold icy hurricane of fear that battered him. Then he calmed himself, off-lining his optics as he turned inward sorting through the data that his subroutine search had pulled together. He found what he was looking for.

In the distant past, this tactic had been used against the Autobot Army by enemies so damaged that even this societal taboo was used as against their enemies. It was so outside of their culture and practice, both in conflict and peace that steps had to be taken against those for whom nothing was too terrible to hazard. It had been so anathema when it began to show up here and there that government scientists had developed a self protection program and insert device to protect against sparking through force and required all of their military personnel to have, maintain and use it.

He reviewed files, finding the software, then turned his wrist over to pop the panel that he used to interface with computers and other machines. Down inside, unnoticed but installed by the military was a small black circuit, a chip that was there to protect him. He leaned into the light and looked.

It wasn't there.

Leaning back, he stared at his wrist. Starscream had had it removed. He considered his predicament and began to power down non-essential programs and hardware. He would need every bit of energy to stay awake as long as he could. If Starscream did come for him he would make a fight of it before he lost.

With a sinking feeling, he settled back to wait.