Morning came and, when I rolled over, Mikaela's side of the bed was empty, as was our room of the hotel suite (which also doubled as a living room, dining room, and kitchenette). Concerned, I looked her up on Ratchet's app and saw that she, Wheelie, and RaFly were fine and were at a grocery store a few blocks away. Okay?

Taking the opportunity to shower, I tiptoed through the suite's bedroom (where the kids were still sleeping) to the bathroom. The kids were awake and Mikaela was back by the time I got out.

"Took you long enough," Daemon grumbled as he made a beeline for the bathroom.

"What's all this?" I asked as I came back into our room. The desk that doubled as a table was covered with bagels and cream cheese, muffins, and fresh fruit.

"Chocolate-chip Muffins!" 'Trice happily exclaimed.

"This hotel is too fancy for a continental breakfast," Mikaela said as RaFly set out a stack of paper plates. "So we went to get one of our own. I was just tossing and turning this morning anyway."

Recognizing the edge of frustration in her voice, I asked, "That damn door again?" It was a recurring dream of hers; she had something important to do on the other side of this one door, but she'd spend the whole night unsuccessfully trying to open it. She usually had the dream when she was facing major frustration in real life. To be honest, I was kind of surprised it had taken her this long, with the miscarriage and everything.

"That damn door," she grimly confirmed. Nodding toward a cup-carrier, she added, "Got coffee from your favorite shop, too. I hope it's still hot enough."

"You're a goddess," I said as I found the coffee with my name on it and tentatively took a sip.

She smirked at me. "And don't you forget it."

"How can I?" I retorted as I reached for a bagel. "You keep reminding me every day."

Other than the continuing hubbub in government circles about the raid on Diego Garcia, it was just another Tuesday. Mikaela didn't want to disrupt the kids' schedules any more than they already had been, and both Prowl and RaFly agreed that we were likely safe to resume our normal routines. So we checked out of the hotel and the 'bots drove my wife and kids back home. They wouldn't make it back in time for school today, but they'd be able to sleep in their own beds that night.

I, however, went to the base like Optimus requested. In some ways, it seemed more curse than blessing to know that Primus was paying attention to us after that whole not-oath affirmation thing. But it definitely hadn't felt ominous, so I mentally shrugged it off and got down to business representing the 'bots to the human world leaders.

More information trickled in, and the picture became clearer over the next several days. BINDS had been attacked by around a thousand Decepticons, which far exceeded what anyone had designed it for. There probably weren't a thousand Decepticon mechs and femmes left alive. Only about half a dozen BINDS satellites had been destroyed, so by strategically rearranging what we still had, we were able to plug the hole until more satellites could be built and launched into orbit.

RaFly had been right, and Prowl estimated that only about thirty-five to at most fifty had been living Cybertronians. The rest had been drones – built to spec and programmed with a sophisticated AI but ultimately lifeless. That didn't matter much to the human militaries, but it did to me and the rest of the Autobots. There were so few Cybertronians left that even Decepticon lives were valuable, despite the fact that there were times when the Autobots had to kill them.

It was mostly living Decepticons who actually raided Diego Garcia. While they hadn't directly attacked the base, they cleared everything from the surrounding ocean – all the solar harvester parts, Jazz's coffin, even a World War II-era shipwreck. From that we figured the Decepticons participating in the raid had a general idea of what they were after, but not a precise picture of what they were stealing.

Of the 'cons taken down over DG, eight had been drones and three had been Seekers. Only two of the Seekers survived as wounded prisoners. The drones' armor hadn't been as robust.

I was with Admiral Black when he received Will Lennox's and Prowl's report about the downed Seekers via teleconference. (Optimus was in surgery again.) "So we have two POW's we can interrogate and nine potentially hackable wrecks," Black summarized.

Prowl answered, "Only one has that potential – the extinguished Seeker, and Jolt is uncertain that he could hack the memory files within a useful timeframe. As for the drones, their memory cores self-destructed before termination. It is yet another sign that points to Shockwave."

"How so?" I asked.

"Megatron has always relied on lieutenants who historically handled logistics, supply chains, and manufacturing. That hasn't changed despite our catastrophic losses as a race. Shockwave is one such lieutenant. He is meticulous and ruthlessly efficient. Based on this design, I infer that these drones would not be needed beyond this raid, but he would not want them to yield us any useful data. As much effort was put into preventing a data breach as went into their armor. Megatron would not have put that kind of forethought into these drones."

Black frowned at that. "So why have we never heard of Shockwave before the incident with the Lennoxes three years ago?"

"He has typically operated well away from the front lines. His allegiance to Megatron is primarily pragmatic. We Autobots couldn't convince him to defect for two reasons. One was that he believed Megatron provided him the better chance at survival, and the other was that he felt we Autobots operated with too many ethical strictures. He has been in the background, keeping the Decepticon army alive through scattered outposts and sheer ingenuity. We did dispatch a team to assassinate him, but they failed, losing their leader and his second before the surviving team members joined us here on Earth."

"But Shockwave's bringing that military infrastructure and ingenuity to Earth now?" Black asked.

Lennox was the one who answered that. "It appears so. We believe that, for the last three years at least, he's been the primary strategist for the Decepticons."

"So what will he do next?" Black asked.

Prowl frowned. "Uncertain."

Black gave him an exasperated look. "Make a guess, Prowl."

The strategist's doorwings twitched at that. "I have insufficient data to provide reliable guidance."

"Worst case scenario," I prompted.

"Worst case is that he is positioning himself to depose Megatron."

"That seems like it would be a good thing – let the 'cons duke it out and weaken each other in the process," Admiral Black said.

"His method of deposing Megatron would be to crush us and thus prove himself the better leader," Prowl retorted. "You did ask for the worst-case scenario. But again, we need more data. Offlined mechs can't choose to share information, but now that our med team has provided the most essential repairs to the remaining Seekers, we will attempt interrogation."

"Keep me posted."

"Of course."

"There is one other matter I need to discuss with you," Admiral Black said. "There is… concern at the top about Diego Garcia coming under attack."

"At the top?" I repeated, confused.

"Civilian authorities," Lennox uneasily said.

I realized who he meant and frowned: the President and his National Security Advisor, Charlotte Mearing.

Black nodded. "They're wondering if the timeline for the Autobots' relocation could be accelerated."

"You're kicking them out?" I demanded.

"We were leaving anyway," Prowl quietly reminded me. Lennox gave him a sharp look.

"But now?" I asked. "In all this chaos?"

"Because of the chaos," Prowl said, and Black nodded.

"Because of the attack," he confirmed. "If it represents an escalation of hostilities between the Autobots and Decepticons, the commander-in-chief is reluctant to insert our nation into the conflict. Giving the Autobots refugee status is one thing; taking part in your war is another."

I slowly sighed. It was bad timing, but would there ever be good timing? "I'll see what we can do on the political end to speed things up."

That night was my first one back home. After Mikaela and I got the kids tucked in, I went downstairs to the professional level and knocked on the door for Annabelle's office. (Well, technically, it was just a place for her to study while she was still in college, but even back when this building was still in the blueprints stage, we had optimistically called this room 'Annabelle's Office.')

The door was ajar and she startled when she saw me. "Prime!"

I smiled and gestured that she should stay sitting. "Relax. I just had a question for you about Beatus."

"About Beatrice?"

Yeah, having both Beatrice and Beatus involved with the Autobots was probably going to cause a lot of confusion once he had his own frame. I clarified, "No, the sparkling. 'Bee and Arcee's sparkling."

Her puzzled expression almost convinced me she didn't have a clue what I was talking about. She was so going to make a good politician one day! "Arcee told me that they told you about him after you almost died saving 'Bee. But you totally had me going at first."

Understanding dawned across her expression and she nodded. "Beatus, is it? They didn't tell me much, not even his name, just that he…that he existed, that we had to keep his existence super-secret. That he represented hope for their race." Sudden worry made her eyebrows furrow. "He's okay, right?"

"He's fine," I assured her. "But after the raid on Diego Garcia, Beatus was afraid that the knowledge of his existence might have leaked, that the Decepticons might come after him next. That's when Arcee told me you knew. I promised I'd check, just to be sure. You haven't told anyone else about him, right?" Considering she tried to hide that knowledge from me, I assumed she hadn't, but…

She shook her head. "I haven't told a spark or soul. I didn't even tell Mom and Dad."

"I figured that was the case. Thanks. I'll let Beatus know you're still keeping him safe."

"You'll let him know?" she asked, surprised.

"He's a Prime," I softly explained. "I share a brother bond with him, too."

"Wait…Does that mean…?"

I nodded slowly. "...I have kin bonds with 'Bee and Arcee. And through Arcee, I'm also bound to Chromia and Ironhide. We're the first proper clan the Autobots have had in millennia. But that all has to stay secret, too, because the only way to explain it is to let everyone know about Beatus."

Her grin was brilliant. "Makes sense. But still, that's fragging awesome!"

That night, Optimus wasn't on the aircraft carrier when I found him. Instead, he was in his office, deep in a memory.

He nodded when I appeared beside him, and the scene paused. "I apologize, Sam. I lost track of time."

"No worries. Did Prowl tell you about the eviction notice the Autobots got today?"

"Yes. It is time. Do what you can, and remember that this was the plan all along. We knew this day would come and have been preparing for it."

His reassurance comforted me and calmed me down more than I expected. Taking a deep breath, I nodded. "Oh, Annabelle – in her words – hasn't told a spark or a soul about Beatus. His secret's still safe."

"I'm not surprised," Optimus answered. "Fate did not give her Iron Will and Spitfire for parents without reason."

I smiled in agreement – we were very lucky she happened to be born into the crazy of life with the Autobots.

Then I noticed again that he'd been talking with Prowl and Ratchet in this particular memory. Gesturing to the other 'bots, I asked, "Is this about those Seekers?"

"Yes. Would you like to see?"

"Yeah, actually."

The scene came to life again, Ratchet raising his voice. "It would be unethical to withhold energon from any mech in this state! Sandstorm probably hasn't had fresh energon since before we launched the Cube from Cybertron. Octane is only slightly better off."

"I do not intend to withhold it," Prowl said calmly. "But these are hardly innocent mechs. With tanks so full of energon that depleted – we all know what that means."

For my sake, Optimus said in an aside to me, "Cannibalism. They've drained other mechs of their partially-processed energon."

It wasn't humans eating humans, but still, the thought made me squeamish.

Ratchet glared at Prowl. "I've personally harvested parts off mechs who would never have a use for them again. None of us are innocent, if that's your standard. But you're the head of the Temple guardians – or you used to be. Your sacred mandate was to freely give energon to anyone who asked."

"It still is." Prowl's doorwings drooped, and he didn't answer for a long minute. "Energon was traded, too, before Cybertron fell. These Seekers have valuable information, and we have valuable energon."

Ratchet rocked back, a look of disgust on his face.

Before he could speak, though, Prowl added, "If they seek a boon from the All Spark and request energon, I am oath-bound to offer. But only if they seek a boon."

Ratchet's tense shoulders relaxed. "Understood."

Abruptly, the scene shifted and we were in front of the med bay. Prowl went in first, and when the doors opened, I saw that Ratchet was already there. Ironhide and Chromia entered next, but they stepped aside and stood as guards on either side of the door. Then Optimus strode in, a trader-sized vessel of energon in his hand. Ratchet backed away from the Seekers, who were on opposite repair berths, and Prowl stuck protectively close to the medic.

"Ratchet," Optimus said, "is it necessary to immobilize these Seekers?"

"It's no longer medically necessary, Prime."

"Then stasis cuffs should be sufficient."

Prowl nodded to 'Mia and 'Hide. They stepped forward to cuff their prisoners while Ratchet did what he needed to so the Seekers could move again.

Once the 'cons were sitting up, 'Hide and 'Mia went back to guarding the door, and Ratchet and Prowl moved to the back of the med bay.

Meanwhile, Optimus set the traders' vessel on one of Ratchet's workbenches and pulled a mug out of his subspace that looked like an oversized coffee cup. Pouring the energon into the mug, he drank it like a human would a shot of whiskey.

"Do you know where you are?" Prowl demanded.

The Seekers looked at each other and refused to acknowledge him.

"You are abandoned," Optimus gently said, pouring another shot of energon. "You were wounded, and your fellow Decepticons left you in our power." Energon in hand, he stepped between them and looked the first mech directly in the optics. "Sandstorm, you would have already lost a wing to rust had we not hauled you out of the ocean." Turning to the other Seeker, he said, "And, Octane, you would have offlined from your coolant leak within less than an hour, had we not found you."

"And Sunstorm?" Sandstorm demanded. "Are you enjoying the taste of his energon?"

Chromia made a disgusted sound, but Optimus evenly said, "No, we don't cannibalize energon here. We have no need to when we have raw energon." Holding up the cup, he said, "This isn't even a year old."

"That's not possible," Octane said.

Ratchet answered, "You'd be surprised how many things are possible for a true Prime."

Optimus turned to Ratchet and tilted his head in thanks. Looking back to the Seekers, he said, "We have enough and to spare, though I do appreciate how valuable energon is in other circles."

Sandstorm said, "You're starving us when you have 'enough and to spare'? You must be desperate for the noble leader of the Autobots to stoop to something so barbaric."

"The word you're looking for is 'capitalistic,'" Ironhide said.

Optimus gave him a warning glance. He gestured as if to say, "What?"

"As I said," Optimus continued, "we know this energon is valuable, but we are not unreasonable. Perhaps you can think of something valuable in your possession that you're willing to bargain with in exchange."

For emphasis, he held the cup out to the Seeker before him.

Sandstorm turned away, refusing the offer, and Optimus shrugged slightly before drinking it himself. Returning to the pitcher, he poured another cup and carried it back to stand in front of Octane. Before Optimus could speak, though, Octane spat at him.

Optimus wasn't angry though. If anything, he was pleased that they weren't more defiant. The energon's...scent, I guess, though the radiation and glow of it were also part of Optimus' perception, had begun to fill the med bay. The Decepticons hadn't even tried to attack him, and their insults were almost subdued for Seekers – they were too desperate for the energon. Again, he threw back the shot.

"I think these Seekers are a bit 'hangry,' as the humans say," Optimus announced. "Perhaps we should give them some energon as a gesture of good will."

"No," Ironhide growled. "They're slagging 'cons."

"They haven't earned it," Chromia added, playing her part.

"They have no reason to trust my word," Optimus said in answer. Pulling two more mugs from subspace, he poured energon shots for them both. "Let them taste for themselves that I have spoken the truth."

He offered a cup to Octane first.

"No conditions?" the Seeker asked.

"None."

Octane opened his hands and allowed Optimus to carefully place it in his grasp. Without hesitation, he drank it in a single swallow.

Sandstorm was glaring daggers at the other mech and kept his hands balled into fists. With another shrug, Optimus set the mug of energon on the berth beside him but within easy reach.

After a few seconds, Sandstorm grudgingly picked up the cup. For a full minute, he stared at it in his hands before finally, with a snarl, throwing it back. But he hurled the empty mug at Optimus. It shattered harmlessly on his frame, but my brother was deeply pleased. I saw from a flicker of memory that the free sample had actually been Prowl's devious idea – it would only whet their thirst. Now that they'd tasted fresh energon again, they would crave more.

Prowl snapped, "Ingrates. Prime, you have better uses for your time and generosity."

"Perhaps." He strode toward the door, Prowl on his heels. Over his shoulder, Optimus added, "Autobots, permanently disable our captives' battle protocols. And enjoy your extra helping of energon."

Abruptly, we were back on the aircraft carrier. "That's it?" I asked.

"That was the first round," Optimus corrected. "Ratchet estimates that it will take another three days to finish their repairs. He and the guards will all be drinking daily energon rations in front of them. Between that and their battle protocols being offline, I expect them to be quite a bit more reasonable next time."

"You don't need that much energon, do you?"

"No. But despite their mostly-full tanks, the Seekers' energon is so depleted that they're virtually starving. Even in stasis, they wouldn't last more than a decade or two before rust started to set in. Within less than a century, they would extinguish from critical corrosion."

My eyebrows rose in surprise. "Ratchet wasn't kidding when he said they're in rough shape." I was also kind of surprised that Prowl would be so...brutal that he'd forbid Ratchet to give them any energon. "That's kind of torture, isn't it?"

Optimus shook his helm, his spark suddenly heavy. "No, that will come next, unless they are willing to divulge information. Once they're repaired, we will have no choice but to put them in holding cells. For Seekers – beings sparked to traverse the stars – being grounded is torture."

"Ah."

Sensing my unease, Optimus said, "War is ugly, Sam. It is vicious and brutal. There's not a Cybertronian alive who hasn't been marred by it. Not me, not Ratchet, not Prowl. Not even Bumblebee. But for the first time in millenia, we have hope. And you are the spark of that hope."

I looked at him sharply, surprised.

"In you, the Second Dynasty of the Primes has begun."

Again I recalled the shared clan-vision. "But is it worth it if the cost is the First Dynasty of the Primes?"

"Perhaps we are too marred."

Instantly, my will butted up defiantly against his. "Take it back."

"Sam…"

"Take it back, Optimus. I will fight you over this one."

With a defeated sigh, he yielded, but I caught a wisp of his pleased gratitude. "I take it back."

I nodded. "Good." It took me a second to get back on track for our conversation. "Do what you need to with the Seekers. You're not the ones harming them – they're free to 'fess up and get their energon any time. It's their choice."

...

There were days I secretly wished Ironhide could take out the entire Truman Building (we would evacuate it first, of course). The State Department was driving me crazy. The JCS was still breathing down our neck about getting the Autobots off DG, but in order to join the Autobots' Earthly nation of New Archon and become its ambassador, I would have to renounce my US citizenship and become a citizen of New Archon instead. Normally, renouncing US citizenship would mean I couldn't stay in the United States, but since the UN was headquartered in New York, this presented a few problems. If at all possible, I wanted to remain on good terms with the US Government despite the fact that I was essentially divorcing my native land.

Al-Sharif had done his best to work with them, but we'd hit a brick wall. My hope was that, if I was the one personally on the line, things would go a little more smoothly, but no. Trying to get normal things done through the State Department was like pulling teeth on a good day. Trying to figure out paperwork and negotiate legal exceptions for abnormal stuff like what the Autobots and I were trying to pull off felt like a Herculean task. Seriously, give me the Nemean Lion over being placed on hold for yet another transfer to a different supervisor. Or maybe the Hydra was the better comparison.

In frustration with the interminable hold, I texted Will. /Do you have Charlotte Mearing's email address?/

/Sure. But don't tell her I gave it to you. She already hates me and the Autobots. No need to throw fuel on that fire./

/Got it,/ I replied.

I typed up my rant, took a bathroom break, and came back to edit it into something that sounded reasonably professional. Then I texted Optimus to hack into my email and review it. I made the tweaks he suggested and then sent it, all while waiting on hold through four different transfers.

If Mearing wanted the Autobots off Diego Garcia, then she was going to need to grease some wheels in the State Department for me.