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Part Twelve: Forsaken

Autobase Earth

Thursday, August 31, 1995

Jackpot stood out on the bluff, watching as a blocky Autobot shuttle circled in the air around him. It spiralled downward, losing altitude with each pass until it came to rest on the small mesa that they had set aside as a landing zone. As the ramp extended Jackpot hopped off of his perch and stood at attention, saluting the two figures who were disembarking.

"Sirs," he said. "Jazz is waiting for you inside."

"Thanks, Jackpot." Skydive returned his salute, then said, "At ease, and promise me you're never, ever going to salute me again. If anyone sees you doing it, I'll be stuck with people treating me like an officer forever."

Jackpot grinned. "Sorry, Skydive. Force of habit. You're the brains of our little operation, after all."

"Don't even joke about that." Skydive indicated his companion and said, "I don't think you've met Ratchet, have you?"

"Only his corpse," Jackpot quipped. Then, bashfully realizing what he'd said he added, "Sorry, that was inappropriate." The young Autobot extended his hand and said, "I didn't mean anything by it. It's good to finally meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine," Ratchet told him, smiling. "Skydive tells me you like to gamble?"

"I have been known to dabble from time to time," Jackpot admitted coyly.

"When we've got some down-time," Ratchet told him, "I'm going to have to teach you a few of the games I've learned from my human friends."

"Oh, I like you already," Jackpot chuckled. Leading them into the base, he started heading down the main corridor. "We've got a tap into their television broadcasts and I've watched a few poker tournaments. Camshaft and I have been teaching ourselves how to play, but it would be nice to have another hand at the table." He grinned. "Of course, Jazz usually has it glued to some music channel...."

Ratchet shook his head. "Same old Jazz."

"I suppose you're looking forward to seeing him again?" Jackpot asked.

"Well," Ratchet told him, "I know it's been a long time, but to me it feels like it's only been about a week since Jazz, Grimlock, Bumblebee and I were all together on Cybertron. Wrapping my head around how many years I missed takes some getting used to." He shrugged. "Thankfully I have some practice at it already."

"Does Jazz have any leads on Galvatron?" Skydive asked. "Or on the surviving Imperials?"

Jackpot supposed he was trying to steer the conversation back to the subject at hand. Abashedly he answered, "Well...he's got a few ideas. It's not for me to say, though."

Stopping beside an unmarked door, Jackpot gestured for the other Autobots to go in. "They're waiting for you in there."

G.B. Blackrock looked up from his desk at the two dark-skinned men who were entering his office. Both of them carried themselves with a military bearing, like soldiers about to go on a fifty-mile march in full dress uniform. But only one of them was actually in uniform just now.

"Walter," Blackrock addressed the uniformed visitor, "it's good to see you again. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting."

"Don't worry about it, G.B.," Barnett told him. "Staff Sergeant Hayes and I were just reminiscing about the good old days."

"I didn't realize you and Darius knew each other," Blackrock said with a sidelong glance at his security chief.

Darius shrugged. "I wouldn't exactly say we know each other, but the general and I have met once or twice before."

"I tried to recruit him when I was in charge of RAAT," Barnett clarified. "Of course, he turned me down."

"Under the circumstances, I don't blame him." Blackrock pushed the file he'd been reading to one side and looked Barnett square in the eyes. "What can I do for you, Walter?"

"We have a Transformer problem, G.B.," Barnett responded bluntly. "And we need to decide how to deal with it before someone decides for us."

It took a few seconds before Skydive realized that Jackpot had said 'they' and not 'he'. As the door swung open the Aerialbot could see exactly who 'they' were. Sitting at a table at the far end of the room were Jazz, Silverbolt and...Shockwave?

"What is he doing here?" Skydive demanded.

"Shockwave's decided that he doesn't want Galvatron running around any more than we do," Jazz told him. "He's with us now."

"Is he?" Skydive tilted his head to one side skeptically.

"Your distrust is logical," Shockwave told them. He was rather less than whole: his left arm ended in a truncated stump just above the elbow where his laser cannon had been amputated, and a large chunk was missing from his chest where his internal fusion reactor had been removed. Likewise, the rocket thrusters on his feet were evidently missing. "But it is misplaced. Galvatron will kill you if you come across him, but he will go out of his way to kill me. Conclusion: cooperation serves both of our interests."

"Forgive me if I'm less than convinced." That came from Ratchet, who had been quiet until now. The medic turned his attention to Jazz and said, "What could possibly have convinced you that this was a good idea?"

"We need the Steelhaven's sensors to be able to find Galvatron at all, and since Chromedome and Grapple bought it none of us have the foggiest idea how to even start fixing them. And we'll need someone with big guns watching our back if we're even going to have a shot against Galvy." Jazz shrugged. "Shockwave is our only option, on both counts."

"There is absolutely no way," Ratchet told him, "that I'm going to rearm him for you."

"Be reasonable," Silverbolt implored him. "He needs us as much as we need him."

Skydive cut in nervously, very uncomfortable butting heads with his team leader and friend. "He needs us because we've taken away his weapons and trapped him on a planet with his worst enemy. You're talking about giving him free reign on a starship that can blow up whole cities from orbit. Are you honestly telling me you don't see how this story ends, 'Bolt?"

"Suggestion: cease speaking about me as if I am not here," Shockwave interjected. "It would be irrational for me to betray you when I have no other resources to draw upon. Without your assistance I would be extremely vulnerable to Megatron's vengeance."

Jazz let out a long sigh, then said, "This ain't getting us anywhere. Shockwave, please step outside for a minute."

"Very well." Although his voice was as monotone as ever, Skydive was sure he heard a note of contempt in it.

Once the Decepticon was gone and the door had closed behind him, Jazz turned on the other Autobots and snapped, "Not cool. We have a job to do and I can't have you working against me like this."

"Don't talk to me like I'm Jackpot," Ratchet responded bitterly. "I'm not a raw recruit who's going to enthusiastically jump to attention, salute and do whatever he's told. I've seen what happens when Shockwave gets loose. I won't be a part of this."

"Dammit, Ratchet!" Jazz smacked the table he was sitting at with an open palm. "You know what? Fine. If you don't want to help, I can't make you. But First Aid actually listens to orders, and if I tell him to do it he will."

"I'm not entirely sure," Ratchet told him flatly, "that you're in a position to give orders to anyone."

Jazz facepalmed. "What?"

"He's right," Skydive said nervously. He was almost embarrassed to be standing up to a superior officer like this, but he knew it had to be done. "Magnus was our leader, but he's dead. Pointblank was his second and he's dead too. There's no clear line of succession after that. No one ever anticipated losing both our ranking officers and being out of contact with Cybertron at the same time. The chain of command has broken down. Right now none of you can order the other ones to do anything. If we can't agree on what to do next then we should put the brakes on until High Command appoints a new commander."

"We haven't heard a peep from Cybertron for three days," Jazz told him. "We've got no clue what's gone down there. We gotta assume that we're on our own."

"Then we've got two choices." This from Silverbolt. "Either we can keep butting heads or we can try to work together."

"Not if your definition of us working together includes Shockwave," Skydive said bluntly. "He killed Beachcomber, he killed dozens of humans and he demolished an entire town. He's a monster, Silverbolt. We can't let him go free."

"Skydive—" Silverbolt started to say, before he was cut off.

"I'm not even having this conversation," Ratchet said with a shake of his head. "I only came down because Bumblebee asked for my help." The medic frowned. "Where is he, anyway? He's got as much right to be in a meeting like this as I do."

"Bee's gone off the reservation," Jazz told him. "He helped me drag my beat-up carcass back to base and then he took off again. I think he's with Buster in the hospital."

"Good. I'll only have to make one stop, then." Ratchet turned to leave.

Once he was gone, Silverbolt turned to Skydive and said, "Let's go for a walk."

Skydive was a bit nonplussed by the sudden invitation, but he shrugged and said, "Lead on."

Blackrock leaned back in his chair. "What do you mean, Walter?"

"They've been lying to us from the start," Barnett said bluntly. "When I met with Bumblebee and Jazz they told me that they were here to help us rebuild after the attacks last year. No ulterior motives, no other reasons for being here. They just wanted to help. It was a heap of bullshit, I'm guessing they fed you the same line."

"Pretty much," Blackrock admitted. "I found out about some of it after the fact, but only because one of the Autobots decided to break protocol. But they didn't say a word about Galvatron or Shockwave when they asked for my help."

"Or these 'Imperials', whatever they are," Barnett nodded. "If they'd told us, if we'd had a warning, maybe we could have done something. But they didn't, and we've got a thousand dead bodies and a crater in Nevada that glows in the dark to show for it."

"But what do you want to do about it?" Blackrock asked. "Forthright or not, they've been a lot of help. We need them."

"Do we? I wonder." Barnett scratched his chin. "Would we even have any Decepticons running around on Earth if the Autobots hadn't taken such a keen interest in us?"

"Maybe not," Blackrock agreed. "But they're here now. And as long as they are, we need allies. I tried going it alone once before, and all I accomplished was driving a young woman insane."

"What happened to Josie was a tragedy," Barnett agreed, "and I know from experience that RAAT didn't fare any better. But there has to be-"

Barnett stopped short when the office door swung open and Blackrock's assistant let herself in.

"What is it, Cheryl?" Blackrock asked, not unkindly.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Blackrock," the short, curvy young woman said. "It's just...you should see this." She walked over to the television set into one wall of Blackrock's office, her high heels clicking against the hardwood floors as she moved. Once she got there, she turned the set on and tuned it to CNN.

"—not known at this time what was responsible. Speaking under conditions of anonymity, an official with Portland Fire and Rescue confirmed that they were treating the explosion as suspicious. Meanwhile, unconfirmed reports continue to circulate that the first responders on-scene and the survivors of the blast have been stricken with some sort of unknown pathogen. Official sources deny that any pathogens have escaped, and say that the Oregon State Public Health Laboratory never maintained a supply of anything that could be dangerous if released into the environment. We'll have more on this story as it develops. This is Charlene Welles for CNN."

"Well, that's heartening," Barnett said sarcastically. "Tomorrow morning the papers will be blaming this on everything from Cobra to the PLO. It'll be a circus."

"I would put my money on someone else," Blackrock said darkly. "Especially if those 'virus' rumours are true."

"You think the Decepticons are behind this?"

"It's certainly possible," Blackrock agreed. "But without some more information, we're just guessing. It's high time our Autobot allies spilled the beans."

"You sound like you've got a plan," Barnett said.

"That's because I do." Blackrock looked across at his head of security. "Darius, do you remember which hospital the two people who were hurt in the attack in Hillsboro were sent to?"

"Not off-hand," Darius admitted, "but I can find out."

"Please do," Blackrock told him. "I'm going to be paying them a visit."

Magnificus watched his screen with a patently disinterested expression on his face.

"Tell me again why we're interested in this," he prompted his companion.

"We're interested because the person who blew up this lab is a man of great talent," Howlback told him in a low, husky voice. "And because he managed to evaporate a target that I planned on visiting."

"I don't mean the bombing," Magnificus said bluntly. "I mean this planet. Overcharge told us to leave—"

"And we ignored him," Howlback cut him off. "As Cobalt Sentries, Garboil and I aren't bound to military authority."

"Yes, yes, I get that," Magnificus responded impatiently. "But why? Our plan was foiled but you don't seem the type for petty revenge."

"This solar system in general and Earth in particular are rich in natural resources," Howlback told him. "The indigenous population is developed enough to extract and exploit those resources, and the Autobots are courting an alliance with them. That ends now."

"Well, good luck with that," Magnificus told her. "How do you plan to do that?"

"Find me the human who blew up that lab," Howlback told him, "and I'll show you."

"I don't agree with you on this, Skydive."

With the smaller Aerialbot at his side, Silverbolt was walking along one of Autobase's high parapets. Standing nearly a mile off the ground was enough to fill him with a sense of vertigo. Unwilling to admit his weakness, Silverbolt set his jaw and kept refused to look down.

"Yes, I gathered," Skydive acknowledged dryly. "You might look at Shockwave and think that he's the lesser of two evils, but read his file. The number of Autobots and humans that he killed before you and I were even activated—"

"I know, Skydive." Silverbolt stopped walking. Slowly, carefully, he turned and leaned on the railing. The two of them stood there for a second, staring out at the horizon. "But leadership is more than just knowing," he said at last.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the smartest person I've ever met, Skydive," Silverbolt responded truthfully. "And the best pilot, too. Those things come naturally to you. But when you're making decisions that are going to impact the lives of everyone around you, brains and skill aren't enough. Some of us are switched on with an innate ability to make good decisions, like Optimus Prime. But the rest of us have to learn how to do that, and it takes a long time and a lot of mistakes before you're any good at it. I've never quite understood why Prime chose me to lead the Aerialbots, and over the years I've made more than my share of mistakes. But I've also learned a lot, and every fibre of my being tells me that we need Shockwave if we're ever going to have a chance at stopping Galvatron."

"I've learned a lot too," Skydive told him. "Remember, I've been at your side for almost every one of your adventures. I've even had a few of my own that you didn't share. Twice in the last year I've watched helplessly as everyone around me was shredded to pieces because one of my superiors made a bad decision. Hot Spot chose to take on Megatron directly. Steeljaw, Chase, Brawn and Override died because of it. And later, Magnus trusted Downshift to investigate a mole in our midst when he was the mole. That mistake cost us Pointblank, Chromedome, Grapple and Hound."

"You've been through a lot," Silverbolt agreed.

"I have," Skydive told him firmly. "And if I've learned one thing, it's not to take orders blindly anymore. This isn't a game, or some battle that I'm reading about a comfortable number of years into the future. This is real life and it's my life and my friends' lives that are at stake. And so, Silverbolt, you can take your 'shut up and listen to your superiors' line and shove it out an airlock. I'm through keeping my mouth shut when I see someone making a stupid decision."

Silverbolt thought about that for a few seconds, not sure exactly how to take it. When he finally spoke, he said something that he should have said a long, long time ago.

"Skydive, my friend, I am very proud of you."

Silverbolt stepped away from the railing and headed back inside, before the smaller Autobot could respond.

Ratchet had to circle the parking lot twice before he saw the yellow Beetle parked in one of the overnight spots. Pulling up alongside, he said, "I'm sorry I took so long."

"Don't worry about it," Bumblebee responded. "If the rumours I heard were true, you had bigger things to worry about."

"Unfortunately, they are," Ratchet told him. "Five dead, including the traitor."

"Who?" Bumblebee asked.

"Pointblank, Chromedome, Grapple and Hound," Ratchet told him. "And Downshift too, of course. Hubcap is barely alive, but First Aid is putting him back together."

"This has to stop," Bumblebee told him. "Four of our own dead in one battle, another betrayed us and Beachcomber and Magnus on top of that. And hundreds of dead humans, too."

"I agree," Ratchet said. "We need to find a way out of this with a minimum of bloodshed. We're not going to, though, if Jazz has his way."

"Jazz? He's hardly the bloodthirsty type, Ratchet."

"A day ago I would have agreed with you," Ratchet told him. "But now I don't know. He wants me to put Shockwave back together so we can send him out to kill Galvatron."

"Oh hell," Bumblebee said. "Jazz and Galvatron. I should have seen this coming."

"Am I missing something?"

"You are," Bumblebee confirmed, "but I'm not surprised. After all, you weren't there. You, Prime and Prowl were all gone the first time Galvatron showed up. You didn't see what he did to Jazz."

Ratchet could have kicked himself, if he'd been in robot mode. Bumblebee was right – he hadn't been there, but he certainly had been around to clean up the mess afterwards. Galvatron had lobotomized Jazz and turned him into a zombie that had almost killed Brawn, Tracks, Smokescreen and Jetfire. It had taken Ratchet days to undo what the Decepticon had done to his brain module, but the cruelest thing of all was that Galvatron had left Jazz's sensory inputs connected – he had seen, felt and heard every blow that he'd struck against his comrades. And while the sparse intelligence they had said that this Galvatron might be from a different future than the one they'd come to know, Ratchet found it hard to argue himself into believing they weren't the same person.

"You think this is about revenge?" Ratchet asked.

Bumblebee answered his question with a question of his own. "What would you do if it was Megatron running loose on Earth?"

"The exact same thing that Jazz is doing now," Ratchet admitted. "But that's not why I came. You mentioned a friend of Buster's that needed help?"

"I did," Bumblebee confirmed. "She and Buster were attacked by Imperials. He survived with only a few broken bones, but this Maria...her spinal cord was crushed. The doctors say she's paralysed for life."

"Binary bonding tech was never designed to repair that kind of damage," Ratchet warned him. "But I'll do what I can. Assuming she's willing to undergo the procedure, that is. And assuming we can find a way to get her out of the hospital."

"The only way we'll know is if we ask," Bumblebee told him. "I'll send in my shell-"

He stopped talking suddenly when another vehicle rolled to a stop right beside them. At first Ratchet assumed that it was another patient, but when the car's door opened he recognized the occupant right away.

"Blackrock?" he asked.

The human stroked his moustache thoughtfully. "Bumblebee and Ratchet," he said thoughtfully. "You," he pointed to Bumblebee, "I expected, but I didn't even know Ratchet was on Earth. I certainly didn't think I'd find both of you here."

"Ratchet wanted to talk to me," Bumblebee told him. "And I'm keeping my friend company while he recovers. What can we do for you, G.B.?"

"You can give me some answers," Blackrock said bluntly. "You've been lying to me ever since our first conversation, and it ends now. You and your Autobots aren't here to help us rebuild. That's just a cover. So why are you here, and how many more humans are going to have to die before you're done?"

Ratchet knew that Bumblebee would be hurt by that, so he cut in before his friend could say something that he might regret later. "I'm why they're here. I was on the Ark when it crashed in 1991."

"They've obviously found you," Blackrock retorted. "Why are they still here?"

"Because I wasn't alone," Ratchet told him. "I think you know about Shockwave by now?" When Blackrock nodded, Ratchet continued. "He was on the Ark with me. So was Galvatron. We have to bring in both of them."

"And these...these 'Imperials'?" Blackrock asked. "What about them?"

"I really don't know," Ratchet admitted. "I've been out of the loop for a while now. Bumblebee?"

"They're another faction of Decepticons," Bumblebee told him. "They're the ones who nuked San Francisco."

"Are they the ones who razed Washington in January, or was that someone else?"

"No," Bumblebee clarified. "That was Bludgeon. He's dead now. The Imperials are a different breed. They don't conquer or enslave. They go around from planet to planet, kill off the natives and turn the place into a new Cybertron. We're not exactly sure when the group on Earth got here, but if they'd arrived after the Steelhaven we would have detected them."

"So they're planning to kill everyone and pave over the Earth? Great." Blackrock glared at him. "And just when were you planning on telling us this?"

"Never," Bumblebee admitted. "Ultra Magnus thought it was best—"

"Ultra Magnus has a thousand dead humans to answer for," Blackrock said bluntly. "I've had just about enough of Ultra Magnus."

"Then you'll be happy to hear that he's dead," Ratchet said acidly. "Galvatron killed him three days ago."

"That's enough," Bumblebee cut Ratchet off before the conversation could go any farther off the rails. "Mr. Blackrock, we'll be happy to answer all of your questions, and if you continue our partnership I promise we'll be much more forthcoming with you. In fact, I think you deserve a seat at the table when we decide where to go from here."

"I appreciate that, but—"

"Excuse me, but I'm not done," Bumblebee cut him off. "We'll do our best to work with you. But before that starts you're going to have to do something for us."

Hamish Grey counted out a handful of change, then handed it across the counter to his customer. "One dollar and forty seven cents," he said. "Have a good day."

"I already have, thanks." The customer was a pale middle-aged man with a veritable mane of platinum-blond hair. He pocketed the change without counting it and walked out.

Hamish closed the till, then looked up as the man walked out of the store. Just as the automatic doors were closing, though, a bird-shaped metal monster swooped down, grabbed the man and disappeared.

"What the hell?"

Garboil dropped his human prisoner unceremoniously on a nearby rooftop, then took to the air and proceeded to circle him menacingly.

Taken by surprise, the human couldn't quite hide his fear for the first few few seconds. But he collected himself quickly and demanded, "What is the meaning of this?"

"You are a hard man to find," Garboil told him bluntly. "Magnificus had to hack and cross-reference forty-seven separate government databases before he could track you down."

"What are you talking about?" The human got up, then raked his long hair out of his face and favoured Garboil with a glare.

"You blew up a building earlier today," Garboil told him. "There was something in it that we wanted. It's gone now. You're going to replace it for us."

"I have no idea what you mean," the human said indignantly. But there was something in his voice that didn't quite ring true, and Garboil knew that Howlback and Magnificus had found the right person.

"Gunther Markus Drechsler," Garboil said as if by rote, "also known as Harry Rex Jackson, also known as Gerry Marcus. Better known to the human intelligence community by your nomme de guerre: Ga'mede. Born in 1940 to a French mother and a father serving in the German army. Your father died in Normandy in 1944. Your mother raised you until 1956 when she killed herself in a fit of alcohol-fuelled depression. After that you moved to East Germany and lived with your father's brother, a bitter man who'd lost an arm in the war. You grew up hating the West and you've been waging a private war against them since you murdered a GI in Berlin in 1963. In 1972 you started working with the Red Army Faction despite not being remotely Communist because you shared a common enemy. You also recruited contacts in the Viet Cong and other anti-US militias in East Asia. You left Germany after the Berlin Wall fell in 1989 and spent the next two years as an adviser to three different militias in Lebanon and Gaza. In 1992 you started working as a freelance agent for Cobra, with whom you still have ties. And at exactly 11:56 AM local time today you blew up the Oregon State Public Health Laboratory in Portland. Have I missed anything?"

"I always knew someone would figure it out eventually," Ga'mede said defiantly. "Do your worst."

"You misunderstand," Garboil said, doing his best to mimic one of Howlback's conciliatory purrs. "I'm not here to kill you."

The Imperial landed on one corner of the building, spread his wings imperiously and said, "You work for us now, Ga'mede."

Bumblebee's Pretender shell walked down the corridors of the hospital with Blackrock in tow. When the two of them arrived at Buster's room, though, Bumblebee held up his hand and said, "Wait out here, please."

"Sure, why not?" Blackrock said impatiently. "But be quick. We have work to do."

"This is more important," Bumblebee told him, politely but firmly. Then he stepped into Buster's room and said, "How are you doing today?"

Buster, who was lying in bed, shrugged and said, "Slowly starting to feel human again, I suppose."

"I wouldn't know what that's like, but you look a lot better," Bumblebee agreed. It was true – the IVs that had been plugged into Buster's arm were gone now, and most of his bruises were starting to fade. The colour had returned to his face as well and, aside from the broken arm, it looked like he was well on his way to mending.

"I feel a lot better," Buster admitted. "The doc says that if nothing sets off a red flag on the blood test they took today, they'll discharge me."

"That's great news," Bumblebee said with a genuine smile. "What about your friend?"

"Maria's...not doing good," Buster said glumly. "She still can't move at all, and the doctors say that she's never going to recover. She's awake now, but...I'm really worried about her." Buster looked like he was going to cry for a few seconds, but he choked it back and looked Bumblebee square in the eyes. "The last time I was in there, she asked me to kill her. She tried to play it off as a joke, but I could see it in her eyes...she meant it."

"I'm so sorry, Buster," Bumblebee told him. "I wish...I don't know what I wish. I'm just so sick of watching humans suffer and die for our war."

"It's not your fault," Buster assured him. "There was nothing you could have done to stop them."

"Maybe," Bumblebee admitted. "I don't know. But I think there's a way we can help fix it."

"What do you mean?"

"Did you and Spike ever talk about what happened to him when he joined the Autobots?" Bumblebee asked. "The surgery he went through, I mean."

"Only a little bit," Buster said. "He said it hurt like hell, and that half of his insides got...replaced with..." He gave Bumblebee a shocked look. "You can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious," Bumblebee retorted. "A Headmaster or Targetmaster has their entire body rewired so that they can pass signals from their brain to their implants. It could fix her."

"Or kill her," Buster shot back. "And I'm not just talking about the surgery, either."

"There's a pretty big risk," Bumblebee admitted. "I won't lie. But if she wants to die...it's worth asking her, Buster. And it'll be her decision to make. We're not gonna force her to do anything she doesn't want to do. But she got hurt in the crossfire of our war. I owe it to her to try to give her a chance at a normal life."

"I suppose it can't hurt to ask," Buster sighed.

"Can we go see her?" Bumblebee asked.

"Sure," Buster shrugged. "Why not?"

Ga'mede gave Garboil a blank stare.

"And just what exactly would I do in the employ of a giant alien robot?"

"You would help us kill a very, very large number of people," Garboil replied bluntly. Then the Decepticon asked, "Do you know how many people you've killed since you started your little crusade?"

"A few hundred," Ga'mede shrugged modestly. "Maybe a thousand. I stopped counting after the first dozen."

"In the last year," Garboil told him, "Transformers have turned San Francisco into a nuclear cinder and laid waste to a dozen of your planet's major cities. Which one of us do you suppose has the higher tally?"

"You do have a point," Ga'mede admitted reluctantly. "What do you have in mind?"

"Genocide," Garboil said, as if it was an everyday topic of discussion. "You humans talk all the time about how your planet is overpopulated. We've decided to solve that problem for you. Very quickly, I might add."

"I'm listening," Ga'mede said. He had to admit that the Transformer's argument had merit. Despite spending over thirty years waging war against the nations that had killed his father and so many other members of his family, leaving him to grow up in France as the hated bastard of a Nazi invader, he knew that all he had managed to accomplish was mildly annoy them. The Decepticons, on the other hand...

"We need a large stockpile of human genetic material," Garboil told him. "The lab you blew up had thousands of bodily fluid samples queued up for testing that would have served nicely. I doubt, however, you had the foresight to collect them all for us."

"No," Ga'mede admitted. "Cobra Commander only wanted me to steal one particular sample, a politician of some kind. He probably wants to replace him with a clone or something ridiculous like that. I torched the lab to cover up the theft."

"I thought as much," Garboil acknowledged. "So now you'll have to find a new source for us."

Ga'mede thought about that for a second, then asked, "Does it need to be fresh?"

"Ideally, yes," Garboil told him. "But quantity is more important than quality."

"In that case," Ga'mede said with an icy half-smile, "I know just the place."

"You want to do what to me?"

As Bumblebee had expected, Maria had reacted to his suggestion less than enthusiastically. After all, he was a complete stranger and her last encounter with a Transformer hadn't gone very well for her. She had listened, though, which was all he could have asked for.

"I know it's...extreme, but it's the only way I can think of to help you." Bumblebee shrugged. "It's our fault that you're lying there. If we can do anything to help you...well, we owe you that much, I think."

"I don't...I don't know," Maria said. Then she turned to Buster and asked, "What do you think?"

"I can't tell you what to do," Buster said feelingly. "It's your life we're talking about. It has to be your choice."

"Don't give me that," she told him. "I can hear it in your voice that you've got something to say."

"I..." Buster shook his head. "Bumblebee's right, Maria. They can fix you. Their doctor, Ratchet, he's a good friend of mine and he's a good doctor. I don't even know how many lives he's saved."

"But?" Maria prompted.

"If you do this, your life is over," Buster said bluntly. "You won't be able to go back to being who you were before, or the life you used to have. No matter how hard you try, you're always going to be sucked back into their war. And eventually it'll catch up to you, just like it caught up to my brother."

Buster's voice grew cold.

"Just like it's going to catch up with me, one day."

Maria let out a sigh, thinking about what Buster was saying. She knew that everything he said was true, but her heart wouldn't let her accept that. He told her that her life would be over if she took the robot's offer, but the way she saw it her life was over now. She had no family to speak of and barely talked with any of the foster families that had raised her after her parents had died. She had no friends, no one who knew the real Maria from the tough girl mask that she wore all of the time. At best she had a few old acquaintances like Buster who she talked to once or twice a year, and a handful of cops who she would go drinking with once in a while after their shifts were done. And even that was over with, because what use does a quadriplegic have for drinking?

Maria laughed then, bitterly. "My life is already over," she told Buster. "I'm a cop. That's all I know how to be. But I can't be that anymore. How many cops do you see that can't even move their fingers? I'm so fucking useless that I can't even warm a desk."

"Maria, don't say that," Buster shook his head sadly. "I know it looks bleak now, but a lot of people-"

"If you give me the 'a lot of people with spinal injuries lead happy, productive lives' bullshit that the doctors have been feeding me, I swear I'll spontaneously heal just so I can kick your ass." Maria tried to shake her head, but couldn't manage even that. "I'm not Stephen Hawking, Buster. I can't live like this. And I won't, because I swear to God I'll find a way to kill myself if that's what I have to do. I don't care if that makes me a bad person."

She looked across the room at Bumblebee, who had been respectfully silent until now.

"For even giving me the choice, for even trying to help me, thank you so much." Maria paused for a few seconds to think before she said, "I'll do it."

"You're sure?" the disguised Autobot asked. "The surgery is very risky."

"Yeah, it would be a shame if I got hurt somehow," Maria said dryly. "Look, I understand the risks. But my life is already ruined, and if I die on the operating table you'll just spare me the trouble of finding a way to do it myself. So please tell your doctor friend to do whatever he has to do. I'm ready for this."

Bumblebee smiled. "Then lets get going."

"This is ridiculous."

Jackpot watched out of the corner of his optic as, across the Autobase rec room, Jazz paced nervously with an irritated expression on his face. After a few seconds, he replied to Camshaft's whisper with one of his own.

"He's mad," the young Autobot said with a shrug. Then he looked down at the table and the three cards sitting face-up in front of him – a three, five and seven of clubs, to go with the eight he had as a hole card. "In his position I would be too. He's lost a bunch of friends in the last week." The Autobot tossed a couple of quarter-shanix coins into the middle of the table. "Bid's one-half."

"No more than we have," Camshaft replied. He stared down at his cards for a few seconds, then tossed in three of the same. "I'll raise you a quarter."

"It's hardly the same," Jackpot said. He looked at the three cards showing from his opponent's hand: three sixes, but not the six of clubs that Jackpot was looking for. "I'm the new guy, and you spent the war fighting with the resistance in Uraya. Other than Downshift, you didn't really know any of the people that died."

"I know," Camshaft told him. "But neither did Jazz, not really."

"They served together—" Jackpot started to say, before Camshaft cut him off.

"Boy, we all served with them." He leaned forward, casting a sidelong glance at the agitated Jazz as he did. "Other than Hound, he only knew them for a few years longer than we did. But he never went out of his way to spend time with any of them. Other than Bumblebee, I don't think he's got a real friend here."

"I call. So he's not allowed to be upset when someone dies, if they're not best buddies?" Jackpot tossed another coin into the pot as he replied, not realizing that his voice was starting to carry. "That's a bit cold, isn't it?"

"You're upset," Camshaft told him. He quickly dealt out the last two cards. "I'm upset too. But neither of us are spoiling for a fight like he is. There's something else up with him."

Jackpot was about to reply when a shadow fell across their table. He looked up and, naturally, saw the subject of their conversation glaring down at them.

"'He'," Jazz said angrily, "doesn't like it when subordinates start talking about him behind his back. You got a problem with me, you tell me, not each other. You dig?"

Jackpot recoiled in shock, but Camshaft just stood up to talk to the other Autobot face to face.

"I don't have a problem with you, Jazz," he said calmly. "But when I see one of my comrades practically begging for someone to kill, it raises some red flags. If you were thinking clearly you'd agree with me."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jazz said coolly.

"I've seen it before, lots of times," Camshaft contradicted him. "Do you honestly think you're the first Autobot to think about going headhunting?"

Jazz reacted badly to that, to say the least. After flipping the table over and scattering the cards and the pot across the floor, he took a step closer to the seated Camshaft and glared down at him.

"You. Don't. Know. What. You're. Talking. About." Jazz said slowly and firmly. "And if you say one more word, you and me are gonna have serious problems. Got it?"

Camshaft shook his head slightly then shrugged and said, "Yes, sir. Whatever you say."

Jazz spun around and stalked off. Once he was out of earshot, Camshaft looked back at Jackpot and said, "He's going to get himself killed."

"Maybe," Jackpot said. "If he does, there's not much you or I can do about it except stay out of his way." The younger Autobot looked down at the floor where the components of their game had been spread haphazardly. He caught sight of the six of clubs sitting face-up on the pile and asked, "Camshaft, did you see the cards you dealt in the last round?"

"I did."

"Who got the six?" Jackpot asked with a grin.

Jokingly, Camshaft replied, "Oh, just shut up and take your money already."

Ga'mede watched his men climb out of the truck toting shovels and a sack of body bags. As he watched them get down to business, he leaned on the side of the truck and lit a cigarette.

Cobra Commander had, as usual, been very pleased with his work. Before the masked idiot had wandered off to carry out whatever hideously convoluted plan it was he was working on, he'd been more than happy to let Ga'mede borrow some of his henchmen for a few hours. The terrorist smiled to himself as he took a draw on the cigarette, wondering what his erstwhile employer would make of this impromptu grave-robbing expedition when word got back to him.

Why do I always get the crazy ones? Henry Cohen asked himself ruefully. The doctor glared at everyone in the room before his eyes finally settled on the patient, a young Ms. Santos. "I can't in good conscience discharge you," he said. "You're in no shape to travel."

"Listen, buddy," the woman told him, "I don't give a rat's ass what your conscience tells you. I'm leaving and you can't stop me."

"Ma'am, you've just been through a serious trauma," Henry told her, restraining a sigh. "I know you think you've dealt with it, that you've processed it, but you haven't. You're going to need to make some serious adjustments to-"

"Shove it," the patient told him. "I don't need your advice, you little k-"

"What Ms. Santos means to say," the elder of the three men in the room with her spoke up, "is that she'll be well taken care of. My private hospital has a whole wing set aside for taking care of victims of robot attacks."

"And you are?"

"G.B. Blackrock," the man said. "CEO of Blackrock Industries and owner of Saint Mark's Hospital."

"Saint Mark's in Wilsonville?"

"That's the one."

"I worked there for six years," Henry told him. "We didn't admit a single robot victim in that whole time."

"It's a new project," Blackrock told him. "We're trying to keep it hush-hush."

"Mm-hmm," Henry said noncommittally. "Sure you are."

"Look," Blackrock told him, "the young lady says she wants to go. You've got no right to try and hold her against her will."

"The young lady," Henry shot back, "is drugged up to her eyeballs and concussed. She's in no shape to consent to anything."

"The young lady," the patient interrupted, "can speak for herself and doesn't need some white knight in a lab coat second-guessing her every move."

"Ma'am," Henry said tactfully, "with all due respect, in your condition you're going to need a 'white knight in a lab coat' watching over you every day for the rest of your life."

"'My condition'?" the patient said disdainfully. "I've had enough of this. Just break his jaw and wheel me out of here already."

"That's completely uncalled – aah!"

Blackrock rushed forward and caught the doctor before he could hit the ground, gently lowering his unconscious form down to the floor. Then he looked up at Buster, glowering.

"What the hell was that?"

Buster winced, pain still shooting up his broken arm from where he'd clobbered the doctor with his cast. "You heard the lady."

"He knows who I am!" Blackrock hissed. "Do you realize what a mess it'll create, knocking out a doctor and kidnapping a police officer?"

"Ex-police officer," Maria corrected glumly.

"I'll be fending off his lawyers for months!" Blackrock continued.

"So you'll have to pay off a few mortgages to keep people quiet," Buster said with a shrug. "You can afford it."

"You're awfully generous with other people's money, aren't you?"

Buster ignored him. He looked over toward Bumblebee and said, "Are you going to lecture me too?"

"No Buster," Bumblebee told him. "I'm not. But have you given any thought to how we're going to get her out of here without clobbering anyone else?"

"Yeah," Buster said. "I've got an idea."

Ratchet caught sight of the three familiar human forms headed toward him, pushing a gurney. The medic popped open his rear doors and let them load their charge inside.

"You guys were in there a long time," he observed. "Did you have any trouble?"

"No," Bumblebee said. "No trouble. Why would you think that?"

"No reason," Ratchet said. As they loaded his patient inside, he added, "Nice lab coat, Dr. Cohen. It goes so well with your Pretender shell."

"Why thank you," Bumblebee told him, chuckling. "They're all the rage now, or haven't you heard?"

Garboil fluttered into the Imperials temporary base, a smug expression on his face. "Magnificus, are you here?"

"I, uh, yes," the scientist's voice, much more nervous than usual, came from one of the inner rooms. "I am."

"Our lead panned out," Garboil continued obliviously. "Ga'mede is ours to command, and you'll have a mountain of corpses to work with starting tomorrow."

"That's, uh, great, Garboil. Really. I'm glad."

"What in the name of Xal is wrong with you?" Garboil asked. The buzzard started heading toward the sound of Magnificus's voice. "You sound like the Liege Maximo himself is watching over your shoulder."

"Well, no, but..." Magnificus strode out of the room he'd been in, a serious expression on his face. "We, uh, we do have a guest."

"A guest? Who? No one could find us...here..." Garboil trailed off as he saw the figure coming out after Magnificus. The tall, crowned purple figure with an orange particle cannon strapped to his arm. "Impossible..."

"No," Galvatron corrected him. "Not impossible. You were easy to find once I knew to look for you. Frankly, I'm surprised this place isn't swarming with Autobots by now." He cocked his head to one side and glared at Garboil. "Now, by all means, tell me all about these dead humans you're collecting."

"Why should I?" Garboil asked him. "You'll kill us either way!"

"Kill you? You wound me, Garboil," Galvatron said vainly. "If I wanted you dead you wouldn't have made it through the door."

"Then what do you want with us?" Garboil demanded.

"I thought that would be obvious by now," Galvatron said condescendingly. "This planet is overrun by Autobots and even I can't kill all of them by myself. I need minions, and you three will do nicely. You work for me now, Garboil."

It had been almost a full day since their last meeting, but Jazz was still fuming when Ratchet walked back into the conference room. Accompanied by Bumblebee, the doctor didn't say a word as he walked to an empty seat as far away from Jazz as he could find. Across the table, Silverbolt and Skydive had already settled in. The dim morning sun shone through the windows, painting the otherwise-dark room with a gloomy palate of greys and blues. Ratchet found that highly appropriate, all things considered.

"You all know why we're here," Jazz said flatly. "Galvatron's on the loose and we need to do something about him. We need to decide on what."

"Actually, no," Silverbolt shook his head. "Before we talk about that, we need to decide on something else. Something more important."

"Like what?" Jazz asked.

"It's been four days now," Skydive took over for his fellow Aerialbot.

Jazz nodded. "I know. We haven't been able to raise Cybertron in four days."

"No," Skydive shook his head. "Not that. We've been without a leader for four days. In a crisis like this, that's just unacceptable."

"You want to pick a new boss?" Jazz asked. "Fine by me."

"We all know where you stand," Silverbolt took over. "You want to go after Galvatron with everything we've got, including Shockwave. Ratchet doesn't agree." He sighed. "Skydive and I have talked a lot over the last day."

"And?" That was the first word Ratchet had said since he'd arrived.

"Skydive thinks that letting Shockwave loose now could be a big mistake," Silverbolt said. "He thinks it would make a dangerous situation even worse. And I think...I think he might be right. Shockwave is a last resort."

"You what?" Jazz found himself half-way out of his seat before he could regain his composure. He took a few seconds to steady himself, gripping the tabletop firmly, then sat back down. "Twenty-four hours ago you thought it was a great idea!"

"And I was wrong," Silverbolt told him. "I'm not afraid to admit that. It might turn out to be the only idea we have. If we need Shockwave, then we'd consider it. But jumping into a deal with him just in case, and ignoring the risks...we can't support that. I'm sorry."

"Ultra Magnus is dead," Jazz shot back. "What more proof do we need before we can say that we need him?"

"Jazz."

Jazz jumped a bit. Bumblebee had been so quiet so far that he'd almost forgotten the smaller Autobot was in the room. "Yes?"

"I'm not completely sure you're thinking clearly," Bumblebee was obviously reluctant to say anything, but he continued. "You have history with Galvatron. He hurt you."

"It was only superficial damage," Jazz waved his hand dismissively. "My shell fixed it before Ratchet here even got down to Earth."

"That's not what I mean," Bumblebee replied, "and you know it."

"Do I, now?" Jazz asked, his tone one of warning. It was all he could do to restrain himself from throwing himself across the table at the smaller Pretender.

"Galvatron lobotomized you," Bumblebee said. His expression was pitying, which only angered Jazz all the more. "He cut your brain apart and used you as a pawn against the rest of us. How many Autobots did you put in the medbay? Four? Five?"

"What's your point?" Jazz demanded coldly.

"You can't think clearly where Galvatron is concerned," Bumblebee told him. "Any version of him."

"Maybe I'm the only one who can think clearly," Jazz retorted. "The rest of you don't have a clue how dangerous Galvatron is!"

"I was there in 1986," Bumblebee said, "And I was there in 1989, too. I've seen Galvatron in action."

"You've seen, have you?" Jazz shook his head. No one else understood, no one else could possibly hope to understand. Magnus had, probably even better than Jazz himself...but Magnus was gone now. Jazz was the only one left who knew, who could possibly understand, just what kind of monster they were facing. "I felt his hands pawing around inside my brain! You don't have the slightest clue what he's capable of!"

"Maybe not," Bumblebee admitted. "But my fingers haven't gouged indentations in the table, either."

"Hmm?" Jazz was confused, and it took him a few seconds to decipher what Bumblebee had said. Then he looked down at the table and saw that he'd managed to carve two-inch deep grooves where his hands had been gripping the table. The solid-steel table.

For a moment that only made his anger flare up all the more. His gaze shot back to Bumblebee, and he was filled with the deepest loathing for this small, weak, soft Autobot who dared to question the validity of Jazz's anger. He felt his body tense up as if to strike out...

...and then he realized that it was Bumblebee that he was looking at. Bumblebee, his closest friend, his protege and partner, the Autobot that he'd watched grow from a frightened, nervous rookie into one of the smartest, bravest, most capable soldiers he'd ever had the pleasure of serving with. One of the best people he'd ever had the honour of knowing.

"I don't...I can't..." Jazz shook his head, suddenly at a loss for words. "I have to stop him, Bumblebee. He has to pay for what he's done. Not just to me. To Sandstorm, to Twin Twist, to Magnus and all the others."

"He will," Bumblebee said reassuringly. "I promise. We will get him. But Jazz, you need to let us do what needs to be done. And right now, in the state you're in...I'm sorry, but you just can't."

"I...I know," Jazz told him. Afraid that he was about to fall apart, Jazz got up from the table and headed for the door.

"Beat him," he told the other Autobots as he left.

"That went well," Ratchet said sarcastically after Jazz was gone.

"It could have gone a lot worse," Bumblebee told him. The younger Autobot slumped back into his chair and buried his face in his hands, feeling like all of his energon had burned away. "You know that."

"As happy as I am to see him backing down," Skydive told them, "we still have two big problems on our hands. We need a leader and we need a plan."

"I think," Silverbolt chimed in, "that we've found at least one of those."

It took Bumblebee a few seconds to realize that the Aerialbot commander was looking at him.

"You're joking," Bumblebee said incredulously.

"Even if he is," Ratchet cut in, "I'm not. We're not going to win by punching Galvatron in the face until he gives up. We're going to have to think our way out of this, and I can't think of anyone better qualified to do that than you."

"I could think of three people in this room better qualified," Bumblebee told him, meaning every word of it.

"If you think that highly of us, then you should listen to us when we say that we think you'd make the best leader," Skydive told him reasonably.

Bumblebee's jaw worked for a few seconds, but no words came out. When he finally managed to collect himself, all he could manage to say was, "I...I'll do it. Primus help us all, but I'll do it."

"I'm sure it'll be a pleasure to serve under you, sir," Ratchet said dryly. "Now, about Sh—"

"I'm not done," Bumblebee cut him off. "I'll do it on one condition. If you want me to be your leader then you're going to have to follow me just like you would follow Prime. No second-guessing me, no disobeying orders, no going behind my back and no ganging up on me when you don't like what I'm telling you to do. I know I'm not Optimus Prime, but if you trust me enough to put me in charge then you have to trust me enough to stick by me when things get rough."

"I've got no complaints about that," Skydive assured him. "Guys?"

Silverbolt shrugged. "No arguments here."

"Or from me," Ratchet agreed,

"Good," Bumblebee nodded. "Skydive, if I understand it right the Steelhaven is out of commission?"

"More or less," Skydive told him. "Other than making sure it won't fall out of the sky, there's not much we can do without a team of engineers to repair what Downshift did to it."

"In that case, tell the crew that are still aboard to park it in orbit and join us here. We're going to need every set of hands we can get. And strip any equipment from her that we don't have down on Earth, starting with medical supplies." Bumblebee turned to Silverbolt next. "I need you to coordinate patrols and intelligence-gathering. Once I've smoothed things over with Blackrock, hopefully he and Barnett will be willing to help you out. We need every set of eyes and ears we can get, wherever and whenever we can get them. We don't know where the Imperials are or where Galvatron is, and those are blanks that we need to fill in before we can do anything."

"Will do," Silverbolt accepted his assignment curtly.

Bumblebee wanted to handle that job himself, and in a different situation he would have trusted Jazz with it. Silverbolt was a good soldier and he would do a good job of it, but he was afraid that the Aerialbot had seen his reluctance and read the wrong things into it. There was nothing he could do about that now, though.

"Ratchet," Bumblebee said at last, "I've got a job for you too."

"And here I thought I was going to be able to steal a few minutes' downtime," Ratchet mumbled. "What do you need?"

"I need you to repair Shockwave."

Ratchet jerked back as if Bumblebee had tried to bite him. "Excuse me? I thought we agreed—"

"We agreed that Jazz wasn't thinking straight," Bumblebee told him. "That doesn't mean he's never had a good idea in his life. If we need Shockwave, if we need him, he needs to be ready."

"This is a terrible idea," Ratchet said bluntly. "If Prime were here—"

"If Prime were here he would have beaten Galvatron into submission with his bare hands by now and we wouldn't be having this conversation," Bumblebee said bluntly. "But he's not, and if we're going to deal with this problem we're going to have to play the hand that fate dealt us. And since none of us have Jackpot's luck, it's not a good one. Shockwave is too important a resource to throw away."

"I absolutely will not do this," Ratchet insisted.

"Then First Aid will," Bumblebee said, "and you'll spend the rest of this crisis in the brig. Don't make me do that, doctor. Please." Bumblebee didn't like the way he sounded. Leaders shouldn't have to plead with their men...but it was done and he couldn't pluck the words back out of the air. More firmly, he added, "You wanted me in charge. Well, I'm in charge. You work for me now, Ratchet. And this...this is an order. I'm sorry."

"Yes, sir," Ratchet said sarcastically. He saluted, then bolted to his feet. "But I have more important work to take care of first."

The doctor stormed out of the room before anyone could get a word in.

Bumblebee sighed, then looked across the table at the two Aerialbots. "That went well."

Blackrock had to admit that he was a little sceptical when he walked into the meeting room and didn't see anyone but Bumblebee.

"Who are we waiting for?" he asked. "Your man – Groove, was it? — told me I was meeting with the new boss."

"You've got him," Bumblebee said without much enthusiasm. "Earthforce Commander Bumblebee, at your service."

"I'll just bet there's a good story behind this," Blackrock said, taken aback.

"Not one that I'm eager to share," Bumblebee brushed him off. "Now, I understand we've got some trust issues?"

"Damned right we do," Blackrock muttered. "You've been lying to us from the beginning."

"Yes," Bumblebee admitted. "We were. Ultra Magnus didn't want to cause a panic."

"I don't think I much care for your Ultra Magnus," Blackrock said.

"He was right, G.B." Bumblebee told him. "If we'd told you the truth about the situation you were facing, you never would have helped us, Barnett would have passed the information up the chain of command to someone who would have revived RAAT and gotten who knows how many humans killed and we wouldn't have been able to do a thing to stop it. Can you argue with that?"

"I..." Blackrock shook his head, then looked back up at Bumblebee. "No, you're right. People would have died. But Bumblebee, people are dying now. And your Autobots are dropping like flies. I'm not sure that what we have now is any better."

"It's not," Bumblebee admitted. "But all hope isn't lost yet. We can still make this better, but we need to work together if we're going to do it."

"I'm listening."

Epilogue

Maria felt awareness slowly return to her body. She was still groggy from the anaesthetic that Ratchet had given her, and her whole body was throbbing with pain. It took a few minutes before her semi-functional brain realized that that was a good thing – if her whole body hurt, it meant that she could feel it again.

The realization woke her up as surely as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water in her face, and her eyes snapped open.

"Finally waking up, I see. Certainly took you long enough..."

Maria had to lean up a few degrees and squinted against the light before she could make out the white and red figure of Ratchet on the other side of the medbay. Then she looked down at herself and realized that she was stark naked.

"Jesus," she grumbled, "you could have at least covered me with a sheet..."

"Ms. Santos," Ratchet told her with the annoying patience that doctors always seemed to have an infinite supply of, no matter the species, "I've spent the last day poking and prodding your insides. I've seen parts of you that I genuinely doubt you even knew existed. So the modesty is a bit overdue, don't you think?" In spite of his words, he pointed to a folded-up robe sitting at the foot of her bed. "Also, I'm an alien robot. Do you worry about your microwave seeing you naked too?"

Maria couldn't help but chuckle at that. "No, I suppose I don't."

She slowly moved into a sitting position. After all the time she'd spend sedentary she expected to feel a burst of dizziness or have her body collapse underneath her, but it didn't happen. She grabbed the robe and pulled it on, noticing as she did the barely-visible grey veins that now ran under her skin, and the dull metal contacts that were exposed on her forearms and lower legs.

"So, uh," she said, not exactly sure how to broach the subject, "this is what being a cyborg feels like, eh?"

"Being 100% robot myself, I wouldn't know," Ratchet joked. "Do you feel any different?"

"Other than being able to move again, you mean?" Maria thought about that, then said, "Yeah. I'm not sure how to describe it, other than my whole body hurts. I ache all over like I've just finished running a marathon."

"That should pass, apparently," Ratchet assured her. "Although I can't tell you how long it will take. I've never done this procedure before, and the only other human who went through it didn't stick around very long for observation. According to Brainstorm's notes the pain is because your brain needs time to get used to your augmented neurological system."

"Wonderful," Maria grumbled as he hopped down off the bed. She smiled a little as she felt the cold metal floor on the soles of her feet. "Why?"

"We've bolted it into a whole new nervous system," Ratchet said helpfully.

"No," Maria shook her head. "I mean why did you help me? Don't take this the wrong way, but I'm hardly the first human to get caught in the crossfire."

That seemed to stop the medic cold. He looked away for a few seconds, staring at the floor as if he was embarrassed to answer her question. "I'm sick of watching innocents getting hurt because of a war that we brought here," Ratchet told her. "And I'm sick of hearing platitudes from my comrades about how we'll make it better someday. It's not going to happen. We've let millions of your kind die and nothing we do can fix that. I'm sick of waiting for 'someday', and I'm sick of compromising my ethics on someone else's say-so. I helped you because I could, because I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hadn't. I helped you, Ms. Santos, because that's what doctors are supposed to do."

"That's a good reason if I've ever heard one." Maria looked at the contacts on her right arm again, then asked, "You did fix me, Ratchet, so don't think I'm ungrateful. But I have to ask, what exactly am I now?"

"What are you now?" Ratchet shrugged. "You're very lucky. You've been given a second chance at life. But what are you?" Ratchet chuckled dryly. "I'm afraid that's up to you, Ms. Santos, just like it's always been."

Ratchet let himself out after that. Against his better judgement, he had another patient to attend to.

In Autobase's larger surgical lab, Shockwave was waiting for him. The Decepticon didn't have a word to say in greeting, merely following Ratchet's path around the room with his single, relentless optic sensor.

"I'm going to have to shut down some of your higher cortical functions," he told the Decepticon. "I can't risk you dying from sensory shock during the procedure."

"Understood," Shockwave told him. "Proceed."

Mimicking his patient's terseness, Ratchet simply picked up a screwdriver and went to work removing the Decepticon's cranial armour. In a few minutes he had the purple outer shell split open, and he was busily working on taking apart the inner layers of protective casing that separated a Transformer's vital components from the outside world. Once he had that removed, Ratchet picked up a laser scalpel and started to carefully disconnect Shockwave's primary systems from his brain module. Starting with the motor cortex, the medic carefully sliced through connections until the only thing still feeding into the Decepticon's brain were his audio inputs. He lined up his scalpel on that connector too, ready to slice it. But before he did, he told the Decepticon, "If you decide to remain conscious, don't worry if it takes a long time. The procedure will last at least six hours."

Shockwave didn't reply, but that was no surprise. His speech synthesizer was already disconnected.

Ratchet looked up for a second, and his gaze was drawn toward the mountain of weapons and other equipment he was going to be reattaching to the Decepticon. A whole new wave of revulsion washed over him as he realized again just how much destruction Shockwave would be able to cause once he'd been put back together.

For a second he considered just continuing, stripping more and more pieces off of Shockwave until there was nothing left of him that could hurt an amoeba. But he knew that would only be a stopgap solution – First Aid was still aboard the Steelhaven and if Ratchet refused to fix Shockwave then it would fall to the Protectobot to do so. And although First Aid would hate himself every bit as much as Ratchet was going to, he was a much better soldier than Ratchet was. He would follow his orders no matter how much he hated them.

Ratchet sighed, then started to get back to work. He couldn't concentrate, though – his words to Ms. Santos a few minutes ago kept running through his mind.

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I hadn't," he whispered.

Setting his jaw, Ratchet looked back down at Shockwave's exposed cranium. "For what it's worth," he told the Decepticon, "I wish it hadn't come to this."

Then he activated his laser scalpel and neatly sliced Shockwave's brain module in half.

← Part Eleven | Index | Part Thirteen →

 
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