The Energon Pub

Bounce Chamber, Corridors, Med Bay (Being carried for most of it...)

Sprints onlined his optics as he realized he was being bounced. He luckily didn't have to worry too greatly about the disorienting, unbalancing effects of the transport system, but he also realized that most of the others might, and it wouldn't be helpful to have anyone falling on him. He set one arm on the ground to lever his torso up and kept the other at the ready to fend off any unbalanced teammates.

Luckily, none of the 'Bots fell on him, and Sprints heard Hot Spot give the order to get to the medical bay. Sprints wished once again that his legs hadn't failed him here, and that he could help get the others to the recuperation they needed. Instead, it was him who needed to be helped to the bay.

Speak of the fragger, Sprints thought with a grin as Blades appeared to carry him again. "Hey there, friend!" Sprints listened and grinned even wider, if it were possible. "Alright! Yeah, I'll teach 'em to do this again, huh?" Then Sprints thought about what he'd said and realized how it came out. "I mean, I'll teach them to do this to me. They won't do it again... Oh, just get me outta here."

Along the way Sprints was embarassed once again as he was forced to be practically paraded past and before his fellow Autobots over the shoulder of Blades. He decided to cover it up with charisma and charm, which he hoped he had: Sprints jovially, if a Transformer could ever be considered jovial, waved his hand to everyone and greeted them cheerfully, if a tiny bit sardonically.

Finally, Sprints was laid down in the med bay, which was already bustling with movement. Craning his joints to see, he noticed First Aid working on Axle, and Hot Spot laying Hex down at another repair bay. "Primus! What happened to them?" Sprints touched Blades' arm. "Hey, let them know I'm fine, huh? Get the others patched up first, I've just got a bit of a limp, I'm not in lock!"

Corridor

Once the two mechs had exited his personal quarters and began to move down the corridor, Nova offered Bumblebee a response to his question concerning who might take Optimus Prime’s place. He frowned at what he heard. Prowl and it looked as though Grimlock were the only two who seemed to be in line for the leadership. Probably not the best options, not their own, but together they would certainly be a force to be reckoned with.

Bumblebee shook his head as he thought of just how badly the meeting was probably going. Maybe he should go over to make sure…no, he’s no politic. He’s a spy. And he certainly couldn’t make a difference there.

The yellow minibot cleared his mind of the leadership issue and refocused his attention on Nova Strike as the ranger mentioned that the Autobots as a whole should put the matter to rest by vote. It seemed plausible, but he was certain that one mech in particular would refuse to cooperate.

“It sounds very doable, but I’m afraid one mech, and his team, wouldn’t find the idea to their liking.”

As they finally boarded the lift Bumblebee, grew silent. With the command given to their destination, the yellow ‘Bot finally spoke.

“Do you think…I don’t know…that there should be another candidate? I’m sure Prowl and Grimlock are very capable in their abilities, but I can’t help but feel that the leader of the Autobots should also be able to relate to his or her subordinates.”

Bumblebee shrugged trying to convince himself that perhaps…forget it…it’s a crazy idea.

“Anyway, what kind of work has to be completed on the Ark?”

Bounce Chamber

Saferoute had been surprised by the sudden bounce, and had to transform quickly when it started. As she materialized in the bounce chamber, the dizziness as well as the pain in her legs caused her to stumble and fall flat on her face.

She grumbled as she got herself up, still fuming over everything that had happened. A friendly hand then overed to help her- it was Groove.

"Here, let me help.", the Protectobot scout offered.

"Yeah..... thanks.", she reluctantly accepted as he took her hand and helped pull her up.

Groove was by no means a strong bot, so it was unlikely he would carry the much larger transport. Instead he put her arm over her shoulder and helped carry some of her weight, taking some of the pressure off her legs. They walked with the rest of the Autobots to the medical bay.


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Medical Bay


Warpath arrived to find the room filled and busy. As he saw the critical shape of Axle and Hex, he couldn't help be feel ashamed at his earlier gloomy behavior; he may have lost one of his most valuable parts, but at least it wasn't life threatening.

Not wanting to be a burden to the medical personel, the warrior slowly made his way to the CR chamber next to the one Hardhead had entered. It would fix him up good, but someone would still have to physically replace his destroyed cannon. Given how busy First Aid and Ratchet were, though, it looked like Warpath would have to wait anyway.

With a few buttons pushed the chamber opened up for Warpath. It was probably the easiest time Warpath had getting into the CR unit, for once not having to contort himself into uncomfortable positions to compensate for his chest cannon.

Well slaggit, I guess there is one good thing about not having my gun.

Completely inside, the chamber door shut in front of Warpath as he went offline. Hopefully the critically wounded would be alive and fully assembled once he got out.


----------------------


Groove had hoped to greet his friend, First Aid when he arrived, but it was clear that his doctor friend was too busy trying to keep Axle alive. Saferoute could see Axle as well.

"I hope he makes it.", the Autobot transport said, "He risked his life for the humans."

"If anyone can save him, it's First Aid.", Groove replied as he helped Saferoute to one of the CR chambers.

"You're injuries feel worse then they really are because of all the weight you need to put on them.", Groove informed Saferoute as he opened the chamber door, "Some time in the CR chamber should do the trick."

"Thank you.", was all she said as she slowly got herself into the unit. As the door shut, her thoughts turned to the humans she had encountered earlier, until she went offline for repairs.

With the trained medical staff busy with the more seriously damaged patients, and without any damage to himself, Groove thought it would be best if he took care of some of the lesser injuries. Spending so much time with First Aid, a good amount of medical knowledge had rubbed off on the scout.

"First Aid, Ratchet, I can handle the less critical injuries for you.", the scout announced.

Groove looked around at the assembled Autobots from both the Iran mission and the refinery. Ironhide certainly looked in bad shape, especially since he was holding one of his arms with the other.

"Would you like me to help you reattach your arm, Ironhide?"

Medical Bay

Ratchet moved from the Protectobot doctor and made his way to the other mechs from the Iran battle. He had just begun to perform triage when Hot Spot burst in calling for his teammate. He was followed soon after by the rest of the Kansas team.

The sudden arrival caused the CMO to turn on his heel to face the panicked mech. Ratchet’s optics widened at the sight of the young mech lying in Hot Spot’s arms. There had been a considerable loss of energon, some of which was smeared on the chestplate of Hot Spot.

Ratchet glanced down at Ironhide before he left to examine Hex. On his way over to the berth he grabbed a hold of a scanner and quickly ran it over the mech’s chest. Even with the considerable loss of energon and other fluids, the youngling’s spark was strong. Hot Spot was right; Hex was not in as bad a shape as his guardian. He just hoped that First Aid would be able to get Axle stable before he got Hex back up and running.

Ratchet placed a hand on Hot Spot’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hex’ll be fine.” He looked back the privacy screen where First Aid was working diligently on Axle.

“And First Aid is one of the best doctors I know and trained. Axle will be alright, I promise you that.”

The CMO gestured to the other ‘Bots still waiting for assistance.

“I could really use an extra hand with the others.”

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

Tracer savored the kiss for a few moments before she reluctantly pulled away, but remained in his arms. Instead of looking back up and becoming lost in those bright azure optics, Tracer lowered her gaze to the floor. As much as she wished she could remain in his arms, she knew that she would need to confide in him one more time. How could she not let him know how things were after they were separated? Even before the war began she had her secrets.

With her optics still lowered, Tracer she finally broke her silence. Her voice was low, almost too low.

“Things were difficult before the war. Before I knew you.”

She slowly pulled out of his embrace, too embarrassed to remain. She made her way back to the berth and sat on its edge. Carefully lifting her head, she hoped that he wouldn’t judge her for what she had done in the past.

“Smokescreen. There were…are things about me that I never told you, and I hope that once you find them out, that your feelings for me won’t change.”

Corridors

Rodimus nodded to the former Predacon when he mentioned that he had no intention of leaving the self-proclaimed Prime to his own devices. He would follow, but only to satisfy his own curiosity. As much as he wished to gain the approval of all the Autobots present, he knew that it would be neigh impossible.

Resided to that one fact, Rodimus realized he would have to only win over those who would stand in his way of his true goal. Convincing Howlstrike of his capabilities was not a goal, but with the tracker along to witness his exam and their results…that would only solidify his claim.

“I will do everything in my power to prove that I am who I say I am and that I was chosen to follow in Optimus Prime’s footsteps.”

Rodimus flashed Howlstrike a genuine smile before he moved on toward the Med Bay. Perhaps within those walls he would find those he sought.

I feel that our stop at your medical facility will result in quite a reward, young one.

A low whimper was his only response.

Repair Bay

Slingshot walked in to the non emergency area of the vaunted shipboard infirmary. His fingers fidgeted as he resisted the urge to scratch even further at the small chunk of charred metal on his wingtip. There were more damaged Autobots ahead of him, that he knew so he kept his complaints to a minimum. The problem was, as the Aerialbot sat back against one of the benches allowing himself to partake upon a packet of vital energon, that he was affording himself a chance to think.

So many things could have gone wrong during that air battle. He could have easily been struck from behind during one of his more daring maneuvers. He could have accidentally fired a few missiles and struck down his own team mates. Slingshot sipped upon the torn corner of the ration container and allowed the raw power to flow into his systems. "If only I had done more." He muttered to himself, heedless of any mecha that had been watching him.

Turbo Lift Car

Nova Strike watched the lights dance across the view screen as the lift finally began its slow descent towards its assigned target level. Bumblebee's assessment on two current operatives vying for the role of Supreme Commander had rung in his processor far longer than he had anticipated. Prowl was a stickler for the book. He was inflexible to changing situations and rarely managed to come up with a novel approach to a problem that had been constant throughout the ages. Plus he had the personality of a calculator. Nova had only worked directly under his orders once before being assigned to the Guardian. It had been the operation oh so long ago that had cost him his own freedom because of that inflexibility. Course if he had not broken with the plan at the last second, then Nova and the squad he had been with probably would have been obliterated right off. Though he did have to hand it to the walking computation module. He managed to devise enough strategy that kept them from using their entire resources in massive disasters.

Grimlock on the other hand was much like... well Nova Strike refused to even consider that mech or his team of techno heads as much of anything. The Dinobot Commander was an excellent field commander, without peer in battle. Problem was that he had no feel for logistics or long term planning. Add to that his disdain such long term objectives for the over all stability of the cause lent further to his inability to be taken seriously as a supreme commander candidate, at least in Nova's optics.

If only those two ever worked together, or at least shared their strengths, they may have very well made excellent commanders. Nova Strike pondered the two individuals quietly before the turbo lift car chimed that the breaks had been applied and the doors would soon open. Shaking his head he stepped forward and allowed Bumblebee to fall in before starting to make his way towards the docking ring.

"From what I hear, the construction efforts haven't moved very far. There was so much damage that a lot of the resources so far have been spent on removing debris and destroyed components."

He responded absently to the smaller officer before stopping at a porthole granting them an unobstructed view of the battered battle wagon. "Ya know Bumblebee, for all their strengths. Prowl and Grimlock seem to lack that certain Charisma that Optimus had. Heck even Ultra Magnus had a similar flair that these two seem to have abandoned." He rested his arms on the port sill before releasing a false sigh. "Heh, if we did vote, I would be willing to bet a months credits that if you ran, you'd give both of those two a run for their money."

Mess Hall

There was a long, tense moment of silence as Grimlock stood in front of Prowl after the other Autobot had given his proposal. The Dinobot commander remained stone faced as he considered Prowl’s words. Grimlock knew he wasn’t fit to lead. At best he could just barely maintain the status quo, but he didn’t have the creativity or the charisma to do anything but maintain. Unfortunately now was not the time to keep things going as they always had. There was an opportunity here to strike a finishing blow to the Decepticons, but it would take initiative to seize it. Sitting around, strategizing and reacting would get them nowhere. Bold, daring moves needed to be taken, and those were moves Prowl would never make.

Grimlock’s only verbal reply to Prowl was a grunt before walking past him towards the door. “Dinobots.” He waved for his team to follow him out of the room.

Swoop visibly relaxed a bit as the situation ended without violence. He didn’t really think Grimlock would take a swing at Prowl, but he knew that his leader must have been tempted. While he was the most social Dinobot, he still didn’t have much fondness for the strategist. He shot Prowl a glare as he walked past after Grimlock.

Slag on the other hand was annoyed that it hadn’t ended with violence. It had been far too long since he had been in a battle, and punching walls and damaging furniture could only do so much to relieve the pressure. He didn’t know where Grimlock was leading them next, but he hoped it involved hitting something. As he walked past Prowl he made sure to give him a good hard bump from his shoulder.

*

Kup grimaced as Grimlock and his team stormed out of the room. He let out a sigh as he looked over at Prowl. “Well, that could have gone better. We’d just better hope Grimlock doesn’t go off and do something crazy, but then we might as well just hope that Shockwave comes over and surrenders himself peacefully to us.”

He placed a hand on Prowl’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Things seem to be going pretty well around here lad, thanks in no small part to you. I was almost afraid I’d be seeing total chaos. Most of these younger bots never really served under any Prime then Optimus. You’ve done a good job here lad, and now I’m here to lend a hand.” He dropped his hand from Prowl’s shoulder and produced his cy-gar once again, sticking it in his mouth. “Now how about we run down what we’ve both been up to and compare notes.”

*

Corridors

Grimlock walked down the corridors, angry but restrained. He had hoped Prowl would see some sort of reason. He had even downplayed his own wishes for command, willing to take a temporary position. He didn’t need to be leader of all the Autobots, he just saw the opportunity that no one else seemed to see. He was the right leader, right at this pivotal time when total victory could be achieved in one swift stroke. It just spoke to other Autobot’s lack of strategic thinking not to see the opportunity in front of them.

“Dinobots, get recharged and rearmed. Me have plan and want all of you at your best. We going to do what we do best and got it on our own. We just need ship first, real fighting ship and not an Ark or Guardian, and me know where to get one.”

*

Med Bay

Hot Spot was relieved to see First Aid already hard at work on Axle. While most Autobots would say Ratchet was the best medic around, Hot Spot would always argue that his teammate at least deserved consideration for that title. It also meant that Hex could be put in the good hands of Ratchet. With the two of them he knew the wounded Autobots would make full recoveries.

The Protectobot commander nodded at Ratchet’s request for help. While he wasn’t a trained medic like First Aid or Ratchet he had picked up plenty of skill working alongside his teammate. He quickly surveyed the room, sorting out the worst of the injuries in his head. Several bots were already moving to CR chambers on their own power, while Groove moved to assist Ironhide. That left Sprints as the next worst injured, in his untrained opinion. He walked over to the Autobot.

“Sprints, what happened to you? As long as it doesn’t involve any real surgery I should be able to fix you up.” He grabbed a toolkit off of one of these shelves and opened it. Grabbing a scanner he began inspecting the Autobot’s damaged legs.

*

Ironhide looked up as Groove spoke to him. He allowed a faint smile to cross his face. “Sure ya can Protecto-buddy. Old Ratchet said it was a pretty clean cut, shouldn’t be too hard to reattach. Maybe even a simple grunt like me could do it, if it were someone else.” He reached up to pass the severed arm to the Protectobot. “Ratchet went ahead and sealed up all of the leaking lines, just have to reattach the arm and join mechanism and all of the lines and wires and stuff. Don’t worry about makin’ it look pretty or anything, just as long as it works and I can punch deceptichumps with it, I’ll be fine.”

Med Bay

Sprints watched the bustle of the room in an almost detached manner, as if he were barely there. This was because, simply, in his mind, he wasn't. He was living the battle again, going through it move by move, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong, how he'd ended up wounded like this. He wasn't used to it. Sprints' real strength was his mobility, his speed, and without them, he felt useless. He wasn't like the hard-hitters who packed enough artillery and armor to stand still and give as much fire as they took. He was a hit-and-move type, good at moving in and out quickly, and without his legs--

Geez, without these, I'm just slag.

Sprints was brought out of his reverie-- which boiled down to one decision, he realized-- when Hot Spot approached and asked what had happened. "Oh, the usual. Fraggin' 'Con tried to kill me. I'll give him points for creativity, though-- he ran me over and dropped a building on me, or tried to, anyway. Usually they just open fire." He sighed and glanced down at his injured limbs. "I don't think it's anything serious. Just some damaged wiring."

Making up his mind, he looked at Hot Spot. "Uh, sir? Can I ask something?" Hardly pausing for an answer, Sprints said, "Sir, about what happened down there... Well, this is all because I hesitated to finish off a 'Con. And I'm wondering, sir: Should I have just terminated him? It seems easier than all the trouble of letting them go. And... this--" Sprints motioned to the injured 'Bots in the room, including himself-- "a lot of it could be avoided.

"I'm not trying to sound like them, and I don't mean to be challenging anything. It's just... I just don't know if I did the smart thing down there."

Corridor

Following behind Nova Strike as the taller mech exited the lift, Bumblebee came to stop at eh same view port. His looked up at Nova as the other explained the situation concerning the Ark – 19. It seemed as though he had missed quite a bit while holed up in his quarters. The thought of his friends and colleagues pressing forward while he simply sat by was weighing on the yellow mech.

Bumblebee shook his head when he realized how selfish he had been. His attention turned form Nova to the space beyond the view post. For a long moment Bumblebee just observed. So peaceful. Quiet. What he wouldn’t give to have that for all Cybertronians.

The comment about Prime’s astounding charisma brought a bright smile to the minibot’s face. Optimus had a natural ability to bring everyone together, even when all hope seemed lost. The truth was, no one could ever replace Prime, in Bumblebee’s eyes no one ever should.

A slight chuckle escaped his vocalizer at the mention of Ultra Magnus. The commander was a mech to be reckoned with, but his self-doubt always seemed to hinder his decisions. Magnus confided in Prime quite often and no matter how much Prime tried to convince him that he was a capable leader, Magnus would always be wary.

Bumblebee’s attention moved from the stars suspended outside of the ship to Nova who let loose a sigh. His optics widened at the mech’s next words. That was something he hadn’t even considered, but who was he to even want that kind of responsibility.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, but with what happened…I just don’t think I’d be able to handle something as important as leading the entirety of the Autobot forces.”

He shrugged before turning away from the view port and looked down the corridor.

“You know, I realize that closing myself off from the rest of my friends was the wrong thing to do, and I want to thank you for helping me to see that.”

Bumblebee looked over his shoulder and flashed Nova Strike a smile.

“What do you say we make a quick stop at the Mess Hall before we head over to the docking tunnel? After all, I haven’t had my rations for the day.”

Perhaps he would consider what Nova had mentioned, even if it was said only in passing.

Mess Hall

As slow witted as he was, Sludge had worked under Grimlock long enough to not need an explanation. With one word the lumbering Dinobot followed behind the others. He gave Prowl an almost smug grin. Sludge knew that Grimlock was going to show the weak strategist who was really in charge.


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Corridors

Sludge nodded at Grimlock's instructions, secure in the fact that he was following orders from the strongest Autobot, and not some weak little know-it-all that liked to use big words. And having their own ship, a real ship that could actually fight, made it even better. Of course being as slow-witted as he was, he needed some clarification.

"Me Sludge thought we just recharged in there.", Sludge said confused, pointing back at the mess hall.

Before he got an answer, Sludge realized he needed help with the other part of Grimlock's order, about re-arming.

"And me Sludge don't know where the armory is..... Do you?", he asked Snarl.


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Med-Bay

Groove took Ironhide's severed arm and took the old veteran to one of the repair stations. After inspecting the damage he could agree with Ironhide's assessment. With Ratchet having already done some work it was certainly within the scout's ability to reattach it.

Dialing in a few keystrokes on the repair station's computer, a robotic arm with a hydrolic clamp came to life. Groove placed the severed arm into the clamp which automatically took a firm grip. Keying in a few more commands, the repair station moved the severed arm as close to Ironhide's shoulder as possible. The scout then pushed another button to open several storage compartments at the station, grabbing the various tools he would need.

"Please try to stay still.", Groove calmly told Ironhide as he started reattaching the arm to his shoulder assembly, "I may not be a medic, but I've spent enough time with First Aid that I'm practically his assistant."

Med Bay

“A bit of a limp, huh?” Blades frowned. “That's strange, 'cause I could've sworn I didn't see you help with the fires, or even make it to the repair bay on your own. It was as if something had crushed your legs and you couldn't move at all. Now isn't that just strange?” He grinned at Sprints. “Only playing around with you. I'll let First Aid know that you'll live to fight another solar cycle.”

Blades left Sprints for the moment, weaving through the collection of Autobots congesting the repair bay. He could not quash the smile on his face-plate incited by the young mech's display of toughness. He too had acted in the same manner on numerous occasions, simply dismissing any injuries he had sustained as if they were as insignificant as a few scratches adorning his chassis. To his credit, however, they were only minor cracks and dents.

Most of the time. Every now and then, some dirty 'Con, either through misplaced luck or employing a sneaky tactic, caught him by surprise and gave him more than a few cracks and dents.

“Hey, First Aid.” Blades approached the busy doctor with a softer tone, wary of disrupting his work on Axle. “Sprints over there is deciding to play hero. He says he isn't that badly wounded, so do you—“

As he glanced back at Sprints, he noticed Hot Spot was tending to the Autobot. He should have known that Hot Spot was not going to remain immobile, particularly in an important place like the med bay.

“Uh, never mind. I'll let you get back to it.”

Blades removed himself from First Aid's company, allowing him to continue treating Axle without further interruption. He began traversing back to Sprints, again threading his way through the densely populated repair bay, when his view picked out the form of an Aerialbot—Slingshot's to be precise. Veering his course, he walked over to Slingshot, curious to know whether his team had obtained success. And if they had wasted any Decepticons.

“Well, well, well.” Blades folded his arms firmly across his chest-plate.

He wasn't Slingshot's biggest fan—that individual had yet to be discovered—but there was a tiny part of Blades that liked the immensely obnoxious Aerialbot. Although, at times, it did feel as if even that fragment was gradually crumbling into microscopic matter...

“Would you look at this. The all mighty Slingshot came out of a battle pretty much unscathed.” He nodded, at if impressed by this apparent feat. “I guess you must have scared the Decepticons off with your super powerful presence. How did your team fair anyway?”

His relationship with the Aerialbot sharpshooter was far from ideal, but that didn't discourage Blades from striking up a conversation with him. Blades just had to remember not to hurl an insult at him every time he did so.

Easier said than done.

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

The kiss he and Tracer shared made Smokescreen forget all of the things that had transpired recently if only for the briefest of moments. The disappearance of Optimus, the confrontation with Hex, everything bad just seemed to vanish without consequence. Of course, that feeling didn’t last as the femme finally pulled away, but remained within his arms a few astroseconds longer. Her optics fell to the floor as if she was suddenly ashamed of something. She spoke of how hard things had been for her in the distant past before meeting him.

Pulling out of his embrace, Tracer walked over to the berth and sat down, her vocal processor quivering as she continued to confide in him. Smokescreen wanted to hold on to her just a little longer and not let her go, but he could sense that something was terribly wrong and giving her the space she required was for the best.

As Tracer finished speaking, the diversion expert walked over to her and knelt down beside the edge of the berth where she was seated. He looked her straight in the optics, even if she didn’t immediately return his gaze. “What could you possibly tell me that would make me change how I feel? I mean, this is me you’re talking to, Tracer. I was a gambler and a cheat who’s past is certainly not without its questionable behavior to say the least. Besides, did I judge you when we first met and you tried to steal my credits? No, I didn’t. In fact, I taught you how to cheat at the Iaconian casinos and steal from them instead!”

Smokescreen chuckled slightly before turning serious once more, keeping his optics locked on Tracer’s embarrassed visage. “I know you have a disorder that makes things very hard for you to deal with. I’ve never thought less of you and I never will. You can tell me anything and I will support and help you any way that I can.” The rallybot reached his hand up to touch her gently on the cheek. “I promise.”

Corridor Near Med Bay

Howlstrike’s expression remained stoic as Rodimus promised to do whatever it took to prove himself worthy of being the next Prime not only to the tracker but to everyone else, as well. It was another typical politician response. Even the smile he flashed to the former Predacon was indicative of a mech who only wanted to achieve his goal of becoming the next Autobot Leader. After he succeeded, if he succeeded, then what? Would the war finally come to an end with the defeat of the Decepticons once and for all or would it drag on and on just like it had under every other Prime that came before? Even Optimus, himself, had been unable to end the ageless conflict. Did Hot Rod really think he could do better?

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Rodimus,” Howlstrike finally responded as the two warriors reached the Medical Bay. The doors parted, revealing the glut of wounded Autobots that had recently returned from the pair of engagements down on the planet’s surface. Some were gravely damaged while others only suffered minor injuries. Still, it appeared as though Ratchet and First Aid were overwhelmed by the sheer number of mechs that required their attention.

Howlstrike glanced over at Rodimus. “Well, it seems you will have to wait in line for those tests, Roddy. Since these are your constituents, perhaps you should lend the medics a hand. A real leader sometimes needs to get his actuators dirty, don’t you agree?”

Mess Hall

The whole meeting had been one big waste of time in Snarl’s processor. All Prowl wanted to do was strategize and pick the leader he wanted, which was in all likelihood himself regardless of what he just claimed to be true. For an astrosecond, the Desert Warrior expected Grimlock to knock the black and white mech right on his aft section, but that did not happen. Instead, the Dinobot Commander motioned for his team to follow him as he made his way out of the mess hall.

Once the other Dinobots had moved past Prowl, Snarl quickly followed, giving the military strategist a nasty look as he walked by him. “Idiot,” the Desert Warrior muttered angrily without stopping. He then exited the room, joining his prehistoric comrades in the corridor beyond.

Corridor

Bringing up the rear, Snarl listened as Grimlock ordered them all to get recharged and rearmed. The mention of acquiring a real fighting ship that was neither an Ark or a Guardian style vessel intrigued the Desert Warrior. However, where to find one was another matter, one that the Dinobot Commander seemed to have the answer for.

“Where you get ship like that, Grimlock?” Snarl called up to his commanding officer just after Sludge asked a few questions of his own. Turning to the Jungle Warrior, Snarl chuckled. “Yeah, Sludge, we technically did, but never hurt to have more, me always say. As for armory, it one level down. Me take you there in an astrosec.” First, however, he wanted an answer from Grimlock regarding the ship and he wasn’t going anywhere until he got one.

Mess Hall

Prowl let out a disappointed sigh after Grimlock had turned down his offer of reconciliation with a mere grunt. The Dinobot Commander clearly had no interest or desire to work with him or anyone else for that matter. The only exceptions were his own squad of tough ‘Bots and rule breakers. Perhaps it was for the best as the five brutes would likely only get in the military strategist’s way of doing what was needed. Of course, if the Dinobots’ future actions in any way impeded in the transition of leadership within the Autobot ranks then they would have to be dealt with accordingly. For now, however, Prowl was willing to just let them go and cool off, hoping that Grimlock wouldn’t do anything too rash. The black and white ignored the hard bump Slag gave him along with the low insult from Snarl. The others simply gave him dirty looks before all of the Dinobots were finally out of the mess hall.

“Yes, Kup, that could’ve gone better,” Prowl responded, looking over to the aged mech. “It also could’ve gone a lot worse.” He then listened as the old warhorse commended him on the good job he’d been doing since the loss of Optimus. If felt good to hear that from an Autobot of the old timer’s reputation and stature. “Thanks, Kup. I really appreciate the kind words. I’ve done what I can do so far. I just hope I can continue doing so. Any help you can provide me would be of great service.”

Prowl then considered Kup’s next statement. Comparing notes as the old mech said was probably a good idea. “Of course,” the military strategist agreed as he motioned towards a nearby table where the two could talk. Prowl pulled out a chair and sat down, looking over at the mentor to the vast majority of Autobots that currently resided on board the Guardian. “Well, it hasn’t been easy since Prime’s apparent death. We detected some strange energy readings down at the site of the former Decepticon headquarters on the surface. Perceptor and Hardhead went down to investigate and Percy came back with some interesting findings. It seems the ‘Cons have developed some kind of enhanced form of energon, very unstable, which is why the base exploded with such power and ferocity. It wasn’t just the volcano’s eruption, but a combination of that and the detonation of this new energon.

“Anyway, I then sent Perceptor back down to Earth on a mission to retrieve a sample to study, which he was able to successfully locate and bring back with him. Percy’s been analyzing its properties in his lab ever since. I still don’t know what to make of it, but if the ‘Cons are somehow able to refine the new energon and stabilize it, it would give them potentially unlimited power that would put them at a great advantage over us.”

Prowl paused for a moment and motioned for a drone to bring him a glass of energon substitute from the nearby tap. Once he had the glass in hand, the black and white drank his fill, or what he could stand of it. He placed the container down on the table in front of him, still half full, and looked back at Kup.

“Meanwhile, the Decepticons launched two fuel raids at opposite sides of the globe. One was at an oil field in the Iranian Desert while the other was at an Oil Refinery in a place called El Dorado, Kansas. It’s apparent to me that they have not yet stabilized the new energon, otherwise they would not seemingly be so desperate for more fuel. However, I still find it odd for them to attack multiple sites around the world simultaneously. It might be nothing, but I feel there’s more to it than just gathering energon. I could understand one raid, but two seems like overkill to me. I’ll hopefully know more once I’ve spoken to both Ironhide and Hot Spot, who were the field commanders of the Iranian and Kansas missions respectively.”

Prowl stopped once more and grabbed his glass, finishing the last bit of the faux purple liquid. “Primus, this stuff’s terrible!” He said, slamming the container back down on the table before wiping the excess away from his mouth. “So, Kup, tell me what you’ve been up to. How did the mission on Cybertron go? Is the planet at all salvageable?”

Corridor

Nova Strike watched a small drone transform into a work bee and take a pair of broken girders protruding from the damaged hull. The porthole polarized instantly as the work bee activated its cutting torches and began to remove the damaged material from the site of a temporary patch. It was rather a slow poetic ballet, in an engineering context, one that the Ranger had a hard time appreciating for its delicate maneuvers and strides. The careful choreography between drones, tractor beams and work bee alt forms was complex and yet, Nova's specialties were never in the field of rebuilding what was destroyed.

He looked back at Bumblebee as the smaller Autobot mentioned something regarding rations. His internal systems were not low enough to affect his ability to function. However, given the chance to top off, well he was a soldier who specialized being ready at a moment's notice. So who was he to pass up a chance to do so.

"Ya know, I think I could go for a nice drink myself." He pivoted away from the porthole and straightened his vestige as he faced the direction of the Mess Hall. It wasn't too far away, just down their own corridor and off to the left.

Stepping forward he paused briefly as five large imposing figures emerged from the double doors of the Mess Hall at the far end entrance. "Dinobots? It would appear that the mess lock down has been concluded.

Infirmary

Slingshot scowled as his reverie was shattered by the pesky Protectobot Blades. Just what he did not need, another flier trying to tout his own supposed victories in battle over the Ace of the Aerialbots. His fists balled closed before he released a rare relaxing sigh.

"If you want to know about my victories, go ask Thrust. That con'll be picking sand molecules out of his joints for the next twenty stellar orbits." He boasted as he thumped his chest in triumph. It wasn't much of a challenge, but it was one less con to deal with for the time being.

The Aerialbot sharp shooter turned his visor towards the Protectobot search and rescue specialist. "And what about you? I heard your team got the cybertonium kicked out of it. Do I got to go and retrain the lot of ya on how to deal with Decepticons?... Again?" He cocked a snide smirk towards his ally. He wasn't the sort to be buddy buddy with anyone. Why would he be? After all in war making friends only managed to create more dead space in the memory banks. All it took was one stray photon burst and poof there goes the buddy ya just had a drink with only a stellar cycle ago.

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

As Smokescreen took up a position beside her on his knees, Tracer looked away, not wanting to stare him in the optics. What she kept hidden from him back then, and even now, made her too ashamed to even be in his presence. After a few moments, however, she turned her gaze back to him and his brilliant blue optics.

Just knowing that he was willing to stand by her nearly made her spark melt. But once I tell him, he’ll be sure to leave, or worse, he’ll turn me over to Prowl. She shook her head slightly at his question of whether or not he judged her when they first met. It was true, he certainly didn’t. In fact he took her under his wing and taught her how to cheat the right way. At his chuckle, Tracer flashed Smokescreen a weak smile.

She let out a heavy sigh, it seemed only fitting at the time. What he said was true. She did have difficulties dealing with just about anything remotely emotional, but this, even if she were ‘normal’ it would be hard to speak of.

His reassurance to confide in him only brought a shiver to her frame, or was it the withdrawal. She calmed slightly at the feel of his hand on her cheek. The scout placed her own hand on top of his and pressed into his palm.

“I know, Smokescreen, I know.”

Gently, Tracer took his hand from her cheek before she moved from the berth to the floor in front of him.

“When you caught me trying to steal your credits I told you that it was for energon. That I hadn’t had anything in my systems for days.”

She looked to her hands as she placed them on her knees.

“I lied to you, Smokescreen. I didn’t need those credits for energon.”

Slowly she brought her gaze back up to him. Her optics where dimmed as she continued with her explanation.

“Long before we met, and after I was released from that asylum, I tried to find a way to suppress, even stop, my symptoms, but nothing helped. Nothing except…”

She trailed off for a moment trying desperately to find the right words to say in order to explain herself.

“In the asylum I had heard about Syk. Th…that it was capable of easing my symptoms so that I could finally function normally. And it worked. I had located a dealer, but I needed credits in order to…”

Her explanation grew more frantic as she struggled with finding the courage to come completely clean.

“After I met you and you taught me what you knew it was easier to get the credits I needed. I didn’t have to resort to other means to earn them.”

It was then that she drew her hands up and cupped her face, too ashamed to even look him in the optics. For a long moment she kept her hands over her visage before she finally slid them back down to her knees. Her head lowered before she continued.

“I stopped using when I first joined the Autobots, but only long enough to get past the medical evaluations. After I had passed I was able to rely on what I’d accumulated over the vorns, but it’s gone now.”

Finally lifting her head, Tracer looked up at him, her optics paling in color as another shiver rolled over her frame. The dose she had taken a few days ago was now wearing off. She would need another fix if she was to stave off the withdrawal, but in order to do that she needed to head back down to Earth to see Oil Slick. But doing so seemed very unlikely right now.

“I…I’m so sorry, Smokescreen. I should have told you sooner, but…I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

Med Bay

Rodimus remained impassive as he and Howlstrike traversed the remainder of the corridor leading to the medical bay. If seeing the medic would ease all of these Cybertronians’ concerns then he would do so without complaint. After all, Ratchet would find nothing out of the ordinary, save for Hot Rod’s unusual physical change, which he would note as being unique.

As the doors spread apart and revealed the chaos within, the corner of Rodimus’ lips curled into a very small smirk. This, this would be the perfect opportunity to prove to these insolent fools just what the new Prime was capable of.

The smirk faded as quickly as it appeared when he looked over to see Howlstrike staring right back at him.

“You are right, Howlstrike. I can wait. Their wellbeing trumps my own. I will do what I can for them, and when I’m done any tests Ratchet chooses to perform I will gladly take.”

The self-proclaimed Prime moved away from the tracker to take a cursory look around the room. There were two here he would see. One was locked away for now, the other lie in stasis on a medical berth. Rodimus’ gaze zeroed in on Hex’s unconscious form as he proceeded to the youngling’s side.

Tentatively he reached out and gently placed his hand on the smaller mech’s hand. Giving it a slight squeeze he leaned down next to Hex’s audio. Off-lining his optics, Rodimus whispered to the prone youngling, his vocalization too low for anyone to hear.

"You shall be the first, young one. Your wounds will be healed, but your spark will be mine, and when I finally call, you will come."

Truth be told, had anyone even overheard what Rodimus had said they certainly would not have understood. Ancient Cybertronian was a dead language to all but the eldest of transformers.

Satisfied that he successfully took hold of his first spark, Rodimus straightened to his full height and placed his hand on Hex’s forehead.

At that moment Ratchet returned with a few tools. The CMO stopped behind Rodimus, a confused expression plastered on his visage. He recognized the paint job, but the mech was clearly too tall to be Hot Rod. Shaking his head Ratchet called out to the flamed emblazoned ‘Bot.

“Hot Rod? Is that you?”

Rodimus smiled as he turned to face the medic.

“So to speak. It’s good to see you Ratchet.”

Ratchet stepped in closer and paced the tools down on the medical berth next to Hex. The CMO took a good long look at the mech before him.

“What in the Pit happened to you?”

“It’s a long story, one I have every intention of relaying to you. But now I’m here to offer my assistance. Is there anything I can do to help out? Perhaps I could give you a hand with Hex.”

With his optics glued to Rodimus, Ratchet gave a simple nod.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Take this…” He handed the mech a welder. “Go ahead and get those wounds sealed up. I’ll take care of his innards.”

Ratchet shook his head before he dove into the hole in Hex’s chestplate. After rooting around for a moment he looked back up.

“That’s strange. Most of his wiring and fuel lines have already been repaired. Did you…”

“I’m no medic, Ratchet. I had nothing to do with whatever it is you think happened. Believe me, I wish I had.”

Nodding slowly, Ratchet went back to work getting the rest of Hex’s inner workings back in order.

Med Bay

Thrust? Was he serious? Surely he was having Blades on, merely playing with him before revealing additional Decepticons he had defeated. At least a lie of that calibre would have come across far more impressive than his awful boasting of conquering that coward for a Seeker.

Blades smirked at Slingshot. “Are you kidding me? You may as well have shot down Laserbeak out there. Thrust is about as threatening as that small pile of slag with wings, and has just about as much courage, too.” An actuator rose to his mouth, briefly masking it. “Oh, that's right. Where are my manners? Well done, buddy. I'm sure those Seekers will never mess with you ever again.”

Unbelievable. Slingshot had even beat his chest-plate with a fist, as if the victory had significance or something. Each to their own, Blades supposed.

The smirk was still wide upon his face-plate as he answered the Aerialbot's ridiculous question. How he continued to conjure up such nonsense—which was practically every time he spoke—Blades could only venture a guess. Plus another several hundred and still get it wrong.

“Unlike you, who had to deal with tin planes, we had the Stunticons and Combaticons to take out. I would've loved to have seen you strut your stuff with us; would've been a great laugh. And the only thing you could teach us, Slingshot, is how to die quicker.”

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

Smokescreen watched as Tracer slid off the berth and onto the floor directly in front of him. He moved back an inch in order to give her more room just as she began her very difficult admission. The nervous femme revealed that the reason she had tried to steal his credits back when they first met wasn’t because she needed energon like she initially told him. The credits were actually for her dealer so that she could buy more Syk to help ease the symptoms of her condition. The illegal drug was the only thing she had managed to find that worked for her, allowing her to live a seemingly normal life. Unfortunately, Syk was also highly addictive, which added a whole other layer of problems for the already troubled femme to deal with.

Smokescreen’s expression was a look of both sadness and disappointment as Tracer continued her explanation to him. A sense of anger then crept into his circuits when he learned that his teaching her how to cheat had made it easier for the femme to obtain more Syk. That anger wasn’t directed towards her, however, but towards the dealer that had helped fuel her addiction further for his own monetary gain. If Smokey had only known the real reason why she needed the credits, perhaps he could have helped her kick the habit a long time ago and maybe even find a better way to deal with her problems. If only.

At one point Tracer covered her faceplate with both hands as a clear sign of shame before explaining how she got by the initial Autobot entrance tests. It was a slick move that would’ve normally made a cheater like Smokescreen proud, but not in this particular case. Here, Smokey only felt despair over her pain and suffering. When Tracer finally finished speaking, he noticed an obvious shiver go through her frame before she apologized to him for not telling him the truth sooner. The diversion expert simply shook his head as he reached over to take both of her hands into his own.

“There’s no need to apologize to me, Tracer,” Smokescreen began, looking her directly in the optics. “I’ve told my fair share of lies over the many vorns, even after I joined the Autobots. So, I’m hardly one to talk when it comes to being honest.” Smokey rubbed her hands in an effort to calm her nerves.

It all made sense and seemed so obvious now that the rallybot was kicking himself internally for not seeing it before. Her nervous ticks; why she seemed fine for awhile but then reverted back to her troubled state; the body shivers she was now experiencing and had previously. It was all related to the highs and lows of the Syk. These were things Smokey had noticed before, both recently and in the distant past, but never put two and two together. He always considered himself to be a smart mech, but apparently not smart enough to see the truth that his dear friend was hurting more than she let on.

“Besides, I’m the one who should apologize,” Smokescreen continued, letting go of her hands and standing up. “I should have seen what was happening to you long ago. You wouldn’t be in this position if I had just been smarter and given you the real help you needed.” The diversion expert then turned and walked over to the still open door and accessed the control pad on the wall. The door slid shut and locked in place as Smokey then returned to Tracer’s side.

“You were on the Syk earlier weren’t you and now it’s wearing off isn’t it?” The rallybot didn’t wait for an answer as he knelt back down in front of her, taking her hands into his once again. “Tell me where you got the Syk this last time. Who’s your dealer now? Was it someone on board or perhaps even off ship?” Smokescreen remained fixated on her troubled faceplate as he spoke in a soft but firm voice. “I promise you, Tracer, I don’t care how long it takes or how many nasty things you might say or do to me while we’re in here. I’m getting you off this slag once and for all! You can do it, I know you can. You just need to believe in yourself the way that I do.”

Medical Bay

Howlstrike smirked as Rodimus agreed to help those injured within the med bay, his words just another dose of politically-fueled rhetoric designed to appease the tracker’s suspicions. Howl simply shook his head as he watched the flame-covered mech step inside and take a look around before finally setting his optics on the inert form of Hex. After approaching the young Autobot, Hot Rod leaned down and seemed to whisper something into his audio receptor before standing back up straight. It was a bizarre thing to do considering Hex’s current offline state, but then again everything about Rodimus and his situation was a bit strange to say the very least.

With a bewildered look on his faceplate, the former Predacon walked into the room and maneuvered around the outer wall in order to avoid all of the damaged mechs that littered the center of the facility. He would have attempted to help one of them, but his severe lack of technical skill would only serve to make matters worse. After all, Howl didn’t want it to seem like he was intentionally trying to hurt his Autobot comrades, which many would likely assume was the case considering his Decepticon past.

Instead, Howlstrike found an isolated corner and staked his claim to the spot. From there he folded his arms across his chest plate and leaned back against the bulkhead, keeping his optics fixated on Rodimus as he now spoke with Ratchet a short distance away. He couldn’t hear everything they were saying over all the noise in the room, but that didn’t really matter at this point. It was the tests Howl was most interested in. Once those finally began, the former Predacon would move in closer to get a better look at the desired results.

Corridor

The duo had stopped in the corridor where the docking tunnel to the Ark-19 was located. Bumblebee looked up to his companion as Nova watched one of the small drones maneuvered to and fro. The minibot’s attention moved back to the drone before he took a slight step toward the docking tunnel.

Before Bumblebee could advance, Nova had decided to take him up on the his suggestion to stop at the Mess Hall. He had spent all of his time in his quarters and was in need of a refuel. Having some company was a perk.

A bright smile creased the yellow mech’s lips as he nodded in agreement.

“Great!”

Bumblebee followed Nova Strike down the corridor toward the Mess Hall, his thoughts wandering to the current situation all of them found themselves in. After a few moments, the yellow ‘Bot slowed, the smile slowly fading, a much more concerned expression plastered on his faceplate.

“I’m concerned, Nova. With Optimus…missing, and Grimlock pining for his position, and Prowl trying to fill in for…I just wonder if maybe, just maybe, someone should remind them just what kind of ‘Bot Prime was.”

Bumblebee shook his head slightly before he pushed on ahead of Nova Strike.

Mess Hall

The door to the Mess Hall slid open to reveal a marginally empty room, save for Prowl and Kup who were deep in conversation. Bumblebee’s demeanor perked slightly at the sight of the old warhorse. Coming across Kup here was Primus sent.

“Kup! Oh man, it’s good to see you!”

Bumblebee trotted over to the table Kup and Prowl were sharing.

“I hope I’m not disrupting you guys, but I had to see how you were. It’s been so long.”

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

Tracer had tried to find comfort in what Smokescreen was trying to say, but it was difficult to concentrate on him. The withdrawal symptoms from the dose she had recently taken was much worse than she recalled. The femme shook her head vigorously as she tried to clear her processor enough to comprehend what the rallybot was trying to confer.
Trying desperately to conceal her discomfort, Tracer flashed Smokescreen a weak smile.

“You had no idea what to look for. Please, Smokescreen, don’t blame yourself, that’s the last thing I ever wanted.”

She lowered her gaze back to her hands. Her servos were shaking more, and her processor was becoming more fogged. She drew in a deep intake of air while she tried to will the trembling to stop. The Syk she had received from Oil Slick had been a new mix that the chemist had concocted but had yet been tested. She was the living guinea pig. And once she gathered more intell and meet with him again the symptoms would cease and she could feel normal again.

Her reverie was disrupted when Smokescreen made his way to the door and accessed the control panel. With a few commands the door slid shut and locked. The sound reverberated off the bare walls of the small room. Tracer watched intently as the diversionary expert stepped back to stand in front of her and asked if she had taken the drug recently and whether or not it was now wearing off. She didn't get a chance to deny the query before he knelt down in front her and looked into his optics. She quickly looked down as he took her hands gently in his. If only this occasion wasn’t marked by her own problems, then perhaps she could actually enjoy it.

At his question Tracer’s optics widened and she quickly pulled her hands from his. How could he ask her that?

“Smokescreen, please don’t make me answer that! I’d rather offline than tell you!”

The blue and white femme skittered backward away from him until her back met the wall behind her.

“I can’t. I need this. No, I’m not telling you who I got it from. And if you honestly care for me you won’t ask me again.”

Another shiver ran down her frame as her internal fans kicked on in an attempt to cool her systems. She just needed to get back down to Earth and see Oil Slick. That’s what matters.

“You want to help me, then get me back down on Earth.”

Tracer's Personal Quarters

Smokescreen’s optics widened with surprise as Tracer pulled her hands out of his and skittered back against the wall like a frightened turbofox. She seemed to be genuinely scared of him and that was a reaction the diversion expert had not expected to see. Her entire body was trembling, almost uncontrollably, as she refused to reveal who her dealer was, claiming that she’d rather be deactivated than tell him.

“I...I’m sorry, Tracer,” the rallybot said as he backed away to give her more space in the hopes of increasing her comfort zone. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I won’t ask again. I promise.”

It was at that moment Smokey realized just how bad her addiction really was. This wasn’t a drug she could simply get off of in one cycle, or as the humans would say, cold turkey. Considering how many vorns she had been hooked on the Syk, it would likely take a very long time of slowly being waned off the chemical in order for her to have any chance of remaining clean. Otherwise, there was the risk of relapse or even serious harm to her internal systems if she was suddenly denied the drug all together. She could fall into shock or worse, her very spark could fail from the intense strain. It was all of these reasons that made the diversion expert’s initial plan of locking Tracer in her quarters until she was clean a very bad idea in retrospect. Emotionally, it had made sense to him, but logically it was more flawed than Grimlock’s speech pattern.

It’s at times like this I wish I had Prowl’s logic, Smokescreen thought as he kept his optics fixated on Tracer, who was now begging him to take her down to Earth if he really wanted to help. He didn’t need to ask her why she wanted to go down planet side as it was obvious to him now where she had gotten the Syk recently, if not from whom.

Smokey considered her request, or was it a demand? It didn’t matter as she clearly was suffering from severe withdrawals that only another dose would stop. If she didn’t get some more soon, her behavior would only get worse until it was impossible to hide her addiction from the rest of the crew. If Prowl were to find out, she’d be locked up in the brig for sure and that was simply not an option if she was to survive both physically and emotionally.

“All right, Tracer,” Smokescreen began as he inched closer to her and remained in a kneeling position. “You win. I’ll get you down to Earth somehow, but I need you to stay in here until I’m able to find a way down without being detected. Your withdrawal symptoms are becoming too noticeable. We can’t risk anyone finding out. Okay?” The rallybot reached out to take her trembling hand, hoping she would accept his caring gesture. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Trace. I promise, no matter what happens, you’re going to be fine. Just take deep breaths and try to remain focused. You can do it. I have faith in you.”

Smokescreen smiled at her, hoping it would help to calm her nerves, but knowing deep down that only the dreaded Syk could do that. If she was eventually going to be waned off the drug in the future then she would need more of it in the present. That was the main reason why the diversion expert reluctantly agreed to take her back to where she could acquire some more. He didn’t like it, not at all, but it was a necessary evil in order to achieve a greater good down the line. Plus, if Smokey could get Tracer thinking rationally again, he’d be able to better explain his detox plan to her. Now was certainly not the time as her processor was too fogged to think straight or even understand that he was only trying to help.

Of course, there was one other problem Smokescreen had to deal with, as well. He needed a way down to Earth without raising suspicion, especially from Prowl. Easier said than done.

Med Bay

Things could be worse… at least that was how Silverbolt tried to look at the outcome of their mission. Nevermind his own failure, being driven into the ground by Dirge or all Decepticons. It was the same old story whenever he took to the air: How high was too high. Shaking off his personal trials he moved about the Guardian’s Med Bay doing what he could to help the other mechs in any way he could. He even managed to direct some of the med bots without drawing attention to himself. That wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

Since leaving Earth’s surface the Chief medic had more important things to worry about than a random short in his optics. It was something he remedied by the occasional smack to the side of his head. Not very befitting but considering the extreme injuries suffered by some of the others he felt it was appropriate. Besides, did any mech really want to suffer through Ratchet’s bayside manner?

Everything was going well by his initial plan until he heard the familiar vocalizations of his fellow Aerialbots. Sighing, he made his way through the throngs of injured mechs to keep Slingshot from making a bigger fool of himself than normal. When he saw Blades he wondered if he could get a higher energon rationing for stress management. If there weren’t a more deserving pair he never heard of them. Still, as an officer it was up to him to keep the peace.

“Alright you two, break it up. I’m sure you have something productive you should be doing.” He directed the final portion of his statement towards Blades knowing full well it’d probably come back to bite him in the aft.

Corridor

Grimlock had hoped to remain vague on his plans for now. While he fully trusted his Dinobots they weren’t exactly the only ones around. If some other Autobots caught wind of his plan they could sabotage it before it even began. He knew Snarl was stubborn though, and he probably owed it to his team to let them know what they were getting into. After a quick glance around the corridor he answered Snarl.

“We get it at shipyard.” He produced a pad and punched up the relevant data. “Battleship Trion just completing final shakedown cruises. First ship of her kind, true battleship, not like Arks or Guardian. Hasn’t been assigned yet, but me thinking there no better place for it then here and with us at helm. We just have to go and…take it.”

The Dinobot leader paused for a moment before continuing. “First we take control of Ark-19, take it to shipyards for repairs. We not have time or equipment to get it repaired here anyway. Then we make way onto Trion, take control and bring it back here. Then we show other Autobots that we willing to bring biggest guns against Decepticons. This is where the war can be decided, just have to make sure we win. Best way to do that is make sure we have the biggest and best guns. That what Trion is.”

*

Mess Hall

Kup listened quietly as Prowl laid out all that had happened while he had been away. He mulled it all over as he chewed on his cy-gar. The old timer was deep in though until Prowl commented on his drink. A smile spread over his face as he plucked the cy-gar from his mouth and took a drink from the glass he had taken. “Ahh, it ain’t all that bad lad. You younger bots are just spoiled. Remind me some time to tell you about what I had to drink on Yintax 7 back before the war started. That was really roughing it lad, compared to that this stuff is high grade energon.” He let out a chuckle before draining the rest of his glass.

He put the empty container down and looked over at Prowl. “Well lad, that talk of a new type of energon worries me. Cybertron appears to be slowly healing itself, the slag if I know how, but it is. Shockwave was running all sorts of experiments on the planet it seems. We even had a temporary truce with him so he could investigate some stuff in Iacon. He share the results with us, I can have them sent over from our ship.”

Kup place the cy-gar back in his mouth. “It seems a bit too much of a coincidence to me that old one eye was found buried on this planet that seems to be the key to some sort of new energon. Then you have Shockwave running to Cybertron and conducting some pretty detailed experiments, going to pretty big lengths to complete, like having a truce with us.” He shifted the cy-gar in his mouth. “I’m no tech head Prowl, but none of that feels right to me. There is some sort of bigger game at play here and Shockwave is at the center of it.”

Before Prowl could reply the doors to the room slid open and Bumblebee came barreling through. Kup couldn’t help but crack a smile at the little yellow bot. While he might call a number of younger Autobots punk, Bumblebee wasn’t among them. Sure he wasn’t the strongest or the fastest Autobot around but he probably had the biggest and best spark of any of them, and that counted for a lot. He clapped the minibot on the shoulder.

“It’s good to see you too lad. It’s good to have somewhere to go, sit down and see some friendly faces. Some day when you’re as old as me you’ll know how it feels to just want to sit down for a moment.” He let out a chuckle. “Nah, you weren’t interrupting anything too important, just exchanging what happened here and on Cybertron with Prowl.”

*

Med Bay

Hot Spot nodded at Sprints. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do. I’m fairly decent at simple repairs, although it won’t be as good as something First Aid or Ratchet could do.” He knelt down to take a closer look at Sprints limbs, ignoring his own injuries. They hurt, but they weren’t debilitating like the injuries this Autobot had suffered. He could ignore them for now.

The Protectobot listened as Sprints asked him his question. As he carefully began reattaching wires he considered what the Autobot had said. “That’s the kind of question I’ve asked myself many times Sprints, and probably one most Autobots have asked themselves as well. It’s a difficult one to answer. Let me ask you this question in return though. If you had killed that con when you had the chance, would you still be the same Bot you are now? Would you have been able to just go about things like you always had?”

*

Ironhide smiled at Groove. “It doesn’t have to be perfect Protectobuddy. Nobody ever accused me of bein’ pretty. I’m sure you’ll do a good job, and if it leaves a few marks that’s fine. I got a collection of war wounds anyway, few more just mean I have more stories to tell other bots.” He let out a quiet chuckle as he did his best to keep still. Part of him wanted to get the repairs done as soon as possible. He never liked hanging out in the med bay very much. On the other hand though the sooner he got out of here the sooner he’d have to report to Prowl, and there were all sorts of reasons he wasn’t looking forward to that. Best to just stand still and wait for however long it took.

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

Knees pulled up to her chestplate, her arms wrapped tightly around them, Tracer watched carefully as Smokescreen backed away. She refused to lock optics with him in fear that he’d ask her again where she got the Syk. Her processor was reeling; it was becoming more difficult to think straight. At his apology Tracer finally looked up and met his optics.

Slowly she nodded when he reassured her that he wouldn’t ask again. That calmed her enough to loosen her grip on her knees. Her internal fans slowed as her air intake lessened. The fogginess clouding her processor began to clear, but only enough so that she could understand that he wanted to help. He was willing to risk everything in order to get her what she needed…or wanted…it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference.

Tracer finally unwrapped her arms from her knees and slowly moved away from the wall. The blue and white scout wound up on her hands and knees as she crawled her way over to him. A weak smile made it to her face as she closed the distance between him and her. Once she was in front of him she reared back up onto her knees and took his outstretched hand in her own.

Tracer tightened her grip as she moved in closer to the rallybot. After a moment, and finally digesting his vow to help her in any way he could, she cast her gaze up and locked onto those brilliant blue optics. For her, those cerulean orbs spoke much louder than words ever could.

She nodded in agreement that they needed to be careful, especially if they were to keep out of Prowl’s sights. Another nod and Tracer moved in closer. With her free hand she reached up and tentatively placed the trembling servo on his cheek. After a moment she ran her thumb over his lips before leaning in close and whispering into his audio.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

She nuzzled her head under his chin and wrapped her arms around his waist. Then it hit her. Did he say we? No, no, no. I can’t have him with me. Oil Slick would kill him on sight.

“J…just find a way to get me past Prowl. I can do the rest.”

Tracer peered up from her position, but she was unable to see his face. She only hoped that he wouldn’t suggest that he accompany her down planet side again. If he got caught helping her feed vital information to a ‘Con she’d never forgive herself, or if Oil Slick spotted him…

“Smokescreen. I…I have to do this alone. I just need you to get me down there and bring me back.”

She pulled away slightly, but only enough so that she could look him in the optics.

“I don’t want you to get caught helping me, so please, stay here.”

I’d never forgive myself if I let anything happen to you.

Med Bay

Sprints grimaced as Hot Spot began to work on his injuries. It didn't hurt particularly--his legs were more numb than anything else--but it was disconcerting, as it always had been to Sprints, to watch anyone working on his internals. He decided to lay back and offline his optics before he lost whatever he still had in him after his last meal. Geez, first you get your legs shot up so you need to be carried back, and now you're gonna puke? Way to go, man.

Sprints listened to Hot Spot talking. He didn't know the Protectobot very well, but he liked him well enough. He wasn't quite like Sprints, or even Blades, but he was alright enough, in Sprints' opinion.

Sprints onlined his optics and sat up, taking care not to look at his legs. He didn't know what to make of the Protectobot's question. Would he be able to go on as he had? How had he gone on, exactly? Sprints didn't know anything more than a vorn, whereas most of his comrades, he knew, had vast, long stories spanning dozens, if not hundreds or even thousands of vorns.

He leaned back on his arms, then grimaced as the friction damage they'd taken tweaked again. He looked at the other 'Bots in the room, watching them, thinking about their stories, their pasts. They all know about this. They all understand it, they've asked themselves the questions and found their answers.

Sprints finally looked back at Hot Spot. "I... I don't know, sir. To be honest, I don't even know how I'm going now. I'm not sure what kind of Bot I am." He dropped his gaze, not quite comfortable with the topic. Sprints tried to avoid letting others know how he felt about his memory, since he wasn't always sure how he himself felt about it. Then he pressed on, quietly, so only Hot Spot would hear him.

"I only remember around a vorn or so. Before that, I have nothing. Just tiny visions, little clips of reality, usually in battle. They told me I was a warrior, but... I don't know who I am. I can't answer that question."

Med Bay

Tracks was walking back over to First Aid when the bots from the refinery entered. The sight shocked the blue warrior so much, he nearly dropped the sensitive piece of equipment he was carrying on the floor. Tracks was able to save the machinery with a clumsy, fumbling stumble, but it was close. Righting himself, Tracks turned and stared at the incoming bots.

"What the devil happened down there?!" 

Tracks had been eavesdropping on Ratchet and First Aid, so he had been expecting the bots to be injured, but not this severely. Two bots with a large amount of leg damage, one of which was slung over another bot's shoulder, and another bot... no, not just any bot, that maniac Hex, unconscious and dripping vitals all over Hot Spot was bad enough. However, on top of that, the other bots in the group were all heavily damaged as well. Not to mention Axle, the worst off of all of them. How much damage could 5 bots do? The results were surprising, even including Motormaster's thirst for pain. 

This should make for some good gossip

The blue mech was about to head over to talk to Hot Spot, when he remembered the tool he was holding. Drat. Sighing, Tracks turned back to the First Aid and handed him the implement. Gossip would have to wait. But... What had happened at the refinery? Why was everyone so injured? Who did all of this? To use a human term, the "grapevine" was calling Tracks. But he couldn't leave. First Aid needed his help. The two sides started warring within Tracks, one telling him to gossip, the other to help First Aid.

Tracks started to fidget, shifting from side to side, every once in a while glancing over at the other bots to see what they were doing. The blue warrior began to bounce up and down on his heels, and finally began to wring his hands. The blue mech's circuits were on the edge of unraveling when the entrance of two bots caught his eye. Tracks grinned with pleasure as he leaned over to First Aid.

"Well, well,well. It's Mr.Self-Proclaimed Prime himself." Tracks whispered, the taste of gossip tingling on the edge of his lips.

Mess Hall

Nova Strike stepped over the threshold separating the mess hall from the rest of the primary corridor that served as the spine of transit on board the Guardian. His fingers twitched briefly as his sensors went into an immediate sweep, it was a force of habit he really had no control over. No, that was a lie. The facts were he never trusted being in the same room with anyone more than a pay grade higher than he was. Not that he expected them to pull out Pulse Rifles and terminate his spark straight on the deck, they weren't cons after all. It was perhaps an unjustified fear of being in a place where some Decepticon Sympathizer would pop out of no where and start picking off officers.

He stopped short of the only occupied table. His sensors finished their initial sweeps before he was able to visibly relax his posture. "Hello Commanders." Nova spoke with a tinge of respect in his voice as he addressed the officers before him. A brief salute soon followed before he took position on the outside of the circle of long time comrades in arms.

Prowl and Kup. Two officers that Nova Strike knew well, though not personally. He had served under Prowl for some time, indirectly of course. His squad being deployed hither and fro on various missions to. Nova's place was never to address that level of command. Kup, Nova knew only by reputation. A strong and durable mech who had seen more galactic rotations than most species had in the galaxy as a whole.

The mention of Cybertron immediately tore Nova Strike from his mental reverie. New form of Energon? Temporary cease fire? He had not been briefed on the situation on their home world. Last he had heard, the stalemate had drained the last of the reserves of energon on both sides. "A new form of energon? Probably details set above my pay grade but what sort of energon could there possibly be... beyond what we're already trying to manufacture?"

Long Range Shuttle Longevity

Ultra Magnus leaned back in the thick metal command chair that crowded the majority of the cockpit of the small long range Invulnerable Class Long Range Combat Shuttle. His fingertips carefully applied pressure to their opposing rivals as he allowed them to rest just below his chin. Though his gaze was transfixed on the streaming star field as the tiny pin pricks of light were stretched to thin brief brackets of energy, his mind was anything but.

The universe was a cruel motherboard. It was an old Cybertronian saying, one that always rang true through experience. Ultra Magnus's mind was awash with thoughts of chaos and mourning. How long ago had it been since that fateful communique? His internal chronometer registered the time, but it didn't feel right. No it wasn't, there was no way it could be accurate. After all this time... Magnus replayed the message in his head again. His right hand curled into a fist and slammed absently down upon the command chair, sending a tremor through the small heavily armed vessel.

"Sir." The pilot a small mini bot turned his domed head around to face the command deck. "Is every thing alright?"

Ultra Magnus glowered down at the pilot and remained stone faced as he registered his response. "It depends on how one defines as 'alright'."

"Well sir, since your communication link with the Earth Fleet... Well sir you seem to be a bit," The pilot caught himself and shook his head before he looked back towards the console before him.

The Commander shook his head and returned his fingers to their original position underneath his chin. "Things are complicated Dice. Definitely more complicated than they were a cycle ago." He kept his response as cryptic as he could. He knew full well how his staff would respond when the news broke fleet wide. Dice, the youngest of his staff but decidedly the best pilot among them, was rather fond of Optimus. It would crush the youth at a time where Magnus needed everyone at optimal efficiency.

"ETA Earth Fleet?" Ultra Magnus immediately shifted the discussion topic. Best get things away from the 'Message' and potential exposure and onto the task at hand.

"We will enter the Sol System within the next One Hundred Breems."

Magnus tapped his index fingers together. "Hail the Guardian and appraise them of our ETA. Request docking procedures and proper clearances. I rather not get blown out of the solar system the minute we drop out of warp."

"Yes Sir."

Corridors

Snarl listened as Grimlock laid out his plan on how they would acquire a battleship befitting of the Dinobots and the raw power that they brought with them. Stealing the Ark-19 and taking it to the shipyards in order to then steal the Trion was a bold plan if there ever was one. However, it could also land them all in a heap of trouble if they were caught. Hijacking Autobot ships was an almost guaranteed one way trip to Garrus-9, which was a horrible place for a battle-loving mech like the Desert Warrior to be locked up in. However, what other choices did they have at this point? Prowl was being stubborn and unreasonable, unwilling to do what was necessary to bring the war to an end while the ‘Cons were hurting. It seemed the risks were worth taking in this case and would at least eventually lead to a fight with the enemy, which Snarl looked forward to more than anything. It was certainly better than standing around doing nothing.

“Shipyards, huh?” Snarl responded to the Dinobot Commander as he scratched his chin. “Me suppose it good plan. Stealing ships risky business, but better than alternative, me suppose. At least prick-bot get ticked off.” The Desert Warrior chuckled slightly before then turning his attention back to Sludge, who had previously asked where the armory was. “Come on, Sludge. We go to armory now. Give Grimlock time to put plan into action.”

Snarl patted his larger comrade on the back and began leading him down the corridor towards a nearby turbo lift that would take them to the next level down where they could get properly rearmed. The door quietly slid open and the Desert Warrior immediately stepped inside before then turning around to face Sludge. “Room in here tight, but me thinks you can squeeze in, big guy!”

Mess Hall

Prowl listened as Kup first downplayed the bad taste of the synthetic energon. For a moment, the military strategist thought he was going to have to hear one of the old timer’s stories from many vorns ago, but then the conversation thankfully turned to something more important. The new form of energon recently discovered was of great concern to the aged mech just as much as it was to the black and white analyst. Furthermore, all arrows seemed to point to Shockwave’s involvement somehow. The purple Decepticon’s discovery here on Earth along with the Dinobots and then his experiments up on Cybertron all eluded to one logical conclusion. The cycloptic scientist was responsible for the mutated energon and he was apparently trying to refine it into something more stable.

“Yes, you are right, Kup,” Prowl agreed. “Shockwave is the key here. Based on what you have just told me, logic suggests that ol’ one eye is trying to stabilize the new energon through further experimentation. What else could it be? On top of that, his work was so important to him that he was willing to offer you a truce in order to conduct further testing in Iacon. He must be close to stabilizing it. However, I still believe that hasn’t happened yet, or the ‘Cons wouldn’t be conducting so many simultaneous fuel raids around the planet. Unless, of course, I’m right in thinking that there are more to those raids than just gathering fuel.”

Before Prowl could continue with his thoughts, Bumblebee came running into the mess hall and approached the two seated Autobots. The preoccupied strategist gave the minibot a simple nod while Kup exchanged pleasantries with him. The arrival of Nova Strike soon afterward caused the military analyst to let out a slight irritated sigh. With Rodimus and the Dinobots gone, Prowl had thought he could have the one-on-one conversation with Kup that he had hoped for from the beginning, but now things were once again getting crowded in the oversized mess hall.

“The new energon we’re talking about is a mutated form that Shockwave has apparently been experimenting with for quite some time, going back many vorns, in fact,” Prowl replied, looking up at Nova Strike. “It’s nothing like anything synthetic that we’ve manufactured thus far and it’s far more potent and unstable than anything we’ve ever seen before.” The strategist looked back over at Kup again, a concerned look growing across his face plate. “It’s something we must figure out soon if we are to gain a sizable advantage in this ongoing war.”

Tracer’s Personal Quarters

Smokescreen was relieved when Tracer uncurled from a fetal position and then crawled her way over to him, taking his hand into her own. Her free hand reached up and touched his cheek before running her thumb across his lips. She then thanked him as she nuzzled her head underneath his chin guard and wrapped her arms around his waste. It didn’t take long after that for her to object to the idea of him accompanying her to the surface. She was clearly afraid for his safety just as he was afraid for her own well being. Depending on how he was going to get her to the surface he may have to go along at least part way. It was not something that frightened him as much as something happening to her when she met with her dealer once again. She hadn’t confirmed anything for him, but it seemed clear that the mech was a ‘Con, otherwise they would be on board one of the Autobot ships hooked together in orbit. Regardless, Smokey had to tread carefully to ensure he didn’t upset her again.

“Don’t worry about me, Tracer. I’ll be fine. Just worry about getting better,” Smokescreen began as he looked down into her concerned optics before pulling her close to him again in a reassuring embrace. “I’ll do my best to get you planet side. Unfortunately, I have very few options available to me. The only two ways are either through a bounce or using a shuttle craft. Both present their own set of problems, especially the bounce option. Neither can be done from the Guardian as practically everyone is here, including Prowl. The Ark-19 is out because it can barely sustain itself and the shuttle bay and bounce platform were both recently flooded. That leaves only the Ark-22, which currently only has a skeleton crew aboard. But even if I somehow reprogramed the 22’s sensors so that you could bounce down unnoticed, it would only affect that ship’s systems. The Guardian and even the Ark-19 would likely still be able to detect the bounce beam. A shuttle craft looks to be a better option, if not a perfect one. But you’re still in no condition to fly it yourself, Trace. I would need to pilot it.”

Smokescreen then pulled back slightly so that he could look Tracer in the optics again. “If I did go down with you, I could just stay behind with the shuttle while you go ahead to meet with your dealer. I’d be both safe and close enough if you needed my help for any reason.” He placed his right hand on her left cheek and caressed it slightly. “You know, you’re not alone in this anymore. No matter where I am, I’ll always be watching out for you.”