Chapter 11

Jazz was led down two levels by the three Constructicons, then along a wide, craggy passageway until they all came to a stop at a large room. A small group of Decepticons were seated around a table. He immediately recognized the three other Constructicons, as well as their communications expert, Soundwave and, directly across from the entrance where he stood, the leader of the Decepticons himself. Scrapper and his two companions took their seats, and then all optics were fixed on him.

He remained motionless as he surveyed the small gathering with a characteristic collectedness. The moment that he had been waiting for had finally arrived; his opportunity to learn more about the Decepticons’ true motives was here, and he had no intention of blowing it.

Megatron was the first to speak, breaking the silence that had settled around the room. “My Constructicons have told me what you did for them. I suppose you expect us to return the favour?”

That’s when Jazz realized how his request to speak with him must have looked. “Return the favour?” he repeated quietly. “Oh, no, I didn’t come here for any favour,” he replied, making sure that he came across non-threatening. There was a pause, and Jazz continued tentatively. “I, uh… want to apologise for Streetwise. I had no idea he was going to show up.”

Megatron made no comment regarding his apology; instead, he gestured with a hand towards an empty seat. Jazz took the seat offered, and then Megatron spoke again. “Did Prime send you?”

“He doesn’t know I’m here,” Jazz replied.

“Hm.” Megatron leaned back in his chair, observing the black and white Autobot with interest. “Then, why did you come here?”

Jazz inhaled deeply. “A couple of reasons. But mostly to try to learn the truth about everything that’s been going on.” He turned to observe the Constructicons, and his gaze rested upon Scavenger. “I was also kinda hoping that I might be allowed to ask Scavenger about what happened the night Groove was attacked.”

No one moved or spoke a word. Megatron leaned forward slightly, his expression apprehensive and doubtful. “Scavenger was not responsible for that Autobot’s misfortune – there is nothing further to be said on the matter,” he said determinedly. “As I have already told Prime; there will be no exchange, and no further negotiations.”

Jazz had no idea why Megatron had mentioned Prime, nor what he had meant by exchange, but that wasn’t urgent. He did not want to create any misunderstandings between them. “I didn’t come here to accuse Scavenger. In fact, I think he’s innocent,” he answered with a determination of his own, looking resolutely back at the Decepticon leader. His words seemed to have the desired effect on all in the room. Sensing their surprise he continued speaking, albeit in a softer tone. “Look, all I’m asking is that you just hear me out.”

Megatron considered his request, and after a few moments made his decision. “Very well,” he said simply, and gestured for Jazz to continue.

The Autobot First Lieutenant gave him a small nod in gratitude, and then turned his attention back to Scavenger. “When it was just you and me in that holding cell, you told me you didn’t do it… and I believe you.” He paused, watching the Constructicon closely, who remained unresponsive. “But you also told me that you didn’t see what happened.” Jazz slowly shook his head. “I think you did. I think you know who attacked Groove that night.” Before anyone could jump to Scavenger’s defence, Jazz raised a hand. “Now, I can understand why you didn’t want to say anything then and, like I said, I just want to know what happened. I didn’t come here to accuse you. But, if I’m right… well, it changes things.” He paused and glanced back at Megatron, whose expression was impassive. “According to the official report, Scavenger was the only one in the area that night, other than the Autobots who later found Groove, of course, and it got me thinking – if Scavenger’s innocent, like he says… and, let’s say that an Autobot wasn’t responsible either, then that leaves only one other possibility.” Jazz looked back towards Scavenger, as the other Decepticons in the room waited expectantly to hear what he had to say. “Scavenger, I know you don’t have to tell me anything. But I’m asking for your help, and I need you to know that this isn’t just about Groove – this affects everyone, including the Decepticons.” For the first time since Jazz had arrived in Darkmount, Scavenger met his gaze, though the Constructicon’s visor and face mask hid his expression. Then he slowly looked away again, casting his optics down at the table and saying nothing. “I also want you to know that everything I told you in that holding cell is true.” A long moment passed in silence, as Jazz allowed him time to think over his request. “That night… you witnessed a Neutral attack Groove, didn’t you?”

Scavenger lifted his head to glance across at Scrapper sitting beside him, who gave him a reassuring nod, before he focused his attention upon Jazz once more. Then, finally, he spoke. “No, not one.” His voice sounded surprisingly self-assured, yet also carried an undertone of vulnerability. “Three.”

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The soft background hum of life support systems and the muted, overhead security lighting were the first things that Sideswipe became aware of when he regained consciousness, and immediately he knew that he was in Iacon Central’s repair bay and that it was the recharge cycle. Almost immediately the memory of his confrontation with Sentinel assaulted his processor and he groaned, inhaled deeply to try to clear his confusion. His mind felt sluggish – as if he had spent the previous evening overcharging at the Bar Magna – but he knew that that was not the reason for his unplanned stay in the med bay. His recollection of the event was clear enough; Sentinel had shot him in the back when he wasn’t looking. Bastard. He really needed to be more careful and keep his temper under control, if he wanted to avoid a similar episode in future.

He started to sit up from his berth, and discovered that he was hooked up to some cables that were connected to a monitor off to his left. Wrapping his right hand around the cables, he gave them a quick, sharp yank. They disconnected easily. Sitting up, he looked around the med bay and noticed that, save for Groove’s motionless frame nearby, he was alone. Sliding off the berth, he reached out a hand to steady himself as his feet touched the floor. Then he took a few steps forward and almost collapsed, though he pushed past the momentary setback as he internally reset his equilibrium circuit until he was steady on his feet again. He reached the med bay doors and looked out into the hallway, first in one direction and then the other. It was quiet, empty. He sensed that something was amiss, but then pushed that thought out of his mind before starting down the hall towards the control center.

Glancing behind him, he did not pay attention to where he was going and collided into something as he turned the corner. It was a large mech, much larger than him.

Before he had the chance to learn the mech’s identity, he found himself being shoved forcefully against the wall, a pair of strong hands pinning his shoulders. A menacing, twisted scowl appeared on the mech’s face, only mere inches away from his own.

It was Sentinel Prime. “Ah, Sideswipe.” The voice was cold, deliberate, and soft as a whisper that belied its venom. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. That little stunt you pulled. I really should have your head for that.” Sideswipe remained frozen in shock, too afraid to utter a solitary word, yet unable to take his optics off the leader of the Neutrals. “Well, do you have anything to say for yourself? You sorry excuse for an Autobot!” His voice had turned harsh, grating, yet Sentinel maintained total control.

Sideswipe visibly stiffened, wanting to back away, though the wall behind him prevented him from doing so. He was filled with loathing and bitterness for the mech, yet he remained silent, refusing to speak.

“Whilst it would be much easier and, dare I say, far more pleasurable for me to simply have you terminated,” Sentinel continued, “I’m not going to do that. Instead, I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.” He paused, watching for Sideswipe’s reaction.

The red and black Autobot stared back at him, this time in desperation and uncertainty, his processor scrambling to grasp Sentinel’s motives, but the more he did so the worse the imagined possibilities became. He tried hard to focus on regulating his air intake in a vain attempt to mask his fear; nevertheless Sentinel was able to see through his weak veneer no matter what he did. “Why should I do anything you say?” he barely managed to vocalize, yet he felt compelled to confront the truth of his situation. He was tired of watching and waiting, heartbroken at having allowed those he cared for the most to continue to suffer the consequences of his actions – or non-actions, as the case may be.

Sentinel snarled at him, pushed him harder against the wall. “Why? Why? Because if you don’t do as I tell you, you will never see your brother again!” he hissed, embodying pure malice and a depraved satisfaction from knowing that he had the upper hand – that as long as he could play this particular card he would have Sideswipe completely under his control.

Sideswipe’s frustration and resentment threatened to surface once more, and he tried to throw Sentinel off him, but the mech was too strong. He had to fight with every ounce of strength within him to speak in a steady voice. “So, you know where he is?”

Sentinel backed off a little bit. “Yes.”

The Autobot’s expression hardened, his entire frame beginning to tremble from raw emotion as he fought to stay in control. “He’s still alive?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Sentinel seemed to gain a certain satisfaction from Sideswipe’s vulnerability, and he played it now for all it was worth. He released his hold on the mech, took a step back and then slowly smiled at him. “Oh, yes… your brother is still alive. Though, he won’t be for too much longer.” Sideswipe’s features revealed his pain and sorrow; the thought of losing his brother a second time was simply too much for the Autobot to bear. “Oh, but don’t worry. Do exactly as I tell you, and you will see him again, I promise you.”

The loathing and need for vengeance that he had felt towards Sentinel only moments ago was quickly replaced by fear for his brother’s life, but also by a faint glimmer of hope that he may, after all these years, finally get the chance to be reunited with him again. And that, against all the odds, was all that mattered. His head slowly nodded in acquiescence; his utter humiliation and sense of betrayal would not fully register upon his conscience until later. “What do I have to do?”

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Scavenger’s admission left Jazz near speechless. If Groove had been attacked by only one Neutral who had acted on his own, that would have been one thing – but to have three of them gang up on the victim with the deliberate purpose of destroying him – not only was that downright disconcerting, but it also hinted towards a far more widespread corruption within the Neutral ranks than he had previously considered possible. How far up the hierarchy did it actually go? Was Sentinel Prime, the leader of the Neutrals, even aware of the corruption… and, if so, possibly even involved somehow? It also explained why the High Council, which had allied itself with the Neutrals, would have wanted Scavenger terminated as quickly as possible – it had been an effort to silence him before he could have exposed the truth about what had happened.

It also pointed to the ever-increasing likelihood that many of the Decepticons were actually innocent of the crimes that they had long been accused of. More than ever before, Jazz was able to fit more pieces of the puzzle together, to see with greater clarity the reality of what might really be going on – not only with what had happened to Groove, but with many preceding incidents as well. He was becoming increasingly suspicious of the Neutrals, and he was more certain with each passing moment that the possibility of a corrupt Alliance would change everything.

He was still in a quiet state of shock and disbelief when Scavenger spoke again.

“I saw them attack the Autobot. The things they did to him, it was…” Scavenger faltered, recalling the memory of that unpleasant night.

“Did Groove provoke them in any way?” Jazz asked, finding his voice again. He already knew the answer to his question, but wanted Scavenger to confirm it for him.

The Constructicon shook his head. “No. They approached him. Then they started to mock him.” All optics in the room came to rest upon him, including Megatron’s.

Jazz nodded in acknowledgment. “What happened next?”

Scavenger looked down at his hands, turning them over repeatedly in a gesture that Jazz could only construe as nervousness. “I watched them drag him away. I wanted to know where they’d taken him, so I followed their trail. That’s when I found Groove lying next to a tunnel entrance close by, but those Neutrals were long gone.”

Jazz paused in thought, watching Scavenger intently. “He was violently attacked. Had several parts removed, including a vital component. Unfortunately, he’s not going to live much longer without it. But what I still don’t get is why.”

“Yeah, that’s the first thing I–” Scavenger began and then stopped suddenly, frozen as if he had just seen the ominous Spark of the Chaos Bringer first-hand. Then his hands slowly moved apart, and he shifted uneasily in his chair.

“What is it?” Jazz prompted, his voice calm and reassuring. “Scavenger, is there something else you saw?”

Slowly, Scavenger rose from his chair and, very carefully and deliberately, retrieved something from a compartment in his forearm. He glanced at his team mates, and then briefly at Megatron before he tentatively made his way around the table to approach Jazz. He stopped short a few feet behind the Autobot head of special operations, who turned around in his chair to face him.

At first, Jazz had no idea what the Decepticon’s intentions were, nor what he was holding in his hand. He waited for Scavenger to say or do something more, but when he didn’t Jazz rose from his seat to stand in front of him. As he did so, Scavenger slowly opened his hand to reveal a small object, extending his arm out towards him.

It was at that moment that Jazz realized what it was. He reached out gently to pick up the object, and then carefully held it up to examine it. “Groove’s missing systems link. I don’t believe it.” Before he had time to think about what this could mean Scavenger spoke again, dropping his arm back down to rest by his side.

“I picked it up on the pavement where Groove was attacked.” He paused, watching Jazz’s reaction; he wasn’t sure how the Autobot would take this news. “But then I forgot I had it.”

Jazz looked away from the component and back towards Scavenger, trying to make sense of what the Constructicon had just confessed to him. “I’ve got to get this back to Iacon as soon as possible,” he said, his tone unmistakeably urgent, almost desperate. His thoughts raced as he realized that Groove’s best chance for survival henceforth rested upon his actions alone. He could take the component back himself, though he’d rather avoid returning to a place where he knew he’d be no longer welcome – not when there was another, better way. Streetwise.

He turned towards Megatron, who had been watching the entire exchange with reserved interest. “I know you don’t owe me anything, and I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t to save Groove’s life. But, please let Streetwise go free,” Jazz explained. When Megatron did not respond straight away, he became increasingly distressed. “You’ve got to believe me. Please, I’ll do anything you want – just don’t let Groove die, please–”

Megatron had heard enough. He stood and held up a hand as an indication for Jazz to stop. “You do not need to plead for the Autobot’s life. You have already proven your word, and your worth.” He shook his head in a show of perplexity. “You are an Autobot, yet you do not behave like the others. If it weren’t for your actions, even at the risk to your own life, Scavenger would have been terminated. For that, we are in your debt.” Then he turned to the Constructicon leader. “Scrapper, take the component to the prisoner and then release him.” Scrapper nodded in acknowledgment, and Megatron turned back to face Jazz. “You are free to go as well,” he said finally, and started to leave the room, but Jazz stopped him.

“Wait–” The Decepticon leader halted, waiting for Jazz to continue. “I know how this is going to sound, but I can’t go back to Iacon – at least not until Prime has learned the truth.” Pausing, he inhaled slowly. “What I’m trying to say is…” He faltered, trying to find the right words, but then Scrapper rose from his chair and walked around the table to stand by his side.

“Megatron, I think what Jazz here is trying to say is that he’d like to stay with us and help expose the Alliance, not just for the Autobots’ sake, but for ours as well.” Jazz glanced at the Constructicon leader in quiet astonishment and thankfulness; yes, that was exactly what he wanted. “That is, if you’ll allow him,” Scrapper added.

Megatron considered his words for a moment. “The Alliance… yes. What do you know about it?” he asked Jazz.

“Just that a lot of things about it don’t make sense,” Jazz replied, as he recalled to memory everything that he had seen and heard since his mission to XR-5’s Mining Station. “Unless, of course, it isn’t exactly the friendly, benign outfit most bots seem to think it is.”

Megatron took a step closer towards him, holding his gaze steady. “Tell me, what is your area of specialty?”

“Special operations, mainly – though, I’m flexible.”

“Hm. I see.” The black and silver mech paused, evaluating him. “But you are also one of Prime’s confidants, are you not?”

“You could say that,” Jazz replied, unperturbed by the Decepticon leader’s line of questioning. “Though, we haven’t exactly been seeing things optic to optic lately.”

Megatron walked over to stand behind Soundwave, as he pondered his next question. “Yet you are willing to turn your back on your friends to help us?”

Jazz looked down at the floor introspectively. When he gave his reply he spoke softly, yet with conviction. “The way I figure, it’s the only way I can really help them.”

The Military Commander looked towards his communications officer. “Soundwave?” he asked, and Jazz picked up a certain amount of weariness in his voice; it was barely detectable, but it was there.

“He is telling the truth,” was all the mysterious, blue and white Decepticon offered his leader, but it seemed to suffice.

“Very well,” Megatron replied, before steering the conversation back to Scrapper. “It is an unusual request, and one that I would not normally consider under the circumstances. However, if you trust him,” he said to the Constructicon, “then you shall take responsibility for him.” He paused, walked towards the exit. “I shall return soon. In the meantime, Jazz, you are welcome to stay,” he said, and then exited the room without giving any further instructions.

Jazz watched him leave before turning to Scrapper. “Thank you,” he said.

The Constructicon gave him a small shrug. “Eh, it’s the least we can do. Besides, the more help we can get against the Alliance, the better. Come on, let’s get that component to Streetwise,” he said, indicating the primary systems link still in Jazz’s hand. Then he led the way out of the room and back up to the holding cell.

* * *

“I’ll wait here,” Scrapper informed Jazz as the two of them arrived just outside the door to the small room that held Streetwise.

Jazz nodded, and then opened the door before stepping inside. Streetwise was sitting on the floor of the cell, cross legged, facing the opposite wall, his back turned to the door. Jazz walked up quietly to stand before the energy bars, watching to see whether Streetwise was alerted to his presence, but the Protectobot did not move from his spot. “Street?” No response. “Street, I want you to know that I’m only trying to help. It ain’t fair, what’s happened…”

Streetwise suddenly stood up, turned to face him. “Fair? What do you know about fair, Jazz?”

“Street, please just hear me out, okay?”

“No – I think you should hear me out!” Streetwise said, pointing, his anger once again getting the better of him, so Jazz decided to just let him speak. “Thanks to these Decepticons, Groove’s as good as dead. But, then, what did you do? You helped them get away with it! And if that weren’t enough, then you come here and act just like you’re one of them!” He shook his head in disappointment, his hands clenched into tight fists. “I mean, what the hell’s gotten into you, Jazz?”

Jazz watched him pace the small space of his holding cell, and realized that there was nothing more he could really say that would convince Streetwise to see things differently, so he kept his reply short and succinct. “I understand how you feel,” he said, though he couldn’t hide the sense of defeat that had taken a hold of him, or his own feelings of regret and disappointment.

Streetwise could only laugh with derision. “No, Jazz. You don’t. Because if you did, you’d want nothing to do with these murderous scum-bags.” He received no response. The words that he uttered next, however, would affect Jazz deeply, as if a dagger had been plunged straight into his spark chamber.

“I’ll promise you this right now, Jazz – if you ever show your face in Iacon again, I’m going to make sure that you get exactly what you deserve. I’m going to make sure that you and all your Decepticon buddies suffer in exactly the same way Groove was made to suffer, even if I have to do it myself.” His gaze locked onto Jazz’s, and the Autobot special operative found an unforgiving coldness in the Protectobot’s optics that took him by surprise. “That is, if I ever get out of here alive,” Streetwise finished, a twisted scowl taking over his expression.

Jazz felt as if the stark, metallic-grey room was closing in around him and an irrational, desperate need to get out of there as fast as he was able suddenly overwhelmed him. He had to fight with all his strength not to act upon his sudden urge. Instead he nodded sorrowfully, reached out his hand through a gap in the energy bars and then held it open for Streetwise. Groove’s primary systems link rested in his palm. “Here. Take this with you back to Iacon.”

As soon as Streetwise realized what he was looking at he carefully took the small object, and his scowl disintegrated, replaced by dazed confusion and utter shock, but Jazz was already making his way back to the door.

Walking out of the room, all Jazz could think about was just how unwelcome he would truly be now, amongst his own kind, should he return to Iacon. As he began to head back down the passage, he couldn’t bring himself to look back or to speak another word to Streetwise.

Scrapper was patiently waiting for him outside the holding cell, just as he’d promised. Jazz stopped and leaned against the wall beside him, tilting his head as he glanced up to look at the rugged ceiling of the passageway. He took a minute or two to regain his composure, then reactivated his visor, and the disappointment and despair that were clearly apparent in his optics became unobservable to another living spark.

“Jazz?”

He turned his head to acknowledge the Constructicon.

“Everything okay?”

Jazz nodded, though the expression on his face belied his emotions. “Yeah. Everything’s just fine,” he said, and then followed Scrapper as they both made their way back to the other Decepticons.

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The conference room in Iacon’s Command Center was beginning to fill with Autobots. Mixed sentiments existed among them, and no doubt there were many questions they wanted answered, though not one of them was prepared to speak a single word until Optimus Prime commenced the scheduled meeting. Immediately to Prime’s right Sentinel was seated; he had been invited to participate and contribute to discussions, while to Prime’s left was Prowl, holding a data pad and speaking over his com link to Red Alert, requesting the mech’s immediate attendance.

Optimus did not wait for the Acting Chief Medical Officer to arrive. “Before we begin with the reports, I’d like you all to welcome Sentinel to Iacon, if you have not already done so. He has agreed to stay for as long as necessary, and has kindly offered his assistance.” He acknowledged his officers with a glance while Sentinel sat motionless, his hands clasped together in front of him. No one spoke a word, so he continued. “Prowl?”

“Sir, I’m just waiting on Red Alert to show up,” the Chief of Security replied. “He’s on his way.”

Optimus nodded, and the room fell quiet. There was an air of uncomfortableness that seemed to grow stronger with each passing second, until Ironhide asked the unspoken question that was on all their minds. “Ah, Prime? We heard about Sideswipe. Is he going to be alright?”

Before Optimus could reply, Prowl intervened on his behalf. “Sideswipe is in good hands. Red Alert will provide us with a full report as soon as he arrives. Please, be patient.”

Ironhide, frustrated with Prowl’s stoic response, let out a sigh of frustration but returned no comment, instead muttered something under his breath that no one was able to catch, other than Trailbreaker who was seated beside him.

Then Sentinel cleared his vocal processor. “Optimus, if I may?” he began, as graciously as he was able. Optimus nodded in the affirmative and he smiled, turned to address the gathered Autobots. “I must extend my sincerest apologies to you all for my recent actions. Sideswipe gave me no other choice but to use force in order to defend myself. I know that I speak for everyone here when I say that we are all deeply concerned for his emotional and mental well-being. It is evident that he is a deeply disturbed and confused individual and, now more than ever, he needs all our help and support. I would also like to reassure you all that I will not be pressing any charges against him. My only wish is that he makes a complete recovery.” He received words of encouragement all round as they all offered him their understanding and agreement.

Stolen story; please report.

The door to the conference room slid open and Red Alert stepped inside. Glancing quickly around the room, he took an empty seat beside Prowl. “Sorry I’m late.” Prowl ignored his apology, instead gave him an expectant look. “Ah, right. My report.” Red wasted no time, looked to Optimus as he began. “Sideswipe is in a stable condition – sorry, was – he sustained only minor damage.”

“‘Was’?” Prime repeated with slight concern in his voice.

Red Alert brushed it aside, nodding. “He must have discharged himself sometime during the recharge cycle. I haven’t seen him since,” he explained, none too pleased with the rebellious patient, but the former Autobot warrior’s behaviour was all too familiar.

“I see,” Optimus said simply. “What about Groove?”

Red shook his head in disappointment. “No change.”

The Autobot Commander nodded, and then Prowl took over. “Do you have the results for the check-ups I authorized?” he asked Red Alert. Red looked back at him in confusion, so Prowl elucidated. “The priority list of Autobots stationed at Antihex. I sent them to the maintenance and repair bay for a complete systems check. Do you have the results?”

All optics in the room glanced expectantly at Red Alert, who touched his forehead with the tips of his fingers in an effort to recall the entire list of patients who had reported in to the med bay during the last 20-hour orn for a full systems check. To his dismay, he could not bring to mind a single one. “Sorry, Prowl. I haven’t had any…” He trailed off, but then clicked his fingers in sudden realization. “Oh! Right, of course – that list you sent me,” he said, nodding affirmatively, but then immediately shook his head. “They never showed up.”

Prowl straightened in his seat, placed his data pad down on the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“They never showed up for their appointments. Not a single one.” Red Alert shrugged, at a loss to explain the reasons.

“Are you sure?” Prowl queried uncertainly.

“Yes, sir. Check the logs if you like.”

Prowl considered the situation, and then made his decision. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned to Prime. “Sir, permission to apprehend and detain the following list of Autobots for their failure to obey direct orders.” Prowl pushed the data pad across the table for Optimus’ perusal. The Autobot leader picked up the pad and scanned through the list, as Prowl explained the situation further. “They may have been compromised. If so, they pose an immediate security risk.”

“Understood.” Optimus handed him back the data pad. “Do what you must–”

He was cut off by Sentinel, who leaned across to reach for the data pad. “May I see that list?” Optimus nodded his approval, and Prowl passed it to him. After a brief glance through the list, Sentinel handed the pad back to Prowl. “These Autobots are all stationed at the Autobot-Neutral Command Post in Antihex. My own teams work with them often. If you would allow me, I can have them apprehended and brought in. It will be no problem.”

Considering his mentor’s request, Optimus found no reason to refute it. “Very well.”

Sentinel nodded, pleased, and then smiled.

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Soon after the meeting ended, Optimus retreated to his quarters in the hopes of spending some time alone. As the Commander of the Autobot army and co-leader of the Autobot-Neutral Alliance, there were things that still needed to be re-evaluated, many decisions that still needed to be made, and while he did not particularly favour the heavy responsibilities of leadership, he accepted them without reservation or complaint.

If truth be told, he was worried about Elita and, although he’d never admit it to her directly, missed her company tremendously. The two of them were alike in so many ways, yet so different; he trusted her judgment and respected her opinion, probably more than any other Autobot’s, and he felt ashamed of the way he had treated her recently. But it was too late to tell her that now. All he could do was wait, and hope that Sentinel would bring her safely home soon.

Then there was Jazz. Perhaps he’d made a mistake, asking his First Lieutenant to take on such a dangerous mission into Decepticon territory. Though, Jazz’s recent words still troubled him.

‘What if I were to tell you that Scavenger wasn’t the one who attacked Groove?’

He had refused to listen, had tried to convince his friend and confidant of the Decepticon’s guilt. Yet he knew Jazz better than that, should have known that his First Lieutenant would never have said such a thing without good reason.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door chime, and he hesitated. He considered denying the visitor, ordering them to leave him alone, but then the chime activated a second time, and again a third, and so he relented and opened the door to his private quarters.

He did not expect Ratchet to charge in, offering him no words of greeting. “Prime, we need to talk,” he immediately declared, and his anger, although restrained, was undeniable.

“Ratchet,” Optimus acknowledged. “What about?”

The Chief Medical Officer roughly pushed a data pad across his desk. “Take a look at this.”

Optimus looked down at the pad on his desk. Whatever this was about, surely it could wait until tomorrow. “What is it?”

“Just read it!” Ratchet insisted, all notion of rank carelessly thrown aside.

The Autobot leader sighed, picked up the pad and scanned the list of files before looking back up at Ratchet. “These are Wheeljack’s laboratory notes,” he stated.

“No – original laboratory notes,” Ratchet corrected him, and then gave him an expectant look. “There’s an entry in there that appears to have been later deleted. Read it,” Ratchet pressed.

Optimus was in no mood to contend with the Autobot’s chief medic. He began to read through the contents of the first file until, after a few minutes, looked back up at Ratchet in puzzlement.

“If that Decepticon was responsible for coming up with the cure to the virus, then why would he also have been the one to create the damned thing in the first place? It just doesn’t make sense!” Ratchet placed both hands on the desk to steady himself, and hung his head.

But Optimus had no immediate answers for him. He placed the pad back down on the desk and stood up, then paced towards the live visual display of Cybertronian space on the wall. The room was quiet as he considered the implications of Ratchet’s discovery, until finally he spoke. “It certainly raises more questions than we have the answers to.”

Ratchet looked back up to face his Commander. “I just don’t believe it. But it’s right there in Wheeljack’s notes. If it’s true and he’s innocent – damn it, Optimus, after all this time.” He sighed in resignation. “Just what in the Pit is going on?”

“I don’t know, Ratchet, but it appears that someone didn’t want us to know the truth.” Optimus turned to face his chief medic. “Perhaps it might also explain why Wheeljack disappeared,” he added.

Ratchet nodded, and then slowly paced the room in deep thought until, after a few moments, he spoke again. “We need to find out what really happened. If that ‘Con’s still alive and functional, then we need to find him.” He turned back to Optimus, a weak glimmer of hope in his optics. “And, maybe – he might be able to tell us what happened to Wheeljack.”

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“Elita! Elita, wait!” the femme Commander’s second in charge called out as she struggled to keep up through the crowded city pavement. Grabbing hold of her arm, she forced her best friend to acknowledge her. “Elita, would you at least tell us where we’re going?”

The pink Autobot slowed to a stop, and then pointed up towards large, illuminated letters above the entrance to a richly adorned establishment. “There,” she said simply.

Firestar and Moonracer stopped short right behind them, and they both looked up in puzzlement as they realized what their team leader had in mind.

“You can’t be serious?” Firestar vocalized her thoughts out loud, as Moonracer’s face lit up in surprise, her optics widening in anticipation.

Elita turned to face them. “Well, why not? Unless any of you have a better idea,” she said, looking at each of them expectantly. “Didn’t think so. Come on.” She waved at them to follow her inside, but Chromia stopped her.

“Wait. ‘The Gambler’s Den’?” she said, reading the words on the building aloud, incredulous.  “What exactly are we supposed to do here?”

“Win us some credits,” Elita offered matter-of-factly. “What else?”

“But, Elita–” The blue femme hesitated, mentally gathering together all the many reasons why this was a really bad idea. “We don’t have any credits to gamble away! And besides, none of us here are any good at it–”

“Ooh, let me try! Please?” Moonracer quickly cut in, her hands clasped together in prayer.

“’Racer – no!” Chromia rebuked.

“Oh, please! Elita, let me try, please? I can do it!” the green femme persisted, beseeching their team leader.

When Elita said nothing to dissuade her, Chromia shook her head, looking down at the pavement with hands on her hips. “I can’t believe this,” she muttered in a low voice.

“Moonracer’s always said how she’s dreamed of experiencing the Big City,” Elita explained. “Well, since we’re here, why not let her have her fun?”

The green femme was ecstatic at the opportunity that had just been offered to her, and she jumped up and down in glee. “Yesss! Oh, thank you, Elita! Thank you!”

The femme Commander retrieved a handful of credits and handed them to Moonracer, who took them appreciatively. “Here. That’s all we have. It’s not much, but it’s something.” Then she started towards the grand entrance of the luxurious gambling hall. “Come on.”

The three femmes followed their team leader into the brightly-lit foyer, where it opened up into several large rooms. Moonracer checked out each space before settling upon the main gaming area, and Elita indicated for her to go inside.

Several tables and gambling machines occupied every available space of the large room, and to the left was a bar and lounge. The three femmes watched Moonracer as she disappeared amongst the throng of patrons, her face beaming with excitement, and then they settled into some empty seats in the lounge area.

“So… how many credits did you give her, exactly?” Firestar queried, curious.

Elita shrugged. “Five.”

Chromia simply shook her head in disbelief, while the red femme snorted in response. “Well, I hope you have a backup plan,” she said.

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“That’s all I know. One cycle I’m on Cybertron, and then the next…” Comet trailed off, shrugging dismissively. The discarded half of empty drum that he had been using to lean his head against had now become his makeshift seat. Sunstreaker sat opposite him on the floor, watching him play idly with a non-functional automatic release switch.

“You mean you don’t know why you were sent here?” the yellow Autobot asked. They had spent the last half hour exchanging stories of the old days on Cybertron, though the conversation had remained more or less casual. While Sunstreaker had tried hard to get Comet to open up and share more of his personal story, he could not get him to do so, but neither could he deny that it frustrated him no end, though he had no idea why he should feel this way about a Decepticon who he’d only recently met. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Comet had saved his life. Or, perhaps, there was something more to the seeker than met the optic.

“No.” They sat together in silence for several moments, the constant churn of the recycling machinery in the background the only sound keeping them company. Sunstreaker was about to say something further when Comet spoke again – only this time, his voice took on a bitterness that the Autobot had not heard from him before. “I can’t go back. They abandoned me.”

The words were barely audible, and he had to run them again through his audio processor to make sense of them. “They?” Sunstreaker asked, but Comet did not expand upon it further; his face was turned away, expression hidden from view. “Comet?” he prompted softly, not wanting to upset him more than he already was.

When Comet turned to face him, his intense gaze suddenly made him feel uneasy. “They abandoned me! Banished me here. What other possible explanation could there be?” He spoke with such antagonism that it caught Sunstreaker off-guard.

“You think your own kind abandoned you?” Sunstreaker said incredulously. He shook his head in disbelief. “No – why would they?”

“I don’t know!” Comet could no longer hide his pain and he looked away again, fighting to keep his voice from breaking but fast losing the battle. “I don’t know.” Then he stopped talking and just sat there in silence.

“Comet, maybe you’re wrong. Maybe they didn’t abandon you at all,” Sunstreaker offered, after a long while. He spoke softly, comfortingly. “I know what it’s like to be separated from those who are supposed to care about you the most, and believe me when I say that… they would never have abandoned you.” It was his turn now to confront his own grief, face up to past regrets that he had not been able to shake since he’d left Cybertron more than a vorn ago. “They probably had no choice.”

Comet remained motionless. He appeared to be listening, yet still unwilling to share the circumstances of his exile any further, so Sunstreaker said nothing more on the subject.

It was just as well, because at that same moment the doors to the facility suddenly opened. Comet jumped into action and all discussion of the past, along with the inoperative switch in his hand, now completely forgotten. He ducked down behind a nearby scrap pile and indicated for Sunstreaker to do the same. “Get down!” he ordered, motioning with his hand, and Sunstreaker quickly moved behind another scrap pile, using it as a cover.

Several moments went by, and Sunstreaker felt as though time had slowed right down. He kept his gaze fixed upon Comet, who was directly in his line of sight, and watched as the seeker kept a close optic on the mech who had just entered the facility, tracking him intently, his blaster at the ready. It was too risky for him to do the same, since his scrap heap was not as concealed as Comet’s.

But Sunstreaker did not need optics to hear the deliberate footfalls, or sense the ominous presence that was moving purposefully through the scrap metal piles towards them. The mech made very few sounds as he continued forward, and then let out a low grunt. Before Sunstreaker knew what was happening, Comet had moved out from behind his scrap pile and then was crouching down again right beside him. “I’m going to try to direct him towards the explosive,” he explained quickly, his voice a whisper. “Wish me luck,” he added, before leaping out from behind the pile.

Comet stopped several mechano-meters in front of the Pretender, arm-mounted weapon raised threateningly at him. “Don’t come any closer!”

The robot warrior let out a mocking laugh. His sword, now drawn, shimmered with pink energy along its length. “Ah, just the stupid fool I was looking for,” he replied with menace, his voice a low rumble.

It was then that Sunstreaker realized, with both trepidation and an uncanny sense of accomplishment, the identity of the mech. “Bludgeon,” he whispered to himself, as he tried to settle his frantic thoughts.

“Why don’t you just go back to the slag heap you came from?” Comet insulted the samurai warrior, and hoped that the explosive he had anchored to the wall wouldn’t be spotted. “You and your slag maker spark-mate, you worthless pieces of junk!” he continued, attempting to distract Bludgeon as he inched a few steps closer towards the wall.

Bludgeon’s mocking laughter faded and was replaced by a snarl. “I’m going to enjoy crushing your very spark with my bare hands!” he threatened, and then lunged forward with an angry bellow, sword held high in front of him.

Sunstreaker looked up from behind his cover just in time to see Bludgeon step close enough to trigger Comet’s makeshift bomb. The surge of the power pack made a high pitched whine before it overloaded, and then the wall exploded in a magnificent shower of sparks and plasma energy. Bludgeon did not know what had hit him as he was instantly knocked offline. The impact of the blast had caused the Pretender to be thrown back into a jagged piece of bulkhead off-cut with such overwhelming force that he was almost torn in two, and then his body slid limply down to the ground. Lying on his back, Bludgeon’s left arm had been blown cleanly from his body, and his left optic was shattered. His shell had sustained a large tear down the middle, from which mech fluid was already leaking.

The yellow Autobot warrior slowly straightened. Optics fixated upon Bludgeon, he began to make his way toward the off-lined assassin while Comet, who had safely avoided the blast, waited several seconds before moving to stand behind Sunstreaker.

“Well, that worked better than I thought,” the seeker said smugly, clearly satisfied.

Sunstreaker turned to gaze at him in astonishment. Still in mild shock after witnessing his long time adversary being so quickly and easily defeated, a small nod was all he could manage.

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More than half hour had passed since Moonracer had gone to try her luck at the gaming tables, and Chromia was beginning to worry. “Where in the Pits is she? Surely she doesn’t still have those five credits you gave her?”

“I’m going to go look for her. Wait here.” Elita started to get up, but was stopped by Firestar with a finger pointed in the direction of the tables.

“Speaking of our little femme, here she comes now.”

The three of them watched as Moonracer came bounding up to them, ignoring their concerned looks. She was beaming at them, holding out a credit token in her hand.

“Well?” Chromia asked, curious.

Moonracer giggled. “Well… here, take it!” she said, jumping up and down in a celebratory dance.

Elita grabbed the token from her, and had to do a double take. “’Racer,” she said, looking up at the green femme in astonishment, “how did you?”

Moonracer grinned proudly. “Piece of oil cake!” she said.

“Let me see that,” Firestar cut in, pulling the token from Elita’s hand. “No way.”

She in turn showed it to Chromia, who shook her head to make sure her optical sensors were functioning properly. “Five hundred credits? ‘Racer, how’d you do it?”

“It was easy,” Moonracer answered. “Do you want to try? I can show you–”

“No,” Chromia quickly responded, raising a hand to back her off. “Thank you, Moon, but I think we’ll leave all the gambling in your capable hands.”

“Oh, okay. Well, if you’re sure.” Moonracer looked back at Elita, her optics widening in thought. “Oh, can I go again? Please, Elita?”

“Oh, no. Uh-uh,” the femme Commander replied sternly, and Moonracer’s face fell, shoulders slumping slightly. Elita sighed, tried to explain her reasoning. “’Racer, you’ve done really well. I mean, these credits will certainly come in handy. But, you wouldn’t want to push your luck.”

“Aw.” Moonracer took a seat beside Firestar, hands in her lap. “Okay.”

Elita sighed again, turning the token over in her fingers. “But, if I were to let you go again…” she said after several moments.

Moonracer’s face lit up like a beacon. “You mean it?!”

Elita gave her a resigned look, handed her back the token. “Here, take fifty, but hold onto the rest.”

“Oh, thank you, ‘Lita! You won’t regret it, I promise,” Moonracer answered, jumping up from her seat excitedly before heading back to the tables, disappearing amidst the crowd once more.

“Think she’s cheating?” Firestar casually asked the other two femmes.

“Hm. Maybe,” Elita replied.

Chromia considered the possibility, but then shook her head dismissively. “Nah.” Then she stood up and motioned for the other two to do the same. “Come on; let’s go watch her – just in case.” Shrugging, Elita and Firestar rose from their seats and followed her into the multitude of enthralled gamers.

Watching the three femmes from the bar nearby, the spotter downed the rest of his liquid fuel before he inconspicuously activated his transceiver and spoke into it. “Yeah. It’s Doubledealer. Yeah, thought he might be very interested to know who’s at The Den… Elita One… no, I don’t know.” He began to move slowly past the seated patrons in between the gaming tables, making sure the Autobot femmes didn’t see him. “Yeah. Got it. Will let you know.” Then he cut the transmission and, after a brief pause, walked up to the Roulette table to stand behind the green femme.

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Several long moments passed before Sunstreaker spoke again. “Is he dead?”

Comet shrugged, knelt down to examine the body. “Unfortunately, no. Just offline.” He stood up again, kicked Bludgeon in his side to show his disgust. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said, and started towards the open doors of the facility, but was stopped by Sunstreaker.

“Wait.”

Comet glanced back around to witness the Autobot simply standing there, staring down at the off-lined mech. Sunstreaker carefully, cautiously, knelt down, then extended a hand out to hover it tentatively over the skeletal-looking face before he suddenly withdrew it again. He seemed mesmerized by the Pretender, overcome with morbid fascination. Then he stood up again and took a few steps back, though his optics were still fixated upon their defeated foe.

Comet went to stand quietly beside him, unsure of what was going on with the Autobot and feeling uncertain about how to handle the situation. Then he crossed his arms and looked down at Bludgeon’s motionless body. “He’s going to be really mad when he wakes up, you know,” he offered, trying to lighten the mood. “We should go now while we still have the advantage.” Still no response from the Autobot. “Or we could just stay here… wait for his goons to come along so we can kick some more aft. Hey, I’m easy,” he said, shrugging.

That seemed to break Sunstreaker’s trance, and he cracked an apologetic smile at the seeker. “Sorry. It’s just that… I’ve been trying to track this guy down ever since I followed him here to Alternity City.” He paused, reflecting upon the few times he had come close to overpowering the Pretender, only to have his attempts thwarted by the powerful warrior. “And now…” Trailing off, he gestured with one hand at the fallen mech.

Curiosity suddenly got the better of Comet. “Why on Cybertron would an Autobot like you waste his time chasing a slag sucker like him?”

Sunstreaker sighed regretfully. “Long story, but, remember how I said that I know what it’s like to be separated from those you care about? Well, he’s the reason I left Cybertron in the first place,” he said, nodding towards Bludgeon. “Only I did it against direct orders. I knew that Bludgeon was involved with that virus somehow because I had caught him trying to gain access to one of our labs, so I confronted him and he told me that if I didn’t keep quiet I’d end up like Wheeljack, our resident scientist. I tried to warn the Alliance, but was told to stay out of it. Sentinel had insisted that he would take care of Bludgeon himself… but then, soon after, I overheard them both talking in private, and that’s when I knew that something wasn’t right.”

Comet had remained perfectly still, listening intently until Sunstreaker had finished speaking. “So, you decided to follow Bludgeon to Alternity City on your own,” he said, finishing the story for him, “and against your brother’s wishes.”

Sunstreaker looked at him in astonishment. “Yes. But how did you know about my brother?”

The seeker shrugged. “It makes sense, from what you’ve already told me.”

“Oh.” Sunstreaker turned away from him and walked a few paces as he sought to gather his thoughts. “I should never have left the way I did.”

“Well, does he know how you feel?” Comet asked him in his decidedly straightforward manner.

“I tried getting messages to him a few times, but I had no way of knowing if he ever received them.” Sunstreaker walked back to stand beside the seeker. “Then, after a while… I guess I just stopped trying.”

Moments of silence passed between them, and then Comet returned his attention back to the situation at hand. “So, what do you want to do with him?” he said with contempt, motioning with his thumb at the still off-lined Bludgeon.

“I’m not sure.” Sunstreaker looked uncertainly down at the warrior. If they simply left him here, they could be long gone by the time he awoke. Or he could try to interrogate Bludgeon, try to find out who was responsible for those deactivated Autobots he’d found at that relay station, along with the extent of Sentinel’s involvement. “I mean, he must know something about Hitec’s operations.”

But there was a third option that he had not considered – at least, not until Comet brought it up. “Yes, we could question him, find out what he knows,” Comet affirmed, nodding, “or, we could just kill him.”

Sunstreaker remained motionless as he considered the consequences of that particular course of action. He had never killed anyone before in a premeditative manner, and the very notion of it made him feel uneasy. “You mean, just like that?” he asked finally.

Comet noticed his discomfort, though he made no attempt to alleviate it. Instead, he reached down to pick up Bludgeon’s sword, which lay only a few feet from the warrior’s inert body. Holding it up, he examined its lethal blade before offering it to Sunstreaker. “Here, finish him off with this.”

The yellow Autobot fought to overcome the quandary of his conscience as he reached out to grasp the sword by its hilt. Then he carefully positioned its tip so that it was pointing directly at Bludgeon’s spark chamber. The weapon felt powerful in his hands, and he experienced a macabre sense of satisfaction with the knowledge that his enemy would soon be slaughtered by his own sword.

But if he killed Bludgeon in cold blood, he knew that there would be no going back.

He raised the weapon above his head, ready to plunge the blade deep into the mech’s heart, but then, gradually, he lowered it again, dropped his arm down to his side, sword still in hand. “I can’t,” he said.

Unfazed by the Autobot’s momentary show of weakness, Comet grabbed the sword from him and, before Sunstreaker could stop him, plunged the sword’s tip straight into the Pretender’s spark chamber with a mighty thrust, and in less time than the flicker of an optic, the deed was done.

Sunstreaker watched in stunned silence as Bludgeon’s Pretender shell twisted and writhed as surges of electrical energy pulsated through it, the very life force irreversibly draining away, the spark extinguishing in a sudden flare of blue light. Then the body became still once again, its remaining optic now only a pool of empty blackness, and it was over. Bludgeon was dead.

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Astrotrain led the way through one of Binaltech’s many exchange hubs, accompanied by Astro and Rook. His orders had been to rendezvous with several Decepticon jets, but the recent close encounter with Jhiaxus had prevented him from doing so until now. “They’re going to have my aft,” he said, as he stopped and looked around for any sign of them.

“Over there,” Astro said casually, scanning the area.

Astrotrain turned to see where the mech was pointing, and then nodded. “Ah, that’s them.” He recognized the familiar forms of the Decepticon seekers; four were seated on a bench, while the fifth stood a few paces away from the others, peering out into the crowd. As he and his two companions started toward the group, he called out to them once they were clearly within audio range. “Hey, you five seem kind of lost. Need help?”

Dirge, the blue and black team leader, spun around as his four team mates got up from their seats at the sound of Astrotrain’s voice.

“There you are, you slagger,” Dirge grumbled in greeting, walking over to him. “Where in the Pits have you been?”

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Astrotrain replied glibly, ignoring Dirge’s obvious discontent. “Sorry I’m late; we got a little side-tracked.”

Dirge sized him up, his expression grim. He nodded towards the smaller green mech beside him. “What is Rook doing with you?” he asked, doubtful, before turning to observe the unfamiliar Cybertronian accompanying them. “And who’s he?”

Before Astrotrain could respond, Astro answered for him. “You can call me Astro.”

He was met with blank expressions from all five jets. “Astro, huh? Never heard of you,” Dirge said.

Astro ignored him, instead turned to Astrotrain. “You remember that Decepticon transmission you were tracking earlier?”

Astrotrain nodded. “Sure.”

“Good. You’re going to help us find the one who sent it,” Astro asserted. “And then you can take us all home,” he added, after a pause.

The triple changer took a few moments to consider the new instructions before nodding in acquiescence. “Sure thing.” He seemed unperturbed by Astro’s clear exertion of authority; Dirge, however, would not accept it so readily.

“Hey, we’ve already got our orders. Astrotrain’s returning to Cybertron with us,” Dirge said, gesturing towards the Deception shuttle and his own team of seekers.

But Astro did not seem intimidated by his attitude at all. “Not any more; there’s been a slight change of plans.”

Ramjet, the grey and white jet standing beside his team leader, cut in; he was just as confounded as Dirge, if not bothered, by Astro’s apparent lack of respect for them. “Now, you look here – I don’t know who the hell you think you are, Astro, but no one tells us what to do except for Megatron,” he said, his voice angry, as Thrust, Bitstream and Acid Storm stood resolutely by him in silent support.

“Then I suggest, if you don’t want to disobey Megatron’s direct orders, that you do exactly as I tell you,” Astro replied, without hesitation.

Dirge was about to reprove him for his self-proclaimed high position in the chain of command, when he stopped short. “Wait a nano-second…” He stepped closer towards the strange mech, scrutinizing him. “You’re–” Then he pulled away in suspicion. “Do I know you?”

Astro gave him an unreadable expression. “That’s not important right now. What is important is that we find Comet before they do.” The gathered Decepticons listened intently to what he had to say. It was the first time that Rook had heard Astro mention the missing mech’s name.

Dirge tilted his head slightly to one side, recalling his recent encounter with Thunderblast. “Did you just say Comet?”

Astro nodded. “Was he here?”

“I have no idea,” Dirge started. “But some femme was telling us about a Comet just a short while ago.”

“A femme, huh?” Astrotrain queried, his curiosity piqued. “Cybertronian?”

“Yeah. Real piece of work, too,” Thrust commented.

Rook glanced up at Astro, and their thoughts were the same. “Thunderblast,” they said in unison.

“Yeah, that was her,” Dirge confirmed. “You two know her?”

“Not in a way she’d like, I’m sure,” Astro replied. “What did she tell you, exactly?”

Dirge hesitated, recalling the details of his conversation with the femme. “Not much. She said she’d spoken to this Comet recently… then mentioned that he was in trouble. She didn’t say what kind of trouble, nor did I think to ask.” Astro nodded in contemplation, and Dirge added, “Oh. She also said that he’d been here.” They each contemplated Dirge’s account in silence, until Astro turned away from the group.

Rook watched him carefully. “What are you thinking?” he asked, below normal audial range.

Astro shook his head uncertainly. “We’ve got to return to the base,” he said quietly. “There’s no other choice.”

Rook’s optics widened in fear at the very suggestion. “The base? As in–”

“Yes, Rook; as in the Hitec base.”

“No, you can’t – I won’t!”

Astro watched as the smaller mech stood his ground, his protestation attracting the triple changer’s attention.

“He won’t what?” Astrotrain asked, concerned.

Astro exhaled slowly. “If Comet’s been captured, then there’s only one place I can think of where they would have taken him.”

Rook spoke up before the other two could say anything more. “If we return to Hitec, we’ll be captured for sure. They would have tripled down on security since… since that incident,” he explained, meeting Dirge’s gaze as he realized the identity of the five intruders that had infiltrated the northern perimeter of the base not too long ago. They were standing right in front of him, now listening in. “The High Commander has many loyal agents–”

“You mean aft-kissers,” Astrotrain corrected him.

“–who are probably hunting us down as we speak. Not to mention there is most certainly a generous bounty on all our heads. It’s a suicide mission to even consider going back there!” Rook finished in exasperation.

Dirge, having considered his view point, offered his own. “He’s right. It’s suicidal. We barely got out of there alive ourselves,” he said, indicating behind him at his team.

Rook began to calm down, quietly thankful for Dirge’s wise counsel. Astro hesitated, and Rook found his atypical uncertainty rather unusual.

“Besides, how can we be sure that Comet is still functional? If he’s been captured, then–” Dirge continued, but Astro cut him short.

“No. They’d want to keep him alive.” Astro did not elaborate, nor did any of them question him on the point further.

“May I make a small suggestion?” Astrotrain said finally, and then continued without waiting for a response. “If we can’t go to them, then maybe we can get them to come to us.”

Astro looked across at the triple changer, and a new plan began to formulate in his processor.