TITLE: Co-Dependence,
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: R for violence
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
FEEDBACK: Loved
GRAMMAR BETA: okami_myrrhibis
PLOT BETA: Sapphire, who suffered through random bouts of my madness

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Additional words from the author: those who are following the stories I write might have noticed that I like throwing cartoon and movie stuff together. Since ROTF gave us zilch on the characters you’re about to read about, just had them appear, and I didn’t make copies of the G1’s, this is entirely my made-up version of those guys, of what happened to them in my eyes, and what the result was.
You’ll find out what I mean after the first chapter.
Don't hurt the author :)

and because I'm a nut and took pictures of construction vehicles, of all things!, on my vacation in Iceland, here's the bounty:

http://home.arcor.de/macx/tfmovie/Constructicons.html

Yeah, I'm really weird. My friend and I hunted old construction machines and I think I have over fifty pics of them...

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Barricade carefully rolled onto the construction site, past a sign that proclaimed that a new power station running on solar energy would be erected here. He kept his scanners peeled for anything suspicious. The humans had abandoned the project due to the averse weather conditions. The signal was still coming at the same strength.

Mud squished under his tires, clung to his frame, and he rolled uneasily forward. There was little to no traction with the puddles and muddy ground, but Barricade didn’t think for a nano-second that it would hinder him in a fight. Rolling almost noiselessly past building equipment he let his scanners search.

::Something’s here::

He had to agree. Jazz was further back, hidden from sight due to the rain and the darkening sky. It was already late enough for dusk to mingle with the rain clouds, making eye-sight for a mere human difficult. Barricade had more than his optics and even they were far more sophisticated than the organic human eyes.

The police cruiser finally stopped. Rain pitter-pattered onto his car shell and ran in rivulets down the smooth surface. He had come in without his headlights and he wasn’t prone to announcing where he was exactly by using them now. He was announcing his general presence, though. Barricade was echoing the call signal.

There was movement not far to his right and he tensed.

“Designation?” he sent on the same channel the signal had been coming in.

The shadow moved again and Barricade transformed, weapon out, coiled for a confrontation.

“Designation: Scrapper.”

He almost took a step back in surprise. His data banks provided him with information that was like watching a history lesson.

The shadow came closer and coalesced into a tall, armored figure. A red visor band glowed softly. The mech had no discernible mouth; instead he was wearing a lower face shield. Whether it was a battle mask like Prime’s or a fixed feature, Barricade didn’t know.

He had never met Scrapper – if this was the one the data banks supplied him information about. He had heard of this particular mech.

There was suddenly more movement and Barricade whirled around, fingers clenching around the trigger. Two more figures appeared, all taller, neither brandishing a weapon, though.

“We didn’t call you to inflict harm,” Scrapper told him.

::Barricade?” Jazz asked tensely.

::Wait::

“Who is ‘we’?” the former Decepticon demanded out loud, reflecting the same tension as his partner.

The lights of the construction site went on and Barricade knew he was either in very deep trouble or about to get into it. Five mechs were revealed, one just now transforming out of his alternate mode, a power shovel.

Neither bore any faction symbols.

All had their weapons sheathed.

“This is us,” Scrapper said quietly.

“You are Constructicons,” Barricade stated flatly, trying to hide his shock.

“Yes.”

“You serve Megatron.”

“We never did.”

Barricade snorted. He knew what the Constructicons had built for the Decepticon leader’s empire of destruction, what they had demolished, who they had erased. His service for Megatron himself had never brought him in contact with the six mechs that had been famous before and throughout the war. Shock-troopers were the bloodhounds, the frontline killers and assassins. He had been all over the explored and even the unexplored parts of the universe to hunt Autobots and destroy their sorry sparks.

But he knew. Like many, he knew.

“We’ll explain. I’ll explain,” Scrapper told him. “What we ask for is sanctuary. A truce. We didn’t come here to fight and we don’t intend to ever do so again. It was never our war.”

“History tells differently.”

Scrapper looked almost slapped. “I can explain. And I want to explain,” he repeated. “But I need the assurance that our revelation won’t be our death.”

“Why come to me? I’m not a trusted Autobot.”

Scrapper seemed to smile. “I calculated our chances of survival higher than by approaching the Autobots directly.”

Barricade gave him a terrible grin. “You could be wrong.”

“I could.”

Silence descended and Barricade felt Jazz push closer.

::Not yet:: he told him.

“What do you expect me to do?” he finally challenged the Constructicon leader, keeping wary optics on the other four. They simply stood there; silent; waiting.

“Relay our wishes of a peaceful existence on this planet. Cybertron is dead. We can’t return. Neither of us can. This world could be our only future. We know of Soundwave’s attack and should he return, the humans are still ill-prepared.”

“The humans know nothing about us.”

“Exactly. But for how long? One day your presence will be revealed.”

“So you want to hide here?” Barricade clarified.

“We already are. We’ve been on this world for six thousand of this planet’s years.”

::Pits…:: Jazz muttered.

“Our damage didn’t allow us to come out of stasis. When we arrived, this world was primitive but safe.”

“Why come here?”

“It was where we had tracked Megatron and the Allspark.”

::They what?!::

Barricade tilted his head. “How did you do it?”

Scrapper chuckled humorlessly. “We followed the Allspark’s trail, faint as it was, because it was the only way we could think of restoring ourselves. We crashed, we were out of power, we had to go into stasis. When we were finally functional enough to search actively, it was hidden from us.”

::This is crazy!:: Jazz exclaimed, shocked.

Barricade didn’t have to turn to know that his partner was rolling onto the site. He could read it from the sudden shift in the Constructicons. Scrapper’s visor band flickered a little, but neither pulled a weapon.

Jazz transformed and joined Barricade, his face unreadable.

“I’m Jazz, Prime’s second-in-command,” he introduced himself.

Scrapper inclined his head in acknowledgement. “We know you.”

“You’re asking for a great deal of trust here.”

“We’re aware of it. We could have harmed the humans or this world in our time awake. We didn’t. I would hope this counts for something.”

“You didn’t interfere when Megatron arrived either,” Jazz challenged.

Scrapper nodded. “We hid ourselves. It was safer. Our condition is far from battle ready.”

“And you’re missing someone.”

One of the others gave a soft rumble. It didn’t sound aggressive, just uneasy.

“Bonecrusher was off-lined ten planetary years ago,” Jazz went on.

“We know.”

“So you’ve been sitting here for that time, doing nothing? I doubt that, Scrapper.”

It got him a humorless rumble that could be interpreted as a laugh. “Bonecrusher was already lost to us. We had to fight not to lose more of us. Our arrival wasn’t simply a planetfall. We crashed and burned, as the humans like to say. Our recovery was long and painful, filled with set-backs. We didn’t have the Allspark or even a medic with the necessary energon and parts. We had only our sparks. Scavenger nearly off-lined, Mixmaster was in stasis lock for a long time period, and Hook and I tried to keep them alive as we were the ones who woke ourselves more frequently. If you want us scanned, we’ll submit to it. I know you have a technopath among you.”

Barricade felt something inside of him growl. They knew about the human! How could they? Sam Witwicky’s powers weren’t obvious!

Jazz’s optics narrowed.

“Soundwave’s attack on your base computer left us with the brief opportunity to gather enough intelligence to arrange for this meeting,” Scrapper added, sounding like he was smiling humorlessly.

“Not a way to win our trust.”

“The only way we could,” the Constructicon argued. “You have those among you old enough to remember us, what we were. I don’t say we’re still those mechs, but we’re Cybertronians, not Decepticons. We ask you to extend a little of what you gave Barricade.”

Barricade glanced at his bonded. His position with the Autobots wouldn’t have been the same if not for Jazz, for the spark bond. It was a different kind of trust, a different kind of base for the developments thereafter. The Constructicons didn’t know it.

But they knew about Sam.

“I can’t make that decision,” Jazz said neutrally, “until you give me a reason why this isn’t a Decepticon trap.”

Scrapper inclined his head. “Very well.”

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Jazz had kept his scanners fully on their backs with an almost paranoid quality until he and Barricade had put a good distance between the Constructicons and themselves. Barricade sent amusement at his partner’s behavior.

“You’re no better,” Jazz growled. “And I’m not sure I can trust what they say.”

“They wouldn’t be the first to defect.”

“True.”

Jazz knew of one or two other cases that were true defections to the Autobots’ side. Jetfire had been the most prominent because he had been such an old mech, older than even Ironhide or Prime, and he had turned his back on Megatron throughout the war. No one had heard of him since.

But the Constructicons were a different matter. They had never defected; they had been forced into servitude, their minds altered. How much of that alteration still existed? Were they truly their own now or would the changes take hold once more? They apparently hadn’t for millennia, had been on Earth for quite some time, and they were still suffering from what had happened to them.

But how much could you trust a Decepticon?

::How much do you trust me?:: Barricade asked, voice almost nasty.

::Not the same:: Jazz argued, optics flashing. ::And you know it. We’re different::

::I killed. I killed your kind, I mangled and destroyed. I was as distrusted as they are::

Jazz let a hiss of air escape, sounding like a human sigh. ::Still not the same::

It was a tough decision to make. He knew Optimus would believe the best, but he would also be cautious. Jazz was even more so.

“Let Prime decide,” Barricade rumbled.

“Yeah.” What other choice did he have?

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Since coming to this organic planet Scrapper had seen his friends and comrades worsen, turn better, then worsen again, only to show improvement. He knew how it felt; he experienced it all himself. There were days he couldn’t recall his life on Cybertron. On others it was clear as daylight – only that those memories were of death and destruction.

Their arrival on Earth had been a very long time ago and it had been a time when humanity hadn’t even started to form the societies of today. The Constructicons had crawled into a hiding place and gone into stasis, waking at infrequent times to hope for energon sources made available through the planet’s evolution. When it had become apparent that waking all five was destroying them faster and faster, those who were in the best condition would take over that duty. Every century they would go on-line and hope. Little by little, tiny steps and not more, they began to repair themselves.

Scrapper sometimes thought he could feel the changes inside his mind that Shockwave’s machine had forced onto them. It wasn’t just the connection he now shared with all Constructicons, the connection that let them become Devastator and act as one. It was something else; like a personality file that had tried to overwrite his mind. It was an intruder and it was there, but in pieces. All of them had broken free of the reprogramming, but with terrible losses and even more terrible wounds to their sparks.

It had changed them all.

There was Hook. He had always been the artist among them. He had had visions of beauty and perfection. Even the most simple job would be perfected to the nth degree. He had planned buildings of novel design, had realized sprawling vistas and towering structures. Today he was still an artist, but he had grown quieter. He worked on his own, drew up wonderful cityscapes, created buildings of the future, and then he destroyed the blueprints and erased the files.

Mixmaster was their chemist. He had been a brilliant scientist. Today you would call him a crazed alchemist. Scrapper couldn’t argue with the results of the concoctions, but it was sometimes more of a mad experiment than anything else. He had started countless fires throughout the times he had been on-line and trying to create energon for them to live on. The humans would be terrified to know that in 1871 Mixmaster had been responsible for the two biggest fires in the history of the northern American continent.

Long Haul couldn’t remember anything of the past. He could barely remember Cybertron. It was like reading a fiction novel to him. He would listen, nod, and be unable to relate to their home world. He had grown fond of Earth and he sometimes spent days on end logged into TV programs that dealt with home improvement. On one side Scrapper knew the other mech wanted to belong somewhere, but then he withdrew, unsure what connected them. Like all of them Long Haul felt Devastator’s pull on them.

Scavanger, like Long Haul, had found solace within the humans’ Net. He could be found within forums, discussion groups, on journals and email lists. He was even exchanging rather long and heated emails with one human he had found an equally minded engineer in. Scrapper had lost track of what they were arguing about, but it was apparently amusing Scavenger and he was usually in a very good mood after an email from the human.

They were all damaged. If anyone from their old lives would see them now, they would be shocked. Scrapper sometimes wondered how many of the old ones still existed – somewhere in this universe. Cybertron had perished and they were all refugees wherever they went, and their own refuge was now Earth. They could help here; in secret, behind the scenes. They could help arm this world against a possible new Decepticon attack. Their abilities were still there; they were engineers.

It was all a matter of trust.

Scrapper hoped that some amount would be extended. There was no guarantee the Autobots wouldn’t just erase them, permanently off-line these weak shadows of the former glorious group of architects.

“Might be for the best.”

He turned and shook his head. Sometimes their interconnection was too damn inconvenient. As little as individual thoughts travelled, emotional upheaval did. He looked into Hook’s solemn face.

“I won’t just roll over and die,” Scrapper told him. “We defeated Shockwave’s reprogramming. We survived.”

“Something survived. This isn’t us any more. It’s a parody.”

Scrapper’s optics flared. “You want the Decepticons to win now? Megatron is dead and we are still alive! I’m not going to give up on any of us!”

“What if Bonecrusher is permanently off-line?”

“Then we will go on. We beat Shockwave, Hook. We beat the program!”

“How do we know?” Mixmaster wanted to know, now joining them. “It could reassert itself.”

“It hasn’t in millennia.”

There was a paranoid gleam in the red optics. “Shockwave never worked without a fail-safe.”

“Which is why I want the technopath to scan us.”

The other looked uneasy. Scrapper felt anger flare brightly.

“You want to continue running? You want to leave and take your chances out there? Starscream would tear us apart. Soundwave would annihilate our sorry existence in a nano-second. Shockwave… he would probably torture us to regain control! This was our decision, Hook! All of us together. We will wait for the Autobots’ decision.”

And he hoped Optimus Prime was still the Prime he remembered. Someone who didn’t kill in cold blood.

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“All of them are here?” Optimus asked levelly.

Jazz nodded. “All five; and not in good condition, Prime.”

Barricade nodded his own agreement. “It’s a miracle they survived. I would have suspected they’d be in the Pits by now.”

Prime was one of the few among them who was as old as the mechs in question, though he had only ever met their team leader personally. It had been such a long time ago, like in a different life, when Cybertron had still experienced its Golden Age. A peaceful time, a time that would never come back. He remembered Scrapper only faintly, as an impressive, talented and very proud architect; an engineer of great talent with a lot of ideas on how to evolve Cybertron’s architecture.

Then the war had broken out and they had been victims of a different kind of attack. Optimus had learned of the Modulator too late to help anyone who had been forced to undergo the reprogramming. Many had never made it as far as the Constructicons. They had perished right after the Modulator had been done with them. Shockwave had gone through many victims until he had perfected the machine.

“Who are the Constructicons?” Sam asked.

“They were once six individuals,” Optimus told the human, voice grave. “They were the best architects, engineers and artists of Cybertron. Their prime achievement was the creation of Crystal City. Until then no one had dared build with crystalline structures for more than decorative reasons. When Megatron gathered his forces he tried to win them over to his side. They refused. They were without a faction. They were Cybertronians.”

Sam nodded. “Wise.”

“Maybe, but at the time not at all. Megatron tried to coerce them into servitude, but they kept refusing. He off-lined them, then had Shockwave change them.”

“How can you change a mech? I didn’t think you could force them into becoming Autobot or Decepticon.”

“Until Shockwave. He developed a device to alter their brain structure. He called it the Modulator. Bonecrusher’s new personality you met.”

Sam grimaced. “Yeah. I guess he wasn’t always a killing berserker?”

“No. He was a perfectionist, saw beauty in even the dreariest of places, and he was the force behind all projects. He leveled the fields for the others to build on them.”

“They were altered, all of them,” Jazz added. “The Constructicons did not initially have the power to merge into Devastator. That ability was given to them by Megatron after he warped their minds into servitude. He had a superior soldier, a war machine of unprecedented power. Devastator honored his name: he devastated Cybertron.”

“The combiner mind rebelled against the individual programming,” Barricade said darkly. “Shockwave’s device worked well on single minds, but by forming the combiner mind he dug his own grave. Devastator was six minds forced to work as one; it blew up in his face. The Constructicons were put into stasis and used as individuals who were easier to control.”

“Like Bonecrusher,” Optimus agreed.

“Yes. The remaining five woke up again to a destroyed planet and tried to find their missing member. Apparently the combiner mind isn’t completely gone. They’re no longer what they were before Megatron got his hands on them, but they aren’t Decepticons.”

Optimus studied the shock trooper and former Decepticon silently. Barricade me the blue optics of the much taller mech without fear. There was a defiance in his expression that was curious.

“You trust them?” he asked.

“Yes,” was the immediate answer.

“It could all be a time bomb effect. We don’t know what the reprogramming did to them. Bonecrusher was willing to slay whoever or whatever got into his way.”

“And now he’s dead,” Sam argued. “Or at least we think he should be. If he’s alive…”

Ratchet shook his head. “I scanned all shells. No spark was so much as flickering.”

“Theirs are very much alive,” Barricade stated flatly. “This isn’t about one Constructicon, this is about the five survivors.”

“You ask us to place a lot of trust into their word.”

Barricade was silent for a second and Sam shifted uneasily, then squared his shoulders and looked up at the Autobot leader.

“I offer to scan them.”

Optimus’ optics widened slightly. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. They asked for me and I can help them.”

“It’s too dangerous.”

“I have two safety nets, Optimus, and I can do it. If they’re potential allies, we have to know.”

“No.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“I can only ask you not to do it.”

“But I will. Barricade already has the Constructicons’ agreement to the deal. They’ll submit to a scan.”

Prime looked downright shocked, then shot the former Decepticon a dark look. Barricade didn’t say anything.

“They’ve been on Earth long enough to cause havoc and haven’t,” Sam argued. “Bonecrusher was a maniac because he was still under Shockwave’s control, but the others deserve a chance. They were forced to follow Megatron. It’s an injustice you can’t just ignore, Optimus!”

“You’re right. I can’t. I also can’t send you into such a dangerous situation.”

“I won’t be alone and I won’t be helpless. It’s a decision I already made, Optimus.”

It was like a battle of wills, in words and in looks, and finally Optimus nodded slowly. “Bumblebee will accompany you, too.”

Sam glanced at his partner, who had held back, but who was clearly upset. He was shielding against him and he knew he would get an earful from Bumblebee later.

“I’m not a child, Prime. I’ll wear the armor. Barricade will be there.”

“I have a lot of faith in a shock-trooper’s skills, but he is one against five.”

Barricade’s optics flared briefly, but he didn’t say anything.

“Bumblebee or anyone else will only spook them!”

“I’ll come along halfway,” Bumblebee finally spoke up. “As a compromise.”

Sam sighed. “Okay. Worry warts!”

::You’re my friend, Sam. Of course I worry:: Bumblebee sent.

::I don’t mind the friendly worry, but this is a little excessive, Bee!::

;;Not when it comes to Decepticons::

Sam bit back another argument and simply relented.

“Sam.”

He looked up and met Prime’s serene, equally worried gaze.

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated.

“I pray to the Allspark you will be.”

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Bumblebee’s arguments to rethink what he was about to do hadn’t stopped Sam. The Autobot would have to stay back far enough for the Constructicons not to make a run because they felt threatened, which was enough of a distance to also make a technopathic connection fragile to mostly impossible. He wasn’t dependent on his partner for mental stability. Of course he would have felt a lot better with Bumblebee there; no argument. As it was, the situation didn’t give him that luxury.

What he had was Barricade.

The former Decepticon had actually approached him on his own and told him in no uncertain words that he would be there throughout the whole meeting. A part of Sam had bristled at the implication that he wasn’t strong enough; another part had almost sobbed in relief.

Now he sat inside the Saleen, nervousness spreading. They weren’t alone, but facing five new minds…

… five new minds Will hadn’t detected either, a part of him reminded him darkly.

But who knew what Will’s abilities truly were? What if his brief foray into the detection of sparks had only shown the strongest?

Sam ran a hand through his short hair, feeling his nerves rise once more.

A low growl ran through the Mustang and he flinched.

“Anchor,” Barricade snarled. It was almost a command.

“I don’t need…”

“I can feel your mind jitter,” Barricade told him coldly. “Anchor.”

Sam closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. It was so humiliating to be so needy!

::Your abilities are needed. You lose your usefulness if you refuse to give in to your own needs::

Sam was close to just kicking the other out of his mind. He wasn’t a baby! He wasn’t needy! He wasn’t a tool!

But he did as Barricade had commanded, feeling his nervousness even out as he touched the coolness, the control, the darkness. Barricade radiated a smugness that had Sam want to really kick him now, but he held back. He glared at the dash instead.



Five miles away from the meeting point Sam put on the armor developed by Tony Stark. It was lighter than the Iron Man suit, but just as resilient, and he had some light armament.

“Ready,” he murmured as he got back into the Saleen.

Barricade didn’t say anything as he drove the last miles.

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The building was a long abandoned theater complex which had housed one of the biggest screens of its time, showing regular box office hits and always one of the first addresses for the theater lovers. Then a larger complex had opened fifteen miles away, closer to the city, offering cheaper entrance fees, more entertainment, more room and better service in the eyes of the younger generation. So the theater had closed down and no one had ever bought the building or torn it down. It was simply there. And now it served the Constructicons as a hiding place. They had removed all unnecessary features and dug deep into the ground, making the theater large enough for them to transform in.

All within twenty-four hours after arriving in the almost abandoned town of Riviere-Rouge.
What had once been a flourishing community had suffered severe blowbacks in the early 1920s and ever since the exodus had taken place. Today there wasn’t even a post office and town life had come to an abrupt halt. A few farms miles away were all the population Riviere-Rouge still called its own.

It was perfect for alien mechanoids to meet.

Barricade rolled to a stop inside the theater complex and Sam got out, looking uneasily around. “They’re here.”

It wasn’t a question. He could feel them. Not like he had felt the newness of first Arcee, then Hot Rod and finally Sideswipe among the Autobot ranks. That had been the introduction of one after the other. This was… like a massive thunder storm front hovering on the horizon of his mind. It wasn’t touching him yet, but it was dangerous and he should stay clear as long as he could.

Barricade transformed. As if this had been the cue, Sam caught his first glimpse of the Constructicons as they approached.

About Ratchet’s size, though all varying in total height, they looked less bulky than the mechs he had seen so far. Still, nothing about a Cybertronian was as met the eye. He had learned that already. Their protoform structure was dense enough to use material stored there to turn into additional armor if need arose. From the present shape Sam had no clue as to what they might transform into. All shared the common look of sharp angles, spikes protruding from their armor, and harsh edges.

Their color scheme was a variety of dirty yellow, sand and brown, mixed in with a stripe of green or blue. The structure underneath the armor was dark gray or a dusty silver. Two had visor band optics – Scrapper and Hook, his mind whispered. They were the ones who also had a mouth guard not unlike Optimus in his battle mode. One of them featured a crane-like extension on his back with a vicious looking hook. The hands were a wide variety of human-like digits with five fingers each, grappling mechanisms with only three ‘fingers’ or even claws.

Scrapper, Hook, Mixmaster, Long Haul and Scavenger.

Long Haul in particular had a terrifying face. Not unlike Barricade, Sam mused, just with fangs. Scavenger’s protrusions on his back looked like half-finished, skeletal wings, and Hook had four whip-like, sectioned tentacles.

Sam knew them without knowing them. He knew their designations, but nothing more. He knew because Barricade supplied their identities, and because his mind was already assessing their minds’ emissions.

For all their difference though, they had one common trait: they looked like they needed some very extensive repair time. Not even Bumblebee had looked this bad after Mission City – and he had had his legs blown off.

::Junkions look better:: Barricade agreed, displaying his dark humor.

Sam got a brief image of what a Junkion looked like and he had to agree. Junkions had a very unique physiology and seemed to consist of mismatched parts that still worked perfectly together. The rusty appearance was just that: appearance. As expert mechanics they kept in very good shape. The Constructicons were another matter. They looked like junkyard rejects just before a final shut-down.

From the way Mixmaster and Long Haul felt, they would fare better in stasis lock.

Still, for all their appearance, Sam had never been so glad than now to have Barricade’s cool but firm presence in the back of his mind. Where he usually used Bumblebee as an anchor he now relied completely on the one who had trained him in the use of his abilities. While the five newcomers didn’t attack the technopath in any form, their presence alone was putting pressure on him. Five unstable minds were worse than one strong one with bad memories.

Barricade stood behind him, battle-ready, prepared to defend himself as well as the human should one of the Constructicons get out of line. They were all larger than the shock-trooper, but Sam had learned early on that size didn’t matter. It were your abilities and your fire-power. Barricade was a terrible foe.

Scrapper, the apparent leader of the former architects, regarded him with curiosity. A brief brush of technopath powers gave Sam a first impression. The mind he encountered was shielded, but it was very different from those he had touched before. It had nothing to do with the past affiliation with the Decepticons. The shield was coarse, unsophisticated, and apparently not meant to be there. It was like a hastily erected brick wall, one without mortar between the cracks. It had been patched up a hundred times, and it was suffering under a pressure that came from several sides.

Strange. Intriguing.

Scrapper went down on one knee and part of Sam, the insane and giddy part, wondered if the mech could get up again without tearing a muscle cable.

“You are the technopath?” he wanted to know.

Sam nodded, feeling a lot less confident now than he had when he had told Optimus he was ready to do this. The others weren’t far, but right now it was him and Barricade. It didn’t matter that he was in his battle armor. It didn’t matter that he could defend himself. The odds were… five against two.

“My name is Scrapper. My team are Hook, Long Haul, Scavenger and Mixmaster.”

Each Constructicon nodded as his name was listed.

“We submit freely to a scan,” Scrapper told him.

“Uh, thanks.”

“We only ask for a chance to see if Bonecrusher can still be helped.”

“That’s not for me to decide,” Sam worded his response carefully. “You’ll have to talk to Optimus Prime about it.”

“I will.”

Sam wasn’t sure there was anything left of Bonecrusher to save. The remains of all mechs fallen in the Mission City battle had been thoroughly checked and then sunk into the sea. Then again, Soundwave had apparently believed Megatron was still alive, too.

“How do you want to do this?” Sam asked bravely.

“Do what you have to do.”

Sam felt his nerves rise once again. He could feel Barricade’s physical presence, sensing the closeness of metal, and he nodded slowly.

“I can’t promise what this makes you feel.”

Scrapper’s expression was humorless. The others were going down on the floor, too, like preparing for an execution. Sam felt unwell with those thoughts. He didn’t intend to harm them; any of them. If they spoke the truth, they were victims of a terrible war.

::Let’s do this:: he sent.

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In an instant, the world had turned alien.

First there had been nothing but blackness, then the lights came back, rushing by like some kind of simulator game, streaks of blue, white and red, merging, twisting, spiraling. Little yellow and green bubbles and stars popped up, exploding, spraying grains of light, then dying again.

Images appeared around him. First nothing but space, unknown planets rotating lazily beneath his feet, asteroids streaking by, the twin suns blazing cold heat. The space image faded and Sam almost imagined setting down with a little thud as the new landscape unfolded around him. It was incredible, awe-inspiring, and he had never thought he would see anything remotely like it. Sam took an experimental step forward, his brain rallying to work in this new environment. He was standing on some kind of platform, a walkway just in front of him. There were similar walkways all around him, as well as fantastic bridges that stretched over endless rows of buildings or snaked between towering spires. The buildings were gigantic, larger than life, and clearly made up from someone's imaging system. Nothing like this could be real. Tiny windows dotted the structures, some illuminated, but most of them dark. Nothing moved in this strange landscape.

In the distance, a mountain range rose to meet the orange-brown sky, the peaks strangely greenish yellow. The colors here were completely off. Sam walked over the first bridge and carefully scanned for any sign of trouble. Underneath him, broad, watery bands of light flowed. They had different colors and there seemed to be something inside the water, but it was hard to determine what it was. All the rivers flowed into the same direction, some faster, some slower.

This wasn’t like Barricade’s mind. This was far more complex. This wasn’t just one mind; this was a conglomeration of six. He was in the middle of it all, able to walk wherever he wanted from this nexus.

::Scrapper?::

::I can feel you, human:: was the reply and Scrapper’s presence was the first he felt coming out of the surreal surroundings.

::This is all of you?:: Sam asked.

::It is what we are now. It is… what is left…::

Sam cocked his head, then felt more than heard the explanation. This had come out of Shockwave’s manipulations. He had fused them on some basic level to be able to interact as Devastator. Six individuals could never form a new mechanoid. Each was too much his own person. The reprogramming had taken care of that. The Constructicons had connected and this nexus had formed.

Sam looked for Bonecrusher’s connection. He found it represented as a dark, forbidding wall. Like a thunder shower hovering not far away, black clouds and ill winds that didn’t come closer but also didn’t leave.

::You never tried to contact him?::

::It hurt:: Scrapper only replied.

From the looks of it, it probably still did. Sam turned away, shivering a little.

::You know that my scans will go deeper than they are now?:: he asked Scrapper.

::We’re all aware of it::

And Sam was aware of the cool anchor that held him just in case he got lost. He briefly turned to Barricade, took in the healthy strength of the other’s mind, and tried not to compare it to the darkness of Bonecrusher’s connection.

::Ready?::

It got him something like a humorless chuckle. ::As you humans would say: as ready as we’ll ever be::

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Barricade had developed something almost like a sixth sense when it came to the human’s technopathy. He felt Sam use his abilities to log onto something that wasn’t himself, at least when it was on such a concentrated, massive scale. Thankfully, he added. Feeling the human interface with his Autobot partner wasn’t something he particularly wanted to know about.

Sam had his eyes on Scrapper, whose optics had dimmed and then switched off. The other Constructicons followed not much later and silence descended. There was only the occasional whirr from inside motionless exo-skeletons, but Barricade kept his scanners on full.

::Barricade?:: Jazz asked through a private, heavily secured channel.

::Situation under control:: he replied cryptically. ::Tell the human’s guardian to stand down for now. He will be needed later::

::Understood::

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Sam approached carefully, one step at a time. He let the five individuals get acquainted to the intruder. Finally he started. He turned to the strongest presence, the leader.

Scrapper had a feel of modesty and brilliance about him. A master constructor, an architect of immense talent, a leader who cared for those under his command, and a wounded spark.

Shockwave’s device had left deep scars on the spark and Sam felt revolted at the sight. It was like a violation, a… rape… There were memories that were as terrible as they were scary. They consisted of things that Scrapper, the Scrapper of now, didn’t understand. He knew it was what he had done, but he couldn’t recall doing it.

Like a fine net five lines stretched out, almost like the bond between him and Bumblebee, but not as harmonious or even. It was a connection that was incredibly strong and it combined not two but six individual minds. All six were drawn into one and that one was Devastator. One line was severely damaged, almost fractured, and Sam knew where it led. Bonecrusher.

::We have to function like this:: Scrapper said, apparently able to pick up his curiosity and fear. ::It was never our choice. When we are Devastator, we’re forced to be one. Our minds become a sluggish pool. We function, but don’t think for ourselves. When we separate, it’s a shock to the system::

Sam understood. He could see it. A dozen scars from the separations, a dozen more from failures to disengage from the large mind.

::Why do you want Bonecrusher back then? You don’t want to combine. It’s harming each of you. It’s a forced existence::

::If your Autobots find a way to keep us individuals, we’d all gladly take the chance. Bonecrusher is a victim like all of us. He didn’t deserve the death he got. If there is a way to save what’s left of him, I’ll do it. If he was permanently off-lined, I’ll accept::

::It was Optimus who killed him:: Sam reminded him. ::How could you exist with that knowledge?::

::No. The Prime didn’t kill Bonecrusher. It was Shockwave long before that. He wiped our minds. He killed us. We’re all shadows of our former selves. We have our skills, but I’ve giant holes in my memories. I’m not who I was millennia ago. None of us are::



He came around to the sound of voices and some cluttering, as if heavy bodies were falling onto the floor. It was a tremendous effort to lift his head and his optics were still cloudy. They cleared a bit, but the fuzzy edge remained. What he saw made him wish that he couldn't see it at all. On the floor in front of him lay two mechs, both off-line. One was Scavenger, his chest torn, liquids dripping lazily out of it. The other, Mixmaster, showed a shot wound in the chest. Of the others there was no sign.



Sam shivered.

The scene switched.



There was a fuzzy memory of how he had gotten here, Scavenger knew as he tried to convince his optic sensors to focus. He remembered a gun flashing, then... nothing. Slowly his mind supplied him with the missing facts and with an effort he lifted his head and looked around. He was strapped to a vertical table or something like it, inside a lab. Cables ending in electrodes were attached to his head and chest. No one was here. As he turned his head he discovered a familiar figure.

"Hook!" he whispered, his voice rough.

The engineer was a gruesome sight. His chest had been mauled open and disconnected cables and circuitry could be seen, partly hanging out of the chest. Several liquids had spilled, including fuel, covering his body and staining the floor. A long cut went from his hip to his left knee, exposing muscle cables and more circuits. He was, like Scavenger, strapped in a spread eagle position to a standing table.

At the sound of Scavenger 's voice he lifted his head, his optics glowing weakly. "Sc’ver," he rasped.

Scrapper flinched at the weak and scratchy sound of his friend’s voice. An irrational anger rose inside of him.



The scene switched.



Mixmaster was conscious, but what he felt was something he might have wanted to miss. His chest hurt, his limbs were paralyzed and his mind was working with only half the normal speed. He knew he was in a bad state, even without consulting his internal damage report, but he also knew that he was in no immediate danger of dying. He drifted off into the blackness again.



The scene switched.



His repair programs had managed to dim out most of the pain signals and get him at least partly operational again. Long Haul groaned as he levered himself into a sitting position. He was low on energon and his repair would consume too much for him to move comfortably, so he shut them down. He just had to live with the pain. Looking around he saw that he was in a cell, though there were no energy bars in front of it. They had simply dumped him here, leaving him to rot until Shockwave decided when to deal with him. No one had thought that he might get mobile again.



The scene switched.



The pain was incredible.

It was wiping his mind, erasing all thought, all emotion, all memory. He was losing himself, thrown out of his consciousness and scattered into oblivion.

Nothingness.

Then a connection, forced into a much larger mind, drowning in alien thoughts…



Sam tried to channel the images, refused to drown in them as he had so often before on other occasions. He could do this; he had offered this. Calling on his training, on his experience, on his will-power, he forced it all into order. He dove into the combiner’s minds – plural, not ever singular – and looked deeper and more intensely than anyone probably ever had – or would.

He was flung back to a time he had been witness to before, just through the eyes of someone else.



………."They are breaking through! I repeat, they are breaking...." The rest of the message was lost in the void of a cut link.


………. Long Haul never saw it coming. One moment he was moving toward the tunnels, the next everything seemed to twist around him. There was a loud noise, like an explosion, then there was nothing anymore.


……… And he woke to death and destruction, a world he had known for all his existence wiped clean of life.


……… Scavenger staggered through the ruins, too confused to register much around him.


………. Scrapper stood outside the ruins, his optics gazing around the destruction that greeted him. He was unable to really comprehend what he saw. Nothing stood anymore. The wonderful cities had been leveled except for a few walls and smoke was curling up into the sky. Fires burned in the distance and here and there something exploded. The surface looked like one gigantic wound.

He had no idea how many lives this war had claimed or how many were wounded or buried somewhere under the ruins. He only knew that they had survived, though he didn't believe in a victory.

"Great Cybertron," he whispered hoarsely.



Sam had by now the role of a watcher where nothing touched him. He could feel the pain, but it wasn’t his. He now had a healthy distance to it – which didn’t mean he couldn’t overload and get the migraine of hell.

The Constructicons had left. Gathering their last strength, they had launched from their home world and sought safety in space. Away from a place they had helped destroy.

Sam reeled back, shocked, breathless, feeling a pain that wasn’t physical.



Screams echoed in the silence of the destruction; screams of the dying.



The Constructicons had built whole cities on their homeworld. And Devastator had turned them into ruins. Crystal City was nothing but a memory now. Just like the Constructicons.

They had come to Earth, had followed the Allspark in hope for survival.

::The Allspark is gone:: he told the five minds.

::You cannot destroy the Allspark. It’s more than a physical thing, more than just the cube. It’s energy and it went somewhere. One day it might reform somewhere::

Sam froze. ::It’s gone:: he insisted.

The presence that was Hook shifted closer, weak and frayed badly at the edges. ::It’s still there. In pieces. Like us::

The others agreed, sending Sam’s mind reeling. The Allspark had changed him and it had changed Lennox. The last shard had actually fused with Will.

Without another word he stepped back, reached behind him, felt Barricade’s reassuring anchoring weight, and finally let the dark presence pull him out of the combiner mind.

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Mixmaster and Scavenger had shut down, though it wasn’t stasis lock. It was the need to recharge, something all Constructicons had to do a lot more often than regular mechs. Whole, sane and functional mechs. They were neither. Sanity was a matter of interpretation, especially with Mixmaster, but whole and functional couldn’t be applied to any of them..

The experience with the human technopath had drained the two weakest and weakened the three others. Scrapper himself was only able to keep his body from shutting down because Hook had given him an energon boost. Hook and Long Haul had transformed, unable to keep their bipedal modes, and were as shaken as their leader.

Technopathy wasn’t new to them. Soundwave had been one of those able to enter other minds. They hadn’t expected a human to be so powerful, though. The human had delved deep inside and upset their precarious balance.

Scrapper could still feel the human’s reluctance, the care he had taken in not harming them any further, and he was thankful for it. Still, his respect was immense.

Barricade had taken the human away after the scan. Sam Witwicky had almost collapsed, barely able to coordinate his movements, and Scrapper felt with him. The Constructicons reflected this shock to the system.

::Do you think they will accept us?:: Hook sent.

::I hope so. I pray to Primus they will. It’s our only chance:: Scrapper answered.

Long Haul radiated distress and the others winced. Like always, emotional upheaval leaked through the combiner link to them all. Their curse.

::Even the Autobots can’t separate us ever again:: Hook added. ::We’re scrapped::

::NO! No, I don’t believe it. We survived everything so far. There has to be a way to continue:: Scrapper said forcefully.

At least he hoped so. If not they would have to lock themselves into stasis again, hoping that in time there would be a solution to their problem.

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Every step was an effort. The pain behind his eyes was merciless, blinding, and the light was like agonizing little stabs right into his brain. Sam walked unsteadily over to the battered, old couch that had survived the Constructions’ remodelling. Carefully he lowered himself down, moving like an old man. He felt old. Everything hurt. His brain was ready to explode. His head felt like it would just split at the seams and let that happen.

Sinking back he moaned silently at the on-going noise. He wanted to just tune it all out, make it disappear.

Every thought hurt.

Every little notion of grasping reality had him wince and wish for relief.

So he stopped thinking, blanked his mind, wanting nothing more than the darkness of sleep.

What he got were memories that weren’t his own, that tortured the Constructicons. Some were so vague, he couldn’t say whose memory it was.



It had been a representative city once. Now it was a molten heap, a ruin, the occasional spark speaking of cut wires and broken circuits. Here and there smoke rose into the sky, small fires still burning, most of them electrical.

Nothing moved.

No sound but the crackle and snap of tortured metal and dead circuits.

And then a small heap of debris moved. Slowly, painfully, almost as if in slow motion, something sneaked out from under the heap. It was a hand, one finger torn off, exposing circuits, the others badly burned. The back of the hand was blistered from heat, as was the rest of the arm. Then the movement stopped, the hand went limp.



Sam screwed his eyes shut, pulling in all his shields, relying on his mental exercises to relieve the pressure of five damaged minds he had scanned. He longed for Bumblebee, the familiar feel of his friend and partner, but he couldn’t have that right now. He was on his own and he didn’t want to unload all of that on Barricade.

::Stupid human:: the former Decepticon rumbled, a cool voice in his too hot mind.

And then there was nothing but that cool darkness and Sam let go of his last shields with a groan of relief.

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::He is fine:: Barricade sent, using a secure connection to Bumblebee. ::He was exhausted by taking on a combiner mind of five::

Bumblebee felt uneasy, his emotions leaking through, and the shock trooper shot him an icy hiss of static. If this was their relationship, so be it, but getting emotional about such a simple mission was unacceptable. Should Starscream, Soundwave or even Shockwave ever bring Decepticons to Earth and a battle ensued, the two bonded needed to be cool-headed. Sam Witwicky had more control than his so-called guardian. He let that trickle through and got a growl of offense back.

Barricade radiated nasty satisfaction. ::Get yourself together, Autobot. He is fine. I won’t let him get harmed::

Bumblebee shifted with unease, but he had to yield to the knowledge that Barricade had done so in the past and had no intention of ever betraying the technopath.

The Saleen turned back to monitoring the area had retreated to when Sam had needed a rest. It was the back of the theater complex, a building set back a little, and aside from a brief message and inquiry from Scrapper, none of the Constructicons had come close. Barricade knew from the past that it would take Sam a while to recover, though he was getting better at it. His mind could take a beating and he would shake it off after a while. He estimated another twenty minutes.

Until then he remained watchful.

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Sam woke to a terrible headache. It seemed to split his skull, radiating from his forehead to his back and he groaned softly. His eyes were closed and every move hurt. Nausea rose inside of him and he swallowed several times. He blinked his eyes open and quickly shut them again. The light hurt.

Blindly he reached out and felt Barricade’s even presence, and he clung to it until the headache subsided enough for him to try again.

And hell, it still hurt. But this time Sam grit his teeth and suffered through the pain, suppressing a whimper.

::You’re safe:: the even presence that was Barricade told him without him asking.

Safe. Good. Very good.

He was inside the Saleen, curled on the seat like a little kid… yeah, embarrassment big time.

“Where are they?” he rasped.

“Inside. Scrapper apologized for the overload.”

“I left a real good impression,” Sam whispered sarcastically. “Not his fault, though. Didn’t expect it, really.”

Barricade snorted. “Neither did they. You sent Mixmaster into a mild shock and had Hook cower from you. Whatever you did, you have their respect now.”

Sam got himself into a sitting position. To his mild amusement he found there was a large bag of chocolates on the dash. He took it gratefully.

“This is bad,” he said as he leaned back into the seat and munched on something filled with caramel. “They are so fractured, so badly torn, it’s a miracle they’re still functional on such a high level. What Shockwave did was cruel and probably never intended to last longer than it actually did. They were tools to be used and then discarded. They survived, but at a terrible price.”

Barricade was silent, attentive, listening closely.

“I’m not sure what it is, but it feels like they’re one mind and then again not. They hate becoming Devastator because it robs them of their individuality, but as individuals they’re still aware of the others and part of the whole. They hate it, but they can’t exist sanely without it. Probably why Bonecrusher was such a nutcase.”

Barricade snorted. “He was a destructive berserker. A very simple-minded one.”

Sam nodded, finishing a chocolate bar. “Now the rest of them are asking for sanctuary. They want Earth as their refuge.”

The Saleen hummed thoughtfully.

“I believe them,” Sam added.

“Of course you do.”

He glared at the dash. “I’m not some simple-minded, trusting, weak human!” Sam snapped.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it!”

“I will blame the headache and your exhaustion for your poor judgment, human. You believe them because you touched their minds, went through their memories, and essentially were them for the time you connected.”

Sam blinked. “Uh…”

Barricade chuckled darkly. “You really are exhausted. Your organic brain is unable to process the simplest facts.”

Like the fact that Sam had been so deeply inside Barricade’s mind that he knew the former Decepticon inside out, too. He knew the darkest recesses of his mind.

With a sigh Sam scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. Stupid me. Mush brain doesn’t help.”

“It helps in giving the Constructicons the break they need.”

“Probably.” Sam smiled.

Suddenly Barricade tensed. It was just a feeling Sam had of the mech coiling into a defensive mode, but as a technopath he sensed it. Scrapper had appeared and was waiting patiently at a distance, optics on the Saleen. Sam opened the door and got out, feeling a little wobbly. Barricade immediately transformed.

“You saw more than we probably remember on our own,” the Constructicon leader said. “Was it enough to know that we don’t mean any harm on this planet?”

Sam nodded.

“I would like to talk with the Prime,” Scrapper went on.

“I could ask him.”

“Please give your friends this.” He held out a small data carrier between his thumb and forefinger.

“What is it?”

“A peace offering. It’s not a weapon. A simple data disk.”

Sam cocked his head, then took it carefully. It was what Scrapper had told him it would be, and he was curious. The Construction looked at Barricade.

“You know where to find us.”

The other mech nodded, then transformed and let Sam climb inside.




As they left the near-ghost town the black and white Saleen was joined by a yellow Camaro and not much later by a silver Solstice. Sam didn’t transfer physically into Bumblebee, but he readily accepted the safety and stability – and familiarity – of his partner’s mind. Barricade didn’t try to stop him in any way. He instead turned to Jazz for an exchange of information.

::Are you all right, Sam?:: Bumblebee asked.

He smiled. ::Tired, but yeah, I’m fine. I’m not sure I can say the same about the Constructicons, Bee. They’re a fused personality matrix and whatever someone does, he would eventually kill them in an attempt to separate them back into complete, autonomous individuals::

Bumblebee shared his feeling of pain at the thought. All mechs could link to another some way or the other. It was how they exchanged information. But to be forever, cruelly and forcefully fused to five other minds… it was beyond his computing powers.

Sam regarded the data carrier. A token of good will, whatever it contained.

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Sam nodded off throughout the long drive back. Barricade gave him a little jolt as they entered the industrial area that had been chosen as a safe place to meet with the others. It was already late and not a soul in sight. He yawned and tried to wake.

“Do you need nourishment?” Barricade asked, voice inflectionless.

“No. Coffee, yeah, but I’m fine technopathically speaking.”

He got out of the police cruiser and Barricade transformed, remaining behind him as Bumblebee joined his partner. Jazz was next to his own spark-bonded and looked at Optimus Prime.

“Nothing happened,” Sam told them. “I’m okay. They asked me to give you this,” He held up a small data carrier. Small for Cybertronians, but the size of a laptop in humans terms.

Ratchet took the data carrier carefully and inserted it into a reading device. His optics flared a little as he took in the content.

“What is it, Ratchet?” Prime asked.

“These are plans. Building plans. Construction plans.”

“What for?” Ironhide wanted to know.

“A satellite station. Using the Ark as a base for it, these plans tell us how to convert the ship into a satellite defense station!”

Ratchet projected the plans as a holographic, two-dimensional image and everyone gazed at them in surprise.

“It’s their offering,” Sam told Optimus. “They don’t want to build it; should you ask for their help they would assist, though.”

“This is amazing,” Ratchet murmured, scrolling through very detailed plans. “Really amazing.”

“Could be a trap,” Ironhide remarked.

“How?” Sam challenged. “Using the plans will make the Ark blow up? How could they work in such faults? You’d see them right away!”

“You’re too innocent, kid,” Ironhide told him. “You want to trust the wrong guys.”

“I know them, Ironhide.”

“You know them?” the mech echoed, sounding. “How can you know a Decepticon?”

“I’m a technopath,” Sam snapped. “I’ve been in their minds! I saw the scars! I felt their pain! There’s no hiding from me on that level!”

Bumblebee stepped forward. “It’s true, Ironhide.”

“You want to tell me that nothing can be hidden?”

Sam smiled humorlessly. “Want me to demonstrate? Want to join me for a training session? I can show you.”

Ironhide rumbled something. “If I believe you saw right into their sparks…”

“Then you have to believe I do the same to Barricade when we train and that he lets me,” Sam finished, voice hard.

Ironhide’s expression said it all. Sam huffed and shook his head.

“I’ve been training for ten years and now you start wondering for the first time?”

“Your abilities are unique, Sam,” Optimus interrupted their argument. “I trust in them. None of us can even imagine seeing and experiencing what you do when you touch our minds. I ask you, would you trust them with your life?”

Sam silently pondered the question. “I trust them not to hurt me, or anyone else, as long as we aren’t trying to harm them. What they offer, they do out of their own free will – and it’s been a long time since they had any.”

“The programs Shockwave inserted are still there,” Ratchet spoke up.

“Shattered,” Sam explained. “It’s like walking through broken glass. Tiny, tiny shards. Some are beyond recognition. Their own defenses destroyed what Shockwave tried to make them.”

“What about Bonecrusher?” Optimus asked.

“I’m not sure. They don’t know if he’s dead and I can’t give them the certainty either. What I see is a black wall. He could be there, a tiny flicker of his spark. He could be dead.”

“Raising him from the ocean floor would involve the human military,” Bumblebee said. “And I doubt there’s anything left of him.”

“If we gave them Bonecrusher they could form Devastator once more,” Optimus added quietly.

“Prime, if you had seen what this forced combination does to them…” Sam stopped, shaking his head. “It’s horrible. It’s… turning six individuals into one mind… forcing them to think the same thoughts, feel the same emotions… they’re scarred. Heavily scarred. Each time they had to submit, it was by force. The program tore them apart and merged them into something they were not. Devastator was slow and brutish because synchronizing six minds took up such computing power, there was no room for anything else.”

Optimus went down on one knee and looked into the determined face. “You trust them not to harm anyone if we leave them be?”

The technopath nodded. “They want refuge. They want to heal – as much as that is possible for them to do.”

“Then I’ll talk to them in person.”

“Optimus!” Ironhide started to protest.

The look Prime shot him shut the weapons specialist up. The Autobot leader transformed and opened one door.

“Now?” Sam asked, surprised.

“Now,” came the deep voice from the truck.

He shrugged and got in. Bumblebee wasn’t happy, nor did Barricade feel all that pleased, but he told both that it would be okay. He could get some rest later.

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Prime knew he was putting a lot of faith into the words of a young human -- who happened to be a technopath. It was the technopathy that made Optimus trust him. Sam was powerful, his abilities were not be underestimated, and a brief conversation in private with Barricade had only confirmed it. Sam wasn’t just thinking that they could trust the Constructicons. He knew it. He had seen it in their minds. He was the only one who could, aside from maybe a very invasive scan done by Ratchet.

He wouldn’t let anyone be submitted to that.

Sam was silent throughout the ride, eyes on the road, looking lost in thought.

Optimus suddenly pulled over. It was an abandoned rest stop, the pumps long demolished, the gasoline in the tanks removed. The cashier’s building was only a skeleton now.

“Optimus?”

“You know I trust you, Samuel.”

Sam frowned. “Yes?”

“And I trust in your abilities.”

“Uh, yes?”

“My time on your world has taught me many lessons, but history makes it hard to believe that something as vicious as Shockwave’s Modulator could be bested.”

Sam’s frown deepened. “But you said…”

“I know what I said and I stand by my word. I only ask you to show me what you scanned.”
The technopath gaped at him. “What?!” he finally exclaimed.

“I know you can do it. Barricade told me.”

Sam’s face was pale, his hands clenching into the seat. “I only did it once, in a training. It got out of control. The backlash for your guys is murderous.”

“I am aware of that. Show me, Sam.”

“Prime…”

“Their past is my past. Let me see what they saw,” Optimus told the human.

He could read the distress Sam was under, could scan his elevated heart rate, his rising blood pressure, his spiking adrenaline. Sam didn’t want to do this because it hurt and Optimus was proud that the technopath had these worries. Despite his training with a ruthless killer and shock-trooper, Sam was still very much human. And Barricade was more than his past designation told of him, too.

“Okay,” the young man finally whispered. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

And for the first time, Optimus Prime truly experienced Sam Witwicky’s powers.

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The truck pulled into an empty lot that was surrounded by ramshackle warehouses that would soon be torn down. Huge signs proclaimed that a new exclusive housing community would take their place. The Constructicons had switched meeting places yet again.

Sam got out of the truck and Optimus transformed, looking around. On the outside the Autobot leader looked the same, but in his mind terrifying images told him a story he had not expected. Part of him wondered how the young human could take all this. Maybe for the first time he truly understood what Sam was doing, what Barricade was training him to endure, what the former Decepticon himself was facing when he got caught by Sam’s powers, and his respect rose even more.

“What will happen to them?” the technopath finally broke the silence.

“It depends on them,” Prime answered.

“They were Decepticons.”

It was a taunt and a challenge in one. Optimus smiled slightly.

“I don’t judge them by their past because I know their history now. Back in the old days, Scrapper and the others were well-respected. Their works were art and beauty.”

“They’re not these mechs any more.”

“I understand that. I think we need to make the best of the situation.”

Sam knew the Constructicons were here. He could still feel them because of the deep scans he had performed. It would take a while to lose the echoes and his ‘sense’ of them. Right now he used that echo connection to reach out and look for Scrapper.

The mech in question stepped out of the warehouse across the lot, unarmed, making no sudden moves. Prime’s surprise was easily felt for the technopath, and he knew where it came from. The Constructicons’ condition.

“Thank you for coming, Optimus Prime,” the Constructicon leader said.

“I came because I believe we need to talk in person,” Prime replied.

Scrapper nodded.

“This is a rather unique situation for all of us,” Optimus went on. “In more ways than one.”

“We know. It’s why we came out into the open. That and because our survival depends on it. You’re the last surviving Prime.” Scrapper’s voice was solemn. “We will follow your commands.”

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Two hours later Optimus Prime knew that whatever his decision concerning the five surviving Constructicons was, it was truly about their very existence. Sam had been a silent participant in the meeting, scanning, but not going deep. It was like a training exercise back at the base where he would sit quietly in a corner and just let his senses roam. He would encounter the different mech minds, brush over the almost primitive-in-comparison human technology, and challenge himself again and again. Here, in these environs, it had been far more dangerous, but not so different.

“What they want is a neutral status,” Optimus told the Autobots who had logged onto his frequency to hear what had happened. “They don’t see themselves as Autobots, but they never were Decepticons by choice.”

And who knew how many had been forced under Megatron’s command by Shockwave’s device?

“You want to leave them to roam freely on Earth, Prime?” Ironhide exclaimed.

“No. It’s not what they ask. They ask for resources, to be able to sustain themselves, repair what damage can be repaired.”

“You can’t trust Deceptiscum!”

“I trust them,” Sam said softly. Despite his quiet words, everyone heard him. “You can’t lie to me on the level I scanned them.”

“Kid…”

“Ironhide, no. Prejudice aside, they aren’t the only ones who defected from the Decepticons to your side, right?”

“You are correct. Jetfire was one of the most prominent to join our ranks. He was trusted. As was Fireflight.”

Who had been killed by Starscream, Sam heard echo sadly in his mind. Jetfire’s status was unknown.

“And they aren’t who you believe them to be. The combiner mind hinders them. It’s part of them, but it also connects six individuals and it’s destroying them slowly. They tried to work on it themselves, but the stronger they got, the deeper the problems became. They’re unbalanced because Bonecrusher is missing within their link,” Sam made his case. “If you could see and feel what I did… it’s terrible! With one or two awake throughout the centuries the connection was well-enough balanced. With all five now active they need outside help. It takes a terrible toll on them to interact with us this consciously, all of them simultaneously, and I’m not sure how long they can do it.”

Prime listened to the exchange, smiling to himself at the force with which Sam was arguing the point.

“Sam allowed me to see what he scanned,” he then told the others, surprising Ironhide. “These are no lies. They’re victims of a terrible crime and the war that surrounded the deed. The Modulator tore at their very sparks, but they survived. They depend on each other, but need to be separate. One of them might already be dead, but the others deserve a chance. I will give them that chance.”

“Is there anything we can do at all?” Ratchet entered the conversation, clearly addressing Sam.

The technopath was silent for a second, then sighed. “I’m not sure. It’s not a physical wound. You’d have to give them the ability to shield and connect on purpose. You’d have to deactivate the combiner ability but leave their minds interconnected.”

“Without Bonecrusher there is no combiner,” Jazz spoke up. “And Banachek sent a submarine down there to check on his status. Personally, I think he’s off-line. Permanently.”

Sam didn’t say anything because he couldn’t be sure either.

“We will need a safe location,” Prime said. “Scrapper and the others would willingly go into stasis lock should we decide to try and help them.”

“And if we can’t?”

“We’ll have their consent to whatever we want to do.”

Because the pain was too great otherwise. Sam gazed out onto the road. It was such a sad and terrible existence.

“I hope we can help. At least ease it all. They’re still themselves. They have fragmented memories of the Cybertron they helped build.”

Optimus hummed a little. “Their abilities would be appreciated, but it’s a matter of how far we can help them contain themselves. I won’t risk their sparks by keeping them all on-line.”

Sam nodded.

“I don’t like having only one solution to this ‘problem’,” Ratchet said firmly. “Putting them into permanent stasis lock isn’t acceptable.”

“We’ll do what we can,” Optimus told him. “And we’ll see what happens.”

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Forty-eight hours later the five surviving Constructicons rolled out of a heavy duty cargo plane and onto the Yuma Proving Ground in Arizona. All were in their alternate modes, some rather outdated and rusty looking construction vehicles. Soldiers were clustering around the landing site, all armed to their teeth. Optimus Prime, Ratchet and Bumblebee were present to greet the survivors. Sam had come along, in his protective armor by Prime’s request, and he literally kept an open mind.

When the Constructicons transformed, Ratchet’s optics widened briefly. They were in a bad, bad shape. Abysmally bad. Mixmaster had difficulty transforming and the rust flaking off the large mech, coupled with the creaks and groans of stressed metal, as well as the pained groan coming from him told Ratchet more than any scan could. Long Haul had trouble focusing, one optic flickering badly, and the way Scrapper, Hook and Scavenger, of which Scavenger was easily the best maintained one, stood close to their two comrades, Ratchet knew they wouldn’t be on-line much longer. Each painfully grinding noise spoke of damage that had been left alone for too long.

Pity rose inside the medic. Pity and understanding.

“Inside,” he ordered briskly.

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One of the Department of Defense’s largest land holders, with state-of-the-art facilities and ranges covering more than 1300 square miles of terrain and 2000 square miles of restricted airspace, YPG had proven to be ideal. It was a multi-purpose complex, the Army’s desert environment test expert, to challenge equipment in demanding real-world conditions.

The Laguna Test Area had been chosen to hide the Constructicons and to provide the help they needed. Laguna provided special test courses to measure vehicular performance data over natural desert terrain, so having a few more drive around the desert terrain wasn’t something out of the ordinary. Laguna also featured an underground bunker that was large enough for a mech the size of Prime to easily transform and still have a lot of head room. It was where the Constructicons were led and where they would spend their time until it was determined if they could be helped. Ratchet had all the equipment he needed, as well as the best engineers he could think of – one of them Sam. The technopath was convinced they could help; Prime hoped they could.

Captain Nathan Carter greeted them, their liaison to YPG, who had been personally briefed by both Lennox and Bowman on what to expect. The man saluted Sam as he got out of Bumblebee and Sam wondered whether to tell him right away that he wasn’t military, didn’t want any salutes, and didn’t expect them, or to wait until everything had settled.

“Captain,” he answered.

“Dr. Witwicky.” Carter’s eyes briefly followed the procession of alien mechanoid vehicles. “Welcome to Yuma. Commander Macguire asked me to relay his apologies for not coming personally. He would like to meet with you and Ratchet in three hours, though.”

“Okay. We’ll just get settled in first.”

“The required machines and materials have been delivered,” Carter continued as Sam walked into the underground bunker.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, visibly not yet used to transforming cars, as Bumblebee changed out of his alt mode. The Autobot followed them through the gigantic, cavernous mouth that led deep underground.

“You’re allowed to be surprised, Captain,” Sam couldn’t help teasing. “But you’ll get used to them.”

Carter visibly fought his embarrassment at being caught staring. “Sir.”

“And the name is Sam. I don’t fit into your military structure. I’m civilian. Call me Sam. That’s Bumblebee.”

Carter looked like he wanted to argue briefly, then nodded. He held out a hand. “Nathan.”

Sam shook it. They would be working closely for the next weeks to come. He wanted formalities out of the way.

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In the workshop located in the basement of his Malibu home, Tony Stark reviewed the plans Ratchet had sent him. Sophisticated, incredibly detailed and simply brilliant plans to remodel the Ark from an old Autobot ship that had limped to Earth into a kick-ass satellite defense station.

“That’s genius,” he muttered. “Pure genius.”

And easy to work. Not a lot of man-power was needed, though mech-power would have to be used for some parts.

Ratchet was still checking the plans for anything hidden, for anything ‘Decepticon’. Tony had done the same, as had Hot Rod, who had been struck by the simple beauty of the plans, too.

“Did you know those guys?” Stark wanted to know as he let the tech specs scroll over his screen.

“No. They were before my time, so to speak. Like Edison or Archimedes were before your time.”

The Audi was parked in its usual place, among the collection of fancy sports cars Tony Stark had in his garage. Hot Rod had the availability of space to transform, but he only chose to do so if it was necessary. Like getting a point across: usually in a hot-headed argument with a very stubborn Tony.

“With the little difference that I could never meet those guys because they’re, well, dead. You, on the other hand, were simply created later and could have run into them.”

Hot Rod smiled audibly. “Possible, but unlikely. Cybertron had a population of more than a handful of mechs, and my own rank among those many was insufficient to ever meet such a prominent team.”

Tony nodded, eyes on the building plans again. This was so astounding, he began to realize why the Constructicons had been so sought after by Megatron and called the foremost designers, engineers and builders. Their skills were pure genius.

“You think they mean it?” he finally asked out loud.

“That they want only sanctuary here?” Hot Rod replied. “I’m not sure. I hope it, actually. With their history, it would be a blessing for them to finally be able to heal – as much as is possible. I’ve seen mechs like them, their minds warped from the war, gone crazy. It never ended happily.”

Tony shot him a curious look, but Hot Rod evaded the dark eyes.

“Jarvis? Go over those specs with a fine-toothed comb, okay? Anything suspicious, even the slightest out-of-the-place wriggle, mark it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And draw up a 3-D-model of the thing. I want to know exactly what it looks like, level by level, floor plate by floor plate. Count the screws, just in case they left one out.”

“Of course, sir. Anything else?”

“Nope. You have fun with that.”

Tony got up, head slightly tilted to the side as he regarded his Autobot friend and guardian. “How are your engineering skills?”

“Abysmal.”

“Thought as much. Want to look at the stuff anyway?”

“Got nothing else to do.”

“We could take a little trip to Yuma and spend some quality time going over fragmented programs.”

“You can do that from here,” was Hot Rod’s stern reply.

It was something Tony was helping with on the side. Sometimes Sam or Ratchet ran a few data strings by him and while he didn’t see the whole thing, he knew how badly the Constructicons were off. This was like knitting a blanket back together that kept fraying because the wool was so thin. Something could break, something could tangle, and it would all go to hell in a hand basket.

“I could also use some test site work-out,” Tony mused out loud.

“If you want someone to shoot at you, just ask.”

He grinned. “Aw, Roddy, thanks. You’re such a good friend.”

“I aim to please.”

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Six computing hours later Jarvis had assembled a 3-D model of the Constructicons’ plans for the Ark.

“Wow,” Tony commented.

The station as such looked beautiful, in a way. Constructed completely of a bluish metal alloy it consisted of a long, vertical middle section with odd bulges here and there, and a ring curving around it, only three quarters complete. One side was open, giving the impression the station held out welcoming arms. The large ring was segmented into three smaller ones.

“I concur, sir,” Jarvis could be heard. “Their grasp of engineering and artistic renderings of steel are amazing.”

Tony chuckled. “Become a fan, Jarvis?”

“You might say so.”

“I’ll make sure to get their autographs when I meet them.”

“Very much appreciated, sir.”

“Whoa, meet them?” Hot Rod exclaimed.

“Anything you want to contribute, Roddy?”

“The Constructicons are currently held in Yuma and access is very limited. You can’t just waltz in there.”

“Who said anything about waltzing, Hot Rod?” Tony replied easily. “I want to meet fellow engineers and compliment them on their ingenuity.”

“You can do that very well from here,” Hot Rod told him sternly.

“Has anyone ever told you you’d make the perfect Mom? Roddy, they’re under lock and guard, right?”

“Right.”

“And they’ve been stripped of weapons.”

“Yes.”

“Then it’s settled.” Stark turned back to the model.

The sound of a car transforming into a nineteen foot mech had him smile. Hot Rod loomed over the much smaller human, blue optics ablaze.

“Yuma’s security won’t allow you entrance, Tony Stark. You can talk to any of the Constructicons from here if you wish. I’ll ask Ratchet or Arcee to set up a comm line.”

Tony studied the serious, mechanoid features, then smiled slightly. “Okay.”

Hot Rod tilted his head. “Okay?”

“Yes. Okay.”

Hot Rod studied him for a long minute, then nodded. “I trust you in this, Tony.”

“Hey, I’m not suicidal. Curious, yeah, and I want to meet them, but not suicidal. The moment I can talk to any of them, I’ll be there like a flash, though.”

“I won’t stop you then.”

“Good.”

Tony looked at the remodeled Ark. His expression was thoughtful.

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Trent DeMarco looked at the new order that had come in and shook his head. This was going to be a huge thing to manage logistically. With more people knowing about the mechs among the military it was easier to coordinate matters. Still, it was sometimes difficult to get what people or mechs needed; but not impossible. Colonel Rhodes was a great help when Trent ran into a dead end, which didn’t happen that often. His sometimes also rather unusual connections, thanks to one Tony Stark, had saved the day once or twice already.

Trent contacted his counterpart at Yuma, a woman by the name of Nina Fenn. Nina was a lieutenant like him and she had been briefed on the matters of alien mechanoids on Earth six months ago. Now she was in the middle of it, like Trent, and responsible for shipping what Ratchet needed to Yuma.

“How’s it going, Nina?” Trent greeted her, smile audible.

“Oh, don’t ask. It’s the usual mad house.”

“Welcome to my world.”

Nina laughed. “I’ve only had a few months to get used to this, DeMarco. Give me a break.”

“I’ll give you more. There’s a batch of new equipment coming your way. All what the doctor ordered.”

“Ratchet will be one happy mech.”

“I hope so. I broke a few laws getting some of the requested stuff,” Trent replied with a grin.

“They’d never catch you. You could steal the Empire State Building and they wouldn’t have a thing on you.”

“Why, thanks for the vote of confidence, Lieutenant Fenn.”

Nina chuckled. “A fan’s a fan.”

Trent felt a blush creep up. He knew he was good and Nina had told him before that she was amazed at what he could move – more than heaven and earth – to get what was needed. She was a good logistician, but she knew her limits. Trent had never accepted limits.

“I’ll email you the contents list,” Trent got back to the official business part. “ETA is in an hour. I already have a supplement list to the first order. Ratchet will get what he needs by this evening.”

“Copy that. Thanks, DeMarco.”

“You’re welcome. Witwicky still there?”

“Yes. Doesn’t look like anyone is leaving soon. Last I heard was that matters are way more complicated than expected.”

Trent sighed. They usually were. With Yuma now serving as the Constructicons’ sanctuary the base had become one of the top most important military bases on the planet. Security had been tightened around the area Ratchet had chosen as his ‘medical base’.

“Well, hang tight, Nina.”

“Same to you. Later.”

Trent hung up and turned to the new order that had come in from Ratchet. Some of the parts he knew they had, others he would have to get to Yuma from different places, and two or three he had to find out where to get first. It was never boring, he mused.

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The submarine currently heading through the underwater valley known as the Laurentian Abyss was called the USS Pathfinder. Smaller than most nuclear subs it was a hunter-killer variant. At two hundred feet she was dwarfed by the other subs in the fleet. Right now even the largest submarine would be dwarfed by the underwater world around them.

Moving in on the final resting place of the alien mechanoids called Decepticons the submarine’s crew scanned for the frequencies they had been relayed. Her lights pierced the darkness, playing over sea-life that quickly scuttled away if it could, and hydrothermal vents.

When the Pathfinder finally arrived at the metal graveyard, all hybrid tech scanners went on full. Developed by Stark Industries they merged Cybertronian technology with Human. Programmed by Ratchet with the characteristics of a Cybertronian spark, no matter how weak it still was, the sensors listened.

Hovering above the dead shells and body parts, the submarine waited for any kind of response to their search.

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Prime had come to Yuma with the last cargo transport from Nellis to get an update in person. Ratchet looked at the results of the intense examinations he had conducted the last few days. He sorely needed some rest and energon. Glancing at the five individuals currently awaiting his verdict he wondered how long they could last like this. Mixmaster was already back in stasis and Long Haul had had a lot of ‘rest periods’ where he simply powered down before he blew a circuit. The Constructicon was ashamed of his weakness, like all of them were, but not following his needs would kill him even sooner.

“It looks serious,” the medic told his leader. “To repair the damage of millennia I need time, energon and a lot of cooperation from each Constructicon. They’re excellent engineers themselves, but repairing a body is different from building a city.”

“What’s their individual status?”

“Long Haul and Mixmaster are in stasis. It’s the only way. Hook is more stable and able to function for longer periods of time, though that’s only the physical part. The combiner mind is more troubling. The more are awake, the more pressure there is. I talked to Scrapper, who, with Scavenger is currently the most balanced, and he agreed that there will never be more than two conscious Constructicons. The others I’ll keep under.”

Prime nodded. “Will it be a problem?”

“Keeping them under? No. Taking their programming apart without harming their personalities, yes.” Ratchet looked troubled. “I have to remove the shards left from the Modulator’s reprogramming without harming the spark concerned. That will prove very difficult, Optimus.”

“Can you help them?” Optimus asked when Ratchet was done detailing the Constructicons’ serious amount of spark and processor damage on top of the physical short-comings due to absolutely nothing close to medical care.

Ratchet was silent for a long five seconds. “I want to try, Optimus,” he finally said. “But I can’t do it alone.”

“Banachek has cleared resources,” the Autobot leader told him. “Reluctantly, but he agrees that we could use their experience and knowledge. You can call on whoever you need from the military engineers and mechanics. Arcee has volunteered to assist should you need her.”

“Sam will be staying,” Ratchet told his friend and leader. “We can only work on one at the time and it’s difficult who to pick since they’re all so badly off. Scrapper, being the strongest, I’ll put last, but the others…” Ratchet shook his head again. “I can’t predict the outcome. I talked to all of them and they are quite aware of the risk. They still want to do it.”

“Understandable.”

Ratchet nodded. “I’m putting three of them in stasis. Scrapper will assist me in keeping the one I’m working on calm. The combiner connection allows each to be close to the other and while they don’t want it, it works to our advantage right now.”

“They know the risks.”

“Yes. And they want me to do this.”

“It’s their only chance.”

Ratchet didn’t look happy. “I could do more harm than good.”

Optimus placed a hand on the medic’s shoulder, blue optics filled with understanding. “They’re on the brink of permanent shut-down, Ratchet. Their desperation is understandable.”

“Still…”

Prime understood. Ratchet was all about saving lives as a medic, not destroying them if he could help it.

“With the last shipment that just came in I can hook each of them up to an energon feed to strengthen their systems, stabilize their sparks, and prepare them as best as possible,” the Autobot medic continued. “Sam will keep an eye on their sparks as I work, keeping them from collapse or worse.”

“Do you think he can do it?”

“He’s strong, Optimus.”

Prime nodded. He knew that. He respected Sam’s abilities and they were an asset. His training had proven itself many times, but he had never done what he was about to do five times in a row, with five very different mechs, and the danger that the mech he was holding on to might perish.

“Bumblebee told me he can anchor him, and we still have Barricade as a back-up for that part.”

Optimus smiled briefly. Their very own Decepticon was even more protective of Sam Witwicky now – and would never confess to it. He would be here if Sam needed him.

Right now he needed to talk to Scrapper first.

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“We will do this,” the Constructicon leader said firmly, the red visor band aglow with determination. “We won’t exist like this any longer if there’s any chance for separate lives.”

Optimus gazed at the mech who was as old as he was, who had seen so much, who had been manipulated and used and then left to rot on their dying home world.

“We’ve been on Earth for so long, trying to do this on our own,” Scrapper went on. “The pain is unbearable. Hook once said he even envies Bonecrusher. His death was final. He never had to live with the memories of what he was, of faint shadows of his old life, and the fear we see in the optics and eyes of those we now have to trust.”

“I understand,” Optimus rumbled. He had relayed the Pathfinder’s negative results to the Constructicons a few days ago. Bonecrusher had forever perished. “I salute your courage, Scrapper.”

It got him a humorless laugh. “Desperation is more like it.”

”We’ll do everything possible to help you. You have my word.”

Scrapper bowed his head. “I know, Prime. Thank you.”

The Constructicon, despite missing basic facial features like a mouth or two optics, appeared both scared and relieved. He turned to look at the other Constructicons, two kept in stasis, the other two awaiting his return.

“Whatever the result, we’ll never be who we were.”

“No one can take your achievements from you,” Optimus said softly.

“Cybertron was destroyed. By us. By what Shockwave made of us. We built beauty and we left devastation.”

“The plans for the Ark’s reconstruction you gave us will be your future, Scrapper. I would very much appreciate your input and your help on giving this world all the protection we can manage.”

The Constructicon’s visor band flashed with surprise.

Prime held out his hand. “Will you help?”

Scrapper took the offered hand carefully, taloned, claw-like fingers curling around Optimus Prime’s digits. “We’d be honored.”

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Ratchet had busied himself with the last preparations before the first of the Constructicons would undergo the surgical process of trying to reset him from the Modulator’s changes.

“This will be tough,” Sam commented.

Ratchet gave him a humorless smile. “An understatement. Two are at the brink of a forced stasis to heal and the other three aren’t that stable to begin with either. It’s a miracle they made it this far. Scrapper is by far the strongest, but that doesn’t say much. The combiner mind imbalances them. It upsets the healing, whatever little they can get.”

Sam nodded. His face was serious.

“Long Haul should be in a stable condition within the next hour. I want to start then. He and Mixmaster are the worst off. Mixmaster appears more stable, though. I don’t think Long Haul will take much more. Will you be ready?”

Another nod. “Yeah. No problem.”

Bumblebee stepped into the room, another addition to the Yuma base for as long as Sam would be here with Ratchet. There was no way he would leave his friend alone, especially since Sam would be frequently using his abilities and need an anchor.

Ratchet turned to leave, giving Bumblebee a stern look. “An hour. Get him to rest.”

The smaller Autobot nodded.

Ratchet left with another stern look at Sam. He had to prepare those not in stasis-lock for what was to come.

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Bumblebee stepped up to his partner, reaching out to ever-so-gently touch Sam’s face. It would be amazing for an outsider to witness their interaction. The large fingers caressed the soft skin and Sam briefly leaned into the physical contact.

“This will be bad,” the technopath said after a moment.

“You don’t have to do this, Sam.”

“I do, Bee. They deserve a chance to live. This is also what I trained for. I can use my powers. It’ll be training in turn.” He smiled humorlessly. “Barricade will be so proud.”

“Actually, I think he will.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah. Never tell him. He’ll skin me alive.”

“Scout’s honor,” Bumblebee promised, sounding amused.

“I want to do this, Bee. I can do this. I can be of help.”

::I’ll be here, Sam.::

::I know. Thanks:: Sam leaned his head against the solid form, feeling the smooth metal, the familiar hum of the mechanoid’s inner workings.

::We have some time:: Bumblebee said softly.

Sam chuckled. ::Relaxation exercises?::

Bumblebee sent a grin.

The technopath sat back and gave his partner the raised eyebrows. Bumblebee wasn’t deterred.

::There is a private room for us::

The offer was clear.

::You have voyeuristic qualities, Bee:: Sam teased.

::I like to learn about my bonded::

Sam snorted. His reactions to the stimuli through the connection they had were very physical for the human. Bumblebee had never expressed any form of disgust or apprehension when faced with that; he was actually quite interested, which had had Sam feel like some kind of lab experiment.

Bumblebee leaned closer once more, the gentle touch back again. ::Not an experiment::

Sam closed his eyes, relaxing more and more. His mind was open, willingly merging with Bumblebee’s, and he knew they had to find privacy before he could be arrested for indecent exposure. Bumblebee picked him up, something he rarely did without Sam’s express permission, and took him to the chosen room, locking the door behind them.

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Tony had first wanted to use the Extremis to talk to Optimus Prime, then had decided against it. After a harrowing business meeting that had been rather superfluous in his eyes, he locked himself in his office and set up a secure link.

“I went over the design schematics,” he told the Autobot leader when they were finally connected. “They’re genius, Prime. And safe. That’s all I can say. I’d love to meet the minds behind it.”

Optimus smiled briefly. “For now they’re unable to talk to anyone, Tony. Their condition is too serious.”

“I know. Hot Rod told me.” Tony shrugged. “Hope things work out. If they do, I’d like to talk to them. Their work is amazing.”

“Yes. The Constructicons have their reputation for a reason.”

“I can see that. You plan on going through with the redesign?”

“Yes. Their help is invaluable.”

Tony smiled. “Let me know what you need.”

“Of course. Thank you for your cooperation, Tony.”

“Hey, all for our planet.”

Optimus inclined his head. The video feed ended and Stark leaned back in his chair.

“Jarvis?” he contacted the AI through the Extremis.

“Yes, sir?”

“Run an estimate on the parts needed for the reconstruction of the Ark. Optimus Prime might be calling on us to supply a few things here or there.”

“Very well, sir. Estimated time for calculation: three hours.”

“Get to it.”

Jarvis acknowledged and Tony got up. He walked over to the hideously expensive espresso machine, made himself a triple, added a little something extra, then gazed out over the sprawling city below the Stark Industries tower.

The project of revamping the Ark into a satellite defense station was finally getting on the road.

A slow smiled appeared on his lips.

He was already looking forward to it.

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Jazz found his spark-bonded in one of the side-streets of Tranquility. There was no hologram inside and Barricade looked like a parked police car. A few people were shooting him nervous looks and some youths were hurrying past. Jazz caught a whiff of malicious glee. Apparently one of the buildings across the street was a favored drug dealing place. The Solstice parked behind the Saleen.

::Having fun?::

::Immensely:: was the wry reply.

::Thought as much:: Jazz remarked with an audible grin.

::What do you want, Autobot?::

Not taken aback by the gruffness – it was something very normal for Barricade – Jazz sent his inquiry.

::I thought you’d be in Yuma by now?::

::What for?::

::Keeping an eye on the Constructicons::

Barricade snorted. ::You Autobots seem to have them under control::

Jazz didn’t reply, just smiled to himself. He nudged the other spark and Barricade rumbled uneasily. A lot more than words passed between them and it gave Jazz an idea why Barricade had yet to seek out his former fellow Decepticons. Those who had become Decepticons not by choice.

::You could assist Sam:: he added.

::The human is in control. He also has his guardian::

::You trained him well, Cade. He’s really good::

Barricade let a sliver of pride leak through and Jazz mirrored it. He was proud of what his spark-bonded had done for them, for Sam, for the Constructicons, even if his involvement was sometimes indirectly only. Barricade had come far.

The Saleen shifted uneasily, growling a warning.

Jazz ignored it.

He moved easily past the token shield around his bonded’s spark and Barricade let him.

Both sank into what a human would call an embrace, sharing energon warmth and spark presence, both relaxing slowly.

::Proud of you:: Jazz murmured with a sleepy voice.

Barricade only hummed, entwining them closer.

He would deny ever feeling what he currently felt.

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Six weeks.

Six long weeks.

It wasn’t over, but after those six weeks the worst lay behind them.

Sam gazed at the impossibly blue sky above him, feeling more relaxed than he had for some weeks. He had his hands folded on his stomach, feet crossed at his ankles, and the warmth from Bumblebee’s hood and windshield were reassuring at his back. His partner’s mind was a passive, gentle presence in his own mind and it was like a healing bath, taken by a technopath who had been pushed to and even past his limits.

Barricade’s training had helped him immensely. The situation hadn’t called for attack-defense, but the rigorous sessions with the former Decepticon had prepared Sam for the intensity of each mind contact. He had sometimes just sat and watched as Ratchet worked, mind open, looking for even the slightest twitch out of the ordinary. That had been draining. Even more draining had been the glitching and stuttering spark from Long Haul and later Mixmaster. But he had gone through hours of passive control to moments of sudden activity, and he had come out with less of a migraine than expected.

Six weeks and they finally had the Constructicons where Ratchet felt that there wouldn’t be set-backs. All five were still locked in their protoforms, unable to trans-scan since Ratchet had forcefully deactivated that ability until they were strong enough to spare that amount of energy.

It had been touch and go for a while. Especially for Long Haul. Ratchet had spent a whole night trying to save the core unit from a fatal crash. Sam had held the wavering spark while energy had slipped through his grasp. He had been desperate in the end. Long Haul had nearly perished and what he had been able to hold onto wasn’t what the mech had once been.

Scrapper had still thanked him. Long Haul was still Long Haul in the Constructicon leader’s optics. Sam had blamed himself for the recurring memory lapses, but it was slowly getting better.

::The difference between what could have been and what is, Sam, is life:: Bumblebee murmured.

::Yeah, I know. They survived::

::Not just that. They can live now. Really live::

Mixmaster had been another severe case. His spark had been so scarred and erratic, Ratchet had taken two weeks to more or less rebuild the basic containment structure to support the traumatized core. He hadn’t tried to slip into oblivion like Long Haul, but when Sam had touched the other mind, he had felt so much shame and guilt and lingering insanity, it had taken his breath away. In the end they had needed Scrapper’s strength to pull Mixmaster from the edge.

The Constructicon leader had been the last to undergo repairs and Ratchet had felt it to be safe enough to forego a complete deactivation of Scrapper for that task.

He had been wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.



Sam sat in his usual spot, technopathic senses on Scrapper, who was in a milder form of stasis. He was still aware to some degree, not disconnected from his body. He had been the best-maintained, the leader, the one needed to function throughout the time the five individuals had hidden themselves. With the knowledge Ratchet had gained from the other four he had set out on his task to remove the Modulator’s traces, separate the connections to the combiner’s mind, and restore what could be restored.

Sam was scanning, careful not to interfere with the resting mind too much. He had gotten to know them all to some degree, felt comfortable and secure in his work, and so did Ratchet.

The first tremor was barely registering. Sam didn’t even react until the third one came in, stronger and more pronounced, but nothing to worry about. He reached out and calmed Scrapper gently.

Ratchet was just about to start the program that would purge as much of the Modulator’s influence as was possible in a mind as scarred as the Constructicon’s.

The next tremor was more like a little quake. It left eddies of unease, drifting around, lapping at the borders of Sam’s mind.

The technopath sat up.

He caught an image of a mech he had never met but had gotten to know throughout the weeks working here.

Shockwave.

The image wavered, blurred, like static was racing across a screen.

Shockwave. The Modulator. The machine that had just cost another Constructicon his former life. He saw the motionless form of Hook being dragged over to where the others already sat.
Silent. Complacent. Servants to be used.

Again an image of Shockwave.

This time the frizzing effect was more pronounced. The mech in question seemed to be wavering, like a bad hologram, then tore apart into pixels to reform as…

<“Ratchet!”>

Sam’s cry was vocal as well as technopathic, but it was too late.

The formerly inert form of the Constructicon leader surged up, optical band blazing red, and he screamed a terrible scream. It was pain and denial and anger and fear and fury combined. Ratchet was too surprised to react immediately. He was pushed back, actually flung halfway across the room to collide with a monitoring station.

Scrapper surged forward, optics too bright to be called sane, filled with a fire that told Sam all he needed to now.

::Scrapper!:: he sent forcefully.

The mech wasn’t be deterred. Unarmed he was still very well able to crush the human he was towering over.

Sam felt the nightmares, sharp and slashing through the tortured spark. Nightmares of the Modulator, of watching his friends turning into nothing more than obedient drones, of feeling the fiery access to his own mind…

Ratchet was on his feet, guns out, but Sam sent denial.

Not yet.

::Scrapper!:: he yelled once more.

The Constructicon screamed, clutching his spark, then tried to lash out at the small life form within his reach.

Sam ducked, rolled around, and did the only thing he could: he sent a lance of technopathic force into the other mind.

Scrapper’s howl was terrible and it hurt Sam more than anything.

The Constructicon fell to his knees, sharp claws crashing left and right of the technopath, who was staring up into the feverish visor band. Sam heard the wheezing, the grinding of gears, the inner workings of the tortured body with its equally tortured soul.

::You’re safe:: he told the other firmly. ::Safe! We want to help you::

The door to the lab was flung open and Sam knew just who had stormed inside. His peripheral senses informed him of everything. Still he didn’t say anything, just looked into the torn mind, all calm and collected.

::Relax. Let us help. Let us erase what the Modulator did. We helped the others already. We will help you::

Scrapper made a desperate sound, unable to articulate himself. His fingers twitched spasmodically. One wrong twitch and he could just flick Sam into the wall, but he wouldn’t.

Sam stepped closer.

He heard a gun charge.

::Scrapper. Trust me::

::S…s…sam… trrrr…st…::

::Thank you:: he whispered, meaning it.

And then Scrapper collapsed to one side with a soft whine of need and fear. Sam held onto the flailing mind, calming it, aware of the others but ignoring them completely until Scrapper slipped into unconsciousness.

When he looked up, the unlikely pair of guardians he had acquired were still pointing their weapons at Scrapper.

“It’s okay. It was a nightmare,” Sam said calmly. “He got a flashback of the moment he was dragged into the Modulator, and Shockwave’s image morphed into Ratchet.” He shot the medic an apologetic smile.

Ratchet’s expression was grim. “I shouldn’t have taken the chance. I should have known! He appeared stable enough…”

“None of them are. But he’s okay.”

Sam felt a little dizzy, but surprisingly strong.

Bumblebee only holstered his gun when Ratchet had reassured them all that Scrapper was now in a deep stasis lock, and Barricade followed about a minute later. Both hadn’t spoken a word, but it was clear what their intent would have been: destroy what threatened Sam.

::Thanks:: Sam sent, addressing both.

Barricade only rumbled and turned, leaving. Bumblebee remained behind, optics on Sam, scanning him for injuries.

“I’m fine,” the human replied.

And he was.

He also had work to do.

Bumblebee didn’t argue with him over Sam’s choice to continue his work. He simply remained in the lab at his partner’s side for the rest of the time it took Ratchet to complete his work.



Ratchet had removed all traces left by the combiner nodes and modules. Physically they would no longer be able to merge and if they finally were allowed to trans-scan alt modes, the protoform wouldn’t recreate that interlocking ability either. They were free of the physical aspect.

What Ratchet had been unable to clear fully was the programming that had merged their minds into Devastator. While they now had shields and wouldn’t get flashes from the other four, the connection wasn’t completely gone. All five had bonds of various strengths to another. It no longer threatened to let them slide into one mind pool. Ratchet had been unable to do more for them.

In the six weeks he had been at Yuma Sam had relied heavily on Bumblebee. Aside from anchoring his mind, he had also unloaded all the unspent physical energy on his partner. Bumblebee hadn’t complained and if he ever told anyone what had happened behind closed doors, they would probably stop talking to him, see him as a freak.

Bumblebee let amusement roll through their connection. ::I wouldn’t call you a freak, Sam. More like a starved maniac::

::Not helping!::

He just hoped that half the base didn’t know about it already. Ratchet knew, of course. It had been beyond embarrassing when Scrapper had remarked on it. The Constructicon had been intrigued, but not averse to the fact of human-mech socializing on that level. They had also picked up on Sam’s dietary needs when he pushed himself too far and once, after pulling Mixmaster back from the brink, when Sam had curled up in a corner and just wished for the world to stop spinning, Scavenger had shown how much they had learned indeed.

A pack of powerbars and M&Ms had been gently placed beside him and the Constructicon had watched Sam with bright optics, fidgeting a little.

“Thanks,” Sam had told the large mech, managing a smile as he chose the chocolaty goodies first.

Scavenger’s smile had been almost tentative.

The relationship between the five Constructicons and the Autobots, as well as their human allies, had evened out immensely. Sam had taken care to make sure he could help that along. He knew those five weren’t evil incarnate. They had been manipulated and almost annihilated. Ratchet had found a ready assistant in Scavenger, who had developed an interest in the medic’s work. He was still a builder, an engineer of structures, not mechs, but he had learned willingly to help in whatever way he could.

::Optimus Prime is coming in tonight:: Bumblebee interrupted his musings. ::Lieutenant Fenn just got word from Lieutenant DeMarco that he is on the next flight::

::ETA?::

::2100 hours::

Sam stretched lazily. That was still a few hours off. Sam briefly pondered driving into Yuma and spend some time just hanging around, but he was too lazy. This was his first day without anything major breathing down his neck. He could touch Bumblebee without clinging to him like some needy energizer bunny out of juice. He also didn’t want to go to the base. He had a pass that allowed him unrestricted access to every facility, but he didn’t feel like mingling.

::We don’t have to be anywhere for the next four point seven-five hours:: Bumblebee informed him.

::Good. I think I need at least two of those hours to just feel human again::

Bumblebee chuckled. ::Anything I can do to help?::

::You already are. More than you think::

The mech hummed softly, a familiar, welcome noise.

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Optimus Prime didn’t even try to hide the relief he felt that the five surviving Constructicons had come out of the surgical procedure intact. None of them would ever be who they had been, but at least the danger of a total collapse had been averted. They were individuals again, no longer forced to live a life that might fuse their minds into a hive mind one day. Or kill them. The combiner traits had been removed.

None had been allowed to trans-scan just yet. Ratchet wasn’t a mother-hen exactly, but he kept a very close optic on them all and the slightest flicker in their energy consumption had him run complete test sequences once more.

“I appreciate his care,” Scrapper told Prime as they met for the first time since the beginning of the procedures. “But I think it’s time to risk a little.”

Optimus chuckled. “You can’t hurry him in matters this grave.”

Even in his protoform there was the visorband and the mouth shield, so Scrapper’s smile was simply a flash of optics and an amused hum.

“Scavenger is already eager to get a new alt mode, as is Long Haul. Being unable to give in to the impulse to transform is… unnerving after a while.”

“Understandable. The moment Ratchet clears you completely, you can go wherever you want to take your preferred mode.”

Scrapper tilted his head a little. “You would let us go?”

Prime was slightly taken aback by the subtext. “Of course. You’re not our prisoners, Scrapper. What we did was because you asked for our help and we could give some of it. Ratchet sent me a very detailed report. All changes wrought by the Modulator on your character and personality have been removed. You’re back to your old selves.”

“With a few losses here or there, which we expected,” Scrapper agreed.

“It can’t be undone, because it had already been erased or shattered so completely, no repair was possible.”

“We understand, Prime. As I told you before, it’s more than we ever hoped for. We didn’t expect our freedom, though.”

Optimus’ optics turned an even deeper blue. “I’d be honored to call you our allies. You might not affiliate with the Autobots, but an alliance would help both our teams.”

Scrapper nodded.

“You already made an offering by drawing up plans for remodeling the Ark. I want to offer the lead on the reconstruction to you and your team.”

Scrapper could hardly gape, since he had no visible mouth, but the flare of red was a clear indicator. “You would trust us with that?” he stuttered.

“Yes. You are still the best. Your team is brilliant, Scrapper, don’t deny it. The satellite station is an asset we need. You are an asset we need. Will you accept this request?”

The other mech gave a whirr that sounded like laughter mixed with disbelief. “Of course, Prime. We’d be honored to serve you.”

“And I’d be honored to call you our allies and friends.”

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Sam returned to the base to the sight of Scrapper and Hook standing in their protoforms around what looked like a holographic projector. Hook was fiddling with a design. It looked like a copy of the Ghost-2, though not completely. It was bigger, sleeker, and where the Ghost-2 was clearly from Earth, this one was more like what Sam had seen as Cybertronian ship design before.

“Working?” Sam asked, smiling at the two large mechs.

“Testing an idea,” Scrapper replied while Hook ignored him completely.

It was a trait that had come out after the mech had stabilized and was finally back to one hundred percent power. He could absorb himself in schematics and hog the computer for days in a row. His creations were no longer tossed and he filed them in an ever-increasing folder that would probably need a new storage place soon. Hook was back, as Mixmaster had once noted. With a vengeance.

Not that the others were any better, but he was the only one of them who could get so completely lost in his work. Scavenger had remarked that you could detonate a bomb and Hook wouldn’t so much as waver from his chosen project of the day.

“Shouldn’t you be resting? Recharging?”

“We’re fine. Thank you for your concern.”

Sam shrugged. “Hey, wouldn’t want Ratchet’s work to be for nothing.”

“Don’t leave out what you did for us,” the Constructicon leader added. He went down on one knee, more at eye-level with Sam. “You saved us more than once, Samuel Witwicky. You saved me. I can’t express my regret at what I did. I could have hurt you.”

“You didn’t. I’m not completely defenseless.”

Scrapper nodded. “So I noticed. We’ll all be forever in your debt.”

Sam shifted uneasily. “I had to help. I couldn’t let you guys die.”

Scrapper tilted his head. “I’ve learned much about you, Sam. These past weeks showed me that the trust the Prime places in you comes from both your abilities and your open-mindedness. You accepted us, despite our past affiliation with Megatron. You helped us when you could have extinguished us.”

“I’d never…!” Sam started to protest.

Scrapper held up a hand. “I know that now. You’re open, unjaded, have a big heart… and you’re tough.”

Sam blushed. “I don’t think…”

Scrapper chuckled. “It’s the truth, Sam Witwicky. We all were touched by your abilities. We all felt that powerful mind. It helped us instead of destroying our sparks. Thank you.”

The hand extended to Sam had four fingers and missed all the basic armament. He placed his hand against one finger, unable to really grip it. The ultra-dense metal felt smooth, not from this planet. Sam had only once touched protoform metal and it had felt so different. Like now. This was energy and matter, ready to be released.

“You’re welcome,” Sam replied seriously. His eyes were on the holographic projection again. “Your design?”

Scrapper rose. “Yes. Hook is finalizing the original design and bringing in the engineering part of the project.”

“Cool.”

The mech’s visorband brightened. A clear sign of amusement.

“I’ll be heading home this evening,” Sam went on. “Just wanted to say good-bye. I heard you guys are going to the Arctic next.”

“Yes. Prime has made arrangements already. We’ll be exchanging the desert for something colder. We’ll see each other again, Sam Witwicky. I’m sure of that.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m part of this outfit, Scrapper. I have a job here.”

“And a partner.”

Sam fidgeted a little. He still wasn’t comfortable revealing those facts to other mechs. He sometimes thought it might make Bumblebee as less to others.

“Yeah,” he finally said softly.

Scrapper tilted his head. “Never understate who and what you are, Sam. Never be ashamed to have that bond.”

Sam shrugged. “Still need to get used to it when it comes to new-arrivals. I know where I am with those around me, but the new ones? Foreign territory.”

Scrapper hummed. “Those who get to know you will see your strength. You’re not weak. We all owe you our lives, Sam. You have our respect.”

“Thanks,” he murmured. He met the mostly featureless face. “See you around. And take care. All of you.”

Scrapper inclined his head and even Hook had stopped briefly from his work. He was nodding at Sam, too.

Sam left and met up with Bumblebee outside, deep in thought. He still felt the even, balanced waves from the Constructicons’ minds, but it was getting less. Soon his mind would be separated from theirs completely.

“Sam?” Bumblebee inquired.

“I’m cool. I want to grab a bit to eat before saying good-bye to Commander Maguire and Captain Carter.”

Bumblebee didn’t press on any further. He simply transformed and they left the Laguna test site, heading for the base.

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Twelve hours later Trent DeMarco nearly resigned from duty as he read the new orders coming in. Not only were five Constructicons to be flown from Yuma to the Arctic – via the Autobot headquarters -- base the moment they had their new alt modes, but the Ghost-2 would undergo a new transformation all of her own. She would have to serve as a long distance cargo ship for those mechs. The Arctic base had already had their collective conniption and had then immediately put in orders and requests to fulfill the new assignment.

Trent called on Lieutenant Fenn’s help to make all that needed to happen really happen.

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Scrapper stood outside the underground bunker that had been his home recently. His optics roamed around the Yuma Proving Ground area they had been assigned to for that time and he smiled a little to himself, even if it wasn’t visible from the outside. It felt good to be outside again, even if this world was so very different from his own. He had come to like Earth, despite the fact that they had spent six thousand years hiding and running from discovery.

That was over.

They were back.

There was a sound of an engine coming closer and Scrapper turned, smiling more as he identified Hook. The engineer had been the first to trans-scan when Ratchet had allowed them to choose an alternate mode. They were no longer limited to what was possible with their scarce energon resources. They were up to one hundred percent.

All five had chosen their new alternate modes from the vehicles available at the base. Yuma had a number of Military Concept Vehicles, which had come in handy. All had added to their alt forms, which wasn’t visible at first glance, and because they were military cars, the Constructicons didn’t stand out. It wasn’t their plan to be on the base indefinitely, only until their shuttle flight to the Arctic base would get here. Neither had added a faction symbol, though.

Hook transformed, stretching in a way that would remind a human of a cat. They all felt better than in ages and it showed in their ability to transform so easily, to move around without fear of sudden collapse, and how well their systems worked with the energon in their bodies.

“Still here?” Hook asked, joining his team leader.

“Enjoying the silence.”

The hot desert temperatures that were just now cooling down a little as evening approached. The dusty air. The bluish-purple shadows of the mountains. The sky dotted with a scarce few clouds. The scraggly bushes and other vegetation. The rustle of animal life that was tiny compared to his size.

The other Constructicon chuckled. “We had that enough. Myself, I’ll be glad to do something again.”

Scrapper nodded. Currently the humans were trying to refurbish the Ghost-2 to take them all to the Ark, but Scrapper had already suggested to copy the existing ship and build a second one, the Ghost-3. The human lead engineer at the Arctic base, a man called Finch Tomczyk, had talked with the Constructicons and given them an idea where the humans were at the moment and what still needed to be done. It wouldn’t be easy since it would all be constructed in a cold and lonely place, in secret, but Scavenger had calculated a month tops.

“Optimus Prime told me we have the go-ahead for the shuttle’s twin. Ratchet has already left for the Arctic base. We’ll be picked up tomorrow.”

Hook nodded. “Some more time to stretch my wheels. Coming?” he invited.

Scrapper felt little eddies of excitement from his friend. Hook was one of those he had a stronger bond to. It was a lot better than what had been between them all before, and sometimes it was amusing or helpful. Still, they all sometimes felt the shadow of Bonecrusher’s dead connection. Ratchet hadn’t been able to erase that. But it was a lot better than their existence before.

The Constructicon leader transformed and watched with amusement as Hook shot off, and then he followed. They had a whole quadrant to themselves, to use as a proving ground all on their own.

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Ironhide watched the arrival of the five mechs with a mixture of distrust and caution. He knew from Ratchet that nothing of the Modulator’s reprogramming had remained. They were themselves again, but Ironhide hadn’t survived the millennia of war because he was careless or trusted too easily. Scrapper and his team would only be here for a six hours layover, then they would be Banachek’s problem at the Arctic base. Then again, they would always be their problem, too. Scrapper had accepted Optimus Prime’s command, which made him part of this team.

The weapons specialist moved uneasily.

The five mechs rolled out of the transport plane, were welcomed by Jazz and Ratchet, and then disappeared into the base. Ironhide kept back, guns ready.

Dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, Will Lennox joined his partner, watching the new-arrivals with interest. Ironhide wanted nothing more than to push the hybrid away, somewhere he couldn’t be seen, but he knew that even a suggestion in that direction would be met with resistance.

“You really think Ratchet could be mistaken and they’re just Cons in disguise?” Lennox asked casually.

Blue optics narrowed. “What?”

“You’re more paranoid than the time Barricade came to the base the first time,” Will told him.

“He was one scrawny Decepticon. These are five.”

“First of all, Barricade’s a shock-trooper, so the scrawny is relative. Second, the Constructicons never were Decepticons. They were altered and screwed with. Ratchet removed the damage done.”

Ironhide flexed his fingers. “Just being cautious.”

“It’s called paranoid, ‘Hide.”

That got Lennox a dark look. He simply smiled.

“Give them a chance. Everyone else does.”

Lennox turned and walked into the base. Ironhide shot the Constructicons one last look, then followed. He clearly wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t pushing it.

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It was two months later when two Ghosts lifted off within a time window of one hour. Walker and his crew were on the redone Ghost-2 while Major Michael Bowman took the helm of the Ghost-3 on her virgin flight. He had his own crew of three additional people and one tiny transforming mech by the name of WiFi. Scrapper and his team had split up between the two space crafts.

“You guys okay back there?” Bowman asked as they left Earth’s gravitational field.

“Just fine,” Scavenger answered. He was sharing the large holding bay with Hook and Mixmaster.

The Ghost-3 was bigger than her sister ship and looked nothing like her. The Constructicons had based her on a Cybertronian cargo ship, adding a few designs that made her sleeker, and she handled like a dream.

“How about you?” Bowman addressed WiFi.

The little Nokia sat right in front of the forward view screen, red optics alight with excitement. He shrilled and warbled, back wings fluttering enthusiastically.

Bowman grinned, a grin shared with the other three men and women of his crew.

“Well, in a few hours we’ll be at the Ark. Until then, enjoy the flight.”

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On Earth, Optimus Prime stood outside the Autobot base, optics gazing into the dusky sky. He was joined by Jazz about ten minutes into his silent vigil. The much smaller silver mech didn’t say a word, just kept his leader company.

“We got lucky,” Prime finally said, breaking the silence.

“Guess we did,” Jazz agreed. “Same goes for Scrapper and his team.”

Prime shot his second in command a brief smile. “Their survival, their sanity, is our asset now. With their help we can take the next step in keeping this planet a little bit safer from Decepticon attacks.”

“You think Soundwave will be back?”

The blue optics went back to gazing at the darkening sky.

“He came to this place with a purpose. Even if Megatron is dead, possession of anything connected to the Allspark would give Soundwave a new hold over the surviving Decepticons. We don’t know what Will’s body might still harbor. He has shown new powers at random intervals and I know his potential hasn’t been reached.”

Jazz nodded. “But so far he hasn’t displayed any kind of power like the Allspark initially had.”

“So far,” Prime echoed.

“You really think he might?”

The larger Autobot gazed solemnly at his lieutenant. “I’ve learned to keep an open mind in these matters, Jazz. And even if Soundwave would leave this world alone, there are others who might have followed Megatron and the Allspark’s traces. Starscream could return, too. Each step we take is another step to prepare ourselves.”

Jazz gave a soft whirr, almost like a sigh. “Let’s hope there aren’t any more surprises hiding on this world.”

Prime’s expression was grave. The Constructicons had come to Earth, hiding for six millennia. Yes, there was a chance that more Decepticons, or even Autobots, had followed.

The Constructicons held a special status. They had never been Megatron’s followers by choice. They had been forced. Their status now was what they had always wanted it to be: factionless, but allied. Thankfully they were allied to the Autobots. Prime knew they would never bear a symbol again. Even if they affiliated with the Autobots for the rest of their existence, they wouldn’t take on the Autobot symbol.

“I wonder if we didn’t make a mistake throughout the war, in our response to Devastator,” Optimus added, voice filled with guilt.

Jazz shot him a quizzical look.

“Silverbolt and his team.”

“Oh. Prime, we didn’t force those guys. It was voluntary. And it worked.”

Optimus looked doubtful. “We asked five individuals to combine. We changed their bodies and minds to be able to connect.”

“And neither went insane. They fit and you know it. Silverbolt might have had a few words back then with AirRaid, but they were a team and Superion wasn’t some sluggish brute. Perceptor and Wheeljack had taken care to combine minds that were very much a like, that shared common traits. They wanted that, they worked with it and they were great.”

The Autobot leader sighed. “We acted and reacted. Maybe we did the same damage without knowing it.”

Because they couldn’t ask any of the Aerialbots. They had disappeared like so many, dead or lost, by choice or by force. No one knew. Combiners had been the big weapon of the Decepticons and the Autobots had reacted. What if the reaction had backfired and destroyed lives? Or turned the individuals concerned insane?

“Prime,” Jazz begged. “It’s a moot point now. I trust in what our scientists did back then. Wheeljack might have been a bit of a mad scientist, but he never endangered a spark.”

The first stars came out, weak against the still not yet completely black sky.

It promised to be a clear, cool night.

Optimus nodded slowly. “It’s what we have to believe in.”

Jazz’s expression was intense, unwavering. “I do believe it, Prime. I knew those guys. They were my friends. They never had the trouble the Constructicons suffered from. We never forced them and that was the difference.”

The larger mech gave a rattling hum. It weighed on Prime. Heavily. He had to believe that this was the case, that they hadn’t done to their own forces what the Manipulator had inflicted on the factionless mechs.

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Tony was surprised when Jarvis announced a personal email had just arrived in his inbox. Stark called up his email folder and his brows rose with even more surprise. He knew the alias – Cyberbuilder3. It was the guy he had been exchanging long and detailed texts about all kinds of technological topics with. Cyberbuilder3 had astounded Tony with his in-depth knowledge of advanced technologies, new developments, and he had a few revolutionary theories of his own. Their email buddy relationship had started a few years back and some drunken nights had been easier when discussing the fundamentals of quantum electronics, nanite technology or the arc reactor theories with a like-minded individual.

Tony had never found out who the guy was. He had tried, especially after Cyberbuilder3 had sent him schematics for defense satellites that couldn’t have been drawn up by just anyone. But the guy was good. He hid his signatures and he bounced all over the planet. So Tony had accepted that there was someone out there with an agile, intelligent mind who was as genius when it came to engineering as he was.

And they had had a lot of fun in those years.

Now there was a new account.

That wasn’t really all that much out of the ordinary since Cyberbuilder3 liked to switch accounts, but it was the account ID that had him blink. He knew the server ID. Heck, he had helped set it up! Tony started to type in a few commands. The generic address was a cover and what lay beneath was…

… the Department of Defense, specifically the Autobot base net.

“Hello, Tony,” the message read. “I apologize for the lack of response lately. It was a health-related issue. Due to a new job I’ll be off-world for the next weeks to come, so I’ll be incommunicado.”

Off-world? Tony thought. Stargate fan?

But it was a base account…

“I should have known who you are when I was briefed on our allies on this planet.”

Tony gaped.

“The connection was clear only now. I enjoyed our past discussions. Maybe we can continue our work in person when my job is done. I know you used my ideas in your private research and development, and your own ideas were incorporated in my privately drawn-up models. You are a very unique human, Tony Stark. It’ll be a pleasure to get to know you. Scavenger.”

Tony gaped some more. Then he started to laugh, a belly-deep laugh.

“I was talking to one of them all the time!” he howled.

“I beg your pardon, sir?”

“I was talking to a Constructicon, Jarvis! All this time I was talking to one of them! For years!” He bent over laughing, his stomach hurting. “I never knew! That brilliant guy was a Cybertronian refugee!””

“You know now, sir,” Jarvis remarked dryly.

Yeah, he knew now.

And Tony Stark was already looking forward to meeting Scavenger in person.

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end for this story. Hope you enjoyed it.

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