TITLE: In Plain Sight
SERIES: Imperfection Deviation
AUTHOR: Macx
RATING: R for sexual situations
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me, sadly. They are owned by people with a lot more money :)
Author’s Voice of Warning (aka Author’s Note):
English is not my first language; it’s German. This is the best I can do. Any mistakes you find in here, collect them and you might win a prize The spell-checker said everything's okay, but you know how trustworthy those thingies are....
FEEDBACK: Loved
BETA: okami_myrrhibis

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It had been a miracle that they had scored tickets. It was another miracle that they were premium ones, including the pit lane and the paddock, as well as complete VIP access to all areas. Sam Witwicky fingered the multiple plastic cards around his neck, eyes shaded by sun glasses as they scanned the throng of people moving between the trucks. Many wore jackets of one of the various racing teams;, almost all had some kind of baseball hat that showed whose team they favored.

“Anything?” a voice asked.

He touched the com device stuck in his left ear. “No. Nothing. At least nothing specific. You?”

“Nothing here either.”

Sam moved out of the way of two mechanics wheeling tires into one of the pits and let himself drift over to one of the tents where fans were trying to get glimpses of the drivers. He had been walking up and down the paddock all morning, but aside from the feeling in the back of his mind that something was here, something more than just a simple machine, he hadn’t really hit jackpot.

::Bee?”::

::Nothing here either, Sam. None of us can pick up a blip. It’s like he went off-line::

Sam started to move again, flashing his VIP pass at one of the security people and he entered the pit lane of Circuit Gilles Villeneuve. It was several more hours to the race and there weren’t any drivers in yet, aside from the small teams. All the stars were absent. But the pit crew was working on the cars, setting up their stations, looking over readouts. Stacks of tires rested in the shade of the canopy over each pit entrance, some already wrapped up in preparation for the race.

Sam hadn’t followed yesterday’s qualification laps. He had been too busy scanning. Throughout it all he had picked up the tell-tale pulses of a mechanoid, one he didn’t know, but it was incredibly hard to find the machine the pulse belonged to. With over twenty race cars present, in addition to the trucks, personal cars, shuttles and all kinds of machines that could be a mechanoid, it was hell on his senses.

Yesterday he had wolfed down a family pack of chocolate bars, after drinking way too sweet soft drinks and trying to fight the headache that told him he had overdone it.

Exhaling softly, Sam chose an almost quiet place in the shade, at the end of the pit lane where not many fans and interested parties lingered, and he closed his eyes. Casting out his senses, he started once more.

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Sam hadn’t thought he’d ever see Reginald Simmons again. At least not in the man’s life time. Maybe an obituary. The last time he had seen the Sector Seven operative had been after the whole Mission City disaster and they had been rather civil with each other, though frosty. Now Sam was looking at the man, dressed in a suit and tie and looking older. Still, there was this gleam in the dark eyes that told him Simmons knew more than the engineer really wanted him to know.

Bumblebee wasn’t very keen on the meeting either. He hadn’t transformed yet, sitting behind Sam like a silent watchdog, and his mood was rather… lethal. As much as the mechs understood the humans’ reactions to their presence, Simmons had struck a nerve. He was just one of many Sector Seven operatives, but one who had managed to get on their bad side quite fast. The intervening years hadn’t changed that.

“Sam Witwicky,” Simmons said, smiling. It was a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Mr. Simmons,” he replied coolly.

“I hear you worked your way up the ranks.”

Sam gritted his teeth and sent a soothing thought toward Bumblebee, who was about to explode and throttle the other man.

“And I haven’t heard a peep from you.”

Another smile. “It’s how I work. How’s the girl friend?”

Sam chose not to answer. Simmons probably knew more than Sam was comfortable with him knowing. He hadn’t had the faintest idea that the man was still working for the government in some way. Then again, he hadn’t asked. The past decade had been filled with too much stuff he had to deal with himself. He had never thought of Simmons.

Luckily Optimus Prime’s arrival pre-empted all small talk. More greetings were exchanged, though there was no warmth in Prime’s reception. Sam felt the Autobot leader’s reaction more acutely than anyone ever could. Prime was very respectful on the outside, ever the diplomat, but there was a rather strong distaste present on the emotional level.

They walked into the conference room. Sam had been asked to attend the meeting and there had never been a doubt that all the Autobots, as well as Lennox, would also be there. Simmons’ eyes rested on Will’s face for a rather long time and while the exchange was pleasant, the expression in Will’s eyes was hard and unyielding. The phrase ‘No hard feelings’ really didn’t apply.

“Mr. Simmons has been working behind the scenes for several years,” Banachek started, drawing Sam’s attention to the man. “When we cleared out Sector Seven’s labs and storage we transferred all the experiments, the data and the machinery to you.”

Ratchet nodded.

“What we didn’t know was the extensive research done on particular experiments that couldn’t be retrieved in the labs or storage. We had no idea what had been done with them. They were presumed destroyed.”

“They weren’t?” Prime rumbled.

“Apparently not. Former Sector chiefs chose to test the experiments in the field.”

Ratchet’s optics flared with alarm.

“Not all survived the field tests. Not all machinery worked when put together with human technology. And not all had been brought to life by the Allspark. Some was technology derived from retro-engineering. The technology was too purely Cybertronian back then to be implanted into human technology, so this track was abandoned. A lot was destroyed, but some was left in the field.”

“Which is where I come in,” Simmons took over smoothly. He looked at the five mechs watching him, showing no fear of them at all. “I’ve spent the past five years hunting down what was left in some old barn or yard or in someone’s basement. What I found was immediately secured.”

“We compared lists,” Banachek added, shooting Will a brief look.

Sam understood why. Will’s ‘tattoos’ had given them a complete list of the inventory of Sector Seven for the very first time, showing them how much was missing. It had been long ago and Sam had never thought about it again. Banachek had. Apparently there were machinations going on behind the scenes that had gone by him completely.

“One particular file number caught our eyes. It’s experiment 705. It was conducted in 1989, then abandoned. Scientists picked up signals from the machine they had treated with Allspark energy ten years later once again. They failed to locate it.”

Sam felt a cold shiver run down his spine. “It was still alive?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“Yes, apparently. Someone took it out of the lab. Someone left it out there. We only know it was an unauthorized maneuver and the scientist was never found again. He disappeared.”

“Well, shit,” Lennox muttered.

“We found it,” Simmons spoke up. “At least we know where it travels. Extracting it will be problematic, though.”

“Why?” Ironhide simply asked.

“Because its signals are bouncing around its current habitat. We can’t tell which one it is, only that it moves throughout the racing tracks of the world.”

Prime leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

Banachek looked very unhappy all of a sudden. “We believe that between 1999 and today, the machine that was treated with Allspark energy came into the possession of a racing team, a Formula 1 racing team. We don’t know which one, how it was inserted, who is using it, or whether it is sentient enough to have merged with a machine there, maybe even one of the race cars. We only know that it covers its tracks, is stealthy, and we need to extract it as soon as possible before we have another disaster on our hands.”

“How do you believe we can track this machine if it can’t be pinpointed?” Ratchet asked.

Sam cleared his throat. “I think that’s where I’m supposed to come in.”

Simmons nodded. “Exactly, kid.”

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So they had worked out a plan, which had ended with Sam in Montreal, at the race track, with VIP access to all important places. Bumblebee worked as his anchor. Epps and his team were standing by as back-up, all in civilian clothes, all blending in as car or F1 fans who were awaiting the Grand Prix du Canada.

Lennox had been itching to accompany Sam in person, but he would stand out like a sore thumb. The runes were still a problem unless he could cover his face in the fire-proof ski-mask the pit crew wore throughout the race, and that was a no-go. The fact that he now had partially stationary runes didn’t exactly mean that the rest didn’t show. They were still rather active. So he sat with Jazz, unhappy but at least present.

Sideswipe had been moved in ‘undercover’, in an exhibit of new flashy concept cars, and he was constantly relaying scans and trying to pinpoint the signal. It was maddeningly active and all over the area.

Compared to the situation just four weeks ago this was almost normal, Sam mused. They were looking for an Allspark-creation from Earth. Not a Decepticon. Soundwave had rattled them, had shaken their confidence, and such a simple mission was something all had craved for. That so many mechs were either here or near was due to what Soundwave had almost managed: take one of their own and hurt others. Sam was important, so Bumblebee was always near. Jazz had taken over as team leader and Barricade had proclaimed he had nothing better to do.

Sam smiled.

He had noticed how close the former Decepticon kept to his spark-bonded, almost like right after he had joined the ranks of the Autobots – after he had discovered that Jazz was still alive. Barricade had been as rattled as all of them, but he refused to show it.

Will had insisted he would go along. He might be useful, so that meant Ironhide as his guardian. Of course there had been arguments; arguments that couldn’t but be overheard, and anyone who didn’t know about the relationship between the hybrid and the Autobot probably knew now. While neither spoke about what was between them, rarely ever showed it, the heated argument and Ironhide’s insistence that he would go too were enough.

Sam was heading for the pit of a small racing team, eyes darting over the people moving around him. He felt Bumblebee’s presence in his head as his partner tried to be as protective as he could be without being physically present. Someone who was physically present was a member of Epps’ unit. Sergeant Tom Reese was in his civvies, carrying a back-pack like most of the fans around the track, but he kept more than just food and water and the race programme in there. Reese was responsible for Sam’s well-being, to keep him from ‘zoning’ should Sam get into too deep contact with the suspected bot.

The sergeant was also a racing buff. He tried to hide it, but Sam had seen it now and then. A gleam in the blue eyes, the way his face lit up when they were so close to the drivers and cars. And when he had rattled off F1 facts, Sam had almost laughed. Reese had looked slightly embarrassed at that.

“I won’t mention it,” Sam told him with a grin.

“I appreciate it.”

What Sam had learned from Reese was that Maxx Racing had been a newcomer last year and while they weren’t sensational, they were a steady team, with hardly any accidents. If there was an accident, it involved minor scrapes. They had yet to gather any points and no one expected them to finish with even a single one, but miracles happened. Small teams profited from accidents among the bigger ones.

Sam stopped outside the pit and watched the mechanics work on the two cars. They were sleek looking racers, like all of them, kept in black and silver. There were sponsor names all over the sides and the wings. Letting his mind reach out, Sam brushed over the mechanical devices, felt electronics tingle his senses, but he ignored them all. Small fries, he called them, especially when compared to a mind like Bumblebee’s.

There was a shiver, a twitch, then something like a curious warble.

::Hey:: he sent. ::I’m Sam::

The curiosity rose more. It was like something peeking out from behind a cover, wanting to see but too scared to take a step forward.

::Do you have a name?::

It felt more sentient than a mere machine. It was like touching the watered-down version of Bumblebee. Still, there was an edge, like Sam was only looking at the surface, and it made him cautious. Reese was next to him, giving him cover in more ways than one as he pretended to take pictures.

There was no reply from the car and when one of the mechanics walked up to the pit and pulled down the garage door, Sam and the others had to step back.

“It’s there,” Sam told Reese as they walked back.

“Which one?”

“No idea. I felt it, but I didn’t have time to get close enough.”

Reese nodded. “We need to leave,” he gestured at the security ushering visitors outside. “Let’s get back and talk to the others.”

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They had set up camp outside Montreal, on a large campground of all places, but it made sense. None of the cars really stood out, not even Ironhide. They were in the group camping area, tents set up in very strategic places to insure less visibility for Lennox. Ironhide was parked to the left, Jazz and Bumblebee to the right. Barricade had foregone the police outfit, was just a black Mustang now, and he was parked in the small lot outside the campground. A campfire had been started and everyone was doing camping things, like reading, listening to music, talking, and two of Epps’s men were handling the food. Steaks were already on the fire. As night fell and the campfire cast everything into dancing shadows, Will could move more freely.

Sam had relayed everything he had picked up and seen and the plan for the next day was to keep an eye on the racing team, watch their performance throughout the race – they were in the fourteenth and sixteenth place – and snoop around the machines to see where the signals were coming from.

“So he’s not the most competitive mech,” Epps remarked.

Lennox shrugged. “Deep cover? The top teams are in the spotlight all the time.”

“So are the smaller ones. They have fans, too.”

“But they haven’t been in any serious collisions,” Sam put in. “A few scrapes and bruises, but never a total loss, never an engine failure, never had to leave a race early.”

“So no idea where the mech’s hiding? Car? Equipment? Anything else?” Epps wanted to know.

“No. I can feel his presence, but I can’t say where he is, or what.”

“The car would be foolish,” Ironhide rumbled. “He’s always exposed. A mechanic could tell the difference. We can fool you on first sight, but these cars are regularly taken apart and set-ups are changed.”

“So… equipment?”

“But why hide out with a racing team?” Reese asked.

“Stupidity,” Ironhide replied.

Will patted one big wheel. “Down boy.”

“We’ll go in tomorrow,” Epps decided. “After the race, after the hype is over. Press interest will be on the winner, not the rest of the teams.”

Everyone nodded their agreement.

Sam went to bed early. His tent had been set up next to Bumblebee. It wasn’t even a conscious decision that he linked up and let the mech’s mind contact his own. It was a nice, warm feeling to have Bumblebee close. It was safe.

::Good night, Sam:: Bumblebee said softly.

::Night::

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Barricade sat in the darkness surrounding the campground. Here or there a camp fire flickered. People moved through the trees, coming or going from the washrooms, but no one stepped outside the campground. The main building had closed down and the roads were silent. No car headlights pierce the night. The midnight black Saleen blended in perfectly.

Keeping an eye on matters he stayed close to Jazz. His spark-bonded didn’t protest his closeness. Barricade felt the perfect resonance of the other spark, the one that complimented him so completely.

::Cade?::

He rumbled uneasily, then let Jazz come closer. He would never be comfortable with the need and the weakness it meant in his warrior-mind, but it was part of him. Like this Autobot was part of him.

Barricade let the shields down, let his energies flow along the connection between their sparks, embracing his companion.

::Still here:: Jazz murmured.

Soundwave hadn’t touched him. He had only stranded him on the Ark for a while. Nothing had happened.

Warmth flowed through him and Barricade could have laughed at the joy of Sharing with this spark, Jazz’s spark, if it hadn’t been such an undignified response. Jazz was still alive. His spark pulsed in his chest, feeling a resonance from its mate.

Jazz would never go down without a fight, he knew; nor would Barricade. This was their survival: together.

::Together:: Jazz echoed.

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The race had been over without a lot of accidents. Two engine failures, one spinning off the track, and some scrapes and bruises. The favored driver came in second, but he was still on the way to win the championship.

Sam had been in the pit lane the whole time, scanning, keeping an eye on Maxx Racing, casting his mind out to find the mech.

He didn’t find it in the pit.

It was out on the track.

::Interesting:: Bumblebee commented.

They waited for the cars to come in, for the mechanics and engineers to swarm around their prized babies, and while the ceremony for the first three took place, Sam moved to the Maxx Racing pit. The race cars had been pushed back into the garage. Half of the pit crew had gone to watch the winner receive his trophy, others were moving around their areas. No one was really giving Sam any second looks. He looked like one of the many fans who used the moment where everyone’s attention was on the big teams to have a closer look at the cars of those not in the spotlight.

Sam studied the two cars, which had been such an obvious choice for a shape-changing robot that it was surprising that they hadn’t really thought of it before.

Race cars got into accidents. Race cars were constantly under surveillance of the team mechanic and chief engineer. Race cars changed throughout the racing seasons. No robot would be able to hide for long.

So how had it managed?

::It’s me again. Sam:: he sent.

There was an almost fearful twitch.

::I won’t hurt you.::

The engine of one car suddenly started and it lurched forward. The present crew looked up in alarm. Sam felt a flash of fear racing through him, but he stood his ground, facing down the machine.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said softly. “I know you understand what I’m saying.”

Another small lurch, but so far he hadn’t been touched. Bumblebee’s presence was almost overwhelming, but he pushed his partner away, concentrating only on the racer. At the edge of his perception he found Barricade nosing closer, a dark, coiled presence, dangerous and close to intervening.

::Barricade, don’t:: Sam whispered.

::Who are you?:: a voice suddenly asked, using the uplink he had created.

Sam almost laughed in joy. ::My name is Sam Witwicky::

::Who are you?:: the voice insisted.

::A friend. Human. Can you talk out loud?::

There was a nervous idling sound to the machine. Voices could be heard from the outside and suddenly a man burst into the garage, looking decidedly angry.

“Who are you? What the hell are you doing in here?” he demanded.

Sam was aware of Reese at his side, of more back-up arriving, so he ignored the man and kept concentrating on the car.

::Do you have a name?::

Reese had moved to intercept the man and was pushing him away while more soldiers entered. Sam briefly wondered if anyone on the outside was seeing this and if yes, if their cover was blown. Then he pushed that thought aside. He ignored the angry voices from the people around him, from the soldiers now taking control of the situation, and he ignored the garage doors coming down to give them complete privacy.

::They call me Firebolt::

::Hello, Firebolt::

::Why can you talk to me like this?::

::Because of the very same thing that gave life to you. The Allspark::

Firebolt seemed to shudder and pull away. Dark memories echoed through the mind Sam was uplinked to and he recognized them from WiFi’s recollection of his birth and Sector Seven. Firebolt was older, had seen more, had been conscious longer before he had been discarded.

There was swearing going on outside, in the real world, and Sam was tempted to turn and look at what was going on, but Firebolt might shut him out if he left him now.

::You’re not alone:: he told the race car. ::There are others like you. You have one brother, so to speak, and a lot of distantly related cousins.::

Curiosity flooded through him.

Sam smiled. ::Your team knows about you?::

::Of course. They helped me::

::Can you transform?::

It got him a confused warble.

::Can you change shape?:: Sam clarified.

Still Firebolt was confused. Sam got images of being in different cars or machines over the time he had been active, but he couldn’t fathom changing his shape. The technopath supplied an image of Bumblebee transforming and Firebolt shrilled in surprise and excitement.

::Can my brother do this, too?:: the mech asked.

::Yes::

The voices had quieted down and Sam drew himself out of the uplink to look around. There was the man who had stormed in and demanded who they were, flanked by two of Epps’ team. He still looked pissed-off. From his overall he was apparently a mechanic. Close by stood the driver, Marc Gillespie, as well as two more mechanics or engineers. Everyone else had disappeared, probably taken outside by the rest of the soldiers.

“Sam?” Reese asked.

“His name is Firebolt,” Sam replied. “And I think we should talk.”

“Who the hell are you?” the first-arrival of the team demanded. “What kind of secret government shit is this?”

“All in due time,” Reese replied neutrally, gesturing at them to take a seat. “Sit down, gentlemen, this will take a while.”

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“Ironhide to base. We have made contact.”

Prime acknowledged and leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face.

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Sam was amazed by how calm Firebolt was. While he was unable to transform and had no expression other than his voice, he partook in the discussion around his person rather passionately. Like WiFi he had a personality, but unlike the Nokia he was very well able to voice his opinions in clear English words and argue his point. WiFi had learned to communicate differently because of his handicap, and he could be quite vocal, but Firebolt talked like one of the mechs.

The Allspark-altered device had come into the possession of Maxx Racing by accident years ago. Called GP Gillespie in their early years the family-funded race team had made themselves a name in Europe in the touring car races. Known in England as a car modifier, Maxwell Gillespie, Marc’s father, had started racing and won several trophies, but he had never considered Formula 1. That had come with Marc’s debut race as a test driver for a BMW team whose regular driver had been involved in an accident. He had come in fifth, which had been a huge sensation for someone so young, and won a place with the team the next year.

Then someone had bought parts for GP Gillespie from a supplier and the box had been among it. The mechanic of the small team, Harry Felton, had been the first contact, and from there it had branched to all important members of the fifteen-men-only team. They were tiny compared to the big teams, completely privately owned, and the main source of money came from a wealthy business man who was just crazy enough to fund them. They had won several prizes in the smaller GP2 series and had made the step to Formula 1 a year ago.

“You’re not getting him!” Felton now growled.

“We weren’t implying that we would take Firebolt away,” Reese calmed him.

“Hell, just you all being here tells me you’re after the guy.”

“We’re not ‘after’ him,” Sam intervened. “Firebolt was…” He made a general gesture. “Well, let’s say the government lost him and now we’re looking into who found and did what with him.”

“Lost him?” Felton laughed. “Right!”

“How about we start from the beginning?” a new voice said.

They all turned and Sam watched them as the racing team around Firebolt set eyes on the newcomer. Will Lennox smiled, hands stuffed in his pockets, only his face displaying a tattoo-like glyph at one temple. Otherwise he didn’t appear out of the ordinary. There was a clear military air about him, something Will hadn’t been able to lose even after ten years as a civilian. It was his whole bearing. He was used to command.

“Who are you?” Felton demanded.

“Will Lennox.”

Firebolt made a strange little sound and actually rolled closer. It had Reese tense, but Will’s expression told him to stay put. He removed his hands from the pockets and pushed up his sleeves.

The racing team stared.

Firebolt hummed softly.

::Same reaction as WiFi:: Sam whispered to Bumblebee. ::He’s suddenly intensely curious. He can’t read it, but he understands that it is connected to him::

“What the fuck…” Gillespie whispered, stepping closer to his car. “What is this?!”

“We’ll explain it to you,” Lennox answered. “Just give us a little of your time.”

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Barricade had kept to himself throughout the whole mission. He was back-up, as much for the human technopath as for the whole team. Mainly his attention was on the human, pleased with how Sam handled the pressure his mind was under as he actively sought out the signal from the mech they were after. Their training had picked up after Soundwave’s brief attempt at raising Megatron and Sam was really putting a lot into shielding his mind and honing his attack abilities.

No, the human was not to be underestimated.

It was right after the race was over that another signal came in.

Barricade was surprised, to put it mildly, since it was an almost archaic frequency. Very old, not associated with either faction. Simply Cybertronian. Curious, he sent an untraceable signal back. It got an immediate reply.

The request for sanctuary.

The request to meet.

He asked for the identity of the caller, but all he got was another archaic call-sign. His data banks contained no reference for it.

Instead of simply going off on his own, he turned to his partner. Jazz was wary of the signal, but just as curious.

“I can handle it,” Barricade told the silver Autobot.

“I know you can. It’s just strange that it came in now and that it’s a really old frequency.”

One from before the war. One associated with civilians.

Barricade shifted impatiently on his shocks. “You know we need to investigate it.”

“And we need to play it safe.”

No argument there. They would play it safe, but Barricade saw no need for a whole barrage of Autobots to plough through the Canadian wilderness, looking for the origin of the signal. In the end Jazz told the others to handle the new mech; he and Barricade would go after the signal.

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It had grown late in the day. The big teams had already left Ile Notre-Dame to either spend a last night in Montreal or to get on the road to Indianapolis for the next race. Those of Maxx Racing who weren’t talking to the new-arrivals were preparing for departure. Everyone was tense. Everyone knew this was about Firebolt, and not just a few were worried. This wasn’t about simply losing their job with a small Formula 1 team. This was about so much more.



“How did you discover Firebolt was more than just machine parts?” Sam asked curiously.

They had finally settled down somewhat, the team, the unit, Sam and the mechs that were still keeping watchful scanners on proceedings. Coffee had been poured into cups, soda cans were passed around, and if not for the still prevailing tension, it might have been a meeting of like-minded guys.

But it wasn’t.

Felton, who still didn’t look happy about all the military muscle in civvies that now populated their pit area, shrugged.

“Had an idea for an upgrade one night, went down into our garage, and there he was, creeping around. I first thought it was some kind of remote controlled toy. He looked like a welded-together little box on legs. Thought one of the guys was having me on. Turned out he wasn’t a toy and he wasn’t one of our gadgets. He was a frightened little thing. Had to coax him out of a corner.”

Sam was intrigued. Felton was describing a first contact situation like he had found a puppy or a kitten. Maybe he had, he mused.

“You never asked yourself what he might be? Where he came from?” Lennox wanted to know.

“He told me,” Felton growled. “A military experiment.”

“You believed him?”

“Yes.” Plain and simple.

“He was like a mascot,” Marc continued. “At least in the beginning. Curious. Stuck to the mechanics. One day he attached himself to one of the cars. It was a shock to see him imitate a piece of the engine so perfectly, even we couldn’t tell him apart. After that…” Gillespie shrugged.

After that he had become part of the team for real. Sam looked at the car again, amazed.



It had taken the better part of three hours to answer all the questions from Felton and the others, and by the time Lennox was done, everyone was trying to understand the implications of what they had been told. Aliens. Mechanoids. Intelligent machines. The Allspark. An alien war that was so old, they couldn’t really grasp it all… And Firebolt was the creation of another alien device that had been blown up.

Sam had wandered over to the race car, trying to appear harmless to him. Firebolt wasn’t scared, just careful. He had been careful all his life.

::Your team protects you very well::

Firebolt seemed amused. ::They always have::

“How long have you been active?” he asked out loud, drawing the attention of the others to him and Firebolt.

There was a moment of silence, then, “Since Marc’s father started racing for the International Touring Championship.”

Reese glanced at the driver, who stared back defiantly. “Dad’s first race was fifteen years ago,” he finally said, voice hard. “Firebolt wasn’t in the car yet, but we finally integrated him and he loved it. He switched to my car when Dad retired from his career. Ever since he’s been part of it.”

::I don’t understand why you expose yourself in a race car, though::

The mech was a little confused.

::You could be discovered::

::No. No one can. And the regulations are strict:: Firebolt sounded almost proud at their achievement. ::You showed me how the others change shape to blend in. I adjust to the shape I’m in::

Sam blinked. What?

How they had put that past regulation was beyond Sam. He sent that question at the race car, who replied with what Sam could only translate as a grin.

::I can be what they need me to be:: Firebolt replied.

And finally it dawned on Sam. Firebolt wasn’t some kind of box shoved into a machine; he was a part of that machine, like the engine or the computer controls!

“Geez!” he whispered. “That’s amazing!”

Firebolt was nothing but a small, black box with removable panels all over the outside. He could slide them open, connect to whatever technical environment he was exposed to, and link, use what he was linked to, make it work for him. All that Sam picked up from the race car and it was astounding.

He had the ability to immediately change his appearance, like through a trans-scan, and fool every expert.

Firebolt radiated smugness and pride. He wasn’t competitive enough to try and alter the car he was in to make it a winning car, but he gave his best to function in harmony with the car parts. He could mimic everything and because of it, the team made progress. If they let him, he could push the car shell to one of the first three positions, but Gillespie and Felton agreed that it would draw too much attention. So they worked slowly, pushing forward one position at a time, gaining recognition because the car was so reliable. Like all teams they raced with two cars, but only one was very, very valuable.

“What now?” Felton challenged.

Will gave him a calm smile. “Now we know he’s in good hands. All we gotta do is make a few arrangements.”

“You’re not taking him!” the mechanic repeated.

“We won’t.”

Sam shot his friend a curious look. Will grinned and took out his cell phone.

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Sam knew Simmons would have a coronary. Definitely. Bringing a whole racing team in on what had happened, what was supposedly even more secret than top secret, was the nightmare of every covert operation. Simmons had been Sector Seven from birth, so to speak. He had come from a line of Sector Seven agents and he had followed a family tradition. Project was only the continuation of it all.

Will’s choice to let the team know what they were dealing with had been based on the simple fact that they knew about Firebolt. Anyone who was able to hide an artificial intelligence for fifteen years was able to understand the rest, in his opinion.

So while Maxx Racing mulled over the information, discussed the facts and had their private little freak-outs, Lennox was calmly explaining another fact of life to Simmons: Firebolt had been Sector Seven’s responsibility. They had lost him. Sam had found him again and his presence was known. Sector Seven didn’t exist any more and Project had taken its place. If Banachek agreed with Sam and Will’s decision, then Simmons could fume all he want.

“We’ll take him and leave!” Simmons had argued angrily.

“And you think we can just do that?”

It had been Hoover Dam all over again, Sam had mused. The same power struggle, the same posturing, only now their respective positions had changed. Will had changed. Simmons might still be an agent of some kind, but Will Lennox was more than a simple Army captain now. Like Sam, he had a position among the ranks of the Autobots that allowed him to issue orders to just about anyone.

Lennox had solved the tension by snapping his cell shut, disconnecting the audio-video connection. Sam grimaced.

“He’ll be pissed.”

“He always is. I understand his argument about security, but this is more than just a piece of Cybertronian tech in the wrong hands. Firebolt has been part of this team for a very, very long time. They know, Sam. Simmons has to deal with it other than just grabbing the bot and leaving.”

“And you wouldn’t let him,” Sam stated knowingly.

Lennox chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t. This is where he lives. We can’t just assume control and jurisdiction, even if we could. One day the Cybertronians will move freely among us and this is a first step in getting people to understand what they’re dealing with.”

The phone rang again and Will checked the caller ID. “Banachek,” he told Sam, then flipped it open.

Sam prayed that Tom Banachek would show the same understanding and foresight as he had so often before.

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The roads were busy, packed with cars, but not jamming. As usual, the thickest traffic was on Highway 15 and not even the worsening weather could deter the humans from going wherever they had to or wanted to be. As he left the city behind him and navigated north on 40 things evened out. Taking the 131 he went further north and cars dwindled in numbers. The further he got, the less traffic he encountered, and the more he stood out. So Barricade changed his plates to local ones.

When the rain set in and the sky darkened the black Mustang had arrived in St. Michel-des-Saints. Barricade briefly scanned for the signal, then drove down an unmarked dirt road that was by now turning into a muddy lane. The town was soon behind him, already forgotten.


About fifteen minutes later, a silver Solstice took the same road.

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“Hey, you have an older brother.”

WiFi warbled indignantly

“Don’t you want to get to know him?”

An email message appeared on Bowman’s screen that told the newly promoted major what WiFi thought of meeting Firebolt in very clear words. The Nokia had no relation to the Formula 1 race car and it wasn’t interested in him.

“He isn’t unlike you, y’know.”

Red optics glowed softly. WiFi twipped.

Bowman smiled and rubbed a finger over the wing-like structures on the cell’s back. “You’re still unique. All of the Allspark’s creations are. Firebolt isn’t even a transforming mech.”
WiFi puffed his chest out in pride. He could transform. And he was useful, he added through the Email.

“Yeah, you are. So I can’t interest you in visiting Firebolt?”

WiFi warbled, shifting with indecision, then seemed to shrug.

“They’ll be back in the States in a few months. Reese and Sideswipe want to accompany them to the base. How about then?”

The Nokia cocked his head, then shrugged again.

“Alright. Until then we got work to do.”

WiFi scuttled over to him and climbed up one arm to rest on the major’s shoulder. Bowman smiled and went back to his computer work.

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With the F1 race over and the team’s need to move on to the next grand prix circuit – Indianapolis – Maxx Racing was understandably nervous to get on the road. Since Jazz and Barricade had gone off to check on some kind of signal Barricade had received, Bumblebee, Sideswipe and Ironhide made up the Autobot escort. Epps’ unit had split up between the available cars, with Epps himself driving with Will and Ironhide.

“So, whatcha think?” Epps asked as they followed the truck that contained the race car.

“I think we have as much power over him as we have over WiFi. Firebolt’s his own person. We can’t grab him and lock him up somewhere,” Will answered. “We can offer the team help, we can have someone drop by now and then. That’s it.”

“He’s not a raving maniac. He hasn’t killed anyone,” Epps agreed.

“He’s surprisingly stable,” Ironhide agreed.

“And he’s been with the team for nearly fifteen years,” Sam argued quietly over the open comm lines. “A lot of people were in contact with him and no one ever told anyone anything. Fifteen years.”

“Time doesn’t matter here, kid,” Simmons joined in, connected to them through a secure video feed. “The existence of the machine is a danger of the security of Project.”

Lennox laughed softly. “Hell, we all are, Simmons. And every day someone who has no clue about the mechs could stumble over one of them. It’s only a matter of time. Firebolt’s not some machine you can just lock away and forget about. Sector Seven lost him, almost deliberately placed him into the ‘wild’ and then couldn’t find him again. You made the mess and it luckily didn’t get more messy than it was back then. Firebolt’s been keeping a lower profile than most mechs.”

Simmons glared at him.

Banachek, who could be seen on the left side of the split screen, steepled his fingers. “Your risk assessment, Major Lennox?”

Will didn’t even react to the old rank. He simply met the calm expression of the other man with an equal calm of his own.

“Leave him where he is. He’s no danger. He can’t even transform. We can stay in contact, give him an idea who he is, where he came from, and let the team in on what is going on. Wi-Fi has proven that it can be done already. We have a responsibility, sir. We created them, we abandoned them.”

Simmons opened his mouth to say something, but shut up at Banachek’s look.

“It’s risky,” the head of Project said.

“So is everything we’ve done so far. The Autobots could be discovered. I could be seen. Sam might end up in the wrong hands should he have an overload in public. Heck, Tom! Soundwave wanted to kidnap me! Everything’s possible, everything’s risky.”

Banachek looked at Will with serious eyes, his face unreadable. Finally he nodded. “Someone has to supervise this. Would you be willing to do that?”

Lennox shrugged. “If you want me out in the open, sure. If you don’t, let Reese stay with them.”

Banachek smiled a little. “Sergeant?” he asked, turning to the man in question.

“I got no problem with it,” Reese answered. He was riding one of the civilian cars.

“Where are they going after this race?” Banachek asked.

“France, England, Germany… Europe in general. They won’t be back on this continent at all until the season is over in October and they come back for testing.”

“A long time.”

“I’m prepared to stay with them,” Reese told the Project leader.

Banachek was silent for a long moment, then nodded once. “I’ll get back to you. Keep a low profile.”

“Will do,” Lennox answered. And it wasn’t like Maxx Racing had done anything but keep a low profile.

The video feed went dark. Lennox glanced at Epps who only shrugged.



An hour later the cars arrived in Speedway, home of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

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Will Lennox didn’t know what exactly had changed him; it definitely hadn’t been the Allspark shard he had absorbed. This time it wasn’t connected to that.

That’s a first, he mused wryly.

No, it was something else. He had never felt this calm and settled since coming to Montreal. He had never been able to accept his situation more than now. In a way, it had started when he had talked to Firebolt. The mech was different from every single one he had ever met. Even WiFi, who was a baby compared to Firebolt, didn’t have this acceptance and belief the race car had.

Firebolt had accepted his fate and he worked with it as best as he could; he even ignored the set-backs and simply struggled on.

The struggle wasn’t so much physical as psychological. Firebolt had been born out of violence and fear and terror. He had survived experiments and loss, he had come out stronger.

The hybrid Will had been born out of an accident. Brief pain, confusion and then the knowledge that he was no longer human. Firebolt hadn’t existed consciously before the Allspark energy had been forced onto him; Will had been a human individual, with a family and friends and a career. His loss had started right away.

The hours spent talking to Firebolt had cleared a lot of what was on Lennox’s mind, more than any chatting with the mechs or humans at the base could ever have. Firebolt understood him better than even his own partner.

Will smiled. Ironhide accepted his need to talk to the newly discovered life form. The mech kept an eye on him, but he wasn’t hovering or crowding. Like Sideswipe, for now he guarded without interfering.

Stretching, enjoying the crisp morning air that surrounded the race track at this time of day, Lennox inhaled deeply. At three in the morning there was no one up yet. The mechanics wouldn’t come in until maybe six, some earlier, some later, and those who had worked through the night to fix a problem had already gone to bed. He was alone in the night and it felt good.

And, yes, he felt settled. Almost serene. It had taken him this long to accept himself and it had taken a little mech to push him into the final acceptance that nothing could be changed back.

This was him.

With all his powers and abilities.

He shouldn’t be scared of what he was, but he should respect what his body could do.

Firebolt had come to terms with his abilities the same way. He had developed from a child-like personality to who he was today, a full member of the team. He wasn’t a toy or a tool; he was Firebolt.

Something moved in the darkness and Will turned, eyebrows rising in surprise. It wasn’t completely dark since the light of the city around the race track was bright enough for his eyes to pick up a lot more than a mere human. Curse and gift of the hybrid. He knew the shape because he had seen it so often before, but never this defined while so solid.

“Ironhide?” he asked, trying to make sure despite the knowledge that this was the hardlight holoform of his partner.

“Who else did you expect?” the well-known voice wanted to know, the features reflecting amusement.

“Someone with more sense. This is depleting your energy reserves!”

“Nope.”

“Huh?”

“Ratchet gave me an upgrade a while ago.”

Will’s brows rose again. “And you didn’t tell me why?”

“Surprise,” Ironhide rumbled and closed the distance, pulling the hybrid human against the hardlight holoform.

It still felt very solid. More solid than a human should feel. There was a lot more mass, a density that wasn’t human cells, and it was all condensed into this six foot something human frame. But Lennox was used to touching a very solid and completely non-human metal being, so this was nothing extraordinary. And they had touched with the featureless holoform, too.

“Color me surprised,” he quipped. “This is… very nice.”

“I thought as much. Range is limited, but that has its advantages, too.”

Lennox chuckled, reading between the lines. Ironhide was still parked around the back.

A hand slipped underneath his long-sleeved tee and trailed across his spine. Will shivered a little as the fingers traced the stationary runes without seeing them. This wasn’t new either. Ironhide had touched him before, with his own hands, and later, with the development of the hardlight hologram, with smaller, more human-like hands. Lennox felt no aversion; his body sometimes craved the contact.

“You’ve changed,” Ironhide said, inhumanly blue eyes never leaving Will’s face. “Coming here was good for you.”

“I guess. Firebolt settled some things for me.”

Ironhide nodded. There was a strange expression in his eyes.

“Feedback?” Will teased, knowing the signs.

“Yeah. It’s a strange sensation.”

“The runes?”

“You.”

Lennox blinked. “Uh… this is hardlight, right? You don’t really feel anything…”

“Energy is transmitted. Your energy. I might not have human receptors or my own sensors, but something flows back to me from you.”

Lennox felt breath catch, both from the words and the maddening fingers that had taken on a more forward approach to exploration. Ironhide leaned closer, lips against his ear.

“I might not be the most experimental mech and I never jump into a situation without preparation, but I’m willing to make an exception now.”

“’Hide?” he stuttered.

“Does this form disturb you?”

“No!”

“If you prefer the image to be different…”

Lennox moved forward, lips crushing against Ironhide’s, and he grabbed the holoform jacket, digging his fingers into the surreal fabric. The holographic lips reacted, so real and still so alien, but familiar and not weird. The kiss, as it was, wasn’t one where the angels sang and the clouds lifted for the sun to come out. It was wild and sloppy and the first shared between them. In a way it completed a process, a development, that had taken eight long years to reach this point.

A thousand thoughts piled up in Will’s mind, but none were concerned with who he was kissing. He had come to terms with his relationship to an alien mechanoid years ago. Things wouldn’t have worked as they had if he hadn’t. He was more surprised and amused by how real all of this felt, despite the knowledge that he wasn’t kissing a) a human being and b) Ironhide as such.
When they parted, he felt his nerve endings jitter, his whole body suddenly alive and thrumming. Ironhide regarded him with an amused smirk.

“How far are you willing to go?” the mech asked.

Will gave a little laugh. “I think I already took this far beyond what I would have ever thought it could be.”

Ironhide touched his left temple, brushing over what had to be a rune. “It excites you.”

Lennox groaned. Treacherous little glyphs! Now they had to be readable!

Ironhide leaned forward. “Me, too.”

“Did you surf the net again?” Will managed.

“Research into a culture is never wrong. I learned that from Jazz. Research into a culture’s sexual preferences, habits and mating rituals is sometimes enlightening.”

“’Hide…” he sighed. Mechs made it sound so… clinical!

“It helped me understand your need for sex.”

“I thought we didn’t have sex?”

Ironhide suddenly grinned and Will felt blood rush somewhere south. For a moment he panicked, wondered if interfacing in protoform wouldn’t be preferable to an experimental mech, then a very primal part of him took over.

They had to get a room. Soon. Now!

Because Ironhide was right. He was excited. He was having a very human reaction to his partner’s holographic form, and he had never in his past considered men. But this wasn’t about men or women, male or female. This was about Ironhide. And Lennox had the hots for him, plain and simple.

Luckily this particular Autobot had an alt mode that allowed some interesting acrobatics inside – as well as darkened windows and a soundproof interior.

Later, Will Lennox had never been so glad for all of it as he lay panting on the transformed leather seat, his body tingling, oversensitive to even the slightest touch, covered in writing that spoke clearly of what had happened, what he felt and just how much he enjoyed the simple presence of his partner. Ironhide’s holoform looked pleased, despite the fact that he had had to shift back to the black, featureless version.

“Drained ya?” Lennox drawled.

The rumble all around him was a soft laugh that reverberated throughout Will’s body.

“The feedback was… different. Very intense. Very pleasurable.”

“Hm, yeah.”

Ironhide leaned over him, the alien blue eyes reflecting what he felt. “You had to make a lot of compromises in the past. Our encounters were on my level. This is for you, Will. I enjoy it, too. I think we can broaden that compromise to include your own physical needs and satisfaction.”

Lennox was a little stunned. “Yeah, I guess,” he finally managed.

Because despite everything, he was still inherently human when it came to physical reactions of this kind.

“Good.”

Lennox sat up, studying the hologram, then smiled as black fingers trailed a string of cosmic glyphs over one bare shoulder.

This was new, but it didn’t upset his balance any longer. New wasn’t terrifying, just… new. He could work with it, handle it.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Ironhide hummed softly around him.

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The team was getting ready to fly to Europe and so was Sideswipe. He had moved from being one of the exhibit cars to the ‘newly acquired’ car of Maxx Racing. Sergeant Reese was ‘his driver’ and the soldier had cleaned up nicely from military grunt to racing circuit member. His knowledge of the whole ‘scene’ helped immensely. He had been Lennox’s primary and probably only choice. He also hadn’t fought much. Actually, he would probably given half a year’s salary to go on this mission.

Sideswipe had been talking to Firebolt frequently, fascinated by the young mind and the unusual birth. Like WiFi, who he had met once or twice already, Firebolt was a human creation. He hadn’t been given the power of transformation, just something close to the concept of hiding in plain sight. Firebolt was a lot older than WiFi and he had a lot more experience with humans. He wasn’t a warrior, had never heard of Decepticons or Cybertron. He was a racer, an adrenaline junkie, and he was protective of his crew. Everyone in the team knew who he was and everyone kept the secret.

Sideswipe in turn answered whatever questions the humans had. Prime had told him to decide for himself how much he revealed. So far no question that had been asked had been too private.

When he had first transformed to show the Maxx Racing team just what they were dealing with there had been more than one gaping mechanic. They had quickly settled into this new situation and while there had been curious glances at his alt mode now and then, it had become a matter of the past now. Sideswipe was no more exciting than their own mechanoid member.

He had been easily accepted.

The contact with the human crew and the Allspark creation had helped to ease his spark a little. It felt good to talk, even if he would never reveal his darkest fear – that his twin brother was dead, killed by Decepticons. It felt good to make friends, to teach them about Cybetronian tech, to mould their allies.

Firebolt in turn had been fascinated by his larger ‘brothers’, as well as Will Lennox. The human with the Allspark glyphs on his skin had been a source of nerve-ending curiosity, and Firebolt had spent long nights just sitting with Lennox. Whether they had talked or the mech had simply studied the glyphs had been anyone’s guess. Will never spoke about their little all-nighters.

Hiding the hybrid human hadn’t been as difficult as Lennox had first believed. He spent his time in the trailers that doubled as the team’s own sleeping quarters for the engineers, their replacement parts warehouse, and Firebolt’s garage when he was being transported somewhere. When no one was around, he took a stroll, hiding as much of him as was possible without arousing suspicion.

“We won’t come with you to Europe,” Will told the team the night before the scheduled overseas flight.

“Too bad. It’s a whole different atmosphere than here,” Gillespie told him with a grin. “So you trust us with Firebolt?”

“I always did. You took good care of him; you kept his secret.” Will held out a hand. “I’m happy he’s in such good hands.”

“Don’t worry, Lennox. He always will be. Won’t let anything happen to the speedster.”

Will chuckled. “Sideswipe will be there for a while longer. And you have our number.”

As Sideswipe rolled aboard the cargo plane that would get him to France, he reflected that maybe, just maybe, life on Earth might not be so bad.
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to be continued in Co-Dependence, coming soon :) The sequel will answer the question as to what Barricade and Jazz are following.
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