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Very nice! Glad to see more of Blackout, I do likes his insecurity at not knowing how to talk to Starscream who is clearly troubled.

Can't wait to see how this scene pans out!

Hrm. Don't remember if I posted "Shattered Sun" here or not. Did I? Does this make me senile? Anyway, Sideswipe's referring to that story. If you care, PM or something and I'll put the link. It's totally PG 13 and fairly short.

So, this week, Ironhide, Barricade and Flareup. We're ramping up for the big battle stuff which takes up mucho chapteros (which is a fake Spanglish word I just made up).

Enjoy! I hope.

XXXXXX

XVI.
Diego Garcia

When they had to, the humans could move plenty fast. Within a few cycles of General Morshower’s announcement, Diego Garcia was already starting to look barren. Gutted. Flights—large C-130s—had been going all day, and there was still a backlog of men and equipment and vehicles waiting on the greenramp. Ironhide watched from a distance, miserable, hunched in the stark dark shadow of midafternoon between two of the support buildings. He had cut away from both bodies after the dismissal, not wanting to be in either side’s targeting grid. It hurt. Not just that it was all his fault, though that caused an ache in his spark nearly as painful as his total failure with Flareup. But it hurt more than he’d thought watching the humans leave. Even from this distance, he could recognize some of them by shape or gesture. That—that was De Guardia—who else moved his hands so much when he talked? That was Epps over there, staring moodily back at the hangars. MacCallum, hanging between two crutches, his rucksack hunched over his back like a turtle shell.

Ironhide would…miss them. He hadn’t lied—combat would have gone a lot smoother if he’d not had to worry about not stepping on them, and having to keep them around as a humanitarian cover story got a little tedious—but he enjoyed them. As personalities. He liked MacCallum’s weird sense of humor. Epps’s loyalty and commitment. Lennox’s struggle to balance his devotion to duty with that to his family. Things he could see and admire and recognize, as a warrior. They were good warriors—he wasn’t going to fault them that. They just weren’t in the same class. No shame in it really. For their size and, well, frailty, they did pretty well for themselves.

“Here’s where you’re hiding.”

Ironhide flinched. He pushed back from his vehicle mode and turned. “What do you want, Sideswipe?” he said, churlishly.

“Came looking for you,” the other bot said, smiling brightly. That idiot smile he overused. Still, it had an infectious kind of charm.

“Joining the outcasts?” Sideswipe hadn’t exactly…helped back there. “They boot you out, too?”

Sideswipe leaned against the building. “No way. Bot not constructed yet that can boot Sideswipe outta anywhere.” He winked. “Came to get you.”

“Get me?”

“Yeah. This moping thing, mech, it’s got to go. Not like you killed anyone.” The corners of Sideswipe’s mouth flickered down as he remembered…. He shook his head and shrugged simultaneously, trying to clear himself of a memory. “YOU didn’t kill anyone, so, whatever. Come on. You’re going to have to do it sooner or later.”

Good point, but…right now? “Maybe later.”

Sideswipe narrowed one eye in a parody of a suspicious glare. “Your agenda too full?”

Despite himself, Ironhide cracked a grin. Not a prize-winning one, but it was, perhaps, a start. “Yeah. I’ve got the afternoon for self-pity, and this evening I’m going to highlight reel all of the stupid things I’ve ever said in my life…”

“Gonna be a long night for ya, then?” Sideswipe grinned. “Hide, seriously.” His face lost its cheeky grin. “We all make mistakes. We all say dumb things. I’m the King of Saying Dumb Things. When I die—gloriously in battle, of course—that’s how they’re gonna remember me: Sideswipe: he kicked ass and said stupid ****.”

True. “What’s your point?”

“Come on, mech! You don’t see me crawling off in a corner for a pity party, do you? I get over it. Everyone says dumb things, I figure. Just my turn every now and again.” His eyes started to glow with that look Ironhide remembered, all too unfortunately, as Sideswipe’s ‘pep talk’ look. “You know what I do when I get upset like that, Hide?” he said, slyly, “I take it out on…the enemy!” He said the last as though it were a revelation.

Ironhide hated to cut him down. Primus bless the well-meaning moron for trying, at least. “One problem with that,” he said, holding up his naked forearms. The empty mounting brackets told their own story so plainly even Sideswipe figured it out.

“Oh,” he said, flagging for a moment. “Well, anyway, you can still come hang out with us. I meant what I said: We’re Autobots. We stick together.”

“You’re an Autobot,” Ironhide said, sadly.

“Aww come on,” Sideswipe looked uncomfortable, sensing he was out of his league in cheering-up abilities. He was starting to feel like he was really, really losing his touch. “You think we’re going to vote you out or something?”

“Wish it were that easy,” Ironhide said. “Don’t remember, do you? I started out as…one of them.”

Sideswipe was stunned into silence for a moment. “Yeah, but…,” he foundered along, “well, we all came from some place,” he said, lamely. “And besides, who the hell remembers back that far anyway?”

Ironhide’s gaze hardened. “I do.”

I really wish I had an Ironhide toy so I could go hug him and wallow in misery with him... bless...

And your Sideswipe is really kinda sweet he's growing on me a LOT...

Keeping my eyes peeled for more.

There's a hint here for something upcoming in the follow-on story. And yes, sigh, this means we'll meet an OC soon. But he's a real jerk, so he's fun.

XVII.

Nemesis

Barricade half-heartedly sent one of his intel search programs to search for the only lead he had—that the extraterrestrial energon source was a green stone. Probably a useless tip from the cycle bot—he wondered how much such an admission had cost her. Sign, he told himself, that you did your job right. Sign that that one, that part, you didn’t slag up. Still, the clue probably went nowhere. Green. Great. That narrows it down a lot.

Still, he sent the search on its way through the human databases—might as well start with the ones who should know their own bloody planet, right?—and hit up the main console to work on the decrypt again. It’d never work, this stupid search, but it was something he had to clear. The first step. And he might as well get it out of the way. He turned his attention back to the decrypt. It had to be working. That ridiculous string of numbers had to be the right answer. Or the right answer had to be in there, somewhere. He stared at it for a long time.

No, genius. Running silence doesn’t work on numbers. Can stare at them all day and they’re not going to blink, much less blab their deepest and darkest to you. And before you even think it, slapping won’t work either. Oh, this was just completely out of his skill set.

He hated admitting that, even to himself. No, he said, firmly. I can figure this out. I can do this. I just…need a break from it right now.

He called up the search. It was still in process, but fed him some of the highest matches. “Emeralds are forever,” read one article. No. Stupid jewelry store. What was with these humans and wearing rocks, anyway? Well, anything that stood between their disgusting nakedness and his optics, Barricade was all for.

The next was about ‘green coal’, which as it turned out when he called up the article, was not green at all. Green meant something other than a color to these humans? No wonder Starscream had been crabby after they brought him back from the humans. Four solars. The horror.

The third title, he didn’t even understand. Which rubbed on his already irritated ego. “The Holy Grail of Clean Energy” it read. No ‘green’ in the title. No ‘stone’. This was…disappointing. Already the search was that low on good matches?

He called it up, idly. If nothing else, he’d find out what a ‘holy grail’ was. It sounded obscene. He hoped it was. He skimmed the abstract, all four of his eyes spiralling as he read. This was it. No. No. It couldn’t be this easy. The first flimsy search he did, results? This never happened to him. He’d always had to work so much harder for anything. He’d just done the search just to cover the obvious bases. But…it was all here—meteoric stone. Green, as in the actual color. Possibility of energy extraction? He called up the full article—a slight hang as his system had to fox a firewall. That was weird: academic sources didn’t normally firewall like this. He felt something almost like electricity in his power core. Too easy. Too easy. Yet…here it was.

Here it wasn’t. He almost felt a sense of relief as the full text scrolled under his optics and … it turned out almost woefully incomplete. ‘Preliminary findings.’ ‘More research needed.’ He was torn between relief and regret—would have been nice to throw something at Megatron this early—but before he could decide whether regret was winning out over relief, his comm buzzed.

“On,” he said.

“Need your advice on something,” Blackout’s voice came over on subvoc.

“You don’t owe me enough already for setting me up about the jet?”

“Come on, you needed that.”

“Oh yeah, me and my superfluity of ego. We needed a good trim.”

“Gather he still isn’t talking to you.”

“How’d you figure that out, supersleuth?”

“Uhhhh, ‘cause he comm’d me to comm you?”

“Oh, that’s mature.” Barricade said dryly.

“It’s Starscream.” True enough.

Barricade grunted acknowledgement. The Seeker wasn’t known for his social skills. Not that Barricade was, but at least he followed chain of command. Well, when it suited him. “I suppose the sunshine you’re going to shine on this is that at least he thinks I should be brought on board whatever catastrophe you’ve got stewing down there? The Three Musketeers of idiocy?” More likely, he was trying to get Barricade’s imprimatur on some idiot scheme, banking on Barricade’s current good-favor with Megatron. Not an awful lot to count on. Barricade himself wasn’t betting too much on that.

“It’d sure turn out that way if you don’t get down here and help.”

“Get down there? What the hell you need me for? Picking rocks and blowing up jets? Neither really my forte.”

“Got something that is yours. Russians are here. They want to negotiate.”

Barricade logged out of IC systems. All this stuff could wait. Would have to wait. “Do not,” he hissed, “let that fraggin’ jet open his mouth until I get there.”

Intriguing... very mysterious... *slides down your door to wait for next update*...

Yay, Friday. I didn't used to like Flareup, but she's really grown on me, because she's thought through what she believes. Not a lot of people do.




Diego Garcia

Fine, Ratchet had agreed, finally, I’ll talk to her. He hadn’t counted on how hard it would be to find her. Oh, she was certainly conspicuous enough, with her brightly painted armor, and the noticeable space everyone made for her, as though her Decepticon parts were somehow contagious. But she seemed to have developed some sort of sixth sense specifically coded to locating where the medic was and avoiding him, assiduously.

He’d resorted to an old trick, invoking Prime’s authority for an all-hands depth maintenance. Prime had agreed to the notion, as something to get the others occupied and moving and in shape while they still had facilities. Ratchet hadn’t told him about the Flareup part of it. Better he not know. Not that he’d object, but Prime didn’t like anything that smelled even the least underhanded.

Each of the Autobots had been issued a number and a time to visit Ratchet in his repair bay in Delta 1. He’d set Flareup about 2/3 of the way through, completely separate from her sisters. He didn’t want her to sense a set up. She’d still come—she’d have to—but she’d come with her guard up. More up than it would be already.

Don’t know why they picked me, Ratchet griped. Not the best guy at this kind of thing. Can put a bot together from a box of assorted parts. But the spark? The spirit? I have nothing to do with that. I can’t help that at all.

Flareup rolled in, precisely on time. She rolled up to the repair frame without more than a polite nod at Ratchet.

“Flareup, how are you doing?” he began. That sounded benign, no?

“Doing fine.” Nope. She was already on her guard. “But I suppose you’re going to check me anyway.”

“Have to check everyone.” It wasn’t hard not to sound thrilled about it. He’d seen so many servos and pistons and slightly stiff joints in the last cycles to haunt his dreams for solars. He gestured her to lean back against the frame, tilting it back until it took her weight off the ground. “You okay with this?” he asked.

“With what? You checking me out? Not really.”

“I meant the frame. I don’t want you to feel helpless. You know, if this is how they…did it to you.”

Her red eye seemed to glare at him. “Actually, they have net cradles in their repair bays. Not like this at all.”

He let the sting slide off. “Can I ask the extent of your injuries?”

She sighed, impatient. “You can see the eye and the armor. Had a few of the plates ripped off,” she waited while he winced. “A finger broken, a lubricant line bitten through—“

“Bitten through?” He couldn’t keep the horror from his voice. What had they done to her? Why was she able to say it so calmly?

“Bitten through. Some bite damage to a tire—they didn’t have a match so they had to patch it.” She spun her hand tire, showing him a slightly darker area of the surface. “And probably some other stuff. After a while I offlined.”

“Flareup,” he said, putting a hand on hers. He couldn’t even think of what to say. The injuries she described were terrifying. But her delivery was so…flat. Like she was just reading off a list.

She continued, turning to expose part of her neck to him. “They decided it was better to pull and replace the whole lubricant line than just patch it.”

“They?”

“Repair bots. Barely sentient, little things. Actually kind of cute.”

“Cute? They’re Decepticons!”

“They don’t know any better. And besides, all they do is repair. And you can see, they did a pretty good job.” He had to admit, the lubricant line looked solid enough. “So, Chromia tell you to check me for bombs and other little surprises?”

He shrugged, uncomfortable. “In a way.”

She smiled, a little sadly. “Go ahead. I’m tired of fighting with her. Maybe if she hears it from you….”

Well, it was permission. He picked up a field scanner and began examining her. “Which plates?” She indicated which ones had been removed. He couldn’t sense any damage, not even in the connective cilia. He grunted. Made sense, as bad as those ‘cons got fragged up that they must have some decent repair facilities. Surprised that they’d dragged them all out for Flareup. And Ironhide, too. He’d come through with some parts only primered, but he’d also been functional. Once Ratchet had removed the mobility locks in his legs. He thought of Starscream, and how he’d been merely stabilized and disarmed, with a sick pang. It had made sense at the time—too busy, too many of our mechs needing his actual attention. Working round the clock to patch up Autobots—running on nearly empty just to supervise the disarming of the Decepticon. And it had been hard to go from the damage the jet had inflicted on others, and the jet himself, and feel anything like sympathy.

“Weapons?”

“They disabled the energon blade. It made sense.”

“You’d’ve been able to fight back.”

“He didn’t use anything on me other than his hands. And teeth.” Her mouth pinched a bit at the memory. Couldn’t even take it even odds.

“Flareup, can I ask a question? You don’t have to answer.”

“Sure,” she said. “As long as you don’t start telling me what to do.”

“Lot of bots, if they’d been through what you described, wouldn’t be…this calm about it. Are you having bad dreams or flashbacks or anything like that? Anything I can help you with?” He could disable a few of the cortex connectors for a while, until she had had time to process it. Least he could do.

He hated saying that. Maybe ‘least she’d let him do.’

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” she said. “I had plenty of time to talk through it in their repair bay.”

“Talk through it? With these non-sentient bots?”

“With Barricade.”

His lubricant ran cold. “Barricade?” He tried to keep his voice neutral. He knew the ‘con’s reputation back from Cybertron. When Flareup had been doing…what? Refugee work? Must have been. How else would she not remember. “What did he say?”

“Mostly he just let me talk about it until I was tired of talking. Kept asking me how I felt, where I felt.” Probably, Ratchet thought, to file it away to enjoy later, the sick bastard. “Told me about their warrior tempering a bit.”

“What’s that?” Starscream had mentioned that, too, he seemed to remember. But Ratchet had had other things on his mind at the time. Like the damage his ‘warriors’ had inflicted. Like keeping bots stabilized until the CR was cleared for them.

“This thing that they do to their warriors. It’s like this big ritual. They learn to get used to pain, to process it, I think, in a different way.”

Ratchet grunted. He’d heard about some humans—the Native American Apaches, for example—who had something similar. Claimed that they had spiritual visions as a result. Probably overprocessing hallucinations, nothing more. He finished his sweep with the field scanner. Opened up a log of her parts and their tolerances, and began placing pads to run conductivity tests.

“And the point of this lesson?”

“Just that if I thought about what had happened that way instead of being a victim of torture, it might help. It does help,” she said, confidently.

“It doesn’t change what they did.” He hit the conductivity test. Her new armor pieces reacted differently than the rest. Still within tolerances, but…different.

“It changes my reaction. That doesn’t matter? Ratchet, in life, all you have control of is your reaction.”

“Sometimes not.”

“That’s an excuse. Look: something bad happens. We can choose to live in hate. In which case, our course is war. Or we can try to choose another way. That’s all I’m saying.” She looked down over her body on the repair frame. “I’m not explaining this well.”

“This something Barricade told you, too?” Hard to keep the acid out of his voice. Did she not realize that the damn ‘con had just been toying with her?

“No, actually. That’s mine.” Her eyes spiralled down. “I am sorry that you can’t see the difference. Seems no one can.”

You can really see where Flareup is coming from, I really for her seems like the others don't understand her position. As you know I'm not a big fan of femmes as a general rule but I really like the way you're writing Flareup, looking forward to seeing how she develops.

I love your Sideswipe! He's gung-ho and ditzy and cute. Flare-up is very cool as well, and the image you build of her with 'con parts is just awesome.

Okay, even I think XIX is too short. So have two sections. Enjoy my apparent suction at Autobotage. And place your bets about who the mystery mech is. I so totally suck at building mystery.


XIX.
Synchronous Earth Orbit

“Contact him again,” Megatron said, stiffly. Soundwave could hear the tension in his voice.

“If he is en route,” Soundwave said, blandly, “locating him may be difficult.”

“Are you saying you cannot do it?” A steely hint of a challenge.

“Not at all, my Lord. Just that it may take some time to calculate the correct vector and compensate for the time shift.” Soundwave sent a few radar hits, to verify his current bearings. In fixed Earth orbit, he’d lost the direct vector to the far quarter of space they’d contacted last time. He’d need to move to clear interference.

“He was told to travel by space bridge.” Megatron sounded angry.

“You know how his kind are,” Soundwave said, blandly.

“Surely not stupid enough to ignore a direct order.”

“Surely not,” Soundwave said, diplomatically. Though it wouldn’t surprise him at all. “But while in bridge transit he will be unreachable.”

“Find him for me, Soundwave,” Megatron said. “And when you do, verify that he has not contacted….” His voice trailed off.

“Certainly, my Lord.” Soundwave knew whom Megatron meant. And that he found saying the name distasteful. “Shall I relay a message to him?”

A moment’s pause. “No. I shall speak to him myself.”

Soundwave frowned. “Yes, my Lord.”

“Contact me when you get him.” Without waiting for a reply, Megatron cut the comm.

Soundwave hit his booster jets, to align as clear a vector as he could to the distant nebula. Sometimes, being the only one Megatron trusted was a burden, he thought.

If, the thought came suddenly and cold as space itself, Megatron actually trusted him.

XX.

Diego Garcia, Hangar Alpha 1

Cliffjumper didn’t see Sideswipe anywhere in the throng that was crowding around Prime. Just as well. He’d have to have a word. Or three. Or a fist or two, with him later. Sides meant well, but…whenever he clicked on his vocalizer, things just had a way of…coming out wrong. Cliffjumper had gotten used to the fact that when working with Sideswipe, you simply needed a Sideswipe-to-tactful translation protocol.

The gist of the crowd was evenly split between a kind of Sideswipean outrage—how dare you kowtow to the humans—and a more generalized worry—what will happen now? Everyone seemed to be trying to talk at once, and to everyone else. Time, Cliffjumper thought, for leadership. HIS kind of leadership.

“HEY!” he bellowed, loud enough that he felt the floor shake under him. He raised his weapon at the ceiling menacingly. Something in the tone of his voice got attention—the crowd subsided. “One at a time, please. Me first.” He looked around, challenging anyone to contradict him. All he had to do now was ask the right questions in the right order.

“Prime, we just want answers,” he said. “First, why agree to leave?”

It might have been Cliffjumper’s imagination, but Prime looked a little relieved at the slight return to law and order. And a chance to state his mind. “Cliffjumper,” he said, in his most soothing tone, “We really had no choice. We are here only on the humans’ sufferance. We need their assistance.”

Voices boiled at this, which Optimus tried to quell by a hand gesture. “Ehhhhhhh,” Cliffjumper snarled at them. “Let him finish.” The voices died down. Sometimes politeness didn’t work.

Prime nodded—definitely grateful this time. Huh, Cliffjumper thought. Power of diplomacy. Didn’t know I had that in my skill set. “This is more than merely fighting the Decepticons. It is true that,” he dropped his voice as though this were an uncomfortable thing to admit, “we can fight them without the assistance of the humans. But we want more than that, don’t we?” Prime looked around, his blue eyes seeking out each pair of optics in the crowd. “Don’t we want to imagine a life after the war? Living in peace? Where we don’t have to hide?” A few murmurs of assent. Many of the Autobots had more or less fallen in love with Earth. It wasn’t Cybertron, not by a long shot. But it had its own kind of rustic charm. Cliffjumper considered himself in that group. Earth would be a great place to stay. But it would, Prime was right, be less great if the humans hated their guts.

“I know that this is difficult for all of us to bear. And I thank you for trusting my leadership so far. I have, you know, the best interests of Earth and our kind at stake.” One mumbled disagreement, but Cliffjumper couldn't tell who it came from.

“So what’s the plan?” Enough speechifyin’. Cliffjumper wanted to do something. They’d all be better if they were doing, instead of sitting around gabbling.

“We have,” Prime said, “thirty days remaining—they do not start the countdown until tomorrow: I have asked. Until that time we have entire use of the facilities here, including air support. We are allowed to call upon the Air Force for any transport needs—to relocate to a new location or to engage the enemy. I suggest we do both. We need to find some place to stay that will accept us. Perhaps not take us into the kind of helpful alliance we’d like, but allow us to at least live in peace and stability.” A frown—the first sign anyone had seen on Prime’s face that he felt a little…betrayed by the way the US had turned their backs.

“But we should also, I think, keep up our attacks on the enemy. If we show them an opportunity now, when we don’t know what they’ve got planned—“

“We know they’ve got something planned,” Cliffjumper gave himself the right to cut in.

Prime nodded. “We strongly suspect that they have a plan. We know that the attacks will continue.”

“Why don’t we just kick back and let the slaggin’ humans get their asses kicked til they come begging for our help?” Sideswipe stood in the door of the hangar, towing Ironhide with him. Ironhide stared stolidly at the floor.

“That is not our way,” Prime replied. “As Ratchet has recently reminded me,” he nodded at the yellow bot who leaned against the wall, arms folded, “the way to win this war—the war and not merely any one skirmish—is not to become more like the enemy.” Ironhide’s head sunk lower.

“’Kay,” Sideswipe said, unhappy. “If we’re going to fight ‘cons, count me in. But I ain’t fighting without Ironhide.” He put a hand on the larger bot’s shoulder. Ironhide tried to shake it off.

“I’m with him,” Cliffjumper said. “Maybe there was a point in keeping ‘Hide out of action for a while. Not anymore. And we need him.” And, by the look of it, Ironhide really needed someone to need or at least want him around right about now. Ironhide looked up at him. Cliffjumper gave a gruff nod.

“Yes,” Prime said. “Ironhide, I regret that it was…necessary. It no longer is. Please accept my apology.”

Ironhide’s feet scraped the concrete. All eyes bore down on him, a sea of Autobot blue. And one, single, Decepticon red. “Yeah,” he muttered. “No big deal.” Until, he thought, the next time I am a liability. He looked down at his forearms and sighed.

See now call me biased or whatever (I don't actually care) but what the hell is wrong with your Autobots?? They have tension and conflict and depth how is that suckage or boring (do people really think they're boring?! ) For me your 'bots work they're realistic and I can totally see how this would play out if this was a movie.

I enjoyed these two sections, I can't even fathom a guess who the mystery mech is, I am guessing a Decepticon?

I agree with Carrie about your 'bots. They are very realistic and appropriate for the movie verse (much more appropriate than Mudflap and Skids ).

moment:
Cliffjumper had gotten used to the fact that when working with Sideswipe, you simply needed a Sideswipe-to-tactful translation protocol.

Barricade and an OC. Oh, the mindgames.

XXI

Tunguska

The humans had an expression about not being able to trust someone as far as you could throw them. Looking down at his human counterpart, Barricade mused that he could probably throw him plenty far. Trusted Pyotr Alexeievitch Suvorov much less, by any conversion. He wondered if he’d misheard, and the expression was ‘don’t trust him as far as he can throw me.’

The human might not have been able to shift even a small bot like Barricade by an inch, but he was determined to try his hard-headed best.

“We hope,” he was saying with a slightly oily smile, “you can see the benefits of allying with us.”

“Excuse me if I don’t, immediately,” Barricade said. Nice was going to get him walked all over, here. “How ‘bout you spell them out for me.” He was vaguely amused that the Russian negotiator spoke to him in English. He decided to keep it going. Never know when it would come in handy that they DIDN’T know he could understand that savage garble of syllables they called the Russian language.

Pyotr (he had insisted Barricade call him that, even as he insisted on pronouncing Barricade’s name as ‘Bo-ree-cod’) tilted his head, just sliiiiiightly patronizing. “We have natural resources, which you obviously need.”

“Which we seem to be taking, quite handily,” Barricade gestured over the hill to the LZ where Vortex had swapped out with Blackout as the loading copter. “Not sure why we need give anything to you.”

“Oh, come now. Surely you need a base, no? Tedious, and costly, dropping down from…wherever it is you say your ship is.” His eyes got sly.

Thought of that all by yourself, have you? “Can’t put a price on security,” Barricade said, blandly.

Pyotr gave a well-staged, showy laugh. “True, my friend. But who would be rash enough to threaten your security?”

Barricade let the question hang in the air between them. Who’d been sending the fighter jets that Starscream had been intercepting all afternoon? He added, “Could ask you the same.”

Another showy laugh. “We know well this feeling of security, here, Barricade.” The bot grunted, non-committal. “That is why we should ally. Neither of us has anything to fear from anyone else….”

“Except each other?” Barricade finished for him. He spun his wheel into its slicing-blade mode, idly. Actions, the humans said also, speak louder than words. He looked over at Pyotr. “Sorry,” he said, “Do this when I get bored.” The human’s face went through about thirty different expressions as he tried to master his response: annoyance, fear, worry, anger, finally subsiding to bland.

“I am sorry that you are bored with our discussion,” Pyotr said, tightly.

“No big deal. I get bored a lot. Short attention span. You were saying?” Proved your point, Barricade. Put it away. He spun the blades back into their tire.

“I was saying,” Pyotr said, his eyes narrowed, “that an alliance between us would be advantageous for you.”

“Right!” Barricade said, brightly. “And I was saying that it really wasn’t all that great for us, but was wondering what was in it for you. Because, I have to say, we wouldn’t ally ourselves with anyone who doesn’t feel a real…need for the commitment.” He flashed a smile. He knew his facial structure was somewhere in the ‘terrifying’ to ‘hideous’ range, and this time he intended to make use of its peculiar charm.

Pyotr’s face took on a look of real respect. Grudging respect, but real. Had he thought that because he was talking to robots this would be easy for him? Fleshling, Barricade thought, I’ve been messing with minds before your ancestors grew legs. “Yes, of course,” he said, smoothly. Couldn’t hide from Barricade the fact that under the smooth voice, he was grabbing for control. Only knew that by feeling it yourself at some point. “It is true,” he said, opening his hands in a gesture of submission, as though Barricade had really wrested something from him, “that we would gain from your partnership.”

“And what is it you would gain, exactly?” Something wonderfully effective in making the enemy spell out his stupidity.

“My friend, we have similar political aims.”

“Bzzzzzz. Wrong. Human, we have no political aims.” None that pertained to or required collaboration with humans, at any rate. He enjoyed the slight snarl that flashed across Suvorov’s face.

Pyotr tried again, forcing a jovial laugh. “My friend, you are right. I concede defeat. We do seek something: an alliance with you would give us access, we would hope, to some of your technological…advancements.” Meaning: weapons. Barricade grunted. “You know that our chief rivals, the Americans, have had access to the technology and aid of your Autobot enemies.”

Ah, playing the good old ‘enemy of my enemy’ line. Still, it wasn’t a cliché for no reason. “I thought you had no enemies.”

“A…mistranslation, perhaps.” Right. Blame the translation. “Anyone, anything, any institution that suffers from success also suffers from a surplus of enemies. It is simply a matter of which enemies are actually fear-worthy. The Americans were not, but with the aid from their Autobot allies….” He threw his hands open again.

This made sense—well, minus all the overblown ‘we fear no one’ rhetoric. The Soviets hadn’t even been invited to the alliance party. They’d been left out of the loop for years now. Probably figured that in the interim the Autobots had handed the Americans a half-dozen different doomsday devices. Barricade knew better. He’d studied the Autobots long enough to know that their principles wouldn’t allow them to up-armor even a bosom ally. Some stupid ‘balance of power’ ‘prime directive’ nonsense from the dusty ancient times of the High Council. Ironically, exactly that sort of thinking had created the warrior class in the first place. Had created the Decepticons, if you thought about it.

To be honest, Barricade wasn’t inclined to hand over the keys to the armory himself. A weapon the humans could use against other humans could very easily be used against the Decepticons themselves. And Barricade hadn’t gotten where he was by handing anyone a weapon, loaded, safety-off. Especially not the Russians.

Pyotr waited patiently for an answer.

“I see,” he replied, neutrally. “I think we may be able to work something out.” Just delay him long enough to finish uploading Tunguska, he thought. A few more cycles. Maybe a solar. That’s all. “I will have to, of course, consult with our leader.”

Pyotr feigned disappointment. Overacting a bit. As if Barricade couldn’t read human emotions. “I came here in good faith with the belief I was negotiating with someone who had real power.”

Low blow, Pyotr, Barricade thought. Make you pay for that one. He smiled back. “I do. But I do not want to make promises without at least keeping my leader informed of what he’s agreeing to. We had discussed options,” he lied so easily sometimes he scared himself—he hadn’t spoken a syllable to Megatron, “and this is scraping the high upper end. You know how it is—formality.” Actually, serve Pyotr right if he sent Megatron down to finish these negotiations himself.

“Ah yes,” Pyotr smiled thinly, oozing sympathy. “The life of a bureaucrat.”

If only, Barricade thought. He suspected Pyotr wouldn’t be offlined if things fell through. Then again, he’d heard stories about these Russians. “Right.”

“We shall await your return.” Right on that line between gracious and impertinent.

Yes. Barricade thought. You sure will wait. Until I can be bothered to hop another atmospheric. Barricade nodded and turned back to the hill where Vortex sat, loaded, waiting for him. “Go okay?” the copter asked, kicking on his rotors.

“Fine. Stringing ‘em along just fine. Be curious,” he said, “to know what they’re offering the Autobots.”

“You think they contacted the Autobots, too?” Vortex sounded surprised. There was a reason Vortex was a combat guy and Barricade was intel. Had something to do with living and breathing paranoia.

“Don’t just think it.” He hopped into the copter’s open door. “Just have to figure out how to use it against both of them.”

This is a brilliant update! Barricade just wins me over the more I read of him. That Russian had better be careful Barricade is not in the least bit dumb or foolish. Liked it a lot!

I am...intrigued. o.O

Great work with the OC too. ^_^

Can Barricade call these things or what? I'm a little nervous b/c this is the first time I've written Prowl. And CP will beat me with a rolled up Allspark Almanac if I get his characterization wrong.

XXII.

Diego Garcia

Prowl knew Prime wouldn’t be able to hear him if he spoke, so he hit his private comm. “Distress call,” he said, simply. The Autobots had broken into small clumps in the main hangar, some chatting happily, some speculating a bit worriedly. After so long in restrained silence in the immediate aftermath of Ironhide and Flareup’s return, conversations boiled at a loud volume. But, Prowl was relieved to see, they no longer seemed upset about Prime’s decision. It was the only logical one, in the circumstances. Prowl wasn’t sure they saw all the factors that had gone into Prime’s decision, but they no longer seemed on the verge of rebellion. Right now, one group was even—noisily, of course—teasing Sideswipe about his ‘diplomacy’.

“From?” Across the hangar, Prime rose to his feet.

“Humans. Soviets. Claim that they’re under attack by Decepticons.” He switched to voc as Optimus came within range.

“You sound dubious.”

Prowl shifted uncomfortably, shutting off his comm and speaking aloud as Prime approached. No sense anyone thinking they were having some sort of secret confabulation. Prime’s authority wasn’t under question any more, but that didn’t mean the questions weren’t still hovering out there, ready to swoop. No sense feeding them. “It looks real enough—they’ve sent footage, and time stamps, in case we wanted to check satellite data.” That was the part, Prowl had decided, that was all too suspicious—they were begging to be checked up on. Who with a clear conscience does that?

“And?” Prime was asking, Prowl knew, if he’d checked. He didn’t need to ask. Prowl had checked. He wouldn’t be Prowl if he weren’t thorough to a fault.

“Irrefutable. Several fighter wings. Signs of multiple Decepticons. Only two attackers though.”

“Didn’t we have some field agents out there?”

“Yes. They missed their last check in. Which was only a half-cycle ago.” Prowl frowned. That system was useless. Obviously. He’d said it before, but no one listened. Expedience over logic.

“Who can you verify?”

“Starscream and one of the helicopters. Could be Grindor. Or Blackout. Tracer? He could be here, too.” Prowl’s subsystem began rattling off a list of Decepticons with rotor modes.

“Why are they attacking the Russians? Now?”

“Tunguska.”

“Oh.”

Yes. Oh. Optimus had gotten, Prowl thought, so wrapped up in this little diplomatic dancing around that he’d entirely forgotten about the energon impact sites. Yes, Prowl thought, sourly, that was another of Ironhide’s errors. He did do more than irritate a few fleshlings and their ridiculous egos. He’d also blabbed one of the locations. Only one, thank Primus. “Well?” he prompted.

“Will the Russians allow the Americans to fly us over their airspace?” Optimus wasn’t about to make any more clumsy diplomatic errors. The two countries were technically at peace, but it didn’t seem that stable.

“They have asked for our help. The question is, do we help humans.” Prowl wanted to cut to the heart of the matter—Prime would let himself get bogged down in perceptions and possible misapprehensions and never get anything done. If they act, if they don’t act, it was all the same to Prowl—but he wanted there to be a good reason for it. “That is how they will see it.”

“You don’t think they will see it as us helping their enemy?”

“Possibility, of course. But it would require that they completely denigrate the value of the Decepticons as an enemy—in other words, saying it’s perfectly okay for the Decepticons to attack humans, as long as they are not alliance humans. Unlikely they’d go so far. They were the ones who had stated that the Decepticons did not attack unallied humans.”

Cliffjumper had sidled over. “Sort of make them eat their words?”

“In a way. We’d be rude to push it to that length, of course. But if we could simply prove it without making them say it….”

Cliffjumper turned to Prime, “Do we really want an alliance with the humans if they’re going to pull this kind of thing with us? They do it once, they can do it again.”

Prowl nodded, “Cliffjumper is right.”

Prime sighed. “Let’s put aside our feelings about the humans and the alliance for right now, all right? Let’s remember what’s important. And that is not letting the Decepticons ruin this world. Harm life.” Cliffjumper hung his head. Prime was right. Prime continued. “We must do what IS right, not merely what we feel is right in the moment.” Prime frowned, aware that what he was trying to say wasn’t coming out right.

Cliffjumper shrugged it off. If Prime made a decision, that was all that mattered to him. He didn’t want to second guess this. He never wanted to second guess, only to know the reason behind it. “I’m in,” he said, firmly.

I love him! He's clinical, precise, logical and thoughtful while remaining totally loyal (although not blindly to Prime) he's aware of his leader's flaws and merely thinks around them. You've written their interaction brilliantly, and you haven't portrayed him as a mindless, emotionless automaton that a lot do! I am also really enjoying Prime's uncertainty with how he should approach things but his steadfast commitment to what he believes is right.

Ok I am babbling I really liked this update, it's highlighted all the tensions and politics that they're having to deal with now. I can't help but feel that this distress call is a trick though...

Excited for more (I look forward to this updating more than my subscribed comic)

Carrie nailed my reaction. I don't have much to say that's not repeating her. ^_^ I love the politics and can't wait for more. =D

Wow. Just, wow. This is good stuff.

<shovels popcorn into mouth and sips 10-liter root beer>

Duh-duh-DDDDDUUUUUNNNNHHHH! (Exciting 'revelation' music). Can I build suspense? Meh, not so much. Some of you probably already knew who this was.

Wednesday, we watch Sideswipe get all happy and butcher names. I don't know why I like writing him so much.

XXIII.

Nemesis

Barricade killed time back at his IC. The copters were monitoring Suvorov who was dancing delightfully with impatience. Barricade had considered asking Soundwave to hack into the four cell phone calls Suvorov made, but decided in the end, he really wasn’t up to talking to the damn satellite right now. Much less asking him for favors.

That’s right, the damn ident code/freq code of the RU-784A call was still eating away at him. He pulled up the instructions one more time. Ridiculous. He had the fragging things memorized by now. Maybe what he needed, though, was to start from the ground up.

His comm buzzed. No time like the present: He activated the shell that initiated the code pullup. “On,” he said.

Starscream’s voice, cool and distant. “Blackout informs me that you wish to speak to me.”

Barricade blinked. What? He hadn’t said a word to the copter, much less about wanting to speak to the jet. He was pretty sure he’d remember that. Hi, Blackout: I don’t feel miserable enough. How’s about arranging a little chat between the narcissistic jet and my lowly self again? If Blackout was trying to patch things up…he’d blown it. Already tried that and that hadn’t gone so well. What was the idiot copter thinking? Stupid warriors should stay with what they’re good at. Still…. Barricade forced his voice to be soothing. “It’s no rush,” he said. Hoping to buy time.

“Standing here staring at this disgusting organic wasteland is less preferable than talking with you,” the jet said.

“Thanks for the compliment,” Barricade replied. Jet wasn’t exactly laying on the charm, was he?

“What did you wish to speak with me about?”

Oh slag. Think fast, smart bot. Another obvious stall. “What did Blackout tell you?” He cringed, waiting for the jet to sneer through it. His console clicked—the shell signalled it had pulled up the code for this call. He frowned—just what he didn’t need—another distraction. His hands called it up, blindly, while his brain raced to work.

“He merely informed me that you wished to speak to me. Hence I have contacted you. To speak to you. As Blackout said you wished.” Oh, great. The jet was trying sarcasm. Not something he should put on his resume just yet.

Still, Barricade snickered—another stall. “You are too funny, sometimes, Starscream.” He hoped it sounded a little less fake over comm.

“I excel in whatever I attempt, Barricade,” the jet said, stiffly. Damn Seeker pride could be hilarious at times. Barricade stifled a real laugh.

The shell popped open its results. Barricade sat up, suddenly, in-venting sharply. The jet’s freq code: long. Way too long. “Starscream,” he said, urgently, all the humor, fake and real, gone from his voice. “This some kind of Seeker thing, with the freaky-long call freq codes?”

“I do not know what you are inquiring. My freq code is—,” he rattled off a string of numbers—embedded in the middle of the mass of numbers Barricade saw in front of him. Barricade pulled up the mystery code and located a similar stretch of numbers in the middle of what, the program had told him, were relay and lag booster idents.

He read them off. “Does that sound familiar to you? At all?” Long shot, but still. If it was a Seeker thing, at least he had a Seeker to ask. One who would greatly enjoy rubbing his nose in his ignorance, but he’d take the nose rub if he got the information.

A long moment of silence. Not silence, really. More like…stillness. “Barricade,” the jet said, finally, “how did you get Skywarp’s freq code?”

eeeehhh Good monday morning read before I start work! Well I actually started an hour ago but what the hey! I didn't see it coming, so I enjoyed the suspense immensely. The dialogue between Barricade and Starscream is priceless, they have to have some of the best interactions I've read!

I confess: there really is a CPT Okwejekundwe. He asked to get a cameo. The 'big man' joke is not my own, alas, but his.


XXIV.

Over the Atlantic

Sideswipe settled down against the wall of the plane. This was one of his favorite parts—before battle. Battle was actually his favoritest part, but this, this was a close second. Everyone coming together as a team. All sorts of petty nonsense forgotten, forgiven, made irrelevant. Just before combat, everyone remembered what really mattered. He grinned broadly around the interior of the C-130.

Optimus had asked for volunteers, as almost always. Only a handful of times had any fight been an all-handser. But apparently only a handful of ‘cons, so…well, Sideswipe thought, bringing everybody along would look a bit like poor sportsmanship. So, only a few volunteers. Of course he’d been the first—well, second, if you counted Cliffjumper. But Cliffjumper had been right there in that boring leader meeting. Sideswipe was the first REAL volunteer. Anything that did with fighting ‘cons, he was going to be at the head of the line.

And he and CJ weren’t going to let Ironhide miss out again. What he needed, Sideswipe thought, was to get back in the game. Back at what he was good at. They’d made Ratchet reattach the cannons immediately, right there in the ready-hangar. Ironhide had looked embarrassed at the time, but now, with the weapons back on his forearms, he looked…more himself. Not just his silhouette. He carried himself better, Sideswipe thought.

Ratchet, of course, but Ratchet had made clear that he intended to stay behind with the plane. His recent tastes of combat hadn’t set well with him. Still, five Autobots against two Decepticons and some drones? Chances were, Sideswipe figured, Ratchet would be bored out of his processor. And all that equipment that had taken…forEVER to load. Still, you didn’t say no to Ratchet. Just on the off chance you needed him.

Flareup had insisted on coming. That DID surprise Sideswipe. She was normally the last to want to fight. Maybe those Decepticon parts were giving her some motivation. More likely, though, he thought, she had her own grudge to work out against the ‘cons. Maybe she knew what it felt like, now.

And Prime himself came, of course. If there were going to be humans involved, he wanted to be sure that he was there to…well, Sideswipe had no illusions. Prime was coming along to make sure Sideswipe and Ironhide didn’t say anything too irreparably stupid. Sideswipe had sworn to be on his best behavior, and he meant it, but even he felt a little better knowing Prime would be there to gloss over some of his…more awkward moments. Prime hunched uncomfortably in the cargo area of the smaller C-130. The Air Force had insisted something about bad runways, that the smaller plane would be better than the usual C-17s. So Prime had simply folded himself up into a half crouch and locked down, grimlydetermined, as usual, to make the best of it.

Five good fighters, against Starscream, one of the copters, and maybe some drones. Too easy. Sideswipe smiled at the Air Force co-pilot, who had come back to talk to the loadmaster. “Hey, Captain Oak…eee..wee….” he faltered. What was the human’s name again?

“Okwejekundwe,” the human corrected, his face splitting into a grin. “No one gets it right. Just call me OJ. Just not in front of my wife.” The loadmaster snorted. Captain Okwejekundwe grinned at him. “Hey, took you how many weeks to get it?”

“Better at math, myself,” the loadmaster said. “Serve you right for having a freaky-ass name like that. Surprised they can fit it all on your nametape.”

“I am,” Okwejekundwe winked, “a big man in many respects.” The loadmaster burst out laughing. Sideswipe got the feeling there was something he wasn’t getting but he’d figured out long ago that playing along was a great strategy. Someone would explain it to him later.

“You can call me Sides!” Sideswipe said. Finally, someone who got nicknames. “What’s our ETA, Captain OJ?”

“Just a half hour of flight time. We’ll be coordinating with your new Russian contacts at their airstrip. Or you will. We’ll be waiting there for you to return.” His grin faded a little. “We’re not cleared by either side to enter Tunguska airspace.”

“Just as well,” Prime said. “That would expose you unnecessarily to the risk of Decepticon attack. Thank you for doing your best.”

Captain Okwejekundwe nodded. “You know,” he said, “A lot of us aren’t happy about the decision.”

“I know,” Optimus said. “But your duty is to your country. Still, it is sparkwarming to hear that we are not universally despised by your kind.”

“Phuh,” said the loadmaster. “Anyone who doesn’t like you guys never got to work with you. And soldiers talk rough,” he said, nodding at Ironhide. “Only civvies take that stuff too seriously.” Ironhide returned his nod, glumly. He was already sick of being reminded about it. Even in a nice way.

“Have you ever worked with the Russians before?” Prime asked.

The two humans shook their heads. “They only enter in competitions. They don’t do joint training exercises with…well, anyone really. Still, what we’ve seen, they’re really, really good.”

“That’s good to hear.”

The two humans looked like they wanted to say something else, something a little less ‘good to hear,’ Sideswipe thought. After an awkward moment, the co pilot said, “Anyway, we’re almost there. Beginning descent any time now. Buckle in.”

Nice pre-battle set up, I am eagerly anticipating the next part. Sideswipe is thoroughly likeable in this. I like your human characters too, they all have a personality to them no matter how brief they're encountered.

I gotta agree with Carrie again. =) Excellent work with Sideswipe and the human characterizations. And the OJ stab was awesome, hehe.

Awesome. Literally awesome. I've only just started reading fanfics and you are the first authour that has really stood out. You write brilliantly, keep it up!
(leaves console, opens door, ducks flying chair, leaves barracks, avoids oil spill, transforms, flies away, leaves Diego Garcia airspace)

Don't even ask how the last 24 hours have been for me. Let's just say when you regret NOT joining Blackwater, your life...not so good.

In the Grand Scheme of Things, this scene doesn't really do much. Next time, Optimus et alia meet their new Russian friends.

*****
XXV.
En Route, Tunguska

Some things were better off not discussed over comm. There was, of course, the worry that Soundwave could hack in—even through Barricade’s Paranoiac-Plus rated comm security. But there was also the value of a face-to-face, especially, Barricade thought, when the face in question was Starscream. Damn jet wouldn’t know how to feign emotion if he sat through a seminar on it. And even then he’d probably consider it beneath some sort of warrior or Seeker honor thing.

Wonder, Barricade thought, if Starscream’s ever calculated how much trouble his ‘honor’ thing gets him into.

So, he’d grabbed a few damaged joints from the recycling outside Repair Bay Bravo as a bone to toss to the Russians. Let them spend some time figuring out joints and hydraulics as a ‘good faith’ token. He’d even taken the perfunctory step of contacting Megatron. Just to clear that objective. He’d been halfway through explaining the situation when Megatron had cut him off.

“These operations are your specialty, Barricade,” Megatron had said. “I leave it to your discretion.”

Any other bot would ripple with pride. FROM any other bot, Barricade would feel somewhere in the confident to ebullient range. Translated from Megatron to normal it went something like this: Frag this up and it’s your processor on the line. In a Very Slow Painful Offlining kind of way. Well, if that’s the way it was, that’s the way it was. Barricade had hopped the next copter down—Vortex again—with a fresh shift of drones.

“Russians have been good since you left,” Vortex reported, “but they are getting a bit restless.”

“Starscream?”

“Last I saw him, bored out of his processor. Looked like he was contemplating goading the Russians into doing something.”

“He can goad, when he wants to. Half the time I want to take a swing at him.”

Vortex snorted. “Starscream? He can goad even when he’s not trying. Seeker training apparently isn’t charm school.”

“Good point. Heard from Blackout?”

“Starscream’s still behaving. Gotten quieter.” Barricade couldn’t figure if this was good or bad news. “He’s ready to haul up.”

“Tell him I’m not speaking to him.”

“Any particular reason?”

“Set me up to look like a glitch in front of the fraggin’ jet. TWICE. Let’s just say his sense of humor eludes me.”

“I’m sure he meant well.”

Long silence. Vortex seemed primed for a bit of small talk. Too bad that that wasn’t really Barricade’s thing. Especially not at the moment. Barricade finally managed, “What’s your read on Blackout, anyway?”

“My read?” A little suspicion.

“Come on, Vortex,” Barricade said, soothingly. Almost relieved that the right voice, the right words, came automatically. “You’ve been doing this a long time—your opinion matters.” Vortex’s opinion hadn’t really mattered, not for a long time. But Vortex deserved some claim to wisdom, just for having survived for so long, and while moderately sane.

“Blackout?” Vortex was choosing his words carefully. “Good mech. He doesn’t pull any pride about getting missions like this. Just does the job. Good fighter, but loses focus sometimes. Nothing lethal, but….could get him fragged up.”

“Cowardice?” Barricade had a few hundred tricks to deal with that.

“No. Aggression. Gets targetblind sometimes.” Vortex seemed determined to get Barricade to understand that it wasn’t cowardice.

“We can work on that.”

“Not your job any more, Barricade.”

“I know. Thank Primus. Still.” Now his turn to add to the uncomfortable silence.

Vortex changed the subject. “Turnabout being fair play, what’s your read on Starscream?”

A loaded question. Vortex had, thankfully, no idea how loaded. “You know what I know: Plenty smart. Think Megatron scares the smart right out of him at times, though.”

“You’d be able to judge—how is he as a combat leader?” Barricade felt a whisper of something, like a cold wind on the back of his neck cables. Was Vortex feeling him out? Was this sedition thing growing? Under his watch? He stalled, delaying, he thought, the inevitable. Why was it that every mech he could even tolerate to be around suddenly seemed to be swirling with treasonous intent?

“Why’d you think I’d be able to judge? I’m not a flyer.”

“You being former Combat Control. Figure you led enough missions to be able to compare. Highest CC mission success rate ever.” Until…. Vortex delicately avoided mentioning that part. Didn’t mean Barricade didn’t remember. And after all, Vortex might not know.

“Completely different. Air/ground and present/nonpresent. Still, tactically, he’s almost unmatchable. Doesn’t waste troops on failing objectives, thinks fast on his feet in fluid situations.” Truth, and nothing but. He’d say the same in front of Megatron. Probably take a beating for it, but it would be a beating Megatron would know he didn’t really deserve. Wouldn’t make it hurt any less. He waited for Vortex to go further. Surely what he’d said was encouraging, yet bland, enough.

“I think he’s too hard on himself, sometimes,” Vortex said. “Blames himself for things he can’t control.”

Barricade blinked. He’d been primed for some sort of ‘come and join our coup d’etat’. This was…not that. Had he blown it? He replayed his response—no—if you were looking for a likely co-conspirator, Barricade had said all the right things to get the secret handshake. Go back far enough in history and he was a natural pick: who better than someone who owed his life to Starscream? Was he starting to imagine things? He hadn’t gotten this far without an intimate relationship with paranoia, but had that even crossed the line?

“I know you’re kind of having a bit of a tiff with him right now,” Vortex added, hurriedly. The altimeter was showing they were nearing ground. “Just…keep that in mind.”

Barricade jumped down as soon as Vortex rolled open his doors, clutching the parts he’d brought for the Russians. He looked back at the copter, spewing drones into the flattened grass. A tiff? Starscream was reminding him of fraggin’ Saejon Three, possibly starting an overthrow, and wanted to kill Barricade for the interrogation—and that was a ‘tiff’? Maybe Vortex wasn’t as sane as he’d thought.