Optimus hoped a bit of mindless busywork would settle him, and for that one of the options was cataloguing the near-endless array of plant samples in the xenobotany lab. He found Rhinox already there, though instead of plant samples the engineer had the alien sphere from the Standing Stones on the table in front of him. "Megatron's letting you play with his toy?"

Rhinox shrugged. "That just means he's got all he can out of it. He didn't share his notes though. I get the feeling it's not that he's holding back something important, it's that he learned very little and doesn't want to admit it. It can't be worthless - it was the core of the Standing Stones."

Optimus sat down in the other chair. "What have you found?"

"Well, I can infer that the sphere hasn't got any direct ties to the Alien Disc - that's the track Megatron would have taken." While Megatron insisted on keeping the Alien Disc in his quarters, he had agreed to let the Maximals make their own scans for research purposes. It wasn't like he was in a position to refuse. Rhinox tapped at a blue glass inset. "So on our guest's suggestion I'm approaching it from my field of science."

That explained why Rhinox had brought the sphere to the xenobotany lab. "You think it's a plant?"

"Megatron thought it might be. On a whim I ran a DNA scan. It hasn't got any. It's metallic, though what alloy I couldn't tell you. It's like nothing I've seen before, at least not before we started finding these alien sites." The engineer frowned. "It does seem like it was grown like a plant rather than built or even grown like a crystal. The interior structure is very organic; it branches like a root system."

"It's not an alien site seed, is it?"

"Ordinarily I would say no but given the capacities of the aliens I wouldn't rule anything out. We'll need to go back to see if the other sites have these spheres. It may be something that was unique to the Standing Stones."

Optimus touched his forehead briefly. "Megatron beat you to it - that's what he's up to. He swiped the loader sled and took it to the wreckage of the Flying Island."

Rhinox stood and picked up the sphere. "We'll see if he helpfully shares that one. I'm going to go back to my research on the Disc, see if I can extrapolate any more alien site locations."

Alone, Optimus took out a handful of plant samples to sort through. He'd finished the second scan when the intercom activated: "Rattrap to the boss-primate."

"I'm here," said Optimus, automatically looking up at the speaker. "What is it, Rattrap?"

"Megs and the widow are at the Pred base," Rattrap announced. "And I doubt they're just pickin' up more bath toys. Want me to call 'em up and surprise 'em?"

Optimus shook his head. "No. Let Megatron think he's pulled one over on us for now. I'd rather confront him in person."

"Got it. I'll keep trackin' him. He's the most interesting thing goin' on, anyway."

The connection cut. Optimus finished up his notes on the leaf he'd been scanning, then activated the general intercom. "Optimus to Cheetor."

There was a pause as Cheetor found an intercom to answer with. "Er, hi, big bot."

"Could you come up to the xenobotany lab for a minute?"

"Okay."

The scout appeared a few minutes later, looking like he'd rather be elsewhere. The morning's reprimand was obviously still stinging. Optimus swivelled his chair to face him properly. "Cheetor, I'm sorry. I treated you unfairly."

Cheetor shrugged awkwardly. "You've been under kind of a lot of pressure the last few days."

"No excuses," said Optimus. "You should have been paying more attention to Megatron but I shouldn't have been so hard on you."

"It kinda turned out for the best," said Cheetor with the beginning of a grin. "Airazor's got me helping her open personal crates in the cargo bay ... No, we're only doing it with the owner's permission while they're there, so it's all right," Cheetor explained quickly.

"Don't worry - she asked me first. I know what she's doing. What have you found?"

"We've only done Quickstrike's so far. It was all full of xeno stuff." Cheetor paused, then, "Is it possible he might not be Cybertronian?"

Optimus frowned. "I've never heard of putting a xeno spark in a protoform. It might be theoretically possible."

Cheetor laughed. "He sure thinks it is. I can't wait to see his face when we get our metal back."

'When'. Optimus didn't let his expression flicker in the face of Cheetor's optimism. It hadn't even occurred to the scout that it was a question of if. "I just wanted to apologise for snapping at you. Go on outside. I know you've been wanting to."

"I can't yet - me and Airazor need to talk to Tarantulas. She probably knows the serial numbers from Blackarachnia and Inferno's pods. Then we gotta wait for them to get back." Cheetor shrugged. "It's their stuff. Besides, it might jog their memories."

Cheetor left. Optimus packed the plant samples away. There was one more person he felt he ought to check on, even if he wasn't looking forward to dealing with him. This one he had to seek out instead of calling for.

Optimus found a library datapad, then went to the quarters section of the ship. He stopped in front of Terrorsaur's door and tapped the chime. The Predacon's voice shot back immediately: "Open it yourself! I'm not getting up for you!" So Optimus did.

The Predacon was an unhappy sprawl across his berth. When he realised who was in his doorway, he scrambled to a sitting position. "What do you want, ape?"

"I heard you were hurt." Optimus walked over and handed Terrorsaur the datapad.

Terrorsaur took it carefully, as if it were booby-trapped. "Why?"

Answers like because I feel concern for you as a fellow Cybertronian and as long as you're a guest of sorts I feel responsible for you, and this is all I can do to help were too likely to be met with sneering and argument. Optimus shrugged. "Why not? The datapad's tied to the ship's library. I don't know if there's anything to your interest in it but that's what we have."

Terrorsaur's curiosity was strong enough that he activated the datapad and skimmed through the index. "And The Light, Bring Down the Moon, most of Starvoice's work, To My Fallen Lieutenant, The Saga of Sunlance, Fortress, Tales of the Navigator ... Primus, nothing but obligatory classics. Probably the Maximal rewrites, too. Aren't you allowed to read anything else or are you all just boring?"

"We're just boring," said Optimus dryly, used to the same complaint from Rattrap. "I brought most of those. I like them. What do you mean 'the Maximal rewrites'?"

"They're all either Primordialist mythology rewritten to include Maximals, Great War novels rewritten for Maximals, or new novels that are just instructions for how to be a good Maximal in story form," Terrorsaur complained. "And I've read them so many times I could recite them backwards. Isn't there anything new in here?"

Optimus' surprise that Terrorsaur, Predacon thug, had read Maximal classic literature at all, let alone in enough depth to criticise, was smacked into by his shame at having such a prejudice. Of course Predacons read, and why couldn't they read classics? It wasn't as if Optimus knew anything about Terrorsaur beyond Predacon, claustrophobic, likes to shoot people in the back. "There are a lot of scientific journals and biographies in there as well."

"I suppose that'll do," said Terrorsaur, but there was an edge of eagerness he couldn't quite hide.

"If you don't like them, why read them so many times? Were you a student?"

Terrorsaur laughed harshly. "No. He had the full collection on file and not much else except for his xenoflora catalogues. It was just for show, to look well-read. He was never much of a reader," said Terrorsaur, and Optimus noted the bitter tone, the omission of the name. Perhaps Terrorsaur was just guarding his privacy, or wouldn't say the name because he hated 'him'. "I had a lot of free time and not a lot of options. I managed to get my hands on some translations of the originals later. Forced on me, in a few cases." He looked back down at the datapad, skimming. "I can't say I liked the originals better, though. They didn't make much sense. I think I was missing a lot of context."

There were many questions he wanted to ask. Optimus tactfully chose the least-personal one. "You're talking about acquiring Great War era writings like it's not a big deal."

"Oh." Terrorsaur drew back slightly, an obvious I've said too much, but it seemed to be almost an embarrassed reaction rather than the usual we do not talk to Maximals. "All right, you've done your charity for the poor, damaged Predacon. Don't think I'm going to go all Dinobot on you." But he gripped the datapad tight enough that the skin of his knuckles went from pale to white, as if Optimus might try to take it back.

Much as he wanted to ask more, Optimus accepted the dismissal. The spirit of the truce included respecting privacy.

To identify Blackarachnia and Inferno's crates, Cheetor and Airazor needed the serial numbers from the stasis pods that the Predacons stole, which meant Cheetor found himself looking for the last person he ever wanted to owe a favour to. Airazor was with him, so that helped.

Tarantulas was holed up in the xenobiology lab, working on some project or other - the screen she was reading was full of chemical codes that Cheetor couldn't translate. The Predacon barely glanced over when the door opened. "You again, bird? Go spoil someone else's fun. I'm busy doing important research on these new forms."

"We'll only be a cycle," said Airazor. "You saw Blackarachnia and Inferno's pods. Do you remember their serial numbers?"

"Hm? Yes."

"Well?"

"I'm not in the habit of giving away information for free," said Tarantulas. "I'm still trying to sort out blood types. Give me more samples and I'll give you the numbers."

"You already got blood from everyone. You don't need more," said Cheetor.

The Predacon grinned at him. "Then maybe I just want a snack, teh-heh-heh-ha."

It took everything he had but Cheetor didn't flinch. Between the physical changes and the truce and the general strangeness of the last several days it was sometimes easy to forget just what the Predacons were ... but not that this soft organic had once hung him in a web so that she could drain his mech fluid. He still had nightmares about that sometimes, not that he would ever admit that to Tarantulas.

Airazor held out her arm. "Let's have it."

Tarantulas performed the task in a businesslike way, drawing the blood without torment or fuss. Cheetor couldn't help but feel the Predacon was just trying to lull him into a false sense of security. She quickly transferred the contents from syringe to vial. "The serial number on Blackarachnia's pod was D8-C48-BR04-TM06-1996."

Cheetor nodded. Not everyone could translate stasis pod serial numbers but the string of digits gave him a picture of who Blackarachnia was intended to be. It seemed off but any differences could be easily explained by Tarantulas' tampering.

The Predacon picked up a fresh needle and smiled. "Your turn, kitty-cat."

Reluctantly, Cheetor extended his arm. It felt like Tarantulas was deliberately taking her time, probing at his arm and making him anticipate the sting of the needle. It might have been legitimate - it couldn't be easy to line up a needle on the thin lines under the skin, then stick it in far enough to pierce the line but not out the other side, and it was easier to see the lines under Airazor's light skin than Cheetor's dark - or it might have been in his mind, but he wouldn't put it past Tarantulas to play with him a bit first.

The needle finally bit. Cheetor managed not to squirm and knew he wouldn't have been able to stand it if Airazor wasn't there to bail him out if he needed it. He concentrated on the fact that the small needle couldn't possibly take enough fluid from him to cause harm.

When it was finished, Tarantulas held the vial up to the light, inspecting its contents. When she felt she'd dragged it on just long enough to be dramatic, she said, "I don't know Inferno's."

"What?" Cheetor demanded, rubbing the sore spot on his arm. "I let you drain me for nothing?"

"You did it for science," said Tarantulas happily. "Oh, don't blame me. I barely got a look at Inferno's pod before Inferno crawled out and started shooting at me. I had time to change the programming chip and nothing else. We tried to reprogram her later, of course, but there was nothing Megatron or I could do. If you had reached the pod first, you'd have a pyromaniac Maximal fire ant." Tarantulas shook her head. "I would have liked a better look at that pod. It was different from Blackarachnia's."

"Aren't all stasis pods the same?" asked Airazor.

The Predacon shrugged. "There seemed to be some extra equipment in it - a computer panel near the head."

Cheetor stopped rubbing his arm. "You're sure?"

"Mmhm ... hey!" Cheetor barely heard Tarantulas' indignant shout as he ran out of the lab.

Airazor caught up with him. "What's the hurry?"

"I know who Inferno was."

Quickstrike was where Airazor and Cheetor had left him, digging through the contents of his crate. He looked up when the cargo bay door opened. "Hey, boss."

Optimus crossed the room to him. "Is any of it familiar?"

The neophyte chuckled. "Not hardly. I dunno who packed this here box but I gotta admit I like his taste."

He had taken out the welding rigs and set them aside as not nearly as interesting as the pictures of various women of various species in various states of undress. Optimus focused on the rigs immediately, of course. "Are these yours?"

"Reckon so. They were in the crate."

"Good," said Optimus. "The signal array needs some repair. Let's find out if you've still got the skills that go with this equipment."

They collected up their gear from the command centre before climbing up on the roof of the Axalon. Quickstrike picked at one piece of equipment. "Whaddya need the strappy thing for?"

"Safety harness. I'd rather not fall."

Quickstrike looked up at the aerial. "Fallin' off that wouldn't be nothin'."

"I suppose that's not too bad a fall," said Optimus, catching Quickstrike's shoulder and turning him so he was looking down the chasm. "That's a bad fall."

Oh, right, the ravine. "I reckon that's a bit of a way down."

At the base of the aerial Optimus unpacked the rest of the gear. "The problem is that the array was damaged in the storm. One of the spires was wrecked - we need to cut off the damaged piece and attach the new one."

Quickstrike nodded. "Sounds easy enough. Lemme at it."

He let Optimus hook up the safety harness with undisguised impatience but managed to hold still. That done, Quickstrike climbed the aerial. The action was easy. It was right, it made perfect sense to be climbing an aerial.

"You're too high up!" Optimus called. "The damaged section is below you!" Quickstrike glanced down to see where Optimus meant, shook the crossbar he was holding to test its strength, then hooked his legs over it and hung upside-down. He'd done it so quickly that Optimus didn't have a chance to tell him not to. "What are you doing?"

"I can see it better like this." It was that right feeling again - of course he should be hanging upside-down to weld. Not that I'm gonna tell the boss that. He'll just give me more of that nonsense robot-talk.

The trail lead Inferno back up the plateau. The ground was harder and the vegetation sparser on the climb but the unknown Maximal hadn't put any effort into covering their tracks. The Maximal's actions made sense - of course they would want to reach higher ground to get a lay of the land.

Then there was no more vegetation and no more cliff, just a rounded crest of rock. Inferno followed a few faint scuffs in the thin dirt and climbed that as well. Then she stopped because the land suddenly became a deep chasm. The land continued to rise upriver and there was forest on the higher elevations. And downriver, far below, was the Axalon. Inferno blinked in surprise - she hadn't realised how close she'd been led to the ship.

No more trail - the ground was bare rock. If she couldn't see the Axalon, Inferno might have thought the Maximal could have gone upland to get a better view. Logically, a Maximal would head straight for the Axalon once they knew where it was.

No sign of the Maximal, anyway. Inferno had a good view of the land from her vantage point and there weren't many places someone could hide, but she had no idea how far ahead they were. They could have reached the Axalon while she was still out in the jungle. She crouched down and leaned over the edge, in case they had gone into the river - a fall a robot might survive if they managed to get out of the water and one that would be fatal to their current forms.

When she found no evidence of a fall, she stood up and activated her commlink. "Sentinel. Connect me to Megatron's quarters."

The computer did so but there was no answer. Then again, Megatron didn't spend all his time in his room. "Sentinel, where is Megatron?"

"Predacon unit Megatron is not in the Axalon." There was nothing for it but to return to the ship and wait.

Closer, Inferno could see activity around the ship - Optimus and Quickstrike were climbing around the scanning arrays on the roof while Scorponok was out around the back on the ground. He was waving at something in the air near him. Scorponok wasn't ideal but she had to report to someone.

There had been a shift change since she had left - the small cat had been replaced by the rat. "I have returned," Inferno announced from the lift. "Mark this."

She headed towards the corridor but the rat spoke: "Where've you been?"

"Hunting," said Inferno. "I told the cat this when I left."

"You don't usually come back empty-handed."

He sounded suspicious. Inferno wondered if he knew she'd found something, but how could he? She only found footprints, not a stasis pod - nothing that the Axalon could detect even if it had been scanning her. "My prey was elusive."

"Your prey didn't happen to be an alien site, did it?" asked Rattrap. "'Cause it wouldn't be the first time you pulled that trick."

"No."

He made a sarcastic walking gesture with his fingers. "Megatron didn't send you out on a little errand?"

"No. I went hunting. I was unsuccessful." Then, because it occurred to her that she could ask, "Where is Megatron?"

Rattrap tilted his head, frowning. "You really don't know, do you? Him and the widow stole the loader sled and went down to the wreckage of the Flying Island."

That was upsetting news that Inferno chewed over on her way back to Megatron's quarters, that he'd gone out into probable danger without bringing her along for protection or even letting her know he would be out. She dropped her weapon off in Megatron's quarters, then went the rest of the way down the ship and out the cargo bay door.

Now she could see what her nestmate was doing - Scorponok, wearing a gauntlet and a visor, was directing the movements of a cyberbee. The cyberbee landed beside Scorponok, and the technician turned, lifting his visor. "Back already, Inferno?"

She looked up - the Maximals seemed occupied on the roof and would not overhear. Inferno stood at attention but didn't salute. "I need to report but Megatron is not here."

"Yeah, the Maximals are complaining he snuck out," Scorponok agreed. "Report to me."

That was a bit better, knowing that Scorponok hadn't been informed of Megatron's plans either. "Have any new Maximals arrived?"

"Not since you found Quickstrike and Silverbolt," said Scorponok. "Why? Did you find a stasis pod?"

Inferno shook her head. "No. Boot tracks. Large, but they cannot be Megatron's. I lost the trail when the ground became too hard, but that was within sight of the Axalon. It seems strange that a Maximal would come so far, then turn away."

"Does it?" Scorponok asked. "They're changed like us. They're on a planet they don't know in a body they don't understand. They see the Axalon but don't see any Maximals, just more aliens. What're they going to think?" He frowned, looking up briefly at Optimus. "Should we tell the Maximals this one? We don't need someone attacking us because they think we're aliens who did away with their crew."

"No," said Inferno firmly. "The Maximals already outnumber us. If this one dies of the elements, it will be one less of them and cannot be blamed on us."

"Megatron'll know what to do."

"Quickstrike!" There was a whoop and a clatter above them. Quickstrike was suddenly partway down the side of the ship, hanging upside-down from a harness looped around his waist and thighs, laughing. Above him, looking down, was Optimus. "Are you all right?"

"Hahahaha - ow." Quickstrike scrabbled at the end of the line, trying to look up. "I'm fine, boss! Just got a little dizzy is all."

"Hold on! I'll haul you up!"

The dangling Maximal noticed the Predacons. "Howdy, 'Ferny! Don't usually get to see you from this angle!"

There was really no way for the Predacons to continue their discussion after that. Inferno nodded to Scorponok. "I will wait for Megatron's return."

Despite the inauspicious start to their mission and the fact that Waspinator rattled off non-stop commentary about how she was the best of all Predacons while she worked, Silverbolt found he was actually enjoying himself.

Granted, his life so far hadn't been much to enjoy so he knew his standards were low. He didn't know how to fix the towers so Waspinator was doing all the technical work, but she seemed happy to have him there to hand her tools and keep watch for any large wildlife that might find them edible. Not that she let him have her gun but at least he could keep watch and the thought of holding a gun felt strange, anyway. A handheld weapon should be melee, while distance weapons were better integrated with ... with ...

Static. Silverbolt shook his head, trying to clear the odd thoughts. He refocused, reminding himself that he was on guard duty. It wasn't much but Waspinator found him useful so it was enough.

Waspinator was up the third tower, prodding at the inner workings. Silverbolt wasn't entirely happy to let the woman risk herself in the climb but he had little choice - Waspinator knew how to reprogram the towers, he didn't.

She made an annoyed sound and Silverbolt looked up. "What do you need?"

"Panel," said Waspinator irritably. "Tower looks fine outside but is damaged inside. Waspinator not know how to fix it. Spider-bot can do it herself."

Silverbolt handed it up. "Shall we go on to the next tower?"

"Not right now. Waspinator has to replace panel first."

The door opened and Inferno loomed over him. Under other circumstances Cheetor would have been curious to get a peek at the renovations Megatron had done to his and Inferno's shared quarters but now he had other things on his mind. "Megatron is not in," rumbled the warrior.

"I know that," said Cheetor. "I wanted to see you. I need you to come with me. We've found your crate."

Inferno blinked at him. "My what?"

"Your luggage from Cybertron. What you packed when you signed up on the Axalon," Cheetor explained. "We found out which pod was yours so we finally know which crate belongs to you."

"I am not of your nest."

Cheetor tried to keep himself from bouncing with impatience. "You were before you were a Predacon. Anyway, it's yours so you should have it. At least come look." Inferno still didn't look impressed but at least she followed him to the cargo bay.

Airazor waved them over. "I've found the one you said it is, Cheetor. I hope you're right about this."

"Trust me." He looked back at the Predacon warrior. "Do you recognise it?"

Inferno was frowning at the crate, though whether it was suspicion of a Maximal trap or merely concentration, Cheetor couldn't tell. "No."

"It's yours," said Cheetor. "You used to be a Maximal."

Inferno nodded curtly without looking at him. "I am aware of that."

"But ... but doesn't it bother you that you were reprogrammed?"

"No."

Cheetor opened the crate. Personal items again, though instead of pin-ups and posters, this one was full of xeno knickknacks and datadiscs. There were spare parts - delicate gyros and rotor pieces, the sort of things a helicopter wouldn't trust to just any manufacturing equipment. Inferno looked but made no move to touch the items. Cheetor picked a datadisc out, read the name on it, and sagged back against another crate. "Primus. Oh, Primus."

Airazor touched his arm. "What is it?"

"I knew that the control pod had our chief science officer in it," said Cheetor. "Under normal circumstances, that's the pod we would've retrieved first. But this disc's a journal, it's labelled ..." He handed it to Airazor. "Inferno is Spinwit."

"I am Inferno."

"Back up, Cheetor. Inferno's a scientist?"

Cheetor barely heard them. "You lived among the Aemiuph. You were the first that the Igi'thyn allowed contact. You deciphered the Lehua. You made the Kai Treaty possible. You're Spinwit."

The Predacon growled. "I am Inferno."

Cheetor sighed, defeated. "All right. You're Inferno. I'll take this stuff to Optimus. If there are any unpublished works in here, they'd be really valuable to -"

"No." Inferno picked up a small alien carving and carefully turned it over in her hands. "These things are mine. I will take them."

"But you're not Spinwit."

"No. But these things are mine."

Cheetor hesitated. Inferno - Inferno as she was now, Inferno the Predacon berserker - couldn't understand the full value of the crate's contents but the items were legally hers. "Do you want help bringing the crate to your quarters?"

Inferno looked up from the carving. "There is no room for it. Leave it here." She gathered up an armload of trinkets and left.

Cheetor sighed, replacing the datadisc and closing the crate. "Primus."

"It's ... I guess it's like Quickstrike and Silverbolt," said Airazor. "They'll smile and nod and accept that they're Maximals but without any memory of actually being robots they don't feel like they're missing anything." She frowned. "Who was Spinwit?"

"He was a xenopologist," said Cheetor. "Spinwit studied alien cultures, only he got way too into it. If he stayed in one place too long he started to believe he was an alien. He was famous. I'm surprised you've never heard of him."

"Famous to you science-types, maybe," said Airazor.

"You wouldn't be on the Axalon if you didn't have some interest in it." Cheetor shook his head. "Trust me, you'd have heard of Spinwit. He was weird but he was smart and he'd been around a long time. Have a skim through the Axalon's archives on xenocultural studies - he wrote like a quarter of the articles. Then a little over a tenth-vorn ago he went native somewhere and nearly killed the 'bot who was sent to pick him up, so they hauled him back to Cybertron to try to debug him." He shrugged. "I guess they figured he was cured if they sent him with us."

Airazor made a derisive noise. "Then the Preds had to meddle and wreck it."

Cheetor looked over the remaining crates. "I guess that's it until Silverbolt or Blackarachnia get back. I gotta tell Optimus about Inferno."

"All right. I'm going to see if Tigatron's back yet."

Hungry, Quickstrike ducked into the xenobotany lab to grab a quick refuelling. He was instantly distracted by the fact that Tigatron and Airazor were already there.

He considered it Tigatron's most endearing trait that she tended to wear as little as possible, which was often no more than boots. Right now she was wearing as much as she ever did, which was still just a short top and trousers. She'd be taking them off soon enough.

She had a successful hunt - she and Airazor were cutting into some kind of critter. It gave Quickstrike an excuse to chat to her. He walked over and laid a hand on Tigatron's shoulder, part congratulatory, part friendly, mostly just because he wanted to touch her. "What'cha got here, stripes?"

"Bushpig," said Tigatron. "A young one - I would have had trouble carrying an adult all the way back by myself."

Quickstrike let his hand slip down to Tigatron's bicep, and gave an appreciative squeeze. "I bet you could've."

That got a chuckle. "I know my limits. Enjoy your time not knowing yours."

She smelled of blood and sweat and that warm scent he knew as female. Emboldened by the acceptance of his touch on her arm, Quickstrike let his hand trail down to rest on the small of her back. Unfortunately, this brought a warning growl and he suddenly found himself pinned face-down on the table with the offending arm twisted behind his back. "What in tarnation ..."

"Looking is fine," said Airazor, right by his ear. "Look all you like. But you don't get to touch."

He was strong enough that he could have thrown Airazor off but he was too surprised to do anything but agree. "Yes, ma'am."

Airazor let him up. Quickstrike took a step back to try to figure out what went wrong. Tigatron was plainly irritated with him - well, all right, he'd moved too fast. It was Airazor who was confusing him. Even now her stance was somewhere between protective and possessive, the body-language equivalent of back off, varmint - she's mine.

It suddenly clicked in. "Y'know, if'n I had to guess, I'd have said you were with Cheetor," he said, addressing Airazor. Then to both, "Never occurred to me that a couple of gals could be together." And because the world was suddenly full of previously unconsidered possibilities, he grinned. "Any way I can get in the middle of that?"

Tigatron growled. "No."

"None," said Airazor flatly but her mouth turned up slightly at one corner.

"Well, if'n you ever change your minds, you know where I ... aw, tarnation."

"What's wrong?" Airazor asked.

"Nothin' bad about you, sugar." Nothing but that if a woman could be attracted to another woman, a man might be attracted to another man. Dagnabbit, Terrorsaur was flirtin' with me!

Dinobot inspected the door to his quarters, considered his options, and to his irritation realised that the person whose skillset best met his requirements was Rattrap. Paging the Maximal's room got no answer. A general page got a response - Rattrap was in the command centre and couldn't come down because he was on monitor duty. That Rattrap had been allowed back on active duty and Dinobot had not didn't help the warrior's mood any.

He stomped into the command centre. "Vermin, you ... What is that you're wearing?"

"Poncho," said Rattrap with a shrug. He was kneeling on a chair - with his damages it would have been uncomfortable to sit normally. "Enh, so I felt naked without my clothes."

"Without a place to hide weapons," Dinobot corrected. "You look like you skinned your robot-mode. What are you doing on monitor duty?"

"Monitorin'. Why, you miss sittin' around and lookin' at scanners?"

"If I have been taken off-duty while my injuries heal, you should be off-duty longer." It was bad enough to have slept the morning away, it was worse to find that Rattrap was showing him up.

"I only asked for monitor duty," said Rattrap archly. "You, if allowed on active duty, would immediately run off into the jungle and wrestle a sabretooth. I know how to pace myself." He spun his chair once. "Need anything monitored?"

Dinobot shook his head. "No. I require assistance in a technical matter."

"And you can't ask Rhinox because ..?"

"Unfortunately, your particular skillset is more suited to the problem," said Dinobot, drawing a chair to the central workstation.

"So you're just gonna hang around until my shift ends?"

Dinobot settled into the chair, activating a screen full of text. "Apparently I'm not allowed to do anything else."

Waspinator closed the access panel with a satisfied hum. "There! Work is done! Waspinator is the best Predacon!"

Silverbolt carefully packed the tools away. "This is the last one?"

"Last one in this direction. Last one Waspinator feels like doing." She tossed down the rest of her tools and scrambled down the tower.

Silverbolt finished packing, then stepped up on the hoverpad behind Waspinator. He thought learning to fly the contraption would be useful but didn't think Waspinator was the person to ask for lessons. He would ask Rattrap or Dinobot about it later.

It would be a while getting back, Waspinator actually seemed at least somewhat comfortable with him, and he was curious. "I know so little of any of you. May I inquire as to who you are?"

"Bzt? Waspinator is Waspinator. Silver-bot knows that."

"No, I mean who you are. Where you are from, why you are on this mission, where you would be if we were not stranded," he explained.

"Waspinator is the best Predacon," said Waspinator primly. "That is all silver-bot needs to know."

"What of your friend? Terrorsaur?"

Waspinator considered that. "Terror-bot is sometimes second-best Predacon. Unless Waspinator is mad at him. Then terror-bot is stupid."

It was apparent that he wouldn't be getting much information from Waspinator, but he tried one more. "What of Blackarachnia?

"Bleagh. Spider-bot is bossy. Always bosses Waspinator around." Waspinator sighed. "Everyone bosses Waspinator around. Poor Waspinator."

"'Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this sun of York; and all the clouds that lowered upon our house in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.'"

Rattrap huffed quietly, picking at the weather scanner controls. Dinobutt's talking to himself.

"'Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths, our bruised arms hung up for monuments, our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, our dreadful marches to delightful measures.'"

The Maximal frowned. Dinobot was talking quietly to himself but he wasn't mumbling. He was speaking clearly but he wasn't speaking any Cybertronian language.

"'Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front, and now, instead of mounting barbed steeds to fright the souls of fearful adversaries, he capers nimbly in a lady's chamber to the lascivious pleasing of a lute.'"

Rattrap swivelled his chair. "Chopperface, what are you babbling about?"

"'But I, that am not ...'" Dinobot caught himself and looked up from the central table. "I've never been able to read it properly before," he said in a tone of voice that Rattrap associated with Rhinox when he made a discovery and had to tell someone about it. "I usually read the translations. Trying to read it in the original language doesn't work with the Cybertronian vocal apparatus - the language is too simple for it. But with these organic bodies ... this is the way it's supposed to sound. Listen: 'But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks nor made to court an amorous looking-glass; I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty ...'"

"Wait!" Rattrap yelled, trying to staunch the unintelligible prattle. "What the Pit are you talking about?"

"Spearshaker's plays. He was a xeno warrior-poet."

"That fancy stuff you're always quoting?" It was easy to tell when the words weren't Dinobot's - he switched to what Rattrap thought of as his Drama Voice.

The warrior looked offended. "Yes. That 'fancy stuff' I'm always quoting."

Rattrap shook his head. "Why? Nothin' on Cybertron good enough for you? 'Cause I know between Optimus and Rhinox, they got almost every high classic ever written. I swear the Axalon's got the most boring library in the history of colonisation."

Dinobot turned back to the screen, ignoring the question. "This story is about a warrior lord - it is his words I was reading. His territory recently won a war. However, he feels he cannot live a peaceful life because he is physically malformed. At least, that is his excuse for his ambitions. If one takes the previous tale into account, you know that he ..."

"Can't he just get a new body?" Rattrap interrupted.

Dinobot looked irritated. "Can you?" When there was no answer to that, he continued: "'I, that am rudely stamped, and want love's majesty to strut before a wanton ambling nymph; I, that am curtailed of this fair proportion, cheated of feature by dissembling nature, deformed, unfinished, sent before my time into this breathing world scarce half made up, and that so lamely and unfashionable that dogs bark at me as I halt by them ... '"

"What's that mean?" If he couldn't stop Dinobot he might as well know what he was talking about.

"He speaks of his appearance," said Dinobot. "Others treat him unfavourably because he is unappealing to look on. He claims he appears incomplete, like a protoform that didn't finish compiling before solidification." He continued: "'Why I, in this weak piping time of peace, have no delight to pass away the time, unless to spy my shadow in the sun and descant on mine own deformity ...'" Dinobot trailed off, briefly lost in some inner space or just being dramatic, but his voice recovered and gained strength: "'And therefore, since I cannot prove a lover to entertain these fair well-spoken days, I am determined to prove a villain and hate the idle pleasures of these days ...'"

"What does that -"

"'Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, by drunken prophecies, libels, and dreams.'" The words were Cybertronix, spoken by a much deeper voice. Dinobot's head snapped up so fast it must have hurt. Megatron stood in the lift, sweat-soaked, stinking of lava, and scowling. Rattrap cursed himself for letting himself be distracted - he should have seen the loader sled return. Worse, Megatron had a gun clipped to his belt. Rattrap went on to curse Cheetor, the truce, and his own lack of armour. "Don't speak the words if you don't mean them, Dinobot," Megatron rumbled.

"I am only quoting," the warrior said stiffly.

"You waste your voice on the rat."

Dinobot stood and walked around the central table, slowly, visibly holding himself back. "I will read when I please to whomever I please for whatever reason I please."

Megatron slipped the satchel off his shoulder, came two steps out of the lift, and laughed - a short, vicious sound. "How little you must think I think of you! I only meant that he wouldn't understand." Rattrap carefully slipped one hand under his poncho to reach the gun he had hidden there.

"You are no part of this," Dinobot hissed. "Begone."

They were within striking distance of each other now, fists clenched, muscles tensed to attack, breathing laboured like they'd already been fighting. Megatron didn't seem to remember he was armed, too angry for weapons. Rattrap had his own gun in hand now, still hidden, and he could shoot faster than Megatron could draw. He'd get in trouble if he fired but better that than let Dinobot get killed. Maybe I can defuse this with a little charm, or just annoy and distract 'em ...

Megatron spoke before Rattrap could: "'You know no rules of charity, which renders good for bad, blessings for curses.'" The words were ground out between clenched teeth. Another quote, Rattrap was certain. It didn't sound like typical Megatron.

Dinobot growled, not dropping his attack posture. "'Urge neither charity nor shame to me: Uncharitably with me have you dealt.'"

They're fightin' with quotes? Cheese, Preds can weaponise anything. Rattrap kept his gun ready anyway.

Megatron took a step forward, now so close to Dinobot they were almost touching, looming over the warrior and forcing him to look up. "'Teach not thy lip such scorn.'"

"'My charity is outrage,'" Dinobot snarled, refusing to give ground. "'But repetition of what thou hast marred: That I will make before I let thee go.'"

Megatron's voice went very quiet: "'Wert thou not banished on pain of death?'"

"'I was; but I ...'" Dinobot's mouth snapped shut, as if he'd said too much, and he took a step back, no longer battle-ready but defensive. Megatron smiled.

Rattrap didn't understand the argument but two things were plain to him: one, Megatron sparred for keeps; two, Dinobot was losing. "Yeah, well, maybe I was enjoying it."

It was the most pathetic come-back he'd ever made in his life. Somehow it was also the most effective. Megatron recoiled like he'd been punched. He gave Rattrap a killing look before turning back to Dinobot. "Shore?" he accused.

Dinobot rallied himself. "Blunt."

None of it made any sense to Rattrap. Megatron gave a little you-think-highly-of-yourself huff, collected his satchel, and vanished down the lift - before Rattrap could demand the Predacon return the gun. The other Predacons had weapons, which was bad enough, but Rattrap really didn't like the idea of Megatron with one. Dinobot murmured to himself in the alien language: "'I was; but I do find more pain in banishment than death can yield me ...'"

Rattrap readjusted his poncho and tried to arrange himself more comfortably on his chair. "What the slag was that all about?"

Dinobot dragged his gaze away from the lift. "Nothing of your concern. Did you mean what you said?"

"You kidding? I don't wanna listen to your fancy alien words. I just said it to bug Megatron."

"Hnn. Too bad, vermin." Dinobot took his seat at the table and picked up where he'd left off. "'Plots have I laid, inductions dangerous, by drunken prophecies, libels and dreams, to set my brother Clarence and the king in deadly hate the one against the other: And if King Edward be as true and just as I am subtle, false, and treacherous ...'" He had dropped the pretense of speaking to himself, using full Drama Voice.

Rattrap groaned and turned back to the monitor. Great, he's found a new way to be annoying. How do I ... ah-ha! "There once," he said clearly, "was a jet from Khelekrax, who spent all her credit on hot wax -"

"... What?"

"If you're gonna recite at me, I'm gonna recite right back."

On to Someone I Forgot - part four
Back to Other Vengeance 2.0
Back to In Space, No One Can Hear Starscream