You're too subtle for the Maximals, Dinobot, thought Megatron irritably, gathering up his clothing from the anteroom of the showers. He hadn't even tried to wash the lava smell out of his clothes - those he would throw away. Blackarachnia was already gone and she'd had enough sense not to ask what had distracted Megatron from coming straight to the showers or what had ruined his mood. Oh, yes, Dinobot, of course you can read your stories with the right voice now - the writer was human, as we are. If you want to pass that knowledge along to the Maximals, simply tell them without games.

Or ... is it that you're still Predacon enough that you can't bring yourself to be open with the Maximals? The thought cheered him. After all, that little speech might have particular meaning to a warbuild in a 'weak piping time of peace' ... What do you fear? Your conscience hath gained a thousand several tongues but only I speak your language.

He stepped into the corridor and found Optimus waiting for him. "Megatron."

"Optimus Primal." Rattrap must have alerted him to Megatron's return. Or Primal simply has the habit of appearing when I least desire to deal with him. I suppose this can't possibly wait until I don't have a headache.

"Where have you been?"

Megatron shifted his clothing bundle to his right hand - careful to keep the bruise on his chest hidden, no need for Optimus to ask questions - to make a vague gesture with his left. "Out and about. Down to the wreckage of the Flying Island. We brought back a small rock with a trap glyph carved into it. We left it outside, of course, at some distance. There's a theory we wished to test. And there were a few things I wanted to pick up from my base." All true.

Optimus folded his arms. "Pick up from and drop off to. Did you find another one of those alien spheres?"

So they guessed. No matter. The Maximals could too easily go to the crashed island themselves and check his story if he lied about that. "I did. It still had a flicker of power in it. I thought it safer to leave it at my base than bring it here, at least until I have a better idea of the purpose of the spheres." He had carefully suspended it in a forcefield so that it would touch no metal surface. He had - perhaps irrational - visions of the device rooting in the ship and transmuting it into a new alien site. He was more comfortable leaving it in the structure that he didn't sleep in. Cameras had been set up as well. He would tell the Maximals about those if they noticed that his base was now sending data to the Axalon so that he could keep watch on it. He rummaged in his satchel and handed Optimus a datadisc. "Really, I went to my base with the best of intentions. This is our ship's scan data of the warship that chased us, whatever you want it for."

"Thanks." The Maximal pocketed the disc and left. Apparently he wasn't going to say why he wanted it. Megatron made a note of that - Optimus was usually more open with information and the scan data was an odd thing to request.

Megatron continued to his quarters. He needed to recuperate from his time in the Predacon base. He wished his bath was finished - the structure was there but the plumbing was incomplete. He would have to make do with just a rest ...

Entering his quarters he nearly stepped on a small object but a hand flashed out and snatched it from harm's way. "Inferno?" The warrior rarely returned to the room during the day, not unless she was following him. Now she was sitting cross-legged on her sleeping mat, surrounded by a scatter of odd carvings and trinkets. "What is all this?"

"I don't know," said Inferno. "They are mine."

"Where did they come from?"

"The cargo bay, in a crate belonging to a Maximal." She picked up a small beaded strap, letting it dangle between her fingers. "The small cat told me that I was that Maximal."

Megatron scowled. I knew it. I knew the Maximals would try to deprogram my hard-won Predacons. Inferno was high-maintenance and often maddening but she was his. He growled, "Are you?"

She met his eyes and matched his glare. "I am Inferno."

The sheer vehemence of the denial set Megatron at ease - whatever else was going on in her mind, Inferno was a Predacon. "Then get rid of this stuff." Whatever it was. The trinkets didn't look Maximal or even Cybertronian.

"No." Not angry now, just stating a fact.

That was rather more surprising. Megatron emptied his pockets of a few more datadiscs and held out the bundle of lava-damaged cloth. "Stop playing and dispose of these."

Inferno swept her trinkets into a pile on her mat and stood. "At once, Megatron." She accepted the bundle, then hissed sharply. "You're injured."

"It's only a bruise. Attend to your duty." Inferno obviously wanted to say more but she obediently left.

So, Inferno would still do his bidding, just not where her Maximal knickknacks were concerned. Megatron settled into his chair with a regretful glance at his tub. He dimmed the lights, altered the environmental controls to increase the oxygen levels, and closed his eyes, trying to will his head to stop aching.

Blackarachnia had seemed incredulous at first, not that the Maximals wanted to give her something, but more an, of course, if my prior life was here - why didn't I think of finding my luggage? Unlike the others, she did know her pod's serial number.

"Thing is, with protoform serial numbers, it just means the protoform," said Cheetor, because Blackarachnia actually seemed interested. "Just the body, I mean, not the spark in it. You can't put a serial number on a spark. But the serial number tells you what kind of protoform it is."

Behind him, Airazor made a quiet derisive noise. Cheetor glanced over at her. Okay, so I'm showing off a bit. It's not like I'm telling Blackarachnia anything classified and you never know - maybe if she's interested in her origins it's a chance she might be interested in being a Maximal again.

"The number means more than just the order it rolled out of the factory?" asked Blackarachnia.

Cheetor shrugged, fiddling with the lock. "Most people don't know how to read them 'cause it doesn't affect them but it's a skill you pick up if you live on a colony. It doesn't really say much, just Maximal protoform, smallish, tech-type, created in the Sonic Canyons over half a vorn ago. So you've got an age and a home state now, even if you don't remember." He opened the crate. "Any of this look like yours?"

Blackarachnia picked through the parts, frowning. "I don't think it ever could have been - this stuff all looks like ship material. Like scrap and cut-offs from when they were making the Axalon. I'll take it, though. I can find a use for this stuff."

She had reported the footprints in the jungle, then Megatron told her to go be somewhere else. Without more specific instructions, Inferno found herself outside the Axalon. There was no one in sight, which suited her - ever since that crate had been opened it seemed everyone thought she would suddenly side with the Maximals and the questioning was wearing on her already limited temper.

"Hey! Sugar!"

Following the voice, Inferno walked to the edge of the ravine and looked down. Quickstrike was five metres below the Axalon, suspended by his harness. He had managed to balance himself so that instead of hanging upside-down, he seemed to be lying on the air with his hands folded on his midsection. He was three metres out - too far to reach the line. "Did you fall again?"

The Maximal pulled himself to something like a sitting position, though the movement made the line twist and he had to keep turning his head to look at her. "Nah, I just felt like bein' down here. I wanted to see what the rest of the ship looked like."

It was behaviour to be expected from one of the spiders but she could expect nothing from Quickstrike. Between his newness and scrambled programming, he was unpredictable. "It could be seen from here."

Quickstrike shrugged. "Sometimes you just gotta do what feels right. Though I guess I can't hang around down here all day."

He tried to climb the line but was unable to keep a grip while he had all his weight on it and couldn't use his legs. "Consarn it, the dang cable's too slick. Shoulda tied knots in it or somethin'. 'Ferny, I hate to ask a favour, but you mind goin' topside and pullin' me up?"

Inferno considered refusing but Megatron's general order was to aid the Maximals if they asked, so she went back up the lift. Tigatron and Airazor - only one was on monitor duty but Inferno didn't know which - gave Inferno a distrustful look but didn't stop her from climbing up and out the roof hatch.

On top of the Axalon, Inferno found the line Quickstrike was attached to. She braced her foot on the hood of an autogun emplacement and pulled the line in, looping it around her hand on each haul so that it wouldn't slip through her fingers. She could tell when Quickstrike had reached the side of the ship - the pull became easier as he got his feet on the hull and helped climb it. After a few minutes the Maximal was up on the neck of the ship. Inferno stepped forward, grabbed him by the collar and harness, and deposited him a safe distance from the edge of the ship.

Quickstrike stood, unclipping the harness, and glanced back at the chasm. "Tarnation. Even the boss hadda strain a little - you just hauled me up here like I didn't weigh nothin'."

"You don't."

The Maximal looked up at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open, then shook his head and sighed. "You're too good to be true. You sure you wanna stick with Megatron?"

Inferno narrowed her eyes and clenched her fists, only just refraining from pushing the noisy little drone into the ravine. "I tire of being told that I should be a Maximal."

"What?" He held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Easy, sugar, easy. No difference to me if you're Maximal or Predacon. Why should anyone else care?"

"I was originally a Maximal," rumbled Inferno. "They think I should be one again. They try to tell me that who I was is more important than who I am."

Quickstrike laughed, clapping her on the back. "Tell me about it. They all act like my amnesia's this horrible thing and I can't convince 'em that I don't feel any loss. Maybe my life was good before, but '" the hand on her back moved so that Quickstrike's arm was around her waist, "' I gotta say it seems pretty good right now."

Rattrap let himself be led down to Dinobot's quarters, toolbox and a new lock out of storage in hand. Dinobot seemed to have wasted no time setting up what had been a secondary cargo bay into his own little Predacon pad. A familiar patch of brown on the wall caught his attention, then gave him a visceral jolt as he realised what he was looking at - Dinobot had kept the skin of his clone pinned to the wall as a trophy. And I might have a crate of Waspinator parts - that I am not going to mention while we got Predacon houseguests - but keepin' the beast-skin of your own clone is too morbid even for me.

Glad he had a purpose he could focus on instead of the decor, Rattrap turned back to the door and tapped the lock. "What's wrong with this one?"

"The base is full of Predacons," said Dinobot. "Upgrading the lock seems only prudent. I can install it - I only wanted your choice of the best one." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I assumed a sneak like you would know."

"I'll do it. You'd probably put it in upside-down or somethin'." Rattrap turned to set down and root through the toolbox. "Sounds sensible," he said, selecting a small plasma torch. "I'd buy it if I hadn't seen you and Megs fightin'. He's got you spooked."

Dinobot's shadow loomed over him. "That is none of your business."

Rattrap ignored the looming to start cutting out the old panel. "Funny. He seemed to think it was. Smelted if I know why."

"I convinced him otherwise."

"What was it about, then?"

Silence. Rattrap could feel the glare on the back of his neck. He shut off the cutting torch and turned to face the warrior. "Look, if Megatron was threatening you ..."

Dinobot made a derisive noise. "I do not need Maximal protection."

"Just a Maximal lock," Rattrap taunted. "Oh, slag ... Was he trying to convince you that you have to pay him off for patchin' me up? 'Cause I'll handle that myself." By tellin' Megs to shove it up his exhaust.

"That did not come up." Dinobot looked away. "I do owe you."

He sounded miserable enough that Rattrap couldn't tease him. "You sat up with me that first night. You didn't have to. You and me, we're even. Okay?"

Dinobot didn't look convinced. "Keeping vigil was nothing."

Sigh. You try to be nice to a 'bot ... "So you gotta save my life some day," said Rattrap, returning to his task. "Big deal."

Waspinator found Terrorsaur in his quarters, stretched out on the berth and propped up on one elbow to read a datapad. She grabbed him by his free hand to pull him up. "Waspinator is bored again! Come on!"

Terrorsaur swatted her away. "I can't put weight on one foot. Don't grab me."

Predacons should never have split up! Waspinator not with terror-bot for a few megacycles and terror-bot gets hurt! "What happened?"

He sighed and sprawled back onto the berth to hold up one bare foot for inspection. "Oh, nothing. I'm probably just broken forever. Tarantulas says it's just a sprain but I don't believe her."

To Waspinator's view, she couldn't see anything wrong with her partner. His left foot looked slightly thicker than his right and it was bruised but it was still there and wasn't leaking or burnt or anything. Though internal damages weren't unknown and these soft bodies were frighteningly weak ... Waspinator scowled. "Bird-bot."

"Didn't do it for once," Terrorsaur interrupted, lowering his foot. "I slipped and fell off the jamming tower and landed badly. The first one, so I barely got anything done before I had to come back. Did you finish yours?"

"Did three. Found another but it was too broken for Waspinator to fix. If spider-bot not like Waspinator's work, spider-bot can go do it herself," said Waspinator, sitting on the berth.

"Ow! Careful! I'm damaged here!"

Waspinator stood quickly. "Waspinator was nowhere near terror-bot's foot."

"You nudged my leg which jostled my foot." He jabbed a finger at her. "You're banned from my berth until I'm repaired!"

Which seemed most unfair, but Waspinator flopped down to sit on the floor beside the berth instead. Terrorsaur rolled to his side - rather carefully, Waspinator admitted - so he could still see her, so that was an acceptance of continued company. He pillowed his head on his arm. "Your Maximal any help?"

"Silver-bot held toolbox for Waspinator. Was strange," Waspinator mused. "Waspinator not used to being around a Maximal who doesn't want to hurt her."

"He barely knows he's a Maximal. That's all."

"Seems nice."

Terrorsaur reached out and flicked her in the side of the head. "You remember what happened to you last time you thought a Maximal seemed nice?"

Waspinator made a razzing noise and swatted his hand. "And which one of us kept teaming up with Maximals and then getting backstabbed by Maximals?"

"Look, that was only three times and it was never because they 'seemed nice'."

"Teaming up with Maximals because they seemed mean is even worse plan."

"... in Silverbolt's crate. Maybe someone goofed when they were labelling them."

Rhinox found Optimus and Cheetor in the usual patch of green - a small hollow a short walk from the cargo entrance of the Axalon where enough soil was blown in and enough water trapped to create a tiny park. It was a usual hangout of the Maximals when they wanted a break from the base but didn't want to stray too far from it. Now Optimus was sitting under a small tree, with Cheetor stretched out along one of its branches. Optimus glanced up from his datapad. "Hey. It turns out Blackarachnia and Silverbolt lost their luggage, too."

"Should we check the rest of the crates?" asked Rhinox, settling down on the grass.

"I think so," said Optimus. "It's a breach of privacy but this is strange enough that I think we'd be forgiven a quick look to see if the pattern holds."

"It could have just been a mistake," said Cheetor.

Optimus' face clouded. "I'm ... Maybe I'm just feeling paranoid, but ... The things Dinobot found in Airazor's wall. They aren't Crossbolt's."

The engineer frowned. "Are you sure? I'm certain I recognised the rifle."

"That was his," Optimus agreed. "Which makes the entertainment datadiscs in the boxes odd. I know his tastes - there were maybe two movies in there he might have watched. The rest were things I'm sure he had no interest in."

"Maybe he had interests you didn't know about," said Rhinox.

"Maybe, but given what we keep finding in the crates, it's starting to feel like the boxes were filled with random discs just to make them feel right if someone picked them up. For our crew in stasis, maybe it was a mistake in shipping manifests, that we ended up with a load of scrap instead of their luggage, but Crossbolt was part of the core crew. He would have packed it himself." Optimus shook his head. "Another thing - Megatron got me the scan data. No good. Jamming fields."

Cheetor looked curious but apparently Optimus didn't want him involved so Rhinox just nodded.

The scout propped himself up on his arms, or as well as he could while lying along a branch. "We found Quickstrike's and Inferno's luggage, though. Quickstrike wasn't anyone I recognised - his name used to be 'Quickdraw' so maybe he's still got some of his memories - but you'll never guess who Inferno was." Cheetor didn't give Rhinox a chance. "Spinwit."

"No." Disbelief more than denial - it seemed impossible that the Predacon berserker had ever been an experienced scientist.

"I know it sounds weird but Tarantulas identified the control pod - though she didn't know what it was - and the stuff in the crate all had Spinwit's name on it." Cheetor frowned. "Someone like that gets kidnapped by Preds and scans a beast-mode? You're going to end up with someone who believes they're a Predacon animal."

"Apparently he was cleared for service again," said Optimus. "Either his repairs were insufficient or the Predacon reprogramming set him back. His name wasn't on the roster, but he might have changed it if his repairs changed him enough that he felt he needed a new one."

"Yeah, the roster says our chief science officer was named 'Ikard'," said Cheetor. "That's no name for a helicopter unless Spinwit changed so much he went aquatic."

Rhinox rubbed his chin, ruffling the fur there. "Speaking of programming ... as far as I can tell, the change only affected our bodies, not our minds. I would think that after eleven days at least some of us should be exhibiting symptoms of monoform psychosis. I'm glad no one is, I just don't know why not."

"Tigatron got us to delete our programming blocks," said Cheetor.

"That doesn't explain the Predacons, unless they did it as well. I'll have to remember to ask Megatron about that," said Optimus. "Could it be that these forms simply aren't meant to transform and so we're fine with it because it's right for these bodies? Or ... well, what mode are we in now? Robot or beast?"

Rhinox frowned. "You know, I haven't been able to decide that. I could argue it both ways. We're not caught between modes, just ..."

"Just sort of both at the same time," Optimus finished. "That could be why we're not as twitchy about transforming as we otherwise would be. We're enough like both sides to feel like we can access both modes."

"What, like we're robots on the outside and animals on the inside? Or robots on the inside but animals on the outside?" asked Cheetor. He looked over at Rhinox. "Like how you won't eat meat if you can help it? But cheetahs are carnivores and I eat plants."

Optimus reached up and prodded a swinging arm. "You still sleep like a cat, though. I suppose it manifests in different ways for each of us. Besides, few of us had more than one or two traits adopted from our beast-modes. Inferno was the only one really affected by it. Maybe Tigatron to a lesser degree."

"Well ... everybody's been having nightmares," said Cheetor. "Almost everybody - I haven't. It was kind of freaky the first time I dreamed I was in this body instead of being a robot but that wasn't actually scary. But I know Airazor and Tigatron have."

Rhinox and Optimus exchanged glances, then Rhinox shrugged. "I haven't had anything I'd count as a nightmare." Unwanted dreams but nothing frightening.

"I haven't been sleeping well but I'm pretty sure that's just general stress," said Optimus. "Silverbolt had a nightmare last night. He asked me about it. He said Blackarachnia was having them as well."

Cheetor blinked. "When was 'Bolt chatting to the widow?"

"He just ran into her in the corridor last night, after his nightmare woke him up," said Optimus. "I'm more surprised she admitted it."

And Rattrap, Rhinox thought, though after the explosion he'd have been surprised if Rattrap didn't have nightmares. Last night Rattrap had claimed that he was fine and didn't need company this time and Rhinox had woken up to find his friend had slipped into his room and curled up beside him, shaking. Brushes with death were nothing new to Rattrap, it was the thought of dying in this strange flesh body that had affected him so deeply. But that was something his friend wouldn't want him to tell.

"Terrorsaur, too," said Cheetor. "I've heard him a few mornings."

"According to Dinobot, Terrorsaur's always been like that ..." said Optimus.

Rhinox caught the pause. "What's wrong?"

Optimus shook his head. "Terrorsaur. I was talking to him briefly earlier. It's just ... did you ever think we'd be getting to know Predacons like this? Eleven days ago, Terrorsaur was just a laughing shot in the back, a target to shoot out of the sky before he did the same to me. But now he's someone who knows his way around classical literature and has never slept well. And they're all like that. Little things slip, little reminders that these are people with their own lives and their own thoughts, not just laser delivery systems." He slumped forward to lean his elbows on drawn-up knees. "Do you think they're making the same realisations, or even care? If we went back to fighting, would Terrorsaur hesitate to shoot me because he's not seeing an enemy but someone who reads classics for fun?"

"Dinobot knew them and he never hesitated," said Rhinox. Though that might be why, if the Predacons were his friends and he felt betrayed by them.

"Dinobot is a soldier," Optimus said. "We're not and the more I see of them the more I think the other Predacons aren't either."

"But Megatron's still totally bad, right?" Cheetor asked hopefully.

Optimus slumped further into his slouch. "Megatron plays with bath toys." He sighed. "Terrorsaur used to live with someone he hated, someone who did xenobotany as a hobby and pretended to be well-read but wasn't. I don't think Terrorsaur had much freedom but he did have access to Great War era writings - such easy access that he didn't think it was unusual. But he doesn't care about history, he didn't understand the old stories, he just reads anything he can get his hands on."

Cheetor reached down to try to touch Optimus but he had slouched too low. "Are you okay, big bot? Terrorsaur really messed you up, huh?"

"No, it's just ... Suddenly I know more about Terrorsaur's past than I do about half of my own crew's. Tigatron, Silverbolt, and Quickstrike are amnesiac, Blackarachnia was reprogrammed, and Dinobot never talks about it." Optimus ran his hands through his hair. "Does Dinobot talk to Rattrap?"

Four days ago, Rhinox wouldn't have thought so. Even now he couldn't picture the warrior opening up to anybody, but if Dinobot could show as much vulnerability as he did to Rhinox in admitting he cared about Rattrap, maybe Dinobot showed more to Rattrap. "If he does, Rattrap keeps it private."

Cheetor frowned. "Aside from Terrorsaur, everybody having nightmares came out of a stasis pod. What about Quickstrike and Inferno?"

"I don't think either of them would admit it if they were," said Optimus, uncurling to lean back against the tree again.

"And I don't see the other Predacons sharing that sort of information, either," said Rhinox. "But all in all, it's not the same as when we were locked in beast-mode. General stresses of the change and that our dreams seem more vivid overall could be making people more nightmare-prone but the inability to transform doesn't seem to be a factor."

Sentinel woke Dinobot at the start of the sixth shift. He forced himself to get up. Optimus wanted to do a funeral for the two dead Maximals and wanted to do it at a time no Predacon was likely to interrupt. That meant four hours before sunrise. Since Dinobot lived on the Predacon schedule it meant he'd only had four hours sleep but he could always go back to bed for a few hours afterward.

There was light where there wasn't supposed to be light - Dinobot's computer was open when he knew he'd left it closed. Three lines were typed on the screen:

Let me put in your minds, if you forget,
What you have been ere now, and what you are;
Withal, what I have been, and what I am.

Dinobot scowled. The new lock was worthless.

He dressed quickly, then made his way up to and through the cargo bay to join the Maximals outside. The command centre would be empty for the duration but Optimus locked the doors and declared it an acceptable risk.

Dinobot was the last to arrive - the Maximals had already set everything up. There were the remains of Crossbolt's shell, there was a box that contained what was left of the unknown Maximal whose pod had exploded in the wasteland, there was a loader drone because their own strength was insufficient. And there was the odd tripod and control panel of the pyre. So this is a Maximal funeral. Hnn. Predacons recycled. To Dinobot, the pyre was a waste of energy and material. He said nothing - a funeral was not the time for a cultural argument.

He stayed away from the group, close enough to be visible, far enough away that no one would speak to him. He did want to give proper respect to his living comrades who mourned their dead, it was part of his Maximal duties to be there ... but previous Predacon duties had involved Maximals dead by his hands. Dinobot felt his presence was inappropriate at a Maximal funeral. None of the Maximals seemed to mind - the few looks his way were simple acknowledgement rather than resentment.

Optimus tried to talk about the unknown Maximal but he had nothing of substance to say. They couldn't even recover the Maximal's serial number, for all that would have told them. Silverbolt stepped in and did a slightly better job of it, using words like 'brother' while Quickstrike looked uncomfortable. Why do they try? Why not just admit that they don't know anything about this person? He did nothing noble, he merely died. In fact, worse that he did - the explosion damaged Quickstrike and Silverbolt's pods and ruined their datatracks.

The pyre flared and the box disintegrated, then Rhinox used the loader drone to hoist Crossbolt's body into the flame.

Most of the Maximals looked properly solemn and respectful. Cheetor was trying but he was fidgety by nature and couldn't hold still. Quickstrike wasn't even pretending to pay attention by this point, instead watching Airazor and Tigatron. Rattrap had slipped over to Rhinox and draped one of the engineer's arms around himself - no doubt he would claim he was merely cold if asked, he was still wearing nothing more than boots and that ridiculous poncho - and was glaring at the corpse. Given that the body shell had nearly killed Rattrap and his life was saved by Predacons, Dinobot could understand why he was upset. Rattrap noticed him watching and made a rude gesture.

Optimus didn't talk long, either out of Maximal custom or because he felt he said everything that was needed to say.

When it was done, the Maximals talked amongst themselves briefly, hands on Optimus' shoulders and arms, Maximal consolation, then went back inside. Most of them - Optimus hung back. "The others will not assist you in taking down the pyre?" Dinobot asked.

"We'll put it away later. Right now I just want to think things over." Optimus leaned back against the control panel. "This isn't the Predacon way, is it?"

"No."

"Thanks for coming out."

Dinobot nodded curtly. "It was important to you." And because Optimus wanted to be alone, Dinobot followed the Maximals inside.

Cheetor caught him as he exited the cargo bay. "You staying for breakfast, Dinobot?"

"I ..." Glowing lines of text flashed across his memory. Megatron would probably not return this night but Dinobot knew he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. "... might as well."

Rattrap appeared beside him as Cheetor bounded away. "Didn't work?" he asked.

Dinobot held no illusion that Rattrap hadn't guessed what was happening. "No. And I like that even less than you do, before you accuse me of anything."

Rattrap frowned. "Rhinox might have some ideas. I could try to talk to him in a roundabout way, don't have to mention you got troubles at all."

"No." While the engineer's help could be useful, Dinobot didn't want to involve more people in his problem than he had to. It was bad enough that Rattrap knew. Dinobot was surprised that Rattrap hadn't gossiped to Rhinox about the new lock already.

I'm walking down a corridor. It's not my choice - there are two guards behind me, marching me along. I can hear their feet clanking against the deck plates. But I'm not a prisoner. I can't be - I haven't done anything wrong.

The guards are for my protection.

There's another sound, sort of a muffled droning noise that gets louder with each step. I want it to stop. I shouldn't be hearing it.

There's a door at the end of the corridor. There's a sentry beside it.

Something behind the door is screaming.

The sentry is nervous; he keeps glancing back at the door. He says, "We need you to double-check your work. We need to be sure."

He reaches for the door control and I want to tell him to stop but I can't speak. I want to run away but I can't move. He's going to make me look and I know that if I see the screamer, I'll die.

I can't look. Don't make me look. I can't. If I do ...

It was past the time that Optimus usually attempted to sleep, but the word was 'attempt'. He'd had trouble sleeping since the change, and if he was going to be awake he may as well be outside as in his room.

He was sitting on the ground by the pyre, his back to the control panel. They would dismantle and stow the device after the sun rose. For now the only light came from the Axalon and a sliver of moon. Others had asked if he wanted company but he didn't, not right now.

"Relight the pyre."

The Maximal was pulled from his thoughts by the unexpected voice. He hadn't heard the cargo lift at all. "Inferno? You're up early. Megatron sending his regards?"

The Predacon warrior stood a few metres off, unarmed and holding a small box. "I was not sent."

Of course Inferno was capable of independent action - she'd demonstrated that when she destroyed the Standing Stones. Though she had done that for Megatron, even if Megatron hadn't given the order, so it was impossible to know her current motivations. Optimus cautiously got to his feet. "What do you need?"

"Relight the pyre," she repeated. "There is one more Maximal to be recycled."

Optimus shifted his weight, ready to fight or run. "Who?"

"Spinwit."

"... But that's you," said Optimus, aware of how strange it sounded.

She stepped up beside the pyre and glared at him. "No. I am Inferno."

Airazor and Cheetor had already tried to explain things to the warrior and were rebuffed. Inferno understood that she was a Maximal reprogrammed by the Predacons, she just didn't care. Optimus wondered if that was part of the Predacon programming, to feel no outrage at the violation. "You could be a Maximal again, if you want to."

She growled. "You ask me to sacrifice myself for a dead mechanism."

"No. You couldn't go back to that life. I wouldn't ask you to give up your identity." Optimus took a deep breath. "But you could be a Maximal as Inferno."

The anger in her was replaced by surprise. "You would ..." Then resolution: "I could not. To be Inferno is to serve the Colony."

It struck Optimus how surreal the conversation was. Two weeks ago he wouldn't have imagined he would ever be having a chat with the Predacon berserker, and certainly never this chat. The truce kept Inferno's aggression in check, though Optimus had no doubt she would explode into fire and violence at Megatron's word. To be Inferno was to be what Megatron told Inferno to be. "Choice is possible. You're more than your programming."

That got a laugh, the full, wild laugh that Optimus had come to know and fear on the battlefield. He tensed but Inferno didn't attack. She clutched the box to her chest, laughing until the laughter choked off in a half-sob. She recovered herself quickly, to Optimus' relief - he wasn't certain how to comfort the warrior. Just patting her shoulder might lose him a hand.

Inferno straightened up, standing almost at attention, but still held the box against her chest. "You are no queen. Perhaps you were once, but I do not think so. Megatron was once and one day will be again. There is no choice. I am a soldier. I am a Predacon."

Optimus debated asking if she was all right but didn't know how far he could risk pushing it. He wasn't sure what to make of her 'no queen' remark except it had something to do with her belief that she was an ant. But as long as she's in an introspective mood ... "Cheetor tells me you recognised Spinwit's luggage."

"It was not recognition, only a feeling. Something familiar but disconnected," said Inferno slowly. "As if Spinwit was someone I knew a long time ago and forgot, and now I'm told he is dead and has left his possessions to me. I recognise his things as mine but do not know what they are."

"Do you have any of his memories?" Optimus asked. "Maybe dreams that didn't make sense until now? Nightmares?"

The Predacon lowered the box to look at it. "No, none. What you tell me about him I know is true but I could not tell you myself."

"I never knew him personally but I can tell you a bit about who he was," said Optimus. "He was signed on as our chief science officer. One of his duties was to guide the stasis pods, to land them safely." What you might have done if Tarantulas hadn't interfered. "He was to defend the colony."

Inferno nodded. "Good." Optimus had briefly worried that he'd overstepped a boundary to borrow Inferno's terminology but she seemed to appreciate his use of it. She had no desire to return to her previous life but she could approve of who she used to be.

Optimus stepped around the control panel so he could access it. "What's in the box?"

"His journals. They seemed to be the most ... the most him thing in the crate." Inferno stroked the lid of the box. "It was a mind that died so I will burn his thoughts."

Optimus bit back protest, that the writings of the famous xenopologist should be saved or at least copied, but it wasn't his decision to make. The journals belonged to Inferno. He activated a control and the pyre re-ignited. "If you ever change your mind, you have a place with us, Inferno."

"I have a place now." Inferno looked at the box one last time, then tossed it up into the pyre.

To be continued ...

On to Still Life, With Flowers
Back to Other Vengeance 2.0
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