Beast Wars Anonymous:

Art of the Deal, pt. 1
by SilverGirl (soniaoosha@hotmail.com)

Rattrap couldn't remember the sun ever being so merciless. Its rays sliced through his and Cheetor's coolant systems like lasers through a wet paper bag. Cheetor was in charge of holding the already-collected energon, while Rattrap had the honorable job of finding the stuff. So far they had done pretty well, harvesting the volatile crystals. A couple more large ones and they could head back to the relative safety of the Ark.

"You know, given enough time, I could really get to hate this planet," the old cynic grunted. Cheetor sighed.

"You remember that year back on Cybertron when it was like this for three months. Biggest heat wave on record."

Rattrap groaned. "Don't remind me." He had been trying to conduct the energon harvests away from known Predacon hunting grounds. Walking into a battle with a storage chamber full of highly unstable crystals was not an idea he catered to. But for some reason, no matter how much he tried to avoid trouble, it seemed to know exactly where he was, and was simply waiting to ambush him. *Come on*, he thought. *I want to at least get through one field mission without being shot at.*

He and Cheetor were able to duck just in time. The beam seemed to come from the rocky landscape itself.

"Come on! Slag the rest of the energon, let's get home!" he yelled, pulling Cheetor by the wrist. They couldn't risk fighting with such dangerous cargo. The maddening buzz of Waspinator's propulsion unit and the whirring of Inferno's spinning blades followed them over rock and into ditch, laserfire hot on their heels. The rocky landscape flew past them in a blurred mass of brown and blue, heading for the volcano ahead. Luckily, they weren't extremely far.

Cheetor's sudden cry erupted beside him, and he fell to the dust in pain. Rattrap turned around and opened fire, hoping it would stall their pursuers enough to get the wounded one to his feet. It worked reasonably well. The two Predacons had gained a bit of ground, but he and Cheetor still had a decent lead. The younger leaned on the older for support, limping as fast as was possible.

"Come on, hold on! We'll make it, kid!" Rattrap assured him. The blast doors were straight ahead.

Their coming was anticipated, and the doors opened, letting the two of them topple inside. They closed, just before another volley of laserfire would have followed them in.

"How bad is it?" Rattrap asked. Cheetor winced in agony.

"Nothing a CR Chamber won't fix," he replied. "Just my leg."

"Nice to see you two safely back," Rhinox greeted them, entering the room with Silverbolt, who had the medkit in tow. "How serious?"

"Bare winging," Rattrap replied, taking a look at the scorched area. "He'll live." Rhinox smiled.

"So, you manage to get away with any energon?"

Rattrap shrugged. "Yeah. Not as much as we wanted, but it'll have to do." He looked thoughtful. "Say, it's pretty weird."

"What?" Silverbolt asked, already tending to Cheetor's wound.

"No matter how much I try to avoid those slagheads, they always seem to know where to find me. And it's been worse ever since *she* showed up. I can't even check the weather without being ambushed."

The Fuzor seemed able to control his reaction for the moment. "That'll heal in a few hours" he told Cheetor, then turned to Rattrap. "Why is it whenever something goes wrong, she gets blamed for it?"

"For bootin' up cold, she's a Pred!"

"Was. Megatron attacked her, remember?" Silverbolt replied, astonishingly calm.

"How do we know that? No one saw him shoot her. It's just a little too strange that she joins our side, and suddenly they seem to know every time we sneeze. Look, " Rattrap said, exasperated, "I can't even believe I'm saying this, but you're a nice guy. Too nice. She's a Pred, and can't be trusted, no matter how much you might think she's changed. We've got to watch our backs."

"Could it be possible that Megatron's just expanded his patrols?" Silverbolt asked.

"Could be, but it's just a little too coincidental for me to swallow." He took the energon storage chamber that Cheetor had been trying to hand him. "I've got to go take care of this stuff."

Silverbolt mechanically punched in the access code to Blackarachnia's quarters, telling himself that he was a complete fool. Of course it was stupid to suspect her. The fact that she had been a Predacon had no standing for him. But for some reason he couldn't explain, Rattrap's suspicions carried an unsettling ring of truth. She *was* acting strange lately. Volunteering for field missions and taking way too long with them, volunteering for tedious jobs in odd places of the Ark, such as taking weapons inventory, asking him how practically everything worked. He had passed them off as curiosity, thought nothing of it. Not until now, with Rattrap's mention of increasing ambushes, which he had to admit was fact.

Her quarters were pretty modest. He had been here enough times to get used to it. Her computer terminal stood at the far comer, daring him to dig through it's files. He accepted the challenge uneasily, turning it on. And then he realized he had nothing to really look for. What could he start with? It made sense that if she were to be spying on them, she would make transmissions of information to Predacon receiver units. But would she have saved those records? Probably. She would need to know what she had already spilled and what else she needed to snoop for.

His hands flew over the keys as he began the search. He hated thinking this way. In his heart he had hoped she would find acceptance with the group, that she would change. Up until now, he had firmly believed she had. Her willingness to help had seemed to him a landmark development. Never once did he suspect her of using him. Even though he was digging through her personal terminal now, he doubted it. If she was spying, why would she make those records so accessible? There were two possibilities, the way he saw it. Either she was extremely naive, or she trusted him enough not to look. The former was out of the question. She was savvy, if not totally devious. The latter, now that he thought about it, made perfect sense. He was the only one besides herself that had the access code to her quarters. Nobody else would come in here. The only likely snooper would've been Rattrap, and he obviously hadn't, or she would've been toast long ago. She had no reason to lock up her files if only she and he would see them. She trusted him completely to leave her terminal alone.

The thought made him sick. Here he was, totally throwing that trust out the window. He was very tempted to abort the whole thing, but Rattrap's unsettling possibility stayed with him. If she *was* working for Megatron, he and the others had a right to know. He would have to deal with it.

A long column of transmission records tumbled down the screen like an electronic waterfall. He scrolled down. They were routine, declaring her findings in the field back to Rhinox in the communications station. She was a packrat, alright She even saved weather reports. He began to feel a bit better. Yes, of course it was nonsense. Had to be. Rattrap was only being his usual suspicious self, trying to cause trouble. She was a perfectly good ally.

He stopped. The transmission file the flashing cursor indicated had a different destination code. It hadn't gone to the Ark, like the others did. Quickly he hit the "view" option.

And sorely wished he hadn't.

The file was the complete weapons inventory of the Ark. The destination was the Predacon base communications station. Frantically, he returned to the file listing, scrolling down. Six. Ten. Twenty. Thirty-five. Eighty. A hundred fifty. All with the Predacon destination code. All enormous files. Computer access codes. TeleTran One activation procedures. Current and future locations of scout missions and energon harvesting. Schematics, He didn't need to see anymore. With trembling hands, he shut down the terminal, staggering away from it as if it might attack him. He righted himself on one of the few pieces of furniture in the place.

Most of the schematics and procedures information had come from him. He had told her without thinking. He could slag himself now. She had been using him as nothing but an information source Rattrap was right. She didn't care. Of all, that thought was the most wounding.

He felt as if he had just swallowed straight vinegar. *No, no, no, NO!* He didn't want to believe it. But he had to. He had seen the evidence, plain as day. A cold, liquidy feeling seeped through him like a slow-acting poison. She had betrayed him. Betrayed them all. He wanted to vomit, if it were possible.

But could there be another explanation? Rattrap was the only one with suspicions so far .Would he try to confirm them by himself? He was the second-best hacker in the group, and could undoubtedly get into the terminal from some other point on the Ark. But no. He wouldn't. Forging evidence was low, even for Rattrap's standards.

On knees made of melting ice, he half-walked, half-stumbled out of her quarters, locking up the door as if he had never been there. On the far wall he leaned for support, utterly drained by the revelation. He wished he had never listened to Rattrap, and yet he was slightly grateful. Grateful to know the truth, and loathe to believe it. But it didn't end here. He knew, and dreaded. The worst was yet to come.

Blackarachnia sank behind one of the crags she had become so familiar with, pulling out the field tremor indicator and flipping it into action. Her field mission this time consisted of nothing more than taking weather information and seismic activity, but for some reason Silverbolt had insisted on accompanying her.

"You know how much the attacks have been increasing," he had said, and she had noticed an odd edge to his voice. He had seemed almost angry at her for volunteering. She didn't know what to make of it, but figured she might as well humor him. How much could go wrong?

Of course she didn't buy his excuse for a minute. There was some other motive behind it, she was sure. Perhaps he was on to her…….no. He couldn't know. Only he had the access code to her quarters. And he wasn't a snoop by nature. No, there was absolutely no way he could find out.

Unless she didn't know him as well as she thought.

So far the seismic recordings had reported a three-point tremor about fifty miles away. She would have to get his weather report, but that could wait. Chances were he wasn't done yet, anyway.

She turned off the reader. She deliberately left the transmission equipment back at the Ark. What would the Predacons want with weather reports and geology? All she wanted was a normal mission, and some fresh air. Yet she knew she was being tracked. Constantly. One of them was always watching her in the field. Megatron wasn't going to risk a double-cross.

She shifted herself uneasily in the crag. Even here, she was watched. It alarmed her a little. Megatron did not have the reputation as one of his word. She knew that as long as they knew where she was, they had every opportunity for an attack.

"Alright, it looks like we're finished here," Silverbolt's voice broke her unpleasant thoughts. She lifted herself out of the cramped space with little difficulty--her arachnid nature made her built for tight spots--and made her way over to where he stood, saving the measurements. She could stand it no more. She had to ask.

"Why did you come with me?"

Her question didn't seem as any surprise. "To talk."

She felt cold inside, doomed. "About?"

His eyes narrowed, his voice like freshly forged steel. "About who you've been sending intelligence reports to."

She sighed in defeat. It had to happen sooner or later. She had hoped it would be later.

"You went through the files, didn't you?" she asked. He nodded.

"You know what needs to be done," he said.

"Yup, we sure do."

Both turned to see the grinning figure of Quickstrike perched atop a tall column of rock, looking for all the world like a deranged Lone Ranger. He leaped to the ground, landing easily. She had expected him, but even still dreaded it.

"Thought you had it so good, Fuzz n' Feathers! Thought you were King of the World, huh?" he said, advancing menacingly, cobra-head gun leveled. "Well, prepare for a rude awakening! You're nothin' but canyon gravel. Sugarbot's mine, after Megatron thanks you personally for your help." He turned to her. "Well, Sweetheart, you know what to do."

*Sugarbot.* She winced inwardly, taking the stun bolt from her belt and leveling it at Silverbolt's head. She had no choice. He wasn't called Quickstrike for nothing. She'd never get the stun bolt off at him in time, and then it would all be over. She braced herself. *I'm sorry. This is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.* Closing her eyes, she fired.

"Where the slag are they!" Rattrap growled, slamming his fist on the console. "Seismic and weather surveys don't take this long. The Birddog and She-Spider should've been back three hours ago." Cheetor shook his head.

"I don't like the looks of this. Ever since that day I got shot in the leg, he's been acting weird. It's like he knows something we don't."

"I know he knows something, and it's buggin' the slag outta me," the old cynic replied. "He's weird even for himself. And I have a suspicion that it involves a certain female Pred."

"Like what?" Cheetor asked.

"Believe me, kid, you're better off not knowing."

"If it's anything about her and the ambushes, don't repeat it."

Rattrap sighed. "You said it, not me."

"Why do you suspect her?" Cheetor asked.

"The ambushes for one. Her curiosity for another. She asks the Birddog how *everything* works. Even the stuff she's never gonna have to touch. She volunteers for field missions left and right. Never leaves without the transmission equipment. Does that sound like run-of-the-mill stuff to you?"

Cheetor sighed. "I suppose not." Rattrap finished tightening yet another electrovink valve, a particularly stubborn one.

"That's it. I don't give a slag what Optimus says, I'm goin' after them. Alone if I've got to."

"I was about to suggest a search," Optimus' voice came suddenly from the doorway of the small utility room. Well, small by Autobot standards. It was still a cavern to the human-sized inhabitants now. Both turned around, grinning nervously.

"Great. When do we start?" Rattrap asked. Optimus grinned.

"Now if you want. But Rhinox can't hold the blast doors open forever."

He nodded. "Come on, kid. Let's go. " When they were out of Optimus' earshot, he turned sidelong to the young warrior. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but the Birddog's not all bad, even with the corny speeches. I swear, she breaks his heart, I'll break her *neck*."

Blackarachnia tried to hide her displeasure, and was failing miserably, though not by Quickstrike's blind standards. The thought of shooting him with the stun bolt and running back to the Maximal base was tempting, but she knew that was suicide. She not only had herself to worry about, but Silverbolt as well. There was no way in the Pit she would leave him behind.

She vaguely wondered if he was trying to set a record for the longest monologue. For the last two hours, he hadn't stopped talking about how they had won, how she was the best spy in the world, how he was the quickest shot around, how great a team they would make. Completely ignored her downcast face and depressed silence. Would he ever just *shut up*?

"....yeah, we're gonna have a great time now that he's outta the way. You'll just see, Sugarbot. It'll be great rippin' those Maximal slagheads apart limb from limb...." he was saying. She barely heard him, feeling as if Silverbolt's deadweight was a smothering black veil. She felt cold inside, despite the merciless sun, She was weak, sickened by the mental beating she had been, and still was, giving herself. The irrational, wild side of her brain pounded her, calling her a low-life traitor. A liar. A user. A betrayer. Her sane, reasonable side attacked from the other end, telling her she had no choice in the matter. An ultimatum was an ultimatum. She didn't decide to do this. She was told to. But she knew it was her choice to obey. She felt tom in half, felt her own mind splitting apart at the seams. Guilt was driving her mad, and she knew it.

Quickstrike continued his little speech, half to her and half to himself, totally unaware of the turmoil in her head. As if by some kind of cue, he looked at her, for the first time noticing her obvious discontent.

"Hey Sugarbot, what's with you? Ain't you happy now that you don't have to cater to *him* anymore?" She gave no answer. "What'sa matter?"

She decided he was dim enough to believe anything. Quickly she put forth the most cheerful smile she could muster without cracking her face in half. "Oh nothing, it's just that it's supposed to rain later, and you know how much I hate rain." *Please buy it, please buy it. ..*

"Eh, rain ain't so bad. Especially when you've got a nice little fire going, a glass of radium, some good music...." Yes, he was definitely dim enough. She knew what he was hinting at, but it didn't matter as long as she could fool him.

"I suppose, " she replied, trying to sound as if she were playing along. The thought of him actually being serious was nauseating. But it alarmed her little. She was a big girl, could easily take care of herself. She had to fight to keep her revulsion hidden. At least until they got back to the Predacon base. She shifted Silverbolt's weight. Yes, there was going to be hell to pay when he woke up.

Blackarachnia watched as Silverbolt awoke at last, and a temptation to run over there and cut the energy bonds that held him fast to the floor took her. It dissipated in the face of reality, that Megatron would simply shoot her, and she'd never get him free. If she played her cards right, he would let at least Silverbolt go. Then she could escape from this accursed place whenever she wished.

"Glad to see you're awake at last, " Megatron began in his usual condescending tone. She grimaced. This wouldn't be pretty. "I wanted to thank you personally for your valuable assistance."

"The pleasure's all mine," Silverbolt replied, in a rare display of sarcasm.

"As I would imagine," Megatron replied. "Now then, I think there's someone else who would like to thank you even more than I." That was her cue. She stepped out of the shadows where she'd been standing, into the full light. She felt as if all her skin were stripped off, exposing her spark for the whole world to shoot at. She had no doubt that Megatron's ulterior motive was to humiliate them both just for the hell of it.

Silverbolt didn't even look at her. Yet those cold amber eyes spilled everything she didn't want to know. He was hurt. No, "hurt" was too weak a word. He was *crushed*. Devastated. And angry. How could she have done this to him? She couldn't think of any suitable answer, so she said nothing.

"You've done your work well, my dear. Yes," he was saying to her, at the same time leveling his laser arm at Silverbolt's chest. "And so have you."

That woke her up. She stopped him with a strong grip on his wrist.

"No! Our contract said he was off-1imits," she hissed, loud enough for Silverbolt to hear her. Megatron grinned. A cold knot of dread formed in her gut, her skin turning to ice.

"Well, you know what they say. Verbal contracts aren't worth the chips they're written on, " he said, taking careful aim. The moment seized her with a hot panic, and she slammed her entire weight against him, knocking him to the floor in hopes of sending the shot wild. It was all in vain. Megatron waited until he was on the ground before firing, and his precision was sickeningly accurate. Silverbolt collapsed to the floor with a cry of pain as the lasers seared through him. Parts of his chestplate were now missing, exposing the circuits beneath. With a wild cry, she sprang off of Megatron and scrambled over to where the Fuzor lay, unconscious.

She took him roughly by the shoulders, yelling frantically. "Wake up! Wake up!" She slapped him across the face in desperation. "Wake up! This isn't funny!" Still no response. Cold shock slammed into her. He wasn't *trying* to be funny. This was really him. Shot. He was still as the crags around the Ark at night. She knelt there, eyes closed. This couldn't be happening. He couldn't die on her. She didn't know how she would live with herself if he did. Her reason kicked in again, telling her there was nothing more she could've done. It was bound to happen this way eventually, it wasn't her fault. But looking at him there, a heap of metal on the floor, made her sick. She had done this, even if unwittingly.

Her reason again pounded her. No, she hadn't caused it. At least not by choice. Megatron had. He had given her the final offer: spy or be scrapped. She had taken it, making the best bargain she could. No one could blame her for being afraid of death. It wasn't her fault that Megatron had double-crossed her. The shock had begun to wear off, and was giving way to hot anger. She was angry at Megatron for taking her for a sucker, angry at herself for being taken for a sucker, angry at the world for slagging her over, and she'd be damned angry at Silverbolt if he decided to die. This was her fault, and by the Matrix, she was going to set things right.

She got to her feet, slowly turned around. White fire burned in her black eyes, and searing hot rage spread through her body. She advanced. Slowly. Menacingly.

Megatron's discomfort was visible. He held his hands up in a pacifying gesture, trying not to sound as if she were an oncoming train. "Now, now," he said, even more condescending than before. "No need to get upset."

"Upset?" she said with soft, deadly calm. "You want upset?"

"Believe me, you really, *really* don't want to do this--"

"Oh, I've wanted to do this for a very, very long time," she replied, drawing her own laser. The spider-leg machine guns mounted on her arms stood at full ready. Her voice was steel. "Go to the Pit."

She fired the laser straight for his side, and whether it was her own skills or outright fury that guided it, she wasn't sure. It landed on its mark, putting a gaping hole in Megatron's abdomen. She didn't waste a moment. Her machine guns began their volley of fire, all aiming straight for the yawning wound. The Predacon leader's wails of pain only drove her on, challenged her to pour all her firepower into him until he would no longer get up. The noise of his screams was the sweetest strain of music she'd heard in a while. She watched as his wound began to spark and burn like a dying candle, how he tried to put his hands up to shield it, only to have them shot back down.

*There will be no more betrayals!* Megatron had said that just before making her the deal and then giving her a good slagging to throw off suspicion. And now, here he was, being shot by his own spy whom he had just double-crossed. Defeated. Betrayed. *What goes around, comes around,* she thought with bitter pleasure. It was never more the truth. A sadistic grin spread across her face as she doubled her fire, tripled it. He writhed even more in answer.

It was too much for his body to handle. With one last, agonizing scream, he crumpled to the floor, clutching the wound with one blackened hand. She stopped, stood still as the mountains, waiting for what she wanted to hear .There was a faint hum as his systems shut down, and the lights faded from his eyes as he entered stasis lock. Good.

The white flames of pure rage disappeared from her eyes as well. Half her mission was accomplished, and she knelt, trembling, at Silverbolt's side to finish the other half. She laid a clawed pincer over his chest wound, trying to guess at how much power he had expended. He was at sixty percent depletion, but had gone into stasis lock, to prevent further loss. Yes, he would live, after a good stay in the CR chamber. She almost gave herself another mental beating for fighting Megatron when she should've been seeing to *him*, but told herself that was silly. Everyone had an automatic stasis lock mechanism that would activate should power levels drop past a certain point. It was overrideable, but only the foolish chose that option. And Silverbolt, despite his usually corny speeches, was no fool.

She quickly deactivated the energy bonds, then dredged him up off the floor, one of his arms draped over her neck, and her arm around his waist. "Come on, " she said softly, knowing full well that he couldn't hear a word. "Let's get out of here."

"Well, there was definitely a battle here," Rattrap said, getting back to his feet. "The place is full of Pred weapons signatures." Cheetor checked his biotron reader, frowning. He, Rattrap, Rhinox, and Depthcharge had been out there nearly four hours searching for any sign of the two. So far, they'd come up with nothing, until Rattrap's keen nose for trouble had led them here. It was not a discovery he had wanted to make.

"Not to mention Predacon residual signatures. And one Maximal." Rattrap nodded

"Not surprised. I knew she couldn't be trusted."

"How do you know it was her?" Cheetor asked, annoyed.

"Well, they're both missing. And based on the evidence we've got so far....."

"They couldn't both be captured?" Depthcharge asked.

"It isn't impossible. But it's still unlikely. If Rattrap's guess is right, she's taken him to the Predacon base already. We just have to follow the residual signature trails," Rhinox said, level-headed as usual. Cheetor put away the reader, giving in.

"I hope you guys are wrong. That's all I can say."

Depthcharge nodded. "I'm with you. I don't know Silverbolt all that well, but he seems too....nice....to get caught up in a mess like this."

Art of the Deal, pt. 2
by SilverGirl (soniaoosha@hotmail.com)

Blackarachnia carefully set her precious cargo against the wall, then turned to the computer terminal next to her. She had to get him out of here, but there was still one item of unfinished business to take care of. She called up a search, looking for every received transmission with a Maximal origin code. Yes, they were all there. The schematics. Access codes. Teletran-l. Layout organization. Blueprints and technical readouts for every part of the Ark. The Ark's weapons compliment. How practically everything on the ancient ship worked. All the information she had drawn out of Silverbolt and the others. All waiting to be used to destroy them. Without a moment's regret, she punched in the delete command, getting rid of every message this base had ever received from her. She waited, while the computer obeyed. She didn't want to wait, because waiting only led to thinking, and thinking was the last thing she wanted to do right now. But there were at least a hundred and fifty files to delete. This was going to take a while.

What could she do after they both returned to the base? Chances are he would want nothing to do with her. For that matter, the other Maximals wouldn't be too partial to her, either. She knew she wouldn't be able to take the rejection. And not just any rejection. *His* rejection. Silverbolt, who had accepted her even when she poured laserfire at him. He hadn't fought back. He who had believed in her, believed she had the potential to change. She had been about to prove him correct, but then she---no, Megatron had *made* her---betray him. She couldn't help but marvel at the irony. Silverbolt was right in the end. She had changed. But now she had hurt him so much that he no longer believed his own truth. She smiled bitterly.

The deletion process was done. She performed a search for all Maximal origin coded transmissions again, just to make sure. No files found. Good. Megatron was going to have a little surprise in the morning.

She draped Silverbolt's arm across her neck, circled her arm around his waist. Now to get out of here. She turned around.

And ran right into the sinewy form of Quickstrike.

*Wonderful.*

"And just what do you think you're doin', Sugarbot?" he drawled, raising his cobra-headed laser arm at the level of her face. "It ain't polite to leave without askin'."

Her patience had run out. She was through kissing up. She was through talking. She was through being an actress. And she was through sneaking. Now was the time for action, blazing guns, and she damn well knew it.

"Escaping, what's it look like!" she yelled, holding tight to Silverbolt as she trucked her adversary to the floor and lumbered down the corridor, using Silverbolt's added weight for momentum. Quickstrike had recovered, and was now sending a stream of laserfire. She rounded the comer, sparks flying off the wall where her head had been a moment before.

*Great*, she thought. *The whole slaggin' base knows what I'm up to!* At least, she knew the way out. It was only a matter of getting there. The thought of taking the tubes crept into her mind, but she shot it down instantly. Sure, they were a shortcut, but with Silverbolt in stasis lock, there was no way in the Pit she could make it. It was hard enough trying to run and carry him at the same time. Climbing those skinny ladders would be impossible.

Her fears were confirmed as alarm klaxons started their alert chorale, and the corridors became bathed in sober red emergency lights. *Count on Quickstrike to make things difficult.* She ploughed through it, shifting Silverbolt's weight so she wouldn't drop him. She gasped as minute lasers sprang from the walls, firing glowing bolts across her path. Megatron had obviously made some modifications since she'd left. She barely dodged the tiny killers, leaping and ducking as they sped around her. A searing pain seized her leg, and she nearly collapsed into another lasers path. Gathering her strength, she scrambled through the death trap, driven by a pure will to survive. Her leg was badly scorched, but she managed to ignore it. She had no choice. She cleared the corridor, for the most part unscathed.

"Traitor to the colony!" a familiar voice rang out from a corridor branch at her left.

She groaned with renewed frustration. As if Quickstrike weren't bad enough. She managed to dodge the pyromaniac Predacon's flamethrower well enough to avoid serious bums, but she knew her shoulder had been slightly cooked. It hurt, but it was a mere dull ache compared to the searing pain in her leg. Her hopes for a reasonably uneventful exit were completely shattered.

She rounded the corner yet again, Inferno still on her heels. Her only path for escape was the front door, and with every Predacon in the base alerted by the deafening klaxons, that seemed like total suicide. She would've slapped herself if she had the freedom of her hands. The answer was simple. There was another way out, a way which only she knew about, because she had created it. She smiled at Megatron's foolishness. How did he think she snuck out at ungodly hours of the day to see Silverbolt? Not through the front door, and certainly not through those Pitforsaken tubes. The secret exit was located near the rear of the base. A simple slide-out panel in the wall. That is, if they hadn't discovered it in her absence.

She turned left, then right, heading back the general direction she had come. Inferno's steps, now joined by Quickstrike and Tarantulas, echoed behind, farther now, but still unsettlingly gaining ground. Shots had been flying past her for the past five minutes. And only two had landed their marks, the evidence plain on her leg and shoulder. She didn't mind the bright flashes now, either, just kept running for her life.

Yes, the last turn into the little alcove. She had made it pretty much intact. Five seconds, and the panel was off, she was in the passage, and the panel again replaced. And not a moment too soon, for the Predacons' voices rang out in surprise as they discovered before them an ordinary wall.

"She must've gone ahead," she heard Quickstrike say. "It's the only way." The others apparently agreed, for their footsteps echoed as they ran on down the corridor. She sighed heavily in relief, then laughed softly to herself. Sure, it wasn't exactly what she had in mind, but she figured it had come out reasonably well. She had a foolproof escape route now. She edged herself and Silverbolt through the cramped tunnel, trying not to bang him up too badly. The pain in her leg blazed with unmatched fury, but even now she had to ignore it, or be trapped here. The tunnel never seemed this endless before, but the again, she hadn't been lugging a stasis locked Fuzor before. She could only move a little at a time, or risk getting hopelessly stuck in the cramped space. She figured it would be worth it once they had escaped into the open air.

A pang seized her. What would she do then? She had to get him back to the Maximal base, that was a given, but then what? Chances are they wouldn't accept her back. And the Predacons would be no better sports about it. She'd be lucky if shooting her on sight was all they did.

She mentally braced herself. This was far from over

Cheetor seriously began to wonder if Rattrap was right after all. He risked another look at the biotron reader. The signatures of one Maximal and one Predacon had been followed from the front doors of the Ark to the "battle site", and those had been joined by another Predacon. Silverbolt and Blackarachnia were the only two in the field all that day, and signatures tended to disappear after twenty-four hours. Very, very odd. It looked as if the elder warrior was on to something.

"Well? Didn't I tell you?" the old cynic said, as if reading Cheetor's mind. "Once a Pred, always a Pred." Cheetor had to admit to himself that the evidence was perfectly clear, but he had trouble believing that was all there was to it. The signatures didn't tell the entire story .There was something else, something subtle, a gut feeling. He couldn't explain it, he could only feel it.

They had been steadily following the signature trail, yet there were no other signs of the missing two. Perhaps it was a fluke. A trick of nature? No. The residual signatures didn't lie, and he knew it. But could they be forged? Maybe, even with the limited equipment they were packed with. In a genius' hands, anything was possible. But who could pull it off? And who would have a motive? Rattrap was no friend of hers. And he did have the technical skills to do it. But he wouldn't. The old warrior was sour, cynical, and suspicious, but not as underhanded as that. Cheetor knew it. But then again, he also *knew* that Blackarachnia was on their side and wouldn't betray them like this. But who was to say she had? He was giving himself a brain cramp with all this logical backtracking, and it still wasn't getting him anywhere.

He stopped, not knowing why. Ahead, the heat rose from the ground in shimmery waves, obscuring his vision. Yet even through that, he could make out the silhouettes of two people, but they were too far away to recognize. The others stopped with him, weapons drawn.

"Aren't we jumping the gun a little?" Depthcharge asked, practically stealing the words from Cheetor's mind.

"Not at all," Rattrap said, determined. "Be on guard."

Now the slowly moving shapes were becoming clearer. Cheetor almost cried with relief. The spider legs and delicate figure were unmistakable. It was Blackarachnia. And she was carrying someone. The wings and shining plate. Had to be Silverbolt. Even from Cheetor's great distance, he looked pretty badly injured.

"It's them!" he shouted. "Come on!" He took off at top speed toward the limping figures, weapon tucked safely away. Yes, Silverbolt was very badly wounded. A gaping hole in his chestplate attested to that, the exposed circuitry sparking and pulsing. Blackarachnia looked better, but her shoulder and half her leg were terribly scorched, glowing a searing red. She was trembling with pain, and the effort of dragging both Silverbolt's weight and her own. And there was something else about her. There was no trace of her seemingly innate haughtiness. She looked drained, as if some mental trauma had kicked her opinion of herself down a few notches. No, make that more than a few. Her eyes were downcast, as if she'd slumped to such an emotional low that there was no rope long enough to reach her.

He stopped, waiting for the others to catch up, and they did a few minutes later. Blackarachnia wasted no time handing Silverbolt over to them.

"He's in stasis lock," she said, so softly they had to strain to hear her. "He'll survive." And with that, she turned around, and began to limp away, dredging her wounded leg as if it were cast in stone. Rattrap smiled bitterly.

"Good riddance," he said under his breath. Cheetor pretended not to hear him. She wasn't going in the direction of the Maximal base, nor the Predacon base. She was simply going away. Her head was lowered, in one last sign of defeat. He didn't like the looks of it. There were plenty of cliffs in the area, and he was pretty sure that someone as depressed as she would find them *very* inviting

He couldn't let it happen.

Pushing Rattrap out of the way, he jogged after her. It wasn't very difficult to catch up to her slow, dragging gait.

"Blackarachnia, wait! Where are you going?" he asked, fearing the answer. She turned to him, her eyes as empty as those of a dead fish.

"It doesn't matter. You should be happy you're rid of me."

"But--"

"Look," she said, a sudden anger rising in her voice. "You don't trust me. I can't blame you, since I wouldn't trust me, either. There's nothing for me with you guys, or with them. And don't even try to talk me into it, because you're not going to convince me." Cheetor was prepared for this.

"Okay," he said. "So I can't convince you. But maybe he can." He nodded over to where the rest of the little search party stood, but indicating the unconscious form of Silverbolt above everyone else. She didn't want to look. He could tell. But she did, out of sheer lack of will. Something flickered in her eyes, a look between longing and regret. She wanted to go back with them, but at the same time she was afraid to. Afraid of the rejection. Of what kind of treatment she'd get. Of the guilt she would have to face. And not just any rejection, but Silverbolt's rejection. And yet, just his acceptance of her would make it all worthwhile. All this Cheetor could see, as plain on her face as if she had said it out loud. She wavered between the decisions, weighing her fears against the possibilities.

A slow, sad smile spread over her face. "Maybe," she said. "Maybe."

It was good enough for him.

He took her hand, and she let him lead her back to the group, limping as she did with the fiery leg. A feeling almost of triumph filled him. There was no doubt in his mind that, once out of sight, she would've headed straight for the nearest cliff and taken a nice long swan dive. He had stopped her, saved her life. He was sure there was no greater feeling in the world. Once back with the rest of them, he pulled out the medkit, giving her a couple of painkillers that would last her at least to the base, just enough so she could walk. As they prepared to return home, Rattrap opened his mouth, ready with one of his stinging comments, but thought better of it under Cheetor's warning glare. *Good*, the young warrior thought. *The poor thing's suffered enough.*

"Repair cycle complete."

The first words Silverbolt heard as he regained consciousness. The glass shield of the CR chamber slid open, and he stepped out, dazed and disoriented. He flexed his wrists, which were stiff from the energy bonds. Energy bonds? Yes, he remembered now. He had been in Megatron's custody, the restraints holding him to the floor. Of course, the Predacon leader had help from a certain Maximal protoform whose name he did not care to remember right now. The initial shock had morphed into anger. Anger at her for using him, and anger at himself for being so foolish. Rattrap was right, after all.

His steps were heavy, calculated, across the smooth alloy floor, and the doors slid open at his passing. The hallway was unusually cold; somebody had severely lowered the thermostat. He shivered slightly, making his way down the frigid corridor, suddenly realizing that he didn't know where to go. He guessed he'd better go to Optimus' quarters and get the story on how he wound up back here, since the last thing he remembered was being shot in the chest. But he also wanted to see Rattrap, and apologize for not believing him. Maybe he could ask for lessons in the fine art of cynicism while he was at it.

Before he knew it, he was standing at the door, punching the switch that served as a doorbell. Rattrap answered a minute later, somewhat surprised.

"Glad to see you back in working order. What do you want?" By now, Silverbolt was used to this type of greeting.

He sighed. "To apologize, I guess." Rattrap made a sweeping gesture.

"Well, it looks pretty weird talking in the hallway." Silverbolt took the invitation. He was surprised at the old warrior's apparent tidiness. What little dust gathered on the shelves was arranged in perfect stacks. The place was decorated with miniature light sculptures, and there was a faint smell of brewing radium. The host had disappeared for a few moments, but was back with two small glasses, which Silverbolt took to be some kind of alcohol.

"Here, kid, " he said. "You look like you could use a drink." The Fuzor took the glass, sitting down on one of the benches around the low, decorative table. "Now, what's the apology for?"

Silverbolt winced, realizing why he never liked drinking. The stuff nearly took his head off. "For not listening to you. What is this stuff?"

Rattrap smiled. "Cybertron Cruiser. You'll get used to it. What do you mean for not listening to me?"

"About *her*." He couldn't hide the edge in his voice. Rattrap raised a quizzical eyebrow. "You were right the whole time," the Fuzor went on. "I know I was trying to defend her, but I couldn't shake the feeling you had hit a mark. I--"

He cut off in mid-sentence.

"And?"

Silverbolt took another sip of the drink, noticing that it went down easier this time. "I broke into her quarters and dug through her computer terminal. She had been spying on us, sending transmissions to the Predacons. I put everyone in danger by falling for it." Rattrap nodded.

"Eh, don't feel so bad. So you screwed up. Haven't we all?"

"Yes, but you were right. You knew she was up to no good from the beginning.

"And how do you think I got to be so good at spotting that kind of stuff?" the old warrior replied, sipping his own drink. "I've been stabbed in the back before, too. I made big mistakes by believing the wrong people. I've screwed up, and it's almost gotten me killed. We make mistakes. Don't be so hard on yourself." He paused, a puzzled look on his face. "I may not be as right as you think."

Silverbolt looked up, interested, a warm glow of hope rising in him. "What do you mean?"

"What's the last thing you remember?"

Silverbolt thought a moment. "Being shot by Megatron."

Rattrap nodded. "Okay, she told us the whole story. You do remember when we were going to do the repair work on this place, you found her royally slagged by Megatron, thought she had died, but it was stasis lock?" Silverbolt nodded, a bit embarrassed by the recollection.

"Well, Megatron had made her a final offer. Either spy on us or be scrapped. She chose the first option, but put a little twist of her own to it. She agreed to do his dirty work if he agreed to leave you alone. He broke his word, and after he shot you, she went ballistic and kicked the everliving slag out of him. She dragged you out of the base, but on her way out, she deleted all the information on us that she had sent them. You guys barely made it out with your lives. "

"She told you all of this?" Silverbolt asked. He did vaguely remember her saying something like "he's off-limits" right before he was shot.

"The whole thing," Rattrap replied.

"But how can you believe anything she says, after what's happened?"

Rattrap sighed. "We got her story while she was sitting by your CR chamber. She refused to leave until your repair cycle was complete. We had to sedate her to get her out of there."

Silverbolt nearly fell off the bench. Remembering the drink in his hand, he took another sip.

"And when we found her carrying you all the way back here from the Predacon base," the old warrior went on, "she was injured. She gave you to us, then started walking off. She wasn't headed to either base, though. Just going away. Cheetor convinced her to come back." Rattrap's eyes sparkled. "Funny that he used you as the reason she should stay with us. I don't know, but that doesn't sound like the lying type to me. Maybe *you* were right about her, too."

Silverbolt smiled. "Thanks. I'm sorry to be going so soon, but I've got to report to Optimus."

Rattrap nodded. "I know."

Blackarachnia concentrated her hardest, pulling the dark red beam of light through the loop she had fashioned out of a green beam. Light sculpture, the art of bending lasers into varied designs, had become a hobby of hers, though it served more purpose than a simple cure for boredom. It helped her focus, channel herself, forget the world around her. And forgetting was exactly what she wanted to do now. Bending down, she turned the knob slightly to adjust the hue of the beam.

Her own skills were mediocre compared to the magnificent sculptures that Tarantulas proudly displayed in his quarters, all from the best artists of Cybertron. In fact, she'd wager that she was just plain horrible at it, but she kept up the practice. It was the only thing she actually gained from her time with the Predacons. She smiled at the memory of sneaking into Tarantulas' quarters and stealing one of his light sculpture kits. The three weeks of pure frustration before she was able to learn the discipline to make one small bend in the rigid laser. But her perseverance had proved not in vain, for she could now weave the beams into clothlike displays as second nature. But her new project, a red rose with a flaming stem, was proving more difficult than she'd expected.

She bent the red laser into something resembling a petal, then began to refine the shape, rounding the edges, making the point more pronounced. It wasn't looking too bad.

No matter how hard she worked on it, though, she couldn't totally forget the world. The confrontation with Silverbolt about her little espionage that she knew would have to happen sooner or later hung at the back of her mind, a small patch of darkness that refused to be washed away. She had deliberately been trying to avoid him, had been loathe to initiate the talk. She wasn't afraid of being yelled at, in fact, she'd feel more comfortable if he did. But his was silent anger. She had felt it in the room with Megatron. He had been so furious he wouldn't even look at her, and that had been the most difficult thing to deal with. No, not even a month later now, was she ready to face that. To gather up the courage to walk into his quarters only to be ignored.

"Very nice," an all-too-familiar voice issued from her doorway. The laser cut off in her hands as the concentration was broken. She didn't have to turn around, she knew who it was. The only one who could walk into her quarters unannounced. But she did anyway.

"Thanks." She had dreaded this moment, but now it was here, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. "What brings you back here?"

He smiled. "Apologies. I certainly owe you one." Surprise gripped her. This was *not* what she'd been expecting.

"Me? For what?"

"For being an insensitive cad." She almost laughed out loud in shock, but stopped herself.

"You're kidding me, right? I'm the one who should be sorry. I did spy on you." With a sweeping gesture, she invited him to a seat on one of the few pieces of furniture in the place. He took it.

"Yes," he said, "but I can't hold you responsible for a decision you had not the freedom to make." She collapsed on the smaller bench.

"You don't understand. I *did* have the freedom. I could've chosen to die." She lowered her voice. "Now I wish I had."

"Don't ever speak like that!" he said, and the sudden vehemence in his voice startled her. "I can't blame you for being afraid of death." She was silent. He was right. Again. They simply sat there for a while, and there was no sound save the soft hum of the light sculpture kit. He reached in the container on his belt, pulled out a small, shiny object, holding it up to the light.

It was a gem, clear as the night air and cut in the shape of a wide-ended, pointed crystal. Crowning the thin end was a cap of richly molded silver, which spilled over the sides of the precious stone in glittering tendrils. At the peak of the silver crown was a small loop, which through was laced a silver chain. The red light of the sculpture shone through it, sparkling like some ancient star.

"What's it for?" she asked. He smiled.

"It's yours, if you'll take it."

She could feel her face turning red, "I couldn't." She knew at that instant that he had fashioned it himself. Had found the stone and cut it. Had found the silver, melted it, and molded it. Why, she couldn't guess. Especially after what she had done.

"Please, consider it a symbol of a promise."

"What promise?"

His golden-amber eyes glittered like the stone. "To stick together through everything, to the end, no matter what that end may be. To be bound so that not even time can wear us away. To stand our ground even when the world is crumbling around us and a pillar of rock is all we're left standing on. To know that if we're both together, nothing will stand in our way, and we will have no fear. To know that nothing can separate us, not forever. And most of all, no matter how bad things seem, no matter how bleak the world looks, to never, ever give up." He offered her the gem, the symbol of his words, with all its ethereal beauty. She took it, feeling somehow undeserving, and fastened it around her neck.

"Don't be silly. You deserve it, for risking your life on account of mine," he said, as if he could read her thoughts. She smiled, looking down at the gift.

"I promise," she said. "I promise."