Absolution

Copyright 1995, Robert A. Jung
Originally published September 27, 1995

All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...

"Enter."

The doors to the chamber slid open with a gentle hiss. Computers and monitors and terminals and machinery filled the walls, buzzing with the thousand activities needed to keep the Decepticon Empire operational. The center of the room was dominated by a large stage, on which sat a massive violet robot behind a console of screens and keyboards. He worked with measured movements, occasionally tapping keys in response to some unseen display.

With steps so soft as to be almost inaudible, the slender black robot strode inside and stopped before the other. "Shockwave."

The Second Commander of the Decepticons turned to his visitor. His single yellow eye, the only feature on an otherwise barren face, firmly locked on her. "Nightracer," he replied, in an equally emotionless tone.

There was no idle chitchat, no perfunctory banter. Instead, she announced simply, "I want to go to Earth."

The eye flared for an instant. "It is an unusual request."

"But not unallowed," Nightracer countered. "Scorponok's approved it."

Shockwave turned. A laser barrel was present where his right hand should have been; he slipped it into a data access port, and almost instantly a cascade of graphics and text flowed across an adjacent screen. There were no surprises to be found -- Nightracer's record was exemplary, her devotion unquestionable, and Scorponok had, indeed, authorized her petition for Earth duty.

"Very well," he said, quickly tapping on a keyboard with his left hand. "Your transfer will be finalized upon approval from Megatron. I anticipate a 99.7% probability it will be granted. In the interim, you will be refitted with a terran mode, and debriefed in human culture and behavior."

Nightracer nodded once, her yellow helm bobbing tersely. She produced a small disc from a hip compartment. "I've picked a mode already."

Slipping the disc into a reader, Shockwave quickly skimmed the schematics and gave silent approval. "Report to Skydive for temporary quarters, then proceed to the Infirmary for refitting. I estimate your transfer will be complete in 3.5 days."

She nodded again. "Is there anything else?"

There was a brief pause. "Why do you wish to go to Earth?"

Nightracer's expression was unreadable behind her grey face mask, save for a brief narrowing of her optics. With a touch of steel, she quietly replied, "Personal reasons."

Silence hung between the two for several seconds. Then, tersely, Shockwave said, "Very well. Dismissed." Without waiting for a response, he returned to his terminals, returned to the never-ending business of running an empire.

As Nightracer headed out of the door, a single thought crossed her mind: I'm coming...

In terms of the vast scope of the United States Interstate Highway System, route 299 was a small, mostly insignificant fragment. The segment linking the Pacific Coast Highway, Interstate 5, and highway 395 was an afterthought, a quick scratch by a bored surveyor for the few locals who needed to go somewhere. As its larger neighbors took the vast majority of the tourist travel, 299 was a barely-used ribbon of asphalt ignored by almost everyone.

Which was precisely why Rodney Haynes loved it. On September 2, 1995, at 10:35am, "The Rod" was driving southwest on 299, heading towards Interstate 5 from highway 395 at almost a hundred and fifty miles per hour. His car -- his pride, his joy, his one true love in the universe -- was The Roadmaster, a heavily-customized 1977 Pontiac Trans Am, painted in a deep shade of midnight blue that was almost indistinguishable from total black.

Rod firmly believed that rules were meant to be broken, cars were meant to be driven, and the most important thing in life was to be faster than everyone else. Naturally, he ignored speed limits by reflex, and believed that police officers were between head cheese and toaster ovens on the evolutionary scale. Aside from getting fat on stale donuts and bad coffee, all they knew was how to ruin other people's fun.

(Actually, he had other, much harsher thoughts for law enforcement, but since this is a family publication, we won't go into them.)

With a slight twist of his fingers, Rod turned up the volume on his tape player. "Cold Slither" blared out at an ear-pounding 88 decibels. He smiled in smug satisfaction, savoring the feel of limitless power as The Roadmaster chewed up mile after mile of vacant road. He wanted to lunch in Sacramento, which meant taking Interstate 5, which meant slowing to a barely-tolerable 90 MPH and keeping an eye out for the cops.

But that was later. For now, 299 was his private domain, and Rodney was king.

The intruder to his realm first appeared as a small dot in the rear view mirror. Rod looked up in incredulous surprise at the familiar red-and-blue flash of a police lightbar. "What th--?"

Some chippie's too dumb to stick to the 5, he decided. With a derisive scoff, Rod nudged the gas pedal gently, and The Roadmaster responded by smoothly accelerating even higher. Most patrol cruisers maxed out at 110, while a few of the older Chevys could do 170; but Rod was sure that none of them could touch a hundred and ninety miles per hour.

But the cop didn't disappear from view. Not only did the other car match his speed, but it was steadily gaining. Rod gaped slightly as he peered hard at the reflection. It was a cop, all right -- no mistaking the infamous black- and-white paint job -- but the frame was different. It was smaller than the big, boxy clunkers he constantly laughed at.

Must be a new model or something. Muttering dark words under his breath, Rod stepped on the gas again, but without the loving grace of before. The Roadmaster jumped in response, quickly leaping up to 210 MPH.

The police car continued to get closer. The siren's wail was audible now, cutting through the music, and the flashing lights stirred up the first tinges of panic in Rod's mind.

The Roadmaster's speed continued to climb. Rod's knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, deftly steering the road rocket over curves and bends that were designed for much lower speeds. But even at two hundred and forty miles an hour, the highway patrol cruiser continued to gain on it.

At two hundred and forty-eight, the steering wheel began to shudder and throb. Rod had no choice now -- The Roadmaster had surrendered. The car's limits were finally reached, and to push it further would be suicide. He swore, punched the wheel, and swore again as he started to brake.

Snapping off the radio, Rod fumed deeply. He was busted -- excessive speeding was punishable by jail time, and it also meant a major hit on his record. His auto insurance rates were sure to skyrocket, and the odds were good that his license would be revoked. His old man was sure to give him grief, and bumming rides off his buds would be the ultimate humiliation.

For an instant, Rod wished he was a sexy blonde, so he could try to get out of the ticket by offering the cop a "grateful favor" or three. Then he wondered if the officer was a woman; Rod had a decent "misguided rebel" persona he could slap on in an instant. If it was a chick, maybe he could sweet-talk her into letting him go. Or if he got really lucky, she'd get lucky, and find out why they called him "The Rod"...

As the police car slowed to a stop, four things happened in rapid succession, each of which delivered a deep shock to Rodney Haynes' psyche.

The first came when he noticed the car was actually a Lamborghini Countach.

The second came when he noticed there was no one driving the car.

The third came when the car unfolded into a fifteen-foot-tall robot.

But the fourth shock, the final shock, came when the robot knelt down, peered through the driver's side window, and said with a thick Scottish accent, "Good morning, laddie. Officer James MacDougal here, at yer service. And how are ye doing this fine day?"

Rod's jaw dropped. His brain shut down. Involuntary systems reduced him to making small mewing noises.

The robot apparently did not notice anything was amiss. He shook his black- and-silver head and tsk'd softly, "Ye were in a mighty rush back there, lad. Were ye hurrying to a fire somewhere? Or did ye miss yon speed limit signs, nicely planted by the side of the road?"

"..."

Resting his chin in his palm, the robot frowned. "I really wish ye hadn't 'a gone racing there, boyo. Me daughter Janie -- ah, sweet Janie, the loveliest lass a father could ask for -- is getting married tomorrow. I was hoping to leave early this afternoon and help the missus prepare. Lots of things ye have to do for a wedding, don'cha know. But now ... now I've got to write ye up instead, and I'm sure to be late with the work. 'Tis a shame, really."

"..."

The robot suddenly smiled, as if struck with inspiration. "Ach, laddie! What say I do us both a favor and ferget this happened? No need for me to spoil the festivities tomorrow, after all -- 'tis not every day I get to give away me daughter in marriage. And I'm sure ye won't be missin' yon citation any!"

He grinned broadly and winked, then patted the roof of The Roadmaster, making the car bounce rapidly. With an admonishing finger and a stern eye, the robot added, "But behave yerself, aye? I don't want to stop ye again when I'm in a bad mood. Now run along, laddie!"

It took several long seconds for Rod to realize what the robot was saying. Then, choking out a few words of gratitude, he started the engine and quietly drove off, not daring to look back.

To the astonishment of his friends and family, Rodney David Haynes, upon returning to Stockton, California, promptly divested himself from everything related to sports cars and high-speed driving. He gave away his magazines, his tools, his reference books, and his collection of parts. He sold The Roadmaster for a pittance of its actual value, and applied the money towards the purchase of a sensible four-door sedan. He eventually met and married a prim young girl named Doris from church, and the two settled down to raise a well-behaved family of three.

And he never, ever, ever, speeded again...

The black and white robot was smiling proudly as he watched the Trans Am drive off. With a sharp squeal of brakes, two cars -- a red Lamborghini Countach and a metallic gold Acura Integra -- stopped behind him. They transformed into a pair of humanoid robots, each around fifteen feet tall.

"Whoo!" Doubletake shouted in glee. "That was awesome! Did you guys see it? The look on his face was priceless! I swear, I'm never going to forget that expression as long as I live! And the voice! 'Aye, laddie, run along!'" Laughing once more, he turned around and cocked a finger at the retreating blue car. "Gotcha!"

Sideswipe watched in complete bafflement. Addressing his companion, the red mechanoid asked, "Is he always like this?"

Dragon nodded once with the air of someone well accustomed to unorthodox behavior. "Yes," he said quietly. "It might take you a little time to get used to his sense of humor."

Sideswipe smirked. "It's different, all right. But guys, you gotta be more careful in the future. Optimus Prime doesn't want us to get into trouble with the humans."

"Trouble? What trouble?" Doubletake asked.

"Well, you were going a little fast back there ... And what if you had scared the driver into a heart attack or something? Then we'd really be in a fix!"

"Oh, yeah..." Doubletake grinned with mild embarrassment, like a child caught stealing a cookie from the kitchen right before dinner. "But hey, it was a perfect setup! I just had to try and get him!"

Sideswipe chuckled. He was no authority figure by any stretch of the term, and had been known to "creatively reinterpret" the rules on several occasions. It was too easy for him to imagine how tempting the opportunity was for Doubletake. "Oh well, no harm done," he dismissed. "So, you guys bored enough? Or do you want to do more sightseeing?"

Doubletake shrugged. "I'm fine either way. I wouldn't mind staying out a little longer, but if you two want to head back, that's okay too."

"I have no preferences," Dragon said.

Sideswipe pondered for a moment. "Okay, how about this: we'll take 299 to the coast, then go north on PCH and head back to--"

There was a soft beep, and Doubletake tapped a panel on the side of his black helm. With a sultry voice, he said, "Hi, I'm Doubletake. What's your name, sweetie?"

"Uh ... This is Prowl at the Ark. Teletran-1 is getting police reports about a gang of reckless drivers, and from the description, we think it's the Stunticons. Last reported position is 422-slash-561, heading three-fifty- eight mark five."

Doubletake glanced to Sideswipe, who nodded in quick confirmation. "We're in the area."

"That's what we thought. Investigate the situation; if they are the Stunticons, stop them."

"Got it. Doubletake out." Tapping the panel again, he turned to the others. "Well, guys, shall we go and sell some secrets?"

"Wha--" Sideswipe blurted, then caught himself. Dragon didn't react at all, but was wearing the same stoic expression as before. Meanwhile, Doubletake was pointing at Sideswipe with a broad grin.

"Gotcha."

Wildrider was bored.

Not that it was a surprise to his fellow Stunticons. When he wasn't involved in a fight, an accident, or anything remotely chaotic, Wildrider was impatient and restless beyond belief. A human psychologist might have identified it as Attention Deficit Disorder or hyperactivity, but to his comrades, Wildrider simply fluctuated from being a manic whirl of destructive energy to a grousing pain-in-the-diodes.

"Are we there yet?" he radioed for the fifth time in five minutes.

"No, we're not," Motormaster grumbled back. He had long given up on bellowing Wildrider into silence, learning from experience that it wouldn't deter him in the least. And while the other Stunticons could tune out the incessant whining, Motormaster didn't have the luxury. Being team leader, he had to keep the communications channels open to avoid missing anything important. It was, he realized, one of the burdens of leadership.

"Well, this is boring!" Wildrider continued. "We haven't seen another car in almost ten minutes! Where are all those squishy human tourists, I wanna run someone off the road!"

Motormaster was too busy worrying to reply. There were several ways to reach Tetradyne Laboratories, but he had picked Highway 395 because it was less traveled than the others, thus offering the speed and subtlety needed for this mission. Their target was the Tetradyne Aeon Flux Capacitor, and stealing it meant they had to reach the lab before it was loaded on a military transport plane bound for India.

Unfortunately, Wildrider's boredom had led him to cause accidents with almost every Earth vehicle they had met so far. Motormaster knew that the wave of wrecks they had left behind (including a spectacular 18-car pileup north of Reno) must have drawn the attention of human authorities. The human police didn't worry him, but it would be different if the Autobots found out and decided to investigate. Just don't find out so soon. If they show up late, we'll be in the clear. Megatron's going to blow a gasket if we don't--

Breakdown interrupted from the front of the convoy. "We got trouble, boss."

A quick glance down the road confirmed the report. Three cars stopped across their path, then transformed into robots with weapons drawn. Though they were too far away to be identified, it was dead obvious who they were.

Motormaster swore to himself even as he barked out his orders. "Wildrider, Drag Strip -- take 'em! Breakdown, Dead End, and I will follow. And make it quick! We've only got two minutes slack time left on our schedule!"

"Right!" Drag Strip chortled, roaring his engine. "C'mon! Let's send these Autobums to the junkyard!" Tires squealing harshly, he and Wildrider broke from behind the pack and surged forward.

Sideswipe fired at Wildrider, but the grey Ferrari leaped over his shot. He barely managed to dive out of the way of the rampaging Stunticon, who then fishtailed to a sharp halt. While Sideswipe struggled to his feet, Wildrider gunned his engine and charged again. "Yeeeeeee-hah!"

Just before Wildrider collided, Sideswipe stepped aside and snap-fired his laser blaster. The shot blew out Wildrider's left rear tire and threw him into an uncontrolled skid. Transforming at almost 200 miles per hour, Wildrider stumbled madly before crashing into Dead End from the other direction. Robot and car fell in a snarl of arms and tires and legs.

Sideswipe looked around. Dragon had easily dodged Drag Strip's ramming assault, and then sent the yellow Indy tumbling off the road with a shot from his plasma rifle. But now his back was towards Breakdown and Motormaster, both of whom were barreling towards him.

Sideswipe raised his laser, but Doubletake quickly grabbed his arm. "Don't!" he whispered with an impish grin.

As Sideswipe watched, Dragon simultaneously backflipped over Breakdown and fired. A bright red fireball erupted from Breakdown's rear, causing him to yowl in sharp pain. Dragon landed and immediately somersaulted again to touch down on Motormaster's trailer. Dragon unsnapped his double-barreled plasma rifle and telescoped it into a lance, then jammed it hard into Motormaster's tractor link.

Motormaster bellowed as he overturned. Dragon leaped off and landed before Wildrider and Drag Strip, who were now rushing forward in robot forms. Dragon quickly swung the lance up and around; he struck both Decepticons in the head and sent them tumbling away.

Dragon stood up and calmly addressed the scattered Stunticons. "I do not wish to hurt you any further. Surrender now."

"Shove it!" Motormaster roared, transforming into robot mode. "Stunticons, unite!"

While the other Stunticons rushed toward their leader, Dragon quickly folded the lance and snapped it back into a rifle. He dashed towards Motormaster, fired twice, and leaped. The first shot struck Dead End in the chest, causing him to stagger; the second exploded behind Breakdown and knocked him to the grass; and the leap ended with a flying kick to Motormaster's face, who toppled over with a crash.

Dragon landed on his arms, tucked into a backward roll, then kicked himself upright. Drag Strip and Wildrider were behind him in an instant, roughly grabbing him as they pinned his arms back. "Let's see you get away from us, bright boy!" Drag Strip gloated.

So he did. Dragon lashed out with his left leg and knocked Wildrider loose, then twisted quickly and threw Drag Strip into him. Still spinning, Dragon dropped to the ground and rolled forward, bowling over an astonished Breakdown. He leaped up before Motormaster and Dead End, then unsnapped the lance and rapidly twirled it in an ominous circle. "Please, surrender now, before I hurt you again."

"Get him!"

It was a graceless dogpile as the enraged Stunticons rushed to grab the Autobot. It was also entirely ineffective -- Dragon was a fluid whirlwind of arms and legs, effortlessly dodging all their efforts to stop him. Movements blurred seamlessly into each other, faster than even an electronic eye could follow: a twist to dodge Breakdown became a grab for Motormaster's arm became a toss into Drag Strip's charge became a leap over Wildrider's tackle became a kick into Dead End's shoulder became a blow to Motormaster's knees...

Sideswipe was knocked out of his awe-struck reverie by a playful nudge from Doubletake. "Neat, ain't it?" he asked proudly. "But we better go and end the show. Otherwise Dragon's going to play tag with them all day long, and I'll miss my soaps."

Breakdown flew out of the crowd and landed on his back courtesy of a sharp kick in the chin. Doubletake pounced on him in an instant, pinning the Stunticon to the ground. Then, with piledriver arms strong enough to shatter stone, Sideswipe quickly bludgeoned him into unconsciousness.

The two had disabled Dead End when Thundercracker struck. The blue F-15 darted high overhead, blanketing the area with a sonic boom that felled Autobots and Decepticons alike. While the jet circled for a second pass, Motormaster shunted in his gun and fired.

Dragon leaped aside, but in the momentary distortion of Thundercracker's assault, he was caught. Dragon was suddenly twirled high above the ground, helplessly caught in the vortex of a high-speed cyclone. As Motormaster maintained the tornado with his gun, he yelled skyward, "Get the others!"

Doubletake and Sideswipe dove behind a freeway on-ramp just after Thrust and Dirge roared into view. Dirge's machine guns spat angrily, raking the area with bullets that sent dirt and grass flying into the air. Thrust was more direct, unleashing a pair of missiles that demolished the ramp and flattened the two Autobots.

Dust and smoke filled the air, and the loud ringing in his head drowned out the sounds of battle. With whining servos, Sideswipe began to drag himself upright among the debris. He stopped suddenly when the cold muzzle of a gun poked against his head and a steely voice threatened, "Don't move!"

Sideswipe gaped as he turned his head slightly to the side. "Doubletake??"

Doubletake kicked him hard and knocked him down. "Quiet!"

Sideswipe laid on his back as he watched, confused. Doubletake's expression was one of absolute menace; he had one foot planted on Sideswipe's blaster, and his own electro-laser gun was aimed at Sideswipe's face. The three jets had landed in their robot modes as the fighting abruptly stopped. While Thrust and Motormaster were pummeling the wind-trapped Dragon, the other Decepticons had gathered around Sideswipe and Doubletake. Obviously confused and tense, their weapons were pointed at both Autobots equally.

The standoff was finally broken when Motormaster shoved through the crowd. "All right, you losers! What--"

He blinked at the scene before him. Optics narrowing, he glared at Doubletake and slowly growled, "Who are you, and what's going on here?"

Doubletake smiled lightly, but never turned his attention -- nor his gun -- away from Sideswipe. "I'm Doubletake. He's Sideswipe. And I'm capturing him for you because I want to join the Decepticons."

"What?!"

"I said, I want to join the Decepticons," Doubletake repeated with cool aplomb. "Which of those words don't you understand?"

The Decepticons murred, and Doubletake continued. "Look, if you want, tie me up, bring me to Megatron, and I'll talk it out with him. I'm sure he'll love to have me join -- I've got all sorts of high-level Autobot secrets, and I'll be glad to give them to you guys."

Sideswipe's jaw dropped. "You--!"

"Shaddup!" Doubletake roared. He quickly dropped to one knee and proceeded to pummel the helpless Autobot. Surprised and shocked and weakened from the missile attack, Sideswipe was knocked out within a few seconds.

Doubletake stood up, tossed his gun aside, and dusted off his hands. "Look, guys, can we get moving already? I'm unarmed, I'm surrounded, and I want to join. How much easier can I make it for you?"

While Thundercracker, Dirge, and Thrust watched the prisoners, the Stunticons quickly conferred among themselves. They were in deep trouble -- not only was their timetable blown and the raid a total loss, but the five of them had needed rescuing against a measly three Autobots, which was an insult. Since their best hope to assauge Megatron's outrage was to deliver some prisoners, the Autobots were bound with energon shackles and loaded into Motormaster's trailer for the trip back.

Motormaster was not sure what to make with Doubletake's offer. That he was an Autobot was suspicious enough; Motormaster viewed most of them as pretentious, goody-goody dweebs without any sort of true Decepticon ruthlessness. The idea that one of them would want to turn traitor was totally alien to him. On the other hand, Doubletake had not done much fighting during the battle, and he did help take out the Autobot. That was definitely not the kind of behavior he'd expect from a "real" Autobot...

Aw, shock it. Let Megatron sort it out.

There have never been many female Transformers on the planet Cybertron. Even in the Golden Age before the Autobot-Decepticon war, there was roughly a ratio of one "female" to every five hundred "males." But then, with a population which reached a peak of six billion lives, that still translated into over ten million females.

This ratio seems odd only to organic life forms. Robots have no need for sexual reproduction, and therefore no need for sex (both the act and the category). Instead, "male" and "female" were merely names for Cybertronians of different physical types, just like the ones which existed for "creatures" like Buzzsaw and "gestalts" like Devastator. In some cases, effecting a change may require nothing more than several days of retooling in a shop.

The female form was a design that typically provided greater speed, better agility, and more grace than the common "male" form, and the reason for this distinction are lost in ancient history. But during the Golden Age, females tended to excel in numerous branches of athletics and arts, such as dance, gymnastics, obstacle marathon, and the theater.

Of course, there was a price. Most components for females had to be smaller and lighter than their male counterparts while providing the same level of performance. Creating and repairing such intricate works required specialized facilities, specialized tools, specialized parts, specialized skills, more effort, and more time.

This became a crisis during the war when hospitals were caught in the crossfire. Restoring a damaged repair center had the highest priority and the shortest deadlines, so hasty patchwork jobs were the rule. The facilities were often returned to a minimum level of functionality, capable of tending to the wounded, but luxuries like ultra-sensitive equipment were left unfixed.

Eventually, females were faced with the serious danger of "gender-based" extinction. Hospitals and tool shops that could tend to their needs grew increasingly rare, and even the slightest injuries became threatening to life and limb. To improve their chances for survival, most females therefore chose to be redesigned into "male" forms.

So although female Transformers were scarce before the war, they were very rare now, and even the most optimistic suggested that fewer than fifty existed in the entire universe. For the few that remain active, survival was always a prime concern, and they were well aware of their own mortality, of their roles as rare members of a dying race.

This was why Nightracer hesitated for a moment before she entered the Space Bridge transport chamber. She had firmly chosen to remain female, refusing to deny her glorious past as a runner by changing "genders." She had survived for several million years with skill and determination, using her speed, her sharpshooting proficiency, and some rudimentary "female first aid" to carry her through the war.

But when the chamber doors closed and the hum of energy filled the room, Nightracer wondered one last time about the risk she was taking. While the Bridge was supposed to be safe ("The probability of an error occurring is less than 0.02 percent," Shockwave had stated simply), there was still the chance of disaster. A single error meant instant, irreversible death.

Not that she was afraid of dying. If Nightracer was bested in battle by a better opponent, then so be it. Such was the life of a Decepticon, the credo she had long held without regret. An accidental death, however, was neither honorable nor respectable. It would simply be ... embarrassing.

Worse, to die in an accident now, before she could finally--

Reality vanished.

Somewhere between matter and energy, between thought and deed, the being known as Nightracer ceased to exist. All that she had been was reduced to subatomic particles, beamed at faster-than-light speeds to a distant point on a distant planet in a distant corner of the galaxy.

A moment / an eternity / an instant later, reality returned.

For Nightracer, it was over before she realized it had begun. One moment, she was in an enclosed chamber on the planet Cybertron. The next moment, she was in a metal ring on a dirt floor, with an open blue sky over her head and alien cliffs of brown and tan nearby.

A segment of the ring slid open and Nightracer stepped out. She frowned to herself; the only person in view was operating a set of Bridge controls, a black Decepticon warrior whom she recognized from her briefings as Skywarp. While he finished the power-down procedure, she stepped over and asked, "Where's Megatron?"

He gave her a quick sideways look, which suddenly turned into an attentive smile when he noticed she was a female. "Hey--! Oh, Megatron got called away at the last minute. The Stunticons -- you know them, yeah -- they caught a bunch of Autobots, and he went to see them."

Nightracer frowned slightly behind her mask. She had looked forward to a formal greeting from the Decepticon leader, and was slightly disappointed at the news. On the other hand, she was pragmatic enough to understand the reason for his absence. "I see."

Skywarp chuckled again. "Yeah, he couldn't make it, so he sent me instead. So you're Nightracer, huh? I'm Skywarp. You know, Earth can be confusing for a newcomer; it's not half as organized as Cybertron is. Maybe you'd like to have a real Decepticon show you around sometime?"

Nightracer glanced askew towards him. "That sounds good," she sardonically replied. "Let me know when you find one."

Skywarp stopped suddenly as his overconfident ego shriveled. With a harumph, he drew himself upright and tersely announced, "I've got to get back to headquarters. You can tune your receiver to 622.8 and find your way." Not waiting for a reply, he teleported away with a yellow glow.

Nightracer smiled to herself. There was something about female Transformers that prompted many males to act like pompous, self-centered egotists in an eager bid for companionship. She had more than a lifetime's worth of experience dealing with such behavior, and was glad that she had not lost the touch. Maybe I'll get lucky and he'll spread the word. Then I won't have to waste my time fighting off any other lonely losers.

Tuning her comm radio to the frequency given, she picked up the faint signal of a Decepticon transponder, folded into a black sports car, and drove off.

"Bow, Autobots, before the mighty Megatron!"

Megatron chuckled quietly while the Stunticons forced the prisoners down, shoving their heads to touch the cold steel floor. It was a trite ceremony, to be sure, but he never refused any advantage -- physical or psychological, real or imagined -- over an opponent.

The three Autobots were jerked back to rest on their knees. Their arms and legs were bound with energon shackles, their wrists locked behind their backs. For further emphasis, the prisoners were surrounded by all the Stunticons, along with Thrust, Dirge, Thundercracker, and Soundwave.

Every available weapon was pointed at the three, though it was primarily for show. The Main Hall was small to begin with, and with all the bodies packed into it, a firefight would be a certain disaster. While the Nevada outpost was suitable as a secure hideout and a rest area for local operations, it did not boast the grand facilities of Deceptibase.

Still, it was sufficient.

With a smile, the Decepticon leader stood and loomed over the prisoners. Megatron was angry at news of the bungled raid of Tetradyne, but he quickly changed his mood upon hearing about the captured three. The Aeon Flux Capacitor was a minor prize, at best, but a chance to interrogate Autobots, and reports that one of them wanted to defect, were infinitely more interesting.

Megatron pointed to the red one. "You, I know," he stated simply. "A wholly insignificant fighter, one of Prime's cadre of misguided cannon fodder."

Sideswipe bristled slightly, but did not reply. "But you two..." Megatron continued, gazing first at the gold Autobot, and then the black-and-white one. "You two are new, aren't you?"

"Yep," the latter replied. "I'm Doubletake, and he's Dragon."

"Doubletake, eh? You're the one who wants to join us?"

"Right again. Look, Megatron, is it all right if your guys let me loose? I hate trying to negotiate on my knees; it gives me such a pain in the servos. Besides, I'm unarmed, and surrounded, and there are a zillion guns pointed my way. What's the worst I could do?"

Megatron's smile grew a little. Doubletake was casual without being arrogant, confident but respectful. And the Autobot was right. If he had subterfuge in mind, there was nothing he could do before being blown to scrap in an astro- second. "Release him," he ordered Drag Strip.

Once freed, Doubletake stood and briefly flexed his wrists. "So..." Megatron continued. "What brings you to Earth?"

"We're reinforcements, plain and simple. I'm a strategic advisor, and Dragon here's a run-of-the-mill grunt." Ignoring the Stunticons' mumbling, he added, "Optimus Prime's running low on firepower and brainpower, if you haven't guessed already."

"Really. And you want to join the Decepticons? Why?"

"You want a list of reasons? How many days do I have?" Doubletake smartly replied. "Let's face it, being an Autobot nowadays is a death wish. You don't need a supercomputer coprocessor to realize the Decepticons are winning. Cybertron's a lost cause, and Earth's a joke -- nobody in their right mind would try to win a war while protecting native humans at the same time."

Megatron stroked his chin while he considered Doubletake's points. "So why did you wait until now to defect?"

Doubletake shrugged. "Let's say I finally saw the truth. You know, it's easy for a naive robot to listen to Optimus Prime and actually believe the junk he throws out -- 'We are on the side of good, and our courage will carry us to victory,'" he said in mimicry of the Autobot leader. "But after getting your tailpipe kicked all the time, you realize that fancy speeches and pompous posturing don't mean as much as a big gun and the guts to use it."

He glanced down to Dragon and Sideswipe, then added, "Let these guys get themselves killed for a 'noble cause'; I want to be with the winners."

Dragon remained impassive, but Sideswipe growled at the treasonous Autobot. Doubletake leaned over and cuffed him on the side of the head. "Ah, shaddap! You're just jealous because I got a clue and you don't."

Most of the Decepticons chuckled at the sight, and Megatron allowed himself a light smirk. "An interesting argument. But how do I know you're serious?"

Doubletake smiled back and spread his arms with smug confidence. "Smart man. No wonder you're in charge. Like I told the Stunticons earlier, I've got some high-level secrets; I'll give them to you, and then you can decide."

"What kind of secrets?"

"For starters, access to the Ark's computer files. With the stuff in them, you can listen on the combat frequency, or scramble the comm net. Troop movements, patrol assignments, security override passwords, all yours. Or just reprogram the internal defense systems to attack the Autobots, and you can take out most of them without firing a shot!"

Sideswipe gaped while Megatron smiled. "But why should I bother?" he asked with a feral grin. "I could simply use a cerebro-sifter to probe your mind instead for the information."

"But I'll end up a drooling idiot, and no more use to you. The codes are just a start. Don't forget the Autobots' systems on Cybertron, too. And don't forget that I've been in on their strategy sessions; I know how Optimus Prime and Ultra Magnus and the others think. If you take me on, I can help you anticipate their strategies, and come up with counterattacks that'll leave them running in circles."

Megatron paced slightly, pondering the possibilities. It was a very tempting offer; if Doubletake delivered everything he promised, Megatron could destroy the Autobots in a matter of months. And while there was a possibility that this was a trick, he had ways to determine the truth.

He pointed to a computer relay station against the wall. "Can you use that terminal to access the Ark's files?"

Doubletake studied it for a few seconds, then nodded. "You'll have to help me get a satellite relay set up, but I think so."

"All right," Megatron grinned. "Produce those codes and files, and you're accepted. Soundwave! Assist our 'candidate' here, and make sure he doesn't pull any fancy stunts..."

The large blue robot followed Doubletake to the computer terminal, followed closely by the others to form a dense crowd. Establishing the link took a few minutes; Doubletake explained that it had to be disguised as an Autobot remote-access beam, and Soundwave had to set the carrier frequency and packet checksums to his exact specifications. "An error will instantly set off the alarms, scramble the sync codes, and we'll never get through."

But finally, they did. Any disbelief Megatron still held vanished when the Decepticon screen flashed with the words AUTOBOT ACCESS/REMOTE -- TELETRAN-1, DATA LINK ESTABLISHED.

Doubletake's metal fingers deftly flew over the keyboard, and within seconds, the screen was filled with files containing all sorts of sensitive data for the month of September: combat frequency settings and channel numbers, various security access codes, patrol assignments, and much more. Subdirectories hinted at minutes from planning sessions, human-Autobot correspondence, and logs of Autobot coordination meetings.

Sideswipe yelped in shock, which was cut short by a blow from Wildrider. Doubletake turned towards Megatron with a smug grin. "Do I pass?"

"You most certainly do," Megatron grinned back. "But..."

"But?"

Megatron pointed to Dragon and Sideswipe. "There's one FINAL test you must perform -- kill them."

Doubletake waggled his head in wry amusement. "No problem." He turned to the Stunticons and asked, "Who's got my gun?"

As Motormaster handed Doubletake's electro-laser back to him, the prisoners were dragged to the center of the room. The Decepticons gathered in a wide circle for the show, and Megatron was exuberant with joy. Oh, Prime! I can't wait to see the look on your face when you find out what's happened! Two of your Autobots killed by a traitor, and all of your secrets revealed, mine for the taking!

Doubletake checked the charge on his laser, then stood behind the two Autobots and crouched between them. "Well, guys, looks like this is where we say goodbye," he teased, looking wickedly from one to the other. "I'll bet you two are burning mad, aren't you?"

When neither Autobot replied, Doubletake grinned and continued, "Oh, I know you guys must be really ticked off! It's a good thing you're both tied up, because otherwise I'm sure you'd go nuts and attack every Decepticon in the room as you try to escape. It's a nice dream; feel free to fantasize it just before I blast--"

"You!"

Every head turned towards the doorway as Nightracer charged in. She tackled Doubletake in an instant, pinned him down and then proceeded to hammer his head against the floor. The other Decepticons rushed forward and separated the two robots; Breakdown and Drag Strip helped Doubletake to his feet, while Dirge and Motormaster were restraining the wildly-thrashing Nightracer.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Megatron bellowed. "Nightracer! Explain yourself!"

Nightracer stopped struggling, then yanked herself free of the Stunticons. "He--!"

Her cry stopped immediately. She shivered once and gathered her composure. In a much calmer voice, she said, "He ... is Doubletake. And you can't trust him. At all."

Megatron peered at her suspiciously. "That's a very serious accusation, especially since he was about to kill the Autobots and join our ranks."

Steadily, she said, "It's a trick. I don't know what he's told you, but you can be sure it's a trick. He's completely devoted to the Autobots -- he's so sickeningly true to their cause that he makes Optimus Prime look subversive by comparison."

"But he had just given us a number of classified files, to prove--"

"Where?"

Soundwave pointed to the computer. Nightracer rushed to it, working quickly at the keyboard. Then, tapping the screen, she turned and announced, "These files are in an archive from last year -- they're useless now."

Megatron rushed forward in an instant. One look immediately confirmed her claim, and he turned with deep anger on his face. "What do you have to say ... Autobot?!"

With an awkward smile, Doubletake replied, "Um ... 'Gotcha?'"

"Get him!"

Doubletake fired his laser once and destroyed Sideswipe's shackles. But even as the Autobot jumped to his feet, it was too late. The Decepticons were everywhere, flailing with fists and feet in the closed quarters, striking in blind rage and repressed fury. Faster than he had wanted, Doubletake's view blacked out.

Rumble fumed silently. Not only had he missed the excitement in the Main Hall earlier, but he was now getting shafted with guard duty. Despite what Megatron had said otherwise, Rumble knew it was to punish him for Skywarp's "accidental" fall last week.

He hated guard duty. He wasn't allowed to DO anything, shock it -- he just sat on his rear all day, which was b-o-r-i-n-g. If the prisoners tried to escape, then he could pound their faces in, and that was fun. But while they behaved themselves, Rumble couldn't do anything at all to them. And after the cerebro-sifter was assembled, he wouldn't be allowed to use it to "question" the prisoners, either. Megatron keeps all the fun for himself!

The small blue robot shifted restlessly in his seat and looked across the room. The three prisoners were stuck on the far wall, pinned upright by a force web. They all had an assortment of dings and bruises, but nothing really cool, which was another disappointment. Dragon was just standing in silence, while Sideswipe and Doubletake were jabbering away.

"Anyway, no hard feelings, right?" Doubletake asked.

"Heh, nah," Sideswipe chuckled. "I've been in worse scraps. You had me scared for a while, though--"

"Well, I had to. Let's face it, the two of us couldn't have handled the jets and the Stunticons. Playing 'Benedict Arnold' was the only way out."

"Yeah. It would have worked too, if what's-her-name hadn't blown your act."

Doubletake smirked slightly. "What can I say, old girlfriends come back to haunt you at the worst--"

"Quiet!" Rumble yelled.

He hopped off his chair and walked over to the three prisoners. "Shee, you Autoboneheads are such wusses! If I were you--" he pointed at Sideswipe "--I would be thinkin' of how to get payback from this dipstick for jerkin' your chain around! But no, you losers are already playing kissy-kissy-make-up like nothin' happened. It makes me sick!"

"Ah, what do you know, runt?" Sideswipe sneered.

"Shaddup! At least I'm not the one trussed up!"

"Oh, don't tease him," Doubletake calmly admonished Sideswipe. "Try and look at things from his point of view. He's stuck with guard duty -- a really boring job -- all by himself. His skills as a fighter are completely wasted here. Wouldn't you be frustrated too if you were in his place?"

"Yeah!" Rumble shouted. "Smart 'bot. Too bad you weren't smart enough to scam Megatron."

"Hey, it was worth a shot. Anyway, Sideswipe, you can see why he's annoyed. And it's not like he can chat with us, either. He finds us boring company, I'm sure, since we're such goody two-shoes."

Rumble nodded and jeered at Sideswipe. "You listen to him, maybe you'll learn something. He knows what he's talkin' about."

"Hey, I got an idea!" Doubletake brightened. "Rumble, I'll show you something interesting if you give me Dragon's rifle."

The Decepticon instantly threw him a suspicious scowl. "No way! You're not gonna pull a fast one on me!"

"Oh, come on. What can I do to you when I'm stuck like this? Look, if you just deactivate the part of the web for my arms, I can show you the neat stuff while still staying trapped."

Rumble pondered his choices, and quickly decided to play along; anything had to be better than sitting around all day doing nothing. He walked over to the force web controls on the far wall, then tapped a few buttons. Rumble watched closely while Doubletake flexed his freed arms, but the Autobot behaved himself. "See, that wasn't so hard, was it?"

Ignoring him, Rumble walked over to the table where the Autobots' weapons and equipment were stored. He took Dragon's plasma rifle, checked that it was unloaded, double-checked that it had no secret components or power sources, then walked back to the web and handed it to Doubletake. Still watching suspiciously, he warned, "No tricks, or I'll mash you flat!"

"Oh, come on. Can't you stop being paranoid for five minutes?" Doubletake pulled and tugged on the rifle, then frowned. "Hey, Dragon, how do you get the lance again?"

"Press the second control stub."

"Oh, right." Doubletake pulled again, pressing the stub, and the double- barreled rifle unfolded in two. He twisted on the muzzles, making the ends extend into the battle lance configuration. "Ta da!" he said, and held out one end.

Rumble hesitantly reached for the lance, then snatched it away. There was no electric shock, no trick, no gimmick -- it was a gun that had transformed into a staff. Reversing Doubletake's steps, he retracted and refolded it back into the rifle, then snapped it back to lance mode again. "Pretty neat," he conceded, twirling it around. "Hai! Yaah! Hah!"

"Ow!" Doubletake yelled, knocked by a wayward swing off his helm. "Here, give it to me again. There's more."

Taking the rifle back, Doubletake held down a different stub and unfolded it again. But instead of telescoping into a spear, this time the two halves separated completely, connected by a single steel cable. Doubletake grabbed one end and twirled it around. "Look, nunchaks!"

"Numb-whats?"

"Actually, they are chola rods," Dragon instructed calmly. "It is a weapon from Sallus III, where they use it in their 'zarrikae' fighting style."

"Yeah, but they look like nunchaks on Earth," Doubletake added.

Rumble took the weapon and whirled it lightly, only to have it bounce off his arm. "OW! Ah, the stick was better. But it's still pretty cool." He folded it back into a rifle, then unfolded it to the staff, then refolded it back to rifle then to nunchaks again.

Doubletake gestured for the toy. "You know, the nunchaks can be used for stuff besides fighting," he said as he quickly rotated it over his head.

"Oh? What good are they?"

"You can throw them--!"

Doubletake tossed the rods across the room and struck the web's control panel. The box sizzled, sputtered, then exploded.

"Hey!"

The force web died with a flicker, and the three Autobots dropped to the floor. Dragon leaped forward instantly with a slam that sent Rumble flying across the room. But before they could rush forward, Rumble folded over and began to hammer the floor with his earthquake-inducing groundpounder arms. "I said, no tricks!"

Doubletake and Sideswipe staggered as the steel floor rolled and quivered violently. Unfazed by the tremors, Dragon leaped again. A hard kick in the head knocked Rumble down, and a quick chop to the neck knocked him out.

The others climbed upright as Dragon recovered their equipment. Taking back his laser, Doubletake pointed to the unconscious Decepticon and grinned smartly. "Gotcha."

Dragon gestured to a side wall. The earthquake had opened a narrow fissure, where a rocky canyon could be seen. "Here is an exit, but it is too small."

Strapping on his rocket pack, Sideswipe stepped forward with a grin. "Give me ten seconds," he said as his arms reformed into piledrivers.

Four minutes earlier...

Nightracer rested uneasily in her temporary quarters. True, her momentary loss of self-control was quickly forgotten and forgiven. True, Megatron had commended her highly for unveiling Doubletake's ruse. And true, the Autobots were now safely secured in the detention center three levels down. By all accounts, Nightracer should be triumphantly proud of herself while she waited for the cerebro-sifter to be prepared.

But she wasn't, not by a long shot. Because Doubletake still functioned.

Nightracer had tried to warn Megatron, of course. She had tried to explain how resourceful and clever Doubletake was, that so long as he lived, he would try to find a way to turn things to his advantage. That behind the flippant attitude was a sharp mind that should never be underestimated. She had even briefly told Megatron about her eons-old vendetta against Doubletake (omitting the critical details, which thankfully Megatron did not ask about). "Destroy him now," she had said, "before he manages to make fools of us again."

Megatron had refused, however. He wanted to probe the prisoners for any useful information they had, and the cerebro-sifter needed them alive to do its work. Instead, Megatron had sympathized with Nightracer, saying that he fully understood her desire for vengeance. He tried to comfort her by promising to let her kill the prisoners once "interrogation" was over.

She was insulted -- her message was delivered out of selfless loyalty, not selfish pride, yet Megatron had misinterpreted it as overblown paranoia. But there was nothing she could say; as Decepticon Leader, his word was final, and she could only obey. So after a curt bow and a few words of thanks, she had quickly left the Main Hall and returned to her quarters.

Maybe he's right, she told herself. Maybe I am blowing things out of proportion. Trussed up on the web, he can't do anything but talk. What danger could there be? Even if he did manage to escape, he'd have to get by every Decepticon in the base before he could get away. And after that stunt of his, they'll shoot him on sight...

But no sooner had she formed those thoughts than she immediately dismissed them. She knew too much about Doubletake to believe her own lies; he was at his most dangerous when he appeared to be the most helpless. Her own experiences were proof positive, and there was no reason to believe things would be different this time.

Nightracer leaped out of her chair in rugged determination and headed for the door. Maybe I can't kill him now, but I can certainly help stand guard over him. It's not like I have anything else to do, and it'll be worth putting up with that obnoxious Rumble to make sure he stays caught.

Then the earthquake struck.

Caught unprepared, Nightracer was knocked to the floor as the ground quivered violently beneath her feet. She struggled upright, only to fall again from a second jolt. Then, before she could make another attempt, the tremors ended, as suddenly as they began.

Nightracer immediately scrambled out of the door. A human might have blamed the quake on nearby California; a Decepticon might have suspected an attack on the outpost. But for Nightracer, the only theories she cared to consider all involved a black-and-white robot in the detention center, supposedly secured in a prisoner's force web.

She was the first to reach the detention center, and a single glance confirmed her worst fears. Bottling her outrage, she slapped the alarm button and leaped through the crack in the wall.

The late-afternoon traffic on Interstate 6 was light. Only a handful of cars and trucks leisurely rolled down the freeway, a small pittance compared to the thousands that had traveled along the road a few hours ago. Nothing unusual, of course -- all traffic moves in waves, and I-6 was now in low tide, taking a rest until the next surge.

This tranquillity was interrupted by a shrill siren that ripped the air. Law- abiding motorists pulled aside, semis and sedans and sportsters easing off the road in a cloud of dust. Tired drivers, glad for some amusement, strained to see what the hubbub was about. More than a few of them hoped for a high-speed chase, a chance to see Heroic Police battling Evil Criminals.

The low-angled highway patrol cruiser roared by at a riotous two hundred and seventy miles per hour. Right after it were a red Lamborghini and a gold sports sedan, both of whom were determined to catch the wayward racer. But only after they had passed by did the astonished spectators ask themselves: since when do speeders chase cops?

Doubletake took a quick moment to appreciate the confusing spectacle that he and Sideswipe and Dragon were providing to the humans. Not that he had planned this stunt -- it was just common sense. After all, it made sense that the escaped Autobots needed to get as far away from the Decepticons as possible. And it made sense that their fastest means was to travel along the paved roads. And it made sense that, by running his siren, Doubletake could clear the humans off the road so they could go at top speed.

So while he didn't plan the stunt at all, he could still appreciate it.

None of the Autobots spoke as they accelerated west along the highway since there was nothing to say. The silence of the Autobot comm net told them that they were far from any search patrols, and none of their radios had the capability for long-range transmissions. Having turned on their distress signals, the only thing to do now was to elude the Decepticons (who were sure to discover their escape) until they could be rescued.

Sideswipe suddenly broke the silence with a tense, "We've got a tail!"

Doubletake looked behind and spotted the black speck on the far horizon. It was racing down the road at well over two hundred miles an hour, waving rapidly and hot on their tails. "Ohhhhhhhh, boy," Doubletake moaned. "Don't tell me--"

"It is Nightracer," Dragon announced.

"I asked you not to tell me that."

"Let's get her!" Sideswipe cried.

"Forget it! There're too many humans here, and we can't risk having them caught in the crossfire. Besides, if we stop now, she'll just stay back there and use us for long-range target practice. We need to get some cover first before we can try to take her."

Heeding his advice, the Autobots pressed on. But as fast as they drove, Nightracer was faster. True to her name, she closed the gap with each passing second, weaving from lane to lane and shoulder to road with uncanny grace. She wove among the other vehicles as if they were standing still, at times flowing like a living blur of ink between impossibly tight gaps.

Then, suddenly, she swerved off the road and struck a dune. As she arched through the air, Nightracer smoothly transformed into her robot mode, snap- fired her photon laser, transformed back into vehicle mode, and struck the ground at full speed. Doubletake barely dodged the blast with a sharp swerve even as Nightracer swung back onto the road.

"Shock--!" Sideswipe exclaimed, "She's good!"

"There's the understatement of the week."

The Autobots' only advantage was that they didn't have to pay full attention to the road ahead of them. Thanks to Doubletake's siren, any vehicles in front of the escaping Autobots had dutifully pulled to the side, clearing the path and allowing them to focus more on their pursuer.

And they needed the concentration. Even from seven miles away, Nightracer was aggressively attacking the Autobots, making use of dunes and hills and off- ramps to launch herself skyward and fire upon them with unbelievable accuracy. They bobbed and veered at each attempt, but with mixed success -- some of her shots connected, and all three received various minor injuries as a result. Through it all, Nightracer continued to gain ground, and no amount of traffic slowed her for long.

"Over there!" Doubletake cried at once. The Autobots turned sharply off the interstate, exchanging the smoothly-paved concrete for the rugged lumps of a small dirt road. They roared by a ranshackled gas station and drove northwest, where a number of mesas and mountains could be seen in the distance. "We can make a stand once we--"

"Decepticons at five o'clock!"

A quick look to the far horizon confirmed the report. Four blips soared across the sky, heading straight for them at top speed. Doubletake quickly recognized them as Thrust and Skywarp and Thundercracker and Dirge, obviously eager to join the hunt and score a quick kill. As if to underscore the point, Nightracer fired again, barely missing Dragon's left side.

Doubletake quickly assessed the situation. The three Autobots could fend off the jets with some effort. It'd be difficult, but between Sideswipe's rocket pack and Dragon's fighting skills, it was possible. But Nightracer was another matter; with the open plains of the desert, they would be nothing but glorified targets for her as she picked them off from miles away. And after she took out Dragon or Sideswipe, their chances of escape would be gone. So long as she was in the picture, the Autobots didn't have a chance.

Then let's take her out of the picture, Doubletake concluded. "Head for the hills, guys! I'll draw their fire!"

Before anyone could reply, Doubletake made a hard right turn, breaking free of the formation and driving to the northeast.

From the air, the escaping Autobots stood out like rust spots on a silvery hull. The black-and-white dot and the red dot and the gold dot shone in the late afternoon sun, glittering brightly against the ruddy tan of the Nevada wilderness. Go ahead, guys, Thundercracker chuckled. Can you make it any easier for us?

Right behind the three was Nightracer. Thundercracker was surprised; he had not expected a grounded 'con could catch up to the Autobots at all, and had planned to tease her later about "getting lost in traffic." But no, there she was, close behind and ready to kick butt like everyone else.

"C'mon, you losers!" Skywarp barked over the battle net. "Get your tails in gear! Or is there too much sand for you to handle?"

"Shove it!" Thrust retorted. "Just because you're in charge--"

"And don't forget it! Now move!"

The four Decepticons dipped as one and quickly accelerated to five hundred miles per hour. As they closed in, the black-and-white Autobot suddenly veered off the road, followed an instant later by Nightracer. "He's mine," she tersely radioed.

"You can have him!" Skywarp snapped back. "You heard her, guys! Miss Hot- Shot wants to be left alone!"

"Yeah!" Dirge chortled. "Let her go chase her boyfriend, that just makes it easier for us!"

"Boyfriend?" With an incredulous snort, Skywarp said, "Who'd WANT to be friends with her? There are oil leaks with more charm than she'll ever have! Now let's get 'em!"

Switching to a nose-to-tail line formation, the jets dropped into a steep power dive for a strafing run. Skywarp's machine guns mauled the dirt road, sending the Autobots into a fishtail spin in opposite directions. Thrust and Dirge were next, taking on Dragon and Sideswipe with their missiles. Dragon caught the edge of an explosion and was sent tumbling, while Sideswipe skidded around a near-miss that showered him with sand and dirt.

Dragon transformed as Thundercracker advanced. The Decepticon's incendiary gun spat once, launching a gout of red-orange flame. Dragon deftly rolled under the attack, stopping suddenly to turn and fired his plasma rifle. Thundercracker veered hard to the left and narrowly avoided the shot.

As the Decepticons began to turn for a second run, Sideswipe quickly unfolded into his robot mode. "That's it!" he shouted. "I don't care what Doubletake said, let's fight back!"

"I agree," Dragon nodded. "One cannot defend when running."

"Alright! Time to kick 'con cans!" Shunting his laser blaster out of its subspace storage, he fired his rocket pack and flew into the air.

Doubletake bounced over the untamed desert, ignoring the cacti and rocks that tore at his undercarriage, oblivious to the dust that chipped his paint and the bumps that shredded his suspension.

As he had hoped, Nightracer had abandoned the other Autobots to chase him instead. He had also hoped that the rough terrain would slow her down enough for him to build a lead. But neither of them were built for off-road racing; Nightracer was no longer gaining ground, but she wasn't falling behind, either. Doubletake wondered how much of Nightracer's ability to keep pace came from perseverance alone.

"C'mon, Nightracer!" he joked. "Don't tell me you're still mad that I forgot Valentine's Day, are you?"

She did not reply with words. Instead, she stopped, transformed into a kneeling crouch, then quickly fired three blasts from her pistol. Two of them struck Doubletake in the right side and caused him to cry out from the pain. Transforming back into her vehicle mode, Nightracer resumed the chase, now further back but no less determined.

Doubletake didn't dare to stop and face her. His shooting skills were no match for hers, and to face her in the open would be tantamount to suicide. Not that his present course was much better; though she was now almost a mile behind, it was almost nothing to her deadly aim. Only his constant dodging was keeping him alive, but between his fatigue and his injuries and the harsh landscape, it could not continue for much longer.

Then a miracle occurred.

Doubletake did not know what a rock quarry was -- there was nothing like it on Cybertron, and he had focused primarily on human social norms and cultural references during his Earth debriefing lessons. But he recognized it for what it was: a large hole in the ground, filled with machines and rocks and piles of dirt and buildings and vehicles, all offering a hundred places to hide from Nightracer's deadly aim. Perfect.

He turned hard to the left, ignoring the loud bang as his right rear tire blew, squelching another yell as Nightracer shot him in the left side. He gunned his engine for an extra burst of speed, then darted quickly down a dirt ramp that led to the bottom of the basin.

Standing his ground with surprising calm, Dragon fired his rifle twice on his attackers. Thundercracker banked away and Skywarp teleported aside to avoid being shot, but their strafe was broken. The two jets arched sharply upwards, then regrouped seconds later into a power dive on the Autobot.

They rotated in a dizzy wing-over-wing formation, machine guns flailing the landscape, but Dragon easily leaped out of the cone of fire. As the Decepticons leveled out and roared overhead, Dragon calmly asked, "Are you so afraid of me that you must hide in the air?"

His challenge had the desired effect; a moment later, Skywarp and Thundercracker transformed into their robot modes and landed in front of Dragon. With a confident smile, Skywarp gloated, "So you want a showdown, Autobot? You got it!"

On that, the two warriors snapped their arms up and fired their lasers. Dragon dove underneath the attack, tucked into a quick forward roll, then unsnapped with a harsh kick up into Skywarp's jaw. Thundercracker turned in an instant, only to be greeted with a fist in the face that sent him reeling.

High overhead, Sideswipe was waging a one-robot aerial assault against Thrust and Dirge. He currently had his legs wrapped around Thrust's nosecone, and was relentlessly pounding the red Decepticon with blows strong enough to dent a battleship. "Give it up!" he yelled, "there's no way you're going to shake me ooofff!"

Struck from behind by the rampaging Dirge, Sideswipe pinwheeled through the air like a kite caught in a hurricane. As he fell towards the ground, Dirge raced forward with lasers blazing. "Pay attention, Autobot!"

Sideswipe countered by firing his rocket pack, simultaneously stopping his fall and swooping away from the attack. Bringing himself to a mid-air stop, he spun around and rapidly pumped the trigger of his blaster, laying down an arc of laser fire in front of Dirge. When he banked up to avoid the attack, Sideswipe surged forward, grabbed him, and then began to hammer away wildly from underneath. Dirge's cries filled the air even as he tried to shake off his unwelcome passenger.

Gathering his senses, Thrust rolled upside-down and charged at eight hundred miles per hour on a ramming run. But an instant before he struck, Sideswipe released his hold, dropped below Thrust, then deftly snatched his tailfin. Before Thrust had realized what just happened, Sideswipe fired a close-range laser burst into the Decepticon's rear exhaust. With a horrific shriek, Thrust corkscrewed through the air, leaving a chaotic trail of dark smoke.

Meanwhile, Dragon delivered a flying kick to Skywarp that sent him crashing into Thundercracker. As the two of them fell down, Dragon dashed forward, kneeled down, and smashed their heads together. He hopped back to dodge a swing from Thundercracker, then unsnapped his nunchaks and began to quickly batter the robot's hand.

With a strained roar, Skywarp leaped clear. But before he could stagger to his feet, Dragon slid forward and kicked him in the ankle. Dropping face- first into the ground, Skywarp rolled aside with guns firing blindly. Dragon stepped aside, jumped, and slammed his knee into Skywarp's chest, knocking him out cold.

Dragon turned to his left, where Thundercracker was staggering in a daze. In a soft voice, Dragon calmly asked, "Do you wish to surrender now?"

Thundercracker blinked in confusion. He took a staggered step forward, then teetered to the side and fell to the ground.

After several uneventful seconds, Dragon relaxed and snapped his weapon back into its rifle form. But as he turned to the southwest, a gathering cloud of dust told him the battle was not over...

Nightracer stopped at the rim of the crater, transformed into her robot mode, and suddenly dropped to the ground.

Nothing.

She inched forward and peered into the quarry. There were a hundred places for an Autobot to hide, which was obviously why Doubletake had gone there. It made perfect sense, strategically, but Nightracer still felt a brief surge of anger that he had to resort to such cowardly tactics.

Waiting was not an option. Any arriving Autobots were sure to help rescue Doubletake, allowing him to escape from her once again. And while arriving Decepticons would help capture him, it would be at the cost of her standing. She refused to give Skywarp and his ilk any fodder for their cheap jokes -- "Whatsamatter, Nightracer, one Autobot too much for a little girl like you?"

No. Better to take control now, and settle this by herself.

Cupping her hands around her mask, she yelled, "Doubletake! I know you can hear me. I know you're here."

Her voice echoed around the basin, but he did not reply. She continued, "It won't do you any good to hide. I'll find you even if I have to search each and every inch of this hole. And when I do, you're dead."

Nothing.

Activating her telephoto vision and optic enhancers, she studied the crude dirt path that reached from the rim to the bottom of the basin. Tire tracks ... there ... lead to a hill ... there. A set of robotic footprints ran towards a small human building, just large enough for an Autobot to hide behind. She carefully studied the area around it, but found no other signs of movement.

Nightracer stood up, then quickly slid down the crater's sloped side, coming to a sharp stop behind a rocky ridge.

Nothing.

After a few moments, she stepped forward, putting the structure on her right. She kept her head to the front, using her computer-assisted systems to lock on to her true target while it drifted by the edge of her peripheral vision.

She stopped suddenly and fired her pistol, nicking a heap of dirt on her left. When nothing happened, she shook her head (hopefully without too much exaggeration) and continued forward. She angled her body slightly, slowly circling the building.

Something.

She dropped to her left and easily dodged the electro-laser bolt that blasted overhead. Her attack came seven microseconds later, a bolt that burned his forearm and drew a terse wail. The smell of scorched ozone lingered for a second before evaporating into the dry desert air.

Nightracer tumbled upright, her aim and her gaze never wavering from the site where Doubletake was hiding. Taking the initiative, she bolted forward and skidded to an abrupt halt at the back of the building.

Nothing.

A set of fresh footprints led from her side to the opposite end of the bunker. She took a few steps backward, watching very closely, moving very quietly. Then, bending down, she picked up a small stone. With a flick of the wrist, she sent it clattering against the structure's corrugated metal side.

Doubletake bolted out from the far end. Nightracer smoothly swept her arm and pumped the trigger. Several bolts struck Doubletake in the back, who barely suppressed a yell before diving clumsily behind a pile of rocks.

Nightracer slowly advanced; she could hear him scrabbling from behind the heap, probably trying to gather what little courage he had left. The faint glimmer of lubricant stained the sand where she had wounded him, a prelude of what was to come.

"Doubletake..." she slowly said, with an emotionless calm she did not entirely felt. "It's over. There's no point in continuing this. Come out and meet your fate like a real warrior."

The scrabbling stopped. Nightracer froze, readying herself for what might come next.

"You don't want to shoot me," Doubletake said simply. His voice was slightly strained, though -- to his credit -- he still managed to put a touch of his typical frivolity into it.

Nightracer snorted in total disbelief. "And why not?"

"Because ... because you've been chasing me for so long. You've spent most of your life on this, millions of years leading up to this one moment. Years of planning and hunting and studying, all for this day ... when you would finally kill me and get your revenge.

"But I've been studying you, too, Nightracer. And I think ... I think you don't want to shoot me. Because it won't be enough; it won't be appropriate. You don't just want me dead, you want the pleasure of killing me. A laser's too impersonal -- any fool with a gun can shoot a helpless Autobot, and it's not worthy of someone like yourself. What you really want is the thrill of destroying me with your bare hands."

Nightracer fought down a tremor in her arm as his words struck home. Because Doubletake was right -- though she hated to admit it, he was right. She could just sprint forward and shoot him now, but it would be a hollow, anticlimactic victory. After her numerous plans and endless years of sacrifice, to end it all with an effortless shot would be ... cheap.

The best ending -- the truly acceptable ending -- was to fight him. Let him struggle, let him run, let him use every trick and ruse he could muster. She would overcome them all; she would defeat them, defeat him, and finally claim her vengeance. To rip his still-functioning head off his shoulders, tear out his braincase, and smash it into irreparable scrap. To completely destroy him, beyond any possible chance of recovery.

That would be satisfying.

Her aim never wavering, Nightracer suppressed a sigh. The deafening silence hung in the air like a thick, smothering shroud.

Eventually, with all of the self-control she could muster, Nightracer slowly asked, "And just what are you proposing? My bare hands against you and your gun? I don't think so."

There was a clatter and a thud as Doubletake tossed his laser aside. "I've tossed my gun away; how about you? Just you and me, hand-to-hand. You're already faster and deadlier than I could ever be, and you're not even wounded. How can you lose?"

Even as she considered the truth of his words, Nightracer skeptically countered, "So I should stop and wait for you to heal, then, just to be fair?"

"I never said that, and I'm not asking for it. No tricks, Nightracer ... just put away your gun."

"No tricks?"

"No tricks."

Nightracer pondered again. There had to be a catch -- Doubletake's offer seemed too good to be true. On the other hand, it was impossible to deny the facts: that in a fair fight, Nightracer could easily beat him with her superior combat skills. That with his injuries, she had a vast advantage over him, enough to overcome any tricks he might try. That he must be unarmed, or else he would have attacked already. That she had to act now, before someone arrived and ruined this opportunity.

Another sigh arose; this time, Nightracer did not suppress it. With a mental command, her photon laser disappeared into her subspace shunt. "All right," she said slowly. "My gun is gone. Come out and face me."

Doubletake peeked from behind the pile. Nightracer held up her empty hands, and the Autobot slowly advanced. He was battered with a hundred dents and wounds, covered with a motley assortment of dust and weeds, and the quiver of strained motors and overworked servos was all too easy to see. She regarded his injuries with both joy and regret -- joy that she had managed to hurt him so, and regret because it meant his death would come so much sooner.

With a wan smile, Doubletake said, "I think you're taking this too seriously."

She shook her head and coldly replied, "For you, maybe. You shrug off everything with a joke and a laugh. But not me. I'm nothing like you. I'll never be a laughing stock for anyone."

"We could have been friends, I think."

She sneered. "Don't be stupid. You're an Autobot, I'm a Decepticon. Until that changes, the only thing we'll ever have in common is war and death. Now stop talking and fight."

Doubletake frowned. Then, reluctantly, he dropped to a defensive posture, balancing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Nightracer held up her hands. Steel talons extended from her fingers with a soft snick, glittering brightly in the low afternoon sun.

Soundlessly, she leaped.

The Stunticons stopped well before the battlefield. Dragon quickly transformed into his vehicle mode and raced forward, hoping to reach them before they could combine.

He swerved aside an instant later, barely dodging a massive fireball that erupted out of the ground. Dropping quickly out of the air, Megatron and Soundwave landed and began laying down suppressive fire. As Soundwave fended off Dragon with his concussion cannon, Megatron yelled, "Stunticons, unite!"

Motormaster lurched upwards in defiance of gravity, his tractor-trailer body shifting and reshaping with mechanical grace. Simultaneously, Dead End and Drag Strip rocketed to the sky, while Wildrider and Breakdown tipped forward, near-indestructible metal folding like origami rice paper. Head and hands and feet appeared out of nowhere, and the five members slammed together to form Menasor.

The giant roared once and advanced, each step a thunderclap that rocked the plain. Dragon unfolded back to his robot mode, barely tumbling away from a blind swipe by the gestalt. Menasor tried again with a snarl, but Dragon leaped away and fired his plasma rifle. Menasor roared from the sting of the attack, but was otherwise unharmed.

Meanwhile, Soundwave ejected three metal cassettes from his chest cavity, which snapped open into a trio of mechanical beasts. The black jaguar called Ravage struck the ground running, sprinting across the field to pounce on the Autobot. The other two tapes reformed into robotic condors, one in red and one in gold; engines firing on full, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw arched to join the aerial attack.

In the air, Sideswipe was laughing defiantly as he continued to batter Thrust and Dirge, hopping from one to the other like a child at a playground. The two Decepticons were fatigued with pain, and Sideswipe easily countered their attempts to ram, shoot, or shake him loose. Currently he was gripping on to Thrust with one hand, tearing off armor panels with the other. "You don't need any of these, do you? They'll go great with my hubcaaaaaagh!"

A half-dozen bolts from Laserbeak riddled Sideswipe's back until he tumbled out of the way. Thrust climbed sharply, combining it with a sudden barrel roll that sent Sideswipe clattering off his back. Before Sideswipe could begin to recover, Buzzsaw strafed him from behind, instantly shredding his rocket pack with a micro-serrated beak.

Sideswipe struck the earth with a resounding crash.

From across the field, Megatron smiled brutally at the scene. "One down, two to ... Dirge! Where's Doubletake?"

"Beats me, Megatron. He ran off a while ago, and Nightracer went after him."

"Nightracer? Alone?"

"Yep. Said she didn't want any help, either."

"Hmmm. Soundwave, contact her."

There was a pause as Soundwave tried to obey. Then, in his musical monotone voice, he replied, "She is not responding to communication requests."

Megatron hmmm'd again. He realized the prudent strategy would be to send some of his forces to help Nightracer capture Doubletake. And if she was pursuing any other Autobot, that would have been his immediate order.

But Doubletake was not any other Autobot; Nightracer's vendetta against him was fresh on Megatron's mind. It was a feeling he knew well, since it closely mirrored his own grudge against Optimus Prime. He could certainly respect her desire for privacy -- Megatron knew that, given the chance to kill Prime on his own, he would certainly not welcome any interference, no matter how well- intended it might be.

"Very well," Megatron ordered simply. "Leave her alone for now. Thrust, Dirge, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw -- help the others capture Dragon!" As Soundwave dispensed the new orders, Megatron returned to watching the fight.

It soon became apparent that, despite his highly-prized fighting skills, the Autobot was pushed beyond his limits. Between the raw strength of Menasor, the darting strikes of Ravage and Buzzsaw and Laserbeak, and the aerial threat of Thrust and Dirge, there were simply too many fronts for him. Dragon was fighting defensively, fending off anyone who came close, trying his best to dodge lasers and bullets and mortars, but not making any substantive effort to subdue his opponents.

Yet even as his injuries accumulated, Dragon gave no sign of surrender nor retreat. He fought as if oblivious to his wounds; scoured feet continued to kick and leap, singed arms continued to block and punch, and he never cried in distress nor flinched in pain. It was obviously a hopeless cause, but he continued on.

Thrust raced forward and fired his lasers. Dragon spun and dropped, dodging the attack even as he cuffed Ravage with a swinging foot. Buzzsaw rocketed past an instant later with a mortar shell that detonated by Dragon's side. He tumbled chaotically across the sand, bouncing off the desert floor and into Menasor's open palm.

The patchwork golem laughed as he raised his hand in triumph. "Menasor wins!" he roared. "And now, Menasor kills!"

"Freeze!"

The Decepticons turned to the south, where a contingent of Autobots had just arrived. They transformed with guns drawn; in the lead was Prowl, who pointed his rifle at Menasor and ordered, "Put him down!"

Menasor grinned in reply. "Catch!"

Quickly slinging his arm, he hurled Dragon away. Glee turned to shock when a grey F-16 Falcon darted out of the sky. Shock turned to anger as the jet darted under Dragon, matched his speed and direction, then caught him on the wings with deceptive ease. "Interception!" Skydive retorted proudly.

"Whoo!" Hot Spot hollered, "Let's get 'em!" The other Protectobots jumped on cue, their bodies expanding and reforming into limbs and parts effortlessly. The five joined a moment later to form Defensor; the blue titan tossed a cocky grin, then dashed across the field and brought down Menasor with a desert- shaking crunch.

Megatron quickly appraised the situation. Besides the Protectobots, Skydive's presence meant the other Aerialbots must be nearby. With some of his troops wounded or incapacitated, that would be barely tolerable, but the addition of Prowl and Inferno and Sunstreaker tipped things too far in the Autobots' favor. With a frustrated snarl, he barked, "Decepticons, retreat!"

On those words, the other Decepticons were immediately airborne. Menasor's right leg jerked up, delivering a savage blow to the solar plexus that sent Defensor tumbling. While the Protectobots rolled across the sand, Menasor rudely snatched the unconscious Thundercracker and Skywarp, then vaulted from the ground to join the others.

Doubletake bounced off the side of the rock quarry like a rubber ball. He twisted away on the rebound and barely dodged Nightracer's leap. Yet before he could savor the small victory, she immediately turned and tackled, smashing him to the ground.

With an effort, Doubletake spun. The shattered stump of his left forearm cuffed Nightracer in the head, knocking her away with a shrill cry. The two raced to their feet; Doubletake stood up just in time to duck down again, squirming past another charge from Nightracer. He sprinted away without looking back, the hiss of torn wiring and the sputter of broken parts loud in the stale air.

Doubletake ran into a gully. High walls of smooth, packed dirt surrounded him on both sides, while a well-formed pile of rocks blocked the path in front of him. Not breaking his stride, he jumped onto the heap, clambering desperately with his remaining arm and legs for holds. At the top, before pulling himself over, he stopped for a quick look behind him.

The steel pipe struck him in the chest at ninety miles per hour. Doubletake tumbled wildly down the other side, rolling head over heels in a thick cloud of dust and stone. He slid down the final ten feet on his back, stopping at the bottom of the hill, senses reeling from the latest assault.

Nightracer appeared through fluttering optics. She was perched on top of the pile, her silhouette sharply outlined against the twilight-orange sky.

She vaulted suddenly with a mid-air spin. Doubletake rolled away just before she landed, and her heels missed his chest by milliseconds. Unfazed, she crouched and spun, slamming her fingers into his shoulder. He screamed as her talons bit through dented armor and sprouted rivulets of green oil.

With a loud grunt, Doubletake snapped his leg forward and struck her in the abdomen. Nightracer was tossed into a clearing, and he took the opportunity to pull himself upright. Ignoring the piercing pain of his fresh wound, he charged forward, his remaining arm raised to strike.

Nightracer easily ducked around his swing, then pivoted and slashed upwards with her right arm. Doubletake roared as his face was instantly shredded; she kicked him behind the knees and sent him crashing into the ground.

He tumbled chaotically, to be stopped short when she pounced on him. She rammed one knee into his chest and grabbed his right arm with her left hand. Doubletake struggled free, but to no avail -- Nightracer merely tightened her grip, raking deep gouges into the burned and battered metal.

With a serene calm, she said, "I'm disappointed, Doubletake. I had expected better from you."

His head lolled up towards her. A jagged diagonal ran from left of his chin to the right of his forehead, harshly delineating where she had sheared away his face. Sparks of electricity raced along exposed components, while his right optic rolled feebly to focus on her. Hoarsely, he gritted, "At least ... I gave it ... a try."

"True." She quickly jerked his arm up, then slashed it with her free hand, effortlessly slicing through armor and wires and servos like so much paper. Ignoring his agonizing scream, she gave it a sharp twist, then snapped it off and tossed it aside with complete indifference.

Nightracer pressed down on Doubletake, her hands tightening around his neck. Smiling slightly behind her mask, she whispered, "Any last words?"

"No. Do you?"

She blinked in sudden surprise. She had fantasized about this moment for countless years, playing an infinite number of variations for an infinite number of times. There were dreams where she had killed him instantly; but there were other dreams, where she had stretched out his torment, killing him very slowly as she gave vent to all of the hatred she felt for him. But they were just dreams -- she had not truly expected a chance to speak her peace.

Now she had it.

After a moment's hesitation, Nightracer released her self-control, and gave in to the emotions rippling through her soul. "Yes..." she slowly hissed. "Yes, I do have some last words, Doubletake. Before I kill you, I hope you will understand this: I don't hate you just for what you did to me, I also hate you because of who you are.

"This is war, Doubletake ... war, with pain and suffering and death. It's not a contest, it's not a game, and it's never a joke. Yet you are unable to treat it with the proper respect, and always act as if it's an elaborate gag. Someone as frivolous as you are should have died quickly a long time ago, a foolish soldier, quickly ignored and forgotten.

"But no! You constantly weasel out of danger with your triple-crossing lies and get others to do the fighting for you! While Autobots and Decepticons fight, you stay in the rear, ready to run at the first sign of danger! It's not right that you should live while real warriors die! That is why I hate you, Doubletake, because your existence is an insult!"

With a sudden stop, Nightracer reined in her runaway emotions. She stared hard at Doubletake for several long seconds; the silence between them was palpable, a solemn end to her solemn expression.

Then, finally, Doubletake slowly spoke. "I still think you're overreacting."

Nightracer sighed one last time, her fingers tightening momentarily around his neck. "You'll never understand, will you?" she replied. Pinning his shoulder to the ground, she drew back her right arm, ready for the kill.

"Goodbye."

Nightracer slashed. Doubletake jerked backwards. The combination of the two caused her to miss and sent her tumbling over him. She tumbled clumsily for an instant, then stopped herself. Nightracer turned in time to see Doubletake roll over and inch himself into an upright kneel.

She pounced again. Doubletake hopped out of the away, then staggered to his feet and ran. With a mental command, Nightracer willed her laser out of its subspace storage. She calmly fired two quick shots, which sliced through Doubletake's knees and sent him crashing into the dirt.

As she stood up, Doubletake turned his head and said, "You promised..."

Advancing towards the prostrate body, Nightracer shook her head, amazed at his audacity. "I got tired of the game," she said. There are no rules in war; and given how little respect you--"

Nightracer suddenly leaped backwards as a chain of particle beams sliced the air in front of her. A massive white jet roared low over the quarry and two Autobots leaped out, flying with portable rocket packs. The small one quickly landed by Doubletake and yelled, "Get her, Ironhide!"

"Right, Brawn!" The large red one banked towards her, laying down a stream of pulse beams from a hand-held pistol. Nightracer ducked under one blast and snap-fired her gun, but her photon laser ricocheted harmlessly off his chest armor.

"Hey, missy!" he drawled, "What's a pretty thing like yerself doin' wit a gang o' thugs like the Decepticons?"

Nightracer ignored his taunt, firing a second burst that destroyed his jet pack. While the Autobot crashed into the ground, she turned around, ran for the edge of the quarry, and transformed. Tires squealing harshly, she gracelessly raced up the walls and roared off into the distance.

"Tell me, doc, will I be able to play the piano once I recover?"

"What?"

"No, no! You're supposed to say, 'Sure you can,' and then I say, 'Great, because I couldn't play it before!'"

Hoist and Ratchet exchanged puzzled looks. From his repair gurney, Sideswipe laughed, then said, "Get used to it, guys. Things will never get boring with Doubletake around--yowch!"

"Sorry, sorry," Hoist apologized. He turned down his arc laser and resumed wielding.

"Yeah, anyway, like I was saying, things will never get boring with Doubletake around here. Look at me -- first time with the guy, and he ends up turning me over to Megatron!"

"What?!" Ratchet and Hoist chorused.

The doors to the repair bay hissed open as Optimus Prime stepped in. Ratchet turned to the red-and-blue Autobot and said, "Prime, you didn't tell me Doubletake here tried to turn Sideswipe over to the Decepticons!"

"Not tried, did!" Doubletake proudly corrected. "And Dragon, too."

"And he even gave them access to the Ark's computer files!" Sideswipe added with a grin.

Ratchet and Hoist gaped at the Autobot leader, who chuckled briefly. "Yes, I know. He pretended to defect to the Decepticons, and showed them some files in the archives to show his offer was genuine. Though I wonder, Doubletake, how'd you know ahead of time that you would need access to the files?"

"I didn't, really. It was just one of the first things I did when I arrived. It's always a good idea to have some fake 'incriminating evidence' to work with -- it's got lots of uses, and you never know when it'll come in handy. Prowl had no problems giving me an archive account, since the stuff in there's all declassified and harmless before it's put away."

"What about that communications stuff?" Sideswipe asked. "You told them about the checksums and frequencies and whatnot."

"Checksums?" Prime injected.

"What checksums?" Doubletake grinned. "That was all technobabble, just to make it look complicated. The archive gateway's open to anyone with a valid account and password."

"Ohhhhhh..."

Prime spoke next. "You will be interested to hear that the Decepticons' base in Nevada has been abandoned. Jazz reports the facility appears to have been stripped clean before his team arrived."

Doubletake nodded, raising his left arm under Ratchet's prodding. "I'm not surprised, really. It was the only thing they could do. Still, now there's one less base to worry about."

"Hey, there's something else I was wondering," Sideswipe said. "Back in the desert, how did you know that Nightracer was going to ignore me and Dragon to chase you? If she had came after us instead, we'd have been in a big mess."

"Well..." Doubletake hesitated. "Nightracer and I go back a long way. We first met about five million years ago, around the start of the war. She was a new Decepticon recruit back then, and had caught me in an ambush outside of Crassix. I told her that, if she let me go, I'd give her the sentry countersigns to the Autobot Headquarters there."

"But they weren't the real signs," Hoist said, beginning to catch on.

"Right. She didn't want that, however. She was real eager to prove herself to Hornitor -- he was the local Decepticon sub-commander at the time -- so she marched me to his Thiran base as her prisoner. I managed to convince them that I could be a double-agent if they would let me go and pay me a little Energon for the job. He bought it, so we worked out a deal, and he had Nightracer escort me back to Crassix. On the way out of the base, I knocked her down a sewage chute, rigged three of their D4 power regulators to overload, and hustled out of there pronto."

Sideswipe whistled while Prime asked, "Did you destroy the base?"

"You see Hornitor anywhere?" Doubletake smirked. "Anyway, Nightracer's been after me ever since. Says I embarrassed her big-time. I still say she's taking things too seriously, though."

Ratchet eased shut an access panel on Doubletake's left arm. "Well, she sure took it seriously enough to tear you to shreds. I've seen frag grenades do less damage than she did."

"A frag grenade? Luxury!" Hoist moaned. He pointed to Sideswipe's body, which was still mostly a collection of exposed parts and endoskeletal frames, then admonished, "A free-fall from 4,000 feet! What were you thinking of?"

"Hey, don't blame me! I didn't plan it that way!"

Doubletake flexed his arm experimentally and smiled. "Looks good to me. Is there anything else you wanted to poke at?"

"Nah." Ratchet dismissed him with a wave and walked to Sideswipe's gurney. "I better give Hoist a hand here, or I'll never hear the end of it. Just don't do any heavy lifting for a while, and check back with me in two days."

Doubletake hopped off his palette and turned to Optimus Prime. "What about you, chief? Want to get me under the Cone of Silence?"

Prime shook his head. "Your report is fine. I do want to ask Sideswipe a few things, however."

"Oh, yeah!" Sideswipe chimed. "Prime, wait 'till you hear what Doubletake said about you to Megatron! He said you were--"

The hiss of the doors cut off Sideswipe's words. Doubletake smiled to himself, then started down the main hall towards the Lounge. He waved to a few Autobots in passing as he tried to remember which room was his.

The Lounge was empty except for Dragon, who was standing next to one of the wall-mounted video monitors. "Hey, Dragon! What's up?"

Dragon turned with a nod. "Our recent encounter with the Decepticons has revealed some flaws in my defenses. I am studying samples of Earth culture for material to adapt in my combat routines." He tapped the display and added, "This television program is particularly promising."

Doubletake watched. On the screen were six humans wearing brightly-colored costumes. They were fighting against an odd-looking creature, leaping and striking with their hands and feet and weapons. Sparks flew with each blow, while the characters spoke with shouts and made exaggerated, flamboyant gestures.

"It is called 'Mighty Morphin Power Rangers,'" Dragon explained. "I believe it is a training exercise for human children disguised as an entertainment program. The Black Ranger is particularly interesting. His fighting style incorporates movements from various forms of human dance."

"Dance?"

"Of course. A good fighting style can come from anywhere, and this program is a rich source of inspiration. Besides, I find the show ... entertaining."

Doubletake watched for several more seconds, perplexed. Finally he said, "Um, I'm not an expert on human culture, but this looks incredibly stupid. Dumb, even."

"It is," Dragon nodded proudly. "That is precisely why I enjoy it."

"What?! Come on! That monster is obviously someone in a rubber suit! The special effects look like they were thrown together in seconds! The dialog's simple, the story's juvenile, and that Rita-woman's mouth doesn't even match her words! I thought you had taste! How can you tell me that you're enjoying this campy, silly--"

Doubletake stopped suddenly. Dragon was pointing at him with a small smile.

"Gotcha."

Nightracer was alone in her quarters. She sat on her recharger berth, carefully checking the injuries on her arms and legs and torso to make sure they were healing properly. She would occasionally find a stubborn area, which she patched with a set of metalizing agents. The battle was almost three days in the past and her wounds were almost gone, but she threw all of her attention into tending them, trying hard to forget.

She was entirely unsuccessful. The bitter dregs of her encounter continued to haunt her, refusing to be denied so easily. And after several fruitless minutes, Nightracer surrendered. She put away her patch kit and acknowledged the truth: despite all of her private vows, despite all of her precautions, Doubletake had, indeed, outwitted her once more.

Nightracer realized now that the entire "one-on-one" challenge was simply a tactic by Doubletake to buy himself more time. Any delay was to his advantage, as even being re-captured by other Decepticons was better than death at her hands. In hindsight it was obvious; she should have simply shot him and quickly ended it. She should have treated him like any other Autobot, killing him with neither joy nor remorse nor hesitation.

But she did not. Instead, she had allowed herself to be seduced by his words, by his talk of "unworthy endings," as if real life was a cheap holovision drama. While there was some truth to what he had said -- fighting him was deeply satisfying -- she understood now that she should have just left her emotions behind.

How quickly we forget, she chastised herself. After her first debacle with Doubletake, Nightracer had sworn that she would never let anyone humiliate her ever again. She had then thrown herself into studying the warrior arts, honing both her body and her mind. Endless hours of practice refined her sharpshooting abilities, while deep contemplation led to an unshakable concentration for whatever assignments she received.

And she had been rewarded. Her gunnery expertise and combat skills made her invaluable to every commander she served, and her professional grace allowed her to function effectively in crisis situations that led others to panic. She was rewarded for her devotion with admiring, respectful commanders and a reputation which bordered on legend.

Yet, in her mind, every accomplishment and every success remained shadowed by her original transgression. While Doubletake lived, the deaths of Hornitor and the Thiran Decepticons would remain a blot on her soul. She could not simply dismiss it, of course; that was an escape for lesser beings. No, for her, absolution could only come from Doubletake's death.

Nightracer looked across the room. Her quarters in Deceptibase were cramped and sparse, but she did not mind at all. What few personal possessions she owned now rested on a small shelf. Marathon, track, racing, and obstacle- triathlon medals from before the war. Her first laser pistol, rusted and worn beyond repair. A small patch kit, with a custom collection of delicate tools.

And a space.

An empty space. Just large enough to hold an Autobot's head. Located where it could be seen from anywhere in the room, serving both as a reminder of the obligation she still held, and a promise of the future.

Nightracer stared hard at the emptiness now. It should have been occupied. She could easily imagine his face there, half-shattered on the brink of death, optics eternally locked open in a stare of doom.

Instead, there was nothing. Because when the time came, she had abandoned her teachings and herself, had gave in to the temptations of vengeance. And so, she had lost another chance for release...

A human term suddenly came to mind. She had originally dismissed it in her Earth debriefings as pointless trivia; but now it seemed entirely appropriate, a concise summary of her thoughts and feelings.

"Damn."

---

For those who care, here are some Transformers tech-specs for the new characters I introduced in this story...

Doubletake		Function: Psychological Warfare				Group: Autobot
"Any fool can shoot a gun, but it takes a REAL fool to blow your mind!"
Stren.	Intel.	Speed	Endur.	Rank	Cour.	Firep.	Skill
6	9	7	6	9	8	6	8
Thrives on the confusion and surprise of others, whether friends or enemies. Selected vehicle mode of Lamborghini/highway patrol car specifically to baffle humans. Will say or do anything to provoke a response. Brash sense of humor hides great intellect -- actually a brilliant tactician who often advises Optimus Prime on strategy. Completely devoted to Autobot cause. As vehicle, has top speed of 280 MPH, range 1,700 miles. As robot, carries an electro-laser gun.

Dragon		Function: Combat Instructor				Group: Autobot
"The way of war is the way to peace."
Stren.	Intel.	Speed	Endur.	Rank	Cour.	Firep.	Skill
8	6	8	7	6	9	8	10
Would be one of the deadliest Autobots ever made if it weren't for his restraint. Believes peace is best achieved through mastery of the combat arts, to better disarm and disable opponents quickly. Knows a thousand fighting styles and always learning or inventing more. Quiet and somber. Prefers hand-to-hand combat; thinks weapons are cowardly and impersonal. Double-barreled plasma rifle unfolds into a battle lance and separates to a pair of nunchaks.

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• Dragon was modelled on my own car; the name comes from a bumper sticker on the back.

• Doubletake was inspired by a model car kit I built (yes, it's a Lamborghini 500S decorated as a California Highway Patrol cruiser). I'm also currently repainting an old Sideswipe toy to look like Doubletake.

• Nightracer is, of course, the exclusive Transformers toy given at BotCon '96 to pre-registered attendees, created by alt.toys.transformers' own Raksha.