Tag

Copyright 1996, Robert A. Jung
Originally published January 22, 1996

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...

Pipes whistled softly as he walked down the wide corridor. Today's hunt was a rewarding one, and the soft metal clatter that came from the sack over his shoulder seemed an appropriate compliment to his merry tune.

"Found anything today, Pipes?"

He stopped, then quickly turned into the adjoining lab. With a wave to Hoist, he said to Wheeljack, "Yeah! Found some really neat stuff this time -- a Hamilton 220 foot massager, a Godzilla coin sorter, and three Pyrex food processors!"

"What's a Godzilla?" Grapple asked.

Pipes shrugged to the tall orange robot. "Beats me. Looks neat, though." He slipped the sack forward and quickly produced the prize, which consisted of a tacky plastic green lizard perched on top of a set of cylinders. The words "Bank of Godzilla" were molded into the base and painted in dull white. Pipes scratched a little dirt off the toy, then pressed down on the lizard's jaw. "See, you put the coins in here. They drop down to the chamber here, the motor spins around, and they get sorted out down there."

"Cute toy," Wheeljack commented, the panels on the side of his head flashing quickly. "But what do you need three food processors for?"

"Oh, I'm gonna gut them and make a complete unit," the small blue Autobot explained. "The first one's got a burned-out motor, but the case is intact. The insides of the second are almost complete. It just needs a new power adapter, which I'll be lifting out of the third one."

Grapple chuckled quietly to himself. Wheeljack said, "Sounds good. Let me know if you need a hand with any of these."

"Okay, thanks. I think I can handle it, though -- I'm getting the hang of how human electronics wo--"

The floor quivered with a slight rolling notion that quickly built in volume and intensity. As the three robots turned towards the doorway, a cadre of mechanical dinosaurs stomped by, oblivious to the tremors in their wake. They chatted among themselves, their eager voices adding to the loud thudding of their steps. Then, within seconds, they disappeared from view, and the world soon returned to normal.

"There go the Dinobots," Wheeljack commented.

"Not too quiet, are they?" Pipes asked rhetorically.

"Not too much of anything," Grapple elaborated. "Not too bright, not too agile, not too friendly, not too civilized..."

Wheeljack dismissed him with a wave. "Oh, come on. The Dinos aren't that bad. Sure, they're not the most dignified Autobots around, but when it comes to fighting Decepticons, I sure would love to have them around."

"That's true," Grapple conceded. Then, with a smile, he added, "as long as they don't get confused and mistake you for Megatron..."

The Dinobots stepped out of the Ark and into the early afternoon sun. For a moment -- poised before the dormant volcano Mt. St. Hillary, framed by the surrounding Oregon woods -- they looked like nothing more than a tacky tourist trap. A collection of faux mechanical beasts, dull steel grey, poised to frighten very young children at one of the "Legacy of the Dinosaurs" displays which dotted the rural backroads of America.

But unlike their animatronic counterparts, these dinosaurs could bite back.

The pteranadon arched high into the air and raced ahead, while the others continued forward without comment. He returned within a few seconds, landing behind while quickly transforming to a fifteen-foot-tall robot. "Range clear, say me Swoop!"

The tyrannosaur looked over his shoulder and tersely nodded. "Good. Me Grimlock say Dinobots need exercise."

"Exercise fun!" Sludge chimed. The robotic brontosaurus stomped his feet for emphasis, and the ground jolted briefly. "Sludge want to play! Sludge want, Sludge want!"

There was a derisive snort from the front. "Slag want you to shut up! Sludge talk more than fight!"

"Sludge see nothing to fight," came the cheerful reply. "Sludge no see bad Decepticons, so Sludge no fight."

"'Sludge no see bad Decepticons, so Sludge play,'" Slag retorted. "You no Dinobot! You baby, want to watch TV!"

"Slag watch TV too!" Swoop countered with a grin.

The triceratops looked behind him and glared hard. "You baby like Sludge! No real Dinobot, not know how to fight like me Slag!"

"Me Sludge no baby!" The wail was more hurt than demanding. "Sludge Dinobot like Slag!"

"Sludge no Dinobot like me Slag!"

"Slag full of titanium trash!" Grimlock snarled. "Slag Dinobot, Swoop Dinobot, Sludge Dinobot, Snarl Dinobot! Me Grimlock say Slag shut up!"

"Me Slag say Grimlock stupid!"

From behind, Snarl hissed softly, "Slag talk too much."

"Me hear that!"

"Swoop think Slag be mean."

"Sludge no like when Slag be mean!"

"Me Slag no care what you think!"

"Quiet!" Grimlock roared. "Me Grimlock say Dinobots stop and transform!"

With the soft whirl of machinery and the quiet sliding of metal, the Dinobots obeyed. Parts shifted and shrank and realigned as the mechanical beasts smoothly unfolded into their robot forms in seconds. They stood from fifteen to twenty-five feet tall, yet remained dwarfed by the redwoods around them.

Grimlock peered around cautiously; aside from a chirping bird in the distance, there was absolute silence. The Autobots had crashed on Earth four million years ago and fell inactive. When recent geological activity roused them, they decided to introduce themselves to the native human life forms. The U.S. Government returned the favor by granting them residency status, and the area around the Ark was designated as their reservation.

The Ark's interior was adequate for most activities, but there were some things that had to be done outdoors. Weapons testing was one of them, and the Dinobots' "exercise" another. The northwest quadrant of the reserve -- a collection of rocky hillsides and thick groves of trees -- had enough variety in its landscape to satisfy both needs.

Satisfied that the Dinobots were not interrupting someone else's activities, Grimlock turned to the others. They stood without order or unity, but he saw them as matched pairs: Snarl's quiet indifference against Swoop's obvious enthusiasm, Slag's bitter anger against Sludge's boundless innocence.

And himself, Grimlock. The Dinobot leader. The fulcrum of the team, who had to keep them all balanced against each other, making sure the structure never tipped over and collapsed.

Snarl asked simply, "What now?"

"Me Grimlock say we play tag."

"Oooooh, me Sludge like tag!"

Slag grumbled something inaudible as the team produced their firearms and set them to tag mode. Originally an idea from Grimlock, "tag" was a game used to supplement the Dinobots' fighting exercises. During the game, each Dinobot's weapon could only fire a low-powered laser beam. Shooting a player took them out of the game, and the last survivor was the winner. It was a win-win situation for everyone: the Dinobots learned independence, cunning, and stealth, while the Autobots didn't have to worry that the Ark was being destroyed in the process. Understandably, Wheeljack had gleefully modified their weapons in record time.

A winking green light on Grimlock's rocket launcher told him that the weapons were primed. "Ready?" he asked.

The Dinobots replied with an assortment of nods and grunts. Pressing a second button, Grimlock announced, "Then me Grimlock say go!"

Sludge whooped in obvious glee and ran into the forest, dancing deftly (as deftly as a giant robot could do, at any rate) between the trees. Flipping a smile to the others, Swoop turned on his heel and quickly disappeared in an eastern direction. Slag grunted to himself, then slowly trudged off towards the west.

Snarl and Grimlock stood impassively for a moment. Then, without a word, the two walked away from each other and joined the game.

The rifle buzzed softly for an instant. Snarl barely glanced at it, just enough to confirm the steady glow of the green light. The countdown was over, and now it was open season on Dinobots.

Not that Snarl particularly cared, as wargames never held his interest for long. Real warfare was different; there was the edgy, terrible, wonderful fear for life, the constant knowledge that survival or death was dependent entirely on your skills. The silent stretches of tension, the wild bursts of frantic clashes, the sudden reversals of fortune as hunter becomes hunted becomes hunter once again. No matter how much it was decorated, a wargame was still a game, with simplified strategies, unrealistic scenarios, and false deaths. It could never be anything more than a pale imitation of the real thing, and Snarl refused to feign otherwise.

Still, he participated, if only because there wasn't anything else to do. Tag was merely another item in his list of boring, time-wasting activities that happen between fighting the Decepticons. While he could always find ways to fill his time with the other Dinobots, it was no secret that he would abandon the distraction-of-the-moment for a good firefight with a worthy foe.

Snarl moved along slowly, oblivious to the tranquil beauty of the forest around him. Not because he disliked it, but because he simply didn't care about it, as he didn't care about almost anything else. Thinking and opinions were for leaders, and Snarl placed himself firmly on the side of the followers. Even the oddity of Earth and the ludicrous design of his Dinobot form couldn't get him to care for long -- they were just another inconsequental part of his life. So long as they did not impair his ability to fight and kill, he paid them no mind.

He had, a long time ago, wondered about his absolute indifference. It didn't seem right that he should be so blase to the rest of creation, and he actually wondered if it was a sign that something was wrong. He had made a genuine effort to change then, resolving to pay more attention to details and to stop blindly accepting orders. It was an infuriating week; feigning interest in things that bored him merely drove Snarl irritable, and butting heads with Grimlock over every issue proved pointless. The experiment ended with a stern resolution to simply be himself, and to avoid any future autopsychoanalysis.

A muted snap came from behind. Snarl immediately whirled and dropped, his arm shooting up as he pumped the trigger. The rifle buzzed rudely in response -- he was already "dead," unable to fire back, the first casualty of the game.

Snarl grimaced for an instant before looking up. Partially hidden behind a pair of trees, Sludge flashed him a broad grin, then turned around and vanished back into the woods.

With absolute indifference, Snarl mentally shunted his gun into its subspace storage area, then began to look for other losers, someone to talk to. Me no like tag anyway.

Barely suppressing a giggle, Sludge gingerly traced his way through the forest. Keeping quiet required all of his concentration, however, as he was sorely tempted to shout out in glee. He had actually snuck up on Snarl and shot him first!

It felt great to know that he was getting better at sneaking around. Sludge was the biggest and the heaviest of the Dinobots, often breaking things by accident or bumping into people without even realizing they were there. It wasn't his fault that the Ark was so small, yet Optimus Prime and the other Autobots blamed him anyway. Why couldn't they just make the Ark bigger?

At first, Sludge had learned to ignore the people who called him "clumsy," and had grown indifferent to the damage that followed him. But things changed quickly when they started playing tag. Crashing through the woods and creating tremors with each step made it too easy for the other Dinobots to find him, and Sludge was "killed" within minutes in the earliest games. Frustrated at his losses and determined to win, he began practicing at being quiet and gentle. It took a long time, but he was -- finally! -- improving.

The sadness he felt earlier when Slag called him names was quickly forgotten. Sludge could never stay upset when playing tag -- not only was it a fun game and easy to play, but it also let him go outside as well. Outside was always very nice; there was lots of room to move, and the trees and animals and flowers were all so small and pretty. Sludge would love to spend all his time outside, either by exploring the plants and rocks or just watching the animals do their animal stuff. But the Autobots wouldn't let him go outside by himself, so he had to spent most of his time in the Ark instead. Too bad the other Dinobots didn't like pretty flowers...

He tiptoed carefully around a grove of trees, glancing quickly from side to side to make sure none of the other Dinobots were nearby. Winning tag would feel really, really good. Sludge had never won before, and the best he had ever finished was in third place. But Wheeljack said that there was no way to cheat, and Grimlock had taught him lots of sneaky tricks, so Sludge just kept trying. Shooting Snarl proved that he was learning!

Maybe me Sludge win today. Me Sludge try very very hard...

Bent over behind the hill, Swoop peered cautiously around the other side. The absence of other Dinobots left him with mixed feelings -- while he was safe for the moment, it also meant there was no one for him to take out.

Checking once more that he was alone, Swoop darted from the hill's cover and sprinted for the cliff. In little over a second, he had reached its base, back pressed against the jagged surface. He listened alertly for any signs of being spotted, and didn't dare to relax until several seconds of near-absolute silence had passed.

Swoop was never completely satisfied when playing tag; while he loved the game, he often felt handicapped against the others. In battle, he served as air support, bombing and strafing Decepticons while the Dinobots attacked from below. So while he was experienced in dealing with poor weather or airborne enemies or anti-aircraft fire, he had little knowledge of the subtleties of ground fighting, of uneven terrain and the different sorts of cover.

Still, he took it all in stride. It made the game more of a challenge, and it was supposed to be a training exercise, after all. Just because he didn't win tag all the time didn't make him any less of a Dinobot. He knew that, first and foremost, what truly mattered was that he was there for his buddies when they needed him in a scrap. Tag was just a game -- a cool game, sure, but still just a game.

Cautiously, Swoop stood up, then turned to study the cliff. From the top, he would have a wide view of the surrounding area, and it'd make a perfect point to snipe at anyone who came by. Normally, he would transform to his pteranadon form and fly up, but since transformations weren't allowed, he had to find another way.

A set of quick glances told him no one was around, so he started to climb the wall, using his Cybertronian strength to dig handholds in the orange rock. His mind drifted back to the Slag's earlier tantrum, and Swoop made a mental note to make sure Sludge wasn't still depressed later. Sludge was his best friend. He liked the other Dinobots, sure, but they were usually so serious that Swoop couldn't feel completely relaxed around them. Sludge, on the other hand, needed nothing more than a friendly word to get him involved with a new prank or game or adventure. That 'bot was perpetually cheery, which was just fine with Swoop.

He understood why Grimlock had called for a game of tag -- after that nasty exchange, it'd do the team some good for everyone to break up and blow off some steam. It was too obvious that keeping Sludge and Slag together much longer would have left a big mess of some kind. And while Slag's tantrum would disappear once he cooled off, Swoop didn't care to be near him until then.

Swoop had just pulled himself over the cliff's edge when his laser pistol beeped. He looked at it once, then moaned softly -- he had been shot, and was now out of the game. Dejectedly, he looked around, but the forest was still, leaving no trace of whoever had "killed" him.

Grimlock moved with deliberate slowness through the underbrush. The early days of tag -- when the others made little effort to hide themselves -- were long gone. Now it was a genuine contest. The Dinobots were good opponents, and even Sludge managed to take him out a few times. But Grimlock was not immune from the thrill of victory, and he always played to win. Microphones and optics straining, he remained alert for the others while working to mask his own movements.

Tag was not what he had originally planned. Grimlock had wanted to bring the Dinobots to the gunnery field and have them work on sharpshooting exercises. But with hotheaded Slag losing his temper, that was quickly forgotten. The idea of an "accidental" shooting held no appeal to him; not only would it be embarrassing, but reporting it to the Autobots would simply reinforce their impressions of the Dinobots as violent, mindless brutes.

Optimus no have leader problems like me Grimlock, he mused. He had long regarded the other Autobots with mild derision. Most of them were unwilling soldiers, fighting Decepticons only because the Cybertronian war left them with little choice. They were not selected for their combat skills, but were admitted only because they had asked to join.

Grimlock had never understood why any competent leader would tolerate weaklings like Bumblebee and playboys like Mirage in the ranks. Indeed, that was much of the reason he held Optimus Prime in contempt: instead of gathering real fighters against the Decepticons, he settled instead for a rag-tag team of untrained sheep. Where's the difficulty, the glory, in leading an army that never bickered and never questioned orders?

Even as Grimlock gingerly advanced towards a grove of trees, he realized that the statement was false. The Autobots were not a homogeneous group of like-minded beings by any means. Ironhide complained about Blaster's taste in music, Slingshot's egotistical boasting clearly annoyed everyone else in hearing range, and Gears was grumpy morning, noon, and night. Yet despite their differences, they still managed to work together effectively in battle. In contrast, Grimlock often spent his days keeping the Dinobots from attacking their room or each other out of boredom.

So why Dinobots different from Autobots? The physical differences were obvious -- the Dinobots were larger, stronger, and more durable than most of the Autobots, while being cursed with a speech impediment that prevented them from precisely expressing themselves. It could be maddening at times, being both unable to understand the words that others used handily, and unable to clearly share your own ideas.

Grimlock stopped suddenly behind the grove, sending a rabbit darting into the bushes. He barely paid it any attention, lost instead as he dismissed his train of thought. Deriding someone for being larger or stronger or for an odd voice was shallow behavior. And whatever else he thought about them, Grimlock knew the Autobots weren't shallow. No one ever teased them for watching Saturday-morning cartoons, after all.

Even so, there was still the issue of the Dinobots' poor standing among the Autobots. Dinobots not different from Autobots. Dinobots look different and talk different, but do things same way. Autobots not think so -- say Dinobots stupid and dangerous.

Why?

A snarl and a screech interrupted his thoughts. The rabbit bolted out of the bushes, followed an instant later by a grey wolf, slavering in obvious hunger. As the rabbit dashed by, Grimlock swung his leg forward and planted his foot behind it. Moving too fast to dodge, the wolf bounced off Grimlock's armored foot with a yelp, then skidded to a stop. Shaking its nose, it peered up, slightly dazed.

As Grimlock watched silently, the wolf growled from deep in its throat. Both of them knew it was a token gesture. The canine was hopelessly outclassed against the robot, and the look in its black eyes told Grimlock that it knew its threat was merely ritual.

With an aloof shake of the head, the wolf quickly turned and bounded back into the bushes.

Grimlock stroked his chin slowly in revelation. Maybe that why Autobots say Dinobots stupid. Think Dinobots like doggie, always want fight. And there was good reason for that: the Dinobots rarely interacted with the Autobots, preferring to stay cloistered in their room most of the time. When they did appear, it was usually with their worst faces forward -- between Sludge's clumsiness, Slag's temper, Snarl's brooding silence, and Grimlock's open disrespect for authority, was it any wonder that the Autobots thought poorly of them?

Dinobots getting better, but still not better enough. Grimlock realized he had neglected that part of the Dinobots' training. Better fighting skills were essential during a fight, but they would need better social skills for the times between battles. The Autobots were not the enemy, after all, and there was no reason in creating conflict without cause. Must show Dinobots not just for fighting, or Dinobots really no better than doggie.

The voice came from behind, hissing like oil on a hot skillet. "So...Grimlock like game?"

He turned around with deliberate slowness. From behind, Slag was watching him intensely, a derisive sneer on his face, electron blaster on his outstretched arm. "Yes," Grimlock calmly replied. "Me like."

"Me Slag no like. Think tag stupid." The contempt and anger in his voice was deathly obvious, almost warm enough to be felt.

Grimlock tensed slightly with a small dose of regret; Slag's tantrums rarely lasted this long, and he realized that it had to be stopped now. Trying to keep his tone firm but neutral, Grimlock calmly said, "Me Grimlock say no matter. Me Grimlock leader, say Dinobots play tag."

There was a long pause as Slag pondered the statement. Then, slowly, he asked, "Why Grimlock leader? Why Grimlock let babies like Sludge be Dinobots? Dinobots not mean and tough."

Optics narrowing in challenge, Grimlock fought to keep himself under control. "That what you think?" he rumbled.

"Yes. Me Slag can be leader better than Grimlock. Me can make Dinobots tough. Me can make Dinobots fight Decepticons better than Autobots. Grimlock bad leader. Grimlock stupid. Not know how to make Dinobots tough, not know how to be tough."

Moving carefully, Grimlock let his rocket launcher drop to the ground. Then, taking a defensive crouch, he retorted, "You Slag more tough than me Grimlock? Put down gun and show me."

Slag's face broke into a wide grin. "Me no believe stupid trick!"

Grimlock dove forward and ducked under Slag's shot. The blaster was still set in tag mode, but Grimlock didn't care -- he tackled Slag hard in the abdomen, slamming him into the ground. A quick swipe of his left arm sent the gun twirling away.

Undaunted, Slag slammed his fists into Grimlock's back. Grimlock lost his grip for a moment, then Slag rolled out from beneath him and started to climb upright. But Grimlock was faster, lashing out with his left leg to knock Slag crashing face-forward into the earth.

Slag rolled again and narrowly avoided a second kick from Grimlock. The two Dinobots raced to their feet, then squared off against each other. Struggling to keep his voice cool and passive, Grimlock taunted, "Slag still think Grimlock not tough?"

"Yes!" Slag yelled, charging with arms outstretched. Grimlock nimbly ducked under the rampage and grabbed Slag by his legs and torso. Before Slag could react, Grimlock turned and stood, tossing him through the air.

Slag cried in surprise as he tumbled, landing on his back in a metal-jarring crash that shook the woods. Without pause, Grimlock jumped forward, landing on top of him with a thunderous blow that hammered Slag deeper into the dirt.

"Urrrngh!" Slag cried as he kicked upwards. Grimlock grunted hard as Slag's knee slammed into his face mask, then tumbled to the left to avoid a second strike. Slag rolled in the opposite direction. His arms lashed out blindly, managing only to lightly cuff Grimlock's foot.

Grimlock had just gotten on his feet when Slag charged into him. The two Dinobots tumbled backwards, splintering a large pine in the process. Slag swung as the ground started to roll. Grimlock countered with a quick block, then struck with his free arm and sent Slag reeling away.

The ground shook again, and a sharp crack rang from nearby. While Slag staggered in confusion, Grimlock rolled himself to a face-down position, arms and legs strewn widely. A third tremor struck, followed immediately by a second, louder crack. The quivering earth then split in two, and Slag tumbled uncontrollably into the newly-formed fissure.

With a loud rustle of leaves and one last tremor, Sludge suddenly bounded into view. The broad smile on his face melted into mild disappointment as he surveyed the wrecked clearing. "Aw! Me Sludge miss big fight!"

Ignoring him, Grimlock climbed up, then carefully peered into the fissure. Slag was wedged at the bottom, immobilized except for his left arm, which he waved defiantly. Not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice, Grimlock merrily asked, "Slag give up?"

"Me Slag stuck!"

Grimlock chuckled again, then walked away. He reappeared a moment later with rocket launcher in hand, and pointed it down towards the helpless Dinobot. "Me Grimlock think you in big trouble. Me think, 'Hmmmmm. Thing easy for me Grimlock now. Me shoot Slag, no hear Slag say bad things no more.' Tell me Grimlock why no do that?"

Slag glared hard at him for a moment, then yelled, "Grimlock chicken!"

Grimlock hrmphed and squeezed the trigger. A red beam etched out and touched Slag, then his weapon beeped once.

"Tag," Grimlock said calmly. "You dead." He then pointed the gun at Sludge and fired again. The gun beeped once more, then played a short fanfare. "Me Grimlock win."

Sludge frowned. "Why Grimlock shoot Sludge?"

"Tag not over 'til one Dinobot left," Grimlock calmly explained.

"Oh!" Sludge smiled, then frowned. "Me Sludge forgot."

"Yes. Sludge remember next time. But also remember, Sludge second today."

"Oh!" Sludge beamed again, brighter than before. "Today best me play tag!"

Grimlock nodded, then turned to the west as Swoop and Snarl arrived. "Game over! Who win, who win?" Swoop asked cheerily.

"Grimlock win, but me second!" Sludge exclaimed.

From the crack in the earth, Slag bellowed, "Me stuck! Me Slag say Dinobots stupid! No talk about game, stupid Dinobots get Slag out now!"

Snarl kneeled by the crevice and peered down with a rare grin. "Me think Slag stupid. No call Dinobots bad names when Slag need help."

Swoop peeked in and giggled at the sight, then turned to the others. "Swoop say Dinobots help Slag. Slag stupid, but still Dinobot."

Grimlock nodded. "Me know, but me Grimlock talk first. Slag, you know what wrong? You think like Autobots. Think Dinobots all stupid, think Dinobots only good when they tough and mean. That why you mad at Sludge, because Sludge not tough and mean like you Slag."

"Slag tougher than Sludge!"

"Me know. But Sludge still Dinobot, even if he not tough like you Slag. We not Dinobots because we be tough all the time. We Dinobots because we do things Autobots too scared to do. Sometimes Dinobots be tough, sometimes not. Slag toughest Dinobot, but Slag still stuck. Be tough no help Slag now.

"When time different, Dinobots be different too. Slag do some things gooder than Sludge, Sludge do some things gooder than Slag. That why Sludge and Slag both Dinobots, because they different. Dinobots no fight all the time. That what dumb animals do, and me Grimlock say Dinobots not dumb animals! Dinobots be mean and tough, but we not dumb! Okay?"

Long seconds stretched by in absolute silence. Then, from below, Slag meekly said, "Okay."

"You Slag say Grimlock right?"

"Me Slag say Grimlock right."

Grimlock nodded. "Remember, you no dumb Dinobot. Slag no act dumb. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good Slag. Me Grimlock happy that you Dinobot again. Now we get you out."

Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, carefully kept his stride short as he walked down the wide corridor. He did this out of both practicality and politeness -- he didn't want to outpace Prowl and Mirage, and was interested in listening as the former debriefed the latter.

"How was the area suspicious?" Prowl asked with his usual frankness.

"It's not something I point to specifically," Mirage replied. "It was just a sense, really, or a hunch."

"A hunch? Surely you can be more specific."

"Yes I can, and don't call me Shirley," Mirage joked. When Prowl peered back in abject confusion, he quickly continued, "I think the area was a little too perfect. It was so clean, so quiet, that I felt like someone was deliberately trying to make it look innocent. So naturally I got suspicious," he finished with another chuckle.

"Perhaps you are simply being overly cautious," Prime suggested.

"Maybe, but maybe not. That's why I told Prowl about it, since he's the security expert."

"Better safe than sorry," Prowl agreed. "Prime, I'd recommend a low-level reconnaissance effort. A small team, maybe Outback and Beachcomber. Equip them with sensor equipment and sweep that desert for Decepticon readings or unexpected emiss--"

The floor quivered with a slight rolling notion that quickly built in volume and intensity. As the three robots turned towards the Ark's entrance, the Dinobots sauntered in, covered in various degrees with mud and grime. They chatted happily among themselves, oblivious to the dirt and noise left in their wake. One said something about a moose and a squirrel, another retorted with something about a coyote, and the rest broke out in tumultuous laughter. They walked by the Autobots with obvious glee as they headed for the Ark's central Lounge.

"There go the Dinobots," Prowl said flatly.

"As if you could miss them," Mirage added with a small grin. "Between their size and their stomping and their smell..."

Prowl shook his head briefly. "Sometimes I wonder why we put up with them. Sure, they're capable fighters, but between their raw strength and their short tempers, it seems at times that they're more trouble than they're worth."

"Really," Mirage continued. "Is it safer to be in here with them, or to be out fighting Decepticons bare-handed?"

Prime kept his silence as he watched the backs of the receding Dinobots. But just as he was about to turn away, Grimlock looked over his shoulder and glanced at him. Prime froze then; for an instant, there was a recognition of understanding between the two. A shared look of understanding and sympathy, of the pain of leadership, of the silent and lonely burden of command. A look that reminded Prime of nothing more than himself.

Then Grimlock turned away, and the instant was gone.

Prowl's voice jarred him back to reality. "Unfortunately, that's true. I certainly don't expect them to get any better in the future. Makes more sense to assume they'll stay stupid forever."

Optimus Prime looked down at his lieutenant, then gave one last glance down the corridor. Softly, he said, "Maybe. And maybe not..."