A/N The writer strongly suggests reading the short story “Jackpoint” before reaching page 18 in this chapter. I do apologize for the cliche plot toward the end of the chapter. However, this is fanfiction and I like to use the format to explore my abilities as a writer. :) Those areas written in italics are events that occur parallel to those events not italicized. Special gratitude goes to Trinity Clewtician for introducing me to the soundtrack for Ghost in the Shell. My muse and I are both thankful ^-^

Croix Insepency Chapter 12

SEQUENCE

“You really do worry too much. No one will find us here. Sixteen people have lost their way around the complex. After all, it is huge, even by Quintesson standards. Those air shafts are a doozy, aren’t they? So, yeah, the missing will always be missing.”

“I just made a funny, didn’t I?”

“Hmm... that finger of yours keeps twitching. I’m not sure if it works well with the rest of the sculpture... kind of.. Upsets the whole balance of things, you know? I mean, nothing else is moving, right? So... let me just trim your finger off.”

CRUNCH

“There! Yup, that works!”

Searchlight stared at the sculpture with dead eyes. Somewhere inside that hand-made abomination his cerebral cortex screamed for release; something he’d have never again.

*****

Perceptor slammed the AB-drill so hard all the metal shavings, damaged screws and copper sealant jumped or rolled. He turned to Lockout with a bright, killer glare. “This is the ninth disturbance I’ve encountered in approximately twenty-nine point four minutes. I will accept no further interruptions until this scanner is repaired!

Lockout stared against the scientist’s angry intimidation, “Sorry, Perceptor, you are needed-“

”Right here!” Perceptor finished sternly. “It is vital I finish the scanner! Tell First Aid he will simply have to request Blue’s assistance. I am currently preoccupied!”

“It’s Doctor Zornoy who’s asking for help,” Lockout quickly added. “You might say it’s an emergency-“

”This scanner will help us find Optimus, Rodimus and Galvatron-“

”Three women have already died.”

Perceptor froze. “What did you say?”

Doctor Zornoy greeted his sixth patient in the same two-hour period. He forced himself to smile, though the alien doctor appeared as anything but cheerful. The brunette before him, one Deonia Osimenta from Fort Draco, stared at the floor past her toes. She shivered under the crisp exam paper covering the front of her body.

“Good of the day to you, Miss Osimenta,” Zornoy greeted. He washed his hands thoroughly, dried them and snapped on a set of gloves.

Deonia raised a set of tear-redden eyes and spoke with dry, cracked lips. “I heard someone has already died from this, Doctor. Am I next?”

“I am sorry, Miss Osimenta,” he replied in his off-center French accent. “I deal with the living only. If you please, let me take a peek into your ears.” he gently brushed her brittle hair aside and set the ‘peek-a-boo’ instrument at the edge of the opening. All the wax in one ear, then the other, pasted the edges and inner walls with blood and the strange symptomatic blue-green goo. “Uh-huh,” he confirmed. “You have a squatter in your ears. Not paying rent.”

Deonia swallowed hard and held her arms for his inspection. “Day before yesterday, there were only two red patches on my arms, Doctor. Yesterday those same patches turned into something that looked like a chronic case of poison ivy. Seven more red blotches appeared and the today... look at the first two, Doctor! What the hell is happening to me?”

But Zornoy had no answers for her. He left the cubicle, snapped off the gloves, tossed them into a bin to be incinerated and washed his hands raw. He stomped down the cordoned hall, frustrated and weary. A nurse in light blue scrubs pattered after him clutching a chart between her hands.

“Doctor-“

Zornoy spun about, eyes flaming. “YES, NURSE!” he snapped. “She has it too!” he lifted a long finger and pointed to all the doors behind them. “Isolation. Isolate every one of them. Don’t care if they like it or not. Isolate. Isolate. Isolate! No exceptions! Good bye. I have to think.”

Zornoy left the ward and took a long stroll along the glass bridge connecting science/medical and the communications building. He marched past four doors and entered a small meeting room. Perceptor, Dr. Arcana and three other heads of the elite ‘organics’ medical team welcomed him with heavy expressions.

Perceptor spoke first: “I don’t have a great deal of time, Doctor Zornoy-“

“Neither do my patients, Mister Perceptor.” Zornoy produced a small round instrument from his pocket. “See this? I call it my death clock. I set it at the time my first patient died. My fifth patient has three hours to live. She sleeps in a coma. Her body is covered, arms, legs, face and breasts, in an unidentified rash. The rash is a cultured conglomeration of chemicals, hormones and biomechanical DNA.”

Everyone not sitting in a chair suddenly found one and sank into it. Their faces turned blank with astonishment.

Zornoy wiped his mouth and paced before the room’s exit. “Where does it come from? I don’t know. Who had it first? Her name was Tasha Kayshrron, linguistics teacher from Fort Sagittarius. Very bright girl.” the doctor stopped pacing and faced his peers. “She died because she pained so bad. Very bad. All of them, all of my ladies, will go the same route. Except Hathena Pendall and Yoomee Kintesha. Yes. Good friends. Died in-in some corner there on Racing Beast. Why? Nobody say ‘yes, I believe you.’ Nobody say ‘yes, you’re badly sick.” Zornoy stopped pacing. He rubbed the back of his neck and popped a kink in his vertebrae. “We don’t know what it is. Why? Why? Because my ladies all die from pain. No more pain. We’ll fix the pain. But I want to know why. I want to know what.”

The doctor approached the conference table and leaned against it, palms flat on its surface. “No more victims, okay? Isolate. Isolate. Isolate.” He pointed to Dr Arcana. “You. You go and find others with bad symptoms: dry skin, patchy rashes, dry hair and eyes. Residents in the ears. They tell you the ears are fine. They are not fine. You look.”

Zornoy pointed to Lakendra Littlefield, Captain of the Sunset Kummya: “All the ladies, all your ladies get an exam, yeah? No males yet. All exam. Everybody on one deck.” the doctor’s eyes darted to the remaining members of the group. “Yeah. All you, every one else. We work. No sleep. Work, work, work.” He glanced at his ‘death clock.’ “Okay. Two hours, fifty-two minutes. Go. Go!”

******

Rodimus thrived in a world draped by shadows. He heard all things as if underwater. As far as he knew, this is the reality he always lived in. How could there be anything more? Yet somewhere in the back edges of his mind, memories of color and laughter eked into his conscious like little voices. Occasionally he’d envision snapshots of a life not quite his own.

Or maybe it was a past life.

Or maybe someone else tried to speak to him.

But the Knife always blotted out the image the moment Rodimus concentrated on it. The Knife; a sinister, insentient thing, gnawed on him like a tiny shark. Sometimes he felt it, sometimes he was not aware.

Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw.

His sculpture, now completed, sat under a spotlight. Its multi-legged form sat up, suspended by a long tail that looped and ended in daggers. The head didn’t seem quite right for a thing Rodimus called “Centipede”. It’s head resembled something like a bent saw blade. A set of mandibles swung out from an invisible jawline. Staring at the abomination, Rodimus knew this shape, this form, came from someplace he’d never been to. It existed, but not in this reality.
His lips moved, his voice, stilted by the Knife, said nothing. Matrix, he mouthed. It must be a Matrix vision. Rodimus ran his hand over the head’s smooth surface. The sculpture required a great deal of life force to create. But a masterpiece it was.

Deep down, back into that same corner consciousness, Rodimus believed this was his final and greatest artwork.

With a frown, he withdrew. Other business, long since procrastinated, required his attention.

To an outsider, Rodimus traveled down long dark corridors and cavernous halls filled with ancient technological equipment. The walls watched the Autobot; their faces engraved into the metal; faces with moving eyes; faces of living things condemned to an eternity of stagnation.

Rodimus passed through a set of transparent titanium barriers and into a storage bay cluttered with broken crates, disfigured casings and decayed alien creatures whose forms hung suspended from the ceiling, frozen by time and neglect. The Autobot leader ignored all things dark and profane; bodies and artifacts ancient compared to the time lines outside the science station. Had Rodimus been in his right mind, he would have been affronted, horrified and rankled.
The final corridor led Rodimus into a great shipping and receiving bay, left open for observers and looters. The uphill ramp lifted Rodimus onto ground level, and thereby, the tarmac. The Frostbite waited for his presence a quarter of a mile away.

Upon transforming from vehicular mode, he strolled the ship’s length, stern to bow. He rounded the front end and leisurely traveled the other side. Returning to the stern, Rodimus watched as Retx and Hydor guided a supplies truck down the storage bay plank and onto the broad tarmac.

Half smiling, Rodimus opened a comm line. “Hey fellas,” he greeting. “Whatchya doin?”

Retax internally swore but put on a front. “Hey, Prime,” he greeted cordially. “We’re, ah, taking supplies to the Vertical Horizon.”

“Kup’s ship?” Rodimus scanned both Autobots, searching for inconsistent life sign patterns; little fluctuations that indicated lying or secrecy. But Retax, a salesbot, gambler and slight-handed con artist, kept his cool. Hydor, to his credit, remained silent. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, Rodimus rolled the answer around his head. “Say,” he added after a moment, “I haven’t seen Kup in a day or two. How about I accompany you to the Vertical Horizon?” He half-laughed and held up his palms to ward off any arguments. “I’m not here to supervise you, fellas. I’m sure you’re doing a fab job. I just wanna tag.”

Hydor voiced his answer cheerfully: “Sure, Roddi, we’d love you to come along!”

In spite of the heavy tension, the fifteen-mile drive turned uneventful. Hydor and Retax departed for the docking bay while Rodimus hailed Mnemonic for permission to come aboard. Mnemonic stuttered in surprise, knowing Kup was out there looking for Rodimus. “Uh–uh... yeah, Roddi,” he stammered. “For sure. Just ah-“

”Kup isn’t here, is he?”

“No.” and the substitute communications officer grimaced. His grimace turned to a cringe when Rodimus asked where he might find Kup. “Uh, he’s on assignment, Prime. I’m not sure exactly where Ultra Magnus sent him... but uh-“

”Oh, Magnus!” Rodimus answered too cheerfully. “Tell you what, Mnemon, I’m off t’ yak with the Major-general anyway. Take it easy. Let the old crank know I was here, would ya?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, Rodimus. I-I’ll drop a memo.”

******

Delta’s voice threaded a vocal ladder so that Rusti slowly ascended toward consciousness. “I heard what happened to Redial. Our... *benevolent* dictator, Rodimus Prime, saw fit to murder him in cold blood.”

Rusti fully awoke in the near-quiet. She lay on her left side, facing the wall in a dimly-lit cubical.

“You know, Paratrons have rights, too. We lived under a world-wide democracy for millions of years.”

Rusti wanted to roll her eyes, to draw a deep breath, roll over and tell the irritating femme to blow off. Just stay still, keep asleep, she told herself.

Delta continued her one-sided conversation: “All this... discipline-and-order slag is so against our nature. I mean, we’re Paratrons. We’re a free people, free to do and go as we see fit. There’s never been a singled-out ruler on our homeworld. Everyone-and I mean everyone-gets a chance to be in charge at some point in their life cycle. It doesn’t matter if you can compute correctly or not. At one point in your life, you get to rule the planet. And if nobody likes the way you do things, you’re asked to resign. If you don’t, you get assassinated. This whole concept of two people as the only rulers-as in ever is the most unbeneficial, uncivilized type of government we’ve encountered.”

Delta paused in her rant and Rusti might have returned to sleep had the femme not piped up again. “Redial did what he had to do for a reason. The Autobots love their little war culture. They think that how they live and what they do is far superior to how we lived. And you know, something, Rusti? They’re all smeltheads. No one asked us if we wanted to destroy our world. Not once did Rodimus Prime put the situation to a vote. Very undemocratic, very anti-cultural. We believe in peace. And to get that peace back, it’s necessary to put the Autobots in their place. Redial understood that. He worked tirelessly to ensure the future held promise for our people. We hoped that during the fight between the Quintessons and the Autobots, the Paratrons might sneak away. Nobody anticipated the Quintessons attacking the entire planet. I mean, Earth isn’t that important. Well... you might think so. But it’s not.”

The femme dropped her voice slightly, falling into a more wistful tone: “we just want to be left alone. What the Autobots call ‘loyalty’, we call enslavement. What they consider leadership we see as aeons-long dictatorship. And not one of us buys that smelt about the Primes infected with a Matrix-Virus, either. There was no Matrix in our society. Every one was equal. Everyone looked the same and talked the same and liked the same things. Oh, there were those freakish few who thought individuality was better. But they were wrong.” she paused again, her voice softened further: “you can’t have equality if everyone is different. So everyone has to be exactly the same. Redial died because he believed in total equity; absolute democracy and a society free from rules, from work, from discipline and free from the erroneous belief that you get freedom by means of war.”

Delta’s voice fell to a murmur: “Redial didn’t betray the Autobots; they betrayed themselves.”

An icy, Human female voice saved Rusti from more of Delta’s private rant: “Excuse me, you will have to leave. All women in this ward are under quarantine.”

“What?”

Rusti resisted the urge to flip over and ask the same question. But she thought it smarter to remain motionless. Her better sensibilities proved correct.

“I said,” the nurse repeated sternly. “You will have to leave. This entire section has been declared under quarantine by Doctor Zornoy.”

Delta’s feet thumped along the solid metal flooring. “Why?”

“I don’t know nor am I at liberty to say. I’m just following orders. Now say good-bye and take your leave.”

Delta scoffed, “there’s no need to be bitchy about it.”

Rusti held quiet long after both robot and humanoid nurse faded from earshot. Certain the nurse yet lingered like a snooping teacher, watching, Rusti waited another seven minutes before rolling over. She pushed up on elbows and cringed when the world around her tilted up then sideways. Her brain twirled like a lazy top; round and round and eased back into alignment as she drew deep breaths. The skin on her upper arms ached. Her eyes burned with dryness.
I am not staying here, she decided. She was a tiger, caught in a room with no windows, no TV and bad food. So once again, it meant a hunt for her clothes. At least-at the very least-the medical staff thought kindly enough to leave her panties on. Hate being stripped, she thought hotly. Freakin’ pervs! Better have not given me a boob-exam or ‘peeked’. The more she thought on it, the more her blood simmered.

Rusti rummaged for her attire and concluded the medical trolls caught on to her ‘flight risk’ habit and stashed her clothing elsewhere. “Sonovabitch,” she swore under her breath. “Not staying here,” she sang. Rusti examined her cubicle with a critical eye and formulated a likeable plan. “Don’t care what Magnus wants or thinks. Freakin’ ogre. I’m going to find Optimus.”

Peggy Owensby made her 14:00 rounds. Running on four hours’ sleep, bad coffee and upset stomach her patience dissolved by 14:07. She changed three bedpans, redressed six beds, wiped filth off the floor in cubicle 12 and endured a stressful shouting match with Julie Karnes.

Well, she had to admit that the Karnes woman had a legit reason for being upset. They kept her under ‘observation’ for three days, away from her children and boyfriend. Certainly that would put any woman in a foul, belligerent mood. So Peggy forgave her for that.

She did not, however, find it forgivable or tolerant when she found the Witwicky girl missing from her room. AGAIN.

“What do you mean she’s missing?” Supervisor Lori Dimarco demanded. She punched several tags into her digipad and frowned.

“Am I not speaking English?” Peggy snarled. “Come see for yourself-“

Dimarco raised her voice slightly.”We removed her clothing and exosuit, Peggy. She’s not about to leave naked.”

Peggy scoffed. “Come see for yourself.”

Dimarco flipped out her phone and followed her underling down the hall, left and six doors down. Sure enough, the door lay on the floor disassembled. The room, empty of occupants, also lost part of its lighting fixture and the bed was missing its sheets. The nurses looked to the right side of the room and Peggy screamed.

A dog-sized version of Void sat on the supplies cabinet, cleaning its legs like a praying mantis.

*****

Rusti felt naked wearing clothing without her exosuit underneath. She did, however, like the feel of cloth against her skin as opposed to fleximetal. And while there was nothing wrong with fleximental, while it did nothing adverse to her skin, there was a certain nicety about cotton. In spite of her better judgment, Rusti borrowed clothing from the nurse’s breakroom. She found a pair of jeans one size too large, a scrub top that draped about her hips and a very nice windbreaker. The only shoes available in the closet taunted her with high heels, open toes and one broken strap.

Never wear high heels with open toes and broken straps in an alien environment.

Rusti swiped a pair of support socks from the supplies cabinet and escaped the... Racing Beast(?!)

“YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” Rusti shouted. “Are you freaking serious?! We’re twenty miles from the freaking complex?!!”

ATTENTION ALL CREW MEMBERS: ALL HUMANOID FEMALES ARE UNDER STRICT QUARANTINE PROCEDURES. FAILURE TO COMPLY WILL RESULT IN ARREST. PLEASE REPORT TO THE BRIDGE FOR ANY FEMALES WHO FAIL TO COMPLY WITH THE QUARANTINE PROCEDURE. THAT IS ALL.

“My ASS it is!” Rusti spat. “I need a computer.” she visually counter-clocked the nurse’s breakroom, hoping to land eyes on someone’s forgotten digipad. Naturally, in case of theft, no one left anything out.
Back to the closet, perhaps?

She locked the main door before invading the closet once again. She burrowed through a forest of everyday clothing. Those stupid high heeled shoes mocked her. Three personal bags, one purse and at the far back (as Repugnus might say,) bada-ping! A locker.

Rusti scrunched before it and studied the electronic keypad. Was it fingerprint-activated?

Nope.

Was it voice-activated?

Nope.

The young lady smiled in dire sarcasm: “does it need a spit-sample? DNA registry? Brain tissue?” She hit the safe’s top edge and dropped to her rear. “I gotta get off this smelting ship and I need a computer... to do that...” her eyes dropped to an inconspicuous slip of torn yellow paper peeking out the bottom of the stupid high heeled shoes with open toes and broken straps.

“Nu-uh,” she muttered. “Far too easy. That’s like... some miraculous incident from a badly written Scifi story or something.” Reaching far to her right, Rusti plucked the piece of paper from its hiding place and unfolded it.
Rusti watched as the paper trembled between her hands. “What am I shaking for?” she asked herself. “Okay, concentrate. We’re leaving. We’re leaving.” Blinking the blur from her eyes, she reread the paper but the letters and numbers rearranged themselves. She crumbled the paper in a fist. “I just want to get the freaking hell out of here,” she firmly kept the whine out of her voice. If only she had the damn exosuit, she could override the electrical system.
Rusti swallowed oncoming tears. “I want you to open,” she insisted. “I want to get out of here!”

Click-click. The safe’s lock disengaged and the door opened on its own. She stared at it, bewildered. “Did I do that? Might have.” Rusti helped herself to one of six digipads. Content as a child who finally got her way after a tantrum, she settled against the left side wall and tapped into the digipad and from there, into the Intranet.

REQUEST FULL INVENTORY ON ESCAPE VEHICLES

AUTHORIZATION CODE:

Rusti had to think this one through. Who was captain of the Racing Beast again? Without realizing it, she processed the answer by means other than what was in her own head; without realizing it Rusti tapped into the Matrix itself for her answers.

Physix. Physix was captain of the Beast. And what of Physix? What of him? He... has a military scudB missile launch vehicle transform. He likes classical piano sonatas -his favorite piece is Sonata Number 3 C-Major Op 2 by Eliso Bolkvadze. He enjoys zombie films, tap dancing (when no one is watching) and Fabin mud wrestling tournaments from the tropical plateaus in the Frosty Leo Nebula.

Yeah. And his password might be...?

Rusti slid to her back, chin on her chest. “How the slagging hell am I supposed to know what his flipping password is supposed to be?” she paused. “Wait a minute. Eliso Bolkvadze, of course... right?” Rusti tapped the name into the digipad.

Sure enough: “PASSWORD ACCEPTED”

Rusti grinned, pleased with her guess. Better than that, the ship’s schematics zoomed into view. She fingered through the decks, personnel reports and logs until- “Ah-HA!” land cycles. Deck four, landing bay four, compartment nine.
She stared into her reflection on the pad and smiled.

*****

Magnus set three datatablets on the conference table before sitting at the table with his aids and peers. For a moment he wondered why Cloudstreaker kept playing hide-and-look in his direction. She squirmed uncomfortably as if distracted. Mentally waving it off, Magnus made a visual roll call. “Any one seen Perceptor?” he asked.

Quasar nodded. “He’s in an emergency meeting with Doctor Zornoy. Something about an outbreak.”

Magnus froze. “When was this? Why wasn’t I notified?”

“Um, I don’t know. I’ll look into it, Sir.”

“I need you here, Quasar.”

“Yes, sir.”

Magnus allowed silence to start the next line of thought for the Table. “We need a plan. We have the equipment, we have the resources and a reluctant Quintesson aid. What we need to do now is formulate a plan to deal with the Virus. I want all theories and suggestions on the table now.”

Quasar went first: “we have to treat both Primes simultaneously. Curing one then the other only avails the Virus the opportunity to ‘jump’ hosts.”

Apogee lifted her fingers and Magnus gave her the nod. “We are not sure if the equipment we’re using will even contain the Virus let alone eliminate it.”

Cloudstreaker uncharacteristically interrupted Apogee: “you can’t destroy it. The Virus is both physical and incorporeal. We will have to stuff the thing into a trap from which it cannot escape and lock the device into a loop program that it cannot solve; like a labyrinth that has neither a beginning nor an ending.”

Emerging from a corner in the room, Cyclonus finally stepped into view, drew a chair and sat next to Jazz. “Even with containment, the Virus no doubt has left a great deal of damage to the Matrix and both Optimus and Rodimus Prime. You may stop the disease, but the effects, the damage, comes into question. How will you repair it?”

Brainstorm, who refused to visually acknowledge Cyclonus, turned to Mangus. “I think it’s been assumed once the Virus is removed from the Matrix, the Matrix will heal itself and thereby, heal our leaders.”

Apogee: “we know next to nothing about the Matrix. We have no certainty that it will heal itself. It is also necessary to bear in mind the psychological damage. As some of you may recall, it took months for Rodimus to come to terms following the year the Virus first attacked him and Optimus Prime. More than that, this will no doubt be our last stand. All our records during Sunstreaker’s decline have indicated the Virus is ready to jump hosts. We still cannot determine how or exactly when the Virus first attained the ability to crash into more than one type of host. We have great concern that at some point the Virus will replicate and spread to the Decepticons and later, our Humanoid allies.”

Cloudstreaker: “I am inclined to disagree with Apogee, Ultra Magnus,” she said with apology in her voice. “It is apparent the Virus is repellent to Decepticons; at least as far as Galvatron and Cyclonus are concerned. Is it because they are refashioned from the life force of Unicron? Or is it that Cyclonus and Galvatron simply have a unique energy signature? I don’t have enough data to verify my theory. But it is clear that our Decepticon allies may be a part of the solution process.”

Jazz stood and laid one palm on the table, the other clenched into a fist. “There ain’t no more time. We gotta find Op an’ Roddi fast. ‘Cording ta Kup’s r’ports, Sunny’s been totally taken by that V-thing.”

“Then it may already be too late for them,” Quasar interjected. “In which case, do we really have any choice other than to leave them and escape?”

“I don’t believe that,” Jazz objected. “I ain’t gonna believe it for a microsecond. I don’t know much ‘bout Rodimus’ private history, but I know Op. He’s been t’ the Pitt an’ back. He’ll fight. For whatever reason he’s got, he’ll fight.” Fort Sonix’s former commander turned to Magnus. “You gotta give ‘em that chance Mags.”

Magnus frowned. “How many more chances do you want me to give them, Jazz? Apparently you don’t remember the incident on Cratis. For all we know, Rodimus may be too far gone to save. According to Kup’s report, Sunstreaker has been completely taken over by the Virus. And I hate to say this, I really do. But... I’ve posted orders for Sunstreaker to be shot on sight.”

Everyone either jumped, shouted or pounded the table in vehement protest. Hands up to quiet them, Magnus waited until they settled down. “I am not suggesting this lightly,” he added. “I am far too aware what Sunny’s death will mean to Sideswipe. But the fact of it stands: if the Virus can attack Sunstreaker, who else is next? We don’t even know the victim criteria; what attracted the Virus to Sunstreaker in the first place.”

Cyclonus spoke when no one else could: “Do you suppose it might attack Rusti also?”

Magnus and Jazz fell silent, unable to guess.

******

The Racing Beast’s security banged at the storage bay door. The ship-wide PA system blared into the bay, demanding Rusti surrender and return to sick bay. Unconcerned, the young lady took her time ‘shopping’ for the right hovercycle.
Four beautiful models stood before her, practically begging for attention.

BANG, BANG, BANG!

Security insisted she surrendered. Rusti snorted, half annoyed, half amused. Unless they blew the doors apart, neither Human might nor Autobot power would open the doors. The Racing Beast and the ship’s computer agreed to keep them closed.

Rusti chose the light blue cycle on the mid-right. Its compact design made her a more difficult target for would-be snipers. Its turbo-impact capability offered her extra speed when necessary. A perfect piece of equipment altogether. The speaker over the PA system, most presumably the communications officer, tried again to sweet talk Rusti into just opening the door and returning to sick bay.

Rusti found the cycle’s subspace pocket and produced a helmet and a pair of gloves. She missed her exosuit. “Not going back there,” she sang softly. It already occurred to her that once the bay docking ramp opened and lowered for her to escape, the Autobots and EDC officers would be waiting for her to end up in their ‘care’. Not going to happen. One does not grow up with Optimus and Rodimus without picking up a few pointers on the finer art of stealth.

“Beast?” she asked aloud. “Have you plotted the new course for me?”

COURSE SET AND DOWNLOADED INTO YOUR COMPUTER.

“Lovely. Let’s do this.”

Rather than riding for the bay ramp doors, Rusti drove the cycle right, heading for the wall. Partitions in the wall opened and she passed through and into a corridor prepared by the ship itself. Intermediately, the Racing Beast opened the bay doors, lowered the ramp and welcomed a party of security officers waiting for the girl. But she was not there to welcome them. EDC staff poured into the storage bay and rummaged through every compartment and vehicle.

On the Beast’s bridge, Physix paced, waiting for news. He stared at the messenger, astounded. “What do you mean she wasn’t in the storage bay?” he demanded. “We KNOW she was there!”

“We’ve searched everything, everywhere, Captain.” came the reply. “She simply isn’t here.”

Physix stared at the screen, baffled. With a soft groan he turned away. “Get me Ultra Magnus.”

******

“I cannot have you people here,” Magnus said to Wolfen Tagmar. “We’re in a situation and I do not have the patience or the time to deal with your problems.”

Arcee faced him, again with an emotionless face. “We are not here to be stuffed into a drawer,” Tagmar said through the femme.

Magnus turned cross. “Alright, the first thing I want you to do is release Arcee. Secondly I will appoint someone to... deal with you, to handle your case-or cause or whatever.”

“Not acceptable,” Arcee’s flattened voice returned.

Magnus drilled the psychics with his optics. “I don’t recall giving you a choice,” he growled. “I’m in the middle of a crisis. I don’t need your interference.”

Someone else called Magnus over his personal comline. He snarled at Tagmar and turned away. “Magnus,” he growled. Physix gave him the lowdown in ten seconds before the Major-general growled again. “Sorry, Physix, I simply don’t have time. You will have to deal with it on your own.”

“There will be far worse things to deal with, Magnus if we don’t bring her back,” the Racing Beast’s captain answered sternly. “She’s been tested positive with the sickness.”

Magnus narrowed his optics. His processor ached and finally he admitted to the exhaustion he denied for the past week. Why do all the smelting catastrophes happen on MY shift?

Blaster’s voice came over another channel, saving the former city commander from another comment. “Mags, you’re gonna wanna know this: they got Roddi... er, rather they spotted Roddi boarding the Vertical Horizon. Jes yakked at Mnemonic an’ he says the Rod-man is lookin’ fer Kup. But he might be headed this way, too.”

Magnus froze while his processor struggled to prioritize every emergency and situation in front of him. “Uhhh...”

Someone stepped through the doorway and Magnus immediately turned to object to dealing with another problem when his optics beheld Wheeljack. Although the Autobot did not look exactly like Wheeljack as he did over fifty years ago, there was no mistaking the confidence in his face.

The scientist held up a hand scanner and digipad. “Heard you could use a little help,” he declared, “I’m good now. Let’s get to work.”

*****

Rusti kept her speed under control as she first passed the Alveraz then the Spiral Star and approached the Armored Crest. Knowing Captain Physix alarmed the fleet with an APB, a BOLO and possibly an Amber Alert (since many Autobots failed to realize she was 21) Rusti felt it wise to blend rather than hitting escape velocity. She was not wrong. The Protectobots drove up one way then another and announced their hunt on the common broadcast.

“Can’t get away with anything,” she joked to herself. Just as Rusti approached the Crest’s boarding ramp, she spotted a familiar figure and stopped cold. Her heart shot into her throat and Rusti’s blood surged with horror.

Delphra stood on the boarding ramp, waving at her and smiling. Rusti’s blood dropped out her veins. She could not breathe nor turn her eyes from the last person she expected to encounter. To her horror, someone ran into the imaginary aunt and excused himself. Was she real? Had Delphra been among the refugees all this time? Didn’t Optimus say that Delphra was dead? How the hell-

“Rusti! Rusti Witwicky!”

She glanced about and spotted Dr. Zornoy’s head nurse, Supervisor Lori Dimarco, riding with Groove. Wearing the rigid face of a drill instructor, the woman slid off Groove and marched directly for Rusti. “Young lady,” she said sternly, “you have worried and upset everyone. Come with me this instant. You are under quarantine as declared by Dr. Zornoy.”

“You heard her, Resonna.” Rusti startled when Delphra appeared on her right. Even the nurse flinched in surprise. The cleanly dressed aunt dipped her head just enough to give her eyes an unnatural sheen.

Without pressing any controls, Rusti slowly backed the hovercycle. The women standing side by side blended the lines between reality and hallucination.

Delphra smiled cat-like. “You’d better do as you’re told, young lady.” her voice, smooth as glass, made Rusti recoil. “Your daddy won’t like it when I tell him he’s raised for himself a recalcitrant little snit.”

Dimarco looked to Rusti’s aunt. “There’s no need to be mean about it... Miss...”

Rusti trembled as she backed the cycle a little more. “She’s my aunt Delphra,” her voice trembled, “and she’s supposed to be dead.” The supervisor paled. Her eyes expanded with disbelief and looked to Rusti.

Delphra leaned forward, arms folded smartly over her breasts. “Not insubstantial,” she sneered. “Not yet.” Dimarco screamed as Delphra’s skin inked black like an alien plague.

Groove transformed, weapon aimed for the imposter. “Everyone scatter!” he called.

Rusti did not linger. She turned the hovercycle a hard right and zipped under the Armored Crest’s belly to freedom. Or rather, that was her plan.

No sooner did Rusti pass the Covenant than Delta’s vehicle form appeared on the cycle’s scanners. Rather than get angry over the femme’s reappearance, Rusti chose to test the Paratron’s driving skills. Had she been closer to the right frame of mind, the young woman would consider her private game a dance between fate and foolishness. But all that mattered to Rusti was the slow burn of her blood, the adrenaline poisoning her veins and the daring attempt to prove something. The communications building stood ten miles off the tarmac. People, vehicles and Autobots appeared and departed between she and her robo-broad pursuant. Rusti braided her way around the obstacle course with unrealistic ease. Rusti’s clothing, though made of cotton, rubbed her burning, feverish skin raw. Yet rather than succumb to the discomfort and pain, Rusti invited it. She encouraged the crappy physical sensation to intensify if only it served to drown the liquid heat running through her veins.

She rounded three Autobots and raced twenty miles their top speed. She drove under the Vertical Horizon then zig-zagged toward the Crested Moon.

Delta’s size prevented her from tailing her human target directly. But she pushed the pursuit so that her own recklessness endangered several bystanders. She left skid marks along the tarmac each time she slammed her breaks to avoid a collision. After attaining a clear path Delta fish-tailed to keep Rusti in her sights. She aimed carefully and shot the right-side secondary thruster.

Rusti startled when the hovercycle lost power and drifted right. She tried to steer but the craft moved on its own. She brought her left foot up as the cycle tipped left and slid along the ground, screeching like a tortured soul. It showered the ground with sparks and skidded far too fast toward the com center’s front wall. Rusti used all her strength to gather her legs under and jumped before the cycle crashed, denting the metal facing. Her body slipped several feet along the dirty ground before she moved again. Scratched and cut by rocks and other debris, Rusti forced herself to stand. She aimed a beeline for the communications main room but when the cycle exploded, she changed her mind and her path. Rusti ran for the other side of the building, hoping to find another entrance. There had to be another entrance.

As she approached the corner, Delta swerved behind her, smacked a support beam and backed up to straighten out. Revving her engine twice, the mad robo-broad realigned her destination.

Rusti ran though her lungs threatened to collapse. Her legs barely kept a decent speed. Her ears pounded with the sound of Delta’s roaring engine. Rusti turned the right-hand corner and abruptly stopped, shocked by the familiar shape coming in her direction.

“Optimus?” her voice, strained by exhaustion, surprise and a dry throat, squeaked hoarsely. Half a second later she bolted, running on nothing but ecstasy. He approached her on unsteady legs. Four steps later, Optimus dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward her. Rusti met him the rest of the way, slammed into him and embraced his right arm.

“Optimus!” she cried, “Optimus! Ohmigod! You’re here! You’re okay!” a warm wetness trailed down the lower half of her shirt and Rusti drew back. Her eyes shot wide as Transformer life blood soaked her clothes. She took in her love’s physical condition as Delta found them and transformed. Rusti ignored the femme who repeatedly called her name. Cracks zig-zagged all over Optimus’ exostructure. He bled, but from no visible wounds. His optics, though blue, faded far from normal. With an aching heart, Rusti laid her hands on him and peered into his pain-filled face.

Delta neared them but maintained a short distance. “Rusti, did you not hear or see me, Darling?” she shifted her focus and vocal tones: “Op-ti-mus! It’s wonderful to see you’re doing just fine.”

Rusti turned cross but kept her mouth shut. The stupid Paratron femme ruined the moment. “Optimus,” she said quietly. “Where’s Galvatron? Have you seen him?” Rather than answering, Optimus slumped to the left. He trembled but never took his optics off her. Unable to cry, Rusti’s lips trembled.

“My goodness,” Delta voiced with a mocking tone. “Here I almost thought we’d never see you again, Optimus Prime. Having a bad day?”

Rusti swung about and kept her back close to Optimus, as if to protect him. She did not like how Delta smiled at her.

The femme stepped closer then knelt on one knee. “Looks to me like dear Optimus needs a little medical attention. Come this way, Optimus, I’ll take you to the Dancing Siren.”

The fire in Rusti’s veins surged. “He’s going NOWHERE with you!” she snarled.

Delta regarded Optimus a second time. “I guess you’re right, Little Girl. He’s not going anywhere.” the Paratron brought up her other knee so that she squatted on her haunches. Delta uncharacteristically neared Rusti much like a primate invited by curiosity. “How about you and me leave him here to sleep it off and go out for a drive?”

“WHAT? Are you flipping CRAZY?”

Delta’s expression turned frosty. “Don’t call me crazy, you fleck of Human waste! I am a god compared to you.”

Rusti’s abhorrence turned to disbelief. “A GOD?! Unicron wasn’t a god, what’s that make you? I’ll admit, your EGO might be the size of a divine brain cell but that does not make you a god, Delta.”

Delta screamed at her and in the blink of an eye, the Paratron femme sprung backward, landed on her hands and transformed. She revved her engine, squealed her tires and rammed for Rusti. Swallowing her scream, Rusti sprinted left, hoping to distract the crazed robot from Optimus. Her plan worked a little too well. She raced behind the overhang support beams, forcing Delta to chase her.

“Rusti, Darling,” Delta sang, “you and I can go to the mall.” she almost smashed into a beam, yanked aside in time and drove around. She missed Rusti again, backed up and swung around the next pillar. “We can do some window shopping, maybe see a movie.” rather than chase Rusti round the next support structure, Delta waited three beats, revved her speed and shot around the fourth beam. Five feet further promised her a squished human but an obstruction dropped between her and the girl. Delta did not recognize Galvatron when he landed between them. She did not react before his fist slammed her bumper and grill at the right spot so that her back end jumped. The Paratron femme screamed in surprise and transformed.

“Galvatron!”

“A good reputation is better than great riches. Hello, Delta. How are the fish biting today?”

She shook her head, confused. “No, this isn’t right. You’re-you should be dead. Why aren’t you dead?” Delta watched Rusti emerge from Galvatron’s shadow. “Why won’t she die? WHY WON’T YOU DIE?” her voice dropped; fearful and bewildered. “Optimus is mine. Optimus is mine, you little tramp! I had him first.”

Rusti’s heart pounded. Her cheeks flushed with fever and her vision wavered. The world took on a surrealistic feel. She was there, but as if in a dream.

The dream turned to terror when Void’s dark form rained up between the metal panels and expanded its form behind Delta. Galvatron took pose, ready for an attack. The Virus rammed its head through Delta’s back. Its neck lengthened so that Void turned its oblong head to face her. Its jaws extended as she shrieked. In one bite, the femme lost her life. In two more, she lost her form.

*****

Magnus watched Rusti leave, grateful Cloudstreaker accompanied her. Although relieved, the Major-general inwardly winced with a twinge of guilt. Not only did time prioritized his responsibilities so that he could not deal with her drama, Magnus wouldn’t know what to do. Turning back to the group of psychics, he tried to determine-

A call from someone on board the Interrogator beeped on the I-10 frequency, indicating a personal matter. “This had better be good,” Magnus answered on his internal comline.

“It’s Latch, sir. Um, I’ve been assigned to the Dinobots and I was wondering if maybe I can switch with someone-Doublecross, perhaps-“

”What? Why are you asking me? What does your captain say?”

“Errrm... Spectrum... sort of insisted-“

”THEN WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING ME FOR?! I don’t micromanage, soldier! Do I make that clear? Now suck it up and do your job!” Magnus cut communications with a snarl. “How does Optimus deal with all this?”
Rysar Phayron’s familiar cackle bleeted from his corner. “Your predicament is engaging, Ultra Magnus.”

“Shut up.”

“You may be fine enough a leader, but you are no Prime.”

“I SAID, SHUT UP!”

But Rysar’s boredom goaded him into testing Magnus’ self control: “I am left wondering, Wolfen Tagmar, whether or not you are aware of this Decepticon defector’s ignorance regarding your involvement with his current leader.”

“Dammit, if I have to tell you to shut your faces, ONE MORE TIME-“

Arcee’s monotone voice interrupted Magnus’ next stream of four-letter words: ”Yelling at the Quintesson is a waste of energy and time.”

Magnus snapped around and glowered at Tagmar, “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS! Jazz, get someone to escort these people out of here!”

“We are as much affected and involved as you are, Ultra Magnus.” Tagmar’s expression beamed anger and determination. But Arcee’s vocalizer failed to convey the psychic’s emotional weight. “We will not be ignored nor will we be set aside like some keepsake. Everything you and your people do affects us one way or another. We deserve a say as to what is going on. I anticipate you will not underestimate me. Hear me out and comply with my wishes.”

For a split second Magnus wondered if Rusti would slap the psychic again if he asked. He tucked that thought into a dark corner and tugged on his professional attitude. “Are you finished? I have not had time to read Kup’s report regarding your arrival. I hope is was only a mistake. Either way, A: I don’t care. B: I don’t have time to care.”

“Getting off this rock is imperative,” Tagmar insisted.

”NO!” the Major-general growled. “I have two Primes missing and dying. There is a virus breakout killing humanoid females.”

“You do not understand,” Arcee’s unmoved, stoic features belied the desperation projected by her host. “There are things, creatures and other, on this asteroid that once awoken, cannot be contained.”

Magnus squatted before the irritating dominatrix. “We are not leaving until we have exhausted all options to destroy or contain the Virus. Until then, if you’re so desperate to leave, by all means, find your own way.” Her enraged glare gave the Major-general immense satisfaction; another customer successfully pissed off.

Wolfen Tagmar glanced at her small group of peers then tried to see Rysar Phayron-Zeta behind Ultra Magnus. She resumed her stiff pose and Arcee spoke again, “What of the Quintesson?”

“What about him?”

“Was he not the Virus’ initial creator? Something of such significant achievement most certainly has their signature on it.”

Her naive deduction brought a smile out of Magnus’ deep frown. “How about this: how about you help yourself to interrogating the prisoner and we will continue working on our more immediate problem?”

Tagmar stared at Magnus until another of the psychics, a male, spoke quietly into her ear. She gave him a sidelong glance then looked back at the mountainous Autobot. “Fair enough.”

The psychic and her companions approached the Quintesson prisoner and studied his appearance. In spite of missing two tentacles and damage to one eye, Rysar Phayron-Zeta remained indifferent to his circumstances. He did, nevertheless, approach the group and studied them with as much curiosity and contempt as they did him.

Rysar’s Face of Hate replaced his Face of Deceit before he spoke. “Your propensity to gloat is short-lived, Wolfen Tagmar.”

Tagmar’s stare hardened and when she spoke. All her venom, locked within for hundreds of years, poured forth in the Quintesson’s own language. “I told you I’d escape your clutches. You and Ortair Duth have finally lost everything.”

“Wrong. We attained the greatest achievements in Quintesson scientific history. You and your little friends made much of it possible. But think as you like, Tagmar. Soon you will all die with us. Unfortunate that you have no legacy, nothing to signify-or excuse-your existence.”

Wolfen held her arms out, her face squinted into a sneer. “You call this a legacy? You consider the agony and death of thousands and thousands of living creatures a legacy?” she paused, “there really is no end to your machinations, is there?”

Rysar scoffed. “There is little room for finger-pointing, Tagmar. We have all been acutely aware of the extension of your own crimes. You agreed to the destruction of Septachus and Aranath. Your talents have invited you down dark roads. And frankly, it came as no surprise when you voluntarily stripped Ambassador Lap R’Nata’s mind. You enjoyed it. Shall we discuss your magnificent leadership on Project: Prime? As much as you may loath us, you are no more innocent than the scientists with whom you worked.”

The head psychic stood wordless, breathless with shame. She swallowed hard, dropped her gaze one moment then faced Phayron-Zeta. “If there is any sapient decency in you, even a molecule, help us to escape the science station. We might even take you with us.”

She closed her eyes when he laughed. “We are the Continuum, Wolfen Tagmar. We owe allegiance to none. In the light of day, we negotiate business deals with galactic criminals then break contracts and leave them to wallow in the misery of their own destruction. In the night, we manipulate genetics and reinvent the meaning of the word ‘monster’. You are a worm, a tool, a thing that provides us with the means to an end. Not long from now you and your peers and the Autobots shall witness the greatest of our achievements. It was not the hydroponics lab. It was not even Incassance Chavae.” Rysar watched with pleasure as Tagmar shuddered at the name. Incassance Chavae was indeed one of the greatest achievements the Continuum ever made. True, it was an unexpected result, but a magnificent result no less. But the experiment that transphased a sapient creature with that of an entire reality held less importance to the continuum when compared to another of their finest works: The virus.

Wolfen refused to allow Rysar’s worrisome words to drag her down. “I like to think,” she said with a strong voice, “that there is great irony in the universe. I like to think that at some point one of your experiments will rise from your own hand and devour your face. Where would your pride leave you then? What of your legacy? Your epitaph might read: Here lies the great continuum. They pissed all over creation, spit in the face of God and died by their own tentacles.”

She stopped short. Her heart beat faster. The air changed as particles shifted from static to active. Glancing at her companions, Tagmar found they too felt something shift; a life force or a power not felt on the science station before.
Rysar Phayron-Zeta took delight in their alarmed reaction. “Do you feel that?” he asked. “You sense something unlike anything you’ve encountered before. Although the source of that sensation has encountered you before. I suggest you refrain from over-confidence regarding your psychic abilities, Wolfen Tagmar. You may find yourself on an even playing field with this one.”

The large bay doors slammed open. All optics and eyes shot to the exit as Rodimus Prime stood proudly, arms folded in front of his chest. A dark smile spread across his face. His optics, dark with infection, glinted eerily.

“Warning!” he rang, “the surgeon general has determined that Rodimus Prime is dangerous and may be hazardous to your health!”

Genuinely surprised, Magnus dragged his optics from Rodimus to Jazz and Ambient who currently channeled communications. Why didn’t their scanners pick up Rodimus’ presence? “Rodimus!” he exclaimed. “Where have you been? Where’s Galvatron?”

Rodimus mocked Magnus’ expression. “I don’t know, Mags! Why don’t you go look for him? For that matter...” Prime crossed the room and hopped up on one of the exam tables. “...why haven’t you been looking for me? Don’t you like me anymore?” He almost added something more when he spotted the small group of humanoid psychics then the imprisoned Quintesson. “Wait a minute! Why’s that thing still alive? And who’re the Lilliputians? What the hell’s going on?”

Rashly compelled to answer, Ambient bravely stepped forward. She distracted Rodimus and activated a scanner with sleight of hand. “We-we’re trying to find a way to cure you of the Virus... Rodimus.”

Magnus’ fuel lines about froze, “Ambient!”

“We’ve been waiting for you,” she said without skipping a beat. “And we’re hoping Optimus will come back soon, too.”

Rodimus glared at Ultra Magnus but answered the femme: “Optimus? Hah! You have me! What would you need him, for? Leave him be. He’s on um, vacation... for all I know.” Rodimus paused two seconds. “Now, who’s going to answer my questions?

Arcee emerged around Magnus’ right and Wolfen quickly and lightly stepped around her. “I am Wolfen Tagmar. I represent the Psychade.”

Rodimus narrowed his optics first at Arcee then at the bald, tattooed female humanoid. “Psychade? Is that a type of video game?”

Magnus wondered how long they had until Rodimus receded dangerously further into Viral influence. No doubt they spoke to a part of the Virus now; Void had the ability to mimic personality, but it could not disguise itself well enough to fool everyone. “They’re psychics, Rodimus,” he answered. “They were a part of-er-residents... errr...” he fumbled for a correct explanation.

Tagmar answered for him: “We are the survivors of a Quintesson project.”

“A Quintesson... psychic...?” Rodimus’ mentality scrambled for memories and by doing so, pushed some of his infected self further into the background. “What project? How long ago?”

“Time on Bare Anches is far, far... off from the rest of the galaxy. For us, it was more than a hundred years ago.”

“What was the subject? What was the project?”

Now the alien’s composure turned to uncertainty and her eyes darted one place to another. “It was a target. We were told to break the target.”

Rodimus leaned so far over he almost lost his seating. He stared not at Arcee, but at the small, figure standing so brazenly in front of the Autobot femme. “Who was the target?”

Instead of answering Rodimus, Tagmar and her companions cut their attention to the main entrance. Before anyone appeared, Phayron-Zeta smirked and twisted two tentacles together.
“My, my. We are now joined by the former leader of the Decepticons. Now everything is complete, cozy and congenial.”

Rodimus remained sitting and swung his legs while Ultra Magnus and two medical assistants rushed toward the entrance. Galvatron emerged into the light, carrying an unconscious Optimus in his arms. Magnus stretched outward to help.
“Don’t get pushy, Magnus,” Galvatron growled, “I can carry him just fine.”

Ultra Magnus watched with mild confusion as the Decepticon descended into the sunken area and laid Optimus on the flat opposite Rodimus. First Aid swept a thick thermal cover off the top of a nearby tray. He flapped it open and covered the Autobot leader.

Magnus finally found his voice. “Where have you been? How did you find him? How-”

“By looking for the wrong Prime.” Galvatron cast a sidelong glance at Rodimus who watched him with dark optics. The Decepticon leader nodded once at Roddi, attention now on Magnus. “When did he return?”

“Who? Oh, Rodimus?” Magnus bounced his lip components in a quick smile-frown. “Just-“

Rodimus raised his voice, “I am a new arrival, myself. Glad you made it topside, Galvatron. You have impressive navigational skills.”

The Decepticon stood ram-rod straight. He scanned the room without looking everywhere. He mentally categorized all current occupants, the equipment, exits and tools he might need as instant weapons. Concealing whatever fear or uncertainty in his optics with care, Galvatron kept his face neutral. “I do not know which Prime to whom I speak,” he said slowly and boldly. “I do not know whether I am speaking to the infected side of Rodimus Prime, or the one underneath.” Galvatron cast his optics on Magnus one second then back to Rodimus. “Perhaps it does not matter.”

****

You’re walking from dream to dream and keep moving because you know if you don’t you’ll vanish. Poof. A vapor trail spent with the summer wind. Dream walking is not a crime. Know why? Because reality is perception. And perception is relative.

Rusti batted her eyes. Acutely aware of her sterilized surroundings. She lay silent and still. Her body continued sleeping but her mind raced; disassociated and detached. Travis sat somewhere nearby, speaking nonsense. Or maybe it was that he spoke in a foreign language. Or maybe her head, filled with discomfort and veiled by an unnamed darkness, failed to fully register his words.

The air hung thick with the smell of distress. The environment pulsed with negative energy, with desperation and frantic movement. Voices, high, low and loud, demanded, begged and prayed. The spill of chemicals doused the area with sharp, poisonous scents. Machines bleeped, vibrated and screamed. People shouted back and forth.

“There’s too many things going on,” she muttered.

A figure dressed in white approached, sudden as the wind. A safety mask covered her nose and mouth. Latex gloves covered her hands and wrists. “Hey, Sweetie,” she wearily greeted, “we need to run some tests on you, all right?”

Rusti did not feel compelled to answer. They drugged me, she realized. Under the spell of sedatives, Rusti’s consciousness bordered on hallucination. The nurse lifted something from her pocket. It looked like a beetle and Rusti thought its legs moved sleepily. The nursed talked to it but kept eyes on her.

“The Witwicky girl is awake, but not responsive.”

It’s Rusti, she wanted to say. I’m Rusti. I married an Autobot. I love him, you know. My dad will be pissed. But it’s my life. And I love him. “I love him,” she murmured aloud.

The nurse lowered her beetle to search Rusti’s eyes. “What’s that, hon?”

“Married an Autobot.” something warm squeezed Rusti’s arm. She vaguely recalled how a ladybug took care of her once. Maybe the nurse herself was related to the ladybug. “Are you?” she asked, thinking she actually asked the question.

“No, Sweetie. I’m not married to an Autobot.”

That wasn’t the question. Was she a ditz for answering the wrong comment? Her grey eyes glared at the medical assistant.

“Listen, hon,” the nurse continued. “We have to do some tests on you; one of which will require a pap smear.”

“What’s that? I don’t have paps.” the nurse’s response faded to the background when Rusti’s awareness tuned into a shadow that flitted about the ceiling. It descended once then twice, regarding other patients with mild interest. Was it Void, perhaps? She squinted her blurry, dry eyes. “Are you Void?” she asked out loud-and not to the nurse.

“No, hon,” the lady responded. “Let me call someone else in here to help out. All right?”

Suspicious, Rusti lifted her head and narrowed her eyes. “In case you become the Virus?” the nurse gently pushed her head back down. “You can’t become the Virus,” Rusti objected, “You’re neither Autobot nor Prime.”

Trevor perked at the statement: “Are you?”

Rusti shot eyes at him. “Don’t talk to me,” she said. “People act funny and think I’m talking to myself or an invisible person.”

Trevor bounced his head toward the nurse. “Point taken.” Rusti rolled her eyes when she realized the nurse stared at her with confused trepidation. The nurse left and Trevor shook his head. “You’re not going to like what they’re going to do.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve seen the Quintessons do it to all their female test subjects.”

“They’re bastards,” Rusti grunted.

“They made Void. They made other things. They crossed lines and created abominations the likes of which even your Autobot Primes have not dreamed.”

The dark shape above them split in two and the two became three. Rusti ignored it for now. “I’m in a dream,” she returned. “My dreams are not comforting. I miss the sun and the rain.”

Trevor remained quiet a long moment. He moved away then came back. “I like you, Rusti. You’re pragmatic and mostly rational. I don’t want to see you die here. So many, many people have died here.”

Rusti struggled to sit up and managed to prop herself on elbows, but it took a little effort. “Am I going to die?”

“It’s possible,” Trevor replied cautiously. “You know more than anybody else as to what’s going on. You know a lot of people have died. You know, Rusti. You know.”

“Don’t say things like that to me. I don’t want to know.” An insect bit her arm. Wait, someone just pulled the needle of a syringe from her arm. Rusti’s body turned numb and dead once again. It made her sad and helpless. Tears rolled into her hair. The vague sensation of cold air drifted across her legs. Her knees bent up as if on their own.

“There’s six more samples we need, Ahvisan. Keep this girl down. Dr. Arcana says she has high tolerance for tranquilizers.

Rusti thought someone or something tried to split her apart from the bottom up. But the sensation came and left and another moment later, warmth returned to her legs. But she felt creepy, off-kilter. More than something wasn’t right. Closing her eyes, she allowed her consciousness to drift across the room, across the entirety of her surroundings; inside, outside, above and below. Her body released her as she lost all sensation, even that of breath.

Sometime much later, Rusti returned to life, dragging a migraine with her to consciousness. An overly cheerful voice brought her to the surface, though Rusti heard and saw everything as though she were underwater. She retried several times to keep from drooping back to sleep with ‘epic fail’ written across the blank slate of her mind.

The cheerful voice gently reprimanded her for the lack of self discipline. Rusti thought the voice’s owner should consider herself lucky that Rusti wasn’t in the same frame of mind as she was when she slapped the psychic in front of Ultra Magnus. That was such an awkward moment, even if she was mad as a caged krimzeek.

“Hi, Sweetie.” Rusti did not recognize the voice, but clearly, the female nurse seemed well acquainted with her. She could not so much as frown. Her eyes opened but drooped. “Rusti, hon, I need you to stay awake and answer a question of mine. Alright? Rusti? Come on, wake up.”

Rusti drowsily huffed. “Whaaaat?”

“I need you to tell me where you might have been on the science station.”

“Lost in space,” she wanted to be snippy, but her weariness betrayed her and slurred her words.

“We are lost in space,” the nurse quipped. “Where else?” she waited a beat and her voice turned firm. “Rusti, I know you want to sleep-“

The young lady managed a glare. “I want my body to stop burning. I want to know if Optimus is okay. I want to go home.”

The nurse got into her face, eye-to-eye. “You have to tell me where you might have been. Did you find a place that was unusual, maybe bizarre?“

Rusti sighed and rolled her eyes. “I’ve been everywhere... ma’am. Been in someone else’s head and the caf’teria... communications... science and med’cal ...freaking tarmac, racing for m’ life. Been kidnaped... crazed femme. Flown through a city. There’s this garden... someplace outta Wonderland. ‘S not like Optimus’ garden. Think I saw a dead Quint’sson. Gross.”

The nurse withdrew and nodded. “Okay. That’s all I needed to know.”

Rusti almost dropped back into deep sleep when something came to mind: “wait,” she called weakly, “there’s a room... ‘r a chamber. Filled with babies. Something’ like that. Something wrong.”

******

The medical and security staff gave Doctor Zornoy a good deal of flak. They refuted his decision to relocate their patients to the medical and science building’s second level. Frankly Zornoy had little to no choice. Either keep those ladies infected with the virus on board the Spiral Star and risk spreading death to the healthy, or move to a more isolated area. So far only thirty-five ladies shared the same symptoms. Zornoy’s sixth patient died an hour ago. All test results stared at him from the back wall of his newly-claimed office.

 
The metal doors slid open and Dr. Arcana stepped in. He joined the alien doctor at the bleak wall and handed Zornoy a steamy cup of coffee. Arcana gingerly sipped his brew. “They’ve brought the Witwicky girl back twenty minutes ago and sedated her. She’s resting at the moment.”

“Yes? Same symptoms?”

Arcana nodded. “And then some.”

“And then some?” Zornoy shot his eyes at his Headmaster colleague. “What do you mean ‘and then some’? Do we have new symptoms?”

“Well... they’re not like the norm we’ve seen.”

“Yes,” Zornoy returned his stare at the wall. “Yes, Miss Witwicky is... exceptional. Why though? What is she different for? Why is it she and three other ladies developed their symptoms later? I don’t know. I don’t know. The wall here, it says nothing. It says to me ‘all victims are thirteen and older’. It says ‘girls only, no males.”

“So it’s a gender-thing,” Arcana surmised. “So... do you think it has to do with reproduction?”

“Don’t know yet. All the nurses, I sent them to take tests. Little girls and big girls all tested right now.” Zornoy unfolded his arms and pointed to the photograph of a particularly nasty rash on one lady’s arm. “See this, Arcana? See all the little lumps here?”

“Yes. Looks like poison ivy blisters with dark spots on them. But we’re not on Earth, so I’d imagine-“

”Biomechanical DNA, Doctor,” Zornoy interrupted. He read Arcana’s astonished expression. “Yes. We ran it over and over and over and there is not a mistake. There are titanium-vanadium alloy molecules locked within the DNA structure. And can you tell me, Doctor Arcana, what life form utilizes and contains titanium?”

Arcana hesitated as the shock settled in his bones. “Transformers,” he said quietly. “Transformers are a titanium-based life form.”

A tentative knock at the doorframe attracted both doctors’ attention. A humanoid female with a pageboy haircut, wide eyes and timid disposition peered round the doorjamb. “Looking for Doctor Zornoy?”

“Eh? You coming to be Samiko?” Zornoy watched the psychic with the face of a doll as she nodded and slipped into the light. He did not greet her with a smile but palm-pointed his companion. “Good. This is Doctor Arcana. Doctor, Samiko is sent to help us put the pieces together.”

Samiko stepped further into the room. Her large eyes held the floor a moment before blinking at Arcana. “You do not trust me.” she said.

Arcana ignored Zornoy’s surprised stare. “I’m sorry,” he returned a moment later. “Where I come from all psychics were put to death because they often betrayed the underground to the Hive.”

“I see. I am sorry to hear that. I know nothing of your Hive. But I will try to earn your trust, Doctor Arcana. I and Ameria are-or rather were-surgeons. I specialize in the nervous system, the cardio-vascular and tactile senses. Ameria specializes in the endocrine, auditory, visual and all involuntary systems. On my world-“

”Doctor Zornoy?” The entire group turned to the doorway where a nurse held a digipad for Zornoy’s inspection. “We have the results.”

“Good, Beseveal. Call all the heads in. Everybody must be on the same page. Go. Go!” Samiko tilted her head in an unspoken question. Zornoy finished his coffee and led his cohorts out his office and into the brightly lit conference room. “Pap smears,” he announced. “From everybody. If they’re ladies only, we want to cover all the bases, yes?”

Fourteen minutes later all the department heads and their assistants, Perceptor and Quasar, joined Doctor Zornoy. Digipads lay on the conference table. All eyes focused on the chief medical officer. The air thickened with dreaded expectation.

Zornoy himself stole a moment, preparing for grim news. “Our patient Number Six died not long ago. Sweet girl. Very sad. Her little girl, only nine years asks when her mother is coming back. We tell her. Not good to lie, we told her.” he dropped his gaze, swallowed hard and fingered his digipad. With a deep breath, Zornoy laid eyes on Arcana. “Yes, we’re ready, uh, Doctor Arcana. Tell about the ladies. Do we have a smaller number of infected?”

Arcana gravely shook his head. “I’m sorry, Doctor Zornoy. The last count gave us fifty-one now infected.”

Zornoy stared as if fighting within. He frowned and nodded toward Eushiah, one of his own nurses. “You go and asked those girls where they’d been?”

Eushiah blinked several times. She activated her digipad and cleared her throat. “Between me and Ingleson, we asked all the girls on your list and none of them mentioned anything out of the ordinary. Then when I talked with the Witwicky girl... well, when she wasn’t hallucinating, she mentioned the hydroponics building. So we double-checked all the other women on the list and sure enough, we found similar incidents. Six women were assigned to gather samples from the vegetation. Four of them spent their off-duty days camping there and four others were...ah-caught fraternizing with their boyfriends. So, it’s apparent that whatever anomaly was in their blood samples must have come from the hydroponics building.”

The room fell briefly silent before Samiko spoke up. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what’s going on. What was in the blood samples?”

Quasar took her turn to answer: “we discovered that fourteen patients had the virus but their symptoms did not take hold until much later compared to other patients who developed symptoms twenty-four hours after contracting the disease.”

Perceptor: “unfortunately, we yet cannot determine the disease’s origin nor the transmitter. It has come to my attention that it is not spread upon physical contact.”

Arcana: “is it airborne?”

“Undetermined.”

Arcana’s face turned blank with thought. He scanned the room as the air hung tense with heavy concentration. “What about ovulation?” the Headmaster doctor became the center of attention. The horrific idea cast his peers into a spell of vehement denial.

However, Perceptor, ever the objective pragmatic, computed the idea into his digipad. He ran three scenarios before finding his conclusion. “Your suggestion, Doctor Arcana, however alarming, has found merit. We recently ran pap smears on all patients and every one of them has accountable signs of ovulation. I never considered the possibilities. This is most disturbing.”

Arcana tried to follow Perceptor’s frame of thinking. He tapped fingers on the table as his brain raced to fit clues together. “Do you think the virus itself is manipulating the patients into ovulation?”

Dr. Zornoy folded his arms and twisted his chair side to side. “Might it be that? Or possibly the virus activates the point of ovulation? If that is, yes, the dilemma, then why? And is it by design?”

Quasar set her pad on the floor beside her. “I think I’m confused. I don’t know much about organic biology. So, what state is the female body in when it ovulates? I mean, other than interreception.”

Eushiah shrugged. “Not entirely sure about Humans but Dendazi females tend to exhibit more energy and greater desire to socialize.”

Quasar felt a little out of her element. She understood mechanical-based life forms and the computations for engine drives. But why, by Primus, was she drafted into organic medical science? “What of the rashes?” she asked a moment later. “Didn’t you say they contained biomechanical DNA?”

“Yes,” Arcana answered for Zornoy. Uh, titanium-venadim-based molecules.”

“Well, then... wouldn’t the virus be more of a carrier, the DNA acting as a seed?”

Everyone froze, shocked by the thought. Doctor Zornoy jumped from his chair and bolted out the room. Samiko and Arcana dogged his footsteps as he raced for the lab. They arrived in time to watch Zornoy shove a pile of medical equipment and digipads off the central table. Everything clattered and clanked as he grabbed a plasma frequency microscope from a nearby shelf. From a small refrigerator, Zornoy pulled out a box of prepped biopsy samples.
With a glance at one another, Samiko and Arcana approached the anxious doctor. Samiko stood at the other side of the long metal table and tried to read Zornoy’s expression as he peered into the microscope.

“Doctor?” she said timidly. “What are you looking for? What do you think-“

”I am looking for a molecular-sized nightmare, Miss Samiko. I-yes! Arcana, there! Tell me I am hallucinating! Tell me it isn’t there!”

Doctor Arcana replaced Zornoy and peered into the eyepiece. At first all he accounted for were long strands and an egg-shaped blob. It wiggled and swayed in the tiny single-drop environment. Then Arcana saw what frightened Zornoy so deeply: the unmistakable structure of the Quintesson’s face of Deceit.

Arcana stumbled backward and fell into a nearby chair.

Samiko glanced from one doctor to the other. She did not need to see the horror contained in the sample. Both males, breathless and overwhelmed, stared inwardly at the memory-image branded in their minds. The psychic covered her mouth and failed to keep tears from her eyes. “Croix Isepency,” she whispered.

They looked at her as if she spoke blasphemous profanity.

*****


Rusti drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes she dreamed of her home at Fort Max. Other times nightmares fogged her mind with abstract images, things spoken out of order and distorted faces. Several hours and a small bowl of soup later, she struggled to sit up. A nurse came to her and propped up the bed.

Rusti weakly smiled at her. “Guessing I won’t be going to school today,” she said softly.

The nurse gently brushed runaway curls from the young woman’s face. “Hon, you won’t be going to work, either.”

Rusti nodded. “You know, I don’t care what they say. I did see my Aunt Delphra. She’s supposed to be dead back on Earth. But I know I saw her.”

“Well,” the nurse replied, “considering all the things we’ve been through in the last year or more, I don’t doubt it.” the nurse skipped a couple beats before drawing breath to speak again. “Rusti, what can you tell me about your visit in the hydroponics building?”

Rusti blinked slowly. Her skin burned in spite of the pain killer they gave her. She pushed her mind back and tried to determine if her walk through the hydroponics was a few days ago or several weeks. “Oh!” she lit up, “we were coming out of the dark with Optimus. Something was chasing us, I think. Galvatron had to carry Optimus. We stopped at this tree-“

The nurse tried to read into Rusti’s eyes as if drilling into her brain. “Can you remember anything odd or different about the plants, Rusti? Anything specific or bizarre; something that might have attracted your attention; something you might have touched or smelled?”

Rusti scowled. “I didn’t pay attention. Optimus needed medical assistance. All I cared about was getting him help.” she waded through events, pushed aside her bad experience with Delta, past Redial’s weird trial. Finally she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know I was there. I know it was pretty and a little weird. But I just don’t think I paid that much attention.”

The nurse heaved a sigh. “Listen, hon. This is extremely important. Would you be willing to discuss it with Samiko?”

“Who’s that?”

“She’s... uh... a psychic. She’s trying to help us find a cure for the disease.”

Rusti glared. “Not particularly,” she sneered. “The last psychic I met tried to drill a hole in my head.”

The nurse read her patient’s indignant expression. “Rusti, this is very, very important. We think you and a few others may have contacted something that might help us find a cure. We’re running out of time. You need to remember.”

Rusti’s blood surged with antagonism. Her eyes narrowed and something deep inside fed her a dialog not her own: “Time and time. No one has time. It is like unlife... intangible.”

“Stop.”
The voice rang from the left, soft and unwavering. Rusti dragged her attention to the voice’s owner. The person staring back looked like some oversized doll with jet black hair and large eyes. The not-a-real-doll sat at the edge of Rusti’s bed. “You are stronger than the Dark that seeks you, Rusti. Do not listen to its voice. It cares nothing for you.”

“What?” Confusion beset her and she clasped her teeth to keep from grinding.

“You cannot hear it yet,” Samiko answered, “But it whispers and searches for your inner secrets; those things you wish to forget, those things that need to remain buried.”

Rusti’s visual attention jumped from Samiko to a tall stranger that appeared behind the psychic. He resembled an animated character. He wore a grey suit with a tie, tousled hair and cast no shadow. He cleaned a pair of wire framed glasses and adjusted them twice.

“You see it, don’t you?” Samiko asked. She waited two beats: “Rusti? Rusti!”

“What?” the young lady batted her eyes as though waking from a daydream.

“Do not pay attention to whatever you’re seeing. It is here to seduce you.”

The tall stranger spread his lips in a subtle, predatory smile. But the next masculine voice that breached her ears did not come from the tall figure.

They’re all talking about the damned hydroponics. I think you’re the only one who knows about Ayia-Fortok’s corpse. You really should tell them about it, Rusti.”

Rusti redirected her eyes left as Samiko continued to talk, begging her to ignore the visions. Trevor sat on the bed six yards off and glanced from the nurse to the psychic. He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “They just won’t give you breathing space, will they?”

Samiko laid a hand on Rusti’s hand. Everything she did and said, everything the nurse did and said, failed to draw the young lady’s attention. She tilted her head, befuddled over Trevor’s complaint. “Why are you huffing about the hydroponics?” a set of small soft hands framed Rusti’s cheeks and turned her head.

“RUSTI!” Samiko shouted. “We’re trying to save you!”

Rusti pushed her hands away. Sudden anger empowered her glare. “I’m TALKING with the space station! Do you mind?”

 
Trevor cackled. “You always end up in some funny situations, girl.”

Her glare turned on him. “You didn’t answer my question. What’s so special about Ayia-Fortok’s body?”

Trevor rolled his eyes again. “I don’t think there is anything special about it. It’s just that you’re the only one who knows.” Trevor paused a moment, eyes lifted toward the ceiling. He slightly bounced his head in brief thought. “Well,” he amended, “there might be something important. But I’m not sure what, exactly.”

Rusti huffed and dropped the conversation.

Called away to attend another patient, the nurse departed, leaving Samiko to wait with her present assignment. A gentle scan told her the twenty-something girl was not insane nor was she communicating with the Virus. “Rusti?” she said softly, “what’s he saying?”

Rusti sent him a brief glower. “He’s going on about some corpse in the hydroponics building that I might have seen. But I don’t remember anything. ‘S just been too crazy lately.” she skipped a moment to direct her conversation with the space station’s personality. “Is there something you think I should know? Why was the nurse asking me about the hydroponics?”

“Because every one who visited had a delayed reaction to the virus.”

“Why?”

Trevor blinked. “I don’t know. I know the Quintessons immediately quarantined the lab, which is why it’s so overgrown. But they recorded nothing about the incident.”

Rusti sadly frowned at Samiko. “He doesn’t know. I’m guessing whatever records were kept, were locked.”

Samiko: “can’t he access them somehow? Or maybe tell us where they are so that we can try? People are dying and we’re running out of time.”

Rusti faced Trevor but gazed at the psychic out the corner of her eyes. “He’s the complex, Ma’am. His access and answers are limited to what the Quintessons openly discussed.“

”That’s right,” Trevor concurred. “I’m just a collection of buildings with walls and lights. Don’t mind my feelings any.”

“Nothing personal,” Rusti muttered. She lay back, weary of the Q & A session.

Samiko tried to tune into Rusti’s mind. But something blocked her. She tried again and again with the same strange, somewhat painful result. She dared to believe the mind shield was not from Rusti herself but from a power for which the psychic had no name. Gradually Rusti fell asleep. Samiko tugged the thin blankets over the girl’s shoulders and remained until Rusti woke again.

****

Ameria returned to medical and science following her failed interrogation with Rysar-Phayron. She descended into the dark spaces and deserted corridors of the multi-leveled building. Suppressing a shudder, the psychic tried not to think of the horrors committed in the name of science. The elevator opened for her and she stepped into a cavernous room wherein she could not even see the far back wall. Winding her way between patients and medial staff, Ameria found Doctor Zornoy.

“Doctor?”

“Eh? Yes?”

Ameria handed him a digipad and a small box filled with bags, beakers and vials. “The Quintesson prisoner refused to speak. He moaned about maltreatment and torture. Funny how he never offered the same kindness he now seeks to his deceased subjects.” she watched the doctor examine a sealed bag of yellow fluid. The psychic smiled ruefully. “So... I did the next best thing for you: I got you blood, tissue and fluid samples.”

The alien doctor smiled, very pleased. “You may keep your job for another week, Miss Ameria.” She departed and he turned to Perceptor whose optics fixated on a datatablet. “It might be feasible, if you think, that we’d find reaction from the samples to whatever is in the plants in the hydroponics?"

Perceptor made the doctor wait while his completed his present task. “If there is an antidote or a cure to be found, I fear it may be too late for everyone affected in this room. We have 207 samples named, categorized and stored in our databanks. That number alone will take too much time to test.” the Autobot scientist shook his head, his face crestfallen. “I fear we will lose everyone before we find a way to beat the virus. I’m sorry, Doctor Zornoy.”

Zornoy’s lips trembled, soured by reality. He stared at the Autobot as if expecting Perceptor to suddenly find the answer. He swallowed hard and looked right, where a young blonde; someone’s mother or wife, lay in barely suppressed pain. Valleys of red blotches painted her face and from those, tiny yellow bubbles surfaced. If she were his wife or mother, Zornoy would do anything, suffer any strain, any injury, any sleepless night, to save her. And he’d certainly expect the physician treating her to do the same. Dogged determination simmered from deep inside him. “NO,” he said sternly. “No, I will not accept that! We have nineteen ships-NINETEEN with people and computers and labs that can and WILL help! You get them on it, Perceptor! RIGHT NOW!”

****

Rusti roused to an ocean of voices rising and ebbing in pain then despair. Her face and arms burned in spite of the room’s lowered temperature. The same tall masculine figure stood at the foot of her bed, staring with silent patience. Yes, the self-same male who Samiko warned her of; eye glasses and light suit.

Rusti weakly wiped her dry eyes. “I was told not to talk to you.”

“I AM-“

She cut him off, ”I know who and what you are.”

“I AM DESOLATION. I AM THE DARK. WE ARE VOID AND DESOL-“

”Shut. Up,” she hissed. “I’m not dealing with this. They already think I’m crazy. Find a can of Raid and drink it.”

The male tilted his head slightly right. The non-reflective eye glasses gave Rusti chills. “YOU SAW. TWICE. I HUNTED YOU SAW.”

She blinked and forced her fevered head to conjure a comeback. But communication between brain and mouth didn’t happen. “Your logic is off,” she muttered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Virus uncharacteristically sat at the edge beside her. It peeled off the wire-frame glasses and gazed at her with flat blue eyes. “THE HUNT,” It insisted. “YOU SAW. YOU KNOW THE HUNT.”

Her mind swam through Void’s ambiguity. “Okay... Oh!” she brightened and forced herself part way up on shaky elbows. “You mean when you ate-when you devoured the Quintessons?” It nodded; blonde hair glinted in the cold light. “Why is that important to you? Why are you asking me?” she shook her head. “Why am I asking you why? You’re a Virus.”

“UNLIFE.”

“Unlife?” her brows wrinkled. “Are you... are you bragging because you killed a couple of Quintessons?” a space of silence slipped between them while Rusti pushed her fevered brain forward. “Wait,” she whispered, “You... you understand they’re dead?”

Dark’s alien personification nodded. “YOU CAME. YOU SAW. EXPLAIN.”

Rusti rolled her head. “Ohmigod. Not now. I’m feeling like crap and you’re making my brain hurt.”

“YOU SAW,” the Virus insisted. “YOU WATCHED. QUINTESSONS... UNLIFE. SSSS... SSSSS... NNNNN. SSSS... SSSS... UNLIFE LIKE THEM. ALL UNLIFE?”

Rusti ignored the weird hissing. “You made them unlife, you creepy thing! You ate them! What were you expecting?!”

“ALL BECOMES UNLIFE? THIS AND THAT AND THAT? GIRL AND VOID AND DARK? ALL GO TO UNLIFE?”

“YES, YOU STUPID THING!” Rusti’s raised voice alerted unwanted attention by the medical staff. She ignored their approach and concentrated wholly on the male only she could see. “Listen-look, everything has life... like a light. You know light? Do you know light?”

The cartoon male nodded. “WE SEE BY LIGHT. ALL SEE IN LIGHT.”

“Right. Good. Life is light. If I take power from the light, there is no more light. Do you know how to turn off light?”

It raised its blonde head, blue eyes now focused on the dim fixture above them. The crystal shattered and rained on Rusti’s bed in glowing dust. “LIGHT GONE.”

“That is life,” Rusti answered as a male nurse beelined for her with a syringe. “You turn off life. You take the power. There is no more light when you take it-“

A needle pierced her neck and Rusti clenched her teeth. “Dammit!” she spat. “I’m not finished yet! Listen to me, Void. Everything goes unalive, un-life. You will too.”

The Virus watched the nurses gather around Rusti and jab her twice more with needles. One nurse glanced around as if looking for the Virus. But she only found a shadow at the edge of the bed.

****

Quasar faced a daunting assignment: gather and decode plant life in hydroponics. Progress crawled one moment to the next. Neither she nor her assistants knew what to look for. Flowers, mosses, grasses, trees, shrubs and ferns all fell under scientific scrutiny.

Four hours into their work, Quasar contacted Doctor Arcana. “First off,” she declared, “this is not my forte. I am an engineering expert, not a gardener. Secondly, what exactly am I looking for?”

From his place in the situation room, Dr. Arcana stared at the large board spanning the room’s left wall. Charts, diagrams and timelines graphed the left side while scattered pieces of ideas occupied the middle.
He frowned, as frustrated as she. “We’re looking for anything that reacts to Quintesson physiology.”

Quasar stopped scanning the tree root in her hand. “Wait a second,” she called, “that could be anything. It could be plant or minerals or the animal life in here. Have you ANY idea how long that will take us?!”
Arcana groaned and leaned against the conference table, head in hand.

Quasar took a mental step back from the situation. “Can you get Dr. Zornoy on this channel?”

“Well-“

”Because we’re approaching this the wrong way.” Forced to wait while Arcana located Zornoy, Quasar took in the woods, the gardens and, yes, a few insects that made up the controlled ecological system in the oversized hydroponics laboratory. What made the others think their answers were here? Just because a few females developed the disease later than the rest, statistically meant nothing.

Dr. Zornoy’s voice filled the com line. “Yes, er... Quasar? Arcana is saying you have a say?”

The Autobot femme thought about how to convey her thoughts in a simple manner. “Doctor, you’re looking for a cure by matching it to the cause. Isn’t that right?”

“Aye... find the cause, make the cure. Yes.”

“But... “ she sighed. “You’re assuming the disease comes from the Quintessons themselves. Isn’t that right? Quintessons cannot procreate or replicate their own physiology. Isn’t that right? They’ve tried a number of times to create transorganic life forms and failed time after time. That being said-“

In the situation room, Dr. Arcana set a chair behind the alien physician before Zornoy dropped to the floor. “It’s a mutation,” he concluded. “They had to mutate their own specific DNA structure.”

Quasar watched a red turtle emerge from a small pond a few yards away. “Right,” she agreed. “And from there, they utilized a virus to carry the DNA just like a postal system.” she paused and approached the small pond. Frogs leapt into the water following the swishing of her footsteps along the grass. “Um, does anyone know exactly how many ponds are in here?”

*****

Rusti lay in a freshly made bed in which she lay like a flat slab of rock sinking into ocean sand. Temperature-controlled blankets lay over her bare, blotchy skin to reduce pain and fever. She stared at nothing as tears escaped the corners of her eyes. All her strength left long ago. Several yards away some girl or woman shrieked as if tortured. A second female erupted in the same nerve wrecking screams.

In spite of her weakened state, Rusti pushed herself up. Her trembling elbows threatened to give out. Across the isle and two rumpled beds away, the first woman sat straight and wiped and batted at her arms. Her swollen red face cracked and bled as skin stretched to accommodate her emotions.

“GET THEM OFF ME! GET THEM OFF ME!!”

Again the second female copied her almost word-for-word. She, however, dug nails into her arms and tried to pry her skin off. Nurses and other volunteers rushed to calm them down. Several rows away, a third female repeated the very same behavior.

A spark of light blinked across the great chamber and a gigantic ghostly image faded in. Chills pricked Rusti’s skin when the ‘ghost’ solidified into opaque colors. The visage of a single-faced Quintesson hovered several feet in the air. Some ladies stared with horrified silence. Others wept. One or two profusely cursed the holographic projection.

“Congratulations, subjects. You are the privileged few who survived the tests and now you will mother-in a new generation of our species. You will most likely die as the polyps are harvested. Be assured the Continuum thanks you for perpetuating our dying species.”

Rusti’s elbows gave out and she flopped to her pillow. Stunned by the announcement, she barely registered the cries and wails surging across the ward. Is that what was happening to her? The horror choked her so that Rusti could not breathe. She tried to deny the truth but pain and illness shoved reality in her face. When her lungs failed to retain the breathless moment any longer, Rusti dragged in air and released it in a scream.

**************

“Doctor Zornoy! Doctor Arcana!” a medical assistant flew out the chamber, down the short hall and rammed into the situation room. She burst through the door, distraught and out of breath. “Some of the patients are undergoing cardiac arrest! We just saw this holographic projection of a Quintesson and-“

Both senior doctors blew past her and bolted for the ward. Dr. Zornoy pointed to six nurses and volunteers as he read two charts and a digipad handed to him upon entering the room. “You, all of you, new samples. RIGHT NOW! Everybody gets new samples!” he spun about and almost ran into Arcana. “You,” Zornoy said sternly, “get them quiet! Quiet them all down. Not care how-milk and cookies, clowns or TV or enough tranquilizers to knock out a Dinobot!” his eyes dropped to the digipad the next second and glanced at an equation. “What is this?” he asked the person who handed him the reports. Zornoy gave the male nurse three seconds to answer.

“Results in from Perceptor. He found the hGC hormone present in the rash beds on all the victims-“

Zornoy shot the nurse a dirty look. “Patients, Mr. Paradoll. They are our patients. Do not lower them to the point of helplessness. Now, yes, continue.”

“The hGC hormone suppresses maternal immunity responses so the Q-virus-uh, that’s what he called it-can imbed itself into the host. The virus turns the body against itself and rewires the reproductive system so that all the cells-uh-the hormones and eggs-leave the uterine tissues and surface to the arms, legs and face.”

Zornoy dropped his jaw the same way his heart fell. He recovered ten seconds later. “Get the psychics here. You tell them I want psycho-physical analysis. I want them to scan a sample few of our patients.”

“Uh, yes, sir. What are we looking for?”

Zornoy zoomed in face-to-face with Paradoll. “They will know, Mr. Paradoll. Now you go aid Doctor Arcana!”

Samiko and Ameria attended the next worsening patients while doctors and nurses worked feverishly to save the two women whose hearts gave into fear and horror. Samiko sat beside Withly Russo, a thirty-something EDC officer and the only survivor of her family. Her heart pounded to the rhythm of the life monitor above her bed. Tears soaked her temples as she gripped the sheets with her fists.

“They hijacked my body,” she whimpered. “It’s like being raped without knowing it.” Withly gazed left and rested her dilated eyes on Samiko. “I’m going to die.”

The psychic laid a hand on Withly’s face now frosted with terror. “They are working as fast as they can,” Samiko assured her. “Doctor Zornoy is the finest physician I’ve ever met.”

Withly chucked mirthlessly. “He’s not going to make it in time. Not even sure if I want to continue to live, anyway. My children are dead. My husband is gone. Why do I need to s-stay?” she gulped and gripped the sheet more tightly.

 Samiko tried to keep her expression calm when little balloon-shaped blisters grew from the rashes along Withly’s right arm. Withly, however, kept her focus on the psychic. “I saw them, you know,” her voice and lips trembled. “The Inoux, I mean. I saw one. It-it walked on four legs. It had no face. What kind of enemy has no face?”

Samiko laid a hand on Withly’s chest. “Try to stay calm.” Explosions of agony rippled from Withly’s fevered body. The psychic covered the lady’s eyes as blisters along her right arm solidified into polyps.

The largest of them swayed back and forth in a lazy rhythm. Shapes pushed through the outer membrane. Samiko bit down on her free hand to keep from screaming. A face emerged and hissed at her. A set of tentacles followed and wriggled in slow motion. The Quintesson larva, the size of a quarter, stared at the psychic and flickered a tiny tongue.

Samiko’s horror turned to anger and she focused her kinetic abilities on the emerging polyp until it smoldered. With a tiny scream, the monster died and dropped off Withly’s arm.

Samiko, so focused on killing the thing, she did not hear Arcana approach. He gawked, choked and gasped. “How did-my god, did you just do that with your mind?”

The psychic rolled her head toward him, unabashed of her tears. “She’s gone, Doctor.”

Arcana’s heart hurt for Withly but no one could save her at that stage. “But you... you fried that thing. Can you do it again? I mean, can you help other patients?”

Samiko shook her head. “I can’t cure them-“

Arcana nodded vigorously. “But you can kill them as they surface.”

Downcast, Samiko swallowed some of her sadness. “Apparently so.”

Arcana gripped her slender shoulders. “But this can buy us TIME! Ask if your friends will come and help!” He rushed off. Samiko tugged the sheet over Withly’s face. Distantly she heard someone inform Dr. Zornoy that sixteen more women were headed for the ward, all of them exhibiting signs of the Q-virus.

*****

Rusti woke herself, talking in her sleep. The webs of painkillers numbed her legs and arms and left her thirsty. Noises and whispers surrounded her like the wings of many birds; almost imperceptible. Something akin to fat worms crawled under her skin. She hated it but had no strength with which to dig them out. Her heart beat strong but slow. Her blood moved sluggishly along her veins. I hate space, she thought bitterly. I had a home and a life. There was sunshine and rain. There was Autobot river and Sunday drives with Optimus... “oh, Optimus,” she mourned aloud. “Where are you? What is going on? I can’t hear you, Love.” she closed her eyes and wept. “I can’t hear you!” she sniffled. “It was just you and me and Roddi. There were no Quintessons, no Virus, nothing dead or disgus... ting.” she batted wet eyelashes as her mind exhumed a memory: a small blue-green pond. Tall coiled trees cluttered about a grassy hill. A dead, single-faced Quintesson hung from a tree.

Did I do that? She asked herself. No. No. But someone did. “It wasn’t me,” she muttered aloud.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” Rusti did not hear the medial assistant approach. The alien female, pale green of skin and a bony crest round her head, checked Rusti’s vitals, her chart and sent another round of painkillers into the IV.

“I didn’t kill the Quintesson.”

The female paused and blinked long eyelashes. Her movements, slow and graceful made Rusti think of some mystical character from an animated series. She smiled sympathetically. “I know you’re upset, hon. Hang in there. Stay with us. The doctors are working as fast as they are able.”

Rusti searched her attendant’s eyes, imploring for attention. “There’s a dead Q’ntesson in the... um... the...” she heaved a sigh, frustrated as her mind tilted at the edge of sleep. Rusti fought against it. “I saw a dead Quintesson in the hydroponics building when I was looking for Optimus and Roddi.” Her moment of clarity vanished as the painkillers claimed her and Rusti sank back into her medicinal-induced, surrealistic state.
 

*****

Quasar did her best to ignore the constant chatter barking across the comlines. She heard Perceptor’s name more than once and logged it as mere conversation. It wasn’t until she lifted her gaze from a patch of moss that she realized what everyone was clucking about. Perceptor stood before her and sheepishly grinned. He touched his right audio receptor and lifted his chin.

“Yes, I found her. Not to worry. We’ll start right away.”

Perceptor passed the latest news to Quasar as they picked their way through the dense, overgrown jungle. Quasar adjusted and readjusted her scanner until she picked up scant signs of Quintesson DNA.
“I think it’s been dead for quite a while, Perceptor,” she announced. “But then, time here is-“

”Insubstantial,” the Autobot scientist finished.

“Yes. But I don’t get it. Most of what we find here is so pristine, so clean. Why hasn’t it aged and fallen to pieces?”

“I do not know,” her companion slipped under a low tree branch and Quasar followed. “I have not had the immediate opportunity to research the phenomenon.” His sentence ended the moment she gasped. Perceptor joined her at the lip of a dell where they found a blue-green pond, a gathering of twisted trees and, just as they were told, the rotted corpse of a single-faced Quintesson. The two experts shut off their ol factories to endure the horrific stench. It spiked the air with an aroma so strong, the grass and brushes in a four-yard radius turned brown. With a glance at one another, the two Autobot scientists plunged into their work for the sake of many lives.

*****

Although the noise increased at a steady rate Rusti noticed little of it. Her mind either fell to the dark and numb of painkillers or she slept. Distantly she thought of Optimus and Rodimus. What was happening? Was Galvatron looking after them? Was he taking care of them? Optimus, she mourned inside. Will I even see you again? The thought choked her and tried as she did to control herself, she still wept.

Someone nearby erupted in a cacophony of distress. Screams wrought by panic invoked the power of fear among everyone else. Rusti only noted the flutter of movement. White colors and hasty actions ghosted before and around her. Shouts, commands and instructions blurred together in a thunder of dire necessity. Then a resounding SPLAT ended the surreal event. Droplets landed on Rusti’s face and shoulders. She smiled lightly. Even a little sprinkle of rain was better than nothing.

Dimarco’s face entered Rusti’s line of sight. She smiled at the young lady with trembling lips. A fine spray of red splashed the nurse’s right shoulder. “Are you alright, hon? Here, let’s get you cleaned off, okay?”

“‘s okay,” Rusti answered with a light voice, “I like the rain.” A cool damp cloth blotted the drops off Rusti’s face. The nurse kindly remained mindful of the painful rashes along her patient’s forehead and cheeks.

A bolt of pain shot through Rusti’s right arm; pain so intense even the meds failed to protect her. Rusti tensed, her back turned into a rod of steel as the invisible dagger ran poison up her arm, over her shoulder and around her neck. Rusti clenched her fists and gasped for breath. A second jolt of pain shot out her arm and Rusti released the same primal scream echoed through the room by those before her. Several medics appeared around her; weeds that weren’t there a moment ago. One person fixed a mask over her face and ordered her to breath. Someone else yanked the blanket off her legs and jabbed her with a needle. Tears blurred her vision as two sets of hands gripped her right arm and shouted incoherently. Another needle stabbed her left hip and Rusti wanted to kick the needle-happy person in the groin. She screamed behind the oxygen mask. Her whole body writhed with the onset of a fresh strike of pain, this time it pierced her left arm. The needle-person aimed his syringe again and Rusti kicked him in the face.

“We’re trying to help you!” a woman shouted. “Hold still!”

The strange tall man Rusti saw earlier returned and stood at the foot of her bed, watching with dispassionate eyes. Behind his glasses he observed the medical staff as they wrestled against her. Upon seeing him, however, Rusti’s whole form dropped as if all her strength vanished. She ignored them as they continued to shout at and over her. They shot her with the damn needle again. Rusti did not feel it; she felt nothing.

“Why are you here?” she asked the Virus through the oxygen mask.

Her attendants spoke, answering her question. But Rusti’s awareness shrank all the way down to the world between herself and the Virus. Mentally separated from her body, Rusti’s only concern stood three and a half feet in front of her.
“TO HUNT,” the blonde stranger answered. “WE LOOK AND SEE IT HERE. THE YOUNG AND UNCLEAN.”

“What do you know of cleanliness? Why is it important?”

The Virus’ humanoid appearance darkened and stretched until Void’s usual four-legged shape stood before Rusti. The young lady dropped her jaw, indignant when the Virus started to clean its right foot. “YOU STUPID THING!” she screamed. “What’s the MATTER with you? Why don’t you just EAT ME!?” So far mentally separated from what went on around her, she did not realize she still fought three nurses while little by little the tranquilizers pushed her to the edge of unconsciousness. She subconsciously uttered several low feral growls when the nurses strapped her to the cold bed rails.

Unperturbed by her verbal lashing, Void finished cleaning its long foreleg before answering her question. “YOU ARE NOT THE HUNT. THE HUNT INSIDE YOU CALLS. THE HUNT IS HERE; ALL THE INSIDES. CONFUSED.”

Rusti slammed her head into her pillow several times, frustrated and angry. When she realized what Void meant, she stopped and noticed Samiko sat beside her. The psychic laid a hand on Rusti’s sweating cheek while the young woman labored for breath. Her body, numb and exhausted, dragged her consciousness closer to the edge of a cliff from which Rusti did not think she’d return. “I get it,” she said to the psychic. “I understand what It said.”

“What is that, Rusti?”

“Void. It infected me. I think I’m contaminated like Optimus and Roddi. But... but I think the Virus wasn’t after me personally, but the... the things inside me. The...”

Samiko waited half a beat. “The Q-virus?” she suggested.

Rusti slowly nodded. “The Q-virus. Void... it’s trying to hunt them down but doesn’t know how. Doesn’t know how to cross... s-s-sspecies. Yet.” She paused a moment then added: “I’m going to die, aren’t I? Everyone else has so far.”
Samiko hesitated as if picking words. “We are trying everything possible, rushing as fast as we can to save you.”

Rusti did not hear the last three words. She slipped into the comfortable dark of slumber.

******

Dr. Zornoy insisted he zipped the body bags personally. Every single female that died, died on his time. The alien doctor wished them farewell in hopes they now resided in a better world. Thirteen deaths thus far. Thirteen out of the rising count of sixty-five.

Perceptor worked as fast as possible. Tray after tray of samples passed through his microscope while Quasar took notes on his findings. Five hours and still no answers. One call after another from Magnus detracted Perceptor from his thoughts until the scientist slammed his fist on the table. “Ultra Magnus,” he growled uncharacteristically, “if I do not do this, if I fail, Rusti Witwicky will die.”

Magnus fell quiet a long moment before he sighed heavily. “I understand, Perceptor. But...” he heard the scientist sigh impatiently. “But...” at a loss for words, the commander left the channel open but said nothing else.
Guilt over his harsh reaction forced Perceptor to think a moment. “Perhaps if I were to forward all my notes-“

”Yes!” Magnus did not mean to sound as eager as he did. “Yes, that would help.”

Perceptor returned his attention to the microscope. “Very well, Ultra Magnus. They will be forthcoming.” Satisfied with the answer, Magnus signed off without another word. Perceptor exchanged another slide. Still, one after another failed to answer the question as to what exactly killed the Quintesson. The Autobot sighed, irritated and weary. “This is not working,” he said to Quasar. Not one of these shows degradation, deterioration or decay in the tissues.” he hunched over, dispirited.

Quasar shook her head and turned her digipad on to review the photos taken of the corpse before its relocation. She zoomed in, panned left and right of the carcass, examined the tree by which they found it and still saw nothing out of place or significant. “Something killed that Quint,” she said to herself. “Was it animal, vegetable, microbe or viral?”

Perceptor frowned. “I don’t suppose it was visible to the unaided optic. Perhaps some one merely used magic or sprinkled it with pixy dust.”

Quasar glanced at him then back to her pad. “What was it exactly about Cratis that Optimus said Quintessons didn’t like?”

“Er...certain electromagnetic frequencies damages them somehow. Well, that accompanied by an airborne parasite...” Perceptor’s optics narrowed as an idea hit him. He linked the comline to Dr. Zornoy. “I think I know how the women are getting the virus, Doctor. It’s airborne. We’re all breathing it.”

Quasar lowered her digipad and waited for her companion to resume his work. “Uh, Perceptor, when we were scanning the area, we checked everything, didn’t we? I mean, we scanned the grass, the trees, the water... even the weird insects on the leaves and nothing matched.”

“That is correct, Quasar. Hand me another slide, please.”

She obliged and continued. “There were rocks there, right?”

“Presumably from the asteroid’s outdoor location, yes.” Perceptor positioned the slide under the lenses and adjusted the light source.

She gave him a moment to concentrate. “We didn’t look at the rocks... or under them.” She watched him sit straight and turn to her like a living toy, wordless and confounded. In three seconds the two Autobots scrambled around the lab. They gathered tools, scanners, flasks, extra recording equipment and cautionary gloves. Just before they exited the room, Quasar grabbed the ultraviolet flashlight.

“Whatever for?” Perceptor asked as he locked the toolbox.

“Some earth scorpions can’t be seen except by a black light.” she shrugged, shook her head, expecting her peer to get it. Rather than validating her idea, Perceptor left the room then the building while Quasar tailed after him in her feline form.

They raced the three and a half miles from the science and medical to the hydroponics where two teams of five Autobots and EDC staff compared notes and displayed plants and animals they discovered throughout the lab. Perceptor simply ignored them and passed in. Quasar, however, took a moment or two and scanned the new-found oddities.

One humanoid alien grinned as the Autobot femme scrutinized a two-foot caterpillar. “Isn’t that a beaut?” she asked proudly. “Found this sweet thing in a nest of them along the far back end.”

Quasar’s feline mode sniffed at the animal. Poison disguised as sweet oils peaked from five-inch spines along the black-and-red stripes. The caterpillar raised its head and beheld the femme with six eyes and a mouth filled with tiny razor-thin teeth. “Have you seen this insect’s adult version?”

“No. We have three of them, however. This one I’m going to cook.” the humanoid’s lips turned yellow-green with anticipation.

Needing no further information, Quasar politely nodded and tracked Perceptor into the giant building. As she passed a short grove of trees dripping with sap, Quasar entered the poison’s genetic composition and calculated it against Quintesson DNA. But the results disappointed her.

Dialing into Perceptor’s location, Quasar joined him at the pond. Someone removed the stinking corpse, but the area still suffered from the unique form of air pollution. Perceptor exhumed and examined three sizable stones nearby the corpse’s origin. He ran it through a number of tests, sliced off pieces and scan them under an electron spectrometer. But one rock after another turned up nothing.

Quasar searched the pond for more stones. One failure followed another and nine more followed those. At one point, both scientists raised their heads when the main com channels hissed with static and chattered with garbled communication. The noise faded after seven minutes and when they heard nothing more, they returned to work, sifting through another thirteen stones. They sat in their respective places, disappointed by their fruitless search, saddened by the gross failure. Quasar locked her optics on the motionless pond. All those women, all of Dr. Zornoy’s ‘ladies’ were doomed to die. Even if the cause of the Quintesson’s death were found, what good would it eventually do? Out the corner of her right optic, she watched Perceptor hang his head, either in thought or under the same heavy sadness. The femme frowned.

“You know,” she said at last, “I suppose we could just drag out the bottom of the pond, see if there’s anything there. I mean, they did find amphibians and small fish.”

But Perceptor shook his head. “We’re out of time, Quasar,” he murmured. “Whatever killed off the Quintesson most likely died long ago. I simply cannot fathom what else might be here. We’ve ran scan after scan along all life frequencies and all possible genetic combinations, both organic and bio-mechanical. What more could there be? We don’t even know if Quintesson science picked...”

As the Autobot mech rambled on, Quasar reached for her bag of equipment, preparing to pack. She started with the heaviest, most durable tools followed by scanners and digipads when her ultra violet flashlight tipped out the bag and rolled down the slope dangerously close to the waterside. With a light word or two, she chased after, swept it up and turned about. That was when she noticed a green pebble moved on its own. She crouched low and scanned the pebble. Nothing. But she swore she saw something.

She turned on the ultra violet light, not for the first time that day, and again saw nothing. She slowly stood and in so doing, the light grazed along something that cast no shadow. “Perceptor...” she barely spoke and turned the flashlight this way, that, working to recapture the object. “I think... I think I know why we haven’t found anything.”

Her colleague joined her a moment later and they watched as she twisted the light up, down, left and right. The object, however, showed up only when the light hit it from one angle.

“Oh!” Perceptor exclaimed. “You’ve got to be kidding! Well, I’ve never see something like this before!” He met Quasar’s inquisitive expression. “It’s only two-dimensional! No wonder we could not see it!”

“Huh?”

But only the Autobot scientist’s gleeful expression answered the femme’s confusion. He jumped for his equipment, tossed one thing after another from his box until he found just the right item: a polarity dampening controller. Perceptor raced to pull the contraption apart, reassembled it into a small box then waited until the right moment to spring his trap. “Gotchya!” he proclaimed. “Just look at it-well, never mind. Heh, can’t see it this way. But we have it, Quasar! A for-real hydrochloric ah-chromatic Gemini Radiolaria! Have you any idea what this means?!”

No, she wasn’t sure, so she took a guess: “we found the cure?”

****

Rusti woke to a disturbance on her bed. With a deep breath, she came to life and opened her eyes. Void, presently the size of a small cat, sat beside her, legs folded underneath. Its long squared tail lazily swayed up and down. Its tip occasionally hit the elongated end of its head.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, not considering the oddity of the moment. The Virus turned its head this way, that. Sunshine poured into the ward, now gone silent. But Rusti did not stop to realize there should be no sun at all.

“DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO BE UNALIVE. THEY SAY ‘DIE’. THEY WANT UNLIFE. BUT...”

“You’re saying you don’t want to die.”

“YES.”

“You were created by evil to destroy all things. That is why you must die.”

“GOOD. EVIL. EXPLAIN.”

Rusti shook her head and scowled. “There is no explaining it to you. You... you’re an animal. You’re a life form that does not utilize reason. All you know is what you’re designed to do. You murder sapient life forms but can’t understand why that’s wrong.”

“WHY THIS AND THAT REGARDED AS EVIL OR NOT EVIL?”

She mentally flopped back. “Ohmigod, you make my brain hurt. Go find a priest and ask him.”

“TIME AND TIME,” Void hissed, “NO ONE HAS TIME.”

Rusti’s brows wrinkled. Where did she hear that before? “I don’t care,” she finally moaned. “Go away.”

“SSSSTI... QUINTESSONS EVIL. DECEPTICONS EVIL. AUTOBOTS EVIL, NOT EVIL. SAME. NOT SAME. SAME. NOT SAME.”

She bore her eyes into It. “Sane, not sane,” she returned.

“SSSS... SSSS... SAME, SANE. SAME, SANE. NOT. NOT.”

She heaved breath from her lungs, exasperated and spent. “All right, look. If I attempt to explain it, will you promise to go away?” the Virus only stared at her like a cat. Rusti briefly thought it through before making her attempt to explain the ideals of good and evil. “Evil destroys. It destroys life and how people live and it scars so that nothing is like it should be. Evil takes away good. The Quintessons are evil. They destroyed my home. They murdered a friend of mine. They took everything that belonged to me. You destroy. That makes you evil.”

Void shook its triangular head. “YOU SAY MURDER. OPTIMUS SAYS KILLS, MURDERS, HUNT... INFORMATIONAL MISUNDERSTANDING. SIMPLIFY. SIMPLIFY!”

“I can’t!” Rusti answered sternly. “You have no soul. No matter how I explain it, you will never grasp the meaning. You can’t differentiate between murder and killing to survive or protect. Animals kill to survive. People kill to protect. Murderers kill for personal gain-or for the sake of entertainment.”

“PERSONAL. PROTECT. SURVIVE. WHY DIFFERENCES?”

She took another moment to think it through. Rusti sat up and smoothed the blanket over her lap. “Okay. People protect the people they love. Love is good. Love... does not destroy. Good does not destroy. Good gives. Evil takes.” she did not know how to simplify the concept further. Rusti fell silent and Void turned Its head to the right. Was it thinking? Was it distracted? She could not tell.

The quiet moment dragged until Void faced her again. “PROTECTION... GOOD. EVIL... MURDER... MAKE UNLIFE?”

Rusti batted her eyes. “Did you-did you understand what you just said? I mean, are you...” she shook her head, “copying me? Or do you really get it? Evil can’t live because evil makes unlife. Evil takes and makes unlife.”

Again the Virus held the room under a silent spell. “QUINTESSONS... DESTROY, MAKE UNLIFE. QUINTESSONS MAKE... MAKE THIS, MAKE VOID AND DARK AND DARK AND DESOLATE. WE MAKE UNLIFE. THIS EVIL... RUSTI I DO NOT WANT TO UNLIVE.”

Rusti gasped, shocked. The Virus used ‘I’ and spoke her name and directed the statement in a personal manner. Something about it all made her stomach flutter. “Why would you be afraid to die? You’re not a real life form; you’re not even an animal. You’re a... a walking concoction of DNA and... bio-mechanical programming.”

“LIFE, RUSTI. HOW TO FIND... GOOD? HOW TO FIND...” Void turned Its head left then right. “HOW CHANGES EVIL, HOW NOT BECOME UNALIVE. YOU LOOK? YOU FIND?”  The Virus’ right leg stretched forth, retracted back and stretched toward her again. “SURVIVAL... SURVIVAL FOR ME? GOOD TO SURVIVE?”

She never thought she’d see the Virus act in fear. Void’s behavior-in Its own terms-became desperate. In a sense, it saddened her. “I can’t save you,” she answered. “Death-unlife-comes to good and evil... I can’t save myself and I will become unlife. I can’t save the Matrix. You and me and the Matrix will all unlive. The Quintessons are murdering me. And you have damaged the Matrix.” her eyes dropped to the bed sheets, peppered with a flower print. “So, when I unlive, so will the Matrix.”

Void tugged its front legs out. The right leg tapped on the sheet much like a cat grasping with claws for attention. “YOU AND THIS AND... PRIME AND PRIME ALL GO UNALIVE? EVIL TAKES AND MAKES ALL UNALIVE?”

Rusti nodded. “Yes.”

“LIFE, RUSTI. NOT UNLIFE. NOT YOU. NOT THIS, NOT PRIME OR PRIME OR...” Void bowed Its head.

Rusti stared, bewildered and sad.

A kind but distant voice called the young lady from far away. At first Rusti did not want to answer. Was that pity rising someplace deep inside her? Why?

“Rustiii...”

The song of reality called her to rise from the tiny world she shared with Void. Rusti drew a deep breath, blinked her eyes open and found Samiko sitting beside her.

“I hope it is only the terrible fever that holds your mind captivated in a dream, Rusti. I hope you are not talking to the Virus.”

“It can’t be helped,” Rusti murmured. “It’s confused. Void is confused. It wants to live, or so It says. It’s afraid to die.”

Samiko did not respond immediately. She flattened wrinkles along Rusti’s bedding and smiled motherly. “Well, perhaps you should tell that evil thing that life must be given, not taken. Then tell it to go away and you get some sleep.”

A sudden burst of images and sensations struck across Rusti’s mind and she envisioned Optimus and Roddi lying on tables while everyone around them screamed in terror. Weakly she laid a hand over her heart and struggled to hold her grief at bay.

Samiko tilted her head so that her long silky hair fell over her shoulder in a graceful curtain. “What is it? Are you all right?”

Rusti covered her mouth when her emotional dam burst and tears ran into the rashes on her cheeks. “My family,” she squeaked. “They’re dying.”

The psychic twisted left to right and back, hoping to find a nurse or medical assistant nearby. Every one she spotted occupied themselves with a patient. “Well,” she said at last, “maybe we can locate them, find out where they are.”
A bolt of electricity shot through Rusti’s back and into her heart. She panted, out of breath and disoriented. Something was wrong with Rodimus. Screams haunted her in waves of red and sullen, burnt blue. She tried to relax, tried to block the empathy clouding her mind from the present. Another strike punctured her nerves like scorching razor blades. Tears streamed down her cheeks and soaked her neck. “What are they doing?” her voice rode on a wave of pain and exhaustion. “Tell them to stop! It’s Roddi! It’s Roddi!” She did not hear herself scream before unconsciousness took hold and yanked her into the dark.

Rusti blinked as a world devoid of structure or substance blossomed around her. A soft, sourceless light bathed the environment in gentle pastels. Slipping her hands into her jacket pockets, she turned to Pyrazhak That Chamonsyn, as if the Matrix’s humanoid representation been with her all along. “You know,” she said to the blue figure, “every time I come here, I feel as though I were trespassing on hallowed ground.”

“You are always welcomed here, as was your grandfather. But he did not understand.”

“Rodimus has lost his mind.”

“Yes.”

“They’re both dying.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t save them.” Rusti drew a shuddering breath. “And neither can you.” She avoided gazing at the supernatural creature before her. Rusti choked on pending tears. “I... I hope I will go with them. I do not want to be left alone.”

Chamronsyn sat on a stone not there a moment before. She lapped one leg over the other. “Is it not uncustomary for sapient life forms to wish for death? And if so, then why do you wish for it?”

Breath failed to come for her so Rusti swallowed. “Because the thought of being separated from someone I love hurts so much. No Optimus, no Roddi. No Roddi, no Optimus. And no Prime means...” it took her a moment to summon control of her emotions. “...The Autobots will die, too. Won’t they?”

Chamronsyn’s lips twitched as if to smile. “You stand on a precipice, Rusti Witwicky. You devote your life to someone you love. But do you know exactly what that means?”

A familiar tapping sent Rusti’s nerves on edge. She spun about and screamed when Void, now the size of a dog, approached. “WHAT IS THAT THING DOING HERE?!” she exclaimed. “KILL IT! KILL IT!”

But the Matrix unfolded her legs, leaned forward and extended her hand, reaching for the abomination as one would a stray cat.

“What are you doing?!” Rusti could not decide if she wanted to push Chamronsyn out of the way, or kick the Virus hard enough to grab her and run.

“Do not be afraid,” the Matrix answered calmly. “This one has split. Have you not?” the Virus approached and nuzzled into Chamronsyn’s hand.

Rusti paled, horrified and confused. “You mean... you mean the Virus has reproduced?”

“No.” Rusti turned away and shuddered, unable to watch her pet the nasty thing. Chamronsyn dropped to her knees and petted Void over and over. “All things must be given permission to exist. Even I do not have the authority to decide what lives and what does not. This has asked for ne’shemah, for a soul.”

“I know,” Rusti growled. “It told me It wants to live. And will you please stop petting It? It deserves to die. It’s a walking nightmare conjured by science and invoked by hate and vengeance.”

To Rusti’s surprise, Chamronsyn snapped to her feet. “Not this,” she defended. “Not all of it. Part of it understands. Part of it asks questions. Part of it has been touched by something greater than hate, greater than the petty desire for revenge.” she paused, her dark eyes stern and solid. “It watched and listened and experienced and learned, Rusti. The Virus has splintered. One part does not understand the other. One devours. One plays games. And one asks questions. Neither you nor I have the right or the power to judge. If this creature understands enough to ask for life, then life will be given it.” Chamronsyn paused a moment, allowing her words to linger in the air between them. She turned to the four-legged freak and pointed at it. “Listen close. Hear these words. It would be better for you and your kind after you to remain soulless. For when you die, you die. No judgement will reign over you. You will not be held responsible for your decisions. Animals are not responsible.”

Two seconds. Void tapped its left front leg twice before raising its head in Rusti’s direction. “GIRL KNOWS. NO FEATHER. NO WINGS. BABYBIRD. NOKTU. HEARD IT. GOOD? ...LOVE? THIS DOES NOT KNOW.” It approached Rusti then stopped when she withdrew in revulsion. “LIFE GIVES. LIFE... KNOWS. THIS WANTS TO KNOW. THIS WANTS... INTANGIBLE.”

Chamronsyn stared at the creature, studying it with apparent indecision. Then she announced the sentence: “You will always remain small. Split from your other selves, you will find pain and sadness. You will know loneliness and hunger. It is the way of things in this realm. You will know. Conversely, I will give you capacity for light, for beauty and affection. But love is something you must choose for yourself. That is freedom. To learn it, you must give.”

Rusti gasped for breath and woke to a start. She lay in the same stiff bed, in the same creepy ward. But the room stood quiet, edged with apprehension. Several beds lacked their occupants; presumably passed on to whatever eternity waited for them. Rusti’s skin crawled in a slow ripple. She tried not to think of the things growing on her; the magnitude of its horror beyond her courage to face. What was left when no one she loved and held dear could be with her? Lost in a valley of emotional solitude, Rusti realized she faced death. The ever-present surge and ebb of pain, though muted by mediation, heralded the pathway to her demise.

I’m so sorry, she thought sadly. I’m so sorry, Optimus. I’m guessing we’ll be parting far sooner than either of us hoped. Will I see you again? What if not? What if the last time she saw him and hugged him and heard his voice was indeed the last time? Just one more word, just one more whisper... she’d take anything he had to give if but only... Cut off from their link, all she felt from either Optimus or Rodimus welcomed her with an aching emptiness.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...

“We’re losing her! Get the...”

She closed her eyes as Void hopped on the bed beside her again. For some stupid reason she’d never admit to herself, Rusti reached out to pet the Virus. Or was it a virus anymore?
What did the Matrix say?

NO FEATHERS. NO WINGS. BABYBIRD. NOKTU. I GIVE...


***

The event proceeded like a silent dream in slow motion. Sideswipe pushed Doublecross out of his way. Neither Kup nor Smasher stood in his way as he raced outside, out to the cold, alien atmosphere, out to his brother. Crossy screamed her words, hoping the volume of her voice might penetrate the layers of denial in Sideswipe’s heart.

“It’s not him!” she tried to keep the sadness at bay; pleading with Sides’ more reasonable side. But the moment, wrapped in grief, sung to the tunes of a broken heart, muted Crossy’s warning.

Don’t go out there. Do not face it. Reality waits for you past the threshold and it will rip your soul to shreds. Don’t look.

Sideswipe knew only of his loss. One last moment to love. One final word of good-bye. He had to do it now or live forever in regret and self hatred. One last hug. One last...

He bounded out the Covenant, pushing Dogfight aside. Sideswipe leapt, transformed and raced. His brother, half robotic, half abomination, stumbled like a drunken spider. His arms and legs, now tapered limbs like the horror that possessed him, tapped along the tarmac. How did Sunstreaker, clearly all but dead, know to come to the Covenant? Sideswipe did not care. To the smelting pitt with logic or reasoning. Everything that meant anything to him staggered toward him. Then two yards, two yards shy of approaching, Sunstreaker collapsed and bled out.

That was okay, as far as Sideswipe was concerned. It was okay because he’d come the rest of the way. He was there for his brother, for the half that made him a whole person. Dropping to his knees in the puddle of fluids, Sideswipe enveloped the twisted, malformed robot/virus in his arms.

“I’m here!” he declared. “I’m here, Sunny! Stay with me! Sunny, you an’ me, huh? You an’ me, out on the road. Right? It’s always been you an’ me. That-that means you can’t go nowhere. You can’t just up and leave cuz I’m a part of this team. I’m one-half, Sunny. Right? So... so you gotta live. You gotta-“

”Sssssssssss....” Sunstreaker trembled and lifted his head, lifted his half-eaten visor toward Sideswipe. “Hey, Bro.”

No words strong enough. No comfort tender enough. No light bright enough to pick up the pieces of Sideswipe’s heart. He bowed his head and slowly rocked his brother, now since passed. Inconsolable, Sideswipe would not be moved for many, many hours.