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Single Vision

The battered Seeker soldier dropped heavily into the padded chair. He’d barely escaped that last skirmish with his afterburner intact. Flicking on the light, a flash of green caught his optics. Lying on the table was a pair of binoculars--very expensive binoculars, if he was any judge of value. Looking around, he checked to make sure that no one was coming into the room; satisfied, he reached for the device, ready to pocket it in subspace. If someone was careless enough to leave it out in the open, then by that same token, it was for taking.

As he lifted it, the device shook. To his horror, it unfolded, transformed, into a short femme. A Decepticon femme. Pulling a pistol from her side compartment, the femme lifted it to his head. “You have been judged and found lacking in Lord Megatron’s army.”

His last neural impulse wondered why he had not fought back. And then there was oblivion.


A small school of fish swam by the large view screen, their colors muted this far underwater. Megatron watched them pass with undisguised distaste; the Pit had a better atmosphere than this liquid grave. It was bad enough that they had crashed on this planet, but it was even worse that they were forced to hide beneath the waves while the Autobots remained on dry land. If it wasn’t for the rich resources, Megatron would have put more effort into leaving. For now, he waited; his time would come and there would be no more holing up in underwater bases.

A red panel lit up on his lower torso, indicating that someone was paging him. The cool grey Decepticon leader’s mouth plate drew down in a thin line. “What is it?” he rumbled, setting his hands on the sill.

“A message from Shockwave awaits you, Megatron,” Soundwave’s emotionless voice intoned over the commlink.

Suddenly, his mood seemed to lift. It wasn’t often that Megatron had the opportunity to check in with his most loyal soldier. More often than not, incidents with the Autobots kept him off the pulse of Cybertron. “Patch me in Soundwave.”

“It is a visual, mighty Megatron.”

A visual, eh? Must be something of importance for Shockwave to expend the energy needed to make visual transmissions. “I’ll be up in a click, Soundwave.” The suspense fueled Megatron, sending positive neurons to his cortex. Perhaps Shockwave, in his position as sentinel, had come up with a method of destroying the Autobots once and for all.

He strolled into the control room only to be greeted by Shockwave’s massive features on the main monitor. “Shockwave!” Megatron hailed pleasantly, perhaps the only Transformer he ever greeted in such a manner. “What news have you, my sentinel?”

Shockwave inclined his head--or what one could term his head. “Greetings, Lord Megaton, leader of Cybertron,” he intoned. “It is not I who have news for you, rather one of your loyal warriors.”

“Indeed. Who would that be?” Megatron leaded forward; there were five warriors whom he trusted, two were dead.

Shockwave’s facial light started to blink when he was halted in mid-transmission. The tip of a brown helm moved into position at the purple sentinel’s elbow. Megatron leaned forward, his thin lips pulling upwards in a satisfied smile. “Senneca.”

The camera moved out of focus as it widened its view. A split astrosecond later the monitor was now displaying a sleek femme, her arms held behind her back. A quirking smile split her white facial planes, the light of Shockwave’s control room bouncing off of her green visor. “My lord Megatron! It pleases me deeply to see you still functioning. I have continued the purge as you ordered. Only the best of your warriors remain on Cybertron.”

“Excellent, Senneca.”

Behind him, there was a snort of disdain. Megatron stood up; he needn’t turn around. That sound was as familiar as his own central processing. “Have you something to say, Starscream, or do you have a cluttered filter?”

Leaning up against the wall of the control room, the Seeker commander wore his usual air of arrogance. “All this energy wasted for that femme to tell you that she completed her mission? Surely she has something of more substance than that!”

Still facing the monitor, Megatron tightened his cannon arm, ready to turn and teach Starscream yet another lesson for his insolence. “At least Senneca completes her missions when I give them to her, Starscream! Unlike you, her track record is spotless!”

“She is no warrior!” Starscream retorted, striding over to the monitor. “She does not strike openly. Show me proof of her glories in combat, mighty Megatron, because from where I stand, she has none!”

One pulse from Megatron’s fusion cannon exploded at Starscream’s feet, making him jump against the wall and fall to the side. As he was scrabbling upright, Megatron’s large grey foot descended on his lower back, effectively pinning him to the ground. “If you were half the warrior that she is we would not be having this conversation, fool. Get out of my sight before I stomp you into tokens!” Lifting his foot, Megatron hauled back and landed a kick at Starscream’s midsection, sending the Seeker flying across the room. With a clang and a clank, Starscream hit the archway and fell straight down in a splay of mechanical parts. Anger burned in his circuitry. What new toy would Megatron pit him against? Who else would he have to vie for supremacy with this time? If it was not one new personal army member, it was some device that captured the Decepticon leader’s attention.

Groaning as he pulled a servo, Starscream got to his feet and teetered out the open doorway.

“Now, as that is over,” Megatron rumbled, turning back to the real business at hand. Starscream was getting to be a liability these days. If the Autobot’s birdbot could take him down, then what was the use of having him around? Megatron opened his mouth to address Senneca when the thought hit him. The birdbot.

“Senneca, I have a new mission for you.”

Across the galaxy, the brown femme tipped her head to the side, a strange light playing off of her green visor. “A new … mission, Lord?” The very thought of something new was intriguing. It was getting to be pretty boring around Cybertron these days, what with the purge nearing its end. There weren’t too many weak links for her to eliminate, not with the Autobots doing much of the work for her. “What sort of mission?”

Megatron pulled out a chair and sat before the screen, folding his fingers together and resting his chin on them. Behind Senneca, he could see Shockwave hovering, clearly unsettled at the attention that the femme was getting. Inwardly, Megatron smiled. Let there be bad mech fluid between his warriors; it only strengthened their resolve and will to fight harder for his favor. “I want you by my side on Earth, Senneca. The Autobots here have a femme warrior of their own that I wish for you to challenge and terminate.”

Shockwave shifted, his purple bulk pushing the brown femme out of the way. “Another warrior to Earth, Megatron? I cannot afford her loss.”

Leaning forward, Megatron’s blood red optics found Shockwave’s gleaming central light. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy in you, Shockwave? You are well protected; I have need of Senneca.”

What made Shockwave deadly was his lack of a face and a way of determining his inner cortex. The sentinel stood up stiffly. “No, mighty Megatron, only logic.”

“Good. Prepare the space bridge. I wish to brief Senneca in person.”

Shockwave inclined his head. “As you command.” There was a pause as he consulted the panel in front of the view screen. “The space bridge will be functional in ten thousand astroseconds.”

“Excellent. Journey well, my warrior. I shall see you at the other end.”

From Shockwave’s elbow, Senneca saluted, then turned around, one hand coming up to stifle the yawn that escaped her lips. Megatron’s brow plate creased, noting the gesture. Still easily bored, was Senneca. No matter, he thought, once her central processor was aroused, she was exceedingly deadly.


Bluestreak had his heels up on the console, a reader in one hand, when Teletraan-1 began its warning klaxon. Jolted into action, the young warrior fumbled for the controls, his heels scraping across the edge, reader now lying forgotten on the floor.

“Decepticon activity near space bridge,” the computer intoned, lights flashing up and down the long access panel.

Still fumbling, Bluestreak managed to spit out a command. “Visual!”

Up on the main screen, an image transmitted by the tiny satellite Sky Spy began to appear. Only Megatron was seen, none of his warriors flanking him--not even the ubiquitous Starscream. Gathering his wits, Bluestreak leaned over the controls, rapping out commands to the satellite. “ETA,” he demanded.

“Estimated time of arrival--”

Bluestreak looked up, his doors jerking upwards as he saw the blank screen. “Teletraan--report! Visual!”

“Visual untainable. Disruptor field initiated around perimeter.”

“Slag!”

“Bluestreak--what on Cybertron is going on? Why isn’t Teletraan displaying a visual?” Optimus’ large blue hand closed over the back of the warrior’s chair. More Autobots were jogging in from different directions, all grinding to a halt at the sight of the darkened screen.

In vain, Bluestreak punched in a new combination of commands. Still, nothing appeared on the screen. “Slaggin’ Megatron has a disruptor field initiated, Optimus,” he replied. “Teletraan managed to gauge his destination as the space bridge.”

Straightening, Optimus’ hand reached for his chin, slowly rubbing it back and forth in his ruminating manner. “The space bridge? There hasn’t been activity there in months. And you say there’s no hope of a visual?”

“We had one before Sky Spy hit the disruptor field. Only Megatron, no cronies.”

“That’s quite strange.” Looking around at the assembled Autobots, Optimus glanced briefly at the screen. “Tracks,” he began, gaining the attention of the blue Autobot standing closest to the inner door. “See if you can pry Solarflare out of Communications. We’re going to need her eyes.”

As Tracks complied, Optimus turned to the rest. “Wheeljack, is there any way of getting our visual back?”

Already bent over the control panel, the inventor shook his head, lights flashing as he started to speak. “None, Optimus. Old Megatron cut every channel that we use with Sky Spy. We’d have to disarm the disruptor in order to get it back.”

The door on the far side of the bridge slid open, admitting Tracks and a slight grey femme, Solarflare. “You called?”

Quickly, Optimus explained the situation; Solarflare nodded now and then, her grey titanium crest flicking back and forth as she listened. “And my channels won’t be blocked?”

Wheeljack spun about in the second chair. “There’s a chance, but perhaps you should have a guard go with you--just in case.”

“We want to know what’s going on. As long as you can come back and report that, whether or not your channels will be blocked is of no matter.” Optimus gestured at the twins. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, I want you to guard Solarflare.” As the two began to grin and Sunstreaker crack his digits, Prime cut them off. “There will be no engaging of combat, do you understand? This is for information gathering only.”

“Awr, but Prime--” Sunstreaker began.

“No,” Optimus cut in unequivocally. “If Megatron spots you, I want you to get yourselves out of there as quickly as possible. Understand?”

“Understood,” they chorused, shifting their feet, not quite pouting.

“Solarflare” At her name, the femme perked up once more. “Give them your unit. I want them to see what you do.”

Leaning over, she pressed a recessed panel in her left thigh. A thin door popped open and an equally slim comm unit ejected. Pulling it free, Solarflare passed it to Sideswipe, who turned it over in his massive hands. “You got anything else stored in there, Flare?” he asked, his mouth quirking in a lewd grin.

Shaking her head, Solarflare expelled a longsuffering sigh. “None that Mirage would like you to know about,” she replied, but she was smiling.

Sweeping an arm around her shoulder struts, Sunstreaker beamed down at her. No one could really understand why the twins had such affection for the avian warrior, but they did. Perhaps it was because instead of rolling her optic lenses and groaning, Solarflare laughed along with them and took the time to listen to their lurid and lewd stories. “Now, now, Flare. C’mon, between you and me--where do you keep the pole?”

Trying to contain her laughter, Solarflare pushed herself away from Sunstreaker and bounded out of the bridge, wings disengaging from her arms as she went. The brothers were quick in following, engines roaring at top speed as they exited.

Optimus shook his head in slight disapproval, but the humor wasn’t lost on him. They all needed it when the tension started getting too high. “Prowl, contact Powerglide, Hound and Mirage. Tell them to abandon their patrols and start circling the Decepticon base in case anything else unexpected comes.”


Leaving the twins a safe distance from the space bridge, Solarflare slipped from her grey-black-and-white Phoenix altmode into robot mode. The tree in which she perched was a good mile from the stellar transport, but her optics saw everything as clearly and as keenly as if she were standing on top of it.

“Engaging visual contact, boys. Tell me if you get anything.” Pressing a small nodule at the base of her throat, Solarflare extended a thin antenna from the left side of her head. She hoped that whatever device Megatron was using to disrupt Sky Spy didn’t have her frequency on its extensive list. It was a wonder, though, that communication wasn’t disabled as well.

“Visual confirmed, sweetheart. I can see cracks on Megs’ skidplate from here!”

“You probably put them there, Sunny,” Sideswipe jibed.

And Optimus sent them with her because they would protect her? she wondered with a shake of her head. It was easy to underestimate the twins when they acted like this. Digging her claws into the bark of the old denizen, she leaned forward, the ancient boughs concealing her from casual view. “Try transferring the line to Teletraan-1,” she suggested, increasing the zoom as Megatron paced back and forth in front of the space bridge’s entrance, clearly agitated. ETA: 10 astroseconds, read the glowing green panel.

“Slag! No can do, Flare. Can’t penetrate this fraggin shield. Looks like it’s just us and tinface.”

“Glorious,” she replied. “My channel to Teletraan isn’t working either. Seems there’s no way to communicate outside the dome.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” Sideswipe said, “then Megs is high and dry.”

Solarflare didn’t like the tone of the red warrior’s vocalizer. “You know what Optimus said, Sideswipe …”

“Ease back, Flare, I know. Don’t get your pinions in a twist.”

“You’re a fraggin denmother, you know, Flare?”

She had to chuckle. “I’m a bird, Sunny. I’ll sit on you later and see if something more palatable hatches.”

“Ooo… sit on me, eh?”

There wasn’t time for Solarflare to fling back a jab. The sky above the space bridge had suddenly darkened, clouds coalescing into a tight funnel. Blackness was everywhere; a split astrosecond later, bright bolts of blue and pink lightning arced across the sky. A funnel depended from the clouds, bringing with it a whirl of stray rock and rubble. The panels ringing the space bridge’s port flicked open, catching the massive column of energy that emerged.

As lightning crackled, the column dispersed, leaving the area as pristine as it had been moments before. Through Solarflare’s optics, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker saw the doors of the bridge receded and a figure step through.

“Isolate figure,” Solarflare commanded her internal computer sotto voce. A small red rectangle flicked across her vision, highlighting the mech. “Zoom.” While the scene below remained in her sight, the blowup panned across until it tacked itself up in the right hand corner of her oculars.

“Well, I’ll be dipped in acid, Megatron called up a pleasure-bot!” Sunstreaker exclaimed, startling Solarflare. She tipped forward slightly, releasing her talons to get a better grip on the bough. “Sorry, Flare,” he apologized as the image in the unit tipped along with her.

“I don’t think she’s a pleasure-bot. She looks too … serious … for something like that. I’ll run a scan.” Once back in her original position, Solarflare tapped the side of her head. “Run passive scan on isolated subject.”

… Subject: Senneca …
… Origin: Pit …
… Altmode: monocular …
… Function: spy …
… Main power source: lower torso …

“Impressive,” Sideswipe murmured, but he was not in awe of the femme’s credentials. The red mech was not the type to give leeway to the opposite gender. “Do you have enough, Solarflare?”

“No, not yet. I want to see where they’re headed.”

“Probably back to their base. You know that Optimus has some of us around there already.”

“Well, we can save some time if we track their direction,” she pointed out, releasing the information from her viewer. “Clear screen,” she ordered her internal computer. “Tight focus.”

Sideswipe sighed. “You’re the boss of this mission, Flare. We’re just your bodyguards.”

“Hey, you get to spend some quality time with the lone femme of the Ark. Buck up, Swipe,” Sunstreaker rebuffed gently.

As the twins yammered back and forth, Solarflare continued to keep her optics on Megatron and the Decepticon femme named Senneca. They were talking, but her aural sensors weren’t up to par with her vision. She could make out a few words, but she wasn’t an adept lip reader. She caught “Ark”, “femme” and “Optimus Prime” but that was about it. The femme saluted Megatron and then they suddenly took to the sky. “Track! Track!” she whispered. Lock-on initiated, scrolled across her vision.

“Duck and cover, boys, I told you they might go somewhere else!”

Bare astroseconds later, Megatron and Senneca zoomed overhead, the wind from their passing bending the tree she was perched in. Clinging to the trunk, praying that her coloration afforded some sort of camouflage, Solarflare continued to track their trajectory. She was wrong only in part: the two Decepticons flew south and then took a sharp turn, heading west, towards the Pacific Ocean.

Once they were out of her maximum range of four miles, Solarflare leapt down from the tree. The brothers roared up to her, engines gunning. “Get in the air, Solarflare. We’re off!” Sideswipe yelled, already turning in his impatience to get back and get into some action.

Torso torquing, head descending, arms pulling in and chestplate interlocking, avian head coming up from between her shoulder struts, Solarflare burst skyward, her massive black pinions beating the air.


Optimus slid the thin unit into Teletraan’s main bank and waited while the computer scanned the information. The screen flickered and the images that the unit had captured began to scroll. No sound came forth from the speakers, as Solarflare did not have such a connection. That was probably a good thing, as the Autobot leader might not have approved of the conversation.

Ironhide leaned forward as Solarflare zoomed in on Senneca, depending a button that caused the image to freeze on-screen. “A femme? A Decepticon femme?” he growled in his low drawl. “This is what Megadork was tryin’ t’keep us from seein’?”

“Something wrong with femmes, Ironhide?” Mirage asked the old warrior dryly. “I seem to recall that you hold the affections of one.”

The rust-colored mech turned around, ready to fire back a retort, when he saw that the spy was smiling. “Chromia ain’t no Decepticreep,” he said stiffly, swinging back towards the screen, not seeing the light jab Solarflare gave her bondmate.

“Enough, Ironhide. Continue the recording,” Prime ordered, leaning back in his chair. “I have never heard of this one. Have any of you ever witnessed the existence of female Decepticons?”

Heads shook all around.

“I find it incredibly ironic for Megatron to employ the services of the feminine type,” Perceptor noted, optics flicking over the screen. “Every minutiae of his composition belays such a strategy.”

“It seems we have underestimated our foe,” Optimus said, tapping a digit on the arm of his chair. “This was not foreseeable.” He shifted to look at Mirage, Hound, and Powerglide. “And you say they did nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Absolutely nothing, Prime,” Hound replied. “We saw them coming and they went straight into their hideaway. No time lost between visual contact and Solarflare’s warning.”

“I circled for an hour to make sure that it really was just them,” Powerglide continued, “but no one else entered or left. This is just too quiet of an operation.”

“Agreed,” Prime murmured, watching as the last of the observation ran on Teletraan’s main screen.

Sunstreaker pounded his fists together. “Well, shouldn’t we take action and get them before they do anything to us with this little brown twat?”

Optimus didn’t even bother looking at the yellow half of the twins. “Negative, Sunstreaker. We have absolutely no information on her other than what Solarflare was able to passively scan. You know the consequences of leaping into battle without throwing caution to the wind.”

Managing an affronted mien, Sunstreaker shrugged. “Ratchet patched me up good.”

“Yeah, well, maybe this time Ratchet will patch you up with better logic circuits,” the chief medic grumbled.

“Enough.” Optimus Prime stood up, ejecting the unit and handing it back to Solarflare. “My orders are that we wait and see what Megatron has planned. In the interim, I suggest you prepare yourself for the possibilities that might befall us in the light of this recent acquisition.”

***

Two weeks passed without an major Decepticon activity; no one seemed worried, as such lulls had occurred before. The war was far from over.

Around noontime on the end of the second week, the outer cameras picked up a lone flyer. The entire Ark emptied to see the mysterious femme as she landed--all but Solarflare, who was still attached to her Comm console, and Mirage, who stayed by her side. His bondmate was notorious for getting immersed in her work--so deeply that she had to be roused by physically shaking her, as all her senses were focused on the task at hand.

Senneca touched down lightly, the jets in the bottom of her lens feet barely puffing up the rocky debris of the mountainous landscape. She cast a judicious visored optic over the assembled Autobots, hands hooked behind her back.

“Wonder what she keeps in that big compartment of hers?” Sunstreaker murmured to Smokescreen.

“My name is Senneca, Lord Megatron’s chief operative. You must be Optimus Prime.” Inclining her head, Senneca looked at Prime.

Finger poised on the trigger of his laser cannon, Optimus remained where he was. “That I am. Tell me, Senneca of the Decepticons, what business have you here with us? Your master Megatron seems not to value you highly if he sends you alone.”

Light flashed across the femme’s green visor. “He values me well enough, Optimus Prime, else he would not have sent for me.” She leaned forward, seeming to peer amongst them. “You are missing one of your crew.”

“Many of us have perished in battle.”

“Ah, no.” Senneca took a step forward, only to be met with the hum of twenty or more cannons, rifles and hand-weaponry powering up, sights locked on her. Not once breaking her calm exterior, the brown and green femme shifted her foot back to where it had been. “No, I seek one who is not here. The femme Solarflare.”

A grumbling went up among the gathered Autobots. “BLAM! WHAM! Why should we KAZOW tell you?” Warpath shot back.

Protective lot, Senneca thought with a smile. Megatron would be pleased to hear this interesting microbit of information. “I have words for her. Bring her out.”

“Oh, I don’t think so, miss,” Prowl replied, leveling his sidearm. “You tell us what you want and we’ll see that Flare gets the message. She’s far too busy right now for the likes of you.”

On a nickname basis, it seems, she deduced. Such familiarity is indicative of weakness. “I can happily wait. Sooner or later, she shall come out.” With that, she turned around and perched herself on a large boulder, legs crossed, hands behind her head.

Keeping an optic on the femme, Ironhide turned to Optimus. “What does she think us for, Prime? Fools? That we’ll just throw Flare to her and let her do what she wants?”

“Is this why she was brought here? To challenge Solarflare?” Hound asked. “It doesn’t sound like Megatron’s style.”

“Exactly,” Cosmos agreed. “What would terminating Solarflare bring about?”

Optimus closed his auditory circuits to the rest of their conversation; instead, he looked over at Senneca, who was now lying against the rock, twiddling her thumbs. Were his optics playing games with him, or did this seemingly deadly operative look … bored?

“So, what do we do now, Prime?” Bumblebee queried, tapping him on the leg. Optimus glanced down, and then back over at Senneca, who seemed to be sliding further and further down the rock.

“Bring her out. I won’t have this femme lounging for vons outside the Ark.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Prowl exclaimed, unflappable, stalwart Prowl. “You’re going to throw her to this assassin?”

Laying a hand on Prowl’s shoulder, Optimus shook his head. “We have no choice but to let her see Solarflare. Once she has, then we can work on getting her to leave.”

“I say a quick high-powered shot to the head will solve all our problems,” Sideswipe rumbled.

“Stand down, all of you,” their leader ordered, waving his arm around. “Cliffjumper, go and retrieve Mirage and Solarflare. Make sure you tell Mirage that under no circumstances is he to do anything to our … guest.”

The small red Minibot nodded. “As if he’d listen …” And darted off.

Moments later a grimfaced Mirage and a curious, if disoriented, Solarflare emerged from the Ark’s entrance. With a telling look at the spy, Optimus took Solarflare by the arm and led her to the front of the wall of Autobots. Rising at the increase in sound, Senneca lifted her hand and wiped a thin line of lubricant that had dribbled down the side of her mouth.

“You are Solarflare.”

Looking back at her line of comrades, Solarflare inclined her head, titanium crest slick against her cranium. “Apparently I am, since you knew me on sight and asked for me by name.”

Senneca’s upper lip curled slightly at the sarcasm. She wasn’t used to this type of combat--all that she did was in secret and enacted as quickly as possible. None of this talking at length to the victim; so Megatron had ordered, so she carried out. “I hereby challenge you to a duel, Solarflare of the Autobots.”

Her crest rising ever-so-slightly, Solarflare tapped her talons on her thigh. “Is that so? Well, I’m sorry to say that you came all the way here for nothing. I do not accept your challenge. Good day.” With an indolent wave, she turned on her heel and placed her back to the Decepticon femme.

“Wait!” Senneca called out, clearly not prepared for such an unorthodox decision. “By Cybertronian law, you cannot refuse!”

Pausing, the grey-black-and-white femme looked over her shoulder. “The last time I looked, I wasn’t a citizen of Cybertron, and last I knew, the law bound only leaders to a challenge. My refusal stands. Now go home, I have work to do.”

The wall of Autobots slowly began to dissolve into chuckles and sniggers and crude jokes made at Senneca’s expense. Who knew that little, joyful Solarflare could possess such a wicked wit? She must have been taking notes from the twins, they hazarded; the twins remained oblique about it.

Finally, Senneca found her vocalizer. She had been at a loss for words; not a citizen of Cybertron? Had Lord Megatron left something out of her briefing? No, he couldn’t have--her Lord was far too thorough to do that. “Have you no honor?”

Solarflare turned to face the other female. “My honor has nothing to do with this,” she said. “You want to challenge me, I refuse. Self-preservation. I suggest you give up on this quest, I won’t fight you.”

“Then--you are a coward!”

Shrugging, the avian femme let her back face Senneca once more. “So be it. I have nothing to prove to you.”

Her anger rising at being snubbed, Senneca lifted her hand and pointed it at Solarflare’s unprotected back. “You will not turn from me!” All she got in reply was a wave from Solarflare as she stepped into the ranks of her comrades. As they closed around her, moving into the Ark, Optimus remained behind.

“If you wish to meet Solarflare one on one, I suggest you do so the next time our factions engage in battle. Be gone from here unless you wish to be shipped back to base in pieces.” And then he too was gone.

Simply seething, Sennca turned and took to the air, wondering how she would explain this first failure to her Lord Megatron. From what she knew, he would not be lenient with her--not even if she was one of his most trusted warriors. His wrath knew no boundaries.


Starscream was laughing, laughing very hard. He took such amusement from Senneca’s failure that he had to sit down and recalibrate his ventilators. “Such a mighty warrior you have here, Megatron! She couldn’t even engage in battle with the birdbot! Got sent packing!”

Megatron leaned back in his chair, the digits of his cannon arm tapping in short rhythm. To his left, Senneca stood dejectedly, unsure of her fate even now. “Tell me again what you observed.”

“The mechs displayed a strange emotional response when I challenged Solarflare; it seems to me that they hold affection for her.”

“Interesting. Every one of them?”

She nodded. “They became extremely belligerent and defensive, forming a line before the entrance to their base, blocking me from entering if I had chosen to.” Where was this going? she thought to herself. Hadn’t she failed? Where was her punishment?

Megatron smiled that thin, deadly smile of his. “Excellent. You did well Senneca. The Autobots keep Solarflare locked up as if she were a large cache of Energon. It seems that she is far too valuable for them to let onto the battlefield.”

Stammering, Senneca could hardly believe her audios. “But I failed, my Lord.”

“Bah, you did nothing of the sort.” Megatron waved the other arm around. “I suspected that might happen.” Sitting up, he dug his digits into the arms of the chair. “But you will not fail the next mission I have for you.”

“Never, my Lord.”

“Good. I want you to infiltrate the Ark and eliminate Solarflare. Skywarp will transport you at dawn tomorrow. In this you will not come back a failure, understand, Senneca?”

“I understand, my Lord,” she replied quietly, keeping her visor from his face. When Megatron said nothing more, she took it as a dismissal and exited the room. A moment later, so did he.

On the opposite end, Starscream had stopped laughing; a look of pure, unadulterated hatred burned into his facial planes. What he had anticipated--a massive demonstration of Megatron’s dislike of failure--had turned into a slap on the wrist and the opportunity at a second chance! The hatred rolled deep and strong within his fluid compressor, boiling out into his neck pumps and behind his optics.

“Heh, Screamer looks like he’s going to blow a gasket,” Thundercracker chuckled.

“Maybe candy will come out of his head when it falls off,” Skywarp rejoined, sniggering.

“Oh, those like those little holders with different heads on them? Whadda they call them? Pez-dispensers!”

“SHUT UP YOU TWO!” Starscream howled, leaping up and brandishing his arm gums at the other Seekers. “You don’t get it, do you? She’s getting off free and clear! If it’d been any one of us, we’d be sitting in the bay with Scrapper trying to glue our servos back together from scratch!”

Skywarp shrugged. “Don’t get your tubes in a twist, Screamer. Thought you’d be used to getting run over by now.”

“Heh,” Thundercracker said, “I just thought of something. Poor Starscream’s gotten screwed by two femmes and he’s got nothing to show for it but a red skidplate!”

Rage pushed past the boiling point, Starscream howled and jumped the two.


Exactly at dawn, Skywarp appeared above the mountainous trail that led towards the Ark. In his cockpit sat Senneca in monocular form. An odd glow surrounded her altmode; from the outside, it seemed as if there was just a commercial jet flying overhead and not the distinctive purple and black of Skywarp.

“Ready to drop, Senneca. Happy landing.”

No reply was given.

Skywarp’s hatch popped open and the monocular was ejected, falling several thousand feet.


Spike Witwicky paused, unsure of what exactly was lying on the outcropping. He scrambled up the side of the small ledge and crawled on his belly to reach the object. Pulling it close, he held it up to the morning light. “Huh, seems to be some sort of military object. I think I’ll take this to Wheeljack; maybe he can find some use for it.”


The inventor was in his lab, tinkering with some strange electrical device. It wasn’t unusual--Wheeljack always had something going on.

“Hello, Spike,” he greeted, sidelights flashing as he spoke. “Got something there for me?”

Clambering on top of one of the stools Wheeljack left around the lab for human access, Spike held up the small device. “I found this outside. It looks like one of our military binoculars.”

Leaning forward, Wheeljack suddenly grabbed the device. “No, Spike!” But it was too late--Senneca transformed, expanding her form out of subspace. She landed a vicious kick to the side of Wheeljack’s head, firing off a shot from her sidearm that struck the inventor in the shoulder. Leaping over his fallen form, she bounded for the door, Spike hard on her heels.

The brown and green femme charged down the hallways to the pounding beat of the alert claxon. Autobots popped out of doorways, weaponless in the confusion. She shot them all--glancing blows that blew holes in their shoulder armor or upper torso. Signs on the wall guided her towards the communication alcove and her intended victim.

Suddenly, a medium-sized blue and white mech appeared out of nowhere, his hunting rifle leveled at her head. “Oh, no you don’t!”

With a fluidity that seemed impossible for her design, Senneca dropped to her left and kicked his legs out from under him, sending Mirage to the floor. She dropped a small bomb behind her as she ran, unconcerned with whether he got up and followed--if he functioned at all after that. The muffled explosion shook the area and the claxon blared louder as she drew to a close. Skidding into the small room, she saw that Solarflare was still deep in her work, blithely unaware of what was going on around her.

Senneca took that moment to shut the door and set up two force field charges. Activating them, the room suddenly glowed with a liquidness that shimmered in the overhead lights.

“No, ma’am, as I told you before, we have no need to have our roof repaired. We have no roof. … Thank you, but I’m going to have to cut you off. Your line has been blocked. Good day.”

Standing up, Senneca strolled over to the console at which Solarflare was sitting. The avian femme had a thin microphone jetting out of the corner of her left jaw; a wire was plugged into the other side of her neck, connecting her directly to the computer. She was tapping the keyboard in front of her and checking figures on a slim comp pad sitting on her right side. Just to be sure, Senneca waved a hand in front of the grey femme’s face; no reaction. Stepping back, she leveled her pistol at the control board and fired.

The explosion threw Solarflare out of her chair, flames shooting out of the console. She cried out in pain as the wire that connected her shot a jolt of released electricity straight into her cortex.

Laying there, panting as the pain wracked her central nervous system, the avian warrior coughed up lubricant. Slowly, she struggled upright, leveling herself up on one elbow, wings hanging useless at her sides. Looking up, her frazzled optics swam, lines of static criss-crossing her vision. “Ratchet … Ratchet …” she moaned, another jolt from the controls wracking her abused frame.

Senneca leaned over her, using the tip of her foot to push Solarflare over and onto her back. “No, not Ratchet. I’m Senneca remember? The one you so blissfully snubbed the other day? I told you that I’d have my challenge.”

“Unngh … bitch. I told you, no challenge … accepted.” Talons flicking out, Solarflare grabbed feebly at the other’s foot where it rested not-so-gently on her chestplate.

Laughing, Senneca pushed down, shoving her against the far wall. Behind her, the enraged voices of Solarflare’s Autobot comrades emerged through the force field.


“Again!” Optimus commanded. As one, Trailbreaker, Skyfire, Inferno, and Grimlock battered at the door. Metal groaned and buckled, but it did not collapse inward. Large indentations in the form of their shoulders pocked the wall and the door.

Stepping backwards, Grimlock wiped a hand across his black brow. “Me Grimlock not remember door being this hard to open.”

“It never was,” Skyfire said through gritted teeth. He raised one large fist and punched at an unblemished part of the door. “I don’t get it!” But the metal only bent away from his fist, unyielding.

“Slagging door should open for Grimlock when Grimlock order it,” the Dinobot leader pronounced unequivocally, crossing his arms in front of his barrel-like chest.

“Autobots, enough,” Optimus said, placing one large blue hand on the wall. Through it, they could hear the explosion as the console blew up. “Wheeljack, Perceptor. I want a diagnosis immediately!”

Favoring his right shoulder, the inventor and Perceptor hurried up to the doorway, carrying a bundle of wires and two bulky boxes that seemed to be computers of some sort. Working together, they placed nodules on strategic parts of the door and wall.

“Work a little faster, will you?” Mirage gruffed, hobbling up on disjointed legs. Senneca had done a number on the spy, completely knocking his knees out of commission. He could only shuffle at best, bent at a strange angle.

“We’re doing best we can, you know,” groused Wheeljack. “The she-devil shot me in the fraggin shoulder--you don’t see me complaining.” Reaching up, he toggled a switch attached to the wall. “Calibrating.”

In the astroseconds of silence that followed, Ratchet bent over Mirage and gave him a quick rap in the knees with a large hammer. The spy grunted, swinging to the side as his joints were manhandled back into place. “Thanks,” he said shortly, extending his lower leg, which ground and grated, but worked.


Solarflare moaned, once again trying to get all her limbs in place. Her vision was getting better as her internal repair system did its job. She finally saw Senneca, the stocky femme leaning up against the ruined console. Fire burned in her fluid, welling up from deep inside her frame. She might not be combat hardened, but she was all avian--a bird of prey, able to strike and defend and kill. Forcing herself up on one knee, Solarflare commanded her errant wings into order. The grey-black-and-white appendages rose into the air to settle at a comfortable angle behind her shoulders.

The room was far too small for her to transform and fight effectively. There was her console, which took up most of the space, and a shelf where she filed her reports away; a small counter lay to her right, outfitted with an Energon dispenser.

“I could have shot you as you sat at your desk, you know,” Senneca drawled lazily, reaching up to stifle a yawn that escaped her lips. “You leave yourselves terribly vulnerable.”

Getting herself to stand upright, Solarflare gripped the edge of the shelf, punching holes in it with her talons. “Then you should have shot me, because I’m not going to die easily.” Rerouting all available power to her legs, she launched herself at the other femme, bowling her over in a flurry of metallic feathers, knocking Senneca’s pistol clear out of her hand. It skittered across the floor, to butt up against the opposite wall.


“It’s some sort of force field,” Perceptor proclaimed, pulling the sensors off.

“Can you disarm it?” Optimus asked.

“We’d have to tunnel clear under the hull of the Ark in order to do that,” the scientist proclaimed, rolling up cables.

“Already on it,” Sideswipe declared, his hands retracting and pile drivers coming into place.

Red Alert moaned. “Oh, my precious sensors. You’re going to destroy them--blow my connections!”

Shoving the security director, Ironhide swore. “Lay offa it, Red. What’s more important to you? Yer sensors or Flare?”

Affronted, Red Alert righted himself. “I never implied--!”

“Hey, enough. Let me try,” Trailbreaker interrupted, pushing his way back to the front. Laying his hand on the door, he tried to interface with the force field.

“Force with force, baby,” Jazz encouraged.


The two femmes rolled across the floor, banging into the blown-up console. Senneca roared, lifting her fist to smash into Solarflare’s face. Solarflare craned her neck to the side, hand lifting up and catching the other by the wrist. Talons dug painfully into titanium-plating, crunching through it like bread.

Where was her powercore? she thought frantically, trying to recall the words that had scrawled across her vision two weeks ago. Chest? Upper torso? Arm? … Lower torso!

Senneca’s fist lifted for a second attempt when Solarflare reached up and grabbed the Decepticon by the side, fusing her talons into the plating. “Sweet dreams,” she murmured as the operative’s hand connected with her face.

The Decepticon’s moment of triumph was short-lived as a split second later, Solarflare’s wrist compartment popped open, displaying her fire pellet chamber. At close range, the pellets tore straight through the femme’s lower torso, ripping into her powercore.

Mech fluid bubbled up from Senneca’s white lips, spilling out over onto Solarflare’s chest. Another pellet thudded dully into her torso, carving a path parallel to the first. Senneca’s visor began to dull as sparks flew out of her ravaged lower body. With extreme effort, Solarflare heaved, pushing the Decepticon’s immobilized frame off of her.

“I got it!” she heard. There was a flicker as the force field suddenly died. At the same moment, Grimlock came crashing through the door, pieces of it clutched in his massive hands.

“Where Decepticon? Grimlock smash to tiny pieces for causing all this here trouble.” He looked down, seeing the remnants of the battle. “Huh. ’Parently Grimlock not needed.”

Laughing weakly, Solarflare reached up, touching his leg. “Perhaps Grimlock could help me up?”

A strange look flashed across the Dinobot’s red visor. “Well, suppose me Grimlock do that for little birdy-bot.” Bending over, Grimlock swung Solarflare up in his large arms, turning towards the tide of Autobots who started to spill into the tiny room. “Bah--go back. Grimlock have everything under control. Too crowded in here with all you stinking Autobots coming in.” Without another clipped phrase, Grimlock carried Solarflare out and into the hall.

Too stunned to reply, they only stared as he walked past, taking Solarflare to the repair bay, Ratchet hot on his heels. Finally, Optimus found his vocalizer. “Take that and get it out of here.”

With a malicious chuckle, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe converged on the mortally-wounded Senneca. “Oh, Megs will have a field day when we drop this at his door,” the red twin laughed.

***

“Ok, try it again,” Ratchet said, leaning back, laser pen in hand. Lifting her arm, Solarflare swung it in a sweeping arc. “Any pulling?”

“No, seems fine to me.”

“Try transforming. I want to see how that torsion pans out.”

Hopping down from the table, she flicked her wings out, torso rotating smoothly as she transformed. “No catch in the lower bracket,” she reported, flicking back into robotmode.

“Good. Well, clean bill of health here, Flare. Though I can’t say much for your console.”

With a wry laugh, the avian femme patted Ratchet on the arm. “Well, I needed a new one anyway. While they repair it, I can spend some time outside.”

“Hmmph. You earned it, young lady. Now, get out of here; I don’t want to see you again until your next tune-up.”

“Of course, Ratchet,” she sang, just as everyone who left the medic’s bay replied. Skipping out the door, she caught Mirage’s hand and tugged him along the hall.


Scrapper leaned over the beribboned package, pulling the colorful bands apart. He didn’t know why this was addressed to him, but Ravage had found it outside and had brought it in. As the last bow fell off, the packaging unraveled to reveal Senneca’s horror-stricken head.

With a cry of shock, the Constructicon stepped backwards. A thin card drifted to the floor; he reached down gingerly and read it. “We had fun dismantling her. Hopefully you have as much fun finding her parts. Cheers.”

Copyright Melissa A. Hartman
Solarflare & Senneca © me
Transformers © Hasbro et al.
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