Summary: She finally stumbled upon the right rock. Her life has been changed greatly. But...who is she?

Pairings: Can't speak here or it will be considered a spoiler. :D

Warnings: None yet.

Rating: T

Notes: Please read and review. This is my new big piece!

Disclaimer: I do not own Transformers: Prime. I do own Astral. DO NOT STEAL!

Astral twitched out of stasis. White, cold powder dusted her body. Groaning, the femme lifted her helm to survey the unfamiliar territory she resided in. Her shutters cleared her vision; dark pines surrounded the flier. Moonlight reflected on her dark colored armor while her servos cut through the perfection of the snow they rested on as they slid beneath her body. Strength returned to the muscle cables in her arms, and she lifted her body off the ground. Optics flickering from the effort, she felt dizzy almost instantly. A blue-green light tinted the frozen crystals below her face. Astral shook off the layer of ice and snow on her back before slowly bunching her legs underneath her. Sighing and producing a wisp of steam, the femme pushed herself to a crouching position and then sprung to her pedes. The jet's internal warnings blared within her processor, indicating heavy internal damage.

"Frag," she hissed. Astral's hand traveled to her neck, rubbing it softly in irritation, and came away with fresh energon staining her palm. Blinking in disbelief, Astral wiped the precious fluid off on a nearby evergreen. How had she not felt it? Her hooked fingertips probed the wound and felt a thin layer of ice break apart beneath her digits. The pain from the wound started to ebb into her systems. That was how, she deduced. The ice had numbed her neck. Energon gushed from the wound, now, aggravated by her touch. Astral's wings flicked in annoyance as she opened a slot on her arm and pulled out a thick roll of black electrical tape. She tore off a strip with her teeth and, using the practiced fingers of a medic, she wrapped the tape around the broken energon line that was causing her problems and sealed it. The lifeblood began to rush back through her body and her sluggish systems started to quicken again. She ripped off another piece and taped the severed coolant line back together. Astral put the roll of tape back and snapped her armor back over the space. Clicking softly, the femme knelt down and gathered a handful of snow; she lifted it to the gaping hole on her neck and used it to wash out the wound, ridding it of dried energon, coolant and dirt from the ground. As soon as it was clear, not only did the injury feel better, but her auto-repairs also kicked on and started on her internals. Slowly the warnings ceased one by one. Another sigh escaped her, and another trail of vapor left her lips and drifted away. Astral watched it before beginning to crunch through the fresh white snow and icy forest, away from her current position. Her violet armor was mangled from…

Wait…what had happened?

Astral stopped walking. The femme rubbed her face. She remembered being chased by a small Decepticon warship in her own puny vessel. She'd been caught in a firefight and had to abandon the cruiser or burn with it. The Vehicons had cornered her in this sector, and she had taken refuge on this planet. The rest of her memory was nothing but fuzzy afterimages.

"Slag it!" she cried, sinking to her knees to strike the ground out of rage. Her memory files had been damaged. The 'Cons likely had made sure of that. The femme started to notice things she hadn't before. There were severe burn marks on her back and neck, providing evidence of the usage of an energon prod. She shuddered at the thought, suddenly glad she couldn't remember those likely highly torturous moments. A diagnostic scan confirmed her thought: the prod had scorched parts of her processor. Dents covered her body. Scratches showed that she had at least fought back to some degree, despite the fact that she had had no formal training.

The femme's wings caught the moonlight and bounced off the silver Autobot symbols, causing her to blink away the brightness. She lifted her right hand, allowing it to trail over the distorted symbol on her chassis. Her fingertips scraped over the knuckle imprints, shaking her head. All she'd ever done in this long war was repair soldiers. Now, she couldn't protect herself from a handful of Decepticon trainees.

A sound drew her gaze to the air; she lifted herself to her pedes. A team of jets screamed above her head, but Astral's scanners made quick work of them, assessing and quickly pinpointing the design that would best suit her. Her armor shifted to fit the aircraft she'd chosen, working out most of the dents as it did so. At least now she would blend in if she needed to transform to get away. Muttering incoherently, the young femme continued to wander due south. Her fingertips tapped her leg nervously, optics trying to take in every paranoid detail as if Decepticons were stalking her at that very nanoklik. Shadows started to melt away as clouds drifted in and blocked the waning half moon. It wasn't long before more snow began to fall yet again. Astral glared at the tiny frozen droplets as though they were the most vile thing in the universe.

"This Primus-forsaken planet will be the end of me," she spat, more vapor curling out of her lips.

As she traveled farther south, static began to cut into her hearing. Astral cringed, tuning her comm frequency. More static was her reward, and she hissed. The jet turned the knob in the opposite direction and the sound began to recede. She blinked in relief. Soft murmurs of conversation came from her link and she tuned it further eagerly.

::Arcee, Bumblebee.:: Astral's thrusters ignited, and her Spark sang when she heard that achingly familiar baritone voice rumble over her headset. ::Have you found anything from the crash?::

::Nothing. There are a few dead Vehicons and pieces of unknown armor. Possibly from whatever they were chasing,:: responded a femme. Astral's optics widened. She knew that voice.

Crash? Astral didn't recall being run aground. Then again, her memory files had been corrupted severely on top of the fact that the prod had likely forced her into a heavy stasis lock. Perhaps that was why she crashed: unconsciousness.

Mechanical buzzes and chirps took over the channel briefly.

::No, Bumblebee, I want you two to return to base. We don't know what they were after. As far as we know, this could be a trap.::

::That's a bit complicated for Decepticons,:: pointed out Arcee.

::Be that as it may, I refuse to take chances. Report back. Prime, out.::

The channel returned to static. Astral shut off her comm, processor spinning from the conversation and her injuries. Dead 'Cons…had she snuffed their Sparks before she'd gone under and gravity had take over her body? Primus, she needed these files repaired!

Astral jerked her head up. Heaving in rapid intakes, the medic flipped out her twin daggers. She sighed with the relief of having not lost them. The blades were stained with energon that had dried. Astral scraped at it, but it refused to come out. She always kept her blades clean. So she had killed them before freefalling to the surface.

A wickedly pleased smile crept along the partially shadowed face, giving her a cold, calculating look. Stowing her weapons, Astral traced the signal that she had managed to pick up on. While that worked its magic, Astral couldn't help but think: the Prime was here. Her optics flashed with an emotion she did not understand for it had been long forgotten and cast away to the far, cobwebbed region of her processor. She had met him only once. Well, "met" wasn't exactly the right word…more like "attended to." Her commanding officer had sent her to Iacon to repair her leader's face. The medic had specialized in reconstructive surgery, and they had needed an exceptional surgeon. The femme had kept up with her work and rumors quickly spread that you couldn't tell where Megatron had nearly torn off the left side of Optimus' face, leaving it hanging in ribbons.

Focus! she reminded herself sharply. Astral scanned the coordinates and started forward again. She drew up her shoulders and wings. Minutes ticked by. Astral watched the shadows begin to shift to point in the other direction, indicating daylight was coming. A sun rose, casting pale yellow light on her icy purple armor. Her gray face turned away from the light. Cries from local organics startled her. She needed to transform and fly toward the signal. Walking would not do.

Pain came with the familiar motions of transformation. Warnings squealed in her audios, showing her internals were still too damaged. Astral cried her frustration. Joints aching from the cold, the jet saw only one solution. She dug out a depression in the earth until most of it consisted of dirt. It would have to do; the snow would damage her already vulnerable internals and slow even the most basic functions. Astral settled down and curled up in the bit of warmth she had managed to scrape up and even that was starting to bleed away.

The femme sighed yet again, shutters falling over her optics. Recharge found her eventually, taking care of her, trying to lull her. However, her rest was dreamless and light; she heard every little sound. The pain in her eased and made sleeping a bit easier. When next she woke, the moon was rising and there was a splash of red in the west.

The Autobot flier forced herself awake, blinking away the haziness of recharge. Once she was on alert, she clambered out of the hole she had scooped out that morning, using her foot to push in snow and fill it.

Astral ran another scan. The laceration on her neck needed immediate medical attention otherwise rust would overrun it and infect her entire body. The burns on her neck had receded to mild singes. The dents could be easily worked out in time. Other than that solitary worrisome wound, she was healthy enough for flight. Kicking off the ground, Astral transformed; power hummed through her new alternate mode. Building energy slowly, Astral waited a split second before shooting through the air, slicing the empty space open with her wingtips. Her body burned with excitement as she tracked the signal's coordinates. Beneath her, the icy forests sloped up into mountains. The femme couldn't resist rolling a bit, banking back on track when she strayed too far. She hated being confined to the ground, unable to touch the sky whenever she wished. It was like a trap to her.

Mountains began to soften to hills. Time passed and those hills became plains. Odd looking organics traveled in large numbers across them. She slowed a bit to watch them as they evaded another pack of organics that were smaller, more agile. The heavy, wooly herd began to split as the weak, old and infant slowed considerably. The swift pack overcame a large one that had a heavy limp and it fell, growing still as the pack ravaged its body.

Astral sped up again, plains shortening and giving way first to patches of sand then to a full-blown desert. Her signal grew ever stronger. Below her spanned a sea of golden powder awash in silver. Heat radiated from the landscape. A welcome change from the cold. Rock formations began to disrupt the empty space. Perhaps one of them housed the source of the-

A shot blasted the tip of her wing off. Astral transformed, snatching the falling piece out of the air as she collided with the ground. Gazing at the smoking wound in disbelief, Astral clutched the piece in her palms, enraged she had been grounded yet again. Her hands wrapped around the shrapnel tighter and tighter until it broke open the dermaplating on her palms and energon beaded along the thin lines. Face twisting in a snarl, she let out a primal roar as she dropped the piece of her wing and ripped her blades from their scabbards. The femme jumped up, blue-green optics fixating mercilessly on the figure that had destroyed her flight capabilities. It shot at her again; she dodged, but it singed her shoulder.

The jet rushed forward and knocked aside the immediate threat: the blaster. Yellow paint flashed across her vision as the bot she struggled against flapped his doorwings in frustration and struck her with his elbow, the sharp tip of the armor nicking the open wound on her neck. Astral snapped away, unlocking from the canary yellow mech and the fight he had brought. The mech in front of her took a step forward, but he halted almost as soon as he had. Astral twirled her blades, standing protectively by the piece of her wing.

Mechanical whirs greeted her audios. Astral's aggressive demeanor vanished. The young mech blinked. His large optics focused on her as she took in the information. Designation: Bumblebee, Autobot scout. A young bot merely on patrol, saw a jet and assumed Decepticon. Don't they all? thought the flier.

"Designation: Astral," she hummed, voice light. "Autobot medic and Aerialbot."

The mech chirped. He was going to take her to their base.

"You're stationed here permanently?" she asked in amazement. She sheathed her blades and stooped to pick up the piece of her wing. She examined it, determining it would be an easy fix for a trained medic, thumb running over the scorched edge. Her thoughts of repairs evaporated as she thought of how after vorns of wandering galaxies with no aim, no intent, she had finally stumbled onto a random planet and found the shattered remnants of a once magnificent race. Her once magnificent race. The femme's optics became laden with blue-tinted energon tears. No, she scolded herself. Crying was not an option here. Swallowing hard, she let out a soft intake to compose herself.

Astral turned and nodded to Bumblebee. The yellow mech transformed into his alternate mode: a four-wheeled ground vehicle. The femme followed him in her bipedal mode, as flying was not an option and she refused to assume a third, grounder mode. It was too demeaning.

Pride suddenly shrinking, the jet's Spark grew heavy. How would the rest of the team react to her presence? Optimus Prime, certainly, did not mind her as she mended his face. The scout didn't seem to care, but they had also rushed at each other half-cocked. How many more were there? At least two: Arcee and likely a medic.

The name almost set her off right then. That femme would surely attempt to rid the team of her, Autobot or not.

Bumblebee transformed and hummed. They were here.

Astral nodded and followed him into the massive rock formation. A metal tunnel swallowed them. It was dark for a moment before it dumped into a surprisingly warm, homely environment. Monitors flashed with images. Soft, high-pitched beeps blended with lower hums. It sounded like Cybertron.

Four pairs of optics gazed at her, rooting her to the spot while Bumblebee stepped over to center of the small team.

"Astral."

Hearing her name leave the Prime's vocaliser nearly threw her into critical system shock. Had he actually taken the time so long ago to learn the name of the femme that had saved the function of his face? Had he actually learned her name? Remembered it? Possibly in hopes of this moment coming?

She was being ridiculous.

"Optimus Prime." Keep cool, she reminded herself. Act like you know who you are. Don't frag things up now. "It's been a long time."

"Too long." What did he mean by that? she wondered. His silver faceplates shimmered beneath the overhanging lights, offering no proof of the tattered, nearly obliterated face she'd repaired. Astral was proud. The rumors were true; you couldn't tell.

"An Autobot jet. Been a while since I've seen one."

Setting her jaw, the flier turned to face the cycle-former. Her small stature almost made her want to laugh, but she knew better. The other femme's gray-blue armor was scarred. Some of the scarring was rather old and some looked as though it had been received yesterday. Which it likely had, considering. Her angled armor stopped shorter, showing silver dermaplating. Astral thought it stupid to expose so much sensitive armor until she moved and showed it was the thicker plates, modified especially for war. So, she, too, had heard of the upgrade and acquired it.

"Arcee," she said coolly. Her hip jutted out and she put her servo on it, wings flaring as she stared at her. Arcee's gaze was unforgiving and detached. She hadn't let it go.

"You two are familiar with one another?" asked Optimus cautiously.

"To say the least," answered the blue femme, assessing her violet rival quickly. This silent standoff lasted only nanokliks later when Arcee turned away. Astral pivoted to look curiously at a massive mech that took up most of her range of sight.

"Name's Bulkhead," he said softly, though his voice still rattled her dentals. "Welcome to base."

A tiny smile crossed her lips. Astral murmured her thanks, blinking slowly. A flash of orange and white drew her attention to a mech who looked positively indifferent about…anything.

"This is our medic, Ratchet," offered Optimus. A scowl seemed to be permanently etched into his features. The mech nodded to her.

"Well, I hate to break up this lovely event," interrupted Arcee, gathering Bulkhead and Bumblebee. "But we have children to pick up. We'll be back soon enough, Prime."

The three grounders transformed in one swift motion in near perfect sync. They moved as a unit, driving out through the tunnel and leaving the remaining three alone. Astral turned to the medibot, still holding the piece of her wing in her palm.

"Let me fix that. I'll take a look at that wound on your neck, too, though the patch job isn't bad." Astral handed him the fragment. He ran his thumb over the edge just as Astral had, noticing it was relatively smooth.

"Bumblebee?" he asked.

Astral nodded. She sidestepped closer, allowing him access to her throbbing wing. His palm brushed over it, causing it to flick out of his reach and the flier to catch her intake.

"What the frag?"

"Wings are overly sensitive in fliers. Lots of nodes come up between the armor," she explained. Astral let out the intake lodged in her throat and relaxed her wing, letting it fall into Ratchet's hand. He grunted and began his work again. Wincing, Astral tried to ignore the pain by focusing on the computers set up in the middle of base. She watched as images of other parts of the planet came up, flashing by quickly as scanners constantly monitored the small world they resided on. Her optics put together an image, but found it very difficult to do so.

"Where have you been since the evacuation of Cybertron?" broke in the Prime, voice tumbling over her audio receptors gently.

"Around. I managed to come by a sorry excuse for a cruiser. But it flew and I needed something to get me between galaxies. The 'Cons knew I didn't have any formal combat training. Whatever I know I picked up on the streets of other planets. All the same, they don't like it that I'm learning, still resisting them." Astral bit her lip when Ratchet slid his hands down her wing. "I've been in and out of countless solar systems for vorns."

Optimus Prime nodded, offering no comment either way.

"I'm not the most glamorous fighter, but I can manage with the daggers I have," she promised, suddenly feeling the crushing need to prove herself worthy to stay with the team. Or maybe she just wanted to impress the Prime. "I've been working with them since I got yanked from medical school and they assigned me to a unit that seemed to always end up mauled and unrecognizable." Astral was quite proud that she had managed to segue that into the conversation.

Ratchet looked up, his repairs ceasing. He craned his head around; he took a few steps until he could meet her gaze, his own optics slits. "You're a medic?"

"Yes," she responded heatedly. She would not be put down! "I'm a reconstructive surgeon." The femme folded her arms, satisfied.

"You don't look like an R.S." Ratchet rubbed his chin. Suddenly his optics seemed to bulge out of their sockets, and his jaw went slack. "Wait…you're that femme that fixed Prime back after the battle for Tyger Pax!" Astral nodded. "You left no scars! How was that possible?" Ratchet turned back to his own work, completing the weld. "Test that."

"Not exactly." Astral transformed. The medic's weld was expert and no force could undo it. She returned to her bipedal mode. "Will you look at my neck now?" She bared the right side of her neck, letting the wound stretch and become more accessible. Ratchet undid the electrical tape. His hands moved with incredible speed as he mended the energon line and then the coolant line. Fingers probing the circuits, Ratchet announced, "Only the lines were damaged. The circuits have mended on their own. I'll patch up the armor and the mesh."

"No major ruptures beneath the internal paneling?" she asked.

"None. No shrapnel either so it was likely a bad shot from a Decepticon pulse blaster." Ratchet welded a new piece of the silver and now-rare battle dermaplating over the hole in her neck. He molded it so it blended in perfectly before adding a layer of protective mesh. "There. Now show me the scar Prime has from you."

Astral rolled her head around to adjust to the new plate. She turned to Optimus who had remained silent this entire time. "May I?"

"Certainly."

The red and blue mech knelt down for the shorter femme. Her hungry gaze roved across his helm, taking it in. For a reason she could not place, her Spark decided to leap into throat and pound forcibly against the muscle cables. Her fueling tanks twisted and turned within her like a serpent. Biting her tongue until it bled, the femme tried to focus on her servos. They caressed Optimus' face as her fingers trailed the sight behind his audio in hopes of finding the scar. Nothing. Astral narrowed her optics, determined to find the evidence of her work. There it was. Her middle finger drew over a long, thin scar. It had been smoothed and painted over multiple times. It had already been virtually invisible but now it was a miracle even she could find it.

"Here, Ratchet," she murmured, meeting her leader's gaze. She smiled faintly, remembering…

"Astral!"

"Yes, sir, Ironhide!"

A black battle-scarred mech narrowed his optics at the approaching flier. She swallowed hard, folding her hands behind her back.

"Er, Commander?"

The Autobot soldier grunted, appeased by the correction for the moment. "Optimus Prime was seriously injured in the battle that took place in Tyger Pax. Megatron brought a mace down on him and nearly took off the left side of his face. Decepticon punk."

Confused, Astral flicked her wings about, asking, "Why does this pertain to me? Sir."

Ironhide chuckled, amused. "You're the best surgeon we've got. You're going to repair him."

Astral gaped at him, part of her growing angry at that smirk on his face. Fear took over the rage for the moment. "Commander Ironhide, I-I can't."

"And that's where you're wrong, Astral. I've seen you work. I have seen you repair a mech's jaw after it was crushed nearly to powder and make it look untouched. Another medic would've said it was hopeless and sent the mech to be shot in the fields. This will be simple. I trust you."

The jet blinked. Her commanding officer nodded, blue orbs locking her in place. Her wings lifted and after at least a cycle passed, she nodded.

A grin passed over his face. "That's my girl." Ironhide patted her helm tenderly. Astral glared murderously at him; he knew how much she loathed that. He drew her over to an opening ground bridge. The stepped through, turning up in a medical ward that was locked tight. The jet caught her breath and turned away, but Ironhide forced her gaze back to the damage. After all, she was the one hope the Prime had.

Hanging in shreds, the left side of Optimus Prime's face was nearly gone. The corresponding optic was dangling with the rest of his face, having been knocked out of its socket. The optic held on by the cords that kept it functioning. The metal faceplate was in ribbons. However, the infrastructure appeared to be mostly intact which would make things much easier on Astral.

"Where are the tools?" she asked, voice shaky with fear.

"Right by the berth. He's drugged already, but he requested he stay conscious. His pain receptors are disabled. You two will also be alone."

"No." Astral caught the dark mech's arm. "Ironhide…will you stay?" Astral looked small, frail and utterly terrified. The ebony warrior nodded. Shivering, the femme strode over, talons clicking along the damaged strips of metal as she studied it. She assessed the carnage, determined what needed to be done. Her blue-green optics settled on her leader's functioning one. "You won't be able to tell when I'm done," she promised in a whisper. "I will do my best, sir."

The large mech was vulnerable, but he radiated strength even in what could very well be his last moments. A faint nod was all she needed. An unconvincing smile played at Astral's lips.

She set to work.

"That is truly incredible," mumbled Ratchet, thumbing the mark over and over. Optimus laughed deep in his throat.

"I could not believe it either. Megatron had done a number on my faceplates."

Astral shrugged. "I was just doing my job." She couldn't hold her leader's intense blue stare for long. Her tanks simply couldn't take it. The femme was afraid she'd vomit if she continued to torture her fueling system for much longer. "Though I will admit, it's probably the best job I've done." She smirked.

"I never thanked you properly for the repairs," murmured Optimus, optics warm and claiming her own.

"No need," she insisted. "I was happy to service my leader."

"All the same, I am in your debt, Astral."

The jet held back a chirp of happiness. Her Spark threatened to burst with pride. Was it pride? Astral snapped inwardly to stop fooling herself, she knew what this was. And she could take it or leave it. She saw Ratchet studying her, trying to decide whether or not to like her.

"Shall I show you base?" he ventured. So she had cleared with him.

Her wings twitched, wincing at the spike of pain. "You have any painkillers first?"

Ratchet fished through his supplies and filled a syringe. The femme took it carefully, slipping the needle beneath the plating on her arm and jamming it into an energon line. She shot the pinkish liquid into her systems and almost immediately felt the relief. She nodded, and the syringe passed between their servos again. Energon beaded on the dermaplating on her arm, but she ignored it. The flow would stop soon enough when her auto-repairs mended the tiny hole the needle had made.

The femme followed the medic, allowing her body to release its tension from being shot down once already today. The older mech took her through the winding halls, naming everything. Those were the main energon lines that fed the ground bridge. This was the main grid. Down that way was spare parts for both their machines and themselves; he always kept them away from the main hangar so nothing could happen to them.

"Down this hall are our private quarters. I suppose we'll have to settle you into one." Astral peered into each one as they passed. The first was painted a soft red that was neither too bold nor too gentle. There was a small berth, and one corner was dedicated to photos of two mechs she recognized all too well. Soft flickering things illuminated the tiny shrine. Swallowing the meaning of it, she focused on the next room. This one was painted in a loud mixing swirl of colors. The berth occupied the back wall. A sound system decorated the walls and ceiling. Discs of music filled shelves. A few datapads were strewn on the floor. A young mech lived here, likely Bumblebee. Music was important among the younger generations. The third room was painfully simple, holding a large bed and little else. Small posters decorated the space on the walls. The fourth room was littered with medical books and supplies that desperately needed cleaning. Even the berth housed crates that had not yet been unpacked because there was simply no more space on the shelves provided. The desk was piled high with datapads. Astral smiled. The last room was shut up tight. A frown dominated her lips.

"Does he always keep it shut?"

"Every nanoklik of every day. He's a surprisingly private mech." Ratchet paused. "Though…I will say it's very reminiscent of Cybertron."

"Like yours?"

"Yes. It seems neither of us are quite ready to let go."

Astral sighed, optics growing glassy with tears. "I don't think any of us are."

The two medics continued on in silence, memories lulling them into stillness. Both of them knew wishing would do nothing, that hoping would not make it go away, and yet still they wished, still they hoped.

"Our energon supply is in here. We have to ration what we have," Ratchet muttered. "But for the most part we eat what we want."

Astral's gears scraped together at the thought of fresh energon. Her supply had either been lost in the explosion or had fallen to the surface where Decepticons had more than likely ravaged the miserable few cubes she'd had.

"Humph. Starving yourself isn't exactly the way to start out." Ratchet flung open the door to their supply. He picked up a cube and shoved it at her. The femme touched her lips to a corner and tipped the cube up. The liquid spilled down her throat rapidly. As soon as she grew accustomed to it, she drank it swiftly and greedily. "Better?"

"Better." Astral drew her tongue over her lips to lap up the access energon and rid herself of the bluish stain she knew the energon had begun to leave. Ratchet took the empty cube from her and tossed the glass into a chute which surely led to an incinerator where the medic would melt it down to use again. "So, did Bumblebee and the others leave to pick up sparklings?" She was afraid of the answer.

"Ahhh, not exactly."

Astral cocked an optic ridge. The relief that washed across her was nothing compared to the fresh welling of curiosity.

"See, we've made an alliance with-"

"Where is she?" squealed an unknown voice. "I can't wait to meet her!"

"You should see for yourself."

Ratchet led her back to the main hangar. Astral was immediately approached by a tiny organic. She recoiled in horror.

"Dear Primus! What are they?" she cried.

"Duh, we're humans!" She put her hands on her hips indignantly. The human turned to Bulkhead. "You didn't tell her about us?"

"You mean you've aligned yourselves with these creatures?" Cautious and somewhat fearful, Astral knelt down to face them.

"Yes. This is their planet after all," Arcee muttered, words chilly. Astral ignored her.

"I'm Miko!" The loud one smiled broadly. "Bulkhead's mine."

The femme snapped her head up with sharp urgency. "You mean-"

"No, no. It isn't that way." Bulkhead rubbed his helm, coughing nervously. "I'm her guardian."

"Oh." She peered at Miko, optics roving the fleshy body with the overwhelming inquisitiveness of a medic. "Interesting." A tentative finger probed one pigtail, turning her head with excessive care.

"Yes, you will have to be very careful around them," grumbled Ratchet. "If they get underfoot…"

Miko shuddered. "I don't want to talk about it." She turned and spread her arm to indicate two other humans. Male. "This is Jack and Raf. His full name is Rafael but only the boss calls him that." She jerked her thumb to Optimus. Astral smirked at the thought.

"H-hi," piped the small one.

"Your guardian would be…?"

"Bumblebee."

How appropriate, she thought, amused. Raf stepped over. The femme tilted her head, eying the lenses over his optics. Poor sight, perhaps? Some bots would wear them when they couldn't afford correctional surgery.

"So then you're Jack?" she questioned, turning her gaze to the other male.

"Yeah. I'm Arcee's." He turned away and walked to stand by his guardian. Obviously the femme had told him in an attempt to turn part of the base against her. Well, it worked, she noted bitterly.

"Wait a second. If you're an Autobot, why are you a jet? The only jets I've seen are 'Cons."

"Miko!" hissed Raf.

"Let her ask her questions," Arcee growled. Astral glared at the other femme, standing and drawing herself to her full height.

"I was born this mode, Miko," she began, tasting the strange name on her tongue. "Because both my creators were jets. And an aerial mode offers a certain tactical advantage a ground vehicle lacks. On Cybertron, most jets became Decepticons because they were considered superior to grounders." The femme looked back down at Miko. "I just happened to stay an Autobot."

Raf came forward, studying her with practiced eyes. "You seem to have a similar build to Arcee's despite the different alt modes you have."

Astral's optics glowed dangerously as her azure rival glared at her. Her dagger hilts glinted in their scabbards when she shifted her weight to the opposite foot.

"You use similar weapons, too. That's cool." Raf smiled.

Arcee whirled and stomped away, Jack following her. The remaining femme watched her leave.

"Whoa. You can feel the tension." Miko probed the air experimentally.

"Why don't you two like each other?" asked the tiny male.

Astral's optics flashed with long-suppressed memories. The mech she'd taken. News of his bloody, painful demise. Arcee screaming it was her fault. Parting at odds. She set her jaw.

"Because neither one of us knows how to forgive."

The room was silent for a long time. Even Miko's voice did not penetrate the silence.

"Now may be the time for that to change." They all turned toward Prime. "I would like for you to train under Arcee and Bumblebee." Astral opened her mouth to protest, but a raised palm destroyed that action. "I know you two have a history, a rocky one at that, but you work with blades and so does Arcee. She will be invaluable to you. Bumblebee, I trust you to keep things civilized and teach Astral all that you know in hand-to-hand combat as well as teaching her the mechanics of firearms."

The mech chirped and nodded. Astral folded her arms, sulking slightly.

"Astral, you may take the room that is open at the end of the hall by Ratchet's." The jet nodded, optics settling on her leader. "Welcome to the team."

The femme smiled. Her face fell. "My stuff…it had to have fallen from the ship. I ejected the capsule before it exploded."

"If it's here, I'll be able to find it." Ratchet started a scan. Beeps and clicks hit her audios. "There. It's within the Canadian province of Saskatchewan."

"Bulkhead, Bumblebee. Recover the pod and return to base," ordered Optimus. "Stop for nothing."

"Understood," Bulkhead rumbled.

The ground bridge opened and the pair raced through, Miko sneaking after though Astral said nothing about it. "I can't go?"

"No. That neck wound is too easy to open right now," snapped Ratchet. She rolled her optics.

"Fine." The femme started down the hallway, finding the room and realizing it was a mess. "Lovely." She worked to clear away the rubble and empty containers to reveal a grimy berth. Growling, the femme tore off the sheets, showing her that only they were dirty. She had her own so it did not matter. The flier tossed them outside with the rest of the junk. Within a few cycles, the room was empty save for the berth. She sat down on it. Astral touched the symbols on her wrists. The names whispered themselves in her audios and a sad smile played with her lips. She kissed all four, one by one.

"I have not forgotten."

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