#pre-rid

 Rattrap lounged across the top of a standard issue military footlocker in the middle of a station boarding terminal, a mechanic's cap tilted down to cover his optics. The terminal was packed with new metal; freshly built recruits barely out of their basic infantry programming. They were grouped off in bunches, talking boisterously of victories yet to come, of becoming war heroes. Rattrap couldn't help but scoff at how readily they seemed to swallow all of that wartime propaganda. Each and every of them had been brainwashed into thinking they were Primus's gift to the universe, that they were unbeatable. They would learn soon enough. They would learn or they would die. For a majority of them, the latter eagerly awaited.

   Eventually, it was one such doomed youth who approached Rattrap and lightly tapped him on the shoulder. The diminutive brown mech responded with little more than an annoyed grunt, not bothering to move in the slightest to see who had interrupted his boredom. The young mech didn't seem discouraged at all by that.

   "Hey, you're assigned to the Axalon, right?"

   He wasn't entirely surprised by the question. After all, regulations required one to have their designation, serial number, and current posting etched into the side of their footlocker. One need only glance to see where a particular individual would be spending the majority of their tour of duty.

   Rattrap's reply came out as little more than a grumble. "What's it to ya, kid?"

  He could hear the recruit's amused chuckle. "That's great! I'm stationed there too!"

   Rattrap let out a groan. Great. This kid was going to be pestering him long after he left the boarding platform. He hadn't counted on him being such a long term annoyance. At this point he felt it prudent to at least see who it was he would be sharing a ship with for only Primus knew how long. He tipped his cap back, staring with bleary optics up at the recruit.

   The first thing he noticed was how fragging tall the kid was. Rattrap would likely only stand to about his chest plate if he was lucky. He was quite slim as well, definitely built light weight and with speed in mind. A shame, really. Had he been born before the war he'd be a natural racer, likely brisk competition for any Grand Prix sprinter, perhaps even Blurr.

  There was something else about the kid that reminded him of a racer; that paint job. Obviously no one had ever explained the concept of 'gaudy' to this guy. His frame was predominantly bright yellow which faded out to a silvery blue, then to cobalt. Even the silver steel of his face plate was tinted slightly blue. But the worst were the spots; chrome silver leopard spots painted over the entire surface of his alt mode plating. Rattrap almost had to turn down his optics' sensitivity to look at him.

   Soon enough, the leopard-spotted recruit had plunked his footlocker down next to Rattrap's and sat on the lid with a content smile on his face. Rattrap's brow ridge twitched. He glanced up from his lounging position, just catching the etching on the side of the kid's footlocker. Cheetor, huh? That explained the spots.

  "Ehhh... What're ya doin'?"

  "Ummm... I'm... sitting?"

  "Oh, thanks fer informin' me dere, Spots! Would'a never figured dat one out! I mean what're ya doin' sittin' right here?"

   Cheetor seemed to tilt his helm slightly at the question. "What do you mean? We're going to be crew mates, aren't we? Wouldn't it make more sense to sit together?"

   Rattrap didn't reply. He merely let out a sigh and leaned back across his footlocker, tilting his cap over his optics again. A tour of duty for a Cybertronian lasted hundreds of years, sometimes thousands, and often with the same crew. If this kid knew better, he'd avoid future crew mates like the Cybonic Plague just to keep from getting sick of them too quickly. Apparently this didn't quite register as a conversation ender.

   "So... Rattrap, was it?" Cheetor began, using yet another piece of information pilfered from his footlocker. "What does a bot like you do? I mean, you seem kinda small to be any good in a fight."

   Oh, that did it. Cheetor touched on a sore subject when he brought up Rattrap's height. The brown bot swung around to a sitting position, tilting his cap back to make it easier to glare at the disrespectful youth. "None o' yer slaggin' business! 'Sides, you ain't exactly built fer battle yerself dere, Blondie! Ya look like ya'd snap clean in half if ya got so much as grazed by Decepticon weapon fire!"

   Cheetor barely flinched at Rattrap's little outburst.  "Well... that's because I'm a scout. My strength is in my speed. I might not be too strong, but I can outrun any 'Con out there. They won't lay a digit on me."

   Rattrap sighed. There was that new recruit bravado again. This kid wasn't going to last long at all believing that. Not that it was at all his problem. Let the dumbaft get himself killed. What did he care? There would be plenty more where he came from. For now.

   Rattrap had planned to just let the conversation die right there, but Cheetor had different plans it seemed. "So are you going to tell me what you do now? I told you what I do."

   "Bite me."

   Cheetor's face twisted into a contemplative pout. He took a moment to look Rattrap over, trying to see if his frame offered any hints to his profession. His frame might have once been a nice bronze color, but lack of care had left him a dusty brown. The young recruit could only find two wheels on him, one mounted just behind each shoulder. His expression softened into a light smile. He thought he'd figured it out.

   In the next moment, Rattrap felt the recruit slap a servo down to rest on his shoulder. He looked up, optic ridge raised in confusion as Cheetor leaned down to whisper by his audial.

    "Hey, I can understand if you're embarrassed, but it's okay. Even jobs like yours are important to the Autobot cause."

   Rattrap furrowed his optic ridges. "What're ya on about, Kid?"

   "Well... Y'know..." He lowered his voice a bit more. "Because you're a waste disposal bot?"

   Rattrap froze, his mouth hanging agape. He stayed like that for a long moment, so long in fact that Cheetor waved a servo in front of the smaller mech's face plate to test if he was still online.

  "WASTE DISPOSAL?!!!"

   The sudden explosion from the little two-wheeler caught the attention of just about everyone in the terminal. Rattrap jumped up to his peds and grabbed the lean scout by the collar plating, dragging him down to optic level.

   "Awright, ya flashy punk! You listen an' listen good! I ain't no slaggin' trash bot! I ain't never been no slaggin' trash bot, and I ain't never gonna be one! An' since yer so fraggin' interested in what I do, how's about I give ya a live demonstration by turnin' yer bunk inta an IED! Ya gettin' th' picture yet, Kid?! I'm a demolitions expert! If dere's explosive ordinance on th' ship, odds are I'm in charge o' it! So 'nless ya like th' idea o' wakin' up wit' a live grenade shoved up yer aft, I suggest ya keep yer comments ta yerself!"

   By the end of Rattrap's rant, just about every recruit in the terminal was staring at the two. Some even gathered around, anticipating a fight. The small brown mech looked ready to go, but they probably wouldn't see it as a bluff. Truthfully, he was just trying to assert some sort of sense of superiority over the young mech while he still could, knowing full well he might not get the chance to do so in front of their future commander. Whether or not Cheetor was on to him was unclear, but he did back down.

   "Okay, okay! I get it! No more questions!" he replied, holding his servos up in surrender. Rattrap gave a sharp nod of acknowledgement before settling down to sit on his footlocker again, and the two remained silent.

   Well, for a while, at least...

   "So... Are you excited?"

   "Oh, fer bootin' up cold! What did I just say!?"

   ________________

   After a long wait, the ships finally started arriving. There were dozens of them, mostly large battle cruisers big enough to hold a few hundred bots at a time. The recruits’ chattering picked up as the ships docked just beyond the vast transparent shielding of the boarding terminal, all craning their necks to see if they could spot the vessel they’d been assigned to. Soon enough, an officer who looked as though he was trying really hard to look like Kup of the Wreckers pushed though the crowd to the front of the platform, getting everyone to quiet down with a bellowing "Ten Hut!"

   "Alright soldiers, listen up 'cause I ain't gonna repeat m'self! When I call your destination, report to the appropriate boarding platform! The following bots must report to gate S12 for duty aboard the AV-1407 Red Baron; Thunderlane, Syntasy, Dawnbreaker, Cygnus..."

   This went on for what seemed like hours. The officer would call out a ship and assign roughly ten or twelve recruits before moving on to the next one. The smallest group Rattrap had seen go to a ship was six. That was reassuring. At least it seemed there would be other recruits grouped with them for assignment on the Axalon. All the more for Cheetor to play with and leave him the frag alone. Soon enough, the crowd had dwindled to just seven. So, that would be it. They were enough. After all, most of the recruits who'd shipped out today merely replaced another Autobot who'd died. They didn't need a whole new platoon to one ship.

   The officer looked over his list once more, doing a last head count, Rattrap assumed. Finally, he spoke up again in that same bellowing drill Sergent tone despite the fact that there was hardly anyone to speak over. "Alright, gate J9 for service aboard the AV-4253 Pridespark; Blindside, Echo, Knightfall, and Deadstop."

   Rattrap waited and listened for a while after that, but even after the other five recruits left for the gate, the list did not continue. No... This had to be some kind of joke! He couldn't be stuck with Cheetor alone! But sure enough, when the officer continued...

   "Gate Z2, AV-8213 Axalon; Rattrap and Cheetor. Move out."

   ______________________

     The two of them made their way down to their gate, each dragging their footlockers behind them. Their moods were like night and day to each other. Rattrap glared straight ahead as he walked, muttering obscenities under his breath. Cheetor, by contrast, had a content smile on his face plate and even walked with a slight bounce in his step.

   It was a short trip to their gate from the main terminal, but by the time they'd gotten there most of the other ships had taken off. Only one remained, but there had to be some sort of mistake.

   "Hey, somebody's parked their space dingy at our dock!" Cheetor complained, his good mood wavering a bit. Rattrap was not nearly so optimistic. Sure enough, his fears proved valid.

   The vessel couldn't have been more than a mile and a half in length, tiny by comparison to your average warship. The latter would hold hundreds of bots easily, but this? They'd be pushing it if they tried to squeeze in fifty. Rattrap could see even the ever optimistic Cheetor wilt slightly as his optics scanned over the destination painted across the hull; Axalon.

   This couldn't have gotten much worse. Rattrap hated serving with such tiny crews. It made it harder to blend into the crowd of his comrades and go unnoticed. It also meant he'd have to be that much more of an aft to get Cheetor to stop trying to get all chummy with him.

   "Sorry if she's a disappointment to you, boys.  But you'd better get used to her. She'll be home for a good long while."

   The voice had caught the both of them off guard. The deep baritone rumble obviously belonged to a very large, imposing mech, but it was the way he spoke that threw them. It wasn't a booming tone of command that such a voice would normally hold, but a subdued, almost gentle tone, the kind that communicated that this was a mech that was more than willing to sit down and listen to your troubles.

   Looking at him, the two realized that the voice definitely matched the mech who it belonged to. Standing just in the entrance to the Axalon's airlock, and thus taking up most of it in sheer bulk, was an absolute tank of a mech. In fact, judging from the treads mounted on his back, he probably was a tank. And, as intimidating as his frame made him out to be, his face plate showed the same gentleness that his voice portrayed.

   "You two had better hurry inside for the mission briefing. The commander is eager to get this under way."

   _____________________

   Upon boarding, the large mech, whom they learned was called Rhinox, lead them directly to the command center on the bridge. It was a large, circular room, the forward wall lined with a giant horseshoe of control stations. Positioned slightly back from the center of the room was a circular table with a hologram projector mounted in the center. It was at this particular station where they found the commanding officer of the crew.

   He was a Seeker, somewhat large for for such a frame type, and painted predominantly blue and silver. His crimson optics focused directly in front of him, carefully scanning a projection of some planet, taking in as much information as he could manage from what appeared to be a low level, and possibly corrupted scan. When he finally noticed he had company and looked up to greet them his optics retained the same inquisitive nature they'd had when examining the hologram.

   "You're Rattrap and Cheetor, I take it? I'm Primal. Welcome aboard."

   Rattrap couldn't help but quirk an optic ridge at the commander's casual greeting. This one was almost more soft spoken than the big guy that had greeted them at the airlock. He was starting to wonder if this was a military operation at all. Cheetor, predictably, didn't seem to mind one bit.

   "Since we're all here, we may as well get started."

   Primal didn't seem to be phased by Cheetor and Rattrap's surprise at the statement. It was, of course, Rattrap who was the first to voice a complaint. "Woah, hold up a cycle... You tryin' ta tell me dat dere's only gonna be four of us on dis crew?"

   "That is correct."

   Rattrap was too stunned for words. A four mech crew... He'd never heard of such a small team! He didn't think it was possible, but his hopes sunk even further.

   "Oh, great... We're all gonna die..."

   Primal vented a sigh, shaking his helm a bit. "No one is going to die. Our mission is relatively low-risk. We won't need more than four crew members to get the job done."

   As he continued to explain, Primal gestured toward the choppy hologram he'd been examining before. "This is the planet we'll be traveling to. Z'verei; an Autobot research world, and I'm afraid that's about all I know about it. Everything else is classified.

   "Autobot High Command has sent one of their agents in to investigate something. Before you ask, no. I've no clue what he's investigating. I wish I could tell you more, but I'm afraid I'm no less in the dark than you are. Our mission is simply to rendezvous with the agent, retrieve his report, and return it to High Command."

   This time it was Cheetor who raised a concern, much to Rattrap's surprise. And here he was beginning to think the kid didn't know how to complain. "Wait, why doesn't he just send the report to Command via comm buoys? Wouldn't that be easier than all this running around?"

   Cheetor's answer was a slow shake of their commander's helm.

   "Can't risk it. The data is too sensitive. Even at the highest level of encryption, Command can't take the chance of having the report fall into Decepticon hands. It was decided that this was the safest method of transport."

   Rattrap couldn't help but vent a sigh. "Great... So now we're glorified delivery bots..."

   "I know it's probably not the heroic mission you were hoping for, but it is vitally important work. When this is all over you'll have an opportunity to leave the crew and transfer to a different post. For now, if you've got no more concerns you'd like to raise, Rhinox will show you to your quarters. You'd better get settled in before take off."

   ________________

   Immediately after their little meeting was over the large green and brown mech led them on a quick tour of the ship. The layout was simple enough to remember; the bridge was forward at the bow as one might expect, the main lift and airlock located just to starboard. Aft of there was the main body of the ship, consisting of the crew's living quarters to port, and the medical bay and science labs to starboard. Down on the lower decks was every sort of storage one might need for a ships supplies, as well as a small shuttle bay. Farthest to stern was the main computer unit and, of course, the engine rooms.

   Rattrap chose the room farthest to stern, hoping the noise of the engine would deter Cheetor from picking one too close to his. He had no such luck. It seemed the young scout was determined to make a friend of him yet, and thus choose the room directly across from the diminutive mech's own. Great. That brat couldn't help but make his job that much more difficult, could he? Now he really had to be careful.

   As soon as Rhinox had left them to unpack, Rattrap had set to work doing just that. He set his footlocker in the far corner, glancing back over his shoulders to make sure no one was at the door. Once he decided it was safe he opened the lid to the large trunk. He didn't have much by way of personal possessions. He had a few things, mostly his own military equipment for building and disassembling explosives, his usual supply of Phosphex, but that was about it. The space inside the footlocker was largely dominated by a metal plated box, heavy mechanical locks keeping it securely closed. It took up a little over half of the trunk, leaving room for little else. His optics lingered on the box for a while.

   "S'always th’ research labs, ain't it?"

   “Hey, Rattrap!”

  The lid to his footlocker was slammed shut the instant he heard the voice behind him. He whipped around to glare at the lanky young bot who now stood in his doorway, a curious look on his face. Rattrap grumbled a bit in annoyance.

  “Oy! Ain’t you ever heard o’ knockin’?!”

   Cheetor held his servos up in defense, but seemed to be getting used to Rattrap’s rude nature. “Primal wants us on the bridge. We’re about to take off and he needs us monitoring the navigation consoles.”

   Rattrap let out a sigh, but got up and followed him out. It was pretty clear Cheetor hadn’t seen the box. He’d be asking all kinds of questions by now. Of course, he would still feel better if he could find somewhere else to hide it…

  _______________________

  Rhinox lumbered his way back to the bridge after showing Cheetor and Rattrap to their quarters, his brow plates furrowed in thought as he approached the commander. Primal looked up from his holograms as the dull thud of footsteps neared. “What do you think? Will they do?”

   Rhinox took a spot standing next to the Seeker, looking over the hologram with a faraway, thoughtful expression. “Cheetor seems like an eager young mech. Ready to prove himself. Doesn’t seem too fond of second-guessing himself, but it shouldn’t be a problem during such a short mission.”

   Primal nodded. “Right. And Rattrap?”

   Rhinox’s broad lips thinned slightly at that, his brow plates furrowing deeper. It took him a moment longer to respond. “He’s rude. Doesn’t seem to have much respect for authority. And… I can’t say I much care for the story his file is telling. Too many ‘accidents’ for my liking…”

   Primal arched a brow plate. He knew what Rhinox was referring to. Rattrap had never stayed at any particular posting for very long, and an uncomfortable amount of those assignments ended with an accidental explosion of some sort. There were countless reprimands for friendly fire. The Seeker gave a nod.

   “It is somewhat concerning… but this is only a simple courier mission. I highly doubt he’ll even get a chance to step foot outside the ship, let alone risk blowing anything up. And once this mission is over we can request to have him transferred somewhere else.”

   Rhinox looked no less grim, but he nodded in agreement. He looked as though he wanted to say something, but he promptly closed his mouth when he heard the dull, telltale klunk of peds making their way down the hall.  Moments later, Cheetor and Rattrap emerged onto the bridge. Primal made a point to give his two newest crewmembers a small smile.

   “Right on time. We’re disembarking in five minutes. Cheetor, take the tactical station. Rattrap, I want you at navigation. Rhinox will pilot, so you need only act as support should he need it. Now, take your stations and familiarize yourselves with the controls while you can.”

   Several minutes later they departed the port, rocketing off towards a distant, isolated corner of the galaxy.

  _____________________________

   Z’verei was so distant from the main area of conflict in the Autobot-Decepticon war that they’d nearly left Cybertronian-influenced space to reach it. After several days, Cybertronian-friendly outposts became nearly impossible to find. Weeks passed, and outposts disappeared altogether. They were quite literally in the middle of nowhere before they even got close to the Z’verein star system.

   Rattrap let out a yawn that nearly echoed off the walls of the near-silent command center, stretching his arms and legs out as far as he could. He was tired. Tired of staring at the navigation console. Tired of sitting in that chair. Just plain tired. Suddenly, there was the very deliberate sound of a mech clearing his intakes. The small brown mech glanced back at the source. Primal was standing at the circular research station, looking over his holograms for what had to be the trillionth time. As Rattrap looked back at him, he quirked a brow. The diminutive mech knew exactly what that meant by now; he was late with his status report.

   “Oh, right. Uhhh… ETA’s at twenty minutes. Nearest laser communication buoy will be in range in ‘bout fifteen.”

   Primal nodded, turning his attention to Cheetor at tactical. The young scout reported immediately.

   “Energon radiation is climbing steadily. Long-range scan radius has dropped to… Well, let’s just say we’re better off looking out a window to see what’s coming. Communications are almost as limited. No wonder they use line-of-sight laser communication. That’s the only way to punch through this slag. Everything else just degrades into the background static.”

   Primal nodded. “Just as the reports detailed. Rattrap, switch the main navigational reference point to the planet’s comm buoy array as soon as we’re in range. With our sensors impaired as much as they are, I don’t want us nudged off-course by stray solar wind.”

   Rattrap gave a small sound of acknowledgement and laid in the appropriate corrections. He then leaned back in his seat, preparing for another hour of complete silence before his next report was due. Primus, this had to be the single most boring mission in Autobot history! Nearly two months of solid travel with nothing to do but stare at a navigation screen. He would almost welcome a Decepticon attack, if only to break the monotony.

   They were just about in range of Z’verei’s comm buoy array when something on Cheetor’s screen did just that.

   “Hey, uhh… Big Bot? I’m picking something up on the scanners. At least, I think I am. Hard to tell through all the energon interference.”

   Everyone turned their attention towards the young scout’s station, with the exception of Rhinox, who was concentrating on piloting the ship. Primal left his holograms to stand just behind Cheetor’s shoulder, leaning forward for a better look at his screen. There was a tiny, formless blip on the scanner display, and it was nearly obscured altogether by the static of Z’verei’s intense energon fields. Primal had to squint his optics to be sure if it was there at all.

   “Can you tell anything about it? Is it a ship? Or a stray asteroid perhaps? Will it interfere with our course at all?”

   “What you see is what I got, Big Bot. All of our sensors are virtually useless in this radiation. All I know is it’s about the same size as the Axalon. It’s moving towards the planet, but as far as I can tell we shouldn’t be in any danger of a collision.”

   Primal nodded. “Good. Keep an optic on our unidentified friend there. Report any significant changes.”

   It was at that moment when the navigation console pinged to life through the static for the first time in days. Rattrap immediately set to work.

   “Uplink wit’ da comm array established. Switchin’ navigation over ta… Wait a sec…” he stopped mid-sentence, his optics growing wide. Primal furrowed his brow plates in mild concern, making his way over to the brown mech’s station to see what was the matter. Rattrap explained as the commander approached.

   “Priority one message bein’ broadcast via laser through da whole array.”

   Primal nodded. “Play it.”

   The console speakers let forth an almost intolerable burst of static, causing the small bridge crew to cringe painfully. The radiation was even corrupting laser transmissions at this close proximity to the planet. Somehow a mech’s voice managed to cut through the buzzing and hissing white noise.

  //Priority one alert to all ships; this planet is under strict quarantine protocols until further notice. All ships are strongly advised to leave orbit immediately. I repeat…//

   The message merely repeated itself from there. This time even Rhinox couldn’t help but spare some of his already strained attention to the situation at hand.

   “That can’t be right… Our mission brief never mentioned anything about a quarantine. Something must have happened…”

   Primal opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by a sudden update from Cheetor before he could say anything.

   “Uhh, Commander? I know you don’t want any more bummer news, but… that object you wanted me to track just altered course. It’s on a direct intercept heading and they don’t look like they’re just coming to say ‘hi!’”

   Primal cursed under his breath, but before he could start issuing orders the ship shook violently. Red warning lights flooded the bridge in an ominous red glow, klaxons blaring loudly. The commander had time to issue one quick order.

   “Evasive maneuvers!”

   Rhinox barely had time to pitch the ship to starboard away from their attackers before they were hit again. Primal had to grab hold of the back of Rattrap’s chair to keep from being thrown about the command station. “Cheetor! Get a visual on the main viewscreen! Now!”

   “R-right!” The scout’s servos were shaking visibly from the shock of it all, but he managed to work quickly enough. Soon, an image of a dark ship on a steep approach filled the forward viewscreen. Rattrap’s spark nearly stopped at the sight of it. The sharp angles, the long, forward pointing wings… He knew that ship. Taking a glance up at Primal revealed that he wasn’t the only one.

   It was the Darksyde. If the Nemesis was Megatron’s war banner, the Darksyde was his spear. It carried a small but elite Decepticon strike team that was infamous for surprise blitzes just like this.

   “Dammit! Why in Primus’ name are they out here?!” Rhinox growled even as he wrestled with the controls.

   “Shields are down to 20 percent! They’re not gonna hold!” Cheetor announced, his digits working like lightning over his control panel.

   “Make them hold! Fire port-side guns! Aim for their wing stabilizers! Rattrap, I want the nearest possible landing zone on the planet ASAP!”

   “Engines’re hit! Aw, we’re scrap, man! We’re scrap!” Rattrap squeaked out as he worked, his console screen flickering as another jolt came. Primal gave a grunt as he braced himself from falling.

   “We’re not done for yet!”

   “Hit confirmed!” Cheetor cheered suddenly, nearly leaping out of his seat to celebrate his first real hit on an enemy. “Their starboard-side wing’s taken heavy damage!”

   “Stay focused! A wounded foe is still a dangerous one!”

   “Engines are failing! I don’t know how much longer I can h-Aaahg!” Rhinox shouted just as his controls exploded in a shower of sparks and flames. The lights flickered and faded one by one, and soon the bridge was lit only by the flashing red warning lights.

   “Our shields are gone! That’s it! We’re done!” Cheetor cried out before his console died as well. Soon, the only screen still in operation was the main viewscreen, which showed the surface of Z’verei approaching ever closer. Rhinox released his now useless controls, staring up at the screen.