Hey Shelley,

P.S. You might as well give this postcard to Dad for me. He never checks the mail when I'm gone.

Shelley exhaled softly, her breath just barely visible in the chill of the morning, and tucked the letter into her pocket. She missed Amy too, but at least she didn't have to deal with homesickness.

She emptied her neighbor's bulging mailbox, too, and spent the next few minutes trying to tuck several pounds of advertisements and magazines under one arm without dropping anything. It was too bad she hadn't thought to check the mail yesterday, when the garbage was taken away; she could have pitched all the junk straight into the trash cans.

The mail subdued, she took a moment to enjoy the winter morning, pivoting slowly on one heel to take in everything. The sun hadn't been up long and dew was still thick on the grass and shepherd's purse. Oaks clustered in the gullies of the distant hills and dotted the north slopes. Nearer the road, a fragrant grove of eucalyptus screened the house from view and cast great patches of shade. Perched in the branches were several turkey vultures spreading their wings to catch the sun. Sparrows and mourning doves clustered on the fence wires, and somewhere down in the drainage ditch a killdeer was calling.

She angled across the grass to get back to the road -- something she normally avoided because of rattlesnakes, but the weather was too cold for reptiles to be active yet. She liked shortcuts as much as Amy did, so long as there wasn't any risk of bodily harm resulting.

As it turned out, there were other dangers lurking in the grass today. She felt something give underfoot an instant before a long, thin object whizzed up to deal her a very hard blow to the head.

The next thing she knew, she was on the ground in the middle of the scattered mail, ears ringing from the force of the blow. After the first shock of pain wore off, she put a careful hand to her forehead and realized that she was bleeding profusely. There was blood on her glasses, and it was dripping on her sweater.

She untied her right laces and wiggled out of that shoe, then peeled off the relatively clean sock and used it to staunch the bleeding. She thumbed her glasses out of the eyewear cord loops with her other hand, wiped them on the already stained sweater, fumbled for a moment trying to pop the cord loops back on the frame one-handedly, then gave up and just tucked the cord in a pocket. She wasn't planning on running anytime soon; in fact, she didn't even feel like getting up yet. It was hard to think, like walking uphill in mud, and the static-like noise in her head wouldn't go away.

Wondering absently just how much dew her pants were capable of absorbing, she put her glasses back on. The world came back into focus, resolving into individual water-spangled grass blades, wrinkled Safeway ads, and a rusty garden hoe. The end of the handle was splintered and sharp, probably crushed by a tractor tread. It had undoubtedly been thrown out yesterday with the other stuff, and the garbage men had missed it in the grass.

A pity she hadn't missed it as well, she thought sourly, pulling her shoe back on. It felt rough without the sock. She let the laces trail loose in the grass; at the moment, tying them was both impossible and unimportant.

Carefully, she drew her knees up to her chest and waited for the static and throbbing to subside, shivering just a little.

* * *

As things were, however, he was rapidly being driven to distraction by the dual challenges of getting the other Predacons to understand what he had in mind and of keeping them from destroying the lovely place.

"So, Sky-Byte, what's our target?" Gas-Skunk was poking around in a discretely located trash container. When Sky-Byte wasn't looking, he crumpled a can and furtively pitched it at the ducks. They scattered across the water, splashing and quacking indignantly.

Dark Scream looked up from the tic-tac-toe board he'd drawn in the mud and nodded. "Yeah, what does Megatron want done today?"

Slapper dabbled one finger in the edge of the pond, stirring up a cloud of silt. "Is there some juicy source of energy just waiting to be stolen?"

"Silence!" Sky-Byte ordered, consulting the information he'd copied from Yahoo. "Today we are carrying out a distraction and evasion operation. Slapper, kindly do not muddy the water."

Slapper looked irritated but complied. "Who's going to distract who?"

"Yeah, what's the point?" Dark Scream peeled a branch off the nearest weeping willow and used it to beat the fuzz off a clump of cattails, sending the others into wheezing fits as they inadvertently inhaled the stuff. Sky-Byte stopped him by simply yanking the branch out of his hands and rapping him on the head with it.

"Leave those willows alone. Do you have any idea how long it takes for them to get that big?" Sky-Byte tossed the branch away impatiently. "Distraction is the point. I will slip in undetected and make off with our objective while you three cover for me."

"And what's our objective?" Slapper asked, while Dark Scream nursed his head and sulked.

"Sorry, that's classified," Sky-Byte answered loftily. And with his fingers crossed.

"What?" Gas-Skunk let the trash can fall on its side, sending a wave of paper cups, hot dog wrappers and empty soda cans tumbling down the bank. "I'm not risking life and limb for some unidentified objective!"

"I'll decide what's worth risking who for around here!" Sky-Byte thundered. "Now listen. Your part of the mission is so simple, even a trio of lamebrains like you ought to be able to handle it. I just need you to run around the city and cause random destruction and panic."

The three Predacons perked up instantly, the insult sailing right over their heads. "You mean, like, blow things up?"

"Yes, Slapper, that's exactly what I mean." Sky-Byte's reply sounded patronizing. He couldn't help it; they were so simple-minded sometimes. No appreciation for his genius at all. "Very good."

"Why didn't you say so?" Even Dark Scream looked enthusiastic. "I like this job already! How long do we get to party?"

"Just until I've completed my mission," Sky-Byte answered, relieved that they'd lost all interest in the objective's identity once offered the chance to make a mess. He wasn't overly anxious for Megatron to hear about this. "But stay away from the residential districts! You want the Autobots to follow you around, not kill you -- so leave the people alone."

There was a chorus of disappointed groans, but Sky-Byte was adamant; property damage only. "So then. Do you know what to do?"

"Oh yeah!" The Predacons all but wagged their tails. "Vandalism galore!"

"Right. Now get to it!"

They scattered out of the trees, leaving Sky-Byte standing alone. He took a moment to fish the garbage out of the pond and set the disposal can upright before setting off in a different direction, much more quietly than the others. Left to itself, the cattail fuzz blew across the lake shore and gathered in his footprints, eddying round and round in frantic silence.

* * *

"Any word from Skid-Z, T-AI?"

The little hologram turned away from her screens to tilt her head up at him. "No, Optimus. I thought he of all people would be there by now, but he hasn't called yet."

Optimus relaxed against the wall opposite the monitor bank and crossed his arms meditatively. He had just come in from a call, and it felt good to take the weight off his legs. "He's headed into a somewhat remote area," he reminded her. "He'll have to take it easy on the country roads. Have you learned anything new about the damaged building?"

T-AI turned her palms up as the screen behind her scrolled through to a few lines of information; everything she'd been able to get on the property in question. The fact that she was standing in front of the text hardly affected its readability. "Not really. County records indicate that it's been abandoned for years. Why would the Predacons want to damage an empty structure? It doesn't make any sense."

"Perhaps the damage was incidental," Prime suggested. He had a feeling that it wasn't important, either way, but it was an interesting puzzle.

T-AI left her monitors and rose to Prime's eye level, ready to extrapolate on his suggestion. "Then the question becomes, what were they actually up to? I don't think --"

She broke off abruptly, two fingers pressed to her temple as she processed some signal only she could hear. Her expression changed swiftly.

Optimus straightened as he took in the information, electricity surging through his frame like adrenaline. "There's no refineries or power plants in that area. What could they be after?"

"I have no idea!" T-AI's transparent form radiated urgency as she continued to scroll through the information with her usual swift efficiency. "They're just showing up in random places, destroying whatever is nearby, and then moving on. A few people have been injured by flying glass, but the Predacons don't seem to be actively targeting them." Her report complete, T-AI stilled and looked to him for instructions, her hands poised and ready.

"That could change at any time." Optimus considered swiftly. There was always the chance that such an attack was a diversion, meant to cripple the Autobot's response to a quieter, deadlier assault. "Send Skid-Z and the Autobot brothers to patrol that city, and watch for any signs of Decepticon activity elsewhere."

"Right away, Optimus." She saluted smartly and turned back to the screens. One of them scrolled through several vehicles before settling on a predominantly white and magenta racecar. "I am recalling Skid-Z. Skid-Z, please respond. This is an emergency."

"Reading you loud and clear, T-AI." The young Autobot greeted her from the viewscreen with the relief of someone spotting a familiar landmark in the midst of an alien landscape. "I was just about to call you."

She blinked and double-checked his position, surprise jarring her slightly off the usual alert call format. "Hey, you're not anywhere near the warehouse. What are you doing way out there? Your log says you've been going around in circles."

"I got lost as soon as I left the freeway," he admitted, looking embarrassed. "It's like the middle of nowhere out here. I can't even find the right county, let alone the right building."

"Well, the warehouse can wait," she told him, focusing back on the business at hand. She filled him in on the Predacon attack. "Optimus wants you to take the space bridge to these coordinates, ASAP. Your speed can help us track the Predacons across the city and protect its residents."

"I'm on it!" Skid-Z answered enthusiastically, pleased to be given a high-speed assignment. "That is, I will be, if you can help me get out of here."

Shaking her head at the fallibility of some mechs, T-AI gave Skid-Z directions to the nearest space bridge portal, then called the Autobot brothers.

* * *

Prowl emerged from the exit portal to find himself on a quiet street between the city park and a row of small shops and cafes. It would have been a pleasant place were it not for the damaged buildings and debris everywhere. An occasional breeze brought the coolness of water from somewhere in the park and ruffled the silver birches and lily-of-the-Nile plants clustered in front of the businesses. Save for the soft noise of rustling vegetation, there was no activity to be seen.

X-Brawn was waiting for him. "Howdy, cop-bot. You ready to go?"

"The sooner, the better," Prowl told him. "Where's Sideburn?"

"Already patrolling the Auto Mall," X-Brawn answered dryly.

Prowl snorted. "Just so long as he doesn't get distracted." He transformed and stepped over a prone bus stop sign to take advantage of the nearby intersection, scanning in all four directions. As far as he could tell, the area was deserted. Word of the Predacon rampage must have spread fast. "Looks like the civilians have taken cover," he noted. "Good."

He looked back at the portal, fragments of glass and concrete grating underfoot as his weight shifted. "Where's Skid-Z? I thought T-AI called him first."

"Maybe he got sucked into a race along the way," X-Brawn suggested. "No, wait -- I take that back. Here he comes."

The scout shot out of the space bridge a few seconds later, skidding to an uneven halt near the brothers. To their surprise, he immediately pulled up to the erstwhile bus stop to let an unsteady passenger climb out and flop on the bench.

"You a designated driver today, Skid-Z?" X-Brawn joked as the race car transformed.

"It's not funny," Skid-Z told him, sounding distressed. "I found her abandoned on the side of the road, right after T-AI's alert. I couldn't just leave her in such a dangerous area." He shuddered. "There were bullet holes in every sign and mail box."

X-Brawn chuckled. "It's not a country sign unless it's been used for target practice. She was probably safer out there."

"Are you sure she didn't live nearby?" Prowl asked. The kid had curled up on herself as if seeking invisibility, so he directed his question to the scout instead, not wanting to frighten her.

"I looked, Prowl, honest I did. All I saw was grass and trees."

"Hmm. That's strange." X-Brawn pulled into the intersection and nosed into the west street. "Well, little brother, I'm sure you can sort this out. I've got some Predabutt to kick. Yee-haw!"

The SUV gunned his motor and took off. Skid-Z watched him go, then turned back to Prowl, his face anxious. "But she was bleeding all over the place. Has she been used for target practice?"

"What?" Alarmed, Prowl stepped close and knelt for a better look, trying simultaneously not to invade the kid's personal space. He had learned a good deal about injuries and first aid from the Academy. "Let me see."

"No, I'm not shot," a disoriented Shelley managed at last, uncurling a little. She wasn't scared, just in pain -- not to mention majorly carsick from the scout's high-speed turns. It was with supreme effort that she engaged in the conversation going on over her head. "I just konked my head real good. I'll be fine."

The cop looked her over critically. "You don't have a concussion?"

She flapped one hand in a negative; it wouldn't feel good to shake her head just yet. "No, I don't think so."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Prowl persisted.

She straightened her glasses and peered up at the Autobot, still too dazed to be surprised by anything. "None. Both hands are on your knees."

"Good." Prowl glanced up the street, aware that the clock was ticking. He was reluctant to leave her there alone, but her injury seemed relatively minor, and there was no telling how many other people might get hurt if they let the Predacons run loose. "We need to take care of something here, but we'll be back to take you home afterwards, okay?"

"Okay," Shelley murmured, starting to feel self-conscious under their dual gazes. She hugged her knees close to her chest again and bid them adieu with a small wave. "See you later, alligators," she said lamely, feeling foolish.

Skid-Z threw Prowl a quizzical look. "What's an alligator?"

Shelley suppressed a smile. Prowl straightened with a sigh. "Come on, Skid-Z. I'll explain on the way."

* * *

It was a bad day to be a gumball machine, particularly if you happened to be stationed just outside a certain copy shop's doorway. Dark Scream picked up the candy dispenser and rattled it like a toy, then smacked it against the sidewalk to get at the gumballs. "Do you think Sky-Byte's done yet?"

"Goodness, I hope not." Slapper raked his claws across the gaudily painted window and watched in satisfaction as "3¢/Copy" shattered across the sidewalk and store carpet in a shower of brilliant orange and yellow fragments. "We were just getting started!"

"Yeah," Gas-Skunk agreed. He reaching past Slapper to drag a copy machine through the broken window, trailing wires across the sill. "I haven't had this much fun since I was a protoform. No pressure, no deadlines -- just wreck and rule until we hear the signal. He can take all day as far as I'm concerned."

"He might, but the Autobots won't. I doubt we have more than a couple of hours, so we'd better make the most of it. Hey, let me see that." Dark Scream dropped the gumballs to grab the copier. "I remember watching a salesguy use one of these on TV."

He poked at its buttons with the tips of his fingers as the other two paused to watch. Nothing happened.

Slapper looked disappointed. "How come it's not working?"

"I dunno. Is it out of toner?" Dark Scream hefted the copier up next to his ear and shook it experimentally until the swinging power cord smacked him in the face.

"Oh. Duh. Why'd you guys unplug it?" He propped the shop door open with the battered gumball machine, then threaded the power cord inside and plugged it into the nearest socket. "There. That's better." And he ran off a few blank copies.

"What's so great about that? It only gives you one sheet at a time. There's loads of paper in here!" Gas-Skunk pulled out a double stack of 20-pound Astroparche reams and started shredding them. "Look, confetti time! Haha!"

"I'm just making sure it works," Dark Scream retorted. He found a stray price list and copied it. "See? It makes exact replicas of whatever you put on the glass."

"Really?" Slapper shouldered close. "Cool! Let me try." He lifted the feed tray and slid one fingertip onto the glass.

"Uh, I think it's just for paper, Slapper," Dark Scream cautioned. "You're not supposed to use three-dimensional objects."

"How come?" the toad Predacon scoffed. "Look, it worked just fine for me!" And he held up his copy as proof.

"My turn already!" Gas-Skunk left the confetti to shove him aside. "I'm going to get a copy of my cute little face."

Dark Scream and Slapper shot him dubious looks.

"Well, as much of it as I can jam on here, at least," Gas-Skunk amended, and proceeded to measure his profile against the glass.

"I dunno, Gas-Skunk. You might want to --"

"Aiiii!" The skunk Predacon jerked upright and clutched at his optic, temporarily blinded by the scanning flash. The feed tray dropped with a bang, cracking the glass.

"...cover your optics," Dark Scream finished dryly, while Gas-Skunk glared at him through his other optic. "That light is pretty intense."

* * *

Shelley wasn't sure how long she sat there, the sun-warmed bench drying her damp bottom as the nausea subsided. It still hurt to think, so she just gazed vacantly across the street and watched Canadian geese foraging in the city park, their black necks curving and bobbing gracefully through the grass. She straightened with surprise when a familiar voice spoke her name.

"Shelley?"

She twisted around on the bench, still clutching the sock to her forehead. "...Amy?" she said incredulously. It hadn't occured to her that this might be that town.

Amy dropped her backpack with a thud, her face radiant with delight. "It is you! Goodness, I can't believe you're here! I was so homesick I could have -- hey, what happened? You've got blood all over your face!" Amy frowned concernedly as she took in Shelley's stained face and sweater.

"I stepped on one of Mr. Klump's hoes," Shelley explained ruefully.

"Well for crying out loud, let's get you cleaned up! Stay right there," Amy ordered, and hopped nimbly through the window of a nearby restaurant, designated by a swinging sign as Carol's Cafe. Shelley scooted to a new section of hot bench to keep her pants drying. Getting up was the last thing on her mind right now.

Amy re-emerged a few minutes later, hauling a battered old first aid kit. "It was open on one of the tables. I think maybe someone got hurt by the glass."

"Amy," Shelley protested as her friend set the box down, "you can't just go and loot when you want something."

"I know Carol. She won't mind." Amy unlatched the dusty kit and sifted rapidly through the contents. "Besides, I think this qualifies as an emergency. How on earth did you get here?"

"Eh, it's kind of loopy. I don't think I was all there when it happened."

Amy peeled the sock away cautiously and grimaced. "I'm not surprised. That looks nasty." She produced a water bottle from her backpack. "Hold still. This may sting a little."

She dampened some napkins from a cafe table and sponged off the dried blood as gently as possible. "Huh. For so much blood, I expected the cut to be twice as big."

"It hurts quite enough as is, thank you."

"Hang in there, I'm almost done."

The first aid kit yielded a roll of gauze so stained with age that Amy stripped the first three layers off before using the clean remainder to tie a medicated bandage over the wound. She crumpled the yellow gauze together with the dirty sock and threw them under a handy lily-of-the-Nile.

"That's littering," Shelley protested.

"It is not. I'm adding humus to the soil and enriching it for generations yet to come."

"You're supposed to enrich dirt with compost, not bits of gory clothing."

"Fine then," Amy sniffed, "you cram that icky stuff into your pocket."

Shelley contemplated the gross-looking sock briefly, then poked it farther under the plant leaves. "At least make sure it's out of sight."

"Whatever." Amy stepped back to inspect her handiwork. "There. How does that feel?"

Shelley traced the gauze coronet with a careful fingertip. "Comfortable," she told Amy. "Thanks. Do you think it'll get infected?"

"Nah. It looked like a pretty clean cut. You're going to have a real nice bruise, though."

"I'd hate to have nothing to show for my suffering," Shelley said dryly. "Wait a minute, though. I'm that thrilled you were here, but what are you doing running around?" She pointed at the sun, still climbing towards his zenith. "I didn't think your school let out this early."

Amy looked smug. "It doesn't normally. But after these big metal dudes showed up and started wrecking things, the staff decided we'd be safer at the fire station. I slipped out while they were herding all the students together." At Shelley's shocked look, she added, "Hey, I wanted to see what the city looked like when aliens were invading." She hauled her backpack onto the bench and patted it. "Best of all, I packed a lunch! Have a donut?"

Shelley peered in and raised an eyebrow fractionally, mindful of the cut. "You didn't know I would be here. Were you planning to eat the whole dozen?"

"Hey, I was in a hurry. Someone might have walked into the kitchen at any minute. I didn't have time to split packs." Amy sorted through various foodstuffs and pulled out a box of Hostess donuts. "Which, as it turns out, was a good thing, or you would have had to just sit there and watch me eat. You want powdered or chocolate? I've got some Kit-Kat, too."

"Ah, the cure for all ills." Shelley flicked her dark ponytail over one shoulder and pretended to tie a napkin around her neck. She hadn't had breakfast yet, and the contents of that backpack looked wonderful. She decided to worry later about whether Amy would get in trouble for playing hooky. "Hand it over."

Shelley leaned forward just enough to snatch the Kit-Kat. "Would you be surprised if big metal dudes entered the story?"

"Try me."

The copy machine's functional lifespan over, Dark Scream had to content himself with poking about in its innards and shocking himself on the coronal coils. Meanwhile, Slapper and Gas-Skunk helped themselves to the printing ink, alternately prying off lids, flicking gobs of the viscous semi-solid everywhere, and feeding entire cans into the printing press for the fun of watching them squish. Dark Scream discovered the long, thin toner box about the same time the other two ran out of ink.

"Wow, it's amazing how flat those get when you run them through the rollers." Slapper made a show of dusting his hands clean, which just meant that the various colors on each palm got smeared together in a gooey jumble. "Too bad we're out. What's next? How about the Auto Mall?"

"Hang on a second. I want to see what this is." Dark Scream then did something any of the employees could have warned him against, had they been around; he foolishly pried off the lid and was promptly enveloped by a cloud of superfine toner dust. He caught his breath in surprise, choked, and went into a coughing fit, backing up in a futile attempt to escape the insidious stuff. The charged plastic particles clung to the living metal of his skin with the tenacity of microscopic barnacles, and his frantic scraping and slapping only served to rearrange them into bizarre electromagnetic patterns. Come off they would not.

"The salesguy didn't say anything about swarms of mechacidal nanobots," he coughed. "Lousy jerk."

"Caveat emptor," Slapper quipped, then ducked as the mostly empty container flew over his head, trailing a cloud of residual toner. With his vision impaired, the squirrel's aim was a little shaky. "Hey! Where did you pick up Latin, Screamer?"

"I didn't," Dark Scream growled. "I just knew it was something stupid."

"You could always ask for you money back."

"Calm down, it's just toner." Gas-Skunk dug into the debris in the printing area and came up with a five-gallon metal container of noxious-smelling fluid. "Here, why don't we try some press cleaner?"

"No way!" Dark Scream swatted the container away. "There is no way I'm letting you put some caustic chemical on my optics!"

Gas-Skunk sighed. "Okay, but you're really going to slow us down half blinded like that."

"Not to mention embarrassing us with your toner tattoos," Slapper chimed in helpfully.

Dark Scream snarled. Gas-Skunk shot the toad a warning look. "Slapper, why don't you go see if you can find some Windex in back."

Grumbling, Slapper burrowed his way into the storefront. They listened to him rummaging around in the debris. Periodically, some item he'd just unearthed would come flying back out of the store; many of these had no business being in a copy shop. Video tapes, a TV set, two boxes of A4 Cambridge Linen envelopes, matching letterheads, loose Exacto knives, several bags of M&Ms, an ancient stapling machine, oversized paper airplanes folded from various colors of 11x14 copy paper, a laminating machine, half a box of crayons, one Bev Doolittle painting, five hundred shrink-wrapped postcards with some grinning realty agent's mug shot, and a cheesy-smelling pizza box.

"Well? Any luck?" Gas-Skunk called.

"I'm looking, man, I'm looking," Slapper insisted, tossing aside a stack of memos dating from some time in the 1980s. "But I don't think this shop was very big on organization even before we trashed it." He looked at the light table, littered with vello and tape binding strips, one ant-infested donut, white-out tape, blue non-copy pencils and a battered Starcraft game CD. "And that's an understatement."

"Hurry it up, will you? The Autobots aren't going to wait forever."

Slapper muttered something under his breath and kept digging through the mess. A moment later the others heard a brief silence, followed by a series of arrhythmic thuds.

"Ahhhh! Ow! Gableeeeeeeeerg!"

"What's up with him?" Dark Scream demanded. "Did he find it?"

"Nope." Gas-Skunk craned his neck for a better look into the store. "Looks like he got his tongue caught in the folding machine."

When Dark Scream held his coughing back for a minute, he could indeed discern that Slapper was squalling and yelling in that peculiar way which meant his tongue was pinned. He'd heard it before.

"Moron," Dark Scream gritted. He was becoming more uncomfortable by the minute as the powder stung his optics and worked its way ever deeper into sensitive joints and circuitry. "He just can't leave stuff alone, can he."

Gas-Skunk looked sideways at his comrade and wisely said nothing.

"Listen, just find me some grass. I'll rub it off there."

"Whatever you say, Screamer." Gas-Skunk sat back on his haunches to scope out the area. "Look, how about that college campus? There's plenty of grass and the sprinklers are going. That should help wash off the toner."

"Which way?" Dark Scream groped about for a reference point. "You'll have to talk me over there."

"What about Slapper?"

"Ah, he'll figure it out," Dark Scream said, ignoring Slapper's mostly unintelligible protests. "Come on, my eyes are killing me."

Gas-Skunk was watching Dark Scream plough full-length through the wet zoysia grass and hydrangeas when X-Brawn pulled up and transformed.

"Uh, before I start shooting," he said in amusement, "would you mind telling me why rodent-boy there is playing Wheelbarrow?"

"He's celebrating your premature demise," Gas-Skunk retorted.

Slapper chose that moment to stagger out of the wrecked copy shop, dragging his accordioned tongue behind him. "Hey, guys, why'd you take off without me? I was--"

He spotted X-Brawn and gaped, tunnel vision kicking in as he forget everything else in delight over catching an Autobot with his back turned. "Die, Autobot! Haha! Right laser! Hasta la vista, vaquero!"

Warned more by his gut and the horrified looks on the other Predacon's faces than by Slapper's cackle, X-Brawn hit the deck and rolled out of the way. Dark Scream and Gas-Skunk were almost as fast, splitting to either side as the salvo whizzed between them to incinerate the cafeteria. Sparks and burning debris flew everywhere.

"Dear me," Slapper grinned. "I hope that wasn't important."

X-Brawn leveled his weapon. "Bronco blast!"

His barrage caught the Predacon squarely on the chest. With a howl, Slapper went flying back into the rubble from whence he came.

"You idiots! What are you doing?" Sky-Byte demanded over the comm. "I told you not to stand and fight! Get out of there -- don't give him time to call the others and pin you down! I need more time!"

"That's easy for you to say," Gas-Skunk protested. "You're not being shot at by your own team!"

"You don't have toner in places I won't mention in public!" Dark Scream added, rubbing at his thigh joints.

"That's as much as I want to hear about it, Dark Scream," Gas-Skunk complained.

"Come on, Fearless Leader is right for once," Dark Scream conceded. "We need to split up. I'll meet you guys at the rendezvous point."

"What about Slapper?"

Dark Scream spared the toad a glance. More of the roof had collapsed into the copy shop, and only the ends of his thrashing limbs were visible.

But the squirrel was running short on sympathy today.

"I think he's smart enough to dig himself out, don't you?"

Gas-Skunk scratched the back of his head meditatively. "Weeeell..."

* * *

Sky-Byte floated effortlessly along a quiet avenue, reading numbers off the right-hand curb as lacy shadows from the tree branches overhead slid across his back.

"895, 897, 899 and... No, no no! Now I'm on Halfpence Way," he exclaimed, gliding to a halt and looking about for help. "Hello there," he called out hopefully, spotting a lone jogger making her way across the sidewalk. "I don't suppose I could take a moment of your time to get some directions?"

She broke stride to shoot him a venomous glance and mutter something under her breath. His razor hearing let him distinguish every word perfectly. "A lovely college town, they told me. Well! Not only does this place look like a rock concert aftermath, but they had show up, too!"

"I just need to know --"

"You don't exist," she yelled. "My therapist said so and that session cost me a bundle, so it better be true!"

"But I --"

"Why don't you become one with the universe and stop bothering me!" She clamped both hands over her headphones to shut out his voice and jogged resolutely away, jet-black ponytail sashaying in time to her stride.

"Well," the shark huffed. "How rude! Fine then, I don't believe in you either!"

Discouraged, he sank down in near the broken display case of a ruined consignment store and regarded his many reflections woefully.

"Where can it be?" he asked them despondently. But they looked as unsure as he felt, and the few people in the store just stared blankly, their expressions oddly stiff with surprise or fear. His other surroundings offered no clue except the obvious: the other Predacons had already been here, leaving plenty of wreckage in their wake. Sky-Byte realized with a sinking feeling that he hadn't told them to leave the bookstore alone. What if they had already leveled it?

"I can't believe it," he mourned. "And I planned everything so carefully."

"Hold it, Sky-Byte! Sideburn, transform!" The youngest Autobot brother exchanged modes without slowing and landed squarely in front of Sky-Byte, feet apart. "You can just forget whatever you're planning."

"Can't those three losers do anything right?" Sky-Byte grumbled. "Distract and destroy. How hard can it be? Sky-Byte, terrorize!"

He transformed and reached through the shattered storefront to grab the first person who came to hand. "Here now -- back off, Autobot, or I'll be forced to injure this woman!"

Sideburn stared incredulously, then burst out laughing. "Sky-Byte, that's a mannequin."

"What?" Sky-Byte glanced at his hostage in consternation. "Oh, eh. Yes of course. I knew that." Flustered, he tossed the inanimate lady back into the consignment store with her fellow models, minus one shoe and an ostrich feather boa. The latter snagged on a finger joint and fluttered with every gesture he made as he tried a different tack. "Listen, you hothead, I'm not here to hurt anyone. Kindly be civilized and leave me alone."

"You just threatened a woman," the blue mech reminded him, smirking. It was hard to remember that the shark could be dangerous with that feather boa flapping after his hand.

"B-but she wasn't real!" Sky-Byte sputtered in protest.

"True enough," Sideburn acknowledged, cocking his head in consideration. "You either thought she was, or hoped I'd be too stupid to notice the difference." He leveled his crossbow and grinned. "Either way, I'm entitled to a shot at you."

"Now, see here--!"

Sky-Byte was saved by a crackle of static in Sideburn's comm unit.

"Sideburn, where are you?" Prowl's voice was tense. "We need backup!"

Sideburn glanced at the shark and held up his index finger politely, then put a hand to his helmet. "Um, I'm a little busy right now. Can it wait?"

"The Predacons are heading for the Auto Mall," X-Brawn put in shrewdly. "It's a little early to say for sure, but it looks like they're going straight for the Porsches."

"Oh, no! Not those sweet little Carreras!" Sideburn was horrified. "I go down a cross street for two seconds, and those monsters start targeting innocent bystanders! I'm on my way! Sideburn, transform!"

Sky-Byte just stood there as the blue Viper burned rubber down the street, not sure whether to be relieved or insulted at being forgotten so quickly and completely.

* * *

"The mockingbirds what?"

"I'm serious." Shelley wiped her hands on her pants and reached for a soda. "The cat sets off his car alarm every other night, and now the mockingbirds are starting to copy it. They go through the whole spiel."

"Poor Dad. He's so paranoid about someone stealing that car."

Shelley grinned. "If he wasn't losing sleep over it before, he is now." She opened the can and gasped as it doused her with a fountain of ice-cold Sprite.

"Oh, eh, I guess I shook them up a little, hauling them round in the backpack," Amy explained between giggles, and tipped her own soda carefully away from her face.

She paused with her thumb on the ring. "Hey... do you hear that?"

Shelley finished blotting her face on her sleeve and cocked her head attentively. At first she heard only the gentle burbling of the creek, but now that she was paying attention, she realized that there was indeed something else out there. They could both hear it now, a soft, troubled sound.

"It's coming from the park," Amy whispered. Shelley nodded. They put their drinks down and padded softly across the street, picking their way through the detritus as quietly as they could. Something about the pitch of that noise made them want to keep quiet.

They stopped where the sidewalk dipped down into the park hollow, surprised by the sight of a Predacon warrior sitting dejectedly on the lake shore with his head in his hands, and no one but an overhanging willow for company. The ostrich boa floating on the water surface nearby added a touch of absurdity.

"It's that shark guy," Amy whispered.

"And... he's crying," Shelley murmured incredulously.

They hesitated, but his sobs were so genuinely heartbroken that they finally approached.

"Can I help you?" Amy asked matter-of-factly.

He wiped his eyes and looked at them in surprise. "Can you help me? Well, that's awfully nice of you, but I don't suppose you can, unless you happen to know where I can find 969 Nickel Street."

"There is no 969 Nickel Street," Amy told him. "Nickel crosses Esplanade somewhere in the 800s and turns into Halfpence."

"I know that," Sky-Byte groused. "I spent half the morning traversing that wretched street. But YahooMaps said 969, and that's what I was looking for." He flapped a piece of paper to prove his point.

Amy extended a hand. "May I see that?"

"Certainly." He passed the paper down to her. She smoothed out the fold lines and read aloud while shadows from the swaying willow wands danced across the words.

"'The Book Tree; Rare and Used books, Classics and Poetry, 969 Nickel Street.'" She looked up at him curiously. "You got this from Yahoo? It's handwritten."

"Yes, the printer was out of ink," he explained. "Slapper was printing episode summaries for some G.I. Joe cartoon and ran it dry. I had to copy that address off of the screen."

"I see. Well, I think you mixed the numbers up." Amy handed the paper back. "The Book Tree is on Nickel, all right, but it's at 696, not 969."

Sky-Byte sat up straight. "Really and truly?" he asked incredulously. "I was on the right street all the time? I was just looking for the wrong numbers?"

"Yeah." Amy nodded. "Don't feel bad. I write numbers backwards all the time in school."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Sky-Byte all but threw her a kiss before flipping into beast mode and sailing off through the trees, humming a happy tune.

Amy shook her head and ran her hand down a nearby willow wand, enjoying the feel of the glossy leaves and pliant wood. "A singing shark who likes books. Okay, that was weird."

"Sounds like he's been having a rough day," Shelley agreed, crouching to trace her name in the mud. Someone had left an unfinished game of tic-tac-toe; she made an X in the last blank compartment and drew a line through the completed row. There was cattail fuzz all over the shoreline, she noted. Strange. She picked up an unscathed seed head and ran a nail across the velvety surface, watching the floss expand from the scratch in its peculiar way and drift from her hand in the breeze.

"Actually," they heard the shark call back resignedly, "it's been about par for the course."

* * *

Sky-Byte hummed his way down the road, his happiness and faith in life restored. Within minutes he spotted the bookstore in question, tucked away in a small shopping center set back somewhat from the main street and screen from view by a huge old cottonwood.

"Well, what do you know, she was right! There's the Book Tree at 696 after all. I was looking on the wrong side of the street entirely. And it's untouched!"

He settled by the doorway and rapped politely. After a long moment, a clerk answered the door.

"Can I help you?" she asked, her voice quavering a little.

"Yes, I'd like to pick up my free copy of the 'Tears in the Sky' anthology."

Her face cleared. "Oh, you must be one of the contributors."

Sky-Byte beamed. "That's correct!"

"Wait right here."

He waited as she went inside and located the title in question, deciding to transform meanwhile so he could handle it properly. She had thoughtfully chosen the large print hardback edition; now she laid it in his outstretched anchor arm and watched as he carefully leafed through the pages.

"Oh, my. Here it is." He cleared his throat and read the words softly, feeling a thrill run through his transistors. The cottonwood leaves rustled overhead all the while like the sound of distant applause.

"The praise of children
Like sweet music resounding
Fills my empty heart."

"Why, I think that's just lovely," the clerk said sincerely.

"Oh, that's so kind of you. Thank you." Sky-Byte wiped his eyes. "Pardon me," he said apologetically. "It's an emotional moment for me, seeing my work in print for the very first time. Thank you again for your help."

"You're welcome, and congratulations." She smiled and went back inside, much relieved that her store was still in one piece.

* * *

It hadn't made much sense to begin with, and now it made even less. Slapper dropped the newspaper stand abruptly instead of throwing it at X-Brawn, as if surprised by something unseen. "Aww, man! Just when things were getting good!" he protested, and bounded off down the street.

"Hey, wait for me!" Gas-Skunk untangled himself from the dumpster into which Prowl had just knocked him and tore after Slapper.

Slapper's retort drifted back faintly. "Why should I?"

"Well, I hate to cut this short," Dark Scream told Sideburn, "but I gotta run! Dark Scream, beast mode!" He transformed and took off after the others. "I need an oil bath, ASAP!"

"Well, well, would you look at that!" X-Brawn exclaimed.

Prowl couldn't believe it either. "The Predacons are pulling out!"

"But why?" Sideburn asked in puzzlement, his crossbow still held ready. "All we did was chase them away from the Auto Mall. I don't think we scared them that bad."

"We don't know why they attacked the Auto Mall, or any of the other buildings for that matter," Prowl seethed, his frustration evident. He was always more uptight when civilians were directly endangered. "It's like they were just doing it for the fun of it."

"I wouldn't put it past them," X-Brawn agreed. "They definitely enjoyed themselves. But why risk fighting us just to vandalize?"

Prowl snapped his fingers. "Wait a minute! T-AI said there were some Sky-Byte sightings on the other side of town. They might have been covering for him!"

"Oh, that's right," Sideburn recalled belatedly. "I saw him too."

"And you never thought to mention this to us?" Prowl asked.

Sideburn held out his palms defensively. "Hey, I tried, okay? But it totally slipped my mind when you called for backup."

X-Brawn chuckled. "Can't imagine why."

"You did say something about being busy," Prowl conceded, after some obligatory grumbling. "I suppose we can sort it all out at base."

X-Brawn nodded. "But we need to make sure the little lady gets home safe first."

Sideburn looked from brother to brother. "Who?"

"Someone the scout dragged in," Prowl told him, and activated his comm. He had sent the racecar down another street to keep the Predacons from getting to the city's water tower, since they had been swinging in that direction at the time. Now, of course, it was out of danger. "Skid-Z, the Predacon attack is over. We'll meet you at the park."

* * *

People had started to circulate in the streets again as news of the Predacons' departure spread. It was not without some difficulty that the girls made their way up out of the park and back to the bus stop, bumping and weaving through the crowd. Pedestrians were milling and clustering in the street to gawk, exclaim and take pictures. The local news channel had sent a van to film the damage and interview disraught business owners while police cordoned off the wrecked buildings with yellow CAUTION tape, and firefighters went inside to check for live wires or gas leaks.

"You sure they'll come?" Amy asked, hopping up on the bench to see over the crowd.

Shelley stepped up beside her and nodded. "The white one said they would take me back home after they took care of something here. If 'something' was those other metal dudes, they should be back soon."

"Bummer," Amy muttered, then brightened. "Hey, maybe they forgot about you. You'll have to hide out in my dorm."

"Wouldn't that make the monitors happy," Shelley grinned. "Well, I guess it could have slipped his mind, but he did seem like the responsible type."

There was a flash of sunlight off a tinted windshield. "Hey, there." Shelley raised a hand to shade her eyes, then pointed. "I think I see them."

"Aw, drat." Amy followed Shelley's gesture and spotted the group of vehicles threading their way cautiously through the foot traffic. "Who, those cars?"

"Yep, that's them," Shelley confirmed as Skid-Z transformed and scanned the crowd, obviously looking for someone. "In fact, I think that's the guy who -- uh oh."

Skid-Z had cornered a pretty young Asian woman on the sidewalk nearby and was trying to talk her into coming with him. With her jeans and black ponytail, she did bear a superficial resemblance to Shelley, but she was not the least bit interested in letting the well-intentioned Autobot take her home, and told him so at the top of her lungs.

"Do I look like a hitchhiker? Go away! Go away! Oh, I should have known better than to think I might have a nice quiet jog for once!"

"What's the matter, lady?" Skid-Z asked in bewilderment, sidestepping to keep her from darting between his ankles and losing herself in the crowd. Really, she was making no sense at all. At least she was doing better physically. She hadn't even been up to walking before; now she was trying for a chance to outrun him. It was an amazingly fast recovery, except for the fact that she didn't seem to recognize him. "Don't you want to go home? I just want to give you a lift!"

"Oh no you don't!" she yelled hotly. "Following me around everywhere was bad enough, but I draw the line at kidnapping!" And she threw her Walkman at his head. It bounced off his helmet before shattering across the sidewalk. Skid-Z flinched at her unexpected hostility but wouldn't give up.

"Wait, you don't understand!" He bowed his head slightly and put a fist to his mouth in consideration; then his face brightened. "Oh, I know -- the injury must have damaged your memory! Look, I'll show you where it happened!" He picked her up with both hands, transformed neatly around her and zoomed off into the nearby space bridge portal, her high-decibel protest resonating long after they'd both vanished from sight.

"No, Skid-Z, wait! You've got the wrong person!" Prowl called frantically after him. But it was far too late. The number of pedestrians between Prowl and the portal ruled out a quick dash in either mode, and no one could catch the scout once he had a head start. "Oh, for the love of Sherlock..."

"Don't bust a gasket," X-Brawn said wearily, but not without amusement, while Prowl covered his optics to regain his composure and Sideburn roared with laughter. "T-AI, looks like we'll need the portal open a little longer than usual." He turned to his brothers. "We'll just have to find the right lady and take her home ourselves, then bring that poor bystander back."

"Assuming we can get Skid-Z to pay attention to his comm, that is," Prowl sighed, pulling himself together. A persistent movement down the street caught his eye. "There, I see the kid. She's waving at us." He transformed and veered towards the bus stop.

The girls couldn't help laughing at Skid-Z's mistake, but Prowl's approach prompted a tearful good-bye hug. "It would have been fun to hide you at school," Amy sniffed, "but at least we had a great time today."

"Hey, I'll see you at Christmas break," Shelley tried to console her, though she was on the verge of crying herself. "Only a few more weeks, okay?"

Amy snorted derisively. "Like that's supposed to help." But she tried to smile bravely.

With a parting wave and a sinking heart, Shelley started walking toward the Lamborghini. She would have liked nothing better than to stay with her friend, but it just wasn't practical, and her parents might be worried sick already. There was no sense in dragging out a painful goodbye.

* * *

   -Amy

THE END