Vreet.

Vreet.

Vreet.

Xeralia Fallyna Sterling turned onto her back, reached above her head, and thumbed the comm acknowledge button built into the headboard of her bunk.

"What," she said.

"Captain Sterling," came the voice of a Zentraedi commtech. "Domillan Exedore requests your attendance in Conference Room C immediately."

Xeralia blinked, then sat up and rubbed at her face with both hands. "'M on my way," she said.

She was still trying to wake fully up when she arrived on the Micron balcony in Conference C. Exedore was already there, fully uniformed, looking chipper. Xeralia wondered if he slept. She'd heard a lot of odd stories about Exedore, tales that explained his slight and stunted frame as the tradeoff for genetic modifications that had given him mental qualities far beyond those of any other Zentraedi.

There was another officer there as well, a micronized male dressed in the uniform of a domillan's adjutant. He had a small durasteel case under his arm and a very serious mien. Xeralia noted his presence but made nothing of it for the moment. Instead she came to attention and saluted Exedore, as all Zentraedi did, though he held no proper rank in the Alliance's military structure.

"Captain Xeralia Fallyna Sterling, reporting as ordered, Lord Exedore," she said.

Exedore smiled. "At ease, Captain. I'm not one for pomp, and I have known you too long."

Xeralia relaxed a bit, smiling, but still folded her arms behind her back at precisely the correct angle for parade rest. Exedore took note, chuckled indulgently, then addressed himself to business.

"Accompanying the recording your parents sent to you and your sisters was another message for me," he said. "It was released from the probe's communication system when Komilia Fallyna unlocked the main data core. In it, Lord Breetai issued certain instructions."

Xeralia raised an eyebrow. Very few Zentraedi could presume to give Exedore "instructions". Even Breetai wasn't technically entitled to, under the Alliance's constitution.

"Most of these instructions are of a political nature, and as such do not directly concern the two of us just now," Exedore said. "However, there are a few that most definitely do. For instance, with the entirety of the Kridanik Fleet expected to be out of circulation for the better part of a century, certain elements of the Fleet must be reorganized to provide for the continued fulfillment of the Alliance's various treaty responsibilities."

He paused here to regard Xeralia with a twinkle-eyed expression that she knew from childhood. It was a mischievous, almost childlike look itself, one that said unmistakably that the Great Archivist was up to something. In a moment, Xeralia understood what he was getting at.

And to keep an eye on our presently untouchable enemies, so that we can move against them instantly when the time comes that we can move at all, she thought, smiling.

"To this end," Exedore went on, "and in recognition of your swift and decisive action in defense of Cybertron, I am pleased to promote you to the rank of rear admiral."

The micronized adjutant stepped forward and ceremoniously presented the case he carried. Within it were the trappings of her new office: a gold-trimmed, slightly more elaborate version of the scarlet uniform coat she wore, a short, black-edge white cape, and a ceremonial blaster pistol inlaid with thin plates of polished iridium and depleted vizorium. Momentarily taken aback, Xeralia hesitated before removing her coat, folding it neatly, and exchanging it for her new one, then putting on the cape and belting the blaster at her side. The adjutant briskly closed the case and retired.

"Congratulations, Rear Admiral Sterling."

"Thank you, Domillan," Xeralia said. "What is to be my new posting?"

"You already have it," Exedore told her. "As part of the fleet reorganization, the battlegroup you were placed in brevet command of for this operation is now properly assigned to you. Battlegroup Quevillon and the Quelquira-Nuur are yours to command. As commander of a special detachment of the Kridanik Fleet, you will report directly to me in Lord Breetai's absence."

Xeralia blinked, then managed a halting thank-you. Collecting her wits, she added, "What is my first assignment?"

"For the moment, your battlegroup must remain on the defense of Cybertron. However, a relief force will arrive from Reflex Point within a Standard month." Exedore smiled. "After that, I'll have a much more interesting task for you. But for now, relax, familiarize yourself with your new command, and spend time with your sisters. There will be plenty of time for great works once the immediate galactic situation stabilizes somewhat."


Xeralia took Exedore's advice, and as the next few weeks unfolded, there was plenty to do. All the Sterling sisters found ways to busy themselves, and slowly, almost in spite of themselves, started to make tentative plans for what to do next with their lives. Xeralia's course was clear - as was Mylene's, to her sisters' surprise, when she unexpectedly accepted an invitation to join a rock band that had found itself stranded without a bassist on Cybertron after the fall of the Wedge Defense Force.

That development, in turn, spurred Komilia and Therèse to develop a strategy for themselves. Maia and Miranda, too, decided on a course of action after much deliberation, one that would allow them to make use of their own special talents and try to do their part for a galaxy needing help. By slow degrees, all their plans took shape, and they began to feel a bit better, their worldviews stabilized by the simple idea that, whatever happened, at least they were doing something to regroup and move forward after their sudden dispossession.

All but one...

Thursday, October 11, 2288

Emilia Sterling was working off some frustration at an impromptu firing range out in the badlands, blasting at old HBT cans and random bits of debris with her Gallant-H90, when an old-fashioned army-green Jeep with nobody driving it jounced over the broken pavement and pulled up behind her.

"Hey," said the Jeep.

Emilia blasted another can, then holstered the blaster and turned. "Hey, Hound."

"What's up?" Hound asked.

Emilia shrugged. "Nothin'."

Hound transformed to robot mode and knelt down, forearm on knee, to peer down at her. "You sound kinda down, still. I thought getting the message from your parents would cheer you up."

"It did. A little. I mean, I'm glad they're alive," she said hurriedly, aware that she might be giving the wrong impression. "It's just that... well, that doesn't really help me much. It's great news - don't get me wrong! - but even so, I'm still... here."

"Ah," said Hound, nodding sagely. He lowered himself carefully to a sitting position, Indian-fashion, chin in hands. "Well, where would you rather be instead?"

"I'd rather be home, on the SDF-17, doing what I've always wanted to do, what I'm trained to do!" Emilia snarled, her whole body tensing with a sudden spasm of anger. "All my life I've looked forward to the day when I could make my name as a Wedge Defense Force MechWarrior. I just finished Destroid Combat School - I won McKennsy's Hammer, how often does an enlisted pilot do that? - I just got my sergeant's stripes and my first unit posting, and before I can even report for duty, meet my lancemates, be a real part of the Armored Corps... "

Her anger burned out as suddenly as it had flared up. She slumped to the ground, mirroring Hound's posture, and hung her head while tears tracked her face.

"... it's all gone," she murmured. "Komilia and Terry have their VTs, at least. And their experience. Maia and Miranda have their Legios, and each other. Xera has her fleet. Now Mylene has her new band. And I don't grudge any of them that, I don't," she said, as if begging the attentive Autobot to understand. "But... " She raised her eyes to Hound, as if searching for truth in the lines of his faceplate, and asked in a small voice, "... what about me?"

"Well... " Hound considered the question seriously, though it had been rhetorical. Unceremoniously, the Autobot flopped down, unfolding his legs, propping his torso up on his elbows, and looked thoughtfully up at the starry sky for a few minutes.

Then he turned to Emilia, half-sitting, and said, "Okay, maybe you can't be exactly what you wanted to be right now. It happens to all of us sometimes. The trick is to see how close you can get, then decide if you can be happy with that until something better comes along." He transformed back to Jeep mode and started his engine. "Come with me," he said. "I have an idea."

Intrigued, Emilia got to her feet and climbed aboard. As soon as she was in the passenger seat, Hound took off, his knobbly off-road tires scattering debris in his wake.

Emilia would never have been able to find her way back along the course she and Hound took that afternoon. The Autobot tracker may have been happier under the wide open skies of Earth, but he knew every inch of Cybertron, and he took shortcuts and back alleys even most other Autobots didn't know. For almost half an hour they threaded their way in silence through the maze of lower Cybertron, eventually emerging onto what looked to Emilia like an abandoned airfield - an open space with large, low, hangar-like buildings flanking what was obviously either a runway or highway.

"This is it," Hound said as he screeched to a halt in front of one of the hangars, if that's what they were. Emilia climbed out so that he could resume robot mode. Without hesitation, he walked to the giant hangar doors and levered them open, the ancient rollers protesting with hackles-raising squeals. Emilia looked past his leg into the yawning space beyond, but saw only darkness. Hound, however, could see in the dark, and he grinned at what he saw.

"Yep, I was right," he said. "This is the place. Take a look." So saying, he switched on the overhead lights.

Emilia gasped. Standing there in the middle of the hangar, as if waiting for orders, was a Destroid painted in the colors of the 37th Wedge Defense Force Air Guard Regiment ("The Sharpshooters"). And not just any Destroid, either.

"A Rifleman!" she cried.

"Yep," Hound said. "The 37th left a bunch of them here when they rotated out a few years ago, after we finished automating the Iacon defense grid, just in case they needed to reactivate in a hurry. The idea was that they'd be able to just shuttle the pilots over if need be."

Emilia walked slowly into the hangar and took a closer look at the Destroid. "This is... an R-model?"

"I think so. I'm not as familiar with the different models as you probably are." Hound smiled. "Anyway, it's yours if you want it."

Emilia paused in her examination of one of the Destroid's leg-mounted heat sinks - they were the recently developed high-efficiency model, so the unit couldn't have been refitted more than 20 years ago - to stare at him.

"You're giving it to me?" She blinked. "Can you even do that?"

Hound shrugged. "It's WDF property," he said. "You're a sergeant in the Armored Corps and you need a Destroid. Seems straightforward enough to me."

He stepped into the hangar and knelt, as he had before, to address her more closely. "I understand you feel lost, Emilia. Life is a complicated road, and we have to map it as we go. Even I get lost sometimes. Back in 2005, when your parents and Gryphon and the others were here, and we lost Optimus Prime on Earth... a lot of us felt the way you and your sisters feel now. We felt like everything we fought for was gone. Didn't know how we would ever go on. But we did go on... we did the best we could with what we had... and eventually things worked out all right." He spread a hand to indicate both girl and Destroid. "Maybe you can't be part of the WDF Armored Corps right now, but I'm sure a pilot like you and a 'Mech like that can do some good for somebody somewhere."

Emilia stood looking up at the Rifleman for a moment, then turned and regarded Hound. For a second she looked like she might cry again. Then her face broke into a smile - a little wan, maybe, and a little worn, but a smile, all the same.

"You're the best, Hound," she said. "... Now how am I going to get this thing off the planet?"

Hound grinned. "I know a guy... "


Tuesday, October 16, 2288
Cybertron

"Xera's late," Emilia Sterling noted.

Maia snorted. "What else is new?"

"I guess we might as well get started without her," Komilia observed. "It's been... heck, a while since we were all together in the same place. So where do we stand?"

"Well," Therèse said, putting her booted feet up on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, "all the mecha are pretty much ready to go. We're waiting on a missile delivery for the Alpha - amazingly, the Autobots didn't just happen to have 100 GPM-150s lying around," she said, shooting Maia a pointed look.

"Hey, we fired those missiles to save your ass," Maia replied without rancor.

"Everything checks out on that Rifleman Emi, uh, 'found'... annnd the machine shop's still working on the blown actuator on my Valkyrie," Therèse went on. "We should be ready to go within a few days, although 'go where' is a valid question at this point."

"Well, I was going to bring that up, actually," Emilia put in. "Hound hooked me up with a merchant captain who's making a run to the Rim soon. He thinks he knows a Destroid unit out there that's looking for owner-operators."

Mylene gave her a puzzled look. "You just hire out on your own? Like a truck driver?"

Emilia laughed. "Pretty much, yeah. MechWarriors who have their own 'Mechs are a lot more in demand on the merc market than ones who have to be equipped. Anyway, Captain Henriksen thinks I can pull a four-year contract with the planetary guard on Kestra II. Pretty good money because the place is so out-of-the-way they have a hard time attracting anybody with actual training. After that, I'll have enough socked away to make some other move. Thing is, he wants to raise ship within a week or so, ten days at the outside."

"You think you can trust this Henriksen guy?" Komilia asked.

Emilia nodded. "Hound vouches for him. That's good enough for me."

Komilia considered it, then nodded as well. "All right, if that's what you want to do. I wish we could all stay together, but... "

"We've gone over this already, Komi," Miranda said. "We'd be hard pressed to keep a low profile if we all traveled in a pack, even under assumed names. We'd match a profile. You know GENOM will have people looking out for that kind of thing."

Komilia sighed. "I know. I just hate feeling like I'm sending Emi off to fend for herself."

"Hey, it's my choice," Emilia said. "And I know what I'm doing. I won McKennsy's Hammer going through Destroid school with a specialization in the RFL series. Nobody's ever done that before."

Komilia nodded. "I know you can take care of yourself, Emi. It's not that I don't have confidence in you." She sighed. "Just something I'm going to have to get used to." Changing the subject to get her own mind off it, as much as anything else, she turned to Maia. "How are you guys coming on the fake IDs?"

"Just about ready," Maia said. "Jazz told me this morning we should have everything we need day after tomorrow."

"Mylene, what's the situation on your end?"

Mylene opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, the door opened and Xeralia came in, looking slightly harried.

"Well!" said Maia, with a measure of good-natured snark. "So glad you decided to join us, Group Captain - excuse me, Rear Admiral Fallyna Sterling."

"Sorry I'm late," Xeralia said. "I was called to Commander Bron's office on my way here. My new orders just came in from Reflex Point." She looked a little pained, as if she didn't really want to say what came next, then went on, "We're leaving Saturday. I can't say where we're headed."

"I think I see a pattern forming," said Therèse dryly.

"I was just about to say," Mylene put in, "that my first show with Fire Bomber is this Friday at the Neutral Zone, and after that, the guys really want to move on. Ray thinks he can get us a gig on Earth, someplace they've played before."

"Are you ready?" Komilia asked.

Mylene grinned. "I guess we'll find out," she said.

Komilia considered the matter for a few seconds, then sighed. "All right. Looks like this weekend is it, then. We'll all get together Friday night for Mylene's first gig, see Xera off on Saturday, and... " She opened a hand in a "dust in the wind" gesture.

"I should have our emergency communications all worked out by then," Maia said.

"Okay, then. I... guess this is it." Komilia looked down at her hands, then sighed and leaned back in her chair, looking around from one sister to another.

"Please don't make a speech," Miranda said before Komilia could speak again. The remark, perfectly timed and perfectly pitched in a piping little-girl voice, cracked up the room, breaking the tension that had settled with the realization that, at the end of the week, everything was going to change again.

"Okay, okay," Komilia said, getting up; then she added wryly, "Dismissed."

"About time," Mylene said. "I've got to get back to rehearsal. And so help me, if Basara screws up the first bridge/chorus in 'Disappearing Act' and makes me forget all the words again, I'm gonna kill him," she added, apparently to Guvava, as she left the room.

The others watched her go with expressions of amusement or bemusement; once the door was closed behind her, Komilia put her hands on her hips and let out a short, exasperated sigh.

"Well, it's nice that she's enthusiastic, anyway," she said.

"After the funk she was in our first week here? Hell yeah," Maia agreed.

"Terry, have you got anything on our transport problem yet?" Komilia asked.

"Maybe," Therèse replied. "Give me another day or so to see if the lead firms up. It's gonna knock out most of our working capital, though, if it comes through."

"Don't worry about that," Xeralia said. "Exedore knows what we're trying to do. He'll underwrite us discreetly if we need it."

"The less of a paper trail we leave, the better," Komilia said. "But okay, that's good to know. Oh - and I've been thinking. Even if she does agree to Terry and me going along - "

"Not that we're giving her a choice," Therèse interjected.

" - Mylene's not going to stand for us shadowing her all the time. I mean, would any of us put up with that? No, and she won't either. She's going to need a vehicle, and at some point," she added with a wry little smile, "she's going to ditch us with it. So it needs to be something she can also use to protect herself."

"A Cyclone?" Miranda suggested, but Komilia shook her head.

"Too light, and you can't transform it unless you plan ahead and wear CVR-3. Besides, too many mercs and other lowlifes know their weak points. No, it has to be something heavier, something you don't need special equipment to operate."

Emilia snapped her fingers. "A Garland," she said.

Maia grinned. "Yeah! That's perfect."

"Where are we going to find a Garland?" Miranda wondered. "They've been out of production forever."

"We're on the planet of a million machine shops," Therèse pointed out. "Dammit, if I only had my Veritechnology schematics library. All that stuff was in my quarters, though, so it's radioactive slag in the bottom of a crater by now."

"Eh?" Maia said, blinking. "Oh, wait, jeez - didn't one of you tell them?" she said, looking at Miranda and Emilia.

"I've been a little busy?" Emilia replied. Miranda just shrugged.

"What?" Komilia wondered.

"Well," Maia said, "When we did our hit-and-run on the SDF-17 to grab Emi and Mylene, we managed to call ahead and have Emi do a quick dash-and-grab from all our rooms. It's nowhere near complete, but she managed to grab something for each of us." She shook her head. "Man, I've been so out of it I didn't even think. That was what was in that duffel bag we dragged over here from the spaceport, and it's just been sitting behind the couch ever since."

"Oh!" Therèse said, brightening. "Lemme see, then."

Maia went around the couch and dragged out a clearly stuffed standard-issue duffel with the silhouette, name, and number of the SDF-17 printed on it. The sight gave all of them a little pang of sorrow, even weeks after the fact, but they pushed it aside as Maia heaved the bag up onto the coffee table and unzipped it for Therèse to look through.

"Sorry 'bout it being so disorganized," Emilia said. "It wasn't like I was able to take a good look at what I was grabbing."

"No, no problem - damn, you pack tight - ah-hah!" Therèse gave a tug and extracted a smaller bag from the overstuffed duffel. "Yep, you grabbed them," she said, then dumped the contents of the small bag - isolinear memory rods, data solids, and the occasional old-fashioned holotape - out on the couch and started rifling through them.

"No... no... ah!" Taking a closer look at the isorod she'd picked up, Therèse frowned and put it back. "No, Cyclones... hmm... this one? Whoops, no, that's porn... "

Maia facepalmed.

"... what? Like you don't," Therèse said. "Aha! Here it is." She tossed the memory rod end-over-end in the air, caught it, and tucked it into the sleeve pocket of her coveralls. "Wheeljack will know where I can get this kind of thing built in a hurry, I should think," she added smugly.

"Just don't let him make it himself," Komilia cautioned her. "We want it to protect Mylene, not blow her up."

"Yeah, yeah."

"Hey, what's this?" Xeralia asked, digging into the larger bag and pulling out a large book.

"Oh, wow," Therèse said. "That's Mom and Dad's wedding album. I haven't seen that in years."

Xeralia sat down and opened the book on her knees. Their parents' marriage license was pasted onto the inside of the cover, complete with its gold WDF seal and scarlet ribbon. The first page was a full-page photograph from the wedding, so many years before - Max in his dress uniform, saber and all, and Miria in her brilliant white wedding dress, standing side by side in front of the little chapel in Wedge City. Max was beaming from ear to ear; Miria's smile was a little confused, as if she still hadn't quite grasped the complexities of what was going on, but also serene, almost beatific. The sisters crowded around to have a look.

Xera flipped slowly through the first few pages, which contained more photos. Here was one of the whole wedding party, with best man Gryphon and maid of honor Terror, and the rest of the squadron for an honor guard, Daver's kilt-equipped dress uniform and all; a few of the ceremony itself, Captain MegaZone presiding; a long space shot of the SDF-17, all decked out in festive lights for the occasion. It was the first wedding of an Earthman and a Zentraedi, the first hint of hope that the Zentraedi War might be resolved peacefully, and the WDF kicked out all the stops, even though the war was still going on.

Further into the book were documents from their lives together - a picture of Max and Miria performing "Old Time Rock 'n Roll" at one of the WDF's annual Public Spectacles of Dubious Talent; Komilia's birth certificate and baby pictures; a photo of Max and Miria in formal Japanese-style civvies, Max with a toddler-age Komilia on his shoulders, tugging at his hair.

"Where was that taken?" Emilia wondered.

"Tomodachi, I think," Komilia replied. "Dad mentioned once that we all went to the dedication of the first temple in Nekomikoka."

They delved for a little while longer, but soon couldn't go on. It was too soon after the chaos of Sonfall, too soon after the realization that they wouldn't see their parents again for a long time, if ever. By silent consensus, they closed the book. Xeralia put it on the coffee table and they all sat regarding it for a moment.

"Xera, you should keep this," Komilia said, putting a hand on the book. "It'll be safest with you - and you're the only one of us who won't be in an awkward position if someone finds it in your stuff."

Xeralia nodded. "I'll take good care of it," she promised. "What else is in the bag?"

Maia grinned. "Let's have a look."


Thursday, October 18, 2288

Therèse and Komilia were walking toward the hangar where their Valkyries and the twins' Legios were parked when Maia met them partway, grinning broadly.

"IDs are ready!" Maia said, handing Komilia and Therèse each a United Galactica citizen identification card. "How do they look?"

Komilia squinted at her card, then Therèse's. "Terrible," she complained. "Mine looks like her and hers looks like me." With an exasperated look, Maia took the cards back and switched them. Komilia immediately brightened. "Oh! Great!"

"Everything else is looking good," Maia said. "I guess we'll be ready to head out Saturday after all."

"Any idea where you two are going yet?"

Maia shrugged. "Miranda's been asking everyone who comes through here if they've heard about any of the other Riders." With a wry grin, she added, "Unsurprisingly, they're making themselves hard to find, but Mir thinks she might have a line on one of them. If we can find the others, hopefully one of them will have found something we can use on Musashi before it all got blown to hell."

"If there was anything to find," Komilia said glumly. "The whole thing was damned well done, much as I hate to admit it. I don't think it's likely they left evidence."

"Well, thanks for that, Lt. Positive," Maia said. Putting an arm around her elder sister's shoulders, she said, "C'mon, let's get something to eat."

"Preparations" (Part 4 of Patience, an Exile Mini-Story Serial) by Benjamin D. Hutchins and Philip J. Moyer
Patience Plotted by Philip J. Moyer
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