Archive of Our Own ^beta

The medbay comm line showed the call was coming from Brainstorm’s lab. Ratchet headed towards the closet where they kept the portable triage cart before he even picked up the line.

“How many limbs are missing?” Drift had been slowly convincing him he didn’t need an entire medbay’s worth of supplies in his subspace. It didn’t take him that long to grab the triage cart on his way out the door, but sometimes he missed the freedom to just go running towards the emergency.

“Oh uh. None? I think.” Brainstorm didn’t sound panicked, which was a good sign. He also didn’t sound overly cheerful, which was also a good sign. The last time he’d called, he’d been crowing enthusiastically about his latest invention. It had taken two days to reattach Whirl’s arms.

Medical override codes had the lift under Ratchet’s full control. “Is everyone conscious? Do you see any sparklight?” He debated calling for backup. Velocity was with a patient, but he could summon any off duty medics if it was very bad. He’d wait until he got to the lab.

“Hang on a sec. Hey, Percy…” The call muted. If Perceptor was there, there was a good chance it wasn’t too bad. The lift dropped him off on the lab level and Ratchet disembarked. There was a crackle of static as Brainstorm unmuted the call. “Perceptor said to tell you, ‘Everything is fine, but you need to come down to the lab, please.’”

Ratchet stopped just outside the door to Brainstorm’s lab. He couldn’t really say it had been a false alarm that sent him rushing down here. Brainstorm hadn’t even implied it was an emergency. Ratchet had just assumed. Not too outlandish of an assumption really, Brainstorm had a reputation for a reason. Ah well, it’s not like he was leaving behind any vital work in the medbay.

“Well, tell Perceptor I’m here,” he said, and then hung up the call.

The lab door opened, and Rodimus cheered. “Told you he’d get here fast if Brainstorm called.” The smug brat was sitting on a table, kicking his feet. Ultra Magnus and Megatron stood beside him, both looking as displeased as Ratchet was feeling.

“I hope you aren’t implying I play favorites with the crew.” Ratchet looked around the room as he pushed the triage cart to the side. No new scorch marks or splattered Energon. There was a rather large new hole in one of the walls, though.

“Apologies, Ratchet.” Megatron spared a glare at Rodimus, but that only made his co-captain laugh. “While your response time is admirable, you didn’t need to rush down here.”

Ratchet snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m here now. Who’s going to explain why?”

“That’s my cue.” Rodimus jumped down from the table, and stepped aside. He was enjoying this too much. “Ta-da!”

Further back in the lab Percy and Brainstorm were looking over a third mech—a mech Ratchet hadn’t seen in a long time. A mech he’d only ever seen in a reflection.

“What in the Pit?”

Ratchet’s exclamation had everyone in the room looking at him. The other him frowned, squinting back at him. How long ago was it that he had changed his chevron from black to red? Sometime late in the war due to a paint shortage.

Brainstorm gave a sheepish little wave, distracting Ratchet from studying his doppelganger. “I can explain.”

This was going to be good. Hopefully it wasn’t something only Perceptor would understand. “Alright, let’s hear it.”

Ratchet didn’t like how excited Brainstorm looked. Hopefully nothing would explode soon.

Brainstorm pointed to a large schematic he had drawn on one of the walls. “I was talking to Nautica about the Quantum Engines and I realized…” and he kept on talking.

Ratchet pinched his nasal ridge and counted to ten. It was days like this he missed Wheeljack. Brainstorm was less likely to blow things up by mistake, for sure, but Wheeljack was much better at explaining things in simpler terms.

“...So I built the Transdimensional Gate Gun,” Brainstorm finally said.

This was Ratchet’s chance. “Why did you build it?” he asked, before Brainstorm could get off track.

“Oh. I thought it would make it easier to get supplies. That’s why I tuned it to your spark signature.” Brainstorm pointed to one of the complex equations on his diagram. “I figured medical supplies would be a top priority, and if I aimed for somewhere near your alternate dimension self, I’d be sure to find something useful.” Brainstorm hummed and started making notes near the equation. “I definitely dialed it in too close. A broader range…”

Ratchet turned from Brainstorm to look at Perceptor. “He was trying to steal medical supplies?”

“Yes,” Perceptor nodded, “But as you can see he stole, well, you instead. I just need to take a few scans of both of you, and I should be able to reverse the gate without accidentally sending the wrong Ratchet through.”

“Don’t worry,” Magnus said. “I’ve already scheduled him for the appropriate punishment shifts.”

“After this is cleared up.” Megatron interjected.

“Yes, of course, after.”

“And just how long will that take?” The other Ratchet finally spoke, and how eerie it was to hear his own voice from another mech. “I don’t mind a vacation, but I am needed back where I’m from.”

Perceptor hummed and tapped on the console next to him. “It shouldn’t take long; I just need to…”

There was a thump and a curse behind them. Ratchet turned to see the new hole he had noted in the wall was now glowing. It flashed brilliantly and then faded, revealing another copy of himself.

Brainstorm squeaked excitedly. “Spontaneous portal generation!” He rushed across the lab to dig through a pile of tools. “Percy, have you seen my broad spectrum analyzer?”

“Actually, I’ll need to revise my time estimates,” Perceptor said through gritted teeth. “I’m afraid making sure no one else is dragged here will have to take precedence over returning you.”

And here Ratchet had been thinking it was a good thing Brainstorm hadn’t blown anyone’s limbs off today.

First Aid was surprised to get called down to the lab level. Ratchet had called fairly early in his shift to let him know he was stuck down there for a while. He could be annoyed about that, but there weren’t a lot of appointments scheduled for this shift, and he had been meaning to come in for a half shift to catch up on paperwork anyway.

Velocity had ended her shift and Hoist had replaced her when First Aid received the non-emergency ping from Perceptor asking him to come to the lab. First Aid saved the schedule he’d been working on and stood up, stretching. He waved to Hoist on his way out. Ideally, there were always two medics in the medbay. He could call Nickel in, but it didn’t seem like this was a serious emergency keeping Ratchet in the lab. They could always tell Perceptor and Brainstorm whatever they were working on could wait if something came up.

Absolutely nothing could have prepared him for what was going on in the lab. Three Ratchets. Three. And, oh no, a human. First Aid immediately began environmental scans. Humans were so vulnerable to radiation and were easily poisoned by several substances that Cybertronians utilized on a day-to-day basis.

“Good instincts, kid,” One of the Ratchets said. He had a black chevron and his face was softer somehow—not the Ratchet that First Aid was used to, then. “But we cleaned up the place when he dropped in. Don’t worry.”

First Aid stopped scanning and took a moment to look over the Ratchets. They were all very similar, clearly Ratchet. But there were subtle differences, the curve of their helms, the slope of their windshields. The most obvious distinctions were the color and shape of their chevrons. Red, black, purple. It was baffling.

“What is going on here?”

Brainstorm looked up from where he was going over files with Perceptor. “Oh good, you’re here.” Brainstorm gave a rambling explanation of the situation. Along the way, Ratchet’s—all of the Ratchets’—interjections were more useful in understanding what was happening. “... so we need a neutral party to run some med scans,” Brainstorm finished. “We can’t tell if Ratchet’s Ratchetness is confusing the results.”

“Really, Brainstorm, Ratchetness is not a word. But please, First Aid, if you could run some baseline scans along with whatever you think is appropriate for the human and the vehicle he arrived in.” Perceptor gestured at the vehicle. It looked as if an ambulance had split open, converting into a multi station emergency room. It seemed to have some defensive capabilities as well. How clever. First Aid began scanning it first. The results surprised him; there were several ideas there that could be incorporated into their triage carts or even his own ambulance bay.

“Ratchetness is so a word,” Brainstorm insisted. “You understood what I meant, didn’t you?”

Perceptor threw his hands up. “That is beside the point.” He turned to First Aid. “Just forward the scans to me as you finish them, please.”

Perceptor went back to the equation he was working on, Brainstorm hovering over his shoulder. First Aid sent the compiled scans off and looked around for his next patient. The Ratchet with the black chevron was closest. He was smiling. It wasn’t that Ratchet never smiled—he did. Especially when his conjux was around. However, this kind of smile was weird. Nice but weird. It made him a lot less intimidating.

“Red tells me that you’re the CMO now.” Ratchet said, turning as First Aid scanned him. “I have to say I’m impressed.”

“Red?” First Aid startled and almost had to restart the scan. Ratchet couldn’t have meant Red Alert.

Ratchet pointed to his black chevron. “You know, Red. It’s a bit too weird to think of them with my name.”

“Oh, that makes sense.” Color coding seemed useful, except for the human. Hopefully there wouldn’t be more humans. The ship wasn’t really set up for organic habitation. “This really is a very strange situation.”

Ratchet laughed, and that wasn’t a sound First Aid was used to hearing. “I’ve been on some pretty weird adventures, kid. Don’t you worry.” Ratchet looked around the room. “I’m looking forward to getting home, though. I know a young bot that needs to hear a story about being CMO in some distant universe.”

First Aid was glad his mask and visor hid his expressions. This explained all the warm, friendly smiles. This Ratchet was his mentor. Well, not his mentor, but he saw First Aid as his mentee. It was sweet. Really.

“I’m sure he’ll be happy to hear it.” First Aid winced a little at how choked up his vocalizer sounded.

Time to scan another patient. “Hey! Where did the purple Ratchet go?” Perceptor and Brainstorm looked up from their work, and Ratchet stopped talking with his human counterpart. The lab didn’t have any hiding places. At least not mech-sized hiding places; hopefully, the human Ratchet was smart enough not to dive into any of the cupboards where they stashed the dangerous chemicals.

“Oh dear,” Perceptor said. “This might be a problem.”

It didn’t help that Brainstorm’s portal started glowing again.

These Decepticons really were such trusting, soft little idiots. It didn’t take long for them to let their guard down. It was just too disgusting to sit around the lab and watch mechs wearing his face smile and make nice. Lucky for him, they hadn’t even bothered to lock the door.

Ratchet strolled down the empty halls, trying a door now and then. Most were locked. Guess the Cons deserved more credit after all. Eventually he came to the lift. The console next to it had a map of the ship. He had planned to find the medbay, or a weapons locker. A bar, though, wasn’t that interesting.

The bar was not Ratchet’s usual kind of place. Too bright and open. And filled with cute little Decepticons. It would be so easy to lure one of them to the medbay for a little experimentation. The bartender looked like he could be fun, but he’d be harder to coax out of the bar. The little white minibot he was serving, well, he looked like the perfect target.

Drift pinged Ratchet when he got off shift. Ratchet returned the ping with his location: Brainstorm’s lab. He knew something had happened down there earlier. Roddy had been giggling about it for hours, only telling Drift, “You need to see it for yourself.” Time to see what was going on.

The lab door slid open quietly, and Drift froze. Ratchet was yelling at Brainstorm. And chatting amicably with a large chartreuse mech Drift didn’t immediately recognize. And working with Perceptor at the other side of the lab.

The lab door slid shut again, cutting off the sounds of the lab and leaving Drift standing alone in the hallway.

Not alone, actually. A familiar laugh sounded from down by the lift. Drift turned just in time to see Rodimus fall over from laughing too hard. “Your face, bro.”

“I can see why you didn’t want to explain this.” There was a good chance Rodimus didn’t fully understand the situation anyway. That was fine. He usually understood enough to steer them right. Drift would just ask Percy what was going on when he went into the lab.

Rodimus sat up, wiping optic fluid from his face. “So, how many conjunxes do you have now?” he asked, still giggling a little.

“Still just the one.” He recalled the scene in the lab the best he could. “I think there were five or six Ratchets though.” Ratchets, plural, that really didn’t sound right. He offered Rodimus a hand, helping him to his feet. “Did you need to come into the lab?”

“No, no, nope. I try to limit my daily dose of Ratchet, thanks.” Rodimus put his hands up and backed towards the lift. “Megs is the one on lab duty, and now you too, I guess. I gotta get back to the bridge before Magnus misses me. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He twirled away with a wink and some finger guns, leaving a smile on Drift’s face.

Drift faced the lab door, alone once more. He reached back and touched the hilt of his great sword. This wasn’t the weirdest situation he’d ever found himself in, and no doubt weirder things were in their future.

The lab door slid open, and Drift walked in confidently. It was a lot to take in. There were, in fact, two Ratchets arguing with Brainstorm. One was more red than white, with a broken chevron. He looked so worn and tired, Drift’s spark ached for him. The other more closely resembled his conjunx, his reds faded to a more orange hue. Drift didn’t like how tired this one looked either.

First Aid was in the corner talking to another Ratchet. Drift hadn’t seen them in his first glimpse inside the room. This Ratchet had a black chevron and a terribly scuffed paint job. Hopefully, First Aid was talking him into fixing it. Perceptor was now chatting with a human. It had been a long time since Drift had seen Ratchet’s holoform, but the hair, the clothes, were all very familiar. He didn’t read as a holoform, though. That was very much a real human.

His conjunx was the one talking to the chartreuse mech. At first glance, he wasn’t obviously Ratchet. He was too tall. His face was rough, kibble twisted around his form in a way more alien than Cybertronian. Drift spent the longest time studying him. Ratchet was there, in his voice, his gestures, the way his face, strange as it was, twisted with a wry smile. The other Ratchet in their group was more recognizable. With a black chevron and a simpler paint job, he reminded Drift more of the medic he’d met ages ago in the Dead End than Ratchet as he was now.

The door opened behind Drift, and he turned to see Megatron dragging in another Ratchet. It was strange to see Ratchet done up in Decepticon colors. The mech caught him staring and winked. He let out a low whistle as he looked Drift up and down. “Hey there gorgeous, don’t suppose you’ll talk big and stupid here into letting me go?”

There was something just not right about that Ratchet. Megatron still had a rough grip on Ratchet and dragged him over to First Aid. “Sorry, Drift. I’ll be taking him to the brig as soon as he’s scanned.”

Drift shuddered and turned away. He tried to put it out of his mind and instead headed straight for his conjunx. “I was going to ask why you were still on duty so long after your shift ended, but I think I can guess.”

Ratchet snorted, and pulled Drift close. “Hard to miss all this commotion.” Ratchet gestured to the surrounding room. “So, how’d you know which one I was?”

“I’d know you anywhere.” Drift stole a quick kiss. Very quick. He could feel everyone staring at them.

The creepy purple Ratchet started making gagging noises. Drift reached for his sword, but the sound cut off abruptly. “And we’re done here,” Megatron announced. “Call me to fetch him from the brig when you need him back.” Megatron all but carried purple Ratchet out of the lab, everyone watching until the doors closed behind them.

“Don’t worry, he’s the only one like that as far as we can tell.” The Ratchet with the black chevron smiled at him. Drift didn’t get to see that open, unguarded smile on Ratchet’s face very often. It was nice. “So, Drift, right?”

“Right. Drift.” Drift tilted his head towards his conjux. “I’m his…” A loud clatter interrupted him. Drift turned just in time to see another Ratchet fall out of the portal and squashed First Aid.

Perceptor cursed and dove for a piece of equipment that was definitely something Brainstorm had cobbled together. Drift would have to ask him later for the full explanation of what was going on. Much later, after everything was put to rights and Perceptor had a few drinks.

Ratchet was getting tired of getting dragged away from his patients for nonsense. At least this time Optimus wasn’t involved. Megatron was, though. He still wasn’t over the bright red Autobot sigil on Megatron’s chest. It was nice to see mechs getting along peacefully somewhere other than his makeshift clinic.

The medic that had scanned him, First Aid, was competent. Ratchet was tempted to offer him a job. Of course that would probably lead to more nonsense his patients didn’t need to deal with.

He hoped Impactor was doing okay. Impactor made for a half decent orderly, but he was no medic. Ratchet sidled over to the triage cart abandoned in the corner and tucked a few supplies into his subspace. He didn’t try to hide what he was doing, and he was pretty sure at least a few of the others had seen him, but no one said anything. They would understand.

Ratchet’s first thought is some kind of cloning experiment was happening. The Ministry of Science, attempting to recreate whatever Starscream had done. It explained Perceptor and that seeker working together, as well as all the copies of him. He didn’t understand half of what the seeker was blathering on about, but he’d been on a Space Bridge repair crew long enough that some things had seeped into his processor. Who in their right mind was letting a Decepticon mess around with Space Bridge technology?

And then Megatron showed up. Megatron. Everything about this place was a topsy-turvy mess. Ratchet needed to get back to where things made sense, and if that meant working with a seeker and Perceptor he would do it.

The seeker whooped with glee as their calculations finished processing, and Ratchet had to try hard not to flinch. Perceptor just shook his head and sighed fondly. The show of emotion, dare Ratchet say affection, was unexpected.

Maybe the differences here weren’t all bad.

Perceptor watched the portal location closely. With every Ratchet that fell through the portal, his calculations grew closer to completion. In just a few more seconds, he would know if they succeeded.

The countdown ticked over, and nothing happened. A cheer went up around the room. Finally, success.

Brainstorm shared a celebratory hand slapping with some of the Ratchets and then glommed onto Perceptor with a hug. “You were right. I should have accounted for the quantum engines’ effect earlier.”

“An easy thing to overlook. I should have thought of them earlier myself.” Perceptor pulled up his earlier aborted calculations from when the first Ratchet had arrived. “We should loop Nautica in. She has more experience with quantum equations in relation to the engine. We’ll need to take it into account when calculating the return portals.”

“So you’ll be able to send us back soon?” one of the Ratchets asked. Perceptor didn’t regret vetoing Brainstom’s suggestion to color-code them with paintballs—it would have been terribly rude in addition to being messy—but it was indeed difficult to tell some of them apart.

Perceptor looked over the incomplete equation. They would need to calculate for all eight of the visiting Ratchets and reprogram Brainstorm’s Transdimensional Gun. Perceptor made a note to recheck his other equations while they were at it. According to his math there had been nine portal openings, not eight. “I’m afraid I can’t give an exact estimate. At best a few hours.”

Looking around the lab, it would be hard to get anything done with it this crowded. He caught sight of Drift speaking to one of the Ratchets—not the local one, as far as he could tell. Drift’s status as command staff made him the perfect solution to Perceptor’s current problem.

“Drift, would it be possible to accommodate our guests elsewhere for a while?”

Drift looked thoughtful for a moment, and turned to look at another Ratchet and grinned. That one was the local Ratchet. Perceptor was certain. “I think Swerve’s is still open.”

Perceptor paused momentarily, remembering Ratchet’s reputation at the Academy. But that was Swerve’s problem now. He had work to do.

Ratchet never thought he’d see the day he turned down an invitation to a bar. But a giant robot bar, on an alien spaceship? No, he didn’t want to find out what sort of hazardous chemicals they were drinking. There was enough to explore in just this laboratory.

It was just him and the scientists after everyone left. The real challenge was getting down from the table they’d placed him on. Luckily, the defense turret on his ambulance was up. It wasn’t a far jump and he could climb down from there. He was surprised it hadn’t been disarmed, but then again they all seemed to have inbuilt weaponry. If they wanted to, they could have squished him like a bug.

He made it safely to the floor and looked around. Tables as tall as buildings all around. He’d probably get farther driving, but a little reconnaissance on foot would be good for him. He picked a direction to start off when his foot nudged something round. The object rolled away and Ratchet jogged after it.

The little toy ambulance he picked up seemed more out of place than he was. Ratchet turned it over carefully, noting the seams and latches. How strange. He took a deep breath and shouted, “Yo Percy, you’re going to want to see this.”

Danny had parked Ratchet in the cardboard garage after breakfast. It was a school day, and Ratchet was more than happy to be tucked away where the dog wasn’t going to find and chew on him. Not that the dog had ever chewed on him, but he had heard stories.

Ratchet had settled in for a nice quiet day when the floor dropped out from under him. It was a longer fall than that time Danny’s brother tossed him over the stair railing. He was made from a sturdy plastic, but his joints were getting too old for this.

At first he thought he was dreaming. Giant Robots everywhere. Ratchet had heard of something like this. Giant toys called animatronics, that could move and talk even when humans were around. He wanted to call out to them, but then he spotted the human. He carefully rolled somewhere out of the way when the human wasn’t looking. What a strange situation. He just hoped he could get home before Danny got back from school.

Swerve felt like he was losing his mind. There were seven Ratchets in his bar. Seven. He knew something had been up when that creepy purple Ratchet had showed up earlier and started hitting on Tailgate. He was glad Megatron showed up before Cyclonus pulled his sword. Cyclonus had never started a fight in his bar, and Swerve didn’t want to know what the cleanup would be like if he did.

Still, Megs hadn’t been exactly forthcoming about what was going on. Swerve loaded up a drink tray himself to take to their table to see if he could find out more.

It was a wild range of orders—everything from plain energon to nightmare fuel shots to a fancy fluorite mocktail to cans of Maccadam’s. Swerve set the drinks down, cautiously passing them to who he thought was the right mech. He’d always believed you could tell a lot about someone by their drink order, but he wasn’t sure what it meant when they were technically the same mech.

“Why is it pink?” one Ratchet asked as Swerve set the drink down in front of him.

Swerve looked at the cube. It was the plain energon. “Er, what color should it be?” He had a few additives that would switch the color, but plain energon was always pink as far as he knew. But then he’d always known Ratchet to be white and red, and this table was showing him everything from orange to green.

“Blue,” the orange Ratchet said gruffly. “Definitely blue. Not pink, green, or,” He paused with a sneer at the nightmare fuel shots a couple of the others had ordered, tone switching to disgust, “purple.”

“Whatever the color, you need to drink it.” Another Ratchet said. Based on the energon spritzer and Drift cozied up to his side, Swerve was pretty sure this was their normal Ratchet. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the signs of chronic fuel deprivation. Actually, Swerve, why don’t you bring him three more cubes. Doctor’s orders.”

The table burst into laughter. It must be nice to have copies of yourself to appreciate your own humor.

“More energon coming right up.” Swerve scurried back to the bar, contemplating what he could add to the energon that would turn it blue without making it purple.

Swerve kept an eye on their table as he mixed the energon. One of the Ratchets tried to get First Aid to take one of his shots. There was an endeavor doomed to failure. First Aid wasn’t a teetotaler, but nightmare fuel wasn’t his kind of drink. Ratchet knocked back both shots with a hoarse shout, then stood up and held his hand out for First Aid.

Swerve stopped stirring for a moment to watch First Aid get dragged out to the dance floor. Ratchet would sometimes dance a slow dance or two with Drift on couples night, but tonight’s songs were upbeat human club mixes. Everything about this Ratchet struck Swerve as youthful and energetic, except his voice. He sounded like one of those mechs that had been smoking cygars for centuries.

Swerve shook his head to clear it and looked down at the energon he was mixing. There were still some pink swirls. It was a rather pretty effect. He was going to have to experiment with some colored energon later. It would add some variety to the menu. But for now he continued mixing until the cubes were a nice solid blue.

Ratchet picked up his glass delicately. Everything here was smaller, bots included. He wasn’t going to get used to their smooth human-like faces anytime soon. Hopefully he’d be back where he belonged before he had to get used to them, even if it meant being back on Earth.

For all the subtle and not so subtle differences, it was interesting to see what they all had in common. There was one difference he was curious about though. “So, you two are conjuxed?”

Drift smiled and made the softest expression when he looked at his conjux. “Yes. It took us a while to work things out.” Drift tilted his head to look at Ratchet. “Do you have… someone back home?”

“Someone? No.” He thought about it for a moment and answered the question that had really been asked. “I do know a Drift, though.”

One of the others snorted. “Is he lime green too?

“Nah, blue.” Ratchet took a sip of his drink. It was better than the human sludge they’d been making do with.

Drift gasped, hand covering his spark. “Blue! Do you know who he lost?” Ratchet must have looked confused. “Blue is a mourning color,” Drift clarified.

“I don’t know.” He wasn’t sure he had any business knowing. “We’ve all lost someone.” There was a sad murmur around the table. One more thing they all had in common. Maybe he should take the chance and contact Drift when this was all over.

Ratchet didn’t need to be in the lab for the send off. He could be back in his hab sleeping off the long double shift right now. But somehow it felt right to be here.

First Aid was plugged into one of the stations so he could load scans directly to Perceptor and Brainstorm’s algorithm. Brainstorm had set his gun up on a tripod, aimed at the wall it had previously made a hole in. Ratchet had a feeling part of his punishment was fixing the wall. Hopefully he wouldn’t just invent another gun to fix it.

Brainstorm bounced excitedly between consoles. “And we’re ready. Who wants to go first?”

“I have your volunteer right here,” Megatron said, coming through the door with the rouge purple Ratchet. He was tied up and gagged with more rope than Ratchet thought they had on the ship. He’d have to buy a drink for whoever had been on brig duty today.

“Very well,” Perceptor said. “Everyone step back. First Aid, begin the scan.” The calculations ran, and Perceptor looked them over before nodding to Brainstorm.

The portal crackled to life, closer to the ground than the original. It would make things easier for the Ratchets to go through on their own without having to boost themselves up. Not that their first volunteer was going through on his own. Megatron picked up the bound and gagged form of creepy-Ratchet and casually tossed him through.

“And scans show he’s cleared the portal.” Perceptor nodded to Brainstorm once more and the portal slowly powered down.

“Looks like this is goodbye,” Ratchet said. “I’d say come again, but that’s probably a bad idea.”

“It’s been enlightening,” the first of the Ratchets that arrived said. “But let’s not do this again.”

Ratchet shook hands with each of his counterparts before they left. Well, most of them. There was a small ambulance that was barely larger than the human’s hand. Ratchet was surprised anyone had even seen it. Still, he said goodbye, even if the little ambulance didn’t respond.

It was oddly quiet after the last portal closed. Ratchet checked his chronometer. Almost time for his next shift to start. “Well, I’m headed back to medbay.”

“No. No. Nope.” First Aid said. “You’re off shift. I’m off shift. We’re all off shift.” He pointed at Brainstorm. “No more trouble until everyone’s had a decent rest cycle.”

Ratchet couldn’t help laughing as he walked back to his hab. If he was lucky, there would be more than one rest cycle before the next crisis.