I stood at attention in the hallway, eyes fixed on the wall opposite, waiting for my name to be called. On the outside, I was a machine, a soldier awaiting orders. Inside, I was a mixed-up bundle of nerves.

It was an honor just to be here. My CO had called me into his office last month saying that a multinational special-ops unit based out of Diego Garcia needed a machinist and was scouting every branch of both the British and US militaries for the very best. Most of the leadership on Diego Garcia were American cowboys, and our brass wanted to make a better showing. Though he hated to lose me, my CO was submitting my name. I understood, in a general sense, what my competition for this position would be. No doubt dozens of specialists in metallurgy and mechanical engineering had stood in this exact same spot, hoping for the same things I was.

To make it this far, I'd had to pass four different exams, perform lab tests on some alloys I didn't think were even possible, and submit a written report of the tests. Apparently I'd made the cut, because they'd flown me all the way out here for the next barrage of exams. And I'd had to sign my life away in non-disclosure agreements.

"Sergeant Bradley Johnston."

I didn't even twitch at the sound of my name spoken in the harsh twang, but the butterflies in my stomach went wild.

An American soldier strode into my line of sight and I saluted. He returned it. "At ease. I'm Major William Lennox, and I'll be overseeing your practicum today. Come with me."

Then the Major scanned a security card and opened the door beside me. Before he stepped through, though, he paused and said, "Everything in this room is classified. You were never here. Understood?"

"Perfectly, sir."

I followed him through the door into a large repair shop. A Search and Rescue vehicle was incongruously parked in the far corner amidst shelves upon shelves of parts, tools, and various workbenches. Two huge, sturdy-looking platforms were anchored to the wall eight feet off the ground to my right, and on the wall opposite me was a door that had to be at least forty feet tall. What in the world did they work on in this shop? My answer was lying on a table in the middle of the floor – an enormous robot. Was this…? It couldn't be. Could it? Was I looking at one of the experimental robots that rampaged through Mission City last year? My hands itched in anticipation at the thought of working on it.

As we walked closer, a man in a working jumpsuit straightened from the table, wiping his hands on a rag.

"Welcome, Major," he said, his eyes still glaring at the machine in front of him. I couldn't place his accent – it was more American than anything, but it wasn't quite right. More refined? He was a little over medium height, but with broad, burly shoulders and a nametag stitched onto his jumpsuit that read "R. Hatchett." Considering the monster in front of him, I could see why he was so solidly built. His work must require a lot of heavy lifting.

"Got the latest candidate for you, Hatchett," his commanding officer said.

The man finally tore his eyes away from the project in front of him and looked me up and down. "I hope you do better than the last one."

"I shall, sir," I said confidently.

Hatchett tipped his head, his piercing blue eyes hard. "A bit arrogant, aren't we? And why do you say that?"

"Because I am the best. Sir."

He chuckled wryly. "I've met The Best, Johnston, and you aren't him. But we'll see if you'll do. Come here."

Closer to the monster robot? With pleasure, I thought, approaching the machinist and his project.

He gestured toward the jumble of wires and fractured metal in front of him. "What do you make of this?"

"It's a mess, sir."

He snorted.

"I'm not an electrical engineer," I pointed out, suddenly wondering if there was some sort of mix up.

"I know that," Hatchett snapped. Definitely an American. "But you'll need cross-training in several related disciplines if you're going to be working here. Starting now. How do we get this shoulder fixed?"

"Do we have any schematics available?" I asked.

"No," Hatchett grunted, "though I've got a working familiarity with every bucket of rust that comes through that door. I'm going to be your best resource."

I nodded thoughtfully. This was like nothing I'd ever seen before – there was no color-coding on the wiring, various fluids were gumming the whole thing up, and it was obvious from the structural damage that the frame and protective plating had taken a real punishing.

"What do you recommend, sir?" I asked the machinist.

"This is your test. Why are you asking me?"

I frowned and glanced at him. "Because you are my best resource."

"Well, at least this one's not dense," Hatchett said to Major Lennox. Then to me, he said, "I'm not going to have time to walk you through every little circuit, but I will tell you this. This robot, like a human, is bilateral. When it was functional, this shoulder was an exact mirror-image of the other."

"Understood," I answered, immediately walking around the head of the table to the other side. "Protective gear?" I belatedly asked. A section of the paper exam I took this morning had a few questions about safety procedures, so I decided I'd best go by the book.

Hatchett grunted in what might be approval and pointed to a free-standing cabinet. "Over there."

I retrieved safety goggles and welders' gloves and then hesitated. I was in a dress uniform. "Jumpsuits?"

"I don't have time for you to worry about looking pretty. Get your aft over here."

Aft? Must be an Americanism I hadn't heard before, I decided, hurrying back over to the table. Hatchett was setting out a few tools for me, while Lennox took notes on a clipboard. I picked up one of the tools, realizing I hadn't the slightest idea what it was or what it was supposed to do. It looked vaguely like an oversized laser-pointer.

Hatchett snatched it out of my hands when I tried to look at the light bulb end of the tool. "Careful with that. It's a laser scalpel."

"Laser scalpel?"

"Classified," Lennox answered without looking up from his clipboard.

"Since you haven't been trained on how to use it, I'll open the armor seam and you can take it from there."

Despite saying he didn't have time to help me, Hatchett walked me through most of the exercise, from opening the shoulder to diagramming the wiring and tubing to riveting the shoulder shut again.

We returned to the damaged shoulder, and I immediately set to work. Hatchett stayed back this time, allowing me to splice the wiring and weld the tubing back to together. I was shocked that the pipe was both solid metal and flexible. How in the world had they managed that? At first, I'd wanted this position for honor – for Queen and country – but now I wanted it for the work itself. Handling metal marvels all day? I felt like I'd died and gone to heaven.

Hatchett handed me a tool. Looking down, I asked, "Isn't this the laser scalpel?"

"Well done. Yes. Don't point it at your head; be grateful points were all you lost in that stunt. I've adjusted the setting so it welds now instead of slices. Try it out."

"But I haven't been trained on how to use it, sir."

"Yes you have."

"How do I turn it on, sir?"

Hatchet blinked and Lennox coughed, obviously hiding a laugh.

"Oh slag it already. Here, use one hand to steady the scalpel and the other hand to adjust the intensity of the beam." Pointing the tool at a jagged edge of the armor plating, he pushed what looked like a typical torch's on/off switch, but the switch slid all the way from the bottom of the scalpel to the rim of the lens. An orange pinpoint of light grew into a beam and then finally a blistering ray of white light. "Too hot," Hatchet casually continued, "and the weld will be weak. Too cool, and it will be brittle. You'll get the feel of it over time. Right now I just want to see how steady your hand is."

Then he switched the laser off and stepped back, intently watching me with crossed arms.

No pressure. I sighed and turned my back on him. Picking up a piece of armor fragment, I lined it up against the plating still mounted to the robot, making sure I had the right piece before I heated the metal. I tried the orange-light end of the spectrum, but after a few seconds nothing happened. I pushed it up to the white-light end, and the metal started bubbling after less than two seconds. Right, then, something in the middle. Tracing the rim of the broken shoulder-armor with medium intensity, I heated the armor enough that the fragment would probably stay in place.

"I presume that there's no solder you want me to use?" I asked, pretty sure Hatchett would have said something sooner if there was.

"You assumed correctly."

Then I needed to heat both pieces of the metal to the brink of melting point, wedge them together, and then repeat the process until there was a continuous joint. As I worked, I asked, "Will we be putting strapping or some other support on the back to reinforce the seam?"

"No need. We have other methods of restoring strength to the seam, once the metal is in place."

"Classified methods," Lennox unnecessarily added.

I worked in silence, then, until Hatchett said, "Good enough. Place the scalpel on the berth and come take a look at this."

Setting it down as instructed, I took a step toward him and stopped. "Is there a safety on the scalpel?"

"A safety?"

"Yes, some sort of mechanism to prevent it from accidentally turning on."

He gave me a look of grudging respect. "Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. I'll take care of it, though."

Major Lennox handed me his clipboard as Hatchett fiddled with the laser scalpel, though his back was to me and I couldn't see what he did. "This is a printout summary of the damage to the robot."

I let out a low whistle as I read over the page.

"Here's our problem," he continued. "We don't own this monster here. And the people that do own it want it back. Wanted it back yesterday, as a matter of fact."

"And intact," Hatchett added, glowering at the major. "Or as intact as it came to us."

"But we can't pass up this opportunity," Lennox shot back, and I had a feeling they'd had a couple of heated discussions about this already. "Johnston, you said you're the best. Are you good enough to strip this thing of the most interesting bits and swap something out in its place?"

I took a deep breath. "With all due respect, sir, whoever built this thing would know immediately if we tampered with it. In fact, we probably shouldn't have done today's repairs. This is extremely advanced technology all the way around, and nothing that we have available will make a believable substitute. I recommend that we give them the robot back intact and negotiate for the information we can't obtain on an external examination. Sir."

Lennox sneered at me. "I didn't ask for your opinion, soldier. I asked if you were up to the task."

My stomach plummeted, but I snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

"Johnston, I'm ordering you to…"

"Belay that," Hatchett gruffly said. Turning to Lennox, he continued, "You left your authority at the door. This is my repair bay, and Johnston will do as I say."

"Do it, Johnston," Lennox ordered, still glaring down Hatchett.

I looked from one to the other, completely at a loss. I couldn't disobey a direct order, unless… "If I may, Mr. Hatchett, what is your rank?"

He didn't move a muscle, but I had the sense that my question surprised him. "Major," he snapped back.

No help there. I was probably shooting myself in the foot, but I took a step closer to the machinist and turned to face Lennox. "I will not, sir. As he said, this is Major Hatchett's jurisdiction and if I am working on this robot I am answerable to him." Besides, he was the one making the smart choice. The right choice.

Lennox narrowed his eyes at me. "I'm sorry to hear you say that. Come with me." He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.

Hatchett chuckled. "No, actually, don't. Stay here, Johnston. I have a few more things to show you."

I hesitated, torn, and Lennox whirled on Hatchett. "We've done this song and dance twenty-seven times. Twenty-seven! Do you mean to tell me you've finally found someone satisfactory?"

"I am telling you precisely that," Hatchett answered, grinning.

Lennox whacked himself in the forehead with the clipboard. "Hallelujah! Now to fill the other two positions."

I looked from one to the other in utter confusion, and Lennox chuckled.

"Welcome aboard, Bradley Johnston," Hatchett formally said, throwing an almost indulgent little smile at Major Lennox. "You'll have to forgive our methods, but the test was less one of skill and more one of character. You are the first person to ask my rank, and the first one to side with me. Both were the correct choice, though I admit the first was something of a surprise. Shall I initiate him on the spot?" he asked of Lennox.

"Me first." Coming to stand in front of me, Lennox saluted and said, "Welcome to the team. Upon final approval, you will become an official member of NEST operating under the authority and jurisdiction of Ratchet."

The term 'NEST' I recognized from several seals I'd seen since arriving here. They were the stuffy chaps with "If I told you, I'd have to kill you" as their slightly unnerving rallying cry. I had no idea what Ratchet was, though.

Turning to Hatchett, Lennox said, "Take it away, Ratch."

The machinist looked a little exasperated and…nervous. "Mr. Johnston, I confess that I am not, in fact, a major in the US Army."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise

"I am, however, a member of the NEST team, operating in the Autobot division in the capacity of chief medical officer."

"Medical officer," I repeated, baffled.

"Whatcha waiting for?" Lennox said, almost sounding like he was ribbing Hatchett.

The machinist/medical officer took a deep breath. "Just…do not be alarmed."

"Yeah, right," Lennox sniggered.

Then Hatchett flickered out of existence. I blinked stupidly, but before I could react more than that, the Search and Rescue vehicle began to move. Not driving, but disintegrating, reshaping itself into a new form. I skittered back to hover behind Lennox, who was standing at ease. The metal frame stretched and twisted until something vaguely human-shaped stood before me. A monster robot, I realized, an icy thrill shooting down my spine. I had the presence of mind not to soil myself or shout "Bloody hell," but given Major Lennox's smirk, I must have given some sign of mild alarm.

"You know," Major Lennox drawled, "the twins dared me to run around in circles and scream in a panic when you transformed for the new recruit."

The robot looked down at him. "I'm pleased to see that, for once, you're more mature than they are." Turning to me, the robot said, "I am Ratchet, the Autobot's Chief Medical Officer. There are several of us Autobots here on Earth working in concert with a select team of humans. Together, we form NEST. Our purpose is to prevent our ancient enemies, the Decepticons," he glowered at the inert form on the table as he spat the word, "from harming the inhabitants of this planet. Major Lennox and his Special Forces team were the first humans to work jointly with us. One of their number, James Quinn, has been assisting me, and I found him to be surprisingly helpful. Therefore, I am compiling a team of human counterparts to work with me in repairing my damaged Autobot comrades."

He paused for a long moment, and I realized he was waiting for me to say something. "And I'm being invited to join your team?"

"Yes." He nodded to Major Lennox. "And for the record, he and I get along much better than we have led you to believe."

"Usually," Lennox added with a grin. Then he sobered. "You, Quinn, and the rest of the repair team will be in an unusually difficult position. The Autobots do not share their technology with us, and the NEST leadership understands and accepts that decision, but there are politicians and higher-ranking brass in both our militaries that disagree. We're not making it widely known that you'll be tinkering with Autobots, but I'm telling you now that your first allegiance is to NEST. Some of the weaponry and other systems you'll work with would be disastrous in the wrong hands, and the only right hands are the Autobots'. Understood?"

"Perfectly, sir," I answered, suddenly understanding why they'd set up their test the way they did. I had no doubt that, if I was part of this team, eventually someone would take the role Lennox was playing and try to pressure me into divulging information about these robots' technology.

"Do you have any questions for us?" Ratchet asked.

I breathlessly laughed. "Are you real?"

Ratchet snorted – sounding just like Hatchett – and bending over, picked me up in the palm of his hand. Holding me up so we were eye-to-eye, he said, "You tell me."

His alien face filled my vision. I could feel his hard hand under mine – it was surprisingly warm – and even smell the metallic scent of oiled steel. "Yes, sir, you're real."

"Any others?"

Still feeling like my grasp on reality was tenuous at best, I asked, "How soon can I start?"

Ratchet looked to Lennox. "Will?"

"Unofficially, Johnston started an hour ago. At this point it's just paperwork. Go ahead and introduce him around, starting with Quinn. I'll go spread the good news that you finally picked somebody."