Oh, we all know who owns Transformers. I'm sure they won't mind if a few of us write some stories about them. After all, what good is owning a franchise if you keep it all to yourself.

The following started as a humorous entry to a thread on TFW2005. I decided to make up a most improbable femm with a mountain bike alt-mode. But dang if she didn't decide that she wanted to be fleshed...er...metaled out. It started as a what-if while I was driving home from work and has gradually grown to more then I had planned. Well, I hope it grows on you all. Many thanks for reading. Updates will be periodoc...

Spindle, a tale

Chapter 1

"Well, well, well, lookie here at the little 'Con." The voice seemingly arose out of nowhere.

Alice looked around, slowly taking in her surroundings. There was no one of any significance close to her. Stopped at the bottom of the library steps, she could see few students out and about at this early hour. There was no one hiding in the shrubbery, or around the building's doors. The only other person nearby was a short, overweight, middle-aged female sitting on the edge of the fountain reading a paperback and bobbing and weaving to music playing from an old Walkman plugged into her ears.

A scan of Alice's recent memory additions concerning the school gave her the female's name and title: Dr. Esmee Indel, currently on loan from the archeology department of the Smithsonian Institution. She was allegedly some sort of super-important guest lecturer here to explain this planet's past to these inane fleshies.

Waste of time really. When the Decepticons finally conquer this planet, humans will be history and there will be no one interested in a dead race.

A scan of the area brought no answers either, but Alice remained wary. While there were not many, the Autobots also had infiltrators - "Pretenders" - just as the Decepticons had. They were smaller, faster, and nastier than normal Cybertronians, the Decepticon Pretenders anyway. With the technological ability to form and reform organic nanites over their robotic bodies, they could pass themselves off as nearly any organic creature as she had done is her guise as "Alice."

Alice turned her attention back to her mission. The college had offered a month-long preparatory course for incoming freshman and she had hoped that the Autobots' pet human might attend. Unfortunately, he had been a no-show, so she was forced to endure the rather primitive university system laughing referred to as higher education.

In her current form, that of a shapely, blond college student, she was assigned to monitor and influence the human Sam Witwicky while he attended the school. Since freshman weren't allowed to bring cars to campus, she knew that he would be without his Autobot guardian, Bumble Bee. This might allow her to become a "close" friend, even though the stink of Autobot energy was undoubtedly leaking from every pore of his fleshy frame.

"Pit," she thought. "Can't wait until those slaggin' Autobots are all scrap beneath our servos! The voice must have been Starscream or Soundwave bleeding over on a private transmission. Slag them both."

With that thought, she climbed the stairs and entered the library doors. There was plenty of time and a plethora of gullible human males to tease. Had she taken the time to look, she would have seen the short female glide past the bottom of the stairs on a small motorized bike and disappear into the darker walkways of the campus.

Two days later, while walking through the Student Union, Alice heard the same voice. Only this time it was over her private trans-line. No one but Soundwave or Megatron could connect to her using that line. But then there was something about that voice.

She rifled through her memory cache and could only summon up a ghost memory. She found nothing of any real substance, but she was still plagued with doubts. Perhaps the Autobots had perfected a stealthier infiltrator. Casting about with heightened senses, she detected no robotic signals, Autobot or Decepticon. Only…there was that overweight female again. This time she had plopped herself down into one of the overstuffed chairs in the lounge. Again, she was reading and plugged into that obsolete piece of human technology.

The woman looked her way, but did not notice Alice staring at her. She seemed impatient. Her fingers were drumming on the arm of the chair, presumably in time to whatever drivel middle-aged females listened to. Alice looked closer and found herself transfixed by the complicated cadence this woman tapped out. Faster and faster, the fingers struck the chair in time to what must have been a percussion-laden composition. Then they stopped. The woman's fingers ended their relentless drumming. She stood, walked to a far doorway and stepped into the evening air.

Alice shook her head to clear her confused processor. "Humans," she thought derisively. "Even the intelligent ones have oddities that Megatron would not stand." She shook her head once again as fellow students from her dormitory called to her wanting her to choose one of them as her exclusive companion.

"Well, if I can't tear apart Autobots yet", she thought, "I'll have to make do with completely playing these human fools." She smiled and waved her best college-girl wave and strolled over to her amusing victims.