June 2nd, 2246, Raider "Battlewagon" Razor's Claw. The raider captain, Capitan Kyle Johns growled as his ship exited into real space. As he glanced out the window, he seriously questioned why the hell he was doing this. He was a pirate, not an explorer, and currently not a diplomat. Why the hell had he agreed to one help a mad man on this fool quest, one that would probably get him and his men all killed. By all rights he should just space the bastard and leave. He grunted in frustration. He couldn’t do that. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was committed to this mad mission. The Minbari were ripping through the outer colonies liked the vengeful wrath of god, and killing everyone who got in their way. To them, his little ship was just a snack, something to chew on between capitol ships. In all irony, here, past edge of space, was possibly the safest place to be. Besides, while he was a pirate, he was a human being first and regardless of his bravado and attitude, he didn't want his species to die. If there was any possibility of saving humanity he'd do it, and if he died in the process, then that’s one of the species. The difference between him and so many others though, was the simple fact that he was not willing to jump into the maw of the Minbari's guns. Oh, not a chance in hell. He would not give his life to be a ten second delay while some boneheaded son of a whore laughed on. He considered that a fools death. A heroic one, yes, but still a fool's death. He wanted to do so proactively, looking for something to even the odds. If he died in the process, then that’s that, but at least he'd go out as something more substantial then another bit of cannon fodder for the Minbari death machine. "You better be damned sure about this," he growled to his passenger. Robert Witwicky breathed deeply and looked at him. "I told you before; we are looking for a rogue planet based off its location two hundred years ago. I am doing my best here, and I'd like to see you people do as well with as little." The pirate growled in frustration, and looked at the haggy haired man. Why the hell was he putting up with this idiot again? He paused. Oh yeah, the whole 'last home for humanity' bit. "So what the hell are we looking for again?" he growled. Witwicky scowled, "A mechanical planet. It should have energy readings off of the chart and glow with a golden hue." Johns glanced over to his sensor officer. "Anything yet?" "Nope, boss, but it'll take hours to get a detailed scan of the entire sky." Captain Johns nodded and looked back to Robert. "Just remind me one more time why the hell I'm not pushing you out the airlock?" He looked the pirate in the eyes. This was a game they played every jump. Every jump he'd demand that he and his crew be told what they were looking for. The young man did not mind, he understood why. They were grasping for hope. Even if this was a dream, then at least it was a dream that would give them the strength to continue onward. "Because it very well could be the only chance for our species," he continued. "On this planet we will find a race that was old when humans were still picking flees off each other in Africa." "And why would they help us?" "Because they've done it before. Because its what they stand for. They will find that the Minbari are doing to be appalling and they will be driven by the very core of their beliefs to intervene and protect us." Johns nodded, processing this information for the n-teenth time. "Well, smarty, what the hell do you call this planet anyways?" Robert looked down to the 250 year old data, passed down through ten generations of his family line. He only hoped they were as accurate as they seemed. "They call it… Cybertron." ------------ Scoutship Alpha-3, Cybertronian space. The bride of the ship was large and spacious designed for beings far larger than man. The room was spartan, everything painted a neutral brown. In three massive seats three five massive consoles sat a range of strange colored robots who at 5 meters each, would tower over any lesser humanoid species. "I am soooo… board…", moaned a green and yellow robot adorned wit racing decales. "Can it, Skid Plate," growled the bot in the big chair. Skid Plate turned around and glanced at his commander. "Come on, Overdrive, why are we bothering with these stupid long term scouting missions?" "Because," the red and black strategist replied, "we need to be weary of Decepticon attack." "Come on," the young Autobot replied, "Its been 280 vorns! The deceptions are not going to attack Cybertron! The Great War is over!" A feminine minibot with a orange and red chassis scoffed at the younger Autobot's outburst. "You've got something to say, girly?" "You are so naive it's ridiculous! Haven't you ever even read the historical files? The great war lasted 10.8 million vorns! Slag, there were cease fires between battles that lasted longer than 280 vorns!" "Oh don't give me that slag, Go-bot…" "Why you loud mouthed, arrogant…" "Skid Plate, Small Foot, that’s enough!" Overdrive began. "And for you information, she's right. There is an Earth saying that I think sums it up. 'The price of freedom is vigalance'…" "Hold on!" Small Foot exclaimed, "I have a contact!" "Distance!" "6.8 million Kilo-units!" "Estimated time to contact?" "Three cycles!" "Can you identify it?" She shook her head. "No sir! Its small and primitive. I've seen Junkion ships with better construction…" "Should I activate weapons?" "No, Skid Plate. Only an idiot would rush into a first contact situation with their gunports open." He looked at Small Foot. "Bring us in closer for a better scan." She nodded. "Done and done, sir." He nodded. "Any readings on the ship so far." "They seem to be doing a long range scan. They're looking for something." "Have we been detected?" The femmebot scoffed. "With their sensors? Not if we hung a 'we are here' sign over our heads, got out on the hull, and started dancing… sir." "Alright. Bring us in closer and scan for life signs…" "Alright, brining us to 250,000 units. That enough" Skid Plate asked. "More than enough, Scanning now…" Small Foot gasped. "By Primus…" "What is it?" "47 life signs… all human!" "Send telemetry to Iacon, and hail that ship." ----------------------- Raider "Battlewagon" Razor's Claw. "Boss! We're being hailed!" exclaimed the crewman at the comms station. Captain John's spun over. "From who?" "Not sure! Nothing is on the scope!" He gulped. An invisible ship… Minbari? "Open the channel…" "This is Autobot Strategic Officer, Overdrive, to unidentified Human vessel. Please identify yourselves and state your purpose in our space." Johns gulped. Okay, the kid had been right. There were Cybertronians and they were out here, and if what he said was true, they were First Ones. Now, the only First Ones he really knew about were the Vorlons, and considering that any ship that went into Vorlon space never returned, well, sufficed to say he REALLY hopes these robot-people, if Witwicky was right about that, didn't just blow his ship into sub-atomic particles. "This is the… independent Carrier Vessel Razor's Claw…" Witwicky glanced over to him. "Captain, allow me…" He paused for a moment. "Alright." "Are you there, Razor's Claw?" "This is Robert Witwicky…" "Did you say Witwicky?" He nodded, "Yes. I am the descendent of Spike Witwicky." The robot's tone changed from apprehensive to familiar. "Alright, what I can do for you Robert?" Johns gawked at the kid. A first one was talking to this crazy punk on a familiar terms like they were old friends? "Who is the current leader of Cybertron?" "Optimus is still Prime, although he has given up a great deal of his power to create a new Council of Elders. Why?" "I know that 250 years ago we asked you to leave, to let us develop on out own, without big brother, no matter how benevolent looking over us…" "I know, I was there," Overdrive replied, "It was disappointing, but we understood. You needed to stand on your own feet." "Yes, and we thank you… but now, humanity needs your help more than ever." he took a deep breath and continued, "We are being wiped out. Systematically exterminated by a race far more powerful than our own. They're are worse then the Decepticons. They just saw us as insects in the way, but the Minbari, they will not rest until every living human is dead. We need to get to Cybertron. You are our only hope to survive." There was a long pause over the channel. "Alright. I'm sending you the coordinates of Cybertron. Good luck…"