Original Continuity: The Chosen Stars



Hey, there. This isn't my first attempt at writing a Transformers fanfic, but it is my first time uploading one anywhere. So I'll get some formalities out of the way first. This is set in its own continuity; but it will have elements from a lot of different ones involved. And some unique stuff, too, of course.

I don't know how often I'll be updating it. This isn't my only fanfiction project (as you can see down in my sig), in fact, this is what I'm going to be using when I need a break from Paradox Fighters. So... it's probably not going to be updated very regularly, unless the response is overwhelmingly positive. I realize that came out like I'm asking for praise, but I'm not- I'd prefer hard-hitting constructive criticism over one-line responses like "GREAT STUFF KEEP WRITING". I'll gladly answer any questions you might have (the ones I'm at liberty to discuss, of course), and might be willing to let some reader participation influence the story (but I can't guarantee that). That was a lot of qualifiers, wasn't it?

If I need to create a character sheet or something, I will, just tell me the best way to do it. For artwork of the characters, see my Miscellaneous Sketch Thread, for some rough sketches.

The "intro" part of the story is really long. If you want to skip to the Autobots fighting the Decepticons on Earth, click the link HERE: The Chosen Stars



I think that about wraps anything up. Time to begin, right? And where better to begin than a prologue?

***PROLOGUE***​

Primitive Ruins, Southern Kalis, 2 Stellar Cycles Ago

“C’mon, Glyph. Don’t you think we’ve seen enough here?”

Ignoring his suggestions, the smaller bot ahead of Tap-Out raised a hand to stop him. In front of her, the narrow pathway they had been following stopped.

“See, look! There’s nothing more we can do. Let’s head back. You’ll have time to find something at site B- and it’s just a couple kliks down the ridge. We can get there and even do some excavation, but only if we leave now.”

“No,” replied Glyph sternly, adjusting the settings on her visor. “There’s something about this place, I can feel it. The big answers… we’re so close.”

“I’d say it’s more likely that you’re feeling the bad Energon they served us back in town. I told you, you can’t get the cubes. They’re not clean.”
Glyph switched her holo-torch to its lantern mode, and set it on the dust-covered floor.

“Oh, Tap-Out. If it weren’t for you smothering me, I’d have gotten myself killed.”

“It’s my job to smother you,” sighed the larger robot. “Now, let me do my job, and get you out of here. It’s too dangerous to snoop around in a cave like this without a full team to get us out.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Glyph replied. “But sometimes, smothered things need to breathe.”

With a rapid sweep of her leg, Glyph knocked the holo-torch off of the edge, causing it to tumble into the darkness below. She followed the light’s descent, tipping backwards into the abyss. Tap-Out lunged forward as fast as he could, but failed to catch her in time- her foot, upside down, just above the drop-off, slipped through his fingers. In horror, he pressed his face against the dusty ground and waited for the crunch of her frame being shattered on distant rocks below. The sound was a great deal more delayed than Tap-Out expected, and as the silence dragged on, he began to doubt that he would ever hear it. Eventually, something did echo out of the pit, but not what he expected.

“Are you still up there?”

Tap-Out crawled forward and peered over the edge, finding Glyph’s smiling face a few mechanometers below. The holo-torch that had fallen with her now illuminated another passageway, perpendicular to the one they had been following.

“Y-you’re still alive,” gasped Tap-Out in relief. “You planned all of that.”

“Mmm-hmm. There’s a big room just down this corridor. I think you should stick around to protect me.”

“Oh, for the love of Primus.”

Tap-Out reluctantly swung himself over the edge, landing just as easily as Glyph must have. The archaeometrist picked up the holo-torch and took off down the passage, with a grumbling bodyguard just behind.

The room Glyph had seen was indeed large, and circular in its design. A single shaft of light fell through the ceiling and into a raised pedestal in the center of the room. Tap-Out looked up and found the source of the light.

“A skylight?” wondered Tap-Out alound.

“An oculus,” corrected Glyph. “A skylight has something in between. That’s open-air.”

She moved towards the pedestal, and found its surface covered in dirt. Glyph tapped a button on her add-on gauntlet to engage her debris-clearing fan, which softly blew the detritus away. Beneath the dirt was a smooth, mirrored surface, perfectly reflecting the stars above them.

“Oh, wow,” she whispered. “This must have been some sort of early observatory.” She toggled through the settings on her visor and activated her camera, but the darkness of the room was ruining the picture. She tossed the holo-torch to Tap-Out. “Turn up the brightness. We need some documentation.”

“Right,” mumbled her bodyguard, clumsily snapping the holo-torch to full power with his optics open. “Ow! Ow- aw, that’s going to take a second to clear up.”

“Tap-Out… are you seeing this?”

“No! I can’t see anything right now!”

“You… you need to see this.”

After a few blinks, Tap-Out’s optics reset themselves. At first, he couldn’t tell what Glyph was talking about. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary- no bizarre creature had risen out of the floor, the ceiling was not collapsing. What was new, so far as he could tell, was that the light had revealed an intricate series of markings along the walls. Hundreds of tangled lines wove their way between circular shapes, forming a web-like pattern. Glyph had moved further across the room, and was examining some larger circles closely.

“It’s a star map,” she giggled with glee. “No one’s ever found a star map this old. Except us!”

“So it’s got everything in the wrong place, right? All the stars revolve around Cybertron?”

“No… that’s what’s so fascinating. Star maps just a few hundred stellar-cycles newer than this one are all wrong. But this one… it’s right! All the planets, they’re all in the right place… the stars, too… in fact, this has got everything modern star maps do! It’s got all the sectors.”

“That’s… kind of scary,” murmured Tap-Out.

“Oh, it’s very strange,” Glyph agreed. “Look- here’s Velox 12- Velocitron. And Promet 2- Animatron. And here’s Gigantion, and Nebulos,” she said, pointing towards each respective sphere. “All the colony worlds. And Cybertron has both moons, and… oh- what’s this?”

Tap-Out figured that if he lent her a little support, she might get done faster, and let them head back to the camp. He moved closer, and found her pointing at the world she had identified as Cybertron. Around the edges of the sphere, two simple figures stood, their arms raised over their heads.

“Um, they’re Cybertronian figures, right? Look, they’re not on any of the colony worlds- we hadn’t colonized them yet.”

“Yes, they obviously are… but what’s this?”
She pointed at a tiny square of reflective material- similar to the mirror on the pedestal- embedded in the center of Cybertron’s little circle.

“Some kinda square. A religious symbol?”

“It’s possible. But I wonder…” She gently removed the holo-torch from Tap-Out’s hands and switched it back into beam mode, darkening the room once more.

“Shine it right onto that square. As directly as you can,” Glyph instructed, handing the torch back to Tap-Out. Her bodyguard nodded an affirmative and set about the task, hoping that it would convince her to call it a day. Tap-Out aimed the light carefully, knowing he couldn’t get it fully on-center with the holo-torch’s body in the way. As soon as he began, Glyph scampered back across the room, like an excited coeurl- pawing at the light, attempting to trace it to where it was meant to be.

“Oh! There- there it is! I’ve got it! It’s… turn that light back. I think…”
Tap-Out, more than a little annoyed, stomped his way back across the room, making sure to look away from the holo-torch as he changed its mode and increased the brightness. Glyph pointed at another circle- another planet. It too had a reflective square in its center, and two figures stood around its edge as well.

“So they believed there was a second Cybertron?”

“No. It can’t be that. These sections of wall- they’re split into sectors… the markings label them. This one’s in an entirely different sector, and it’s only got one moon. And it’s straight across the room- on the other side of the galaxy. Look, the squares in the middle? Under the right conditions, light would come down from the oculus, bounce off of the reflecting pedestal, and hit one of these… and from there, it’d go straight across the room. They believed that our world and this one were connected.”

“But by what? We’re on the other side of the galaxy, right?”

Glyph let an index finger slide across one of the crude figures.

“Life. They’re connected by life.”

 

Today, you, my esteemed readers, get one-half of a chapter. Hooray!

***Chapter 1 (Part 1)***​

Airazor’s fingers slipped over the engraved text, following the words across the plaque.

“To Sky Lynx, a hero of Cybertron,” it read. The following paragraph was about his valor, when, on the ascribed date, the Sky Lynx in question dispatched an entire squadron of Seekers single-handedly. He had done many other great things, it continued, and the whole of Cybertron wept when he disappeared. That was a lie, or at least an oversight on the part of the monument’s writer. Airazor was certain that she did not cry.

Above the plaque was the statue, which was several times taller than herself- but smaller, she knew, than he was in person. Sky Lynx had been huge of body and personality. He was a laughing, boisterous, jolly mech. He was a thinker and a poet and a warrior, and he was eternally absent. To Airazor, he had been missing in action for much longer than anyone else claimed he had. The only difference between her life after the official declaration and before was that she no longer had a single guilt-present to look forward to every stellar cycle. The only thing that had brought her to the statue on this particular day had been a subtle suggestion from her less-noteworthy protoform batch initiator. There was not much to be gained from defying her mother, so Airazor agreed to pay the monument a visit.

After a few cycles, Airazor decided that there was truly nothing to be gained from standing idly in front of the statue, and prepared to leave. There were things for her to do, after all- she needed to follow up on her application to the N2 Bureau, and she really wanted to vent to Split-S about how unfair her mother was being- that would certainly make up for the time she had wasted.

 

Hey, here's another chunk of that chapter!

***Chapter 1 (Part 2)***​

His footsteps were carefully calculated- too fast, and onlookers might suspect he was in a hurry. Too slow, and he would not reach his goal in time. The rain he would have counted as providence- it was an excuse to obscure his face with his cloak- but in Helex it was always pouring. Thus he marched onward, shrouded and cold, smartsteel plastered to his shoulders, into the yellow light of the harbor district. His eyes carefully swept back and forth across his path, seeking out any potential spies hidden in the spaceport’s rabble. Looking backwards was not an option, it would be too obvious. In addition to maintaining his cover and searching for spies, he was also counting off the dock numbers, which gradually rose as he advanced further.

He halted as he reached the dock indicated as 83R- at last, he had arrived. A vast, black expanse of metal rose out of the moorings, surrounded by supply ramps and empty scaffolds. The ship was ancient, built for the Destrons of yore, whose gigantic bodies required larger ships. This meant that for the modern Cybertronian, there was an abundance of storage. A Destron destroyer was roughly the same size as a modern battleship, and this was a Destron cruiser- there would be no shortage of space on board. This was emphasized by the gargantuan hauler that nearly flattened him as it barreled up one of the supply ramps, its bed filled with ammunition canisters. He carefully followed the walkways along the side of the vessel, until he found an oversized security hatch open. Pulling his cloak down tighter, he stepped inside. The corridor was narrow by Destron standards, but comfortable for him- until a mech swept out from behind a bulkhead and lowered an arm-mounted cannon towards him.

“This is not the welcome I expected,” he mused.

“This welcome might become much harsher,” sneered the armed bot, “if you answer my question incorrectly. Under what sign is the orbital cycle?”

He knew perfectly well that the current O-cycle was Adaptus. “Solus,” he replied.

“The lady of freedom herself,” replied his assailant, lowering his weapon. “You are a fellow Decepticon.”

“I suppose one could say that,” he chuckled, undoing his cloak’s clasps. The smartsteel unlocked itself from his body, and was pulled away in a waterlogged clump. Upon seeing his face clearly, the armed mech’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You- you’re… Megatron,” he whispered. “I-I’m so sorry, comrade Megatron- I did not recognize you! I have no doubts of your loyalty to the cause, I assure you! Please, allow me to-“

“There is no need for that,” Megatron assured him. “I was obscuring my identity, was I not? All you have done is proven that an N2 Rainshield is a large garment.”

“O-of course, comrade Megatron,” mumbled the other Decepticon.

“I assume you have a role in this mission other than holding your leaders at gunpoint and stuttering?”

Briefly, contempt twisted the younger bot’s face, before being replaced by the stately manner of an officer. “I am to be this vessel’s first mate. Commander of the Decepticon First Air Wing, Starscream.”

“Ah, one of Shockwave’s Seekers,” mused Megatron, resuming his march down the hallway. Starscream followed a few paces behind at first, until Megatron waved him on to take the lead. “And the First Air Wing was the unit that intercepted the Xantium?” asked Starscream’s new leader, maintaining a more leisurely pace than the Seeker would have preferred.

“That is correct, comrade Megatron.”

“So, Air Commander- what noble comrades have joined us on our quest?”

“More than was expected, comrade Megatron. We have a team of engineers, a mercenary unit, a squadron of Seekers- hand-picked by me, of course- a few scientists, and about fifty soldiers, ready to lay down their lives for the Decepticon cause.”

“That will suffice for the moment… but it is not nearly enough. We should make preparations before landfall for the construction of a space bridge.”

“Comrade Megatron- are you suggesting that the forces that have been supplied are not-“

“Let me make this clear,” growled Megatron. “You are a soldier. I am a leader. The Decepticons that have joined us might be the most capable minds and most robust warriors of their generation, but you cannot conquer a world- let alone, an inhabited one, with an exploration party."

Starscream made sure to make his sigh sound disappointed and not exasperated. “I see your point. We will have to make arrangements in advance with the engineers, and even then I am not sure we have all of the parts we might need for such a project. And that will require another ship. We are already at risk launching from here in Helex, under Shockwave’s all-seeing eye.”

The Seeker heard the steps of his new leader halt behind him.

“I am certain Shockwave is not offended by this venture at all. If he were, we would all be dead by now. And yet, we still live. Deep in his spark, I am certain he knows that I am carrying forward the true will of the Decepticon cause.”

“Of course you are, comrade Megatron. Shockwave’s complacency toward our Autobot oppressors will be the death of freedom on Cybertron. But if he is determined to keep his poisoned peace, would it not be prudent of him to… interrupt our venture?”

“If you’re so concerned that we may be attacked, why aren’t you calling the crew to battle stations?”

Starscream’s optics widened, and for a moment, he seemed to be at a loss for words. He found them back quickly, and clicked his heels together as he snapped into a salute.

“An oversight, comrade Megatron! I’ll sound the alarm right away!”

The Air Commander transformed, his jets igniting just in time to sweep him away from the unforgiving metal deck below. Megatron watched the glowing afterburners race down the long corridor ahead, before disappearing around another set of bulkheads.

I must keep a tight rein on these soldiers. This journey cannot end in failure.

 

Well hot damn....things are getting interesting

 

And now, at long last, the final (HUGE) chunk of Chapter 1!

***Chapter 1 (Part 3)***​

The vast cityscape of Iacon stretched into the distance past the window, its lights gleaming against the golden evening sky. Even though its streets were wide and clean, the city was not without its filth. Optimus Prime knew this well, for he had spent the greater part of the day being assaulted by it. The corruption in the city was omnipresent- every district councilor had their hands in the pockets of some gangster or corporation. He had thought that a position of power like the one he held would make it easier to help the people of Cybertron- instead, it only made it easier to see how they were being hurt. He took a slow sip from his glass of Energon, as he continued his vigil over the city that was under his care.

To think that 53% of the population would rather see me exiled than command the Autobots…

The door to the flat opened behind him, and a small, yellow mech stumbled through, and collapsed on the floor.

“Bumblebee,” gasped Prime, rushing to his friend’s side. He offered his glass of Energon to the weary bot, who accepted it gladly.

“I wore myself out double-timing it from Helex,” said Bumblebee, having finished the glass. “I needed to talk to you first.”

“Before the Security Council?”

Bumblebee nodded. “That starship, the Destron one- Megatron’s involved.”

Optimus Prime helped the spy into a chair. “Megatron? Are you certain?”

“There’s no doubt. And if he’s on the ship, we know where it’s headed.”

“To the planet described in Glyph’s texts… the second Cybertron.”

“If her theories are correct, there’s some sort of artifact there.”

“An artifact we cannot allow him to find,” said Optimus Prime. “I will gather the inner circle.”

***

“Let me get this straight,” sighed the mech, his brow cradled in an open hand. “You want to abandon your post here in Iacon to chase Megatron to an unknown world in hopes of finding an artifact described in the theories of a crackpot archaeometrist?”

“Correct on all accounts, barring Glyph being a ‘crackpot’,” grunted Optimus. “Her work has been consistently supported by other leading archaeometrists.”

“But, Optimus, you can’t really take her seriously, can you?”

“Prowl, do people take you seriously?”

“Shots fired,” bellowed the large red bot seated across from them.

“Oh, shut it, you primitive,” spat Prowl, rising from his seat. “My authority is respected in every Autobot sector,” he replied to Optimus. “Though I assume if I went gallivanting about with half of my plating missing, as Glyph does, I could guarantee that no one would take me seriously.”

“Because data-crunching behind a cushy desk doesn’t work wonders for your servos,” cackled the red mech, louder than before.

“You senile old rustbucket, you,” Prowl fumed. “Why do you keep him around?”

“Ironhide has fought for Cybertron longer than any of us- and his wisdom has saved both you and I in the past, Prowl. He is among my dearest friends, and while his demeanor can be coarse at times, his words are chosen carefully. It seems you have completely disregarded Glyph’s body of work simply because of the way she chooses to dress.”

“Well, yes,” admitted Prowl. “It’s not professional.”

“Everything’s got to be professional for you, don’t it?” groaned Jazz, propped against the wall.

“Yes it does. That is how order, and thus, efficiency, is maintained.”

“If we continue to debate ideologies, we will accomplish nothing,” warned Optimus. “Early long-range scans have proven that there is a planetary system in the coordinates. If nothing else, this is a chance to isolate and neutralize Megatron.”

“I think that’s something even straight-lace over there can stand behind,” laughed Ironhide.

“Losing Megatron would strike a severe blow to the Decepticon cause,” admitted Prowl.

“If you do not approve of this mission, you may remain here in my place, Prowl. Perhaps you can do my job better than I,” said Optimus.

“I may not have faith in your mission, but you are still my leader,” Prowl sighed. “If you shall go, I will do my best for Iacon in your absence. But you had better bring back Megatron’s severed head.”

“As long as I get to keep an arm,” snickered Ironhide.

“Then it’s decided. Prowl, you’ll keep an optic on Iacon. Bumblebee, contact Wheeljack- we’ll need a ship and weapons. Jazz, secure a supply of Energon for the mission. Ironhide… I need you to find us a team.”

“Will do, Prime. But everyone who survived ‘till now is probably enjoying the ceasefire.”

“Then you will find some new blood. Are everyone’s orders clear?”

“Yes, sir,” replied his confidants.

“Then let’s roll out.”

***
Airazor left the building, and walked calmly down the sidewalk until she was certain that no one on the bottom floors could see her. She then found the nearest spent can of Energon, and vented her frustrations on it in the form of a kick. She was lucky it did not find a window as it soared away.

Stupid snooty N2 Bureau. Too high-and-mighty to give me a job, feh. I don’t even need their stupid chic chips.

Airazor supposed she could have played the “dad” card- referencing Sky Lynx usually got a few ooos and aaahs- but there was no guarantee it would get her a job, and it would make her look desperate, and she absolutely, positively wanted nothing to do with him ever. But perhaps a job at the N2 Bureau would have been worth the infraction on her moral code- she’d definitely have something to brag about to her classmates, she’d score chic chips on the cheap, and maybe- just maybe- she might get published in the N2 Datazine. Of course, that’d come with the risk of the headline involving her father’s name, and not hers, so maybe it would be a better idea to avoid the attention…

She paused, realizing that her feet had carried her far from where she had started, and she’d been deep enough in thought to ignore where she was going. She was far from the N2 Bureau now; the sidewalk had led her into a tunnel-like alley formed by the arching buildings overhead. It was not a place she wished to linger in any longer than she had to, so Airazor elected to sprint through the rest of the way, and take to the sky when she could. This plan ultimately failed, thanks to the sudden appearance of a large bot between her and her exit. She skidded to a stop.

“Well, lookit that,” he growled. “Some pretty young thing picked the wrong way back from the N2 Bureau.” He removed a pistol from underneath an armor plate, and aimed it squarely at her face.

The fluid in her system ran cold. “W-what?”

“Hand over your credits, now,” snarled the mugger, the servos in his arm flexing around the weapon. “Daddy must have sent you to the Bureau with plenty of ‘em.”

“B-but… I went to the N2 Bureau to check on an application- I don’t have any!”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” snapped Airazor, suddenly feeling emboldened. Emboldened enough to play the “dad” card. “And my daddy is Sky Lynx, the Autobot supersoldier! So why don’t you turn around and run before you do something to make my connections more angry than they already are?”

“Like I’m gonna believe that load of scrap,” said the mugger. “I don’t care who your parents really are. But I bet they’ve got money, even if you don’t.”

“And what’s that going to do for you? You don’t know where they live, you can’t steal anything from them!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, kid. We’ve got you, don’t we?”

“W-we?”

Large hands clamped over her shoulders from behind and lifted her off the ground. A voice like grinding gears blasted through her audio receptors.

“Whaddya think, Chop Shop? Standard ransom? Or the black market? Aren’t fliers all the rage right now?”

“Yeah, they are, aren’t they?” answered the first mugger. “What’d that pull, couple hundred thousand?”

“Oh, but she’s cute,” roared the larger mech behind her. “Four hundred thousand, easy.”

“Chassis market it is, then,” howled Chop Shop, converting into a small hauler. The mech that held her transformed as well, and Airazor was pulled into a painfully-cramped cargo bay.

The chassis market… they’ll rip out my spark and processors, and sell me for parts!

“Stop squirming around in there,” seethed the grating voice of her captor, as stasis clamps emerged from the cargo bay’s walls to fasten her limbs to the floor. As each heavy clamp locked itself into place, her servos froze up- there was no escape. Terror gave way to remorse.

If I had just paid attention, I wouldn’t have been in this mess. Or maybe if I put in an application somewhere else! Oh, Primus, I’m dead. I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead. This is it.

Further consideration left her with a far more pleasant thought.

That’s what my dad gets for leaving. His little girl gets killed. Are you sorry now, you worthless piece of scrap?

For a moment, Airazor smiled. All of those stellar cycles she spent arguing with her mother over that mech had finally paid off. She was right, and had been all along. Then, she remembered the fate that her captors were dragging her towards.

I don’t think I like being right.

The reality of the situation sunk in- she was immobilized in the back of a hauler-mech, who was taking her to be killed. She had no means of escape, and no way to call for help. The police probably had no idea that she had been kidnapped at all. Airazor thought of Split-S and her classmates, the coy glances from mechs at the Energon cafes, the feeling of soaring through canyons and under bridges. She did not want to die- she had to escape.

A brief test of all her extremities revealed that the stasis clamps were indeed working- her legs and arms were completely unresponsive. However, there was no clamp around her neck, or head, or her torso. She strained her servos and lifted her head as far up as she could to survey her surroundings. This kidnapper was bigger than the one who had mugged her, by a large margin. She guessed he had two cargo bays, tops, arranged front-to-back in standard hauler configuration. Which one she was in, she couldn’t tell, but it there was enough light to tell it was filthy. She could also hear the mech’s engines rumbling, and the whine of the roadway beneath his wheels. They were moving, maybe at highway speeds- though jumping out certainly wasn’t an option for her, anyway.

“Scrap,” she groaned, slumping back to the floor of the cargo bay, feeling the familiar mass of her jet mode’s engines between her shoulders. Her mother had always told her that her transformat was very odd for a flier; that it probably came from her father. She would then wax poetically for a few cycles on how much the Autobot science division had done to make Sky Lynx so strong, and how it was a miracle that her protoform had been defect-free. Her classmates had told her that her appearance, though unconventional, was quite striking, which was an opinion she valued much more than her mother’s obsessive ranting.

My jets are on my back. My back is on the floor.

“Hey,” she said, loud enough to be heard over the droning engines of her captor.

“What?” growled the mech.

“It doesn’t feel very safe back here,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

“That’s ‘cause it ain’t.”

“Like, is this even heat-resistant?”

“No! Now shut up!”

Airazor was content to stop talking, because she had a plan. His insides weren’t heat-resistant, but she was.

Let’s see how you like this.

She adjusted her throttles to maximum, and lit her engines. To Airazor, it was a pleasant warmth under her back. But her captor experienced a sensation much closer to his insides melting, which was in fact what was happening.

“GAAAAAARGH!” he screamed, and Airazor felt the cargo bay shift in place- he was swerving.

The voice of her other kidnapper echoed faintly outside. “What’s happening back there, Gutcruncher?”

“OH, PRIMUS, AAAAAAARRRGH!”

Airazor did not relent, and kicked on her afterburners. The jets continued to melt two parallel trenches into the floor of Gutcruncher’s cargo bay- Airazor couldn’t see their progress, but she could hear his wails of pain become more intense. She was getting close to vitals.

“She’s doin’ something, ain’t she?”

“UNNNAAAAGGHHHYESSHEIS,” screamed Gutcruncher.

“Stay in your own lane, for Primus’ sake,” said Chop Shop. “I’ll shut her up.”

Airazor twisted her body as much as she could, redirecting her jets to deal more damage. They began to eat through the floor below her- the warmth was intense enough now that it was no longer pleasant. Still, she kept them burning. If Gutcruncher didn’t release the stasis clamps, she was still trapped, and now they had a very good reason to kill her before they got to their destination. The back wall of the bay split, folding back to reveal the road racing away from her. From her bindings on the floor, Airazor couldn’t make out much, other than the receding skyline of downtown Iacon, and a familiar rust-colored hauler working its way up the lane. It was Chop Shop- and the barrel of his pistol had now sprouted from his vehicle mode’s roof.

“This’ll teach ya,” he cackled, releasing a short burst of bullets into the cargo bay. At that moment, the floor beneath Airazor’s body gave way, her jets having finally liquefied it. This resulted in her dropping down into Gutcruncher’s undercarriage as Chop Shop’s bullets whizzed overhead- punching holes through her captor. She cut her engines in relief.

“YOU SHOT MEEEEE,” roared Gutcruncher.

“Aw, scrap I- she just dropped through- are you OK?”

“…HIT… SOMETHING,” grated the larger hauler. Since she was currently stuck hanging awkwardly beneath him, Airazor could clearly observe his own engines winding down, in addition to the road speeding along frightfully close to her backside. Still, she was much safer than she was a moment ago.

“Take that, you slagging creeps!” she cheered, throwing her fist in the air triumphantly.

Wait, my hand was in the stasis-clamp.

Airazor realized what had happened just as another heavy click sounded, and a great pressure was removed from her other wrist. She barely had time to grab the jagged edge of the remaining floor as it slipped out of the stasis clamp. She quickly shoved her feet into the recesses of the floor as their stasis clamps disengaged, keeping herself suspended above the road below.

“She dropped through, huh,” huffed Chop Shop. “Okay, hang tight, Gutcruncher, I’m going to put her down.”

The floor jolted as something heavy landed above her- Chop Shop had entered Gutcruncher’s cargo bay.

If I drop out the bottom, I’ll get hit by whoever’s driving behind us.

Since down was impossible, the only option that remained was up. She moved her throttles back to maximum as the rust-colored mech crawled over where she hung.

“Okay, you little piece of scrap, I didn’t want to put a bullet through your pretty face.”

“And I didn’t want to do this,” snarled Airazor, firing her jets again. She surged up out of the floor and wrapped her arms around Chop Shop’s torso, carrying him back out of Gutcruncher’s cargo bay and into the sky. Airazor didn’t bother trying to figure out where she was. She was scared and hurt and tired and she wanted the mech that put her through it dead, so she aimed for the nearest skyscraper and crashed headlong into it, her kidnapper softening the collision. Her jets still aflame, she eased back far enough to kick the still-dazed mech in the face.

“Just kidding,” she gasped, “I did want to do that.”

“You little glitch,” he wheezed. “I’m gonna…”

“What? Snap my neck? Ha! Take one step and you’ll-“

“Fall,” he yelped, tumbling forward. Airazor screamed as he grabbed her ankle, her jets now too low on Energon to use her afterburners. She began to slowly sink downwards, her kidnapper thrashing wildly below her.

Airazor attempted to dislodge him by stomping on his face, but to no avail. “Get OFF!”

Chop Shop refused to follow her instructions, instead raising his pistol towards her. He fired, missing her narrowly.

“IF YOU SLAG ME WE’RE BOTH GONNA DIE, YOU IDIOT!”

“That’s what you think,” roared Chop Shop, taking a break from the pot-shots to wave his pistol at his side. Airazor looked down, trying to find what he was signaling- a dull-green hauler was trundling towards them, leaking smoke. “Gutcruncher! Up here! Help!”

“Hey- no, no, no!” wailed Airazor, swinging her captured leg, still unable to remove her passenger, who forced his gun upwards, using her limb as a guide for his arm. The weapon, neatly propped up along her thigh, was aimed straight at her abdomen.

“If you don’t land right this second, I’m gonna shoot a hole through you so big, you could fly a Metrotitan through it.”

Low on fuel and without any means to defend herself, Airazor descended to the street below, where a damaged Gutcruncher was transforming slowly and painfully. As she touched down, Chop Shop quickly put his larger size to good use, and forced her to the ground with one hand.

“Oh, you better be worth every credit,” he snarled. “Or I’m gonna spend so long killing you, you’ll wish I just blew your processor out.”

“I-I think you shot up a fluid line,” coughed Gutcruncher, placing a hand on his torso.

“Whatever. ‘Tek will fix you up once we bring our haul in. He always does.”

“Now, when you say ‘Tek’, you’re talking about that malfunction Cryotek, right?” said a voice from the road behind them. Airazor carefully managed to turn her head towards the sound just before Chop Shop decided to pin her with his foot instead. Advancing down the road was another hauler, this one bright red, and armored. It transformed into a tall, broad mech with massive shoulders, a wrinkled, grinning face, and a distinctive emblem on his chest- an Autobot.

“Oh, scrap,” gasped Gutcruncher. “We should run.”

“No way. The Autobots are a bunch of pushovers, and this one looks like he’s a couple cycles away from complete shutdown. Back off, old man! I gotta piece and I ain’t afraid to use it!”

“Oh, dear,” laughed the Autobot. “You’re right. I think I can feel my spark slipping away! I’ll put you kids in my will, if you just change your evil ways!”

“Slag off, gramps,” cursed Chop Shop, landing a shot between the Autobot’s optics. Airazor felt the boot over her back lighten as a flattened smudge of metal tumbled away from his brow. The smile on his wizened face grew wider.

“Kid, you shouldn’t have done that.”

The Autobot took off at a sprint much faster than his years would suggest him capable of, flinging one of his huge shoulders into Gutcruncher’s already-damaged torso. The kidnapper’s mouth quickly became a fountain of internal fluids, as he tumbled forward onto his hands. The Autobot set his sights on Chop Shop next, who decided to make a stand. He removed his foot from Airazor’s back and countered his opponent with a charge of his own, the two locking arms around each other, attempting to upset the other’s balance.

This was Airazor’s chance to flee, but as she lay, bruised and battered on the ground, she couldn’t help but be fascinated by the Autobot’s amazing strength. The two mechs struggled briefly, but soon the elder rearranged his footing and hoisted Chop Shop over his shoulder, plunging him back into the street with enough force to shatter the pavement.

“You’re young, but you ain’t spunky,” he chortled, dusting off his hands. “Disappointing.”

“You got another thing coming, old man,” snarled the wounded Gutcruncher, rising from the ground to bring his fists down upon the Autobot. The red mech managed to raise his own arms and block the attack, but skidded backwards under its force.

“Okay, for someone with a bunch of slush where your insides should be, you hit kind of hard,” said the old Autobot cheerily.

“Ghaag,” moaned Gutcruncher, the effort from his attack having depleted what little strength he had left. As he fell forward, the Autobot’s boot connected with his chest, sending him sliding back down the street. The red mech turned back around, and found the barrel of Chop Shop’s pistol on his forehead.

“Oh, you’re a little scared now, are you, geezer? You know that you can’t stop this bullet if I fire it at point blank, don’t you? Active Armor doesn’t work fast enough.”

“Okay, kid, you got me,” he said, raising his hands and placing them behind his head.

“Why are you still smiling, old man? Dying sound kinda funny to you?”

“No, it’s not that,” he grinned. “It’s funny how you forgot what you came here for.”

Chop Shop gasped as his pistol arm was twisted behind him, his overtaxed wrist servos unwillingly triggering his hand to release the weapon. The gun was whisked away by a screaming Airazor, who kicked the remaining kidnapper’s knee joint in. He fell to the ground, flopping wildly until Airazor’s small boot was placed on his chest.

“How’s that feel, lowlife?”

Chop Shop began to say something, but gave up, and decided to moan in pain instead.

“I’ll call in the police to cart these two away. Hopefully, they’ll help us track down Cryotek once and for all,” said the Autobot, crossing his large arms in front of his chest.

“I’m… glad that I could help,” gasped Airazor, who still had not caught her breath.

“Help? You did more than help, kid. I tried to get to you fast, but I ain’t as quick as I used to be- I saw you bust out on the freeway back there. You were incredible. What’s your name?”

“Airazor,” she replied.

“Airazor, huh?” He placed his hand on his chin, and ran his optics across her carefully.

“Um, what are you doing?”

“I’m imagining you wearing the Autobrand.”

That was the name of the symbol on his chest, and the same one the plaque above the doorway at her home. “The… Autobrand?”

“That’s right. Airazor, how would you like to be an Autobot?”

 

Whoa, look where we are! It's

***Chapter 2***​

Megatron had made it very clear to Starscream that the takeoff had gone too smoothly. This was of great annoyance to the Seeker, because anyone who could complain about things going too well was not going to be pleasant to work for. After all, he had done his job perfectly, calling all of the crew to battlestations and ensuring that battlestations was exactly where everyone was. But this was not good enough for Megatron, no. The ease with which they left Helex meant that there could be a traitor on board- someone who could blow up the ship without a single missile being fired from Shockwave’s great fortress. To that end, he had ordered Starscream to call the crew back from their stations and have them assemble in the hangar bay, so that he could survey them individually. Starscream tried to keep himself positive about the mission. He didn’t have to get shot at… though, after further evaluation, he realized he hadn’t been afraid of being shot for a long time, nullifying that possibility. He could meet new people- there were even a few sharp-looking femmes among the crew… but Decepticon ladies cared more about ideals than mechs. Another option stricken. He would see a new planet, though his time on the colony worlds hadn’t given him the best expectations. This planet was further away, though, maybe it would be nice.

Yes, he told himself as he weaved down the mazelike bulkheads of the ship, checking that no one had remained at their posts. The planet will be nice.
***
Megatron quietly surveyed the Decepticons from the back of the hangar. His soldiers were too busy talking to each other to notice him, which was perfect. The absence of a superior made idle chat all the more illuminating. Megatron could immediately pick out the engineers his first mate had mentioned. They were clad in the protest colors of the Constructicons. They were at the very heart of the movement- laborers forced to dig trenches and build monuments for cruel overlords in Iacon. The work was dangerous and poorly regulated. When the winds of Decepticon change reached them, they exchanged their hazard-yellow for equally visible green, and proceeded to tear down the structures they had built. These Constructicons in particular, Starscream had informed him, were responsible for the demolition of the Vos Superway, which they themselves had designed and built. Their chassis were large, and covered with bulky equipment from their alt-modes. The majority of them seemed to be playing a game with data-slips, but one, a femme, did not participate, and instead paged through a prodigious-looking codex.

One of the mechs held his hand of data-slips close to his chest and turned to her. “Hey, Mixmaster, you gonna play?”

“I’ve more important things to do,” she grunted, continuing to read.

Another engineer dismissed her with a wave of a hand. “Forget her, Long Haul. You know how she is.”

“But we’ve got nothing to do, now,” protested the first mech. “No reason not to play a couple rounds. We’re not on the job.”

“This world we’re traveling to, Glyph theorizes it may have developed life independent of CNA. A completely new genetic code to exploit. I’m preparing my mind for the possibilities.”

“You and your science projects,” sighed Long Haul. “You know we’re going to get there and go right back to building. There’ll be no time for it.”

“I’ll make time for it,” she snapped.

Megatron smiled, pleased by her persistence. Her desire to learn will not remain stifled, though I worry about the tension it creates among them.

Scanning the room again, he recognized a few of the others Starscream had spoken of, including the Seekers he had apparently selected. They stood close together, chuckling at a joke told too softly for Megatron to hear. These were aces, fliers honed in the forges of hundreds of sorties. They were confident, calm, and professional, except for the one who was tuning a laserlute. A few of the others noticed and applauded, as the musician plucked out a far-colony tune.

Now, if only the engineers got along like that. I’d have no trouble out of them.

“It’s a mystery,” said a soft voice to his left. A fembot, her arms folded over her chest, had somehow crept up on him. “How did we all get here?”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “I beg your pardon?”

“How do you convince so many Decepticons to just pack up and leave, and chase a rumor halfway across the galaxy, to a planet that might not exist? To abandon the territory we’ve fought so hard to gain?”

He knew that this was a rhetorical question, and not actually directed at him. If she had known who he was, she would have worded things differently, or perhaps not spoken at all.

“That is an excellent question,” he replied, moving towards one of the hangar’s elevated catapult decks. He vaulted up over the gap and surveyed the crowd from his new vantage point. None of them had noticed him yet. It was time for that to change. He extended his arms forward, opened his hands, and brought his palms together in a slow, steady tempo. A wave rippled across the crowd as each of his unknowing soldiers turned their heads in his direction.

“Applause is in order,” he boomed. “Since you all deserve congratulation.”

A flier zipped through the hangar’s entrance, converted into his robot mode, and skidded to a halt next to a bewildered fembot.

“What’s this guy doing?”

Starscream gave her a cold look.

“One of the two things he’s famous for. Speeches.”

“The Decepticon cause- one of struggle, of sacrifice, of truth. You have proven yourselves to be the noblest soldiers for that cause by bringing yourselves here. After all, it was by your own choice that you gave up your home planets to venture into the great unknown, flinging yourselves toward the stars in hopes of finding the cure our planet so desperately needs. You, the mechs and femmes of the Decepticons, are the last true warriors of Cybertron! I, too, am the planet’s humble servant. You may call me comrade Megatron.”

The crowd whispered and mumbled, exchanging worried looks. Evidently, not all of them had been told who they would be answering to. In the murky chaos of their indecision, a single sound rang out- the clang of a fist against its owner’s chest. Starscream gave the femme a wink before he completed his salute with a roar of “COMRADE MEGATRON!”

At first, the soldiers in the crowd were unsure, and that uncertainty brought an eerie quiet with it. Starscream stood perfectly still, as if him moving and breaking the silence would rupture some invisible dam and drown them all. He did, however, allow for the smallest twitch- another wink in the direction of the fembot. As if on cue, the crowd burst forth in their own triumphant salutes, belting out their leader’s name. Megatron smiled from his perch above them. Whether it was genuine respect or mob mentality did not bother him, he was certain he could find a way to use either. But it was what he needed at that very moment, it was the momentum necessary to carry his speech forward. With raised open hands he calmed them, and spoke again.

“As much as I appreciate your praise, I must remind you that we are all equals in our struggle against the chains of the oppressor. Now, I must clarify the objective of our righteous mission. This ship, the Nemesis, has been graciously saved from scrap and refitted for our use. It is now speeding towards our destination, a world far from Iacon’s sphere of influence, farther than any Cybertronian has ever traveled before. Ancient Primitive texts knew of this planet before even our most advanced sensors could detect it- and they spoke of a great power hidden there. The power to create life. An Allspark.”

The crowd let hushed ooooh slip out. Megatron had total control.

“This Allspark once had a brother, one that gave life to our very own world. But it died long ago, snuffed out by greedy corporations and their drillers, Cybertron’s life-blood, Energon, depleted. For that reason those schemers turned their eyes to the stars and subjugated the colony worlds, but soon their resources will run dry, as well. The Allspark will change all of that. Cybertron will be a young world again, and we, the Decepticons, its saviors, will expunge the filth that has collected in her canyons and in her cities and across her vast seas!”

They didn’t bother restraining their enthusiasm now, as they roared in approval. Starscream shook his head. “He went to all this trouble to find a spy, and he has to grandstand.” He looked back to the femme, hoping for agreement, but her focus was entirely on Megatron.
Figures, he thought.

“It has come to my attention that there may be some among you that do not agree with my methods. This, I can understand. There are things that I have done that I truly regret. But every action I have taken has been to bring peace and harmony to our people once again. Some of you may not believe that. So allow me to prove to you my honor. If you want me dead,” he paused, and held his hands out to his side. “Shoot me now.”

Starscream’s jaw nearly dropped off. “He’s… he’s insane,” he whispered.

“No,” whispered the femme. “He’s a genius.”

“No one would blame you. In fact, I will ask your comrades to let you leave in the escape pods. There will be no shame in it. Go ahead.”

The engineers looked at each other suspiciously, before deciding the one to look at suspiciously was actually Mixmaster, who was still reading. The Seekers laughed it off as a joke. But the reality of Megatron’s words quickly reached the crowd. He was waiting for someone to shoot him.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice unwavering.

The tension built, cycle after cycle, but no one raised a hand against Megatron. Finally, he decided that the test had been passed.

“Very well, then, no takers. My comrades, I thank you for your forgiveness. But when the day of reckoning for Iacon comes… I expect from you no mercy.”

The Decepticons shouted to celebrate the triumph of their inaction, and after realizing that Megatron had no more to say, they slowly began to depart.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Starscream. “No one even tried. And- I mean, he’s got a, er, reputation.”

“He’s everything I thought he would be, and more,” cooed the femme, captivated.

Starscream decided to leave before she irritated him further. It would be just his luck that the one femme on the ship looking for a mech would fall for a bad boy like Megatron. He had spent stellar cycles playing by the book, keeping himself clean-cut and upright, a model Decepticon. But Megatron could blow up a city full of innocents, and the fembots swoon. He was going to remind himself that the planet would be nice, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Megatron standing over him.

“Good work, Air Commander Starscream. My concern was misplaced.”

“Misplaced, but understandable, comrade Megatron. But, if I may ask…”

“Go on,” replied Megatron, the same words he used to cajole the hypothetical shooter.

“Why did you do that? Why would you throw away your life so recklessly?”

Megatron smiled, even laughing quietly. “That is a question we must all ask ourselves.”

He trudged away, leaving the Seeker alone.

I’d like to think I had my reasons.

He arrived at his quarters, which had belonged to a Destron officer hundreds of stellar cycles ago. They were only modestly spacious by the standards of the Destrons, but to Starscream, they were cavernous. In the time it took to cross the room, he was able to begin tuning his long-range communicator by remote. He took an extra glance back to assure that the door was closed before the call went through. The communicator’s screen buzzed on, as a huge dark shape began to move out from its fuzzy shadows. A mountain of armor, weapons, and servos, topped with a single, sinister optic. Megatron’s reputation may have preceded him, but for Shockwave, it was his appearance.

“Comrade Starscream. Report.”

“We’ve safely left Cybertron’s sector. Within a mega-cycle we should arrive at the warp point.”

“Everything seems to be going smoothly?”

“Yes, comrade Shockwave. Megatron seems to have quite the hypnotic effect on his followers.”

“He is merely a good speaker, a powerful personality. Sometimes, that is all one needs to gain a following."

“If only reason such as yours prevailed more often, comrade Shockwave.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, comrade Starscream. Report back to me once the warp is complete.”

“Of course, comrade Shockwave.”

The transmission flickered out, and so did the last ounce of Starscream’s tolerance. He opened the hatch of the oversized stasis chamber and clambered inside. Perhaps some sleep would improve his mood.

He dreamed of a planet, vast and untamed, with a playful topography. He would swoop and dive and roll through forests and canyons, across deserts and down gullies. Maybe there would be a femme, maybe not- she faded into and out of the dream. But there was one thing he knew he had, what he had wanted all along: peace.

 

A very intricate story. I am eager to read more.

 

I don't know why I didn't check this out earlier. This is getting really good. I love the Soviet undertones to the Decepticon movement, and Megatron especially is written beautifully. Him beckoning to be shot was a great scene. I also like Airazor a lot as well, she might be my favourite character in this.

 

***Chapter 3***​

“Oh… oh, my,” stammered the femme’s voice over the intercom. The door began to open, slowly grinding along on its lengthy tracks- it was designed for someone much larger. She quickly appeared within the opening frame, her wings tucked down along her back, her hands twisting at each other in anxiety.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” the ancient Autobot began. “I’m Ironhide, here from the local Autobot garrison.”

She trembled in place, her unease obvious. “Uh… huh…”

“Are you the protoform batch initiator of one Airazor?”

“Y-yes. Did… did something happen?”

“You don’t need to be alarmed, ma’am. She’s perfectly safe.”

“Oh, Primus, she got arrested,” she gasped. “Was it simultronics? I think that Split-S girl is into them.”

“That’s not the case, ma’am. Airazor is in no trouble at all.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because Airazor would like to serve her planet by joining the Autobots.”

Her eyes widened. “I see,” she whispered. “Come in.” Ironhide treaded into the house slowly, letting the femme lead.

Airazor, who had kept herself out of sight around the street corner, slipped in through the closing door. She crept slowly towards the stairs, perching herself at their top, just within auditory range of the sitting room.

Her mother’s voice echoed up the stairwell. “What is this, some kind of recruiting ploy?”

“No, ma’am. Airazor herself expressed interest in joining. She’s old enough to enlist, but young enough that I needed to speak with you. We’re required to interview the protoform batch initiators as part of the-“

“It won’t happen,” she said firmly. “Not ever.”

A pause between the voices.

“I met him,” said Ironhide.

“You-“

“And it wasn’t some scrappy hand-shake thing, either. My unit was pinned down in Altihex, stuck in a trench. Eight solar cycles without Energon, and a handful of bullets between us. ‘Cons parked in the ruins, in the hills, in foxholes. Then he came in… he saved us. He pulled us out of that ditch and he carried us back to camp. I don’t know what you think about the Autobots today, and I honestly don’t care. But I mean it from the bottom of my heart when I say that Sky Lynx was a hero, in every sense of the word.”

“I don’t need you to vouch for his moral character. And I don’t see what he has to do with-“

“He couldn’t have done any of those things without you.”

Another blast of silence.

“N-no, he… he couldn’t have,” she admitted.

“Airazor has the potential to be a hero, too. I’ve seen it. All you need to do is let her.”

Surely, that had won the argument. Now she could finally have her say. She raced down the stairs and skidded out next to Ironhide.

“He’s right!” she added. “I could do it! I know I could!”

Upon seeing her daughter, the femme’s optics narrowed and her fists clenched shut. “Young lady, this is not the kind of thing to throw yourself at-“

Airazor was still emboldened by Ironhide’s speech. “Oh, what? And the dead-end jobs you want me to get are? I could make a difference out there! I found out what the real world is like today, and I know I could make it a better place! But you’ll hardly let me out of your sight!”

“Because I don’t want to lose you, too!” her mother screamed, slamming a fist into the table. She doubled over in anguish, tucking her hand beneath her heaving chassis as she began to sob openly. “I… just… you’re… all… I’ve… got…”

Airazor had figured that out long ago, but it still shocked her to see her mother so broken. Ironhide put a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you sure you still want to go through with this?” The question was not asked softly, as if for clarification. It was grave and dark, loaded with severity.

Airazor’s mouth hung open. What was she supposed to do? Had she moved too fast? Earlier that morning she had seen her father’s statue and felt nothing. Now, she was about to sign away her life to his profession.

It’s not that simple, she told herself. I learned that I’m nothing, just a tiny speck of dust, in a great big universe. Nobody cares about a speck of dust, that’s nature’s law. But somewhere along the line, someone decided that a speck of dust might be worth saving. They didn’t care about nature’s laws. My father saw the bigger picture, but when he fought nature, nature won.

“I… I made him,” her mother wept. “And he’s gone. He’s never going to come back. And I made you…”

Slowly, Airazor extended her arm, spreading her fingers around her mother’s shoulder joint. When she was certain she was not about to pull away, she tightened her grip and pulled herself down, until she could see into the ice-blue optics that they shared.

“I grew up a lot today,” Airazor croaked. “And I know you’re afraid, and, honestly… I am, too. But I saw what the world really looks like. And I can’t let it stay that way.”

Airazor stood, leaving her mother slouched over the table.

“Let’s go,” she whispered, and began to turn towards the door. A hand shot forward and tangled itself around her wrist, its grip loose and fading.

“I… made… you,” her mother cried. Airazor moved her own hand up, linking the fingers between her own.

“I promise,” she breathed. “I’m coming back.”

***

Cybertron’s sun hung low on the horizon, low enough that the streetlights had popped on. Airazor hung at the designated flier altitude for the highway and obeyed the speed limit, which were both things that her flier mode hated. The hauler in front of her was chugging along as best as he could, but was clearly having trouble keeping up with the recommended speed. Airazor, desperate for some sort of meaningful movement, fed more fuel into her jets, pulsed her strobe indicators, and cruised into the lane alongside him.

“So… what’s going to be my first mission? What about that Cryotek guy you mentioned?”

Ironhide took a moment to respond- perhaps managing his speed was distracting.

“Oh, um, no. Cryotek’s one of the mob bosses here in Iacon. He’s dangerous, but we’ve got bigger problems.”

“But… he was behind those guys who kidnapped me.”

“You know, we’re not the only Autobots out here, right, kid? There are some brave sparks out there tracking down ‘Tek as we speak.”

“Then, what are we doing?”

“Your father’s work.”

Airazor was not sure how to respond, and Ironhide had nothing more to add. They remained silent until they reached a crater-like depression on the edge of the city. At its center was a fortress, which was much larger than it seemed on the news.

“The Autobase,” murmured Airazor.

“Yep. The most militarized place on the hemisphere. Now, don’t act outta line in here, okay, kid? Keep quiet and don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Until you get Branded, you’re a tourist. Folks don’t like tourists ‘round here.”

“I think I can do that.”

“You’d better, if you don’t want to get shot.”

Even though they were still far from the center of the crater, they arrived at a tall gate, complete with a guard. The mech held an assault rifle in one hand and what looked like a holo-torch in the other. Ironhide slowed to a stop, transformed into his robot mode, and held his hands out to his sides. Airazor did the same, skidding on the unfamiliar pavement. The guard clicked a button on the mysterious device, which then produced a thin beam of light. Tilting his wrist, he guided it over Ironhide’s body, after which it made a pleasant beeping sound. He followed by scanning Airazor similarly, but the device did not make a sound.

“Identify,” growled the guard.

“Airazor. She’s with me. New recruit,” Ironhide explained.

“You’re pulling a greenhorn into the Autobase?”

“It’s for the Prime mission.”

The guard’s eyes widened. He hooked the scanner onto his waist and fumbled for another small device, a simple block with a plunger. He pressed the button, and the gate opened. Ironhide transformed back into his hauler and chugged back up to speed, with Airazor applying far less effort to the task.

“That wasn’t so bad,” said Airazor. “What’s next?”

“You meet your new boss.”

***Author's Note***​

Anybody have any ideas on a name for Airazor's mom? I'm looking for something plane-related and non-threatening, that still has a ring to it.

 

How 'bout Hi-flight?
Getting more curious about what's coming up naxt!

 

Light-Foot

Can't wait to see what is next!

 

Is Windrazor too obvious?

If not then maybe something like Skylight or Turbine.

Looking forward to more.

 

Okay, I knew I hadn't written any TCS for a while but I didn't realize just how long it had been until I took a look at my ff.net account. Four months+... Sorry, everyone. I've been busy with some other writing projects (a RWBY fic, to be precise. If you'd like to check it out just follow the link in my sig, it should be towards the bottom). But today, I've finally got another chapter of TCS done. It's short, but longer than the last one.

Oh, and thanks for the name suggestions. Personally, I was already leaning towards "Turbine", so it's interesting to see it suggested. I don't know what I'll use just yet. But thanks for your help!

***Chapter 4***​

Starscream was quite disappointed when his dream ended, and he became aware of a gentle rapping on the outside of his stasis chamber. At first, he pretended that he had not actually been roused from his slumber, keeping his optics shuttered and putting extra effort into keeping his face blissful. The knock only grew in intensity, so he was forced to respond. He cracked his eyelids apart and was met with an unexpected sight. It was the femme from Megatron’s speech. Starscream scrambled for canopy release, and after much trial and error, located the button.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to tell you to wake up,” she smirked.

“That doesn’t seem like a good reason to invade my quarters.” Starscream tried his hardest not to smile back.

“Oh, I’ve got a good reason. I want to show you something.”

Starscream feigned a yawn to hide the massive grin that would have overtaken his face. “Oh, yeah? What exactly did you have in mind?”

“You’ll have to come with me if you want to know,” she said with a wink, before converting into a utility hauler and screeching out the door.

“Oh, this just keeps getting better,” giggled the flier. He transformed, and tried his hardest to not apply his afterburners. To him, her altmode was painfully slow. But it did give him a chance to observe her with closer scrutiny. What had definitely occurred to him through their earlier encounters was that she was pretty; what he noticed now was that she was a very different sort of pretty. All of her chassis’ angles ran off in odd ways, but somehow formed a perfect silhouette. Her alt mode was the explanation. All of those strange shapes compacted themselves together into a simple, rounded lump of a hauler. There was something very Decepticon about such utilitarian beauty, something that certainly made him proud to be Megatron’s second-in-command.

Oh, yes, he sighed internally. Megatron. I had nearly forgotten.

She had been making googly-eyes at Megatron, not him. But now she was creeping into his room and leading him off who-knows-where. Was he being played? At this point, he almost didn’t care. The femme veered sharply at an intersection ahead, forcing Starscream into a higher-G turn than he had been expecting. One of his wingtips scraped against the wall, spitting out a shower of sparks.

“Scrap,” he cursed.

“Be careful back there,” she cooed gleefully.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?”

“Storage Bay G5,” she replied, skidding to a halt. “We’re here.”

Starscream forced himself into a stall, killing his momentum. From there, he transformed into robot mode and executed a picturesque three-point landing, making sure his servos were fully flexed in view of the fembot. He returned her earlier wink, and looked up at the storage bay’s huge, looming door. “What’s in there?”

“That’s the secret,” she said, changing into her own robot mode, in all of its strangely perfect glory. She fiddled with the door’s keypad, and soon the entire assembly began to open. She slipped underneath as the gap between door and deck grew wide enough for her to pass, and Starscream followed suit. The room was dimly lit, and nearly empty. The only contents Starscream could identify was some sort of gigantic, ancient-looking statue, resting against the far wall.

“Well, this certainly sets an… interesting mood,” muttered the Seeker, looking around for anything he might have missed. Was the statue the point? Was it some sort of Primitive fertility idol?

“Mood? Oh, that’s- that’s funny! That’s really funny! Ha-ha! That’s a good one! You… you do know what you’re looking at, right?”

“Um… no.”

“Did… did you pay any attention in school? Any at all?”

“I grew up on Caminus,” he shrugged. “Once you can walk, roll, or fly, they put you to work in the Forges. Doesn’t take a lot of data-smarts to carry boxes of adhesive from the depot to the assembly line.”

“Oh, I- I didn’t know. You had it really rough, then?”

Starscream increased the magnitude of his shrug. “It could have been worse. I could have been one of the poor kids who got whipped to death.”

“Primus, I’m so sorry, I- I just didn’t- scrap, I- I’m from Helex, and I- I mean, I heard about how bad it was in the Far Colonies, but I just-“

“It’s all right,” said Starscream, laying a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes quickly locked onto the manipulator, and the Seeker pulled it back to his side before she could make a comment.

“Y-you can just tell me what the statue is. That’s okay.”

Gone were the echoes of embarrassment or annoyance from her face, replaced by giddy joy. “Oh, but it’s not a statue! It’s not even an it!”

She turned to face the huge, still figure, as a pair of flat panels came to rest on her shoulders.

“You might want to plug your audio receptors,” she warned. Starscream took her advice.

The blast of sound that followed was barely intelligible from such a short distance, but Starscream could make out the sounds in the echoes that came just after. “THEOD-CYNING HRONRADE! AEWECEN!”

Starscream delicately uncovered his audio receptors, wincing. “What was that for?”

“I was asking him to wake up.”

“Him?”

The storage bay was once again filled to the brim with noise, this time a shallow whine, rising in pitch and intensity. Harmonizing underneath was a deep gurgle, which chugged along at a steady rate. A dull yellow light began to fill the statue’s eye-visor.

“What in the name of Primus is-“

The statue fell forward in a way particularly unique to living things, catching itself with its hands As palm reached deck, Starscream swore he could feel the ship rolling off-course, as if a mountain had been toppled in the storage bay. Above them loomed the not-statue’s face, looking very much like an ancient burial mask chiseled into some great living monument.

“WES HAAL, SUNDWAFF,” it spoke, its voice just as earth-shaking as its movements.

“Wes haal, Theod-cyning Hronrade,” replied the femme.

Starscream involuntarily took a step backwards. “Wh-what is going on? You’re talking- and it’s- what?!”

“This is Whaleroad,” explained the femme. “A Destron king! Not a descendant, but the real deal. He was built into this ship so he could impart his wisdom on another generation of Destrons, so he’s still alive! It’s just incredible.”

Whaleroad extended a titanic index finger towards Starscream.

“HU HAATEST THU?”

“He wants to know your name,” she translated.

The Seeker did his best to swallow his fear. “Starscream! Sir!”

“WES HAAL, STAARSCRIIM.”

“He speaks Old Destron,” the femme elaborated. “It’s a dead language, but here it is, in the vernacular, even! This is the stuff I live for! I’m a linguist- did I… did I tell you that?”

“I’m pretty sure you haven’t even told me your name.”

“I didn’t? I guess I didn’t. Wow, yeah, I really didn’t. Soundwave. It’s Soundwave. And you’re Starscream? I mean, I figured that out so I could find you, but… you’re a hero of the revolution!”

“Yeah, that’s what they say,” he conceded, massaging the back of his neck.

“That must be amazing. To know you’ve really helped someone…”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“HWE DESTRONA, IN GEAR-DAGUM-“

“Yeah, hold that thought, Whaleroad,” snapped Soundwave, returning her attention to the Seeker. “I’ve lived in Helex my whole life. Played in the streets, got an education. But am I really going to sit around with a degree in ancient Destron dialects while the planet is dying and say, ‘Yeah, I’m helping’? I heard about this mission and decided it was time to leave the big city behind. But I’m here, on this ship, with mechs and femmes that have names on plaques- like you and Megatron- and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“So you snuck into my room and brought me to visit this Whaleroad guy-“

“HRONRADE,” corrected Whaleroad.

“We know, buddy,” groaned Starscream, before continuing. “… you did all of that, because you want some advice?”

“Well, when you refine it like that, yes.”

Starscream turned away from her, staring down at the plating of the deck. “There’s nothing I can give to you. It took a leap of faith for me to discover my purpose. If this is your first step, then it won’t be long before you figure it out.”

“That’s… something, I guess.”

“I’m a flier, not a talker.”

Whaleroad, tired of being ignored, slumped back against the wall, muttering incomprehensibly. Soundwave took it as a sign, and slowly made her way to the storage bay’s door.

“Thanks for humoring me,” she said, with a hint of resignation.

“Look- I’m sorry if I don’t have anything better to say. It’s just because there isn’t. This is a crazy, mixed-up world we live in. One day, up is up, and down is down, and the next day it’s all backwards. The only truth in it is the truth you make yourself, not what somebody else gives you.”

She looked up from the interior keypad, and their eyes locked. A trickle of optical lubricant rolled down her cheek.

“I think I like that better,” she smiled.

 

Soundwave's a girl here, huh? Neat.

And hi Whaleroad.

 

Soundwave is a femme? No wonder she was into Megatron!

Oh, it's Whaleroad.

 

Soundwave being a perky femmebot instead of a stoic loyalest is an interesting twist. Will she have her Mini-Cassettes/Deployers/Recordicons?

 

Danke. Yes, she will have them, but they're also going to be pretty different.

 

So far, the Autobase had not lived up to Airazor’s expectations. For a place that was so important, the inside was very normal. Plain tile floors and dull grey walls formed hallway after hallway, as stern-looking mechs and femmes walked briskly to and fro. Occasionally, a wall was hung with a portrait of a Prime, or a plaque commemorating a battle. It would have been boring if Airazor hadn’t felt so anxious. She remained in tight formation behind Ironhide, making sure not to step out of line. The older mech had a habit of making sudden stops to wave at someone or to let someone else pass by, which once or twice resulted in a collision between the two. Airazor was only just beginning to catch on when Ironhide swung around and grabbed Airazor by the head, locking her in place.

“Where are ya going so fast, kid? Ease up.”

“S-sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“I guess you’ve got a right to be. It’s been a long time since I was in your spot. A real long time,” he sighed.

He gestured towards a door to his right, above which flickered a sign reading “Registration”. Inside waited disinterested-looking clerk behind a Spartan desk. Ironhide followed her in and took a seat at a chair in the corner.

“How can I help you?’ asked the mech, who did not seem like he really wanted to help her.

Airazor bit her lip. “I’m, uh, here to become an Autobot?”

The clerk removed a datadeck and a small, squat cylinder from the desk.

“Name.”

She steeled herself, taking a deep breath. There wasn’t any reason to be as worried as she was now, was there? “Airazor of Iacon.”

“Protoform Batch Initiators?”

“Turbine and Sky Lynx. Of Iacon.”

The clerk raised an eyebrow. “Are you-“

“She’s not lying,” interrupted Ironhide.

The clerk lost whatever expression he gained, and typed a few lines into the datadeck.

“Date of activation?”

“Vector twenty-three, 8943 CE.”

“Altmode?”

“Flier.”

“Circulatory fluid type?”

“RR anionic.”

“Step forwards, please.”

Airazor did as instructed, taking a careful step closer to the desk. The floor beneath her feet sunk slightly.

“What’s that for?”

“Your weight,” sighed the clerk, continuing to type into his datadeck. He then took the cylinder and twisted it clockwise, which produced a worrying click. Even more worrying was the pair of sterilized manipulator guards that emerged from the clerk’s wrists. With the device in hand, he rose from behind the desk and slowly circled Airazor, holding the cylinder in front of him like an oversized dart. He eventually came to a stop hovering over her right shoulder, where one of her stabilizer fins protruded.

“This will sting,” he warned, before plunging the cylinder into her body. The device undid its twist with a loud snap. Airazor winced as she felt something small and sharp enter her shoulder fin, but made a point to stifle any sound. She was here to become an Autobot, who were always tough and stoic in the commercials. As the clerk removed the cylinder, its purpose became clear- the center of her stabilizer was now adorned with a bold red Autobrand.

The clerk took a moment to admire his handiwork, then returned to his seat behind the desk, clicking a few more keys on his datadeck. “Your ID number is GR115923. Welcome to the Autobots.”

“All right, come on,” said Ironhide, rising from his seat. “We’ve got places to be.”

Airazor left the room quietly, staring down at the ominous tribal-mask face of the Autobrand as she walked. The recalled a history class lesson- the design was derived from the full-face helmets worn by the Primitive forces that defended Iacon, which is why its eyes looked so empty and dead. She followed Ironhide down a few more corridors and into an elevator, which they rode down a staggering number of floors.

“So, where are we going, exactly?”

“There’s a briefing. After that, the goal is to get offworld in a megacycle.”

“That soon?”

“Recruiting you was a last-minute thing. But there weren’t any requirements for the position, so to speak.”

“Well, that’s…. encouraging.”

“Ah, you’ll be fine, kid,” smiled the old bot as the elevator doors opened. “Just pay attention during the briefing and you’ll learn what you need to know. You’ve got what it takes.”

The young femme nodded, attempting to convince herself that she had what it took.

Lots of bots my age join the Autobots, she considered. I’ve just got to keep my chin up and do what I’m told. I’ll be helping people, after all. It can’t be so bad.

The hallway they exited into was lined with darkly-armored guards standing at attention outside of each door, which were very effective at destroying what little confidence Airazor had left. Ironhide escorted her to the fifth door on the left, which was marked with a long alphanumeric identification number, and ushered inside. The room was poorly lit, probably to draw attention to the holoscreen at the front. Next to the screen was a podium, just like in the informational datatracks. The rows of adjustable chairs were far from full, with only a few mechs and femmes present. A pair of speeder-bots occupied the seats closest to the podium, and quickly cut their conversation short when they noticed the newcomers.

“Hey, it’s Ironhide!” chirped a dapper-looking brown mech, waving casually.

“What’s all the excitement for?” chortled the big red bot. “Did you expect me to die before I got here?”

“I mean, if you did kick the bucket, Wheels would be first in line for the antiques,” smirked the smaller yellow bot whose feet were resting on the back of the chair to his right.

“I’d do no such thing,” countered Wheels, pouting. This caused his carefully-groomed moustache to curl up in a way Airazor had to put a great deal of effort into not laughing at. Ironhide moved forwards and slumped into a seat behind the younger mechs, his joints grinding as he did so. Airazor followed, meekly keeping her limbs close to her chassis.

“That just sounds painful,” the yellow mech grimaced.

“Bee, when you get to be my age, you live for the things that hurt the least,” said Ironhide. “What do you two think of the crew so far?”

“Well, I have high hopes for that guy back there,” he replied, aiming a digit towards the back of the room where a hulking flier was hunched over the comparatively small chair. “He’s a Wrecker.”

“A jarhead, huh,” Ironhide pondered. “I’ve worked with them before. Nasty sons of glitches, but good in a pinch.”

“Other than him, the only one I’m excited to work with is that sweet piece of aft over there.” He stuck a thumb down the aisle, towards a blue-gray femme with an odd-looking helmet that was in the middle of reconfiguring a wrist communicator. “She’s Nebulan, and by Primus that little accent of hers is just the hottest thing.”

“Well, I bet she thinks your accent sucks,” blurted out Airazor, who only felt more mortified once she felt her hand involuntarily clasp against her mouth.

Bee narrowed his optics. “I’m gonna guess that she’s not the latest femme you’ve hired to help you into and out of seats.”

Airazor tried to put together a response, an apology, an explanation, something, but her vocal processor was being hampered by pure embarrassment. “I don’t- I mean, I really- I’m…”

“Prime said he wanted new blood, and I found her kicking the scrap out of Cryotek’s goons. She’s got spunk.”

“I can tell. I started young, too, so I can’t complain too much. As long as you know this isn’t daycare. Lives are on the line, here.”

“I’m- I’m aware of the risks,” Airazor mumbled.

“Don’t mind Bumblebee. He’s just like that,” explained Wheels.

“Personally, Ironhide, I’ve got some concerns about the scientist they’re sending along.” With a nod of his head, Wheels indicated a silver femme seated far behind them, wringing her hands in her lap.

Ironhide frowned. “What are we supposed to do with a gal like that?”

“We’re going to a new planet, completely uncharted, right? I assume the Council wants somebody to survey it. To see if they can get bidders for a colony.”

“Really? But how long has it been since they established a new one? The last was Lithone, right? In 8722?”

“No, no, that was in 8631. The last one was Paradron. But you’d think that after the Colony Wars they’d know they’re stretched thin enough.”

“Maybe they figure putting a colony so far away would force it to be dependent on corporate assistance,” suggested Bumblebee. “And there would be no transwarp lanes connecting them to potential allies.”

“Whatever the case is, I think it’s rotten. I mean, according to Glyph’s theories, this planet probably has some native life-forms, even if they’re microscopic. A colony would wipe all of that out.”

“Always a bleedin’ spark, Wheeljack,” grunted Ironhide.

“I think he’s right,” said Airazor feebly. “What if it’s something that could really help us out in the long run? Like a cure for Cosmic Rust?”

“I’m not for causing any more trouble than we need to,” Ironhide clarified. “But we don’t have a say in this. It’s between the Council and the corporations.”

The other two soldiers nodded with great solemnity, while Airazor sat still, thinking it over.

“But… aren’t we the army?” she asked. “And aren’t we the ones going to the planet? Why can’t we do anything?”

Ironhide shifted in his seat. “Because we do what the Council says. And the Council put that scientist on the mission. Besides, you don’t want to go to an alien planet and catch an alien disease, do you? Or find out that the air reacts with Cybetronium, and you fry as soon as you step outside of the ship? she’s not just here for herself… whoever she is.”

The door to the room opened once again, and another mech entered. He was some sort of hauler, tall and broad-shouldered. Ironhide’s joints shrieked as he rose from his seat with alarming speed, snapping an arm into a salute. Everyone in the room followed, including Airazor, although she wasn’t sure why until she looked at him more closely. Only his upper body was familiar to her, since the rest was usually hidden behind a podium for a speech or an address: Iacon’s governor and the supreme commander of the Autobots, Optimus Prime.

That’s who they were talking about? THE Optimus Prime? Oh, Primus above…

The commander saluted back as he took his place behind the podium, as per usual, and his audience sat back down. The guards outside closed the door. Optimus Prime cleared his throat, and began to speak.

“My fellow Cybertronians, our planet has, for many centuries now, been embroiled in a bitter conflict. These have been wars of grievance and revolution. The foremost of these revolutionaries is Megatron of Helex, founder of the Decepticon movement that has swept over both Cybertron and colony worlds alike. Through his campaign of revolution, he has dismantled governments and established a Decepticon bloc in Cybertron’s southern regions as well as most of the planet of Promet-2. However, when Megatron orchestrated the destruction of Apophenia, he made his greatest mistake. He was branded an outcast and a rebel by his own movement, which has served to divide the Decepticons. While many have allied themselves with Shockwave and are content with the current ceasefire, there is a highly radicalized faction that owes their allegiance to Megatron. Due to sanctions placed on the Decepticon bloc by the Council, this radicalized faction has been steadily growing in number.

Approximately five solar cycles ago, Megatron and a sizeable contingent of his Decepticon supporters left Cybertron on a repurposed Destron cruiser. All reports indicate that their destination is the as-of-yet undiscovered planet indicated in the Boltax observatory ruins. Glyph, the senior archaeometrist at Xaaron University in Simfur, has interpreted the observatory ruins as describing a ‘Second Cybertron’, a planet with a theoretical life-creating construct known as an ‘Allspark’. Now, whether this ‘Allspark’ exists or not is completely unverifiable. What we do know is that while Megatron is offworld, on a potentially deserted planet, he is vulnerable. Our mission is simple: We will make planetfall, locate Megatron, and bring him to justice. If necessary, we are prepared to neutralize him. Afterwards, we will-“

Airazor’s hand shot up, as if she urgently needed a hall pass. She could hear the sound of Ironhide slapping his hand over his face.

“Do you have a question, young one?”

“Um, uh, yes. Sir! Your lordship! Sir!”

“‘Sir’ will be enough. Go on.”

“Yes, sir. So our mission is to get Megatron?”

“Yes.”

“When will we build the bridges?”

“Excuse me?”

“Like in the commercial? Where the Autobots are building a bridge? And then they dig a well?”

“Regrettably, this is not a humanitarian mission.”

“So this is-“ she searched for a word she might have remembered her father saying all of those stellar cycles ago. It was a word that made the Autobots sound scary, something that years of commercials and statues and plaques and her mother telling her otherwise had buried. “… this is a kill squad?”

“The Council would call it a peacekeeping mission. It’s going to be called an expedition in the datamags. But I’m not going to lie to you. Yes. It is a kill squad.”

“That’s all I n-needed to know. Sir.”

Airazor took a deep breath and felt a lump in her throat. She wanted to scream and yell that she had been lied to and that all of the things she had seen were propaganda and that now she was stuck on some top-secret mission which she could very well never come back from, but that would only put her in a worse place than what she was. Besides, half of that was wrong. She had always known that war wasn’t a nice place like it was in the broadcasts or in the datamags; if it was, her father would still be around. All evidence to the contrary was a lie she had allowed herself to believe. And it wasn’t Ironhide’s fault either. He certainly hadn’t forced her to join the Autobots. She could have said no. But she said yes, whether it was out of spite for her mother or out of envy of her father or because she was tired of her house and her life and her planet and she wanted something new or because she had given up trying to make her own decisions and wanted someone to do it for her and all of these possibilities kept swirling in her head and none of them were more right than the others so she decided to clamp down on the horror and uncertainty and shut it all up because it was where she was now, and there was no going back.

“Kid,” whispered Ironhide, whose voice was a welcome burst of clarity to Airazor’s current hazy mental state. “Are you gonna be all right?”

“Yeah,” she whispered back, twice as quiet, as she made a silent vow to herself. “I’m gonna be just fine.”

Optimus Prime was continuing his briefing.

“… Decepticon forces are primarily volunteers. These are not professional warfighters. Most will lack any real combat experience. However, Megatron is a master strategist. Even if they are not skilled, his forces will likely be well-equipped, and directed in an efficient manner. Furthermore, their numbers will far surpass our own. In order for Operation Chosen Stars to be a success, we will require the utmost in teamwork and coordination. Unity is-“

Optimus Prime was again interrupted, not by a question, but by the doors to the briefing room opening. Every head in the room turned its gaze on the entrance. Into the room marched a long-coated officer, flanked by two huge bodyguards.

“Who are you?” asked Optimus Prime, who never sounded so uncertain in any of his speeches.

The officer, a mid-sized speeder, held up a badge, as if on cue.

“Omnibot RC. I’m here on orders from the Security Council.” Her words were sharp-edged, with funny cut-offs, as if they were pre-programmed. “There’s been a change in flight plans. My two associates from the Lightning Strikeforce company and myself are now officially a part of this operation.”

Optimus gave her a look of disdain. “And why does the Security Council find this necessary?”

“Based on several statements you have made in the past, and your former association with the terrorist Megatron, the Council questions your loyalty to the Autobot cause and your compliance to their demands. I have been assigned to this operation to ensure that orders are followed.”

“And what if they aren’t?”

RC’s red eyes flickered, betraying an emotion Airazor thought looked a lot like glee.

“I have been authorized to terminate you.”

Ironhide leaned down to whisper into Airazor’s ear. “This isn’t good.”

“If the council is so concerned, why don’t they relieve me of my command?”

“Oh, they’re perfectly satisfied with you as a commander,” she cooed, no longer hiding her spite towards the Prime. “They just don’t like your personality.”

“I understand,” grunted Optimus Prime.

“Excellent,” replied RC tersely, regaining her icy demeanor. “My associates and I will take a seat, and you can finish your briefing.”

“We were just finishing up.”

“Then we will meet you at the ship,” she huffed, spinning on a heel as she transformed into her speeder and screeched out of the door. Her larger, slower bodyguards followed, making far less noise.

“You may now proceed to the ship as well. Once there, you will have a megacycle to prepare for departure,” explained Optimus Prime, sounding much wearier than he had moments before. The other crew members began to filter out of the room, but Bumblebee, Wheeljack, and Ironhide stayed put- with Airazor staying close to the old red bot.

“Can you believe it? Man, why don’t they just shoot you already?” roared Bumblebee.

“To give them credit, they sure did wait a long time before trying to axe you, Prime,” sighed Ironhide. “But you’ve got to give ‘em what for. Omnibots are just a bunch of overclocked nutcases riding the Council’s driveshaft. You’ve dealt with them before. You can do it again.”

“I thank you for your words of encouragement, Ironhide. One can only hope that Miss RC thinks before she tries pulling the trigger,” Optimus smiled weakly. His attention shifted from the soldiers to Airazor.

“So you must be the rookie I sent Ironhide to find.”

“Y-yes, sir. My name’s Airazor, sir.”

“I’m sorry if the mission wasn’t what-“

“No, no. It’s… it’s all right, sir. I know about Megatron. Taking him out is important, I understand. It will be an honor to work with you, sir.”

“I only wish we could have met under less dire circumstances. This mission is going to be…” His mouth sank into a frown as he ran out of words. “There’s a technical term for it. I’m sure you’ll learn it soon. Is it possible that we have met before? You seem familiar.”

“She’s Sky Lynx’s kid,” said Ironhide. “Spitting image. Except for being, uh, huge.”

“Really? I didn’t know it would even be possible for him to…” He broke off yet again to turn his attention back to Airazor. “Your father did a lot of good. But what he did has no bearing on you. You’re separate people, and don’t let anyone make you think otherwise- you’re free to be what you want.”

“Oh… t-thanks, I guess. Sir!”

“You’re welcome, Airazor. Now I suggest we head for the ship. There isn’t much time left.”

Wheeljack nearly jumped with excitement. “Oh, you’re going to love it, Prime! The Axalon is just phenomenal! I couldn’t have dreamed up a better ship myself!”

“Now that’s high praise, considering how much dreaming Wheels does,” laughed Ironhide.

“All right, Autobots, we hereby commence Operation Chosen Stars!” bellowed Prime as he moved toward the exit. “Let’s transform and roll out!”

The five reemerged into the hallway in vehicle modes, with the Autobot commander at point. Airazor feathered her throttles to keep pace behind the speeders and haulers, which gave her time to think. Maybe what Optimus Prime had said sounded a little corny, but the more she worked it over, the more sense it made. With this mission, she was finally going to be free. She wasn’t just some kid, or her father’s daughter. She didn’t know what she was going to be, but she knew she would figure it out herself. There was a whole new world waiting for her, and she wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass her by.