First of His Name

Discussion in 'Transformers Fan Fiction' started by peteynorth, Dec 15, 2014.

  1. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Ultra Magnus





    This couldn’t be real, this had to be some sort of off-line vision he was having. He’d wake up, Delta would be meeting with his witch and ever-ready to deliver a scowl at his younger kinsman, a scowl that Ultra once hated but would now give the world to see again. The Grand Convocation, Delta’s death at the hands of Megatron, it all had to be a dream. But it wasn’t…he knew, he just knew it wasn’t. Delta was dead, his body missing, likely dismembered and dishonored by the Decepticon hordes, never to be laid upon the sacred pool deep within Citadel Magnus, and this chaos going on around him, the frantic shuffling to treat the countless wounded and save lives, this panicked horror of indecipherable busy and frantic noise and desperately purposeful movement; all of it was all too real. Magnus stepped back and pressed himself against the infirmary wall to allow the Autobot medic First Aid and the hulking former Decimus security captain Rook rapidly carry a listless and wounded femme to a table to his left, his optics still locked across the room on Ratchet working on the head of the Emir of the Torus Heights, the Autobot Commander standing on the other side of the table his brother was laid upon, frantically watching and ready to do anything he could to assist in the all but certainly impossible attempt to save Roller’s life. Magnus was both envious of, and relieved not to be the young…so very young Orion Pax. The panic that Magnus had been riddled with prior to acknowledging Delta was gone was currently flowing through the not even two decade old Autobot leader, just one of the many things the leader of the only remaining non-Decepticon living military was now forced to bear. It had to be overwhelming, but even from his brother’s bedside he still met with his sub-commanders and issued orders and instructions for the regrouping forces. The various triages were set up, the countless patients all seemed to be accounted for and their prioritizations assigned based on severity of their injuries, scouts sent out to monitor the progress of the Decepticons, other scouts sent to scan for dangers from other directions, and even more scouts sent out to analyze potential escape routes and destinations should that be necessary.



    Countless details, more so than even Delta dealt with on a regular basis as the Autobots had made the salvation and care of civilians a far greater priority than the Unified Forces ever had, and yet Orion took in all the data and replied with astoundingly effective solutions and orders within moments, never taking his optics off of his dying brother. Ultra Magnus had always known the youth was gifted, but this, this brilliance and professionalism in the midst of such overwhelming personal and global tragedy…this was something he had never seen before. “What do you think he’s going to do?”



    The voice coming from low to his right pulled Ultra Magnus out of his deep contemplations and he looked down to see that Minimus Ambus had somehow come to a standing position next to him and was also staring at the Autobot Commander. Magnus turned back toward Ratchet and Orion trying to keep Roller alive before answering, sensing through his periphery as two more forms, both incredibly tall, came to a stop on the other side of Minimus Ambus. “He’ll do what’s necessary.” Magnus looked over again and saw that the almost impossibly massive Fortress Maximus was standing next to Ambus, and on the other side of him stood the Mistress of Flame. It probably looked odd, the twenty-eight foot tall Magnus standing next to the seven foot tall Ambus, next to the thirty-four foot tall Maximus next to the thirty foot tall Mistress of Flame; Minimus Ambus barely came up to any of their knees.



    “What’s necessary is the absolute eradication of the Decepticon shitbags.” Fortress Maximus growled.



    “It’s odd, but…” Minimus Ambus started in a far less enraged tone, “I knew, somehow, that it would be Orion that would be the most effective of our leaders. I just assumed that in the course of his heroism he’d get himself killed, undoubtedly sacrificing himself for the greater good.”



    “I wouldn’t rule that fate for him out just yet.” Magnus replied.



    “Orion Pax must not die.” The Mistress of Flame chimed in. “Not yet, not until he fulfills his destiny, and certainly not to save others who bear no importance to Primus’s greater plan.”



    “Ah, I see, now that Delta Magnus is dead it’s time for a new messiah, is that it?” Minimus Ambus blurted out with a bit of venom in his voice.



    “I…” the Mistress paused before providing her answer in full, “I recognized greatness within Orion Pax the moment I was in his presence, though I sensed greatness in Delta Magnus as well, that never changed. I suppose I allowed more practical, worldly concerns to impact my judgement on the matter. Delta was born into in a great house, Orion was merely a foundling, Delta was elected Emir shortly after I came into contact with him, Orion had provoked the ire of the Prime within months of his forging, and was an outlaw fugitive at the age of one year. All this occurred before I ever saw Orion Pax in person, and even years later, after the death of Sentinel Prime, the likely link to Convoy metallico, and my recognition of his greatness, well…I suppose I’m as flawed as anyone. It’s difficult to admit a mistake.”



    “Your assertions that Delta was some chosen one, some messianic savior,” Ultra growled, “all that nonsense! All of that contributed to him believing he was infallible, that he was invincible! And those delusions played a large role in getting him, and most of those that followed him, killed!”



    “I…I was wrong about him.” The Mistress muttered, casting her gaze at the fluid spattered floor below, but raising her optics back up to lock upon the young Autobot Commander once again. “I know that I am not wrong about Orion Pax of House Convoy though.”



    “It’s Orion Pax of Iacon.” A youthful voice shot out as its red owner trotted past them, brushing against the Mistress of Flame, and cut down the aisle leading to Orion Pax. Following closely behind him was Blaster as they made their way to their leader, and Magnus noted that the Mistress of Flame seemed uncharacteristically unsettled by the contact with the mid-sized red robot.



    “Who…” the Mistress pointed at the smaller red robot stopping before Orion, “who is that?”



    “I believe his name is Hot Rod.” Fortress Maximus answered. “Young, doesn’t know his exhaust port from a hole in the ground, think I heard he was whelped in the last birthquake, but he’s fast and has good instincts on the battlefield. He aided in the withdrawal of some of the Maximus forces, acquitted himself quite well and I saw him personally save at least six of my soldiers. So I think that any anger you’re harboring at him bumping your arm, you should probably let go.”



    “No, it’s not that. It’s something else…” The Mistress replied, but Magnus tuned her out as he was far more interested in whatever news Hot Rod and Blaster had for Orion and had started walking in that direction with Fort Max and Minimus Ambus walking with him.



    “Sir, we’ve gotten word back from Cosmos on the Decepticon advance into the Pentiathan,” Magnus could hear Hot Rod reporting, but then the red youth paused and looked to Blaster to pick up, apparently ill at ease with some aspect of Cosmos’s report.



    “Yeah, something’s come up.” Blaster continued. “The ‘Cons are well on their way to gaining access into the valley, they’re winning pretty handily against the sparkeaters, but there’s been no sign of Violen Jiger on the battlefield.”



    “You think he abandoned his monsters and slaves?” Ratchet asked absently as he continued to work on Roller Pax’s cranium.



    “I doubt that’s the case.” Orion replied as he focused on Ratchet’s work, but still shooting an anguished stare every few seconds over to a slab on the far side of the room that held the dead Torenia Pax.



    “Yeah, we think we may have tracked him down.” Blaster muttered, handing a data pad to Orion. “Something grabbed Cosmos’s attention a couple hundred miles northwest of the Pentiathan. Something gigantic. Something being led by a high speed craft. My guess is Jiger is on that bait craft.”



    “Something gigantic?” Orion asked quietly as he gazed intently at the data pad’s screen. “This…by Primus, this can’t be right.”



    “Cosmos made sure he was seeing what he was seeing.” Blaster replied. “He knew full well that he’d better be absolutely sure before presenting something like this, and Pax, he’s sure.”



    “This will likely offset the Trypticon advantage…but will it be in time?” Orion muttered absently before a surge of energy seemed to go through him and he looked directly at Blaster. “How much damage have the Decepticons inflicted on the sparkeaters thus far?”



    “They’ve decimated them.” Blaster replied. “Almost all of the demons are dead, probably less than a couple hundred vrykol remain, and likely only a handful of aswangs. As for mutants, bit hard to say for sure as they scan just like baseline Cybertronians, so a bit tricky to differentiate them from the ‘Cons, but I can’t imagine many of them remaining in fighting condition.”



    “So Megatron is on the cusp of wiping them out…” Orion muttered as he thought deeply. “Decepticon casualties?”



    “Heavy.” Blaster replied. “They’re winning, at least they are prior to the introduction of King Worm there, but they’re paying a huge price.”



    Orion looked down at the floor for several moments before turning his gaze upward slightly to meet the optics of the diminutive robot standing next to Magnus. “Minimus Ambus, I need you to arrange the evacuation of all civilians from this base. Blaster will provide you the details of where you will go, I will need you to oversee the transport of all healthy non-combatants and arrange the preparation for the moving of all wounded and their caregivers immediately if word comes in of our defeat.”



    “Your defeat?” Ambus questioned, but Orion shifted his gaze to Magnus and Fort Max.



    “You boys up for a fight?” Orion asked.



    “Slag yeah!” Fortress Maximus enthusiastically replied.



    Orion turned to Blaster and nodded. “Open a channel to the base; all of it.” Blaster nodded and held a speaker for Orion to take, which he did and raised it to his mouth. “Autobots, Maximals, United Forces and everyone else, this is Orion Pax. The last twenty four hours have been a period of horrific violence, tragedy and betrayal. Unfortunately, the violence is not over. Right now the Decepticons are assaulting the Pentiathan, and with their titanic beast, they’re laying waste to the sparkeaters. But we’ve received satellite footage of what appears to be a second titan, some sort of serpent shaped creature of equal size to Trypticon, being led to the Pentiathan as well, and will likely be there shortly. Our assumption at this time is that this second beast is being brought there by Violen Jiger to combat Trypticon.” Orion paused and looked around the infirmary before continuing. “I intend to advance our military forces, Autobot, Maximal, and willing Unitied Forces, to a position twenty miles south of the Pentiathan and maintain our position there.” Orion looked down at Roller on the slab next to him, and caressed the side of his brother’s face. “For those of you who do not know, Arlon Pax served as an early mentor to me, laying the foundation of much of my moral code and values. He taught me that justice was worth fighting and dying for, vengeance was not.” Orion paused a moment, continuing to stroke his brother’s cheek. “But there are times, rare occasions, where justice and vengeance might find themselves aligned. We will act as champions of Cybertron, doing whatever we need to do in the interest in her and her people, which means that despite what has been done to us, we will not act against the Decepticons until the threat of the sparkeaters has been removed. The destruction of Violen Jiger and his sparkeaters must be our priority;” Orion paused for a beat, “but should the Decepticons appear to be overwhelmed by the monsters, we will not be wasting our lives on such a lost cause. We will observe from our southern position, and will only advance once it becomes clear that the sparkeaters are falling or will likely fall with our assistance. If and when we advance, we will do so treating the sparkeaters with extreme prejudice, and treating the Decepticons with extreme caution.” A hard look came over the young Commander’s face. “But the long term good of Cybertron involves a future without Decepticons, so once the sparkeaters fall, should we find ourselves in a position of superiority over the Decepticons, we will turn on them. We will be swift and decisive in our attack, we will offer mercy to those that ask, but we will not take chances, and any duplicity will be met with lethality! Until a senate and government can be rebuilt, we will have to serve as the planetary authority, and as such we will offer Megatron and his officers a chance to surrender and stand trial at a later time, but that offer will be made once, and only once. And should he and his advisors refuse, we will kill them. And knowing Megatron as I know him, he will not be surrendering.” He looked to the others in the room. “Autobots and Maximals are to assemble in their pre-assigned hangar bays with their respective platoons. Those United Forces willing and capable of fighting, find Autobot officers and they will assign you per your rank and abilities. Shuttles launch in one hour, prepare to move out!”



    Orion cut the transmission and handed the speaker back to Blaster, looking at Ultra Magnus and Fortress Maximus. “I could use your leadership and expertise out there. I would bolster your remaining forces with Autobots, I will make sure that they respect your authority, but you in turn must acknowledge that the respect they give you will be due to your rank and experience. No Autobot will submit to you based on your name, social status, or any perceived birthright, and you both must accept this reality before I place Autobots under your guidance. Is that understood and accepted?”



    “Slaggin Convoys.” Fort Max retorted with a broad smile across his face, placing his massive hand on Orion’s shoulder. “I’ve never met one, but there’s no doubt that your ancestors would be proud. As am I to accept your trust and your terms.” They all then turned and looked at Magnus.



    Ultra Magnus smiled and nodded, looking deeply into Orion’s optics. “Of course. In fact…” this was insane, it went against everything he’d been raised with and would cause Delta to assault him from beyond the grave, but, “I agree with not only your terms, but your philosophies. Brand me, have me swear an oath, whatever you require to be an Autobot. I take pride in adhering to reason, and the goals and ideals of the Autobots are nothing if not reasonable and right. I hereby renounce…”



    “Don’t.” Ratchet interrupted, causing all optics to turn to him. His head was still down, his optics still locked onto Roller’s injured cranial shell, but he continued speaking. “Keep the name. The other Autobots get giddy whenever we recruit a highborn.”



    “But we’d all be honored to have you as one of us.” Orion picked up. “We’ve long been friends, Magnus, I’m thrilled we’ll finally be brothers.”



    “Speaking of brothers…” Ratchet said as he closed a hatch on the side of Roller’s head and looked up at Orion, “there’s nothing more I can do. The damage…well, the odds are definitely against him, but there’s still hope.” He saw Orion’s optics dim slightly, his gaze go to the floor, but then the Autobot Commander gave a weak nod.



    Ratchet reached out and placed his hands on Roller’s frame, seeming to prepare for some sort of manipulation, but Orion’s hand gently went out and grabbed his wrists. “No, my friend, let me.” Orion said, sending another mournful glace to Torenia on her slab before looking back down at his brother. Ratchet removed his hands, and Orion took over, gripping Roller and adjusting him, bending his body, reshaping him. The sound was familiar, but far slower and lighter than Magnus had ever heard it before. ‘TSCHE’, Orion shifted some more, ‘CHU-CHU-CHE’, more shifting, ‘TSCHE-CHU…CHU-CHU…TSCHE-CHU-CHU-TSCHE’.



    ---



    Nightbeat





    There was no shortage of negative things to say about Sentinel Prime, but at least his intel was good, and Nightbeat was most thankful for that fact as he stepped into the ancient ship, likely the first person to do so in over one million years. A remote transmission of the admittance codes provided by the deceased Prime had kept the Manifest’s defenses from obliterating him as he started across the ocean floor, and entering them into the hull computer by the port he had just passed through had gained him entrance. The ship didn’t seem to be wanting to kill him anymore, at least not overtly enough for Nightbeat to notice with any of his senses, but as he walked through the dark hallways he couldn’t help but feel as though the vessel itself was sizing him up and determining a way to end him. He shook these nonsensical feelings off and made his way to the bridge. He had been studying this vessel for over a century, every file he could get his hands on, the schematics, the crew manifest, photos, video footage of its construction, the documentary of the tour Guardian Prime gave journalists prior to the launch; Nightbeat knew this vessel and within moments he was standing in the middle of the bridge. He froze in the darkness, aware of the legends all around him, but unable to see them yet, and terrified to illuminate the room and allow him to do so. They were likely dead. There was really no way that any of them could still be alive after all this time.



    He made the necessary adjustments to his optics to allow him to see in the dark and hesitantly made his way toward the captain’s chair, knowing that the dark form sitting in it would be the greatest hero in his planet’s history. Granted, a bit of Guardian Prime’s polish had been worn off in Nightbeat’s optics due to what he’d uncovered over the last several years, but as he rounded the corner and looked upon a face he’d seen thousands of times in recorded images, but which had been lost forever long before he’d been brought online, the blue and yellow detective felt nothing but awed admiration…and a wave of discomfort at the facial and crest similarities to Sentinel Prime. Guardian was clearly an Honorum, the crest extending forward farther than most, similar to a Magnus crest, wider at the top and tapering down, just like Sentinel’s, and bearing a handsome silver face. The entire helm was nearly identical to Sentinel’s, only instead of orange it was a deep maroon. The body was also roughly similar in shape to Sentinel’s, but was orange instead of yellow, with maroon arms and crotch that matched the helm in color, and legs that matched the torso’s orange, as opposed to Sentinel’s red limbs with yellow accent colors. But despite the similarities, this was not Sentinel Honorum, this was a champion to rich and poor alike, and a Cybertronian to be selected by the Matrix…the last Cybertronian to be selected by the Matrix. A true Prime. A true Prime that had likely joined the Matrix long ago.



    Nightbeat quickly brushed aside his awe and the slight misgivings he had, as well as the desire to look around at the other heroes and legends that surrounded him, and set to work on his evaluation of the long lost leader. Layers of dust fell away as he jostled the frame a bit and connected a series of scanners he had stored in various compartments on his body. No brain activity, energon distribution systems were long dry, all hope was lost…wait, what? Spark sensor readings were…impossible. They were displaying weak…but viable. According to this, despite his frame being shut down for countless millennia, his spark was still hanging on. But this ray of hope was tinged with frantic desperation. Even if Prime were somehow alive, Nightbeat had no idea of what to do to keep him that way or revive him. The good news was that, as far as he knew, he hadn’t disturbed whatever it was that had kept him alive for a million years, so he could take the time needed for a thorough evaluation and hopefully come to a solution.



    The time needed for that thorough evaluation was roughly four hours, and while still confused about a great many aspects, Nightbeat was somewhat confident he had a roundabout idea of what was going on. The Manifest had indeed been sabotaged, a tranquilizing agent of sorts that had been dispersed throughout the entire ship had incapacitated the crew shortly after arriving on this planet. All measures designed to awaken or protect the crew were disabled, whether before the sedation or after Nightbeat had not yet determined, leaving the crew in their dormant states. It seemed that the tranquilizing measures were designed to remain in place for several hundred thousand years, a measure to ensure there would be no recovery by the crew, or that any outside rescue attempt would be thwarted or severely hampered until long after the crew had expired. But it seemed that deeply hidden emergency measures, ones not on any ship schematics that Nightbeat had come across, and something overlooked by the saboteur, had kept the command crew alive.



    Some deeply embedded and hidden protocol, one involving simple miniature servant droids apparently beneath the notice of the sabotaged systems, had prompted the ship to siphon energon from the lowest ranking soldiers into the highest ranking officers, but only the most trace amounts to either avoid detection or keep the command crew alive for as long as possible. Or perhaps it was for both reasons, but whatever the reason, this hidden function had succeeded in allowing Guardian Prime, Galvatron, Cyclonus and everyone else on the bridge to survive. How many of the rank and file soldiers had died to enable this, Nightbeat had not had the time to determine. He had devoted every second so far to discerning the cause of Guardian Prime and his crew’s disorder, and a possible solution. Ultimately, it seemed simple enough; disengage anything in the Manifest that could remotely be tied to the sabotaged systems, and pump some energon into the dormant crew. Nightbeat was well fueled when they had arrived at the human air force base, and even now he had more than adequate reserves, enough to provide one or two individuals with the sustenance to bring them out of their long-forced stasis. As to which one to start with, well, there was no real decision to be made.



    The blue and yellow robot, one whose colors weren’t really visible in the dimly lit bridge of the ancient ship, slid out from under the control panel at the front of the bridge and slowly and carefully made his way across the large command room, stepping over the dormant form of who he knew to be Bulkhead, an Iaconian that was the oldest member of the crew, who if everything went well, would soon awaken a million years older in what to him would be the flicker of an optic. Nightbeat lifted his feet over the predominantly green form, being careful not to step on any of the rotor blades attached to his back, and started shuffling around the orange Landmine, a Tagan Heightsian that was almost as old as Bulkhead. The next body in his way on the floor belonged to Tailpipe, but the white robot was small enough that Nightbeat simply hopped over him. He slowed as he approached two chairs, each holding far more recognizable Cybertronians. Nightbeat turned sideways and shuffled between chairs holding the legendary Cyclonus and Scourge, both peacefully leaning back, partially slid off of their seats. The detective was beyond careful in making sure he did not disturb their slumber, before walking toward a hulking dark form on the floor, one with an orange fusion tub tucked under him. He stared down at the inert legend, a warrior that started a revolution and killed a Prime, a war that rocked Cybertron as brutally as either of the uprisings of Deathsaurus, one that this legend seemed destined to win, a victory that would have made him the unquestioned overlord of the planet Cybertron. Nightbeat looked down at Galvatron, a hated monster to everyone in the north, a hero to most in the south, and someone who had inadvertently caused the creation of the modern age. The histories were careful to record the end of the war as a stalemate, a peace reached by two willing sides, but the post-war world, one that they still lived in, was definitely not what the purple would-be conqueror would have wanted. But even a Northerner like Nightbeat recognized the essential role that Galvatron played, and looked upon him reverently as he walked around his frame.



    A moment later he was standing before Cybertron’s greatest legend, their greatest leader, the one that rallied a defeated planet to an impossible vic…well, they couldn’t call it a victory, but it was a victory, a leader who brought a brutal conqueror to heel, and who created the closest thing to an egalitarian society their world had ever seen and ushered in a golden age that lasted until his departure. Nightbeat stood before Guardian Prime’s dormant yet regal form once again and raised his hand toward the Prime’s head. A tube extended out from Nightbeat’s wrist and jacked into a small port on the thick neck of Guardian Prime, his flawless but dust-covered silver face showing no reaction to the external stimulus. “I hope I haven’t overlooked anything.” Nightbeat muttered before forcing energon from his body, through the tube, and into the long inert frame. Each second that passed seemed painfully slow, as they rolled into minutes the fear and anticipation was nearly more than the blue and yellow Cybertronian could handle, and as his internal chronometer reached twenty minutes with no discernable change to the ancient leader, all hope started to fade. By his calculations, more than enough time and energon had passed for Guardian Prime to have awoken, but there he continued to sit, unmoving, optics as dark as when he had first entered the ship, the layers of dust over his frame undisturbed by any movem… “URGH!” Nightbeat gurgled out as a hand shot up and gripped him by the throat.





    ---





    Megatron





    “Decepticons, ATTACK!” The Decepticon leader roared as he charged forward toward the returned Violen Jiger, his feet pounding against the shredded metal, circuitry, tubing, fluids and other gore completely covering the ground of the valley. His forces did the same, following behind the massive Trypticon as he lumbered toward the serpentine Dweller of the Depths, or whatever that three-faced demon called it. What remained of the sparkeater forces and the heavily bloodied but still strong Decepticons charged at one another in a final surge to eradicate the enemy once and for all, but the armies were thrown down or back by the impact tremor and shockwaves of Trypticon and the Dweller savagely slamming into each other. They were all quickly back up and laying into the opposite forces with brutal fury, Megatron focusing on Violen Jiger, blasting him with his fusion cannon as they charged each other. Shockwave, Overlord, and Black Shadow fell in beside Megatron, and the four super-warriors barreled into the three-faced king of the sparkeaters and their subterranean allies. They pushed him back, causing Megatron to grin as they started overwhelming the monster, but that smile disappeared as all four of the Matrix-caliber enhanced Decepticons were thrown back by the horrifically powerful Violen Jiger, Megatron himself catching a backhand to the chest that caused all his senses to flicker and fling him hurtling through the air.



    Megatron hit the ground hard, shattering and spraying the carnage-covered stone embedded over the metal and leaving dents in both cyber-firma as well as his frame. While aware of it before, the smell of the death and shredded corpses nearly overwhelmed him as he gathered his wits. For organics, the smell of rot was either a warning to herbavores and those carnivores with more delicate digestive systems, or a beacon to carrion feeders, but for the mechanical species of Cybertron, it was a message that this was a place of danger and destruction, so advance at your own risk. He quickly shook off the disorientation caused by the impact and the sense of dread caused by his surroundings and crawled back up to his feet. The Decepticon Commander looked up to see both Devastator and Heretech trying to engage Bloodron, but making little headway against him. The aswang was too fast for the gestalt, and was both too fast and too powerful for the only Warrior Elite not engaging Violen Jiger, but they were keeping the devastatingly powerful sparkeater general from impacting the other Decepticons, who were still suffering losses, but effectively laying waste to the remaining enemy forces. Ultimately it would come down to the battles between Trypticon and the Dweller, and between Megatron’s Warriors Elite and Violen Jiger. Megatron turned with a snarl and charged back to re-engage the smiling sparkeater king, who easily wrestled Overlord off of him and beckoned the Decepticon Commander with his finger.







    ---





    Cybershark





    It was only a matter of time before one of Sky Shadow’s scouts discovered this deposit of enhanced energon, or as Polar Claw had taken to calling it, Ore-13. This particular deposit, one roughly at the half-way point between southern Florida and Cuba, was a densely packed cluster of crystals jutting out of the ocean floor and possessing enough raw power to run multiple cities for years, or obliterate them in moments. Fortunately the unnaturally large fiddler crab firing on him now seemed to recognize the raw destructive power of their environment and was choosing its shots wisely. It had gotten the drop on Cybershark, patiently waiting until the shark-shelled Maximal was swimming directly above it before opening fire, but Cybershark’s bestial shape and the armoring beneath the nanite-created dermis had sent the shot glancing off with minimal damage, and the careful firefight had commenced.



    They both had been smart enough to not use the glowing stalagmites as cover, at least unless desperate, and then the enemy was smart enough not to fire until they were clear of the jutting post of raw, mutated energon. They had maneuvered around each other for nearly an hour, firing their selective shots until finally they were just yards apart, peering at each other through the murky depth’s from behind moss-covered boulders practically right next to each other. Cybershark fired around one side of his rock and charged around the other, catching a glancing shot against his shoulder but ignoring the pain as he tackled the smaller Predacon and drove it to the ground. The two hammered away at one another, their firearms being dropped shortly into the hand-to-hand combat, Cybershark saw an opportunity and drove his head down toward the horrifically ugly robot’s face. The smaller robot was quick, and dodged the head-butt and used Cybershark’s forward momentum against him, rolling the Maximal up and over him, through the murk and into the mud behind him. The Predacon pulled himself through the water toward his gun, gripping it and turning it on Cybershark, who was moving toward his own weapon but knowing full well that this crab-bot had the drop on him. The Maximal could only watch as the Predacon prepared to open fire, but was stunned as the Predacon’s gun-wielding right forearm was blasted to pieces.



    The Predacon’s cry of pain was almost entirely muffled by the water, the blast of the shell destroying his forearm far less so. Cybershark turned to see two dark forms about seventy feet away through the murky depths, but as they walked closer across the ocean floor the glow from nearby energon stalagmites illuminated their forms, and to a barely adequate extent, their faces. Faces that he’d familiarized himself with from database files and then forgotten repeatedly over the last million years, but with the renewed interest from both other colonies as well as Cybertron itself in recent years, these faces were fresh on his mind. “Cyclonus…Scourge.” He whispered through the muddy and now bodily fluid streaked water. He immediately turned, transformed to shark mode, and cut through the water, pumping his tail at a rate impossible for a biological shark to do to reach a speed impossible for any aquatic animal, but it evidently wasn’t enough. He put miles between he and the disputed energon field, but his sensors made him aware that a rounded yet flat shape was cutting the distance between them.



    Cybershark cut toward the direction of the Gulf, but within moments the craft was back on his tail gaining on him. The Maximal suddenly transformed and turned to face his pursuer, weapon drawn, but the craft open fired before he could get a bead on it. His weapon was instantly destroyed, and a shot to his shoulder sent him back, pain overloading his systems for a moment and threatening to remove him from consciousness, but he struggled to remain online, and watched as the long half-oval shaped vehicle transformed into the robotic form of the ancient warrior Scourge. The legend trudged through the murk of the ocean floor, ominously and slowly bearing down on the wounded Maximal. He finally reached him, stopping just a few feet away and glaring down at Cybershark. “You will be more informative alive than dead, so don’t make me kill you.” He then raised his wrist to his mouth. “The fleeing Cybertronian has been detained, I will return to your position momentarily with it.”



    “Good.” The deep voice replied through the speaker. “I’ve gotten some preliminary information out of the one I shot, and if what he has to say is true, the one in your custody will have a lot to answer for. Return them to me, I’ll see to the prisoners, you transport as much of this energon-like substance back to the Manifest.”



    “Of course, Cyclonus.” Scourge replied, motioning with his rifle for the lean Maximal to get up and move.





    ---





    Thundercracker





    It was likely the most awesome display of power and destruction in the history of the planet, possibly the history of any planet, but Thundercracker was too busy keeping himself and other Decepticons alive to really take in the battle between Trypticon and Violen Jiger’s titanic worm, though the absolute chaos they were making of the rest of the battlefield was unavoidable at the time, their stomping and rolling and thrashing killing more troops on either side than the other combatants’ efforts, which was truly terrible for the Decepticons as the crushed sparkeaters eventually came back to life. Thundercracker banked away from another jet of flame coming from Trypticon’s mouth, a stream that impacted the worm but also went wide and nearly incinerated Thundercracker and four other Decepticon fliers trying to provide support to their comrades.



    He shot down toward the scurrying ants below, each ant a warrior trying to remain alive and kill other warriors. A sparkeater was overwhelming three ground jockeys that Thundercracker was pretty sure were named Motormaster, Drag Strip and Dead End. Motormaster was a clumsy moron, but he was strong as hell and had a broad sword, so a quick diversion, something to shift momentum just a bit, could give he and his guys just enough to shift things in their favor. The pair of pit-fire missiles Thundercracker sent into the back of the sparkeater should suffice; if not it was on the ground-jockeys, there was nothing more the blue flier could do for them. He cut away and went on a strafing run that nearly cut another sparkeater in half, an injury that should provide enough time for Decepticons in proximity to it to perform a sparkectomy and destroy it.



    The blue flier cut away again and saw Violen Jiger batter Megatron and Black Shadow to the ground before leaping toward his super-sparkeater general Bloodron going at it with Devastator and Heretech. Heretech turned just in time to see Violen Jiger’s fist barrel into his face, sending the pink Decepticon super-soldier into the viscera-covered metal ground clinging to consciousness. His efforts to remain awake proved pointless as the sparkeater king continued after him and first tore his head from his torso, and then thrust his fist into the heavily fortified frame to pull out Heretech’s pulsing green spark and devour it for all to see. The horrified Thundercracker directed himself toward this atrocity, something he was beyond surprised he was doing, especially as he watched the juices still flowing out of the massive monster’s central mouth, a mouth grinning with glee as it turned toward Devastator and leapt.



    Devastator’s strength and durability proved to be greater than Violen Jiger’s, but not by enough for him to remain unharmed by the combined attacks of the two most powerful sparkeaters. Violen Jiger was too fast for the green and purple behemoth to strike, catch or effectively counter in any way, and the monster’s strength was enough that his strikes actually did cause damage to the prototype gestalt. Devastator was sent reeling back by a thunderous thrust-kick that shattered his optic. Jiger kept his assault up, even as Overlord and Shockwave joined in to counter him, continuing with his pummeling of Devastator’s head until the giant collapsed and fell to the ground. Only Shockwave’s transformation to cannon mode and his unloading on Violen Jiger forced the sparkeater king to cease his attack on the gestalt, but the damage done healed quickly and the forty foot tall monster continued after the other Warriors Elite.



    A world-shattering animalistic cry cutting through the atmosphere brought a momentary end to all of the fighting and forced everyone to look toward the battle of the titans. The shredded midsection of the dying super-worm was crunched in Trypticon’s jaws, but the head of the worm was buried within the massive mechanical dracosaur’s torso, obliterating Trypticon’s insides with its bladed maw. Trypticon released the creature, which fell hundreds of feet to the abattoir floor below, sending countless tons of rock, metal, corpses and robotic gore into the air. Thundercracker rejoiced at seeing its unmoving form, its dead form, but his joy was short lived as Trypticon let out a weak whimper and collapsed himself, an unmoving mountain likely just as dead.



    “The Dweller has served its purpose, Decepticons!” Violen Jiger roared joyously. “Your end is here!” Thundercracker’s fluids ran cold as the massive sparkeater king looked up and locked its optics onto him, following the blue jet’s movements through the sky. Thundercracker banked away from the monster, increasing his speed to put as much distance between he and the creature as possible, but the monster merely lifted a discarded cannon off the ground, took aim, and fired a shot. Thundercracker attempted to evade it, but the shot clipped his wing and he felt himself spinning and plummeting to the ground below. No! As a flier he could escape this oncoming slaughter, but grounded, he’d be food to the monsters within the hour.



    Thundercracker struggled to stay aloft, but he recognized immediately that the damage to his wing was just extensive enough to ensure that there would be no chance of success with that. He leveled himself as much as possible, enabling his jet-configured frame to skip across the ground as opposed to being pulverized on contact with it, which while successful and creating a crash landing that he would survive, the impact and grinding across nearly a half mile of metal and rock ground caused him extensive damage and brought him to the point of going offline. Blackness encroached, but he fought it off, he had to remain awake, he had to continue his escape. With Trypticon out of commission, the Decepticons were doomed. Sparkeaters were probably already crawling over the dracosaurian titan looking to get into its body, dig through its guts, and feast on its massive sun-colored spark. Perhaps that would provide a big enough distraction to the sparkeaters to allow Thundercracker to get away. All he had to do was transform and move his ass.



    Transform.



    Transform!



    TRANSFORM!



    Finally his agonized body started to respond, his normally quick and enjoyable transformation now a slow, painful series of brutal parts shifting that seemed to take far longer than the actual two minutes it was really taking and causing him to cry out in pain more than once. Finally he was laid out across the ground, resting on his left elbow, a slow trickle of energon and other fluids oozing out of his mouth, his dim optics looking down at his seemingly intact hands. His optics then traveled a bit, slowly over the rest of his frame, heavily battered, dented and scraped portions, some minor lacerations, and obviously a wrecked wing, but nothing crippling, at least outside his ability to fly. He could feel the nose of his jet mode pressed against his upper back, fully cognizant of the front cone crunched, but apart from his wing that seemed to be the worst of his injuries. The short flight from battle and the subsequent crash had put him on the outskirts of the battle, where the valley opened up into the empty metal wasteland south of the Mountains. He raised his gaze out to where he would need to start fleeing, and wasn’t sure his optics were relaying an accurate picture to his brain.



    A line of vehicles nearly a mile wide and seemingly dozens of rows deep was arrayed across the horizon and speeding toward him, a wall of kicked-up dust in their wake. Fliers; jets, freighters, helicopters and other assorted craft, including the massive combined space freighter mode of Omega Supreme cut over the oncoming line of vehicles and were soon speeding over Thundercracker’s position. The Autobots had come for their justice; there would be no escape for Thundercracker today. The blue Decepticon painfully forced himself to his feet, determined to meet his fate with honor, and finally getting upright moments before the line of speeding vehicles reached his position. He clenched his teeth and waited for shots to lance out…but the Autobots seemed to be more concerned with reaching the battle than firing on him. So be it, he’d be beaten to death. But Orion Pax, his red form leading the charge and moving far faster than a bulky ground jockey should be able to move, just shot by him, as did dozens of others, the wind and dust whipping against Thundercracker’s frame and they sped by.



    “Git yer ass back ta’ tha’ fight, shithead!” A red cargo transport with the voice of Ironhide snarled out as it whipped by him, trying to keep up with his faster moving comrades. Thundercracker turned and peered quizzically at the Autobots, noting that within their ranks were not only Maximals, but even Unified soldiers as well, he even saw the robotic form of Delta Magnus’s fire priestess riding on a large freighter for some reason, yet none of them had stopped to deal with him or assaulted him in any way. He didn’t fully understand what was going on, but he heeded Ironhide’s call and started to painfully run back into the fight.





    ---





    Rattrap





    “Where the hell are you?”



    The rodent peered around to make sure that no humans were around to have heard the enraged deep voice coming from a speaker embedded beneath its faux fur before calmly replying. “In Florida.”



    “Florida?” Polar Claw’s confused growl shot back. “You’d better be there to help Cybershark in securing the Ore 13 deposit off the southern coast! If you are…how did you know we got a sensor trip? If you’re not..”



    “I’m not.” Rattrap interrupted. “Look Claw, you’re not gonna be happy ta’ hear this, but, well, I may have done somethin’ kinda stupid.”



    A low grumble preceded “Damnit all to the Pit, what did you do?”



    Rattrap gulped. “Well, ya see…I…well…I kinda helped Nightbeat.”



    “YOU WHAT?”



    “Look, he’s on da’ level!” Rattrap shot back with completely fabricated piss and vinegar. “The sparkeaters are back on Cybertr…”



    “You can’t trust him!” Polar Claw snapped back. “Shit! Florida? You better not be doing what I think you’re doing!”



    “Uhhh, yeah, about that.” Rattrap replied. “We did try to find it. In fact, pretty sure we did locate it correctly, but when we went there…well, it found us. We stole a plane, and when we got over the coordinates, we got blasted out of the sky. I swam back, I have no idea what happened to Nightbeat.”



    There was a long pause. “I genuinely had nothing against him, but frankly, it’d be for the best if he was killed.”



    “That’s a shitty thing to say, regardless of whatevah your reas…wait.” Rattrap looked off into the distance over the Atlantic, some unidentifiable form seemed to be rising from the surface very far away. “Holy smokes, something’s coming out of the water. Very far away, hard to tell, but it seems…huge.”



    A low growl came through the speaker before “Give me whatever details you can.”



    Rattrap enhanced his optical settings and ran the numbers in his head. “My best estimate is that it was about twelve thousand, eight hundred feet above the surface of the water when it came into view for me.”



    The low growl grew louder and more ominous. “That puts it at about one hundred thirty nautical miles away from your position.”



    “Oh shit.”



    “Oh shit is right.”





    ---





    Starscream





    “What in the Pit is going on out there?” The prisoner growled from the floor of his cell at the filthy mutant guards just down the hallway. By the Hand, they’d been on the surface for years, yet they still looked like they’d just crawled out of the muck. Starscream understood that they were the bottom rung of Violen Jiger’s totem pole and their existence was to be constantly treated like tarpanicus shit, but how could they not have at least the tiniest shred of pride compelling them to bathe from time to time? He crawled to his knees as rubble tumbled around him and the entire mountain shook, his strength had been slowly eking back into his battered and still sick-feeling frame, enough that he believed he was capable of standing now. Doubt surged through him as he started to stumble, but he caught himself and pulled himself upright to defiantly glare at the pathetic, non-useful-alt-mode-bearing morons who apparently thought that ignoring him was a viable option. “Assholes, what is going on out there?”



    “Silence prisoner!” One of them, a tall, slender robot that almost seemed like what Starscream might look like, were he ugly, disgusting and lacking wings, barked back at him.



    “No, I will not be silent, and had you a functioning brain module in that rusted and shit-covered cranial shell of yours, you’d realize that this brief moment where you’re in a position to treat me like garbage will be very short-lived, and will determine how the rest of your life will be.” The Decepticon snarled. “Either your demonic masters win, and your god-king finishes what he’s doing to me, thus making me a demi-god that you will have to worship and answer to, or the more likely scenario of Decepticon victory, in which case your fate will be completely dependent upon whether I ask Megatron to allow you to live or die.” The threat was punctuated by another tremor rocking through the ancient mountain fortress.



    The guard turned to face Starscream, seemingly unimpressed, and was about to speak when another voice cut in from the hallway accompanied by footsteps. “Violen Jiger has made it clear to all of his thralls that once you become a sparkeater, we are to answer to you as we do to any aswang.” Mindwipe walked into the room, nodding to the mutants and then smiling at Starscream. “But until that time, you’re just a prisoner and you are to be treated as a prisoner. These loyal thralls can’t physically harm you, but otherwise, you’re nothing to them. And our Lord King has assured us that as you are to be considered separate individuals before and after the change, he will not tolerate any acts of vengeance against any of us for things done to you while you’re a mere mortal.”



    Starscream glared at the hated traitor, but the words seemed to tickle something in Starscream’s mind. He felt compelled to look down at his hands, and then the rest of his body. He was in pain, granted, it had been ebbing consistently for hours, but despite the pain and utter lack of any sort of medical treatment, his body looked good. Yes, unforgivably dirty, but it appeared completely uninjured despite the savage beatings he’d gone through over the last couple days. Could it be…? The prisoner scanned his cell and looked over at a bent and jagged piece of metal that had been wrenched from the first tremor to have shaken the mountain, walking up to it, and after only a moment’s pause, slammed his wrist into the pointed jutting metal strip, cutting into his wrist. “AAAAAHHHHHHH!!!” Shit, what a stupid idea! His pain threshold wasn’t any different.



    “What in the Pit are you doing?” Mindwipe roared, the other two guards clearly unsettled by the act. “Whatever self-inflicted damage you do won’t result in us getting in trouble, idiot!”



    Starscream yanked his arm free of the metal chunk, now with his energon and other fluids running down it, and brought the wound before his optics. He looked at the jagged, gaping cut and sparking circuitry below, but gasped as he saw it slowly, very slowly stitching together. Nowhere near the rate of healing that the sparkeaters displayed, but no creature should heal so quickly that their optics were able to register the changes. “Mere mortal?” Starscream muttered, caught Mindwipe’s optics and nodded for him to come closer.



    Mindwipe paused for a moment, but then walked to the outside of the cell’s bars and looked closely at the damaged wrist that the prisoner was now so focused on. He looked away as another external impact caused the mountain fortress to shudder, but he started to scrutinize the wound as the prisoner was, and while it took some time, he finally did notice what had garnered Starscream’s shock. “Guards, the master has returned with an answer to the Decepticon’s titan. Get out there and assist him in any way you can. I will deal with the prisoner.”





    ---





    Ratchet





    “Yes Huffer, get six more patients in there, there should be more than enough room in that freighter, then take off.” Ratchet instructed the small predominantly orange Autobot.



    “Yes sir.” Huffer replied before setting off to direct the final loading for one of the nine remaining ships that needed to take off. Ratchet had been overseeing the evacuation for the last few hours, and so far everything had gone pretty well, which was fortunate as for the most part he was phoning this in and delegating a great deal of the work. His main focus had been, and still was, on the treatment of the Emir of The Torus Heights.



    He walked back to the now almost empty central infirmary where the vehicular form of Roller was sitting on the central slap strapped to a wide array of sensors and other equipment. “How ya doing kid?” Ratchet asked, knowing full well there would be no reply. He checked the monitors as he gently stroked the top of the dark blue six-wheeled vehicle. “You know Roller, you and I never really got to know each other very well, but I’ve heard he talked about me to you, and I can’t tell you how often he told me about you. To the point where I do know you, to the point where I am very fond of you. It hurts me to see you like this, it’s painful for me to know you may not pull through. This is tough for me…it’s agony for Orion. So pull through, but not for me, pull through for your brother. He needs you.”



    “Ratchet, come in.” Ratchet jumped at the voice, but settled and chided himself as he knew it was Ironhide’s voice coming through his wrist speaker.



    “I’m here Ironhide.”



    “We’re actually making headway against these slaggers, most of ‘em anyway.” Ironhide reported. “Can’t seem to do diddly squat against Violen Jiger. Pax and a few guys are engaging Bloodron, as always the kid’s doing better than anyone could have predicted, but he’s seriously outclassed. Anyway, continue with evacuation, can’t say we’re gonna lose, but sure as hell can’t say we’re gonna win either.”



    “Evacuation is almost complete.” Ratchet replied. “Nine transports remain, they’ll all be gone within the hour. I’ll be taking Roller in a small shuttle after the last one leaves. All craft are or will be en-route to the pre-assigned facilities for two hours after arrival, then will jump to locations no one on your end know, as discussed.”



    “Well done.” Ironhide replied. “Time ta’ git back ta’ crackin’ sparkeater skulls.”



    “Good luck old friend. Ratchet out.” The physician severed the connection and returned his focus to his patient. “We need some good news kid.” The white and red Autobot shook his head, almost ashamed of himself. “When you’re ready.” After one more check of the monitors Ratchet turned and walked over to an array of computers, clacking at several keyboards and downloading files into a portable drive he had installed earlier in the day.



    “Beep.”



    Ratchet turned and scanned the room for whatever had made the beep. “Is anyone there?”



    Nothing but silence met him for nearly a minute, before Ratchet started to turn his head back to the computer array, but before his head twisted more than a couple inches “Beep.”



    “Roller?” Ratchet was immediately at his side. “Was that you kid?”



    Several moments passed before “Beep.”



    Ratchet let out a laugh. “Thank Primus you’re as stubborn as your brother!”



    “Beep!”





    ---





    Orion Pax





    He hit the ground hard kicking up a spray of bodily fluid that was floating on the ground, the impact and the blow that preceded it causing a slight flicker to go through his optics, but he was immediately back on his feet and charging at the aswang that had swatted him away. Up ahead he watched Ultra Magnus swinging the large Star Saber, its blade awash in energy, but the swing was just too slow to catch the evading sparkeater general, who leapt back and then forward again to land a thunderous punch to Ultra Magnus’s chest, sending the heavily armored warrior skipping across the ground. Orion locked optics with the huge Bloodron, whose grin of oil-lust vanished and his face shifted to a look that was indecipherable, almost…hesitant. But that look quickly vanished to one of malice. “Stay down! Stay back, fight another!”



    Orion didn’t slow down his charge, scooping up a fallen proton emitter and opening fire on the large sparkeater. “You can’t possibly be afraid of me, Bloodron!” Orion roared as he closed the gap between he and the monster.



    “It isn’t fear!” Bloodron snarled as he swung heavily at the charging Autobot, but the young robot blurred into a duck under the massive swing and came up behind him to slam his right fist into the giant’s side. Bloodron twisted around savagely with another swing. “It is respect! I couldn’t save Premius, nor will I be able to save you, but I would rather not be the one to extinguish House Convoy! So fight another!”



    “I know of no Premius, House Convoy had no direct influence in my upbringing!” Orion roared his reply, the words interspersed with a flurry of blows to the lower body of the sparkeater.



    “Idiot!” The frustrated and angry Bloodron roared as he flung another fist at Orion Pax, but once again missing. “All that is good of your precious House Pax, of House Honorum and Magnus and Maximus and the rest; all that they have that is not self-serving arrogant posturing, they learned from House Convoy!”



    “Orion!” Magnus’s voice called out as he tossed the Star Saber toward the Autobot Commander before barreling into the equal-sized aswang, but barely forced Bloodron back a couple steps. The Autobots had done their best to quantify as much as they could regarding the sparkeaters, and the general assumption was that in addition to being huge, prior to becoming an aswang Bloodron had been a Point One Percenter, which explained his tremendous power and durability, even among aswangs. But Magnus’s impact provided enough of a distraction for Orion to catch the handle of the blade unimpeded. The intent had been to catch it and immediately parlay the catch into a swing at Bloodron’s thigh, with the swing continuing through, around, and then back into the rear of Bloodroon’s head, but at Orion’s touch the surface of the blade exploded into a tapestry of green and blue and orange flames.



    It had glowed with other wielders, specifically Delta and Ultra Magnus, but this was different, this was vastly more, and it was momentous enough to leave Bloodron stunned. “By Primus!” Bloodron exclaimed. “Not even in the hands of Solus did it burn like that!”



    Orion’s momentary surprise ended and he shot into action, bearing down on the much larger Bloodron with the flaming blade. “Magnus, clear out, I have no idea what to expect from this thing, but with flames like these, it’s not going to be surgical!” The flaming broadsword came down hard, slicing right through the fusion cannon mounted on Bloodron’s right forearm and cutting halfway through his arm before stopping. The aswang wrenched his arm back trying to yank the flaming blade from the hands of the Autobot Commander, but Orion kept his grip and was pulled back with the sword, flung eighty feet behind Bloodron as the blade dislodged from the monster’s forearm, but Orion twisted to get his legs under him and landed skidding on his feet, sword in hand and ready to re-engage.



    “Vrykol!” Bloodron roared out. “Kill the Convoy, feast on his green spark, and bring me his sword!” At the command throngs of mindless cybervores came barreling from all sides, through combatants and over the dead, dozens of the nightmares made real converging on Orion Pax’s position. Orion watched them charging at him and for a moment felt his mind scrambling to formulate a way out of his situation, but he’d spent countless hours fighting these creatures, he’d spent even more engaged in melee combat on Junk, and the most clear, undeniable course of action all of his experience had taught him in this type of situation was to let go and let his instincts guide him. His combat training would be utilized to the fullest, but it would be a nearly subconscious utilization. It was something that he hated about himself, an undeniable truth he had no choice but to accept; he was a killing machine with few if any peers, and the realization made him sick. But the unleashing of his dark, unwanted gift against sparkeaters was something that gave him no pause whatsoever.



    The first of the beasts heedlessly launched themselves at him, and were shredded to pieces in a series of movements most would have trouble seeing even without the other-worldly flames of the sword blurring it all. Several of the dismembered torsos exploded as they hit the ground, the blade cutting into their sparks and killing the beasts. Others hit the ground and shuddered, as their sparks were spared but the body parts cleaved from them did not grow back as they did when injured by other weapons. They lived on…in their way, but they no longer posed a threat to Orion as he continued slaughtering their brethren without pause. Orion didn’t see what he did as others did, and had he, he’d have not shared the reactions that it elicited in those watching this happen. A glorious, horrific, terrifying yet mesmerizing dance of mutilation and destruction. His movements were so fast, so perfect, his balance, his spatial awareness carried him over the slick, uneven and even shifting terrain without any stumbling, faltering or slowing down. So often he hesitated, so often his compassion, even empathy for enemy and possible civilians had slowed his hand, caused him pause. But here, against these monsters, he let go. No hesitation, no compassion, no pause. This blade, now nothing more than an extension of his own body, carved through those that would kill those he loved…the few that remained, as well as those whose lives were still salvageable.



    He hated that he loved this feeling, he hated that he was so comfortable destroying bodies, but regret was for later, right now he allowed himself to give into his guilty pleasure, and for nearly twenty minutes he gleefully obliterated the monsters foolish enough to come at him. But soon there was an end to what had been an endless horde, and Orion stood, covered in gore, in the center of an abattoir of his creation. He raised his optics, eager for more, but his surroundings and morality came rushing in to replace the berserker he had been, and the way those around him, friend and foe alike, were staring at him, terrified and sickened him all the more. Absolute awe from many of his Autobots and all of his Maximals, shock from most Decepticon and Unified Forces, a look of almost concern coming from Ironhide and Ultra Magnus, looks of terror from many of the others, and, most disturbing, looks of appraising respect from Megatron and Violen Jiger. The battle had momentarily stopped to watch him slaughtering the vrykol, dozens of vrykol, and for that to have happened, he must have been a truly terrifying thing to behold. His optics finally worked their way back to Bloodron, whose reaction was perhaps most perplexing of all.



    “You…” the massive aswang general sputtered, “you are not Premius reborn. You…you are something more. You are…Cybertron’s justice.” Bloodron started walking toward him, stopping forty feet away. “You are what I’ve been fearing, yet…longing for. What I knew was waiting for me.” Bloodron dropped to his knees and held out his arms. “It is time for the reckoning I’ve deserved through my atrocities for fifteen million years! For the evil I’ve done, for the good I’ve refused to do, for the lives I’ve eradicated, administer your justice!”



    “NOOOOO!!!” The roar from Violen Jiger echoed from across the battlefield.



    Orion sensed the sparkeater king battering away those around him as he made his way toward Orion and the kneeling aswang. It was a perfect opportunity to be rid of their second most dangerous enemy, but to kill a defenseless enemy, to act as the weapon in what was essentially a suicide…but ultimately, the good of Cybertron and its people outweighed his conscience by an unfathomable margin, and he drove the legendary flaming black through Bloodron’s chest, through the polluted green spark beneath, and out his back. Bloodron’s fanged mouth twisted into a smile. “Thank you, Convoy.”



    “NOOOOOOOO!!!!” The roar was closer now, but Orion barely registered the noise. He could only stare into the red optics as they suddenly went black, and a moment later the chest embedded around the flaming blade erupted. The blast sent Orion hurtling back, the power of the spark evidently had a direct correlation to its explosion, but while dazed, Orion seemed unharmed as he propped up onto his elbows and looked up from the ground to see the Star Saber still in his right hand, and the flaming wreck of Bloodron a dozen yards away. But the ground shuddered as Violen Jiger landed heavily next to the corpse, reaching down mournfully as if to touch the corpse, but stopping mid-way and twisting his head so that the central face, one displaying a look of absolute hatred, now locked onto Orion Pax. “You will suffer as no one has ever suffered before!” With that the beast leapt from his friend and onto Orion, his brutal barrage of punches raining down the moment his feet touched down.



    Everything went black for a moment, but Orion came back on to see the horrific face glaring at him repeatedly. The pain was agonizing, he heard commotion all around him but blackness soon took him more securely, but still only temporarily. He came to some time later, possibly seconds, possibly days, he did not know right away, but turning his head to follow the closest sounds of chaos, he saw Megatron, Magnus; again wielding the Star Saber, Elita in the Apex Armor, Fort Max, Shockwave, Overlord and Black Shadow all trying to overwhelm Violen Jiger ninety yards away. Orion painfully twisted his head and saw Ironhide looking down at him. “How in tha Pit are ya’ awake already?”



    “What…what…” Orion stuttered.



    “Jiger was beatin’ ya’ ta pieces,” Ironhide explained “so we charged him and I dragged ya outa there.” Orion struggled to get to his feet, Ironhide gently pushing him back to discourage the effort. “No way, Pax, you’re done.”



    “No!” Orion growled, pushing his way to a seated position and then getting to his knees. “Need to stop him!”



    “Ya should be dead!” Ironhide barked. “You’re done in this fight, we need to get you away so you can fight another day!”



    “There won’t be another day!” Orion roared as he got back to his feet, the last of the fogginess fading away. He looked over to the fight and witnessed something that scared him to his core. Violen Jiger skipped forward a few steps and swung savagely in an open-handed uppercut, a blow capable of disemboweling an eighty-foot primordial, and caught the armored Elita One in the chest. The blow caused her to cry out in pain and sent her hurtling through the air and landing heavily a hundred feet away. Orion transformed and sped to her, transforming back to robot mode and skidding to a kneeling stop next to her armored frame, noting the slash marks across the armor slowly stitching itself back together. “Elita!” Orion cradled her head, still covered in the gray with glowing blue accented helmet, in his hands as hell continued on around them. “Elta, are you alright?”



    “I…” she sputtered, her slightly amplified voice coming through the mask, “I’m fine.” She started to stir and then forced her self to a sitting, then kneeling, then standing positon, with Orion following her up at each stage. “I’m fine, I need to get back!”



    “Yes, me too.” Orion turned, but stopped as a gray armored hand gripped his arm. He turned at looked at the nearly featureless facial armor. “What?”



    “I’m not strong enough to make a difference against him, even in the armor.” She replied, the armor peeling away from her and forming a disk that she held in both of her hands in front of her.



    “You’re the strongest warrior we have!” Orion snapped in shock. “Put it back on, now! You’re exposed, they can kill you like this, and if you’re lost…”



    “It wouldn’t matter!” She belted back, thrusting the disk out toward him. “My strength magnified fivefold barely gets his attention! But yours…”



    “You tried this with Delta Magnus!” Orion snapped back. “It didn’t work, now put on the armor!”



    “He wasn’t worthy!” She once again pushed the disk toward him.



    “Neither am I!”


    The protest garnered a slight twist of Elita’s head and an annoyed but not unkind smile. “We don’t have the luxury of indulging your fucking humility anymore, Orion. I know it scares you…not the fight, not death, not pain or injury or humiliation; none of that frightens you. You fear being special. I’m sorry my love, but the one thing you fear is the most undeniable truth I’ve come across in my life. I…we…Cybertron, needs you to be who you are, and if that scares you, well, tough shit!” She thrust the disk into his chest, prompting him to grasp either side of it.



    He looked down at it, the ancient gray relic held in his hands, and he felt nothing. “See, only you…oooohhhh”, the power suddenly surged into his fingers, through his hands and up his arms, followed by the gray armor. In seconds he was completely engulfed in the material, and he felt his core extending outward into it, making the both he and the armor one entity. But unlike Elita, he noticed that what had been blue highlights glowing through the armor on Elita were green for him. He peered through the visor and saw Elita notably lower than he was used to.



    “Go kill that fucking thing!” She whispered as she jumped up, grabbed his shoulders and kissed the armor over his cheek.



    “Yes, my warrior queen.” Orion replied before whipping around and charging at the fray of leaders ahead of him. Ultra Magnus swung down hard with the Star Saber, but Jiger used amazing quickness to palm away the flat of the moderately flaming broadsword and then lay the hulking blue, red and white robot out with a cross, knocking him to the ground. Megatron and Overlord shot at him with a coordinated effort, Overlord driving into Jiger’s upper torso while Megatron shot to his legs and abdomen; neither of them accomplishing much as the sparkeater king tossed them aside, but they did capture his attention enough so that he didn’t see the thirty-foot tall hulking gray form charging at him until a right cross was already connecting with his face.



    All present who were not already fighting off other sparkeaters or their allies gasped as the sparkeater king was sent flying back and skidding across the ground. The sense of hope was short lived as the giant creature shot back to his feet immediately and started toward the armored warrior that had struck him. “I assume that’s you, Pax! The ancient weapons apparently like you! I wanted a bit more resistance to killing you than you provided before, so my thanks to Solus for providing you with these slight enhancements!” The two charged each other, hammering away with similar speed and skill, but while his strength was vastly enhanced and enough to hurt the sparkeater king, the armored Orion Pax was still not as powerful, and was soon being battered back and to the ground. Orion headbutted the larger warrior and jumped back a bit to put some distance between them and regroup, but Violen Jiger kept on him, unrelentingly hammering at the young commander.



    Others tried to intervene on Orion’s behalf, but the brawl was so savage and quickly moving that nobody was able to really get involved in a way that would benefit the Autobot. Jiger reached high and came down with a hammer strike and grunted with exertion as it impacted Pax so heavily that armor was torn away and his left shoulder was sheared completely off. “Arrrggghhh!” Orion cried out in pain, but instinctively connected his right fist with Jiger’s jaw, forcing the beast back. The armor repaired itself slowly over Orion’s armless shoulder, but nothing could be done to stop a snap-kick that impacted his chest and sent him back two dozen yards. With Orion thrown clear, other combatants charge in to buy the young armored warrior a little recovery time, but with a missing left arm most hope was fading quickly.



    As Orion climbed to his feet a large hand gently but firmly clamped down on his right shoulder, and he looked up to see Magnus smiling up at him, a bit shorter than Orion for once. “You’re doing great, Commander, but here,” Magnus kneeled and presented Orion with the hilt of the Star Saber.



    Orion nodded and gripped it, setting the smoldering blade awash with multi-colored flames again. “Thanks Magnus, but get up. We Autobots don’t abide anyone kneeling.”



    “Aye, Commander.” Magnus said with a grin. “Let’s go kill that bastard.”



    “No, once I start swinging this thing, anyone close is going to start losing parts.” Orion muttered as he charged forward with the sword in his remaining hand. All optics turned toward Orion charging with the flaming Star Saber, even the skirmishes around them seemed to pause to watch this final battle. Those who had been engaging Violen Jiger knew to back away, they’d be nothing more than obstacles to their young and unlikely champion, and the two warriors met head on.



    Flames cut through the air, and a cry of agony echoed out as the blade came down and sliced the left face off of Violen Jiger’s head, the monstrous visage hitting the ground. The monster replied with a cross that sent Pax stumbling back, but he immediately regained his bearings and charged forward once again, slicing at his enemy. There were some missed swings, some missed punches, but Orion finally thrust the blade into the side of the creature, the blade penetrating through the left portion of the creature’s abdomen and causing him to roar out in pain, but Jiger then stomped down hard on Orion’s planted right leg, tearing through the armor and then through the leg, amputating it just below the waist. Orion cried out in pain but possessed the wherewithal to wrench the blade from Violen Jiger’s torso, causing enough pain in the beast to allow Orion to hop away quickly and prepare as best he could.



    The enraged beast peered down at the wound in his side, and like with his missing face, it didn’t seem to be healing immediately the way all other wounds he’d received since becoming what he was had healed. “Time to end this, Convoy-spawn!” He leapt through the air, barreling into Orion and battering him to the ground. Orion slashed up, cutting into Jiger’s left side and causing the beast great pain, but not enough to keep Violen Jiger from planting his foot onto Orion’s armored abdomen, clamping down on the armor of his chest, where the outline of the original disk-shape could be seen, and yanking upward violently. The armor held, but Jiger continued wrenching the chest armor up, over, and over, and over until it tore, and as it came apart, the disk that held the fabled Apex Armor started to reform, but then shattered, the chunks of metal that had made it up falling down to the gore-covered ground and disappearing beneath the flowing bled fluids.



    Orion’s abdomen, now exposed, was crushed under the tremendous pressure Jiger had been exerting down on him. The monster reached down and clamped his clawed hands onto either side of Orion’s chest and hoisted him up, tearing away everything below the abdomen where his foot had been planted. Orion’s head wobbled from the excruciating pain that overwhelmed his body, his remaining right arm dangling off to the side as he was lifted up for a final taunting prior to his execution, the handle of the Star Saber teetering upon his outstretched fingers. His mind wandered, forcibly set adrift by the pain. As his consciousness faded in and out, the words of A-Three came into his head, words from an early lesson he’d been given a lifetime before. ‘You asked why you are gifted with so much that you feel you do not deserve.’ The flow of his ancient teacher’s voice was the only cohesive thing running through his head. ‘Well young one, deserve them! Don’t refuse the gifts you’re given; accept them, appreciate them, and use them to better yourself, so that in time, you can better the world!’



    “Stay with me, Convoy-spawn, I want you awake for this!” Jiger’s enraged voice cut through the darkness.



    ‘Well young one, deserve them!’ The words faded as the pain came roaring back, the light of the afternoon sun came roaring back, the central face of his soon to be killer came roaring back.



    “Good, you faded away for a moment, I was afraid I wouldn’t get to say good-bye.” The beast growled into Orion’s face.



    “Iiiii…it’s time.” Orion whispered in his weak, heavily labored voice, fluids spurting out from his metal lips.



    “Time for what, Pax?” The beast asked with a malevolent grin.



    “Time for me to me to deserve it.” Orion growled before gripping the wobbly blade handle tightly, savagely twisting and thrusting the Star Saber into the center of Violen Jiger’s massive chest. Jiger roared in pain, clamping down on Orion’s torso and crushing the portions he was gripping. The flames from the sword erupted even further as Orion channeled all the strength he had remaining and wrenched his arm upward, the blade tearing through Jiger’s chest and blasting out between the monster’s neck and left shoulder, revealing the flaming blade with a large, green polluted spark speared by it. Jiger looked at his own spark in terror, releasing his grip of Orion’s chest with one hand to desperately reach out for it. Orion pulled the blade away from the monster, he turned his head to stare at the glowing green orb impaled by the flaming broad sword, dark tendrils flowing through the outer portions of it, and he gave one final mental command that seemed to manifest with his remaining strength flowing out his arm and into the sword. “Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrggghhhhhhh!” The desperate cry caused the flame to burn impossibly brightly, and then…



    BOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!



    Blackness, silence. He’d think he was dead, but the pain, the intense, unyielding, all-encompassing agony came rushing back into what was left of his body. The noise, like the light, started forcing their way in as uninvited blobs of undecipherable sound and color. Physical blows of sound to his audio processors, and sharp stabs of light to his optics…or rather, to one optic. His right one was non-functioning. Final memories came rushing back, staring at an enormous polluted green spark detonating like a massive explosive just feet from his face. Finally images started taking shape, or rather, one image. Orion found himself staring into the scowling face of Violen Jiger and panic overwhelmed him for a moment, but the optics were black, the face unmoving; the monster…dead.



    His body was being shaken, lifted and twisted now, the face of his enemy disappearing as he was lifted and moved, and in the place of Violen Jiger’s horrible features were those of this friends and his love. He was set down, looking upon him from above he saw Ironhide, Magnus, Blaster and Elita. He tried to smile at them, but it felt like portions of his mouth had been torn away. Their faces told him the story; fear, horror, desperation. He was dying. He was dying, he felt it, and based on the reactions of his loved ones, he looked like it as well. He could hear Elita yelling at him, making demands… “By the Hand, you’re going to pull through this! You hear me Orion? You hang on!”



    “Hang on there, kid!” Ironhide grumbled as his hands frantically worked below on Orion’s torso, likely trying to push his guts back into his frame. From over Ironhide’s shoulder he saw the Mistress of Flame standing above him, looking down on Orion with…was that worry? Sadness? How had she even gotten here? He knew she had tagged along for the battled, but he’d assumed she’d have remained in the outskirts of it. Ultimately it didn’t really matter, and was definitely not what Orion wanted to devote his final thoughts to.



    Orion’s head rolled to the right…was part of his neck missing? His optic took in the area around him, and his fading spark froze as he saw sparkeaters approaching them…approaching his friends! He lifted his arm toward the approaching monsters, pointed his index finger toward them, one of only three remaining, desperately hoping his friends would see the threat and get away. He was already as good as dead, get away. Get away! Get the hell away from me! He desperately needed them to understand, he somehow managed to get his head to look back upward, and he was relieved as he saw both Magnus and the Mistress looking toward the oncoming monsters, Magnus rising from his previous kneeling position and taking a threatening posture toward the beasts. Thank Primus! Now grab the others and get away! Don’t just stand there…



    “We have company.” Magnus stated.



    Ironhide twisted his head and saw the creatures, Elita’s optics were fixed onto Orion’s lone remaining optic and wasn’t turning away for anything. Ironhide stopped working on Orion for a moment and stood as well, but instead of facing the sparkeaters, he turned back to where the bulk of their forces were. “Autobots! Maximals! Rally on your commander!”



    “NAY!” The Mistress of Flame contradicted loudly, her voice a thunderclap against Orion’s audio processors. “Cybertron! Come defend your PRIME!”



    NO! What in the Pit was she talking about? Worst of all the outlandish nonsense was immediately met with nods and signs of obvious affirmation by his friends. Orion tried to call out, tried to correct the crazy witch and his friends who were suffering from grief-induced psychosis, but his voice wouldn’t work. They needed to get the hell out of there! Why were they still here? He could hear the sparkeater approach now, the slavering of their gluttonous jaws, they’d be upon them in moments! Why were his friends not running? They were doomed. He’d come so close to saving his friends. So close, but like with his family, he'd failed to protect them. He’d failed. ‘Please, Primus, please get them out of this. I’m ready to die, I’ve served my purpose, but please protect these noble souls who’ve fought and suffered for your children.’



    Then he saw something he hadn’t been expecting. As his vision was starting to fade to black, as his systems seemed to be running their final course, he saw something large cutting through the few fluffy clouds above. A vast, metal shape, a…familiar shape. He’d seen that shape before. His lessons from years ago, Cybertron’s greatest vessel, one that carried their greatest non-Knight legends. It was impossible. It was…The Manifest.” Orion now painfully raised his hand upward and tried to point at the ship, their salvation. His face was destroyed, his body for the most part unresponsive, but he could feel himself smiling as bright lights burst forth from the ship, and around him he heard explosions. His optic shifted over his friends, all of them staring up or around them at the chaos in confusion, all save Elita, whose gaze had never left him, but whose face was now riddled with despair and panic. He saw this as blackness overtook him, the last thing he saw was her face, the last thing he heard was her terrified voice call out his name.
     
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  2. crystalarcee

    crystalarcee i exist i guess

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  3. Blam320

    Blam320 Assembly Inventor

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    I legit can’t wait for the next part!
     
  4. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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  5. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Galvatron





    His finger gently pressed the data pad screen, prompting it to continue the slow scroll downward, the words conveying the details of a multitude of injuries pertaining to a single individual scrolling up at a leisurely rate where the hulking purple warrior could take it all in comfortably. “Asynchronous transfer adapter shattered beyond repairable status.” The legend’s voice lazily listed off the ailment. “Yet somehow, it repaired itself, avoiding an injury that’s often times crippling for life, even with a full replacement.” He muttered his own thoughts, these words not picked from the report. “Complete cydraulic system failure;” his red optics raised toward the other imposing robot in the Cybertropolis throne room, whose back was toward him as he gazed out the floor to ceiling window at the center of the vast capital city below, “something that if isn’t repaired or stasis lock imposed, results in death within six hours one hundred percent of the time.”



    “You can’t say that.” The other robot, the beloved Guardian Prime, responded. “The number of cases where repairs or stasis lock aren’t conducted immediately are so few, that assigning a statistic to it is irresponsible.”



    “However few, it had been a one hundred percent mortality rate beyond six hours.” The purple robot, Galvatron, Warden of the Southern Hemisphere, grumbled.



    “Until it wasn’t.” Prime replied, still not taking his optics off of the citizenry gathered outside. There’d been a gathering of citizens there, their numbers vast nearly beyond count, for almost two weeks, having started amassing there in the Primal Courtyard shortly after Guardian Prime’s return to Cybertropolis once things were settled at the Pentiathan the day after the Manifest’s return to Cybertron.



    “This isn’t stretching previous boundaries. We’re not redrawing the time limit from six hours to eight or anything like that.” Galvatron muttered as he continued looking over the data pad. “The patient wasn’t stable enough for, or even physically capable of achieving stasis lock for two days, and they didn’t even bother working on the cydraulics until a couple days after that. That injury wasn’t even high enough on the priority list of injuries for them to look at the first few days.” The comment did not get a reply, so Galvatron continued scanning the medical details quietly for a few seconds. “Seventy-two percent of all trauma buffers removed, destroyed, or damaged beyond repair.” He stated, muttering his own response to the observation a bit quieter. “Roughly, forty percent survivability rate.”



    “For Point One Percenters?” Guardian chimed in.



    Galvatron shrugged. “Fine, ninety percent.”



    “Higher.”



    “Were the trauma buggers the only injury, I wouldn’t be giving a shit.” Galvatron grumbled back. “This report is pages long. It reads like an injury report for a platoon, not one individual. Certainly not an individual that survived! Yes, on their own, and especially with a green spark, most of these injuries are survivable, but things like crushed transformation cog by itself can be touch and go, even for a lot of POP’s. But all of this accumulated damage? He was damn near eviscerated, he was awash in an as yet unidentified radiation believed to be given off by Violen Jiger’s spark explosion. And this!” Galvatron stabbed his finger into one section of the screen hard enough almost to make it crack. Guardian Prime did not turn to look, but Galvatron continued anyway. “This, perforated cosmitron! That CAN kill a bearer of an ignis superious quite easily all by itself, yet it’s just another injury on a very long list of injuries, all of which just seemed to be shrugged off fourteen days after receiving them.”



    “You seem upset that he didn’t expire.” Guardian Prime chuckled as he finally turned away from the window and took several steps into the central section of the room.



    “He had served his purpose. A heroic martyr would have been ideal, especially if there’s any truth to that Convoy nonsense. But alive…I can’t imagine him being anything but a pain in my skidplate going forward; more realistically, an ambitious obstacle.” Galvatron reasoned and continued with a snarl. “Plus, it’s just not reasonable for someone to survive all that!”



    “No, it’s not.” Prime replied with a grin as he settled into his throne. “But by all accounts, this youngster is very hard to kill. And I’ve looked into it; that Convoy nonsense…it’s not nonsense.”



    “How could you…oh, the arm I blasted off of Big Convoy?” Galvatron muttered and noted Guardian Prime’s nod. “You’re a freak for having kept that thing.”



    “It’s bears historical significance, an artifact of our war, and as there’s no Convoy birthing pool anymore, there was nothing else to really be done with it.” Prime explained. “There’s a lot more making up this one’s unique genetic structure, but the core sentio metallico is definitely Convoy.”



    “I don’t like it. I bear no more hatred for the Convoys than I do for anyone else, though Big and Lio will have earned a special bit of hatred should what the crab has to say prove true, but those two are beside the point. This Orion Pax, it’s just too…unnatural for one to have been born twelve million years after the destruction of his birthing pool. Almost as unnatural as him surviving the un-survivable. I really think that radiation may have altered him.” Galvatron replied almost as a protest. “We may be dealing with an aswang.”



    Guardian Prime peered at Galvatron questioningly for a moment before recognition came over his face. “Oh, yes, the thinking sparkeaters.” He shook his head. “No, Ratchet was quite adamant that whatever the radiation that washed over Orion Pax was, it was beyond detrimental to him. In fact, he believed that Pax’s complete lack of medical progress for so long was due in large part to this necrotic radiation.”



    “Lack of medical progress? So long?” Galvatron grumbled as he got up from his chair and tossed the tablet on a table. “It wasn’t even two full weeks! For these injuries that’s the flicker of an optic; that he didn’t die is medical progress beyond unreasonable expectations!”



    “You’re certainly an expert on the unreasonable.” Guardian Prime chuckled.



    “Careful Honorum.” Galvatron’s voice had an undercurrent of venom. “We’ve both had moments we aren’t proud of.”



    “True.” Prime replied, shifting in his throne before changing the subject. “I’ve been told you’ve seen the prisoner?”



    “Which one?”



    Prime groaned to himself before answering. “Not the shark or the crab.”



    “Ah, the gator then. Yes, I did, but it’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking.” Galvatron replied. “I saw him for a few moments, but did not have the opportunity to interrogate him.”



    “Good, I’d rather you not question him.” Prime muttered with a slight undercurrent of relief. “I’d like to handle this matter myself.”



    “If you’d made sure the Decepticons’ titan was dead, we wouldn’t need to be bothering with this so soon.” Galvatron replied with disrespect running through his voice.



    “That thing is dead.” Prime replied.



    “We didn’t make sure of that, we made an assumption.” Galvatron snapped. “And the Decepticons would not have bothered to steal it when we left unless it was worth employing the massive resources required to steal the fucking thing.”



    “I’m telling you, it’s dead.” Guardian Prime growled, his impatience just starting to show.



    “Then why bother with this prisoner?” Galvatron questioned almost tauntingly. “We didn’t want to engage the Quintessons until we’d made further preparations. Wasn’t that the plan?”



    “The agenda we once had weeks ago is suddenly a million years old.” Guardian Prime replied without looking at his second. “Despite that, I still have many of my prior sources, and they’ve informed me that the ancients have not prospered in that time. The ease by which we plucked up one of their Alicon security chiefs should make that evident. What we’re striving to achieve would make this necessary whether this Trypticon survived or not.”



    “My Prime, he’s here.” A feminine voice cut through the speaker mounted in the center of the table that was positioned in the center of the room.



    “Excellent Bayonette, please send him in.” Prime responded as he stood and walked quickly to the table, switching off the speaker and then looking to Galvatron. “I have no idea why Sentinel hired her, but I don’t feel like interviewing for a new receptionist at this time.”



    Galvatron grinned as he slumped back into another chair. “I know why he hired her.” The comment just got out as the door to the room slid open and the shiny frame of Orion Pax walked in, his entire body either heavily repaired or completely replaced.



    The youth locked his optics onto Guardian Prime and bowed his head. “My Prime.” He then looked to Galvatron and did the same. “Lord Warden.”



    “If it isn’t Posthumous Prime.” Galvatron snidely remarked with a chuckle as Guardian Prime marched toward the newcomer.



    “Ignore Galvatron’s comment, he, and only he, thinks he’s quite clever.” Prime smiled broadly at the hero of the hour and clasped his shoulders firmly, looking down at the large and well built, but still shorter by three feet and less bulky, Pax. “By Primus it’s wonderful to finally have you in front of me! How’s the frame. You required an almost seventy percent body replacement.”



    “Ratchet did an excellent job as always, Prime.” Pax replied. “The replaced parts function perfectly, though they’re all a bit numb.”



    “It’ll take time for your CNA to rework them into fully integrated body parts, assuming there isn’t any rejection.” Prime explained, but grinned. “Though from what I understand, your medical knowledge is such that I didn’t need to tell you that.” The kid just shrugged and smiled before Prime continued his gushing. Cripes, he’s worse with this kid than he was with that cunt Sentinel right before the launch. “Yes Pax, I’ve read up on you. For two weeks I’ve learned all there is to learn about you. Your feats, your words, your victories!”



    “I highly doubt there was enough reading material of those things to fill anywhere near two weeks, your grace.” The little shit replied with a good natured smile. “I was merely a soldier trying my best to do my duty.” He then glanced over to Galvatron to share the smile before locking his optics back onto those of Prime’s. “And Lord Galvatron’s prior comment broaches a subject I’d like to discuss with you. What was said as I was dying, or injured, was said in a moment of confusion and desperation. As far as any of us knew, there was no living Prime, and those closest to me must have felt it was the best way to garner protection for me.”



    “Relax.” Guardian Prime released one shoulder and guided Pax into the center of the room by his gentle grip on the other. “Nobody did anything wrong. On the contrary, Elita One, Lord Magnus, Constable Ironhide and Blaster are all heroes of Cybertron.”



    “Glad you didn’t include the fire witch, not sure how I’d classify that one.” Galvatron muttered almost disinterestedly, gazing apathetically off to the side of the room, but then sent a sideways glance to the red upstart. “She did seem fond of you though.”



    “If that’s true, it’s a very recent development.” Orion replied. “Prior to the events of that day, she’d seemed to find me mildly interesting, but more as one would consider an anomaly they weren’t quite sure was worth the effort of further evaluation.”



    “Well the others, and many more that you fought with, are true heroes and will have the histories remember them as such.” Prime stated.



    “Thank you sir, Cybertron was blessed to have so many fighting and suffering for her.” Pax replied.



    “And you, Commander Pax?” Guardian Prime turned to him and asked. “How would Cybertron remember you?”



    The kid once again looked down and shook his head, smiling a bit. “Your grace, if Cybertron must remember me, let it be as one who did his best to serve, and nothing more.”



    Prime laughed loudly, and even Galvatron was forced to snicker at the ridiculous statement. “The slayer of the sparkeater king, wielder of the Star Saber, wearer of the Apex Armor…”



    “Destroyer of the Apex Armor.” Orion muttered with a shrug.



    “Destroyer of the Star Saber too. You killed them all.” Galvatron snarked, and laughed fully at the surprise on Orion’s face as he turned to look at him. “He doesn’t know! Haaaa!”



    Prime groaned and led Pax to a display case along the far wall of the room. They both gazed down at the handle and broken shards held within. Pax looked deeply saddened, a sight that nearly made Galvatron laugh some more. “I must apologize, your grace, this was a relic of your House and a treasure of Cybertron.”



    “By Primus, are you for real?” Prime almost scolded the youth. “These weapons were forged by Solus so that the Knights could defeat the sparkeaters. These relics, these treasures, exist solely for that purpose, and it was a purpose that the Knights failed to fully achieve. Where the Knights failed, you succeeded. You utilized this sword, and the Apex Armor, as they were meant to be used, and you accomplished what they were meant to help accomplish. I will hear no further about your regrets regarding these objects,” Prime chuckled a little before continuing, “and should you attempt to apologize to Elita One regarding the Armor, well, I would fear for your safety.” He gently squeezed Pax’s shoulder and displayed a broad, genuine smile. “Any suggestion that you did wrong, even by you, will likely be met with an assault. The Emir of Axiom is quite fond of you.”



    The kid smiled and looked out toward the window across the room. “It’s mutual.”



    “The Emir of Axiom and the outlaw leader of an outlaw commoner rights band.” Galvatron grinned sarcastically. “It sounds more like a cautionary tale than a fairy tale.”



    “Oh, I don’t know.” Prime countered. “The last Convoy, raised by House Pax, Commander of the most effective of Cybertron’s resistances…”



    “The Decepticons were more effective against the sparkeaters.” Galvatron interrupted Guardian Prime.



    “Until they weren’t. It was an Autobot that killed Bloodron and Violen Jiger.” Prime shot back.



    “He’s still an outlaw.” Galvatron raised an optic brow.



    “Is he?” Prime asked, then looked at Orion. “Seems that Galvatron is big on broaching touchy subjects today.”



    Orion stood tall and met Prime’s gaze, no fear at all in his face. “I am willing to surrender myself and stand trial for any and all charges, my Prime.”



    Prime squared up and peered down at Orion for several moments before smiling again. “And are you willing to provide a full disclosure of where you were for the fourteen years you were off world and what you were doing?”



    Orion faltered slightly, but maintained his gaze and seemed to regain his resolve. “I apologize your grace, but I swore that I would keep the secrets of my benefactors, and I honor my word.” He smiled and shrugged. “It’s just how I was raised. If there’s a charge for that, I will answer it like the others.”



    Prime maintained his stern gaze for a few moments more before displaying a slight smile. “That’s admirable, Orion Pax of Iacon, but there will be no charges. Even were you not the savior of Cybertron, there would be no charges against you.”



    “Your grace, you’re the savior of Cybertron, it was the intervention of the Manifest that saved us all.” Orion responded.



    “We mopped up some remnants that your forces would have taken care of even if we hadn’t arrived.” Prime replied.



    “Not until…”



    “Enough, Orion.” Prime interrupted. “You’re humble and grateful, we get it. But my point was that even ignoring any debt the planet owes you, I could never in good conscience pursue legal action against you for taking the stand I failed to take for seven million years.” Guardian Prime crossed the room with a sense of purpose, stopped at a table on the far side and picked up a data pad that had been resting on it. He returned to Orion and held out the pad for the red Autobot to take. “You’re right, I did more over the last two weeks than just listen to your words and view your actions. I was inspired to act on them.”



    Orion looked down at the pad in his hand. “Cybertronum Quod Aequalitas?” The youth read aloud quietly.



    “Cybertronian Equality.” Guardian Prime provided the unnecessary translation from Ancient Cybertronian. “Your words made law.”



    “My words?”



    “All sentient beings are created equal.” Prime replied. “I spent hours watching and re-watching a one year old refer to it as an intrinsic axiom.” Guardian smiled. “I can forward you a copy of the video feed if you’d like.”



    The island-born whelp’s optics were wide with skepticism for a moment before directing them down to the data pad and scrolling through it, his optics darting over it so fast that he couldn’t actually be taking it all…”One Cybertronian, one vote. Full transparency with all legal proceedings, the only exceptions being victim or informant identities when applicable or with classified government assets or information.” Orion shrugged. “Reasonable, though we’ll need to make sure these aren’t used as loopholes for situations that aren’t intended.”



    Prime smiled and nodded. “Of course.” The way he looked at Orion was…unsettling. The traces of uncertainty that were present when Galvatron witnessed a similar gaze directed at Sentinel Honorum, what was to him a couple weeks ago, but in actuality was over a million years ago, were returning. But the uncertainty caused by Sentinel was easily dismissed. With this Orion Pax of House Convoy, it was not as easy to dismiss. As much as Galvatron wanted to consider the red and blue whelp a harmless young fool, his accomplishments, his gifts, his standing in the world, these things were not so easily discounted.



    “Competent legal representation for those who otherwise could not afford it.” The kid was smiling by this point. “Government officials forbidden from accepting payment or gifts from sources outside their direct office, and any payments are to consist of official salary or pre-arranged and approved bonus…” Orion looked up with gratitude. “Prime, this is exactly what we’ve been fighting for. Frankly, this is more than we ever expected to see.”



    “Before you even think of uttering any sort of thanks, know that this is something that should have been enacted millions of years ago.” Prime held up his hand. “This is your doing, Orion Pax of Iacon, you and your fellow Autobots. Your words and actions are what inspired me to finally do what was right and necessary.”



    “Eliminating lobbyists and others that offer bribes is going to piss off every senator we’ve ever known.” Galvatron snickered as he finally stood and wandered over to the transparent doors that led to the main balcony.



    “Most of the senators we knew were killed by the Decepticons or the sparkeaters.” Prime replied, smiling at Orion Pax as the youth continued looking over the document. “And if any of the old guard do remain, they’ll fall into line quickly. That’s provided they even keep their positions after the next election. I don’t think most of them would fare well in a world where each commoner gets a vote that weighs the same as that cast by a high born.”



    “Guardian Prime,” Orion questioned, his optics still glued to the screen, “when will you be implementing this? When will this be the law of the land?”



    “Two days…ago.” Prime smiled more broadly as the shocked Orion looked up at him in disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d want me to wait for you to wake up. Frankly, until this morning the smart money was on you dying.”



    “Uhhh…of course, Prime.” Orion stammered.



    “That was a joke Pax.” Prime replied. “But yes, though having flown under the radar, what with all that has transpired recently, this has been the rule of law for almost thirty-six hours.”



    “I can never thank you enough, my Prime.” Orion stated.



    “You’d better never thank me at all, Pax.” Prime replied. “Not for this. It is I that owe you a debt, one that I will never be able to fully repay. At one time I believed in true justice, I strived for it, but after some early successes and some prosperity, I sat back and rested on my laurels. I had a mission, one that I left unfinished for millions of years, one that I chose to forget about, until I set the Manifest down on Cybertron for the first time in a million years, and as I started making my way down the gangplank, an old friend named Ironhide charged up; but not to greet me. He planted himself in front of me, looked me dead in the optics and used his most authoritative voice to TELL me that under no circumstances was I to allow the corpse he was carrying, one dripping fluid all over my legs, to die. I have rarely seen such absolute devotion, and not just Ironhide, but royals like Ultra Magnus, Fortress Maximus and even the Emir of Axiom; all of them, and many others, just seemed to brush past me, to dismiss their long lost Prime, to see to your care. And from what I understand, had he been there, the Emir of The Torus Heights would have run me down just to get to you. I barely got a ‘welcome back Prime’ out of Ratchet when he came sprinting into the infirmary a couple hours later.”



    Orion smiled and looked down. “I hope you don’t think they were being disrespectful, Prime, it’s just…we’re all very loyal to one another. Roller, Elita, Ratchet and Ironhide in particular, no living being is more important to me than them.”



    Prime nodded and smiled. “I know that now. But I must admit, I was a little taken aback by the situation, so once things had settled down, and Ratchet had arrived to work on you, I started inquiring as to who you were. I spent hours talking to Ironhide, to Ultra Magnus, but it was footage provided to me by Blaster…”



    “Ugh.” Pax groaned



    Prime laughed. “Yes, he told me you have never been comfortable being the poster boy for the Autobot cause, but that as a public relations, propaganda and recruitment tool, you had no equal. None. And he had no shortage of footage of you, which was amazing in light of the fact that not only are you so young, but that you’ve apparently spent the vast majority of your life off-world. So while Ratchet frantically wasted his time on a clearly lost cause, I studied some commoner protoform adopted by perhaps the sweetest, kindest individual I’ve ever had the honor to know…” Prime smiled sadly as Orion’s optics grew, “you have my deepest condolences for Torenia, by the way, and for Arlon as well; our world is made so much less by their passing, but…but they left us you, and for that gift, we will forever be in their debt. I read about how you solved an unsolvable case just a few days into your existence, I watched footage of you protecting my predecessor and arrest those you would later call comrades. I watched training footage, I studied your tests and evaluation reports, I watched footage of you standing up against a gang of high born, their leader a royal of my own house, in Iacon no less, to defend the lowly, fully aware of what would likely happen to you. I saw you stand without fear before the Senate, a Senate stacked against you and ready to condemn you, yet you maintained your composure, even in the face of the revelation of your origin, at least what was known of your origin at that point. You were an impressive youth. But it was your storming the Senate months after that, after you’d already become a hero in Rodion, it was then that I truly saw what you were. You defied the law to enact justice, you stated a truth to millions; a truth that had been suppressed for the entirety of our planet’s history, and though few would ever admit it, you forced these millions to accept the validity of this truth. And then you vanished.” Prime shrugged. “Most thought you dead, that Sentinel Prime had found you and had you secretly killed. Or that your Autobots, believed at that time and for many years to come to be murderous terrorists, killed you because you objected to their new, violent course of action. But whatever the suspicions, all that Cybertron truly knew was that you were gone…until you returned.” Prime shook his head. “And what a magnificent return it was! What you and your brother did that day! I mean, obviously with the pilgrimages…”



    “Pilgrimages?”



    “By the Hand’s middle finger, we all know what the boy did!” Galvatron grumbled in annoyance as he gazed out over the border of the balcony to see the expectant throngs in the Primal Courtyard. “Why are they still slagging out there? How many speeches do you need to give these needy fools before they set out to start living their lives?”



    “Cybertron’s greatest heroes have come home after a million years.” Orion explained. “The people have suffered, and right or wrong, they see you as the end of their suffering, and possibly the return of the Golden Age.”



    Prime fixed his optics on Orion, an appraising smile on his face. “They’re only here for us?”



    “Of course, my Prime.” Orion replied, a little confused. “Why else would they be assembled in the Primal Courtyard?”



    “Well, it is known that the leader of the Autobots is being treated in the infirmary here.” Prime clarified. “Perhaps that’s playing a part.”



    Orion gave a playful smile as he swept his optics over the room, clearly dismissing the implication. “The Autobots have amassed a great deal of good will, but believe me Prime, those citizens are out there for you.”



    “Maybe sending him a bill for the storage of all the stockpiles innermost energon will knock the humility out of his dumb ass.” Galvatron grumbled.



    “Innermost energon?” Orion questioned.



    “Thousands of the shitheads think it’d help you pull through.” Galvatron replied dismissively.



    “Tens of thousands,” Prime chimed in with a grin, “and perhaps it worked. Orion’s here now, talking to us, isn’t he? And there will be no storage charges. Unfortunately, this post-apocalyptic world has left us no shortage of empty buildings to find uses for.”



    Orion was a bit staggered by the overwhelming good will directed to him by the populace, but seemed to snap back. “Be that as it may, I’m still fairly certain that those people out there are there for the returning heroes of the Manifest.”



    Prime smiled and shrugged. “Maybe. I suppose I should go out and greet them.” Prime cupped the Autobot’s shoulder again and led him to the transparent double doors that led to the balcony, releasing Orion to open the doors. The throngs below immediately went silent at the opening of the doors, and let out a thunderous roar as Guardian Prime stepped out onto the balcony and into their sightline. The crowd cheered non-stop for over a minute before Prime finally raised his hands for them to quiet. It took some time, but the commotion eventually died down and the crowd silently stared up expectantly for their returned leader to address them as he had every day since coming to Cybertropolis. Prime lowered his hands and he sent a broad smile out over the crowd of thousands eagerly awaiting his words of wisdom, or encouragement, or whatever else the morons needed to hear. He opened his mouth to begin, but stopped, closed it, and raised one hand, his index finger extended, an indication that he needed a moment.



    Prime then turned and took a long step toward the open doorway, reaching in and once again grasping Orion by the upper arm. Orion’s optics grew wide and he shook his head in a negative fashion. “No, please Prime, no.”



    “You don’t understand what you are.” Prime replied with a grin before pulling him onto the balcony gently, but insistently. The annoyingly optimistic and naïve shitbag was not getting out of this. “It’s time you did.” Prime pulled Pax out onto the balcony and pushed him forward to the front of it, practically pressing him against the railing and presenting the recovered Autobot Commander to the throngs below. The masses stared up, silently. The silence continued for several long seconds, and Galvatron snickered quietly to himself. They couldn’t care less about the dork. Then…it happened. The silence stemmed from a lack of belief, not a lack of care, as an eruption of sound manifested itself as a physical blow, a blow that made the absolutely stunned Orion Pax take a small step back. Even Guardian Prime was surprised by the sheer vastness of the roar. Orion, a stunned expression etched onto his stupid face, turned to look at Guardian Prime, unsure of how to react. The unfathomable wall of sound started to take a coherent shape as ‘PAX’ was starting to be chanted. Prime just chuckled, and called out over the roar, his words barely decipherable. “Raise your hands, they’ll quiet down, and address them!”



    “Address them?” Pax questioned. “I have nothing prepared!”



    Prime laughed. “That wouldn’t be a problem for the Orion Pax I’ve come to know!” Pax seemed to groan, the dumb shit not realizing he was being tested by the ever-evaluating Guardian Prime. Despite his apparent trepidation he turned back to the throngs in the courtyard, smiled at them, and raised his hands. They instantly went silent. He paused, seemed to collect himself for a moment, and finally opened his mouth. Galvatron grinned as he knew the unprepared, overwhelmed little shit would finally come across as the idiot he was. Galvatron’s position as Cybertron’s second in command would be as secure as it ever was, allowing him to bide his time for the opportunity to fully take charge.





    ---





    Chromia





    She couldn’t put her finger on it, but her emir had been damn near floating all morning. Throughout the last week Elita had been an empty shell; she’d been doing her duty, doing it most admirably, but her mind was elsewhere. Where her mind actually was wasn’t a mystery to anyone, it was clearly thirty-seven hundred miles away in Cybertropolis, where she’d spend the entire week prior to her return at or near the bedside of the dying Autobot Commander. But her duty to Axiom had called her home, something Elita knew that Orion would insist with his dying breath, were he capable of uttering anything, that she attend to, but it was an agonizing choice for Elita One none the less. She had returned to Hyperious a shadow of herself and remained that way…until this morning, and Chromia wasn’t the only one to notice the difference. She’d even heard mumblings that gave her the impression that some of the volunteers at this combination hospital/energon kitchen had been gambling on the reason for Elita One’s more upbeat attitude, with the smallish, yellow Sideways appearing to be the one organizing it and taking the action. Someone who had been clearly involved early on in the whispered discussions, but who appeared to have ceased his involvement a couple hours ago was the diminutive Erector, who since that time had borne an odd grin himself. Chromia had considered prying into what she had thought she’d observed and disciplining those involved should her suspicions about the gambling have proven correct, but decided there was no real harm in letting them lay odds on the cause of their emir’s improved mood, and she had more than enough on her plate that needed to get done.



    Chromia smiled as the object of her thoughts entered the energon kitchen section of the re-purposed warehouse, and just like the last couple hours, she bore a broad smile and happily greeted everyone she passed. Chromia lifted the last supply crate and carried it to the store room, and upon returning she noted that Elita had made her way to the energon distribution counter to hand out rations to the masses returning to Hyperious. Chromia took her position next to her emir and handed out rations as well, playfully bumping shoulders with Elita. “Good afternoon my Emir. Fine day, isn’t it?”



    “Is it?” Elita playfully batted back. “A bit overcast outside for my tastes.”



    Chromia smiled as she offered a plate with a couple of energon shards on it to the next person in the long line, sending a glance over to Elita as she did the same. “I guess it is a bit cloudy today, so it must be something other than the weather to have broken you out of your funk.”



    Elita displayed a subdued smile as she arranged another plate to hand out. “Whatever do you mean my friend?”



    Chromia gave her a playful nudge with her elbow. “I’m afraid to vocalize what I think has lifted your spirits, mainly because it’s completely impossible.”



    “We live in wondrous times, my dear friend.” Elita smiled, prompting Chromia to put the plate she had just lifted back on to the stack of clean plates and turn squarely toward her closest friend.



    “Tell me.” Elita simply maintained her smile and continued handing out plates with energon shards on them. “My Emir…Elita,” Chromia whispered pleadingly, “please. I don’t love him the way you do, but he’s still the police officer that saved me from a fate worse than death, and led you to me. I must know.”



    Elita handed out the plate in her hand, looked down at the counter, then turned and locked her joy-filled optics onto Chromia, opening her mouth to speak when suddenly a roar of voices thundered from the medical wing and poured into the energon kitchen. Every startled head in the kitchen turned toward the hallway linking the two facilities, and a moment later Azimuth, a small, boxy silver and black native to Axiom, a robot renowned for her statistical expertise, came jogging in pointing at Sideways as soon as she saw the yellow robot. “Stop taking bets!” Her gaze shifted to Elita One’s, prompting her to give a nervous grin. “That,” she motioned toward Sideways, “has nothing to do with…anything. Especially not this.” She turned and gazed at a large viewscreen taking up most of the top half of the southern wall. “Viewscreen activate. Transmit Cybertropolis gamma channel newsfeed, rewound ninety seconds.”



    The screen came to life, showing the empty Balcony of Armistice overlooking the Primal Courtyard. Chromia looked up, curious as to what was about to be shown when she felt Elita’s hand slide into hers and give a gentle squeeze. Chromia’s optics shot to those of her leader and friend, and Elita gave her a broad toothy smile before nodding back to the screen. At that moment the crowd, one vast beyond count, that had been gathered in the courtyard in Cybertropolis roared as Guardian Prime was seen stepping out onto the balcony high above. After several moments of cheering he raised his hands, and soon everyone fell silent. He paused, was about to speak, but paused again and raised his hand and finger to request a moment from the crowd. The leader of Cybertron stepped back toward his throne room, only to reappear a moment later, but this time he was pulling someone with him. Guardian Prime stepped back as he pushed the other party forward, and a cheer to match the one that had emerged from the medical section erupted through the food bank as everyone recognized the individual standing upon the balcony.



    “How?” Chromia called out over the roar, but Elita’s response would not be able to overwhelm the almost latent cheer erupting from the televised crowd, one that would have been heard throughout the entirety of Cybertropolis and likely the surrounding suburban centers. They looked at Orion Pax, cleaner and shinier than any of them had ever seen him, turn back to Guardian Prime to seemingly question him about something, and then return his attention to the crowd, staring out at the cheering throngs, all chanting ‘PAX’ in rhythmic succession, before raising his hands. The cheers immediately ceased, and Chromia just stared up at the youth who had saved her over eighteen years before. “He had time to prepare something?”



    “I seriously doubt it.” Elita replied almost angrily, and louder than she intended, her voice having been prepared to talk over the now-ceased cheering. “I think Guardian Prime is putting him on the spot.”



    “Let him.” Erector called out. “Standing before that crowd may be my nightmare, but my Commander does more on the spot than anyone else can do with weeks of prep!”



    “Sisters and brothers!” By the Hand, that voice… “It would appear that the reports of my death were, well, frankly they were probably accurate, but those reports must not have made it to Ratchet’s audio receptors, because he just wouldn’t let me remain dead.” A light chuckle rippled through the crowd, and seemed to echo through the energon kitchen. “So here I am, somehow alive, looking over a people, composed of many distinct groups, ethnicities, religions and hailing from all over the planet; yet one. One people, one Cybertron. A Cybertron diverse, yet unified in its defense of life, of all life. Unified in the dignity and the freedom for all! For freedom IS the right of all sentient beings, and the defense of that freedom requires the dedication of not just the mighty, but of us all!” Many in the crowds watching him recognized the words of his two houses and roared their approval, and those that did not roared as well, as while they may not have been familiar with the words, they agreed with them. Orion paused for nearly a minute as the crowd cheered before finally waving them down to allow him to continue. “I am proud to be a Pax. I am proud to be a Convoy. I am proud to be an Autobot. I am proud to be a Polarun, an Iaconian, a Rodionian! I am of the north, I am of the south! I am proud of all of these things, but I am most proud to be a Cybertronian, I am most proud to be a member of a planet-wide family that faced hell, that faced extinction, that faced incalculable loss, that looked into the snarling jaws of death and declared…‘NO’!” More roars of approval from the crowds. “I did NOT kill Violen Jiger! I did NOT defeat anything! WE killed Violen Jiger! WE defeated the sparkeaters and the other monsters that came to destroy us! WE protected and defended our world! All of US! ONE Cybertron!”



    He smiled. “And when we had fought the monsters to the tipping point, some friends returned to finalize our victory.” More thunderous cheers at the mention of the Manifest’s dramatic return. “Guardian Prime and the heroes of the Manifest returned in our moment of greatest need, and fell in beside us to secure our victory and survival, not as returning legends, but as brothers and sisters reunited!” Orion grinned broadly at the roar that greeted him, and waited for those cheers to die down again. “That was two weeks ago. A lot has happened since then. While I’ve been peacefully napping, our world has been in the midst of a rebuilding. I came online this morning to find our world full of hope. I came to find our government well into the final stages of being functional. And moments ago, I was made aware that two days ago, a series of laws had been passed, a series of laws called the Cybertronum Quod Aequalitas. I’ve only had a chance to briefly skim them, but from what I have read, it’s everything so many of us have hoped and suffered for. Full legal, electoral and social equality for all Cybertronians.” A roar erupted again, but Orion waved it down quickly. “This is magnificent news, but there are those for whom this will be a difficult adjustment. I count many of these individuals as dear friends, few,” Orion looked down sadly, “few I count as family.” His head raised and he re-engaged his gaze over the crowd. “But to those who view this change as frightening, as the taking away of power and privilege, I can only say that this is just, that this is fair and necessary, and that in time you will all recognize this to be…” he smiled sheepishly, “an intrinsic axiom.” More cheers erupted from the crowd below, which Orion allowed for nearly a minute before once again waving them down. “But however these changes may impact your life, remember, we are all in this together. We are all one people, and we have a lot more to accomplish. Our work is far from done.”



    More cheering roared up from below, and Orion let it continue on for some time before continuing as it abated on its own. “Like with our work, the challenges before us are by no means done. The quest for safety and security is unfortunately far from finished.” A low rumble came from the crowd. “We are one Cybertron, but there are those that stand outside us; that stand against us. Those that called us ally, who called us guest, all as they aligned their blade to plunge into our back. I speak of course, of Megatron and his Decepticons.” A chorus of anger and outrage lifted up from the courtyard below. “Megatron! Hear me now!” Orion snarled. “You sought to destroy us, you nearly succeeded! But we persisted, we survived, and we saved you from your own evil and short-sighted stupidity!” The crowd roared once again, and Orion didn’t wait for their voices to die down before continuing. “If ANY honor, ANY gratitude, ANY sense of decency resides in your absurdly enhanced frame, then come now, turn yourself in, and meet fair and true justice. I swear to you, you will be treated more honorably and justly than you treated the invited guests of the Grand Convocation!” An even harder look came over Orion’s face. “And if you do not come to justice, then I swear this as well, justice will come to you!” With that the young Autobot Commander turned and walked back inside as a roar that equaled the one to first greet him erupted again at his final words and departure.



    Everyone in the energon kitchen continued watching for three more minutes before Elita called out. “Viewscreen, turn off.” With that the huge screen went black, and all optics turned to her. “I’m certain that was all.”



    “THAT’S my commander!” Erector proudly roared, pounding his fist down on the table he was stationed at, the table where used trays were returned to be washed and reused. He looked to Elita with a broad grin, one which she returned. Erector chuckled. “I got a mass communique from Jazz an hour and a half ago saying he was alive, but to keep it to ourselves. Obviously you got word prior to that.”



    Elita chuckled. “Yes, I got a call from Ratchet this morning, I was terrified when I saw who it was, terrified to the point where I refused to answer it for nearly a minute, and terrified further when his voice came through asking if I was sitting. But there was…well, the somber voice Ratchet had possessed every day for the last two weeks was different, and then I heard a glorious voice, the one we just listened to, demand to speak directly to me, and Ratchet said I needed to brace myself, and they bickered like protoforms and I wept for joy at the sound of that bickering, a symphony of immaturity and friendship and love that I’d convinced myself I would never hear again. The bickering ended, Ratchet relented with a laugh and I spoke to Orion.” She looked down, grinning broadly at the memory.



    “What’d he say?” A citizen called out.



    The question prompted Elita One to laugh. “That…is between Commander Orion Pax of Iacon and myself.” She smiled at the crowd.



    “Elita One, my emir!” Erector called out. “If I may…”



    “Honorable Erector,” Elita One replied, “you who have served Axiom, you who have served House Solus, you who have served the Autobots, you who have served Cybertron, you…you who have served my beloved with absolute loyalty. You may ask anything of me.” Elita looked down and smiled lightly as a thought seemed to tickle at her. “Though I will ask a price of you, whatever your request may be.”



    “A price, my emir?” Erector asked quizzically.



    “Many years ago I made a request of you, a request that you talked me out of.” Elita answered. “At the time you were right. But thanks to you and your comrades, our world is not the same as it once was, and so I come to you once again with this request.”



    “And I will regard your request, and performing it, as the greatest honor of my life.” Erector replied.



    “And what is it that I can do for you?” Elita questioned.



    “Not for me, my emir, but for Axiom.” Erector stated. “The rebuilding of our emirate with take a great deal of time, require a great deal of resources, and will necessitate the forging of strong relationships with other emirates.”



    “All that is true.” Elita followed.



    “With that in mind, I would suggest a series of state visits.” Erector continued. “In time you will be able to send representatives for such meetings, but initially, I feel Axiom is best served if the One establishes such friendships in person. At least, I believe we should follow this course for the first such meeting and base future endeavors off of the success of that.”



    A knowing smile stretched over Elita’s face. “And which emirate, my friend, do you feel that the first such diplomatic visit should be to?”



    “Ironically, despite being from where the sparkeaters emerged as well as the condition of their emir, The Torus Heights seems to be one of the more stable emirates, and has ample resources ideal for construction.” Erector replied. “They’re wealthy in the strongest ores, dense stones and so on. And Axiom has always had very strong relations with The Torus Heights, I think it’s important that we remind them of our friendship.”



    “Old friend, I see what you’re doing.” Elita One smiled gratefully. “And I truly appreciate it. But I do not need, nor am I deserving of some rendezvous with…someone special. Not when there’s so much left to do here. I agree that diplomatic visits would be quite beneficial, but the One belongs in Axiom at this time.”



    “I think that such a display, our emir traveling on a mission of goodwill, would be highly valued and worthwhile.” Erector countered respectfully.



    “Elita One,” Chromia said gently, waiting for her friend to look her in the optics before continuing, “we can handle things here without you for a few days. And if anything comes up, I know your number.”



    Elita smiled, and was about to reply when Erector spoke first. “My emir, IF I were to see this visit as a gift to someone deserving some sort of…respite from reality, it would not have been conceived of with you in mind. At least, not with you as the primary recipient.” The tiny Autobot lowered his gaze. “His suffering does not make him unique; in this world, it does not make him atypical in any way. But as much as every one of us, you in particular, went far and above what could ever be expected of anyone, it was he that carried us all.” He lifted his optics and locked onto Elita’s. “He carried us out of the Pit, away from extinction, and lost almost everything doing so. If this visit brings you joy, well, that warms my spark, but IF I had any motivation beyond the good of Axiom in suggesting this, it would be for my commander.”



    Elita One held Erector’s gaze for a minute before finally replying. “Well, my friend, who am I to deny anything to the Commander of the Autobots? Especially as I’ll be bearing their brand within the hour.”



    “Within the hour?” Erector asked, a bit surprised.



    “Diplomacy with The Torus Heights is of the utmost importance.” Elita replied, suppressing a grin. “It mustn’t be delayed. And if I happen to run into your commander there, well, I think it fitting that my show of support be there for him to see.”



    “Of course, my emir.” Erector smiled.





    ---





    Ratbat





    It had been several years, but he still was unaccustomed to this detestable little body. Yes, the ability to fly was beyond pleasant and convenient, but he was all but useless on the ground, and looking like a sub-cybertronian beast was infuriating, especially as he was lumped in with Soundwave’s other pets by most Decepticons. But it was temporary, he just needed to bide his time and eventually he would find a way back to a body like his original one and a position of respect and authority as well. He still couldn’t comprehend how his CNA had been altered to the point where it accepted such a drastic form and function change, but if Megatron could enlist those capable of such medical miracles, Rabattus Decimus would be able to as well at some point.



    “Hey Ratbat!”



    The revised name was almost as infuriating and degrading as the new body. The flying rodent turned and glared at the little blue robot, still not really sure whether it was Rumble or Frenzy, and not interested enough to bother with learning. “What do you want?”



    “Ya’ may wanna look sharp.” The little blue shit disrespectfully shot out at him. “Soundwave’s coming, and according to the rumor mill, Megs ain’t far behind ‘im.”



    “They can threaten me, insult me, belittle me, beat me even…” Ratbat snarled, “but it won’t make me any more able to achieve the impossible!” With a wing he waved toward the prostrate and inert mountain of a frame that was Trypticon. “The physical and energy resources required to not only keep Trypticon alive, but to rebuild him to what he was prior to that fucking worm tearing him apart is simply impossible to acquire and maintain! And Megatron pointing his fusion cannon at me isn’t going to change that fact!”



    “You will have the opportunity to tell him that yourself.” Soundwave’s harmonic voice cut through the brisk air as the large blue Decepticon rounded the corner. “Frenzy, quit taunting Ratbat and return to your assigned task.”



    “You got it boss.” The blue one, Frenzy, replied before running off.



    Soundwave stopped and looked up at the perched Ratbat. “I recognize that the acquisition of all that’s needed for your project is difficult, but it is achievable. I suggest accomplishing your task, otherwise I won’t be able to protect you from Megatron for much longer.”



    “Protect me from Megatron?” The bat snarled. “You served me up to him! You allowed him to mutilate me! You made me a slave, the equal of your other beasts!”



    “Negative!” Soundwave heatedly, or as heatedly as Soundwave got, shot back. “You are NOT the equal of Ravage, or Lazerbeak, or Buzzsaw! They are upstanding, honored Decepticons, worthy of the respect given to any of us. You, however, are beneath contempt. You exist solely because it amuses Megatron to allow you to exist, and because you can be resourceful. Once you stop being useful to us, then I doubt my protection or Megatron’s amusement will be enough to keep you alive.”



    Ratbat displayed a scowl across his already hideous face. “I’m aware of what’s thought of and expected of me, but this time, this time there’s just not enough energon. There’s just not enough metallico and compliant metals, at least not enough around for us not to be detected and tracked! So save your threats, especially those disguised as concerned advice, because I cannot achieve the impossible!”



    “Perhaps your task won’t be impossible for much longer.” The voice, one that sent a chill down Ratbat’s shortened spinal column, came from around the same corner Soundwave had emerged from a moment before, and Ratbat turned to see the hulking chrome form of Megatron approaching. “We may, just may, have gotten a hint of a new energy source. Energon, but more than just energon. Something significantly more powerful.”



    “Energon is already the ideal mix of potency and stability. It’s regarded universally as the pinnacle of energy sources.” Ratbat protested. “Anything more powerful would be dangerous.”



    “Pinnacles are only pinnacles until something better is discovered.” Megatron replied. “And I would think you should be praying that this possibility turns out to be true and accessible, as it’ll likely be the only thing that can provide you success in what you’ve been charged with doing.”



    “Mighty Megatron, I will turn every rock to find the resources needed to restore your titan,” Ratbat started, “I currently have teams out scouring southern Cybertron, but you need to have more realistic expectations. What you’ve charged me with accomplishing…”



    “Utter the words impossible or unfair, and I’ll yank your head from your body.” Megatron warned, then turned to Soundwave. “Are the preparations made for this evening’s visit?”



    “They are, Lord Megatron, but I can’t help but sense this is a trap, or some sort of trick.” Soundwave replied.



    “That’s likely, but we’ll take any necessary precautions. And if it is on the level,” Megatron smiled, “this could change everything.”





    ---





    Sideswipe





    He just wanted to get back to Iacon. Cybertropolis was…well, it wasn’t as bad as people in Iacon liked to make it seem, but it was still a pale imitation of Cybertron’s greatest city, a half-assed fabrication of a capital city that was a bone thrown to southerners after the last great war in that Iacon wasn’t made the capital city of Cybertron, but the new capital was well within the borders of Nova Cronum to let everyone know the Honorums and other northern houses ran the show. It was constructed to be what it was, a vast metropolis because it was designed to be a vast metropolis. Iacon, Kaon, Petrex, Harmonex, The Hydrax Plateau and other large cities started out as small villages and grew over the eons, causing lots of uprooting, adjusting, expansion…growing pains. And it was those growing pains that contributed a great deal to the individual character each of those cities possessed. Cybertropolis had no growing pains, it went from non-existence to essentially what it was today, and therefore, at least as far as Sideswipe was concerned, it lacked character. But despite this, Sideswipe could find things he liked about the planetary capital, he just had a lot more to like back home in Iacon, even the shitty parts that he and Sunstreaker liked to frequent.



    His brother felt similarly, only Sunstreaker was far more denigrating of Cybertropolis. But despite his apparent hatred of the capital, he did seem to find something he liked. Sideswipe watched as the polished yellow Sunstreaker presented his most beautiful and disarming smile to the femme, who to her credit, seemed completely disinterested in anything about Sunstreaker apart from the official business that compelled her to deal with him. Sideswipe looked beyond them at the vast onyx wall behind the line of desks housing dozens of government officials taking names and information to be etched onto the wall at a later date, one of these desks currently occupied by the fairly attractive white and pink femme dealing with Sunstreaker. “Are you done yet?” She growled in annoyance. This Clipper had been a good sport, but after nearly an hour and a half of Sunstreaker’s persistent bullshit, she was finally reaching her limit.



    Unfortunately for her, Sunstreaker had no limit for tormenting femmes, especially those few that showed no interest in him. “No Clips…”



    “That’s Clipper and you know it!” She snarled.



    “Right, Clipper, as in one who clips masculine…”



    “Shut the hell up, Streak.” Sideswipe interrupted. “This is her job, she’s been very helpful, we’ve fed her thousands of names, all while you’ve been hitting on her, taunting her, teasing her and everything else, and she’s been a good sport the entire time. This is supposed to be a somber fucking endeavor, so show some respect to your fallen comrades, show some respect to Clipper here, and just list the remaining names so we all can move on.”



    Sunstreaker stood up and squared up across from Sideswipe, displaying a look of anger that Sideswipe hadn’t seen in over two weeks, not since the days they knew they were living on borrowed time, just waiting to be made a meal by the sparkeaters’ superior forces. The red sibling knew it was entirely possible that they would be brawling in moments, but then Sunstreaker cracked a smile and raised the tablet that had been in his hand and continued reading off. “Zaam, with two A’s, of Cesium Bay, Zagnut of Hopron Hollow, Zaxon of Ia…what?” Sunstreaker looked up at Sideswipe. “Zaxon kicked?”



    “Yeah, heard he was assigned to the western Decagon contingent.” Sideswipe sadly reported. “Found what was left of them last week. Estimates are that they were killed about three months ago.”



    “Slag.” Sunstreaker muttered. “Can’t say I liked Zaxon, but never wanted him dead.”



    “That’s high praise coming from you.” Sideswipe joked, getting a look of disdain from his brother before Sunstreaker turned back to face the seated Clipper. “Zaxon of Iacon, Zazz, two Z’s at the end, of Ultimore, Zazz, same spelling, of Polarus…hmmm, wonder if the Commander knew him, Zazzor, same thing with an O R at the end, of Petrex, Zazzorius Major of…ha, there’s no way he didn’t give himself that slaggin’ name!”



    “Please continue!” Clipper growled, her patience nearing its end.



    Sideswipe chuckled as Sunstreaker provided the hometown of Zazzorius Major and continued on down the remainder of the list. The red Autobot turned and gazed over the crowded park, filled with those primarily there to provide the names of their dead, anyone killed by sparkeaters were to be honored on the wall behind them, as well as those murdered by the Decepticons at the Grand Convocation. Sideswipe, Sunstreaker and thirty other Autobot warriors had been ordered to serve as guards to the dying Orion Pax in Cybertropolis, which seemed apt as they were the first Autobots to ever protect Orion in any way. Yeah, Inferno and Roadbuster served as Pax guards, but they didn’t become Autobots until long after Sideswipe had shot out Megatron’s legs to keep him from killing Orion, and it’s not like Orion ever ran into trouble in Polarus back then…though there were rumors of some sort of bar fight. Anyway, the brothers had been in Cybertropolis for two weeks now, and with the revelation that Orion had miraculously survived, and, equally miraculously was up and about and seemingly perfectly healthy, his need for guard detail was likely gone. Pax and Ratchet had contacted Jazz that morning, before the big show on the balcony over the Primal Courtyard, to let the Autobots know he was alive and awake, and word had spread, but with it the expectation that the Autobots keep it to themselves for security purposes. Of course, Guardian Prime wasn’t aware and likely wouldn’t have cared about the Autobot desire for discretion, especially as he wanted to give the public a treat, so…yeah, Pax out of the bag.



    A quick sweep of the area reminded Sideswipe that not every new bit of construction in Guardian Park was related to the Wall of Remembrance, there was also the new statue at the center of the park that Grapple and Hoist had been commissioned to build, one not yet completed, but definitely far enough along so that the subject matter was easily recognizable; not just who it was, but also the historic moment and significant act it represented. Sideswipe chuckled at realizing how much the subject of the statue would hate it, as well as at the sight of the creators bickering undoubtedly over the same damn thing they’d been bickering over hours before when Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had first arrived. The siblings had been released from guarding Pax, but assigned to delivering the names of the Autobot fallen for inclusion on the Wall. He and Sunstreaker had chatted with their fellow Autobots for a bit, and over the course of that discussion it was revealed that, among other things, the two architectural geniuses were of separate minds in regards to how many fingers should be carved into the statue. Hoist was of the opinion that they should stick to the factually and historically accurate five fingers of the right hand gripping the handle of the blade impaling the grotesque, polluted spark. Grapple, a bot with a bit more artistic flair, felt that while not historically accurate, having three fingers better conveyed the sacrifice and suffering of the subject; that he lost the two fingers that he lost as a result of the detonation of the spark that occurred moments after the representation was something for the historical data tracks, the statue they were creating was art and for cultural pride. One of the few things they agreed on, that all four of them agreed on, was that Orion would not be happy about having his own statue. But Guardian Prime wanted it, and frankly, so did every Autobot other than the commander.



    As these thoughts rolled through his head, Sideswipe noticed a bystander looking at the statue and shaking his head, seemingly disapproving. Sideswipe laughed out loud as he instantly recognized the form even though the bystander’s back was to him, and started walking toward him; Clipper would have to be on her own with Sunstreaker for a bit. Sideswipe just hoped that he reached the large observer before the guy was recognized. “Definitely not their best work, they carved the face of this statue to be so much better looking than the guy’s real face.”



    Orion Pax turned his head and smiled at Sideswipe. “I understand you and your brother were protecting me while I was dead.”



    “Two of many that bore that honor, Commander.” Sideswipe replied. “And comatose was the word we were given, though to be honest, you looked pretty dead.”



    The large red and blue leader smiled at the comment and casually turned his head back to the statue being constructed. “Is there any chance I can command those two to scrap this atrocity?” Pax muttered, knowing the answer already.



    “Well, they were commissioned to do this by Cyberton’s Prime, a Prime that’s not trying to kill you and arrest us…yet anyway, and a Prime chosen by the Matrix, so there’s your first problem.” Sideswipe mused. “And there’s also the fact that while you were napping we kind of decommissioned the Autobot military, so there’s the problem of your authority being…undefined. And then there’s the fact that Prime passed the Aequalitas a couple days ago. That’s a series of laws…”



    “I’ve read it.” Pax interrupted.



    “Oh, right, yeah, forgot you mentioned it in your rambling ass speech. Well then, you should know that with that in place, there’s not much cause left for the Autobots as a force of civil disobedience anymore.” Sideswipe explained. “And then there’s the fact that everyone, including those two dipshits up there bickering about how many fingers to give you, genuinely believes you deserve to have a statue. Pretty much the entire planet feels that way except you.”



    “We all deserve statues.” Orion muttered then looked at Sideswipe roll his optics at the comment. “I am a cheese-rod, aren’t I?”



    “Yes sir, I’m afraid you are.” Sideswipe chuckled. “So you here to lament the efforts of Grapple and Hoist?”



    “No, I have names to add to the Wall.” Orion replied. “I had no idea that thing was…a thing until I got here.”



    “Commander, Streaker and I are providing the names of the Autobot fallen.” Sideswipe stated. “We’re actually almost done. I think you’re free to do what you want, which I’m guessing is a trip to either Polarus or Hyperious.”



    “Jazz let me know you two would be handling the addition of our fallen.” Pax smiled and gently squeezed Sideswipe’s shoulder, raising a data pad for the smaller red Autobot to see. “And I thank you for that. I’m here for the fallen of House Pax.”



    “Oh.” Sideswipe’s optics grew wide. “Of course.”



    “I spoke with Olnius this morning, offered to do it as I’m already here in Cybertropolis and they…they have their hands full.” Orion sadly trailed off.



    “Well come on.” Sideswipe cupped Orion’s arm and led him back to where Sunstreaker was chatting with the uninterested Clipper. “Shithead should be done by now. I just hope we can get you through this without anyone recognizing you.”



    “Everyone has their own things to do, nobody is going to notice me.” Orion said, though even he wasn’t convinced and kept his head down as they walked toward Clipper’s desk. “So this decommissioning of the Autobot military, Guardian Prime mentioned that, but said it was more lip-service than anything.”



    “Kind of.” Sideswipe replied. “As you well know, we were always fairly loosely knit, initially because we were unarmed outlaws being hunted by the authorities, then with the rise of the sparkeaters we became an armed military force, but we were still small guerilla groups for the most part due to us being physically out-classed by the cybervores. So in a sense, that hasn’t changed much, we’re still armed, the training you and the other commanders provided hasn’t been forgotten, though for Streak and I most of it was just rehashing stuff we learned as a protoforms, and we’re still ready to go at a moment’s notice, which is good as Prime hasn’t set up a standing government force yet and has mentioned he may need to lean on us for a bit, but we’re considered more a militia than actual military.” The red Autobot shrugged. “So basically just semantics.”



    “Good.” Orion muttered as they finally drew near Sunstreaker. “Prime had a request, and I think I may have to call some of you to active service.”



    “Streaker and I are always up for a good scrap.” Sideswipe grinned, then called to his brother as they got there. “You done yet?”



    “Zumatta of the Crystal City, and Zuzzetta, two Z’s in the middle, of the Corrat Penninsula.” Sunstreaker paused, scrolled the data pad up and down a little, and then shrugged. “That’s it. Guess we’re done here.” The yellow Autobot leaned forward giving Clipper, who was still busy entering the data into her system and making arrangements for the etchings to honor them, a broad, saucy grin. “Hey Clips, let’s say you and me go get a libation or five somewhere.”



    “Twenty-three vorns serving as Governor Riker’s most trusted advisor, nine hundred twenty seven commendations for exceptional service, and now I’m reduced to dealing with arrogant assholes all day.” Clipper grumbled as she continued clacking away.



    Sunstreaker chuckled and turned his head to look at his brother, catching sight of Orion, which prompted him to jump up off the table he was leaning against and stand at attention. “Sir!” He gave a rare sincere smile. “Great to see you up and about again.”



    “Hey Clipper, I’ve got a friend here who has some names to add to the Wall.” Sideswipe said to the seated femme still finishing the arrangements for the Autobot dead.



    “Shouldn’t be a problem.” Clipper replied, her optics still on the screen in front of her. “Just give me a minute to complete the inclusion of the Autobot fallen.”



    “They’re members of a royal house.” Orion stated.



    “Oh, then it shouldn’t be a problem provided you’re a member of that house or an official representative.” She shot back while typing.



    “Well, I have never been made a member officially.” Orion explained.



    “And you hold no position with them?” She asked, optics still on her screen as she finished up.



    “No.”



    “I’m sorry then,” Clipper answered, still not looking up, “but for high houses, it’s been established that only enrolled members or official representatives can add, remove or amend names for the Wall.”



    “You’re telling me you cannot make an exception for our friend?” Sunstreaker asked.



    “I have the authority to, but I won’t be doing it.” She replied, still focused on entering details for the Autobot dead. “Too much potential blow-back should there be any problem that comes of it. So, sorry.”



    Sideswipe smiled and leaned forward, closer to Clipper. “We understand, but please at least show our friend the courtesy of looking him in the optic before telling him he’s shit out of luck.”



    “Sideswipe…” Orion grumbled in a hushed tone.



    Clipper stopped typing and twisted her head almost violently toward Sideswipe, giving him a glare before turning to Orion. “Look, I’m sorr…” recognition immediately crossed over her face, followed by dread, then remorse, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, my lord. Of…of course I can help you.” She stood up and turned to face the newcomer as she gazed at Orion’s suddenly nervous face. Her face momentarily seemed to be overwhelmed by emotion. “Thank you,” she whispered, then continued more loudly. “Thank you my lord.”



    “I’m no lord.” Orion attempted to clarify, terrified that she would draw unwanted attention to them. Her body started to lower, and Orion’s hand reached out to try and convince her to stop. “NO, please don’t!” He quietly stressed, to no avail as she fell to her knees and lowered her head to him. “Shit.” He whispered.



    It was a couple of her coworkers that noticed the scene first, then those that were providing names of their fallen to them, then the crowds walking around the park, those observing the construction of the wall, and soon nearly everyone was staring at Orion and the femme kneeling before him, and moments after that, many started falling to their knees as well.



    “HEY!” Sunstreaker roared out as he took a step toward the Autobot Commander, then pointed to the face of the Common Man, the Autobrand, etched into Orion’s left shoulder. “Off your slaggin’ knees!”



    “You want to honor Orion Pax?” Sideswipe called out. “Stand with him and raise your heads as his equal, as he fought and suffered for all of us to have the right to do!”



    “Guys,” Orion whispered, “this was your cause long before it was mine.” Despite his quiet objection, the calls to the people by the brothers were heard and obeyed as everyone rose back to their feet, but awe-fill optics were still locked onto Orion.



    “Maybe you should give Clipper those names.” Sideswipe suggested, himself starting to feel a bit unnerved by the attention directed toward them.



    “Right.” Orion said before turning and looking to Clipper, who nodded and sat back down at her terminal. “Uh, this is for both those killed by sparkeaters and those killed in the Grand Convocation, right?”



    “Everyone except Decepticons killed in the Grand Convocation.” She answered.



    “Wait, ‘Cons killed by sparkeaters can be honored here?” Sunstreaker snarled the question.



    “It was a hot topic, but was decided that they suffered under the sparkeaters, a suffering that they were not the cause of.” Clipper replied. “What are your names, my l…”



    “Commander Pax.” Sideswipe provided the correct title to address Orion by. “He’s more than earned that one, and don’t let him tell you otherwise.”



    “Of course.” She smiled at Sideswipe, then turned back to Orion. “I’m ready when you are, Commander Pax.”



    Orion nodded and raised his list. “I do not believe these are in any particular order, hopefully that won’t be a problem.”



    “No Commander, it’s fine.” She smiled.



    Orion paused sadly. “Parcher of House Pax. Arudis of House Pax. Loronus of House Pax.” Another pause before “Stronghold of House Pax. Gantor of House Pax. Martrax of House Pax.” Orion suddenly froze, his optics locked onto the screen of the data pad.



    Sideswipe craned his neck to look at the pad, his optics widened and he gently took the pad from Orion with one hand and gently squeezing the large Autobot Commander’s upper arm with the other. Sideswipe then leaned down toward Clipper and quietly spoke for his Commander. “Torenia, of House Pax.” Clipper was about to type, but her hand reached up to her mouth and her optics shot to Orion sorrowfully.



    “We have all lost those we love, my lady.” Orion replied sadly. “It is why we’re all here.”



    “Yes.” Clipper composed herself. “Of course, please forgive my lack of profe…”



    “There’s nothing to forgive, my lady.” Orion smiled.



    “Hey Pax,” Sideswipe muttered, “with your permission, I can go through the rest of House Pax’s fallen with Clipper.”



    “Let him, Pax.” Sunstreaker added as he placed his hand on Orion’s shoulder, a rare show of compassion from the likely sociopath. “While he finishes up your list, I can point out the benefits of utilizing a disguise when you don’t want to be noticed. I may not have saved the world, but looking like I do, I frequently attract attention, and there are just times I just don’t want to be noticed.” Sideswipe smiled at Clipper as he continued reading off the names of House Pax, the twenty-four that remained, recognizing all but three, which was a bit confusing as while by no means an expert on the members of high houses, he had thought that he was more familiar with the members of House Pax than he evidently was. He did smile slightly at seeing Roller’s name absent from the list. He knew the emir had been severely wounded, likely crippled for life, he knew the prognosis had not been good for how long that life would likely be, but the absence of his name from this list meant that the tough little royal was still hanging on, and Orion needed that. Sideswipe finished the list after a few minutes, thanked Clipper and turned around to hear the last of Sunstreaker’s discussion with Pax as Swipe handed the data pad back to his Commander. “So while you can get pretty elaborate with the disguises, it’s usually unnecessary to go to that much effort. Like with most things in life, it’s best to go with the old KISS acronym, Keep It Simple, Stupid.”



    “Got it.” Orion replied, nodding to Sideswipe as he took the tablet back. “Thank you both for your help with this.” He then turned to look at the crowd around him, all still staring at him, but there was a slight commotion as a pair of robots were pushing their way through to get to the Autobots. A moment later Grapple and Hoist emerged through the crowd, a smile from Grapple and a nod from the face-plated Hoist to greet their leader.



    “Commander Pax, it’s great to see you up and about again.” Hoist said jovially. “Have you had a chance to look at your statue?”



    Orion seemed to deflate as he nodded. “Yes, it’s…well, it’s something.”



    “Sir, if we may trouble you for your opinion,” Grapple said, “what do you think would be better? Five fingers or three?”



    Sideswipe chuckled as he heard Orion unsuccessfully attempt to stifle his own groan of annoyance.





    ---





    Cyclonus





    The sun was burning off into the western sky, probably directly over the eastern portion of Nyon about now, it’d still provide light to west-central Polyhex for a few hours more, but the shadows were already getting long. They were just entering the outskirts of Kaon now, the shuttle he was piloting was a top of the line combat craft, but should things go poorly, it would serve as little more than a coffin. Granted, it was unnecessary for he and Scourge, and even Galvatron was a competent flier in his robot mode, but a craft like this against potentially hundreds of flying Decepticons wouldn’t last a minute, and even outside of it, their chances weren’t good. But Galvatron claimed to be confident in this course of action, and Cyclonus had never been one to question Galvatron. “Lord Galvatron, we will be arriving at Castle Macht in a few minutes.”



    “Good, my old friend.” Galvatron replied as he looked out over the landscape of his former home. It had been over a million years since any of them had been here, a relatively tranquil million years…apart from the last four that is. But those last four had left the formerly bustling metropolis a ghost town. Some had returned, but the south, especially Polyhex, was generally regarded as Decepticon territory. As Cyclonus caught sight of the Castle Macht landing pad surrounded by heavily armed soldiers, he was forced to accept that in this case, the stereotype proved valid. “It’s all a show. Just set down in the midst of those posturing fools.” Cyclonus nodded and directed the craft toward the center of the landing pad. The Decepticons surrounding the ship maintained their positions, and moments later the three Cybertronians were walking toward the door to exit the craft. Galvatron stopped and turned to his two most trusted lieutenants before exiting. “What is about to happen is to remain between us. I have never fully submitted to Gallus Honorum and his northern forces, but he’s been smart to limit any possibilities for any sort of successful revolt. These Decepticons may represent a means to our shared ends, but as I’m sure you’re aware, absolute discretion is essential. This is just an initial meeting, a feeling out of this Megatron, treat it as such and tell no one of any of this.”



    “Of course Lord Galvatron.” Scourge declared, his assurance accompanied by a resolute nod from Cyclonus. With that Galvatron turned back around and marched out the door and down the gangplank, where approaching from the outskirts of the circle of Decepticons came the sturdy blue form of the one their intelligence files identified as Soundwave, a member of House Torrent that had betrayed his house, his station and all of Cybertron to serve as the rebellious gladiator Megatron’s most trusted advisor.



    “Welcome to Castle Macht, Galvatron.” Soundwave’s harmonic voice addressed. “Megatron awaits you and your lieutenants in the main hall. Allow me to lead you.”



    “No need,” Galvatron grumbled as he marched past Soundwave, “I know where it’s at. You forget that this is my home, Fluctus-spawn. You and your Decepticons are the intruders here, you should be looking to me to be welcomed.” The trio of ancient warriors made their way across the landing pad, not waiting for Soundwave to respond and indifferent to the Decepticons that had surrounded them, who were now following after them as the three strode beyond the ring they made, and finally entered the vast structure that had been the seat of Polyhexian power until the uprising of the Decepticons four years before. Due to the size of the enormous castle, it was several minutes before Galvatron finally pushed through the double doors and entered the main dining hall, where the chrome rebel leader stood on the far end, casually looking out the southern facing window with his back to the new arrivals. Galvatron continued into the center of the room, Cyclonus and Scourge behind him, before finally coming to a stop at the central table. “I’d read that you’d stolen the Cannon of Machtus, but to see it nonchalantly bolted to your forearm like a piece of jewelry while you loiter in my home is particularly galling!”



    “The Emir of Polyhex didn’t bother offering to make me a duplicate, so I had to settle for the original.” Megatron replied with a smirk and he turned to face the three newcomers, sending a casual glance down at the cannon on his forearm. “I’ve never thought of this as jewelry, but it’s undeniable how good it looks on me.” He then fixed his optics and a polite smile on Galvatron, but presenting a skeptical optic brow arch as he continued. “And don’t pretend to bear this place any degree of sentimental attachment. You don’t possess any more sentimentality than I do, which is to say you’re devoid of it, and your admittance to House Macht was nothing more than a means to an end.”



    “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on me?” Galvatron quipped back.



    “Suddenly? No.” Megatron replied as he walked to the other side of the table and pulled out a chair, waving to one on Galvatron’s side as a silent suggestion that they sit. A moment later both hulking robots were seated, facing each other. “I’ve studied you for years. You, perhaps more than anyone else, have provided me with a roadmap on what to do, as well as, and I mean no disrespect, what not to do in my quest to conquer the planet.”



    “You view me as a cautionary tale?” Galvatron growled ominously.



    Megatron met his heated gaze with an even one completely devoid of intimidation. “I view you as the historical warlord that I can most relate to, one that did many things right, and that did many things wrong.” The Decepticon leader leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, the massive cannon barely broader than his impressive chest. “Do not feel slighted, mistakes are made by all. I have certainly made more than couple wrong turns in my young bid to conquer the planet. And have even been lucky enough to benefit from a mistake or two.”



    “Your failure to eliminate Orion Pax.” Galvatron smirked.



    “Yes.” Megatron nodded amicably. “Twice. But had I succeeded, I’d have been killed and you and Guardian Prime would likely have taken one look at the state of a sparkeater-infested Cybertron before turning back to wherever you’ve been for the last million years.” The chrome revolutionary chuckled. “But, while I studied all major historical conflicts and their leaders, you were the one I could take the most away from. Deathsaurus was a royal, who was born into vast wealth and resources. Much of what he did was impressive, but only now can I look to what he did with any parity to my situation. You, you started from nothing, like me; you rose up in the shadow of House Macht, like me, and though we went different routes, we both used the Machts to further our own goals and ambition. So yes, Galvatron, I have gone to great effort to know you.”



    Galvatron displayed a condescending smile as he replied. “I suppose you’re expecting me to be flattered, but frankly…” the purple warrior paused, thought for several moments, and then changed course. “Actually, I am flattered to an extent. But don’t think for a moment that reading multiple biographies means you know me.”



    “I know you do not trust Guardian Prime.” Megatron stated, then leaned forward and displayed a knowing grin. “And I know with absolute certainty that Guardian Prime does not trust you.”



    “Right to the point.” Galvatron grinned. “I’d probably be starting to like you at this point were you not so fucking arrogant. But yes, the great friendship borne of two enemies desiring peace and finding common ground is a farce. A fairy tale for the ignorant masses. Prime and I would love to see each other dead, but we play our parts, maintain the illusion, and continue jockeying behind each other’s backs to gain some advantage over the other.”



    “Like the Matrix-caliber enhancements?” Megatron queried with a smile.



    Galvatron leaned back and shared the smile. “When Ultra Magnus debriefed us on the Grand Convocation and your Warriors Elite, and that their enhancements were from theoretical data found in research discovered in one of Jhiaxus’s hidden labs, a long incomplete puzzle finally came together.” Galvatron let out a short, choppy laugh.



    Megatron gave a casually amused, yet interested look. “Care to explain that statement?”



    Galvatron displayed a thoughtful look for several moments before offering a reply. “Not at this time. We are not allies yet, merely potential ones agreeing to a meeting…and a barter.” Galvatron’s hand lowered to his side, the orange tube of his own fusion cannon swinging gently a few inches over the floor, and as his open hand got to a small compartment on his waist a small chunk of energon popped out into his palm. He then tossed the chunk of the precious element onto the table toward Megatron. “Analyze it, verify its potency.”



    Megatron scrutinized it closely before tossing it to Soundwave, who was standing a dozen steps behind Cyclonus and Scourge, watching his lieutenant catch it and begin using sensors built into his chest to study the glowing rock, but speaking to his guest. “And there’s much more of this where you were?”



    “Yes.” Galvatron replied.



    “Send Laserbeak to retrieve Rossum.” The Decepticon Commander instructed Soundwave, who looked into the darkened upper corner of the room, prompting a small winged form to drop from hiding and swoop into the hall. Megatron turned to Galvatron. “I assume you have a green spark. You won’t survive the procedure without one.” Galvatron displayed a look of annoyance at the comment. “Of course, I just felt obligated to provide the warning. I’ve been told that for every individual like you and I, there are forty nine thousand, nine hundred ninety nine individuals not like us.”



    “They can’t achieve what we’ve achieved, they can’t survive what we’ve survived.” Galvatron growled.



    “Mighty Megatron,” Soundwave piped up, “readings of mutated energon verify Galvatron’s claims.”



    Megatron smiled at Galvatron. “Well then, your procedure is a go. And after you’ve had some time to recover, we’ll discuss your payment; where to find more of this element.”



    Galvatron nodded. “I would like to keep open the possibility of future transactions between us.”



    “As would I.” Megatron nodded, then looked to the doorway to see a slender robot standing there expectantly. “Rossum here will escort you to his lab, we’ll speak further afterwards.”





    ---





    Matronly Docent





    It had been a long trip, both in considering the eons to finally decide to accept the invitation of an old friend, and the couple hours of this flight taking her the final leg of the journey, a concluding jaunt from Cybertropolis to Polarus. She’d spent the flight chatting with several of the other passengers on this economy transport, a varied collection of survivors; some displaced Torus Heightsians returning home, but mostly pilgrims traveling to see where hope had been born. Many stories, some hesitantly shared through whispers, others cheerfully announced for all to hear; all tiny pieces making up the dark yet inspiring history of their suffering and final victory over the monsters of the depths. There was no escaping the story of the one loud fellow in the front, the one who’d clearly had work done to look unsettlingly like…well, there were far worse individuals to emulate, but this Sureshot was taking it to an unhealthy level. She had seen this sort of thing in others over the course of her long life, but this was the first time she’d observed this level of apotheosis in anyone not altering themselves as an homage to Guardian Prime. This…this was far more than just an homage though. Sureshot’s devotion was, well, in the two hours since lift off he had not stopped talking about Orion Pax, fortunately only a portion of that time was to her. Docent had given him twenty minutes before needing a break from the overly enthusiastic hero-worshipper, which seemed fine to him as the blue helmeted Sureshot was eager to talk about his hero to others. When she had left him he had just gotten the idea to nominate Orion to be the Emir of The Torus Heights, something she wasn’t sure he had the legal right to do, even with the Aequalitas.



    She had moved on to get to know two femmes seated together a few rows back, biting back the pain in her leg as she walked toward the pair. Karga and Pelt, most recently of Burthov but who were originally natives of separate regions of Nyon, had come to The Torus Heights many vorns before to become conjux endurae in an emirate where it was both legal and socially acceptable for them to do so. They, like everyone else in the region, had fled their northern home at the advance of the sparkeaters, and were eager to return after four years away. She chatted with them for several very pleasant minutes, but sensed that they wanted time alone so she moved on down the passenger section to talk to a group of seven pilgrims from differing parts of Ultrix. She’d spent over an hour talking with them, discussing what all of their lives had been like prior to the fall of the Gates, where they had waited out the four years of horror, how they had heard about the defeat of the sparkeaters and the return of the Manifest, how the Aequalitas would impact their lives, and a myriad of other subjects. She had chatted with them for over an hour before painfully making her way to her own seat near the back, exchanging a few more pleasantries to other riders as she went.



    She had connected with nearly everyone on the flight, all but a few in the far back, and the large ‘vagabond’ seated across from her who had been looking intently at a small data pad just a couple feet below an enormous cloth hood that bled into a cloak that nearly covered his entire body. She had offered him a greeting when they had both first boarded, one that he courteously returned without looking up, and at seeing him pull out the pad she had assumed he wished to be left alone so she moved on to the front where she had thought she had seen the heroic Orion Pax, but instead had met Sureshot. Sitting back down in her seat with only a mild grunt of pain due to her leg, she saw that not much had changed with the vagabond, he was still sitting and staring at the pad, which had looked like some sort of surveillance footage from the glimpse she had managed to see. She reclined her head and casually gazed out the window to her left, where in the distance, over the minimal polar landscape that seemed almost alien to her, she could see a vast structure with a spire emerging from it that almost seemed to tickle the sky; Tyger Pax. She’d seen thousands of pictures of the seat of polar power, countless depictions of the gardens, the courtyards, the exterior of the buildings, the interiors, of the vast libraries; almost all of it. Arlon Pax may have been reclusive, but that trait wasn’t universally shared among the Paxes, a fact that Docent thanked the Hand and Primus for. She’d been studying at the Ibex School of Epistemology when she’d come to know and befriend a student from The Torus Heights…from House Pax. Both she and Torenia had been ancient at the time, but their friendship had made them feel like protoforms that had broken out of their adolescenters. Docent was adding to her long list of professional degrees, and Torenia, well, she claimed it was to expand her knowledge base, but Docent believed it was to escape Polarus for a little while, and while both diligently tended to their school work, they found plenty of opportunities to get away and have fun. At the end of their studies in Ibex, Torenia had encouraged her to make her way up to Tyger Pax at some point. They had a Polyhistor of exceptional skill, at least according to Torenia, though Docent had heard nothing about him, but Torenia insisted that there would be a job for her and plenty for her to do. But regardless of what Torenia might have been able to find for her at Tyger Pax, with a competent Polyhistor there already it would have been a significant step down career-wise for Docent, so she had passed, but the idea of working at Tyger Pax had never fully left her thoughts.



    And then the world had been upended, monsters roamed the planet, and Docent had hunkered down with a band of fourteen others in the mountainous and thickly forested region of central Praxus to avoid certain death for as long as possible. A week and a half ago, Backfill, the member of their group that had pulled scout duty for that particular day, came running back claiming to have seen streams of Cybertronians driving, flying, and walking north, all oblivious to the threat of the cybervores that would definitely be attacking them at any moment. It had been Docent who had volunteered to go out and speak to members of the numerous caravans flooding through their long-unused roads. She had expected it to be some trap, either captured Cybertronians doing as their masters bid or mutants fitted with alternate modes, but after speaking with dozens she’d finally started to allow herself to believe what they were telling her; that the sparkeaters were defeated and the few that remained were scattered, that the Manifest had returned to ensure the victory, and that the sparkeater king had been killed by none other than Orion Pax, the commoner adopted by her old friend Torenia. It had taken hours to convince her comrades to come out of the woods and join the masses trekking back to their former homes, or in many cases all the way north to Cybertropolis to lay optics on the returned Guardian Prime. She herself had returned to her old domicile, finding it in good shape, though a bit dusty, and decided to reactivate her personal communication code. Two days later a call came into that code, one from the acting caretaker of Tyger Pax, Olnius Pax, who had said that it fell to him to re-staff Tyger Pax, and after eighteen years they could no longer hold out for the return of their Polyhistor. They needed an archivist for the Tyger Pax libraries, and in going through some of Arlon Pax’s old notes he’d come across a letter of recommendation penned by Torenia. It was then that Olnius gave her the tragic news regarding her old friend, news that prompted her to ask to request time to think, end the call, and spend the next two days laid out on the floor unmoving in her dark room. On the third day she forced herself up, contacted Olnius Pax to accept the offer, and then spent the next few days uprooting her life and preparing for the move to Tyger Pax.



    Her optics lingered on her new home in the distance for several minutes before slowly leaning her head back and letting it roll toward the aisleway. She glanced at the floor, then let her gaze flow upward to see that the ‘vagabond’ was no longer staring at his small data pad; he was now staring at her! His face was still left dark within the shadows of the large hood, but the blue glow from his optics deep within were visible. His gaze was intense, or at least it seemed that way. It was hard to be certain given that none of his facial features were visible, but whatever the case, Docent was very much unnerved to find the stranger staring at her. She slowly moved her head as she tried to casually move her way to get out of her seat, but noted that as her face moved, the stranger’s gaze did not. She paused for a moment, then moved a bit more to test her theory, and at seeing the ‘vagabond’s gaze unaltered, she realized he was looking past her. Of course, he was looking through her window. He was looking at Tyger Pax. She felt both silly and relieved at the same time, and shifted her head one more time, hoping he hadn’t noticed her terrified reaction.



    “I hope I didn’t alarm you, I was looking through your window, not at you.” Darn, he noticed. His voice was muffled, whispered but loud enough so that she had no difficulty hearing him. There was a deep familiarity about his voice that she just couldn’t place, but she quickly dismissed it.



    “No, I wasn’t alarmed.” She smiled at the optics buried in the shadows within the hood. “Well, perhaps I was, but you did nothing wrong, I was just being silly.”



    “After four years of being on high alert, nobody can blame anyone for being a bit jumpy.” The vagabond stated.



    Docent smiled at the faceless stranger, then stood up, forcing a grunt from her, and she flipped the back of the vacant seat in front of her so that it was now oriented for the occupant to be facing her. She sat back down and waved for the stranger to sit in front of her. “Please, you’ll get a far better view of Tyger Pax sitting here.”



    The stranger nodded. “I thank you, my lady.” He stood and walked across the aisle to the seat, Docent finally recognizing how large he was. Not just tall, but very broad as well. He took his seat and gave her another nod before turning to the window.



    “Is this your first time seeing Tyger Pax?” Docent asked.



    “No,” he replied quietly, “I’ve seen it before.”



    “Whatever you were watching on that data pad of yours must have been enthralling.” Docent commented. “You’ve been glued to it for the entirely of the trip so far.”



    “It…” he paused as he seemed to determine how best to describe it, “I was offline, recovering. It looked like I would pass, and several friends came to…offer their support, or in some cases to say their good-byes. The doctor treating me told me of this and put the security footage of it on this pad. Don’t worry, he swore that those on here were fine with me viewing it and hearing their words.”



    Docent nodded. “I see, beyond enthralling.”



    The hooded stranger looked down at Docent’s right knee. “It’s not my business, and I do not mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help but notice that you’ve been having trouble with your knee.”



    Docent smiled and padded her knee. “Oh, I had an injury last year. Some friends did an admirable job of repairing my leg, but the…” better go with layman’s terms, “there’s a crescent-shaped…pad of sorts, kind of a shock absorber…”



    “Your meniscular semi-lunar pad was damaged and your friend was unable to repair it.”



    What? “Uh, yes, exactly. He tried his best, but it’s tricky. I’m just thankful he was able to get it so that I can walk.”



    “It’s a very difficult area to work on, and if the damage was severe enough there’d be no way to properly repair it outside of a fully equipped infirmary. And one of the oddities of our self-repair systems is that as long as the meniscular pad is still there, our bodies won’t recognize the damage to the fibro-caoutchouc material and repair it. Your friend should be commended for his efforts, but you need to get it replaced.” The stranger said authoritatively. “You should not have to endure such pain when you don’t have to.” The well-informed hooded and cloaked stranger brushed away the cloth that was covering his right leg and began working on his knee, opening the metal panels and digging inside with his big but elegant blue fingers.



    “What are you doing?”



    “I have the means to get a replacement meniscular pad very quickly, so I’m giving you mine.” He said as if what he was suggesting wasn’t insane.



    “You can’t do that!” Docent scolded. “I appreciate the gesture, but if nothing else, your CNA has been fully integrated into your anatomical components. Even if we’re compatible it’s not something to be done on a transport.”



    Despite her protestations, he continued disassembling his knee. “I…this leg isn’t mine, not really, not yet at least. It has been recently rebuilt, it’s still very, very numb. My CNA has not had a chance to integrate itself into the new components. Your body will have no problem accepting this pad, though it will be a bit large. The size will be nothing more than a very mild annoyance, and once your CNA incorporates it fully into your body, it will adjust the size to better fit you. I’m guessing about three weeks at most for that to happen.”



    “I…that’s most gracious of you, but I can’t possibly accept.” She continued with her protests. “Please, put your knee back together.”



    The stranger chuckled as he pulled a crescent-shaped pad out from his knee, slick with fluids. He wiped it down with the cloak he was wearing and knelt before her. “I assure you my lady, it will not be long before I have a new one of my own.” He said as he began working on her leg. This was insane, she was letting a complete stranger, one hiding his face, perform surgery on her in a public transport.



    “Without a meniscular pad you’re going to be in agony!” She objected as he worked on her knee. “Mine was damaged, but even a damaged pad prevents the majority of the pain of impact and torsion. You’ll have nothing!”



    “I have an exceptionally high pain threshold my lady.” He stated as he slipped her damaged pad out with exceptional skill and grace.



    “Are you a physician?”



    “No, but I’ve had extensive battlefield medical training.” The stranger replied as he made adjustments to her knee to prepare it for the larger new pad. There was discomfort involved, but it was far more mild than what she would expect.



    “You’re more skilled than any doctor I’ve seen.”



    Mild chuckling came from within the deep hood. “The physician who trained me, he’s…he’s astoundingly good.” His deft blue fingers finished up and resealed her knee components before he slid back and sat back down in his seat. “Please, stand, take a few steps. Test it out and let me know if any adjustments are needed.”



    Docent nodded at the blue optics glowing through the dark shadow within the large hood and rose to her feet, wincing instinctively at a pain that no longer shot through her leg. Her optics widened, a broad smile came across her face, and she stepped out into the aisle and walked several steps in either direction. “Amazing! It takes a little getting used to, I can definitely tell it’s a size or two too large, but it works and I feel no pain.” She slid back into her seat and beamed at the hooded stranger.



    “Your body will correct the size in time.” He nodded a reply.



    “I can’t possibly accept this tremendous gift.” She continued her objections. “This is insane, you have given up the ability to walk.”



    “I will still be able to walk.” He replied. “And I’ll have no problem driving, which is what I’ll be doing to get home. And once home, I’ll have a new pad within minutes.”



    “I…I cannot thank you enough!” Docent was finally recognizing what had happened and was becoming a bit overwhelmed at the exceptional kindness this stranger had shown her. “Please, tell me your name.”



    He paused, clearly hesitant, but finally relented. “I am O.P.”



    Docent smiled and nodded. “And where are you from, Opie?”



    “Iacon.” Came the reply.



    “Ah, an immigrant like me.” Docent chuckled lightly. “In what part of Polarus are you living?”



    “Just outside the city.” Opie replied. “How about you? Where are you going to call home?”



    “Outside Polarus as well.” She grinned. “I’m to be the new archivist of the Tyger Pax libraries. The position comes with room and board.”



    “Congratulations, you will enjoy working and living at Tyger Pax.” He replied, but seemed to shudder, as if immediately regretting what he said.



    “Have you been there?” Docent asked. “You’ve mentioned that this isn’t the first time you’ve seen it, but you didn’t elaborate.”



    He was quiet for a moment before, “Yes, I have been there. I lived…in the servants’ section for a brief period years ago.”



    Docent sat up excitedly. “Oh, so you’ve worked at Tyger Pax?”



    Opie nervously fidgeted before answering. “I…I helped out where I could, but my function was with the Polarus Constabulary.”



    That…that didn’t make sense. “If you worked in Polarus for the Constabulary, why were you living in the Tyger Pax servants’ section?”



    “Just the arrangement I had.” Opie replied. “It was only for a few months.”



    “I’ve never heard of such an arrangement.” Docent stated. “So where are you staying now?”



    “Orion Pax!” The voice called out from behind Opie, and a black right hand came down on his cloaked left shoulder, a large data pad was thrust before his hooded face. “The next emir of The Torus Heights! Sign it and help us make it happen!”



    Docent looked up to see that the intruder with the data pad was Sureshot. Opie just slightly shifted his head so that he could look upon the data pad through his deep hood. “I was unaware that Orion Pax had any interest in politics.”



    Sureshot laughed and clapped down on Opie’s shoulder again. “He’d been on the floor of the Senate twice before his first birthday! I’d say that’s an indication he wants to lead, my big friend.”



    Opie turned his head away. “I will wait until I see or hear some indication that Orion Pax wishes to run for emir before I sign anything.”



    “Look, if he chooses not to go that route, then fine, no harm done.” Sureshot stepped forward and sat next to Docent, giving her a smile before looking at the dark interior of the hood across from him and continuing. “But at the very least this petition will let Commander Pax know the regard we hold him in. He is our savior,” the comment elicited a very light groan from Opie, one that prompted Sureshot’s optics to narrow and a look of enraged scorn to come over his face. “Do you have a problem with Orion Pax?”



    “None at all.” Opie replied. “I’m actually very much at peace with Orion Pax and who he is. But we all fought and suffered for the last four years. We all did our part. Orion Pax was just one of mill…hundreds of thousands of saviors.”



    “We number less than a million?” Docent asked disbelievingly.



    “Aye.” Opie replied despondently. “Based on the government’s best estimates, yes, we’ve fallen below one million. That includes the Decepticons.”



    “Circling back to your slighting of Orion Pax.” Sureshot grumbled.



    “There was no slight, Sureshot.” Docent scolded. “Everyone is entitled to their opinion, I believe your hero Orion would tell you that were he here.”



    Sureshot maintained his glare at the hooded figure across from him. “What are you hiding under that hood? Maybe you’re a Decepticon terrorist out to sabotage Tyger Pax! The bastards missed that target the first time around!”



    “He’s no Decepticon!” Docent growled. “A Decepticon wouldn’t cripple himself to help a matronly old bird like me! Now go leave us alone!”



    “Fine, but I’ve got my optic on you!” Sureshot snarled and pointed at Opie as he stood and marched back toward the front of the transport.



    “In case you didn’t notice, he’s a fan of Orion Pax.” Docent chuckled.



    “That would explain the facial reconstruction.” Opie replied with a bit of mirth in his voice.



    Docent looked at him for a moment. “Why do you hide your face? Have you been disfigured?”



    Opie looked down as he answered. “I was.” His head turned to the side. “But I was repaired. Fully repaired. I just wanted to not be seen.”



    “Alright.” All sorts of trauma had been endured by everyone, and everyone dealt with their own personal trauma in their own personal ways. “I’m not the fanatic that Sureshot is, but I too have a high regard for Orion Pax, and am truly hoping to meet him.”



    “I assure you, my lady, I have no negative feelings for or about Orion Pax.” Opie explained. “I did…for a very long time, but I’ve made peace with all that. I have come to like and respect Orion Pax. I’m just fairly certain he has no interest in becoming emir.”



    Docent smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear that whatever negative feelings you had for him are gone. I wouldn’t want to have to smack you across your hooded cranial shell.” Opie laughed. “I’ve never met him, but I was close to the femme that raised him.” Opie’s head shot up at that, his blue optics burned through the darkness within his hood. “Torenia Pax and I were both students for a while at the Ibex School of Epistemology, and became fast friends.” Docent leaned back and displayed a smile and faraway grin. “We were eons older than the point of ‘shoulda known better’, but one time she and I decided that it would be a good idea to brew our own engex. We snuck some liquid energon to Torenia’s suite,”



    “And blew out her windows, damaged her wall, and scorched both of your paintjobs.” Opie finished. “You’re Docent.”



    Docent looked at him, an absolutely stunned look on her face. “How did you know that?”



    “Torenia told me…” he twisted his head toward the window, almost in anguish, “years ago.”



    By the Hand! It…it can’t… “Who…no. It can’t…it can’t be…it is, isn’t it? It’s you, isn’t it?” She leaned forward. “Opie….O…P. Of Iacon.” Docent’s hand went to her mouth as she gasped. “Please, let me see.” She pleaded in a whisper as she slowly reached for his hood.



    He flinched initially, but then set his head back toward her shaking hands. “Please,” he whispered, “do not react.”



    She nodded emphatically, keeping her lips together tightly, and gently rolled the large hood back enough to reveal his face and the front of his helmet, his Convoy crest clearly visible. Both hands shot to her mouth to muffle the joyful cry she was about to emit. She successfully stifled the cry, but the whispered weeping tumbled out. “Oh my sweet, sweet child. She loved you so very much. I only exchanged one recent correspondence with her, shortly after Emir Arlon was executed, but she made it clear how wonderful you are, and how much you meant to her.” The widened optics and straining of his face made the staggering affect her words were having on him exceedingly clear. She was about to continue, but she caught sight of someone approaching. “Hood.” She whispered right before standing up. “Why are you back?” She growled as Orion slid the hood fully back over his head.



    “Here!” Sureshot snarled as he shoved his data pad screen in Orion’s face. Docent had to maneuver herself around to the side to see what was being depicted, but soon was watching Violen Jiger pulling Orion off the ground, tearing his body apart as his foot was stomped down on his lower torso. Orion was helpless in the monster’s grasp, the large broadsword dangling on his outstretched fingers, and his optics fading between light and dark. Docent directed her gaze away from the screen and looked to the real-time Orion, and saw his hands shaking.



    He was terrifi…oh no, sweet child, of course, how could he not be suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? “Get this damn thing out of his face!” Docent roared and pushed the data pad back toward Sureshot.



    “He needs to know!” Sureshot snapped loudly. “He needs to see what Orion sacrificed for us! I didn’t do that!” He pointed at the screen. “You didn’t do that, and that hooded jackass sure as the Pit didn’t do that! Only Orion Pax did that!” All optics had turned to the commotion by this point.



    “Would Orion do this?” Docent snapped as she pushed Sureshot back down the aisle toward the front of the section. “Would he? No, he most definitely would not be doing this and you know it!” She gave one last gentle but insistent shove. “Stop doing what you think you should do for Orion, and try to do what you think HE would do!”



    “Attention passengers,” the pilot’s voice cut through the intercom, “we will be making our landing in Polarus in a few moments, please take your seats.”



    Docent gave Sureshot one last glare before turning to sit across from Orion again. She took Orion’s hands and gave a squeeze. “Our friend Sureshot is a bit obsessed.”



    “It’s a variation of Primus Apotheosis.” Orion stated. “Ratchet gave it the classification of Convoy Apotheosis. I’m not enthused about having a mental illness named after me.”



    “Yes, Torenia said you were never one for flattery, though in this case your apprehension is merited.” Docent replied with a chuckle. “Are you alright? That footage was clearly having an impact on you.”



    Orion, hood still in place, nodded. “It was just a bit jarring to actually see it like that.”



    “You haven’t seen that footage before?” Docent was surprised.



    “I’ve only been online for a little over a dozen hours.” Orion shrugged. “Though I have seen that event depicted in statue form.”



    “Well, for those of us who’ve been awake the last two weeks, it’s been replayed non-stop.” Docent smiled. “Never be too strong, too proud, or too stubborn to ask for help. You are beyond deserving of it.”



    “I will take that advice, my lady.” Orion replied just as the shuttle rocked gently at touching down on the ground. The hood turned and Orion looked out the window. “We’re here, Polarus.”



    “Care to share the road to Tyger Pax?” Docent asked as she stood, no longer flinching at all, and grabbed her large knapsack.



    “It would be an honor.” Orion replied as he got up a bit gingerly, favoring his now damaged knee.



    “I still can’t believe you did that for me.” Docent stated as she looked down at Orion’s shrouded knee.



    “When we get to Tyger Pax, I promise I will not be too strong, proud or stubborn to ask for help.” She could almost see the smart-assed grin shining through the shadow under the hood. They made their way to the front, down the steps and onto the tarmac. “If you’d like, you can toss your knapsack onto my rear section. I think it would be easier for me to carry it in vehicular mode than you.”



    “Hey!” Sureshot’s voice cut through the early evening dimness. “Hoodie! Do you really think you belong this close to Tyger Pax, as prone as you are to slighting Orion Pax?”



    Orion turned his head down and away from the approaching Sureshot and raised his hand to hopefully keep the angry Convoy Apotheosis sufferer back. “Please, I bear Orion Pax no ill will.”



    “Is he our savior?” Sureshot snarled loudly, causing everyone else around the landed craft to turn and watch. “Yes or no?”



    “Sureshot, you listen to me!” Docent snapped. “Leave him alone, you’re making a terrible mistake!”



    The sound of approaching vehicles, three that were traveling quickly, caused everyone to look and see a larger than average red cargo transport, a large red fire and rescue lorry, and a large green all terrain ground cruiser making their way toward the passengers. The three vehicles reached the group and transformed into robots with Common Man brands on them. “What seems ta’ be tha trouble here?” The larger than average red robot, the one that had been a cargo transport, asked authoritatively with an accent that let Docent know he wasn’t native to The Torus Heights…likely Uraya near the other end of the planet, probably the region far east of Crystal City.



    “Nothing sir, just a minor argum…”



    “Excellent, Autobots!” Sureshot loudly interrupted Docent. “First, let me thank and commend your organization. I intend to join your ranks, if you’ll have me, in the coming weeks.”



    “Thank ya’ son, we’d be happy ta’ consider ya’.” The authoritative Autobot replied. “Though ya’ may get some stares an’ comments fer how you’ve remade yerself. Don’t worry, Pyro seems ta’ have taken the ribbin’ he’s gotten in stride, so if ya gotta thick shell, you’ll be alright.”



    A look of confusion came over Sureshot, but he set that aside and continued. “My friends, this, this…” he pointed at the hooded and cloaked Orion, “tarpanicus turd is denigrating your leader and our hero!”



    The Autobots all turned their heads and looked intently at the disguised Orion. “Ya’ don’t say?”



    “Sir?” Docent stepped forward.



    “It’s Constable ma’am.” The robot replied. “Constable Ironhide.”



    “Ironhide?” Sureshot called out. “Advisor, lieutenant and close confidant of Orion Pax?” He then stepped toward Orion and pointed at the covered robot. “You are so screwed now!”



    “What are you claiming he did?” The other red Autobot, one as large as Orion, asked in a no-nonsense voice.



    “He refuses to acknowledge that Orion Pax is our savior!” Sureshot snapped, expecting that to cause the Autobots to jump to his cause.



    “That true, son?” Ironhide asked the disguised Orion as he took a step toward him.



    “Of course it’s true.” Orion replied, his voice altered.



    “Can you even imagine such arrogance?” Sureshot growled.



    Ironhide glared at the hooded figure long and hard for twenty seconds before breaking out into laughter. “Sunstreaker said you’d be in disguise, but I really expected better than this.” The red Autobot slapped the hooded robot on the shoulder and turned to Sureshot. “It ain’t arrogance that prompts this guy to downplay Commander Pax, kid, it’s humility.”



    “Damn it, Ironhide.” Orion grumbled from the inside of his deep hood.



    “What?” A bewildered Sureshot asked. “What’s going on?”



    “Take that ridiculous thing off and lemme look at ya’ son!” Ironhide demanded, prompting Orion to groan and reluctantly pull the cloak and hood away from his body.



    Orion, finally revealed to the gasps of all the other passengers aside from Docent, gave Ironhide an annoyed look. “Happy?”



    Ironhide started to smile, as if to continue joking, but a look of absolute sincerity, etched with a hint of disbelief came over his face, and in an instant he had Orion Pax wrapped in a solid embrace. Orion returned the embrace, and the two were silent for several seconds before Ironhide’s quiet voice could barely be heard. “I was sure we lost ya’ son.”



    “Not yet old friend.” Orion replied, then looked up at the other two Autobots, who now walked forward. Orion released Ironhide and greeted the other two with firm wrist-shakes. “Inferno, Roadbuster, great to see you both.”



    “It’s a miracle to have you back, sir.” The red one, who Docent believed Orion had called Inferno, said.



    “Let’s get you home, Commander.” The green and dull yellow Roadbuster suggested.



    Orion nodded and turned to Docent. “Ironhide, Inferno, Roadbuster, this is Docent, she is the new archivist for the Tyger Pax libraries.”



    Inferno and Roadbuster dipped their heads slightly. “It will be a pleasure working with you at Tyger Pax, Docent.” Inferno said.



    Sureshot stepped toward Orion, and knelt down before him. “Commander Pax, Hero of Cyber…”



    “Stand up, Sureshot.” Orion ordered. “Even before the Autobots, there was no kneeling in The Torus Heights.”



    Docent overheard Roadbuster whisper something about House Boltax to Inferno, but she focused on Sureshot rising to his feet and humbly addressing the object of his obsession. “Commander Pax, please forgive my atrocious behavior and my insults. I did not realize that it was you under that hood.”



    “Apology accepted, but ultimately it should not matter whether it was me or not.” Orion replied. “Treat everyone with the inherent respect that all sentient beings are deserving of.”



    “I…I will Commander.” Sureshot replied.



    “Ah’m assumin’ yawl are on yer way ta’ Tyger Pax.” Nearly the entire group nodded their affirmation. “Awlright then, let’s get going.”



    Orion peered around at the other passengers, looking a bit confused as he took a step forward to get room to transform. “Why’s every…urgh.” He nearly stumbled, forgetting that his knee was now very damaged.



    Ironhide and the other Autobots gave him an odd look. “Ol’ Ratchet use second hand parts ta’ rebuild ya’?”



    “That would be my doing.” Docent piped up. “Or a sacrifice Commander Pax made on my behalf. He found out my meniscular pad was severely damaged and before I knew it he was removing it and replacing it with one of his own.”



    Everyone looked at Orion, who just rolled his optic in annoyance at the added scrutiny. As one, all three Autobots burst out laughing. “A Convoy raised by Paxes, whattaya expect?” The green and yellow Roadbuster blurted out.



    Orion just groaned and transformed. “Just take me to my brother.” The red and blue freight hauler grumbled. Docent placed her sack on the rear portion of Orion and the group transformed, a shuttle for those lacking vehicular shell modes was acquired; it appeared the need was anticipated and several shuttles had been purchased and placed at the port by House Pax, at least that was the impression Docent got as the Autobots and those who could drive headed out shortly after Orion requested to see his brother. It wasn’t long before they were approaching the shadowy Tyger Pax, Docent in her small ground cruiser form to the left of Orion Pax, with Ironhide driving beside him to his right. “Tyger Pax isn’t as well-lit as one would expect for dusk, don’t you think, Ironhide?”



    “I…I spose not.” Ironhide replied, sounding as though he was hiding something. “I’m not really sure what the lighting situation is at the Tyger these days.”



    “Do you really think I don’t know what’s about to happen?” Orion grumbled.



    “Ah have no idea what yer talking about.” Ironhide said back, suppressing a chuckle.



    “Damnit Ironhide.” Orion whispered as they drew near the front of the vast castle or small city, depending on how one viewed it. Just as they started to slow to a stop large floodlights boomed to life and throngs of people stepped out of the shadows, cheering the arrival of Tyger Pax’s long lost son. “Damnit Ironhide.” Orion’s repeated whisper was barely heard by Docent and Ironhide, and it got a chuckle out of them both.



    The front three transformed, followed by the Autobot/Pax guards Inferno and Roadbuster, with the other pilgrims following suit shortly after. “Welcome home Commander Orion Pax of Iacon!” The figure Docent recognized to be Olnius Pax stepped out from the crowd and approached Orion, but looked to Ironhide. “Thank you Constable.”



    Ironhide shrugged. “He figured it out, but not til we were just about here.”



    Olnius smiled and looked back to Orion, but caught sight of Docent and focused on her. “Docent! You made it! Welcome to Tyger Pax! I see you’ve already met our famous prodigal son!” They both walked toward each other to shake wrists, and Olnius stopped as he noticed something. “I thought you said that you had difficulty walking.”



    Docent smiled and nodded toward Orion as she took the knapsack he was offering her. “I did, until an incognito prodigal son took out his meniscular pad and transplanted it into my leg on the transport.”



    Olnius turned and looked in disbelief at Orion, who just shrugged. “Yes, well, I was hoping to rummage through the Tyger Pax infirmary and swipe a fibro-caoutchouc crescent, if that’s OK with you.”



    Olnius just shook his head in surprise at the knee and then the face of Orion Pax before shrugging and answering. “Well, that’s not really up to me. I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask the Emir.”



    Screeching tires could be heard from the shadows, immediately followed by a small, low to the ground dark form shooting out toward them. Docent flinched, but relaxed as the form, now visibly dark blue under the lights, zoomed ahead and shot into the air to be caught and embraced by Orion Pax. “Roller!” Orion hugged the vehicular form of his brother tightly.



    “Beeeeeeep. Beep beep beep.” Came the reply from the severely damaged Roller Pax. If Orion was affected by his brother’s condition, he gave no indication of it. He just gleefully hugged the six-wheeled cruiser tightly before finally placing it down.



    “Emir Pax,” Docent spoke, controlling her emotion at seeing the reunion, “please order your brother to the infirmary before he decides that his time would be better served helping someone else.”



    The request was met with a whistle and series of beeps that Docent recognized as a version of the Mahpop Code, but even for those not familiar with the ancient and obscure communication method, what Roller Pax was saying could not be interpreted as anything other than a resolute affirmation.





    -





    Orion Pax





    The one good thing that could be said about sparkeaters was that they tended to leave structures and possessions undamaged. They’d tear a building to rubble to get to a spark if they sensed it, but aside from their ravenous feeding frenzies or pursuits, they were indifferent to inanimate objects. Even using Tyger Pax as an early base, Violen Jiger and his army of monsters had left things more or less as they were, and Orion had no problem finding a new meniscular pad and installing it into his knee. He had then had no problem finding the various repair materials he needed in an exterior supply shed on the outskirts of the main courtyard and was now making his way toward the Spear of Paxus.



    The sun was going down, but the lighting around the Spear was always more than adequate, even for what he had planned. He wasn’t the most skilled of metal workers, but he was definitely better than most, and easily good enough to handle this minor repair work. The sounds of a large crowd coming from the area near the Spear was a little surprising to him, there usually weren’t that many people in the courtyard, especially as evening was coming, but the sounds gave the impression of hundreds gathered near the Spear. Orion turned the corner, around the large building serving as the servant’s dormitory and recreation center, and his optics verified what his audio processors had been telling him. Hundreds of Cybertronians, perhaps over a thousand, were milling about, gathered in a semi-circle of sorts around the Spear of Paxus. What in the Tartarun Gates were they doing here? This was going to make the simple task he needed to do that much harder, and delay his visit to the birthing pool of House Pax to say good-bye to…so many. Oh well, might as well get on with it; focusing on an obstacle’s difficulty wasn’t going to help surmount it.



    Orion marched toward the immense Spear carrying his supplies in a large bucket and climbing gear in a sack thrown over his shoulder. Gasps and whispers cut through the air as the throngs of visitors caught sight of him and parted to let him pass. Why were these people here? What was going on? Perhaps these were the pilgrims that everyone kept mentioning. Perhaps they were making a pilgrimage to the remains of the Tartarun Gates, and Tyger Pax was a stopping point along the way. Whatever the case, he’d just have to deal with a group of spectators watching him fix the damage he’d done to the ancient spire four years ago. An ancient, beautiful structure, one built nearly fifteen million years before to commemorate the most noble, humble and compassionate of the Knights, and the dull gray axe Orion had forged on the Planet of Junk was still sticking out of it. Lodging it in there seemed like a good idea at the time…hell, it WAS a good idea at the time, but it was way past due to retrieve it and fix the damage. And it would be nice to finally have his axe back…damn he missed that axe.



    “Commander Pax?” An elegant femme approaching through the crowd called out to Orion.



    Orion turned, and dipped his head as he recognized the femme. “Lady Nelonia, it warms my spark to see you again.”



    “I apologize for not greeting you when you arrived.” Nelonia stated.



    Orion chuckled. “Absolutely no need to apologize, my lady, the greeting was a bit overwhelming even without you. And I was told you had matters to attend to.”



    Nelonia waved to the throngs around her. “Yes, as you can see, there is much here to attend to.”



    “Yes, what is all this?” Orion asked, causing a look of surprise to come over Nelonia’s face.



    Her explanation was pre-empted by “Commander Pax!” Orion turned to see Olnius approaching with Roller zipping past him to get to Orion.



    “Hello Brother, I did as commanded, got myself fixed up in your infirmary.” Orion said, getting a series of beeps and chirps he translated to roughly ‘it’s your infirmary too’. Orion looked up at Olnius. “How is the evening treating you Olnius?”



    “Quite well, my friend.” Olnius looked over the supplies in the bucket Orion was carrying and the sack slung over his shoulder. “Those don’t look like things we keep in the infirmary.”



    Orion smiled and shrugged. “No, supplies for a repair job. I caused some damage the last time I was here. High time I fixed it.”



    Now it was Olnius’s turn to look confused. “As far as I know we’ve fully repaired all damage to Tyger Pax. There’s a bit more restocking that needs to be done, but everything should be in tip-top shape.”



    Orion maintained optic lock with Olnius, but nodded toward the Spear. “There’s still a seven foot long, one-to-two foot wide, and, heck, maybe three foot deep gouge in the Spear of Paxus that’s been there for four years. I caused it, it’s fitting I repair it.” A terrified, ghastly look came over Olnius’s face, and at turning toward Nelonia Orion saw the same etched into hers. “What?”



    It was Roller who spoke, or beeped, chirped and buzzed rather, a rapid-fire series of noises that were clearly conveying anger. His tirade ended, it was Nelonia who first spoke. “I normally can follow Emir Roller’s communication fairly well, but much of that was…indecipherable.”



    “That’s because it seems my brother has introduced profanity to the Mahpop Code.” Orion grumbled, his words to Nelonia but his frustrated annoyance to Roller. He then looked down directly at his brother. “Why am I a selfish idiot? And be thankful I’m only listing selfish, and not the string of other adjectives you used to describe the kind of idiot I am. How am I ruining Tyger Pax?”



    “Commander Pax,” Olnius started, still aghast, “Orion, this is, well it IS selfish, and frankly, not what we’d ever expect of you. I’m deeply, deeply…”



    “Olnius,” Nelonia interrupted, then looked down at the blue vehicle at their feet, “Emir Roller, he doesn’t know.”



    “What?” Olnius asked disbelievingly.



    “Know what?” Orion questioned in a frustrated voice.



    “That’s impossible.” Olnius stated. “He sees the pilgrims, there’s no way he doesn’t know.”



    “Pilgrims?” Orion looked around. “People have been mentioning pilgrims to me all day, but nobody has elaborated on any of it.” He then looked to Nelonia. “I had assumed they were traveling to the Gates, using Tyger as a resting and restocking point.”



    A regretful whine came from Roller, who gently rolled forward and rubbed against Orion’s leg. “By Primus, what a fool I am.” Olnius stated. “You’ve barely been awake twelve hours, you’ve had an entire world, possibly the most pivotal two weeks in our history to take in, and we’re chastising you over something that we should have considered that you may not be aware of.”



    “No need for self-recriminations, but please tell me what I’m missing.” Orion asked as mutters of ‘he doesn’t know’ rippled through the crowd.



    Nelonia stepped forward and reached up to place a hand on Orion’s shoulder. “Orion, these people aren’t on a pilgrimage to the ruins of the Tartarun Gates. The Gates have come to be viewed as a stop-gap measure that ultimately failed us. These people have come to see the birthplace of hope and resistance. And the object that symbolizes it all.” Orion opened his mouth to ask, but paused as he realized what the answer would be.



    “Orion’s Axe has become the symbol of our refusal to lay down and die for the cybervores, our unwillingness to be prey, a hardening of our resolve to fight. It freed the Guardian of the Gates, and was the first weapon to kill a sparkeater in fifteen million years.” Olnius explained.



    “I think, technically, the first sparkeater spark was detonated with…”



    “Semantics.” Olnius interrupted Orion with a smile. “It doesn’t change what was done here four years ago. What you,” he looked down at Roller for a moment, “what you both did here four years ago. It doesn’t change anything that Orion’s Axe has come to commemorate.”



    Orion looked at Olnius intently, then to Nelonia before waving his gaze over the crowd and then up at the axe in question, still lodged deeply into the massive spire. “You really want an unsightly chunk of Cybertanium jutting out of the Spear of Paxus?”



    “Yes.” Olnius, Nelonia and nearly every pilgrim surrounding them replied.



    “The center point of Tyger Pax? The vast, beautiful spire to commemorate the greatness of Paxus?” Orion further asked.



    “I’m sure he’d be alright with it.” Nelonia smiled as she squeezed Orion’s shoulder.



    Orion smiled and nodded. “As you wish.” He then looked down at his brother and chuckled. “You’re doing this because you know I love that axe.” Orion and Roller started walking and rolling away from the group, a series of playful chirps and beeps shot out from Roller, causing Orion to groan and playfully respond. “I DID raid your armory, four years ago…with you! You didn’t have a good axe then, and I’m sure you don’t have one now! I guess I’ll just have to keep using the energon one Erector designed for me.”



    “Commander Pax?” Olnius called out, and continued as Orion turned back to him. “Where are you going?”



    Orion shrugged. “To return this stuff.” He nodded to the supplies he was carrying.



    “No need.” Olnius said, looking off to the side to Roadbuster, who had been standing at attention with other Pax guards just outside the group of pilgrims. Roadbuster came jogging over. “Roadbuster, would you please return these supplies for your Commander?”



    “It would be my honor, sir.” Roadbuster said as he took the supplies and equipment from Orion. “You’re home Orion, I’m sure there are things other than work you could be doing.”



    “He’s right.” Nelonia said as she walked up toward Orion. “For the first time in almost nineteen years, you’re here and free to do whatever you would like.”



    Orion nodded, and looked down sadly. “Yes. Thank you. I would visit the Pool.”



    Nelonia and Olnius both nodded sadly. “Of course.” Nelonia said.



    “I’ll accompany you.” Olnius offered. “Roller once told me that the Pool of Paxus was perhaps the one part of Tyger Pax that you had never really familiarized yourself with.”



    “The Pool was for Paxes, I was not a Pax.” Orion stated. “And death had not touched anyone I loved while I lived here, so there was never any reason for Roller to drag me in there like he did everywhere else in Tyger Pax. But A-Three did walk me there once, I do know how to get there.”



    “That’s fine, I would like to accompany you anyway, if that’s alright with you.” Olnius requested.



    “Of course my friend.” Orion said with a smile, though a simple look at his optics let everyone know his thoughts were far away. The two headed out, taking their time, Orion almost dreading what he was approaching.



    “Orion, I know that this is not a conversation you wish to have, but I would like to take a moment to discuss the greater good of The Torus Heights.” Olnius tentatively addressed the returning hero.



    “You are concerned Roller is no longer fit to be emir.” Orion stated.



    “I mean the lad no disrespect.” Olnius replied. “I am quick to admit that when he had all his faculties he made a better emir than I ever did, but…”



    “He no longer possesses all his faculties.” Orion stated. “Don’t fear, I know you’re approaching this from the good of the emirate and its people.”



    “I would never suggest a vote of no-confidence, but something needs to be done.” Olnius blurted.



    “I appreciate that.” Orion said. “I’ll talk to Roller. There’s enough of him left where he’ll understand. And truth be told, it’s a job he never wanted.”



    “I know.” Olnius said sadly. “I forced him into it through my own inaction.”



    “It was an impossible situation you were both in.” Orion stated. “Frankly, without the intervention of the Decepticons and the sparkeaters, there’s no way to know how things would have turned out.” They continued on in silence for two minutes before Orion continued. “He did say that you were an outstanding peacetime emir. He’ll likely nominate you.”



    “I’ll decline.” Olnius replied. “There are other Paxes more fit. I’m walking with one now.”



    “I’m not on the rolls, nor do I have a taste for politics.” Orion answered, his optics forward as the crystalline mound that held the Pool of Paxus within came into sight.



    “As your brother will tell you, sometimes the most fit for the job is someone with no interest in it.” Olnius chuckled, allowing Orion to dwell on his thoughts in silence the remainder of the way.



    The entranceway was flanked by two House Pax guards, individuals Orion did not recognize, which made sense as it had been so long since he was at a Pax-controlled Tyger Pax, and so much of The Torus Heights, and the rest of the world had changed. Orion stopped before them. “Greetings, my name is Orion Pax. I am not an official member of House Pax, but I have been given permission to visit the fallen laid upon the Pool of Paxus.”



    The guards, one large with a frame similar to Inferno’s but with predominantly white coloring, and the other a mid-sized predominantly black robot similarly built to Jazz, looked at one another before the smaller one addressed Orion. “Commander Pax, we have been instructed that you are to have complete unhindered access to any square millimeter of Tyger Pax you might choose to visit. Please do not hesitate to go where you wish, nor to ask us for assistance in any way.”



    Orion nodded. “I thank you both.”



    “You never need thank us, Commander.” The larger guard said, looking straight ahead. “My conjux endurae was at the Grand Convocation. He would have been slaughtered were it not for you and your Autobots. The debt I owe you is even greater than the debt owed you by every other living being on Cybertron.”



    “No debt is owed me, I assure you.” Orion smiled at him and walked reverently inside the large, shimmering dome, stopping in the archway and taking in the sight of it. A few steps more and he would be standing before the Pool of Paxus, the birthplace of Paxus and all to bear the name Pax, all but Orion. It was also where the frames of the Paxes who had fallen were laid to rest, to over time break down and have their traits reincorporated by the Pool so that future generations might inherit what made them great. There were legends of reincarnation, or wisdom passing from the deceased to newborn, but Orion didn’t buy into that. But when the body degraded some of it was converted to metallico, and metallico was precious. Not treating metallico with reverence was seen as a sin, damaging or destroying it, a great crime, and what Saurus Onyx had done to own his ancestral hotspot, an abomination.



    Ancestral? Genetically, yes, House Convoy was his ancestry. But they weren’t his family. It was Torenia Pax that had cradled him as he formed. It was House Pax that had given him shelter and nourishment, an education, and love. It was Torenia that had taught him compassion and kindness, and it was Arlon Pax that had taught him honor and courage. It was time to thank them. Orion walked through the crystalline archway and onto the lush garden that surrounded the polished silver metal ground, one that seemed almost an ice rink in appearance, though deeper gray than ice. Laid out on the surface were dozens of bodies, all covered in shrouds, shrouds that all bore indications that the deceased below was a member of House Pax, but also individual details that told a story of the person laid to rest. Orion stepped onto the metal, barely aware that Olnius had followed him in and was hovering in the background.



    Orion looked around him at the shimmering fabrics that covered the corpses of those he had called family, and noted that that there was one shroud that was noticeably more ornate than the rest, the shroud of an emir, one larger and wider to cover a non-humanoid frame, and one that was flat against the ground. Orion sadly nodded at the realization that this made sense. Arlon had been killed over eighteen years ago, his frame would have been fully integrated back into cyber-firma years before; in all likelihood the shroud had been placed back here for his benefit. Orion walked over to the flat shroud, knelt beside it, moved the shroud slightly and placed his hand on the metal below. “Hello Arlon, I would have come sooner, but, well, I got waylaid.” He smiled sadly to himself. “I used to blame myself for your death. For that, I apologize. For me to accept blame would be to diminish the sacrifice you made…the choice you made. What happened to you, it was not due to any mistake on my part, it was your decision to be brave, to make a stand, to make a statement. You stood up to tyranny, to injustice, you weren’t forced to do so, you chose to do so, knowing full well how Sentinel Honorum would react.” Orion paused, and fought back a wave of emotion. “I’m being celebrated, being called a hero.” Orion shook his head with a sad smile “I’m not one. All I’ve done is just follow your example. At best I’m a good student, nothing more.” The Autobot looked at the shroud, taking in every detail. “And at no point through any of it was I alone. I had my army, our comrades, even the aid of enemies for some of it, but beyond all that I had you. Whenever fear and uncertainty entered my thoughts, I was always buttressed by memories of you. You won this as much as any of us, and I wish you were here to celebrate it.” Orion dipped his head. “I love and miss you Arlon, thank you for so very much…enjoy your well-deserved rest.”



    Orion stood up and started to scan the pool for one particular shroud, but something else caught his optic; three shrouds, all minimal in their adornment, in relatively close proximity to one another, and covering shapes that seemed not to be bodies laid flat against the ground, but jutting up under the pliable metal fabric. Orion started toward the forms, but as he nearly reached them Olnius called out. “Orion, stop.” Orion turned and looked to the far older member of House Pax, a look of worry etched on his face. “Please, there is no reason for you to look at those; not until I’ve had a chance to explain…the situation.”



    Orion was bewildered, having no idea what the issue could be. He turned back around and focused on one of the forms, the shimmering metal covering something roughly the size of a typical humanoid form, but was pushed up by something small, slender…a finger? Yes, likely a finger, but why lay the body in such a way, and who would have such little adornmen…oh sweet Primus no. Of course, he had seen three unknown names on the list of the Pax dead, had intended to ask about them, but had forgotten upon arriving as everything else had come up. Orion dropped to his knees beside the form and gently pulled the shroud away, confirming his fear. Barely formed, never having had the chance to arise from the ground, reaching up in agony with its chest torn open, the body degraded after four years, but still clearly a protoform murdered at the moment of its birth; and there were two others. “Pax newborn from the last pulse. Innocence, Purity and Infantus Pax.”



    He heard Olnius’s gentle footsteps approach and come to a stop next to him. “Yes. They never had a chance. The monsters were upon them before they were even clear of the ground, before they even qualified as protoforms.”



    “Yes…” Orion mournfully said quietly, expecting to say more, but nothing came.



    “Aye.” Olnius answered. “This is Infantus Pax.” Olnius nodded to another misshapen shroud. “There lies Innocence Pax. And their sister, Purity Pax.”



    Orion scanned them all for a couple of minutes before finally speaking. “You deserved better, brothers and sister. There’s nothing I can do to undo the cruel fate you received, but you will be remembered, and you will be a constant reminder of the innocent victims of all conflict that must never be forgotten or ignored. Be one with Primus.” Orion covered Infantus with his shroud and once again rose to his feet to sadly scan the pool, seeking out one particular shroud, the details of which he did not know, but there was no doubt in his mind that he’d recognize it when he saw it. He did. Deep gold and blue around the edges, but this had much more than just designs; it bore specific images beautifully etched and colored into it, one depiction in particular was something Orion immediately recognized. A verdant jungle, one surrounding a cliff face, a dark cave cut into it with a brilliant green light emerging from it. There were countless other designs on the shroud, but no other Pax would have the place of Orion’s birth etched onto it in such stunning detail. Orion made his way to the body, Olnius remaining behind and allowing Orion privacy to say good-bye to the one to pull him from the ground and show him unconditional love.



    Orion once again fell to his knees and placed a hand on the shroud. “Mother.” He paused, unsure of what to say despite having so much that needed to be said. “I miss you. I miss you so much.” Another minute of silence went by before, “Someone very wise, very wonderful once said ‘Long lives make us foolish. I see the organics, the mortal creatures, cherishing every moment with one another, recognizing how precious their loved ones are and that their time with them is so very limited. Immortals take these things for granted, thinking there will always be more time with those we love. I pray for more time, but I will never take the time I have with you for granted.’” Orion had to forced his voice from cracking. “You asked me to be safe, and come back to you whole and filled with life experiences.” A sad chuckle came out his metal lips. “Well, I did come back whole and with experiences; I can’t say I was safe, but you know that. I was lucky to have been able to share those experiences with you. But like the potential immortals you said were foolish, I took having you in my life for granted. Despite having lost Arlon so suddenly, despite the slaughterhouse that our world had become, it still didn’t occur to me that you might someday be gone while I was still here. Your words were wise, I thought I had taken them to spark when you spoke them to me, but here I sit unable to grasp that you’ve left me. I don’t think I took our time for granted, but I know I did not cherish it the way I should have.” He turned away for a moment before turning back and gently rolling the top of the shroud away to reveal the grayed face of Torenia Pax, her optics practically black. “I…I hope you know…knew…know what you always meant to me, how I felt about you. How I’ll always feel about you. I don’t know whether I would have lived or died on that island had you not found me. I don’t know how I would have turned out if you’d found me and done the responsible thing of alerting the Iaconian authorities to my existence. I don’t know what would have become of me had you done anything differently. But you chose to cradle me, to protect me, to raise me…to love me. I am what I am, whatever that may be, because you chose to love me, to make me yours, to make me…me. You taught me to love and protect others; I’ve strived to do that. This world honors me for doing what you and Arlon taught me to do. Thank you…but I don’t care about honors. I never wanted them.” He paused and his head dropped, his optics dimmed. “I only wanted more time with my mother.” He was quiet for another minute. “I love you mother.” He slowly pulled the shroud back over her face and remained still, contemplating whether more words were necessary when he felt…it. A familiar sensation in his spark.



    Orion turned toward the entrance to the Birthing Pool and saw her. Flanked between the two House Pax guards was Elita One, staring back at him, awe in her optics. Orion barely registered the Autobrand on her chest, so focused was he on her optics. “Elita One…” a startled Olnius Pax said loudly, “I’d heard mention that you planned on coming to Tyger Pax, but I thought your arrival would be closer to tonight’s feast.”



    “I…” Elita’s optics never unlocked from those of Orion. “Lord Olnius, I apologize for my early arrival, and I know that the Pool of Paxus is a sacred place meant only for members of House Pax, I was already granted…”



    “Nonsense.” Olnius interrupted. “You, my lady, are always welcome at Tyger Pax, no invitation or notification will ever be needed for you. And you were a beloved friend of Torenia, you are always welcome to visit this place to pay your respects to her or any other fallen Pax.”



    Orion stood up and started walking intently toward Elita, his optics boring through her, his spark, which normally required one to concentrate deeply to detect, was pulsing wildly. Her gaze continued to meet his, her optics widening as he approached, awed and seemingly a bit intimidated. “I…thank you…Lord Olnius.” She stammered out as Orion cut the distance between them with each purposeful step. “I….” she seemed unsure of how to react to Orion’s intense gaze and approach, “Commander Pax, it is,” she choked back a surge of emotion, “all Cybertron is…” she was interrupted as Orion reached out to her, gently but firmly gripped her upper arms, and pulled her in for a deep, passionate kiss. The guards on either side and a couple steps behind Elita turned their faces away uncomfortably, but both adopted a grin. The kiss finally broke and Elita’s head lowered back a bit, her optics wide and her face stunned. “Commander Pax…” she gasped, then continued in a whisper, “what is it that you want?” Orion just continued his intense stare and gently squeezed her upper arms. Elita gained her bearings and met his gaze with equal intensity. “Take it.” Orion released his grip on her left arm, and lowered the hand holding her right arm to grasp her hand, which gripped his in return. Orion started leading them out of the domed Pool of Paxus. “But take it in my ship. Torenia showed me your room years ago, and…yes, the ship.” Orion smiled, but continued on his way out of the dome and to the landing field without delay.





    ---





    Straxus





    It had been a few years since he had been to this mine. Four to be exact, not since the decision for the Decepticons to reveal themselves and the need to continue his role as a manager of House Macht mining operations was no longer necessary. He had liked the job. Truth be told, he somewhat preferred his old life under the Machts over his current role in the Decepticons. Platoon commander, mid-level officer; Megatron had told him it wasn’t due to any animosity from his days as a miner, but Straxus knew better. As high and mighty as he’d become, the Tarnian wasn’t too evolved as to not harbor old grudges. The hulking gray Decepticon platoon commander grumbled to himself as he keyed in the access code to the entrance of the energon mine in the northern outskirts of Kaon. “What’s the likelihood of the sparkeaters having left this place intact?” The annoying pseudo-engineer Ferak asked.



    “The gates have not been battered, and they certainly haven’t been penetrated.” Straxus growled as the large metal gates slid open, revealing the cavern within, hints of glowing pink emanating from deep in the depths. “And the monsters only resorted to energon when sparks weren’t around. Which was a rare occurrence as sparks were plentiful for them on the surface these last four years. As you can see from the glow, the mines remain unmolested. Nothing has been in here in over four years. Now get to work! The Trypticon reclamation will require every ounce of energy here and from dozens of other mines.” The five other Decepticons behind them, all in freight hauler mode and hooked to empty trailers, detached from their trailers, transformed to robot mode, and marched forward toward the mine entrance where Straxus and Ferak were already standing, and the group of seven powerful Decepticons marched into the cavern.



    Straxus’s vorns working as a mine administrator and his familiarity kicked in, and he quickly assigned the soldiers to the tasks he needed them to perform. Shorthanded as they were, Straxus himself had to grab a pickaxe and dig for the precious element. He’d been hacking away for a couple hours when he heard the scream emanating from a tunnel deeper within. A shrill cry of terror followed by some small arms’ fire. Straxus pulled his own rifle magnetically strapped to his back around and had it level as he ran down the tunnels to see what the commotion was about. Three other Decepticons fell in with him as they charged toward the sounds, and they all rounded the corner to see Ferak running toward them, rifle in hand. “What’s going on!” Straxus roared through his plated mouth.



    “It’s….it’s a Convoy!” Ferak yelled back as the last two Decepticons caught up and joined them. “Thought they were all dead, but I saw one!”



    “You mean Orion Pax?” Straxus snarled. “He’s the only Convoy left, and it can’t be him! Provided it’s not some dumbass publicity stunt, that little turd is thousands of miles north of here, getting his rod polished by every sycophantic pissant north of the equator!”



    “It was a Convoy!” Ferak paused. “Not Orion Pax, this one was blue, and had a mouthplate like the Convoys of old, and a little shorter than him, a bit blockier, and darker, a lot darker. And his optics…yellow.”



    “If it wasn’t fucking Orion Pax, then it couldn’t be a Convoy!” Straxus growled. “And that’s assuming this mystery guy wasn’t a figment of your imagination!”



    “He was real!” Ferak snapped. “And yeah, he was definitely very Convoy looking!”



    “Uh, what’d this guy do?” One of the grunts, one so covered in soot that he wouldn’t have been recognizable had Straxus even bothered to get to know him, asked.



    “He…he was just staring at me.” Ferak muttered. “He had a big ass rifle, but he didn’t even bother to point it at me, just stared and disappeared.”



    “So you didn’t hit him in your panicked barrage?” Straxus grumbled.



    “He’s real and he’s here!” Ferak snapped again.



    Straxus took a threatening step toward Ferak and stared at him appraisingly. “There was no sign of a break-in, the mine appears to be untouched, and I’ve seen nothing to suggest there’s someone here other than us.” He paused before continuing. “But it’s not impossible, you have a pretty good track record, and crested helmets and mouth plates are hardly unique to the Convoys,” he straightened up and addressed all the Decepticons, “so fan out and see who else is here! But be careful with your shots! The energon to ore ratio here is low enough that you probably won’t blow us all to the pit, but I’d still rather not hear any explosions!” The soldiers splintered off down the dark tunnels, all eager to obliterate whatever Ferak was claiming was in there. Straxus sent one last glance at Ferak before heading after the mystery bot himself. “Probably some empty seeking refuge from the sparkeaters in here. Pretty smart actually, the energon should shield him from their ability to detect sparks, and he’d never go hungry here.”



    “It wasn’t an empty, he was too…” Ferak shook his head, “too confident.”



    “Whatever, just find him and kill him.” Straxus grumbled as he jogged down a tunnel. He cut through the shadows created by the sporadic and dim pink glow of the few energon crystals that poked through the rock. He circled through the caverns for nearly twenty minutes before nearly tripping over something solid yet possessing some give on the ground. He looked down, directing the spotlight on his rifle at it, and found himself looking upon the decapitated frame of one of the grunts he’d brought here. “SLAG, there IS someone in here! He’s killed…” damnit, what is this guy’s name… “Blowhard…I think.” He yelled both down the tunnel he had come through as well as into his wrist communicator.



    “You think Blowhard’s dead, or you think the dead guy is Blowhard?” Ferak’s voice came through the communicator.



    “Think it’s Blowhard.” Straxus snarled back as he waved his rifle in all directions. “Whoever it is, he’s definitely slaggin’ dead.”



    “Heading to your loca…” the voice cut off.



    Damn, was another one of the grunts. Straxus tried to remember the name, but finally gave up. “Identify yourself and verify you do not need assistance!”



    “He’s beyond assistance.” A somewhat familiar voice, but one Straxus couldn’t quite identify at that moment, replied through the channel.



    “Who is this?” Straxus roared.



    “Your reckoning, Decepticon.” The eerily familiar voice growled in reply.



    “Decepticons, find this idiot and eradicate him!” Straxus snarled and started jogging down the tunnel back toward the others. He made his way through the maze, and every so often he’d hear the burst of weapon’s fire and the occasional cry of agony…unfortunately not sounding like the voice that had taunted him.



    “Near the entrance, we’ve got him!” Ferak’s voice came out through both the speaker and through the tunnels just ahead of him. Straxus sprinted and rounded the corner to catch sight of…the impossible. Engaging Ferak and the other three remaining Decepticons in close range melee combat was a corpse. He had seen Megatron kill this bastard himself. But the voice he’d heard, it was his, it was…Delta Magnus. Straxus froze, unable to process what he was seeing. “Straxus, move your ass!” Ferak roared at him.



    Straxus snapped out of it and charged ahead, aiming his weapon and opening fire at the twenty-eight foot imposter…yes, it had to be an imposter. His rounds connected, but the darkly colored Magnus armor absorbed it easily and this resurrected Delta Magnus turned just enough so that his left shoulder cannon was aimed at Straxus and fired. The missile impacted Straxus’s upper right leg, blasting it open and sending the Decepticon platoon commander tumbling to the ground. The pain was intense, and Straxus did struggle to get back up, pushing against the wall of the cavern to try and get to a standing position, watching Delta Magnus dismantling his troops with ease, stomping down to crush the cranial shell of the one he believed was called Lead or Bled or something…didn’t matter, he was dead, maybe that’s what his name should have been. Ferak was hurtled through the cavern toward Straxus, landing several yards to his right and grinding to a stop against the side of the cave. Straxus re-aimed his rifled as he hobbled back toward the fray, but his renewed shots were as ineffective as his prior ones, and he could do nothing to stop Delta Magnus from using another grunt’s pick axe to cut into the grunt’s own spark chamber. The Decepticon died with a gasp, leaving only one more soldier separating the impossibly alive Magnus from Straxus and Ferak.



    The last Decepticon, a tall, thin dark blue warrior named Cutter, chopped wildly at Delta Magnus, cutting into his upper chest armor, but the axe blade got stuck. Magnus reached down, gripped Cutter’s proportionately small head, and began crushing it. In moments the cranial armor gave, and the brain module was crushed, killing the last of the grunts. Straxus opened fire, roaring maniacally as he did so, but Magnus charged him and sent a hammer strike with his fist to Straxus’s segmented face, knocking him to the ground. Ferak charged in, but a straight left sent him back to the ground. “Straxus of Kaon, platoon commander of the Decepticons.” He then looked over a Ferak. “Ferak of Petrex, lieutenant and engineer in training for the Decepticons.” He stepped forward and stood between them. “One of you is going to die, one of you is going to live…for a while longer anyway.”



    “How…” Straxus growled through the pain and dizziness, “I saw you die!”



    Delta Magnus twisted his red-helmeted head and glared at him. “The death of one hero will not stop Cybertron from extracting its justice from Megatron and all that follow him.”



    “Where…where’s your friend?” Ferak asked nervously looking around. “The Convoy looking one.”



    Magnus looked to the other surviving Decepticon. “Dishonor has claimed many throughout Cybertron, and has given Cybertron many of the mighty to choose from in obtaining justice against those dishonorable monsters.”



    “I am the commanding officer!” Straxus snarled. “I am the one to be spared.”



    “Rank is irrelevant here.” Magnus countered. “All I need is one to let Megatron know that I am coming for him, and either of you can achieve that task.”



    “You will spare me none the less.” Straxus growled. “You are Delta Magnus, I refuse to believe that you came back from the pit forgetting your reverence for chain of command!”



    Magnus fixed him with a stare, his yellow optics boring through Straxus’s, before turning to Ferak. “Your commander is a coward and wants me to kill you so that he may live.”



    “It would seem so.” Ferak hissed, sending a hate-filled glare at Straxus.



    “If I were to release you, what would you report to Megatron?” Magnus asked.



    Ferak looked up at Magnus intently for a moment as he considered his answer. “I would tell Megatron that Delta Magnus, and…some Convoy have returned from the Allspark to administer justice to him and all that follow him.”



    Magnus pulled a large rifle that had been magnetically strapped to his back and held it over Ferak. “Ferak of Petrex, I find your report to Megatron to be….adequate.” Magnus twisted and pointed his rifle at Straxus’s face. Straxus started to protest, but a bright light preceded oblivion.





    ---





    Minimus Ambus





    His light footfalls caused barely a ripple of noise coming off the floor and bouncing off the walls compared to those of the two guards escorting him through the dimly lit hallway toward the noise of calm festivities coming from the large chamber ahead of them. “You’re certain he’s still here?”



    “Yes, Lord Ambus, there’s no way they’d let him leave yet.” The hulking white and red guard introduced to him as Artfire replied.



    “While the plans for this feast have been in place for days,” the predominantly black mid-sized guard who called himself Ricochet chimed in, “upon hearing that he’d be here, the theme quickly changed to one focusing on him.”



    “Definitely appropriate,” Minimus smiled, “but from what I hear, he’s not fond of being the focus.”



    “Apparently nobody told Prime before putting on that show this morning.” Artfire chuckled as they made their way to the huge double doors separating them from the mild clamor beyond. “Lord Ambus, we appreciate the distance you have traveled, but know that should your presence not be welcomed here, we will be escorting you to a more common section of Tyger Pax, or possibly to its gates should it be asked.”



    Minimus smiled. “I know I’m not expected, but I don’t believe that I’ve amassed that much ill will…yet anyway.”



    “I’m not expecting a rejection either, Lord Ambus, but you weren’t invited, so I can’t dismiss the possibility.” Artfire explained.



    Ricochet chuckled before adding his comment. “Plus Commander Pax is a Convoy, and, well,”



    “I’m aware of the accusations regarding House Ambus’s lack of action in Deathsaurus’s attack.” Ambus snapped. “And I realize that those accusations are at least to some degree valid. But every Ambus that was alive then no longer lives.” He looked down at the floor sadly. “All Ambuses apart from me and the two newborn sparked in the last pulse no longer live.”



    “Understood, Lord Ambus,” Ricochet sheepishly replied, “and I apologize for my lack of tact.”



    “No need for apologies,” Minimus stated before nodding toward the large double doors just ahead of them, “but if we could…”



    “Of course.” Artfire answered before pushing the doors apart and leading them in. Within a few steps the guards had fallen back into position flanking the miniscule seven-foot tall robot. Though Minimus had never been to Tyger Pax before, he knew this to be the main audience chamber, just reconfigured for a feast, dining tables aligned along the walls, the center of the vast room open but currently occupied by an elegant orange femme expertly strumming a giganoharp, creating a sound worthy of the ears of Primus. On the far end, golden letters called out the words of House Pax, words coming ever closer to becoming a reality with the creation and implementation of the Cybertronum Quod Aequalitas. Directly across from the Pax words, near the ceiling on the opposite wall, the top section of that wall was covered by a tarp. The perpendicular walls, which were the longer stretch of wall, held the face of the Common Man in the center of each, an obvious welcoming of the Autobots and their ideals to Tyger Pax. Seated, or mounted given his perpetual vehicular mode, in the center of the long table to the right of the dais under the Pax house words was Emir Roller Pax, seated to his left was former Emir and currently Tyger Pax Caretaker Olnius Pax, seated to Roller’s right was the bot of the hour, Autobot Commander Orion Pax, and seated to his right was Emir of Axiom Elita One, who was looking a bit…dazed, her optics glossy, an odd, euphoric smile on her face as she seemed to stare off toward the harpist. The rest of the room was filled with other members of House Pax, high ranking aids to the house, prominent Polaruns, and various others Minimus did not recognize. What little conversation taking place was muted so as not to interfere with the beautiful sounds of the harp, but what conversation there was paused as the dozens of guests caught sight of the newcomer and the Pax guards escorting him. Even the harpist paused, at which point Artfire addressed the room. “I present Lord Minimus of House Ambus of the emirate of Tyrest.”



    “Lord Ambus, we were not expecting you.” Olnius Pax said as he rose from his seat, a pleasant, but not altogether welcoming smile on his face.



    “I apologize for coming uninvited and the lack of notice, I only recently received verification of Autobot Commander Orion Pax’s arrival in Polarus, and felt compelled…” Minimus’s gaze shifted from Olnius to Orion, “I felt compelled to come and pay my respects…and thanks.”



    “The thanks go both ways my friend.” Orion stood as he replied. “Our forces were only able to fight as valiantly and efficiently as they did because we knew that those we left behind were in exceptionally competent hands and would be seen to safety. You and Ratchet organized a flawless withdrawal from our base of all the wounded, civilians and support personnel, and channeled them to areas as safe as could be hoped for. Ratchet explained how masterfully you arranged everything. As commander of the Autobot armed forces and the other warriors that day, you have my eternal gratitude for ensuring the safety of those we left behind.”



    Minimus was stunned. “You…you honor me beyond…thank you Commander Pax.”



    Orion nodded and smiled. “Please,” he looked down to Roller, who provided a cheerful chirp before Orion continued, “find a place and dine with us. We’ve been fortunate in finding ample energon, and have it in solid and liquified forms, both pure and engex.”



    “I…I thank you Commander Pax, and you Emir Pax.” Minimus replied, and noted Ricochet politely nodding to an open space at the table several seats down from Elita One. “Before I sit, I would like to ask something of you, Commander Pax.”



    “Please, it’s just Orion, and ask.” The Autobot Commander responded.



    Minimus peered intently at the young hero for a moment before starting. “Orion, four years ago, in the hours preceding the start of our war with the sparkeaters, I interrupted a moment of revelry that you were trying to have with Emir Roller and Elita One,”



    At the mention of her name, Elita focused on Minimus and smiled. “Lord Ambus, how wonderful to see you, when did you arrive?”



    A few people chuckled lightly at Elita One’s disorientation. “Just now, Elita One. I was just discussing the time I took your seat, interrupted your time with friends, to ask something of Orion Pax. I know not whether he took my words to spark or not, but if he did, I ask now that he disregard the request.”



    “What request did you make of him four years ago, my lord?” Lady Nelonia Pax asked from her seat to the left of Olnius.



    Minimus’s optics remained fixed on those of Orion’s. “I told you that they, the people of Cybertron, would be looking to you for inspiration, for leadership, for protection, for justice, and everything else imaginable. At the time I wasn’t sure whether they would be right to do so or not, clearly history has proven that they were. I told you that if they were right to be looking to you, it wouldn’t be because of any destiny, or birthright, or your metallico, or green spark or your name, I told you that they would be right to look to you because you weren’t good enough, not in your own optics, but that you eternally strove to be.” Minimus quelled a surge of emotion before forcing himself to continue. “If my words were taken to spark, if they did inspire you to be better than you already were, then I suppose that would be some sort of silver lining for these words that I have been ashamed of speaking for the last four years. I said them to prompt you to be braver, and more selfless, and more inspiring so that I and others could survive, knowing that you doing these things would make it all but impossible for you to survive with us. I apologize for being selfish by prodding you to be more selfless than you’d already always been. But now that you’ve achieved what we needed you to achieve, now that you’ve done more than any of us could have ever hoped or expected of you, please disregard those words. Please see Orion Pax as the rest of the world sees Orion Pax.” He smiled and looked to Elita and then Roller. “And I should apologize to both you, Elita One, and you, Emir Roller, for interrupting your planned time with friends that day.”


    Elita smiles and wobbled slightly in her seat. “I remember returning to the table to see you standing on it, poking your finger into Orion’s head.” She giggled.


    Minimus smiled. “I remember that as well, my lady. Perhaps you should slow down on the engex.”


    Elita gave a confused look. “This is my first glass.” The comment caused some muffled and subdued chuckling from the guards a step behind him on either side, as well as an odd smirk from Orion. Wha…ohhhhh, the disorientation that comes after….ah-ha. But this was more pronounced than he’d ever…oh, right, Orion bore an ignis superious. “My mistake Elita One, perhaps I should find my seat now.” Ricochet and Artfire led him to a seat at the same table that the Paxes and other high ranking dignitaries were seated, roughly ten seats down from Elita One. “Thank you both.” Minimus stated as he took his seat.


    A few minutes passed as another song was played on the giganoharp, a sweet but melancholy tune that typically was accompanied by lyrics regarding the life of a Warden of the Gates, but no singing accompanied the harp. As the song faded Minimus noted Olnius Pax making his way around the table, his goblet in one hand and a data tab in the other, and walk toward the center of the vast room. The former emir smiled and nodded to the harpist. “Thank you.” She nodded in return and rose from her seated position to take another seat at the table on the other side of the room. Olnius then turned around to gaze at everyone present. “I would like to thank you all for coming. This was a feast that was in the making for over a week, one to celebrate our survival, to celebrate our resolve, our victory over a seemingly invincible enemy. We did it my friends, all of us, all of Cybertron. The histories will be written of this era, they will detail our glorious survival and victory.” He raised his goblet. “To Cybertron!” All present raised their glasses and repeated the toast. Olnius took a small drink with everyone, sent a smile around the room before settling his gaze upon the seated Orion. “I say histories because there will be many accounts of the last four years entered into the historical record, many perspectives, many points of view, many individual stories of suffering, and hardship, and sacrifice and heroism. But every one of those histories will have at least one thing in common. In each one, the name Orion Pax will be mentioned, liberally more often than not. The reason for this, as so personally and beautifully stated by Lord Minimus Ambus moments ago, is that no individual is more responsible for our salvation than you.” Olnius lowered his goblet and looked earnestly at Orion. “As I said, this feast was in the making for over a week, but the news this morning of a miraculous survival and recovery, and subsequently your return, well, that has come to add so much and change the tone of this celebration.” He then smiled and looked around the room. “Oh, wait, I apologize, I misspoke. Every one of the histories regarding the last four years will prominently involve the name Orion Pax, UNLESS, the story in question is being told BY Orion Pax. I have not heard his telling of the war with the sparkeaters, but I’m willing to bet that at no point does he mention his own contributions, and were he to be asked of what Orion Pax did during the war, I’m certain his answer would be along the lines of ‘he was a soldier in an army, a spoke on the wheel, a cog in the machine’.”


    Olnius smiled. “I mentioned this to Emir Roller earlier today, and he laughed, his playful chirping, and then told me in his code that I was right, and that he was very glad for it. You see, for the handful of you who may not know, Roller and Orion were born in the same pulse, they grew up together, their friendship, their brotherhood was forged almost from the beginnings of their lives, and as they were both raised here at the same time, they were educated together until Orion went to Iacon several months later. And having been educated with Orion, and being his closest and most dear friend, Roller has every reason to be grateful for Orion’s rendition of the last four years playing down the accomplishments of Orion Pax. It’s the first opportunity Roller has had to point to something…anything, as proof that Orion can be wrong.” The room gave a soft friendly chuckle, and some chirping could be heard from Roller. Olnius once again looked intently at Orion. “In all seriousness, welcome home, my brother, my friend, my hero. And please know that wherever you go, whatever you choose to do or choose to become, know that Tyger Pax is and always will be your home.” Olnius turned to the wall opposite the one bearing the Pax words, and nodded to a servant, who returned the nod and pulled a string, releasing the tarp that had been in place high above. As the tarp fell, another set of house words was revealed, gold like those of House Pax, similar in meaning to those of House Pax, but these were words that preceded the creation of House Pax and their words, and words that most historians agreed were the inspiration of House Pax’s words. ‘The Defense Of Freedom Requires The Dedication Of The Mighty’.


    “Legend has it that Paxus was found by members of House Convoy as they were investigating claims of an underground labyrinth in the polar north. At the time the depths were to be used as a sanctuary for the living to escape to, only later was its intended function changed to a prison for the cybervores. But according to legends, it was Convoys that found the young Paxus, and played an integral part in his upbringing, raising him to be the most honorable and selfless of the Knights of Cybertron. One look at our words and our core values is verification enough of these legends. House Convoy has always been a part of House Pax, and as they raised and nurtured our first, House Pax is honored and fortunate to have raised and nurtured their last. Orion, when I say that this is your home, know that it is not just home to the line of Pax, it is home to the line of Convoy.” He then raised the tablet in his left hand. “I want you to know that we all encourage you to fully embrace your Convoy heritage, as we encourage and support the unquestionably just cause of the Autobots,” he waved behind him at the Autobrand mounted high on the wall behind him and nodded to the one on the wall in front of him, “before I make a request of you.”


    “House Pax has always been beyond supportive of everything I’ve done, my lord.” Orion replied. “Ask anything of me.”


    Olnius nodded to the tablet. “This data pad houses the initial draft of your legal admission to House Pax drawn up by Arlon Pax and A-Three the day you left for Iacon. It was something Arlon realized before anyone other than Torenia and Roller, that you are one of us, that House Pax is incomplete without Orion. You took our name, but your birth outside Torus Heights borders made it so that you could not become one of us until you reached the Age of Self-Determination, and by that point, you’d embraced the ideals of the Autobots and would accept no enhanced citizenship.” Olnius shrugged. “And that seemed to be it…until two days ago when Guardian Prime revealed that we were all social and legal equals via the Cybertronum Quod Aequalitas. For most formerly highborn on Cybertron, this was a curse. But for House Pax, it’s was a way to take a step toward completing our house after years of so much loss.” Olnius walked over to the table where Orion was seated on the other side, and placed his goblet on the table as he flicked the screen of the data pad to make a few adjustments. “In addition to the initial draft, this data pad also contains a finalized and updated legal admission to House Pax. Really, the only difference between the two versions is that the updated one has been stripped of the rights granted by becoming royalty, as now, thanks to the efforts of you and the other Autobots, there are none.” Olnius smiled at Orion. “You’ve always been one of us, please make it official.”



    Orion smiled back at Olnius before glancing down at Roller’s vehicular form. “What say you, brother? You really want to make your connection to me undeniable?” Roller emitted a series of beeps, squeaks and purrs, causing Nelonia to gasp and Orion to chuckle. “Jerk.” Orion muttered before looking at Olnius and standing up, pressing his right index finger on the center of the data pad. “Torenia Pax embraced me as I emerged from the ground, Arlon Pax granted me a home and place at your table, Roller Pax made room for me in his education and in his spark. Tyger Pax has always been my home, House Pax has always been my family, and it would be my tremendous honor to be counted as one of you. I will always do my best to bring pride to House Pax.”



    Olnius smiled, but nodded his head toward the data tab. “You have to, you know, make it…”



    “Oh.” Orion chuckled. “I, Orion Pax of Iacon, do hereby accept membership into House Pax of The Torus Heights, accepting all responsibilities inherent in membership to House Pax.” He removed his finger from the data pad.



    “That’s sufficient, and it’s official, but the actual acceptance agreement is ‘accepting all entitlements and responsibilities inherent in membership to House Pax’.” Olnius corrected.



    “I’m still an Autobot, Lord Olnius,” Orion smirked, “and besides, there are no more entitlements to be issued for being a royal.”



    “You are entitled to a better room now.” Nelonia chuckled, causing many others to laugh as well.



    Orion smiled, looking down at Elita before looking back up and sitting back in his chair. “Everyone is quick to ridicule my room, but it’s always been exactly what I needed it to be, and it reminds me of a time when there were more Paxes. I will be staying there.”



    “What’s wrong with his room?” Minimus asked the person next to him, a slender, predominantly golden-hued femme with a blue head adornment and large blue optics.



    “It’s in the servants’ wing, and my understanding is that it’s quite small.” The femme answered with a smile.



    “Autobot or not, he should definitely upgrade to a better room.” Minimus chuckled. “Perhaps he’ll come to his senses when he sobers up.”


    “He’s sober.” The femme replied. “I’m new here, just arrived and met most of the Paxes today, but I’ve come to understand that Orion Pax has never imbibed tainted energon.”


    “He’s a tea-toddler?” Minimus expressed surprise.


    “According to Nelonia, who I believe heard directly from Roller, Orion has always intended to have his first drink of engex with his brother.” The gold and blue matronly robot explained. “I understand there was an occasion early on in a Polarun public house, but while Roller did consume some engex, Orion was not able to before the two of them were arrested for being in a pub prior to their Age of Self-Determination. And now Roller’s brain module is in such a delicate state that consuming tainted energon could be very detrimental to him.”


    A look of dread came over Minimus. “Sweet Primus, just as I was getting some peace over what I did that day…”


    “What?” The femme asked.


    “My lady,”


    “I’m Docent, I am the new caretaker of the libraries here.” Docent replied.


    “Docent, that day I was speaking of earlier, I fear that had I not interrupted Orion, Roller and Elita as I did, they would have had at least some of their engex and Orion’s requirement for having his first drink with his brother would have been met.” Minimus sadly muttered. “I’ve condemned the poor fellow to a lifetime of sobriety.”


    Docent chuckled. “I think you can put your mind at ease, Lord Minimus. Orion does not seem to be troubled by this life of sobriety that you seem to fear for him.”


    “Not yet maybe.” Minimus grumbled. “At least I didn’t keep the lad from spreading his blue…err, green.”


    “Pardon me?” Docent asked, genuinely confused.


    Minimus took a deep slug of engex before belching out a reply. “Never mind.”


    Suddenly the main doors, the doors that Minimus had entered through, were pushed open and the Autobot known as Ironhide entered the vast room. “Constable Ironhide!” Olnius called cheerfully as he stood. “Welcome dear friend, find a seat and partake in all that House Pax has to offer!”


    “That’s most kind, Lord Olnius,” Ironhide replied with a sad smile on his face, “but ah’m still on duty.” He took a few more steps forward and looked directly at Orion. “I apologize Commander, but might I have a word?”


    “Constable, am I to infer that you’re here to arrest Orion Pax?” Nelonia asked jokingly. Her question prompted a clipped series of chirps from Roller, prompting her to look over at him and broaden her smile. “That’s right, arrest him again?”


    “No, mah lady, nuthin’ like that.” Ironhide once again looked directly at Orion. “It’s not fair ta’ ask, especially as you’re still kickin’ tha tires on yer new body, but, well, we’ve got a situation in Polarus that my officers may not be quite ready for. They’re good, but, it’s a situation they’ve never encountered, but it’s somethin’ you’ve dealt with dozens-a times.”


    “Of course.” Orion said as he stood up and started walking toward the end of the table to make his way around. “Let me guess, a stray sparkeater in Polarus.”


    “Yep.” Ironhide stated. Roller let out a series of beeps and pulled out from his mount to follow after Orion, something that caused Ironhide to sway a bit uncomfortably.


    “I’m coming too.” Elita One, suddenly snapping back into her senses, said loudly as she too stood and started walking after them.


    “Oh, I’m not missing this.” Minimus laughed as he too jumped down from his seat and headed out after them.


    “Emir Pax,” Ironhide called out, “perhaps it would be best if you stayed. You as well, Elita One.” A series of beeps and chirps, tied to him speeding up as he rounded the table and pulled past Orion, let the Constable know that there would be no sitting this one out for the Emir.


    “What he said.” Elita chimed in as she followed after the two Paxes, Minimus jogging to catch up to them.


    “Et tu, Lord Ambus?” Nelonia asked as Minimus rounded the table after the others.


    “Strictly an observational role for me,” Minimus replied as he caught up to the group as they headed toward the door, “but as I told your new librarian, I’m not missing this.”


    In minutes they were on the road to Polarus, speeding there with a pair of Ironhide’s deputies accompanying them. Finally reaching the outskirts of what qualified as a large city in The Torus Heights, but which seemed rustic and quaint to Minimus Ambus, the group zipped through the empty streets, darting around turns, getting into what would be a seedier part of town by Polarun standards, and finally coming to a stop in a dimly lit alley leading to an almost hidden doorway with several other members of the Polarus Constabulary around it looking a bit fretful. “Damnit,” Orion muttered as he and everyone else transformed, “it had to be the Wolf at the Door.”


    “So this is the place you met these troublemakers, eh Ironhide?” Elita chuckled as they slowly made their way to the door.


    “Fraid so.” Ironhide replied. “So here’s the deal, couple a’ would-be patrons wandered through the door to see a sparkeater crouched over the body o’ someone about an hour ago. We looked through the window an’ verified there’s a body lying on tha floor, chest ripped open but too far an’ dark to identify much more than that. An’ we heard a commotion and a bit o’ slaverin’, so pretty sure the creature’s still in there.”


    A hatch built into Orion’s back opened and he reached back with his left hand to withdraw a collapsed ion blaster, snapping it into its full shape with a quick flick of his wrist. His right fist flipped into his wrist and his energon axe ignited, providing a mild orange glow to the alley. “I’m going in alone to assess the situation, everyone is to remain here until I return.” Roller started beeping in protest, but Orion turned and cut him off. “Let me just see what we’re dealing with. I promise I’ll try to avoid an engagement until after I’ve reported back.”


    “Commander, that thing has been sensin’ ya’ since we got ta’ within two miles a’ here.” Ironhide protested. “Ya’ go through that door, it’ll be on ya’ in a sparkpulse!”


    “I’ve read reports that suggest that they’ve been far more hesitant since the destruction of their leadership.” Orion replied. “I’m just going to take a look and report back.” Orion made his way toward the door, the constables near it nodding to him reverently and backing away to let him through. Orion disappeared through the door, causing everyone outside to shudder in fear for him, and everyone but Minimus to gear up to charge in should any indication that he was in trouble be given. Fortunately there was no commotion and less than a minute passed before Orion returned, retracting his energon axe as he approached them with a solemn look on his face. “One victim, one sparkeater, fortunately a vrykol. I will go in alone and dispatch the cybervore. Elita, Roller and Ironhide will oversee the exterior in case it gets by me.”


    “It’s not going to try and get by you, your green spark is all it’ll be focused on!” Elita nearly growled. “We slaggin’ lost you, but you’re back! It’s a gift, we’re not letting you throw that gift away!”


    “I WILL go in alone and dispatch the cybervore!” Orion shot back, not cruelly, but in a tone that made it absolutely clear his course of action would not be swayed. Of course, the only one in a position to overrule Orion Pax fully intended to do so, and the Emir of The Torus Heights fired off a series of beeps and chirps. Orion looked down at him and sadly shook his head. “Brother, a word alone?” Orion walked back down the alley, Roller following after him, and once they had put twenty yards between themselves and the group, Orion knelt down and began whispering to his brother, and after several seconds a long, mournful whine came from the emir. “There’s more.” Orion’s whisper was barely heard by the group, and what followed was completely undecipherable, but whatever it was, it resulted in an even more spark-wrenching cry from the vehicular Pax. Orion rose back to his feet. “Brother, please let me do this alone. You know now that it isn’t about keeping you from physical danger.” Roller was silent for many seconds before emitting a chirp that obviously meant acquiescence. Orion nodded and returned to the group. “Emir Pax has agreed that I am to dispatch the sparkeater on my own. Afterward I will need Elita One and Minimus Ambus to take temporary command of the Polarun Constabulary while Ironhide protects Roller from the secure position back in the alley.”


    “Excuse me sir?” Ironhide shot back, shocked. “What do you mean?”


    Orion stepped toward him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “My friend, like with Roller, this isn’t about protecting you from physical injury.”


    “Wha…” a look of realization came over the old robot’s face, “ah slag, who is it?”


    Orion looked down sadly. “The victim is, it’s Dion, Ironhide.” Orion watched his friend shake his head sadly. “The beast…I’m sorry old friend, but it’s Ariel.”


    “Ah nooo!” Ironhide growled. “Prahmus no. Not Ariel, she was such a sweet kid.”


    “I promise I’ll make it quick, my friend.” Orion said.


    “Do whatcha need ta’ do, son.” Ironhide replied sadly. “Ariel died the moment that thing was born.” Orion nodded and started toward the door. Ironhide sadly watched his commanding officer in the Autobot Armed Forces march into a building housing one of the few remaining sparkeaters on the planet, a creature that would be driven ravenous once his green spark got close enough, a creature that had been at one time a friend and someone Orion’s brother had apparently been extremely close to. “Prahmus speed, son.” He then looked directly at Minimus and then to Elita. “What he asked is beneath ya’, and ah’m fully capable of goin’ in there for tha aftermath. Ah’ve scooped up friends before, this’ll be nothin’ new ta’ me. But yeah, let’s not let Roller see either a’ them.”


    “You see to Roller, my friend.” Elita placed a hand on Ironhide’s arm. “Helping Roller and Orion Pax is never beneath anyone.” Minimus opened his mouth to add something, but the sounds of weapon’s fire came from within, then an unholy screech that terrified everyone present, and then, two seconds later, an explosion that blew out the windows of the first floor. A moment later Orion emerged through the scorched door, his energon axe retracting again as he flipped his ion blaster back to compact mode and placed it into his back-hatch with his other hand. His body was scorched, something that made him look more familiar than the shiny polished look he’d borne that entire day, and his optics were downward cast, a look of sadness on him. Elita turned to Minimus. “I have this, Lord Ambus. I…I need to do this, this is something,” she looked sadly at both Orion and then back to Roller, “this needs to be me.” Minimus nodded, getting a mournful smile from Elita before she walked up to Orion, touched his face, looked deeply into his optics and nodded as she stepped away and walked to the door, addressing the other officers as she made her way. “We’ll need tarps for the bodies, they are to be completely wrapped. There is to be nothing exposed, nothing at all. Lord Roller and Constable Ironhide are to see no part of the victims’ bodies.”


    “I thought there was only one victim, my lad…Emir…Elita One.” One of the officers stated.


    “They’re both victims.” Elita replied as she walked into the Wolf At The Door.


    Minimus watched as Orion reached he and Ironhide, cupping Ironhide by the shoulder and leading him down the alley to where Roller was waiting. From yards away, Minimus tried to listen to what Orion was saying to them. “I’m so sorry Roller, I’m sorry for both of you, this is a terrible thing that’s happened, we will all remember them both fondly, and we’ll arrange a service for them. That said, I am glad I have a moment with you both, another matter has come up and I need to discuss it with the two of you. Guardian Prime has asked me to serve Cybertron once again,” he shook his head an displayed an odd smile, “by leaving it…again. I’ve accepted, but I need a small team, and I would love for that team to include the two of you.” Roller immediately replied with a frantic series of Mahpop chirping and buzzing, something that made Orion smile. “You’ll need to set aside your role as Emir of The Torus Heights.” Another series of chirps caused Orion to emit a low chuckled. “Okay, fine, we’ll arrange for an election tomorrow.” Orion then raised his gaze to Ironhide. “How about you, old friend, have you gotten your fill of taking orders from your old cadet, or do you feel like endangering yourself a bit more?”


    Ironhide laughed as he slapped Orion’s shoulder. “Commander, I’d follow ya’ right inta Unicron’s maw!”


    “Good to know, I’ll keep that in mind should Prime ever suggest it, but for now we’re headed to a ball of dirt, water and rock call Helios 3,” Orion replied, “I guess the natives refer to it as Earth.”
     
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  6. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    Last year at this time Petey gave us a new chapter as a Christmas gift. Here's hoping for another one.
     
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  7. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Unfortunately that won't be the case this year. Busy with new job, and only got a chance to hammer out 3 of the 8 sections for this chapter. Hopefully in January.
     
  8. Shauntell HOlm

    Shauntell HOlm Active Member

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    Looking forward to it!!
     
  9. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    January is better than never.
     
  10. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Ultra Magnus





    The alt mode adjustments weren’t too bad, just some mild exterior work; cosmetic changes really. All in all, the process lasted only a couple dozen minutes or so, and Ultra Magnus now looked like a typical freight hauler with a small-mid size vehicle carrier attached to the cab’s rear section that was in frequent use in the majority of Lanarq’s industrial sectors, but slightly less common in the mining sector he was in now, Shai-Hang. His alternate mode chosen to look not out of place, but at the same time wouldn’t be useful for the tasks going on around them and therefore minimal chance of the locals wanting to commandeer the vehicle. This was the first time Ultra Magnus had been off-world, it was his first time serving directly under a Prime, much less the real Matrix-bearing Prime, and he was going to make sure that every aspect of his performance was perfect. He was at his post posing as a parked freight hauler designed to accommodate smaller Lanaquans. Lanarq was a mechanical world that had evolved mechanical lifeforms, though unlike Cybertron and various other worlds bearing mechanical life, the Lanarqans were not spawned by a hyperdense energy cluster at the core of their world exuding life-giving energy, there was even a chance that they weren’t powered by sparks or spark-like life sources. Whatever their origins, the baseline Lanarqan species were mechanical, non-transforming, and ranged in size from four feet to just over twenty feet in height. And according to Guardian Prime, their culture and planetary societies had come to revolve around being a critical manufacturing hub for what Prime referred to as the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere, a sort of economic empire led by the legendary co-inhabitants of Cybertron that had been driven from their planet after eons of enslaving the mechanical species. Until a few years ago, these creatures, along with several others like the sparkeaters and titans, were merely myths and folklore, but after the last four years Magnus had no reason to regard them as anything other than actual historical fact, especially when the likes of Guardian Prime says with absolute confidence that the five-faced monsters exist.



    Magnus had been watching the comings and goings outside a vast mining complex for four hours now, with nothing appearing out of the ordinary, and no sign of any Quintesson involvement. The stripped-smooth surface of the rockface of the mining quarry hovered over them from a few miles away in the distance beyond the complex, creating a literal and figurative wall that their target, should it be here, would hopefully find himself backed against. Despite that likely advantage, Magnus was still uneasy. “Look alive people, except for those of you maintaining cover as inanimate vehicles; you guys continue looking dead.” Prime’s voice cut through the communicator, his attempt at humor comfortingly lame. “We’re about to override the safety and security systems to show a facility-wide gaseous acid leak to prompt an evacuation. You all know what to look for and what to do. You were hand-picked because you’re the best, it’s time to prove it. We’re go in one hundred twenty seconds. Make Cybertron proud!”



    The two minutes passed both painfully slowly, and impossibly quickly, but eventually the alarms and calls for evacuation could be heard coming out from within the various structures that made up the complex. Lanarqans started streaming out, battered and worn company shuttles appeared to escort them away, others moving to the blue translucent public transport tubes leading to larger transport depots, while others unlocked and mounted their motorcycles and headed out. There seemed to be nothing unusual, leading Magnus to silently consider questioning Prime’s source, until he spotted a robotic amalgamation of reptilian and humanoid moving through the otherwise nearly uniform looking Lanarqans, an odd adornment that was likely some sort of ornamental yet fully functional body armor affixed to his outer shell. “This is Ultra Magnus; I’m looking at a creature that fits your description of an Alicon perfectly.”



    “Is he approaching a transport? Something big enough to be a Numen-bearer?” Prime’s voice came through excitedly.



    “Negative.” Magnus replied after studying the Alicon, who seemed to be standing its ground amid the shuffle, scrutinizing the area suspiciously. “He’s checking things out, I think he knows this isn’t on the level, but apart from some of the larger beat-up transports, there’s nothing out here remotely Omega Supreme’s size.” The Alicon turned and pushed his way through the departing Lanarqans to get back into the building he had first emerged from. “He’s going back inside!” Magnus activated his targeting system and managed to fire off a tracker that avoided the thick crowd and imperceptibly impacted the back of the Alicon’s armored shoulder. “Tagged him!”



    “Well done Magnus!” Prime replied. “Hopefully nobody will look twice at an automated nutriment vending truck entering the building in all the confusion.” Prime’s voice cut through. “Skitz, Mudflap, you’re on! Overriding and opening dock bay doors closest to your position. Alicon spotted re-entering campus headquarters, he’s been tagged, sending you tracking info now, and remember, you’re professionals; act it!”



    “Yeah, we know, that!” The annoying voice of Skitz came through.



    Mudflap’s voice wasn’t far behind. “Why you gotta sling us together like this anyway? Can’t we have been two smaller vending vehicles?”



    “Radio silence unless it pertains to your mission!” Prime snapped, something Magnus could not blame him for. These two, Skitz and Mudflap, were a pair of the soldiers in the barrack section of the Manifest, two of nearly a thousand soldiers, and of those, two of only nineteen survivors. The vast majority of the rank and file aboard the Manifest had starved; frankly, that those nineteen as well as the entire command crew had survived was beyond a miracle, but particularly the nineteen as they had not been the recipients of the Manifests buried survival protocols. Magnus suspected that the energon deprivation that they had survived had somehow damaged their cranial circuitry, but the other members of the crew seemed to give the impression that these two were like this even prior to the launch of the Manifest. Whatever the case, Ultra Magnus was forced to question their worthiness on such an important mission.



    “Got ‘im!” Skitz muttered. “Leavin’ out the back a da’ buildin’.”



    “Yeah man, he’s makin’ his way down into the quarry!” Mudflap added. “He must not be buying that caustic acid gas stuff.”



    “Do you have optics on him?” Prime asked.



    “Uhhhh, yeah, he’s heading toward some big excavator thing.” Mudflap replied.



    “How’s he supposed to make a getaway in that thing?” Skitz asked. “Thing must be slow as hell.”



    “How big?” Prime asked impatiently.



    “Like, really big.” Skitz replied.



    “It’s a mining excavator, a big excavator, even by mining excavat…”



    “It’s the Ignis Numen!” Prime announced.



    “Obviously not the transport we’re looking for!” The voice of Cyclonus interjected.



    “Still needs to be captured or neutralized.” Prime responded. “Landmine, Longrack, break cover and take the Alicon! Quickmix, you and Stripmine be ready to provide back-up if needed! As there’s no more point in laying low, I’m opening aerial visual feed now.” With that Magnus gained access to an aerial view of the Alicon running to a gigantic white and red mining excavator, or at least it appeared white and red, the aerial view coupled with the setting sun made some of the colors being transmitted on the feed difficult to identify, but there was no mistaking Landmine’s orange form with his massive wedge barreling through the rocky and metal terrain with the white Longrack following behind him as quickly as he could. Before any of them could get to the excavator, including the Alicon, the giant vehicle shifted violently, then again, and then proceeded with an arduous and thrashing transformation that resulted in a massive, ninety-foot-tall behemoth resting on one massive wheel. “Engage! Keep him confined to the quarry! I’m inbound now!”



    “Engage?” The voices of Mudflap, Landmine and Quickmix asked in unison, but they transformed and opened fire on the giant none the less.



    Magnus pulled ahead and sped toward the open dock doors that Skitz and Mudflap entered through and sped through the facility as he monitored the feed showing the giant creature’s wheel spin its massive frame over the rough quarry ground and toward the building Magnus was traveling through at that moment, Landmine, Longrack, Quickmix and miniscule Stripmine all maintaining fire on the giant, but their assault predictably had no impact on the monster. Magnus recognized the beast was coming toward him and came to a screeching halt, then sped in reverse out the front of the dock that he had entered only a moment before, just as the giant reached the back of the vast structure and mounted the roof with its colossal wheel, demolishing much of the building as it drove over and through it, taking a large bounce as it crunched the roadway and several mine workers just ahead of Ultra Magnus, who was positioning himself to follow the giant. “Numen has escaped the complex, multiple casualties, it’s heading toward the open roadways!”



    “Pursue and take any opportunity you get to fire on him!” Prime ordered. “Cyclonus, initiate aerial assault! Do whatever it takes to bring him down and try to funnel him into the overpasses and onto the mid-altitude bridging network! I’m powering up the vamparcs and directing shuttle to intercept course!”



    Cyclonus and Magnus opened fired on the giant, Cyclonus having no difficulty flying circles around the behemoth and strafing it the entire time, but Magnus was having difficulty keep pace with the monster; despite Skitz’s earlier claim, the beast was actually quite fast and was pulling away. Magnus was able to launch a pair of rockets that zipped through the air and impacted against the left optic of the giant, prompting it to veer right and up the ramp toward the bridge network Prime wanted him directed towards. “Nice shot, Magnus!” Prime called out through the communications channel. “Grindcore, be ready for intercept!”



    “Champin’ at the slaggin’ bit, Prime!” The growly voice of Grindcore replied eagerly.



    Despite not being fast enough to keep up, Magnus continued after the fleeing creature, watching in horror as it barreled through and smashed multiple Lanarqan transports, undoubtedly killing dozens and maiming even more, all the while being peppered with ordinance from Cyclonus above him, and suddenly from Grindcore in front of him in the distance. Suddenly the shuttle zipped overhead and the urban battle truck that was Guardian Prime’s vehicular mode came rolling out. He fell about one hundred feet before transforming and deploying a vast parachute to slow his descent, transforming as he hit the road just behind the speeding Numen. “Cybertronians, I’m in pursuit.” Prime’s voice grunted through the communications channel.



    The giant roared as a beam of gold light shot out from the shuttle and impacted his side, the beam suddenly turning a pinkish hue and appearing to be drawn back toward the cannon that it had emerged from, seeming to drain the strength from the creature. The pained bellows from the beast continued after the beam ceased, and he wobbled a bit and slowed significantly. Guardian Prime, traveling at over one hundred miles per hour, leapt up at the prey and transformed, grabbing a hold of an outcropping of the giant’s body and climbing his way up, opening fire on the monster’s head. “Pull over!”



    Grindcore unloaded everything he had on the giant’s wheel. “Punk ass Quint-licker!” The damage had become too great, and the beast barreled through the guardrails along the bridge and plummeted down to an alley below. He impacted heavily, destroying several storefronts as he crashed, but the damage was such that he was unable to rise, especially in his odd, non-humanoid, non-animalistic robot form.



    It wasn’t long before the Cybertronians were on the ground and surrounding him. “Were we able to identify this one?” Prime asked.



    The voice of Tailpipe came through the channel. “Based on the intel we have; this one is designated Demolisher. Fiercely loyal, to the point of being considered a shoo-in for royal guard duty should the Quints ever feel threatened. But a bit on the simple side, limiting his use to them to pretty much just brute strength and destruction.”



    “So, no use to us then.” Cyclonus grumbled.



    “Any last words?” Prime asked ominously to the downed giant.



    “You are unfit to rule your planet.” The creature painfully ground out. “The best you can hope for is to be defeated and serve the masters when they return. But should you succeed in your foolish defiance, the Chaos Bringer shall rise again.”



    The threat piqued Magnus’s interest. The intelligence this creature could provide regarding the Quintessons would be essential, as could possibly his mention of…something, something that tickled a memory of stories about their ancient myths he heard as a protoform. Whatever the case, they would need to interro…



    “Not today.” Prime retorted before lining his fusion rifle into a rupture in the creature’s cranial armor and opening fire directly into its brain module. Chunks of inner cranial gore shot out of one of the creature’s optics, spraying out on the road below, some of it ricocheting off and splattering against Ultra Magnus’s feet and lower legs. Prime looked over at Magnus and smiled. “Sorry about that.” The leader of Cybertron noted a look of concern over Ultra Magnus’s face. “Something wrong Lord Magnus?”



    “It’s…it’s just, do you think you should have killed him so abruptly?” Magnus stammered. “I don’t mean to question you, but he was completely at our mercy.”



    “In the last several minutes he’s killed dozens of Lanarqans!” Cyclonus snarled.



    “And his loyalty to the Quints was beyond question.” Prime added. “Do you really feel he deserved a fair trial?”



    “Trial?” Magnus shook his head. “No, you misunderstand me, he needed to die, but his final words…don’t you think they warranted a bit of interrogation? I mean, that was some pretty ominous stuff, and he appeared sincere. At the very least he probably had insight into Quintesson assets that we could have used. And Chaos Bringer?” Magnus then looked to Cyclonus. “I have no problem with us killing him, but it just seemed like a wasted opportunity.”



    Prime smiled as he seemed to realize Magnus had a point but shrugged it off. “Landmine just confirmed that the Alicon is in his custody.” He looked around as Lanarqans started emerging from the edifices. “But we don’t have jurisdiction here, so we should take him and go.”





    ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Megatron





    The polished, regal-looking warlord waited for Soundwave’s nod before addressing the aviaton perched on his trusted lieutenant’s shoulder that was now recording everything he did and said. “Greetings Decepticons. Despite our flawless plans, tremendous efforts, and unprecedented achievements, we once again find ourselves focused on building up and preparing for conquest.” Megatron leaned back in his massive throne, one built into the metal wall of a mountain that at one time had been an energon mine, but upon running dry of energon millions of years ago, had been retrofitted to make use of the volcanic vents at the base to serve as a forge, but in time that endeavor was abandoned as well due to the remoteness of the Polyhexian mountain, and had been left abandoned despite the massive efforts to tunnel and develop the mount. The Decepticon Commander displayed a smile, one of the few these days that was devoid of cruelty, before continuing his address to his followers. “I tried to take every eventuality into account, but I must admit, the emergence of the sparkeaters was a possibility I overlooked. Despite that, we persevered. We still exist, and despite what the government propaganda would have you believe, every Cybertronian still exists because of us. Make no mistake, the sparkeaters were defeated because of the damage done to them by the Decepticons! We wore them down, we wiped them out, it was our sacrifice that brought victory into reach; not the Autobots, and certainly not the absentee Prime that swooped in at the end with a warship to pick off a handful of hapless vrykrol! The war against the dead was won by the Decepticons, anyone who says otherwise is a fool or a liar!”



    Megatron then stood from his throne. “We now find ourselves opposed by these highborn fools who sat out the war, sat out the danger, and the hunger, and the fear, and the sacrifice until it was over; fools who fired a few shots from sub-orbit and declared themselves heroes! And one of the few non-Decepticons who genuinely was a hero of the war, Orion Pax, has issued a challenge to me. I will begrudge Orion Pax none of the glory he earned in the war against the dead, and I openly admit that he earned that glory without question. He is competent, he is brave, he is clever; there is a reason that I consider my inability to recruit him to be the greatest of my failures. But he is beyond flawed. He claims to be a bot of the people, in service to the commoners, yet he stands perched high above at the right hand of Gallus Honorum, justifying his new position using Prime’s Cybertronum Quod Aequalitas, which is nothing more than literary engex designed to appease the ignorant throngs of idiots. Either he’s a fool and buys into Prime’s tarpanicus shit, or he recognizes it for what it is and has set aside his ideals for a position in Prime’s hierarchy.” A sneer came over Megatron’s face. “And Orion Pax is no fool, though he has now revealed himself to be a hypocrite; the bastard once accused me of lacking the courage of my convictions, and now he’s selling the fools’ gold Prime is offering to the common people for his own personal betterment. And as he did so, he had the audacity to issue a challenge to me…ME! This false mouthpiece for the people and newly bribed agent of the feudal overlords has the gall to bring up Cybertron’s justice? Let that arrogant, lying shit bring his justice to me! I’ve beaten Orion Pax to the point of death before, I’ll do it again, only this time I won’t cease until I grind his spark to cold dark embers in my bare hands! Whether I go to him in our reconquest of Cybertron, or he sets out after me in his foolish liar’s crusade, it makes no difference, the end result will be the bastard’s death, followed by the death of Gallus Honorum, and then every other fool that stands in our way! Our Decepticon utopia will become a reality! Continue to follow me, and together we will make Cybertron, and then the entire galaxy, a glorious society of ubermech perfection! Decepticons forever!”


    Megatron nodded to the perched Laserbeak, whose cessation of recording was noted by the going dark of a small red light. He then looked to Soundwave’s face, just a couple of feet below and to the right of the mechanical bird. “Edit it however you see fit and transmit to the troops.”


    “Editing…unnecessary, Mighty Megatron.” Soundwave replied. “That was without flaw.”


    “Fine, then distribute.” Megatron answered curtly, prompting Soundwave to turn slightly in Laserbeak’s direction and give a quick nod. The aviaton flew off to broadcast their leader’s message before Megatron readdressed Soundwave. “What’s next?”


    “Starscream wishes to petition for the admission of a potential Decepticon.” Soundwave replied.


    Megatron sat back down on the throne with a scoff. “That’s right. This should be humorous if nothing else. Send them in.” Soundwave turned his head to the door and transmitted a signal to the guards posted on the other side. The doors opened and in walked Starscream with Mindwipe at his side. The two walked across the long throne room until they came to a stop twenty yards before the seated Megatron. “So, this is the infamous Mindwipe, the traitorous Warden that unleashed hell upon us all.” The Decepticon Commander leaned forward and glared at the darkly colored robot. “Torturing and killing you would likely make me a more beloved hero of the Sparkeater War than Orion Pax, even in the north. And though I couldn’t care less about being beloved, the emergence of Violen Jiger crippled my conquest of Cybertron. I cannot comprehend a reason for me not to obliterate you.” Megatron flicked his gaze over to Starscream. “Nor can I fathom why my Air Commander would stand before me petitioning for not just mercy for you, but admission into our ranks.”


    “Mindwipe is a fearsome warrior, an able commander, and a capable administrator.” Starscream replied. “And as for his release of to the sparkeaters, it seems that in addition to all his other gifts, Violen Jiger possessed the ability to influence susceptible minds from afar and prompted Mindwipe to do what he did.”


    “Then he’s a weak-minded fool.” Megatron grumbled. “Not much use to the Decepticons.”



    “Lord Megatron, there are many weak-minded fools in our ranks.” Starscream retorted.



    “Lord Megatron, if I may,” Mindwipe humbly addressed, and waited for the Decepticon commander’s nod before continuing, “my susceptibility to the sparkeater king was not due to a weakness of the mind, on the contrary, it was due to a gift, a strength of my mind, one that provides me with limited extra-sensory perception. Initially it was just for receiving non-traditional stimuli, but I believe I am now able to transmit as well.”



    Megatron chuckled. “If you’re lying, then you chose a terrible lie to go with.” The Decepticon Commander casually turned to Soundwave, standing off to the side below a bank of blank, unused computer screens. “Soundwave, put his claims to the test.”



    Soundwave took a step toward Mindwipe, something that Megatron guessed was more intimidating symbolism than any requirement for the use of his telepathy, and the two stared at each other silently for nearly a minute before Soundwave stepped back and looked to Megatron. “Claims are valid, he has extra sensory abilities on par with my own. I attempted to influence him, but he was able to ward me off.”



    “Your abilities are impressive, Soundwave,” Mindwipe chimed in, “but Violen Jiger was far more powerful than you.”



    “Odd that he never demonstrated such abilities on the battlefield.” Megatron grumbled.



    “I doubt anyone other than those enthralled would be aware of it.” Mindwipe countered. “Like with the ability to become a sparkeater, it was a trait present in only a very few individuals. And I can tell you from firsthand experience, being enthralled is not something one wants getting out to his fellow Cybertronians.”



    Megatron shrugged and displayed an indifferent smile. “Even if I believe you, I don’t see why I should care.”



    “If you believe him,” Starscream stepped in, “then you should be willing to put aside your animosity toward him and consider his membership, much less his continued survival, based solely on what he could provide the Decepticon cause.”



    Megatron picked up on a hint, one barely noticeable, of desperation in Starscream’s voice. “Why do you care what happens to this one, Air Commander?”



    Starscream re-adopted his familiar act of arrogant apathy, but Megatron could sense there was a genuine pull driving Starscream to fight for Mindwipe’s cause. “He aided in my escape the moment his handlers weren’t watching him, so I guess I feel some sort of mild obligation. And I wasn’t exaggerating his usefulness to our cause.”



    Megatron studied Starscream for nearly a minute in absolute silence before standing and approaching them both, coming to a stop several steps before reaching them. “Fine. Mindwipe may join us, but know that I will be watching you both, and any sign of treachery will be met with a punishment that you both will share, one that will make you both wish Violen Jiger had swallowed your wretched sparks.”



    “Yes, Lord Megatron.” The two stated in unison, bowing before sharing a relieved look with one another.



    “Good, leave us Mindwipe, I need to have words with Starscream.” Megatron commanded, prompting Mindwipe to nod, bow again, mutter some indecipherable thanks, and scamper out of the room.



    “What do you ask of me, Mighty Megatron?” Starscream asked, his fear still present enough to make the flattering address seem sincere.



    “I have an off-world assignment for you.” Megatron explained. “A material, some offshoot of energon but significantly more potent exists on a distant planet. I want you to take a security team to accompany Ratbat’s fuel acquisition team.”



    “Mighty Megatron!” The smooth voice called the attention of all three Decepticons toward the doorway, where the sleek black form of Ravage stood a few feet off the polished floor. “I apologize for the interruption, but there’s been another lost squad with a sole survivor.”



    “Delta Magnus again?” Megatron growled more in annoyance than in anger. Ravage simply nodded, causing the Commander to turn and stomp back toward his throne. He stopped before it and stood silently for a moment before turning back around. “It is clearly not Delta Magnus, I killed him myself, there was no mistaking his death. But there’s someone out there killing my troops in his name, and I can no longer allow that to continue. Pull the Predacons from Shockwave’s experiments and order them to find this fool or fools and bring him or them back to me, alive or dead, I really don’t care.”



    “As you command, Mighty Megatron.” Ravage slunk back into the hallway.





    ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Hot Rod





    The movie had been good, like the others, a bit hastily thrown together, again, like the others, but good, nonetheless. They were good enough for Guardian Prime himself to ask Blaster to create more in the ‘Slice of Life’ series after viewing the first one. Four had been made, the one that he had just watched with Arcee, the star of said movie depicting life in sparkeater controlled Cybertron, the second depicting another Autobot, one who had been stationed just outside the Hydrax Plateau, and two films depicting civilians from small towns outside of Petrex and Simfur. Hot Rod had so far only watched the third to be made, the one featuring Arcee, and frankly, he had little interest in watching the others. He didn’t need to know how they had survived, passed the time, fought back, or whatever else, not when the details of him doing all that was undoubtedly far more exciting and heroic. But Arcee, well, he never got tired of watching her. And as she was pretty much reared and living with legends, well, perhaps her story could compete with his on some level. Seriously, raised by Lord Commander of the Gates Kup, and in frequent contact with Orion Pax and other Autobot elite, individuals that even Hot Rod had to admit being intimidated by, well, fine, her upbringing was far cooler.



    The line of thought led him to Terminus, the one bot that could be considered to have been a formative influence on him despite the old Cybertronian’s best effort to avoid being a mentor. Hot Rod sometimes caught Terminus staring at him with a look that seemed to be hopeful, but then some sort of realization hit the old timer and he forced his gaze away, a sad look coming over his downward cast face. Despite the indifference and attempts to cast him away, Terminus became the closest thing Hot Rod had to family, and the memory of him being called to identify the body, one retrieved from the gory field where the Grand Convocation had taken place, always froze him to his spark. “Hey Hot Shot, what’s wrong?”



    Hot Rod looked up at Arcee and gave a weak smile as the two walked down the hallway leading away from the small theater that led into a mall, something that was only a small part of the expansive structure that had been an vast indoor industrial complex. It had been a major hub of Nova Cronumian business and commerce prior to the sparkeater uprising, an indication that civilization didn’t end at the Iaconian city limits, though they were still close enough to be considered a suburb of the planet’s most influential city. Having lived their entire lives up until a few weeks before under the slavering jaws of the sparkeaters, the concept of a mall was truly odd for both of the youngsters, even with the familiar desolation caused by it being abandoned by all but the Autobots that were now using it as an Iaconian, or rather, near-Iaconian base. The story Hot Rod had been told was that one of the storage areas had been rented out by an Autobot and had been used as a safehouse of sorts prior to the sparkeaters, but now that the whole facility was deserted, the previous owners all confirmed dead, and with the Autobots on good terms with the planetary government, the Autobots were given the entire facility to use as their own. “I truly regret telling you how much I hate when people accidentally call me by that name.”



    “Well clearly this isn’t a case of that happening.” Arcee chuckled back. “I intentionally called you that.”



    “That’s even worse.” He muttered, giving her a good-natured shove as they walked side by side.



    “So, why’d you take a sudden turn toward the gloom?” Arcee pressed.



    “Just thinking about Terminus again.” Hot Rod replied. “It’s silly, really. He didn’t like me, he refused to teach me anything, at least he didn’t intend to teach me anything at first and only did so later either accidentally or to keep me from screwing something up. He was gruff, unpleasant, and had no problem telling me to get the hell away from him, but ultimately, he was the closest thing I had to a mentor. I guess seeing your story, details of your upbringing, it reminded me of him, and of course of how he’s gone now.”



    “I overheard something about Terminus.” Arcee hesitantly muttered as they exited the hallway into a large common area, filled with dozens of Autobots busily moving around, most carrying equipment to be installed in whatever section the equipment was bound for, many lingering around leisurely getting used to their new Iaconian headquarters, and a few lining up at a makeshift ration line to get some energon, but none paying the pair of four year old’s the least bit of attention. “Something you may not want to hear.”



    “That he mentored Megatron?” Hot Rod piped up, causing a look of surprise to cross Arcee’s face. “Yeah, he told me about that. Shortly before the sparkeaters overran our home in Rodion, he mentioned it to me. Despite his best efforts, by that point we’d kinda grown close, and he shared that with me. I think I was growing on him or something, and this was an attempt to scare me away.” Hot Rod gazed down at the floor and shook his head. “Megatron became a monster because either that’s what he was to begin with, or it was a choice he made independent of anything Terminus taught him. Terminus’s big revelation didn’t scare me away.”



    “Good, I was afraid I’d tarnished some memories of someone important to you.” Arcee replied, genuinely relieved, then adopted a mischievous smile and turned to face Hot Rod. “I know something that should break you out of your funk…at least for a little while. Of course, losing to me will probably make you more depressed than you are now, but at least it’ll put a smile on my face.”



    “First of all, there’s already a smile on your face. Secondly, that smile will be very short lived once it becomes clear that there’s no way you’re beating me at anything.” Hot Rod stopped and turned squarely to her, a mischievous grin of his own in place. “Buuuutttt, I am intrigued by whatever you have in mind, so let’s hear it.”



    “I was going to suggest a race, first one through northeast loading dock number four, pretty much as opposite end of the facility as we can get.” Arcee crossed her arms. “I guess I’m still suggesting the race, but I had been planning on being a graceful winner. Now however…” Hot Rod watched her face drop down, her body collapse and condense into her sleek vehicular mode, and sportscar dart into the expansive common area, weaving around the legs, springs, tentacles and wheels of the other Autobots in robotic modes making their way through the area.



    “Shit!” Hot Rod growled as he too transformed and darted after her, attempting to weave through the pedestrians as quickly and flawlessly as Arcee had, but it seemed apparent that those Autobots walking through were intentionally throwing up more obstacles for him than they had for her. Jerks. But despite what Hot Rod was certain was their best efforts, he finally maneuvered his way through the crowd and shot into the hallway on the far end, just a few seconds behind Arcee. The facility was quite vast, requiring the traversal of many winding corridors, rooms ranging widely in terms of size and shape, and several inaccessible areas also ranging widely in terms of size that they would have to go around, and that was just the mall area; once they left the mall and entered the industrial complex, the areas they were permitted to access would be far more limited. Hot Rod knew the layout of the facility quite well, having had nothing to do but explore the last few days and become familiar with the vast structure.



    “I got you now, pretty girl.” Hot Rod muttered to himself as he slowly cut the distance. They were exiting the ‘commerce’ section, or mall, and were now shooting into the industrial section, and he watched Arcee take a right down a hallway that he knew appeared to be the better route in a straight-line sense by cutting through some central storage and factory facilities, but it became clear that Arcee, impossibly, didn’t realize that the Autobot brass had blocked off the majority of these areas to anyone not an Autobot officer or some other high up muckety muck, and that there’d be no way for her to cut through most of these sections in her quest to emerge on the other side of them all. Hot Rod considered zipping by down the hall past the turn, but he skidded to a stop at the fork, transformed, and leaned against the wall, ready to watch Arcee make the startling realization that her ‘short-cut’ would be no such thing as the room she meant to cut through would be nothing more than a locked door. Forty yards down the hall Arcee passed Perceptor, who was carrying some equipment away from the room that Arcee was heading toward, finally screeched to a halt, transformed and stood before the closed door. Hot Rod’s mouth stretched into a wide smile and opened slightly to laugh at her, but a light shot out from the pad next to the door, scanned Arcee, and the double doors parted to allow her entry. “No way!” He protested, his voice causing Arcee to turn to him and give him a playful smile to rub it in before disappearing into the room and being sealed behind the doors.



    “She’s been an Autobot all her life.” Perceptor laughed at the red and yellow youth from down the hall. “I think she has access to almost every section of this facility. I believe that they just mimicked Kup’s security clearances when setting her up here.”



    “Damnit!” Hot Rod growled as he transformed and sped off in the direction he was already pointed toward, the only direction his minimal security access would allow him to go in this huge section of the complex. Yeah, it was bad that he’d have to take the long way, but he was fast enough so that he could catch her despite her short cut, especially if she got too cocky and decided to go easy. Hot Rod shot down corridor after corridor, zipping by Autobot after Autobot, each displaying varying degrees of annoyance at his speeding through an indoor hallway, frequently needing to bank off walls to effectively make turns at the rate of speed he was going, and hoping he could circle around to the other end of this cluster before she got out and got an insurmountable lead. At that point they would have about another three miles of hallway, or half that for Arcee if she cut through the hangar that took up the majority of the northern section of the complex, another area off limits to Hot Rod, and if Arcee did gain access to the hangar, it would eliminate any chance of Hot Rod winning this race. He needed to cut any advantage she gained through this current shortcut and somehow keep her from cutting through the hangar to have a chance at winning.



    One more banking turn, one which resulted in some un-ignorable damage to the sterile white hallway wall, and something witnessed by three more Autobots hauling supplies, was needed before he turned down the final hallway of this central section and entered the northern sector, just in time to see Arcee shoot out through the door a bit over one hundred yards ahead of him. Hot Rod gunned it, determined to catch and overtake Arcee and prevent her from either entering the hangar, or following her into the area that was off limits to him. As he feared, the pink racer weaved around several pedestrians making their way through the hallways and seemed to be heading toward the closest doors leading into the hangar. Seconds later he was barreling past those same pedestrians, and like with their counterparts in the mall area, all were far less pleasant and accommodating with Hot Rod than they’d been for the passing Arcee. “Watch it, Shithead!” One bellowed as the red racer zipped by.



    Hot Rod had managed to cut the distance separating the two racers to roughly forty yards before Arcee reached the solid metal double doors, transformed and impatiently presented herself to be scanned. The lights flowed over her, and the doors started sliding open as Hot Rod drew near, but as soon as she leapt through the doors started to close. Hot Rod leapt toward the wall opposite the closing door, transformed mid-air, and kicked off the wall toward the narrowing opening. Hot Rod’s stretched body slipped through the doors, his feet nearly getting clipped by them slamming shut, but he barreled into the hangar past the stunned Arcee staring at him, hit the ground and rolled into five barrels stacked into a pyramid shape, knocking them down on top of him and causing one to rupture and leak some form of viscous orange material all over the red and yellow youth.



    “You stupid idiot!” Arcee growled as she reached down, clamped onto Hot Rod’s upper arm, and yanked him to a standing position.



    Hot Rod popped up to his feet, disoriented and whirled around a bit, unsure of what to make of the slick goo covering him, before he turned to Arcee. “What, you’re the one that came in here!”



    “I’m allowed to come in here!” She snapped.



    “Yeah, so I learned…AFTER you tossed out this race gauntlet!” Hot Rod grumbled back. “Sorry Princess Autobot, but I play to win, and if nothing else, life has taught me to overcome the lack of advantages that the other guy…or girl has.”



    Arcee’s face twisted in exasperation, but she ultimately just shook her head and dragged him over to a chemical wash in the corner. “Just shut up and let’s get you cleaned off. Then we need to restack these containers.”



    Hot Rod allowed himself to be pulled to the wash station a few dozen yards to the left of the door and compliantly stood under the showerhead as Arcee moved to the controls and unloaded a stream of chemical mist that broke down the oily compound covering his frame. As the metal lost its slippery coating, Hot Rod leaned back and ran his hands over his head to clear the mist and liquid and allow his optics to look out over the massive hangar, where they met an impossible sight. The ceiling was nearly a mile off the ground, but a golden structure taking up virtually the entirety of the central hangar stretched tall enough to almost be scratching it. “What the hell is that?”



    Arcee turned to see what he was staring at and was equally stunned. “How did they get that in here?” Hot Rod stepped out from under the chemical wash and started to slowly walk in the direction of what he could now tell was an interstellar ship. “Hey, proto-boy!” He turned to look at Arcee, who nodded toward the downed barrels. “Clean your mess.”



    “You’re the same age as me.” Hot Rod grumbled as he walked over and restacked the drums, catching the quick acting sealant Arcee tossed at him to fix the one drum he had ruptured, then used a wall-mounted vacuum hose to clean the leaked fluid on the floor. As soon as he finished, he gave Arcee a look of feigned annoyance and genuine impatience. “Now can we go check that thing out?”



    Arcee was already grinning, and cut away into a run toward the ship, calling back as she left. “Yeah!” Hot Rod shot after her and caught up just as they rounded a corner of stacked crates to see the vast ship in its entirety. The base, just like the top, was golden in color, but spread wider so that the craft was an almost half-oval shape, with a flattened profile of roughly six standard Cybertronian floors high running the entire one mile length of the ship and two-thirds mile width. “Seriously, how did they get that in here?”



    “Roof opens.” Hot Rod replied, his response earning him a light punch to the shoulder.



    “No kidding, moron, how did they get that in here without us noticing?” Arcee shot back.



    “Lot going on.” Hot Rod muttered, his optics moving up and down to take in the craft. “Probably did it at night or something too.” Suddenly noises could be heard from a section of the hangar on the other side of the ship, prompting Hot Rod to grab Arcee’s arm and pull her toward a long gray trailer parked behind him. Hot Rod let go of her as they reached it and he climbed underneath, then peered up at Arcee with an expectant look to follow him under. “Come on!”



    “You’re not allowed to be here,” she gave him an exasperated look, “I, however, am.”



    “Tarpanicus shit!” Hot Rod grumbled. “You getting in here is an oversight, one they’ll correct if they see you here with that thing!” He whispered as he pointed toward the ship. Arcee’s face gave a look as though she wasn’t convinced, but she dropped to the ground and climbed under next to Hot Rod, just as four cars drove to the open area in front of the ship, an area about 50 yards directly in front of where Arcee and Hot Rod were hiding, and transformed into Jazz, Ratchet, Prowl and Ironhide.



    They all looked up at the ship, and Ironhide mused aloud. “Big sucker, ain’t she?”



    “Given the crew manifest Pax gave me, way too big.” Prowl added.



    Jazz chuckled. “Prime had the headcount, and this is the ship he chose to give us.” The sounds of other motors whirring could be heard and a small parade of cars poured into the open area, one after another until seventeen Autobots were milling around in front of the huge ship, the four officers as well as Bluestreak, who was trying to engage anyone and everyone in some sort of conversation, the green boxy Hound, the sleek arrogant snob Mirage, the red brawny Sideswipe, the shiny and perfectly maintained sociopath Sunstreaker, Trailbreaker, a bot Hot Rod really didn’t know much about other than the rumors of him really enjoying his engex, the friendly, brilliant but weird engineer Wheeljack, the lumpy yellow Bumblebee, the strong but not as strong as he thought he was Brawn, Cliffjumper, another little guy who liked to forget he was little, and Gears, Huffer and Windcharger, three other minibots that Hot Rod was familiar with only through reputation, and their reputations were pretty minimal. The seventeen Autobots milled around chattering, most marveling up at the massive ship before them and trying to figure out what it was and why it was there when more sounds of motors powering vehicles could be heard approaching, and a moment later the vehicular modes of Orion and Roller Pax came into view, or rather, in Roller’s case his only mode now from what Hot Rod had come to understand. The other Autobots went silent.



    Orion transformed and smiled at the assemblage. “Thanks for coming Autobots.” He turned and gazed up at the starship. “I suppose this deserves a bit of explaining.” He looked back to the assembled Autobots. “This is The Ark, it’s a Vanguard Class deep space exploration and infiltration ship, one of four that were stored in The Manifest in case Guardian Prime had need of a smaller ship for his interrupted mission.”



    “Smaller ship?” Bluestreak asked with a chuckle.



    “As big as it seems, it’s a fraction of the size of the Manifest.” Orion replied good-naturedly. “Guardian Prime has had a crew examine it, verify that it was in excellent shape, and gave it to us.”



    “Why do Autobots need a spaceship?” Bumblebee questioned.



    Orion paused hesitantly and presented another smile before answering. “It is why I’ve asked you seventeen to meet with me now. There has been some form of mutated energon, something far more potent and almost as stable as the energon we know, that was found on the world that the Manifest was stranded on for over a million years. Guardian Prime asked me to select a team, which I have assembled here, to go this planet, evaluate the situation there with the native lifeforms, any Cybertronian life that exists there, determine the abundance of this enhanced energon and whether it’s developing there or was deposited from somewhere else. And provided it’s feasible…” Orion looked down for a moment lost in thought before returning his gaze to his soldiers and continuing, “and ethical, the nineteen of us will return with a supply of it and arrange for ongoing mining for Cybertron.”



    “Ethical?” Brawn asked.



    “It’s a resource from another planet, a planet with many indigenous species, including one that is well beyond the threshold to be considered sentient.” Orion explained. “We cannot simply go in and take from them what they may already be using. Now, as far as we know, ours is the only species that requires energon for sustenance, and from what I understand, the Manifest or other Cybertronian interference may have been a partial cause for the creation of this enhanced energon, so once there we will need to conduct a full evaluation of the situation and proceed carefully and ethically.”



    “Such a Pax.” Ironhide jokingly grumbled.



    “So,” Sideswipe chimed in, “after decades of being hunted for being outlaw trouble makers, then four years of being hunted for food, now that we are finally legally upstanding and equally valued citizens of Cybertron living in relative safety, you want us to leave the planet on a mission that may well get us killed?” He looked around at his fellow Autobots and shrugged. “Sounds fun.”



    “You missed that this assignment could last for many years, likely decades.” Orion replied.



    “Ehhh, I’ve got nothing better to do.” Sideswipe once again replied in a cavalier manner.



    “Kinda like that dude’s style.” Hot Rod whispered.



    “Me too.” Arcee whispered back. “And he’s hot.” Her comment earned her a glare from Hot Rod, but both quickly turned back to their silent observation.



    “Regardless, it’s still a large commitment, a large sacrifice, and something you are to take time and consider before you provide me with your commitment.” Orion insisted. “It’ll be weeks before we launch, so go home, think about it, and if you decide to go through with it, get your affairs in order.” He looked them over and smiled. “Dismissed.”



    “You heard ‘im boys, go live yer lives while ya’ still have lives ta’ live!” Ironhide prompted everyone to leave, and the Autobots filed out until only Orion, Ironhide and Roller were present. “Anything ya’ need, Pax…” he looked down at Roller, “err, Paxes?”



    Roller started chirping and beeping, prompting a nod from Orion and a look of confusion from Ironhide, who seemed to be unable to have followed what the blue vehicle had so quickly said. Orion smiled and looked down at his brother as he replied. “Yes, I know.” He then looked over to Ironhide. “Thank you Ironhide, I’ll be fine.” Orion replied. “Will the two of you give me a moment here, there’s something I need to take care of.” Roller chirped a brief but happy sounding chortle. “Don’t worry brother, I’ll go easy. But let’s keep it between us.”



    Roller gave what was clearly an affirmation, prompting Ironhide to apparently give up on understanding the conversation. “Ah’ve no idea what the two a’ ya are babblin’ about, but I suppose neither a’ ya are too concerned by that fact. Let’s go Roller.”



    Orion continued to smile as they started heading out toward the hangar exit but lost the smile as he turned toward where Hot Rod and Arcee were hiding and started walking toward them. “I think he knows we’re here.” Hot Rod whispered.



    “He can’t know we’re here.” Arcee whispered back, but the uncertainty in her voice was clear. A few seconds later Orion had come to a stop directly in front of the trailer they were hiding under, close enough so that only his legs and the his casually hanging hands were visible to them. His right hand twisted so that the palm faced them, the fingers extended, paused a moment, and then condensed up and down several times in quick succession, a clear indication that they were being instructed to emerge and get up. Arcee gave Hot Rod a shrug and look of uncertainty before sliding forward to do as the Autobot Commander was silently instructing them to do. Hot Rod hesitated as Arcee shimmied out from under the trailer, but only for a moment, and was soon following her out and standing up before the imposing Pax.



    Orion peered down at them, a no nonsense look of intensity emanating from his vibrant blue optics. “I don’t believe that either of you are supposed to be here.” Arcee met his stare, her face faltered for a moment, and the next moment she had launched herself into Orion and was embracing him forcefully, an embrace that Orion eagerly returned. “It’s good to see you Arcee.”



    Arcee squeezed tighter. “You died!” She nearly wept the accusation.



    “No,” Orion smiled fondly as he rested his cheek on the top of her head, “just got the tar beat out of me.”



    “I saw the other guy,” Hot Rod muttered as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet, “he definitely got the worst of it.” Orion turned and smiled at Hot Rod, something which made him even a bit more uncomfortable and prompted more nervous chatter. “Soooo, you’re not expecting me to hug you, are you?”



    “I’d prefer it if you didn’t.” Orion replied, his smile still in place as Arcee finally unwrapped her arms and stepped back. Orion gave her an appraising look. “It’s great to see the two of you again, but as I said, neither of you are supposed to be here.”



    “I’m sorry, Orion, I challenged Hot Rod to a race across the entire complex and thought it would be funny to use my security clearance to make some short cuts.” Arcee penitently related. “He dove into the hangar after me. We weren’t trying to snoop, and Hot Rod’s only interest in being here was to win the race. It’s my fault.”



    Orion looked to Hot Rod for a moment, just as the youth protested. “Sir, I knew I wasn’t permitted here. I’m responsible for my own actions.”



    Orion gave Hot Rod an evaluating once-over, before nodding and looking back to Arcee. “I’m thinking you somehow got more security access than your role here warrants, but I believe I can trust you not to abuse it again. I can, can’t I?” He waited for an emphatic nod from Arcee. “Good. Also, and this is for both of you,” he turned to look at Hot Rod for a moment, “what you just witnessed and heard, that is top secret. Not a peep to anyone, you understand?”



    Arcee nodded, and Hot Rod stepped forward. “You can trust me, Commander Pax.”



    Orion stared deeply into Hot Rod’s optics. “I know I can, Hot Rod.” Orion then looked down at Arcee and smiled. “Why don’t you finish that race. I’ll give you a bit of an advantage by having a few words with your friend here.” He stepped forward and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. “We’ll catch up later, I promise.”



    “Go easy on him Orion.” Arcee said sweetly as she glanced over at Hot Rod. “He’s an idiot, but he doesn’t mean any harm.”



    “Duly noted.” Orion replied with a grin.



    Arcee gave Hot Rod a smile and an optic brow arch before transforming and speeding off. Hot Rod looked up at Orion nervously. “On the off chance that it’ll save me from a threatening lecture, you should know that Kup’s already hinted at murdering me should I ever treat Arcee badly.”



    Orion chuckled. “If you treat Arcee badly, Arcee will get to you long before Kup or I have the chance to do anything.” He cupped Hot Rod on the shoulder. “I know you’re smart enough to know how great she is. Whatever happens in the future, if you treat her with respect, you’ll have a fierce and devoted friend. But I didn’t wish to speak to you about Arcee right now, I wanted to talk to you about you.”



    “About me, Commander?”



    “Did I ever thank you for your assistance against those Decepticon assassins?” Orion asked.



    “I’m pretty sure you did.” Hot Rod replied as Orion guided them both to a leisurely stroll toward the Ark.



    “Good. What you did was very brave, and you displayed a level of competence that exceeded what I believe to have been your training to that point.” Orion continued. “And the accounts of your performance in battle at both the Grand Convocation as well as at the Pentiathan painted an exemplary picture. Hound reported that your valor and battlefield instincts at the Convocation were astounding. Though he did mention you were a bit reckless with your own safety, but not quite to the level of Sideswipe, so I guess an intervention may not be necessary at this point.”



    Hot Rod shifted uncomfortably, not sure how to handle the high praise and very mild criticism. “It was really nothing, Commander.”



    “Please, call me Orion.” The Autobot leader turned to Hot Rod and smiled. “I’ve asked to speak to you because I see tremendous potential in you Hot Rod, as well as a deeply entrenched moral code.”



    “Moral code? Commander, I…” the confused youth stammered, “I’m kinda known for breaking a lot of rules.”



    Orion laughed. “Nobody called you perfect, lad, but you help those who need help, and you never intentionally harm those that don’t deserve harm. I’m aware of your shenanigans, your overstepping boundaries set for you, but ultimately the rule-breaking you do is victimless, more a pushing of boundaries that’s typical for your age. I mean, it’s not like you’ve ever punched a sitting Prime.” They both chuckled, and after another step Orion stopped and peered intently at him. “But should you choose to become an Autobot, you need to know that orders and rules aren’t suggestions. You’ll be expected to do as you’re commanded.”



    Hot Rod stared deeply into Orion’s optics, a bit of confusion on his face. “Comm…Orion, are you asking me to join the Autobots?”



    Orion nodded. “I am. I think that in time you will prove to be an incredible asset, possibly a leader.” The Autobot Commander noted the youth seem to be overwhelmed by his statement. “It’s alright son, I don’t need a decision now. Take your time with this.”



    “No sir, it’s not that.” Hot Rod replied, his gaze downward. “I want to be an Autobot, I have since shortly after you guys got us out of Rodion. I’d take the oath now if you wanted me to. It’s just…” the youth looked up and met Orion’s gaze, “to receive such praise…these words…coming from you.” Hot Rod shook his head in disbelief. “You’re Orion slagging Pax! I’m nobody! Just some guttersnipe.”



    Orion gave him a hard look. “Do you believe that?”



    Hot Rod paused and rolled his head as he considered the question. “No. Fine, I guess I have a higher opinion of myself than that. But still, to hear things like this from Orion Pax…”



    “I’m just a Cybertronian, nothing more.” Orion stated.



    “You killed Violen Jiger!” The surprised Hot Rod shot back. “You’re the inspiration for the Aequalitas! Your leadership saved our species!” The young robot shook his head. “Hell, you’re a Convoy raised by Paxes.”



    Orion stopped walking and looked down, almost sadly. After a moment he raised his gaze to Hot Rod’s optics. “Tell me Hot Rod, what does that mean to you?”



    “A Convoy raised by Paxes?” Hot Rod noted Orion’s nod. “I…I’m not sure, guess that you’re a part of two good families. That you have the genes and upbringing. It’s just something that I’ve been hearing a lot.”



    “Me too.” Orion stated with a sad exasperation. “I’ve been hearing it far too frequently for my liking. But really, what does it mean to you?”



    Hot Rod nervously squirmed. “Honestly?”



    “Yes, please, be frank.” Orion stressed.



    “Well sir, frankly, and I mean no disrespect, but that doesn’t mean shit to me.” Hot Rod replied. “I’ve heard nothing but good things about the Paxes, and the Convoys, and I respect the hell out of your accomplishments and leadership, but where you come from, who raised you, a family name, that just doesn’t register with me much at all.”



    “Good.” Orion replied, then looked off to the side as he continued to air his own inner thoughts. “Names shouldn’t mean anything. The love I received, the education I received, the discipline I received, these are things that everyone should receive. There’s nothing inherently special about me. I have natural assets I suppose, but that’s not because I’m a Convoy raised by Paxes. Green sparks are as statistically infrequent with the highborn as they are with the lowborn. Intellectual potential is unimpacted by place of birth. It’s only afterward that highborn outpace lowborn in terms of intellectual achievement and ability, and that’s due entirely to education. What I received at Tyger Pax does set me apart; but it shouldn’t.” The Autobot Commander looked back at Hot Rod. “My end goal is to make it so that the upbringing and education I received is available to all, regardless of whatever hot spot that spawned them.” Orion placed a hand on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “And nothing will help me get there more than the ability to point to some guttersnipes who’ve achieved greatness. So Hot Rod, I’m hoping you live up to the potential that I sense in you.”



    Hot Rod, suddenly overwhelmed again, nodded and sputtered out nervously. “I…I’ll do my best Orion.”



    A subtle smile came over Orion’s face. “Glad to hear it son.” Orion removed his hand from Hot Rod’s shoulder but gave it a couple light taps. “Short chat, but unfortunately I think it’s gone on long enough to make Arcee’s lead insurmountable. Hopefully she doesn’t gloat too badly.”



    “Nothing on the line but bragging rights, so, yeah, pretty sure she’s going to gloat pretty heavily.” Hot Rod chuckled. “But I suppose I don’t really mind too much.”



    Orion smiled at him. “Go get her, kid.”





    ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Jhiaxus





    “NO!” The savage looking prisoner snarled out loudly, his enraged voice bouncing off the walls as his wrists lurched forward, snapping taught the energo-chains binding his wrists to the wall behind him. “No, not you!”



    His fellow prisoner, and even more monstrous looking robot with organic-mimicking body parts jutting out of him twisted his head back and forth between the chained robot covered in organic shark bits and the hulking oncoming light gray robot with green and red accent colors. “Who’s this guy?” The question went ignored by the other prisoner, who merely maintained his heated glare at the hulking white, green and red robot with green wings jutting out of his back. “Seriously Maximal, who is this guy?”



    “It appears that your friend,” the newcomer peered down and read from the screen of the data pad in his hand, “Cybershark, has been told many bad things about me.”



    “You exist to end worlds, Jhiaxus!” Cybershark snarled, once again pulling against his energized shackles. “You could do so much good, yet…”



    “SHUT UP!” Jhiaxus snapped. “My ending these backwater, primitive organic shitballs IS good! In time our species will repopulate, the decimation done by the sparkeaters will be a distant memory, and our biggest concern will be dwindling resources. This isn’t anything new, overpopulation is the inevitable outcome for every intellectually advanced species. Organic, spark-forge, silicon, methane; take your pick! The moment they can twist their environment to their wills, their environment ceases to be an adequate culling agent. In some cases, the advancements wind up leading to the species’ demise, and honestly, that’s a very likely possibility for these humans and many of the unfortunate dumber species of Earth with them, but we just don’t have the time to wait for them to pollute or obliterate themselves out of existence. Their planet will make a far better alternative Cybertron than most, especially given how its unique chemistry has produced viable and, in many cases, enhanced mutations of energon.” Jhiaxus casually walked up to the chained shark-bot, stopped, and then delivered a brutal right cross that left Cybershark in a dazed, barely conscious state. “Gifts wasted on you mongrels for far too long!” The hulking mad scientist glanced over toward the predominantly red prisoner. “Your designation is Razorclaw, right?”



    “Yeah, but he and I ain’t friends.” The intimidated and much smaller robot chained to the wall sputtered through his grotesque maw. “Just wanted to stress that fact. And I don’t know squat about Earth…or Cybertron for that matter.”



    “Yes, yes, you are a colonist, Eukarian, I believe.” Jhiaxus muttered disinterestedly as he started walking past the Predacon. “You colonials need to be brought to heel, and whatever you’re doing on Earth will need to come to an end, but ultimately there’s nothing punitive that we have in store for you. These Maximals from Earth, however, and undoubtedly a few of them here on Cybertron, well, they’ve proven themselves traitors, and will be dealt with as such. Until then, just sit tight and behave yourself. While we can’t have you running around, at least until my status is sorted out, I doubt that Prime has anything ominous in store for you.” The hulking mad scientist march on further into the subterranean expanse and came upon a battered Alicon shackled in the same manner as the Maximal and Predacon were. “Wake up!” He roared as he slapped the prisoner. The fearsome looking creature glared up at him, causing Jhiaxus to grin. “Good news, you’ll soon have a friend with you.” He cruelly gripped the creature’s lower jaw and held his face in place so that their optics were locked onto one another’s. “Your information had a meager payoff.”



    Jhiaxus chuckled as he released the prisoner’s face and turned away from him, slowly pacing around in a taunting manner. “Those that think themselves enlightened often put forth the claim that torture isn’t a productive tool in gathering information.” The low laughter got more ominous. “They must not be doing it right, because you and I both know that’s not the case.” Jhiaxus turned back around to display a toothy grin at the Alicon. “Unfortunately, there are limits to what torture can provide. Mainly, all the torment in the world can’t get an answer out of a subject if that subject isn’t aware of something. In your case, you knew about the Numen on Lanarq, and we tortured you, and you told us of it. But you were completely unaware of the Numen on Zamojin,” Jhiaxus grinned at seeing the look of confusion over the creature’s face, “fortunately, your comrade that we captured on Lanarq was, and torturing him has given Guardian Prime his next objective, and hopefully something more useful than the belligerent, mind-warped Demolisher that they were forced to kill on Lanarq. And on Zamojin I have no doubt we’ll find another target, and then another, until we finally come across the Ignis Deva’s your masters took from this planet. It’s only a matter of time before we find the Metroplex, before we find the Quintaxium, before we find the Imperexium, and any other titans they removed from this world.” A noise coming from the door that Jhiaxus had arrived through caused him to pause and look back to see Galvatron marching in. “Well, if it isn’t the Warden of the Southern Hemisphere.”



    “Well, if it isn’t the psychotic maniac who’s supposed to be dead.” Galvatron grumbled in reply as he continued marching into the vast laboratory deep below the surface.



    “I’m a sociopath who sometimes exceeds the boundaries of what others have long accepted as reasonable, but that technically doesn’t make me psychotic.” Jhiaxus chuckled as he walked over to an array of computers and attended to one terminal, replying with diverted attention. “Have you come back down here to badger the prisoners some more?”



    “You’ve assured Prime and I that there’s nothing more to get from this Alicon.” Galvatron replied as he logged into another terminal and started accessing files. “As for the Maximal and Eukarian…”



    “He identifies as a Predacon.” Jhiaxus interrupted.



    “And I identify as an Ignis Numen with a thirty-foot piston rod, but that doesn’t make me one.” Galvatron growled disinterestedly. “The Maximal was a traitor who failed to accomplish his treacherous task, and his group constitutes such an insignificant threat now that we’re awake that even if he knows anything, that knowledge is pointless for us to have. As for the Eukarian, or Predacon, or whatever the ugly urchin wants to refer to itself as, releasing him was an option until you decided to reveal yourself to him. Now he’s just a fuel tank that knows too much, one we need to keep filled until we decide we no longer want him around.”



    “Wait, what?” Razor Claw muttered in terror. “I don’t care who he is, and I can keep my trap shut about his being alive if that’s what you want!”



    “Relax,” Jhiaxus let out a deep laugh, “Lord Galvatron gets off on keeping everyone around him on edge. I’ve concluded that he believes that he increases his bargaining position by making everyone around him believe there’s no limit to the atrocities he’s willing to commit, and then making them uncertain of what his intentions or agendas are. He changes his mind frequently, makes different and sometimes contradictory demands, basically maintains a moving target just to keep everyone uncertain and on edge. It’s a simple tactic, but one that’s extremely effective with the mentally deficient.”



    “I have different tactics for dealing with sadistic, brilliant lunatics.” Galvatron growled ominously, turning threateningly toward Jhiaxus.



    The mad scientist, who was of equal size and bulk to the purple warlord, merely chuckled. “I may not have been born with a green spark Lord Galvatron, but science has allowed me to close so many gaps. Are you really certain the advantages you were born with still set you apart from me?”



    “I’m ready to find out.” Galvatron snarled but paused.



    Jhiaxus noted the pause and chuckled. “Perhaps you’re ready, but your hesitance would suggest that for whatever reason a brawl with me would drum up too much attention. I know you’re not afraid of me, despite the fact that you should at the very least possess some uncertainty as to your success, so I think that once again you have an agenda that is the reason you’re down here, one that you wish to keep secret from me, and likely from Guardian Prime as well.”



    Galvatron grinned. “You’re welcome to that speculation, Jhiaxus, but as you said, I always enjoy keeping others confused as to what my agenda might be.” The purple warlord looked around and took in all the intense stares of Jhiaxus and the prisoners, seeming to come to the decision he no longer wanted to be there and started marching back toward the door he had come in through just moments before. “Another time, Urayan.”





    Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Delta Magnus





    It was beautiful country, this region consisting of highland jungles to the southwest of Glibax. First getting to this altitude was tricky for most, and difficult to then trek through for everyone else, but for those that did make it into the rocky region covered with dense canopies of organic flora, vast visions of beauty and sightings of rare organic and technorganic fauna met the optic in every direction. Ponds and lakes of shimmering water frequently dotted the jungle, most independent, but several linked to the powerful river that snaked its way down the mountains to the valley below. In a few remote locations one could find extremely rare pools of liquid energon that leached upward through the bowels of Cybertron to create small ponds on the metal and rock surface, these mountains being one of only six regions on the planet where such energon pools formed naturally.



    The massive twenty-eight foot tall and darkly colored frame of Delta Magnus pushed his way through the thick brush as he walked around one such energon pool, lowered his shoulder leaned through a wall of branches, forcing his way through dozens of yards of thick brush before coming along the banks of the massive river that fed many of the lakes and ponds of the region. The space between the jungle and the banks was too narrow, and the ground too soft and uneven, for driving to be an option, so the large robot continued on foot for a few miles before crossing the river at a narrow point, emerging on the opposite shore, and continuing on in the direction he’d been traveling. Another mile before he came to a small branch in the river, and followed that small branch for three miles before coming to a break in the jungle, a large clearing made up of grass, a mid-sized lake in the center of it, and a vast rockface on the opposite end of the clearing with a mid-sized but elaborate estate built into the mountain. Delta Magnus, various rifles and infantry cannons mounted to his scuffed and battered back, marched across the clearing to the manse. Upon reaching the front gate, he allowed himself to be scanned, and a moment later the thick gates opened for him.



    The only sound throughout the long hallway was his footprints, the thuds of metal feet against rock and metal ground echoed off the metal walls. He strode through the vast structure, entering an antechamber and then into an armory, one equipped with a cryogenic regeneration chamber, a repair station he’d been using for his armor, a stock of energon rations, an array of computer terminals, and a recharging dormancy slab. Delta Magnus went straight to a workbench and laid out the weapons he had been carrying, unloading, cleaning and repairing the recently used rifles and cannons before putting them away, keeping only a sidearm magnetically kept to his upper thigh. He then marched over and sat before the central computer terminal, bringing the screen in front of him to life and populated with scrolls of data.



    “Logging your kills?” A voice from the shadows cut through the silence of the moderately lit chamber, prompting Delta Magnus to draw his sidearm, twist around and point it at the voice coming from the shadows. “Aim lower.” The voice stated, and a moment later the relatively tiny frame of Minimus Ambus stepped out from the shadows between two weapons’ vaults and made his way to the center of the room.



    Delta Magnus returned his weapon to his thigh and turned back around to the computer. “What are you doing here?” He growled in dismissive annoyance.



    Minimus Ambus paced seemingly aimlessly in the center of the armory. “Despite being in the southern Tagan Heights, this estate is actually the property of House Ambus.” Minimus explained. “It was part of a property exchange, gifts transferred between Houses Magnus and Ambus as a sign of their long enduring friendship and loyalty to one another. House Ambus gifted House Magnus with a large estate built behind a waterfall in the garden regions south of Damaxus. House Magnus gifted House Ambus this estate, the Jewel of the Jungle, stunningly beautiful, but very difficult to get to. So, I have every right to be here.”



    “Yes, but what are you doing here?” Delta Magnus repeated.



    “Looking for you.” Minimus replied. “You’ve been ambushing small groups of Decepticons for weeks now, you’ve amassed an impressive body count in that time. You’ve certainly gotten Megatron’s attention by now, so finding refuge in a property owned by House Magnus probably wouldn’t be safe for you. But the few people that know this place exists likely know that it’s owned by House Ambus, so the Decepticons may not think to look for you here.”



    “That would explain why I’m here, but not why you’re here.” Delta Magnus grumbled as he continued working at the computer terminal.



    “As I said, I was looking for you. That explains why I’m here.” Minimus replied.



    “True, but that begs the question as to why you’re looking for me.” Delta stated as he continued focusing on the screen in front of him.



    “To bring you home.” Minimus stated. “To bring you both home.”



    “You’re clearly mistaken.” Delta said. “I work alone.”



    “According to the Autobots who somehow got this intel, there are reports that there may be two of you. But I’m not referring to the Convoy phantom, which I really think is just you without the Magnus armor, I’m referring to the corpse of the armor’s true owner in the cryogenic chamber below us in the subterranean vault.” Minimus replied, causing Delta Magnus to freeze. “Yes, I found him.”



    “Go home.” Delta Magnus angrily whispered.



    “Come with me, brother.” Minimus pleaded. “Nobody can fault you for your desire for justice, but this is not the way to go about it. Whatever you’re planning, you must know that the end result is you getting killed. Especially now. The Autobots have gotten word that Megatron has dispatched a team referred to as the Predacons, apparently the best gladiatorial team to come out of Altihex, as well as the best trackers the Decepticons have.”



    “Go home Minimus.” The armored hulk grumbled. “Razorclaw’s band of mongrels don’t intimidate me.”



    Minimus stared silently for several moments before taking on a scowl and approaching it from a different angle. “Then at least tell me why you are doing this. And why the…the…Phantom Convoy. I get the Delta Magnus charade, but I don’t understand what you have in mind with the Convoy. Is that supposed to be anyone specific?”



    ‘Delta Magnus’ growled quietly and punched the wall. “Why won’t you just leave?”



    “I have a right to know what Dominus Ambus, Emir of the Tyrest, is doing and when he will be returning to his people!” Minimus snapped. “As well as the obligation to try and save him, regardless how futile that effort may seem.”



    “Dominus Ambus is beyond saving!” The hulking warrior snarled as he whipped around to face the tiny robot. “He was treacherously murdered like so many others who went to the Grand Convocation under the guise of an alliance!”



    “Take off the armor!” Minimus grumbled in reply.



    “Get out!” ‘Magnus’ roared back.



    “This manse is the property of House Ambus, only the Emir of Tyrest can order me to leave!” Minimus growled back. “So, if you want me out, take off the armor and then tell me to get out.”



    ‘Magnus’ glared at Minimus Ambus, but finally seemed to give in. “Host DA-019, disengage.” With that the armor came apart at several seams, and a smaller, yet still large and hulking deep blue frame with silver highlights emerged. The body was slightly altered, but still recognizable to Minimus as his kinsman’s body. The face however was significantly different. Confirming the reports that had come from the embedded Autobot asset, the face had features consistent with a stereotypical Convoy, the rounded helmet with points, the prominent water-drop crest, virtually everything Convoy-esque down to the face-plate that their historic leaders reportedly bore. The colors were all darker than those of Dominus, very dark, an almost black helmet and face, with silver for the inner crest design and a moderate gray face-place, all surrounding Dominus’s yellow optics. “I realize I look a bit different.”



    “No shit.” Minimus whispered but spoke louder as he continued. “But why? Why a Convoy? They were the one group that didn’t lose anyone to the Decepticon betrayal.”



    The altered Dominus Ambus stared back from behind the face plate. “The Magnus armor, the identity of Delta Magnus, that was obvious. He serves as an effective avatar for the seeking of justice against the Decepticons, and an image that would scare the oil out of them. And…Phantom Convoy, as you call him, that was for me.”



    “For you?” Minimus asked, not following.



    “Do you remember Baronial Ambus?” Dominus asked.



    “Baronial? Yes, vaguely, he lost his fight with Cybercrosis when I was only a few years old.” Minimus answered. “He was only a few millennia shy of his twelfth millionth year when he passed.”



    “Yes, he was old.” Dominus explained. “Old enough to remember our part in the eradication of the Convoy.” Dominus turned as he said that so that he would not have to see Minimus’s shuddering reaction. “We fired no shots, we offered no aid to Deathsaurus, but we knew the moment his forces left the vicinity of Simfur, and House Ambus said and did nothing. Baronial sat me down, he knew his time was coming, and felt it was his right to unburden himself, and in the process to burden me with this knowledge. In public we all like to think ourselves Paxes, humble, unassuming, pretending to see others as equals, but every prominent member of House Ambus, myself included, has thought us above the rabble; a trait true of virtually all other high houses. We firmly believed in the inherent superiority of those spawned from the same material as the Knights and resented any that suggested otherwise. Commoners who dared to make claims against our superiority were easy to silence, lower noble houses that made such claims were easy to dismiss as dissention borne out of jealousy, and should they push, we need only suggest they allow the commoners of their territories to stand as their equals. None had the courage of their convictions once that was suggested, none but the Convoys. Their elevation came not from them propping themselves up, no, they were propped up by those that knew them, and that never something they were comfortable with. When they spoke of equality, we had to take it because they spoke in earnest and were willing to put their convictions to the test. They would not be influenced, bribed or threatened into silence, they made claims of equality not to lift themselves, but to lift those around us, and they never desired the trappings of leadership or nobility. They had a manse, but it was built with Convoy hands and they made it open to all. And they were just so fucking eloquent, debating them was almost always futile. So upon hearing of the troop movements in Nyon, the initial impulse of our House’s leadership was to warn our neighbors and friends the Convoys, but…” Dominus looked down, “but selfish, pragmatic desires stayed our vocal processors, and we left House Convoy and their vassals to be unprepared and therefore slaughtered.”



    “I…” Minimus shook his head sadly, “I had always suspected, all Cybertron suspected, but it was before we were born, and I assumed no living Ambus had any insight into the truth of those dark days, and therefore none living would ever have any idea of what truly happened, and so I never felt the weight of guilt, the weight that I’m feeling now.”



    “I’ve borne this weight for two million years, Minimus.” Dominus let out as a sigh. “And I took this face to remind me of this guilt, this burden. To remind me to stay the course, that while I cannot undo what was done twelve million years ago, I can see justice done for others, as well as punish and eliminate those that stand as enemy to the last living Convoy.”



    “Orion Pax does not want you doing this, and he especially does not want you to be doing this for his sake!” Minimus stated quietly but firmly.



    “I don’t care what Orion Pax wants! The only reason I devote any thought to him is his Convoy heritage, something that as far as I can tell, he shuns.” Dominus snapped. “But despite this, a Convoy he is, and therefore I, as the latest Emir of Tyrest and head of House Ambus, must seek his survival for the debt owed to his ancestors. But on a personal level, I could not give less of a shit about what he says or thinks.”



    “Where does this animosity come from, Dominus?” A stunned Minimus questioned.



    “Because he held us back!” Dominus growled from behind his gray faceplate. “Had we unified our forces, we could have intimidated the Decepticons more, we could have forced them to divulge the existence of their Titan, we could have…”



    “Are you nuts?” Minimus roared the interruption. “Even with a combined government/Autobot force, we couldn’t have intimidated Megatron into doing anything, and we still wouldn’t have been able to make a dent against the sparkeaters! And the Autobots would have fallen into that trap with us and been unable to save our stupid asses! You must acknowledge that everything Orion Pax said was right! It hurts me to acknowledge it too, as I vocally opposed his vehement suggestion that we do not attend the Convocation, but he was right! I was wrong, you were wrong, Delta Magnus was wrong! As smart as we thought we were, we were just plain wrong! We got wiped out, and none of that was the fault of Orion Pax!”



    “You’ve always idolized that idiot.” Dominus hissed. “That sell-out upstart who’s only aim has ever been to uproot our society! A whiny whelp who resented fortune for smiling on him and set out to undermine those that lifted him from the mud!”



    “My idol has always been someone else.” Minimus said solemnly as he stared deeply and meaningfully into Dominus’s yellow optics. “I have to ask Dominus, has it ever occurred to you that his opinions and convictions simply differ from yours?” Minimus growled. “And that maybe, just maybe, his opinions happen to be right, and he’s smart enough to prove it?” The seven-foot robot shook his head in disgust and started walking toward the door. “After all that facial reconstruction, you’re still no different than those assholes that allowed Nyon to trek through our lands and wipe out the Convoy. You feel no guilt, you’re not doing this as some form of restitution, and you’re certainly not doing this for the sake of justice! This is vengeance, plain and simple, vengeance for what was done to you and your misguided, arrogant, and false messiah! I’d suggest spending more time looking at that face in the mirror,” Minimus had reached the door and paused to look back at his kinsman, “but you seem to have forgotten the point of your self-mutilation…if there ever was one. Come to your senses, then come home. I will always love you my kinsman, but I can stand your presence no more today.” The much smaller robot finally left, leaving Dominus Ambus to stew.





    ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Crosshairs





    “I expected Zamojin to be a shithole,” the green and black robot with a silver face and optical enhancers resting on his forehead muttered, “but crikey fucks, I hadn’t expected the squids ta’ be so front n’ center in the runnin’ o things here.”



    “True.” His predominantly blue and black comrade with the ornate head adornment replied as they both fired off rounds at the squad of rotund metal shark-like bipedal creatures charging their position. The firearms made short work of five of the seven, but two were almost upon them. The blue robot leapt up, drew a sword and sliced through both of their heads, dropping them immediately. He stood over them as his green comrade rose up from the cover they had both been behind and looked for the next part of the ongoing battle to join. “On Lanarq, the Quintessons were less obvious with their influence.”



    “This worthless position is secure, Drift, keep ya’ glow-holes lit while I get Prime on tha’ horn and find out where he wants us next.” The green and black robot said as he inspected his two hand-held automatic weapons.



    “Hai.” Drift replied as he scoured the smoldering urban landscape around them for potential threats.



    “You an’ yer cocked-up lingo, mate, makes ya’ sound like a bloody nutter.” The green companion muttered before opening a channel to the command room of the Manifest hovering above the war-torn city that was surrounded by heavy forests. “Come in command center, this is Crosshairs, needin’ to know where ya’ want us next.”



    “We read you Crosshairs, Prime has intel suggesting that the primary target is eight miles north of your position. A base built into a mountain surrounded by dense forest.” The voice came through Crosshairs’s wrist as Drift fired a shot that took the head off an Alicon exiting a ruined building two hundred yards away. “Reconnoiter with Prime and his team there.”



    “Aye, got it.” Crosshairs mumbled as he nodded to Drift to head north. “Easy-peasy shot mate, no reason ta’ get cocky. Prime wants us up north to see a man about a dog.” The two transformed into street racers and got out of the city in minutes, but the thick forest made for slow traveling, all on foot, though they pushed through it quickly and arrived in roughly half an hour to find Prime gathering a squad of soldiers in the tree line just outside a clearing that led to a vast cave with more than a little technology built into and around it. The two quietly made their way through the brush and trotted up to their comrades. “Hey Prime, we made it.”



    “Good, then here’s the plan.” Guardian Prime knelt as the other seven Autobots gathered around him, all notably smaller than him with the sole exception of Ultra Magnus. Crosshairs wasn’t fond of the big Magnus, the naively self-righteous twat, but damn if he wasn’t good to have in a scrap. “In addition to a couple dozen Sharkticons, I believe there are at least four high-ranking Alicons in there and possibly a Quint or two. Beyond those, I believe that the Numen we’ve been after, the transport, is in there as well and is likely being loaded up and intended to serve as their means of evacuation should they deem it necessary.”



    “Oh, they’re deeming it necessary.” Crosshairs chuckled. “We’ve torn the bollocks off their forces, bent them over,”



    “That’s enough, Crosshairs.” Prime mildly scolded. “But yes, in all likelihood we’ll need to be prepared for their attempt to flee, which could be any moment now.” At that, a roar emerged from within the cavern and a moment later thirty Sharkticons came charging out, roughly half in bestial mode, the other half in their robotic modes. The Cybrtronians all rose and opened fire on the mindless robotic monsters, cutting down many of them. “Air support!” Prime roared into his communicator, and almost immediately a shuttle swooped down out of the sky, hovered several hundred feet above them and rained down ordinance that decimated the remaining Sharkticons.



    A small high-speed escape craft zipped out of the cave and darted past the shuttle, prompting Ultra Magnus to call out his own orders. “Manifest, track that ship and launch a reserve craft to intercept. Dispatch the Leontifera if you need to, but the Paralus is to remain fixed over us!” He looked over to Prime and shrugged nervously. “Hope I didn’t overstep my bounds.”



    “Nonsense Magnus, you’re a born leader, I’ll correct you if I feel it necessary, but until then do not hesitate to do what’s needed.” Prime replied with a reassuring smile, but then raised his wrist to his face. “Manifest, have you been able to scan the escaping ship?”



    “Aye, Prime.” The voice came back. “Two Quintessons, five Alicons.” Prime turned to his team and silently mouthed ‘five’ with a look of feigned surprise. “Per Ultra Magnus’s suggestion, the Leontifera has been launched and will be intercepting it in moments.”



    “Thank you, keep me apprised of any updates.” Prime replied, then made an adjustment to his communications console on his wrist. “Paralus, have vamparc ribbon prepped and aimed down on this area, ready to fire.”



    “Aye, Prime, being done as we speak.” A different voice, one belonging to Tailpipe, the bot piloting the Paralus shuttle, replied. “I hope you’re not planning on doing anything inadvisable.”



    “Depends on who’s giving the advice.” Prime chuckled. “Just be ready up there, Tailpipe.” Prime then turned to his squad. “If everything we’ve seen and heard since launching this assault is true, our quarry is in that cavern. I’m going to go in and flush him out. Hopefully I can reason with it, but, well, thank Primus for the vamparc.”



    Magnus nodded and looked to the rest. “You heard him soldiers, proceed with caut…”



    “No, Magnus, you misunderstand.” Prime interrupted him. “I am going in there to flush it out. You and the rest of the team are to remain out here and provide containment or back up.”



    “But sir,” Magnus protested, “that’s an ignis numen! Something potentially as powerful as Omega Supreme.”



    “Yes, it theoretically is.” Prime replied in a good-natured manner. “And were I to back Omega Supreme into a cave, having you seven with me wouldn’t change the outcome. My desire is for me to talk this guy out of there peacefully, and my odds are made worse by bring a squad of heavily armed soldiers with me.”



    “It makes sense, Prime, but it’s still very dangerous.” Magnus conceded hesitantly.



    “Yeah, but that’s what makes this job so fun.” Prime quipped back before turning and heading for the cave, drawing his large broadsword as he did and muttering quietly. “I do wish there’d been time for Pharma to equip me with my new alternate mode though.” In seconds Prime had crossed the clearing and was marching up the rocks and dirt into the cave, the scene making Crosshairs remember another reason he hated Zamojin; there just wasn’t enough metal making up the planet. That seemed to be the case with most life-bearing worlds, made up of mostly rock, dirt and water. Yeah, they typically had a fair degree of ore, but it didn’t seem to make up much of the landscape the way it did on Cybertron. Crosswise shrugged off the digression and focused back on his leader, who had just disappeared into the cave.



    Minutes seemed like hours as they elapsed, but finally there was movement near the dark mouth of the cave, a cave with an abundance of green trees and other flora sprouting from the rocks. Prime came into view, sauntering out, but walking almost sideways, as though he was focusing on something behind him as he moved forward. True to his body language, a moment later a massive form was following him out of the cave, and seeming to confirm Ultra Magnus’s concerns, this huge form was as large as the Guardian of the Gates, Omega Supreme. But unlike the humanoid form of Omega Supreme, this beast was almost draconian in a way. It was quadrupedal, but it possessed massive wings, a long tail and a long neck with a large head that almost appears to be that of an avian predator. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Crosshairs muttered as he kind of meandered around the other soldiers, but closest to Drift.



    “Legendary warrior,” Prime called out as he fully turned to face the massive creature, his sword held loosely to the side, “the powers that once ruled over us now want us extinguished. We must join forces, or else forever be their slaves. So today you stand with us,” Prime squared off against the giant and continued with added emphasis, “or you stand against me.” The creature let out a roar of disagreement and defiance before rearing back and stomping toward Prime, who dove and rolled out of the way of the giant paw.



    Crosshairs shook his head as he started walking away in disapproval. “We’ll let Prime figure this one out.”



    Drift followed him. “Very wise.”



    Crosshairs got to a rockface and clambered up and took perch about twenty feet off the ground. “There’s no friggin’ way I’m staying down here with them! No way, no way!” Drift followed him but remained on the ground, and they both turned to watch Prime likely get squashed. Crosshairs noticed Ultra Magnus following them with his judging and disapproving optics, but he couldn’t give less of a shit about that that foppy cadet thought of him.



    Magnus turned away from the disrespectful Crosshairs and Drift and looked back at their leader as cross-swipe from the creature’s right paw would have cut Prime in half had he not ducked and rolled under it, immediately followed by a stomp barreling down, narrowly missing the diving Prime and sending dirt and rock spraying everywhere. Magnus raised his wrist communicator to his mouth. “Paralus, open fire with the vamparc! Incapacitate that thing!”



    A shot of gold rippling light shot out and impacted the blue under-torso of the massive beast, causing it to shudder, and then a ribbon of pink energon flowed back toward the vamparc cannon, causing the monster to cry out in pain. Everyone was stunned as the monster seemed to split in two, the lower blue portion with the legs shifted into a hulking feline type of creature with two stumpy tails, and the upper bird-like portion leapt up and sprouted two powerful legs with talons. The ‘lynx’, as it seemed to resemble that animal more than any other cat Crosshairs could think of, fell to the ground, being the portion that was bearing the brunt of the vamparc attack.



    Prime jumped upon the left front shoulder of the lynx mode and bounded off it to grab the right talon of the avian mode as it attempted to take to the sky and put distance between them. Prime climbed up the creature’s body, trying to make it toward the head, clutching his broadsword the entire time and continuing his attempts at forceful reasoning as he went. “Only together can we survive!” Prime leapt up and landed a heavy left cross to the creature’s long, bird-like head, the force of the blow enough to cause the head to move a bit, but no damage done. “Let me lead you!” He landed another heavy punch, but again, the impact was minimal. What wasn’t minimal was the golden flow of energy-sucking ribbon slamming into the center of the bird’s back, between its wings. The shot caused the beast to cry out once more and crash heavily to the ground, the flow of pink energon rippled back toward the cannon on the Paralus, rendering the bird temporarily helpless.



    But as the vamparc ribbon was focused on the bird portion, the lynx rose to its feet and roared, the sound echoing through the valley. It then transformed to a massive ground transport. “Oh no.” Crosshairs groaned as the massive vehicle spun its wheels, tearing through trees, rock and dirt and positioning itself to run down Prime.



    “I was not expecting a giant car.” Drift muttered.



    “Come here!” Prime roared at the massive blue ground transport as a powerful leap carried him away from the bird portion, his call immediately followed by the vehicle doing exactly that, bearing down on him with the intent of grinding him into the rocks below. But just as it was about to impact the Cybertronian leader, Prime leapt to the side and smashed part of the front of the transport with his sword. “We’re giving you freedom!” The strike had minimal impact, but at that moment the vamparc ray was directed away from the bird and back to the blue lower section, and the golden beam sent the vehicle careening to the side and toppling end over end. The pink energon was flowing out of it, causing tremendous pain, and the vehicle agonizingly transformed back to lynx mode, the beast head gasping as its lifeforce was pulled from it. Prime marched over and laid the point of his sword against the optic of the beast. “You defend my people, or die.”



    Several tense moments passed, and Crosshairs was sure Prime would have to drive the sword through the optic and into the brain of the beast, when, “I will submit.” Optics turned to the giant bird struggling to get its talons under it.



    “It pleases me to hear that, but what of him?” Prime replied, gesturing to the blue lynx next to him.



    “That is me as well, so my submission applies to both.” The bird replied. “Please cease your attack on my lower body, the energon loss is almost at critical levels.” Prime nodded, and the flow stopped. “I thank you.”



    Prime pulled his sword away from the lynx and marched toward the prehistoric looking metal bird, gesturing for it to lower its head in a display of submission, which it reluctantly did. Prime climbed upon its neck and took perch at the base of the neck, giving the bird a tap to indicate he wanted it to rise to a standing position. As he rose above the trees, Prime addressed them all. “Cybertronians, we’re going to prove who we are, and what our place in this universe is!”



    Crosshairs had leapt down from his perch, and he and Drift were marching toward the rest of the squad. “Ah, ya’ just want to die for the guy. That’s leadership. Or brainwashin’ or somethin’.”



    “No.” Drift answered. “That’s Guardian Prime.”



    Crosshairs chuckled but noted that big baby Ultra Magnus giving them a questioning look. “What now?” Slaggin’ highborn baby.



    “Nothing, it’s just…” Magnus shook his head, “I get maybe this was necessary. Hell, it probably was necessary, though the invitation to join us could have been less…horrible,”



    “Horrible?” Drift questioned.



    “Threatening.” Magnus muttered. “It just seems that conscripting a creature that’s been a slave for at least fifteen and a half million years under threat of death, well, if necessary, so be it, but it shouldn’t be celebrated. I guess…I guess I didn’t find that as inspiring as you two did.”



    “Yer a bit of a femme, aintcha, Lord Magnus?” Crosshairs muttered as the two giant creatures approached each other in the background, linked up, and transformed to their combined transport modes. Magnus simply turned away from them and walked toward Guardian Prime and the others. “Whatta pussy.” Crosshairs grumbled to Drift. “Probably gonna need ta’ deal with that one in the future.”



    “That is very likely.”





    ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Sparkplug





    Presidents coming down to chat with the guy, yeah, of course. Military leaders looking for insight or information regarding aliens on Earth, or potential weapons or technological advances, obviously makes sense. Occasional high-ranking congressional officials, even that made sense. But Sparkplug couldn’t fathom why President Johnson had told this Vereide guy about the giant metal alien in the basement, much less give him permission to sit and chat with Alpha Trion. As far as Sparkplug knew, this Abraham Vereide was just some Methodist minister from Norway by way of the Pacific northwest. Yeah, word was that the Presidential Prayer Breakfast they’d been having every February for the past decade was his doing, but still, it just didn’t make sense to the Marine. Making it worse was that this guy had brought along his protégé to sit and observe. Sparkplug looked over at the tall young man seated outside Alpha Trion’s transparent walled room with him and wondered what was going through the mind of this Douglas Coe.



    “I’m fascinated to get the impression of Christianity from an extraterrestrial.” Vereide’s voice was easily heard through the vents in the glass wall.



    “Christianity, like Earth’s other religions, is something I have a very mild interest in, and that mild interest only exists because I’m trapped here unable to focus on more significant things.” The ancient giant alien replied.



    Vereide laughed. “I’ve heard you could be quite cantankerous.”



    “I’m not entirely sure why you’ve heard anything at all about me.” Alpha Trion stated. “You have no official position within the United States government, correct?”



    “No, nothing official.” The human replied. “I’ve happened to find myself in a position to council many of the leaders of this great nation of ours, and to steer them toward more faith-based decisions and policies.”



    “Hmmm.” Alpha Trion gave a disapproving groan.



    “You’re troubled by this?” Vereide baited.



    “I have great respect for the first amendment of your nation’s constitution, and it seems that your efforts are in part trying to subvert that.” The giant alien answered emotionlessly.



    “Nonsense.” Vereide brushed aside the suggestion dismissively. “I too respect the first amendment, I am not pushing for a state religion, just that men of Christ act their consciences. Act with their commitment to their faiths in mind.”



    Alpha Trion nodded. “And should their faith conflict with the good of the nation or its multi-theistic citizenry?”



    “Hard to imagine such a scenario, at least when the leader in question is Christian.” Vereide replied with a smug grin.



    “Not really.” Alpha Trion replied. “You’re claiming that the laws that were used to arrest and convict John Thomas Scopes were based on reason and evidence?”



    The smile on Vereide’s face disappeared. “Absolutely.”



    “Please provide me with the evidence to support Genesis and refute Darwinism?” Trion gave a smile that made Sparkplug give a quiet chuckle.



    “Genesis IS the evidence.” Vereide replied.



    “And my point is made.” Alpha Trion replied, looking away.



    “You do not see the Bible as the word of God?” Vereide asked.



    “I don’t know whether it’s the word of God, or if God is Elohim, Ahura Mazda, Zeus, Oden, Mahadeva, or any other deity, but I can state unequivocally that it is NOT historical fact.” Alpha Trion looked back at the human seated with him. “I’m not sure what you were told, but I was on this planet one million years ago, which according to Genesis, is roughly one million years before this planet was created. And I saw the birds of the air, the fish of the sea and the beasts of the land, and even lots and lots of Adams and Eves at that time. Or at least beings that would one day give rise to your Adams and Eves.”



    “Blasphemy.” Vereide grumbled.



    “Call it what you will, but my blasphemy comes with no shortage of evidence to support it,” Trion responded, “actual, measurable, quantifiable evidence. It is the baseless assumption of something being true that must be kept from government; to be kept from holding influence over the lives of a population. You speak of faith as a virtuous, good thing. And at times it has been and can yet be. But in more cases, it’s been a tool for misguiding the many for the benefit of the few.” A hint of a mile came over Alpha Trion’s face. “Satan’s successes are the greatest when he appears with the name of God on his lips.”



    Vereide rolled his eyes. “You’re quoting Gandhi?”



    “Why not?” Alpha Trion shrugged. “He’s very quotable. And you should like him, he was far more Christ-like than the vast majority of your Christians.”



    “Why, because he focused on the poor and destitute?” The human replied dismissively. “A mistake, one made by Gandhi, and one made by Christian leaders for almost two thousand years. To really change the world our focus must be made on key men, men of resources, men of ability, men of potential, men of means.”



    Alpha Trion laughed. “It’s unfortunate nobody passed that insight on to Jesus himself. He seemed intent on recruiting broke fishermen.”



    “It was on Jesus to create the church, which he did most successfully.” Vereide replied. “But it fell to men to grow it, to expand it. Centuries of church leadership focusing on the poor and unfortunate did little to do that. The faith of Christ was little more than offshoot Jewish cult and would have fizzled out had someone not converted Constantine. That one conversion changed the world.”



    Trion shook his head. “So the avenue to spread the word of Jesus, love thy neighbor, turn the other cheek, blessed are the meek, and so on, is to focus on fortunate sons and ignore those most described by your lord and savior’s teachings?”



    “I fully recognize it’s a difficult concept to understand.”



    “No, it’s a very simple concept to understand.” Trion interrupted. “Find well placed and influential people to recruit, and your message and agenda will get the most mileage. It just happens to run contrary to the message you claim to champion, and your…well, not your agenda, but it seems to run contrary to the agenda of Yeshua of Nazareth.”



    Vereide smiled. “Yes, you really are cantankerous.”



    “No, I’m really not. I enjoy being playfully argumentative at times, but that’s not what’s happening here.” The alien answered. “The fact is that theocracies scare the hell out of me, and despite what you say, and what you might genuinely believe about yourself, that is what you’re after. Jesus had no interest in being a kingmaker, neither should his followers.”



    “Well, this was not as enlightening as I’d hoped it’d be,” Vereide said as he stood from his chair, “but at least I can say that I’ve met an alien.”



    “Actually, you can’t.” Sparkplug called out. “This visit never happened. I would have thought that President Johnson would have made that clear to you.”



    “Of course, of course.” Vereide said as he exited the large transparent living quarters and descended the stairs where his protégé Coe was standing waiting for him. “It was just an expression. I thank you for your time Sergeant Witwicky.”



    Sparkplug nodded as they left the large expanse, and then turned and smiled at Alpha Trion. “You know, for a guy who actually housed an instrument for the divine in his chest and was physically changed by it, you sure are prickly toward religious types.”



    “I have no problem with religion,” Alpha Trion smiled down at the human outside his containment quarters, “I just don’t have patience for those that would push their beliefs of others, especially in a way that gets those beliefs reflected in the laws of the land.” He cocked his head. “Are you religious, Sparkplug?”



    “Raised Catholic, but kind of let it fall by the wayside once I got to high school.” Sparkplug replied.



    “Ever read your Bible?” Alpha Trion asked. “Any favorite passage?”



    “Thumbed through it a little as a kid, but never actually sat and read it.” The human shrugged. “Only one passage ever stood out to me, kind of let me know there was still hope for things to get better when my father died.”



    “Something deep and profound?”



    “No, not really.” Sparkplug replied. “Very simple, almost childish I suppose, but it…it gave me strength none the less.” He looked up and noted Alpha Trion’s expectant glance and chuckled. “Fine. John one-five.”



    “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Alpha Trion cited. “I always liked that one. Universal, hopeful; it applies to anyone from anywhere, of any faith, all those struggling against daunting odds.”



    Sparkplug nodded. “The other Cybertronian I met didn’t seem overly religious either. Seemed like a cooler version of Joe Friday…in the shape of a car.”



    They both chuckled. “You get a name for this Joe Friday car?”



    “Yeah, but it’s in English so I doubt it’d register even if you know the guy.” Sparkplug replied. “But he did say his name was a somewhat accurate translation. Said he was Nightbeat, that he was a commoner sparked up in…what was it…oh, Glibax Central District Hotspot Number Three. And that the blue and yellow of his car form was his natural coloration.”



    Alpha Trion thought deeply for a moment, and a thought appeared to come to him. “Do you call him Joe Friday because he came off as a detective?”



    “Yeah, can’t say why, but I definitely got that vibe.” Sparkplug answered. “Why, does that narrow it down a bit for you?”



    “There’s a brilliant detective whose name could translate fairly well as Nightbeat.” Alpha Trion explained. “Based out of Iacon, but he very well could have come from Glibax. And he was primarily blue with yellow accents. He was the one they consulted to evaluate Orion’s conclusion as to who the spark collector was.”



    “Who? What?” Sparkplug was unable to follow.



    Alpha Trion chuckled. “Orion was a student of mine.” The robot took on a faraway look. “I’ve had many students in my time, but Orion was…well, he was my favorite. The most gifted student I’ve ever come across, so kind, and as gifted physically as he was mentally. Big, red and blue, handsome, with shoulders as wide as my torso is long and a waist even narrower than mine. Anyway, when he was a few weeks old he solved what had been long unsolved criminal case, one that, well, think of your Jack the Ripper case. It was like that one on a few levels.”



    “Was this when you were the head teacher at the northern royal house?” Sparkplug asked. “Clan Pax?”



    “Yes, it was while I was at Tyger Pax. Though he wasn’t born a Pax, he was a foundling that was taken in and raised as a Pax…for a short while at least.” A sad look came over the alien’s face.



    Sparkplug noted the sadness. “I take it he passed.”



    The comment was met with a smile. “No, but he managed to make some powerful enemies in the short time he was on Cybertron. I was forced to smuggle him off our world, put him somewhere unpleasant but safe, and then I came here for a detour, and, here I still am.” They both laughed.





    ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo





    Guardian Prime





    “Welcome home Prime!” The stunningly beautiful Bayonette called out as Guardian Prime marched in her direction, Crosshairs and Drift on either side of him. They had returned to Cybertropolis a few hours before and were now making their way down to the bowels of the Capital Spire. Bayonette had received word that he would be heading there and was instructed to deliver all the messages he’d received while he’d been off world.



    She wasn’t qualified for her job, but he had been too busy with far more important things to try and find a replacement. And if he were honest with himself, he was starting to see what Sentinel had seen in her. “Thank you Bayonette. I take it my messages are in that data pad in your hand.”



    “Yes Prime.” She replied with a dreamy grin. “It almost ran out of memory. A lot of people tried to reach you.”



    “Has Orion Pax provided you with a timetable for when he and his team will be launching?” Prime asked as he paused to take the data pad from her.



    “Yes, Prime, they’re set to launch the day after tomorrow.” Bayonette answered. “He’s ready to go but wanted to wait until you returned in case you had any last minute changes or instructions.”



    “Good. I’ll contact him tomorrow. Thank you Bayonette.” Prime said, his tone making it clear that she was dismissed, and even the dim Bayonette recognized she was no longer wanted there and turned to make her way out.



    “Damn, she’s quite a looker.” Crosshairs enviously chuckled.



    “All flash, no substance.” Prime replied, but a sly grin spread over his face. “But who doesn’t like a little flash from time to time?” The three lightly laughed as they got to a thick metal double-door and Prime allowed himself to be scanned. The doors rolled open and they walked into a reasonably well-lit expanse.



    “As I was saying Prime,” Crosshairs muttered, picking up the conversation they were having prior to meeting Bayonette, “I just don’t think he’s one of us. He just doesn’t get it. To the point where he’s likely gonna be a problem in the future.”



    “Why?” Prime looked over at the green and black soldier. “Based on what he knew, he was right to question killing Demolisher without questioning it first.”



    “Perhaps,” Drift added, “but his reaction to your handling of the one called Sky Lynx suggests a potential for insubordination.”



    Prime smiled. “He is a tad soft-sparked; I suppose the rescuing of a slave just to subjugate them to another form of slavery under threat of death would appear unjust, but war will harden him.”



    “Princess Magnus has been at war.” Crosshairs muttered.



    “Against monsters that needed exterminating.” Prime replied. “There’s no moral conundrum with killing a sparkeater. Fighting them honed his combat skills, I think we can all agree on that, but he’s still a novice at facing an enemy or asset you might be able to relate to, to sympathize with. It’ll take time, but I think we’ll eventually ween him off that compassionate impulse.”



    The three walked past the two colonial prisoners that they’d picked up on Helios Three, or Earth as the natives were calling it, past the Alicon they’d captured at a Quintesson outpost shortly after coming back online who was now clinging to life as he hung from the energized chains on the post in the floor, past the Alicon they’d picked up on Lanarq who was battered and chained in much the same manner, but in better shape than his comrade, and then past the five other Alicons, all in much better condition but shackled in the same manner, that they’d picked up from the captured escape craft on Zamojin. The three continued toward a room in the back where a gruff voice could be heard growling out taunts. “I suggest you talk, squids, because I’m like a fat ballerina, who takes scalps and slits throats, and you two ugly bastards each have five scalps and five throats for me to saw into.”



    The three Cybertronians entered the room to see a large, rotund olive-green robot ominously brandishing a long, jagged blade before two Quintessons confined by energy-whips. “Good ta’ see ya’ up and about Mutt.” Crosshairs greeted his companion.



    Mutt twisted his head and smiled at his comrades, thick coils on his lower face that gave a beard-like appearance rustled with the head movement. “Hell yeah, boom time! We got the gang back together.”



    Prime walked to the dark green robot and clapped his shoulder. “We were worried you weren’t going to make it, most of the soldiers in the barracks sections of the Manifest didn’t, but it’s great to have you back.”



    “Thanks Prime, but you should’ve known it’d take a lot more than some low-grade chicken-shit sabotage to punch my ticket.” Mutt replied.



    Guardian Prime smiled and nodded, and then looked over to the two Quintesson prisoners. “Doing what you do best I see.”



    “Figured I’d give these sniveling squids a chance to spill their guts figuratively before we took a more literal approach.” Mutt chuckled. “You got here a bit earlier than I was expecting. Haven’t had a chance to really lay into these slaggers.” Mutt turned away from Prime and brought his face close to one of the Quintessons. “But they’ll talk. They’ll beg to talk. I’m a wicked warrior robot!”



    “Mutt, I am pleased you have recovered, and you are a valued comrade in arms,” Drift said, “but everything you have to say is senseless.”



    “Aww, cut ‘im some slack.” Crosshairs countered. “He’s just enthusiastic.”



    “No, he only spouts meaningless, macho gibberish.” Drift shot back, earning a glare from Mutt.



    “Cut the crap before I drop a grenade down your throat.” The portly green helmeted soldier growled.



    “Enough.” Prime muttered. “I’m actually happy to be hearing your banter again, but now is not the time.” Prime walked over to stand in front of the two Quintessons. “Our friends here were just about to tell us about the whereabouts of some of their mobile cities.” He leaned in close to the forward face of one of the prisoners, causing a face rotation and the new face to display a look of terror. “Weren’t you?”
     
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  11. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    Excellent read. The bayverse type stuff wasn't my favorite part so far, but I enjoyed your use of it.
     
  12. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Shockwave



    “Terrestrial.” The sound of the command was immediately followed by the condensed gear-shifting sound of a transformation, and a moment later a predominantly tan and slightly purple alien structure that was very vaguely similar to a standard Polyhexian battle tank was in the center of the vast laboratory. Shockwave walked around the vehicle, examining it closely and keying in a few notes on his data pad.


    “So, what do you call that thing?” The leaner and shorter, though still quite tall by most standards, of the two robots standing off to the side questioned.


    “It is called a Type 61 main battle tank in Japan, a nation of Helios 3, or Earth.” Shockwave gently tapped the tank. “Aerial.” With the command the Terran tank transformed into a winged and far more aerodynamic construct, one that was now predominantly purple with tan accents. “And this, Octane, is called a Mikoyan Gurevich 25, or MiG-25 for short. It is from an empire on Earth called the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, which despite its name is not a conglomeration of various equal republics, but a centralized government and economic base bordering on totalitarianism, but ultimately the indigenous governments of the planet are on borrowed time and will cease to exist once the Decepticons expand to that planet in force. This particular fighter jet is still in the prototype stage, though Starscream’s intelligence gathering suggests that it will be making its first flight very shortly.” Shockwave stepped back away from the fighter jet. “Alright Blitzwing, robotic mode.”


    With that the jet transformed again, this time to a hulking twenty-four-foot-tall robot that was a nearly equal mix of purple and tan coloration. “Those jackasses at my adolescenter said my shell mode wasn’t remotely aerodynamic enough for a flight mode.”


    “You’re over a million years old.” The largest robot in the lab, a thirty-foot bulky dark gray and purple individual leaning against a computer bank muttered. “Can you even remember your adolescenter days?”


    “Ignore Astrotrain, Blitzwing.” Shockwave pre-empted the grumbled snap-back as he studied his data-pad. “Your natural shell was too blocky for an aerial mode. But like with Trypticon and your two colleagues here, you’re a triptych, your frame has multiple points that allow for degrees of folding far beyond those of the baseline transformer, allowing you to have an additional alternate shell mode, one which in your case is aerodynamic enough for a flight mode.” Shockwave looked over toward Octane and Astrotrain. “The same is true of Octane. Astrotrain had the opposite situation, when forged his large shell mode was noted to be adaptable for either flight or terrestrial locomotion. Flight being rarer and more valuable, they went in that direction, but he is still a triptych, so we’ve fashioned him with a terrestrial mode. Deluge pushed for a submarine mode, but the only higher-functioning species on Earth is terrestrial and they’ve barely dipped their toes into the depths of their oceans, so practicality won out.”


    “So, short story long, you’re saying the jackasses at my adolescenter don’t know shit.” Blitzwing chuckled.


    “Digression over, back on topic.” Shockwave dismissively replied. “Your transformation times involving robot to terrestrial mode and vice versa are sixty-two percent faster than the mean transformation time for healthy Cybertronians. The transformation times involving your new aerial mode average out to thirty-seven percent faster than the mean for healthy Cybertronians. That’s for transforming to or from aerial mode to either option.”


    “Yeah, my transformation cog earns its energon.” Blitzwing quipped, but then a worried look came over his face. “Which makes me wonder…”


    “We’re at war, Decepticon battlefield medics have already been tasked with examining the dead on both sides for reusable parts, and the bio-metrics of all triptychs are cataloged and prioritized above any non-command class Decepticons, and matching transformation cogs will be collected and kept in storage for all of you in case yours wear out.” Shockwave, anticipating the concern, interrupted with the answer.


    “Oh, alright then.” Blitzwing replied before the jarring sound of the doors to the lab being thrown open turned everyone’s attention to the front. “What the hell?”


    “No way, Shockers!” The booming voice of Motormaster thundered through the room, followed by one of the guards, a blue robot with yellow accents and looking concerned that he may have to try to intervene physically with the vastly larger gray and black robot. “Your crazy slaggin’ experiment didn’t work, total failure, I’m not doing that again!”


    “This is not how you address a senior officer, Motormaster.” Shockwave cut him off as he marched toward the intruder, casually placing his current data-pad on an organized desk covered with other data-pads and picking up another one as he went with his one hand, his menacing march causing a look of fear to come over Motormaster’s face. “Nor is it the way to bring up any objections to what is expected of you and your team.” Shockwave stopped in front of Motormaster, who was trying not to show how cowed he was. Shockwave raised the data-pad, glanced down as he thumbed a few pages, studied it briefly and then replied further. “And it is made all the worse by the fact that your roared assertions are factually incorrect. The gestalt version of your team demonstrated extraordinary physical power, a degree of endurance that exceeded our estimates by seventeen percent, and while still slow by normal standards, your team’s speed and agility were significantly greater than those of Devastator.”


    “I can’t conceive of a lower bar than being smarter and faster than Devastator!” Motormaster grumbled back defiantly.


    “I said you were faster, I never said smarter.” Shockwave corrected. “Frankly, Menasor is the least intelligent of the gestalt’s we’ve created so far.”


    “All the more reason I’m not doing that again!” Motormaster snapped. “That slaggin’ monster you cobbled together with us is the most moronical of the morons, and they’re all slaggin’ morons!”


    “I’ve theorized that the underlying contempt brewing within your team has contributed heavily toward Menasor’s disappointing intellect.” Shockwave explained.


    “No shit! I hate those slaggin’ twats!” Motormaster snapped.


    “And they hate you in equal measure.” Shockwave replied, his voice devoid of emotion despite there being no way for him not to know the impact the words he spoke would have. “The utter lack of comradery and trust has led to a fractured personality and an almost complete lack of the ability to reason.”


    “Oh, like Bruticus is Alpha Trion reborn!” Motormaster shot back. “He’s as dumb as Devastator and us, and those ever-drilling exhaust polishers worship that stringy shower-bag Onslaught!”


    “Yes, there seems to be room for improvement in terms of intellect, as well as speed and agility to our gestalt models. Effectiveness may be related to a level of synchronicity of members beyond merely spark compatibility.” Shockwave mused. “Something for me to consider.” Shockwave glanced back down at the data-pad and thumbed a few pages over to an overview of a team of candidates from Altihex, then flicked it off and turned back to glare intently at Motormaster with his one burning optic. “Regardless, the initial tests of Menasor’s effectiveness overwhelmingly indicate that he will be an asset on the battlefield, so when ordered to do so, you will merge with your teammates or face the wrath of your superiors. Pray that the wrath comes from someone other than Megatron.” Shockwave allowed his words to sink in for a moment before looking to the guard that had followed Motormaster into the lab. “Counter-Punch, escort Motormaster out of here, and see that all data related to the two recent gestalt endeavors are brought to Megatron. And let him know that I’m on my way to oversee the repair work on Trypticon. According to the latest report I’ve received from the Constructicons it shouldn’t be too much longer before he’s combat ready.”


    The blue and yellow face-plated robot nodded and bowed. “I’ll deliver the good news regarding Trypticon and place the gestalt data-pads into his hands personally, sir.”



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Rung



    The short, slender light orange robot raised his large optics, which were nestled under even larger optic-brows, up toward the chronometer on the wall above his patient, Crosshairs, hoping that his glance would go unnoticed by the soldier that counted himself as one of Guardian Prime’s elite and who had been dormant for a bit over one million years. Rung had been expecting such a revelation to have taken a major toll on the psyche of the soldier, but the green and black Crosshairs seemed genuinely unphased by the passage of time that he had missed. He came across as the type to be unphased by most things normal individuals would be deeply troubled by, and excited by things that normal individuals would be, well, also deeply troubled by. Sociopath didn’t seem a proper fit, but after listening to the proud soldier go on about his beliefs, opinions and exploits for the last fifty minutes, the diagnosis wasn’t extremely far off.


    “So, I’m poppin’ the sharks one after the other, head-shot, head-shot, head-shot, they’re droppin’ like flies,” Crosshairs chuckled, “takin’ out plenty a’ the gators too. Even me mate Drift popped off a few good shots, which is rare. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a fair shot, but it’s really melee that’s his bag. So we’re litterin’ the street of this alien shit-burg with mech-beast guts and brains, when Prime squawks about findin’ the objective…” the green and black patient twisted his head slightly and stared the therapist directly in the optics, “ya’ sure you have clearance to hear this stuff?”


    “Yes, I assure you Guardian Prime has granted me clearance higher than even yours.” Rung presented him with a smile. “In fact, I will be having a session with the ‘objective’ itself tomorrow,” Rung glanced around the room, “though we will be unable to have it here.”


    “Fair ‘nuff.” Crosshairs replied as he leaned back in the sofa and stared up at the pristine metal ceiling. “So, we track the big beast, or rather big beasts, though they say it’s the same critter, just able to control separated pieces of itself in different places. I guess you can ask him how he does that trick yourself tomorrow. Anyway, his Quint handlers try to bug out, flyboys intercept them and it’s just us and the big boy. Or rather, it’s just Prime and the big boy, he wants to flush it out himself, which he does, he nearly buys it but we’ve got air support who smacks it down with a vamparc. Jhiaxus is a dickhead, but he does make some pretty impressive shit.”


    “You mean he was a dickhead and made some impressive shit.” Rung corrected but noted the slightest of smiles twisting on the side of Crosshairs’ mouth.


    “Yeah, yer right Doc, he was a dickhead.” Crosshairs chuckled. “Still comin’ ta’ terms with all the changes while we were nappin’.” The soldier then twisted his head and continued. “So, the vamparc saps both halves of this thing into a more manageable level of power, and Prime takes him down like a champ, giving this heroic, justifyin’ speech as he often does. And that prissy arrogant highborn Autobot cunt Magnus starts throwin’ shade at the big man. I mean, on Lanarq he was still bein’ a little bitch, but I can understand wantin’ ta question the giant shitbag before sprayin’ its brains all over the alley. But on Zamojin he’s cryin’ about Prime’s ultimatum to the bird-cat, like an engraved invitation to join us with the option of walking away was slaggin’ viable. Who the slag is he to question Prime, or any of us? We was protectin’ and servin’ Cybertron long before his big prissy ass was shat forth from the metal.”


    “I read several reports regarding the mission.” Rung replied in a soothing voice. “Including the debriefing of Ultra Magnus. The subject of his apparent disapproval was brought up, and he replied that it was more to the reaction of a pair of soldiers to Prime’s speech than to the capture and conscription of the entity known as Sky Lynx, though he was discomforted by that as well. He claimed that the soldiers were in awe over what Prime had said, when in the opinion of Ultra Magnus it was less than inspiring. It could be justified he supposed, but it was not to be seen as inspiring.”


    “He’s a twat!” Crosshairs snapped. “I was one a’ dem soldiers the prissy twat was yappin’ about, and he was wrong! Prime was as inspirin’ as he ever was, that’s why he’s Prime! That blue, white and red tosser is probably just whingin’ about any little insignificant thing ‘cause he thinks his idiotic big kinsman shoulda been Prime.”


    “I have not yet discussed this matter with Ultra Magnus, so I really can’t opine on his motivation for finding Prime’s words during the apprehension of the ignus numen to be less inspiring than you found them to be.” Rung replied. “Perhaps his time as an Autobot and serving under a Pax has solidified his view of all sentient beings being equal and above being drawn into slavery.”


    “It ain’t slaggin’ slavery!” Crosshairs snarled. “It’s conscription, and them Autobots, especially their naïve school-femme leader can polish my skidplate!”


    “You’re not a fan of the Autobot leader?” Rung asked, a bit of surprise in his voice.


    “Helluva brawler, that footage a’ him yankin’ that flamin’ spark-kabob outta the head sparkeater’s chest and getting’ blown up lubes me’ gears, but I just can’t stand whiners whinin’ about how things are when they’ve been that way since the dawn of time.” Crosshairs grumbled. “Like he knows better than the countless generations that have preceded him. I had hoped he’d be on another planet by now, but I guess Prime wanted him to stick around a bit longer to provide a bit of added security, so he and his Autobitches are still around spoutin’ their tripe.”


    “I’m was under the impression that you were common-forged.” Rung followed. “It seems odd that you’re so opposed to the views and goals of the Autobots.”


    “I worked my ass off to get out of the gutter. Seems unfair that them cryin’ should get them to my level.” Crosshairs explained. “Plus, I just hate whingers.”


    “Alright.” Rung replied.


    “Hmmm, figured you was goin’ ta tell me that me an’ them shouldn’t have to work our asses off to get out of the gutter we was born in.” Crosshairs muttered, slightly confused.


    “Not my place to question your political and social beliefs,” Rung replied, “just to get you to question them.”


    “Eh, I agree, most highborn fops are undeserving bitches, but I just hate social justice twats.” Crosshairs muttered. “Anyway, I think I served my time, or close enough to round up, so til next time brows.” The green and black robot rose from the slanted couch and started toward the door of the small room. “Noticed you shootin’ glances toward the clock most of the session, so I ain’t the only one itchin’ ta move on.” He turned and grinned at the smaller Rung. “So, what is it, annoyed with me or ya’ have a hot date?”


    “Neither, I assure you.” Rung replied. “If I came across as unprofessional, I deeply…”


    “Don’t fret doc.” Crosshairs walked through the opening white metal door. “I won’t be cryin’ inta me dormancy slab over it.” The green and black robot turned toward the waiting room and laughed. “Ah, so that’s whatcha were waitin’ for!” Rung followed him to the door and looked excitedly into the waiting room, knowing that his next appointment was there. “Commander Pax, we was just talkin’ about what a great scrapper ya’ was. Name’s Crosswise, maybe we’ll get assigned to a mission or somethin’. Kill some quints, maybe some cons, whatever Prime points us at.”


    “It’s a pleasure to meet you Crosshairs, I’ve read your dossier.” Orion Pax replied as he stood from the chair he had been seated on. “And yes, perhaps we’ll work together in the future.”


    “You kids play nice.” Crosshairs muttered as he continued past the Autobot Commander, reaching up to slap him with contempt masked as playfulness on the shoulder, and to the opening door to the office. “Though given it’s you two, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”


    Orion watched him leave and then turned toward Rung. “Doctor, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My friend Ratchet says that you’re the best in your field.”


    “Ratchet?” Rung smiled as the two shook wrists with one another. “That’s very high praise, he’s the best there is in several fields. Please, come into my office and make yourself comfortable.” Orion smiled and nodded before walking into the smaller room with Rung right behind him. “Wherever you’d like, but traditionally the patient takes the couch. It allows he or she to relax a bit more and possibly feel more open about what they divulge.”


    “Sounds good.” Orion said as he sat down on the chaise lounge sofa, his optics gliding over the room. “A fan of deep spaceship models I see.”


    Rung smiled as he sat in his chair, sending a sideways glance toward the back of the room to what the patient was referring to. “Yes, I have a keen interest in models, and have always been fascinated by our exploration vessels.” The psychiatrist twisted in his seat to face the display shelves mounted on the far wall, each lined with models of space craft, and pointed at the large one in the center of the highest and most prominent shelf. “Obviously that one should be familiar to you, what with you being the first to lay optics on its glorious return.”


    “Technically I only had one optic at the time to lay on the Manifest as it returned.” Orion chuckled, but ceased as another model on the end of one of the shelves caught his attention. He stood and walked over to the ship, staring at it in awe and pointing hesitantly at it. “What’s the name of this craft?”


    Rung stood up and followed Orion to the ship in question. “That was the Lemuria, a deep space supply vessel. An obscure but fascinating craft. Large and legendarily durable, it was lost to the far reaches of space. Her final resting place remains unknown.”


    “Is that so?” Orion muttered with a grin as he studied the model. “Her hull was made primarily of cybertanium.”


    “Why yes.” Rung said with surprise. “Nearly sixty-four percent of it. I take it you’ve studied the Lemuria.”


    “No.” Orion said as he turned around and headed back to the sofa. “But I did make a bit of armor and a pair of axes out of some of it. One of the axes is currently stuck in the Spear of Paxus.”


    Rung followed Orion with disbelieving optics. He had no doubt that every word coming out of Orion’s mouth was the truth, but… “You can’t be serious. Orion’s Axe is made from the hull of the Lemuria?”


    Orion shrugged. “That’s the ship I got the metal from, so if that’s the Lemuria, then Orion’s Axe is forged from a portion of the Lemuria’s hull.”


    “Where did you find her?” Rung asked as he retook his seat.


    Orion’s face took an uncomfortable look. “I’d rather not say. Those that sheltered me would prefer to remain forgotten. I would ask that you not mention this to anyone.”


    “I can’t. Confidentiality.” Rung smiled. “Though it does make my intended journey to Tyger Pax all the more exciting.”


    “A foundling’s unintended vandalism has made Polarus a tourist attraction.” Orion chuckled lightly.


    “You use self-deprecation and self-dismissiveness as a way of avoiding or deflecting strong positive feelings toward or about you.” Rung stated as a matter of fact. “You divert attention away from yourself whenever possible and are uncomfortable receiving gratitude or any form of adulation.”


    Orion squirmed a bit as he laid down and seemed to surrender to the therapeutic process. “Well, yes, but that’s true of most people, isn’t it?”


    “It’s not uncommon.” Rung stated. “But it stands out more when the individual is as accomplished as you are.” The odd-looking robot smiled. “Humility is a good thing, but you would have us believe the impossibility that you’re just an ordinary citizen.”


    “I am an ord…look, this isn’t why I’m here.” Orion smiled sheepishly. “One of the reasons Guardian Prime requested that I delay my mission was because rumors of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder came to his attention, and he wanted me evaluated and treated if need be before jaunting off into space.”


    “You sound as though you feel this to be unnecessary.” The therapist replied, having dealt with this doubt from many patients before.


    “The flashbacks during my active hours have stopped, and those during my offline dormancy have decreased in frequency and intensity.” Orion replied. “Frankly, the only times it’s ever been an issue while awake is when I come across footage of the fight without knowing I will be viewing it, and the last four times that’s happened I had no reaction, either physical or psychological.”


    “Or perhaps you’re quite good at suppressing the impact this trauma has had on you.” Rung offered. “You’ve endured hardship for the vast majority of your life, frequently alone…”


    “No, I have never been alone.” Orion corrected. “Even if I’m physically by myself, I have always been able to draw support from the love and memory of many.”


    “Alright, good, you had some sort of support system.” Rung replied. “But you were still forced to mourn the loss of Arlon Pax on a distant world, wherever that world may be, without that support system. Years later your ability to grieve over the loss of the one that raised you and the maiming of the one you consider a brother had to wait while the world looked to you for salvation. Even upon your awakening, you were called to duty before you could properly come to terms with the loss of Torenia Pax and the irrevocable change to Roller Pax.”


    “I was able to say my good-byes, to Torenia, to Arlon, to Stronghold, to so many, and I’ve come to terms with what happened to Roller and his changes.” Orion replied. “And I recognize the damage that can be done by ignoring or suppressing trauma. That’s not what’s at play with me, at least not consciously or deliberately. Yes, several times in the past the dealing with traumatic events has been set aside temporarily, either by me, by outside parties, or by a greater and immediate need. But I have genuinely tried to circle back to acknowledge how that has impacted me, I recognize the importance of my mental health, I recognize that I have limitations, that my robust physicality likely does not translate to an equal degree of robustness in regards to my ability to bounce back psychologically after vast damage. At least,” Orion paused and looked off to the side, “at least there hasn’t been the evidence to support that possibility yet.”


    “But you consider that possibility to be likely?” Rung pressed. “That because physical injuries that can cripple and kill others are shrugged off by you, you think there’s a likelihood that traumatic events that are crippling to others are equally ignorable to you?”


    “I’m pretty sure I just stated otherwise.” Orion replied.


    “Yes, but at the end you seemed to only give that statement credence because evidence to the contrary has yet to present itself.” Rung countered. “Normally I’d attribute this to arrogance, a god-complex that’s not uncommon for highborn or bearers of ignis superious or especially both, and while even beyond those traits you certainly have reason to be arrogant, I don’t think that’s the case here.”


    Orion chuckled. “Very happy to know you’re not planning on diagnosing me with a god-complex. I did learn a painful lesson about assuming my abilities were without limits. Years ago, Ratchet accused me of just that, and he was right, but I ignored him and was nearly beaten to death. That was related to my physicality, an area where I really do stand apart from most of our species due to my green spark, yet I was forced to accept an irrefutable limit to what my green spark can enable me to do. That spark offers no strength to me intellectually or psychologically, there is nothing setting me apart from the populace on those fronts, I’m aware that I’m as susceptible to damage and injury psychologically as anyone else, but despite this fact I still think I’ll be alright. My belief that I’ll be alright psychologically is not arrogance, at least I hope and genuinely believe it’s not.” A more serious Orion continued. “I’ve studied post-traumatic stress disorder a great deal, and I’ve been evaluating myself regarding it since an incident on my return to Tyger Pax the day I woke from my coma. I recognize that I’m neither qualified nor unbiased enough to determine the degree to which it is impacting me, but I’m quite familiar with the symptoms, and I swear, by and large they no longer apply to me. But I will happily acknowledge and defer to your expertise.”


    Rung smiled and nodded. “I don’t doubt your devotion to the study and evaluation, and I certainly don’t doubt your intellect, but psychological self-diagnoses are frowned upon for very valid reasons. So, let’s humor Guardian Prime and approach this with our best and most open-minded effort, shall we?”


    Orion smiled and nodded. “Of course.”


    “Well then, tell me of your earliest memories.” Rung leaned back in his chair and watched as Orion fell back into a relaxed reclining.


    “The sky.” Orion recounted. “Rocking gently. At the time I wasn’t sure what was going on; how could I? But it was rocking because I was on a boat, and then it wasn’t the sky before me anymore, it was her face looking down at me, with a smile I somehow instinctively knew to be…home.” The tiniest of weeps escaped the war hero’s metal lips.



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Minimus Ambus



    Like with most things on Cybertron, the double swinging doors to this particular Iaconian public house were designed for much larger individuals. Despite the fact that the standard deviation regarding height in Cybertronians was far greater than with nearly all other species, most things still needed to settle on standard sizes that seemed to provide a comfortable accommodation to the largest percentage of the potential clientele, and in nearly all cases Minimus fell outside this range. But it was something he had grown used to early in life and he barely thought about it anymore, especially now when so much was weighing on his mind. Minimus’s raised arms pushed the lower portions of the doors and he walked in, hoping that there wouldn’t be a larger robot or group of robots barreling their way out of the establishment at that exact moment. Fortunately, he wasn’t knocked to the ground by inebriated patrons, and walked into the moderately crowded bar and scanned the room.


    He had been informed his quarry was likely here, decompressing from his off-world mission and what some observers considered to be a bit of ostracizing from other members of the mission. For once the intel was correct, as at the far end of the room seated alone at a small two-chaired table was Ultra Magnus. The massive robot was hunched over his drink, the cup looking comically tiny in his large hands, and he was giving off the vibe that he wished to be left alone. Minimus chuckled to himself that while it was not his desire, it seemed his lot in life to consistently violate such vibes. Sometimes his desire to intrude wasn’t important and he could or should disregard it, but this matter needed to be brought to Ultra Magnus’s attention, so Minimus carefully made his way through the unobservant crowd and was soon standing next to Magnus’s table. “Mind if I join you?”


    Magnus looked down toward the voice and provided the compulsory diplomatic smile. “If you wish, but I should tell you that I’m not the best company at this moment.”


    Minimus pushed the chair opposite Magnus out and gave a hop to get into it. “Unfortunately, I haven’t hunted you down just to chat and catch up.” The comment got an inquisitive optic-raise out of Ultra Magnus. “There’s something I need to inform you of. Something regarding you departed kinsman and former emir.”


    “Yes, I’ve heard.” Magnus grumbled as he raised his cup and gave the slightly tainted energon within a light swirl. “His ghost has been giving the Decepticons a bit of trouble according to the rumors.”


    “There’s some degree of truth to the reports.” Minimus cautiously responded.


    “There’s no such thing as ghosts. Even the Mechigahara Woods hauntings has been explained away.” Magnus muttered before bringing the edge of the cup to his lips and taking a swig. He gulped as he pulled the cup away from his face. “And I know Delta’s dead, so whatever degree of truth there may be to these outlandish reports, it doesn’t involve my departed kinsman and former emir.”


    “No, not directly, but his armor is involved.” Minimus explained in a low voice and watched as the cup was lowered to the table and the expected look of rage came over Ultra Magnus’s face.


    “What?”


    Minimus paused a moment for one last girding of his resolve. “Another individual has been attacking small groups of Decepticons, masquerading in Delta Magnus’s armor.”


    Magnus’s look of anger twisted a bit. “This darkly colored Convoy-looking individual that some of the reports have mentioned?”


    Ambus nodded. “Yes.” He twisted slightly. “Obviously by wearing the Magnus armor the intent is to spread a sense of supernatural fear through the Decepticon ranks. The goal in the anonymous Convoy appearance is a sense of…well, reverence and penitence felt toward the extinct…nearly extinct house.”


    Magnus stared intently at the much smaller Ambus for several moments before finally giving voice to the thoughts in his head. “I was fairly certain that I was more tapped into the intel coming out of the Decepticons than you were, but any sense of motives or intent for this individual or individuals have not reached my audio receptors yet.” He leaned forward. “So, tell me Lord Ambus, how is it that you are so well informed on this matter?”


    Minimus looked down for a moment, then back up and locked onto Ultra’s optics. “Dominus survived the Grand Convocation. He altered his appearance, and his core robotic mode is this phantom Convoy. His load-bearing spark enables him to wear your kinsman’s armor, which he does to, well, you’re aware of what he’s been doing.”


    “Delta’s corpse?” Magnus asked, barely keeping his rage in check.


    “Likely moved, but when I confronted Dominus, he, the armor and Delta’s corpse were within the Jewel of the Jungle.” Minimus answered. “It’s a vast…”


    “I know what it is!” Ultra growled. “An Ambus estate within Magnus borders. I’d almost say it was an appropriate base of operations were this whole idea not so fucking wrong!” The massive Autobot stood up suddenly, nearly knocking his chair over.


    “Hold up, I’m sure he’s no longer there.” Minimus held out his hand to slow Magnus. “And the last thing we need is for the two of you to kill each other.”


    “Delta was a force! Dominus Ambus, even with Delta’s armor, wouldn’t last a minute against me!” Ultra growled.


    “Probably not, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you don’t know where he is now, and that I really don’t want Dominus hurt.” Minimus explained in a pleading tone. “Please, sit down. I will do everything I can to help you find him and end this situation where both Dominus and Delta are returned home with no further damage.” Minimus stared intently into Ultra Magnus’s optics. “Please.” A moment passed. “Please, just please sit down.”


    Ultra glared at the smaller robot for nearly a minute before lowering back into his chair. “Know this, Ambus, I will find Delta, and I will be returning both his frame and his armor to Citadel Magnus, and Dominus will not be stopping me. Whether he has further damage or not will be entirely up to him, but if he puts up a fight, I will not hesitate to win that fight.”


    “I understand, I’m just asking that you do not do more than is necessary in terms of fighting him.” Minimus pled. “And that if there’s a way to attain our goals without violence, that we do our damnedest to go that route.” Minimus looked down and paused. “Just know that while I do not doubt that you can defeat him, I don’t think you understand how physically powerful he really is, especially with your kinsman’s armor.”


    “I know his spark is like mine.” Ultra muttered. “And I know that he’s received extensive combat training and has done his best to keep that training under wraps to most. I’m not going to underestimate him.”


    “All that, and he believes that he has nothing left to lose or live for, making him even more dangerous.” Minimus muttered. “I don’t want you confronting him thinking he’ll go down easy, and then as you realize this not to be the case you increase the force to an unnecessary level.”


    “I…” Magnus seemed to calm a bit, “I’m not going to tell you I’m not angry, that I’m not angry as hell, but I have no desire to harm Dominus. I give you my word that I’ll do what I can to end this with minimal friction.”


    “Thank you.” Minimus was genuinely relieved, enough so that he looked over to the server, a lean purple robot with antennas on his shoulders, and waved him over to take his order. “Do you think that you can talk Guardian Prime into helping with this? Let him know that Delta deserves a hero’s farewell, and that Dominus, once given proper help, could be a tremendous asset to the new government.”


    “I…” Magnus looked over to the right, at the wall pressed against their table as he hesitated, “I’d rather keep this circle small, and not involve Prime.”


    “But his resources…and he’d find out about what we’re doing anyway.” Minimus protested.


    “Prime’s government is still fairly heavily reliant upon the Autobots, and he’s granted us a significant degree of autonomy. We’d be able to track and subdue Dominus and bring him in safely before Prime found out.” Magnus explained, knowing that the explanation would create even more questions.


    “I fail to see why that would be a goal of ours.” Minimus muttered in disbelief.


    “If you were afraid that I would be heavy-handed in my apprehension of Dominus, you’d be terrified of Prime and several members of his inner circle’s involvement.” Magnus explained.


    Minimus stared intently at Magnus for a long while before finally breaking the silence. “What hap…”


    “Hello sir, may I take your order?” The server interrupted.


    “I’ll have a vial of Damaxus Rouge.” Minimus replied without looking up at the server.


    “I’m sorry, but many of the southern vintages have not yet been restocked.” The purple robot apologetically provided.


    “Damaxus is considered southern?” Minimus asked skeptically.


    “For Iacon, yes.” The server replied with a smile.


    “It was the end of the world up until several weeks ago.” Magnus shrugged at Ambus, then looked at the server, the two nearly optic-to-optic even though Ultra Magnus was seated. “Please bring him a Cybertropolis Voltage.”


    “Excellent sir.” The server said before turning to retrieve the drink.


    “I can’t stand the polar garbage.” Ambus muttered. “I mean, I’ll drink it, but they really don’t know how to taint energon north of the Mithril.”


    “All they have is what’s brewed north of the Sea.” Magnus replied. “It’ll be months before the pubs of even the largest cities are fully restocked.”


    “Shit, that took me off my question.” Minimus blurted. “What happened on your mission with Prime? What gave you such a negative view of him?”


    Magnus shifted in his chair and pondered how to answer the question. “It’s just…I suppose I’ve grown used to a more measured approach to conflict.”


    “Really?” Minimus questioned. “I always thought that Delta swung a heavy hammer.” Ultra Magnus gave a wry smile as he lightly pointed to the face of the Common Man on his chest. “Ah, your short time with the Autobots has tempered you a bit, is that it?”


    Magnus nodded a bit solemnly. “They’re kind of big on the sanctity of life…and the importance of freedom.”


    “Some would say that it’s the right of all sentient beings.” Ambus chuckled, his words getting a grin out of Magnus.


    “They were just words, pretty, thoughtful words to be sure, but just words…” Magnus looked down, “until he made them more than just words.”


    “Which would lead me to believe that would increase your opinion of Prime.” Ambus asked, genuinely confused.


    “Prime wasn’t the one to make them more than just words.” Ultra Magnus continued his downward stare. “He just reacted in a way to ensure he was beloved in this new Cybertron and standing shoulder to shoulder with those responsible for saving it.”


    “Ah, so we’re talking about ‘that’ he.” Minimus looked down at the table to grab his drink, remembering with a frown that it had not yet been delivered. “And whatever Prime did in outer space, it’s not something the kid would have done?”


    Magnus continued to look down deep in his thoughts. “I suppose it’s possible that he may have had to; even to those for whom life is sacred there are situations where killing is necessary; I’ve personally seen him take lives. Though, right or wrong, I can’t see the kid forcing another being into servitude, no matter how badly we may need that being.” The hulking white, blue and red robot marginally raised his optics to peer into those of Minimus Ambus. “But even had he followed the same course of action; it’d at least warranted a second thought in that head of his.” Magnus leaned back and threw his gaze up at the ceiling in frustration. “Maybe I really am being a twat, but seeing that, it just seemed wrong, it seemed…un-Prime-like.”


    Minimus went silent for a few moments, his gaze vacantly cast straight ahead focusing on nothing. “Did you know that I learned the Mahpop Code when I was a few weeks old? It’s a maritime numeric code, quite simple,”


    “Yes, I’m familiar with it.” Magnus replied absently. “It’s how Emir Pax…well, former Emir Roller Pax is forced to communicate.”


    “Yes, it’s what allowed me to communicate with him while we were looking over what we all thought was a dying Orion.” Minimus said. “I lamented our folly in attending the Grand Convocation, and he beeped out something along the lines of ‘if it’s something Orion wouldn’t do, it shouldn’t be done’.” Ambus looked up into Magnus’s lowering optics. “I think any criticism of the legendary Guardian Prime and suggestion that another might be better suited should end with that. The wrong person might interpret what we’re saying as potentially treasonous.”


    Magnus nodded. “Orion would be the last person to entertain suggestions that he be Prime.”


    “He was reluctant to take command of the Autobots too, and that turned out…well,” Minimus shrugged, “I think I was trying to change the subject, wasn’t I?”


    “Of course.” Magnus replied, nodding as the server returned and placed Minimus’s vial of engex on the table. “Enjoy your drink, then let’s go find a place better suited to figuring out a way of getting our kinsmen home.”



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Lyndon Baines Johnson



    “I’ve got civil rights leaders from all over the country filing into the East Room as we speak, waiting for me to tell them that Congress is going to pass the civil rights bill!” The American President snarled at the unseen assistants behind him as he entered the Oval Office. “So, get on the horn with every jackass over there that isn’t a confirmed yes, and let them know that they will be voting this bill through!” With that he shut the door to give himself a much-needed brief respite from the weight of leadership. His long legs carried him across the room, around the Resolute Desk, where he fell into his chair.


    “A noble endeavor, Mr. President, one long overdue.” The voice coming from the bathroom jolted President Johnson upright in his chair, his eyes locked on the open doorway, his voice about to call out to the Secret Service agents right outside the door on the far side of the room when the impossible sight of a gray and white German Shepherd sauntering out of the bathroom into the Oval Office and giving him a casual nod paused his call for help. “What in the…”


    “Please refrain from calling your guards, I mean you no harm.” The dog requested.


    “Whaaa…” realization finally dawned on the President. “Somehow I find that difficult to believe, after what your kind did to my predecessor.”


    “My species, but not my kind.” The canine replied. “Based on our evaluation, President Kennedy was killed by a Predacon named Scourge. We are Maximals, the enemies of the Predacons and de facto protectors of your planet for the last million years.”


    “That’s the type of story someone trying to kill me might be sellin’.” Johnson replied skeptically.


    “No, if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead. If I wanted you captured, you’d be unconscious.” The dog replied. “I assure you, I’m just here to talk.”


    “Just know I’ve got the Secret Service out there should you try to pull anything.” Johnson warned.


    “As long as you don’t try to lift me by my ears, I think we’ll be alright.” The dog chuckled.


    “Oh, fer Heaven’s sake!” Johnson grumbled. “With everything going on in the world, how in the hell can you and everyone else be focused on the damn dog lifting thing!”


    The German Shepherd chuckled a bit more before transforming into an eight-foot tall silver and blue robot with bits of furry dog parts hanging off him. “Maybe this will remove any temptation.”


    “Wow, you really pack a lot into that dog-suit!” Johnson exclaimed mildly with a chuckle.


    “There’s a degree of matter condensation involved in my transformation to beast mode,” the robot replied, “not a lot with me, most of our crew were selected in part for our smaller statures to help us transform convincingly into native fauna with minimal condensation or expansion. Size adjustments require a fair bit of energy consumption.”


    “Yeah, yeah, we’ve gotten some intel regarding this particular technological advantage you aliens have.” President Johnson interrupted. “The example given to me was how a twenty-foot robot could expand as he transforms to mimic a ninety-foot long jet with a wingspan almost that much.”


    “Possible,” the robot nodded, “but such a degree of expansion would thin out the mass substantially. They might be only a bit less vulnerable than the human jets they’re imitating.”


    “Right, while you shrinking to dog-size would make you denser in pooch mode, right?” Johnson asked, getting a nod. “See, I know a few things about you guys…” the human cocked an eyebrow at the metal being that was one foot eight inches taller than he was and vastly more massive.


    “K-9, you can call me K-9”. The robot answered the unasked question.


    “Your name is K-9?” Johnson laughed. “Yeah, and my name is Hugh Mann. Or wait, no, I wanna be Tex Anne. Or wait…”


    “It’s obviously not my name,” K-9 interrupted the human’s ridiculing of his designation, “it’s a code name I was given for use when using Earth languages.”


    “So, in Japan you’re called K-9?” The President, still laughing, asked.


    “No, obviously we’re aware of the differing languages of your planet.” K-9 sarcastically quipped. “In Japan I’d probably be something akin to Inu, or Max, or something equally inane.”


    “What brings you here today, K-9?” The President still chuckled a little at saying the name.


    The robot took a very serious air. “To inform you of a likely threat to your planet.”


    President Johnson leaned back in his chair. “Is this related to an incident involving a rat the size of a dog and a car transforming into a fifteen-foot robot at an Air Force base in Florida a few months back?”


    “I’m sure your radar picked up a city-sized spaceship lifting out of the water and leaving your planet’s orbit as well.” K-9 hesitantly added.


    “Our radar and the eyeballs of a few hundred sailors and fishermen.” Johnson added almost angrily. “Near as we can tell, Fidel didn’t notice, thank Christ.”


    “To answer your question, yes, they’re related.” K-9 muttered.


    “Was that The Manifest?” Johnson asked.


    “Yes.” K-9 replied sadly. There was a long stretch of silence before K-9 continued. “I’m not sure what Atrium has told you regarding The Manifest…”


    “Just that it held your planet’s greatest leader and heroes, and that this leader was mulling the option of turning our planet into a big metal ball, killing all organic life in the process.” The American President answered angrily. “Is Guardian Prime alive?”


    “We don’t know.” The robot replied. “Outside the giant rat, who has no idea of what went on inside the craft, we only had one other operative in that vicinity, and he went missing shortly before the launch.”


    “The carbot?”


    “No, the missing agent was a Maximal you’re not familiar with.” K-9 clarified.


    “OK, so the carbot wasn’t one of you guys?” Johnson pressed.


    “He was an agent from Cybertron trying to find The Manifest.” K-9 explained.


    “According to the reports I have, your rat was helping that agent out!” Johnson sat forward angrily and glared at K-9. “Thought it was your mission to keep your alien ilk from finding that damn ship!”


    “I see Atrium has provided more than a few details to you.” K-9 muttered before continuing. “You’re right, our intent was to keep home-world and colonial Cybertronians from the Manifest and Ferrotaxis. This agent understood our concerns, claimed to even sympathize with them, and had no interest in the Ferrotaxis, but claimed that there was a catastrophe of sorts taking place on Cybertron that required the aid of The Manifest. One of our number, our rat, was swayed into helping him.”


    The President slumped back into his chair and pondered this for a moment. “So, best case scenario, Guardian Prime and his cohorts are long dead and plans for making Earth a big metal ball with them.” He wiped his hand over his face. “But that’s a longshot, isn’t it?”


    “It’d be unwise to count on such good fortune.” K-9 conceded.


    “Maybe whatever this catastrophe was on your planet took care of the Manifest.” Johnson mused, a hint of jest in his voice.


    K-9 shrugged and casually sent his gaze over the room. “Hard to say. The nature of this catastrophe was…well, it was difficult to believe, and even if true, our data on the potential threat was woefully lacking. No way to ascertain an accurate threat analysis.”


    “What was it, some sort of robot plague?” The human asked.


    “No, it…it’s difficult to define.” The large robot replied, nervous and confused as to how to describe what he needed to describe. “Do you watch horror movies, Mr. President?”


    The President gave the alien a confused look. “Not my cup o’ tea, but I’ve come across a few.”


    “Well, imagine an army of zombies, led by officers that are vampires.” K-9 replied with a shrug.


    Johnson stared up at the robot with a look of annoyed disbelief. “I need for you to recognize that you just said an army of zombies led by vampires to the President of the United States.”


    K-9 smiled. “Believe me Mr. President, it sounds just as ridiculous to us. But Nightbeat,”


    “So, it was Nightbeat.” Johnson interrupted. “One of our agents met with him the day Jack was killed. The car he described seemed to be a match for eyewitness accounts in Florida.”


    “Yes, he was desperate to find the Manifest, we refused to help him, actually tried to detain him, so I guess it makes sense he tried to contact you for information.” K-9 muttered. “His claims were that monsters of our distant past had returned, and that The Manifest was needed to fight them.”


    “Horseshit.” Johnson grumbled. “Our planet may be destroyed over some horseshit ghost story? Utterly ridiculous.” The President stood from his chair and walked around to look out the window behind it. “I would love to have that rat-bastard in front of me so that I could throw the switch on his lousy ass myself. I’m sure we could find a way to painfully snuff that spark of his.”


    “We’re not going to offer you our comrade, but…” K-9 reached into a compartment on his frame and pulled out a crinkled-up folder thick with documents “perhaps this might be a better gift.” He dropped it on the desk, noting the odd look the President was giving the unkempt folder. “My apologies for its condition, we’re not used to dealing with paper.”


    “What is it?” Johnson asked as he walked back to the desk and opened the folder.


    “The location and all information we have regarding the Ferrotaxis.” K-9 stated.


    The President spread a few pages out and studied them with an almost disbelieving look on his face. “Jumpin’ Jesus, you mean Homer was right?”



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Sky Lynx



    Guards lined the elevated platforms that circled the former hangar, current holding cell. He had been treated well since arriving here, a prisoner, but the cage was certainly gilded so to speak. It had seemed that he had gone from one set of masters to another, but at least these masters seemed to appreciate him a bit more, seemed to take him less for granted…for now. The massive creature looked up, away from the therapist that had been visiting him for weeks now and peered at the mounted and manned vamparc cannon positioned directly ahead of him. There were three others in this hangar, and from what he was told, a slew more outside should Sky Lynx manage to escape this structure. Gilded, but equipped with barbs to be sure.


    “I’m sorry, would you like to end the session for the day?” The therapist, Rung, asked, breaking the massive combined creature out of his silent evaluations of his physical situation.


    “No, I apologize Rung, I…I sometimes fail to ignore the arsenal aligned at me.” The massive creature replied.


    Rung nodded sadly and offered a genuine look of compassion. “I am sorry for this situation Sky Lynx; I genuinely hope and believe it to be a temporary measure. At this point you’re still considered an unknown, potentially still loyal to the Quintessons, or even if not, still a threat to others.”


    “I had frequently fantasized about being rescued from slavery. There were even legends regarding a society of escaped slaves that sometimes raided the planets of former Quintesson customers to free captives and bring them to the Hub.” Sky Lynx mused, almost wistfully.


    “The Hub?” Rung asked with genuine fascination.


    “A fantasy.” Sky Lynx chuckled. “According to the legends of Cybertronian slaves, one like me, an ignis numen, had been sold to a civilization on a planet called Antilla, and was serving as a defense base for one of their larger jungle cities. In time this numen led an uprising and escaped with dozens of Cybertronian slaves. They stole a transport and set out to the stars, trying to find home, but having no idea where Cybertron was. Eons passed, many of them starved to death, but eventually they found a metal world with a star core,” the massive beast smiled, “what you science types call an energy cluster, one that not only made an approximation of energon that could sustain them, but that also had a native population that was very similar to our own species, but which lacked anything like the numen leader.”


    “Does this numen leader have a name?” Rung asked, enthralled.


    “According to legend his designation was Maximo.” Sky Lynx replied. “Apparently this world had a multitude of small moons and other satellite structures that they arranged around the core world, this Hub, to act as defense as well the housing of countless solar harvesters. Each became habitable, and the Hub and its network became a utopia for escaped slaves and the native mechanoids.” The beast’s shoulders shrugged. “Or so the legend goes. At least in my fantasies where they rescue me, it would be true freedom, and not…” his gaze went up toward the weapons.


    Rung sadly shook his head. “In time I’m certain that our leadership will see you as I do, a beautiful soul, another citizen of Cybertron simply looking to live in peace with the rest of us.”


    “Your leadership has no interest in my beautiful soul, and there’s certainly no interest in me living in peace.” Sky Lynx replied, stifling a bit of anger. “I am a weapon to them, Guardian Prime made that abundantly clear in our first meeting.”


    Rung nodded sadly. “You are viewed as more than just an asset, but yes, you are definitely considered a military asset at this time. Something we unfortunately need.”


    “Yes, the dragon.” Sky Lynx mirthlessly chuckled. “I’ve faced it before, one of my earliest memories. Many of my kind fell never to rise again to down the giant mindless beat. Now it has an intellect, and I must face it alone.”


    “You aren’t alone, you’re not even the only giant.” Rung replied.


    “Yes, Omega Supreme.” Sky Lynx muttered, falling into his memories. “So noble, so brave, so powerful. Far stronger than I, though even the two of us combined can hope to be anything more than a distraction to the dragon.”


    “The Decepticons call him Trypticon,” the booming voice of Guardian Prime echoed through the chamber as he marched into the vast hangar, “help me, and we may just have his equal to face off against him, leaving you to mop up common ground troops with the rest of us.” Prime came to a stop next to Rung’s chair, smiling down at the seated therapist before looking up and directing the smile at Sky Lynx. “And once the Decepticons are defeated, you’ll be free to do whatever you want. Your affiliation with the Quintessons pardoned, a citizen of Cybertron with full rights. Nay, a hero of Cybertron, to be celebrated for as long as you choose to remain on this world.” Prime looked back down at Rung. “I apologize for not coming sooner. I had to see another patient of yours off.”


    “So, the Ark has launched?” Rung asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.


    “Just over an hour ago.” Prime replied before looking back up and locking optics with the massive Sky Lynx.


    “You expect me to leave once I have my freedom?” The combined beast questioned, circling back to the comments made directly to him a moment before.


    “No, in fact I truly hope that you remain with us here.” Guardian Prime nodded. “But I stated that to illustrate that once free, you may make your destiny wherever you choose. I’m sure that you’ve seen far more worlds than I, far be it from me to guess where your ideal home is.” The smile faded and a serious and solemn look came over Guardian Prime. “I wanted to explain your current status, and to make clear our planned future for you, but I also wanted to apologize for how you were taken, and the words chosen when apprehending you…they were threatening, irresponsible and overall just thoughtless. More a beating of my chest than an offer to join us.”


    “The energon was raised in both of us at that time.” Sky Lynx replied. “If servitude is truly to be my lot, then better it be with you than the gods…I mean Quintessons.”


    “I suppose it’ll be tough to break a twenty-million-year habit.” Prime replied with a smile, waving away the mistake of referring to the Quintessons as gods.


    “Twenty-five, actually.” Sky Lynx nodded.


    “You don’t look a day over a million.” Prime chuckled, earning a hard glance from Rung. So, the doctor is sharing his notes with the Prime. Sky Lynx’s narcissism had been referred to as his one fault countless times by his five-faced masters, but it was a fault they not only tolerated, but encouraged, frequently praising his beautiful form in all modes. He hadn’t advertised it to the tiny therapist, but he had grown to be quite comfortable with this Rung, and as his guard fell, his arrogance in regard to his appearance surfaced more than a few times. And because of it he would have to deal with ham-fisted hidden compliments from Prime and anyone else authorized to hear of his inner thoughts and personality quirks. “But if I could get back to me needing your help.”


    “The other star-sparks of this world.” Sky Lynx nodded his massive bestial head.


    “The legends I’ve heard suggest only Metroplex lives.” Prime asked, clearly interested.


    “By most measures, that’s an accurate statement.” Sky Lynx replied. “At least as far as I know. I have been to the Imperexium and the Quintaxium back when they were kept on Quintessa, prior to their relocation, and while any higher-level thought processes have long since gone, I knew that their sparks pulsed powerfully within. But it has been many million years since I’ve heard whisper of either of them.”


    “And Metroplex?” Prime asked eagerly.


    “Oh, I’ve heard whispers.” Sky Lynx replied with a toothy smile, but quickly lost the smile and nodded toward the mounted vamparc cannon. “But leave the vamparcs and threats here. You either talk him into leaving with you, or he won’t be leaving with you no matter what you do.”



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Hound



    He stood, looking down over the vast, impossible beauty of this new world. All organic, like most life-bearing planets, and the absence of the mechanical lifeforms seemed to make it all the more fragile and beautiful. Hound was well aware that there were mechanical structures, vehicles and devices on this planet, millions of them, but all life to emerge from this vast orb was organic, and while there was plenty of ores within this Earth, it constituted far less of its make-up on Earth than on Cybertron, and nowhere did it emerge on the surface enough to be seen as part of the landscape the way it frequently did on Hound’s home world.


    The dark green Autobot shifted his gaze away from the forested valleys below, further downward to his feet and took in the rocks and snow beneath, rocks and snow that were a part of the summit of this mountain, Louwala-Clough. The natives to this region believed that a pair of brothers, god-princes, had warred here long ago over a beautiful woman they were both in love with. Their father, chief of the gods, was enraged at the destruction they were causing, and struck them all down, the warring princes forming nearby mountains, their maiden love, Loowit, forming the mountain the Aubotots had chosen to hide their craft within and that Hound was currently standing at the peak of. Humans from the continent of Europe arrived long after these legends had been established and renamed the peak Mount Saint Helens, the mountains that the mythic god-princes formed, Mounts Hood and Adams.


    “Hey Hound, come in buddy.” Jazz’s voice emerged from his wrist communicator, speaking in English. It wasn’t surprising, Pax had instructed them to start making themselves comfortable with the native languages, and Jazz, who’d expressed great enthusiasm for the mission after just minutes of researching Helios Three, was immersing himself in all things Earth as much as possible.


    “Right here Jazz,” Hound replied in the same language, the dialect matching one common to the nation they were in, “what’s going on?”


    “The last of the reconfigurations have been completed, and Commander Pax would like to address us all in the clearing leading to the cave we parked in.” Jazz replied.


    “On my way.” Hound responded. He had been the first to undergo his Earth-mode alterations and immediately set out to explore this new world. He transformed to vehicular mode, something Ratchet had told him was called a 1960 Jeep CJ5 Willys, and sped down the bumpy terrain toward his comrades. Within minutes he was rounding his way around the outskirts of a moderately forested area and could see down into the clearing below. There he saw sixteen human vehicles, but as he’d gotten no notice of any sort of proximity alert, he assumed they were his comrades. Remote accessing Teletran One, the Ark’s onboard computer system, he set upon identifying the vehicles and seeing if he could match them to the comrade.


    The first he focused on was a larger vehicle, something Teletran One identified as a 1960 Austin A135 Ambulance, which given the coloration and function, was clearly Ratchet. Next he noticed a similarly sized red vehicle that was identified as 1963 Ford E-Series Cargo Van, and he decided to once again initiate his guess based on color. Not quite big enough to be Pax; they’d decided to forego size-shifting when selecting alternate modes. Too big to be Sideswipe, way too big to be Cliffjumper, Windcharger, or even Gears, who frankly had too much blue to be this van anyway. No, the answer was obvious, given the color, the size and frankly, the utter lack of speed and performance associated with this vehicle; it was clearly Ironhide. A predominantly white 1963 Porsche 911 caught his attention, a vehicle which could have been several of his comrades, but the voice of Jazz emerging from it as it chatted with other cars around it eliminated the mystery. A white and black 1961 Plymouth Savoy Police Cruiser flashed its emergency lights, something that caused Mirage’s voice to emerge from the blue and white 1964 Ford GT40 and say “At ease Prowl” in Midwestern American accented English. Seemed appropriate modes for those two, and even more appropriate for the arrogant royal to speak that way to the higher-ranking Prowl, despite being an avowed Autobot.


    Two Ferraris were revving their engines, a model year 1963 red 196 SP and a 1964 yellow 250 GTO. Given the similarities in car forms, their coloration and that they were right next to each other, Hound concluded that these two had to the spark-brothers Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. Both vehicles were sleek, fast and were in most regard appropriate, but they seemed to lack the ‘muscularity’ of the twins’ Cybertronian vehicular modes. Maybe they’d find something more appropriate in the future, but for now Hound figured they’d be sufficient.


    A bit off to the side was a silver 1963 Jaguar E-Type Roadster, chattering away with 1961 black Chevrolet Apache Half-Ton pickup truck, a predominantly white 1963 Aston Martin DB5, a yellow 1963 Volkswagen Beetle, and a green and tan 1963 Landcruiser FJ45 Station Wagon. Bluestreak’s voice was chattering out of the Jaguar in English, while occasional answers, in the same human tongue, came from the Aston Martin in Wheeljack’s voice, the Chevy in Trailbreaker’s voice, the Beetle in Bumblebee’s voice, and Brawn’s voice coming out of the Landcruiser. No real deductive feat in determining these four identities, but Hound was still happy to know who was who.


    Which left just Orion, Roller, Gears, Cliffjumper, Huffer and Windcharger. As he rounded the final corner and entered the clearing with his comrades, he still didn’t see anything that could be large enough to be Orion Pax, and if Orion wasn’t there, chances are that Roller was with him and these remaining three unidentified cars and one truck were Cliffjumper, Gears, Windcharger and Huffer. The orange 1938 GMC COE tractor had to be Huffer and the predominantly blue with accents of red 1963 Ford F100 had to be Gears. Which left the remaining two small red cars, a 1963 Shelby Cobra and a 1963 Lotus Elan, to be Cliffjumper and Windcharger, and Hound wasn’t entirely sure which was which. Finally giving up, he gently bumped the Cobra. “Watch it, Hound!” Cliffjumper grumbled, this statement also in English.


    Mystery solved. “Sorry pal.” The sound designed to mimic that of a large human diesel combustion engine emanated from behind the holographic wall hiding the vast cavern behind that they had created and parked the Ark in hours before. Seconds later Roller, his vehicular mode altered only to the point of now having seating for human-sized passengers, came speeding out, followed by a red and white 1960 Kenworth K523.


    “Ha!” Sunstreaker belted out. “To think I was worried that the Commander of all people would pick a form more gorgeous than mine. Boy was I fretting over nothing. Even on this alien world, I’m still easily the most stunning of the group!”


    “What’s the term you usually use for him, Sideswipe?” Mirage asked. “Shower-bag?”


    “He used that term for me once or twice.” Prowl chuckled.


    “Actually,” Sideswipe chimed in, “an oddity of English speakers is that they tend to forego their own language’s frontend for this term and go with the more Francocentric ‘douche’, so for this region of this world Sunstreaker is to be regarded as a douchebag.”


    “Ahhhhhhh.” Not all, but most of the Autobots replied with feigned fascination.


    “Assholes.” Sunstreaker grumbled.


    “Enough!” Pax commanded as he transformed to robot mode. “We are Autobots, and we are representatives of the government of Cybertron. We will behave as such.” He strode into the midst of the cars and trucks. “All of you have names that either translate directly or for which a suitable alternative can be found in English as well as all other human languages. As I point to you, I want you to transform and call out your designation in English.”


    With that Orion began pointing, and names called out over the sounds of transformation echoed through the clearing.


    “Prowl.”


    “Jazz.”


    “Ironhide.”


    “Ratchet.”


    “Bumblebee.”


    “Wheeljack.”


    His turn. “Hound.”


    “Mirage.”


    “Trailbreaker.”


    “Brawn.”


    “Gears.”


    “Douchebag’s brother.” Chuckles. “I mean Sideswipe.”


    “Asshole.”


    “Really, if that’s the name you…”


    “Enough!” Orion snarled.


    “Sunstreaker.”


    “Windcharger.”


    “Huffer.”


    “Cliffjumper.”


    “Bluestreak.”


    “Very good, already guessed the translations for about half of you, and the other half’s names make perfect sense.” Orion smiled, then looked down at Roller. “One that front, my trueborn brother has a more common name than I, so his name is a direct translation. I present, Roller.” Roller chirped up, his code a bit too fast for Hound to effectively follow. “My name was a bit trickier. I was named after a mythical hunter from the Nyonian wastes of ancient Cybertron, so I’ve settled on the name Broteas, a mythological hunter from ancient Greece.” He looked down and smiled at his brother. “Roller and Broteas Pacific.”


    “Broteas Pacific?” Jazz asked, his voice making it clear he didn’t think much of the name.


    “It’s not…terrible.” Ratchet added, clearly of the same opinion as Jazz. “But I’m pretty sure we can do better.”


    “It’s really not that important.” Orion…or rather Broteas on this planet, stated. “More for the humans than for us, and if everything goes right, the humans won’t know we’re here.”


    “I’ve done a fair bit of research on the humans.” Jazz replied. “Pretty sure they’re not going to be overly fond of that mouthful if we ever do get to speaking terms with them.”


    “I’m afraid that the discussion regarding my name is going to have to be tabled for now.” The Commander stepped forward as the trailer that he had hauled through the holographic cliff-face transformed into his command platform and a holographic image of the planet shot out from it. “We’ve received confirmation that a Decepticon reconnaissance and fuel acquisition team led by Starscream has been operating on this world for some time. It is our mission to shut them down, keep them from obtaining any more of the enhanced energon we’ve designated Ore-13, and if possible, do so without alerting the humans to our presence. We have a lot to go over.”



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Ravage



    The thing about ‘dried’ energon mines was that often they were not quite dry. The organization paying for the mining operation merely notices a prolonged reduction in output, a point on the calendar is determined where the diminishing returns are estimated to approach the cost to keep the endeavor going, and before that date the operation ceases and the mine is abandoned. For a short period afterward, the locals may raid the abandoned mine for whatever scraps they can find, and typically they’ll find some abandoned equipment and a few shards of energon, but eventually even they won’t find it worth looking through any longer. So, the mine, riddled with boreholes and supports and rusting tracks made of lower grade metal sits vacant for endless eons, despite still having high-hanging fruit buried deep within.


    For desperate and determined individuals or small groups, these abandoned mines could serve as both shelter and sustenance if they were willing to work for it. The onslaught of sparkeaters roaming the planet made for many desperate and determined individuals, and abandoned mines wound up housing many trying to wait out the slaughter. They were a good option for the most part, the energon there was depleted enough to not attract the sparkeaters, the metal and stone walls of the mines were thick enough to hide even the most powerful sparks from detection, the tunnels allowed for hiding places and escape routes, and there was almost always more than enough energon for small groups. And with the monsters walking Cybertron, they almost never ventured out, which was why, months after their victory over the sparkeaters, there were still groups being discovered hiding within many mines.


    This had been the case for this mine that Ravage was cautiously stalking into now. Based on the remains, smells and other stimuli, Ravage estimated that a party of eight had been subsisting here, surviving the horror of the sparkeaters, only to have been killed three days earlier. There were still a few remaining sparkeaters roaming the planet, but these eight had been killed by something else, though based on the condition of the corpses, whatever had killed them seemed just as feral and cannibalistic. The onyx mechanical feline skulked deeper into the depths, his olfactory senses picking up three other individuals, ones whose scents were comparatively new to the dead, but that were all over their victims. “What have we here, here?” The voice seemed to originate from roughly forty feet deeper within the cave, a part so dark that even Ravage’s enhanced vision had difficulty making anything out.


    The cat’s ears however had no difficulty making out the quiet, yet not quiet enough movements of two others attempting to work their way into flanking positions on him. “I suggest ceasing all attempts to make me your prey. It would not go quite as it did with your other victims.”


    “They were neither victims nor prey.” A form announced as it stepped out of the blackness of the edges of the cave and into shadows that for Ravage was a clear as daylight. The form was humanoid, roughly fifteen feet in height with a medium build, mostly black in color with a yellow torso plate and bits of purple thrown in, with yellow antennae and large translucent wings jutting upward from his upper back, likely useful for his alternate mode as they seemed unusable in robot mode. “We came as friends, seeking sanctuary, they welcomed us, then later turned on us.”


    “No, they didn’t.” Ravage calmly replied. “I have many skillsets and numerous functions, currently I am serving as a tracker. That requires keen senses and observational skills. The dead back there, they were not the aggressors in any way.” The other two forms stepped out of the darkest reaches of the cave to reveal themselves, both similar in coloration to the first Ravage had seen, the one emerging to his left was roughly the same height as the first and a bit more heavily built, with some sort of horn or cannon pointing upward from behind his head, and the one coming from straight ahead, the first to speak with that odd tick at the end of the sentence given his position, was also roughly fifteen feet in height, medium build, with two silver pincer-like things mounted to either side of his head. Their approach wasn’t overtly threatening, but there was some intended ominousness. Ravage smiled; he was not one to be intimidated. “My guess based on what I saw back there, you found a group still terrified that the sparkeaters were roaming the planet, you gained entrance and possibly their trust, and then for whatever reason, you set upon them.” Ravage twisted his head just enough to nod back toward the carnage toward the front of the cave. “Savage, merciless and reasonably efficiently…at least for amateurs.”


    “Amateurs?” The rounder one with the horn behind his head questioned, his tone clearly implying that he felt slighted.


    “Relax Bombshell, we are amateurs.” The one with the wings countered to his comrade before directing his gaze back to the intruder. “At least in the sense that we have no formal training. But years of torture, being hunted, fighting Cybertronians and monsters that are far more than Cybertronians, surviving the unsurvivable, these things do tend to stand out on a resume, don’t you think?”


    “Killing empties struggling to simply exist doesn’t stand out.” Ravage casually shot back.


    “We could kill a tracker with many skillsets-sets.” The one directly ahead sputtered out threateningly.


    “No, you couldn’t.” Ravage replied, his voice completely relaxed and confident.


    “Shrapnel, that’s very unnecessary, counter-productive and simply not nice.” ‘Wings’ softly chastised his pincered companion before looking to the black Decepticon. “I apologize for my compatriot’s threating comment, though you do seem to be oblivious to the predicament you’d be in should we three choose to create a predicament for you.”


    “I’m not an empty, nor am I an amateur.” Ravage calmly replied. “If I can’t defeat the three of you, I can certainly escape. But assuming your honeyed words are anything more than a poor attempt to get me to lower my guard, which I’m not assuming, but for the sake of argument let’s say that they are, perhaps I too wish to avoid conflict. Perhaps I too see some form of…alliance; a mutually beneficial arrangement. A way to channel your savage efficiency toward the ends of my organization.”


    “We’ve really never been joiners-joiners.” The one called Shrapnel came back and he took another step forward.


    “I doubt you’d be asked to march in any military parades, Shrapnel.” Ravage replied. “We’d simply point you at someone or something and you’d do what comes naturally to you.”


    “What if, hypothetically, one of us had aspirations of bettering oneself?” The bulkier Bombshell asked.


    “Bettering yourself how?” Ravage sought clarification.


    “I’ve always been a bit of a tinkerer.” Bombshell answered. “The offer would be far more enticing were access to labs, equipment and so on be on the table, so to speak.”


    Ravage nodded. “Our second in command is the greatest living scientific mind. Scientific advancement outweighs nearly all other endeavors, and those who take part in that are regarded quite highly in our ranks.” The feline peered intently at Bombshell. “Provided your work furthers our overall purposes, you will have the freedom, resources and encouragement you seek, Bombshell.”


    “What, no individualized recruitment spiel for me?” ‘Wings’ questioned with a chuckle.


    Ravage sized him up and locked optics with him. “Knowing your designation may help me with honeyed words of my own.”


    “Ah, how impolite of me.” The robot chuckled. “I’m Kickback, and you are?”


    “Ravage,” the Decepticon nodded, keeping his glowing red optics on Kickback, “and apart from my assumption that what comes naturally to Shrapnel comes naturally to you all,” the three black, yellow and purple robots shrugged, nodded and chuckled in agreeing amusement, “deception, which you are clearly skilled at, is of great enough importance to our organization that it is the basis for our designation.”


    “Ahhhh, a Decepticon.” Bombshell muttered. “Perhaps not killing you isn’t such a bad option after all.”


    The comment got a dismissive chuckled out of Ravage before the dark feline turned back the way he came and nodded for them to follow. “Come on.”



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    N’Che



    Neutral territory made sense, it wasn’t something that could effectively be argued against, but it posed many problems. Especially against an unknown entity that was undoubtedly going to be an enemy in the very near future. According to the Council’s associates, the Quintessons, the Cybertronians would always be a threat, but with the return of this Guardian Prime and his raids on planets in their Co-Prosperity Sphere, or whatever the hell that pretentiously named and thinly veiled empire of theirs was called, they were downright frantic. And the Galactic Council was more than a little alarmed by the apparent return of Cybertron’s extra-Cybertron ambitions. N’Che was organic, very long-lived by organic standards, but one million years, the point where prior Cybertonian deep space excursions last existed, was well before his birth. He had found a few notes regarding the planet, most recently a few years back when researching the request of a Cybertronian named Nightbeat, but ultimately it was the Quintessons that provided the true wealth of information regarding these creatures.


    The Quintessons frequently referred to Cybertron as Old Quintessa, and to hear them describe it the original Quintessa was an organic wonderland that in a short period of time spawned mechanical life that quickly overran the planet, turned on them, wiped out much of their population and forced the survivors into space. Apart from five faces and tentacles, the most identifiable trait of the Quintessons was their penchant for lying, this was something N’Che and other governing members of the Council were aware of even prior to doing what research into these claims they could. Even this origin of the mechanoids on Cybertron was a revision of earlier claims that the entire species was a population of manufactured automatons. But the lies regarding this version of ancient Cybertron did not end there by any means, based on the Galactic Council’s own investigation Cybertron had held the unique distinction of being a world with a healthy mix of organic and mechanical life since well before the emergence of the organic species that would give rise to what they now knew as Quintessons. Like with other worlds spawning mechanical life, the spark-based creatures developed their own form of natural selection, the planet somehow able to evaluate some form of ‘success’ from the remains that rejoined the planet after death and attempting to recreate those traits, or at least that was the prevalent hypothesis provided by the Council’s scientists. So, while the Quintessons were for a time the sole intelligent species native to the world, it was only a matter of time before mechanoids with higher intellectual functionality started to emerge.


    The Quintessons’ attempt to paint themselves as victims had been disputed by the little evidence the Council could find from Cybertron, as well as evidence from other worlds showing a vast slave market of Cybertronian mechanoids that had been active up until about fifteen and a half million years ago. No, the Quintessons were liars, they were cheats, their ambition knew no bounds, by all measures they were nothing short of evil; but they were easily contained. The current inhabitants of Cybertron likely weren’t and were therefore the species the Galactic Council would likely have to see as an enemy in the not too distant future. But until that time, they all had to perform this diplomatic dance.


    The Council had spent hours reinforcing and preparing this vast palace. It had been the seat of power for some province on the now extinct world of Neutronia. That it had once been a part of the Quintessons’ economic empire had given them pause initially in approving it, but it was long vacated with still standing structures large enough to accommodate the larger species within the Galactic Council’s member worlds as well as the Cybertronians. If nothing else, the name seemed to be appropriate for a world serving as a meeting place for species giving the appearance of trying to stay off hostilities. N’Che smiled to himself as he heard a slithering of tentacles behind him and remembered that neutral territory, truly neutral territory, posed many problems. The Galactic Council didn’t like problems.


    The expansive audience chamber before him stretched for nearly a mile, ornate but dilapidated carvings decorated the walls, pillars composed of rare recrystallized carbonate minerals lined the entire chamber, the floor a polished aurumium alloy that still shined once the eons of dust and debris was cleaned away; Creation-Burst, these Quintessons were ostentatious. The far wall had collapsed in some places, so the council had removed what remained that wasn’t structurally essential and replaced what wasn’t with a transparent metal. It was strong enough for the time being and would serve their purposes for this meeting and gave a clear view of the overgrown clearing leading to the palatial structure, where the Cybertronians were scheduled to be landing momentarily. There were mountains flanking and behind the citadel, and just beyond the clearing ahead was a salt-water sea. At one time there were roads cutting through the mountains, but even when Neutronia was a living and thriving planet and member of the Quintesson empire this location was difficult to reach. The Quints wanted those wishing to meet with them to work for the honor of an audience.


    That realization made him smile again at the sounds of the tentacle swishing, now the increasing noise letting him know that the being behind him was approaching. N’Che turned and looked directly at the unpleasant-looking egg-shaped creature hovering toward him, the tentacles coming out of the creature’s lower half dancing around the propulsor keeping the beast aloft and allowing him movement. The entity’s frame stretched twenty feet from the propulsor underneath to the top of the ‘egg’, making it nearly a third larger than any other Quintesson that N’Che had encountered, and with the hovering put it nearly twenty-eight feet off the floor. “Lord Kledji, you know you shouldn’t be here.”


    “I will be out of their robotic eyelines once the mutineers arrive.” The massive Quintesson replied, followed by a head rotation, the new optics directing downward to lock onto the eyes of N’Che many feet below his own displayed optics. “I just need for you to realize the danger these beings pose. They’ve had millions of years to hone their rhetoric, they will no doubt sound reasonable, but make no mistake…”


    “I’m well aware of the threat they represent.” N’Che interrupted. “The Galactic Council is made up primarily of organic worlds and species, I am organic. Giant, immortal and vastly powerful robotic creatures with ambitions of cyberforming worlds is something we all take very seriously. I will not be assuming that these beings have peaceful intentions no matter how sweetened their words may be, nor will I be underestimating them in any way. That said, we will still be approaching this meeting with good intentions, and you will stay your whips until I deem it a failure. You understand this, right?”


    “Of course, Lord N’Che.” Kledji replied with a face-switch. “I will wait for your cue.”


    “Good.” The four-armed, dark olive green N’Che replied as a buzz went off on his wrist communicator. He glanced at it and turned back to the Quintesson ruler. “They’ve arrived, you need to disappear.” Kledji bobbed a bit, switched faces again, turned and hovered away, two of his dormant faces glaring lifelessly back at N’Che as he departed toward a rear room. N’Che watched him disappear into one of the back rooms before raising his wrist to his mouth. “Direct them where to land, greet them and send them on to me.”


    “Aye Commander.” The voice replied just as N’Che switched off his communicator.


    N’Che turned and strode up the handful of stairs leading to the dais that rose ten feet off the floor where whatever Quintesson Magistrate that ruled over this world eons ago would hover upon and look down on those he deemed worthy of his presence. As he ascended he heard the fourteen other members of the Galactic Council Governing Board approaching and taking their places on either side of the dais, but N’Che’s focus remained straight ahead through the makeshift transparent metal wall that separated them from the fields where their guests would be touching down. Roughly three minutes later a large gray, yellow and orange freighter, one extremely robust and undoubtedly heavily armed, appeared cutting through the clouds and made its way to the clearing, not far from the coastline. It slowed to a near-hover over where it intended to land, when roughly sixty percent of the craft detached and fell to the ground, reconfiguring into a base of sorts as well as a very large tank. What remained in the sky reconfigured as well, now taking the shape of a far sleeker conical rocket which began moving again, circling around twice before settling into a landing within the base. “Even their bloody transports are reconfigurable.” N’Che heard the Council’s Finance Principal Uria-Eep, an Ilxian of similar height to him but far slenderer, spit out derisively. N’Che was far less dismissive of the craft’s capabilities.


    Within a moment a ramp to disembark was lowering as a port door opened and six hulking mechanoids came sauntering out, down the ramp and onto the ground below, the overgrown vegetation appearing like freshly cut grass compared to their giant frames. The Council had managed to do enough research that N’Che was able to recognize two of the six, the massive twenty-five-foot-tall orange and maroon Guardian Prime, and to his right was his second, the equally sized and built purple warrior Galvatron. The slightly shorter and notably leaner purple warrior with the forked helmet walking behind Galvatron was unknown, as was the bulky blue and white warrior behind him. Behind the Prime walked a twenty-three-foot-tall lean orange and gray soldier, and behind him marched a hulking twenty-one foot metallic blue and gray warrior with missile racks mounted over his shoulders. All were heavily armed with rifles beyond the armaments built into their frames, all but Galvatron, who wielded an axe in addition to the massive orange cannon mounted on his upper right arm. But as they reached the building, they disarmed as much as they could, the metallic blue individual even going so far as to unload his shoulder-mounted launchers. Only Galvatron’s arm-mounted cannon remained, and given how he moved with it, it appeared as though he had long considered it an appendage; just another part of his body. N’Che was a little unnerved by the weapon being brought into his presence, but the Galactic Council had hidden weaponry lined throughout the room; he would not be at a disadvantage.


    The Prime of Cybertron led his entourage into the vast audience chamber and marched toward the front of it. N’Che guessed that it required a bit of discipline for them not to just transform and cover the distance in vehicular mode, but they would have to realize that such action could be construed as aggressive. Whatever the case, they were soon coming to a stop a respectful distance before the dais and the governing body of the Galactic Council and Guardian Prime bowed his head and smiled at N’Che. “Commander N’Che, I have heard great things about you. I thank you for arranging this meeting.”


    N’Che smiled down from his elevated position at the Cybertronian leader, keeping his anxiety over the physical majesty and undeniable formidability of the species, and especially of their leader and his second from being displayed on his face. “It is the Galactic Council that is grateful for your quick response to our summons.” N’Che studied Guardian Prime’s face to see if the domineering comment caused a sting. Nothing from the Prime, but Galvatron made no attempt to hide the rage coming over his face. N’Che considered the possible benefits of needling Galvatron into a reaction but decided it would be best not to antagonize the one Cybertronian that hadn’t disarmed himself, especially when that Cybertronian appeared every bit as powerful as the Prime. “And we realize that this location was difficult to travel to.”


    “It was not a problem, and we recognize the desire for a neutral location.” Prime replied. “Though I have come across records suggesting that this planet was once under Quintesson control.”


    “Long abandoned.” N’Che explained. “Or so we’ve been assured by the Quintessons.” He noted the optic arc, impressed by the pliability allowing such movement of the otherwise dense metal that made up their frames. “Yes, we are in regular contact with the Quintessons. In fact, it was their request that we intervene.”


    “We feared as much.” Guardian Prime responded solemnly. “Cybertron would benefit from an ongoing relationship with the Galactic Council, but our interactions with the Quintessons is a private matter. There is a history between our two species, and whatever transpires between us and the Quintessons is none of the Galactic Council’s business.”


    N’Che held the robot’s gaze unflinchingly. “I don’t doubt there’s a history, nor do I doubt that there’s some degree of justification in your aggression toward the Quintessons.”


    “Though such history is millions of years in the past,” the Ilxian Uria-Eep interjected, “and as you retain control over the world of both species origin, I have difficulty seeing any of this justification for your attacks.”


    Guardian Prime smiled graciously before replying. “There may be a natural disconnect preventing some understanding as to what we’re doing and why, as well as a lack of information. The Galactic Council is made of primarily of organic, mortal species. The concept that one should not be held accountable for the sins of their forebears is a prominent philosophy in much of your dealings, as it should be. But for the Quintessons, that doesn’t really apply. The sins of fifteen million years ago and beyond weren’t perpetrated by some long dead generation, those individuals continue to live, continue to thrive, and continue to scheme against our world. And the actions they took millions of years ago aren’t just faded memories. Four years ago, creatures they designed to wipe out our species that had been trapped for fifteen million years escaped and ravaged our planet until very recently. Millions upon millions of our citizens were wiped out, our society and culture laid waste. The Quintesson legacy, their evil, is still very much felt, and our control over our world is more precarious than it’s ever been. And these attacks on Quintesson territories aren’t vengeful lashing out, they’re rescue missions. They still have mechanical Cybertronian lifeforms, sentient beings, enslaved in eternal servitude. We cannot abide that, and frankly I would be surprised to hear the Galactic Council suggest we do.” Prime leveled his intent gaze upon N’Che’s eyes. “And I welcome any skepticism you have regarding these claims. We have proof of every utterance I’ve just made ready for your evaluation.”


    N’Che smiled and nodded. “There won’t be a need for that. We’re familiar with the Quintessons’ capability for treachery, and we’ve done a little investigating ourselves into your situation, and what we found would seem to corroborate what you’ve just told me. But we have some concerns that even your justifications can’t simply do away with. Foremost, a war between Cybertron and the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere would spill over into non-Quintesson, non-Cybertronian territories and create a level of collateral damage that would leave non-involved species extinct and innocent planets uninhabitable. And secondly, our research suggests that the Quintessons aren’t the only party here capable of treachery.” The acting Commander of the Galactic Council took a deep breath. “We have uncovered evidence of something called a Ferrotaxis, and a general description of what it’s designed to do. Such a device…a horrific facilitator of extinction and evil at a magnitude rarely seen in all the histories of all the star systems, is something that most definitely makes your extra-Cybertronian interests our business.”


    Prime, to his credit, did not feign surprise, he merely looked down knowingly and contritely and nodded. “You have every right to fear the Ferrotaxis. It was a device designed well over a million years ago by our foremost scientist. He was brilliant, but unfortunately, I came to realize he was also a sociopath. He saw this as a way of sustaining our species should it ever grow beyond the capability of Vector Sigma, the energy cluster at the core of Cybertron and our source of sustenance. I and every other member of our government immediately saw the evil that it was and banned any further work on it. There’s evidence that this scientist may have continued with his research in private against my direct orders, but he has since passed away and all work on the Ferrotaxis that we’ve come across has been destroyed. We Cybertronians do not claim to be devoid of evil individuals, no sentient species can make that claim, but unlike your tentacled associates, we have never made such evil our policy.”


    “I appreciate the explanation, and truly hope that what you say is true.” N’Che replied. “But it would be beyond negligent of me to simply assume all that is true. Precautions must be taken, the worst must be prepared for and if there’s a way of avoiding it, those measures must be taken.”


    Prime nodded. “I see. So, what is it that you’re telling me?”


    “Your planet is yours.” N’Che answered. “Enjoy it, rule it as you wish, but you will remain there. Should there be a need for you to leave your system, contact us to discuss the matter. If there’s something reasonable for you to have that is outside your system, the Galactic Council would be happy to supply you with that. We will also make it a priority to seek out, rescue and return any Cybertronians in servitude anywhere in the galaxy. And should evidence of planned or initiated Quintesson aggression come to your attention, present it to us and the Council will aid you in any way needed. But the prospect of Cybertronian expansion to any degree is something that the Galactic Council cannot accept. We recognize that we are asking a lot of you, and we will reward your compliance generously, but non-compliance will result in swift and brutal action, and that’s something we all wish to avoid.”


    Prime, as well as all his comrades displayed a smile, and Prime nodded as he replied. “We certainly have no interest in conflict with the Galactic Council, but we will not be told what we can or cannot do by you. Whatever warnings you’ve received from charlatans purporting to be our first Prime, we have no imperial ambitions. True, there were colonies made in ages past, but no sentient beings were involved, they were feral worlds beneath the notice of your Council then and should remain so now.”


    “Are you sure it’s wise of you reference a break-in and theft of Council property conducted by your agent?” N’Che interrupted.


    Guardian Prime shrugged. “Nothing was stolen, and the break-in was only necessary because you lied directly to Nightbeat’s face.” Prime adopted a polite smile. “That this lie was intended to keep me from ever being reactivated is something I’m willing to overlook, but as I was saying, as generous as they are, Cybertron will not be accepting your terms. Our conflict with the Quintessons will continue until every last Cybertronian is rescued and returned home. This includes several large beings, some four to five times my height and immeasurably more massive, and even a few that are the size of a mountain. We will not be deterred from this mission by you or anyone, regardless of what fears you may have. I hope that you can come to accept this, but either way, we’re going to do what we need to do. Fare well, N’Che, Acting Commander of the Galactic Council.” With that Guardian Prime turned and headed back toward the door that he had first arrived through, followed by his entourage of massive robots.


    N’Che watched them cross the floor, reach the door, exit, collect their weapons and start walking back across the overgrown meadows toward their rocket base in the distance. As he watched he heard the whipping tendrils hovering toward him from behind. “They’re yours.” He stated without turning to face the emperor of the Quintessons.


    “Engage.” He heard the cruel voice order to his remote subordinates.


    The Cybertronians were halfway across the clearing when they suddenly looked skyward and raised their weapons. The Council leadership marched forward to get a better view of what was beginning to happen and watched the Cybertronians open fire and blasts erupt around their positions. N’Che’s attention was then drawn to the shoreline as dozens of metal monsters started emerging from the water and marching out onto the land. They looked like round predatory fish except that they had arms and legs. But that development was immediately overshadowed by another reconfiguration by the Cybertronian base, only this time it didn’t transform into the large freighter that they had arrived in, it was now a hulking humanoid robot that stood over one hundred twenty feet in height. “Holy Physis, what is that?”


    “Omega Supreme.” Lord Kledji answered from behind the Galactic Council leadership. “We anticipated such involvement.”


    They were now close enough to see the attacker from the clouds, an odd structure that appeared to be a naval battleship of sorts with a massive locomotive linked to the rear of it, which should not be flight capable, but it apparently was. It volleyed another wave of ordinance toward the Cybertronians before separating, the battleship landing in the sea and the locomotion landing on a mountain off to the north, it immediately running down the mountain toward the Cybertronians in the distance. The shark-creatures tried to swarm this Omega Supreme, but several stomps dissuaded their attack on him, and they charged around him toward the other Cybertronians. The battleship sent a barrage at the giant robot, who looked to it and returned fire from his own left cannon-arm, the shot landing just shy of the ship but the power of his blast nearly capsizing the giant vessel. Lighter ordinance started bouncing off the giant robot’s back, ordinance fired from the train speeding toward him.


    “Sharkticons, no prisoners.” Kledji ordered to his distant soldiers. N’Che watched as they attempted to swarm the Cybertronians, but the two that had been positioned behind Galvatron transformed to jets of some sort and took to the sky, raining death down on the swarms of monsters. The metallic blue brute that had been behind Guardian Prime transformed as well to a missile truck and also unloaded on their assailants, leaving Prime, Galvatron and the orange and gray Cybertronian in robot mode to fire at them with their rifles, and in Galvatron’s case, arm-mounted cannon. Guardian Prime’s marksmanship was flawless, each discharge of his weapon a headshot that left the beast dead. The orange and gray robot was a good shot as well, but death wasn’t guaranteed with his shots as they were with Prime’s. Galvatron’s attacks were something altogether different though. This cannon was astounding, something on par with fusion weaponry but N’Che had never seen such power in so compact a weapon. Each blast rendered multiple of these Sharkticons dead or inoperative, and the attrition rate of the Quintesson’s monsters was crippling. But the distance between them had been cut, and the Cybertronian missile tank was forced to transform back to robot mode, and the robots now had to fight close quarters against these things.


    But the expectation of the creatures overrunning these Cybertronians was quickly dashed. All four were effective combatants, but Guardian Prime and Galvatron displayed a level of physical strength, speed and durability that seemed impossible, even for twenty-five-foot-tall mechanical beings, and their combat skill was as good as any humanoid martial artist he had ever seen. Despite the numerical odds against them, it was quickly becoming clear that they would be walking away from this ambush with little more than scratches, especially with their two airborne comrades still wiping out the Sharkticons in droves. The goal had been a discreet eradication of the Cybertronian leadership; with each passing second that seemed less and less likely.


    N’Che looked to the giant fighting a two-front battle against the two giant Quintesson vehicles and was dismayed that the two vehicles seemed to have abandoned the advantage offered by dividing the attention of the massive Omega Supreme and were converging at a point on the coastline. “What in the void are they doing?”


    “Watch, Commander.” Kledji replied, his voice a mix of both excitement and fear.


    With that the two vehicles seemed to stand upright on end, reconfigure slightly, and the front ends folded over to almost appear as arms of sorts. They then connected with each other, and a head emerged from the top of the torso. It stood every bit as tall and robust as Omega Supreme. N’Che exhaled. He should be disappointed, but relief was by far the more prevalent emotion. “Construct or Cybertronian slave?”


    Kledji chuckled. “At this point does it really matter, Commander? Look down on me all you want, but you know the Cybertronians must be stopped, regardless of any ethical dilemmas you may have in regard to the means by which we stop them.”


    “He’d just better handle the Cybertronian giant and have enough left over to pick up the slack from your useless fishbots.” N’Che grumbled.


    “He will.” Lord Kledji was less than convincing as they watched the two giants lock up and then begin battering one another. The two immense robots appeared evenly matched in terms of strength and durability, but Omega Supreme seemed to have some level of rudimentary combat skill while the Quintesson giant seemed to have virtually none. In a matter of a couple minutes Omega Supreme was already gaining a discernable advantage, and soon the other giant was toppling to the ground. Lord Kledji, who had by this point hovered forward to be next to N’Che, switched faces as his tentacles slithered frantically. “Useless piece of shit! Ignore the giant, target and kill the Prime! Do it now!”


    The grounded giant nodded at hearing the order and struggled to get to his feet. N’Che considered something as he watched and turned to Kledji. “Open the line to your giant, I want to hear everything he hears.” Kledji hesitated for a moment but complied.


    The sounds of thrashing could be heard as the hulking brute scrambled toward the Cybertronian leader. The smaller Cybertronians opened fire, but ultimately their defense was unnecessary as Omega Supreme stomped down heavily on the upper back of the giant, forcing him down to the ground, and lined up the huge cannon that was his left arm with the back of the downed robot’s head. “Cease movement! You are defeated!” The thunderous voice of Omega Supreme bellowed out through the speaker mounted on Lord Kledji’s frame. “Surrender, and you will return home with us and be a slave no more!”


    “We are constructed creatures!” The downed giant bellowed back. “We belong to our masters! Be grateful and return to them, given them back what you’ve stolen!”


    N’Che watched as Guardian Prime approached the defeated giant’s head and seemed to study him before the Cybertronian leader addressed the fallen giant. “This will be your only chance to renounce the Quintessons and accept our offer of freedom. You will either be a valuable ally, or you will be removed as an enemy.”


    “Old Quintessa will be restored!” The pinned giant growled.


    Guardian Prime looked up at Omega Supreme, and his voice came through the speaker on Kledji’s egg-shaped frame. “Brain death.”


    Omega Supreme looked stunned. “But Prime, in time we could get through to him.”


    “I disagree.” Prime countered. “And we don’t need to take the chance. Brain death but do it in a way that will leave the spark pulsing for at least a few days. I have a work around.” He stared at the giant as Omega Supreme hesitated. “NOW!” Omega Supreme’s shoulders slumped, and he opened fire on the downed robot. The frame went limp. “Well done Soldier. Transform to freighter mode, we’ll strap him to you. This guy is coming home.”
     
    Last edited: Aug 13, 2020
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  13. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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  14. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Sky Lynx



    He had been to Alaxuu several times in the last few million years, and like every previous trip, he was absolutely disgusted by the layers of pollution covering the planet. In fact, it seemed almost as though there was more now than the last time he had flown here as Quintesson transport and security. As he cut through the clouds, both natural and the spewed industrial waste creating a layer of filth in the atmosphere, he noted far more activity on the ground than he’d been expecting. Throngs of Sharkticons in their rarely used humanoid forms were hauling a multitude of equipment, supplies and various other objects toward large transports, while others were dismantling factories and structures.


    “They’re cleaning house.” The orange Landmine muttered from the co-pilot seat within Sky Lynx’s upper shuttle mode.


    “They know we’re coming for them, trying to tie up loose ends.” Guardian Prime replied as he stood up from the pilot’s chair just to the left of Landmine and headed out of the cockpit toward the back but paused and twisted to look back at the terminal. “Sky Lynx have fun with their air defenses and keep any of those transports from leaving. You get bonus points for any carpet bombing of massed Sharkticons.” The Cybertronian leader then continued back toward the rest of his troops and could be heard calling out to them. “Cybertrons, time to hit the ground!” Thirty seconds later Prime and his twelve hand-picked strike troops were barreling out of his lower transport section toward the gray, filthy and busy ground below.


    Once all were clear of his lower drop bay, Sky Lynx cut left toward a spaceport where one of the transports was initiating lift-off. Anti-aircraft fire lanced up to take him down or at least dissuade him from continuing toward the vulnerable transports, but the few rounds that hit were easily absorbed by his thick and spark-energy-saturated armor, and he continued on, launching missiles into the base of the transport, ending its flight before it made it a few feet off the ground. The base of the massive transport erupted in a series of minor explosions that followed those of the missiles that had just impacted its base, forcing it to topple over onto the launchpad of the next transport making its rushed pre-launch preparations. Dozens of Alicons and throngs of Sharkticons rushed through the spaceport in panic as Sky Lynx continued his attack and the transports continued collapsing around and sometimes upon them.


    A sense of guilty pleasure came over Sky Lynx at the destruction and fear he was instilling in the loyal minions of the Quintessons, but that feeling immediately faded as he noticed dozens of orange colored flesh creatures averaging roughly eight feet in height fleeing away from the carnage as well; creatures Sky Lynx remembered as the native Alaxuuans. “Prime, be advised that there are indigenous lifeforms mixed in with the enemy. I remember them as subjugated labor, not willing collaborators. I’ll keep transports from lifting off but going to limit the ground-targeted assaults and I will not be doing any carpet bombing.”


    There was a long pause before a reply came, one yelled over the sounds of battle taking place on the ground around Guardian Prime. “Your apprehension is noted, and it does you credit Sky Lynx, but unfortunately the good of the mission outweighs the safety of lower lifeforms.”


    “But Prime, these are intelligent, sentient lifeforms.” Sky Lynx replied with clarification. “The Alaxuuans are essentially slaves caught in the middle of this.”


    “Noted, but they are lower lifeforms none the less.” Prime fired back. “Cybertronians first. We are not without compassion, and by no means should you target them, but you are ordered to continue your attack unaltered due to their presence. Is that understood?”


    Sky Lynx was silent as he contemplated his orders for several moments, but finally replied. “As you command, Prime.” The joined shuttle and ground transport lowered to a few dozen feet from the ground and separated, the shuttle continuing back up into the sky to recommence its attack from above while the ground transport barreled through the Alicon, Sharkticon and unfortunate Alaxuuans to wreak havoc from ground level. Sky Lynx, his attention easily diverted between both forms, did what he could to subdue his hesitation and revulsion at inflicting death and suffering upon those already downtrodden, but he had a duty, and he would not waver from that. Guardian Prime had rescued him from the clutches of the Quintessons; the realization that his being Cybertronian was likely the only reason he had been given freedom instead of a far more convenient death was not sitting well with him, but made Guardian Prime’s gift of freedom no less.


    The battle raged for over an hour before the massive Cybertronian was contacted again by his Prime. “Sky Lynx be advised that we have located and captured the Alaxuuan Quintesson Governor, Brinn. Converge on my position for immediate extraction, and contact Cybertron. Instruct Omega Supreme to connect with us at the coordinates I’m sending now, his retrofitting with a wormhole generator should be complete by now.”


    “On my way Prime.” Sky Lynx replied as he received and analyzed the coordinates Guardian Prime was sending him. “Prime, these coordinates are for Quintessa. Even with Omega Supreme, invading Quintessa is far too ambitious for us at this time.”


    “It’s not an invasion, Sky Lynx,” Prime’s voice came back, “it’s an extraction. In, rescue, out. Judge Brinn has provided us with the exact location on Quintessa and what resistance we’re likely to face, but it’s a narrow window, and one likely to start closing as word of this latest attack gets back to the squid home world.”



    0000000000000000000000000000000



    Sparkplug



    It was miserably hot, but damn, what a view. The mountains in the distance made a gorgeous backdrop against the Nevada desert and this never-ending road. Well, not quite never-ending, the airbase and Groom Lake were finally coming into view. Sparkplug continued flooring the military jeep onward, it serving as the lead to a ten-vehicle convoy of C.I.A. operatives, Special Forces back up, and the three Secret Service Agents in the lead jeep, Sparkplug with Agents Michael Fowler and Bernice Carlo, both of whom were engaged in an odd conversation given what they were all heading into. “Look, I’m a good husband, I personally raise the seat when I use it, and lower it when I’m done.” The thirty-something African American man in the back seat explained over the sound of the engine to the thirty-something Hispanic woman in the passenger seat. “But what I’m saying is that were I a woman, were it me that had to sit down every time I had business to do, I think I’d prefer the default set to up.”


    “And have to put it down every time you use it, and put it up when you’re done?” Bernice shot back.


    “I do the opposite right now, and it’s damn near effortless.” Fowler answered. “Can’t imagine a reverse being any more work.”


    “So, it’s effortless, yet you want to relieve yourselves of that miniscule bit of effort and pile it on the mountain of stuff women are expected to do, is that it?” Bernice growled.


    “Look, I’m recommending this change for the benefit of women.” Fowler reiterated. “I’m fine keeping with the status quo, but if I were one of you, I’d be seeking this change.”


    “And why is that?”


    “Because every toilet that is shared between men and women winds up having piss on the seat.” Fowler chuckled and shrugged as he replied. “Some venues are worse than others, but as a man raised with brothers and now the father of two sons,”


    “And Billy isn’t even using the toilet yet.” Sparkplug interrupted with a chuckle.


    “Yes, but even without his contributing to the problem yet, there are still frequently drips on the seat.” Fowler continued. “Every seat will eventually wind up with piss on it.”


    “That’s because men are too lazy to lift when they go.” Bernice spat back. “I don’t see why women should be punished for that.”


    “It’s not about punishment, or justice, or any of that, it’s just a fact of life that at some point some jackass is going to leave the seat down and fire away. And if it’s a public restroom, the odds go up as even those that technically aren’t jackasses are still going to be reluctant to touch the seat to raise it.”


    “So, women should be expected to raise it?” The agitated Bernice growled back.


    “Only after they’re done, they need to lower it at first. And if it’s up prior to a man walking in to urinate, then there’s no reason for there to be pee on it.” Michael explained through chuckles.


    “Ehhh, based on some of the bars I frequent, that may not be true.” Sparkplug added with a light laugh.


    “Witwicky, you’re disgusting, and even if it’s up and it doesn’t have fresh piss on it, it’s still dirty and you’re suggesting women touch it with their hands.” Bernice grumbled, but was slowly losing her faux anger.


    “You mean the hands you’ll be washing forty seconds later?” Michael asked.


    “They’re women, Fowler.” Sparkplug interjected.


    “Oh, right, I stand corrected.” Fowler chuckled. “You mean the hands you’ll be washing six minutes, twenty-three seconds later?”


    “Fuck you both.” Bernice replied, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.


    “I’d be more worried about my piss-contaminated ass that I won’t be washing until tomorrow morning’s shower.” Sparkplug shot in with a grin.


    “I take my showers at night.” Agent Carlo corrected, a look of seriousness coming over her face and countering the playful discussion, a look related to the besieged military base in the distance but getting rapidly closer.


    “Your odd bathing habits make my point no less valid.” Fowler replied, nervousness at the situation they were approaching bleeding into his voice as well.


    “Yeah, time to get into character.” Sparkplug replied as he reached for the mouthpiece of the radio mounted on the jeep’s dashboard. “Sir, we’re coming upon the base. Looks like it’s already been infiltrated. Got six F-5’s zipping around overhead, multiple colorations at play. One black with purple highlights, one light gray with blue and red highlights, and four in varying shades of blue and purple.” Sparkplug released the button for transmitting.


    “And you’re sure this isn’t the Ruskies?” Agent Fowler asked. “Yeah, they’re F-5’s, but Ruskies having them is slightly less insane than those planes being giant robots.”


    “Not a chance, look how closely to each other they’re flying.” Agent Carlo replied, drawing her sidearm and verifying it was loaded. “The Blue Angels couldn’t pull that off without at least a couple collisions.”


    “You’ve both read the dossier I prepared, right?” Sparkplug grumbled. “Believe me, these things are real, they’ve been around a very long time, but they’ve never attacked a military base before…well, not to this extent.”


    “Yeah, we know about Patrick Air Force Base.” Fowler replied as he too prepared his firearm.


    “Anyway, they’re real, they transform, they can expand or condense in size if needed. Trust me, I play chess with one of them on a regular basis.” Sparkplug replied before nodding straight ahead and raising the transmitter back to his mouth and pressing the speak button as an unbelievable sight was taking place before them in the distance. “Be advised, the white jet, black jet and one of the blue jets have transformed to robot modes and landed before the base. Looks like they’re headed into one of the hangars.”


    “And you be advised we’ve already received confirmation that we’re dealing with Cybertronians!” The voice on the other end squawked back. “Or something very similar. We’ve made contact with Major Gordon within the Ranch, robots have been walking freely through the base and hangars for hours scavenging for whatever they’re after, the Major estimates that in excess of one hundred soldiers have already been killed in a futile attempt to defend the base.”


    Fowler reached forward and pulled a second of the three transmitters. “They after the A-12’s or any other aircraft?” Fowler asked.


    “Does not appear so.” The voice replied. “Seems they’re drawn toward some of the reinforced laboratories and adjacent warehouses.”


    “They want the energy ore samples we have.” Sparkplug replied knowingly.


    “That’s our assumption at this time.” The voice replied.


    Carlo grabbed the last handset and chimed in. “Our weapons are going to be useless against these things. I doubt the heavy guns in the trucks behind us will do more than put minor dents either.”


    “Your orders are to engage and delay them as best you can. Aircraft with weaponry modified per the asset’s specifications are being scrambled as we speak.” The voice instructed and reassured.


    “We flew from D.C. to Nellis and drove here, and those jets still haven’t been scrambled?” Sparkplug grumbled disbelievingly.


    “It’s the weaponry.” The voice replied. “Affixing them to our fighters has proven difficult. We’re currently working on it, proceed with your orders and know that we’ll get you your support as quickly as we can.”


    “Understood.” Sparkplug replied agitatedly before letting the handset drop. “Personnel are easier to replace than jets, so we’re on our own. If we survive the day, first round is on me.”


    “I know how cheap you are, Witwicky,” Fowler chuckled mirthlessly, “you’d only make that offer if you knew we didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving this.”


    “Oorah, Fowler, oooooorah!” Witwicky replied laconically.


    “As if dying wasn’t bad enough, I’m going to be killed with a couple of jarheads.” Bernice grumbled with a laugh. The laugh immediately died as something caught her eye. “Shit, they see us.” The three of them looked in horror through their windshield as a lavender F-5 started toward them and initiated what was undoubtedly a strafing run.


    “Hang on, going to have to drive like a maniac.” Sparkplug warned as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, but just as he was about to jerk the wheel, one of the wings of the F-5 exploded, sending the jet careening off to the side and crashing into the sand and rock a mile and a half from the road. “What the hell was that?” Sparkplug yelled as he and his companions looked to the crashed aircraft expecting it to explode but watched as it began shifting in shape. Their eyes were only on it for a moment before turning them back to the skies to see if they could determine what had downed the light-purple F-5. “There!” Sparkplug called out as he pointed up to the northwestern sky where what appeared to be an alien shuttle craft was disengaging some sort of camouflage that had allowed it to blend into the sky, but was now revealing its bronze-like metal coloration as it sped toward the base that the jeep and following convoy were quickly approaching as well.


    “Chesse n’ rice, what kind of aircraft are we testing out here?” Fowler asked in disbelief as he stared at the newly revealed ship.


    “Could that be our aerial back up?” Carlo asked in equal awe.


    “Negative.” Sparkplug replied as he recognized a symbol on the side of the ship as it engaged the remaining two fliers in combat. “See that face etched on the hull?” He noted Carlo’s nod in his periphery. “It’s a religious symbol on Cybertron. Part of a polytheistic southern faith.”


    “How is it that you’re best buds with so many alien robots?” Fowler asked, his gaze still on the aerial battle where the ordinance of the F-5’s seemed to have no impact against the hull of what was likely a shuttle of sorts based on what they knew of the size of typical Cybertonians. A shot from the shuttle connected with a muted blue, almost gray jet, knocking it to the ground in a fiery wreck. The remaining jet retreated to the ground, transformed and shrunk in size to a twenty-foot tall robot, and took cover from the side of the base before returning fire on the attacking shuttle.


    “One friend, second friendly acquaintance that’s likely regarded as an enemy now.” Sparkplug spat out as he pulled the jeep to a stop near the building they had been speeding to get to. Fortunately, the giant robot was focused entirely on the shuttle as Sparkplug and the convoy behind him parked just a few dozen yards away from where the winged alien was hunkering down. “Fowler, the M-16’s.” Sparkplug quietly whispered to his comrade in the back seat, who then slid rifles to he and Carlo while taking one himself. “Works like the AR-15, magazines hold twenty rounds,”


    “We know this shit Witwicky.” Fowler quietly growled back as he and Carlo quietly exited the jeep. Sparkplug smiled and followed them. “Cripes, been a Captain for five minutes and thinks he’s the only one who knows how to do anything.” Sparkplug heard Fowler’s whispered comment as they spread out to cover their pre-designated assignment areas.


    Sparkplug was both excited and terrified as one of his pre-designated areas was the laboratory facility housing the energy ore samples, stalagmites found in the Atlantic off the coast of Florida during a search shortly after what they assumed to be the Manifest was witnessed taking off out of the water. Based on its description, Sparkplug was certain that it was what Alpha Trion called energon, but Alpha Trion was also certain that energon only formed on Cybertron. Whatever the case, they hadn’t gotten around to bringing a nugget to the alien prisoner for verification, particularly because the energy density within the ore was such that it could easily be converted to an explosive.


    Sparkplug slunk into the base and sprinted through the hallways toward his intended target. He had to exit the building, enter another, exit that one before finally arriving at the building housing the cluster of labs that were holding the ore. In the distance outside he could hear explosions and weapons’ fire that he’d never heard before, which given that they were likely alien weapons, made perfect sense. He continued and rounded a corner down the hallway that his intel had informed him led to a warehouse holding the samples and saw the doorway at the end of the hallway was blown apart with human remains scattered all around it. The doorway was too small for Cybertronians so it wasn’t a point of entry, likely just where escaping humans were running and was blown apart as the attacking aliens fired upon those humans.


    Sparkplug quickly but cautiously edged to the gore-covered jagged open doorway and stared through the scattered storage racks, all scorched from whatever blast had hit earlier. There were a couple of reasonably intact torsos with heads attached, but he made a point of averting his gaze from faces. In the distance he heard the loud yelling of their assailants in their alien language. Alpha Trion had tried teaching him a few words and phrases, at least a few that flesh throat just was capable of saying but like with most foreign languages an average person casually approaches, he really didn’t retain much of use. He recognized enough of the sounds and the flow to confirm that it was Cybertronian, but that was about as much as he could do with his limited expertise. As he got closer he could see the speakers, there were a total of six giant robots, three twenty-footers with wings up-slung on their back that had been the multicolored F-5’s that had transformed and landed earlier, and three fifteen-footers, one with a blue torso, legs and a green chest plate, one with a blue torso, gray legs and a yellow chest plate, and one with a red torso, black lets and a black chest plate, otherwise the three looked almost as identical as the three jet-bots looked to each other.


    It was two of the jet-bots that were apparently arguing with one another, the blue one seemed to be questioning the white one and the white one barked back agitatedly. The six of them seemed almost circled around almost all the energy ore that Sparkplug believed the government had collected and was storing here. He then saw four scientists pulling pallets of crates with a pulsing pink glow emerging through the wooden cracks, clearly more of the energy ore. The terrified humans rolled the pallets to the center of the giant robot circle, and all hesitantly looked up at the white giant. “Is this the last of it?” The white robot asked the question in English in a somewhat high, whiny voice.


    “Ye…. yes.” One of the men in lab coats replied. “Apart from some scrapes for study in some of the lab, each sample being less than a gram.”


    “Yeah, we can probably do without those.” The white robot smiled and then looked to the three smaller robots and gave an order in their language, and order that prompted the smaller robots to start toward the humans, their hands outstretched ominously to grab them. Two of the humans screamed in panic, knowing their lives were coming to an end.


    Suddenly a wall exploded on the far end of the warehouse and a moment later a red cab over engine semi-truck barreled through the cargo-filled racks and spun as it started to skid as it braked, but then transformed, rolling over and over in the process and coming to a stop on one knee, a huge black rifle…or cannon really clutched in his right fist and aimed at the head of the white winged robot. Sparkplug marveled at this new robot; the other six and Alpha Trion were all well beyond incredible, but he could see that this one, even in a knelt position, was something more. Probably a bit taller in stature, but his physique…a twenty-two-foot metal Jack LaLanne would pale in comparison. “*&%^$ @#&&&*$# ^&*##$!” Sparkplug didn’t comprehend a word, but the message was clear.


    The white robot already had his hands raised before him before the sentence started, but as it finished, he smiled, replying in a conciliatory tone. “&$* #$%@^ @%#.” He then cast his gaze down toward the four terrified scientists. “You are all free to leave. I suggest doing it now.” The scientists were frozen for a moment, but quickly came to their senses and ran toward the far end of the room to and intact door.


    “Any other humans in the vicinity,” the red truck robot called out in his deep voice as he rose to his full height, Sparkplug’s estimate of twenty-two feet proving accurate, “leave now, take cover, do not try to oppose any metal beings! Your weapons are unfortunately insufficient against what you face today! If you are caught between groups of combating robots, know that the ones with the squared off red face emblems will not hurt you, the ones with the jagged, triangular purple faces initiated this assault and will harm you!”


    “No, humans,” the winged white robot called out, “it will be far more than just harm. These purple faces will in the end wipe your species, and every other inferior weakling, from existence. This I swear.” An ominous clicking sound coming from the hand-cannon of the red robot silenced the white jet-bot. “%^@$ (^*! %$#$@ @# ^&*$%!” The red robot nodded his blue-helmeted head and lowered his blaster away from the white robot. No longer in the crosshairs, the white robot barked at the three fifteen-foot-tall robots. “*&@# )^#^!”


    With that the three robots turned and charged the large red robot, opening fire as they did so. The red robot dove down and to the side with exceptional speed, tucking, rolling, and coming up behind a large metal crate designed for hauling vehicles. The three robots merged to form a weird, box-like contraption mounted on a tripod, but a moment later a burst of energy blasted from it and obliterated the crate that the red robot was taking cover behind.


    The red robot leapt into the air, flipping over twice as he did so and directed his hand-cannon at the combined robo-cannon. The blue and black jet-bots raised their arm-mounted rifles in a latent attempt to target him, but their shots missed and they could do nothing as the red bot fired and blasted the merged device back into three robots, who then transformed into three separate, nearly identical…hovering alien artillery cannons, that was the best description the stunned Sparkplug could come up with. The three flying cannons darted out to attack the newcomer, who dodged the first two shots before opening fire and downing one of the flying cannons. He leapt toward a second one, tossing his cannon to his left hand, dodging fire from all the remaining five operational enemies, an orange energy axe emerging magically from his right wrist, and then slicing through one of the flying cannons with it.


    The white winged robot roared out more commands in his alien tongue…would tongue be the right term if they don’t technically have tong…never mind, doesn’t matter, but his orders prompted the other two jet-bots to charge the red interloper with their upper arm rifles firing. The red robot seemed to be handling his numerical disadvantage quite well, but the white leader of the purple pointy-faced group raised his own rifles to cherry-pick a shot on the distracted red robot’s blue head. Sparkplug didn’t know what to make of the red robot, but he knew that the others were enemies, so he targeted the winged robot’s head with his M-16 and opened fire before the winged robot could snipe the red truck-bot.


    The bullets impacting the right side of the white jet-bot’s black helmeted head proved distracting to him, but nothing more, but it also got the attention of the truck-bot and revealed the sneak attack. “^%(*@#!” Sparkplug could make no sense of the incredibly loud utterance bellowed at him by the winged alien but given the hatred on the robot’s face and how it was delivered, there was no question it was top-tier threat or denigration. Whatever the case, seeing the arm rifles turning and targeting him made Sparkplug aware that the roared alien insult would be the last word he would ever hear.


    A blast tore into the white and red jet-bot’s left chest, extending Sparkplug’s life for at least another second or so, and a second blast tore into the creature’s cockpit/abdomen. The twenty-foot winged robot cried out in pain, his high-pitched voice even more cutting when shrieked, and he collapsed into several wooden crates behind him. Sparkplug turned to see where the shots came from and saw the red truck-bot battering away his opposition. “$%@# %^^ &^(@*!” The cry came from the downed white jet-bot, and a moment later he was blasting toward the red robot, thrusters in his feet propelling him, but the red robot weathered the rifle shots and as the white robot started to zip dozens of feet above him, jumped with his glowing orange energy axe and sliced deeply into his torso.


    The white jet-bot’s momentum carried him through the far wall and crashing outside, with more pained cries coming from him. The blue jet-bot, black jet-bot and the remaining fifteen-foot tall hover-cannon-bot disengaged from the red robot and looked toward the collection of energy-ore, prompting the red truck-bot to arch and eyebrow and smile almost challengingly. “*)$% #@ &^($!” The blue jet-bot barked out, prompting the remaining three to fly out the hole their leader had made and retreat, the two jet-bots transforming into their F-5 modes and shot out grappling cords to snare their fallen leader and haul him with them.


    The red truck-bot looked down at the two smaller robots that were inertly laying on the floor, one cleaved nearly in two and probably dead. “I do not intend to begin our relationship with you, your people, your government, or planet Earth on a bad note,” the giant red robot raised his optics to Sparkplug and smiled. “especially after you saved my life, but these prisoners will be coming with us.”


    “Look, I recognized the absurdity of me trying to impose my authority here,” Sparkplug stepped forward, “especially as us having common enemies doesn’t make us friends, and you could make me a smear on the floor at any time, buuuuttttt, this is American soil, an American military base, so even though it’s a fight I’d lose, I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist we take the prisoners into custody.” He tried to appear braver and more confident than he felt. He then looked to the nearly halved formerly flying cannon on the floor. “You sure these are prisoners, and not corpses?”


    The large red robot nodded to the less damaged one. “He’ll live,” he then nodded to the vastly more damaged one, “he’ll need extensive medical treatment, treatment my team is in a position to provide. I severely doubt you have the knowledge or resources to save him.”


    “You might be surprised.” Sparkplug muttered as he locked his eyes with the robot’s optics. “My name is Captain William Witwicky, but you can call me Sparkplug.”


    The large robot let out a light chuckle. “Nice to finally meet you, ‘Sparkplug’, congratulations on your promotion. Nightbeat’s heavily redacted report had you listed as a Sergeant.”


    “Very recent development.” Sparkplug grinned, a genuine sense of relief washing over him as his certainty that this alien would not turn on him grew. “How is old Nightbeat? He left a bit of a mess at one of our bases in Florida.”


    “I really couldn’t tell you, never met him, only read his report, at least the portions I was allowed to read, and know of his reputation.” The truck-bot replied. “I am Broteas Pacific, Commander of the Autobots, a planetary-government aligned commoner rights organization from the planet Cybertron, though you already knew where we were from.”


    “That’s a lot to remember.” Sparkplug chuckled. “So, you’re a highborn.”


    “Ehhh, sort of. It’s a long story.” Broteas replied.


    “Would love to hear it all.” Sparkplug answered with a grin. “Maybe we can arrange an ongoing open dialogue between our two governments.”


    “Yes, I’d like that.” Commander Pacific replied. “But I’ve received word that some of your aircraft that have been scrambled are actually approaching now. Your prior jets that had been in the air had been holding back, I’m guessing for these guys.” The large robot touched the side of his helmet, indicating he was receiving more information. “Ah, I see, these are armed with rail guns.” A confused look came over Broteas’s face. “We assumed you humans were still decades away from a design that was energy feasible and able to mount on an aircraft.”


    “Yeah, we’re pretty inventive.” Sparkplug answered, earning a look of skepticism from the Autobot Commander.


    “There was something in Nightbeat’s report about you having an asset.” The robot smirked.


    “I’m afraid I can’t comment on anything regarding…anything. Above my pay grade I’m afraid.” Sparkplug side-stepped the issue. “So, about these guys?” He waved over the downed robot.


    “I suggest I provide you the tools to effectively incapacitate the less injured of the two and leave him in your custody, and I take the more injured to try and save his life. But be aware, the Decepticons…” Broteas noted the look of confusion, “the group who attacked you that these two are members of, they will likely come back for them and try to recover them, so wherever you decide to house him will be a target. If you go that route, I will interrogate the one we take, I expect you to interrogate the one you take, and I suggest we share any information we manage to get with one another.”


    “And if the powers that be decide to conduct an alien autopsy?”


    A stern look came over Broteas’s face. “I was hopeful your people didn’t do that. Should I be concerned about the asset you have in your possession?”


    “No, we like that guy.” Sparkplug smirked. “But these guys, I doubt even the gentlest soul on Earth will oppose anything the lab boys may want to do.”


    “I’m afraid I have to rescind my offer to let you take either of them.” Broteas stated, his tone making it clear it was not open for discussion.


    “Actually, in light of your warning these Decepticons might come back for their friends, it’s probably best if you take them.” Sparkplug replied. “Though I’m still going to hold you to your offer to share any information you may get from them.”


    “Agreed.” Broteas nodded. “Need a ride back to the front? That’s where my team parked the ship.” With that he transformed back into a semi-truck and the driver-side door swung open.


    Sparkplug figured that if this Broteas Pacific wanted him dead, he’d have already killed him, and it was a long way back, so he shrugged and clambered into the cab, but turned his head a the noise of two grappling hooks shooting out from the rear of the truck and locking onto the two downed Decepticons. “You’re not planning on dragging them, are you?”


    “If they die, it won’t be because I dragged them.” Broteas answered as the door swung shut. Within moments they were through the hole in the wall that Broteas had created as he entered, and they were rounding the buildings. Up ahead was the decloaked ship, with two robots, both smaller than Broteas, standing at the bottom of the ramp and American military personnel circled around them with all sorts of weaponry pointed at them. “Think you can talk your colleagues into letting us leave?” Sparkplug genuinely wondered that as he saw many soldiers ready to open fire on the eighteen-foot-tall red bot and the fifteen-foot-tall white bot.


    “I’m not the ranking officer here.” Sparkplug replied. “Frankly, I’m just a subject matter expert on you guys.”


    “An expert on us?” Broteas asked, a hint of humor in his voice.


    “Compared to every other human, yeah, pretty much.” Sparkplug replied. “You’re the third of your species that I’ve met. Prior to today I was tied with President Johnson at two. Lyndon’s not going to be happy that I’ve pulled ahead.”


    “Well, we are going to be leaving before your rail-gun armed planes get here.” Broteas stated as he pulled to a stop and his door swung open. “How ripple-free that exit winds up being is entirely up to you humans.”


    “I’m assuming this is a ‘don’t call us, we’ll call you’ type of situation.” Sparkplug stated as he climbed down.


    “We monitor all channels of your communications.” Broteas replied as he transformed, pulling the tethers of the two Decepticons after him as he stood and slowly walked toward the ramp of the small ship. “If you really need to get ahold of us, we’ll hear you. That’s not a guarantee we’ll respond, but we’ll know.”


    “Hold up!” Sparkplug looked over to see Major Gordon marching toward them. Broteas stopped and regarded the man. “I appreciate your intervention, but we cannot allow you to leave.”


    “I mean you know harm, and I hope to begin an equally beneficial relationship with you Americans and the human race as a whole, but we are going to be leaving.” Broteas replied.


    Major Gordon turned to Sparkplug. “Captain Witwicky?”


    “This is Broteas Pacific, he’s the Commander of these Autobots, foes of the group that attacked us, the Decepticons.” Sparkplug filled in the Major and anyone else within earshot. “He fought off six of those Decepticons, including these two prisoners which he’s taking with him, but left the energy ore in the hangar where the Decepticons were collecting it.”


    “Six?” The white ‘Autobot’ chuckled. “You’re losing your touch, Pacific.” His voice sounded almost like some sort of gravelly-voiced Jazz singer.


    “Ironhide,” Broteas nodded toward the other red robot, “Jazz,” nodding now to the shorter white robot, “wave to the Americans.”


    “These two already loaded a couple of downed winged robots into their ship.” Major Gordon added.


    “Sir, we can oppose their departure, but I severely doubt we’d be successful on any level and it might upset what could be a needed alliance.” Sparkplug provided his opinion.


    Major Gordon wasn’t convinced, but he eventually nodded. “You’re here because you know these things better than almost anyone, Witwicky. I’ll follow your gut.”


    “Thank you, sir.” Sparkplug replied, hiding the sigh of relief he was letting out. He then looked up at Broteas. “I can’t emphasize enough my interest in your organization and my organization remaining in frequent contact.”


    “Understood.” Broteas replied. “It was a pleasure meeting you Captain Witwicky.”


    “I kind of prefer it when you robots call me Sparkplug.” The human replied.


    “Will do Sparkplug.” Commander Pacific replied as he dragged his unconscious prisoners up the ramp and into the ship.


    Sparkplug kept his eyes fixed on the ship as he slowly walked toward a cluster of other humans, but out of his periphery he noted his partners approaching him. “Looks like you’re buying drinks tonight Sparkplug.”


    Sparkplug chuckled at Fowler’s statement. “Beyond happy to be on the hook for that, Mike.”


    “Commander Broteas Pacific, huh?” Carlo muttered as they came to a stop next to him, all looking up at the departing craft.


    “Yeah, it’s a mouthful.” Sparkplug replied. “Highborn Cybertronians typically have a dual nomenclature type of thing like us, well, fewer names than you Spaniards have.”


    “Screw you.” Bernice shot back at the good-natured ribbing, Fowler chuckling next to her.


    “Anyway, Pacific represents his house. Peace must be a common theme for high houses on their planet, I’ve heard of another house with a similar meaning. Broteas though, hell, that’s just a pretentious jumble of syllables.”


    “Not so, my simple poorly-read friend.” Bernice replied. “In Greek mythology, Broteas was a legendary hunter.”


    “Heh,” Sparkplug lightly chuckled, “mythical Greek hunter, just like…” his eyes popped wide as something occurred to him. “Holy shit!” Sparkplug nearly shouted before pointing up at the departing alien aircraft. “Stop them!”


    “What?” Both Fowler and Carlo asked, bewildered. “How?” Carlo followed up.


    Sparkplug ignored them and sprinted to the jeep he had arrived in, opened the back and pulled out a roadside kit. A moment later he was sprinting back to where the ship had lifted off from, the craft now about three hundred feet in the air and was beginning to vanish as the camouflage system was engaging.


    “Witwicky, what in the hell are you doing?” Major Gordon bellowed out, but Sparkplug ignored him and raised the flare gun, aimed just off to the right of the last visible part of the craft, and fired.


    The flare burned as the ship finally vanished completely from view. “Please, please, please.” Sparkplug repeated as he jumped up and down, waving his hands back and forth trying to get the attention of the ship’s occupants. Seconds passed and there was no change, no indication that his request for the aliens to return was heard, or if heard, that it would be granted. After thirty seconds of zero response, the human gave up and lowered his arms. “Damnit.” He whispered. Suddenly something impacted the ground a few dozen yards ahead of Sparkplug, something invisible but capable of creating a huge dent in the ground and an impact tremor that sent Sparkplug flying back and onto the ground.


    Artificial light cut out through a quickly expanding sliver in the horizon, and soon opened enough to reveal a doorway and rotating downward ramp with the red Ironhide standing in the revealed doorway. “Awlright, Witwicky, what’s yer deal?”


    Sparkplug scrambled back to his feet and held out his hands, panting as he tried to force the words out. “Com…Commander Pacific…his clan, Pacific, House Pacific, they’re the ruling house of the polar emirate, right? The northern polar emirate. Right?”


    “Is ya’ knowin’ than supposed ta impress me? We know ya got an asset!” Ironhide asked in anger, his thick southern accent tickling a string of questions in Sparkplug’s head, but they were immediately pushed back by the more pressing ones on the tip of Sparkplug’s tongue.


    “Wait, wait!” Sparkplug sputtered out. “Broteas, he’s not a blood member of the house, or spark member, or metal member, whatever. He’s a foundling, right? Adopted or something?”


    This line of questioning changed Ironhide’s demeanor, his optics widened, and he literally stumbled back half a step before turning his head to the side and giving a bewildered yell back into the ship. “Cah-mander! Can ya’ get back here? Ol’ Sparkplug’s got questions I’m not sure if I should be answerin’.”


    Several seconds passed before both Broteas Pacific and Jazz came into view. “Sparkplug, you should know that the rail guns can perforate us, but they’re worthless against the Oar.”


    “No, that’s not, what…the Oar?” Sparkplug got distracted. “Oh, your ship. No, I’m not trying to stall, I swear. Are you…” he paused, trying to figure out how best to phrase what he needed to ask, “were you born in the last spark pulse, found by a member of House…Pacific, a female named after a flower genus, I’m guessing something like Torenia?” He shuddered; this giant unstoppable robot shuddered like a leaf at the sound of her Earth-translated name. “She found you and brought you home, and you were raised there with a brother called something roughly translated to Roller, but you were only there for a few months, right? You solved an impossible case and became a cop…er police officer, and later went off-world, somewhere safe but unpleasant,”


    “Stop!” Broteas commanded.


    Sparkplug again held up his hands and nodded, nervously pausing before chancing a question. “That is you, right?”


    Broteas walked almost ominously down the gangplank, an indecipherable expression on his face, and didn’t stop until he was standing directly over Sparkplug, looking straight down on him. “Tell me what you know of Sparkeaters.”


    “I…” Sparkplug was at a loss before connecting the term to something he’d read in a recent report, “not much, just something a dog told the President. Are these the zombies or the vampires?”


    Orion paused, pondered the response before leaving it unaddressed and continuing with another question. “Tell me what you know of Megatron.”


    “What is a Megatron?”


    “The Autobot acts of terrorism?”


    “The what? Wait, you mean you guys?”


    “The Great Deception, the decimation of the high houses?”


    “I…sorry, what?” Sparkplug stammered, completely at a loss. He could sense the tension from the soldiers behind him, but prayed they’d hold back. However sideways this situation was going, if this was who he thought it was, and he was almost certain it was, it may be their only chance.


    “You know a great deal about me, Captain Witwicky, about my family, a bit about Cybertron as a whole, but only hints, from dogs apparently, of anything that’s taken place over the last eighteen years, correct?” The giant robot asked knowingly as he glared down. “Which explains the one thing you got wrong about me. I wasn’t born in the last pulse, there was one that took place four years ago. You are almost completely ignorant of any recent history, anything that’s happened over the last eighteen years.”


    Shit. He knew. Broteas…well, Broteas for now, but he knew. “Yeah.”


    “Your asset…is he alive?” Broteas asked, firmly but there was the tiniest hint of genuine fear in his voice.


    “Yes, alive and in perfect health, treated well.” Sparkplug replied quickly. “He is confined, but I think you can understand that, given our situation, but he’s kept in comfort. We provide him with energy resources he can convert to food, and frankly, he’s a friend.” Sparkplug looked down and nodded. “He’s probably my best friend. My friendship with him is what’s enabled me to be promoted as quickly as I’ve been promoted given my age.” He looked back up at the Autobot Commander firmly. “And you’ll be happy to know that I will defy any order to harm him in any way.” He softened and smiled. “And you’ll probably be happy to know as well that he thinks very, very highly of you.”


    “Thank you Sparkplug.” The sentiment was genuine. “I would like to open up negotiations for his release. I don’t speak for Cybertron as a whole, but I personally would be vastly indebted to you for his safe return, as would House Pacific.”


    Sparkplug smiled and nodded. “It’s Pax.”


    “What?”


    “Your surname, your clan, it’s House Pax.” Sparkplug clarified. “And your name is not Broteas.”


    “Ya’ don’t get ta be tellin’ us what names we get ta have!” Ironhide interjected challengingly.


    Sparkplug ignored the assertion from Ironhide and kept talking to the Autobot Commander. “Your given name is Orion.”


    “I said…” Ironhide started to bark back, but Jazz’s hand gripping his arm stopped him.


    “In this case, he does get to dictate the name.” He said with a broad smile. The Autobot Commander twisted his head back and Jazz shrugged. “Don’t even pretend Orion Pax isn’t a much, much better name.”


    The Commander chuckled as he turned his head forward again and looked down at Sparkplug. “A-Three calls me that?”


    “With great affection.” Sparkplug answered, smiling at realizing he was fully aware as to why Orion was using that name for Alpha Trion.


    “I give you my word, Sparkplug Witwicky, that you will be hearing from me very soon.” With that the large robot turned and marched back into the craft.



    00000000000000000000000000000



    Mindset



    There he was, already here, clearly prepared, though given their barely remembered relationship and current affiliations, Mindset thought that his spark brother would have brought more back up. Yet there Onslaught sat, his frame tall as Guardian Prime, a lean but powerful physique, exuding a ‘specialness’ that Mindset had been jealous of all his life yet knew was deserved, with only four other Decepticons. Well, four that Mindset could see within this near-deserted tavern in central Hydrax Plateau, knowing his spark-twin, there had to be other safeguards in place. Onslaught was one of the greatest strategists he’d ever known, and as Mindset had been serving with Prime, Galvatron, and considered himself to be close friends with the genius Jhiaxus, that was saying a lot. The now-Decepticon had to have more in reserve than just these four soldiers. Mindset himself had brought thirteen guards to watch over his safety; he’d have brought more, but these thirteen were the only ones he could trust not to mention this meeting to anyone. “Wait here.” Mindset said to the two guards closest to him as he stepped away from the entrance area and entered the center of the tavern, locking optics with Onslaught. The guards all stopped and remained near the front of the bar while Mindset continued forward alone.


    Onslaught stood from his chair, as did his four companions who turned to leave him and gathered at a table near the rear of the public house. Onslaught rounded the table and approached Mindset, reaching out and roughly grasping Mindset’s shoulders when they reached one another. “By the Hand, Mindset, you’ve certainly bulked up! I didn’t think you could handle such an enhancement.” He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. “Your spark, are you sure it can take the added strain?”


    “It’s not just armor and presses, Onslaught,” Mindset replied as he nodded for them to sit down, “I served as a willing, hell, an eager test subject for an experiment. More than my frame has been enhanced, spark-brother, now we are physically equal.” Mindset rolled his head. “Well, almost. My spark has been surgically amplified to at least standard level, though I’m certain yours is higher than the mean. Perhaps yours is even a different color.”


    “No, blue as the sky I’m afraid.” Onslaught replied as he adjusted himself in the chair. “I too had it looked at recently, though not for any enhancement, just for readings to be taken. I was permitted to go offline for the examination fortunately, but there was still significant pain for days afterward.”


    “What did they need to test you for?” Mindset asked, hoping to prolong the pleasant small talk for as long as he could. He realized that the attachment he held for Onslaught had to be vastly stronger than the attachment Onslaught held for him. It wasn’t because of any unreciprocated feelings they’d had as protoforms or younger adults, it was just that Onslaught had not seen Mindset for over one millions years, the vast majority of his life, whereas to Mindset, it seemed like only months since he’d last seen Onslaught. After a million years, feelings had to fade even if Onslaught’s mind was impressive enough to keep memories intact.


    “Just something some scientist wanted to investigate.” Onslaught replied. “Believe me, whatever was done to your spark has got to be far more interesting.”


    “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.” Mindset replied, realizing too late that the answer would snap them back on track as to why they were there.


    “So why are we here, Mindset?” Onslaught got straight to the point.


    Mindset paused before answering. “Surrender yourself, rejoin society. If you provide information, I can ensure your affiliation with the Decepticons can be overlooked. Perhaps even join our forces, your skills are undeniable, with what you know of your comrades you may very well become a valuable asset. They’d forgive you anything.”


    “Why would I join the losing side?” Onslaught asked nonchalantly as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.


    “We are the legitimate government of Cybertron.” Mindset pointed out emphatically. “Led by the greatest heroes of both hemispheres, one being the Matrix-chosen Prime. We wield the greatest warship in Cybertronian history, arguably one of the most powerful spacecrafts in the galaxy.”


    “We wield a Titan.” Onslaught scoffed.


    “A dead Titan!” Mindset chuckled back but lost his humor at Onslaught’s complete lack of reaction. Neither of them had a face in the traditional sense, and even if they had, Onslaught was in control of his emotions enough to reveal nothing through his features. But Mindset wasn’t sensing nothing, he was getting a vibe of confidence and almost amusement from Onslaught, which his spark-brother could fake, but Mindset was almost certain that this was sincere. “Trypticon survived?”


    “I’m not at liberty to discuss that.” The Decepticon brother mimicked.


    “Even if that beast is alive, and even if you can control it, even at full strength it couldn’t engage the Manifest. And there’s no way he’s at full strength.” Mindset snapped, but with a notable lack of certainty in his voice.


    “Then it seems you have nothing to worry about brother.” Onslaught replied.


    “Always so confident, just so damned confident.” Mindset muttered. “Even for this meeting, only bringing four soldiers to reinforce you?” A pregnant pause sat heavy over the table, Mindset hoping his brother would end it.


    “Yes, I have no further back up beyond those four seated behind me.” Onslaught clarified.


    “Are you mad?” Mindset asked, genuinely stunned that his brother would put himself in such a vulnerable position willingly.


    “Are you suggesting that I can’t trust you, brother?” Onslaught asked, a hint of mirth in his voice.


    “You are a highly gifted strategist and ranking officer in an organization that our government has labeled our planet’s greatest threat!” Mindset snapped. “I’d be lying if I were to tell you that despite my feelings for you, I’m not incredibly tempted to have my significantly superior force kill your friends and take you into custody.”


    “Your force isn’t superior.” Onslaught replied nonchalantly.


    “You’ll have to forgive me,” Mindset shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’ve been gone for a bit, but has counting changed in the last million years? Because I count more than three times the number of soldiers at my back versus the ones at yours.”


    “It does seem your ability to count may be off.” Onslaught replied with no indication of jest. “You and your friends outnumber my friends and I fourteen to one.”


    “What?” Mindset was baffled by the statement. One? There were five of them, how could they only be counted as…. oh shit. “No. You’re joking.”


    “I assure you brother, much has changed in the eons since the Manifest took you away, but my sense of humor, or lack of one, has not.” Onslaught assured him.


    “So, you’re a Devastator?” Mindset nearly spat.


    “The term is gestalt, which I’m sure you know.” Onslaught replied, this time a tad bit of humor impossibly laced into his words. “Even the ignorant populace at least uses the term combiner. Devastator is just our first true gestalt. Of course, by ‘our’, I’m referring only to the Decepticons. I’m sure Jhiaxus could whip together another Magnaboss or Tripredacus if he wanted to.”


    Mindset froze. “Jhiaxus is dead.”


    “My condolences.” Onslaught replied dryly.


    He knew. Mindset couldn’t comprehend how, but he knew. No, no he couldn’t possibly know, he was fishing for Mindset to give something away. To hell with his insipid attempt, but Mindset felt an obligation to try and save him. “Brother, please, I’m not saying that Megatron isn’t without significant resources or that the government will have an easy time eradicating he and his followers, but we are going to win.”


    “No, you aren’t.” Onslaught rose to his feet and peered down at Mindset intently. “Join us brother, Megatron will welcome you, I would love to have you at my side as you once were, and we will remake Cybertron as well as the galaxy into how it should be. You know how to contact me, but trust me, do not wait long to contact me. Your forces are on borrowed time as it is.”


    Onslaught turned and started walking back to his friends. Mindset rose from his seat and glared at his brother’s departing form. He desperately wanted to order his team to overrun Onslaught and his squad, but there’s no way they could overpower a gestalt. Unless it was a bluff; could Onslaught have been bluffing about being like Devastator, or Magnaboss, or Tripr…wait! “Onslaught!” Mindset called out, prompting his brother to stop and turn his head. “Come back.”


    Onslaught nodded and returned to the table, the two brothers remaining standing. “What is it?”


    Mindset looked back at his nervous team and waved them down, turning back to Onslaught and continuing in a whisper. “Whatever notes you may have found in Jhiaxus’s lab regarding gestalt technology would have been early theories, and nothing more. His experimentation took place off world, and the prototype gestalts consisted of colonists completely unknown to anyone on Cybertron, and they and their gestalt names are only known to very few individuals, all of whom are members of the Manifest crew.” Mindset shook his head, finally comprehending the ramifications of this. “Who has betrayed us?”


    Onslaught just stared at him. “It took longer than I’d hoped, but at least you figured out what I’ve been telling you.” He placed a hand on Mindset’s shoulder and leaned in. “Please brother, join the Decepticons, or at the very least, be far from Cybertropolis in the coming days. What I’m doing here is treason, and Megatron would kill me mercilessly if he knew what I was telling you, but despite the time apart, I still feel protective of you and need you to be safe.”


    “How much time do we have?” Mindset asked, trying to keep the terror in his voice from showing. Onslaught just turned and walked away.



    00000000000000000000000000000000000



    Omega Supreme



    He had seen it before, but over the last fifteen and a half million years he had allowed himself to believe he’d never have to see it again. He remembered Metroplex, he did not know him well, but he was a noble soul who did not deserve to be enslaved by vicious Quintessons, so despite any misgivings, it was time to bring him home…if that was what Metroplex wanted. Guardian Prime saw the Titan as a needed military asset, but as far as Omega Supreme was concerned, that would only be the case if Metroplex chose to fight. He had heard what had happened to Sky Lynx and was disgusted by it. He would make it a point to let Sky Lynx know that should he choose not to be a soldier, it was his right to walk away from it all with Omega Supreme’s full and vocal support. And if the Prime had a problem with that, well then, so be it. The Guardian and Guardian Prime would have a falling out if it came to that, and Omega Supreme would be at peace with it should it happen.


    Suddenly the space tore, emitting a dim light from the other end of the wormhole, and a moment later Sky Lynx’s merged space and ground transports zipped through, the breach sealing behind him. “Greetings Omega Supreme, thank you for arriving so promptly. And Bulkhead, I’m assuming that’s you at the conn of The Manifest.”


    “Yes Prime, it’s me.” Bulkhead replied through the communication channel from the city-sized warship hovering behind Omega Supreme.


    “Omega Supreme, just want to verify Metroplex can be reasoned with.” Prime shot through the channel.


    “I can certainly try, but I don’t know where his loyalties or values lie, especially after so many millions of years.” Omega Supreme replied.


    “You mis-understand my meaning, Guardian of the Gates.” Guardian Prime countered. “The few legends we’ve come across depict these Titans as very animalistic, perhaps some hidden intelligence, but still very beast-like.”


    “That was true of most, but Metroplex was highly intelligent. Even the Quintaxium showed near-baseline Cybertronian intellect, though he was far more ape-like in appearance and behavior.” Omega Supreme replied. “To the point where the Quintessons modified his body to be more humanoid in failed hopes that it would impact his intellect.”


    “Why would they think that?” Prime asked.


    Omega Supreme scanned the white and blue merged space cruiser and ground transport that was Sky Lynx to see if there was any reaction but sensed none. “I mean no disrespect to Sky Lynx or any other non-humanoid Cybertronian, but the evolution of our species for different sizes and spark intensities tends for intellect to increase as creatures evolve into a more humanoid shape. As shown by Sky Lynx, there’s no shortage of exceptions to this, but the trend was noticed by the Quintessons and altering us to better suit their whims was already standard operating procedure for them, as was altering us to test their theories. In the case of Quintaxium, shortened arms, lengthened legs and a more upright posture did nothing for his intellect; nothing other than to drive him mad and force them to lobotomize him.”


    “I…I remember that.” Sky Lynx’s sad voice came through.


    “As do I, my friend.” Omega Supreme sadly supported. “But to answer your question, if his intellect is as it was fifteen million years ago, then I will have no problem communicating with Metroplex. As for convincing him to join us, that I cannot say.”


    “I didn’t think it was possible,” Prime’s voice came through, “but I hate the Quintessons even more now than I already did.”


    “Ready to bring the wrath of the true immortals to these self-proclaimed gods.” Bulkhead’s voice growled angrily through the channel.


    Prime chuckled before replying. “Cybertronians, follow my lead!” With that Sky Lynx shot toward the odd conglomeration of shapes that made up the planet Quintessa, a cluster of oddities that seemed to defy the laws of gravity and conveyed an unnatural sense of horror. Despite its evil and ominous appearance Omega Supreme and the Manifest followed the white and blue blur and were soon bypassing the thick rings and soaring into the planet’s atmosphere, zipping over vast, foul-looking oceans, finally approaching a coastal city. Throngs of slaves, most lifeless robots but several species of organic and mechanical beings enslaved to the Quintessons filled the streets, looking up in terror as two large spacecraft sped toward them while an unfathomably large ship followed behind them. “Sky Lynx, Omega Supreme, as you’ve laid optics on him, feel free to tell us if you see the target.”


    “Or I can just forward you the coordinates of vast energon readings, Prime.” Bulkhead replied with a chuckle.


    “Or that, thanks Bulkhead.” Prime shot back mirthfully. “Omega, head to the coordinates and do your thing.”


    “Prime…I have never been known for my persuasive rhetoric.” Omega Supreme replied through the communications channel as he cruised over the white-capped coastline.


    “We don’t need flowery, we need sincere from someone he knows, and more importantly, someone he knows to be a straight shooter.” Prime replied.


    “Oration is not my strength, but I will do my best.” Omega Supreme said as he made a straight line toward the coordinates Prime had sent him a moment before, and he quickly recognized the white core structure embedded within the larger city undoubtedly build around it repeatedly over the millions of years. Omega Supreme circled around, found an area that could accommodate his base mode on the outskirts of the city that was not a part of Metroplex and that would cause minimal damage and zero civilian casualties, returned and dropped off the bulk of his freighter form, it transforming to base mode as it dropped to the target area while the portion of him still flying transformed to the smaller shuttle/fighter mode. Another circling of the city, where he strafed several Sharkticon positions, preceded his return to his base mode and a landing. His base defenses and tank fought off a wave of Sharkticons led by an Alicon, but then ceased and transformed to his massive robot mode, though ‘massive’ seemed laughably absurd standing before Metroplex, who thus far had not reacted to the Cybertronian assault in any way.


    Omega Supreme slowly ambled his way through the streets toward the white central section he recognized from ancient Cybertron many lifetimes ago. The chaos of his comrades fighting the city defenders surrounded them, but Omega Supreme remained focused on the vast city center ahead. “Halt!” The voice cut over the sounds of battle, echoing like thunder against the inland mountains several miles away. “I remember you, Omega Supreme. Why are you here? Why do you defy the gods?”


    “Gods?” Omega replied, his bellow significantly less thunderous. “Surely you must know that label to be false, Metroplex.”


    “I…” the Titan’s voice wavered, “whether they’re actually gods or not is irrelevant. They wield power that eclipses ours, that enables them to impose their will over us.”


    “We removed them from Cybertron over fifteen million years ago, they have not been back since.” Omega Supreme replied with authority. “We have engaged their colony worlds militarily with nothing but success. We are the ones imposing our will over them, including this incursion into the home-world they were forced to make after being evicted from ours in order to rescue you.”


    “I have no desire to be rescued.” Metroplex boomed, his voice following a massive seismic shift, an earthquake that caused buildings to topple and roads to crumble to pieces, the central complex shifting shape, and standing in the midst of the barren stretch of land that he had been planted on for millions of years was now a massive humanoid standing nearly one thousand feet in height. “Leave, leave now before I must act against you.”


    “I have lived as their servant, and I have lived free to determine my own destiny!” Omega Supreme called out to the robot that was nearly eight times his height and vastly more massive. “I know nothing of your current desires, but I swear to you, years from now you will feel no regret in coming with us. But stay, and we both know you will always wonder whether you made the worst choice imaginable.” He saw the uncertainty on the bipedal primate shaped Titan’s face. “If you ever want to return, there’d be no way for us to stop you, and the Quintessons will not punish you in any way. You are a Titan; they’d be far too grateful to have you back to do anything that would risk losing you again.” Metroplex turned to peer at the chaos around him, the city outskirts being devastated, and Omega Supreme, sensing his temptation, continued. “They are petty and cruel, and it is time for you to stop serving them.”


    The Titan was silent for another minute before looking down at Omega Supreme. “Your words have reached me, Omega Supreme, I will follow where you lead.”


    “Who the hell said oration wasn’t your strength, Omega Supreme?” Guardian Prime’s voice came through the communication system. “Well done my friend, well done!”


    Omega Supreme ignored the compliment and continued looking up at Metroplex. “At one time you were capable of space travel. If you no longer possess that capability, our starship back there will be capable of pulling you home.”


    “No, I still retain my ability for space travel.” Metroplex boomed, his statement followed by another transformation that further leveled much of the city, a transformation that resulted in a mobile battle station. “Make way, I am launching but I require a bit of runway.”


    “Acknowledged.” Omega Supreme replied as he started jogging away from Metroplex, and upon reaching an adequate distance transformed himself into his bulk space freighter mode. “Cybertronians, be advised Metroplex is lifting off and following us home. Make way and prepare to disembark.”


    “You heard him boys, mission accomplished, let’s get the hell out of here!” Guardian Prime called out enthusiastically. In moments the Manifest, Metroplex, Sky Lynx and Omega Supreme were cutting through the gray, polluted air toward space.



    0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Megatron



    Everything was going to plan, perhaps too much so. He and all but a few of his Decepticons, bolstered by the fully repaired Trypticon, traversed through the entirety of the Hydrax Plateau, crossed the border into Nova Cronum, and now were effortlessly hovering, wading or flying over the Cybericon River, the southern boundary of the planetary capital. Megatron looked up from the gun turret in one of Trypticons towers and took in the rapidly approaching skyline of Cybertropolis in the not-too-distant distance before turning and entering the small command center he had set up for himself just inside that tower. The Decepticon Commander sat before a large wall of computer screens and a cord slipped out from his wrist and jacked into a console at the base of all the screens. At once three of the screens came to life, showing point-of-view displays of three different but equally savage battles taking place. “Shockwave,” Megatron commented, his vocalization being transmitted to his second, “transmit from your optic.”


    With that a fourth screen lit to life displaying another POV battle. “So, what entitles Shockwave to his bit of privacy?” The voice echoed through the small chamber.


    Megatron smiled. “An entitlement that apparently I do not even have.”


    “I do not mean to intrude,” the voice replied, “and should you request, I will block my sensors to this chamber, but I was casually monitoring every aspect of this body of mine and made the observation that you have direct access to all your Warriors Elite save Shockwave.”


    “No harm done, though I expect that nothing you’ve observed or anything regarding our conversation here will be shared with anyone else.” Megatron replied. “Is that understood, Trypticon?”


    “Of course, Lord Megatron.” The voice of the massive battle station replied.


    “As for your question, the upgrades needed to provide Overlord, Black Shadow and the late Heretech with the estimated strength and durability increases provided by the matrix to large point one percenters required Shockwave’s research, oversight and implementation, as did my precautionary measures. This was true of the new Warrior Elite Sixshot as well, along with a couple other upgrades we built into him.” The Decepticon leader explained.


    “Upgrades like the multi-forming you developed after studying my frame?” Trypticon asked, a bit of arrogance etched into his voice.



    “That was one.” Megatron answered before returning to the answer to the original question. “Shockwave and only Shockwave knew of the monitoring features built into them, and as he was aware of them, he’d likely find a way to bypass or trick them, so ultimately if I ever did have reason to suspect Shockwave of something, it’d be futile using a system he designed and unquestionably had a way around. So I let him believe that I trust him and told him not to bother with the monitoring tech when designing his own upgrade.”


    “Let him believe…so in truth you do not trust him?” Trypticon asked, almost playfully.


    “I trust no one.” Megatron replied.


    “Not even me?” Trypticon asked, again a hint of mirth in his voice.


    “No, though given your raw power, I doubt you’d bother with deviousness.” Megatron replied, a chuckle in his own voice. “No need to stab me in the back when you can obliterate armies from the front.”


    “Oh, there’s no need or point in placating me, Lord Megatron.” Trypticon countered. “I have no interest in taking command, but even if I did, I’m aware that I can be killed. You forget, I’ve known death’s cold embrace twice. Triptych outlived any other being with a blue or green spark, but for the tail end of his life he was a feeble shell requiring assistance to temporarily stave off death, and eventually all the assistance House Onyx could provide wasn’t enough to keep it from finally claiming me. And the dragon…his brain was rendered inoperable, and has since been rearranged and overwritten, but there are still fragments of memories, images and feelings of rage and pain and horror that intrude unbidden. I catch only glimpses of these fragments, but some of the glimpses I’ve caught are of the dragon’s final, painful moments. The metal of my cranium being penetrated, corkscrew-shaped flying fortresses raining death down on me from too high for me to retaliate against, armies laid out before me unloading all the ordinance they have from down below, starvation sapping my immeasurable strength, and utterly lacking the intellect to comprehend what was happening, only that I was getting weaker, and finally, as I collapsed and the brutal blasting stings kept blasting my head open, I accepted death’s cold embrace. Or so the fragment tells me, obviously my brain and my spark were of separate minds when it came to giving up.”


    Megatron smiled. “Yes, you have limits, and it’s conceivable that I could arrange a way to have you killed, but for one, I believe you when you say you have no interest in usurping me. Secondly, if you were to change your mind, you’d still be better off just turning and attacking at some point than forming and trying to enact an elaborate deception. I’m not suggesting that you’re incapable of devising something, but it would invite opportunity of discovery and therefore warning me, all for nothing. The Great Deception was necessary as I was not able to topple my enemies for many years to come. You’re in that position now, you’ll be in that position tomorrow, frankly, I can’t conceive of a time when you won’t be in that position. The dragon failed to see the danger and was easily corralled by the armies of the Quintessons because the dragon was a dumb animal. That’s not the case with you, Trypticon.” Megatron’s smiled broadened. He would always need to fear the power of Trypticon, but like with his Warriors Elite, he had ways of getting the upper hand. And keeping the Titan subdued with flattery seemed a simple yet effective plan. “As for Shockwave, well, he’s brilliant, likely smarter than even me, with his modifications he’s in all likelihood my equal physically, but he does have his weaknesses.”


    “I’ve analyzed Shockwave,” Trypticon replied hesitantly, “I fail to see any weaknesses.”


    Megatron chuckled. “Being a slave to logic makes one predictable. Not to say Shockwave is incapable of creative thought, but he will never be unpredictable, and can be caught off guard by the unreasonable.” Megatron watched the chaos taking place on the screens in front of him, where each of his four Warriors Elite were positioned at different points just inside the planetary capital, laying waste to those there to defend the city.


    “Speaking of which, why send these four ahead to initiate attacks on the highborn government?” Trypticon asked. “Won’t it put them on alert for further aggression?”


    “Each one of these four is as powerful as a platoon.” Megatron replied. “They’ll certainly be on alert for other aggression, they’ll see us coming, but they’ll direct an inordinate percentage of their manpower inward to futilely counter these four and rely on the wall cannons and other city defenses.”


    “Yes, and while I’m by no means scared, my understanding is that the city defenses of Cybertropolis have been fully repaired and are operational.” Trypticon replied questioningly. “They won’t do much to me, but they can definitely thin your troop numbers substantially.”


    “Yes, they could.” Megatron grinned. “At least they could if they were actually as operational as you seem to believe.”


    “My Lord?” Trypticon asked. “Is there an advantage beyond Prime and the Manifest being off-world?”


    “We have an asset embedded within the planetary government.” Megatron replied. “I’ve had to keep that to myself and few others, but I suppose after today, the entire planet will know.”



    0000000



    Jhiaxus



    Mindset’s nervously whispered threats had been easy to ignore the last few days, even as four separate skirmishes at four separate barracks occurred his worries seemed outlandish. But as images of these skirmishes came in, it was clear that this wasn’t a case of some ill-conceived terrorist attack or lashing out. These warriors, they were virtually invincible. Jhiaxus immediately recognized the purple Shockwave of House Torrent, Decepticon or not what he’d read of this treasonous royal was enough to make him feel compelled to meet with him. He knew Shockwave was brilliant, he’d even heard that he was physically formidable, but the purple warrior displayed on the monitor was a weapon of mass destruction; they all were.


    The giant he recognized from Autobot files as the crime lord turned gladiator turned Decepticon Overlord, the also towering black winged robot known as Black Shadow, and the predominantly white and green unknown trip…quad…however many-formed powerhouse were mowing through government soldiers and law enforcement officers as though they were made of wood. Most disturbing of all, he recognized his handiwork. The procedure he had developed for Prime truly had gotten into the hands of the Decepticons. He cursed himself for leaving enough notes for the Decepticons to have developed these super-warriors.


    But these four alone weren’t a conquering force; they certainly weren’t an occupying force. No, they were merely jabs to soften and distract. Jhiaxus pressed a button on the console in front of him and scrolled his satellite view to the region to the south, and there they were, thousands of them all clustered around a massive battle station, one he knew to be more than just a battle station. The city defenses should be enough to hold them at bay for many hours, possibly days even with Trypticon, and shred their infantry to a far more manageable number. But based on Mindset’s now-valid warnings, Jhiaxus was convinced that those city defenses would be hindered to some degree. There was a traitor, one that had been a member of the Manifest’s crew and someone familiar with Jhaixus’s prototype gestalts, and Jhiaxus was certain that he knew who that traitor was, which if he was right, meant there were actually three traitors.


    “Mindset,” Jhiaxus addressed his comrade and friend a moment after opening a channel to him.


    “Yes sir?” Mindset’s confused voice came back through.


    “Your intel was correct; I apologize for not believing you.” Jhiaxus stated. “Come to my lab, I have a ship at the ready, but we must leave now.”


    “On my way sir.” Mindset replied as the connection was cut.


    The vast expanse that served as Jhiaxus’s secret lab and living quarters was silent, but he still sensed that he was not alone. He turned to see two imposing forms, the tall lean Cyclonus and the bulky Scourge. “Comrades, are you here to capture me for the Decepticons, or kill me for Galvatron’s whim?”


    “The former if you surrender.” Cyclonus replied as the two started marching toward Jhiaxus. “The latter if you resist.”


    “Please resist.” Scourge growled. The blue and white robot rushed out ahead of Cyclonus in an attempt to tackle the believed-dead scientist and was stunned as Jhiaxus batted him away.


    “I was hoping Galvatron would come down here to do this himself.” Jhiaxus smiled as he addressed a surprised Cyclonus.


    “How?” Cyclonus asked as he adopted a fighting stance.


    “Nature decided not to give me a green spark. I decided not to accept nature’s decision.” Jhiaxus replied. “Oh, I did lots of modification to my frame as well.” The white scientist suddenly shot forward and delivered a snap-kick that sent Cyclonus skipping away across the ground. Scourge lunged at Jhiaxus from behind, but Jhiaxus swung savagely around catching Scourge’s jaw with a backfist. “Idiot, you’re both outclassed.”


    “But not outgunned.” Cyclonus snarled as he got to his feet, reaching behind him and pulling a rifle from his wing, pointing it at Jhiaxus.


    “Fool, do you know where you are?” Jhiaxus barked back laughingly as he touched a small button on his wrist and multiple cannons emerged from the walls and lowered from the ceiling. “You will neither capture nor kill me. You may return to Galvatron and report your failure, or you can die. The choice is yours.”


    Cyclonus and Scourge gingerly turned and took in the details of the chamber, slowly realizing the futility of their efforts and accepting their failure. Retaining his grip on his rifle but keeping it pointed down, Cyclonus looked to Scourge and nodded to the doorway. “I’ll accept responsibility for this failure.” He then glared at Jhiaxus. “Next time I’ll make sure we’re properly prepared.”


    “Yes, good luck with that.” Jhiaxus replied dismissively. “Now get the hell out of here.” The scientist watched the two departing traitors intently until the door sealed behind them. “Defenses down, but reactivate if Cyclonus or Scourge return, or if Galvatron arrives.” Jhiaxus then marched quickly to the terminal he was at before the unwanted arrival of his would-be captors or assassins and rapidly typed into the keyboard, prompting a large portion of the wall on the far end of the expanse to open up and a small shuttle emerge through an opening panel in the floor. Jhiaxus loaded the craft with almost everything he could fit, and then initiated a data-purge through the computer system. Just as he was completing the steps for his departure the door opened again and Mindset came trotting in. “It’s about time.” Jhiaxus grumbled. “I would have left without you.”


    “It’s insane out there!” Mindset reported nervously. “In addition to Devastator and the gestalt created from Onslaught and his team, there’s another combiner tearing through the city.”


    “Have they transformed the Titan yet?” Jhiaxus asked as he got into the shuttle.


    “No, and I’m pretty sure we’d feel it stomping around, even down here.” Mindset replied as he got into the passenger side of the craft. A few minutes later the craft was exploding out through the street several blocks from the capital building, revealing the secret tunnel down to the bowels that Jhiaxus had been living in for months. Of course, those citizens that were close enough to notice barely did, the majority likely believing it was just another explosion related to the invasion overrunning the vast city. “The city defenses never even blipped! Who could sandbag them that effectively?”


    “Our beloved Warden of the Southern Hemisphere.” Jhiaxus growled as he steered the craft between the skyscrapers.


    “Bastard!” Mindset snarled.


    “The display in front of you,” Jhiaxus pointed to a series of buttons dials and other controls in front of Mindset, “that operates the wormhole generator. I’ve already programmed in the coordinates; I’m going to need you to activate it once we clear Cybertron’s orbit.”


    “There he is.” Mindset muttered, prompting Jhiaxus to hope he had been listening to his wormhole generator instructions and directing his gaze down through the passenger window to see the purple Galvatron battering his way through squad after squad of soldiers in the Primal Courtyard before the Capital Building, his orange fusion tube mounted on his arm as usual, but it was the large battle axe that he was using the wipe out those attacking him. Jhiaxus studied him and realized that Shockwave and the other warriors initiating the attack weren’t the only ones Megatron had shared Jhiaxus’s Matrix-caliber upgrades with, Galvatron, who was already immensely powerful to begin with, was now as mighty a warrior as Jhiaxus had seen. What physical advantages Guardian Prime had held over Galvatron were now leveled.


    With a single swipe Galvatron disembodied the last of the soldiers daring to attack him, and he casually, almost knowingly turned his gaze skyward toward the departing ship. He pointed up and barked a command unheard by Jhiaxus and Mindset, but one easy to deduce as the orbital fighter forms of Cyclonus and Scourge cut through the urban canyons after them. “We need to get the hell out of here now.” Jhiaxus stated as he blasted the ship further skyward. “Be ready to open the wormhole, we’re not going to be able to reach orbit before doing so!”


    “Is that safe?” Mindset asked, his hand over the activation buttons and worry in his voice.


    “We’ll find out!” Jhiaxus barked out as he banked away from a volley of missiles from the Cyclonus and Scourge but realized too late that that barrage was meant to corral him into a shot originating from the ground, a shot from Galvatron in cannon mode. “Open wormhole!” Jhiaxus roared just as the shot impacted the ship just outside the cockpit. Everything spun, a horrific pain shot through his head and everything was starting to fade to black. Through the front viewport he thought he saw a tear in the sky opening, but only for a moment before it and everything else was overtaken by the dark oblivion.



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Orion Pax



    The setting sun over the entirely organic horizon truly was gorgeous. The utter lack of vast surface metal and the technological made it seem almost surreal; even in Cybertron’s wild and untamed regions there was no shortage of metal outcroppings or mechanical and technorganic flora and fauna. Earth, being wholly organic, would seem to be missing something, yet this world managed to somehow be wondrously complete despite the absence. He may not have the love affair for Helios-3 that Hound seemed to be stricken with, but an attachment was starting to form. And that it somehow had deposits of an enhanced energon certainly didn’t hurt. He was pulled from his musings from the sounds of combustion engines approaching behind him from the east, and he turned to see an Army jeep with only the driver, followed by a long black sedan of sorts, a quick reference to his link to Teletran One’s vast database identified the vehicle as a 1964 Ghia Landau Crown Imperial Limousine, a very upscale and extremely rare automobile, and something that seemed out of place for this meeting in an isolated section of the George Washington National Forest that stretched into West Virginia.


    “I would think the President would require a bit more in the way of back up when meeting giant alien robots.” Jazz commented as he walked down the ramp of the shuttlecraft Oar toward Orion and the repair and communication bay that he had altered to transform into a 48’ trailer. Roller and Ironhide followed Jazz out of the ship as the human vehicles came to a stop in the high grass a few dozen yards away.


    “I severely doubt President Johnson is in that limousine.” Orion replied as he took a step toward the humans, recognizing the driver of the long black car, who was not getting out. “It’s good to see you again Captain Witwicky. That’s a fancy car you’ve got there, not the type of vehicle you typically see driving through a wooded area.”


    “You don’t know the half of it, Commander.” Sparkplug shot back as he tapped the roof of the limousine lightly. “We had to fabricate lots of new equipment just to perform the needed customizations for this baby.”


    “Bulletproof I assume, Captain Witwicky.” Pax Chuckled.


    “I’m sure it is, though I personally haven’t tested that feature. And please, call me Sparkplug, Commander Pax.” Sparkplug beamed, standing next to the car with the door open. “It is Orion Pax, right?”


    He seemed to be directing his question toward the vehicle he had just exited, but that made no sense, so Orion assumed the question was for him, despite seeing a green glow reflected off the driver’s seat. “Yes Sparkplug, I thought I made it clear when we met, but I have adopted the personal and surnames you suggested.”


    Sparkplug smiled before shutting the door and looking back up at Orion. “Glad the name was a fit. And thank you for the dossiers your flying drone dropped on the White House porch, valuable information and a wakeup call for our security.”


    “Information on the Decepticons, we Autobots and the Cybertronian government is something you’re entitled to. I apologize for the sparseness of our dossier regarding the Cybertronian colonists on your world, we unfortunately have nothing more than what Nightbeat was able to provide, and most of what he reported was redacted for those at my level.” Orion replied.


    “Yeah, seems we know a lot more than you guys do on that front.” Sparkplug commented. “But still we weren’t expecting to receive something for nothing.”


    “Our world has brought threats to yours,” Pax answered, “it’s the very least we could do, and not anything we should expect payment for.”


    Sparkplug nodded and leaned against the front of the long black car. “Well, President Johnson took it as a show of good will and a desire to create an ongoing alliance and friendship.”


    “I’m pleased that he did.” Orion stated a light smile on his face as well. “That is exactly what we want, and hope that it’s something that the other governments of this world seek as well as yours.”


    “Can’t speak for the other governments, but yeah,” Sparkplug gently tapped the hood of the car as he straightened up and stepped away from the car, “as far as the United States is concerned, we need you on our side and are more than willing to prove it.”


    With that the limousine shuddered, causing the Autobots to brace for a potential attack, but the shudder was immediately followed by a five-second transformation that resulted in the twenty-foot tall form of A-Three, his coloration and other physical features changed from the last time Orion saw him to accommodate his new shell mode, but it was undeniably him. “Beloved pupils!” He gasped a moment before Orion lunged to him and wrapped him in a firm embrace, followed a half second later by the speeding Roller, who leaned heavily against A-Three’s left leg. A-Three released Orion and knelt to place his hands on the vehicular Roller. “My strong, brave child, I knew you’d be emir at some point, but you really beat my time estimates.” A series of beeps emanated from the vehicle, prompting A-Three to chuckle. “Oh, believe me, I know. Many of us have found leadership to not be to our liking.” A-Three looked back up and noted the look on Orion’s face. “Yes, the President shared the content of your dossiers with me.” He stood and looked at Orion with disbelieving optics. “It seems both my students have vastly exceeded my expectations.”


    Orion turned his head to the side to send a sideways questioning glance to Jazz, who shook his head, almost defiantly as he answered the unspoken question. “Ratchet didn’t write you a love song, Pax, he simply listed a completely accurate historical account of our recent history, and as annoying as it is to you, you can’t talk about Cybertron’s last half decade without talking about Orion Pax!”


    “Fine.” Orion replied quickly, a clear attempt to dismiss the topic and hesitantly looked back into A-Three’s optics. “Any and all accomplishments required the efforts of many. Anything about me was exaggerated.”


    A-Three smiled. “Of course.” A more serious look came over his face. “There is much I need to make you aware of as well, Orion.”


    “It’s about tahme!” Ironhide grumbled quietly but intending to be heard, which caused him to get a questioning sideways over the shoulder glance from Orion, to which he shook his head and shrugged. “I made a promise ta’ keep it ta’ mahself, but it’s past tahme ya’ knew.”


    “Privately.” A-Three said, prompting Orion to return his gaze to him. “I will explain everything, and let you decide what to do based on that knowledge.” The old robot then turned and knelt down facing Sparkplug. “I’m going to miss our discussions, Sparkplug. You’ve been a true and trusted friend.”


    “Feeling goes both ways Al…” his eye stretched, seemingly worried, “choo!”


    The sneeze seemed inauthentic, but Orion was still new to humans so he was likely wrong. Wait, there was etiquette for this. “God bless you.”


    “Thank you, Commander Pax.” Sparkplug replied before continuing with his former prisoner. “A-Three, I’m really going to missing losing at chess to you.”


    “I suppose this is where propriety would compel me to say you’re actually quite good at the game.” A-Three chuckled. “But I’ve always placed greater weight on truth than on propriety.”


    “Yeah, that’s probably what I’m going to miss most.” Sparkplug placed his hand over A-Three’s outstretched hand. “I’ll give Lyndon your love.”


    “Please do. He’s no Jack, but he has his moments.” A-Three said to his human friend. “Just tell him that his plan for southeast Asia is misguided. Either fight to win, or don’t fight.”


    “Better men than me have tried telling him that, but I’ll forward the message.” Sparkplug replied as A-Three rose back to his feet and turned back to Orion.


    “Shall we?” He asked, nodding toward the spaceship.


    “Let’s go.” Orion smiled.



    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Starscream



    Soundwave had claimed Megatron was ready for him when he transferred the call, but Starscream was forced to look through his screen at nothing more than a simple swivel chair in some communications room within Trypticon. Starscream had been staring at the forgettable black seat for over twenty minutes, and was sorely tempted to simply end the transmission, but disrespecting Megatron in such a way would lead to brutal consequences. Besides, it was Starscream that had requested this consultation. Finally, the hulking chrome frame came into view, battle-scorched and covered in mech-fluid that was undoubtedly not his, and slid comfortably into the seat before the communications console.


    “Mighty Megatron, congratulations on your magnificent conquest.” Starscream flattered shamelessly. Obvious or not, it was a surprisingly good tactic, especially with an egomaniac like Megatron. “The taking of Cybertropolis from under Guardian Prime’s nose will be sung through the histories in the eons to come.”


    Megatron let the flattery wash over him with no apparent affect, merely giving Starscream an appraising glare through the monitors. “I’m confused, Thundercracker’s report made me believe you were on your death-slab.”


    “He’s an idiot.” Starscream replied, there was no reason to inform Megatron of his…mutation. “Not quite Skywarp dumb, but definitely not one to be providing medical prognoses.”


    “I hope that his description of your failure at the fleshling military base was an exaggeration of equal proportion.” Megatron growled cruelly. He was such a brute, he probably was proud of his obvious segue into the opportunity to ridicule Starscream, thinking it clever, the simple twit.


    But as obvious and blunt as Megatron’s cruel belittling was, it had the effect he clearly intended. The Air Commander, the former royal, the former pioneer of the gladiatorial circuit was now reduced to the beautiful but lowborn commoner vying for the notice and approval of what he feared deep down to be his better. “It’s not my fault!” Starscream whined desperately, the illumination behind Megatron’s optics clearly rolling on the screen. “You’ve saddled me with too few soldiers, all of whom are incompetent fools, on a hostile world.”


    “Hostile?” Megatron snarled. “They’re insignificant organic insects!”


    “They’ve split the atom.” Starscream squirmed, desperately trying to sell the humans as being anything more than the tiny goo-sacks they were. “And it’s not just them, Autobots led by Orion Pax are here fighting alongside them.”


    “Yes,” Megatron chuckled, “Thundercracker’s report mentioned him. Well done gladiator.”


    “Don’t snicker, mighty Megatron,” Starscream snapped, “I heard the story of how an unenhanced Pax, barely out of the adolescenter, came within a punch or two of defeating the grand champion of the pits.”


    “Oh, he’s still unenhanced.” Megatron smiled. “And when I faced, and defeated Orion, I did it alone. You had six soldiers with you.”


    “He got the drop on us.” Starscream snapped. “We had no warning Autobots were on this world! We’re outnumbered and out-resourced, even taking the humans out of the equation!”


    “Even surprised and outnumbered, your air superiority should be more than enough to deal with Autobots.” Megatron grumbled.


    “They have a shuttle.” Starscream nearly whispered back.


    “You have two, along with the cruiser you arrived in!” Megatron snapped.


    “We didn’t bring one because we didn’t know they were on Helios-3!” Starscream tried to hide the fear in his voice.


    Megatron glared intently at him, a small trickle of mech fluid that had spattered onto his helmet earlier came rolling down, the only movement on the screen’s image for several seconds before the metal lips started moving again. “So, you’re telling me that you’re unable to acquire the energon ore native to that world and return it to us, is that it?”


    “We’ve sent some!” Starscream shot back, but knew it was a pathetic retort, that what they’d sent back were little more than scraps, so he looked down and shook his head. “You may not believe this, but Orion Pax and his crew are formidable.”


    Megatron was silent again, but after several moments his face seemed to soften, nearly imperceptible though the change was. “Actually Starscream, I have no problem believing that. What is it that you need?”


    Starscream looked back up at the screen, hope and redemption in his optics. “Reinforcements? Superior numbers?”


    “Done.” Megatron replied. “Superior numbers, and superior strategy.”


    “Strategy?” Starscream asked, fear creeping back into him.


    “Yes.” Megatron replied. “You’ll get your reinforcements, along with a steady hand to better guide them.”


    Starscream swallowed his pride and forced a smile and nod. “Yes, Lord Megatron.”



    000000000000000000000000000000000000000000



    Alpha Trion



    “I swear, it was luck more than anything.” Alpha Trion did what he could to keep a straight face as he listened to Orion’s explanation. “Right place, right time, with the right weapon.”


    A series of enraged tweets followed Orion’s words, to which Alpha Trion…it was past time to reveal that tidbit, merely waved his hand at the agitated Roller as the three of them sat in Orion’s quarters. “Yes Roller, I’m aware he’s full of…” he looked to Orion for clarification.


    Orion shrugged. “He’s invented swear words for the code.”


    “Oh, yes, appropriately inappropriate.” Trion shook his head at Roller before turning back to Orion with a short-lived sly grin. “Ironhide showed me the footage.” Orion groaned as memories of the footage surged through Alpha Trion’s mind, prompting him to reach and grip Orion’s shoulder tightly. “It’s a miracle you’re still alive!”


    “Ratchet knows his business.” Orion tried to parry the topic.


    “Yes, I’m well aware of that.” The ancient robot said before looking down and deciding to proceed. “It’s time you knew the truth about me. The truth about me, about Guardian Prime, about this world, about everything.” He raised his gaze up to Orion’s, who was seated across from him at a small table, Roller on the floor off to his right. “What I’m about to tell you, Roller already knows, but agreed to keep it to himself until I had the opportunity to tell you.”


    Orion let out a nervous chuckle. “You’re starting to scare me.” The statement was an exaggeration, but the uncertainty in the Autobot Commander was very real.


    “You know me as A-Three,” he paused, seeing the intensity in Orion’s face increase significantly at what was being implied by the opening statement, “but that’s only my most recent identity. I’ve had many identities, many names, but perhaps those most recognizable to you are my first two, the one I was born with, and the one that was given to me when I…when I connected with the Matrix.” Orion’s optics stretched wide, they quickly darted to Roller after a second for clarification, but in vehicle mode the young royal could provide little in the way of visual cues, so the burning blue optics shot back to Alpha Trion, a name Orion would be guessing at in moments if he hadn’t already narrowed it down, though it’d be some time before he came to accept it. Trion decided to pre-empt any further deductive reasoning. “I was born into House Trion, given the name Alpha.”


    “Impossible.” Orion muttered in quiet awe.


    “I devoted my life to scientific study and various philosophies.” Trion continued, ignoring Orion’s disbelief. “I became the foremost scientific mind at the time and was granted permission to study and attempt to quantify our greatest artifacts, including the Matrix. We had no idea as to what it was, it was clearly a constructed object, but there was no evidence of anything that could clue us in to how it was made or to what purpose it served. Legend had it that it was an object of mysterious reverence for those that preceded us as masters of this world, or that it was the jewel of The Hand, or the eye of Primus, or several other myths that provided no scientific insight whatsoever. The only recent, relatively speaking, accounts involving it dated back three million years at that point, to the legends of Solus communing with it and the Matrix providing inspiration for her great works. I set out to de-mystify this ancient relic, to uncover its long-hidden secrets and remove yet another bit of wonder from our world. I spent weeks studying it, using various scanning devices, conducting experiments, having it placed in a multitude of environmental settings, but never once touched the artifact. For weeks my scientific objectivity and detachment kept me from doing the one thing that could get some sort of reaction out of the Matrix, it was an act of carelessness on my part that finally led to…what it led to.”


    Alpha Trion looked off to the side as he recounted the memory. “I typically allowed my lab techs and students to handle the Matrix, adjust the equipment and set up the experiments, but after another frustrating scan that led to no useful data I marched over to the examination table, grabbed the Matrix with the intent to bring it to a specialty designed quantum field scanner in an adjacent room that I had just completed, but, well, upon gripping it the Matrix opened, and I felt wave after wave of energy permeating through my frame, changing it, rewriting it. I increased in height and mass, and I became more powerful. And I,” he paused and lowered his gaze to the floor, “I alone in that lab of dozens, saw the heroes of Cybertron surround me, and heard them bestow the name Primon upon me.” He looked up into the stunned optics of Orion. “It never gave me all the answers, but it frequently provided a clarity that I doubt I would have achieved without it. The decisions I made were ones Alpha Trion could have come up with, but as Primon the doubt, the competing other thoughts, the background chatter if you will, they all seemed to fall away. I’ve often wondered if that was due to the Matrix, or a degree of confidence that came with being hand-selected to lead, or at least that’s how Cybertron chose to interpret it once my communion and enhancement became widely known. And the timing…well, it seemed almost ordained by a higher power. Deathsaurus had just marched his army…” Alpha Trion’s optics widened, “well, as your origins have been revealed, I suppose you know all this.”


    “Aye.” Orion replied, struggling to fully appreciate the ramifications of what was told to him, his optics darting all over before rising up to lock upon Alpha Trion’s again. “You remained Primon, until you chose to be Alpha Trion again.”


    “Primon the Abdicator was a very popular name for me.” Trion tried to lighten the mood with the statement.


    “You seemed to know that Justicia Ambus would be deemed worthy by the Matrix.” Orion asked. “How?”


    “I didn’t know, but I suspected…and hoped.” Alpha Trion explained. “The selection process of the Matrix is not entirely random, you look at the Primes, at the time they were selected, and really, there are no surprises. I suspected Justicia would be chosen, Nova was unexpected, but in retrospect he fit the mold as well as Justicia and far better than I. But Gallus Honorum, that was a case where I KNEW the Matrix would select him.”


    “How…how were you alive for that, or now?” Orion asked. “You were killed at the end of the second war with Deathsaurus.”


    “I was gravely wounded, but I survived.” Alpha replied. “And at hearing of Nova’s selection, I seized my opportunity to avoid leadership on a more permanent basis. And I loved the anonymity. I couldn’t return to my scientific pursuits, at least at the level I had prior to my faked death, but otherwise I led a full and wonderful life as Atrium of the Crystal City.”


    “I know that name.” Orion interjected. “Freedom fighter against Galvatron who allied himself with Gallus Honorum and was his most trusted general through that war.”


    “Yes, maintaining a low profile proved too difficult when leading a resistance army.” Alpha Trion chuckled. “Fortunately, I could count on my fingers the number of those that recognized me through my alterations, and even more fortunately I was able to trust each of them with my secret. Arlon was one, your friend Ironhide another. Prior to meeting Gallus I was intent on revealing my identity, but then I met him, a convocation of various resistance leaders brought us together, and I knew…I just knew.” Trion muttered. “He walked in with a charisma I’d never seen in another individual, his physical strength was astounding, and he was brilliant, an intellect that rivaled my own. And despite all these gifts, and being born into a royal House, he was humble and kind. Benevolent treatment of the commoners was done by others of his stature, but it was rarely genuine, a show to achieve some end. But with Gallus Honorum, it was genuine. We found alongside one another in many battles, and he was fearless, always willing to risk his safety for others. He was…he was perfect, and my plans to bring Primon back to life were abandoned. And, well, you know the history. He took Galvatron’s fortress, he found the Matrix, and Guardian Prime was born.”


    “And Atrium?” Orion asked, knowing there was something coming that would somehow be different from the histories he’d been learning his entire life. “What became of him.”


    “I served my Prime for eons, always tempted to reveal my true identity.” Alpha Trion explained. “But as a few million years passed, I noticed unsettling changes in Guardian Prime. His compassion gradually waned over time, his willingness to compromise on previously unbending moral stands increased, and I found myself less and less willing to take part in any decisions of his government, which was fine with him. By this point I had been fully replaced by Jhiaxus, and even his former enemy Galvatron was having more influence than I had. Once again, I disappeared, opting for a life of low-key existence.”


    Trion paused as he allowed himself a moment to formulate his thoughts before continuing. “Eons continued to pass, I even tried my hand at influencing the scientific community, anonymously of course, submitting hypotheses and observations designed to prompt other scientists to follow lines of theory that I felt should be followed. Most were too dense to fully grasp what I hoped for them to grasp, but a brilliant young scientist did start to yield fruit from the seeds I’d sent out into the world, and soon unraveled the mystery of who and where I was. He confronted me, exceptionally tall, well put together, I evaluated him and while I’m certain his spark was blue, he was astoundingly gifted physically. Not profoundly strong, but his speed, his reflexes, they were likely the equal of yours. And his shell mode,” he smiled at the memory, “easily the most perfectly formed for flight that I’ve ever come across. We worked together for centuries, his mind, again like yours, was astoundingly brilliant, but his interests leaned far more heavily toward theoretical scientific applications than yours ever did. And unlike me, there was nothing keeping him from letting his brilliance shine. He became a rising star in the scientific community and was soon recognized by Jhiaxus. He had been working with Jhiaxus only a short time before realizing what I had known for millions of years; the scientist was absolutely without any morality or limits.”


    A wave of sadness passed over Alpha Trion as the next series of memories went through his head. “Jetfire considered quitting, not being able to stomach helping Jhiaxus with his weapon designs, but I asked him to continue on. I asked him to find out everything he could about what the sociopath was working on. I asked him to be a spy and put his life in danger doing so. I asked too much, and he paid the price.”


    “He was the one that leaked the plans for the Ferrotaxis?” Orion postulated.


    “Yes.” Alpha Trion replied. “But I genuinely think his involvement was never discovered, at least at that point, and Guardian Prime’s response gave me hope for Prime’s redemption. But it was short-lived hope. Within decades it was clear that he viewed other lifeforms as beneath us, regardless of sentience or intellect or any other factor. Even other mechanical species were our lesser, worthy of more respect than the organics, but in Guardian Prime’s mind, we were the pinnacle of existence. And it was becoming clear that he was intent on spreading our supremacy through the galaxy, and I could no longer deny the fact that genocide was a tool in his arsenal that he would readily use.”


    “No.” Orion countered, shaking his head emphatically as he stood from his chair. “No. I am familiar with supremacists, and I cannot accept that Guardian Prime is in any way like Megatron.”


    “Why, because he’s charismatic?” Alpha Trion asked. “He exudes leadership and has done great things?” He stared intently into Orion’s still-disbelieving optics. “I’m not telling you what to believe, Orion, but I am telling you to be open to the possibility that he may be something other than the tales have told.”


    “Did you have a hand in what happened to the Manifest?” Orion turned and asked point blank.


    Trion paused, but realized he could say nothing other than the truth. “Yes. I caused the crew to go into stasis, I made sure the ship disappeared on this world, and I assigned a battalion of Maximals, including your remaining kin, to this world to make sure that ship never left.”


    “Hundreds of soldiers starved to death while in stasis.” Orion stated, his voice devoid of emotion.


    “I didn’t expect there to be a thousand sparks on the Manifest.” Alpha Trion explained, remorse thick in his voice. “I didn’t expect a lot of things. Those soldiers, Cybertronians likely ignorant to Prime’s galactic aspirations and therefore innocent, were just some of the deaths I’m responsible for. Big Convoy, Lioconvoy, and apparently another Convoy that was a protoform birthed in the Sparkpulse that coincided with the fall of House Convoy died on this world, as did many of the Maximals I placed under their command.” He noted the devastation on Orion’s face that these revelations were causing him. “I am not innocent, and I should be held accountable for all that I’ve done, but so should Guardian Prime.”


    “You’ve provided no evidence of his wrongdoing.” Orion said, though his voice lacked any conviction.


    “I’ll leave that for the detective that solved the Spark Collector case.” Alpha Trion answered. “You don’t even need to go home to begin your investigation into his crimes. The mutated energon native to this planet, it’s not a naturally occurring product of this world. This Helios-3, this Earth, was meant to be a testing ground for the Ferrotaxis. The one thing that redeemed Gallus in my optics turned out to be a lie. Jhiaxus developed it here, along with other morally questionable weaponry, with the full knowledge and direction of Guardian Prime. My understanding is that colonist warlords found out about some of the Cybertronian tech here, and at some point during the conflicts between the Maximals stationed here and these invaders, the Ferrotaxis was discovered and activated for a short time before it was destroyed, or deactivated, I’m not sure, but the short period it was working, it altered the geology of much of the planet enough to create this…Ore-13 as it’s been called.”


    “I…” Orion was deflated, “I will look into this. If there’s truth to what you say,” he paused, looked down and shook his head, “I will bring it to the attention of all and demand he be held accountable. Nobody, not even our greatest heroes, can be above the law. And if he authorized construction of the Ferrotaxis on a world teeming with life, that’s beyond negligence. If his intent was to test it on this world, that’s genocide; the genocide of every species on this world. It’s planetcide. And if that’s truly something he’s capable of doing, I would stand against him, regardless of what Cybertronian justice would choose for him.”


    “Good, because Cybertronian justice is likely to disappoint you. It’s little more than public servants doing what they think will keep them in power.” Alpha Trion replied. “And they and the masses calling out to them are typically too focused on themselves to spend a care on organic creatures many lightyears away.”


    Orion paced across the room, stopping before a wall and staring into it. “I give you my word that I will look into these accusations and take whatever action I deem right.” He slightly cocked his head in Alpha Trion’s direction. “But doing so will likely invite conflict. It would be best if you were not here.”


    A protesting squeal came from Roller, which prompted Alpha Trion to respond. “No Roller, he’s right. By this point Guardian Prime must know I was the one to sabotage and nearly kill him. My presence here puts you all at risk, and I may be seen as an unfair influence on Orion’s pending investigation.”


    “I will provide you a shuttle craft, the Ark has a few, you’re already familiar with the Oar.” Orion stated as he turned back toward Alpha Trion.


    “That won’t be necessary.” Alpha Trion replied. “I intend to remain on Earth.”


    “Do you have somewhere you can go?” Orion asked.


    “Yes.” Alpha Trion replied. “There’s somewhere I need to go.”
     
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  15. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    Another fantastic chapter. Thank you.
     
  16. batmanprime

    batmanprime Omega-con

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    I'm jonesing for new chapters here. Hoping new readers see this and can experience this masterpiece.
     
  17. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Red Alert





    It was cleaner now than the last time he’d been dragged through these halls. Dirtier and fouler than it had been the last few months when he had walked freely through this area, but now, as two Decepticons were pulling his battered frame through here he clearly saw the fresh streaks of bodily fluids smeared across the previously pristine floor and walls. It seemed his destiny to be a prisoner housed in this citadel, though being a prisoner of the Decepticons was new and unexpected, though even with different captors the experience seemed far too reminiscent of being a prisoner of the sparkeaters. Truth be told, in the four years he was prisoner of the cybervores his contact with the monsters was relatively limited, thank Primus. The sparkeater leadership didn’t want he or the other government prisoners in Cybertropolis dead, but he wasn’t important enough for the vrykols to fear for their lives if they attacked him, so Bloodron had assigned a platoon of mutants to lord over them.



    Though even that seeming blessing had its pitfalls. The mutants, being baseline Cybertronians and therefore a possible food source to the cybervores should they ever be considered unnecessary, set out to prove themselves and their loyalty every chance they got. That meant extreme interrogation, blunt attempts at behavior modification, and just simple torment of the prisoners. Red Alert had no useful information for them to interrogate out of him, all government assets, protocols or secrets were moved, lost to the sparkeaters, or rendered pointless within days of the war’s start, and he had managed not to give in to their brutal attempts to get him to swear fealty to their demon king. But a toll had been taken. He had told his friends and colleagues that he was fine, that he’d emerged unchanged from the four-year ordeal, but he knew that wasn’t true, and Rung had seen through his attempts to hide it within seconds.



    Rung had assured him that it wasn’t clinical paranoia, Red Alert didn’t suspect those around him…those he knew fairly well anyway, to be lying or actively conspiring against him, but due to his treatment while incarcerated, he was perpetually waiting for the other shoe to drop. In the few months he’d been free and restored to his role as Cybertropolis Security Director, this ominous feeling had emerged to the point where he placed the Citadel and central sectors of the city on alert several times, all unnecessarily. It was to the point where his cries for alarm were dismissed, including one just a couple days before regarding reports of thousands of robots accompanying a battle station approaching from the south.



    Red Alert and the two Decepticons dragging him to the command center finally reached the end of the hallway, and they used his face to batter the double doors open. Indignity and pain, constant companions of his over the last four years. The Decepticon guards pulled him across the floor and threw him at the feet of the hulking purple occupant of Guardian Prime’s thrown, his lieutenants Scourge and Cyclonus flanking the thrown on either side. “Hello, Red Alert.” There was a pause, one that hinted that a chuckle would emerge, but one never did. “It is Red Alert, isn’t it?”



    Red Alert raised his optics and locked them onto those of Galvatron, staring smugly down upon him. He had met him twice, once before the launch of the Manifest, and once a couple months ago, but he clearly had failed to make an impression on the Warden of the Southern Hemisphere. Or rather, based on the face of the Warrior etched on his chest, former Warden of the Southern Hemisphere. “Yes, Galvatron, my name is Red Alert.”



    “Tell me, Security Director, why should I allow you to live?” Galvatron asked, doing an admirable job of keeping the humor out of his voice.



    “You probably shouldn’t.” Red Alert replied with absolute sincerity. “I have no information that isn’t already available to you, I’m not going to convert to the Decepticon cause, and frankly, my continued existence is little more than a continuation of the terror I felt while captive to the sparkeaters, so there’s little you can motivate me with.”



    Galvatron chuckled. “Oh, I’ve found over the course of my very long life that torture is a very motivating tool.”



    “To what end?” Red Alert batted back uncaringly. “Yeah, you’ll break me, I cry out in pain, but what kind of Decepticon soldier do you think I’d be? What could I divulge that you don’t already know? I suppose you could view it as sport, and all I’ve heard and researched about you would suggest that you would enjoy such sport, but would you really have time for it? Guardian Prime is going to try retaking this city. There’s no way that you’ve secured it to any significant degree yet. And even I’ve overheard that Megatron and the bulk of the Decepticons have already left Nova Cronum. I think trying to maintain control within and repel exterior attacks with your skeleton crew may eat up any time you have for sport torture.”



    Galvatron displayed a cruel grin but nodded. “Yes, you’re probably right, I will be far too busy to slowly break down a simple nobody, but I think my situation here isn’t as daunting as you would make it out to be. Yes, Megatron has taken nearly all his forces from the emirate, leaving me stationed here with a small number of Decepticons, but one of those Decepticons happens to be Trypticon. So frankly, I’m not all that concerned about whatever Gallus has planned.” The purple warrior waved his hand in a dismissive fashion. “But you’re right, there is no point in allowing you to continue living.” He looked up to one of the guards that had escorted the prisoner in and nodded. “Take him to the courtyard and obliterate his brain module. Leave the corpse where it falls.”



    “Yes, Lord Galvatron.” The two guards replied in unison as they both reached down to grab Red Alert under his armpits.



    “Lord Galvatron,” a light blue aviaton called out from the corner, “Commander Megatron is on the comm, he wishes to speak with you. Would you like to take it privately?”



    “Why would I bother with that, Squawktalk?” Galvatron grumbled as he opened a channel on the control panel built into the arm of the throne. “Galvatron here, what is it Megatron?”



    “How is my City Commander faring today?” The voice of Megatron came through the speaker, more than loud enough for Red Alert to hear as he was being dragged to the double doors he had come in through.



    “If that’s the title you choose to give me, I may not be a Decepticon for much longer.” Galvatron growled. “To the point, Megatron!”



    “Is that how superiors were spoken to one million years ago?” Megatron answered with controlled venom. “I’ve contacted you to make you aware that the Manifest and another craft of smaller but still considerable size is in orbit above our planet; specifically, above Cybertropolis.”



    “Bah, we knew Gallus would come, just as we knew he’d be wielding the Manifest like a club.” Galvatron shot back dismissively as Red Alert braced himself for his face to be battered into the quickly approaching doors. “Our club will break his.”



    “He has two clubs now.” Megatron replied.



    “It matters not!” Galvatron snapped. “He could have three Manifests up there but were they to approach this city the Titan would make short work of them all.”



    “Alright Galvatron, I won’t question your overconfidence, merely warn you that you had better not lose Cybertropolis.” The venomous voice belted back as Red Alert’s face smacked the doors hard. “Megatron out!”



    “Alert Trypticon to be ready!” Red Alert heard Galvatron bellow as the doors he was dragged through swung shut.



    “Let’s hurry up and grease this elitist twat.” One guard growled to the other as they dragged Red Alert through the hall. “Wanna be done with this and shooting at Prime’s sycophantic bitchforces as soon as possible.”



    “No slag!” The second guard replied as the elevator doors opened and they flung Red Alert into it, slamming his face against the back wall. It was finally going to happen, a real execution, no more barrels pressed to his head with feigned intent, no more requests for final words made solely to amp up his anxiety, just to be followed by an empty click and riotous laughter before being dragged back to his cell. This time, in these circumstances, they were finally going to kill him. This one was real. The lift banked as it reached the ground level, the doors parted, and Red Alert’s body jerked out of the elevator and was dragged toward the front doors of the vast spire. “Just a little farther, you broken bitch.” The second guard, an orange and gray brute, chuckled.



    A few dozen steps carried them out into the center of the courtyard, where the two guards forcefully tossed him onto the metal ground. “On your knees!” Red Alert pressed his fingers against the metal ground, still glistening in contrast to the scorching and damage caused to a great deal of the rest of the city by the Decepticon conquest of Cybertropolis. His left hand slid toward him over the surface and found itself resting in a divot cut into the ground, the one imperfection in the area around him, one large enough to fit his palm snuggly. He was going to die, nothing he could do would be changing that fact, but to the pit with these guys, he was going to go down fighting. He used the cut in the metal ground as a brace and thrust his left leg back into the knee of one of his soon-to-be executioners, forcing the Decepticon to collapse behind him. Red Alert started to lunge toward the other would-be executioner, but the Decepticon was already reacting to the assault with one of his own, and a powerful kick to Red Alert’s mid-section sent the Security Director collapsing back to the ground.



    “Ballsy little shit!” The still-standing Decepticon lowered his rifle and pressed the barrel to the back of Red Alert’s head. Red Alert awaited oblivion, but oblivion was delayed by thunderous blasts occurring throughout the city around them, several impacting quite close to them in the vicinity of the Capitol Spires. The standing Decepticon was tossed to the ground, and after a second of shock and confusion Red Alert recognized the opportunity to make a run for it and immediately transformed, speeding toward the outskirts of the courtyard toward the maze of roads a quarter mile ahead that cut through the vast metropolis.



    A round from a hand-held rifle exploded next to him, nearly toppling his speeding form over, but he managed to remain upright and moving onward toward the roadways, now fully cognizant that his would-be executioners were on his tail and intent on finishing their task. More shots lanced out at him, but speeding along in vehicle mode, their aim just wasn’t as good, especially as he was now adopting a random zig-zag pattern as he sped to the street. Yes, the zigging and zagging would slow him down a bit, but far less than getting shot would. He finally made it to the street, hopped the embankment and was tearing toward the nearest side street, but another barrage from the sky shook everything up on the ground, including he and his pursuers. He did manage to look skyward for a moment, and saw the Manifest as well as what looked to be a white flying aircraft carrier sort of thing that was a bit over half the Manifest’s size, both craft unloading on the city below, but the barrage’s seemed spaced, as though they were choosing their targets carefully.



    Suddenly a rumbling of a different sort started shaking Cybertropolis, though this seemed to be more seismic than ordinance from above. Off to the west, tearing through several skyscrapers, the Decepticon titan Trypticon, the beast that had enabled their easy conquest of the planetary capital, lifted into the sky in its massive space cruiser mode, something that was on par in terms of size with the unknown white craft, but sleeker. “Prime and his cronies are going to die just like you, shitbag!” The dumb brutal bastards didn’t even bother to learn the name of someone they were going to execute. “Trypticon will tear through the Manifest and that ridiculous looking white thing like they were made of wood!”



    Red Alert didn’t bother with any response, and soon cut a sharp left around the corner of a building and continued speeding ahead, knowing full well that his assigned killers were only seconds behind him. He made it two blocks down before cutting a sharp right, just avoiding another round from one of his pursuers. In robot mode he didn’t possess the physical strength his frame gave the impression of having, but his alt mode, that was every bit as fast as it looked, and he was starting to pull away from the two Decepticon killers, at least he was until several blocks’ worth of buildings a half mile ahead of him were suddenly obliterated by a dark form plowing through them. It was virtually impossible to make anything out, but it looked as though a portion of a dark gray or black craft rested where a huge, now-missing portion of Cybertropolis had once been. The enormous downed craft began shifting shape, but as awesome a sight as it was, Red Alert’s focus was on how it had annihilated his planned escape route. He screeched to a halt and evaluated his options, of which was only one, the dark alley to his left.



    He heard his pursuers barreling toward him, and noting the piles of debris and garbage strewn around and within the alley, transformed to robot mode to better make his way through it, knowing that in this mode, his speed advantage was now gone. He cut through the whirlwind of fresh dust and airborne rubble from the collapsed building and sprinted over the road to the alley, but a shot from the pursuing Decepticons glanced off of his hip just as he got to the entrance, sending him stumbling against the wall, but gritting his teeth he forced himself into the alley.



    “Got him!” Red Alert shot a backward glance just before disappearing between the buildings and barely made out two humanoid forms charging toward him through the thick cloud. “You’re going to die, ya’ civil servant bitch!” The snarling Decepticon taunted as he and his comrade closed the distance on their prey. But just as they reached the entrance to the alleyway behind Red Alert a massive white form whipped above the towering buildings surrounding them, and a seismic crash of the impact a half mile away shook the city so hard that all three of them were thrown to the ground. Chunks of wreckage from the tops of the buildings on either side of them as well as dismembered portions of the city that had been embedded in the white object and fallen out as it was flung above them came raining down on them.



    Portions of torn metal edifice pounded down on Red Alert, but he forced himself forward, finally exiting the far end of the alley just as the dark, dust-clouded environment got even darker as something immense further blotted out the mid-morning sun. The fleeing Red Alert looked up to see the bottom of a three-toed foot larger than a building as it stepped over his position in the direction of the massive white projectile that had flung above and then through the city moments before. As the massive Trypticon stepped down Red Alert continued running, turned a corner toward a large thoroughfare to see a decimated section of city, the wasteland of this metropolis had virtually everything over the fourth floor eliminated by the landing white object, which Red Alert could now see was an impossibly large humanoid robot getting to its feet. The two titans squared off across from one another, the humanoid slightly taller than the saurian Titan, but that was entirely due to the nature of its frame, in terms of overall mass, Trypticon seemed to be slightly larger. The mountain-sized dracosaur lowered its head and charged the humanoid, but the humanoid was prepared and stepped forward, delivering a right cross that shot forth a thunderclap that shattered all but the most durably built transparent metal windows within a mile of the strike, and which sent the bipedal Trypticon stumbling to the side and crashing into a cluster of buildings a mile to Red Alert’s right.



    Despite watching this battle of unfathomably powerful beasts, Red Alert still pressed on toward an escape, Primus willing. But a shot landing squarely on the back of his thigh sent him tumbling to the ground. Like with the glancing shot earlier, he could still function despite this injury, but the placement and the fact that he was about to land on that leg made it so that he was now face down in a growing pile of metal shavings and ash. He rolled and pushed to get back to his feet, but a stomping impact against his lower back sent him back into the ground. “This has been fun, shitbag, but it’s time to carry out your sentence.” One of the Decepticons growled almost amusedly. With the layers of ash and the air around them thick with smoke, it was difficult to differentiate between them as Red Alert rolled over onto his back and looked up at them.



    “I’m the one that gets to spray his brain module over the street.” The other Decepticon asserted as he stepped forward and lowered his rifle toward Red Alert’s cranial shell.



    “Eat a rod, I’m the one who downed him.” The other snapped as he too stepped forward and positioned his weapon for the kill. “If it weren’t for me, we’d still be chasing this bucket of slag through this collapsing city.”



    “Look exhaust por…” the Decepticon’s head snapped back then rolled forward to reveal darkening optics and a new hole between them. His frame collapsed as the other Decepticon turned toward where the shot had originated from just to get one of his optics shot out. A moment later he was laying on the ground dead next to his partner.



    Red Alert scrambled on the ground to turn and peer over the pile of debris in the direction of where the shots had come from, and through the dusty haze he made out three forms approaching him, the two on either side were equally tall and hulking, each at least twenty-two feet in height, while the one in the center was roughly his size, a moderately built fifteen to sixteen footer. Red Alert pushed himself to his knees and raised his hands in submission; if they killed Decepticons, then maybe they’d let him live. As they got close he was able to make out a bit more, the large one on the right seemed to be a blue or gray coloration, it was genuinely difficult to tell in the thick mess of air, the large one on the left seemed to be primarily red, and the smaller center one was mostly white, with a healthy share of black mixed in.



    “Nice shooting Streetwise.” The big red one stated. “I like working with your team Hot Spot, very professional.”



    “Thank you, Inferno, I guess we have blended quite well.” The big blue one replied as they came to a stop a few feet away from Red Alert, who was still kneeling with his hands raised. “Who’d have thought Autobot riffraff and Decimus security agents would adapt to one another as well as we have.”



    “Perceptor and Brainstorm for two.” The midsized Streetwise said as he raised his rifle and rested the barrel against his shoulder.



    “Naw, Silverbolt’s team had the same genetic affinity for one another that you guys have, but they, well, they don’t gel anywhere near as well as you guys.” The big red Inferno replied. “And being security for a high house doesn’t preclude a bot from becoming a loyal Autobot.”



    “Yeah, but you were House Pax.” Streetwise muttered as he grinned down at Red Alert. “They were always pretty warm to Autobot ideals, even before there were Autobots.”



    “Yup, kinda why I still am with House Pax, just doing it part time these days.” Inferno replied before he too smiled at Red Alert and nodded at him. “Your optics and audio receptors working?”



    Red Alert nodded toward the two giants devastating the outskirts of the city. “Not so sure after seeing that! What the hell am I looking at?”



    Inferno nodded. “You’ve seen Trypticon, right?”



    Red Alert nodded. “Read the reports, have seen some footage.”



    “Prime found, rescued and recruited a Titan for our side.” The blue Hot Spot explained. “That’s the humanoid one, his name is Metroplex.”



    “So, it seems that your optics and audios ARE working, so you should have seen our brands and heard us mention we’re Autobots.” Red Alert shrugged at Inferno’s comment, as if to ask what his point was. “So, get off your knees.”



    “Unless you’re injured.” Hot Spot added.



    Red Alert bit through the pain of his two shots and stood up, lowering his hands as he did so. “Thank you for saving my life. My name is Red Alert, I’m Security Director of Cybertropolis.”



    Inferno leaned toward Hot Spot. “Security Director of Cybertropolis could be very useful in finding Decepticon positions and assets we could use.”



    “As well as finding likely locations of civilians taking shelter and helping to get them out of this warzone.” Hot Spot added.



    “Yeah, that too.” Inferno chuckled as he turned back to Red Alert. “Whaddaya say, Red Alert, feel like staying on the clock for a few hours more?”



    Red Alert looked around at the chaos, the brawl of the two impossibly huge monsters having moved to the outskirts of the city by this point, and now that the fight was in a less populated area, the Manifest was targeting Trypticon and turning the tide of the fight well into the favor of the white humanoid. “Yes, I have a few ideas for where we can find both good guys and bad guys.”



    “Good man.” Inferno cheerfully replied as he turned to Hot Spot. “You and your team head west, Red Alert and I’ll head east, work our way through Cybertropolis, save who we can, kill who we can, and meet up later for engex.” He looked back at Red Alert. “Let’s go Red.”





    0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    Sparkplug





    “It’s gorgeous Witwicky, great place to bring the family for a vacation,” the Marine Corps Colonel announced as he approached Sparkplug on the beach as amphibious vehicle zipped in to land on the stretch of land already swarming with dozens of Marines and C.I.A. agents, “but so far I haven’t seen anything to indicate a base for giant alien robots.”



    “It’s been eleven thousand years since that base was operational, Colonel Langford, even were it located here I doubt the evidence of it would be found in the first few hours.” Sparkplug responded. “And Ponta dos Ilheus just houses an entrance to it. The actual base is submerged out there.” He nodded westward toward the Atlantic Ocean.



    “Yeah, I read Timaeus and Critias.” Colonel Langford snapped back as the soldiers and agents around them on the beach set up their base of operations. “Still skeptical of what we’ll find here.”



    “I have no doubt it’s here,” Sparkplug answered, “if we fail to find it, that’s on us.”



    Langford, a tall thin man in his fifties, with thinning salt and pepper hair, scanned the area and chuckled. “Well, at least we don’t have to worry about being overrun by the natives. I think there are more of us on this island than them.”



    “No, not all of Flores, or even the Lajes de Flores municipality, but this far southwest, there are way more Americans here than Portuguese for many kliks.” Witwicky explained. “We’re at the most western point in Europe.”



    “Actually, this island is part of the North American tectonic plate, so I can always fall back on that if we have to explain this military presence on Portuguese territory.” Langford added with a chuckle.



    “We’ve cleared it with the Portuguese.” Witwicky replied as the two men caught sight of a team of advance scouts trotting toward them. “Nothing like the menace of alien invasion to foster international cooperation. Even the Soviets have expressed an openness to alliance when it comes to the Cybertronian threat.”



    “Fuck those godless commie bastards.” Langford grumbled as his scout team finally reached them and saluted him. “Report.”



    “Sir, the intel is good.” The team leader, a Sergeant named Hill, replied. “Several feet down, several slabs of rock covering it, but we found what the reports indicate is the entrance to the tunnels leading to the target.”



    “How’s that skepticism now, Colonel Langford?” Sparkplug asked with a smile.



    “Keep your pants on Witwicky, so far we’ve just found a cave.” The Marine Colonel replied, trying to downplay the discovery which even he knew was far more than just coincidental. “We’re not planting the Stars n Stripes on Atlantis just yet.”





    0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    Bumblebee





    “Soooo, I still don’t get it.” Bumblebee sent the transmitted statement through the private channel to Wheeljack. “It’s the terrain between where we had to land and the dam?”



    “That and the nature of the target.” Wheeljack replied as Bumblebee watched his Astin Martin form zip on ahead of Bumblebee’s beetle form in the other lane of the desert road.



    “But the Hoover Dam generates a great deal of power, seems like a pretty good target to me.” Bumblebee retorted.



    “It’s not a bad target, but it’s just hydro-electric power, not really appetizing enough for Starscream to risk us whooping his ass again.”



    “Yeah maybe, but…and please keep this between us, but it just seems, I don’t know, kind of paranoid.” Bumblebee hesitantly replied.



    “Hey, he said he could very well be wrong. He said he hoped he was wrong.” Wheeljack answered but continued after a pause. “But how often has he been wrong?”



    “Yeah…yeah.” Bumblebee let it drop as the sun beat down on the eighteen vehicular forms making their way through the dry, mountainous road toward the Hoover Dam. To their right was a steep drop down further into the Black Canyon all the way to the Colorado River hundreds of feet below. The United States government had started evacuating people from the area around the dam upon hearing of the Decepticon attack, and a few dozen individuals aside, had managed to keep the human population unaware of what was truly going on. To maintain the secrecy, the Autobots had to put the Oar down miles away in a desolate section of desert and continue the remainder of the way in car mode.



    At the forefront of the convoy of Autobots was Orion Pax in his tractor trailer mode, leading them toward the dam which was just now coming into view. “Autobots,” Pax addressed them through a communal channel, “be prepared.”



    If what Pax feared was going to happen was going to happen, it would have to be happening soon. There were four locations he had pointed out on the holomap before disembarking, and they’d already passed three. The fourth was coming up, whereas to their right was the cliff with a several hundred-foot drop to the river below, to their left was a series of steep cliffs. Bumblebee didn’t want to root for Pax being wrong, but it was looking like they’d have smooth sailing all the way to the dam.



    BOOM!



    “What’d I tell ya!?!” Wheeljack’s voice erupted through the private conversation channel as the first shot that had impacted Pax’s side was followed by dozens more raining down on the Autobots from the cliffs to the left.



    “Autobots, transform and return fire!” Orion called out verbally as well as through the transmission, transforming both himself and his trailer as he did so, spitting forth ion blasts along the rockface where the attacking shots had come from. Several holographic bits of mountain disappeared to show over a dozen Decepticon armored warriors rolling out in vehicular modes that ranged from various Cybertronian battle tanks to artillery mounts to high-speed battle cruisers. And leading them forward was a legend, an ancient Cybertronian that Bumblebee, despite his limited education, was familiar with. Strika, her massive six-wheeled battle chariot rolled out ahead of her armored division, her twin cannons spitting forth death at the Autobots, leaving Pax the option of advancing toward the dam while the Decepticons fire at will at their left flank, retreating back the way they came, leaving their right flanks exposed to the Decepticon barrage, advance up the high ground on a more heavily armed force, or jump over the side to the river below. Bee was thinking that the river was probably the best of the four options when he suddenly noticed ahead, six green and purple construction vehicles were rolling down the mountain and getting onto the road between the Autobots and the dam. So that left three options. Or at least three until Bumblebee noticed five other vehicles, all moving much more quickly than the construction vehicles, coming from the direction that they had arrived from. At the front was a black cab-over-engine semi-truck hauling a gray trailer, flanked by four sports cars, two on either side. These five civilian vehicles were coming up fast and effectively blocking their retreat.



    Bumblebee and the other Autobots dove behind the transformed trailer for cover as Orion turned to the construction vehicles and called out. “Autobots, the green and purple vehicles are the Constructicons, and therefore Devastator.” He then turned toward the civilian vehicles. “Seems our course is clear! Path of least resistance!”



    “And here I’d heard that you were so clever, Orion Pax.” A feminine voice came through a communal channel, as Bumblebee turned to his left to see Ironhide peering over the edge of the flattened trailer to peer at the armored division taking pot shots at them. A shot zipped against the side of Ironhide’s helmet but got no reaction from him and left no damage, but a moment later he did lower his head back down. The feminine voice continued her taunting. “I’d like to introduce you to Menasor.” With that the construction vehicles on one end of the road and the civilian vehicles on the other end started shifting shape until two massive robots stood in their places, both ominously starting to march toward the Autobots. Orion raised his rifle to Devastator and scored a shot against the giant’s head, but it merely annoyed the green and purple monster. Orion then turned and scored the same shot against this new Menasor, eliciting the same level of insignificant aggravation. “I had hoped for so much more from you. Megatron made you seem much more worthwhile than you really are.”



    “We’re not beaten yet, Strika.” Orion replied, then turned to the Autobots. “Ironhide, Trailbreaker, Hound, Ratchet, combine to form Stalwart!” With that the four Autobots stepped forward and began reconfiguring their shapes, forming a multi-colored sixty-five-foot-tall beast of a robot. Still a good fifteen feet shorter than either of the other two gestalts, and vastly less bulky than Devastator, this Stalwart made an impressive sight none the less and gave the Decepticon giants a momentary pause, but just momentary. Both Menasor and Devastator started running toward the Autobot gestalt, and Menasor, being the faster of the two, reached Stalwart first and dove at him…and then right through him, and stumbling over the edge of the cliff down the canyon toward the river below. Devastator was only a couple steps behind his comrade, and though he tried to stop, he lacked the reflexes and balance to effectively do so. He went through the faux gestalt, managing to come to a stop right at the edge of the cliff, teetering over but not quite falling. A sprinting Orion leaping up and planting his shoulder into the off-balance giant sent it over the edge, and unlike Devastator, Pax was able to react quickly enough and possessed the agility and balance to kick off the descending gestalt land securely on the ground as Devastator toppled over the edge and toward the other gestalt far below.



    Orion turned back toward the armored division of Decepticons and opened fire in earnest, sending the line of vehicles scrambling about. “Ohhhh, well done young Convoy. Deception on the level where even Obsidian might be impressed.” Strika’s voice came through. “But you’re still out matched. Armored calvary may be my forte, but even I can’t deny the benefit of air power.” With that three jets shot out from behind the dam and sped toward them. “Starscream, send them my way.”



    “Strika,” Orion muttered into his wrist, “did you really think you were the only ones with stealth technology?” Bumblebee turned to see all his Autobot comrades except for Orion, Roller, Brawn, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe vanish, and looked up to a point on a ridge above and to the left of Strika’s ground forces where Prowl, Jazz, Ironhide and the others emerged from behind rocks, a fatigued Mirage leaning against a boulder as he adjusted his shoulder cannon from large scale holographic projection mode back to weapons mode. All the Autobots on the high ground took aim at the unsuspecting jets and opened fire, creating a wall of ordinance that slammed into the three Decepticon jets, and moments later the three smoking wrecks were careening to the river below. Orion turned and stared at the purple and orange war machine. “And before you start taunting about having the high ground over me, Strika…” the Autobots that had downed the jets turned their fire on the Decepticon ground vehicles below them.



    “Bastard!” Strika roared as her six-wheeled form barreled over the rocky ground toward Orion, her cannons blasting his position as Autobot ordinance from above punctured the rocky ground around her and kept her troops at bay. To protect the other low-ground Autobots from Strika’s oncoming advance, Orion dove away from them, transformed, and sped toward her, weaving quickly enough to avoid direct shots from her cannons, but catching enough glancing blasts to cause significant damage. As they drew closer to one another they both transformed, the legendary Strika towering over Orion with her hulking thirty-foot frame. “I hear you have an ignis superious.” She snarled at him as she battered him back with a wild swing. “You’re hardly alone in that regard, you pompous little shit!” She hammered down at him, but Orion twisted away and countered with a left jab/right cross/left roundhouse combination that was so fast it almost seemed like one punch and sent the massive Strika toppling back and onto the rocky ground.



    “Stay down!” Orion roared. “You have eons of service to Cybertron, surrender and I promise you that it will be fully considered. There’s nothing that you’ve done personally that you cannot atone for!”



    “Don’t condescend to me, you spoiled little shit!” Strika roared as she got back to her feet, her over-the-shoulder cannons erupting and blasting the ground beneath the quickly evading Orion.



    He leapt and dodged her shots while the other Autobots laid into the remaining Decepticons from either side of them, pressing their advantage until all of the armored ground troops that Strika must have brought with her from Cybertron were dead, inoperative or surrendering. Orion ignited his wrist-axe and worked his way closer to Strika, taking the occasional shot but remaining moving. He dove up and swiped, destroying the barrel of one cannon, and as he came down and rolled and swung again, cutting into Strika’s leg, causing her to stumble forward but remain upright. “I implore you, Strika, for the good of our planet, for the good of your own legacy, stand down!”



    “I will NOT allow a defeat at the hands of a child tarnish that legacy that you seem to be worried about!” Strika snapped, firing a shot that hit Orion in the lower back, sending him to the ground. She lunged toward him, firing again, but Orion moved, spun and swung his axe once more at her, and whether intended or not, the blade of the energon axe sliced into and through her helmet, deep into her head, embedding the energy-axe blade from the base of her skull all the way through to just behind the optics. The frame of the ancient legend immediately ceased all movement and hung limply from the axe jutting out from Orion’s wrist. A horrified look was on Orion’s face, but it quickly turned to saddened resolve, and all he could do was deactivate the axe and allowed Strika’s frame to collapse to the ground.



    “Prowl, status report.” Orion solemnly transmitted.



    “You and your command center took a helluva beating, but beyond that it seems just minor injuries for the rest of us.” Prowl replied. “Nothing more than a few hours in the infirmary for anyone. Might take Wheeljack a couple days to get the command center back to optimum condition though. Three conscious surviving Decepticons on the ground, five unconscious, and six dead. And of course, Starscream, Thundercracker, Skywarp and the two gestalt teams taking a swim below.”



    Orion nodded and looked over to the twins who were approaching him with Bumblebee. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, verify that there are no Decepticons in Hoover Dam. If there are, do not engage, just report in and we’ll take them together.”



    The twins nodded, transformed, and headed to the dam. Bumblebee took a few more steps toward his Commander and looked up at him, Pax’s face making it clear that he was deep in thought, thoughts that were weighing on him. “Orion, she left you no choice, you have to know that, right?”



    “I do.” Orion sadly smiled, but his optics were still fixed on Strika’s corpse. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I seem to be destroying our history, bit by bit.”



    What the hell could he say to that? Orion had no reason to feel bad about any of this, but he was operating at a level well above Bumblebee. Bee couldn’t think of the perfect thing to say, so he just spoke his mind and hoped it landed well. “You are our history, Orion. Every bit as much as Paxus, Honorious, Alpha Trion, Gallus Honorum, Big Convoy, Strika or Obsidian. I didn’t see some guy destroying history today, I saw two Cybertronian legends fighting each other, and the right one won.”



    As impossible as it seemed, the weight on Orion seemed to lighten as he considered these insufficient words, and he looked deeply into Bumblebee’s optics and smiled. “Thank you, Bumblebee. Please help Prowl and Jazz round up the fallen Decepticons.” Orion looked to his battered command center, Roller already circling it to assess the vast damage. “I need to get this thing into a more haulable condition.”





    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    Shockwave





    Most of the Decepticons expected Megatron to be outraged, but Shockwave knew better. Cybertropolis was never meant to be held indefinitely, at least not this early in the war. It was meant to be a psychological victory over the weak-minded masses that could be influenced by psychological tactics, a demonstration of Guardian Prime’s vulnerability, but strategically Cybertropolis was less significant than dozens of other locations. Unfortunately, with the unforeseen recruitment of a Titan on par power wise with Trypticon, Prime’s standing seemed only to be increased by the loss and retaking of Cybertropolis, despite the estimated three thousand dead. But Shockwave knew Megatron was cognizant of the fact that there was nothing Galvatron could have done that would have resulted in any other result. This browbeating that was going on in the throne room of Darkmount was merely a show of dominance, nothing more. Even this location, Galvatron’s former seat of power which had recently been claimed by Megatron as the new Decepticon headquarters, was a way for Megatron to assert his control over the former Warden of the Southern Hemisphere.



    “I told you not to underestimate Prime’s forces!” Megatron snarled as he leaned forward in the throne that used to belong to the individual he was yelling at. “I told you to not disregard that other ship! But you knew better, didn’t you? They were insignificant; insects before the might of Trypticon!” Megtron leaned back into his seat. “You’re just fortunate that we were able to organize an effective retreat and that Trypticon was able to get away with only moderate damage. But even that moderate damage sets us back.”



    Galvatron, angrily clenching his metal teeth, stood in the center of the dark throne room, Cyclonus and Scourge standing on either side of him, but at the pause following Megatron’s accusations stepped forward and pointed at the Decepticon Commander. “You act as though you or anyone else could have come out of that attack in any better shape that I did! There was no way to know that white ship was a Titan! You didn’t know, your cycloptic ‘genius’ didn’t know!” Shockwave ignored the gesture and reference to him; he even disregarded the sarcasm which encased Galvatron’s use of ‘genius’.



    “No, neither of us could have guessed because neither of us had ever served as Guardian Prime’s second!” Megatron snarled back. “He didn’t identify and locate that guardian in the last few weeks, he’s clearly been actively seeking since before your great nap. I would accept Shockwave or Starscream or Obsidian or Onslaught or any of the other Decepticon officers not seeing that coming, but you were Guardian Prime’s right hand for eight million years!”



    “Even if that’s true, and I doubt he really started looking until we came back to see Trypticon, he clearly was keeping some of his ambitions from me.” Galvatron spat back defensively. “We did start out as bitter enemies, we both were completely aware that our friendship was a farse told to the idiot masses, so no, he never fully trusted me!”



    Megatron leaned back and shrugged. “In light of Cybertropolis, I’d say he was wise not to.”



    “Cybertropolis was because I knew he was moving against me.” Galvatron growled quietly.



    Megatron smiled. “Oh, this is new. And how was he moving against you?”



    “Never mind.” Galvatron growled again.



    Megatron turned and sent a look to Soundwave, who nodded before speaking out. “Believed replacement was being groomed.”



    Galvatron whipped his head and glared at Soundwave, ready to unload a barrage of verbal threats that would precede physical ones, but Megatron’s laughter stopped him. “Ah, yes, let me guess, Pax. He was going to replace you as his second and probably as the Warden of the Southern Hemisphere with Orion Pax.” Megatron shrugged. “Can’t say I blame him. Had Orion been so inclined, it’d have been him standing here next to me instead of Shockwave.” Megatron turned and looked up into Shockwave’s lone optic with a smirk. “No offense, dear Shockwave.”



    “I do not get offended.” Shockwave replied emotionlessly.



    “That’s right.” Megatron smirked as he turned back to Galvatron. “In light of that, the short-lived conquest really played into Guardian Prime’s hands. Now he can replace you without any hemming or hawing or worrying about whether his sacking you might strain the loyalty of the southerners.”



    Galvatron grinned. “I would like to point out that you’re the one to order the taking of Cybertropolis!”



    “Per the recommendation of you!” Megatron stood as he replied calmly, but with a notable increase in his tone. “Taking that northern manufactured capitol was your fucking idea!”



    Galvatron chuckled and shook his head. “A commander blaming a subordinate for his decision?” He looked back to Cyclonus, who shared the disapproving head shake.



    “Watch yourself Galvatron.” Megatron growled as he started descending the stairs from the thrown to the floor below. “Even a fool can see what you’re attempting to do here.” Megatron paused for a moment as he considered his own statement, and Shockwave could sense that even Megatron recognized that it wasn’t true. There were plenty of Decepticons dumb enough to buy into Galvatron’s attempts to cast Megatron in a negative light. Megatron’s demeanor suddenly changed. “But perhaps I am being too hard on you, Galvatron. Perhaps all you need to make everything right again is a successful mission. Returning us to a position of superiority over our enemies.”



    Galvatron’s optics narrowed as he made no attempt to hide his suspicion. “What did you have in mind, Mighty Megatron?”



    “He will see me now!” The bellow from the hallway was clearly heard throughout the throne room, and the sound of it made Megatron grumble and shake his head. This was fully expected, but Megatron was clearly hoping that he would be done with Galvatron before this occurred.



    “I’m sorry, General, but you must wait until he grants you admittance.” Blitzwing, who was guarding the throne room door, could be heard replying.



    “Allow him in!” Megatron bellowed, and a moment later Obsidian hovered into the room. He was about to address Megatron, but the Decepticon Commander interrupted him. “You will wait until I finish my business with Galvatron.” Obsidian seemed inclined to object for a moment, but thought better of it, nodded, and hovered off to the side of the room. Megatron turned back to Galvatron. “You will return to Helios Three and secure the Ferrotaxis. Is that understood?”



    Shockwave gauged Galvatron’s reaction to the order, who just glared at Megatron for a moment as he realized that while on the distant planet he would be unable to undermine Megatron’s authority, just as had been done to Starscream, and should he be successful, the Decepticons would be in possession of a device that could change everything. “Yes Megatron, I understand. I will need a scientific team; there are a lot of technicals involved, and that’s not really my forte.”



    “You may take Trepan; he will be more than adequate. Dismissed.” Megatron replied disinterestedly before turning to Obsidian. “Approach old friend. I mourn for your loss. And not just your loss, but Strika was a treasure to all Cybertron, and an exceptional leader to the Decepticon cause.”



    “Thank you, Lord Megatron.” Obsidian replied as he hovered forward. “I ask permission to go to this Helios Three with Galvatron, but whereas he is to find Jhiaxus’s planet-killer, I seek justice for my paramour. Let me track down this Orion Pax and exterminate he and his Autobot contingent. The fight for Cybertron may take many more years, but I can give you Earth in a matter of weeks, if not days.”



    “Obsidian, you are a valued teacher, my effectiveness as a military commander it tied directly to your teachings,” Megatron smiled at the ancient legend, “and it is because of those teachings that I am reluctant to send you to Helios Three. It is you that taught me to do my best to approach battle and strategy devoid of passion, free from anger or hatred. Sending you there with vengeance so clearly in your spark, that seems a violation of what you taught me.”



    “You were a good enough student to know that there is no way to fully disassociate one from their passions.” Obsidian replied. “But I recognize the reason for your reticence, and I assure you that I will not be charging at Orion Pax full of rage. I will evaluate the situation, I will study his assets, and I will formulate a plan dispassionately. I will save the passion for after I have achieved victory, and should the fates allow that he remains alive and at my mercy post victory, then, and only then will I allow my rage to dictate my actions.”



    Megatron paused for several moments while he considered this, but then nodded. “Alright my friend, take what you need, but make sure you are successful. Orion Pax may be young but underestimating him has proven fatal to many before you.”



    “Yes, my Commander.”





    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    N’Che





    “The planet was formed around a smaller hyperdense energy cluster, beta caliber I believe it was classified as by the Quintessons.” The small gray Fraynian designated Rustlo reported. “The energy cluster was far too small and weak to give rise to spark-based life, but organic life evolved in moderate abundance, though only one higher functioning species is believed to have evolved. They reached the pinnacle of their civilization roughly three million years ago, and shortly thereafter a civil war broke out.” The Fraynian paused his reporting for a moment. “The records are scarce given the distance of time, but I have uncovered rumors that perhaps the Quintessons played a role in the start and escalation of this war. What are more than rumors is that the Quintessons served as arms supplier to both sides, and after several centuries of warfare, weapons capable of eradicating all life on the planet came to be used, and, well, the weapons did their job, all life was eradicated. Within weeks of the last gasps the Quintessons declared the planet uninhabited and claimed it in the name of the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere.”



    “Of course they did.” N’Che muttered as he peered out the viewport of the planet far below them.



    “Yes, well, while the hyper dense energy cluster at the core of Sandokan isn’t strong enough to give rise to living sparks, it did make the planet a natural producer of phlogiston, an extremely energy-dense power source.” Rustlo continued his explanation. “It is roughly on par with energon in terms of power output but is far less stable.”



    “I’m familiar with phlogiston.” N’Che stated, continuing his unbroken gaze of the planet below. “With minimal refinement, it can be converted to a suitable energon substitute.”



    “Yes Commander.” The nervous Fraynian muttered. “And that’s what the Quintessons have been doing for three million years. Their mining colony here had been extremely lucrative for them, which is why they want our involvement here now.”



    N’Che was quiet for a moment before calling out to the computer. “Screen, present view of the Cybertronian camp.” A moment later they showed a large and well-armed white base, with a smaller defense base housing a large tank and rocket a mile west of it and another similarly sized defense base with just a launch platform and a white shuttlecraft.



    “According to the Quintessons, the smaller bases are the ones that conducted the conquest, two living Transformers, both enormous in size and power. Designations Sky Lynx and Omega Supreme. The white facility must be a housing complex that was brought or built in the two days since the occupation.”



    “I have seen firsthand what Omega Supreme is capable of.” N’Che muttered. “Have the Cybertronians stated what they want here?”



    “Well, Commander, as I mentioned some time ago, they’ve been trying to hail us.” Rustlo answered.



    “You did, didn’t you.” N’Che chuckled. “Alright, let’s see what these mechanisms want. Patch them through.” Rustlo walked over to the communications console and opened the channel, nodding to N’Che as he did so. “You have the honor of addressing Commander N’Che of the Galactic Council, aboard the peacekeeping ship Vikor. To whom am I speaking?”



    “The name’s Landmine, and we’ve been in each other’s presence before, N’Che, Acting Commander of the Galactic Council.” An older sounding voice came through the speaker.


    “I’m assuming you were part of Guardian Prime’s entourage when we met. I’ll present this to your leader personally at some point, but I would like to apologize for the Quintessons’ treachery at our prior meeting.” N’Che replied. “It happened without our foreknowledge.”


    “Yes, if I remember correctly, you had just finished assuring Prime that you were fully capable of keeping a lid on them.” Landmine chuckled the response.


    “I believe that’s both oversimplified and not altogether accurate, but as we selected the meeting place, I do feel responsible for what happened after our meeting.” N’Che explained.


    “Don’t fret, everything ended as well as could be expected.” Landmine’s chuckling got louder.



    “Good, then let’s get right to the matter of your invasion of this planet.” N’Che asked, making no attempt to hide his irritation.



    “Oh, I was not aware that Sandokan was a member planet in the Galactic Council.” Landmine replied making no attempt to hide his sarcasm. “We were operating under the belief that Sandokan was a planet purged of its native lifeforms by the Quintessons and claimed by them in the aftermath.”



    “The Sandokans wiped themselves out.” N’Che growled.



    “Oh, your records show no Quintesson involvement on that front?” Landmine continued with his sarcasm. “That seems odd, as we have ample evidence that…”



    “Enough!” N’Che angrily interrupted. “I’m not here to justify anything the Quintessons have done, or anything that you’ve done. Regardless of what may or may not have happened millions of years ago, this planet is the rightful and legal domain of our ally, the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere, and we are here to put matters right!”



    “Ally?” Landmine muttered, letting the weight of the word make N’Che realize his path was now set.



    “Yes.” N’Che quietly responded after a pregnant pause. “They weren’t, but they are now. We have little in common with them, but the one shared value we do have with them is an obligation to keep your damned species from ever leaving your planet.” N’Che turned to an Ilxian bridge commander. “Wipe them out.”



    “Target everything made of metal within a five-mile radius of that white base!” The Ilxian barked out, but suddenly sensors started to frantically go off on multiple controls in the bridge. “What’s going on?”



    “Sir, wormhole opening to our rear!” A ten-foot cyborg of a species N’Che was having difficulty identifying called out from his station.



    “Split screen.” N’Che calmly called out, and watched as the view of the ground based Cybertronians, including the smaller bases shifting into combined larger space freighters and launching, adjust to a smaller size and move to the left half of the screen while the right half displayed the tear in space behind them and the emergence of a massive space craft accompanied by a half dozen smaller ones. N’Che instantly recognized the craft to be the Manifest, the source of his Cybertronian headaches, a ship almost as large as the Vikor and whose reemergence from myth brought about the renewal of Cybertronian expansion.



    “Commander N’Che, the craft is hailing us.” The cyborg announced.



    “Put it through.” N’Che commanded.



    “Greetings Galactic Council warship, this is Guardian Prime of Cybertron.” The voice came through.



    “Hello Guardian Prime, it is a pleasure to speak to you again.” N’Che responded. “I have already stated this to your subordinate on the planet, but I first would like to apologize for that Quintesson ambush on Neutronia. We were unaware that the Quintessons had knowledge of our meeting, or that they were planning hostilities.”



    “And yet you’re here, once again protecting their interests despite such an act.” Guardian Prime replied, the hint of mirth in his voice grating against N’Che’s nerves. “I understand your fear of us, N’Che, but from an ethically defensible standpoint, you’re definitely backing the wrong side. History will not remember you fondly.”



    “WE write the history books, Prime of Cybertron.” N’Che snapped. “This fleet ensures that I will be the filter by which the galaxy, as well as future generations, knows of what happens here now.”



    “Yes, the Vikor is very impressive, as are the other four slightly smaller warships with you.” Prime replied. “Each of those is likely a match for my Manifest, and the Vikor, well that’s the next rung up the ladder. So yes, at face value you appear to have the upper hand. You certainly are in possession of superior non-living technology.”



    “Your implication being that you have living machines that can turn the balance toward your favor?” N’Che scoffed. “As impressive as Omega Supreme is, or that…” N’Che looked to Rustlo, who mouthed the forgotten name, “Sky Lynx may be, they are not formidable enough to overwhelm my fleet, I can assure you of that.”



    “Be that as it may, The Manifest and the small array of other ships I’ve brought with me are positioned to keep you from escaping.” Prime explained. “Despite your opinion of my odds, I’m clearly all in here.”



    “Good.” N’Che smirked. “This latest Cybertronian threat dies today then.” He looked to the Ilxian bridge commander. “Give the command to eradicate them all.”



    “Aye Commander.” He turned to face the room in general and opened a channel to the rest of the fleet. “Target and fire at will until all Cybertronians have been wiped out!”



    N’Che smiled. “Goodbye Guardian Prime,” the cannon rounds launching could be heard, “knowing you has provided me a template for all future dealings with Cybertron. I realize that at some point, extinction of your species will be a necessity.”



    “With statements like that, you really do think we don’t have a chance.” Prime, despite the situation, chuckled as he said that.



    “Commander N’Che, the ground originating craft, the ones designated Omega Supreme and Sky Lynx have engaged the Abider and the Authority respectively.” A helmsman called out. “The Sky Lynx is following traditional dogfighting maneuvers, but the Omega…shit! Sir, the Omega Supreme has collided at impulse speed with the Abider! There’s a vast puncture in the portside hull!”



    “Shit!” N’Che yelled. “He’s going to transform!”



    “Sir, the Sky Lynx went in for a strafing run of the Authority and its cargo section became detached and fell upon the Authority’s hull. There doesn’t appear to be any…shit, the cargo section is”



    “Yes, it’s transforming, I know!” N’Che roared. “Have the Quest and the Diplomatic Solution target the transformers on the hulls of the Abider and Authority, instruct them to make their shots as targeted as possible, but let them know that in all likelihood those ships are lost anyway.” He then turned to the bridge commander. “How much longer before the Manifest is destroyed?”



    “Commander N’Che, the Vikor is its superior, but the Cybertronian vessel is still well fortified. Our barrage will need to continue for about another four to six minutes bef…”



    “Commander N’Che,” Rustlo interrupted with a shout, “the facility on the surface of the planet has transformed into a sort of spacecraft carrier and launched. It’s heading our way!”



    “Then target and destroy it!” N’Che barked. “We have guns on both sides of the Vikor, don’t we?” N’Che raised his eyes to the viewscreen to see the massive base coming at them, and the explosions erupting all over it as the Vikor sent volley after volley at it. But to the amazement of everyone on the bridge of the Vikor, the white and black structure seemed completely unaffected and continued forward, only increasing its speed. “How is this possible?” N’Che roared.



    “N’Che!” Guardian Prime’s voice barked through the communication speakers. “I can tell you that things didn’t need to be this way, that we could have found a way of coexisting, but we both know that’s bullshit. I want to thank you for your statements to that effect, as well as your acknowledgement that The Galactic Council and the Quintessons are allies, it will make our justification of dismantling your precious organization unimpeachable. Oh, there will still be protests, but we’ll at least have some pretext to fall back on while ending the threat the Council poses.”



    “Commander, look!” Rustlo called out, pointing at the left side of the screen that was showing the white battle station, just several miles out, shifting shape again.



    “Impossible!” N’Che whispered in terror as he saw the structure take a humanoid shape. The unfathomably large robot continued flying toward them in orbit and reached back it’s right hand, ready to deliver an over-hand punch.



    “Good-bye N’Che, Acting Commander of the Galactic Council.” Guardian Prime’s voice ominously stated through the channel a moment before the black knuckles of the giant shot forward. The auditory, visual and other sensory overload was impossible to decipher, and after a chaotic and painful minute, N’Che was finally able to piece together that he was looking at blackness with debris strewn about, and around him it was cold, so very cold, and soundless, and…devoid of air. He was in space, unprotected, he could feel his inner pressure pushing out against him as he floated in this vacuum, he could feel his organs shutting down as his eyeballs started to freeze. Even as he grasped his situation, his thoughts were slowing, harder to grasp, fading…





    000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    Orion Pax





    “In the twenty-third meta-cycle of the second breem of the war, Galvatron led a force of twelve thousand north through Tyrest, toward the border of Nova Cronum where he intended to move along the eastern coast of the Mithril Sea to Iacon, but the Polyhexian warlord, recently inducted into House Mactus, was met by a force of seven thousand northern soldiers equipped with armored vehicular shell-modes led by Strika.” The voice of Teletran One came through the speaker in Orion Pax’s wrist as he sat on a boulder in the rocky expanse beyond the holographic rock face of the small section of Mount Saint Helens that the Ark was parked within. “The northern forces held back those of Galvatron for thirteen days until air support from Obsidian arrived and drove the invaders back into southern Tyrest. From there they were pincered between forces attacking them from the west by militias led by the little-known Atrium who hailed from the Crystal City, and from the east by Gallus of House Honorum. While Galvatron escaped, his invasion force, which had prevailed in conquering dozens of cities before, was effectively wiped out, and Galvatron was forced to increase his conscription efforts.”



    “Teletran One, cease play of historical datatrack.” Orion muttered as he looked off into the distant forest. “Stryka’s Blockade….” He muttered despondently as he looked up to see an object in the sky.



    “Pax, they’re here.” Jazz’s voice came through the speaker.



    “I see it, thank you Jazz.” Orion replied as he hopped off the boulder and stood on the ground waiting. “Please make Ratchet aware of the arrival and to prepare the Terra-fitting for the reinforcements.”



    “Aye Commander.” Jazz replied as the object in the sky continued its approach, taking the shape of the Oar, one of the Ark’s away shuttles.



    It took a bit more than a minute for the Oar to land in the clearing, dust and pebbles kicked up by the craft touching down, much of which harmlessly bounced off Orion as he strode toward the shuttle. The port-side door lowered to make a ramp, and out walked a twenty-three-foot-tall predominantly white, boxy robot with wings folded on its back. “Commander Pax, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you, your exploits in the short amount of time you’ve been alive are most awe inspiring. Please know that your lacking an official government title or rank will not impede me or my team taking orders from you in any way. Guardian Prime made it clear that you are to be afforded the same respect and obedience that we would give to him.”



    Pax nodded and smiled, as four other smaller winged frames marched behind the larger robot addressing Orion, each saluting as they passed. “Thank you Silverbolt, it’s great to have you and your team here, we’re in dire need of reinforcements in general, and air support in particular. I’m assuming the Decepticon prisoners have been processed, and the…” Orion paused as he wondered how to ask about Strika, “those killed in action have been sorted.”



    “Yes, Commander Pax.” Silverbolt replied. “Though the fate of Strika’s frame is still undecided. Many regard her as a traitor and feel no respect should be given to her frame, many feel that choices made in the last two decades of her life should not overwrite millions of years of service and heroism. Ultimately the decision needs to be made by Prime, and he’s been extremely busy lately.”



    “I’ve heard.” Pax nodded. “I don’t envy him in the least, particularly on whatever he decides to do with Strike’s remains.”



    “Nor do I Commander.” Silverbolt nodded at the slightly shorter Autobot. “I suppose you’re aware of the other occupant of the transport. I wasn’t sure he should be accompanying us to this planet, but Ultra Magnus vouched for him and claimed you were supportive of his intent to travel here.”



    “Yes, he’s an old friend.” Pax replied.



    “Wow, I piloted a shuttle housing the demon of the Mechigahara Forest.” Silverbolt shook his head in disbelief. “Who not only was real, but just so happened to be a normal, ordinary, albeit extremely old, Nyonian.”



    “We live in an age of wonders.” Orion chuckled. “Please go through the holographic rockface, into the Ark, find Ratchet in the infirmary, and allow him to make changes to help you blend into the machinery of this planet.”



    “Yes sir.” Silverbolt replied, started further down the ramp, but stopped and turned back to Orion. “Sir, there have been other modifications made to our frames. These alterations…”



    “Ratchet has been made aware of your enhancements, and the changes to your vehicular modes will be only superficial and will not impede your other attributes in any way.”



    “Good to know sir, I look forward to working with you.” Silverbolt nodded and walked away, allowing Orion to continue up the ramp into the Oar.



    Orion entered the passenger/cargo section and saw the bulky Backstop standing a respectful distance away. Backstop nodded to Orion. “I feel I should kneel. You may be a Convoy, but you were raised by royals.”



    “I was raised by Paxes, there’s a distinction there.” Orion smiled. “A Convoy, common-born, raised by House Pax, sworn to the Autobot cause; at no point in any of that should kneeling be a consideration.” Orion started toward him. “I live because of you Backstop, this is the greeting we’re to have.”



    They both embraced tightly, Backstop’s optics dimming as he clutched the Convoy born out of the metallico he had been charged with protecting over twelve million years before. “I set out that day hoping to preserve something of the Convoy line, and despite my ineptitude The Hand decided to take that metallico and create the greatest of the line.”



    “There was nothing inept about anything you did, dear friend.” Orion responded as they released their embrace. “You housed my vessel in the one location on Cybertron where my core metallico would remain unfound by enemies and somehow would not go inert.”



    “I may deserve some credit for the first consideration but remaining viable for twelve million years…” Backstop chuckled, “the gods favor you Convoy, there’s no other explanation.”



    Orion smiled. “My polyhistor prodded Roller and I to seek out scientific explanations for everything, that to fall back on blindly attributing everything to the divine was simply lazy.”



    “An atheist.” Backstop shrugged.



    “Honestly, I can’t say.” Orion explained as he nodded toward the cockpit, and invitation for Backstop to follow him there. “I asked him once, and all he said was that if there was a creator, natural law would be the toolbox he, she, it or they used in creating.” Orion slid into the pilot’s seat, eliciting a look of confusion from Backstop. The look was enhanced as Orion nodded toward the co-pilot’s seat, indicating he wanted Backstop to sit. “You’ll be free to ask him his religious beliefs yourself shortly. I need to go on a trip, and I think it’d be a good idea for you to accompany me.”



    “I came to this planet to devote my life to serving the last Convoy.” Backstop sat. “I will go wherever you need me to go.”



    “Yes, about that.” Orion stated as he piloted the ship off the ground and raised his wrist to his mouth. “Heading out Jazz, you know how to reach me if anything comes up.”



    “Enjoy the trip Pax.” Jazz replied. “We’ll hold the fort.”



    Orion directed the ship to shoot north and a bit east into the clouds before turning to Backstop. “I accept loyalty to those willing to fight for Cybertron or the Autobot cause, I’m a bit uncomfortable with those swearing loyalty to me personally.”



    “My loyalty has always been to House Convoy, and unfortunately, that’s just you.” Backstop chuckled.



    Orion smiled. “I appreciate that, as I’m sure do my ancestors. But I’m not a fan of being served, and while you may have trouble accepting it, you have a people.”



    Backstop shook his head. “Even if anyone I ever knew still existed, I…well, I suppose your survival may have changed a thing or two, but for twelve million years I was absolutely convinced that I was a failure and deserved the hatred of everyone that I’ve ever known. It’s not easy to simply change that estimation overnight.”



    “I suggest you try.” Orion said as they entered the upper atmosphere and the ship shot forward at five times the speed of sound. “We’ll be in the arctic in a few minutes.”



    “What’s in the artic?” Backstop asked.



    “My polyhistor.” Orion replied. “And a team of Maximals that served under Big Convoy.”



    “Big Convoy is here, on this world?” Backstop asked excitedly.



    A solemn look came over Orion’s face. “He’s dead. As is LioConvoy. As is…” he paused, deciding to let that revelation drop later and through someone else’s vocal processors, “we’ll be there soon, perhaps the Maximals of Earth should be the ones to explain it all.” Orion glanced over to see that what was said was having a profound effect upon Backstop, his normally stoic facial features were fighting back a wave of emotions.



    Minutes later an incoming transmission lit up a notification on the control panel, prompting Pax to open a channel. “Identify yourself!” The question was asked as the defense systems alerted them to the fact that the Oar had been target-locked.



    “I’m Orion Pax, leader of the Autobots, and I come at the invitation of Atrium of the Crystal City.” Orion responded.



    “Orion Pax, as in the guy claiming to be a Convoy.” The very skeptical voice shot back.



    “Yup, that guy.” Orion replied. “I’m accompanied by Backstop of the Amber Plains. May we land?”



    “Just the two of you?” The voice asked. “Wait, the Amber Plains? How old is this guy?”



    “Yes, just the two of us. May we land?” Orion replied.



    “Yeah, we’ve been expecting you.” The voice gave the consent to land. “Tundra a quarter mile to the west of the Axalon. We’re keeping a close watch on you, so nice, easy movements and don’t try anything stupid.”



    “Understood, Pax out.” Orion replied as he shut off the communications signal and directed the shuttle to the designated landing area.



    Minutes later a slowly driving cab-over-engine semi-truck and a metallic beast resembling an Earth rhinoceros were making their way toward the larger rounded spaceship a short distance away. Several armed Maximals had already started forming a semi-circle around the ship’s entry ramp, with more sauntering out to join them in both beast and robot modes. Suddenly a massive polar bear came bounding out and marched quickly toward the advancing truck and rhino, all of them stopping as they got to within forty feet of one another. “Transform!” The bear belted out at them. Orion and Backstop complied, and a moment later two hulking robots were standing over the polar bear. Ursine facial features were not typically known for emoting beyond agitation or rage, but shock was clear on the beast’s face. A moment later the bear had vanished and a robot a slight bit taller than Backstop and almost as stout. “I didn’t believe it when Rattrap told me the name of the false Convoy’s companion.”



    “Polar Claw!” Backstop gasped.



    “How are you still alive?” Polar Claw questioned as he strode toward Backstop and grasped his shoulders. “You…you vanished. I was sure Onyx forces had gotten to you. Had gotten to your…” Polar Claw’s optics stretched wide and he took a step back, staring with utter disbelief at Orion.



    “My vessel.” Backstop nodded as he placed his hand on Orion’s shoulder. “My charge. My duty. I failed, I failed horribly, but my charge, my charge was true Convoy, my charge saw the mission through.”



    “Backstop failed at nothing.” Orion countered. “His courage, determination and ingenuity saw the mission through, it just took much longer than anyone could have expected.”



    “How?” Polar Claw was dumbfounded. “Atrium said you were less than twenty years of age. That metallico was extracted over twelve million years ago.”



    “We haven’t quite figured out the how.” Orion stated. “It makes little sense scientifically, odd geology and magnetic fields have been detected around Avalonius, these may have played a role in the long-lived viability of my metallico.”



    “Avalonius?” Polar Claw questioned.



    “Would you have thought to look for me there?” Backstop asked.



    “No, definitely not.” Polar Claw nodded. “Good choice for a fallback. Ordained choice it would seem.” He stared once again at Orion. “Unless this…he…is a hoax.”



    A look of anger came over Backstop’s face, but Orion nodded his understanding. “Believe me, nobody is as skeptical of Violen Jiger’s claim of my ancestry as me, but Guardian Prime, I don’t understand how or why, but he had an arm of Big Convoy for some reason…” Orion noted a wave of understanding mirth come over Polar Claw. “What?”



    “Early in the war against Galvatron, Big Convoy had his arm blown off by a fusion bolt.” Polar Claw explained. “He had a replacement built onto his frame, and for all intents and purposes the CNA bonded and functionally it was as good as the old, but the pigmentation never matched the other arm.”



    Orion smiled. “Well, Prime still has the arm, and he tested the CNA against that in my frame.” Polar Claw stared intently waiting for Pax to finish the comment. “It was a haplometalloid match of 93.7%, definitely the same pool, metallico generation within zero point seven three million years of each other.”



    Polar Claw looked away toward the vast whiteness to the north, the peaks and bleak terrain that had been his home for over one million years. “We’ve been indoctrinated to question the word of Guardian Prime by those we are certain of as Convoy…” Polar Claw nodded back over his shoulder, “and by him.”



    Orion and Backstop looked up to see Alpha Trion approaching, though Orion knew not to refer to him by that name here, or likely ever. Orion marched forward and embraced his old mentor, who squeezed back affectionately and looked to Polar Claw from over Orion’s shoulder. “This one time, we can take Prime’s claim at face value.”



    The two released each other and turned to face Polar Claw together. Polar Claw stared Orion in the optics. “Actually, we don’t have to.” The Maximal leader marched past them back toward the Axalon. “Come on.”



    Twenty minutes later they were in the bowels of the Axalon, a cargo bay that had been converted to serve as a morgue by the looks of the enclosed slabs built into the far wall. Polar Claw led Orion, Backstop and Atrium, as he was known to these Maximals, with almost two dozen other Maximals following behind them. “Rhinox!”



    A hulking tan and green Maximal pushed through the crowd and stood before the group in front. “What do you need, Claw?” He asked in his deep voice.



    “We need a scan of Lord Pax here.” Polar Claw replied. “Haplometalloid analysis. Time to put the rumors to rest, one way or the other.”



    Rhinox stood before Orion, who smiled at him. “What do you need? The samples they took from me to test against the arm were done while I was unconscious.”



    “Just a scan will suffice, kid.” Rhinox answered, looking up at Orion. “Primus, he does have the look.”



    “So does Prowl! So do dozens of other Cybertronians!” Polar Claw snapped back.



    Orion arched an opticbrow at Atrium, who shook his head and chuckled. “Different Prowl. There’s an Ironhide on that squad as well.”



    “Yeah, and a Silverbolt, so what?” Polar Claw grumbled as he nodded at Rhinox to continue with his scan.



    “Yes, but he has teammates named Prowl and Ironhide, as far as I know he doesn’t know any Silverbolts.” Atrium amicably explained.



    “What you know is at least one day out of date.” Orion chuckled as Rhinox ran his scanner over him. “One of our reinforcements is designated Silverbolt.”



    “Scan complete, haplometalloid type being configured.” Rhinox muttered. “Who do you want to compare against?”



    “Start with Big.” Polar Claw instructed. “According to Lord Pax, it’ll be a 93.7% match.”



    “That would indicate a source match, but a significant generational separation.” Rhinox muttered as he crossed the room, reached out toward the handle of one of the slab drawers, but paused as the weight of what he was about to do got to him. After a few moments of silent reverence, he pulled it open, revealing a large impressive frame in varying shades of gray. Rhinox waved his hand-held scanner over the corpse of his long-fallen leader, got the reading, and gave his device a few moments to compile the data. A green light flashed on the device and Rhinox lifted it to his optic-line. “Ninety-three point seven.”



    “Do Lio.” Polar Claw ordered.



    Rhinox started to slide the slab of Big Convoy back into the wall. “Wait. Please.” Orion called out. He then looked to Polar Claw. “May I?”



    “I as well?” Backstop asked.



    Polar Claw nodded his assent, then looked to Rhinox. “Continue with Lio Convoy.”



    Orion and Backstop walked forward, Orion took in the form of his genetic ancestor, taking in details of his frame, wishing he had the opportunity to ask Big Convoy the multitude of questions he’d had about himself over the years. Backstop unsuccessfully tried to suppress a gasp of pain at seeing his ancient friend.



    The sound of the sliding slab jarring to a halt a couple rows over broke Orion out of his reverie and prompted him to look to that slab, where what he saw was even more jarring than the sound of the slab slamming to a stop. He was tall, well built, less powerful of a physique than Orion but still very impressive, his long-deceased frame as gray as Big Convoy’s, but his face…his helm…his crest. Like with Big Convoy, Lio Convoy bore a faceplate, but even that didn’t remove any of the astounding similarity Lio Convoy’s face and head bore to Orion Pax’s. And Orion had been known to don a faceplate on occasion, making him near identical to this Lio Convoy.



    “Yeah, uncanny.” Rhinox muttered, guessing Orion’s thoughts. “In life his optics were yellow though, so not identical by any means.” The tan and green Maximal ran his scanner over Lio Convoy, waited a few moments, read the screen, and called out to Polar Claw. “Ninety-five-point two percent match.” Rhinox turned to Polar Claw. “This is more than enough, Claw, he’s of Convoy metallico.”



    “I don’t dispute that,” Polar Claw nodded, “not anymore anyway. He’s Convoy, but he can’t be what was in that black coral vase twelve million years ago. That’s just not slagging possible.” The red and white Maximal Earth Commander shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry old friend, but I need this test. I need to know.” He looked to Backstop. “So does he.”



    “I am fully capable of operating that device.” Atrium stated. “If you really feel this to be necessary, allow me to do this.”



    “I’ve told you before, …Atrium,” the stress on the name caught Orion’s attention, making him realize that this Polar Claw likely knew the truth, “I don’t take orders from you, I took them only from Convoys.”



    “Then take them again from a Convoy.” Atrium nodded toward Orion. “I think we’ve established there’s one in the room.”



    Polar Claw angrily stared at Atrium for a moment but turned to Orion with a softened gaze. “Yes, there is. I’m going to do something that the Convoys before you always protested, and from what I’ve heard, the same will be true of you, but I don’t care.” Polar Claw lowered to one knee and bowed his head, he was immediately followed by the other Maximals, save Rhinox and a small robot with a rodent head on his chest. “You are of Convoy metal, and all that I’ve heard, you are of Convoy character and morality. And your deeds, they defy belief. I swear fealty to the last Convoy, to my dying pulse.”



    “Stand, and please, never kneel to me again.” Orion announced, getting knowing grins from the rising Maximals. Orion then turned to Rhinox. “You and the youngest Convoy, you were close?”



    “You’re the youngest Convoy now.” Rhinox grumbled.



    “They were best friends.” The rat-chested small robot called out.



    Orion looked to the small robot and nodded his appreciation. He then walked around Big Convoy’s slab toward Rhinox standing before another row of closed drawers. Orion slowly reached toward the scanning device in Rhinox’s hand and held his own palm open. He looked to Polar Claw. “If this is really necessary, then let me do it.”



    Polar Claw nodded, looking to Rhinox, who thankfully placed it in Orion’s palm. “You know how to operate that thing?” Polar Claw asked.



    Orion lifted the device and smiled. “Ratchet’s clinic had its share of antiques, I’m sure I can figure this out.” Orion stepped back and let Rhinox walk past, who had yet to make optical contact with the last Convoy.



    Orion then studied the device for a few moments before figuring out how it operated and reaching for the drawer handle and opening the slab. “Orion Pax.” A deep voice called out, and Orion looked up to see that the departing Rhinox had stopped midway through the group of Maximals and was side facing him, looking at him out of the corner of his right optic. “I’m pleased, extremely pleased that House Convoy lives on, and you seem like a good sort. You’ve certainly done some impressive things. But I’m not looking for any sort of replacement Convoys. These were my friends…Primal was a brother. I’m not sure if you can fathom what that relationship is like.”



    “I can.” Orion replied quietly and solemnly.



    “Then you know I’m not seeing you as a continuation of what I once had, Convoy metallico or not.” Rhinox continued. “You may or may not be great, we may become friends, I may become a staunch supporter of yours, but it’ll be because of what I see you do, not because of your genome.”



    “I wish all Cybertron felt as you do.” Orion said, getting a nod from Rhinox as he turned and left.



    “I’ll be checking on the patient if you need me.” Rhinox muttered as he left.



    Orion looked down at the corpse on the table, large, but smaller than him, roughly seventeen feet in height like Lio Convoy, thick, powerful limbs, and the same lifeless gray as the other two Convoy. This Primal Convoy, he wasn’t as similar in appearance to Orion as Lio Convoy was, but for some reason Orion felt drawn to the robust dead leader. He turned on the scanner, and while still staring intently at the face of his unknown kinsman, he waved it over the corpse and took in the details. The scan was quick, and Orion held it off to the side as he continued to study Primal’s face. After several moments he caught the green glow of the scanner in his periphery, and after a few more seconds shifted his gaze toward the screen on the device. “It’s an old scanner, so take this with a dose of skepticism, but…ninety-nine-point eight percent.”



    “It means your metallico came from the same pool at the exact same time as Primal’s.” Polar Claw announced.



    “It just confirms what I already knew.” Backstop said with a smile. “You were my charge, you are my commander, now and forever.”



    “Enough of this.” Orion said loudly. “I would have you all follow Rhinox’s example; know who I am, know what I stand for, make sure the figurative mettle that makes me up is worth following, trust me, it’s far more important than the literal metal that makes me. At that point, and only then, make your decision to follow me or not. Not until then.”



    “Not what you’d expect to hear from some dude with a royal name.” The rodent-bot piped up. “But a pretty good start.”



    “That’s what it was meant to be.” Orion smiled at him. “What’s your designation?”



    “Rattrap.” The small Maximal replied.



    Orion’s smile broadened. “Glad to see you made it out of Florida.”



    “Yeah yeah, I’m sure that grumpy gumshoe had plenty to say about me.” Rattrap grumbled. “How is ol’ Nightbeat?”



    “I’m not sure, but I’ll be sure to send your regards if I run into him.” Orion replied, but looked up at the sounds of heavy footsteps coming down the stairs.



    Rhinox returned into view a moment later, looking first to Polar Claw, then to Atrium. “He’s awake.”



    “Are the restraints in place?” Polar Claw questioned nervously.



    “Yes.” Rhinox replied.



    “I assure you, that’s completely unnecessary.” Atrium protested. “He’s one of the most noble…”



    “He’s huge, he was armed with weaponry and enhancements I’ve never seen, and he’s the sleekest, most warrior looking robot I’ve seen since, well, probably ever! We’re taking precautions!” Polar Claw countered as he ran up the stairs after Rhinox.



    Orion closed the slab of Primal and then the other two dead Convoys before walking over to Alpha Trion. “What’s going on?”



    Alpha Trion smiled up at Orion. “Let’s just say that you aren’t my first protégé.” He nodded toward the stairs intending for Orion to follow him to the upper levels. “Some time before the launch of the Manifest, my most trusted and brilliant student, and a dear friend, offered to keep tabs on what Jhiaxus was doing. That mission apparently led him here to Helios Three. Based on what I observed of his frame, he looks to have been shot down, likely by Jhiaxus’s defensive measures, and has been in the artic ice for over one point two million years.”



    “How did he survive that long?” Orion asked as they ascended the stairway.



    A pained smile came over Alpha Trion. “It would seem that the backup systems that kept Guardian Prime and his command crew alive were developed by my student, Jetfire, and in addition to putting them into the experimental ship that would become the Manifest, he adapted a version for his own system. He was able to ration fuel from all of his available systems, as well as any surrounding energy sources, and keep him from starving for exceptionally prolonged stasis lock.”



    “Sounds smart.” Orion muttered as they reached an upper level.



    “Yes, now you and he get to compete head to head to see which of you is my most gifted student.” Alpha Trion laughed.





    0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    Sky Lynx





    The repairs were long completed, but the physical pain of the replacement parts being integrated into his frame lingered on, and likely would for several more days. The battle with the dragon, this Trypticon, was fierce, brutal, and even with Metroplex and Omega Supreme, was extremely hard won. But it was won, the monster and his Decepticon handlers driven back out of the decimated Cybertropolis, leaving them to maintain security while Guardian Prime oversaw rebuilding the planetary capital. It also gave Sky Lynx time to recognize that he now possessed more freedom than he had at any point in his long life. He no longer was confined, he had a tracking device, but ultimately, he could simply take off and leave the planet, and it would be weeks before Guardian Prime could muster any sort of significant pursuit. Yes, the Prime could recruit Metroplex and Omega Supreme to give chase, both of whom were more powerful than Sky Lynx, especially Metroplex, but neither had anywhere near the speed to catch him. And Guardian Prime couldn’t afford to leave Cybertron devoid of these assets for an extended period.



    Yes, Sky Lynx could get away if he so wanted, but did he? He had served Guardian Prime, and the Prime thus far had seemed true to his promise that service would yield increased freedom. Sky Lynx was free to perform his duties unsupervised and had free time where he was equally unsupervised and free to move about as he wished. Granted, given the asset he was, he was perpetually on call in case hostilities arose, but he had a greater degree of freedom than he had ever had before.



    The ground shook lightly, then again, and again. Casually moving footsteps of something as large as him, probably larger. Nowhere heavy enough to be Metroplex, but they seemed about right for the other ignis numen he was aware of. Sky Lynx twisted his long neck and caught sight of Omega Supreme approaching him. “How goes the cleaning of central Cybertropolis?”



    “Slow.” Omega Supreme replied as he came to a stop next to Sky Lynx and they both stared southward toward the rest of Cybertron. “A lot less will be salvageable than initial estimates. Far more dead and wounded than initial estimates. The battle of the titans was horrifically devastating.”



    “There will be more battles. There will be more devastation.” Sky Lynx muttered. “Even when life improves, tragedy and pain are constant companions.”



    “Very dark sentiments, but not untrue.” Omega Supreme added. “I felt great hope when we drove the Quintessons from our world, then the sparkeaters emerged and that hope faded. We fought hard against the monsters for countless years, but in time we won. I watched the gates because no one else could, but the hope for our world returned. New threats emerged as they always do, and new heroes arose to meet those threats. The era of the Primes began as they tapped into the potential of the Matrix, something that for all their technological greatness, the Quintessons had always failed to do.”



    “So much happened on our world, and much of it was relayed to me in the depths of the gates. Leaders would come to the gates to seek audience with me, why, I cannot say, but they sought me out, and most were worthy, most were great. Guardian Prime, only recently being elevated from Gallus Honorum, left an exceptionally favorable impression upon me, but even then, I could sense an air of superiority, of entitlement. But it was not my place to point that out, and even if it were, his assets far surpassed such minor character flaws that I may have been mistaken in perceiving. Hope continued, and news of the outside world entering a golden age reinforced such hope.”



    “And for seven million years little changed, though Guardian Prime would visit on rare occasions, and with each visit he seemed slightly less. Less altruistic, less dedicated to making the world better for all, less hopeful.” Omega Supreme looked around the southern horizon, seeing the Cybericon River in the distance. “Then he was gone, and the world stumbled, and plodded along, and despaired, and finally tried to piece itself together. Zeta Decimus was elevated to Prime, and even without being selected by the Matrix, even without being the hero that Gallus Honorum, or Nova Onyx, or Justicia Ambus, or Alpha Trion were, he unified our world again and led justly, at least as justly as Guardian Prime had led at the time of his departure. And once again I was hopeful. And then he was murdered, and Sentinel Honorum was appointed Prime, and he was selfish, and arrogant, and he was petty and vengeful. He murdered a friend of mine, was intent on murdering that friend’s charge. The new Emir of House Pax asked me to step in to defend that charge, but I would not abandon my duty…at least that was the reason I clung to. The truth was, I was disinterested in getting involved. The world, one so full of potential, so capable of greatness, had fallen into stagnation, selfish petty leaders had squashed that potential, and with it my hope. I cared nothing for the outside world, I took solace in knowing that at least I would possess the integrity in doing my duty that those others lacked.”



    Omega Supreme looked down and shook his head. “But after fifteen million years, I failed. The monsters got out, they pour out from the depths of their prison and charged out into the world, dragging me along to torture and execute, events they planned to broadcast in an attempt to demoralize the populace.”



    “I heard this.” Sky Lynx spoke up. “You were rescued by Emir Roller Pax and his exiled adopted kinsman, Orion.”



    Omega Supreme chuckled. “That’s accurate, I suppose, though typically it’s Orion Pax that is mentioned first and most prominently.”



    “But Roller was trueborn, and the emir.” Sky Lynx pointed out. “Propriety dictates that he is the greater of the two.”



    Omega Supreme looked back into the distance as he replied. “Roller would claim the opposite were he capable of speaking. Orion Pax, he would insist that there is no greater of the two. That an individual’s inherent worth is equal to all other individuals. Capabilities vary, trustworthiness and skills and abilities and values in certain areas vary, and evaluations based on these things are necessary, but a sentient’s core worth is no greater nor lower than any other individual’s core worth.” Omega Supreme then turned and peered intently at Sky Lynx. “And for the four years of sparkeater infestation, it was Orion Pax that I followed. Not Delta Magnus, who all felt was destined to be the next Prime, not Roller Pax, the Emir of the polar emirate that had been my home for fifteen million years, no, I followed an outlaw elected to lead other outlaws. And during that hell, amid a losing war that would in time lead to our extinction, I never felt more hopeful.”



    Sky Lynx’s optics narrowed. “Because you admired the teenager you chose to follow?”



    Omega Supreme nodded. “It sounds absurd, I know, but yes. And that’s even fully disregarding the prophecies of the LV117 that fit Orion.”



    “Ha!” Sky Lynx belted out. “That’s a species I haven’t heard about in a very long time!”



    “You’ve encountered them?” Omega Supreme asked.



    “Yes, the g…the Quintessons would use me to transport to meetings with them. They rarely spoke of their rumored clairvoyance, but the few predictions they did provide the Quintessons seemed to come true, harmless though they were.” The birdlike neck twisted so that Sky Lynx could peer at Omega Supreme. “They spoke of Orion Pax?”



    Omega Supreme shrugged. “It seems a match to an old prophecy, but ultimately I disregard prophecies, so I never let it influence my evaluation of Orion Pax.”



    “Probably wise.” Sky Lynx nodded. “Using a prophesy to base your judgements or actions by only makes them self-fulfilling, and that’s in the best of cases.” Sky Lynx looked away. “But prophesy or no, you clearly think very highly of this Orion Pax. Perhaps more highly than you do of Guardian Prime.” He then turned back to Omega Supreme. “And you seem to almost be trying to convince me he’s better.”



    Omega nodded as he continued to stare off into the distance. “I know Guardian Prime, I know how he truly is, and I know where his ambitions eventually lie. And I also know Orion Pax, and I know that he will oppose those ambitions. And when that time comes, I know where I will be standing. I will not try to push you to make a decision as to where you will stand, but I will ask that you observe Guardian Prime, I will ask that you observe what you can of Orion Pax, and that when the time comes for you to choose a side, you base your decision not on decorum, but on what’s right and just.”



    Sky Lynx stared into the distance as well. “Guardian Prime would regard what you just said as treason.”



    “Yes, he would.” Omega agreed.



    “I’ll observe, I’ll judge as fairly as I can.” Sky Lynx replied, but then turned his head to the far eastern outskirts of the city where a white defense base was stationed. “But ultimately, I’m thinking that his choice of where to stand is going to be far more influential than mine.”



    Omega Supreme followed Sky Lynx’s gaze to the resting Metroplex and nodded. “Yes, I think you’re right.”





    00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000





    Trepan





    Despite his inner turmoil, Obsidian had provided the closest thing to decent company on the trip from Cybertron to this sloppy organic shitball, but he and his reinforcements had been dropped off at Starscream’s Earth command center an hour ago, leaving him now alone with Galvatron, Cyclonus and Scourge as they made their way across this vast body of water. So much water on this world, it seemed odd that the dominant species wasn’t aquatic, but according to Starscream’s reports, there was only one higher functioning species and it was terrestrial. And while these humans qualified as higher functioning, they were insignificant. This evaluation was called into question as once they finally started approaching a body of land, their ship started taking fire from that ground.



    “Any damage at all?” Galvatron snickered out the question to Cyclonus, who was piloting the shuttle.



    “The few shots that are actually connecting are not even scratching our paint off.” Cyclonus replied smugly. “Lord Galvatron, perhaps you should take the stick while Scourge and I disembark and clear the beach of these pathetic hostiles.”



    “Do it.” Galvatron gave his assent as Cyclonus slid out of the pilot’s seat and Galvatron slid into it. A moment later Cyclonus’s sleek purple jet form and Scourge’s blue and white stratocraft form cut through the blue sky toward the island ahead and opened fire on the human positions, obliterating them with ease. A couple minutes later Galvatron was putting the shuttle on the beach. “Alright Trepan, time to go reclaim our treasure from these shaved primates.”



    “Lead the way.” Trepan said as he followed Galvatron away from the cockpit toward the passenger area where the ramp was already lowering to the ground.



    Galvatron strode out onto the beach where Cyclonus and Scourge were picking off fleeing human soldiers. Scourge looked over toward the approaching Galvatron and Trepan and smiled. “They utilize radio waves to communicate over long distances.”



    “Simple animals. Perhaps they’ll make entertaining pets.” Galvatron spat. “You two keep the exterior secured, Trepan and I will go down to the submerged island.” The purple legendary warlord nodded toward a rockface in the distance. “Jhiaxus had an access tunnel entrance over there if I remember correctly, let’s go dig up his treasure.” Trepan followed Galvatron to the area he indicated, and sure enough, they arrived upon an already exposed cave, tiny footprints and tire tracks made it clear that the humans had already made their way in.



    After about a mile of walking through the dark tunnel, Trepan’s fear of Galvatron subsided enough for him to ask a question that had been bothering him. “If there was no intelligent life on this planet a million years ago, why would Jhiaxus have made his artificial island at the bottom of the ocean?”



    “He didn’t.” Galvatron grumbled. “He actually raised a section of the ocean floor to the surface of the ocean to make the island, keeping it aloft with seismic thrusters powered by a plasma energy chamber. Gallus had been planning on taking the command crew to the island to determine the viability of the Ferrotaxis, but, well, the Manifest was sabotaged, and we were dormant two thousand miles west of here for a million years. In that time, a bunch of Maximals led by some Convoys kept several groups of colonial Cybertronians from getting access to this island, including the Ferrotaxis. According to one of these Maximals that we took prisoner, roughly eleven and a half thousand years ago the last of these…Beast Wars, let’s call them that, culminated in a battle on this island, and one of the Convoy sacrificed himself and the Predacon commander by destroying the plasma energy chamber, which subsequently stopped and damaged the Ferrotaxis and caused the island to sink.”



    “Which one, Big or Lio?” Trepan asked, genuinely intrigued to hear about the final fate of one of the last remaining Convoys. What had happened to Big Convoy and Lio Convoy was the biggest mystery for him as a young bot, well, the biggest after what had happened to The Manifest.



    “Apparently a third.” Galvatron replied. “A protoform rescued from the purge, kept in stasis for millions of years, and brought online here, on this planet.”



    “Convoys just keep springing up.” Trepan chuckled.



    “Deathsaurus was a corner-cutting fool.” Galvatron grumbled, a hint of resentment in his voice. “If I had wanted a particular line wiped out, I’d have seen to it that the line was wiped out. But he was incompetent, and because of that we were kept from being rescued for over a million years, Jhiaxus’s island is at the bottom of this shit ocean, our plans to expand our empire stagnated and our intent to make dozens of neo-Cybertrons stillborn. And then there’s that fuck Orion Pax; had Saurus Onyx seen his job through to completion, that whelp never would have been born!”



    Trepan was frightened of the darkening mood coming over Galvatron, so he decided to direct away from talk of Convoys and back toward more technical aspects of their task. “How much damage to the Ferrotaxis are we talking here?”



    “The fish-guy used the term destroyed, but I think he was being optimistic.” Galvatron smiled in the dark. “And I didn’t want you to feel discouraged.”



    “I really do hope it’s an exaggeration.” Trepan stated as they saw light coming from up ahead. “As techy as I am, building a world rewriter from scratch is a bit outside my area of expertise.”



    “Shut up, I hear noises ahead.” Galvatron snapped, but then a smile spread over his face. “I think the humans are going to be making a desperate last stand.”



    “Based on what I saw of their technology on the beach, desperate truly is the right way to describe it.” Trepan added. “Though that said, I think I’ll let you handle their removal.”



    “Open fire!” The human voice called out, according to the downloaded databanks the language was English, which seemed odd as the island they landed upon was the territory of the nation called Portugal. The dark hallway was suddenly alight with small explosions and the whipping of small metal projectiles that were deadly to organics but didn’t even tickle Cybertronians. The rockets and small metal balls that exploded after being thrown toward he and Galvatron were damaging to his frame and caused him some distress, though Galvatron merely laughed it all off; a point one percenter with Matrix caliber enhancements had the luxury to disregard such danger, but Trepan dove to the side of the hallway to avoid most of the chaos.



    “Look up, scientist,” Galvatron laughingly called out to Trepan, “look up and observe greatness in action!” Galvatron raised his fusion cannon aimed it toward what appeared to be the source of the weapons fire.



    “Wait!” Trepan called out. “We can’t have you destroying anything that hasn’t been already destroyed!”



    “It’s a low setting!” Galvatron snarled back. “I’m not an idiot, I’m not going full fusion against organic vermin!” A shot lanced out from his orange tube, and though it was dialed back, Trepan still shuddered at the blast that occurred just beyond the well-lit expanse ahead. “That’ll shut them up for a bit.” Galvatron then marched forward. “Wait here if you want, Trepan, I’ll wipe away any flesh-bugs and tell you when it’s safe for you.” He chuckled cruelly as he walked forward, but Trepan didn’t care.



    “Galvatron!” Cyclonus’s voice came through the speaker. “Autobot shuttles inbound. They performed a sub-orbital jump and came down on us from directly above.”



    “Kill them, or at least keep them busy!” Galvatron snapped back. “You’re warriors, exhibit your mettle!”



    “Yes, Lord Galvatron!” Scourge’s voice came through right before the sound of weapons’ fire, then the signal shut off.



    “They’ll do their duty.” Galvatron looked back at Trepan as bullets once again started to bounce off his frame, causing him to smile.



    “It is only the two of them out there, against however many Autobots.” Trepan called out.



    “They are warriors honed by a thousand battles!” Galvatron boasted as he marched into the expanse beyond and laughed down at the human resistance he saw. “Why bother fleshbags?” The hulking purple warrior taunted in English. “You would have no chance against Trepan were he in possession of the bearings to face you; against me, ha, I’ll spend more time cleaning you off the floor than I will putting an end to your futures.”



    Trepan stood up and started walking toward the bright expanse, but heard a series of noises behind him, coming from the dark end of the tunnel that he and Galvatron had already traversed. Trepan turned and peered into the inky blackness, trying to make out what was causing the increasing noise, noise that seemed like quietly running engines approaching him. His optics were suddenly overwhelmed as four round orbs of piercing white light cut through the dark, and as he shielded his optics with his rising hand, the sounds of transformation and other high-speed shuffling was heard. A moment later he was being driven to the ground, and he looked up to see a form on him. His recovering optics made out a sleek but powerfully built mid-sized frame pinning him down, a light, likely yellow coloration, and a face…wow, he was beautiful. An angry sneer, but so, so hands… “Nighty-night shitbag!” He didn’t see the punch. He’d been hit harder, but it wobbled him. The left side of Trepan’s head was against the floor, his optics facing the bright expanse and Galvatron within, turning at the commotion as a red blur shot at him, transforming at an exceptional rate of speed and preparing a punch mid-air that was timed perfectly so that just as Galvatron turned fully around, the red and black robot landed his right fist perfectly against the legend’s chin, sending Galvatron flying back. “Shit, that’s Galvatron? Damnit, dickhead’s gonna be crowing about this for weeks!”



    “He won’t live long enough to crow.” Trepan muttered, getting the beauty’s attention back on him and earning him a right cross that was agony, yet arousing. Why was this turning him on so slagging much? Suddenly the weight on him vanished, and he looked up to see the yellow robot standing and starting toward the red bot and Galvatron. Trepan turned his head to see a quickly recovered Galvatron swatting the red bot hard, sending him flying into wall near the entrance of the tunnel.



    “Secure the prisoner, Sunstreaker!” A deep, familiar voice echoed through the tunnel, and a moment later a red human transport, or truck as they called it. Semi-truck seemed a more specialized and appropriate classification without getting too into the weeds, it shot past and rammed into Galvatron, but unlike the strike with the smaller red robot, Galvatron saw this coming and braced for it, catching the truck as it slammed into his mid-section and hurling it off to the side.



    The truck transformed as it flew, finishing as it hit the ground and skidded to a stop, and Orion Pax, modified for his Earth form, stood, and squared up against Galvatron. “Welcome to Earth, traitor.”



    “My loyalties were never to that Honorum shit or his bullshit government.” Galvatron barked back.



    “Pretty sure they’re not to Megatron either.” Orion replied as Galvatron charged him and swung heavily, Orion barely moving aside to miss it and coming in for a counterpunch, but Galvatron swung back with his arm and shoved Orion forty feet away, sending him to the floor.



    “I’d have whipped your ass the moment I climbed out of my birthpit; no enhancements needed.” Galvatron snarled as he marched ominously toward the Autobot leader who was springing back to his feet. “But I’ve had enhancements. This latest,” the hulking purple warrior chuckled, “let’s just say Rossum truly outdid himself.”



    Orion smiled and nodded as a glowing orange energy axe replaced his right hand. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re a big, strong tough guy. I definitely shouldn’t be fighting you fair.” He suddenly ducked down and a barrage coming from the smaller red robot’s rifle blasted against Galvatron’s upper chest. Orion was instantly launching himself at the distracted Galvatron and buried his axe into the purple warlord’s right clavicle.



    “Ahhh, bastard!” Galvatron roared, pulling away and aimlessly firing a bolt from his fusion tube in the smaller red robot’s general direction. The shot hit nothing important, but it did buy him a very brief respite from the assault.



    “Come on, scumbag!” The yellow robot was wrenching Trepan back to his feet and dragging him down the dark tunnel as a half dozen other ground vehicles darted past them toward the fight in the expanse beyond. “Wow, big day, I think we’re going to kill Galvatron today.” He wrenched Trepan’s arm savagely, something that once again aroused the sadistic scientist. “And I’m stuck here babysitting your ass!” The verbal abuse ended there, but the tugging, shoving and the occasional smack to the head continued as they made their way back to the surface, the sounds of battle loud and violent the entire way, but fading as they finally got to the surface and out the cave.



    Trepan looked up as he was shoved out onto the beach, and saw five planes engaging Cyclonus and Scourge in the sky, apparently adopting a strategy that utilized their numerical superiority to maintain a low risk but effective way of keeping the two ancient fliers at bay. And should Cyclonus or Scourge attempt to initiate an attack, Autobot snipers on the beach kept those attacks from materializing. The yellow robot continued to shove him toward a shuttle on the beach. Two Autobots, a large red one with more than a little bit of wear and a mid-sized white one, broke away from the other snipers and met Trepan and his beautiful yellow captor at the entrance ramp. “Good catch, Sunstreaker.” The predominantly white mid-sized Autobot said as he looked Trepan over.



    “Whatever Jazz, this clown is just some bitchy nerd who gets off on getting slapped around.” The yellow bot, Sunstreaker, said. “The real prize is back there with Pax, Swipe, Prowl and the others. Can you and Ironhide just secure this guy so I can get back down there and hopefully get a piece of purple scalp?”



    Suddenly a blast erupted from the area of the cave mouth, and a heavily wounded Galvatron came stumbling out of the tree line and bushes, looking despondently at the Autobots arrayed on the beach and in the sky harassing his warriors. The three Autobots with Trepan immediately turned, drew their firearms, and unloaded on the battered Galvatron. The shots sent him stumbling back, but he gritted his teeth angrily and raised his fusion tube to return fire, but explosions detonated against his back, sending him flying face first to the sandy ground. Galvatron planted the mouth of his cannon against the ground and unloaded, launching himself into the air, and then using thrusters built into his frame he set out over the ocean.



    The Autobots that had followed him out of the tunnel emerged and fired into the air after him. Cyclonus and Scourge cut and followed him, and as they drew near Cyclonus launched a cable that latched onto Galvatron, and the three shot straight up into the upper atmosphere.



    “Permission to pursue, Commander Pax?” A voice came through the speakers of all the Autobots, and Orion Pax, stepping out onto the beach, raised his wrist as he glared at Trepan.



    “From a distance Silverbolt and disengage if they exit the atmosphere.” Pax replied. “Cyclonus and Scourge are built for orbital combat, the members of your team really aren’t.” The Autobot Commander marched straight toward Trepan and glared down at him. “Hello Trepan, Guardian Prime is going to want to talk to you.”
     
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  18. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Guardian Prime



    “Tell me Grimlock, how old are you?” Guardian Prime questioned as the two large powerful robots marched through the lower-level hallway of the eastern Capitol Spire.


    “Not sure.” Grimlock muttered as he took in his surroundings. “Think I was forged a few dozen or so vorns back. Older than most that are still around, but far too young to remember the Manifest launching.”


    “Makes sense.” Guardian Prime replied as they headed toward the door of an elaborate but small meeting room positioned at a corner of the hallway. “I’d like to think that had you been around, I’d have recruited you.”


    “Ogrus Onyx wouldn’t have liked that.” Grimlock chuckled. “And I’ve been a loner all my life. My combat squad had to be forced upon me, and that was just, what, two decades ago, if that.”


    “You joined the Autobots.” Guardian Prime muttered as they entered the room and he waved for Grimlock to take the chair on one side of the table as he closed the door behind them.


    Grimlock scoffed. “It was just for a ride away from Onyx and Torrent soldiers at first. Then a middle finger to highborn shitbags. Then the Autobots were the best chance at getting back at Megatron’s gladiator cult that fucked us over, especially as by then they had started framing the Autobots in their terrorist campaign. And when the Gates fell, the Autobots had their shit together much better than the government forces did.”


    “They seemed a bit abrupt in their appointing Orion Pax as their leader.” Sentinel replied as he too took a seat. “Obviously it was a brilliant appointment, but at that point he was an untested entity.”


    “Brilliant is a bit of an overstatement.” Grimlock grumbled.


    Prime displayed a look of surprise at the massive former gladiator. “That’s an opinion I wasn’t expecting from anyone, especially an Autobot.”


    “Look, I’ll be the first to say the kid has a lot going for him. He’s very smart, no question, and as a warrior he’s top tier. He has all the tools, but he’s soft.” Grimlock stated almost disinterestedly. “You’re fighting a war, you’re leading an army, you’re going to be responsible for lots of people dying. If you have an opportunity to slaughter your enemies en-masse, then do it. If attaining victory means sending soldiers to their deaths, then do it. If you must shelve your precious morality to do that, then fucking do it. But Pax, he just was unwilling to cross certain lines. At first, I attributed it to his youth, maybe to his Pax upbringing, but at this point I’m convinced that it’s just him and he’s unlikely to ever change.”


    “Hard to argue with success.” Prime countered with a smile. “But I don’t disagree. I have tremendous respect for Orion Pax, I hope in time we bring about the social equity we need so that the Autobots see no reason to continue and disband, and I would welcome him as a trusted lieutenant, perhaps my second.” Guardian Prime looked away. “Unfortunately, I don’t see him accepting that welcome. As you said, he’s soft, and leadership, real leadership, has no room for softness.”


    “Meaning you intend to do things that Pax’s delicate sensibilities would be opposed to?” Grimlock asked.


    Guardian Prime was quiet for a moment before slowy allowing himself a nod. “Our population has been decimated by the war with the sparkeaters, but it will be replenished. In time we will outgrow this magnificent world of ours, we will outgrow the resources it is blessed with. It’s the fate of any higher-level species once it learns to change the world around it to better suit its needs. We’ve expanded before, we’ve even cyberformed portions of worlds to better reflect the mechanical portions of our own, but even with these adaptations they’re alien worlds incapable of providing energon. Yes, they all have energy sources, most stemming originally from their local star, that we can convert to usable sustinence, but it’s at best it’s barely more than a wash in terms of the energy levels gained versus the energy levels consumed to create this sustenance.” Prime studied Grimlock’s face, trying fruitlessly to gauge some sort of reaction, but the hulking gladiator’s visage was completely expressionless. Even if he’d had adequate facial features, Prime guessed Grimlock had a very good Sheol’s Bounty face.


    Finally, Grimlock leaned back in his chair and replied. “Ultra Magnus said that Megatron was boasting of having undergone a physical enhancement that would replicate the increase in power and durability offered by the Matrix, a process that was developed by, at least according to him, Jhiaxus. If true, I’m guessing something like that would have had to have been authorized by you, and obviously done in secret.” The bestial robot leaned forward and peered intently at Prime. “One could speculate that the same could be said of any plans for continuation of the Ferrotaxis, especially after the big show of opposing it history records you doing before the Senate and populace.”


    Prime gave nothing away with his facial expression, merely met Grimlock’s intense gaze and replied. “Megatron’s claims of this Matrix-caliber enhancement procedure are being investigated thoroughly. But, hypothetically, let’s say there’s merit to the claims, and even merit to your speculation regarding the Ferrotaxis. I know you could never be accused of being soft, but such a device, one with the ability to effectively wipe out an organic world and all life on it and replace it with a wholly mechanical and energon-producing neo-Cybertron, even many war-hawks would be unnerved by the thought of doing something so…planetcidal.”


    Grimlock peered intently at Prime’s face. Could the simple brute be studying him? Prime dismissed the consideration, especially at hearing Grimlock’s response, one accompanied by a shrug. “The weak have always and will always give way to the strong. Something at such a scale obviously needs to have careful thought and consideration put into it, it’s not something to be done capriciously,”


    “Of course.”


    “No cruelty or taunting, do not draw it out and torture them with hope, but if it’s truly needed for the superior species,” Grimlock leaned back into his chair, “then let it be done.”


    “I’m glad to hear you say that.” Prime replied. “Not that the Ferrotaxis was continued but should the need to fully cyber-form worlds become more pressing, I need to know who can be trusted to help with progress, and who’s likely to stand in the way.” The sentiment was punctuated by a knock at the door. “Come in.” Prime called out.


    The door slid open revealing Drift. “Prime, your other guest is here.”


    “Ah, right, of course.” Prime replied as he stood up and looked to Grimlock to do the same. “I thank you for coming Grimlock, I know you’re busy, and while this may not have seemed like something worth dragging you to the Spires for, trust me, it’s something I needed to discuss with you. I ask that you keep this discussion between us for now.”


    “What discussion?” Grimlock muttered as he walked to the door, giving Drift a brief and disinterested ocular evaluation as he walked through the door, but paying a bit more attention to the other guest of Prime’s in the hallway flanked by two brawny guards.


    Trepan, his hands shackled in front of him, looked Grimlock over before gazing up to meet his long red optic. “Rossum would have loved to have had the opportunity to work on you.” Grimlock paused for just a moment before ignoring the comment and marching past him down the hall. Trepan then turned to Guardian Prime. “He’d loved to have study your frame as well, as would I. I doubt either of us would be able to do much beyond what the Matrix had already done to you, but still, a fascinating study.”


    “I have a different study for you, Trepan.” Prime muttered as he nodded to the guards to have the prisoner follow him down the hall, further into the depths of the Spire’s sub-basement level. “You took a brain, a Titan’s brain, one that was animalistically simple at its best and that was essentially destroyed when you found it, and you rebuilt it to not only function, but to function at a level of at least average humanoid intelligence.”


    “Beyond average, I assure you.” Trepan boasted, the comment earning a slight shove from Drift who was marching behind him.


    “All the more impressive.” Prime commented as they reached a set of large double doors at the end of the hallway. “You should know that your continued existence is contingent upon whether or not you can replicate that process.”


    “You found another brain damaged Titan?” Trepan asked excitedly. “The Quintaxium? The Imperexium?”


    Prime stopped and glared at the scientist. “How are you familiar with these names?”


    “Trypticon’s brain rebuild actually duplicated most of the memories of his brain template.” Trepan explained. “Some loyal adviser to House Onyx that was old enough to remember when Quintessons ruled Cybertron. Someone who’d apparently been to one or both of those cities, who’d been to your new pal Metroplex as well.” Trepan smiled. “I hope you weren’t counting on Megatron being ignorant to this bit of history.”


    “I suspected he knew.” Prime muttered as he turned and continued to the doors, pushing them open. “And to answer your question, no, we have not yet found any brain damaged ignus devas.” He led the group into a vast warehouse converted to be a laboratory with the massive headless corpse of the giant that Omega Supreme had killed on Neutronia months before, intense waves of energon were pulsing into the open chest armor and bombarding the exposed spark while walls of computer banks were connected to the giant’s neural circuitry at the neck keeping the basic operations of the massive frame going and staving off death…in a way. “We have an ignis numen though.”


    A look of horror came over Trepan’s face. “That’s not brain damaged, that’s brainless!” He frantically looked up at Prime. “You cannot expect me to repair or modify something that no longer exists!”


    “I do actually.” Prime shrugged. “Yes, Omega Supreme’s blast left far less to work with than I thought it would, but I still need you to give that thing a functioning brain module. It’s the reason you’re still alive.”


    “This is impossible!” Trepan panickily shouted. “I have nothing to work with here!”


    Prime shook his head in disappointment. “I’m sorry to hear that Trepan.” He then looked to Drift. “Eliminate him. But let’s take Ultra Magnus’s suggestion to heart and question him first. We’ll be smelting the frame, so use whatever torture you’d like, there won’t be any evidence.”


    “No!” Trepan shouted.


    “As you command, Prime.” Drift replied as he reached for Trepan’s arm and tugged him to the doors they’d entered through.


    “Wait! There’s an alternative!” Trepan yelled out. “Wait!”


    Prime looked to Drift and nodded, prompting the tugging to stop and Trepan to gather his wits as Prime stared intently at him. “Well, go on. Tell me of this alternative.”


    Trepan stared at the headless giant as he rushed to explain, fearing Prime would change his mind before he could provide his convincing argument. “That creature’s brain is gone, irretrievable. Whatever it knew is lost with it. But if it’s just the brawn you want, that giant body functional, then there is a way to make use of it.”


    “Your execution may just be stayed after all.” Prime muttered. “The physical power of that body is all I’m interested in, so please, continue.”


    “There’s a theory, something I came up with while working on Trypticon.” Trepan explained. “I refer to it as a Head-Master process. Essentially the body is equipped with systems that keep it alive with the brain module disconnected, much as you have done here, only more compact and fitting within the frame. The head however is a separate entity entirely, another smaller Cybertronian that has its shell mode configured into the head of the larger Cybertronian, and once attached, the nervous systems of the two Cybertronians are integrated to an extent that the larger body is now the body of the smaller entity.”


    “The head controls the large body as though it were its own?” Prime asked for clarification.


    Trepan nodded. “Exactly. Not a pilot controlling a mech, but it is the smaller Cybertronian’s body. His own hands, his own feet. Obviously, he’ll need to train in that new body, it’ll be a tremendous adjustment.”


    “And you can make that happen?” Prime pressed.


    “Yes.” Trepan replied confidently. “The science is sound. Provided the rest of that frame is preserved as well as it appears to be, yes, I can make this happen. The subject for the headmaster will need a very strong spark to integrate with the massive spark and body you have there. At least a load bearer. And he’ll need to be large. We can enhance his or her frame, but it still needs to be a large frame to begin with.” Trepan raised his shackled hands to his chest, palms outward. “I can vouch for the science behind it, and I’ll be responsible for the procedure, but any issues regarding the candidate is entirely on you.”


    “That’s fair.” Prime replied. “The guards here will escort you to a lab where you can get started on this. You’ll have whatever resources you need, but you are to get this completed quickly.”


    “Yes, Guardian Prime.” Trepan replied as the two guards flanking him pulled him over toward a side room on the far end of the vast laboratory.


    Prime nodded for Drift to come to him. “We’ve already been compiling a list of noteworthy individuals, for threat analysis or recruitment consideration. I know one category is likely bearers of ignis superious.”


    “Yes Prime, I have the current listings of this compilation here.” Drift replied dutifully as he pulled out a data tab and began scrolling through the information. “Ignis superious, eleven that we are confident of.”


    “At least twenty-two feet in height floor to head.” Prime narrowed.


    “Six.”


    “Let me see the candidates.” Prime instructed and took the offered tablet. He scrolled through the six candidates. “Free thinker, too smart, too dumb…ooohhhh, yes, he’ll do.” Prime pressed his finger on his selection, bringing up the dossier on that candidate and handing the tablet back to Drift. “I’ve actually met this one, fiercely loyal, almost to the point of worshipping me. And a physical bruiser, taller and broader than me, and at least has a load bearing spark if not more.”


    “Spreem?” Drift muttered the name as he studied the dossier.


    “Yes, have him report here.”



    0000



    Orion Pax



    Under different circumstances this would have been an impressive gathering. Polar Claw had summoned all the Maximals on Earth back to the Axalon, and Orion had taken every Autobot on the planet north to the artic circle to meet with them all. In addition to the Maximals and Autobots were Alpha Trion and the fully recovered thirty-three-foot tall Jetfire. Orion had spent many an hour chatting with him in the last week and found him to be almost intimidatingly brilliant. When he had mentioned this to Alpha Trion, the old scientist laughed and related that Jetfire had said the exact same thing about him.


    Orion’s thoughts were interrupted by the approaching Ironhide. “We’re awl here, Cahmmander, ya’ sure you wanna do this?”


    “Yes.” Pax replied as he gazed out over the large group. “They have a right to know, they have to know what they’re fighting for, and what they’ll likely be fighting against.”


    “That’s tha problem, Orion.” Ironhide countered. “Yer about ta tell the Maximals that tha sleeping giant they’d been babysittin’ is coming back ta scorch this Earth, and ya are goin’ to ask them to stay and defend it. Yer about to ask the Autobots ta stand against tha greatest hero of our planet and become traitors of Cybertron. An’ then yer goin’ just let ‘em dwell on that an’ not expect some of them ta rabbit, or worse, rabbit an’ tell Prahme.”


    “I under…” a confused look came over Pax, “rabbit?”


    “Human slang.” Ironhide clarified. “Means run away.”


    “Ahh, and yes, that’s a very real concern, as is their loyalty to Prime and the prospect of them warning him.” Orion nodded. “But they have a right to know what may happen. I hope I’m wrong, but if I’m not, I cannot simply allow Guardian Prime to wipe out organic life on this world and make it a big metal energon-producing back up world.”


    “You really think that’s what he wants?” Ironhide asked.


    “I wish I could say no,” Orion looked down at the ice-covered ground at their feet, frigid winds whipping against their red metal frames, “but every instinct in me tells me that’s what he intends to do here. Plus,” he looked up and nodded toward Alpha Trion, who met his gaze, “I have it on good authority that a full-scale test of the Ferrotaxis on Helios-Three has been on Prime’s agenda for well over a million years.” Orion tried to force himself to relax before looking back at Ironhide. “But I will speak with Prime and be sure before acting against him. My questions will likely tip him off to my intentions, so those that will be standing with me need to be told now of what might happen, so that we can be ready when he takes action.”


    “Standing with us, Orion.” Ironhide muttered as he reached up and squeezed the much younger Cybertronian’s shoulder. “Standing with us. From now til mah spark’s last pulse, I stand with you.”


    “Doing so may make that last pulse come far quicker than you expected.” Orion smiled.


    “Not possible.” Ironhide chuckled as he turned and started walking toward the assembled Autobots and Maximals. “I expected it to burn out tens of thousands of vorns ago.” After several steps he turned and looked back. “Ya should probably get this show on tha’ road, Pax. Getting’ a bit cold even for our metal bumpers.”


    “You’re right.” Pax nodded and watched Ironhide rejoining the other Cybertronians before stepping upon the command deck created from his trailer and calling out. “Attention everyone!” The conglomeration of Autobots, Maximals and the few that didn’t fit into either group went silent and faced the Aubobot Commander. “Armed with the information provided to us by the Maximals, several hours ago American scientists accompanied by Wheeljack found the Ferrotaxis deep within the bowels of the Atlantis command center. Still inoperable due to the damage done to it by Primal Convoy over eleven thousand years ago, but based on Wheeljack’s best guess, it can be repaired, refueled and reactivated within a matter of hours by someone with knowledge of how it works.” Orion looked down for a moment before sadly re-raising his optics to the group. “I firmly believe that Guardian Prime knows how it works, and I fear that he intends to repair it and use it to cyberform Earth.”


    “That’s impossible.” Air Raid called out. “Guardian Prime forbade its development, Jhiaxus was obviously working on his own, against orders. That’s why he made it on this backwater mudball.”


    The Maximals grumbled and a few snickered, but it was Alpha Trion that spoke. “Guardian Prime was well aware of this backwater mudball long before construction on the Manifest commenced.”


    “Maybe, but it’s a stretch to say that he was aware of what Jhiaxus was up to here.” Silverbolt shot back, almost angrily. “And who the hell are you?”


    “His name is A-Three, he is the former polyhistor of Tyger Pax.” Orion stated. “And I pray you’re right about Prime being unaware of what’s here. I will be speaking with him soon, I will be discussing this matter directly to him, I will be asking him very pointed questions. If I walk away from that meeting confident that he intends to destroy the Ferrotaxis and ensure that it cannot be replicated, then I will apologize to him and to you for voicing these concerns. But if I believe that he intends to use this device to end and remake this or other worlds, I will be forced to oppose him. I will fight to my spark’s last pulse to protect this world from his imperial ambitions.”


    “That’s treason!” Slingshot bellowed, the third Aerialbot to raise some sort of objection, and thus far the most disrespectfully delivered.


    “Aye,” Orion nodded as he gazed at Slingshot, “that’s what they’ll call it, and me and anyone following me will be branded as such. But if it gets to that point, the alternative will be to stand back and allow all life on this world to be wiped from existence and have the planet remade into a purely mechanical surface.” His gaze washed over all those listening to him. “I cannot abide by the alternative. I give you my word that I will verify that this is Prime’s intention before any action is taken, but if it is, I plan to protect this planet, and I could use all the help I can get.”


    “You’re asking us to defy Cybertron.” Rattrap announced. “Not just sneak around and sabotage stuff or fight a small group of colonial fender-sacks, or make sure interested parties don’t find a skuttled giant ship, no, now you’re asking us to stand against Cybertron led by the Prime.”


    “Yes, that’s what I’m asking.” Pax replied. “You Maximals volunteered for a task that was to be far shorter, simpler and safer than what it turned out to be.” Orion turned to the Autobots. “You Autobots set out to create a society of equals under the law, and that mission has been accomplished.” He then looked over everyone. “There’s no question that what I ask of you now was never something you ever expected to be asked. I certainly have no right asking it of you. But I am asking. This isn’t for me, this isn’t some coup against the government or Prime, this is simply to keep this planet safe. A planet that isn’t your home, that’s filled with countless species that you have zero kinship to, to save them all from a fate that will likely enrich the lives of Cybertronians. I am asking you to stand against our planet’s greatest leader and hero, not because you’ll be remembered fondly for it; you likely won’t. Not because we’ll win; we almost certainly can’t. I’m asking you to stand with me because it’s the right and moral thing to do. I’m asking you to oppose the slaughter of an entire planet, and maybe our efforts and sacrifice will serve as an example so that others take up our fight.” Orion looked down and shook his head. “As I said, I pray I’m wrong, but if I’m not, I will stand against him. I will have to stand against him.” He looked up. “That’s all I have, dismissed.”


    The large assembly dispersed, some of the Autoobots slowly started walking toward the Oar, the craft that had transported most of them to this artic region of Earth, others stayed in the general area interacting with the Maximals. Prime looked to Alpha Trion but saw that he was engaged in a deep conversation with the towering Jetfire, so he looked to his officers approaching him, Prowl, Ironhide and Jazz and walked toward them. “I would have advised against including everyone for this little bombshell. The Aerialbots are going to be a problem, they’re not even Autobots, their loyalty is to Prime, they’ll be putting in a call to him within the hour. I suggest we detain them, hold…”


    “No, we’re not going to do that.” Orion interrupted. “I’ll be telling Prime where I stand soon enough, and honestly, I’m sure he already has his suspicions.”


    “So, the plan is to simply confirm it, and make sure that if we do have to fight him, he’ll be fully prepared to kick our asses?” Prowl questioned pointedly.


    “We don’t have the resources to overwhelm him militarily.” Pax replied. “If we’re going to be able to oppose him, it’ll be because we win over support of his base by letting them know what he has planned.”


    “His base is worried about Decepticons, and likely sees a converted Earth and the Ore-13 we’ll be getting from it as the most effective way to defeat them.” Prowl continued to press.


    “We’ve already achieved, through diplomacy, the support of the human governments and their willingness to provide us with any Ore-13 they come across.” Orion replied. “Yes, it’s limited, but activating the Ferrotaxis would slaughter this world. There has to be some morality left on Cybertron, I can’t believe that what remains of our populace would support this.”


    “Fear frequently overwhelms morality, Pax.” Jazz countered. “And most Cybertronians can’t think of any organic species as anything more than vermin.”


    “Demonstrating the higher-level functioning of humans will be easy,” Pax countered, almost annoyed, “and even if every species on a planet is simple, that doesn’t make exterminating a planet an acceptable option!”


    “It’s nawt us yewl be needin’ ta’ convince, Pax.” Ironhide countered. “We’re just playin’ Unicron’s advocate, here. And after tha last few years, compassion fer other species will likely take a back seat for anything that might make life on Cybertron better and safer.”


    “I understand that Ironhide.” Orion shook his head. “But what’s right needs to take precedence over what’s safe or convenient. And if that’s a stance I’ll be taking against all Cybertron, then so be it.”


    “Pax!” Bumblebee’s voice came through all their wrist speakers. “The escape craft has detached from the Oar, someone’s stealing it!”


    “Jetfire, Aerialbots, transform and prepare to shoot it down!” Orion called out as the ascending escape ship emerged from the other side of the parked Oar.


    “Hold up Pax!” Jetfire called out and started trotting to Orion. “It’s not what you think.”


    “Explain!” Orion barked.


    The thirty-five-foot tall Jetfire held out his hands defensively. “I had no idea until he casually mentioned what he was going to do just as he set out to do it.” The stern look from Orion let Jetfire know the explanation had better start explaining more. “Al…A-Three, he said he had to contact a few people.”


    “The Pax polyhistor? What the hell is going on?” Prowl growled.


    Pax shook his head in exasperated confusion. “Every time I think we’re square, he does something else to get me borderline enraged.” He looked to his lieutenants. “Just let him go, if anyone asks tell them I granted him permission to take the escape craft.”



    000



    Mindset



    Mindset wasn’t the masochistic type, but if either of them had to take a headshot during their escape, he’d had vastly preferred it to be him as opposed to Jhiaxus. Though a loyal soldier, this wasn’t wishing to take on the injuries of a superior, no, this was the wishes of someone on a disabled craft who lacked the technical expertise to repair that craft while the inventor of the craft lay dormant with a head wound. The schematics were undoubtedly downloaded into the ship’s computer, and they were undoubtedly intuitive and made so that even Mindset could fix a few things, but the ships computer was as trashed as navigation, propulsion, communications, and a dozen other vital elements of the craft.


    “Beep…beep…beep…beep…”


    And now it seemed the sensor array was on the fritz as well. He wasn’t sure where they were, but wherever it was, just a quick optic-sweep of the vast nothingness around them and very, very distant stars made it clear that they weren’t close enough to anything worthwhile, and that there was nothing legitimate that could be causing the proximity alarm to be going off. “Shut the slag up!” Mindset growled pointlessly at the control panel before finally shimmying out from under that panel and got himself back to a standing position, looking into the rear seat where Jhiaxus, his head heavily scorched, laid dormant in stasis lock. “Could really use a hand with this, my lord.” He muttered to his sole companion, as futile an uttering as his previous snarling at the proximity sensor, which was still going off.


    Mindset turned and glared at the control panel. “The one slagging thing I thought was still functioning.” He grumbled as he switched the alarm off and scrutinized it but stop as something caught his optic through the viewport. “What the…”. A small white craft was hovering directly in front of theirs, though small, it was larger than the disabled craft that housed Jhiaxus and Mindset. He instinctively reached down to send off a hail but pulled his hand back at realizing that the communications system was disabled. A hatch on the roof of the hovering craft opened, and a glider, one sized about right to be a mid-sized Cybertronian in modified shell mode, exited and began its approach toward the drifting ship Mindset was in.


    Mindset grabbed a rifle and scurried to the hatch on the roof of his small ship, emerging into space and pointing the weapon at the approaching glider, a misnomer in this environment as there was no atmosphere to glide through and the movement was facilitated by boosters on the aft. The approaching vehicle stopped, and a moment later a small device was slowly launched and was propelled through space at a non-threatening pace toward Mindset. Mindset caught it and saw that it was a communicator with audio-piece. Mindset affixed the audio-piece to his left receptor, and a voice came through in ancient Cybertronian, something he was not completely familiar with, but it was close enough so that he could follow. “Greetings, who beist thou, and whyhaps have you found yourself in this sector?”


    “Uh, yeah, the name’s Mindset, I’m from Cybertron…which you seem to know already, so, uh, we had a mishap with our wormhole generator.” He replied. “I have a companion that is severely injured. I’d appreciate any help you could give.”


    “Of course.” The glider continued forward and transformed to robot mode, a mid-sized but well-built robot with green helmet, upper face mask, torso, and lower legs, while his arms and upper legs were whitish silver. The newcomer landed on the hull several yards in front of Mindset. “I could tell from your craft that you were of Cybertron. I was taught the old version of the language, which is my default, but I am familiar with the more modern tongue. My name is Rook, and I am affiliated…” he paused. “I fear I really cannot divulge much of the society I am a part of, there are security concerns.”


    “Look, my superior officer needs significant repair, his wounds are quite severe.” Mindset explained. “I will submit to whatever security measures you deem fit, but I need to get him medical treatment soon.”


    Rook studied Mindset for a moment before nodding and jerking his thumb back toward his craft. “Alright, the Saber has a sensory deprivation chamber on board which should keep you from determining the location of The Hub. I will help you get your injured superior aboard.”



    000



    Elita One



    “By The Hand, what’s that smell?” Elita muttered to herself as she made her was down the hallway toward her office, dismayed at the realization that as she got closer to her office, the smell got stronger. She raised her wrist to her mouth. “Maintenance, this is Elita One. I may need…” her door slid open, and she entered the room, freezing as she caught sight of a stranger seated on the couch on the far side of the room. “Never mind.” She shut the channel but left her wrist next to her mouth. “I can have security here in seconds, so you may want to explain what you’re doing here,” she drew significantly more air into her vents than she typically did, “and why you’re stinking up my office.”


    “I apologize for the smell.” The bearded white, maroon, blue and purple robot stood non-threateningly. “I am coming from a location where the smell permeates everything, and as I’m in a bit of a time-crunch, I did not take the time to do a chemical wash.”


    “The thing is, I didn’t ask about the source of your smell, I asked what you’re doing here.” Elita stated sternly.


    “You did, which is a valid question, though I am surprised that you did not ask who I am.” The stranger, who gave the impression of being quite old, replied. “But as to the question that you did ask, I’m here to inform you that Orion Pax and Guardian Prime are going to be at odds soon, and in all likelihood it will turn violent.”


    “Impossible.” Elita scoffed. “Prime loves Orion, the statues and films he’s commissioned alone are…”


    “Attempts to win the youth over so that he can ask the impossible of him.” The bearded robot interrupted.


    “And what’s that?” Elita asked skeptically.


    “To stand by and do nothing as Guardian Prime ends worlds.” The intruder answered.


    Elita stared him over for a moment before walking over to her desk and taking a seat behind it, maintaining her glare on the other robot the entire time. At her taking a seat, he lowered himself back down to the couch. “Alright, well, as you’ve been waiting for it, here it is. Who are you?”


    “Most living people who know me call me A-Three.” Elita leaned forward at recognizing the name of the long missing Tyger Pax polyhistor and Roller’s accomplice in getting Orion off world years before. “Though the name Atrium of the Crystal City has started being used again in certain circles. But the name I was born with was Alpha Trion.”


    Elita gasped. “Primon?”


    “Yes, that’s another name I once had.” The old robot smiled weakly at his attempt at humor.


    “You…you’re A-Three?” Elita questioned pointedly.


    “Odd, that’s the one identity of mine people tend to accept without question.” The many-named individual smiled as he leaned back.


    “Orion is a major part of my life, and A-Three was a major part of his.” Elita shot back. “If you are who you claim to be, at least that part of who you claim to be, then you are welcome here.” A stern look came over her face. “Though I do have a bone to pick with you regarding you kidnapping him and making me fear the worst for fourteen years.”


    “The choice I had at the time was to keep him safe and cause his loved ones to fear for his safety, or let their fears become reality as Sentinel Prime had him killed.” Alpha Trion shrugged. “So, by all means, pick away.”


    Elita raised her wrist to her face. “Open a channel to House Pax and put me through to Emir Nelonia Pax.”


    “Right away, Elita One.” The voice came back through the speaker.


    Several seconds passed before, “This is Nelonia Pax.”


    “Greetings Emir Pax, this is Elita One. I have a favor to request.” Elita replied.


    “It’s wonderful to hear your voice Elita One, and an honor to speak with you.” Nelonia’s voice came back. “Please, as anything of me.”


    “I would like you to transmit a visual image and any other identifying information of your former polyhistor, A-Three.” Elita asked.


    “I…I’m sorry Emir Elita, but A-Three was fiercely private, and Arlon…House Pax as a whole protected his privacy.” Nelonia apologetically came back. “That may be the one request I cannot honor. Please, ask anything else of me.”


    Elita stared at A-Three intensely, a wave of energon flickered over her optics as she scanned his image and transmitted it to Nelonia. “Can you at least confirm that this is him sitting in my office?”


    “By Primus, he’s alive!” Nelonia gasped.


    Elita nodded a confirmation to herself before addressing Nelonia. “Emir Pax, I will reconnect with you later regarding this, for the time being, please keep this between us.”


    “I…of course Elita One.” Nelonia replied with confusion etched into her voice. “I eagerly await your call.”


    Elita One severed the channel and continued her visual evaluation of who she now believed to be A-Three…or Atrium of the Crystal City, who was Gallus Honorum’s most valued ally, or Alpha Trion, who would become Primon, the first Prime. Of course, appearance could be modified, but for whatever reason, she now believed this robot. “Alright, assuming I believe you are who you claim to be, and even believe what you claim is going to happen will happen, what is it you want me to do?”


    “To do what is right.” A-Three replied.


    “And what’s that?” Elita scoffed. “To serve Cybertron and the Matrix-chosen Prime with honor and kill worlds, or be a traitor and stand by the greatest Cybertronian I’ve ever known?”


    “Matrix-chosen Prime.” A-Three chuckled as he looked down at the floor for a moment. After a few seconds he looked back up and met Elita’s gaze. “I can assure you from first-hand experience, being chosen by the Matrix and bearing it in your chest does not make you infallible. Nor does it make you incorruptible. And based on what I’ve observed over millions of years studying Guardian Prime, the favor of the Matrix likely isn’t guaranteed for life.”


    “Meaning?”


    A-Three smiled. “Aren’t you curious about why Jhiaxus developed a series of upgrades designed to equal the level of enhancement provided by the Matrix?”


    “Seems like a very valuable procedure in my optics.” Elita replied.


    “Yes, but according to the evidence, he was commissioned by Guardian Prime to do so.” A-Three shrugged. “The one individual who would stand to lose should such a procedure come into existence. Unless…” A-Three let that hang for several seconds.


    “You’re suggesting he lost…favor?” A skeptical Elita asked, though her skepticism wasn’t as strong as it should have been.


    “It’s a theory.” The ancient robot answered as he stood up and started toward the door. “Another theory of mine is that soon you will be asked to choose a side. It will not be an easy choice, so I suggest starting your considerations now.”


    Elita stared at the empty couch as she pondered his words but called out just as he reached the door. “Do I need to contact Emir Pax with an explanation, or will you be providing that to her yourself, A-Three?”


    The old robot turned his head a bit so that his left optic was toward her. “You can save yourself a call, Tyger Pax is my next stop. And please, Elita One, from this day forward my name is once again Alpha Trion.” With that he left.



    000



    Obsidian



    The world was primitive, were it not for the strange enhanced energon it wouldn’t be worth the fuel used to transport here. But this was where Orion Pax was, murderer of his beloved. No, it was battle, as enraged and agonized as Obsidian was, he would not slander Orion, even in his own mind. But Strika was dead, and Orion had dealt the killing blow, and therefore the young Pax, or Convoy, or commoner, whatever he was, needed to die, and Obsidian needed to be the one to snuff his powerful green spark. And that meant coming here to this dirt, rock, and water world with overwhelming aerial superiority. “Starscream, front and center!”


    The arrogant shit sauntered away from the cluster of Seekers and stood before Obsidian atop one of the many buttes in the dry, arid area, his standard smirk in place. “Aye, Obsidian, what can I do for you?” The optics of the Air Commander lifted skyward momentarily to catch sight of a brown and white bird high overhead but returned to meet Obsidian’s optics after the brief distraction.


    “How certain are you that the Autobots will be moving through here?” The hovering general asked.


    “Quite certain, Obsidian.” Starscream reported. “We intercepted a transmission from the American military to the Pacific Northwest, specifically the border area of the states Washington and Oregon where we’ve narrowed the Autobot headquarters to a few hours ago. The humans discovered an outcropping of Ore-13 near Ghost Ranch, New Mexico, a few miles from here. We have Laserbeak patrolling the skies north of here, and he just sent word that the Autobot shuttle is approaching and appears to be landing about 20 miles from here in the desert. That’s Pax’s typical M.O., put down where the humans likely won’t see the craft and continue in human vehicle modes. So, short answer long, yes, we’re certain that the Autobots are on their way. They’re just all ground vehicles, so it may take some time.”


    Obsidian looked over the dry, rocky landscape. There was vegetation, but there was far less green here than most other parts of this world not covered by water. Far below in the canyon he saw a darkly colored bear foraging through some of the underbrush. The hovering legend looked away from the animal, saddened. He had always respected and admired the organic natural aspects of Cybertron than had evolved alongside the mechanical. Organic life was pitifully short in duration, but there was a beauty in how nature found its equilibrium, even after periods of vast change and upheaval, organic life seemed to adapt to the new norm. And now, regardless of who was victorious, this new organic world was going to be purged of all organic life and remade into a wholly mechanical utopia. That bear below, the raptor in the sky above, the bison and mustang a half mile from the bear, the lone wolf eyeing the mustang from a respectful distance, all the plants and organism on this world, all of it would be gone within days of the activation of the Ferrotaxis. All so that Cybertronians could have a different form of energon and growing room they wouldn’t need for millions of years.


    Obsidian ended his contemplations regarding this planet’s future and re-focused on the task at hand, looked up to the north where a few miles in the distance he finally saw the clouds of dust being kicked up. “Decepticons, take your positions.” The soldiers scrambled around them, they’d been there a couple hours, the instructions had been made clear, they each knew their role. The Decepticons for the most part were not the most disciplined of soldiers, but the secretive and often rushed training that Megatron and his lieutenants had conducted in the years of the Great Deception was for the most part effective, and the less secretive training in the four years of warfare with the sparkeaters was honed all the more by actual combat. Four years of warfare with the sparkeaters…and with others. He had never been bound by honor, certainly not to the degree of an Arlon Pax or Atrium of the Crystal City, or Pious Maximus, or Big Convoy or…well, the list could go on for a while given how long he’d lived, but though he was far more pragmatic than the likes of those leaders, even he was unnerved by what had been done at the Grand Convocation. But that was in the past, what was done was done, and he could only move forward, serve the cause he had chosen to serve, and avenge his magnificent Strika.


    The Autobots were now coming into visible range, led as expected by a big red boxy ground vehicle that had to be Orion Pax pulling a very plain gray trailer. His entourage was on the light side, just three vehicles, a predominantly white sedan painted to resemble local law enforcement, a sleek yellow sports car, and a green military jeep. This ambush would not eradicate all the Autobots on this Earth, but it would remove their leader and these other three and leave what’s left vulnerable and easy to pick off. But Obsidian’s quest for justice would be sated. Justice? Were Orion Pax’s actions a crime? “Silence.” Obsidian grumbled to his own mind. Justice or vengeance, it ultimately didn’t matter, Obsidian could spend what remained of his life after this day second-guessing his right to have executed Orion Pax, or he could spend it regretting not executing Orion Pax. Living with the regret of killing Orion Pax for simply killing his enemy as soldiers are supposed to do was the lesser of two evils to the ancient general. He raised his communicator to his mouth. “Starscream, take Thundercracker and corral the other three away from Pax. Once clear of their leader, kill them.”


    “Yes, Obsidian.” Starscream replied through the channel.


    “Motormaster, your team is to engage Orion Pax, keep him away from his soldiers but do not kill him.”


    “Yeah, on it.” Motormaster grumbled a reply.


    Obsidian watched as a gray jet and blue jet shot out toward the oncoming Autobot vehicles far below and started raining ordinance down upon them. As ordered, they targeted between Pax and the others to separate the soldiers from their leader and started directing the three mid-sized Autobots toward a cluster of three buttes a mile in the distance. The five Stunticons, as they’ve apparently been designated, were seen charging out from the shadows below the butte Obsidian and other fliers were perched upon. “Remember Motormaster, I want Pax subdued. Injure him if you need to, but he is to be alive.”


    “Yeah, Yeah, we know.” The Stunticon Commander muttered as he charged out, his teammates zipping out ahead to engage Orion. “His spark’ll still be sparkin’, but I’m pounding that frame to scrap metal.”


    Obsidian refrained from harshly reprimanding Motormaster for his disrespectful talking back to a superior officer; such was the current state of the Decepticon military, but in time he’d instill real discipline. He turned his attention to Starscream and Thundercracker harassing the three automobiles speeding toward a butte for cover. The two jets zipped over them, cut around and started strafing the yellow, white, and green vehicles from ahead of them, prompting the Autobots to transform and fire into the sky futilely. The three Autobots hastily made their way toward the tall, vertical rockface, firing back and up the entire time, seeming to buy themselves a respite of the few seconds it would take the two Decepticons to round the butte and get a lock on them. But just as the last of the Autobots cut around the corner the rockface impossibly opened and standing there in the previously hidden cavern was a large but sleek white and red robot that looked to be about thirty-five feet in height.


    Its chest was made up of what was clearly a nosecone and cockpit. “Starscream, be advised…” the large unknown robot fired once into the sky with his rifle before stepping forward, transforming into a large, sleek jet, and darting into the sky. “Obviously they have a flier, take it down.” He then turned to the fliers behind him, “Skywarp, Thrust, Ramjet and Dirge, take to the sky and aid your comrades.” Even as the Decepticons were lifting off the top of the butte and transforming Obsidian could only watch as this unknown jet seemed to defy the laws of physics and accelerate and decelerate impossibly fast, getting position behind Starscream and Thundercracker, and with expert accuracy fired shots into their wings, forcing them down. To their credit, both Starscream and Thundercracker transformed and landed alright, but they were no longer able to aid their four comrades against this new but clearly formidable Autobot air warrior.


    This was obviously a trap. The humans ‘discovered’ a cache of Ore-13 and sent word to the Autobots that the Decepticons intercepted? How could he be so dense? Obviously Strika’s death and his quest to avenge it had taken him off his game a bit. He leapt off the butte and transformed to his helicopter mode, heading toward the Stunticons giving chase to Orion Pax. “Scrapper, it’s a trap, bring in the reserves! Target Orion Pax!”


    A ‘boom’ from the sky above was heard and a moment later the shuttle that had transported him to this planet was descending from the upper atmosphere. Orion Pax wasn’t the only one with a few hidden tricks. Obsidian chanced a look over toward the dogfight and was dismayed to see that Ramjet was already plummeting to the ground and the remaining three Decepticons were completely unable to gain any leverage over the large flying Autobot. “Scrapper, unload Red Wing, Nacelle, Hooligan, Space Case and Skyjack and have them assist Thrust, Dirge and Skywarp in taking down that Autobot flier.”


    “If this is a trap, should we…”


    “We have an air force and two gestalts!” Obsidian agitatedly interrupted Scrapper’s half-said suggestion. “Whatever preparations Pax had will be insufficient to keep us from achieving what we are here to achieve.” He could see five jets of differing colors exit the craft even as he was finishing his reply. All their jet modes had been altered to resemble aerial combat craft of this planet, but as they weren’t currently trying to blend in as Earth jets, they didn’t expand their size to the dimensions of the Earth vehicles they were made to look like. Their more condensed modes provided smaller and more dense and durable targets and were therefore preferable in combat. The Autobot jet was the only one that was even close to the size of a comparable Earth jet, and that wasn’t due to expansion, that was just because he was very large.


    The Autobot jet was almost impossibly fast, so fast that what should have been an easy flanking opportunity resulted in him pulling away from all eight Decepticons and causing them to cluster together and fall back while they gave embarrassingly futile looking pursuit. This white and red Autobot shot forward and down, veering into a canyon below, turning sideways as it entered the canyon and maneuvered between the vast rocky walls. All eight of the Decepticon fliers followed the Autobot into the canyon, maintaining fire the…wait. “No, pull up!” It was too late, it should have been obvious, but Obsidian had overlooked the potential for an ambush in the canyon. The Autobots had already prepped the area and seeded it with hidden soldiers, and this was made clear as fire erupted from the walls of the canyon, cutting into the flying Decepticon pursuers. Skyjack, Thrust, Dirge and Nacelle managed to pull up in time, but Skywarp, Hooligan, Red Wing and Space Case were cut down and sent crashing to the floor of the canyon hundreds of feet below. “Slag it all!”


    It was going from bad to worse as five new forms came over the horizon, and like with his Decepticon fliers, these new forms resembled human aircraft, but were condensed to standard Cybertronian size: more flying Autobots. This would not be an overwhelming victory, but it could be a more modest victory. If they could kill Orion Pax, then whatever else happened today would be a small price to have to pay for such an achievement. He zeroed in on the red truck hauling a gray trailer trying to get away from the Stunticons. Orion was putting distance between him and Motormaster, but the other four Stunticons had caught up to him and were harassing him. “Scrapper, the Stunticons are directing Pax between those two buttes a half mile to the south, park the ship between them, disembark and catch Pax in a pincer move.”


    “Yes Sir, Obsidian.” Scrapper replied as the shuttle shot out toward the two rock pillars jutting skyward, slowed to a hover, rotated around, and lowered to the ground. A moment later six green and purple construction vehicles came speeding down the ramp. It would be more than enough to end Pax, but resources were needed elsewhere. Fortunately, not all the reserves were in the shuttle. “Blitzwing, Astrotrain, Octane, take over for the Stunticons. Motormaster, get to the canyon and engage the entrenched Autobots and aid our downed fliers if needed. Should Menasor be needed, then merge.”


    “I want Pax!” Motormaster protested loudly.


    “You’ll do as commanded!” Obsidian bellowed back as he shot over the black and gray Stunticon leader on his way toward Orion Pax. Motormaster continued in his pursuit of Pax until a MiG-25, KC-135 Stratotanker, and a Cybertronian orbital bomber zipped over him, prompting him to veer off to the east toward the canyon where four Decepticon jets had been brought down. “Triple-changers, widen out to effectively trap Pax in, then transform to terrestrial modes.”


    “You’ve got it, Obsidian.” Blitzwing replied as he cut to the east, Octane swept to the west, and Astrotrain flew below Obsidian. Astrotrain transformed to a locomotive once he was a dozen feet off the ground and let his momentum from flight mode carry his ground mode forward at over a hundred miles an hour, while Blitzwing did the same for his tank mode, and Octane followed suit in a tanker truck mode, all of them with the Constructicons effectively encircling Orion Pax, who was now coming to a stop. Orion circled around, detached from his trailer, and transformed, holding his ion blaster and swiveling his head to gauge the threat before him. “Constructicons, merge.” Obsidian commanded, and watched as the six green vehicles reconfigured themselves into an eighty-foot-tall humanoid monstrosity. “Dismember Orion Pax!” Obsidian gave his final order before unloading his cannons at the Autobot Commander.


    Orion leapt to the side with astounding speed and avoided the barrage from the Cybertronian helicopter. Obsidian had been told of the last Convoy’s reflexes, but he truly was faster than could be anticipated, and the Decepticon general was unable to evade Orion’s return fire clipping his wing and bringing him down. Obsidian hit the ground hard but had the wherewithal to transform and get to a standing position. Devastator stalked Orion menacingly as the triplechangers slowly tightened the circle around Orion. Orion continued to evaluate the Decepticons coming for him, but there was something in his optic. Not only a lack of fear, but a look of knowing. No, he had to be bluffing. He was thoroughly outmatched, there was no way around that.


    Obsidian chanced a look toward the east where he saw the Stunticons being confronted by the five new mid-sized Autobot fliers, both teams transforming to robot mode. Motormaster must have not wanted to waste time, as a moment later the Stunticons were merging into Menasor. But to Obsidian’s amazement, the five Autobots were combining as well. The two equally sized giants exchanged fire before charging each other. Obsidian was relieved as Menasor hip-tossed the predominantly white Autobot gestalt, throwing him dozens of yards away. Menasor smirked before charging the rising Autobot but was unable to see or evade the right cross the Autobot was throwing his way, a punch that caught Menasor right in the face and sent him flying back into a rockface, which caused a small avalanche to come down the mountain and partially bury him as he hit the ground. Shit, Menasor was so stupid.


    Obsidian turned and re-focused on Orion Pax, who gave his trailer a smack, prompting it to open to repair bay mode. Inside was an African lion and an orange robot with gray metal and fleshy elephant parts covering his body that appeared to have had to spread himself over the floor of the trailer uncomfortably to fit inside, both sprung to their feet ready for action, the lion roaring at the Decepticons surrounding them. Obsidian raised his arms and targeted Orion Pax, but the wolf he had seen earlier charged and attacked him, chomping down on his arm, and dragging him down. No, while it was the same entity, the wolf he had seen earlier fell within the size parameters of wolves, this one was now much larger; clearly a Cybertronian. As the Decepticon fliers that took on Earth jet forms had to expand to mimic the size of the crafts they were impersonating, other forms required condensation to get to smaller sizes, as was the case of this faux canine. The overall mass remained the same, so just as expansion thinned out the Cybertronian and made it more vulnerable to damage, condensing made it denser and more durable. Of course, these musings were pointless as the animal was its natural size, and Obsidian flung the beast away, but the animal had been expecting that and transformed mid-air, landing as a robot, a Maximal with a small rifle in his hand, and a moment later Obsidian was on his back on the rocky ground with a painful wound in his chest. “Maximal mongrel!”


    “That’s right, traitor!” The hideous blue Maximal with gray fur covering him snarled. “This is what happens when you go after a Convoy!”


    Obsidian turned to see why his soldiers were letting this happen and saw that the other animals he had been admiring before the battle were now besieging them. Blitzwing’s tank mode had been rammed by the bison and now both were transforming to robot mode, the bear was rolling Astrotrain’s locomotive over, and the mustang was kicking Octane’s tanker mode with its rear legs, causing the truck to tip over. But most startling of all was that the large bird he had been watching, a bald eagle, was veering down toward Orion Pax. No, not Pax, the lion and orange and gray robot, the two entities reconfiguring their shapes, the eagle altering its shape too as it descended, and as they converged, they seamlessly formed a robot. A bit over fifty feet in height, and while the different animal features were clearly present, it didn’t look like a gestalt. It held itself comfortably, almost agilely; it was symmetrical…how in the hell could a gestalt be symmetrical? And it was…the only word Obsidian could thing of was beautiful. A feral savage beauty, but beautiful, nonetheless. His blue optics shined out of his tan face, one more human-like than most Cybertronian faces, and he glared at Obsidian a moment before turning to face the far larger Devastator.


    “Ha!” Devastator’s belted laugh soared over the desert landscape. “Devastator knows this trick! Won’t fool Devastator twice!”


    “No, it’s not…” another shot to his leg shut him up. “Argh!”


    “Convoy wants to talk to you, be thankful for that!” The blue Maximal taunted. “But we’re going to let the big green monster remain blissfully ignorant.”


    Obsidian turned his head, and watched as this new, smaller gestalt leapt into the air in a way was impossible for a gestalt, a broadsword made up of the weapons of the individual components raised over its head, gripped tightly in both hands, the leap carrying it higher than the suddenly nervous Devastator, and as it came down it swung the broadsword down heavily, impacting hard against the crown of Devastator’s head. The power of the swing and sharpness of the irradiated blade were such that were it not for the enhanced multi-spark durability of the Constructicon gestalt, the green giant would have been cut in half head to crotch. As it stood, the blow put a grotesque dent in the center of Devastator’s forehead and sent the eighty-foot-tall Decepticon toppling backward to the ground, at best stunned for a bit, at worst, out of commission for the remainder of this slagging quagmire of a battle. Fortunately, Devastator was stirring and groaning, he would be getting up at some point, but…


    “Obsidian!” Pax called out to him. “Enough! Strika forced me to kill her, please don’t force me to do the same to you.”


    “Liar!” Obsidian snarled as he glared at Orion.


    “It’s not a lie.” Orion replied. “I’m sure you know it’s not a lie, nobody knew Strika better than you.”


    He was right. The Decepticons that watched it happen did report as though Orion was reluctant to fight her, that the killing blow seemed instinctive. And pushing forward despite the cause being lost…that was Strika. “I do know.” Obsidian climbed to his feet. Orion’s pet wolf raised his weapon, but Orion waved him down. Standing wobbly as the individual fighting went on around them, Obsidian gave Orion Pax an appraising gaze, one far softer than the one he had fixed on the youth earlier. So young, and already so brilliant. “You outplayed Megatron at the Grand Convocation.”


    “I knew he could not be trusted.” Orion humbly replied.


    “You outplayed…Strika.” Obsidian almost choked on her name.


    “I…I read her books.” Again, with the humility, but a tinge of genuine sadness this time.


    “You’ve outplayed me.”


    Orion looked down. “I knew you were here on this planet. I knew you were intent on hunting me. I knew you were hurting, and that hurt would make you less careful.” Orion looked back up and met Obsidian’s gaze. “And while I don’t regret it, I take no pride in admitting that I took full advantage of those things.”


    The chaos of battle still raging around them, Devastator was back on his feet, he was bigger, stronger, and more durable than the smaller animal gestalt, but he was too slow to touch it, while the three-bot combiner landed non-debilitating but still powerful blows at will. The triplechangers were getting the better of their Maximal attackers, but the goal of the Maximals was to keep them too busy to attack the precious Convoy, and in that they were successful. Obsidian looked intently into Orion’s blue optics, a tiny hint of green deep within, underneath the blue, hinting at the powerful green spark housed in his chest. “I…I knew Arlon Pax. I fought by his side many times in the war against Galvatron.” Galvatron, a vicious cruel monster who he now counted as an ally. “Arlon was noble, and selfless, and kind, and wise.” Obsidian looked down at the ground. Remembering the nobility of lost friends, seeing a protégé of one of them who exceeded all these friends, and contrasting all their actions against the choices he’s made in recent years. So many poor choices. “He sacrificed his life. Not to save your life, but to endorse you. He saw you; he saw your ideals; he saw your potential future as being worth it. As being worth his life.” Obsidian nodded to Orion. “He was my friend. And my friend was right.” Obsidian looked back down at the ground. “I wish we had met you before we met…him. I wish Arlon had sent the invitation, and not Militus Macht.”


    “Terminus told me about the time he found you and Strika mentoring Megatron in Castle Macht.” Orion nodded. “Unfortunately, I never had any ambition to be competent at battle strategy until I was forced to be competent at battle strategy. Arlon never had cause to send an invitation on my behalf.”


    “Competent.” Obsidian chuckled. Slagging kid. The humor faded; a darkness came over him. “What might have been.” There would always be more wars, he would have opportunities to redeem his tarnished legacy, but without Strika it just didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was time. The blasters in his wrists powered up and he lunged.


    “Wolfang, n…” the command came too late, and even if it hadn’t the shot to his cranial shell would still likely have been fired.


    Obsidian hit the ground hard. “I’m sorry Convoy, but…” the sound was distance, all sounds were. Distant and fading.


    “He left you no choice.” Orion interrupted, a sincere attempt to put his soldier’s mind at ease.


    Obsidian could vaguely hear a different noise, another voice coming through the communication channel. “Obsidian’s dead, Decepticons retreat.” There seemed to be joy in Starscream’s voice.


    He could then dully feel the movement of his body being adjusted, cradled in Orion Pax’s arms, the youth’s voice soothingly entering his fading audio receptors. “Obsidian, hero of Cybertron, go be with your beloved Strika.”



    000



    Grimlock



    Blaster’s vague communique to all Autobots on Cybertron annoyed him, which seemed to confirm the reason for Prime’s equally annoying lobbying a couple days earlier. The war with the sparkeaters was over, they were on call and ready to lock horns with the Decepticons, and now Blaster wanted them ready to take up arms against the government forces as soon as they got the call to do so. Grimlock didn’t mind fighting, and while the Autobots were not what he’d consider ‘his people’, of the three groups, they were the most sympatico with he and his team. But it seemed Pax was picking a fight with Prime, and this brewing conflict made it so Grimlock had to jump at any opportunity he could while opportunities still existed. Planning wasn’t his forte even with adequate timing, so smash and grab it was.


    So far, they’d encountered no resistance as they made their way down to the lower levels, being led there a couple days before by Guardian Prime had likely greased the wheels a bit, but they wouldn’t get much farther into the bowels of the Capitol Spire without arousing attention from someone. They were fine with that, he, Slag and Snarl were looking to meet a bit of resistance to what they needed to do. Swoop, ever the voice of reason and caution…at least for their squad, was fine coordinating their rapid escape from this place, while Sludge was a bit irritated at having to wait with him outside as back-up should he, Slag and Snarl need it while making their escape with their…prize.


    Finally, as they approached a set of double doors with big, intimidating guards on either side, their free pass came to an end. “Excuse me, Grimlock is it?” One of the guards stepped forward as the other gripped his rifle a tad tighter. “Prime didn’t inform me of any return visit.”


    “Bureaucratic red tape always tangles shit up.” Grimlock replied as he continued marching forward toward the guards and the doors they were protecting.


    “I hate the fucking public sector.” Slag grumbled as he and Snarl marched lockstep on either side of their squad leader. “Inept shitbags finding jobs in the one area where they don’t have to worry about competition.”


    “You know their budgeting philosophy rewards managers who use up their entire budget and reduces future budgets for those that use less than what they’re allocated.” Snarl chimed in. “They penalize efficiency and reward waste.”


    “Look guys, you’re allowed your opin…” the guard raised his hand to halt them as he spoke, but Grimlock lunged forward and removed him from consciousness with a thunderous right cross. His comrade shot forward, but Slag intercepted him and with a blow almost as impressive as Grimlock’s, knocked that guard out as well.


    “Move!” Grimlock roared. “Clock’s ticking, we have two minutes at best!”


    “You’re the one that’s seen this guy!” Snarl shot back as they sprinted down the hallway toward another set of double doors, these also guarded and far more reinforced than the last set of doors. “Slag, if you would.”


    “On it!” Slag roared as he transformed mid-sprint into his Tribuccinagaleadrac, a hulking three-horned quadruped and galloped at over fifty miles per hour, bashing through one guard and the doors. The other guard leapt out of the way and turned to see how his comrade had faired, only to have Grimlock’s massive black fist smash the back of his head and turn the lights out. The three Autobots barreled into a vast laboratory, laid out across the center of the floor was a huge yellow train with a crane on top, and next to it was a naval battleship.


    “Trepan, front and center!” Grimlock yelled out through the expanse as his optic scanned over a dozen scientists cowering behind their equipment before seeing the white, gray, and red goggle-bearing scientist at a terminal seventy yards away. “Hey there, Doc. You’re coming with us.”


    “Who…” Trepan sputtered, but a huge hover-tank shot out from the shadows and rammed into Slag’s flank, knocking the beast over. The tank then transformed into a massive robot.


    “Snarl, grab Trepan!” Grimlock roared as he and the similarly sized robot began trading blows. It seemed evenly matched at first, but Grimlock’s power started to overtake the unknown robot with the egg-shaped torso, and after Snarl had grabbed Trepan and was making his way out with Slag next to him, Grimlock finally pounded the other robot to the ground. “This is taking way too long!” Grimlock roared as he charged after his comrades and their prisoner.


    “You’re the one having trouble taking out a science dork!” Snarl yelled out as he ran through the hallway with the squirming Trepan held tightly under his right arm.


    “Piss off, Snarl!” Grimlock growled as he caught up. A cluster of six guards rounded the corner ahead and started charging the kidnappers, but Slag, still in bestial form, battered through four of them. Grimlock transformed into his dracosaurian mode, specifically a metal form of a Venatordracus, and charged after the remaining two guards, making quick work of them, and allowing Snarl to sprint by with his captive unhindered. The three Autobots and their prisoner encountered a dozen more guards before making it to the lobby, where Sludge was struggling with another half dozen guards, keeping them occupied so as not to confront Grimlock and the others. “Sludge, quit screwing around with them and let’s get out of here!”


    Slag swiped a couple of guards away from Sludge, and the four of them barreled out of the building with Trepan en-tow to find a transport hovering a few feet off the ground. Snarl ran to an opening side door and tossed Trepan into the craft, following him in while the other members of the squad, two being in beast mode, followed him in. “Get us out of here, Swoop!” The massive, horrifying head of Grimlock’s dracosaur mode belted out toward the cockpit.


    “Yeah yeah.” Swoop grumbled as he piloted the craft into the sky, but once out of the square he lowered it to zoom through the still devastated buildings of Cybertropolis. “Still making our way to the catacombs?”


    “Only Autobots have more than a passing familiarity with those.” Snarl replied as he watched Grimlock’s monstrous face come within inches of Trepan’s. “The one area Prime’s troops can’t effectively follow us.”


    Grimlock stretched his mouth back to reveal his blade-like teeth to Trepan. “Good to meet you, Trepan. Please inform me of what you’ll need to perform Matrix-caliber enhancements to my team and I.”


    “Matrix-caliber enhancements?” Trepan nearly yelled back the clarifying question with wide optics. “That’s what this is about? I thought you were defecting, or Decepticon spies, or something that’d make you idiots becoming wanted criminals worthwhile! Like you knew what I was working on and wanted to sabotage it…granted, too late to really stop what I’ve started, but at least that would be some sort of sensible motivation! But no, you’ve become traitors that’ll be hunted down with extreme prejudice just so that you can have some physical upgrades? Are you fucking insane?”


    “Yes, clearly we must be.” Grimlock grumbled. “Does that make doing as we command more, or less the right course of action.”


    “Rossum helmed the Matrix-caliber upgrade project after we found Jhiaxus’s notes on it, not me!” Trepan shot back. “I’m the Titan brain maker, you dolts!”


    “So, you’re telling us that you’re useless?” Snarl asked casually, prompting Trepan to nervously glance at him before turning back to seen Grimlock’s snarling face, now somehow with a type of drool flowing between the fangs.


    “No, wait.” Trepan sputtered. “Look, yes, not my area of expertise, but Rossum is a colleague, we’ve shared ideas and work, and yes, I have a pretty firm understanding of what’s involved. Granted my expertise is more neurological, but that’s far more complex than enhancing frames, spark energy transference, and cyber-musculatures.” The captive scientist gave a weak smile and a shrug. “Frankly, what I’d be doing for you would be a huge step down from what I normally do.”


    “Coming up on an entrance to the catacombs.” Swoop called out. “We’ll be touching down momentarily.”


    “Goooooood.” Grimlock growled ominously at Trepan, seemingly ignoring Swoop’s announcement. “So, what’ll you need?”



    000



    Skywarp



    Another bolt of lightening streaked across the black, rainy sky, wind and tiny pellets of rain buffeting the trees around the group of Decepticons but having no impact on the ten giant metal sentinels standing at attention in the mud as they watched a small spacecraft lower to the mud in front of them. A hatch opened, a ramp lowered, and two alien vehicles came rolling down onto the mud below. Alien probably wasn’t the correct word as they were currently on this Earth, and these vehicles were identical to vehicles native to this world. Skywarp didn’t know enough about this planet to have guessed what their proper designations were, fortunately Starscream had shared the details with them recently enough so that Skywarp had not forgotten them yet. The long blue truck, called a GMC Minuteman, which was designed as a carrier and launcher of missiles for the American military, was Soundwave. The camouflage green, brown and gray treaded tank, specifically a M60A1, also used primarily by the American military, was the native shell-form selected by their leader, the Mighty Megatron. As they reached the ground, five motorcycles of varying colors shot out after them.


    All the vehicles stopped before the ten Decepticon fliers and the two large vehicles transformed to the tall hulking robots Skywarp had expected them to be, while the five motorcycles transformed into Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Megatron looked around at their environment as Laserbeak swooped over and took perch upon his shoulder, he noted a coastline overlooking a rocky sea in the distance behind the ship, a small human town, a…Mexican town, yes, they were in the country called Mexico, the small town a few miles to west of them, and jungle surrounding this clearing they were in. “Why did you select this location for us to meet, Starscream?” Megatron grumbled over the sounds of the storm they were in.


    “It’s symbolic, Lord Megatron.” That self-important fop replied with a stupid grin on his face. Skywarp loved flying with Starscream, he was the best in the sky. Well, prior to running into that big white Autobot, he was the best. But dealing with him on the ground was irritating. Such an arrogant twit. “You see, sixty-six million years ago life on this planet was larger, more powerful, and far more interesting. But an asteroid impacted here, in this very location, and that signaled the end of the dominant life on this world. The idiot humans native to this planet don’t know this, they really have no idea of what killed their draco…excuse me, they call them dinosaurs, they have no idea of what killed the dinosaurs of their world, which unfortunately means that even if we decide to share the location of your landing with them, they wouldn’t understand the symbolic nature.”


    “I am neither a human, nor an idiot, Starscream, yet I fail to understand the symbolism of this remote and overly organic location, or how some random extinction event might be pertinent.” Megatron growled.


    “A landing at this location signaled the end of the dominant life on this world tens of millions of years ago, and today another landing at this site will do it again.” Starscream arrogantly related.


    Megatron just shook his head in annoyance. “Starscream, it is you that is the idiot. You chose a location for Soundwave, his minions and I to touch down that’s hundreds of miles from our base on this planet, knowing that our shell modes are ground vehicles, all for some simple, pointless symbolism that I couldn’t care less about and nobody else is aware of.”


    Starscream shrugged. “Fine, I missed the mark, my mistake. But no real harm is done, Astrotrain has been outfitted with expansion technology well beyond that used by us Seekers to accommodate his terrestrial shell mode. Human locomotives are quite a bit larger than the vast majority of Cybertronians, so we made it so that he could really stretch out. This expansion extends to his orbital shuttle mode as well, and he can expand large enough to carry the seven of you with ease while still retaining a level of proportionate mass to be durable enough for most things that could be thrown at him.”


    Megatron turned his head to Astrotrain, who nodded his affirmation, prompting Megatron to turn back to the cockpit window of the ship that had transported him to Earth and nod. At that whoever was piloting the craft lifted it off the ground and it departed into the black sky to return to Cybertron. “You’re not off to an impressive start, Starscream.” Megatron announced as he started marching toward Astrotrain, who transformed to star-shuttle mode and expanded.


    “I’m more theatrical than you are, Mighty Megatron.” Starscream replied with a hint of defiance in his voice as he followed Megatron into Astrotrain. The spoiled little shit was going to ride back with the others, that jerk. “That’s the root of this evenings disconnect. But the other setbacks on Helios Three are the fault of Strika and Obsidian. Had you left me in charge…”


    “Shut up Starscream.” Megatron snarled. “The Ferrotaxis exists, thereby making this planet too important for me not to deal with personally.” Soundwave and his minions entered Astrotrain as well, the ramp raised, the aft door sealed, and he lifted to the sky. The other eight fliers transformed and followed him into the scenic but ineffectual storm.



    000



    Ultra Magnus



    The shrouded slab exited the shuttle first, being pulled by two technicians that had run up the shuttle ramp the moment it touched the ground and retrieved it. They were to bring it to the mortuary, but Guardian Prime would want to look upon the fallen and tarnished hero before they took the frame to be cleaned up, just as he had with Strika. Following the technicians and the slab down the ramp was the Autobot Commander, Orion Pax, and all stopped and silently allowed Guardian Prime his examination and final goodbye. The Prime of Cybertron stepped forward and pulled away the shimmering metallic satin covering to reveal the destroyed frame of Obsidian, the charred parts that had been blasted off of his body laid to the side on the slab. “It should not have ended this way.”


    “I wish I could have found another way.” Orion Pax said solemnly.


    “This ending was Obsidian’s choice, just as it had been Strika’s.” Ultra Magnus consoled Orion. “You did what they forced you to do.”


    “Despite their regrettable choices at the end of their lives, both Obsidian and Strika will be interned as honored as heroes of Cybertron.” Prime said as he peered down intently at the one remaining blackened optic of Obsidian. “The good does not wash away the bad, nor does the bad wash away the good, but in their cases, the good outweighs the bad by a large enough margin.” With that he slid the shroud back over the corpse and nodded to the technicians to take the slab away. As they departed Prime turned to Orion. “I assume you’ve been briefed about what Grimlock, Slag, Snarl, Sludge and more than likely Swoop have done.”


    “I have, my Prime.” Orion nodded. “They have not responded to summons from myself or the Autobot leadership on Cybertron and are therefore fugitives wanted by the Autobots as well as the government forces.”


    Prime looked down, nodded, and waved them to follow him to a side conference room, continuing the conversation as they walked. “I fully understand and support your desire to keep the Autobots a separate entity during the war with the sparkeaters. It was a different time, you faced a different enemy, and you were correct, large, consolidated forces would have just made easier targets for the sparkeaters. But now, in our current era, facing our current enemy, I think we should reconsider that separation.”


    “I am definitely willing to discuss it, Guardian Prime.” Orion replied as they entered the small meeting room that was just off the landing platform that Orion had arrived on. “And I am not opposed to a consolidation, provided the goals and values of the Autobots and the Government are aligned.”


    Guardian Prime displayed a knowing smile as he took a seat on one end of the table, nodding for Orion to take the opposite seat and leaving Magnus to take a seat between them. “Shall we get right to it then?”


    “I would like that Prime.” Orion replied.


    “What is it you fear?” Prime asked. “What do you feel that our organizations may not be aligned on?”


    Orion paused, almost hesitant to state what was on his mind, but only for the shortest of moments. “I am apprehensive about what you plan to do with the Ferrotaxis should you recover it, or should you gain the ability to rebuild it.”


    Guardian Prime paused this time, not apprehensive, just wanting to find the best way to phrase what he wanted to convey. “Twelve hundred millennia ago word of Jhiaxus’s technological wonder to some, horror to most, was brought to my attention. We had been enjoying a golden age that had lasted so long that most of the population at the time couldn’t fathom an environment where there wouldn’t always be plenty, where there wouldn’t always be safety and security. The problem is that safety and security are not a natural state. Reproduction is a necessary manifestation for lifeforms because those lifeforms are supposed to die. Organics age and die off even in ideal circumstances, but we Cybertronians, our bodies are so robust, our sparks are theoretically immortal, and yet we normally find ways to die off, so our planet modestly reproduces our numbers, the pulses vary, but on average every fifteen years we have another birthquake that brings hundreds of new living beings into our world.”


    “You two are so young, and especially in this post sparkeater-war world of ours the idea of several hundred new mouths to feed coming into existence every decade and a half seems too small and rare. But after seven million years of prosperity, those numbers add up. Nobody dies, new life emerges, and those of us at the top, those of us with access to our population numbers, our energon acquisition numbers, our habitation numbers, well, we start to hear the clock ticking louder with each new pulse of Vector Sigma.”


    Guardian Prime paused, and Orion took the opportunity to chime in. “My Prime, I recognize the need for expansion, for you then and for us again at some point, but what the Ferrotaxis does.”


    “It’s a high price.” Guardian Prime conceded. “It’s a horrible price. It sickens me, it will always sicken me, as well it should. But ultimately, it is the duty of the Prime to do what’s best for Cybertron and Cybertronians.”


    “But there are viable alternatives.” Pax replied.


    “Alternatives, yes.” Prime gave him an incredulous look. “Viable? No. You’ve been to Junk. You lived there,” Prime smiled at the youth “you’ve betrayed no secrets, but with what I know, it’s obvious that it was there that you found sanctuary from Sentinel. And having lived among the Junkions for fourteen years, you know that what they did was survival, and often that wasn’t achievable for some, but even at best, what they had was insufficient for the people of Cybertron.”


    “That’s not a good example, Prime.” Orion countered. “Junkion was poorly placed for a Cybertronian colony, it was too far from its star, there were no native fuel sources. But a situation like Eukaris, where there are accessible and abundant fuel sources and Cybertronians live in harmony with the native flora and fauna,”


    “It’s not as harmonious as you seem to think, Orion.” Prime interrupted. “And the fuel is still not energon. What we can make of the native fuel sources of most planets is barely more palatable than the putrid swill they serve on Junk. But with the Ferrotaxis, those fuel sources can be refined to energon caliber food and fuel. Hell, as demonstrated by Helios Three, sometimes they can produce something more potent than baseline energon.”


    “Prime, you are more than just the leader and guardian of the citizens of Cybertron, you need to be their moral compass as well.” Orion countered. “You’re guiding us toward a course of action that will end worlds, that will exterminate countless species, many of whom are fully sentient, just so that we can expand and find sustenance that is more palatable. That is too high a price for mere comfort.”


    Prime smiled. “Is that Arlon I hear?” He chuckled and shrugged. “I mean that as a compliment. But it’s obvious that such sentiment wasn’t obtained on your precious Earth. I know you haven’t been there long, but in your time there have you had an opportunity to meet a human of Mator ethnicity? A member of the Lache People? A Koningo? An Emishi? A Wudjari? A Beothuk?”


    “Obviously I have not had the opportunity to encounter extinct people. I’m sorry my Prime, had I given the impression that the humans were to be our moral compass?” Orion shrugged. “Yes, they have wiped ethnic groups from their own species from existence. They have brought extinction upon other species of their world. And yes, they have done so often for the purposes of making their own lives more comfortable or expanding an empire. Perhaps in that sense you may see activating the Ferrotaxis on Earth as justified. I do not. And if we were to do it, what moral defense would we have a right to use were we faced with a superior species suddenly eyeing Cybertron?”


    “Superior species?” Guardian Prime chuckled but made a show of changing his expression and taking a more sincere tone. “If someone else came for Cybertron, regardless of who they were, any sort of moral defense would be irrelevant. I don’t mean to sound cynical, though perhaps I do. Tarnishing your view of the universe is unpleasant, Orion, but it is necessary to make you the leader you’re destined to be. I wouldn’t go so far as to say might makes right, but nature itself rewards the creatures with the brawn and strength of will to take what they want and need. And we are nothing if not extensions of nature.”


    “I disagree.” Orion stared resolutely at his leader. “We have the ability, no, the responsibility to be much more than that.”


    “Orion, look…”


    “Enough.” Orion interrupted whatever Prime had planned to say. “Unless you genuinely believe that whatever you have to say is going to make me believe that killing worlds should be acceptable, it’s best that whatever it is about to come out of your mouth is left unsaid.”


    “That’s a questionable tone to be taking with your Prime, young Pax.” Prime stated sternly.


    “You’re trying to justify the unjustifiable.” Orion replied, showing no sign of intimidation. “If my tone was inappropriate for addressing a Prime, then my apologies, but I cannot continue to rationally debate something that is so blatantly evil as though it weren’t. As though it should be a viable option for good and reasonable individuals.”


    “And your vast experience is sufficient for determining what positions are right for the Prime of Cybertron to be taking?” Guardian Prime belted out sarcastically.


    “How much experience is necessary to know that exterminating every lifeform from one of the most fertile planets we’ve come across is wrong?” Pax shot back confidently. “Especially for things we won’t be short of for millions of years.”


    “Those millions of years will certainly pass, Pax.” Prime shot back. “We would be fools to wait until then to start formulating our plans.”


    Pax shook his head. “I’m not suggesting we wait; we should seek out new worlds to expand to. But offer to live harmoniously with the native lifeforms, and perhaps in the countless centuries of exploration we find a dead world where use of the Ferrotaxis would be viable. Heck, the rate at which the humans are going, in a few thousand years native life on Earth may be wiped out without any help from us.” The young Autobot Commander leveled his gaze at Prime and peered intently at him. “But we will not be the cause of a dead Earth.”


    “You keep punctuating your arguments with assertions of what we should, will, or most annoyingly, will not do.” Prime peered back with equal intensity. “Autobot Commander or not, these are not decisions for you to be making. I am the Prime, not you. Unless you seek to usurp my authority.” Guardian Prime leaned back, leaving the accusation to hang in the air. Magnus had been uncomfortable throughout the entire exchange, but things were ratcheting up, and the likelihood that Pax would be leaving here in chains and kept in the brig was increasing by the utterance.


    Pax to his credit seemed unphased by the accusation. “At no point in my life have I ever wanted to be Prime. I have never been interested in authority, but life seems to be intent on giving it to me, and I’ve done my best to wield the authority that I have been given in a moral and just way in the service of those I’ve been entrusted to lead. But I never asked to be a police officer, I never asked to be Commander of the Autobots, and I certainly will never ask to be Prime. But it isn’t authority or a lack of it that determines what actions I choose to take. I will not let you kill that planet, and if the Autobots revoke my title, my stance will not change. If House Pax revokes my right to bear their name, my stance will not change. If you brand me an outlaw, and all Cybertron cheers you for it, my stance will not change. If need be, I will stand alone, a nameless nobody, hopelessly protecting aliens of a distant world from the greatest hero in history and the planet loyal to him.”


    Prime leaned forward and smiled at the young Autobot. “But you won’t be standing alone. Tell me of your mentor.”


    “Arlon?” Orion asked.


    “No, not Arlon.” Prime snapped, his patience waning further.


    Orion nodded knowingly. “I first met him as A-Three, the Polyhistor of Tyger Pax, when I was a few days old. More recently it was revealed to me that he has gone by several other names in his long life, including one you were extremely familiar with, Atrium of the Crystal City. But even that was an assumed name to hide his identity. He was born Alpha of House…”


    “Yes, I know who he was.” Prime snarled. “A brilliant scientist, a brilliant strategist, a brilliant philosopher, and someone that possessed most of the tools to be a brilliant leader, but simply lacked the desire and the struts to actually lead. Someone much like you. Oh, and he was a traitor. It’s starting to seem that you may have that in common with him as well.”


    “Alpha Trion’s loyalty is and always was to Cybertron.” Pax replied, the name sending a wave of disbelief through Ultra Magnus. “I don’t agree with the actions he took, but I fully understand his reason for taking them.”


    “His reasons for trying to murder his Prime?” Prime snapped. “His former friend and ally!”


    “He did not try to murder you.” Orion replied evenly. “He sabotaged your ship, he rigged it to put you and the crew into stasis. It…” the young robot looked down sadly at the top of the table, “it didn’t go to plan, but his intent was not to kill you or any of the crew.”


    “And yet hundreds starved to death!” Prime growled furiously. “There may not have been an energon blade clutched in his fist, but he is a murderer! As are your kinsman and their Maximals who abetted his murder by neglect on that watery mudball!”


    Pax looked back up and met his angry Prime’s gaze. “I will support you in making them answer for their actions. But your intent to activate the Ferrotaxis on Earth verifies your intent, and to many, justifies their actions.”


    “To many?” Prime laughed. “Who, your humans? Cybertronians stand with me, Orion Pax. That your precious Alpha Trion stopped me a million years ago only adds to the tragedy. Whatever argument there is that can be made about humans being sentient beings didn’t exist when I first set out to reformat that world.”


    “That’s not true!” Orion countered immediately. “Sentience does not require civilization! Protohumans of one million years ago were self-aware, they were sentient!” Orion leaned back. “And throwing that word around wouldn’t sway me even if what you said was true. Freedom is the right of all sentient beings, but the right to exist, the bar for that is far lower than sentience.”


    “Enough!” Prime snarled. “It’s now I that has exceeded my threshold for listening to what I consider to be nonsense. This is the same thing as your humans paving over at forest to build a city, nothing more. Perhaps they’re sentient, perhaps they’re even what the Galactic Council would call higher functioning, but they’re still just vermin when compared to us, inferior in every conceivable way. By your own estimates they’ve been sentient for at least a million years, yet they only developed civilization in the last ten millenniums.”


    “Yes, they had a slow start.” Orion nodded. “But they’ve gone from being reliant on steam power to splitting the atom in under a century. There is no debate as to whether they’re higher functioning or not.”


    “And that makes them better or worse?” Prime posed. “I’ve been reliant upon you and your Autobots since returning here for a reason, one I’m about to share with you now. We mechanical lifeforms are a rarity in this universe devoted to organic life, and like with minority groups in most societies, we’re misunderstood, feared, and hated. Higher functioning organics of this very world, our brethren, enslaved us, murdered us en masse to keep our numbers manageable, and engineered a race of monsters to eradicate us when we finally revolted against them. And they’re still out there, conspiring against us. I’ve been leading a campaign to stymie their efforts to retake our world and free our enslaved brothers and sisters that they still possess.” Prime pointed to the southward facing white battle station off in the distance. “Feel free to ask Metroplex about his experiences with higher functioning organics.”


    “The humans are not Quintessons.” Pax replied.


    “No, but they’re not different from them.” Prime responded. “The Quintessons weren’t acting alone. That Galactic Council I mentioned a moment ago, they were presented with proof of the crimes of Quintessons, not just against us, but against other organic species and worlds, crimes that included planetcide. The response of the Galactic Council was to overlook these heinous crimes because they saw the Quintessons as being preferable to us. They saw the Quintessons as being allies against us. Allies to aid them in ending the perceived threat we pose. The perceived threat organics will always see us posing.”


    “So, because of the poor judgment exercised by the leadership of the Galactic Council you seek to make that perceived threat valid and real!” Pax shot back. “You seek to pre-empt the possibility of humanity developing an anti-mechanoid bias in the future by exterminating them now?”


    Prime chuckled. “Pax, I couldn’t care less about humanity. They’re insects, I just want that planet.”


    Orion Pax turned to Ultra Magnus, and while there was uncertainty within him, Orion could see that Magnus felt more in line with Orion than with the Prime. Orion then turned to Guardian Prime and stood up. “Am I under arrest, my Prime?”


    Prime looked up at Orion and chuckled. “No Pax, you’re not under arrest.” He then looked at Magnus and shook his head before turning back to the Autobot Commander. “I can’t help but like you Orion, even after this argument. Hell, I think I like you more because of this argument. I love your spirit, and the points you made aren’t easy to dismiss, that’s for fucking sure.” Prime stood up and smiled at Orion. “But I am right, what we are going to do does need to be done. If you wish to select individual humans to be relocated on another world, I would be open to that. We’ve already created a genetic database of the various species of Helios Three so that should the opportunity arise, we can recreate those lifeforms on some other environment. We are not without mercy, Orion. Please think on this course of action you feel you need to take; I pray that you soon recognize its folly and come around to my way of thinking. When that happens, please know that I will be here waiting for you.” He shrugged. “And I’ll have a lot more unwanted authority to send your way.”


    Orion’s optics dimmed. “I thank you my Prime, but I will not be changing my mind.”


    The smile and mirth faded from Guardian Prime, but there was no anger, only sadness. “I know, Orion. Go home, to that Earth that you’re choosing over Cybertron.”
     
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  19. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Sparkplug



    It was easier when he was just a Marine. Or just in the Secret Service. Or in the Extra-Terrestrial Defense Force prior to getting to know the extra-terrestrials. Back then they were just an abstract threat, well, perhaps not that abstract, he had been friends with Alpha Trion for years even before meeting Nightbeat the day Jack was assassinated. But it wasn’t until the Americans and a few advisors from other countries had started working directly with the Autobots that things had gotten really complicated. And based on Wheeljack’s reaction to the transmission that had come in, it was about to get even more complicated. The conversation had been in their native language, one where most sounds would be almost impossible for a human mouth to replicate, but even Wheeljack’s nearly featureless face made it clear that whatever the development, it wasn’t good news. “I’ve given you a full minute to absorb whatever you need to absorb, Wheeljack,” Sparkplug called up to the fifteen-foot-tall alien, “time to let us in on what that call was about.”


    Wheeljack’s shoulders slumped as he took a few steps across the long stretch of beach with the trees and mountains of Flores positioned behind him. “We’re about to have company.”


    “Decepticons?” The human asked, causing a bit of alarm with the other humans.


    “No, but if Pax is right, they’re the next worst thing for your planet.” Wheeljack replied. “I hope you planted the devices and hid them exactly as I instructed you to hide them.”


    Sparkplug gulped. “I did, along with a few of our own.”


    “Even that won’t be enough, but maybe we’ll get lucky.” Wheeljack answered as he gazed up at the sky. “And who knows, maybe they won’t think to look for whatever you planted. Frankly, given who seems to be in command of this group,” Wheeljack nodded for Sparkplug to follow his stare into the sky, where an alien craft was descending through the clouds toward their position, “you could probably hide Unicron under this dirt and his dumbass wouldn’t notice.”


    “Uni-what?” Sparkplug asked absently as he watched the ship lower to the ground and come to a landing, no indication given that he cared that his question wasn’t answered. “Who are these guys?”


    “Representatives of Guardian Prime. The guy in charge of this group would be considered in the outer ring of Prime’s inner circle. Less competent than others in the circle, but as loyal as any of them.” Wheeljack replied. “Not Autobots, I’m guessing they’ve been instructed to play nice with Orion Pax on a superficial level, but word’s out that Prime and Pax are no longer best buddies.”


    The ramp to the ship started to lower and a large, bulbous robot that seemed to blur the lines between machine and human came barreling out over the not fully lowered slat of metal, hopping to the ground. Sparkplug was mystified as to how a robot could look to be both bearded and fat, but there was no question that this was a Cybertronian. The newcomer looked down at Sparkplug, then up at Wheeljack with a nod back in Sparkplug’s direction. Wheeljack somehow seemed to know what he was asking. “American.” The fat green robot nodded, but then a puzzled look came over his face. “English, they speak English. Which is why I’m speaking English to you now.”


    “Right!” The green robot belted out in a deep, gravelly voice as he looked back to Sparkplug. “Name’s Hound!”


    “Nope.” Wheeljack shook his head. “We’ve got a Hound, pick another one.”


    “What? Who?” This not-Hound bellowed. Wheeljack replied something in their native tongue, causing the newcomer to get even more agitated. “Who the hell is that guy? Why does he get to pick the name?”


    “I’m sure you were given a roster of Autobots on Earth, I’m sure you’re familiar with the name.” Wheeljack answered. “And he got here first, so he got first dibs on name translations.”


    “Names are shared on Cybertron!” He snapped.


    “True, but when there’s less than a hundred of us on this planet, each of us getting a unique designation is feasible and practical.” Wheeljack explained. “Might I suggest…Mutt. Seems to be a better fit for you anyway.”


    “Fine, whatever, Mutt’s fine!” Mutt grumbled. “I got over two-dozen troops on that ship here to guard the entrance to the sunken island with me. You are relieved Autobot.” Mutt looked down. “You too human, take your forces and vacate the area.”


    “Sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mutt, but first, I don’t have the authority to pull our forces back.” Sparkplug defiantly replied. “Secondly, once those that do hear your request, I’m pretty sure that they’ll tell you that they cannot comply. This is our world, and the means to destroy it is sitting through that cave back there.” Sparkplug thumbed behind him. “So, since we are going to be spending some time together, let’s say we get to know one another. My name is Captain William Witwicky, but you Cybertronians call me Sparkplug.”


    “I don’t care.” Mutt grumbled as he marched forward, past Wheeljack and Sparkplug toward the unseen entrance to the cave hidden in the treeline behind them as the other Cybertronian soldiers filed out of the ship. “Just stay out of our way. Our feet are coming down, whether you are under them or not.”



    000000




    Delta Magnus



    The hail, some unknown function built into the fabric of this armor, had summoned him here, to the seat of Nyonian power, or at least what had been the seat of Nyonian power years ago. Having landed and hidden the shuttle he had recently stolen from some Decepticons he had eliminated several miles from the rendezvous point, Delta Magnus drove up to the gate, the lone entrance to the three-hundred-foot-tall wall stemming from the westernmost portion of Wyvern Peak, completely encasing the grounds of the Draconyx Lair, and linking back to the largest mountain of the Nagaxas Range at southeastern point on the Wyvern. The vast gate had originally been called the Mouth of Onyx, but after Saurus Onyx had marched his officers and elite warriors out of the compound to lead their awaiting legions to eradicate House Convoy, it had taken on the unofficial moniker of Doom’s Maw, a name that had been so widely adopted that after twelve million years precious few were even aware of the original name.


    The large transport transformed directly into the Magnus armor that made up the transport trailer and Delta Magnus marched his hulking twenty-eight-foot-tall frame to the doors of the Maw, pushing it open. While the Onyx’s were alive and in power, the impressive locks on these gates would have been activated and dozens of well-armed guards would have been positioned to stop or kill any unexpected visitors, but the Decepticons had taken care of those guards. Anyone else to have visited the Lair in the ensuing years had no inclination or desire to re-engage the locks. The courtyard was empty, as were the outer buildings; every cart, machine, pot, tray, pickaxe; anything of value had long since been scooped up by the townsfolk in the wake of the Decepticon raid. Delta Magnus didn’t need to inspect the interiors of the various buildings around the grounds to know they were every bit as ransacked as the courtyards were, so he ignored them and continued on.


    The hulking emir marched across the front courtyard toward the towering entrance to the core structure of the Draconyx Lair, commonly referred to as the Dragon Skull, the entrance to the Lair proper built into the base of Wyvern Peak. The massive double doors were pushed open with ease by Delta Magnus, he strode in expecting to see a ransacked and desolate expanse but was confronted by the glow of an activated ambiance wall giving off its soft illumination and mild heat, the shadow of a chair in front of it stretching to the center of the vast entrance chamber, and in that chair was tall, lean figure facing the ambiance wall away from Magnus. His plasma rifle was immediately raised toward the figure. “Who are you?”


    The figure stood, the dim lighting obscuring the features, but the frame was an extremely imposing thirty feet in height, though slenderly built. Despite the dim lighting and flickering pink glow coming from behind the form, Delta Magnus recognized the individual as soon as she turned to face him and relaxed his grip on the rifle. The Mistress of Flame took a few steps forward before snarling back at him. “This answers your question, now tell me who you are!”


    Shit. The truth was a terrible option, but the charade wouldn’t work with certain individuals, and the Mistress of Flame was one of those individuals. That left killing or intimidating her, and while she was at least in part responsible for what had happened to Delta Magnus, the real Delta Magnus as well as himself, he knew he could not bring himself to kill her. And intimidating religious zealots frequently proved to be problematic, if not impossible. The least horrible option was simply to be evasive and leave. “Who do you think I am?” He blurted out before turning back to the door but raised his rifle as he heard footsteps approaching from the outside. The Mistress marched forward, about to snarl something, but he turned his head halfway toward her and hissed. “Silence!” Rage came over her face, but only for a moment as she too heard the approach.


    A moment later a form very much like his entered the vast receiving area, almost identical apart from the coloration, and who was the one person he had hoped to avoid even more than the enraged priestess behind him. Ultra Magnus sauntered in, weapons mounted all over his frame though none in his hands or aligned against Delta Magnus. “Nice armor.” Ultra Magnus growled ominously.


    Delta Magnus looked to the floor and shook his head. “Let me guess, you mentioned that Delta Magnus was taking out Decepticon troops to the Mistress of Flame, assuming that she would have some method of contacting me via the armor.”


    “It was a longshot.” Ultra confirmed. “Honestly, I thought you’d be too smart to actually show up.”


    “You used me?” The Mistress snarled. Ultra sent her a glare, almost challenging her to press her perceived grievance against him, and too her credit, she seemed to realize that any rage she could bear him paled to the justified rage he held against her.


    Ultra Magnus’s glare softened to one of annoyance as he addressed her. “You’ve served your purpose; you can go now.”


    The Mistress of Flame readopted her aggressive demeanor and stepped toward Ultra Magnus ready to shout him down, but once again she was interrupted. “No, she can’t.” More heavy footsteps could be heard mixed in with the words, many of them, and within seconds the five gladiators turned Autobot known collectively as the Dracobots entered and were standing around Ultra Magnus. The speaker, the one Delta Magnus knew to be designated Snarl, continued speaking. “Seems you were right on both counts, Magnus. She led us to him, and he’s led the Predacons to us.”


    “It’s about time that highborn education paid off.” The hulking Grimlock grumbled, the comment graciously ignored by Ultra Magnus.


    “You really have no business wearing that armor, Ambus!” Ultra Magnus growled at the bearer of the other set of Magnus Armor.


    “Ambus?” The Mistress gasped, but realization came over her. “Of course, your body was never recovered, just like Delta’s.”


    “Aren’t you five wanted?” Delta Magnus spat at the Dracobots to deflect attention from himself and noting the apparent surprise coming from them continued. “I still have methods of keeping my audio processors to the ground.”


    Grimlock chuckled. “We are. Swiping Trepan forced us to go underground but like with the fire witch and her dead boyfriend that you’re impersonating, Magnus, the real Magnus, had a way of contacting us.” The massive former gladiator shrugged. “Don’t worry about Trepan, we left some vittles in his bowl.”


    Delta Magnus looked to Ultra. “Guardian Prime will court martial you when he finds out who you’ve employed to help you here.”


    “The plan was to keep our apprehension of you beneath his notice.” Ultra Magnus replied to his faux kinsman. “I claim Delta’s armor and inner frame from you, and I remand you to Minimus. But word that the Predacons had been sent to eliminate you got to me, so I felt it would be prudent to have some added muscle.”


    Delta turned to Grimlock. “And you’re helping him out of some absurd Autobot loyalty?”


    Grimlock nodded. “Yes. And, because we wanted something Snarl swears is still hidden at the Draconyx Lair, and the real Magnus provided us some intel to find it as well as a ride here.” He looked to the Mistress of Flame. “Ultra Magnus telling you that the ghost of your ex had last been reported in Simfur was my idea. I knew you’d insist on meeting at the Lair, or at least near here. The only thing worse than a royal is a royal sycophant who feels entitled to royal trappings.”


    Ultra Magnus looked to Grimlock. “They know he’s here; they probably wouldn’t be surprised she and I are here meeting with him, but unless they saw you…” Magnus let that hang, hoping Grimlock would take the cue.


    “There used to be no shortage of furniture, and statues, and other pieces of ornate, self-glorifying Onyx shit strewn about in here for us to hide behind.” Grimlock muttered, followed by his hand waving over the empty expanse. “But as you can see, anything we can take cover behind has long since been looted. You don’t need a highborn education to appreciate the element of surprise, but we don’t get to have it here and now.”


    “Especially against the Preds.” Swoop added. “They’d sense us the moment they walked in.”


    “You’re right about that, Wings.” Two massive horned robots growled from behind Swoop, prompting the Dracobots to move further into the receiving hall and make room. Behind and between the two hulking frames walked their leader, Razorclaw, his twenty-four-foot-tall frame powerful and jagged looking, but if anything, it wasn’t intimidating enough given his deadliness in combat. The visored and mouth-plated head of the Predacon leader turned to Grimlock and gave him a respectful nod. “Your team being here certainly does complicate things.”


    “It’s surprising how often that’s said to us.” Swoop replied mirthfully.


    “No, it’s not.” Razorclaw replied, his gravelly voice devoid of mirth. “You’ve been an annoying nuisance to everyone you’ve ever come into contact with your entire lives.”


    “Look to the eastern and western windows.” Grimlock grumbled, ignoring the insult but finally returning the respectful nod to Razorclaw. “Two shit stains unaccounted for, their quickest members.”


    The moment the words were uttered two windows on either side of the hall exploded and a winged, predominantly black form burst in on the eastern side, while a sleek but powerful red form burst into the west. The Autobots, Delta Magnus and even the Mistress of Flame immediately took defensive postures, and the battle commenced. The intense savagery overtook the entire antechamber, sword slashes, weapon’s fire, and limb strikes exploded everywhere, but within moments it was clear that the Predacons were being overwhelmed and pushed back toward the entranceway.


    “What the fuck were you thinking, Claw?” Slag belted out with laugh as he swung his blade at Tantrum, backing the horned Predacon back toward the rest of the Decepticon team. “We consistently whipped your ass in the pits, and now we have a pair of jackasses in Magnus armor with us!”


    “Predacons, retreat!” Razorclaw snarled dejectedly as he turned and led his team to and through the door leading to the courtyard.


    “Great opportunity to be rid of one of Megatron’s most effective squads.” Ultra Magnus yelled out.


    “Something’s not right.” Grimlock muttered. Delta Magnus and the Autobots ignored Grimlock’s hesitation and barreled toward the doors, giving chase to the retreating Decepticons. “Razorclaw doesn’t fuck up this badly.” Despite his misgivings, Grimlock followed his comrades, with the Mistress of Flame following cautiously behind him.


    The warriors piled out into courtyard, and the Autobots and Delta Magnus were quick to surround the Predacons. The Decepticons balled in back-to-back with each other, appearing tense at first, but then seemed the exude an air of mirth, the three with unhidden facial features displayed broad smiles. Razorclaw looked to Grimlock and nodded before addressing his troops. “Predacons…merge.”


    “FUCK!” Grimlock roared and opened fire, but the reconfiguring Predacons maintained their cohesion until the uniting was completed, and an eighty-five-foot tall behemoth was towering over them.


    “Shit, they’re a Devastator.” Swoop groaned.


    “The term is gestalt.” The giant corrected with a voice that boomed like thunder, a massive broadsword made up of the Predacons’ five individual swords in his spiked right hand, and a canon with a telescoping barrel mounted on his left forearm. “The name is Predaking! You should know it, as it will be in the historical data tracks as the one that killed you all.”


    “A lot more eloquent than Devastator.” Snarl pointed out.


    “So, a Defens…”


    “Silence!” Magnus interrupted Sludge’s comment, then pointed at the towering Predaking, then to Delta Magnus and the Mistress of Flame. “Classified! How do you guys even know about that yet?”


    “DIE!” The giant roared before stomping down toward Delta Magnus, who lunged to the left, barely missing the crushing strike. Predaking growled in frustration, but immediately planted his kicking foot, pivoted, and delivered a second quick kick that impacted solidly against the Mistress of Flame’s torso, sending her frame flying back six dozen yards into the perimeter wall of the lair.


    The Mistress of Flame impacted heavily against the wall, bodily fluids shot out from her mouth as well as various lacerations caused by the kick. Her mouth was open to call out as she fell from the wall to the metal ground below, but no sound escaped her metal lips.


    “Fuck he’s fast!” Snarl called out worriedly. “He ain’t no Defensor, that’s for…”


    “Hey!” Ultra Magnus objected again while launching a pair of shoulder-mounted rockets at the giant with many bestial heads mounted on his frame.


    “Oh, fuck off!” Grimlock snapped as he too fired ineffectively at the giant. “Whatever secret gestalt shit we have is obsolete in light of this Hand-damned thing!” The leader of the Dracobots turned to his team and barked out his instructions. “Swoop, scoop up the witch and put some distance between her and this thing!” Grimlock transformed into his bipedal beast mode and charged the giant. “Slag, Sludge, Snarl, transform, melee strike and fade tactics, Magnii, pot-shot this fucking thing!”


    “Will do, but…” Ultra Magnus unloaded his rifle into Predaking’s head, “one, you don’t give me orders, two, House Magnus hates the term Magnii, and three, this shitbag isn’t a Magnus!”


    “Duly fucking noted!” Grimlock snarled as his powerful legs launched him upward toward Predaking, his massive jaws clamping onto the sword-wielding forearm of the giant, who was distracted by Slag and Sludge ramming his legs from the sides and Snarl slamming his razor-sharp tail blades into his lower legs from behind. Though distracting, Predaking weathered all the attacks without damage, and flung Grimlock off his arm, tossing the metal dracosaur into the wall of the Draconyx Lair with a crashing thud. He then planted his left foot and kicked at Slag with his right, catching the evading quadruped with a glancing blow that sent him skipping across the metal ground of the courtyard almost all the way to the outer wall. Sludge and Snarl repositioned themselves, knowing that they’d be dodging strikes soon themselves, but maintained their assault on the gestalt. The winged Swoop, in bestial mode, swung in and started striking Predaking from above when openings presented themselves to him.


    From an angle behind and to the side of the giant, Delta Magnus unloaded on the massive creature’s upper back, wings, and predominantly orange head, but the assault was causing minimal damage. His focus was suddenly diverted to Ultra Magnus pulling at his shoulder. “Hey, this thing is here for you!” Ultra Magnus then nodded to the Mistress, gently laid out on the ground near the outer wall. “Grab her, get to your transport, and get the hell out of here! We will keep him busy until you are gone.”


    “No, I can’t just abandon you to that thing!” Delta Magnus objected.


    “Relax, the plan isn’t to go down fighting.” Ultra replied, squeezing off a few rounds at the quickly moving Predaking as he did so. “Once you’re clear, we’re going to head into the Draconyx Lair. He’s too big to chase us through there, so either they separate, and we kill them, or they stay out here and we’re safe inside. So just grab the witch and get the hell out of here!” Delta nodded, then sprinted over to the Mistress, and peeled her out of the metal ground. “And Ambus!” He turned to Ultra Magnus. “House Magnus will be getting what’s rightfully theirs! Count on that!” Delta nodded, then turned, leaned the Mistress against his back, and transformed so that she fell onto the top of his trailer section. A moment later they were rounding through the gates, out of the courtyard, into and through the small, abandoned village outside the gate, and speeding away from the fray, toward the shuttle he had arrived in. His rearview cameras caught some of the action visible through the open gates, the Autobots taking pot-shots at this Predaking in the rare moments they were narrowly evading his strikes.


    Minutes later he pulled to a stop next to the hastily camouflaged shuttle, transformed, laid the Mistress gingerly across the now mostly dirt-covered ground, and started tossing the trees and bushes he had laid over the craft when he arrived. “Hang tight Mistress, I’ll get you some help shortly.”


    “No, Dominus Ambus,” she sputtered, “no, it will be too late. It’ll be hours to get me medical help, I have seconds, minutes at most. Come here, bear witness to my final words.”


    Delta Magnus ran over and knelt next to her, intent on proving her wrong, but at seeing the damage to her frame up close, the thick mixture of fluids flowing out of multiple cuts in her thin, delicate frame, he realized that she was right. “I will do my best to save you, Mistress.”


    “Don’t bother.” She whispered. “Hear me, my life is inconsequential, but my mission is of the utmost importance. The Qui Rodit Devorantem is real, he walks among us. He was not Delta Magnus.”


    “Yes, let me guess,” the faux Delta grumbled, “it is Orion Pax.”


    “No.” The dying Mistress whispered. “No, Orion Pax is something else, perhaps even greater, but he is not the One Who Gnaws the Devourer. That is an Autobot named Hot…” she sputtered out a fluid-filled cough, but pressed on, “Hot Rod.” She reached up and grabbed Delta Magnus by the shoulder. “Protect him, see that he is ready for his destiny.”


    “Who in the pit is Hot Rod?” Delta Magnus met her stare as he asked, but then seemed to dismiss the question and shook his head. “No. This prophecy of yours directly led to Delta Magnus’s death. And even if you’re right this time, a prophecy known to those intended to live it out is undoubtedly spoiled or forced into being by that knowledge. All of which means nothing to me anyway, as I worship at the altar of science. Your insipid, simple-minded need for a god will not guide my actions. Nay, I will do this Autobot, whoever he may be, a favor and not burden him with this nonsensical gibberish.”


    The Mistress of Flame opened her mouth to object, but the sounds of trees smashing in the distance pulled Delta Magnus’s attention away from her. He knew it was Predaking coming for him. Ultra Magnus and the Dracobots must either have escaped or fallen, and now the giant was coming for him. He lifted her dying frame to bring her into the craft but realized that the monster would be upon them well before he would be able to pilot the craft off the ground. He turned, Mistress of Flame still cradled in his massive arms, and peered up over the tree line at the red, black, and orange head, shoulders, and wings of the advancing gestalt. Magnus and Grimlock had bought him some time, just not enough. He had no chance against this thing alone, and was starting to accept his fate, smiling as what he had long known would happen was about to happen; death at Decepticon hands. But as he looked up at Predaking, he saw Swoop flapping at him from behind the giant, hauling Grimlock in beast mode in his talons. Swoop flung Grimlock at the giant, the Dracobot leader landing heavily on the giant’s left shoulder and chomping down on his helmet, flames erupting from his mouth and engulfing the gestalt’s cranium, but while the bite and flames served as an effective distraction, they didn’t seem to cause any real damage.


    Swoop flung down and flapped his wings to hover over the Delta Magnus impersonator. “Get on board and get the slag out of here!” Delta nodded but heard timber snapping and looked up at Predaking, having swatted Grimlock off and continued marching toward him. A huge crashing noise thundered through the clearing as Ultra Magnus in truck mode and Slag in beast mode rammed the back of Predaking’s legs, causing him to stumble and then turn to deal with them. “NOW!!!”


    Delta sent one last glance toward the fray and saw a stampeding Sludge charging to aid his comrades. Delta turned and carried the Mistress into the ship, placed her on the ground wondering whether she was even still alive, and then realizing he hadn’t seen Snarl out there and started wondering the same about him. He leapt into the cockpit and slid into the pilot’s chair, powering up the craft with a few flips of switches and gripped the yoke. An array of viewscreens sparkled to life, one displaying the battle and revealing that Predaking was just about upon him, easily close enough to swat down any attempt to lift off. Suddenly the Autobots broke off their attack, prompting Predaking to pause in confusion, and a moment later a series of very high-powered explosions erupted against his upper body, staggering him and sending him stumbling into the trees again. Another viewscreen showed the source of the attack, an advanced and clearly deep-space worthy ship swung in, circled to a hovering patten above them, and continued to unload on the Predacon gestalt. “Delta Ambus, or whatever the hell your name is,” Snarl’s voice came through the speaker, “get the hell out of here!”


    “Aye.” Delta nodded, and lifted the craft off the ground, rising a few hundred feet, marveling at the quality of the craft that Snarl had somehow managed to find. “I take it that thing is what you boys were hoping to find here.”


    “Yeah, I’d heard tell of Ogrus’s space cruiser.” Snarl’s voice came through the speaker as Delta watched the black craft in his viewscreen lift higher and farther from Predaking without breaking off the assault on the bestial gestalt. “Always rumors about shit the royals own, most nonsense, but I always was good at sifting through the bullshit and finding the nuggets of truth. The ‘Cons only cared about the dragon, the peasants only knew about the shiny baubles in plain sight, the servants knew enough to clean out the armory, energon and hidden baubles, but it took a few deep penetration scans from a government satellite for me to know where to look, which was our fee to help Magnus, the real Magnus. Some boom-boom to open the door, a list of codewords Swoop and I came up with drawing upon memories of Ogrus’s ego, and here we are. So yeah, turns out I know what the fuck I’m talking about, you’d think that ol’ Grimlock would have learned to stop doubting me by now.”


    “Enough of that.” Ultra Magnus’s voice cut through. “How’s the Mistress of Flame?”


    Delta Magnus muted the comms channel and switched on the internal scanning function. “Scan for life functions in the passenger section.”


    A moment later the lifeless voice replied. “None present. Residual readings from Alura of Oncrax Minor, the most recent Mistress of Flame, confirm that her spark has faded, she no longer lives.”


    Delta Magnus unmuted the channel. “She didn’t make it; I’ll see that her frame gets to a Primal Cathedral. I…I’m sorry.”


    “My fault, not yours.” Ultra Magnus replied through the speaker. Delta gave one last glance at the Autobots carefully withdrawing from Decepticon giant below and shot out through the sky. “Dominus Ambus,” Ultra Magnus’s voice came through the speaker one more time, “I will find you again.”


    “I know.”



    000000



    Prowl



    “The Acting Commander of the Galactic Council will see you now.” The nine-foot-tall orange and white-skinned organic addressed the Autobots in the waiting room equipped with dozens of chairs of widely varying sizes, all empty around the Cybertronians, but the chairs lined against the walls, the ones farthest from the Autobots had many aliens seated in them, the occupants of those chairs all staring at the Cybertronians with terror in their organic eyes.


    Prowl looked to his companions, Orion Pax and Ironhide, and nodded. “Time to find out if taking this meeting was just a ploy to get revenge on Cybertronians or not.”


    “Ahm thinkin’ you’d be OK with that just so you could tell Pax that yah told him so.” Ironhide spat out as they all stood up slowly, sending looks to the other species spread throughout the room that seemed to convey an almost apologetic sense of understanding. The three giant mechanoids then followed the smaller orange and white organic out of the waiting chamber and through a long hallway, a hallway lined with heavily armed twenty-five-foot-tall organic but thickly armored guards. “Ya may hafta blurt that ‘tol ya so’ out quick, Prowl, these boys are lookin’ ready ta’ fire once this trap is sprung.”


    “I genuinely believe that the prospect of a Cybertronian with an army expressing an interest in opposing Guardian Prime is alluring enough for them to at least hear us out.” Orion replied. “That said,” he peered up and down the hall at the lines of guards, “there sure are a lot of guns.”


    “Did I not tell you that there’d be a lot of guns?” Prowl grumbled.


    “Yeah, but ya’ always say there’ll be a lotta guns.” Ironhide replied.


    “Because there are always going to be a lot of guns!” Prowl snapped just as they got to the end of the hallway and stopped before a set of large double-doors.


    The smaller organic turned and waved his hand toward the doors. “Captain K’Gard awaits.”


    “Captain?” Ironhide mumbled. “Seems a bit low-rung for overall command of tha’ Council’s military.”


    “Should Captain K’Gard wish to discuss that with you, he will.” The alien replied before walking back down the hallway that they’d just come through.


    The three looked at the doors. “I have another prediction.” Prowl muttered. “There’s going to be a shitload of guns on the other side of these doors too.” They then moved forward, pushing the doors apart and entering a vast receiving chamber where, per Prowl’s prediction, dozens of guards similarly armed and armored as those in the hallway stood in a semi-circular pattern protecting a massive judge’s bench with an olive-colored, slender, four-armed organic with gunmetal gray armor over his shoulders and a similarly colored hat that seemed to imply some sort of military significance.


    The organic ‘judge’ smiled down at them from behind his vast bench. “How right you were in your prediction…” he looked down, presumably at a screen in front of him, “Prowl. But considering my predecessor’s fate, I think you understand the necessity of these guns.” He then looked to Ironhide. “And…” he once again looked down, “Ironhide, you are correct, it’s unheard of for a Captain to take up the role of Acting Commander, but much of our leadership was assassinated in an act of Cybertronian treachery.”


    “Tha’ whole galaxy saw the unedited recordings,” Ironhide shot back, “seems to me an’ everyone else that the Council brought the treac…” Orion Pax placing his hand on Ironhide’s shoulder prompted the red Autobot to stop talking.


    Orion stepped forward, palms out in a display of submission. “What happened between the government of Cybertron and the Galactic Council is most regrettable, and could have easily been avoided. It is my fervent desire that going forward my planet and your organization have a more productive and mutually beneficial relationship with one another.”


    “Why are you here?” K’Gard snapped.


    Pax nodded. “I believe that the goals of the Autobots, the Cybertronian organization that I serve, and the Galactic Council are aligned regarding an organic world on the edge of the galaxy. Goals that run contrary to those of Guardian Prime.”


    K’Gard stared silently for several moments before nodding and replying. “And what are these shared goals of ours regarding this organic world?”


    “That it is not purged of organic life and be made into a wholly cybernetic world.” Orion answered. He noted the shock in the eyes of the alien and continued. “Guardian Prime has the technology available to make that happen on this world, and the means and ambition to expand that to other organic worlds.” Orion took a step forward and steeled his gaze upon the slender, green-skinned alien. “That is the purpose of the Galactic Council, isn’t it?”


    “Mechanoids do not dictate the purpose of the Galactic Council!” K’Gard snapped. “Nor will they ever determine our course of action!”


    Orion nodded, keeping his cool. “I am not here to dictate or determine, merely to relay a situation that I felt you would be interested in. The planet in question is called Earth by the sole higher-level native species, a species that numbers more than three and a quarter billion in number. While possessing a life span that is counted in decades, the intellectual potential of individuals of this species is on par with Cybertronians and most Council member species. There are also millions of lower-level species that would be wiped out of existence by Guardian Prime’s intentions. This planet has trillions of living entities. I mean to keep it that way, which means conflict with my planet’s leader and his armies.” The Autobot Commander cocked his head. “So, is this a situation that interests you?”


    K’Gard leaned back and looked over Orion Pax, considering both him and what he said before finally responding, a poorly hidden gleam in his opaque eyes. “I appreciate your situation and admire your stance. And I wish you the greatest of fortune.” He leaned forward. “And were the situation different, specifically regarding our military resources, I would be inclined to help you. We certainly have every reason to stand against Guardian Prime and his machinations, but we’re not in a position to do that at this time.” K’Gard stood. “Go safely and with our blessing, but you will be facing Guardian Prime on your own. Dismissed.”


    Orion stared at him for a few moments before turning but called out as he and the other two Cybertronians made their way to the door. “I appreciate your time, Acting Commander K’Gard, just know that I intend to defend Earth from all threats, not just Guardian Prime.” With that they walked through the doors, down the long, guard-lined corridor and re-entered the waiting chamber, where the throngs of organic aliens milled about throughout the room, having felt more comfortable with the Cybertronians having left. Many seemed to be focused on a pair of a particular species, one appearing to be a twelve-foot-tall adult, the other a juvenile roughly half the adult’s stature, both humanoid in shape, brownish green skin, and roughly a couple dozen long protuberances on their heads.


    All eyes turned to the returning Cybertronians, and nearly every creature in the chamber became noticeably nervous. But the reactions of the brown-green aliens were quite different at locking eyes on Orion Pax. The adult’s reaction was one of jubilant surprise but was almost immediately quelled and replaced by a feigned look of disinterest. The child was awestruck and made no attempt to hide it. Prowl assumed that it was because this was likely the first time the child had seen a mechanoid but noticed that the juvenile’s optics were locked on Orion and Orion alone. Not surprising, Orion was the most physically imposing of the three of them, but a glance at either he or Ironhide seemed appropriate at some point.


    “Ah, esteemed guests!” The greeter that had escorted the Autobots to the receiving chamber appeared in the waiting area with great excitement. “It is always a treat to receive visitors from Lenocinium Velnero 117. May I know your names?”


    “Many thanks for the kind greetings.” The adult brown-green alien replied. “I am Lezout, and this is my offspring Varta.”


    “How may we be of assistance to you, oh great clairvoyant?” The greeter asked graciously.


    The alien from Lenocinium Velnero laughed lightly. “As I’m sure you are aware, we have long since maintained the policy of sharing none of our advanced knowledge with others, but we would like to avail ourselves of some of your services. It has been explained to me that every Galctic Council vessel and station is equipped with an immersion chamber designed to provide members of my species a way of acclimating themselves to the current time and environment. Varta and I have recently come out of temporal displacement and are unaware of when we landed.”


    “Of course.” The greeter nodded his understanding, indicating that this was not the first time he had encountered this species or this problem. “Right this way.” He directed them down a small hallway off to the side, the Autobots barely taking notice as they too started toward another exit from the waiting chamber.


    The two aliens followed the greeter, but just as they got to the entrance to the hallway the younger alien turned and looked directly at Orion Pax, calling out. “I really like your mouth, sir.”


    “Varta!” The father growled, scolding his offspring before looking up at Orion Pax, who was gazing back at them with a look of utter confusion. “I apologize stranger, the trip we have been on has left my offspring discombobulated. Please do not take any offense.”


    Orion shrugged. “None taken.”


    The greeter and two odd aliens turned back and disappeared down the hallway, and the Autobots continued toward the far end of the waiting chamber in the direction of their docking bay. “Weird,” Ironhide muttered to the two of them, “never really gave it much thought, but Ah’ guess yah really do have a purdy mouth, Pax.”


    Prowl let the words wash over him, giving them no attention. Instead, he considered all that he’d heard from and about the aliens, as well as taking notice of how every other being in the waiting area seemed to be making some sort of note regarding the interaction that had just happened, as though anything these Lenocinium Velnerions said and did hold tremendous value and came to an unlikely conclusion. The Autobots may or may not succeed in their current endeavor, but based on what had transpired, it seemed that Orion Pax would live long enough into the future to make an impact on these Lenocinium Velnero 117 denizens…possibly without a mouth. Of course, Prowl had no intention of sharing his interpretation; the last thing Orion Pax needed was further reason to treat his life recklessly.



    000000



    Soundwave



    “It has been said that the fault of our failures on this Earth lies with Obsidian.” Megatron shook his head as he stood upon a vast boulder, Soundwave standing on the ground beside it. “It’s been said that the fault belongs to Strika. Again, wrong.” A cold, terrifying stare washed over the faces of almost all the Earth-stationed Decepticons arrayed upon the Death Valley sands before Megatron and his most trusted lieutenant. “And there are those, many in fact, that place the blame at the feet of Starscream.” All optics turned to the light gray, red and blue Air Commander standing at the front of the assembled warriors. Megatron remained silent for a long time, a very long time, quietly staring at Starscream before finally continuing just as Starscream’s defensive scowl started to become comical. “But the fault is not Starscream’s.” He shifted his gaze back across his troops. “The blame lies with me. The Ore-13 was an asset worth assigning the acquisition of to underlings, but from the moment I learned of the Ferrotaxis being on this world, I should have made this planet my priority. I should have attended to this matter personally. I am rectifying that error now.”


    Megatron leapt down from the boulder and marched forward toward and then through his assembled Decepticons, all of them parting to clear a path for their leader. Soundwave took his place behind Megatron, following him through their soldiers when a silent notification came in, a message from Laserbeak half a world away. “Decepticons, we are going to cross this continent, we will cross the eastern ocean, we will find the entrance to Jhiaxus’s underwater world housing the Ferrotaxis and whatever other of his wonders are down there, and we will slaughter every Autobot and human that attempts to get in our way.” Soundwave took in Laserbeak’s message as Megatron galvanized his troops. “No trickery on the part of Orion Pax will delay us from taking what is ours! I will slaughter him myself, any impulse to indulge him has long since passed, he’s an adult now, he’s chosen to be my enemy, I will treat him as such, with no mercy whatsoever! Decepticons, scram…”


    “Lord Megatron!” Soundwave called out, knowing that interrupting Megatron during such a rousing call to action could carry painful consequences, but it was necessary that Megatron be made aware of Laserbeak’s report. “I have gotten word from Laserbeak. It is imperative that you read his report prior to launching any attack.”


    “Forward it.” Megatron ordered, anger beneath the surface, but subdued as he knew Soundwave would always have a valid reason to interrupt. Soundwave did as commanded and watched as Megatron’s optics dimmed as he read the message, lit back up as he finished, and a look of mild anger came over his face. “It seems our assault will have to be delayed. Guardian Prime smartened up and chose to reinforce the entrance to Jhiaxus’s sunken island. According to Laserbeak, there are twenty-seven Cybertronians guarding the entrance, none of whom seem to be Autobots, so Orion Pax’s forces coming to their aid could present us with foes numbering in the mid-forties.” Megatron gritted his teeth. “That number coupled with them having a dug-in and fortified position, it may be more than we can over-run.” The gritted teeth gave way to a mild grin. “At least for now.” Megatron took a few steps toward Soundwave and stopped before him. “Open a channel to Shockwave.”


    “A message to Cybertron will force me to use more than my daily energon rations.” Soundwave replied.


    “I authorize the excess, open the channel.” Megatron instructed, getting a nod from Soundwave, a few moments as the Communications Commander made the necessary adjustments, and getting another nod as Shockwave answered the hail on the other end. “Shockwave, do you read me?”


    “Aye Megatron, what would you have of me?” The voice of the ranking Decepticon on Cybertron came through.


    “Where are we with Trypticon’s…enhancements?” Megatron asked.


    “Fortuitous timing, Lord Megatron.” Shockwave’s emotionless voice replied. “I have been told that the finishing touches are being put on now. I anticipate that all but the aesthetics will be completed within three to four hours.”


    “Excellent news, Shockwave, keep me apprised of any updates or changes, and when he is officially ready.” Megatron smiled. “Megatron out.” The Decepticon Commander nodded for Soundwave to close the channel and turned to look over his soldiers. “I suppose that for now, we wait.”



    000000



    Jazz



    “Alright, esteemed Cybertronian guests, we are all assembled.” The standing, horseshoe bald American addressed the two Autobots in the secret subterranean chamber with many other humans seated around him. “Representatives from all fifteen member nations of the United Nations Security Council are present and ready to hear what you have to report.”


    Jazz looked to Ratchet, who just shrugged and nodded, prompting Jazz to step forward as the American ambassador to the UN took his seat. “Thank you, Ambassador Stevenson, and greetings to all ambassadors and support personnel for Security Council nations. We appreciate you all coming here on short notice and providing this space for us to meet. Unfortunately, what we have to report cannot wait to go through the typical channels.”


    “You are aliens,” the Soviet Ambassador replied, “there are no typical channels. This is unprecedented.”


    “Yes, Ambassador Fedorenko, I suppose that’s true.” Jazz responded with a smile. “I do not mean to alarm you all, but we are obligated to inform you of the likelihood that the Decepticons may not be the only threat you face. We are now all but certain that the government of Cybertron intends to activate the Ferrotaxis on your world.”


    As expected, the humans were alarmed, even outraged. “The Cybertronian government that you Autobots surrendered the entrance to?” The American Ambassador yelled accusingly at Jazz and Ratchet. “What recourse do we have?”


    “Adlai,” the Soviet Ambassador reached over to his American counterpart, “perhaps a nuclear option should be explored.”


    “And target what, Nikolai?” Ambassador Stevenson asked agitatedly. “A planet countless lightyear from here?”


    “No, the Azores.” The Soviet replied.


    “No!” Ratchet snapped.


    “Actually,” the American shot back, “not a bad idea! What do we have to lose? If it works, sacrifice well worth it. If it doesn’t, we’re all metal filings anyway.”


    “No, there are still other options!” Ratchet insisted.


    “Commander Pax is currently meeting with other entities,” Jazz spoke up, prompting everyone to quiet down and turn to him, “other members of the Cybertronian government, non-government affiliated Cybertronians, and other galactic entities. Specifically, one galactic peacekeeping organization that rivals, if not surpasses Guardian Prime’s military might.”


    “You could have led with that.” Ambassador Stevenson grumbled.


    “You’re right, I apologize.” Jazz nodded. “But we haven’t secured any of their cooperation just yet. Commander Pax should be back on Earth within a few hours, hopefully he’ll have good news for us at that point.”


    “If they’re galactic peacekeepers, why would they not help us?” Ambassador Fedorenko asked in Russian-accented English despite the robots being fully fluent in all contemporary Earth languages.


    “I’m of the same opinion, but we cannot assume their involvement.” Ratchet clarified.


    Ambassador Stevenson nodded, glaring at the two Autobots. “So, you’re suggesting that all we can do is sit tight and pray.”


    Jazz nodded. “Yes sir, I’m afraid that’s what we’re suggesting.”



    000000



    Emir Xaaron



    “Elita One,” the guard called into the room through the door he had opened slightly, “the new Emir of Ultrix wishes for an audience with you.”


    Xaaron looked into the large office to see Elita turn her gaze from the monitor on her desk toward the doorway, a grin growing across her face as she saw them. “Of course, Tidepool, please send him in.” Elita rose from her seated position and rounded her desk as the guard, Tidepool, nodded for Xaaron to enter and disappeared back into the waiting area outside her office. Xaaron closed the door behind him and turned to find Elita One had stopped fifteen feet from him, staring at him with a wide smile. “The first common-born citizen to become an Emir in Cybertronian history.” She walked forward and they embraced. “No one is more deserving, my friend.”


    “House Modus, what remains of it, feels otherwise.” Xaaron chuckled. “They claim that the election was fixed and have sent formal challenges to the Senate and to Prime himself. Though the claims they’ve made have been debunked quite easily, and the little evidence that they’ve provided has proven to be fraudulent. Despite that, they’re still insisting that the election was stolen from Exceedus Modus.”


    Elita laughed as well. “Those with all the resources at their disposal claiming those with less not only pulled off what is damn near impossible, but did so without leaving any fingerprints?” She shrugged and waved her hand to offer him a seat on the couch. “I’d say welcome to politics, but you’ve been fighting in this swamp for much longer than I’ve been alive; longer than most who still live have been alive.” Xaaron took a seat on the couch and watched as Elita settled back into her chair. “I’ve missed you, my friend. It seems like yesterday that I was six months old and Exponum was giving me a very amateur tour of the Senate chambers, and we ran into you.”


    Xaaron laughed at the memory. “He really knew nothing about that facility outside of the main Senate chamber.” He shook his head sadly at remembering his friend was long gone. “But he still knew more about the senate than most emirs.”


    “You certainly rescued him that day. You provided us both an excellent tour.” Elita chuckled. “He was quick to tell me that everyone, even the One, was fallible, but he hated providing proof of it.”


    “Fallible, yes.” Xaaron nodded sadly. “But Exponum One was far less than most.” He smiled at Elita. “He was right to be grooming you the way he did. By the way, I wasn’t the only one to win an election. Congratulations.”


    Elita shrugged. “Well, I didn’t have to run against a legendary senator. Things may not have gone my way if I had.”


    “You’d still have won.” Xaaron smiled. “House Solus, and you in particular, have always been beloved by all of Axiom, and with good reason.”


    Elita displayed a bright grin. “What brings you to Axiom today? Not that you ever needed a reason to visit Exponum, and that certainly carries over for me, but I know how little free time an emir has, especially in this age of rebuilding.”


    A cloud fell over Xaaron’s face, his optics darted downward, and he once again went over how he wanted to phrase what he needed to convey. “You’re right, who has time for social visits these days?” He looked back up and locked onto Elita One’s optics. “I am here on official business. Guardian Prime summoned me to Cybertropolis yesterday, ostensibly to discuss the protestations House Modus had to my ascension to Emir, and while that did come up, it was…well, the situation was used as leverage for another task he required of me.”


    Elita stared intently at the yellow-bodied and silver-helmeted fellow emir for a moment, initially confusion in her optics, but quickly replaced by what appeared to be sad realization, almost as though she had been expecting this message, but not from this messenger. She looked away before speaking. “Go on.”


    “He suggested that while the Modus claims are baseless, they have enough support to be a true impediment to my emirship, possibly even overturn it in certain circumstances.” The exasperated Xaaron explained. “As Prime, Guardian could squash the situation, clear my path to leadership of Ultrix, but he was currently overwhelmed with other matters that left him no time to aid in my situation. It then seemingly occurred to him at that moment that perhaps there was something I could do that would lighten his load, thereby making his intervention in my election issues possible.”


    “And what did he require of you to lighten his load?” Elita asked, apparently fully aware of what Xaaron was about to say.


    “As someone who has shown support for Orion Pax and the Autobots in the past, he needed me to clarify that my loyalties are to Cybertron.” Xaaron paused for several tense moments before adding on to his statement. “And then to meet with other planetary leaders who have been supportive of Orion and/or the Autobots and assess where they stand, and if they’re undecided, convince them to stand with Cybertron.”


    Elita One nodded, then looked down at the Autobrand on her chest. “I see.”


    “Support of the Autobots, or even being an Autobot, that’s not a major issue to Prime.” Xaaron stated nervously. “He has no animosity toward them, he feels they’ve been a critical force for the preservation of our planet and will continue to serve as a mainstay for the protection and service of our citizens. But he is currently at an impasse with Orion Pax, one he’s concluded cannot be resolved peacefully.”


    “I’m aware of this impasse.” Elita cut in. “Something about Prime needlessly wanting to murder a planet, and Orion standing opposed to the act. Is that the impasse we’re discussing?”


    “I don’t think Prime would use the word needlessly, but yes, that’s the matter that they’re at loggerheads over.” Xaaron clarified. “I will be meeting with several high-ranking officials, all who have supported the Autobots in one way or another, but it’s you and House Pax that I anticipate the most friction with.”


    “He views the Autobots, most of them anyway, of being able to fall into line.” Elita muttered accusingly. “But there’s no salvation for Orion Pax, and he wants you to smooth things over with those that love him most.”


    Xaaron lowered his gaze to the floor and whispered to himself. “Those that love him most.” Unbidden images of Arlon and Torenia flowed through his head. He pushed the thoughts and memories aside and steeled himself. “Guardian Prime loves him. This conflict is tearing him apart. What he fears will happen will take and exceptional price on him, but as Prime it’s one he feels he needs to pay.”


    “He doesn’t.” Elita stared holes through his optics. “Orion’s right. Undeniably right.” She seethed at her former friend. “And you’re here to turn me against him.”


    Xaaron met her gaze, his look fearful and sad, but slowly a look of contentment and relief. “He knows not to ask for your support, he wants you to keep out of it entirely. As he does for House Pax.” Xaaron leaned forward and tapped his chest, prompting a panel in the middle to slide open and reveal an Autobrand. “My job was to convey Prime’s message, deliver your reply to him, which I’ll do.” Xaaron leaned even closer. “So, Elita One, what would you like me to inform Guardian Prime is your reply?”


    Elita was stunned, she just stared at the Autobrand for several moments before raising her optics to Xaaron’s face. “What are you playing at?”


    “I’m conflicted.” Xaaron answered honestly. “Gallus Honorum was chosen by the Matrix, he’s our rightful Prime, history’s greatest hero.” The Emir of Ultrix shook his head and looked off to the side. “But you’re correct, Orion’s right. He’s…he’s always been right. And he’s always faced impossible odds to defend what’s right.”


    His gaze slowly made its way back to Elita One to see a slow, subtle smile coming over her face. “So, being favored by the Matrix is the main stumbling block for you?” She chuckled. “Let me relay a theory I was told recently. Mind you, it’s just a theory, but the one who shared it with me, he’s probably the only individual that can be considered an expert on the Matrix, other than Guardian Prime.”


    “Who are we talking about?” Xaaron asked.


    Elita One leaned back in her chair and leveled her gaze at him. “Alpha Trion.”


    “Wha…what?” Xaaron couldn’t grasp what she had just told him.


    “Long story.” She smiled. “Which I guess I can share with you now. Just let House Pax know that I already filled you in; should save some time. Like you, they were his next stop after me too. Others after them, I’m guessing some are on that list Prime gave you.”


    “Tell me.” Xaaron asked. “Please.”



    000000



    K’Gard



    “Captain K’Gard,” the small, purple helmsman called out to the four-armed, olive-skinned alien staring through the massive viewport that made the forward wall of the bridge, “the Benign Intervention will be ready to break out of super-luminous travel momentarily.”


    “Excellent, begin deceleration.” He ordered.


    “Exiting super-luminous factor seven.” The helmsman called out. “Exiting factor six…exiting factor five…exiting factor four…exiting factor three…exiting factor two…exiting super-luminous speed, phasing into maximum impulse.” He announced. “Super-luminous travel has taken us beyond the fourth planet of the Sol System, coordinating navigation to continue deceleration until we’ve reached full stop behind the moon of the third planet.”


    “Earth.” K’Gard muttered to himself.


    “The Agrégation and the Ultimatum are enroute, the warships…”


    “Peace keeping vessels!” K’Gard interrupted with the correction.


    “Of course, sir.” The helmsman corrected. “The peace keeping vessels will be arriving shortly. Shall we send stealth probes down for data pull?”


    “Only focus on the indigenous military and Cybertronian presence.” K’Gard instructed. “Beyond that, none of it matters.”


    “Sir, if we’re making first contact with the intent of membership consideration…”


    “We’re not.” K’Gard interrupted once again, turned and strode to the helmsman’s station, towering over him. “This Earth, it, well, it’s nothing to us. It can offer nothing for us, at least as it is now. But as a source of energon, potentially enhanced energon, and a cautionary tale regarding the dangers of Cybertronians, it is of tremendous value.”


    “Captain, what is our objective here?” The helmsman asked hesitantly.


    “We’re to hold here, allow the Cybertronians to fight it out, Guardian Prime will undoubtedly squash all resistance and activate the Ferrotaxis. Once it’s progressed to a satisfactory point, we’ll swoop in and eradicate all Cybertronians on and near the planet. Then we’ll claim this lifeless, energy-rich world in the name of the Galactic Council.”


    “Captain…is that legal?” The terrified helmsman asked.


    “Who’s to stop us.” K’Gard chuckled. “And should there be any issue, I’m merely a captain that overstepped his authority as temporary acting Commander.”


    “I…I see, Captain.”



    000000



    Megatron



    “Alright, I’m ready.” Megatron stated to Soundwave in his missile truck mode. “Send the hail.”


    “As you command, Mighty Megatron.” Soundwave replied as a series of buttons and lit up and a speaker and receiver flipped out from the side of the truck to face Megatron. “Hailing.”


    Several moments passed before a young-sounding voice came through in English. “Identify yourself.”


    “Speak to me in Cybertronian.” Megatron grumbled in his native tongue. “Tell Orion Pax that Megatron wishes to have a word with him.”


    “Me…Megatron?” The voice came back.


    “Get Orion Pax, now!” Megatron ordered calmly but firmly.


    Several moments passed before a deeper voice came through the speaker. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Megatron?”


    “I’ll try to keep this brief, Orion Pax, I know that you have a tremendous amount on your plate right now.” Megatron grinned. “I’m assuming you’re planning on how to reclaim the entrance to Jhiaxus’s island from Prime’s loyal imbeciles.”


    “You’ll forgive me if I refrain from letting you in on what we have in the works.” Pax replied with annoyance clearly in his voice but seemed to become more interested by something. “I know these things can be masked, but either you’re on this planet or trying to make me think you are.”


    “And here I thought you were too young to be suspicious.” Megatron chuckled. “I guess me confirming that I’m on this world will not be believed.”


    “Actually, I do believe you’re here.” Orion replied. “I’m just hoping this call isn’t an attempt to intimidate me with that development.”


    “Of course not.” Megatron answered. “We’re enemies Orion Pax, and there are many things I do not like about you, that I do not respect about you, but your bravery is beyond doubt. I know me being here will not cause you alarm. In fact, revealing my presence on this planet removed a significant strategic advantage of mine. But I sense an opportunity here for both of us and am willing to reveal my galactic whereabouts to you in hopes that we can make the most of a mutually advantageous situation.”


    “And what is this mutually advantageous situation is that?” Pax asked, his voice making it clear that he had an idea of what Megatron had in mind.


    “We share a common enemy, of course.” Megatron answered.


    “I see.” Pax replied. “I think I’ve heard this ploy before. Are you planning on repurposing your leftover Grand Convocation invitations?”


    “You’d be a fool not to suspect treachery from me, Pax.” Megatron replied calmly. “But you would also be a fool not to at least consider my suggestion of a temporary alliance. My view of Trypticon as unique and invincible has softened quite a bit since the Grand Convocation. Now, against Guardian Prime, who wields his own Titan, I have no such confidence of victory.”


    “Prior to the Grand Convocation, we had no knowledge of Trypticon, so now, like then, it appears as though we’re on similar footing facing a staggering common enemy.” Pax replied.


    “Ah, so you fear we have a new secret weapon that has made me consider Prime and his force a non or insignificant threat?” Megatron offered. “I assure you, that’s not the case. I have every intention of eradicating Guardian Prime before eliminating you and will honor any agreement we make in a mutual effort to eliminate him.”


    There was a pause before Pax responded. “Assuming I choose to believe that what are your intentions with the Ferrotaxis?”


    Megatron smiled. “I’ll be honest, I want it. I want it badly. My mind is dancing on what could be done with such a device. But I know that you’re wildly opposed to its existence, and most definitely to its usage, and I know that this is the basis for your conflict with Guardian Prime. So, in the spirit of compromise, if we make an alliance, I will vow to destroy it should I come across it before you.”


    “We’ve been to the site, what makes you certain we aren’t in a position to destroy it any time we want?” Pax asked.


    “If you were confident that you could destroy the Ferrotaxis, it’d have been destroyed by now. You were at the site for a very short period.” Megatron replied with a grin Pax couldn’t see but knew was likely there. “And my understanding is that it was a very large sunken island. It would be a miracle if you knew where the Ferrotaxis was precisely located. I’m sure you may have taken measures to sabotage what you could, but Jhiaxus wouldn’t make it easy to find and certainly wouldn’t make it easy to destroy. You could detonate whatever you have down there, and it’d be pure luck if you managed to damage the Ferrotaxis to any degree.”


    “Maybe, or maybe we have some idea of what we’re doing.” Pax replied. “Either way, you’re making a promise that either I don’t need, or that I can’t trust.”


    “You don’t have a choice, Pax.” Megatron said in a low, serious tone. “You can’t beat Guardian Prime without me. He’s too powerful, his army is supplemented by a Titan as well as a warship that can scorch your forces and the continent they’re standing on. And he has every Cybertronian that’s not an Autobot or a Decepticon supporting him, if for no other reason than because he’s Guardian Fucking Prime.” Megatron allowed that to sink in for a moment before pushing on. “I used to respect your unalterable idealism, but you’re an adult now. You’re a leader now. You have to know that your ideals must be compromised for you to succeed in any way. If you want to save this and countless other organic worlds from your hero, then you must make an alliance with your villain.”


    There was a long pause, long enough so that Megatron became confident the young Autobot Commander would take him up on his offer. “Megatron?”


    “Yes, Orion Pax?”


    “There is no way that you won’t betray me.” Orion replied. “You’re so focused on pointing out how I need you, and you may have made some valid points, but I don’t see how you need me. I will never be ruthless enough to order the few troops at my disposal to strike targets with the intent of an unignorable civilian body count, which is exactly what you’d require from us. You know this, which makes me realize that you would betray us. Perhaps not right away, but you would select a time that benefits you, and you would betray us and do whatever you could to secure the Ferrotaxis.”


    A disappointed look came over Megatron’s face, but he remained calm. “Fine Orion Pax, undertake this task on your own. I’ll patiently watch it unfold and mop up what’s left of whoever isn’t killed.”


    “I’d expect nothing less of you, Megatron.” Orion replied. “Orion Pax out.”
     
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  20. peteynorth

    peteynorth TFW2005 Supporter

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    Ultra Magnus





    The look of sadness was clear on his face. There were other matters he wanted to attend to more, but the simple fact was that none of those concerns were remotely as urgent as this current dilemma. Finally, the holo-projector mounted into the center of the table he was seated at crackled to life, and within a few seconds the translucent image of Orion Pax’s head, chest and shoulders was visible. “Magnus, my friend, it’s so good to see you again, even from countless miles away.”



    “Pax, it’s great to see you as well.” Magnus displayed a genuine smile; subdued by the weight of the impending conversation, but genuine none the less. “This impasse that exists between you and Prime, it troubles me to no end. And word of you having negotiations with the Galactic Council has gotten back to Prime. What were you thinking?”



    “I…damnit.” Pax replied. “I had hoped that wouldn’t get out.”



    “I’m stunned, Orion.” Magnus replied. “Not so much that you went to the Galactic Council, enemy or not, I understand that in your desire to save an organic world, you would reach out to an organization dedicated to the preservation of organic worlds, but how could you let it slip? How could you let word get back to Prime? And not just that you met with them, that they refused your request for help. Prime knows not only of your betrayal, but that you were refused and now stand alone.” Magnus shook his head disbelievingly. “You’re normally so careful.”



    Orion’s image shrugged. “I have too much going on these days, I guess.”



    Ultra Magnus was silent for several moments before continuing. “I won’t lie, when Prime found out about you going to the Galactic Council, he was livid. But he’s still open to negotiating with you. The fact is, you both raise arguments that are valid and compelling, and as such, I’ve spent a great deal of time considering options, and I think I may have a compromise, one that Guardian Prime is open to.”



    “You’re wiser than me, my friend.” Orion replied with a grin. “I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to come up with a way to find a peaceful solution, to no avail. Please, let’s hear your compromise.”



    Magnus nodded. “Your Earth will be spared.” He watched Orion’s reaction intently for several moments, noting the obvious skepticism on the face of the young Cybertronian.



    “That’s very gracious of Guardian Prime.” Orion stated. “What is to be asked of me?”



    “You will relinquish the Ferrotaxis and anything else on Jhiaxus’s island that Prime wants.” Magnus replied.



    Orion nodded. “I would be happy to do so, but only if Guardian Prime makes a vow, and keeps to that vow.”



    “Orion, you are not in a position to make demands of the Prime of Cybertron.” Magnus warned. “Especially as he’s been so patient in dealing with you and been willing to negotiate instead of just take.”



    “I assure you, my friend, the vow I require him to make is reasonable, fair and just.” Orion countered. “Please hear me out and present it to him.”



    “I know what you’re going to say, and I know his reply, but say it anyway.” Magnus dejectedly replied.



    “The Ferrotaxis is to never be used on a living world.” Orion replied. “Not just intelligent life, but no thriving species of any kind. I don’t want him going to Eukaris or some other green world lacking higher functioning lifeforms and feeling free to unleash it then. And anything else found down there that can be used as a weapon of mass destruction will require a separate negotiation.”



    “You’ll forgive me for suggesting that your contingencies are designed to tank this compromise.” Magnus commented with disappointment clear in his voice.



    “These measures are the only way this compromise is acceptable.” Pax answered. “I will not allow Cybertron’s legacy to be one of mass murder. I will not stand by idly as planetary genocide is conducted not just once, but repeatedly.”



    “What you’re suggesting is that the Ferrotaxis only be used on worlds that were once life-giving, but in which all life came to an end independently of us, yet still possesses energy resources, correct?” Magnus asked. “Such occurrences are beyond rare. Even if we follow in the wake of the Quintessons, it’s still almost impossible to come across such situations.”



    “There’s always the choice not to use the Ferrotaxis.” Pax added.



    “We have an expanding population,” Magnus paused as a look of scorn was expressed on Orion’s face, “granted, yes, the population has nowhere to go but up, but there will reach a point where we exceed Cybertron’s resources.”



    “Based on every population growth projection that exists, that won’t be for millions of years.” Orion countered. “Time enough to find alternatives to killing worlds. Even examining the wake of the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere would probably yield some viable tragedy in that time.”



    “We’re at war, Orion.” Magnus came back. “Nothing burns through resources quite like war.”



    Orion shook his head. “There’s still more than enough time to find other ways, and you know it. Prime knows it. Frankly, that this abomination is not only being considered by the Prime but is his intended course of action is extremely disconcerting. That a fellow Autobot and friend is trying to sell me on it is even more so.”



    “He’s the Prime of Cybertron!” Magnus barked back. “Chosen by the Matrix!”



    “What is the Matrix?” Orion countered. “The legends claim it provides the bearer with wisdom, maybe even knowledge, the myths are vague, to say the least, and apart from Alpha Trion, nobody has ever tried to study it. But clearly it hasn’t gifted Guardian Prime with a sense of morality, and knowledge without morality can be very dangerous. He is the Prime, I respect the position, but he’s not infallible, and as for the Matrix, legends don’t carry that much weight with me.”



    “Legends don’t carry weight with you?” Magnus asked incredulously. “Do you not remember what the Apex Armor and Star Saber did for you?”



    “They made me more powerful, that’s certainly true,” Orion came back, “but they didn’t make me better. The Matrix, whatever it may be or do, is not making Guardian Prime better, certainly not these days, even if he hasn’t fallen out of favor with it.”



    Magnus was a tad puzzled by the end of Pax’s statement, but ignored the implication, shook his head, and replied in almost a whisper. “Orion, please, this is Cybertron’s final attempt. This is the last time it will be words. This is the last chance we will have to avoid death. Cybertronians must come first.”



    “Mere Cybertronian comfort should never come before the right of other species to exist.” Pax countered. “It’s not us versus them with the humans, or any other species on this or any planet.” Orion shook his head sadly and looked Ultra Magnus deeply in the optics before continuing. “And despite what he’s instructed you to say, Guardian Prime has no intention of abandoning his plan to cyber-form Earth. The Decepticons are far more powerful and well led than he or any of us initially thought, and he needs an energy producing Earth to give him an insurmountable advantage over Megatron, especially an Earth that produces this Ore 13. He is a supremacist, he is a conqueror, but he’s not a total monster, he’s not going to overwrite this planet out of any hatred for organics, he’s going to do it because he feels it’s necessary, because it’s teed up here on Earth and time is a factor. Planting it on another world will take too long, and the results aren’t guaranteed like they are here. His motivation being practical instead of steeped in hate is redeeming on some level, but it also means that he’s less likely to abandon this course, and more likely to recruit otherwise good, moral people to his cause.”



    “Morality, justice…” Magnus muttered, “these are concerns for House Pax. Only the law matters to House Mag…”



    “Fuck Houses!” Orion interrupted. “You, Ultra Magnus, you know right from wrong! You are not an evil person! You chose to become an Autobot, in defiance of the laws at the time you declared your intent to join an outlaw group! Do not fall back on words written on a page or the dictates of a leader in justifying what you know to be wrong! Wrong should never be seen as right to better fit the laws, the laws should change to reflect what’s right!”



    “And who determines what’s right, you Orion?” Magnus snapped back.



    “No.” Orion replied calmly. “Right and wrong is difficult, if not impossible to determine in many gray areas.” Pax paused for several moments. “Killing Earth isn’t gray. Killing Earth is evil, and unnecessary to feed our people or defeat Megatron.”



    “You say that…” Magnus looked down. “You can’t be sure of that.”



    Orion shrugged. “I can’t be sure of anything, my friend. None the less, I stand where I stand.”



    Magnus shook his head lightly and started chuckling. “I always did hate debating you. Even when you were just a kid at the Academy in Iacon.”



    “I…miss those days.” Orion said sadly.



    “As do I, Orion.” Magnus concurred.



    “Any chance you can get through to Guardian Prime to see things more my way?” Orion asked.



    Magnus’s optics drifted upward past Orion’s image into the shadows of the far end of the dimly lit room. “No, I’m afraid he’s set. I do believe that his offer to spare Earth, despite what you believe about his agenda, was genuine, but that was as far as he was willing to bend. If you walk away from this offer, it’s over.”



    “Well then, I have some preparations to attend to.” Orion sadly stated.



    “Orion…” Magnus looked down sorrowfully, “there is one thing you can be sure of.” He looked back up and locked on to Orion’s holographic optics. “I am your friend.” He reached forward and cut the connection, watching Orion’s image flicker away. “I tried, my Prime.” Magnus then looked over the table, back into the shadows of the far end of the room, where Guardian Prime sat in the dimness having observed everything.



    “I know, and I appreciate your effort, Lord Magnus.” Prime said as he stood up and started for the door. “Unfortunately, your friend has left me no choice but to kill him.”





    000000





    Sinker





    The planet was obviously organic, like virtually all the life-bearing worlds in this galaxy that they had been assigned, a green orb with no large cities, no indication of even organic higher-level habitation, but Line claimed his probes had detected energon readings, something that only made sense for mechanical lifeforms, so here they were. And his probes were right, mechanical, spark-based life was here, but merely a sparce population that seemed to have gone fully native, adopting nature-friendly lifestyles and societies on this Eukaris, as they called it. Hook, Line and Sinker had been on-world for over a month now, stealthily determining its viability for their master, and had learned that this planet had once been a colony of a world called Cybertron, but the planet along with the colonists had been abandoned by the home world millions of years ago.



    This had been a wasted month. Organic worlds were of little value to them, partially mechaformed worlds were useful, and wholly mechaformed planets were very beneficial, but it was mechanical life producing worlds, worlds with hyper-dense energy clusters at their core, that were the true prize sought in their endless search. A significant collection of hyper-dense energy cluster worlds would be the bare minimum needed for the master to venture here from his current location in the Triangulum Galaxy. They’d found a few, nothing more than gamma class clusters, but they’d only been in this Milky Way for eight thousand years and had only covered a tiny fraction of it so far. While the spark strength of these Cybertronians suggested that their home world was of a greater caliber than gamma class, Eukaris was just a flora-fauna world with a few hundred spark-based lifeforms on it. Yet Line’s insistence that it could be of some benefit to them had kept them here for weeks. Hook, the deciding vote in what they would do, had chosen to indulge Line’s whims explaining that their servitude was for perpetuity, so what hurry was there to leave? That was three weeks ago, in recent days he had been getting to be as impatient with this leafy mudball as Sinker had been, and the two of them were about to tell Line that it was time to leave when Hook had detected a wormhole creation in orbit above the planet, and they had immediately teleported to this location of Eukaris more out of curiosity and a strong desire to see something new than any expectation that it could lead to anything of value in their search. A quick scan of the star-cruiser descending through the clouds let them know that the technology necessary to detect them through their personal stealth shielding wasn’t present. They could observe the newcomers as safely as they had the native population of mechs the last several weeks. If nothing else, it should serve as a break in the pointless, bestial monotony they’d had to endure.



    The ship touched down in a clearing, one of the rare breaches in the trees large enough to park a craft on this continent, and a moment later three large robots exited and marched across the clearing, two purple bots, one lean with a forked helmet, the other purple bot exceptionally imposingly built with a crown-like helmet, and the third bot was powder blue with facial hair-shaped metal ornamentation.



    “And I thought Helios Three was repugnantly organic.” The blue one snarled as he swatted away some brush that was growing into the small clearing. He then looked up at the sun’s rays beating through the edges of the canopy that just covered where they were standing near the edge of the clearing. “At least there the humans have pushed back sections of the wild. It’s everywhere here.”



    “I’m not one to reflect on Scourge’s grumblings,” The forked-helmeted bot stated as he stepped to the largest bot’s right side, “but one would expect a lot more development on a world that’s been a colony of Cybertron for millions of years, even one disconnected from the home world nearly the entirety of that time.”



    “They’re here.” The crowned one grumbled, studying the forest intently, prompting Sinker to wonder if their stealth shielding had failed them. “You saw the readings as clearly as I did, the largest cluster of Cybertronian lifeforms were in this area…” his intense gaze of their surroundings grew, but not in the direction of Hook, Line and Sinker. “And they know we’re here.”



    An odd buzzing could be heard over the tree line, prompting the newcomers to raise their firearms up above the vast green canopy, but a cacophony of rustling within the trees not far above ground level had them preparing for attacks from both locations. An odd flying beast emerged from above the trees and lowered to hover before the interlopers. “The three of you look powerful, and your interstellar craft is a tremendous asset. Tell me your names, swear allegiance to Sky Shadow, or be killed now,” the bot that Hook, Line and Sinker had determined to have the greatest claim of leadership over most of the Cybertronians on Eukaris stated as over a dozen other animals emerged through the trees, “and my army will have to settle for just your ship.”



    “He’s the namesake.” A giant beetle not native to this world muttered. “The warlord from Beest, the one that killed Lio Convoy on Helios Three, took his name from this being.”



    “This,” a hovering giant cicada, also not native to Eukaris, continued, “is the original Galvatron, the Warden of the Southern Hemisphere of Cybertron and Guardian Prime’s second.”



    “Ah, yes, I recognize them now. The legendary Cyclonus and Scourge as well.” He nodded to the forked helmet and blue bot respectively. “So, some of the crew survived.” The hovering leader, who appeared to be an amalgam of a lizard and flying insect, but scaled up to larger than average mechanoid size, muttered before transforming and landing on the ground on his robotic legs. “We knew the launch of the Manifest meant that abandoning Helios Three would be…prudent, but we assumed it just meant Cybertron’s interest in that organic mudball was renewed. We could not have imagined that some of the legendary Manifest heroes could have survived.”



    “Well, we did.” Scourge grumbled.



    “Knowing who you now address,” Galvatron snarled, “I assume your tone and your expectations of who is to serve who have changed.” The reverence which this Galvatron felt he was entitled to prompted Sinker to initiate a scan on the three off-worlders.



    The green robotic face of Sky Shadow, one which was as bestial as his animalistic face, was non-expressive for several moments before the head started shaking negatively. “No, my expectations have not changed. You will either serve me or be destroyed.” He referenced his soldiers behind him. “I respect your name, I am as awed by your legend as anyone, but I am the Predacon Commander, and you will serve me.” He rolled his head over his left shoulder toward most of his troops. “Cicadacon, Sea Clamp, Ramhorn, a show of intimidation if you please.”



    “Yes, yes, by all means, bring on Tripredacus.” Galvatron muttered, surprising all the Predacons. “Prime and Jhiaxus did keep secrets from me, just not when it came to the prototype gestalts.”



    Sky Shadow nodded, and a flurry of movement with the three bodies ensued, resulting in the hideous fifty-foot-tall form that startled the three undetected observers. “I thought Jhiaxus claimed it was aesthetically pleasing.” An unworried Scourge muttered.



    “That was the other one.” Cyclonus, equally unconcerned, explained.



    “You are very impressive, Tripredacus.” Galvatron stepped forward, a couple steps past his lieutenants but still a fair distance from the Predacons. “Many of the rest of you appear to be as well. I am not here to enslave you; I am here with an offer to join the Decepticons. I realize that you off-worlders may require an explanation of what that may mean, but in short, we are the most powerful force on Cybertron, especially now with Guardian Prime’s forces and the Autobot leadership at odds regarding Helios Three. Our victory is assured, and we are offering you admittance to what will soon be the ruling faction on Cybertron, and in time the conquerors of the galaxy.”



    “You…” a buzzing giant winged creature the observers had come to know to be called Waspinator, hovered next to the gestalt and muttered, “you no longer zzzzerve Guardian Prime?”



    Galvatron nodded. “Guardian Prime was an obstacle, one I always intended to remove, but he was too protected, too well entrenched. It took our million-year absence to erode his power base sufficiently, and the Decepticons provided the resources that will allow me to finally crush him.”



    “How very gracious.” Sky Shadow scornfully replied. “You come bearing an offer of conscription. Another name for enslavement.”



    “Call it what you will, but from the looks of things, and from what I’ve discerned from your former aquatic soldier Razorclaw, these Predacons of yours are already warriors compelled to fight and are regarded as little more than cannon fodder being led by inept imbeciles with a penchant for losing. I merely offer them an opportunity to fight for the side with the ability to win, and one that takes care of their soldiers.”



    “Oh, is winning what you call grasping the submission end of the olive branch Guardian Prime offered out of a combination of mercy and poor judgment?” Sky Shadow snarled. “And we’re not as ignorant to the recent events of Cybertron as you seem to think. Despite your claims, your new Decepticon comrades have felt the sting of defeat often enough in their short existence. Our army pulled back from Helios Three when the Manifest left, but we left some eyes and ears there to keep me apprised of what happens there.” Sky Shadow turned to the side, keeping an optic on the Decepticons while addressing his Predacons. “It seems a young Autobot, possibly still in his teens,”



    “He’s twenty.” Scourge growled.



    “Twenty.” Sky Shadow displayed a fiendish and monstrous grin. “A twenty-year-old, only a half-decade into self-determination, has repeatedly bested Decepticon forces of greater numbers time and again.”



    “A resourceful youth, to be sure.” Galvatron growled as he took a threatening step toward Sky Shadow. “But do not overestimate the forces he defeated. Scout squads, nothing more.”



    “Scout squads?” Sky Shadow chuckled. “Consisting of gestalts, led by the greatest generals of legend?”



    Galvatron continued forward toward the Predacon commander. “You seem to question our military prowess, Sky Shadow. Perhaps you require a demonstration.”



    “Predacons, eliminate the interlopers!” Sky Shadow barked, prompting a dozen giant lizards and insects to charge Galvatron, who was now sprinting forward toward Sky Shadow with a massive battle axe drawn. A few well-placed debilitating shots from Cyclonus and Scourge thinned the dozen down to seven, and the frighteningly powerful Galvatron, battered his way through those seven, rose his axe high above his head, and drove it down into Sky Shadow’s clavicle, cutting through his frame down to the spark chamber. “Grahhhhhh.” The pained cry came out as a blow from Tripredacus impacted against Galvatron’s chest, sending him skipping across the ground dozens of yards and into the trees on the other side of the clearing.



    Witnessing the astounding power of Galvatron and this combiner, Sinker looked down to the results of his scans and was amazed. “Hook, Line, look at this.” They peered over to the small screen on his wrist and had difficulty accepting what they saw. “This Galvatron’s spark readings are unlike anything we’ve ever seen. Not at this size, not from a natural being, not in anything other than gifts given by the master.”



    They looked back to see Cyclonus and Scourge transform and shoot into the sky, engaging the Predacons from above as Tripredacus evaluated the twitching frame of Sky Shadow before running across the clearing toward where Galvatron had blasted through the trees on the other side. A thunderous blast impacted against Tripredacus’s chest, sending him staggering back a couple steps. Galvatron, an enormous dent visible on his chest armor and smoke emanating from the mouth of his orange fusion tube, marched out of the forest, a snarl on his face as he continued forward to continue the fight with the gestalt that stood double his own height. A purple space jet mode dropped down to the clearing between them and transformed before getting to the ground, landing in Cyclonus’s robotic mode. “Enough!” He yelled, as much to Galvatron as to Tripredacus. “Sky Shadow is dead or soon will be, you’re all free to decide for yourselves! Join us and have a purpose; a route to glory or remain here and simply exist as beasts on a world of beasts! The choice is yours but decide now!”



    Tripredacus glared at Galvatron, studying him, but at seeing the legendary warlord’s rage subside, he too relaxed, and a few moments later he disengaged into three robots. The winged green robot stepped forward. “I can only speak for myself and my two comrades here, but we spent eons fighting and hiding on Helios Three, agonizing eons of fighting and hiding, and we aren’t alone in that.”



    “Zzzzatzzz for zzzzure.” Waspinator hovered forward and chimed in.



    “We’ve been on the cusp of absolute victory numerous times, we’ve faced brutal defeats, and in retrospect, most of those defeats we’re thankful for.” The horrendously ugly dark brown robot that had parts of the rhinoceros beetle hanging from his frame added. “Most of the time the ambitions of our leaders were terrifying and the prospect of running off to join new leaders for their new ambitions is equally so. It was said as an insult but living as beasts on this planet of beasts has its appeal.”



    “That said,” the last of the gestalt trio, a tall robot with lobster claws as forearms, stepped forward, “if your forces are as competent as you claim them to be, many of us would be open to joining and racking up some long-needed wins.” He looked to his two comrades. “I hate Earth as much as either of you, but I need to see some action.”



    “Then you’re in luck.” Scourge said as he too returned to the ground and transformed to robot mode before landing. “This is a recruitment drive, so any return, whether to Helios Three or Cybertron, will take time.”



    “Then conduct your recruitment drive.” The winged Cicadacon spoke up. “I will spread your message to the soldiers of this world and conduct a recruitment drive here.” The green Predacon turned to the forest. “Elphaorca, Latolata, Drancron, come forward!” Three robots emerged from the tree line, each appearing to have incongruent bestial features, as though traits from more than one organic species were incorporated into each of their alternate form. “As you arrived too late to assist us in the combat, you can make yourselves useful by traveling with Galvatron, Cyclonus and Scourge in their recruiting from other colonies. Starting with…?” He peered questioningly at Galvatron.



    Galvatron nodded and smiled. “Our next stop is Beest.”



    “As is ours.” Hook whispered to his comrades. “Seems Line was right, this Eukaris may not be of value, but waiting here gave us this Galvatron, and possibly his home world. I have a feeling that these things will be of great interest to the master.” He started adjusting the settings on his teleporter. “We go back to the ship, shadow Galvatron and his warriors, and determine what to do from there.”





    000000





    Sparkplug





    “Mutt, got Prime on the horn!” The English words following the yell in Cybertronian from one robot standing by a communications console on the beach thirty yards away from the human to a larger robot fifty yards away came through the small device in Sparkplug’s hand. Sparkplug then pointed the device at the intended recipient of the message, the bulbous green robot berating other Cybertronians that were hauling equipment across the sand and rocks too slowly for his liking.



    A loud, irritated garbling of alien words bellowed out from Mutt, followed by the translation coming through Sparkplug’s device. “On my way, just directing these oil sippers into striving to be at least minimally useful to me.”



    Sparkplug shook his head in annoyance before looking over to the verdant forest and watched Michael Fowler emerging through the trees and bushes. “These guys don’t need to do that?” Fowler asked as he approached Sparkplug, nodding toward the giant robots milling around the entrance to the now fully excavated and exposed cavern that led to a tunnel that in turn led to the long-submerged island that had inspired the Atlantis myth. Plato’s writings didn’t include the subterranean fortresses and laboratories that were what these Cybertronians were truly interested in though.



    “Naw,” Sparkplug started answering, “depending on the purity of the energy source, either all of it is consumed by their systems, like with energon and the ore-13 they found here, or with less pure forms of energy their frames vent out the waste in gaseous form.”



    “No numbers one or two, just farting?” Fowler asked for clarification.



    “Yep, and even none of that when they consume pure energon.” Sparkplug muttered as they both stared at the Cybertronians walking in and out of the cave.



    “Neat trick.” Fowler muttered. “Still playing with that toy Wheeljack left you?”



    “Knowing what they’re saying, especially when they don’t know we can understand them, has to be useful, right?” Sparkplug replied. “Might give us some inkling as to if they’ve found that Earth-killer and when they plan to hit the on button.”



    Both looking on angrily at these alien robots that were intent on wiping out all humans and every other species on this planet, but unable to do anything to stop them. “This holding pattern bullshit needs to come to an end.”



    They watched as the ranking Cybertronian on Flores Island, Mutt, marched over to a large communications console. He pressed a button to open the channel. “Guardian, what are our orders on these humans?” He was speaking in English, likely he was intent on insulting or taunting them, something verified as he turned and gave a malevolent grin to them. “Can I squish the bald guy?” Both humans looked at each other in confusion as they both had full, albeit shortly cut hair. The voice that replied was in the incomprehensible collage of noises that made up the Cybertronian language, and Mutt continued the conversation in the same manner. Sparkplug refrained from pointing the translator at either Mutt or the communications console as Mutt was still looking in their direction, and it was best if he didn’t know they had such a device.



    “Agreed on the holding pattern bullshit.” Sparkplug nodded. “Time for the Autobots to either shit or get off the pot.”



    “Thought you said that they didn’t do that.” Fowler grinned at seeing Sparkplug shake his head at the bad joke. “But yes, it’s past time.” The men’s eyes were directed skyward to a shuttle that was approaching them over the western ocean. “Maybe somebody’s metal ears were burning.”



    “Hopefully.” Sparkplug replied. “That does look like one of the Ark’s shuttles.”



    “I’ll hold out hope til I see that stretched out Cadillac emblem.” Fowler joked.



    “You mean the Autobrand?” Sparkplug chuckled. “Wheeljack is gonna love hearing that description for the Face of the Common Man.”



    “Well, whatever you call it,” Michael Fowler pointed up at the nose of the descending craft toward the image of what they were discussing, “there it is. Autobots ahoy.” Mutt barked out in Cybertronian to the other robots in the vicinity and nodded to the landing shuttle, his command causing a bit of confusion and alarm, but the Cybertronians all ceased what they were doing, grabbed any weapons that were near to them and started toward Mutt’s position. “Holy shit, I think we’re getting our wish, holding pattern appears to be over.” He looked over to Sparkplug. “How useless are our sidearms against these guys?”



    “Pretty fucking useless.” Sparkplug replied. “But well-placed shots can be distracting and annoying. So, if you have a shot at an optic, and trust that an Autobot will take advantage of that distraction so you can clear the hell out, then take it. Otherwise, just stand on the sidelines and pray for the best.”



    The shuttle settled on the ground and the ramp lowered immediately with Orion Pax, Ironhide, Jazz, and Autobots Sparkplug recognized from dossiers named Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Brawn and Mirage disembarking and marching across the sand and rock. “Mutt, I’m taking command of the Jhiaxus’s island, including the Flores tunnel. I recommend that you do not oppose me.” Orion commanded in English.



    “Junior, turn around and get the hell back on that cab or I’m gonna stomp yer guts and make an oversized skirt out of ‘em to wrap around my fat ass!” Mutt snarled as he started walking toward Orion, picking up the pace as roughly twenty other robots came out of the cave to reinforce him. “Time’s up bitch!” A right cross shot out from the bubbly green soldier. In a blur of motion, Pax’s left hand caught Mutt’s right fist while his head shot forward and down, slamming the crest on his helmet into the round, green robot’s nose, causing him to drop to the ground heavily. Fowler and Sparkplug chuckled, and Sparkplug shrugged and pointed the small device in his hand at the still fully conscious Mutt struggling to get off the ground and calling out in Cybertronian to his soldiers, the small device translating the words into English. “Get them you exhaust ports!” The other robots charged the Autobots, outnumbering them three to one. Suddenly over two dozen animals emerged from the jungle behind the humans and charged the Cybertronian soldiers, a lion, an elephant, and an eagle holding back, reconfiguring, and converging into a fifty-foot-tall robot wielding a broadsword. “How?”



    Two robots lunged at Orion, only to be caught by a left fist and right elbow thrown simultaneously, knocking them both to the ground painfully. “They scan like organics in beast modes, and you disregard organics Mutt.”



    “Fuck you, Pax!” Mutt snarled in English before barking Cybertronian into his wrist communicator. Sparkplug and Fowler both looked to the translator as the English translation came out. “Raise the island!”



    “Shit, that can’t be good.” Fowler muttered as the gestalt burst into the midst of the Cybertronian soldiers defending the area, battering them with ease and tossing them into disarray. Ironhide led the other Autobots and most of the beast-bots into the cavern, but suddenly there was a tremor that rocked them all a bit.



    “The tunnel don’t mean shit anymore!” The translator vocalized Mutt’s Cybertronian taunting. “In a few hours, the whole island will be accessible, and Prime will just land on it and do as he pleases!”



    Orion knelt next to downed Mutt and delivered a cross than rendered the squat green soldier unconscious. He then raised his wrist communicator to his mouth. “Ironhide, be advised that the order to raise Atlantis Nesos has been given, and we felt a tremor that suggests that it may be in the process of being carried out.”



    “Got that, Pax, felt tha’ shake, lahke a mini birth pulse. And tha’ rock linin’ tha’ tunnels is starting ta’ fall away, revealing segmented metallic walls.” Ironhide replied as Sparkplug and Fowler were cutting the distance to Orion Pax.



    “Convoy, be advised,” the fifty-foot combined robot was pointing upward to the sky, “ship inbound.”



    Orion stood, turned, withdrew his cannon, and aimed it at the dot in the sky, but as it became more visible as it got closer, Orion relaxed. “At ease, Magnaboss, it’s the Oar’s missing escape craft.”



    “Atrium?” The giant asked.



    “We can only hope.” Orion replied. Several minutes passed before the ship was landing next to the other small escape craft from the Manifest shuttle Oar that the Autobots had arrived in. A moment later the ramp was lowered, and Sparkplug’s heart leaped at seeing his old friend Alpha Trion. “I was wondering when you were going to return that craft.”



    Alpha Trion marched over and soon was embracing his former pupil. “I assume negotiations with Gallus weren’t fruitful.”



    “You assume correctly, my mentor.” Orion replied as they broke off the hug.



    Alpha Trion looked down and saw Sparkplug, giving him a smile. “I was hoping to see you again, Agent Witwicky.”



    “Good timing, this is probably your last chance to see any human.” Sparkplug darkly joked.



    “I’m here now,” Alpha Trion nodded grimly, “whatever Earth’s fate, I shall share it.”



    “As will I.” Orion added, prompting Alpha Trion to look at him again.



    “I assure you, Orion, there will be others to make the stand with us.” Alpha Trion stated. “You are more respected than you know.”





    000000





    Bomb-Burst





    Idiots. They assumed sparkeaters were extinct. Beaten, yes. Leaderless, yes. The ambition to rule the planet and herd the surviving Cybertronians through pens to be used as livestock, probably gone, never to be readopted. In fact, Bomb-Burst may very well be the last of the Aswangs, so perhaps the bulk of the danger was passed for normal Cybertronians, but threat of becoming a sparkeater meal was not altogether gone, as this lowly yellow twit would be finding out momentarily.



    Despite being an Aswang, Bomb-Burst had no difficulty passing for a normal Cybertronian and had found a home within the Decepticon ranks quite easily. He had been a loyal government agent, but there was no denying that the Decepticons were more his ilk, and honestly, they were probably going to come out the victors when all was said and done. But having worked for the government had provided him with many assets. The physical enhancements were excellent, particularly his alternate mode, something the added strength and durability of becoming a sparkeater wouldn’t have provided. And the training provided as a member of Sentinel Prime’s most elite hit squad was invaluable. The monster in him wanted to pounce on any Cybertronian that walked away from the pack, but the spy in him forced him to be disciplined, learn about his prey, verify that there would be minimal if any blow-back, and then strike in an ideal manner. His cybernivorous nature was something he had to keep from even his Decepticon brethren.



    But this defenseless little yellow fellow, Scrounge of Velotrax according to the three days’ worth of research he’d conducted on the prey, would hardly be missed. And Scrounge had made the mistake of meandering too far from other pedestrians in this suburb of Kaon, too far to be heard, even if he managed to get a cry out, which Bomb-Burst was certain wasn’t going to happen. Bomb-Burst leapt from the rooftop he had been perched upon and transformed to stealth fighter mode and silently cut through the dark sky to the slender yellow robot with a pyramid-type head, transformed back to robot mode above him, and dropped upon the unsuspecting victim. Scrounge started to scream, but his throat being torn out stopped the cries of terror and pain. His body was effortlessly flipped over, and his chest torn open. His spark chamber was likewise shredded away to reveal his pale-blue spark life-force pulsing. It was weak, undoubtedly on the left slope of the ignis communia bell curve, but it would suffice and keep Bomb-Burst sated for weeks to come.



    Bomb-Burst stared deeply into the panicked optics of his victim Scrounge and relished in their fading light as he pulled the spark out of the yellow chest and raised it to his face, his plate retracting to reveal his ravenous mouth just in time for it to be Scrounge’s final sight. The yellow frame ceased all movement and succumbed to oblivion, and Bomb-Burst began consuming it, relishing in the joy of taking a lifeforce into his frame. But just as he was starting to enjoy it in full, a notification buzzed on his wrist communicator. “Bomb-Burst, come in.” It was Shockwave’s voice coming through.



    Bomb-Burst quickly consumed what was left of the spark before replying. “I’m here, Shockwave.”



    “Where’s here?”



    “I’m just outside Kaon.” He replied.



    “Good. Report to Trypticon, he, our new flagship the Nemesis, and the rest of our fleet will be lifting off within the hour.” Shockwave commanded.



    “Aye, on my way.” Bomb-Burst muttered as he rose to his feet, lowered his rifle, lined it up with the chest cavity of his deceased victim and unloaded a barrage on the corpse. He didn’t care if townsfolk found a murder victim, as long as they didn’t suspect that it was a sparkeater that had committed the murder. He transformed and took to the sky.





    000000





    Mindset





    “I could live here for centuries, and I’d still never figure out my way around Hub Maximo.” Mindset said to the green, white, and yellow robot walking with him through the never-ending maze of hallways.



    “It’s vast, but you’ll familiarize yourself with it soon enough. Just remember the instructions I provided you.” Rook replied, leading them into a large expanse where a massive one-hundred-twenty-foot tall green, horned robot with metal tendrils hanging down his frame was waiting for them. “My Liege Maximo, may I present Mindset of Cyberton.”



    Mindset lowered to one knee and bowed his head. “Liege Maximo, it is a privilege to be in your presence. I swear fealty to you and your empire.”



    “Rise Mindset.” The massive voice boomed throughout the chamber. “Rook has told me much about you, and attests that you will make a capable platoon commander.”



    “I am honored by such praise, especially coming from one as accomplished as Rook.” Mindset answered, head bowed.



    “I name you Commander of my Ninety-Second Expeditionary Force.” The massive, predominantly green leader boomed. “Though the nature of our overall mission may have changed thanks to the data found on your damaged escape craft.”



    “My Liege?” Mindset asked, unsure of what he was referring to.



    “For many millions of years, we’ve existed solely as a sanctuary for enslaved or lost Cybertronians, or sentient mechanoids of different worlds. But it is now conceivable for us to expand our small sanctuary Hub into a utopia that encompasses the entire galaxy. While your ship did not have a layout or adequate notes for us to build a Ferrotaxis, there was enough research in there for us to establish ways of cyberforming organic worlds. Far more labor and resource intensive than if we’d had a Ferrotaxis, but we have the labor, and we have the resources.”



    A realization sent a wave of terror through Mindset. “My Liege, it had been reported to me that Lord Jhiaxus’s prognosis was good, that work on him soon would be complete and that odds were fair that he would make a full recovery. If that’s true, he could simply…”



    “Work on Jhiaxus has been completed.” Liege Maximo interrupted, waving both Mindset and Rook to follow him across the vast room toward a pair of double doors on the far end, doors too small for Liege Maximo to pass through, but still their intended destination. He continued as they made their way. “Physically he is as healthy as he ever was, which is astounding. Our physicians still do not comprehend the power-enhancers built into his torso which enables his ignis communia to operate as a top-level ignis superious, but as it was only his cranium that sustained significant damage, his core frame operates as it was, though we did take aesthetic liberties to help him blend in with the bulk of our military forces. His mind, unfortunately, was damaged beyond our ability to repair fully.” They reached the double doors, which opened to reveal a nearly fully rebuilt Jhiaxus seated on a medical slab being attended to by three physicians. “He is still fully functional, well above average in intelligence, but he is not the genius he used to be, his memory is fragmented, and his ability to control impulses, primarily rage, is less than ideal. But he still possesses the potential to be possibly our greatest asset in our new destiny. He will be my Liege Centuro, acting military commander of my Cybertronian Empire, and will spearhead our expansion.”



    “I look forward to serving you, Liege Maximo.” Jhiaxus growled from his seated position in the small med-bay, seemingly annoyed that he was still being worked on by the doctors. Mindset noted Jhiaxus’s green optics almost seemed alight with eager rage, something he had never witnessed in his commander and friend before.





    000000





    Orion Pax





    The peaks had been visible for hours, but now most of the rest of the landmass, particularly the central and southern lowlands of the island closest to Ponta dos Ilheus had breached the waves, cutting through the surface of the Atlantic for the first time in eleven and a half thousand years. There once had been thousands of stone structures, all of which had long since collapsed, but the channel leading through the southcentral portion of the landmass toward what the aerial scans had confirmed to be a vast circular lake with two rings of land circling a center island within the lake was clear as day. Orion knew what to expect, and not just from human legends. The Maximals of Earth had called this island home for thousands of years, until a resurrected Cryotek invaded, found, and activated the Ferrotaxis, and forced Pax’s brood mate Primal to detonate the primary power source for the Ferrotaxis, a plasma energy chamber, sacrificing himself and killing Cryotek in the process. The Maximals found their bodies at the base of the energy chamber, but weren’t certain where the Ferrotaxis itself was, and with the island sinking quickly, didn’t have the time or resources to follow the energy flow conduits from the chamber. But Rhinox had his theories and had gone down the tunnel hours before to test those theories out. Jetfire was also within the island, determined to access the defense systems that had shot him down over one thousand millenniums ago. The hope was that perhaps he could find a way to utilize them in their defense when Guardian Prime came to claim Jhiaxus’s planet-killer.



    Orion, with Roller next to him as he had been all day, evaluated the almost entirely re-emerged artificial island and the distance between it and where he was standing. Wheeljack’s estimates made it clear that there would still be a channel of water separating Flores from the eastern coast of Atlantis, but it was close enough so that even humans that were strong swimmers could cover the distance within a couple hours. Sparkplug had said that he had cousins that lived in Ogdensburg, NY, and that he had swam the Saint Lawrence River to Brockton, Ontario as a teenager, and that the width of the river at that point was about half of what separated them from the emerging island.



    “Commander…” Jazz’s voice broke Orion out of his considerations.



    “Yes Jazz?” Orion turned to his lieutenant coming to a stop next to he and Roller.



    “The various governments of Europe, North Africa, and even the Americans are doing what they can to get all their mariners away from the area of the emerging island, but frankly, this is going to be seen.”



    “I know.” Pax nodded. “But maybe they can arrange media blackouts, keep this contained.” Orion looked over Jazz and saw Prowl approaching. “We don’t need the entire planet panicking over something they can’t do anything to influence.”



    “Commander, the Ark is about two minutes out.” Prowl announced as he joined them. “And we have more wormhole generations outside Earth’s orbit.”



    “MORE wormhole generations?” Jazz asked? “There’s been a wormhole generation already?”



    Prowl uncomfortably shrugged, his look indicating that he wasn’t embarrassed about the slip, likely it wasn’t even a slip, but that he wasn’t supposed to clue Jazz in on anything. Roller’s chirps and chortling at his statement didn’t help matters. “Orion has his secrets.”



    “Orion has one secret.” Jazz chuckled, slapping Pax on the shoulder, prompting Roller to laugh, in his way, even more. “Worst kept secret on Cybertron.”



    “Who are the new arrivals.” Pax abruptly changed the subject.



    “The bulk of our Autobot forces that had remained on Cybertron, House Pax, House Solus, House Maximus, Thunderclash had decided to join us and has recruited a few hundred with him, Omega Supreme of course, and various other ships.” Prowl replied, a hard look coming over him. “Welcome news, but only marginally more than what we anticipated, and it won’t nearly be enough.”



    “Instruct them to land on the central island of the inland sea.” Orion stated as he made his way to the stretch of beach that the Oar would be putting down to collect them, Roller and the others following. “We will relocate the Ark and all of our Flores assets and personnel to that location and join them there.” The vast Ark could be seen in the distance, approaching them quickly, a smaller craft, the Oar, exiting the vastly larger ship and continuing toward Orion as the Ark started down toward the center of the huge new island. Several minutes later the Oar was above Orion and the others, then lowered to just over the water so that the opening ramp touched the edge of the beach, and Orion, the other Autobots stationed on Flores, and numerous humans including Sparkplug, Michael Fowler and Bernice Carlo entered the hovering craft and the doors sealed shut behind them.



    Orion marched into the cockpit to find Bumblebee piloting the craft, Roller following him there. “Hello Bumblebee, put us down next to the Ark, but leave enough room so that it can take off in an instant should that be necessary.”



    “Aye, Commander.” Bumblebee replied as he lifted off over the coastline, and quickly covered the distance over the water to the newly risen island.



    Orion looked over the rocky, moss-covered surface, glistening with still-receding seawater. He had seen photographs and topographical scans but viewing it with his naked optics was something different. Jhiaxus was a monster, this island was created to allow him to unleash his monstrous creativity to the fullest, yet despite the evil behind its conception, it was a stunningly beautiful landmass. Orion would have longed to have seen it in the age where the Maximals had made a utopia of it, allowing humans of various regions and ethnicities to settle there, a cultural melting pot that predated the civilizations of the Fertile Crescent, the first independent human civilizations, by many centuries. He would have longed to have seen it were his mind not completely occupied by thoughts of how to defend it against the coming Prime and his forces.



    Scattered throughout the relatively flat southern portion of the island below were the remains of stone structures from that era. When his brood mate, Primal, had looked upon them they would have been majestic; human palaces, amphitheaters, markets, animal pens and countless other stone edifices for their native neighbors and friends, all now just chunks of rock strewn about open fields. There were ruins all over the island, the humans had really spread out over the centuries they had settled here, but there was an enormous cluster of man-made stone debris on the northwestern shoreline that was so large that it stretched for miles, a vast wasteland of stone that according to the Maximal notes was the largest human settlement on the entire island. A sprawling multi-cultural metropolis, encompassing ancient peoples from Europe, Africa, Asia, and even the Americas. It was a home to over one million humans, roughly a quarter of the total human population of Earth at that time, and now it was just miles and miles of debris, with dozens upon dozens of shipwrecks dating back thousands of years through to the current era strewn about making it even more of a disorganized mess. Orion allowed himself a small smile; it was perfect. A series of movements within the heaps of rubble and skuttled boat wreckage let Pax know that others were of like minds regarding the area. He reached over Bumblebee to the communications array on the console and opened a channel. “Ironhide, are you directing the incoming craft on where to land and what their roles and positions will be once they do?”



    “Aye, Cahmander.” Ironhide’s voice came back.



    “Excellent.” Pax responded. “Consider the remains of Granite City to be sufficiently covered.”



    “What?” Ironhide shot back. “Sir, nobody’s there.”



    “Just trust me, old friend.” Orion smiled. “That sector has been fortified. Please have the Protectibots and the Aerialbots meet with me once we’re all on the ground. I have some special instructions for them.”



    “As you cahmand, Pax.” The voice answered and Orion closed the channel.



    “Who have you got in the Granite City remains?” Bumblebee asked. His question met by a series of chirps and tweets from Roller which roughly translated to ‘not your business’.



    Orion just smiled and patted the confused Bumblebee on the shoulder. “Just take us in, Bee.” Orion watched as the vast lake, an inland sea really, came into view, along with the strips of land that made up two outer rings to a large central island. “There, you can see metal poking through the stone ground in the center of that central island, put us down next to that.”



    “Aye, Commander, I read the Maximals’ reports, next to the entrance to one of the Island’s subterranean control centers.” Bumblebee replied as he steered the craft in as he was told.



    The next hour was a chaotic flurry of activity as numerous ships touched down and hundreds of volunteers to aid Pax in protecting this Earth streamed out of them. Orion greeted numerous leaders, all swearing to fight loyally for what they agreed was right, to oppose the Prime of Cybertron, though most still holding onto hope that this would be resolved without violence. Orion knew better, and to those that were able warriors and leaders, like Elita One, Fortress Maximus, Grimlock, Thunderclash and a handful of others, he stressed that violence was not something that they could avoid.



    Elita. He had hoped that their reunion would be more substantial, but there was too much to do. A shared smile, a squeezed hand, and then off they went to prepare as best they could. Besides, Roller was even more protective of him than usual, so privacy was not an option this day. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Roller that he would be relocating to the Atlantis mainland, both he and the trailer which converted to their command station. When they needed to evacuate Atlantis, either because they failed or because they succeeded, Roller would be leading the evacuation of their human allies, and the command station was a functional ferry to get humans and supplies back to Flores. He would be explaining this to Roller soon, but he had so much to do before that.



    Orion looked up to see the team designated the Protectibots marching toward he and his brother, the blue Hot Spot, a robot his equal in terms of height and bulk, but less tapered through the torso, was taking the lead. Following him were the other five members of his team, Streetwise, First Aid, Blades, Rook, and the significantly smaller Groove. “Commander Pax, you wished to see us?”



    “Aye, Hot Spot.” Orion replied. “I’m assuming you’ve been debriefed on what you may be expected to do.”



    “Yes, Commander, Blaster laid it out in detail. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.” The blue team leader answered.



    “As do I, but we need to be prepared. Please report to your assignment, and Primus speed, Protectibots.” Orion stated as he looked to a contingent of Aubotots on the outskirts of the central island that they were situated on. Upon landing, Wheeljack had cleared away much of the rock, rubble, and other debris from the metal beneath the central portion of the inner island to reveal the entrance and had gone down into it with Polar Claw and several other Maximals as his guide. They were in contact with Rhinox, trying to work with him to determine the location of the Ferrotaxis, which would require them to go deeper into the bowels of the fabricated island than any other Cybertronian other than Jhiaxus, Primal and Cryotek. Standing guard at the surface entrance was Prowl, Brawn, Fortress Maximus, the Aerialbots, Hound, Jazz and now the inbound Protectibots. “Fortress Maximus, a word please.” Orion called out, prompting the massive royal to come running over to him.



    “Aye Lord Convoy, what can I do for you?” Fortress Maximus asked.



    “It’s just Orion, Fortress Maximus.” Orion humbly corrected. “I understand that the Maximal Apelinq is a proficient engineer.”



    “Aye, Orion, he’s actually quite brilliant.” Maximus replied.



    “Please direct him to contact Rhinox and report to his position down below. Perhaps together they’ll have a better chance of finding and destroying the Ferrotaxis.” Orion instructed.



    “Aye, Commander Pax, I will contact him immediately.” Fort Max assured him before turning and raising his wrist communicator to his face to contact Apelinq with the orders.



    “There is still so much to do, Brother.” Orion stated to the blue vehicle down by his shins.



    A series of chirps and cheeps shot up questioningly to him.



    “A slew of new soldiers and couple unexpected space cruisers to fit into our defensive strategies. The odds are most definitely against us, but if we can hold out long enough to find and destroy the Ferrotaxis, then this day won’t be a total loss.”



    More chirps from Roller came out, ones that left Orion with a subdued smile. They translated roughly to ‘Beating imposing odds had come to be Orion Pax’s defining trait. Today will change everything.’ Even limited, the little Pax always found a way to raise his brother’s spirits.



    “I have a mission for you as well, brother.” Orion stated. “Human soldiers are going to be bolstering our own, they will be positioned in different locations along the coastline of this inland sea. I wish you to assist them, bring the trailer for additional firepower and resources, and should we fail or succeed, assist them in getting off the island.” Roller started chirping his protest, but Orion waved him down. “I assure you brother; this is critically important. I’ll find you after the battle.”





    0





    Ironhide





    Accommodations had been made for the seven small humans and the even smaller Maximal, beings that made Minimus Ambus look like a giant in comparison. The Cybertronian in question had a tiny stature that wasn’t unique to this Rattrap, but the bridge of the Ark hadn’t been built with such frames in mind. It had, however, been built so that adjustments for such individuals could be made quickly and easily. According to his fellow Earth Maximals, Rattrap was an excellent navigator, which was why he was manning the navigation array off to Ironhide’s left. Ironhide, currently assigned to be acting captain of the Ark, an assignment he was less than thrilled to have been given, was seated in the captain’s chair overlooking the sparce crew in the bridge, as well as the seven human agents from various countries, all discussing the intelligence files that the three Americans, Sparkplug Witwicky, Michael Fowler and Bernice Carlo, had shared with them.



    “And you’re saying that a dog gave this information to President Johnson?” An Englishman who’d identified himself as John Robert Hilton asked the three Americans.



    “One of them dressed as a dog.” Sparkplug replied, thumbing over toward Rattrap.



    “Yeah, buddy of mine, name in English is K-9.” Rattrap chimed in as he scrutinized the screens in front of him at his console. “Eh, I tried to push Polar Claw into sending Grizzly-1 to Moscow with the same files, maybe have him riding a unicycle through the Kremlin hallways, but Polar Claw has zero sense of humor so just sent K-9 there too.”



    “You think that’s funny?” One of the Soviet representatives, a man named Oleg Lyalin, growled in thickly Russian accented English.



    “It’s just jest, comrade.” His fellow Soviet, a scientist who had introduced himself as Doctor Voskod, interjected in a similar accent.



    “Yeah, don’t get sensitive, Ivan.” Rattrap mumbled. “I make fun of everybody. I was about to point out how ridiculous it is that Hilton and the Yanks speak what they claim is the same language, yet my translation parameters are constantly resetting whenever an American follows a British speaker and vice versa.”



    “We gaht regional dialects ourselves on Cybertron, rat.” Ironhide chimed in as he sat nervously, waiting for the impending call to action.



    “In the spirit of diplomacy and friendship,” Sparkplug started chuckling as he and the other humans continued focusing on their files regarding Cybertronian involvement in Earth’s history, “I will concede that it’s England’s language, and most of the butchering to it has been done on our side of the pond.” He paused for a few moments before continuing. “Most of the butchering.”



    “Interesting add-on to the end of your friendly, diplomatic statement.” John Hilton smirked back.



    “There are a few examples I think we’re in the right on.” Sparkplug playfully bantered. “For one, it’s schedule, with a k sound.”



    “I always just chalked that up to a regional preference, no right or wrong.” Hilton replied. “And it’s not without precedence, much like machine is an s-h sound.”



    “Is that how they justify it in British shools?” Sparkplug looked over at him and cocked an eyebrow.



    “Very droll, but yes, I concede that school has more in common linguistically with schedule than machine does.” Hilton replied. “Not saying that our pronunciation is incorrect, but I see your point. Is that the only one you have? If so, your one victory is a gray area at best.”



    “I’ve got one.” Michael Fowler chimed in, still studying the files like the other humans in their hastily built workstations circling around so that they could face one another on the floor of the Ark’s bridge, between the navigation and communications arrays. “A holiday is a day on the calendar that represents some religious or secular significance. You and your mates going to Vegas for a long weekend is a vacation.”



    Hilton let out a genuinely amused laugh. “Yes, I’ll give you Yanks that one.” He turned the page of his bound file folder and continued reading but gasping as something caught his attention. “By God, this says that the Apkallu were…” he looked over to Rattrap, “you.”



    “Eh, don’t look at me, I have no idea whatchur referrin’ to.” Rattrap muttered, holding his hands up.



    “The Apkallu, or Seven Sages, are legendary fish-man demigods attributed as having provided the knowledge necessary to bring about civilization to the ancient Mesopotamians.” Hilton explained, disbelief still in his voice. “I was the Director of the Department of Antiquities in Cyprus for a couple of years in my twenties. This changes everything we thought we knew.”



    “A lot of that going on these days.” Bernice stated. “I mean, we’re on fucking Atlantis right now.”



    Rattrap started tapping into a translucent keyboard with Cybertronian characters that popped up from his wrist, one with a screen above it that started scrolling the results of his search. “Oh yeah, Depth Charge. It’d have been good to have him here now.” The small robot said sadly before popping out of his reverie to explain what he’d found to the humans. “So, yeah, Atlantis sinking wasn’t the only bit of cataclysmic destruction brought about by our final battle with Cryotek. Ya’ see, Helios Three had been in an ice age, which had been petering out for a while, but this ice age had a last gasp if you will, a resurgence of the cold your scientists call the Younger Dryas period. This cold spell had been going on about twelve centuries before Cryotek kicked on the Ferrotaxis. The handful of hours it was going caused such a geologic upheaval to your world, that the Younger Dryas came to a very, very abrupt end. Transitions that normally took centuries occurred in days. Lots of stuff happened, including the creation of mutated energon on your world, but the big one was that the ice melted incredibly fast. Like, impossibly fast. Atlantis sank because it sank, but near sea-level civilizations around the world, including every offshoot human civilization of Atlantis, were swallowed up by the rising seas and oceans in a matter of days. Your species was brought to the brink, and the few of you guys that survived, were all hunter-gatherers. So, with Cryotek defeated and dead, and us believing X…eh, some psycho that Depth Charge was obsessed with, was also dead, and Primal dead and Polar Claw despondent and in a funk over it, the rest of us Maximals were kinda rudderless. Depth Charge, Cybershark, Claw Jaw and a few other aquatic Maximals thought they’d take it upon themselves to give you guys a helping hand. It wasn’t until later that Polar Claw snapped out of it and ordered all contact with humans to cease.”



    “Depth Charge…” Bernice muttered, “that’s not the name I saw associated with Kukulkan.”



    “Kukulkan?” Captain Fernando Robles, the representative from Portugal, the sovereign rulers of the Azores, and likely the country that would try to claim Atlantis if they survived all this, questioned.



    “Plumed serpent god of the Mayans, or Quetzalcoatl to the Aztecs and other later Mesoamerican peoples.” Carlo answered. “Es mi cultura.”



    “Not the part that spoke Spanish.” Fowler chuckled, earning him a glare from Bernice.



    Rattrap typed in the new search into the Maximal database he was accessing through his personal computer. “Ah, yeah, that wasn’t Depth Charge. This was long after he’d died. One of Magmatron’s lieutenants, a real piece a’ garbage named Saberback. He’d been our prisoner for many, many millennia, but while Atlantis was going down, he managed to get free. Our guess is that after thousands of years he finally gave up on finding allies to beat us and conquer Helios Three with, so he decided his best life would be to find humans to worship him. He may or may not have been Prometheus, might have been Osiris, but probably not, and there’s a slim chance he was Maui. Maybe even a few other deities. But we’re sure he was Waxaklahun Ubah Kan, or Kukulkan, which is what inspired the Quetzalcoatl legends and others.”



    “He transformed into a feathered snake?” Hilton asked, as fascinated by this as Carlo was.



    “Naw, what you guys call a stegosaurus.” Rattrap answered. “Guess the Mayans overlooked the legs. But the clown had a feather and flower motif going on, and his plates were vibrant, so maybe that contributed to it. Anyway, it wasn’t long after his visit to what would become Mexico that we finally tracked him down and…well, he had had his fill of being a prisoner I guess, because he went down shooting.” He looked at Bernice and shrugged. “Never meet your heroes, especially when those heroes claim to be gods.” He turned back to the navigation array. “Or a Prime.”



    “So, you guys have been bouncing in and out of our legends since the beginning.” Oleg Lyalin accused in accented English.



    “Only a handful of times.” Rattrap muttered. “For the most part your legends don’t involve us.”



    “Certainly, some of the tales of giants would be you.” Hilton pressed. “Like the cyclops of Greek mythology?”



    “Nope.” Rattrap smiled, his optics still on the screens in front of him. “Jumbled pachyderm skeletons your ancient ancestors came across.”



    “What?” Sparkplug muttered, perplexed how that could be the case.



    “What about sea monsters, or lake monsters, or that stuff?” Fowler asked. “Is Nessie one of your buddies?”



    “Nope, not us.” Rattrap smiled a buck-toothed grin.



    “No Bigfoot or Abominable Snowman?” Sparkplug chimed in.



    “Noooo…oh, wait, yeah.” Rattrap grumbled. “Fucking Grizzly-1. He didn’t create the legend, but his careless furry fender got seen and reinforced it.”



    “Wait, what?” Sparkplug asked excitedly.



    “I’m sure Polar Claw put that in there.” Rattrap muttered. “He was really cheesed at ol’ Grizzle’s over that.”



    “Maybe, but these files are almost as thick as a bible.” Fowler countered. “We’d need months to take all of it in.”



    “Look, y’all, I’m all for a bit o levity before a big throw-down where we’re all likely gonna die,” Ironhide interrupted, “but I need my navigator payin’ attention. You can learn about big feet or whatever if and when we survive this brawl.” Ironhide then looked to the pilot, a grizzled old bot that had worked for centuries with Thunderclash and who Thunderclash claimed was the best pilot there was. Thunderclash’s native tongue was hyperbole, but he wouldn’t have recommended this Landshark if it wasn’t well deserved, so Ironhide was confident that the Ark would be piloted as well as could be expected. As, hopefully, would all the other craft when Guardian Prime came a knocking. “Everythang ready ta’ go when it’s go-time, Landshark?”



    “I’m always ready, kid.” Landshark grumbled back. He was only a million years older than Ironhide, but it was enough for him to lord his age and presumed experience over the red Autobot.



    “Ironhide?” Rewind, the diminutive darkly colored robot manning the communications array called out. “Orion Pax is hailing on a general Autobot channel.”



    “Open it up and let’s see what the big guy has ta’ say?” Ironhide replied.



    “Attention defenders of Earth,” a familiar deep voice came through the speaker, “this is Orion Pax, Autobot Commander. Word has just come in that the Manifest has launched from Cybertron. We have moments before they arrive here intending to take possession of this island, and the Ferrotaxis deep within it. Rhinox and Apelinq have still not located it, but they have made tremendous progress in the last several hours. I’m confident that given time, the two of them will locate it and determine the best way to destroy it. It’s our duty to give them that time. We’re out-numbered, we’re out-gunned, and barring a miracle, in time we will fall. But with Jhiaxus dead, by taking the Ferrotaxis away from Guardian Prime we rid the galaxy of its threat once and for all. I am asking a lot of all of you, more than I deserve to ask, but I will not let Cybertron become a destroyer of worlds, I will not let our legacy be one of repeated genocide, and standing with all of you, we will see to it that our species will not be a force for annihilation. I thank you, Earth thanks you, and history will thank you.” There was a pause before Pax continued. “I will be segmenting communications channels for groups I feel need to be in constant contact with each other, but do not remain in your respective silo should you require assistance, notice something, or need to reach out to another group for any reason. Primus speed to all of you, Pax out.” The signal was cut



    “Wow, it’s real now.” A nervous Rewind stated.



    Ironhide smiled and nodded. “Hang on Rewind, he’s going ta’ be right ba…”



    “He’s back!” A surprised Rewind announced, then realized that was what Ironhide was telling him.



    “Put ‘im through.” Ironhide smiled as he watched Rewind open the channel. “Welcome back, Commander.”



    “Hello Ironhide.” Pax’s voice came through, far more casual than his previous announcement. “I have linked in Jetfire, Rhinox and those captaining the other ships on this line as well. It’s all about to happen, are you ready to launch and light up the sky?”



    “Aye, Commander.” Ironhide confidently replied. “Got Landshark mannin’ tha stick, Rattrap on nav, Rewind on comms, guns are all manned, we’re all set. And as of fifteen minutes ago, the other ships were good to go as well. Any captain for whom that isn’t the case, speak up now.”



    There were a few moments of silence before Orion came back. “Excellent.” He stated, but his tone shifted. “When Guardian Prime hails us, which he will before initiating aggression, I think it may be best if you address him. He’s done talking to me, there’s nothing more to be gained from he and I speaking, but you’ve known him since he was a young bot, you may be able to get him to pause if nothing else.”



    “Don’t getcher hopes up, Pax.” Ironhide answered. “I’ll do my best, and he may have less animosity with me than you, but his mind is made up.”



    “I know, but maybe you can buy us time before the rounds start flying.” Orion explained. “Anything we can do to help Rhinox find and destroy the Ferrotaxis.”



    The navigation sensor array came to life at that moment. “Wormhole opening, Ironhide.” Rattrap called out. “Big one.”



    “You heard ‘im, Pax, go time! Git us off tha’ ground, Landshark.” Ironhide instructed the large pilot.



    Orion’s voice continued. “Jetfire, are you there?”



    “I’m here, Pax.” Jetfire’s voice came through.



    “Any luck with those cannons on the northern mountain range?” Orion asked.



    “Yep. Damn things took me out of the sky and caused me to crash and sleep in a block of Artic ice for over a million years. I always thought that if I ever got my hands on these things, I’d be dismantling them with extreme prejudice, not repairing them.” Jetfire explained. “Funny thing, fate.”



    “Yesterday’s enemies, and all that.” Orion said. “Be ready to open fire. I’ve dispatched some soldiers to head your way to relieve you so that we can get you in the sky.”



    “We won’t need him in the sky once I lay into Prime’s forces.” Landshark muttered. “Having a jet mode doesn’t make one a great pilot.”



    “Ignore him and have yer fingers on tha triggers, Jetfire.” Ironhide instructed.



    “No problem, I honestly hope he’s right, but I’m ready to spread wing once I get relieved on the cannons.” Jetfire responded.



    By this point the Ark was rocking a bit as it lifted off. Ironhide looked through the viewport to see several other craft doing the same, preparing for a dogfight involving ships so large that they should never be involved in dogfighting. “Rewind, see if whoever is comin’ through that wormhole is feelin’ chatty.”



    “I can confirm that it’s the Manifest. No other craft, but that beast is large enough to be housing other ships.” Rattrap reported.



    “And yes, they’ve just sent a hail.” Rewind added.



    “Put ‘em through.” Ironhide grumbled, and at Rewind’s nod, spoke out loudly. “This is Ironhide, acting Captain of the Ark.”



    A familiar voice responded. “I hope you’re enjoying the Ark, old friend. I wasn’t expecting to see it aligned against me when I gifted it to you Autobots. It’s unfortunate that we find ourselves in this situation, Ironhide.”



    “Hello Prahme, not a fan of this situation myself, but I can’t letcha do what yer plannin’ on doin.”



    “They’re insects to us, Ironhide.” Prime stated. “Compassion is a good thing, but at some point, pragmatism simply has to win out.”



    “You should prahbably know, there are a few of these native Earthlings here listening in.” Ironhide explained.



    “So?” Prime flippantly replied. “Are they going to beat me up for speaking an unkind truth?”



    “Is that your basis for superiority in a species? Physical strength?” Sparkplug Witwicky called out in English the moment his mini translator converted Prime’s words into English. That same translator then transitioned Sparkplug’s words into Cybertronian.



    Prime chuckled and responded in English. “No, but possessing power allows you to force others to play what your interpretation of fair is, I’m hoping your histories have at least taught you that.”



    “Yeah, I think I read something about carrying a big stick.” Sparkplug replied. “But I had come to understand that the Matrix-bearer, the Prime, would have a more wise, elevated view of other species and conflict resolution. Yes, we are weaker than you, we are much younger than you, and less advanced. And we certainly have our shortcomings and have made some colossal mistakes. But we have our virtues, our accomplishments, moments of greatness, and most importantly, we possess the potential to be valuable friends and allies to your world. You need Ore-13 for your war effort against the Decepticons? Take what we have. Is there some other way for us to assist you? Just ask. There are ways far more beneficial to interact with Earth than to simply destroy it and make a pantry out of it.”



    “Come now, human, you sell your planet short.” Prime answered with a hint of mirth in his voice. “Helios Three won’t simply be a pantry, it will be the most productive farm in Cybertron’s history. Your sacrifice will be celebrated. Your species, all the species of your world, will be honored.”



    “I might have an easier time believing that if your voice wasn’t dripping with disdain as you said human.” Bernice Carlo called out.



    “This has been fun, but I will be continuing my discussion with Ironhide.” Guardian Prime hissed before continuing in Cybertronian. “Ironhide, I know that there is no reasoning with Pax. Not that I’m suggesting he’s being unreasonable; he has his reasons for taking the stand that he’s taking, and I respect those reasons, but he’s condemning everyone following him to his fate, and I’m sorry my friend, his fate is to die today on this world for a cause that will be forgotten. You do not need to share that fate. None of you do. Even the humans can select a breeding population that I will transport to Eukaris, a planet that has the right climate, atmosphere, flora, and fauna to sustain them and allow them to thrive. But all ships and weapons need to land and be powered down now.”



    Ironhide looked to his crew before delivering his answer. “Ah’m sorry, Prahme, but I don’t murder worlds.”



    “I understand, old bot, I respect your tenacity. I see our conversation is being shared by other parties, a few points on the ground and to the other ships in your…fleet.” The last word dripping with sarcasm. “It looks like not all your pilots share your dedication to this big blue petri dish.” Prime taunted. “In addition to the Ark, we count only seven other significant ships at your disposal. The Ark is the only truly Vanguard class ship at Pax’s disposal, but I’ll be charitable and lump House Decimus’s Fateful Archetype and House Solus’s Xantium as qualifying to be on the low end of the Vanguard scale. And it’s looking like both of those ships are abandoning you.”



    Ironhide looked to another sensor array that was manned by a small yellow bot very similar looking to Bumblebee. “Hubcap?”



    “I’m afraid it’s true, Ironhide.” Hubcap replied. “Both the Fateful Archetype and the Xantium are breaking off their assent. The Archetype is moving west over the Atlantic, the Xantium is headed east toward southern Europe.”



    “Damnit!” Ironhide growled.



    “Seems they’re pulling some of the smaller ships with them.” Prime continued his gloat. “The Mantlo is going with the Fateful Archetype, which honestly shouldn’t trouble you much, it’s not much more than a freighter. The Iron Hope, however, is a formidable, albeit mid-sized attack cruiser. It might have bought Pax’s forces a few more minutes of existence. Alas, whoever is captaining those ships have seen that discretion is the better part of valor, at least when what’s at stake are organic vermin.”



    “We’re still here apposing you, Prahme!” Ironhide grumbled.



    “Yes, yes you are.” Prime replied. “The Ark, the…is that the Graviton?” Prime laughed. “Somebody swiped Ogrus Onyx’s prized ship? A great attack craft for defending a city, but pathetically outclassed in for actual warfare. What else do we have, oh Primus, is that the Jonagar? Lord Commander Kup managed to salvage the ship of the Wardens from the remains of the Tartarun Gates? Again, impressive acquisition, but severely out of its depth here. And of course, there’s the Solar Spear, House Pax has chosen to throw in with their pet commoner. Of all the ships at your disposal, that is the most useless. A pretty leisure craft with a few offensive capabilities added later for the sole purpose of intimidating House Boltax.” His laughter continued. “You know, this is beneath me using the Manifest.” The Manifest, now visible to naked eyes and optics in Earth’s low orbit, released three ships almost identical to the Ark. “Here, for you to play with, three full Vanguard Class Deep Space Interceptors, all the equal of the Ark. Her sister ships, the Leontifera, the Paralus, and the Tessarakonteres. Have fun.” The three newly released ships started forward into the planet’s atmosphere and began opening fire at the forces below them, all of whom returned fire, the sleek Graviton and Solar Spear darting upward to utilize their speed and maneuverability against the larger and less agile Vanguard class vessels.



    “Yer count is just a bit off, Prahme.” Ironhide snarled as he turned to Hubcap. “Launch the Oar and Paddle.”



    “Come on Ironhide, the Ark’s scout ships?” Prime chuckled. “The Oar and Paddle were never meant to be warships!”



    “It’s ahmazin’ what ya’ can do with a bit o’ retrofitting, Prahme.” Ironhide shot back just as a volley of intense fire blasted out from the mountain peaks to the north, erupting heavily against the Leontifera, blasting its tail section to bits, and sending it crashing into the ocean to the south of the island. “Hell yeah!” Ironhide cheered, followed by the ecstatic cries of his shipmates.



    “Bastards!” Prime’s voice came through.



    “Ironhide,” Rattrap called out. “The Manifest is deploying troop carriers.” Minimally armed and armored, but that’s by design. They’re made to get troops from point A to point B quickly, and there’s little chance we’ll be able to stop them.”



    “Relax, we knew this was comin’!” Ironhide replied. “The ground-fightin’ is Pax’s job!”



    “There’s something else.” Rattap added. “Weird, long thing. Front half looks like a naval battleship, rear looks like some immense locomotive with a crane linked to the rear of the ship. Both are descending with the drop ships."



    “Again, outside our scope, an’ I’m sure Pax is seein’ what yer’ seein’.”



    “Alright Ironhide, you want to play rough?” Prime snarled through the speaker. “Here, have fun with these guys!”



    “What’s he doin’?” Ironhide shouted out to Hubcap.



    “Three more craft departing the Manifest, all notably smaller than Vanguard class and coming at us. Identifying now…” Hubcap scrambled reading the data being sent to him. “Two are shuttles designated Lancer One and Lancer Two, small and sleek, designed for dogfighting. The third…shit. It’s Sky Lynx.”



    “Should I contact Omega Supreme?” Rewind worriedly questioned.



    “Negative, he’s staying put til Orion tells him to move.” Ironhide snapped back. “Besides, while he may whoop Lynx’s ass on the ground, up here in tha’ sky, he doesn’t stand ah chance against tha’ big cat-bird.” Ironhide smiled. “Just stay tha’ course, Pax knows what he’s doin’.”



    Another shot rang out from the mountain, but now aware of the threat from the northern mountain, the remaining ships in the Cybertronian invasion force had their shields oriented in the direction and were prepared, the shot causing minimal damage to the Paralus. Several cannons on the invading crafts erupted and returned fire toward the cannons embedded in the mountain in the distance.



    “Hey Ironhide,” Prime’s questioning voice came through the speaker, “correct me if I’m wrong, but wasn’t the Ark equipped with three scout ships? What did you do with the Scull?”



    Ironhide muted the speaker and turned to Rattrap. “Are we inna position ta’ tell him?”



    Rattrap shrugged nervously. “They’re inbound, so Prime’ll be seeing them on their sensors soon enough.” The small Maximal shook his head. “I still say this is a bad idea. It won’t even be a distraction. We’re all gonna die.”



    “Have some faith in Pax, Rattrap, and Rewind, bring the newcomers inta’ the party line.” Ironhide replied, a small grin coming over his face as he re-opened communications with Guardian Prime and everyone else. “Well, Prahme, funny you should mention tha’ Scull. We had ta’ cannibalize it a bit for parts for somethin’ else.”



    “And what on this planet is worth sacrificing a scout ship for?” Prime replied through the speaker.



    “Your defeat, Honorum!” The voice of Polar Claw announced.



    “The Axalon!” Prime roared as the Manifest’s scans obviously identified the ship. “Who is speaking, who’s on board that cursed, traitorous wreck?”



    “Polar Claw at the stick, and Backstop as my co-captain.” Polar Claw snarled. “It’s a pleasure to finally speak to you Prime, I used to hate you for forcing me to remain on this mudball, but over the epochs I’ve come to love this Earth, and even if there weren’t a living Convoy defying your tyranny as his ancestors did, I’d still stand against you to keep you from murdering this world!”



    “This really is a gift!” Prime growled. “I thank you, Ironhide, for providing me this opportunity to get justice against my jailers! Paralus, eradicate the Maximal vermin in the Axalon! Tessarakonteres, engage the Ark! Nothing risky, just containment. The Paralus will re-engage and help you destroy the Ark once it’s gotten rid of the trash! Sky Lynx, Lancer One, Lancer Two, destroy everything else in the sky against us!” The Paralus turned toward the much smaller Axalon, but before it could open fire on the Maximal ship, a white orbital shuttle attached to its blue ground transport zipped over it and strafed the top of the Paralus before transforming to Sky Lynx’s combined bestial mode and landing heavily on the hull, tearing into it with his clawed feet. The unexpected attack sent the Paralus darting off course, allowing the Axalon to shoot forward. “Treacherous bastard!” Prime roared at Sky Lynx’s betrayal.



    “Ironhide!” Rattrap nervously called out. “The Axalon is powering up its sub-light engines!”



    “Polar Claw!” Ironhide roared as the ship banked hard to avoid a barrage from the Tessarakonteres. “What’re ya doin? We’re in a planet’s atmosphere, impulse only!”



    “Rattrap, tell the crew that serving with them has been the greatest honor of my long life.” Polar Claw stated.



    “No.” Rattrap whispered.



    “For House Convoy!” Backstop stated.



    “NO!” The voice of Orion Pax cried through the channel.



    “For House Convoy!” Polar Claw echoed.



    “FOR HOUSE CONVOY!” Both voices roared out the moment before the Axalon’s sub-light engines engaged and it vanished, debris from it becoming visible again after a vast explosion drew all optics to the Tessarakonteres, its frame splintering from an enormous impact crater that punctured the entire way through the top of the Vanguard Class Deep Space Interceptor, leaving a trail of fiery wreckage of both the Axalon and Tessarakonteres plummeting down to the ocean below.



    “No.” Rattrap whispered. He looked down at the screen in front of him, deep sadness etched on his face, but his optics lit up at seeing something. “Ironhide, it’s…”



    “Yeah, the Xantium, Fateful Archetype and other two are back, right?” Ironhide interrupted with a grin.



    “You knew?” Rattrap snapped almost accusingly.



    “I told ya ta’ have faith in Pax.” Ironhide declared mirthfully.



    “Ironhide, another object has jettisoned from the Manifest!” Hubcap called out. “It appears to be some sort of escape craft heading toward Atlantis!”



    Ironhide nodded. “It’s about damn time.” He then leaned forward, muted his comm, and raised his personal wrist communicator to his mouth. “Hey kid, see you’ve slipped out. We all good?”



    “I’ve done my part, Ironhide. Let’s hope Lynx was persuasive.” The voice of Ultra Magnus came back through Ironhide’s wrist, prompting Ironhide to sit upright and reopen the shared channel.



    “Xantium, Archetype, Mantlo, Iron Hope, hope you boys enjoyed yer’ trip! Xantium, let’s help Sky Lynx with tha’ Paralus. The rest a’ ya’, take out the two Lancers!”



    “Are you forgetting about me, Ironhide?” Prime roared as the air battle started to get savage.



    “Yer not my problem anymore, Prahme!” Ironhide belted back. “I hope.” He whispered to himself.



    “What?” A genuinely confused Prime asked.



    “Ironhide, another wormhole opening up!” Hubcap called out. “Earth orbit, directly to the aft of the Manifest!”



    “Please, please, please, please, please…” Ironhide offered almost as a prayer.



    “Sir, vast structure, smaller but denser than the Manifest is emerging.” Hubcap reported.



    “Ironhide,” Rewind called out, “incoming broad-spectrum hail coming from…Metroplex.”



    “Let’s hear what he has ta’ say.” Ironhide replied with a grin.



    “Guardian Prime, what you plan to do to this world is unacceptable.” The booming voice came through every open Cybertronian communications channel on Atlantis and the skies above it. “I stand with Orion Pax. Power down the weapons on the Manifest and land it on Atlantis.”



    “All aft cannons, open fire!” Guardian roared in reply. “What do you mean, disabled?” His voice came through.



    “Thank you, Ultra Magnus!” Ironhide cheered out.



    “Ironhide, the battle cruiser is reconfiguring to humanoid shape.” Hubcap announced. “To, well, Metroplex.”



    “Guardian Prime!” Everyone on board the Ark and likely everywhere else that was tied to this communications channel went silent as the voice of Orion Pax came through. “Metroplex is upon you, your aft defenses are disabled, and it will take you too long to reorient the ship or bypass the sabotage to keep Metroplex from destroying the Manifest. Please, stand down, Metroplex has you at his mercy.”



    “Pax, Prime has severed his link.” Rewind informed the Autobot Commander through the channel.



    “Access tha’ probes and put a visual on main screen!” Ironhide commanded. “Feel free to patch in, Pax.”



    “Already doing so, old friend.” Pax replied.



    “We’ll record it fer ya’, Landshark, you focus on taking out the Paralus.” Ironhide instructed as the main viewscreen shifted from a display of the aerial battle to one of low orbit above. Though non-verbal, Prime was providing a response to Pax’s plea, the Manifest was starting to turn to face Metroplex, it’s forward and side cannons directing rearward toward the giant. Metroplex covered the remaining distance between them before the ship could turn, dozens of cannons on his own body opening fire and raining destruction upon the legendary craft. He then landed a punch to the rear-starboard section of the Manifest, buckling the hull and preventing the craft from continuing its turn. A second punch again shredded the massive craft. “Switch back to regular view.” Ironhide muttered. “I take no joy in watchin’ tha’ Manifest die.”



    “Ironhide,” Hubcap again, “escape pods launching, they’re abandoning ship.”



    “Ya’ hear that Pax?” Ironhide asked into the speaker.



    “I did, well done, old friend.” Pax’s voice came back.





    0





    Rhinox





    The scorched, ancient, power conduits seemed an indecipherable series of spider webs channeling through every section of the inner base of the island. He knew exactly where to find the plasma energy chamber; it had been there that he had found the bodies of Cryotek and Primal, the memory of finding his scorched and partially melted best friend…brother really, caused his frame to shudder. Even eleven and a half thousand years later the memory was crisp. And looking at this Apelinq was making the flood of memories all the more painful. Rhinox fully understood Orion Pax sending this Maximal down to help him, he was an expert in computer xenoscience, House Maximus had been very good at providing educational opportunities to the Maximals living on their lands. But he had been modified to be the mirror image of Rhinox’s dead friend and commander, nearly identical apart from the coloration. Rhinox was once again staring without realizing he was staring and was once again caught doing so. The seven or eight times before Apelinq had pretended not to notice and left things unsaid, but this time it apparently needed to be addressed. “I’m sorry, but do you have a problem with me?” The red, cream, and green organic robot asked, pausing his analysis of the power connections.



    “No, I’m sorry.” Rhinox muttered, turning away, but then looked back. “Well, alright, I do have to ask. That form, what you had your frame adjusted to, why did you select that?”



    “It was suggested that we take forms of this world.” Apelinq explained. “I accessed the database Orion Convoy provided, this form was in it and was a perfect match for my anatomy, it required minimal alteration.” The home world Maximal shrugged. “Is this an issue?”



    “You…” Rhinox started but paused. “That form was in the database because it belonged to one of us. My closest friend.” Rhinox shook his head sadly. “The best of us.”



    “I’m sorry.” Apelinq replied. “I didn’t know.”



    “Of course, you didn’t. How could you have?” Rhinox tried to let Apelinq know that there was nothing to be sorry for. “It’s just something that will take me a bit of time to adjust to. Pay it no mind, just…be patient with any lingering stares.”



    “I can transform if you’d like.” Apelinq offered. “The alternate mode is primate, with the same arms and hands as this mode. My work would be unaffected.”



    Rhinox chuckled. “No, that’s not necessary. Nor would it do any good. In the time he had that frame, Primal spent as much time in mechanical beast mode as he did in organic robot mode.”



    Apelinq dropped the scanner that he had been holding as he stared at Rhinox in shock. “Primal?”



    “Yeah, he seemed to enjoy his gorilla mode as much as his natural robot mode.” Rhinox chuckled as he noted a series of large conduits that seemed to bear more reinforcement, yet more scorching and damage than the others, and focused on them.



    “Primal…Convoy?” Apelinq asked, clearly troubled by the revelation. “I…I did not realize. I am unworthy.” The hulking red and cream Maximal looked over his own frame. “This is a sin.”



    Rhinox broke out of his intense study of the conduits and looked at his companion. “A sin? Unworthy?” He then belted out a deep laugh. “Apelinq, your form troubled me because it looks like my dead friend, not because it’s fit for a Convoy, whatever that may mean. Primal would have absolutely no issue with you taking his form. We Maximals have always venerated the Convoy, and not without good reason, but it was never what they wanted. They saved our ancestors from Nyon not to garner subjects, they did it simply because it was the right thing to do. Despite that, our ancestors felt they owed House Convoy their loyalty, but again, the Convoy never called for it, never even liked it, which likely only increased the sense of obligation and loyalty those that would become Maximals felt toward them. I can’t say for sure, this was over twelve million years ago, I’m a tenth that age, but I have worked with every surviving Convoy since then, Big, Lio, then Primal, and now this Orion Pax.” Rhinox smiled and shook his head. “None of them would ever use the word unworthy to describe you, nor sin for you taking an appropriate and very practical form because it was used by one of them. As for me, I miss a bot I thought of as a brother, and it was troubling looking at you initially, but I’m over my issues. The form is yours, just put it to good use.” Rhinox turned to the wall that the conduits were running along, then up to the ceiling where they disappeared through it. Rhinox raised his hand-held chain-gun and perforated the ceiling panel around the conduits, then continued to obliterate the ceiling tile until it came down next to him, revealing a dark shaft above him running up numerous levels. “Starting now. That gorilla mode is good for climbing. Drop me a line when you get to wherever these conduits lead.”



    “Will do.” Apelinq replied as he transformed, walked over quadrupedally to where Rhinox was standing, and gave him an earnest look through his metallic gorilla face. “Thank you Rhinox. Thank you for sharing a bit about how they were. I will do my best to add to the honor this form already has.”



    Rhinox smiled. “Just get up there. If we survive all this somehow, I’ll tell you all the stories about Big, Lio and Primal you want to hear.”



    Apelinq leapt through the gaping hole where the panel Rhinox destroyed had been and clambered up the dark shaft, dimly lit by the lights mounted on his head leading his ascent. He went up hundreds of feet before calling back down. “They curve back into the wall here, opens up into a horizontal shaft that’s just big enough for us to climb through.” A muffled launching sound emanated from Apelinq’s position high above, and a grappling hook sunk into the floor next to Rhinox, who bent down and pulled it free, making a loop out of the end of it and planting his left foot into the loop, holding the wire with his left hand just over his head, giving a nod as he looked up. “As big as you are, the retracting mechanism is more than strong enough to hoist you up.”



    A quick ride up and they were both shimmying their way through a tight duct, the scorched conduits running above them for a mile before curving upward and disappearing through the panel above them. Apelinq, who was crawling ahead of Rhinox, nodded up toward what appeared to be the end of their journey, at least in that duct. “Best go through, see if there was any merit in me thinking this set of conduits leads to where we need it to lead.”



    Apelinq nodded and displayed a fanged, metal smile from his gorilla face before punching up through the metal panel above them. He slowly and hesitantly climbed through, Rhinox looking up and following him into a dark expanse, what looked to be a hallway with the conduits running along the floor into a larger room three hundred meters to their left. Rhinox also noted an unusual orange sensor flashing, giving off an orange glow that didn’t seem to have been flashing prior to Apelinq climbing into the hallway. “That looks ominous.” Apelinq muttered.



    “Some sort of detection device, probably for a defensive measure.” Rhinox muttered. “The good news is that it probably means we’re on the right track. The bad news is that, well, we may have something to contend with.”



    “Any idea of what that may be?” Apelinq asked as the two slowly made their way toward the expanse at the end of the hallway.



    “Well, after activating the Ferrotaxis, Cryotek returned to the surface to fight us off.” Rhinox explained as the two Maximals slowly made their way down the hallway. “He was a dragon then, the parts he cannibalized off Galvatron…the Predacon Galvatron, had somehow made him very powerful, far more powerful than he already was, but also made him more than a little crazy and grandiose. This gave him a penchant for overblown taunting, and after surfacing and trying to keep us away from getting underneath the surface of the island he mentioned that he had discovered Jhiaxus’s prize, what he considered his destiny, and he bragged that he had defeated the three-headed beast, what he called the Cerberus, to claim what was rightfully his.” Rhinox shrugged. “Some of the fleeing humans, ones hailing from the northeastern Mediterranean, overheard this and even ten thousand years later it still remained in their legends, albeit heavily modified.”



    “Sooooo, a three headed beast.” Apelinq muttered as he entered the vast expanse and saw an enormous array of computers on the far end of the room, and off to the right, they both spied what appeared to be a very large and heavily modified suspension chamber mounted on the floor. A suspension chamber with an open lid and the remnants of gas rising from it. “Shit, I think that’s what the detection device activated.”



    “Energon traces in that gas,” Rhinox muttered looking at his wrist scanner. “Slow drip, just enough to keep a bot in stasis in perfect health. Get to that terminal, verify this is the Ferrotaxis,” Rhinox instructed as he pulled out a case that had been magnetically connected to his back, “and if it is, plant these and set the detonation sequence. I’ll be on the lookout for the guard dog.” Rhinox handed the case to Apelinq and then pulled out both of his chain guns.



    “You sure you want to be to take guard duty?” Apelinq questioned as he took the case. “I’m pretty good in a scrape.”



    “You’re the computer xenoscience guy, it needs to be this way.” Rhinox answered as he scanned the dark chamber.



    “The xenoscience aspect doesn’t look like it’ll play much of a role.” Apelinq muttered as he approached the array of machines. “These things are advanced, most of it is unlike anything I’ve seen before, but it’s all undeniably Cybertronian.”



    “Just figure it…” A large shadow in the corner moved, causing both Maximals to freeze. It stood upright, a humanoid form standing twenty-eight feet in height. But it lowered, the form shifted, joined by the noise all Cybertronians knew well. ‘tsche-chu-chu-chu-tsche’ “Get to work!”



    Apelinq charged to the computer terminal as Rhinox opened fire on the suddenly charging shape. The countless rounds hit, but they did nothing to stop the oncoming beast, which true to Cryotek’s description, possessed three canine heads upon its red, black, and yellow frame. The massive beast leapt upon Rhinox and pinned him to the ground. The two side canine heads clamped on his broad shoulders while the center head came down at Rhinox’s face with open, slavering jaws. Despite the pain, Rhinox managed to shove the barrels of the chain gun in his right hand into the advancing canine mouth just before it could clamp onto his head, and he unloaded into it. The massive monster yelped through all three of its mouths and pulled away, giving Rhinox the opportunity to kick the left head and target the right one with the chain gun in his left hand, unloading on it, but the beast seemed to readopt its invincibility and recommenced its attack. Rhinox leapt to his feet and maintained fire on the beast, backing away to lead it from Apelinq and the computer array. The beast charged him, and Rhinox dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the creature’s attack, and transformed as he rolled on the floor, coming up a rhino just as the Cerberus initiated another charge.



    Rhinox started running forward as well and met the charge head on. The rhino’s design was more beneficial for such a ramming contest, but the Cerberus’s size and strength advantage enabled it to toss Rhinox back a couple dozen yards. The downed rhino transformed back to robot mode; the only advantage of his beast mode was that in most situations he could out-ram an opponent, but that clearly wasn’t the case here. Rhinox threw fists at snapping jaws while backtracking and moving side to side trying to avoid being trampled by the huge beast.



    “Yeah, pretty sure it’s the Ferrotaxis!” Apelinq called out.



    “The set the Primus-damned charges!” Rhinox yelled. “I can’t hold this thing off for much longer!”



    “Hold on just a little bit more!” Apelinq called out as he frantically set the charges. “I thought you guys already destroyed it!”



    “Primal overloaded the plasma energy chamber!” Rhinox grunted as he struggled with the beast. “Sent a surge that overloaded and shut down the Ferrotaxis, but any engineer worth a damn can have it repaired within hours. Just hurry up and be ready to detonate!” Rhinox ordered as one of the mouths clamped on his side. “We may not make it out of here, urgh, and the Ferrotaxis needs to be destroyed!”



    “Got it, and…” Apelinq barked as he frantically set up the last of the charges, “done!” The red and cream Maximal turned and charged the back and then side of the Cerberus, his mace raised high, bringing it down heavily on the left canine head.



    “Use the jet-board, Primal used to be very effective on that thing!” Rhinox yelled out the suggestion.



    “Kind of close quarters for that, don’t you think?” Apelinq questioned but activated the board anyway and lifted several feet into the air, then darted back to avoid a set of snapping jaws. He drew his blaster and unloaded on the side of the Cerberus, getting its attention. “How the hell did Cryotek beat this thing?”



    “He was a lot more powerful than we are!” Rhinox explained as he continued hammering on the beast, trying to make the most of the monster’s split attention.



    “How’d he get out?” Apelinq questioned as he wove through the air, firing on the monster. “Obviously not the way we came in.”



    “Right!” Rhinox leapt upon the Cerberus and started hammering on him. “Find it, maybe we can escape.”



    Apelinq swooped around and shown a light over the entire chamber, hoping to find the way out as Rhinox struggled against a far superior foe. The flying ape zipped across the room illuminating every inch of wall and corner until he finally saw something through the layers of dust. “May have found something!”



    “Figure it out!” The besieged and frustrated Rhinox belted out, throwing a powerful yet ineffectual punch into the center beast head of the monster pinning him to the ground. Rhinox heard Apelinq scrambling against the wall, trying to determine their way out as he continued his struggle against the huge, powerful monster snapping at him with three sets of jaws.



    “Got it!” Apelinq yelled out before barreling into the beast, freeing Rhinox. “My turn to brawl, get out of here and set off the boom-boom!” The metal gorilla roared as he hammered into the three-headed canine with his maces.



    “We’re both getting out of here!” Rhinox replied as he leapt to his feet and ran to the mid-sized opening on the far end of the room. “Now surf your ass over here and follow me out! It’ll take rover there a few moments to shimmy his way through the doorway, should give us a fair head start.” Rhinox reached the doorway and turned to see Apelinq deliver one last whack to the beast before jumping off, activating his jet-board, and speeding toward him. Rhinox charged out into a long dark hallway and was followed by Apelinq a couple seconds later. “If Cryotek squeezed through in his final frame, then Cerberus will find a way too. We’ve got a few seconds before it’s after us.”



    “Then hop aboard and let’s put those seconds to good use!” Apelinq suggested, reaching down to hoist Rhinox up upon the board, and the two shot forward as the snapping jaws of one of the heads struggled to get through the door behind them.





    0





    Omega Supreme





    The Manifest was doomed, a fiery wreck floundering in a slow descent, lighting up the night sky over the Atlantic off the western shore of the artificial island. Humans on the Azores would have no difficulty seeing the display, as well as the other signs of battle. The loss of the Manifest had not put an end to the air battle, but the addition of Jetfire an hour ago had certainly offset what had been the aerial superiority of Guardian Prime’s forces at the outset of the battle. Orion Pax’s aerial strategy had paid off at winning the large ship battle, but those large ships lacked the maneuverability and were too cumbersome for the dogfighting between individual Cybertronians with aerial alternate modes. Omega Supreme had seen many impressive air warriors in his extremely long life, but this Jetfire was far and away the most astonishing sky fighter he’d ever laid optics upon. He had winnowed the number of flying Cybertronian loyalists by seventy percent in under sixty minutes. As it stood there were maybe a dozen remaining Primal fliers, including one Cybertronian helicopter that had been extremely impressive. It had downed several of the Earth defender aircraft, and while it had proven to be less than a match in dogfighting with Jetfire, it had withstood Jetfire’s barrage and kept on flying. But despite the durable maroon, orange, and yellow helicopter, the Autobot forces were prevailing rapidly.



    The air battle would have been over already had the Aerialbots joined Jetfire as they were supposed to an hour ago, but they had remained near the entrance to the underground base that the Maximals of Earth had called home for thousands of years. Perhaps Pax had had a change of plans, a gestalt team reinforcing the subterranean entrance would have its benefits, but it seemed odd that Pax would change strategies when thus far everything was going according to his original plans. The giant guardian spotted Orion’s vehicular mode, the boxy red ‘truck’ as the humans called it, speeding toward the Aerialbots and other Autobots defending the entrance in the center part of the central island within this vast lake.



    Omega’s attention was diverted away from the Autobot leader and those defending the entrance as he felt the ground rumbling in the distance toward the south, the least mountainous portion of the island, but still hilly enough not to provide him a direct line of sight to the origin of the seismic activity. The ground battles had been going on around Atlantis for over an hour, when the first drop ships had started landing, but this was different. It wasn’t explosions and combat, this was something massive barreling over the ground, coming toward him, he just couldn’t see it yet. But out of his left periphery he was able to see something else, something likely equally massive cutting through the channel leading from the central islands in the great inland lake out to the ocean. A vast predominantly blue battleship, one altered but unsettlingly familiar, now with a large, bulbous robot seated upon a throne of sorts on the top of it, was unloading on Autobot positions with its vast array of cannons. Omega Supreme felt a cold tingling in his massive spark as he realized what Guardian Prime had somehow done and had enlisted Omega Supreme’s help in doing. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the object smashing its way through the rocks to the south would be a vast yellow locomotive of some sort. But based on the tremors he was feeling, he still had several minutes before the arrival of the locomotive, so he turned and fired a few rounds at the battleship, also a few miles away, but visible and therefore targetable.



    Between shots he chanced a glance over toward Orion Pax, who appeared to be dressing down Silverbolt and the Aerialbots for not joining the air battle with Jetfire. Suddenly Omega Supreme caught sight of the formidable Cybertronian copter swooping down from the dogfighting above toward Orion Pax’s position and opened a channel to warn him, but then saw the Aerialbots step away from Orion and merge into Superion, who then started stalking the Autobot leader. “Traitor!” Omega roared out loud, as Orion leapt away and fired up at the chest and head of Superion. The ordinance was insufficient to even slow the gestalt down, and Omega Supreme, being on the inner mainland shore, separated from Orion by the two inner channels, both too wide and deep for him to traverse in any sort of timely manner in robot mode. He was about to transform to combined freighter mode but stopped as something behind the stalking Superion caught his attention. The six-bot team designated Protectibots also began merging, the blue Hot Spot forming the torso, head and upper legs, Blades the right arm, First Aid the left, Streetwise the left leg and the hulking Rook the right leg, with the diminutive Groove forming an ornate chest plate. Omega Supreme watched as Orion seemed to stop his evasive movements, allowing Superion a prone, and catchable target to focus his attention on, making it so that the white and red gestalt was unaware of the blue, white and red one charging him until it was too late. This new gestalt tackled Superion to the ground, and the other Autobots there with Orion swarmed and began firing on the Aerialbot gestalt.



    Relieved that Orion Pax was out of the immediate danger from Superion, he decided to refocus on the approaching two giant vehicles, the yellow locomotive now visible plowing through the rocky landscape toward him, confirming his fears of what, somehow, he was about to face off against…again. But before they reached him, he saw the maroon and orange alien helicopter drop down near the metal ground Orion and his contingent of Autobots had been guarding and transform into Guardian Prime. Omega froze in fear for a moment, but Prime seemed uninterested in Pax, landing beyond the clash between the gestalts on the metal portion of ground in the center of the central island, somehow opened an unknown panel in the ground and disappeared into it. Orion caught sight of it all and charged after him, much to Omega Supreme’s chagrin. But the massive guardian had his own concerns as the ship exiting the main channel turned in the smaller outer ring channel toward him just as the massive locomotive shifted direction and bore down on Omega Supreme as well.



    The two huge vehicles converged on a point a half mile to the east of Omega Supreme, the seated pilot of the battleship rose and leapt to the shore as the battleship grounded and shifted shape to make the left half of a giant torso and limbs, merging with the yellow locomotive forming the right half. Jets mounted into the back of the pilot ignited carrying him up to the shoulders of the massive robot, transforming and expanding to form a round, bulbous head that mounted upon the giant torso, the optics lighting up as the connection was made, looking optic to optic with Omega Supreme as the newly formed body seemingly shuddered to life. “Greetings, Omega Supreme, I am Spreem, loyal sentinel to Guardian Prime, and your destroyer.”



    “Evidence to justify your braggadocio, unseen.” Omega Supreme replied dryly.



    “Yes, you defeated this frame previously.” Spreem countered as the two equally sized giants squared off against each other. “This frame wielded by a clumsy, untrained, slave whose size kept him from any serious threat or competition. Guardian Prime has been training me for months in hand-to-hand combat and feeding me a never-ending supply of information pertaining to you. The last time you stood victorious over this frame, tonight, the opposite will happen.”



    “If you’ve been briefed regarding me,” Omega grumbled, his words echoing over the rocky hills, “then you know I’m not one for conversation. Shut up and fight.” The two giants charged each other and collided with enough power to cause tremors over the ground.





    0





    Crosshairs





    “What a shitehole!” Crosshairs grumbled to Drift as they made their way over the island landscape toward the hills of crumbled ruins a mile ahead, and the coast to the outer channel just beyond them. The ground was too rocky for them to transform and drive easily, so they remained in robot mode and hoofed it. “Been waitin’ a million years ta’ get ta’ this bloody island, and it’s just a big fuckin’ rock covered in moss and slime, decorated with the occasional shipwreck. And not even good shipwrecks, these bloody primitives built with wood!”



    “Not all.” Drift replied, nodding off toward a rusting cargo ship a couple decades old.



    “Earth metal ain’t real metal!” The green warrior snarled as he, Drift and fifty-four other soldiers of Cybertron ran over the slowly drying terrain toward the moss-covered stone wreckage of the ancient human city ahead of them. He turned back to look at one hunch-backed looking robot. “Scaffold, have that bridge ready ta’ go when we get ta’ the channel!”



    “Scaffold is assigned to platoon Forty-eight Gamma.” A large orange bot with a heaping hump over his back made up with various slats replied. “I’m Gangplank.”



    “Whatever, ya’ tosser, just have them slats ready to make a bridge the moment we hit the waterline!” Crosshairs snapped back as they came to the hills of scattered rocks covered by all sorts of drying organic sea debris. The fifty-six soldiers started climbing over the heaps of destroyed rock buildings, navigating their way through the mess of the city destroyed and submerged nearly one-hundred sixteen centuries before. There were a few walls that remained standing, but broken walls made for a species that on average were less than six feet in height, especially humans from so long ago, so even the remains of standing walls were far shorter than the piles of rubbish and the robots walking through them. As they continued northwest through the destroyed city they finally got near the outskirts and could see a bridge already in place over the outer channel with five Autobots standing in front of it. “Check out these bitches.”



    Drift climbed the pile of rubble and stood next to Crosshairs, looking down at the Autobots arrayed against him. Prime had supplied them with dossiers, and Crosshairs recognized Jazz at the forefront of the group, flanked by the spark-siblings Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, and Trailbreaker and Hound behind then, guarding a small portable bridge they presumably used to cover the outer channel. Jazz held up a small device in his hand. “Don’t get excited, if it looks like you’ll get past us, the bridge goes kaboom.”



    “Oh bitch, we’re totally gonna get past ya’.” Crosshairs snarled with a sneer on his face. “Doncha worry though, mate, blast away, we brought our own bridge.” He thumbed back to the emerging Gangplank reaching the top of the pile they were standing upon.



    Drift stepped forward, planting his right foot upon an outcropping of rock to give him one of those heroic poses he liked so much. “You aspire to prevent us from crossing the channels to the inner island with only five warriors?”



    “We make do with what we have.” Jazz replied.



    “Whatcha have ain’t shit!” Crosshairs snickered. “Pax must be one stupid bag a’ shit ta’ think you’d even slow us down.”



    Jazz looked up over them and slightly to the west where the Manifest was continuing its controlled crash toward the Atlantic, then back to the sky above them where the Autobots were clearly winning the air battle. The predominantly white robot turned back to Crosshairs and his right optic flickered before he displayed a grin. “With what’s happened so far, and what’s happening now, is your impression of Orion Pax really that he’s a stupid bag of shit?”



    Crosshairs chuckled; he’d let the twat have this last bit of swagger before they squashed him like a bug. He looked to Drift, expecting to see his compatriot just as eager to trample these morons as he was, but was surprised to see a genuine look of worry on the warrior’s face. That twat Jazz’s bullshit bluff was making the overly contemplative Drift concerned over fucking nothing.



    “PAX LOOOOOOO-GAR!!!!” The call was echoing all around them, from dozens of different voices and positions, and then the rubbish seemed to come to life, at least a couple score of robots emerged from rocks and debris and started attacking their troops, catching them by surprise. These unusual, unkempt, and savage looking bots were fighting with primarily melee weapons, but because they had emerged within the ranks of the Cybertronian soldiers, melee weapons were ideal for the close quarters combat. Taking the lead, with a maniacal grin on his mustachioed face, a tall, powerful and lean brown and orange attacker laid into several Cybertronian soldiers with a four-bladed axe.



    “Who the bloody fuck are these wankers!” Crosshairs roared at he started firing at their attackers.



    “Junkions!” Drift, always up on reading every file Prime handed out to them, replied as he drew his sword. “Colonists from a worthless world that rebelled against Cybertron, and Cybertron was better off for it.” He and Drift were about to charge into the fray behind them, when…



    “Hey shit-nozzles,” they turned to see Sideswipe and Sunstreaker charging toward them over the remains of the ancient human city, the brawny red Sideswipe snarling at them, “you two are dancing with us!”



    “Swipe, Streaker, get your asses back here!” Jazz roared.



    “Mind the detonator, nerd!” Sunstreaker called back just before Crosshairs lunged at him, tackling him to the ground and the two of them rolling back down the boulder-composed hill. Crosshairs chanced a look back up to the top of the debris pile to see Drift engaging with Sideswipe, the red Autobot using his rifle to block strikes from Drift’s blade. The glance was rewarded with a right cross from the yellow shitbag Sunstreaker. “Hey ugly, this is gonna be fun.”



    “Bring it, ya shit imbibin’ fender-lic…” a snap-kick to the abdomen followed by a close-range upward elbow strike to his downward moving face sent him onto his back and made him realize that close quarters against this yellow prick may not be his best move. Crosshairs rolled backward and reverse somersaulted to a standing position, drawing his sidearms as he did so and firing on Sunstreaker, who was already rolling for cover behind some boulders and popping out the other side with a pistol of his own, opening fire himself.



    Crosshairs dove away for cover himself, catching a glancing blow that he had been expecting to have gone wide. Crikey, this Sunstreaker knew his shite after all. As they exchanged fired at one another, he would glance over at the top of the hill where he saw Sideswipe block a downward sword strike with his rifle, almost locking it between some notches on it, twist, and successfully toss the sword away, down the other side of the pile of rubble, but he paid the price for the disarming as Drift twisted sharply to deliver a right elbow to Sideswipe’s face and twisted back, chopping down with his left hand to knock the rifle out of the red Autobot’s hands. Despite the elbow to the face less than a half second before, Sideswipe absorbed it with seemingly zero impact as he lunged forward to headbutt Drift to the nose, sending the Cybertronian soldier to the ground.



    “Very impressive.” Crosshairs heard Drift hiss as the darkly colored martial artist got back to his feet. “You have strength, speed and durability, as well as the reflexes of a warrior, but you lack my level of skill.”



    Crosshairs grinned as he twisted around the boulder and squeezed off a couple of shots, then turned back to his friend’s fight expecting to see the Autobot display fear or anger at Drift’s boast, but instead the athletically built robot just shrugged. “I agree, I’ve read your dossier Drift, your martial art skills are top tier. But something I learned in the gladiatorial pits, and that has been reinforced observing the combat sports on this planet, is that the champions are almost never the most skilled practitioners of their respective artform. Megatron, Grimlock, Overlord; these guys weren’t the most skilled martial artists, they just knew enough to narrow the gap so that when they faced someone more skilled, their superior strength, speed and durability enabled them to overcome the greater skill. Muhammad Ali isn’t the most knowledgeable human when it comes to boxing, but the skill he does have coupled with his athletic prowess enables him to beat more skilled boxers.” The red shite displayed a cocky grin. “And while you may know a bit more about the glorious art of pugilism than I do, it’s not enough to overwhelm…” he waved over his admittedly impressive physique, “this.”



    “We shall see.” Drift replied right before charging the red Autobot.



    It was a show that Crosshairs would have to miss, as he had his hands full with the yellow tosser. Crosshairs dove to another boulder, peppering Sunstreaker’s position with gunfire as he started toward a boulder, but then cut and leapt to one higher above offering a more strategic position. He was exposed for an extra couple of seconds, and Sunstreaker opened fire to take advantage of the exposure, but the shots narrowly missed, and Crosshairs slammed his back against the boulder, smiling. But the smile faded as Crosshairs looked down to the far end of the boulder and noted a grenade. “Fu…”



    “BOOM”



    The explosion sent his green frame skipping over the rocks, and just as he settled in one spot shots cut through his arms, legs, and abdomen. “Fucking idiot, didn’t Prime train you to anticipate what the other guy is going to do?” The pretty yellow prick asked, his voice dripping with self-satisfied condescension.



    There was no way Crosshairs was going to go out like this, not in a scrap to a prick like this. The explosion separated Crosshairs from his guns, but one landed just a few feet from him, and he reached for it, only to have Sunstreaker fire twice, once through his hand, and once into the gun, destroying it. “Slaggin’ bastard!” Crosshairs rolled over and started struggling to a standing position. Yeah, he was at the yellow bitch’s mercy, but if he was going down, he’d go down on his feet…but he was still convinced he wasn’t going down. Fully upright, Crosshairs smiled at the yellow prick. “Care ta’ settle this like warriors?”



    “I tried that, you pussed out and started shooting.” Sunstreaker chuckled. “And now you’re injured.” The Autobot seemed to be considering something, and then gave a relenting shrug, pulling out a long blade with energizing capabilities, tossing the weapon to Crosshairs. “Here, this should even things out a bit.” He then looked up to the fight going on at the top of the hill of debris, with the larger battle going on the other side of the hill. “Forgive my ill humor, I’m just a tad pissed that Sideswipe got the good one.”



    “Fuck you.” Crosshairs snarled but watched the combat going on high above. Drift was the prettier fighter, and seemed to be peppering this Sideswipe with strikes, but the red douche delivered a right cross that was simply too fast for Drift to react to, and Crosshairs watched his friend’s optics flicker in and out.



    “You caught his speech, right?” Sunstreaker asked. “He’s given that to me, though the inclusion of the human boxer is a new touch. While I don’t necessarily agree with the sentiment, it’s not without merit. The motherfucker punches way above our weight class,” he turned back to Crosshairs, “believe me, I know…and now so does your buddy. Fancy dancer is seeing the cyber-tweeties, and Swipe isn’t one to let him recover.”



    “He’ll have all the time to recover that he needs after I’ve gutted you and you’re slaggin’ brother!” Crosshairs snarled as he dove at Sunstreaker, the blade shooting directly at the yellow prick’s pretty throat. What happened wasn’t clear, but Crosshairs felt Sunstreaker’s hand parry the blade away from him, then a savage painful twisting of his wrist that sent him flipping over and his back hitting the ground hard. He felt the handle of the blade slip from his grasp, and then a sharp pain in his very core. His vision cleared to see Sunstreaker crouched above him, and then Crosshairs looked down to the pain in his chest to see Sunstreaker clutching the handle of the blade, but the blade itself was missing. It took Crosshairs’s brain a moment to realize that the blade was inside his chest, and that it was long enough to have punctured his spark chamber, which would explain the quickly fading energy he was feeling.



    He looked up at Sunstreaker’s optics, getting a smile from the Autobot. “Sorry pal, but you’d have done the same to me. At least, you would have if you could have.” Something pulled against Crosshairs’s chest, and he saw Sunstreaker stand straight up, the blade, now slick with bodily fluids, still clutched in his hand. He looked up to the fight between his brother and Drift, a faint smile on his face. Crosshairs noted his vision was fading quickly but forced his head to look at the fight as well and saw a battered Drift attempt a three-kick combination against the red Autobot, the first two blocked, the third caught, and Sideswipe, leg clutched to his side, stepped forward and delivered a thunderous cross to Drift’s jaw, then another, then another. “Hey showboat, catch!” Sideswipe turned to see the blade coming through the air at him, catching it and smiling at his brother. “End this!” The last thing Crosshairs witnessed was the red Autobot plunging the blade into the side of his friend’s head.





    0





    Leon Gouré




    He didn’t belong here. There was nothing he could do, and even if he could provide some sort of suggestion or course of action for United States policy regarding these giant, alien, transforming robots, there was no way he was going to live long enough to provide it. He was ideally suited for Saigon, his interrogations of Viet Cong prisoners had proven to be most useful, and his determination that they would fold under the might of the U.S. air power had impressed President Johnson and was likely to guide American policy regarding the conflict in Viet Nam. But the Rand Corporation had sent him here thinking he could evaluate this new alien menace and determine a way to best combat them.



    His time here, both a day and a half on Flores and several hours on Atlantis, had confirmed what he’d known prior to arriving, that they were completely out of their depth against these Cybertronians. That said, being killed on the long-lost island of Atlantis would make for an interesting headstone, but he wouldn’t even get that because if they lost here, the world would be turned into a metal ball that would preclude the need or opportunity for him to get a headstone. Whatever the case, these contemplations weren’t what he needed to be focused on right now. He had come along with an American Army company from Flores to Atlantis hours ago, setting up to reinforce a platoon of Autobots on the portion of land directly east of the outer channel of water on the mainland portion of Atlantis, a terrible defensive position as there was the channel at their backs. There was a small bridge designed for humans and vehicles no larger than a Jeep should they need to fall back to an inner breakwater island, but even a round from a ‘pistol’ belonging to one of these Cybertronians packed enough punch to destroy it, so odds were that the small bridge would be obliterated within the next few minutes as the invading army from Cybertron began their advance on the human-Autobot position.



    Heading the charge was what appeared to be a new OT-64 SKOT, but as chilly as tensions with the Soviet Bloc had gotten, this had to be an alien invader in disguise. The green armored personnel carrier rammed through two Autobots a few hundred meters ahead of the human position and was now barreling straight toward them. Shit, this was it.



    Suddenly a gravelly voice shot out of every human radio. “I finally get to kill a fleshsack! Fuck yeah, been waiting weeks for this!” Leon was sure he heard the same words bellowing out of the green vehicle charging them, adding to the stereo effect, and realized it was its voice. “I’ll crush you! If I’m not crushing you, it means I’m dead. But that ain’t going to happen!”



    The truck was cutting the distance between them rapidly; not as rapidly as other Cybertronian vehicles were moving, but faster than a real SKOT could move. It was seconds from overrunning their position, and the rest of the Cybertronian forces were overpowering the Autobot forces assigned here as well. “Fall back, over the bridge!” Leon heard the commanding officer yell out.



    “It’s too late!” Leon responded, but turned toward the bridge none the less, but caught the unexpected and inexplicable sight of a form running just under the water, raising the water level as it moved along the narrow bridge toward them. “What?” He could hear the oncoming vehicle behind him, knowing that even were he not frozen by the sight of whatever was coming at him under the water he still would not have escaped it, but at least now he could console himself in knowing that even had he reacted fast enough to avoid the massive troop transport Transformer, the nautical threat would have probably killed him anyway. Just as the truck was upon him, whatever was under the water burst forth out of it, a huge, metal and almost serpentine shape but far wider powered out of the water and soared over his head, propelled by a thick, long tail. Leon spun as it soared over him and watch it land, noting that it had a pair of legs holding up a long, mainly horizontal body with the long tail on one end and a torso with two small arms and a massive, deadly looking metal head. If it weren’t for the stature, he would have sworn it was a metal Tyrannosaurus Rex, but Tyrannosaurus Rexes were tail draggers, right?



    The metal dinosaur transitioned into a savage twist upon landing, swinging its tail powerfully and swatting the speeding troop transport across the ground, the vehicle skipping end over end until it came to a stop. The green vehicle shuddered, then slowly and painfully transformed into a downed robot that seemed to have a beard made from coils. “My fat ass is stuck!” The robot grumbled, seemingly dazed for a moment, but then shook his head and started to rise. True to the statement, he was fat. He looked over to the Tyrannosaurus Rex. “I don’t have enough ammo for that thing.” Leon wondered how a robot could be fat, but he ended such contemplations as a winged metal beast swooped overhead and landed next to the T-Rex. He then heard more commotion behind him and turned to see a long metal neck emerging from the water, attached to a massive body. Leon had seen pictures from the World’s Fair in New York that had opened last April and remembered that this type of beast was called a Brontosaurus. Emerging from the water as well were the smaller but still huge Triceratops and Stegosaurus. The beasts ran forward to join the other Dino…bots. Dinobots! Nice, has a cool ring to it. If he survived this, that was the designation Leon would give them in his report to the Rand Corporation.



    The Tyrannosaur looked over to the standing green robot that used to be the troop transport that had almost killed Leon and the other humans and nodded his massive head from the Brontosaurus to it. “Sludge, he’s an officer, named Mutt, one of Prime’s inner circle. Either he surrenders or kill him.” With that the Tyrannosaurus Rex, the Stegosaurus, and the Triceratops charged into the battle ahead of them, ordinance exploding against them but causing only scorching and minor dents and not slowing them down at all. The winged Pterodactyl took to the sky after them and began firing down upon the invaders with weapons hidden within its wings.



    Leon heard the sounds he had come to know indicated a transformation, and saw the Brontosaurus shrink and reconfigure into a massive thirty-foot-tall robot. “Surrender Mutt.”



    “Come get some, ya little bitch!” The fat bearded green robot yelled.



    The Dinobot, who stood eight feet taller than the other robot, looked his own body up and down. “Little?” He then looked back at Mutt. “Surrender, or there will be violence.”



    “I love violence!” The green Mutt yelled back, giving Leon the impression that he was very macho, but practically mindless.



    “Alright, guess it’s time to take you down.” The one called Sludge replied, marching toward the belligerent green invader.



    “That’s a bad idea. But then again, I’m all about bad ideas!” Mutt said before lunging at Sludge. A black fist on a gray arm slamming into Mutt’s face put a halt to the lunge, and a follow up punch sent Mutt face down on the rocky ground.



    The Dinobot pulled out a large broadsword and placed it against the center of Mutt’s back. “Last chance, surrender or die.”



    “Alright, I gotta hurt you now, you’re just too disturbing to live…” he struggled to get up, but the blade came down, cut through his torso and into the rock below, the light from his optics fading to black.



    “What an idiot.” The massive Sludge said as Leon Gouré watched him pull the sword out of the dead green robot and charge after his comrades into battle.





    0





    First Lieutenant Hewm





    The hallway was long, the walls, ceiling and floor were spotless, the soldiers going about their duties to the letter, the Benign Intervention was certainly the very image of Galactic Council efficiency. Hewm knew that were he not expected, the degree of efficiency would be severely decreased, but Captain K’Gard wanted him to be impressed. At the age of only one hundred forty-seven, Hewm was the youngest member of any Council species to have attained the rank of First Lieutenant, and it was common knowledge that he was being groomed to in time be the Acting Commander of the Galactic Council Space Fleet. Some of the jealous whispering muttered it was due to his family links to Council leadership, others snickered that only the recent slaughter of so many high-ranking officials leaving positions unfilled was making his advance possible. But to his face, everyone called him a prodigy, telling him his intellect and natural instincts were what was driving his advancement.



    Ultimately Hewm knew it was all the above. His family was well placed, and he had been using that to his advantage. The death of so many leaders had created a power vacuum, and again, he was positioning himself to fill that vacuum. He knew these things to be true, and felt no shame in acknowledging the facts, though he only acknowledged them to himself. And his intellect and instincts, well, he certainly had those, and they had served him well. His escorts reached the doorway to the bridge and stopped at either side of it as it opened, allowing him to pass through without them to where Captain K’Gard stoop waiting for him with a smile. “First Lieutenant, welcome aboard the Benign Intervention.”



    Technically K’Gard outranked him, but K’Gard knew what the future held, and despite his superior rank, K’Gard was happy to make it clear that he was subordinate to the much younger Hewm. “Thank you, Captain, I must commend you on the condition of the Benign Intervention. I assume the Agrégation and the Ultimatum are equally tip-top.”



    “Aye, that is a safe assumption to make, First Lieutenant.” K’Gard replied.



    “And how goes the action on the planet below?” The young, olive-skinned officer asked.



    “There have been some unforeseen developments.” K’Gard explained, only the slightest bit of hesitance in his delivery. “It seems the Autobots, those defending this Earth from Cybertron, are doing better than expected in their defense of the island housing the cyberforming technology. Their efforts have been aided by the Cybertronian Titan, Metroplex, the entity that was the primary instrument in the decimation of our fleet.”



    “Metroplex betrayed Guardian Prime?” This was genuinely shocking. Hewm had read the reports, and by all accounts the Titan had been freed from Quintesson servitude by Guardian Prime. He now shifted allegiances to this Orion Pax, a leader of some commoner right’s outfit. “That makes no sense.”



    “We confirmed it, sir.” Hewm would have to chide K’Gard in private for that slip. In public, K’Gard was the Captain, Hewm a Lieutenant, a Captain was not to refer to a subordinate as sir. “Metroplex engaged the Manifest and caused enough damage to force it down. The ship had a controlled crash into the ocean not long ago and is currently sinking.”



    Hewm thought on that for a few moments but shook his head as he responded. “This changes nothing. We will still go down, eradicate what’s left of the winning side, activate this Ferrotaxis, convert the planet into a lifeless energy producer, and tell the galaxy we fell just short of saving this Earth but punished the guilty. Instead of telling a truth that Guardian Prime’s forces prevailed, it’ll be a lie.”



    “Sirs!” A helmsman called out. “Wormhole activation a thousand kilometers to our starboard side!”



    “Who?” Both K’Gard and Hewm bellowed.



    “Origin is…” terror came over the helmsman, “Cybertron.”



    “On screen!” Hewm shouted, the order immediately followed, and the main screen came to life revealing a tear in space with two massive, dagger shaped and darkly colored space cruisers coming through.



    “Sirs!” A communications officer called out. “Receiving a signal from Earth.”



    “How do they know we’re here?” K’Gard roared.



    “Put it through!” Hewm ordered.



    “Greetings Galactic Council peacekeeping craft.” A gravelly voice came through in Cybertronian, but the translation systems did their task and made the words comprehensible. “I am Megatron, leader of the Decepticons. My warships, which you’re looking at now, informed me of your presence there above the dark side of this planet’s moon. It appears we have the same idea…” a light chuckling came through, then a statement which they did not understand, “well played Pax.”



    “What do you want?” Hewm snapped.



    “You have this one opportunity to leave this system.” Megatron replied. “Leave now and don’t come back. If you’re still here in four minutes, my forces will destroy you all.”



    “Our Peacekeepers vastly out-power your two ships.” Hewm shot back.



    “I see.” Megatron replied with zero emotion. “Shockwave?”



    “Yes, Lord Megatron.” Another voice came through the speaker.



    “Obliterate them.” Megatron, still devoid of emotion, gave the order.



    “As you command.” This Shockwave responded.



    “Open fire!” Hewm bellowed. “Forward the order to the Agrégation and the Ultimatum!”



    “Yes, First Lieutenant.” The communications officer replied as cannon recoils could be heard and lightly felt as the conflict began. They looked to the screen to see the two large Decepticon ships separating. Each was roughly half the size of the Manifest and coming out of the more dagger-like ship were scores of smaller spacecrafts, likely living Cybertronians and therefore far more dangerous than piloted crafts. But these Decepticons were still outgunned, and as the more angular vessel veered forward to engage the Ultimatum, the Benign Intervention and the Agrégation surged forward to destroy the other craft.



    “Sir, I’m getting some unexpected readings regarding the density of this vessel.” The helmsman called out.



    “What does that mean?” Hewm asked agitatedly.



    “No.” He heard K’Gard whisper. He looked over to K’Gard with a questioning look, who stepped toward him. “Sir, evaluations of the Vikor’s readings in its final moments found similar density anomalies in what we believe to have been the Titan.”



    “No, but you confirmed the Titan was on Earth.” Hewm protested.



    “Sirs, the ship is accelerating into us!” The helmsman called out, and they watched as the craft that had readings impossibly linked to those of a Titan condensed in dimensions but impossibly retained its mass, and then accelerate to full impulse to shoot into them. Everything not bolted to the floor or walls what thrown about the bridge, and undoubtedly everywhere else on the Benign Intervention as the dull wedge of the Decepticon craft impacted and then cut into the larger Council ship.



    Hewm raised his head and looked around the bridge several moments later, the initial impact over but the Benign Intervention still being jostled around. If their fears were correct, then this would likely be due to the Decepticon ship undergoing a transformation at least partially within the Benign Intervention’s hull. If that was the case, the ship, and likely everyone within it, was doomed. “Agrégation, forward what you’re seeing, I need to know what’s going on with the Intervention!”



    One of the secondary screens cut to a view of the Benign Intervention’s hull, where a massive saurian robot was tearing its way through the ship. “To the evacuation pods, now!” K’Gard roared out, this time not waiting to make sure the command was acceptable to Hewm. Unfortunately, Hewm had to concur with K’Gard’s course of action, the Benign Intervention was gutted, lost, and if this metal leviathan could get ahold of…shit! Hewm watched as the massive saurian beast turned away from the irrecoverably damaged Benign Intervention that most of its own body was imbedded within and look up toward the Agrégation. Rockets throughout the back and feet of the beast propelled it out of the Benign Intervention’s obliterated hull, which was now trapped in the moon’s minimal gravitational pull, and shot out through space toward the Agrégation, which turned to avoid impact, but failed to move fast enough and the beast began clawing into its shell with the claws on its relatively small arms, but creating far more damage as the claws on its massive feet cut through the Agrégation’s thick plating. The beast ignored the ordinance exploding off its impossibly dense metal body and proceeded to destroy the Agrégation as effectively as it had the Benign Intervention. Both ships were lost, the prospect of claiming the Ferrotaxis, at least this day, were gone. Their only hope of achieving any degree of victory against these Decepticons rested with the Ultimatum.



    That battle was being displayed on a screen on a terminal off to Hewm’s right, and while the Decepticon warship was heavily damaged and would need a miracle to even limp its way home, it along with all the flying Decepticon warriors had created even more damage for the Ultimatum, which would be crashing down on the surface of this moon as well.



    “SIR!” Hewm turned away from the screen to look up at K’Gard. “We have to evacuate now!”



    “Yes.” Hewm stood. “The rest of the bridge crew?”



    “They’ve left, they’re loading into their pods now.” K’Gard stated but stopped moving toward the doorway and turned to Hewm, his body illuminated in red every other second as the emergency lights flashed on and off. “Which presents an opportunity.” Hewm looked quizzically up at K’Gard, but a sharp pain in his chest forced his attention back down to his own body. K’Gard’s hand was holding the handle of a knife, the blade invisible within his chest. Treacherous bastard! “The largest obstacle to my rise to power is out of the way, and with you here, I can effectively put this debacle at your feet. With your pedigree and grooming to be the new Acting Commander, of course I deferred to you, and that deference led to our getting obliterated again.” The monster smiled at him as everything started fading away. “Unfortunately, the bridge started breaking apart after the crew left, you were struck and pinned down by a pylon, and after I was unable to free you of it, you ordered me to leave with the crew. You’ll be remembered a hero at least.”



    “You baaassssttttt….” blackness overcame him.





    0





    Apelinq





    Even with Rhinox’s heavy frame hitching a ride, they still had to be moving faster than that three headed monster back there, but they weren’t taking any chances. Explosives were set, they just needed to get close enough to the surface to plant the relays so that Wheeljack could remote detonate them once Apelinq and Rhinox were clear. Orion had instructed them to plant several of these relays, which as an engineer Apelinq fully agreed with the redundancies at the time, but that was before he realized that there would be a three-headed monster hot on their heels.



    “Got a signal from the surface!” Rhinox stated.



    Apelinq pulled the jet-board to a stop and lowered, allowing both to drop to the ground. “Set the first one quickly.”



    “Have five, let’s plant these every twenty meters.” Rhinox stated as he knelt and set the first against the wall. Even if Cerberus found and deactivated this, with others they or Wheeljack would be able to transmit the signal.



    Speaking of which. “Wheeljack, come in. Apelinq here.”



    “Read you, Apelinq.” Wheeljack’s voice came through his wrist communicator.



    “Ferrotaxis found, explosives set, Rhinox is activating the first relay now.” Apelinq relayed.



    “It’s set.” Rhinox reported as he stood back up and headed over to Apelinq, who reassembled and activated his jet-board.



    “Yup, getting readings now.” Wheeljack replied. “Set the others if able but get clear so I can detonate. Oh, and be advised, looks like Prime entered the base, so be on the look-out and if needed, find a hiding spot, hopefully he’ll run right by you two.”



    “Ugh, stopping to find a hiding spot may be tough.” Apelinq replied as they shot ahead, stopping not far so Rhinox could jump off and set the second relay. “There was a guardian down here, we had to fight it, but couldn’t subdue him. He’s on our trail.”



    “Shit, sorry buddy.” Wheeljack replied. “You do have back up coming your way, not far behind Prime, but, well, it’s Prime, so not sure how much even he will be able to help you.”



    “We’ll check in every ninety seconds,” Rhinox stated, having joined in the conversation with his own communicator, “if it goes longer than that without hearing from us, blow it up!”



    “Nope, not going to happen!” Wheeljack came back.



    “If we’re not talking within ninety seconds, we’re dead or about to be, so light it up!” Apelinq snapped.



    “That’s noble of you guys, but there’s also your back-up to think about.” Wheeljack replied.



    “Sacrifices must be made.” Rhinox replied. “It’s for this planet and everything on it, I’m sure whoever it is will understand.”



    “He will, no question about that, and that’s the problem.” Wheeljack replied. “It’s…”



    “Traitors!” An orange and maroon and blur barreling into them stopped the conversation, knocking Rhinox and Apelinq to the ground. “You chose the wrong side, Maximal!” Guardian Prime was over Apelinq, throwing a punch that nearly separated him from consciousness. The massive leader stopped with Apelinq, likely assuming the punch had taken the fight out of him, an assumption that wasn’t far off, and moved on to Rhinox. “And you, you’re one of the jailors that kept me here!” He hammered down on Rhinox, the punch having a similar effect with him as it had with Apelinq. “If you and your Convoy handlers had minded their own business a million years ago, there wouldn’t be these precious humans here to recognize and lament their doom, only Homo erectus, a creature not far off from your humans, but the concept of tomorrow was far less a concern for them than it is for their descendants.” Apelinq struggled to get up, slowly moving to a kneeling position, but could only watch as Prime stood, drew a sword from his back and raised it to finish Rhinox off once and for all.



    The slash was interrupted by a red and blue blur tackling Prime off Rhinox and the two large forms rolling together across the floor. Apelinq followed the commotion, his senses quickly returning to him and allowing him to recognize the form now grappling with Guardian Prime. “Convoy! No, you shouldn’t be here!”



    Prime swiped up at Pax, but the young Convoy leaned back with astounding speed and avoided the strike, shooting back forward and delivering three crosses in the time it would take Apelinq to have delivered one, each connecting heavily with Prime. “Get out of here, both of…” a thunderous punch sent Orion flying off Prime and skidding across the floor.



    Apelinq and Rhinox were both on their feet charging Prime half a second later, but something huge tackled them both from behind. Apelinq felt a pair of jaws clamping into the back of his left shoulder and could see Rhinox enduring the same punishment from the Cerberus. He suddenly saw the jaws clamped onto Rhinox get ripped free and felt the same for the jaws that had been cutting into him, the weight on his back suddenly gone. He followed the movement and saw Orion Pax clutching the back of the three headed beast, grappling it away from the Maximals.



    “PAX!” Prime roared. “An apt ending, I’ll kill you all and activate the Ferrotaxis myself!”



    Orion, still gripping the rear of the Cerberus, twisted and tossed the massive beast at Prime, the slavering, snapping jaws cutting through the air as he soared into the leader of Cybertron. Prime braced against the impact and then caught the two side heads with his hands, ducking his own head to the right to avoid getting snapped by the central canine jaws. “Board up and get out!” Orion yelled at Apelinq and Rhinox as he charged forward and drove his shoulder into the back of Cerberus, sending the beast toppling down on top of Prime.



    “You’re coming too!” Rhinox roared as Apelinq activated his jet-board and Rhinox hopped on behind him.



    “Fine, go!” Orion replied as he leapt off the back of the monster and took a few steps, transformed, and followed the departing Maximals back toward the surface. Apelinq chanced one last look back to see Prime toss the monster off, grab the sword he had been holding earlier, and swing it powerfully to lop off one of the heads of the monster. “Wheeljack, come in!” Orion’s voice came through the communication channel that the two Maximals had been using to talk to Wheeljack earlier.



    “I’m here, Pax.” Wheeljack came back.



    “Detonate it!” Orion ordered.



    “Damn it, Pax, no, not again!” Wheeljack protested. “You’re too close! I’m not doing this again!”



    “Yes, again!” Pax snapped. “I didn’t die on Trypticon, I’m not going to die now, just blow the damn Ferrotaxis! The human nukes too, take this island down now!” Orion closed the channel and spoke to the Maximals out loud speeding ahead of him. “Sorry guys, we’re probably going to die.”



    “To give my life for the good of a planet with the last Conv…”



    “Just get us out of here!” Rhinox interrupted Apelinq’s sentiment-filled declaration.



    “Wheeljack,” Orion re-opened the channel, “do it now!”



    There was a pause. “Aye…damnit, aye Pax, just survive.” Wheeljack replied despondently. “Bombs away.”





    0





    Elita One





    The Manifest’s impact into the ocean nearly one hundred miles to the west had been controlled enough so that the waves it caused hadn’t reached that far beyond the western coastline of the newly risen island, and the descent below the waves was going slow, a good indication that the impact to coastlines on Europe and Africa should not be much more than ripples, and would have little to no impact to the eastern coastlines of the Americas. The battle was starting to wind down, and almost every front was going in their direction. There were still pockets of Cybertronian resistance, but the destruction of the Manifest, the defection of Metroplex, and the lack of contact and visibility of Guardian Prime had demoralized his troops significantly.



    One Cybertronian warrior that was still fighting with absolute determination was the massive Spreem, hammering it out with Omega Supreme, the two warriors had been going nonstop for almost an hour on the outer channel coastline nine miles to the south of Elita’s current position. Early on Spreem had seemed to claim a slight advantage, with grappling skills the ancient guardian of the gates didn’t seem to possess, but over time it became clear that Omega had slightly greater strength and durability, and now it seemed that he was getting the upper hand in this war of attrition. At this point Omega Supreme only needed to be buying time, with the Manifest down and officially no longer a threat, Metroplex could soon be expected to move through taking out the largest threats Guardian Prime’s army still offered, but Omega wasn’t fighting as though he was biding his time, he was fighting to win. Perhaps he didn’t consider Metroplex’s potential intervention, but while that was likely, Elita believed that the guardian’s core make up was what was forcing him to fight with everything he had.



    Omega delivered a back swing with his left arm toward Spreem’s head, impacting it heavily, sending the other giant stumbling back almost in a daze. Omega Supreme didn’t hesitate, thrusting his claw-arm forward, slipping one of the claws under the chin of Prime’s ignus lumen-bearing warrior, planted his cannon-arm back down on the right shoulder of Spreem, and thrust forward, igniting the thruster in the claw arm as he pried. The head tore free, plummeting down and impacting heavily against the rock below, bouncing and rolling, the movement fortunately taking it away from the falling body that it was attached too only a moment before. The headless torso hit the ground heavily, causing a mild tremor, and Omega Supreme stood over it, directed his cannon-bearing left arm over the torso, and opening fire a non-stop barrage down the center. The head shuddered as Omega Supreme was desecrating the decapitated frame and transformed into what would be an exceptionally large robot compared to normal Cybertronians, but not even a quarter his old height. Spreem, in great pain and clearly disoriented, looked up at what was happening to the frame he had attached himself to and raised his arms in pleading protest, but it was for naught. Omega Supreme finally ceased his cannon-fire but raised his claw-arm up over his head and drove it down with incomprehensible power, splitting the torso into its two halves. He seemed to study it for a moment before focusing on the center of the blue, battleship half.



    “No!” Elita barely heard Spreem call out, but easily heard what Omega Supreme had to say to the inert frame beneath him.



    “Brother, I acknowledge my role in the fate Guardian Prime chose for you, and I apologize greatly for it.” The giant said to the downed frame. “I do what I do now to ensure your body is never used by others for their ends. Be at peace.” He raised his cannon again, directed it toward the inside plating of the blue portion of the torso, and opened fire. The barrage lasted thirty seconds before a blinding light and audio-receptor-piercing explosion cut through the night sky, far brighter than the slowly rising sun to the east.



    Elita had turned away from the blast, as had everyone else, but redirected her gaze to see Omega Supreme walk away from the corpse that Spreem now seemed to be weeping over, and transform to his base, tank, and rocket form. “Holy Primus, I think we’re going to win this thing.” Blaster said as he stepped next to Elita One, watching as Omega Supreme’s rocket section took to the sky to offer aerial support to any Autobot-aligned forces that needed it.



    “Only if we can destroy the Ferrotaxis.” Elita replied, returning her gaze to the various skirmishes going on around the island. “If it’s activated, all this will have been for…”



    BOOOOOOOM!!!



    The island shuddered violently, throwing them all to the ground. “By the Hand, what was that?” Elita muttered as she pulled herself back to her feet.



    The communications systems on both her and Blaster’s wrists, and likely the wrists of every Autobot-aligned soldier, came to life, but there was a pause for a few moments. Finally, “Attention, this is Wheeljack, the Ferrotaxis has been destroyed, as have the measures that have been keeping Atlantis at the surface. Evacuate the island now and assist any humans in getting back to Flores.” There was a deep sadness in his voice, one that Elita was able to deduce the reason for.



    “NO!” Elita screamed out in agony.



    Blaster looked to her, surprised by her reaction but immediately realizing what was causing her desperation. Both of them got back to their feet and he opened and boosted every frequency he could. “Pax! Come in Orion, where are you?”



    “Blaster,” Elita muttered, her mind of torrent of activity, “coordinate the evacuation, tie into the human communications channels, and make sure they have the means to get to Flores. You’re in a better position to spearhead this than others due to your skillsets and abilities.”



    “And you, Elita?” Blaster asked, peering intently at her. “There’s a platoon of Autobots over near the entrance, I’m sure they’re doing what they can to get him out, and if Orion is gone…” he gently grabbed her shoulders, “we’re going to need a leader to see this victory through, someone he trusts. Someone…” over the sounds of chaos and tectonic upheaval came the sound of cheering from the center of the innermost island, the sound prompting Blaster and Elita to turn and look, and they witnessed the scorched, battered, and filthy frames of Rhinox, Apelinq and Orion Pax emerging from the shaking ground. Blaster released Elita’s shoulders and raised his wrist to his mouth. “Wheeljack ol’ buddy, I’m starting to question your bomb-making abilities. That’s twice you’ve failed to blow up Pax. How’s our boy?”



    “Just eyeballing him, scorched, beaten up, in need of Ratchet’s laser-scalpel and more than a little of his browbeating; you know, the usual.” Wheeljack’s mirth-filled voice came back.



    “Great to hear, buddy.” Blaster smiled at the relieved Elita. “Well, time to follow your own orders and get off this island. Feels like we only have minutes before it starts breaking apart under our feet and plummeting down.”



    “Yeah, the humans weren’t taking chances with the nuclear devices they had us plant down there.” Wheeljack replied. “We’re on our…”



    Suddenly a barrage of weapon’s fire blasted out through the door down into the subterranean base, sending the Autobots diving away. A flaming helicopter blasted out of the ground and shot into the sky, a trail of fire following it into the reddish dawning sky, the swooping blades casting shards of fire down below to the crumbling island. The scorched helicopter came to a hover a couple hundred meters from Orion Pax’s position and transformed, whipping off the last of the flaming debris from its frame and landing on the ground in robot form, the form of Guardian Prime. “PAAAAXXXXXXXX!!!”



    Orion eyed him cautiously and nodded at the leader of Cybertron but raised his wrist to his mouth. “Continue evacuation of the island,” the message was conveyed through every communications channel, “and Metroplex,” Guardian Prime shuddered with nervousness as the name, “submerge and slow the descent of the island as best you can. Eliminate, or at least mitigate the seismic and therefore tidal impact.”



    “As you command, Orion Pax.” Metroplex’s booming voice came through the speakers on every wrist, and Elita watched as the unfathomably large Titan disappeared beneath the waves.



    “Sending your most potent asset away was a tremendous mistake.” Prime called out to Orion.



    “It doesn’t need to be this way, Prime.” Orion called back. “You made an error, everyone does. Heroes correct their mistakes, atone for them. Your legacy need not be tarnished by this, lead the safe evacuation of the island, assure the humans that they are safe from us, make a peace with them, make allies of them, and find ways to provide for our people that doesn’t involve the destruction and exploitation of other species and worlds.”



    “I will not take counsel from a child on how to provide for MY people!” Guardian Prime hissed. “And humans are, at best, fit to be pets, not allies. But they are safe from me, provided they stay out of our way when we mine and collect what’s left of the Ore-13 on this planet. You’ve saved them, Pax, I won’t be destroying this world.” Prime reached to his back and pulled forth a copter blade that subtly shifted shape into a large sword. “But I will not abide traitors. Justice has finally arrived for you, Orion Pax.”



    A despondent look came over Orion’s face, but then he nodded. Other Autobots with him seemed to try and dissuade him from doing whatever he was resigned to do, but he merely ordered them back and took a step in the direction of Guardian Prime, who was already marching toward the youth. The initial steps turned to trotting, which turned to jogging, which quickly gave way to full-on sprinting, the distance between them cutting to just a couple dozen meters when Orion jumped, transformed, hit the rocks in truck mode, and bounced off one last outcropping of boulders to leap into the air and smash the front of his human truck mode into the upper chest and head of Prime, sending the hulking leader to the ground on his back.



    The red and blue truck spun and transformed incredibly rapidly back into Orion Pax, who hit the ground, spun on his planted left foot, and delivered a spinning right roundhouse kick to Guardian Prime, who was just getting off the ground. Guardian’s head snapped back, but he recovered instantly and swung down heavily on Pax’s position with his sword, narrowly missing as Orion darted away. The two got to their feet at the same time and squared off against one another, as imposing and impressive as Orion’s size and physique was, he paled before the mighty frame of Guardian Prime.



    Prime raised his sword, and Pax ignited his energon axe. The blades swung through the air, striking, then restriking as the warriors unloaded on each other with the island crumbling around them. “Elita, we need to get off this island!” Blaster called out over the roar of the destruction going on around them.



    “We need to help Pax!” Elita snapped back, but the strips of land creating the inner channels of the island collapsed, as did large chunks of the inner island where Prime and Pax were fighting. Getting to them was getting more impossible by the second. In fact, if they continued fighting there, Prime and Pax would be going down with Atlantis. She saw Prime take a wide swing at Pax, who barely ducked under it and came up swiping hard at Prime, cutting a gash from Prime’s upper abdomen and through his chest deeply.



    “Arrrggghhhh!” Prime roared out in pain as he jumped back, looked down at his cut chest plating, and then charged Pax swinging on him savagely. Pax ducked, parried, and blocked as best he could, but Prime sent a snap-kick as well that sent Pax soaring back, grinding against the crumbling rocks of the ground. Prime didn’t relent, leaping upon Pax even before he stopped skidding and hammering down, eventually sliding his blade back in place on his back so that he had both fists to pummel the Autobot Commander with.



    “ORION!!!” Elita screamed but could do nothing to help him. But Orion apparently wasn’t done yet, as a balled blue fist shot up and slammed into Prime’s face, and then Orion flipped him off him. Both jumped to their feet, though it was clear that Orion was wobbly, having sustained a tremendous beating at the hands of the far stronger Guardian Prime. Orion considered continuing with his energon blade, but they were too close for it to be effective, so Pax retracted it and the two starting with the hand-to-hand combat, trading blows. Despite Prime’s enhancements, Pax seemed to be slightly faster, though the power behind the blows was nowhere near that of Prime, and he was quickly getting battered into dizziness. The ground between the two pugilists started crumbling away, what seemed to be a reprieve for Orion Pax, but Prime launched a barbed chain that wrapped several times around Pax’s neck, and transformed into copter mode, taking off into the sky and towing Orion after him. Elita watched as Prime flew over them and darted toward Flores to finish off the Autobot leader on solid ground.





    0





    Hot Rod





    Being five years old sucked. He was fast and strong and smart and brave and a natural at damn near everything he’s ever tried, but the moment the call for evacuation was given, he was sent to help get the humans off the doomed island and relocated to the beach of Flores. Hundreds of human soldiers with their vehicles, all completely ineffectual against the Cybertronian attackers, were clogging up the beach. Destroying the island had always been part of the plan, and now it was obvious to Hot Rod that him leading an evacuation of humans and injured Cybertronians was also part of the plan, which explained why Sideswipe had given him his jet pack. Well, technically Hot Rod wasn’t leading the evacuation, Roller, limited as he was, was doing the main bit of corralling and relocating the humans, his translation program did a good job of conveying what he said into the various human languages being used, and the battle platform created from Pax’s trailer was buoyant and made for an excellent ferry from Altantis to Flores and back.



    Hot Rod verified that the last batch of evacuees was settled and safe before turning back to the disintegrating island to return for more, but then caught sight of a helicopter coming toward him, a helicopter that was dragging something after it. “What in the pit?” Hot Rod scrutinized the odd scene, at first thinking it was a helicopter helping a robot evacuate, but the robot being towed seemed to be struggling against the tether, a tether that was wrapped around his neck. Hot Rod suddenly realized who the dragged robot was. “Orion!” The scorched helicopter soared over him dragging Hot Rod’s leader after him. “Shit!” He had to get over there. He ignited his jetpack and took to the sky, looking down at the beach to see Roller darting over the sand and rock to follow Orion as well. He had jungle and rough terrain to get through, and only one mode to get through it in, so Roller wouldn’t be able to help for a while.



    Even Hot Rod wouldn’t be there for Orion right away, the helicopter was far faster than Sideswipe’s jetpack was allowing Hot Rod to fly. The copter cut north and shot out over the green, mountainous southern half of Flores, pulling away from Hot Rod but remaining within sight of the young Autobot. They flew for miles over the island, the helicopter darting straight for a series of mountains overlooking a small river that flowed into and out of a small lake, Poco da Ribeira do Ferreiro was the name given the area according to the data Hot Rod had downloaded about the region. The mountain overlooking the river and lake was feeding into both with several small waterfalls, and it was against one of these small waterfalls that Orion slammed as the copter banked sharply before reaching the mountain and releasing the cable holding the Autobot Commander.



    Orion slammed against the rockface hard, then started plummeting down toward the lake below, scraping against the side, but possessing the wherewithal to use the rocks to slow his fall and land on his feet on the ground. He had a small lake before him and a wall of rock at his back, but the width of the lake appeared to be less than two hundred feet from where he was standing, so he had a short run, followed by a large leap that carried him nearly all the way to the other side, landing with a splash in the shallows of the opposite shore. He was battered, heavily battered, but nothing life-threatening yet. The helicopter than had been tugging him landed a few dozen meters in front of him, transforming into Guardian Prime, who looked fully intent on inflicting injuries to Pax that were life-ending.



    Hot Rod was pushing the jetpack to the full extent of its abilities, but Pax would still be on his own for a bit of time. Prime pulled out a sword from his back and attacked Orion, who ignited his energy axe and met the charge, the two hacking and slashing, Prime using his superior size and power to push Orion back, but the younger, smaller Autobot was exceptionally quick and balanced, and was able to maneuver around Prime, blocking and parrying the strikes and using his speed to take the offensive from time to time, landing a strike against Prime’s already slashed open chest, causing another deep laceration. Prime landed a right cross in retaliation, sending Pax bouncing hard against the ground, skidding to a stop a dozen yards away. Prime pounced at him, but Pax recovered from the strike immediately and rolled before the leader of Cybertron landed on him.



    “Hold on Pax!” Hot Rod yelled out. He was almost there, just a few more seconds til he reached them. Together he and Orion could topple this jackass! Hell, even alone Orion was holding his own. He was losing ground, but against the Prime, he was looking beyond impressive, going blow for blow, and frankly, he looked to be the quicker of the two. But when Prime landed a blow, it was brutal. Pax did manage to swipe Prime’s sword out of his hand, but the ensuing flurry of punches nearly sent Pax off-line, but the young Autobot weathered it and put some distance between the two warriors. He bought himself a few more seconds, which was all he needed as Hot Rod finally cut the distance to them and slammed his shoulder into Guardian Prime’s back at the jetpack’s top speed. The impact surprised Prime and forced him forward several steps. The enormous Cybertronian whipped around, swinging wildly and nearly connecting with the ducking Hot Rod’s head. Hot Rod came up with an uppercut to the chin, which connected perfectly…and no effect, just garnering him a malevolent glare from the Prime of Cybertron, one which Hot Rod knew would precede his own doom.



    “Hot Rod, get out of here!” Pax yelled as he tackled Prime away from the much smaller Hot Rod, putting himself in the precarious position of grappling with the stronger, more experienced Prime. Just as expected, Prime twisted Pax off him, mounted him, and starting raining blows down on him. Hot Rod lunged at Prime, but this time Prime was expecting him, and twisted to face Hot Rod, fists raised to meet him. The lights went out.



    Hot Rod slowly came too, completely unaware of how long he was out or even where he was at this point, but he propped himself up on his right elbow and watched as Pax, who must have managed to get out from underneath Prime, was up, slugging it out with Prime on the edge of the small lake. Despite having somehow gotten free, Pax was battered and exhausted, barely able to throw punches. Prime was also heavily beaten and exhausted, but the damage he sustained was clearly less than that of Pax, and his punches had a great deal more power to them. He shoved Pax back, reached behind him and pulled another copter blade from his back, the blade shifting shape into a sword, and Prime swung it heavily down on Pax. Orion raised his left arm to block it, the blade sinking into his forearm almost all the way through. Prime savagely twisted his blade, causing Pax to grunt and wrench his arm away, but Prime immediately hacked at it again, this time cutting it off just below the elbow.



    Pax lunged in to deliver a straight right, which connected hard against Prime’s face, but it wasn’t enough to keep Prime from wrapping his hands around Pax’s neck and squeezing tightly to destroy the energon conduits leading to Pax’s brain module. Pax’s right hand reached out to push Prime away, but Prime was too strong, especially now as Pax only had one arm. The younger bot was clawing desperately at Prime’s shredded chest as the leader of Cybertron was pushing the Autobot back toward the waterline. Hot Rod struggled to get to his wobbly feet and got excited as he heard Guardian Prime cry out in pain as Pax reached through the wounds and into his open chest. Hot Rod, his head still fuzzy, started toward them, but a dark form burst forth from the jungle behind him and shot right past him, darting straight toward the two brawlers.



    It was Roller, speeding straight toward Guardian Prime’s back as his crushing grip of Pax’s neck seemed to be the only thing keeping the Autobot Commander from falling into the lake. Suddenly both combatants froze, and Pax’s optics flared a blue-green that momentarily blinded Hot Rod. He had no idea what it meant, and before he even had a chance to consider what it could be, Roller was slamming Guardian Prime in his lower back at full speed, driving all three of them many meters forward into the lake, deep enough for all of them to disappear beneath the surface.



    Suddenly the area around Hot Rod was awash in activity, as dozens of Cybertronians arrived in the clearing via air and land. “Where’s Prime?” Hot Rod turned to see the opening of a rifle barrel inches from his face, and looked past it to see a large, predominantly orange Cybertronian pointing it at him. He had read the dossiers of the Manifest command crew, those most loyal to Guardian Prime, and recognized this to be Landmine. Dozens of other robots were starting to surround them, but still dizzy from Guardian Prime’s impossibly powerful punch, he could only focus on Landmine. “Where?” The old robot roared.



    “Lower the gun, Landmine!” Hot Rod heard Jazz’s voice order and saw the tip of Jazz’s rifle press up against the side of Landmine’s head. “Only warning you get.”



    “I don’t take orders from traitors.” Landmine snarled, still maintaining his glare at Hot Rod. “Where’s Prime, kid?”



    Almost as an answer to Landmine’s question, the water of the lake started churning and bubbling, a blue-green glowing emerging from the depths drawing everyone’s attention toward it. “Pax in there, Rod?” Jazz asked quietly, still pressing his rifle to Landmine’s head. Hot Rod nodded as he and every other of the arriving Cybertronians stared at the roiling and glowing water, now crackles of blue energy shooting through and out of it, dissipating within a second or two of escaping the surface of the lake.



    “Where’s Pax?” The newly arrived Ironhide yelled out, Hot Rod looking to see him, and only then noticed the massive Ark hovering a few dozen meters above them.



    “Where’s Prime?” A green helicopter yelled out as it just now cleared the tree line and transformed in the clearing with the rest of them. Bulkhead, according to Hot Rod’s research.



    “Both in the lake!” Jazz called out. “Ironhide, get…”



    “Stop!” It was Ratchet now yelling out, interrupting Jazz’s instruction to Ironhide. “Imperial Cybertronians, Autobots, Maximals and whoever else,” Ratchet boomed, “this battle is done, that Vanguard Class Deep Space Interceptor hovering above us all with every cannon at its disposal pointed at those loyal to Prime should make that clear! We want Prime alive and well, and we require Pax to be alive and well! Let’s put the weapons down and work toward a common goal!”



    “Fuck you, traitor, our weapons go down only when Prime orders them down!” The green and yellow Bulkhead snarled.



    “Bulkhead, we know each other, we were friends, whatever side of the fence you find me on, you at least know me to be reasonable and after the best interests of us all.” Ratchet replied. “Can we at least agree to the safe retrieval of both our leaders?”



    “Roller’s down there too.” Hot Rod offered.



    “Orion Pax is a traitor and will be treated as such!” Landmine, ignoring the young Autobot’s statement, called out, his rifle still pointed at Hot Rod’s head.



    “Anyone acting against Pax gets dusted!” Jazz snarled.



    “Definitely fucking dusted!” The newly arrived Sunstreaker called out, accompanied by Sideswipe and what appeared to be dozens of filthy, ill-maintained and fierce looking robots, all displaying equal intensity at the prospect of killing anyone threatening Pax.



    “Enough!” Ratchet yelled out again. “We can sort out the long-term fates of our leaders once we get them secured and the medical attention they need!”



    “Fuck you!” Bulkhead snapped. “The way I see it, whatever’s going on down there, Prime has the upper hand and is probably delivering Orion Pax the justice he deserves! So again, fuck you, this continued standoff works for me!”



    Suddenly a form shot out of the water, an electrified dark blue projectile blasting out and bouncing across the rocky, grass-covered ground and landing in the midst of the assembled Cybertronians. It was Roller, and the blue energy that had been emanating from the water was coursing around and through his frame, causing it to shudder. “Roller!” Ratchet yelled, sprinting to him, and kneeling down trying to determine what was wrong and how best to minister to the small royal’s needs. “Hang on kid, I’ve got you!”



    “Good, now it’s just Pax and Prime,” Landmine snarled, “and we all know how that’s going to end!”



    The surface of the water exploded once again, this time a more significant burst as what shot out was far larger than Roller, though this time there did not seem to be energy sizzling around the expelled form. The large frame hit the ground and bounced till it was near the scores of Cybertronians milling about, a scorched and battered maroon and orange frame. “Prime!” Bulkhead cried out as he ran to his leader, rolled him over onto his back, and gasped as he saw Guardian Prime’s chest had been torn open. The Cybertronian legend was still conscious, looking and feeling around his own chest in disbelief.



    Alpha Trion appeared through the crowd and ran to Guardian Prime as well. “Gallus, are you alright!”



    “Get away from him!” Landmine finally pulled his rifle away from Hot Rod to point it at Alpha Trion. “You, you’re the greatest traitor of all! You were his friend, his mentor, and you tried to kill us all!”



    “My intent was never to…”



    “Shut up!” Bulkhead chimed in hatefully, still tending to Prime but glaring at Alpha Trion. Alpha Trion ignored the angered utterances and peered intently at Prime’s shredded chest, gasping as he noticed something.



    “Where’s Pax!” Ironhide bellowed at Prime. “If he doesn’t come outta there alive…”



    “Ironhide, stop.” Alpha Trion called out to his old friend.



    “What?” A confused Ironhide asked.



    Alpha Trion seemed to look off into space as something was running through his mind, but after a moment he turned back to Ironhide, then spread his gaze to all present. “Autobots, Maximals, Junkions, on your knees!”



    “We don’t kneel!” Sideswipe called out.



    “Just this once,” Alpha Trion smiled, “we do. We need to make it clear what has happened!”



    “What the hell are you babbling about, you old twit!” Landmine snarled, but only watched as Alpha Trion turned to face the water, even more turbulent now than it had been moments before, and dropped to his knees, lowering his head to the ground. All around them, Autobots, Maximals and even the unkempt looking robots that had arrived with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker hesitantly lowered to their knees as well.



    “That means us too, kid.” Hot Rod looked over to see Jazz looking at him and nodding toward the glowing, bubbling lake. “I’m not one for all this metaphysical stuff, but I think I have an idea of what’s going on here.” The white Autobot lowered to his knees, and Hot Rod shrugged and followed suit.



    From his kneeling position, Hot Rod watched as the water grew even more tumultuous, and then what appeared to be the top of a translucent blue orb breached the surface as it slowly approached the shoreline. As it got closer moving through the shallows, more and more of the orb cleared the water, and soon the head and shoulders of Orion Pax came into view within the glowing blue shell. As he came closer, more of his frame was visible, beaten, battered, torn and shredded, but Hot Rod swore that his injuries seemed to be shrinking and healing. He then noticed that Pax’s one remaining hand was clutching the outer ring of some sort of ornamental casing for a brightly glowing solid blue energy sphere housed within it, a sphere that was generating the ball of energy that surrounded Orion. It was then that Hot Rod noticed that chunks of ore was somehow being pulled from the ground around them and rockface beyond the lake, into the outer energy ball housing Pax, and as it passed through the wall of energy, it seemed to be converted, changed at a level too small for Hot Rods naked optics to witness, but the ores seemed to metamorphosize into smaller, denser metal as rock and other impurities fell to the ground. The altered, refined metal material was then absorbed into Orion Pax’s frame. Hot Rod was no scientist or doctor, but he was pretty sure that this new material was being used for the repairs…and what he now swore looked to be Pax growing. He was particularly amazed at seeing a skeletal forearm emerge from Pax’s left stump, growing out and forming skeletal fingers, with internal wiring forming around it all, then other inner mechanisms, and finally being covered by their species’ metal dermis, all gray at first, but then re-hueing into the red, blue, and other colors of Pax’s arm and hand.



    “Blasphemy!” Bulkhead snarled as he turned his weapon toward the emerging Orion Pax, with Landmine and several other Cybertronian soldiers following suit.



    “No!” Guardian Prime called out, fighting past his pain and the shock at seeing what they were all seeing. “Stand down!” Guardian Prime looked to make sure his soldiers were obeying his command, when something seemed to catch his optics, and he looked over in shock. What could be more shocking than the metamorphosis Pax was going through? Hot Rod followed Prime’s gaze, and was shocked as well at seeing…ghosts? He wasn’t sure how else to classify them, but they were translucent Cybertronians, approaching through the crowd, in some cases even passing through solid soldiers, soldiers that didn’t seem to be noticing the ghosts at all, even if they were moving right in front of them. Every so often one of the ghosts would meet optics with Hot Rod, regard him quizzically, and then give him a small smile and a nod. Hot Rod gasped as something phased through him, a form that had been behind him and was now moving through him toward Pax. The young Autobot looked up to see an odd, equine-looking phantasm moving forward on four legs.



    “Stand.” Hot Rod jerked his gaze away from the quadrupedal ghost at the sound of Pax’s voice, deep as it always was, but now with a mild synthesized quality to it. Hot Rod saw the Autobot leader, now taller, broader, and more powerful looking, pointing to the Autobrand still on his left shoulder. “None shall kneel.” The energy shell that had been surrounding him retracted to a point in front of him and funneled into the solid blue energy-gem housed within the ornate structure he was now holding with both hands, his chest opened at the middle, swinging out to reveal his exposed inner upper torso, a surge of energy shooting from the gem into his now exposed chest, causing his frame to be inundated with power, and slats of metal emerged from his lower helmet to form a faceplate over his mouth and nose.



    “Giving you the name of my House, and you accepting it was one of the proudest moments of my life.” The equestrian-shaped ghost said. “Now I have the honor of giving you a new name. Step forward, Optimus Prime, first of his name, rightful leader of Cybertron and protector of all sentient beings!”



    “Yes!” Alpha Trion called out loudly and with great excitement, sending the horse-ghost a smile and nod. “Yes, all hail Optimus Prime, first of his name!”



    Orion…well, Optimus Prime, pushed the detached halves of metal housing together to lock in the blue orb, and pulled the entire thing into his chest, which sealed shut as his hands moved away. One last shockwave of power emitted from him, a gentle but undeniable wave that brushed against all present. Hot Rod stared at the newly named Optimus Prime for a moment, but then looked back to Alpha Trion, who turned to look at a feminine specter, powerful but sleek, who looked to lock optics with Alpha Trion. The elderly Trion reached out toward her, she reached to him as well, but smiled sadly and shook her head.



    “I have no wisdom to impart, my son.” The horse-ghost continued. “Your wisdom has already surpassed my own, your judgement and morality are without peer. All I can tell you is that until we are all one, I will be watching you with tremendous pride. As will she.” Optimus’s optics flared at hearing that, and the horse nodded. “The Matrix is, among other things, a conduit to other realms. It cannot provide a link to all, but those that died a hero, the Greatest of Cybertron, are always welcome within it.” The horse nodded to other forms approaching Optimus, all Convoys by the shapes of their helmets, faces and crests, though the three with bestial features, particularly the one with hairy gorilla arms and shoulders, seemed to exchange meaningful looks with him. “Til all are one, Optimus Prime.”



    “Ahl hail Optimus Prahme!” Ironhide called out, almost interrupting the final words of the horse-ghost, as though he was oblivious to the words it was sharing with the new Prime.



    “All hail Optimus Prime!” The throngs of Autobots, Maximals and Junkions called out in response to Ironhide as the phantasms all seemed to fade away.



    “Yes,” Guardian Prime stated as he painfully rose to his feet and started toward Optimus Prime. “Yes, all hail Optimus Prime.” He then lowered to his knees and prostrated himself before his successor.



    “No, Guardian, none shall kneel.” Optimus said as he reached out and placed his hand on his predecessor’s shoulder.



    “I shall kneel.” Guardian stated, still down on his knees. “I must kneel. And it’s Gallus Honorum now. There is only one Prime, and the Matrix could not have chosen more wisely.”



    “Rise, Gallus Honorum.” Optimus gently pressed.



    “I have so much to atone for.” The former Prime whispered.



    “Then atone by teaching me.” Prime suggested, offering his hand so that the downward facing former Prime could see it.



    Gallus grasped Optimus’s hand and rose back to his feet, letting out a chuckle. “If Arlon Pax had no wisdom to offer you, what can I possibly teach you?”



    “What’d ya’ say about Arlon?” An instantly agitated Ironhide snarled, but Alpha Trion stepped over and gently gripped his arm.



    “It wasn’t a slight, I’ll explain later my friend.” Trion said to him, immediately calming Ironhide down.



    Gallus turned and locked optics with Alpha Trion, the two sharing a smile and a nod. The more recent of the former Primes then returned his attention to Optimus. “With your permission, I would continue to serve Cybertron. Much of what I did was misguided, and…evil. But I feel my desire to free captive brethren from servitude brought on by the Quintessons was genuinely worthwhile and noble. Please allow me to continue that quest, an exile from Cybertron until some of my transgressions are atoned for.”



    “No exile is necessary, my friend, but that is a worthwhile endeavor, one that I will fully support.” Optimus stated, now looking nearly optic to optic with the old Prime. He was still a bit shorter, but less than a foot, and his frame was more athletic than Gallus Honorum’s.



    “Then I shall take my leave and set off.” Gallus announced as he stepped back, made sure there was adequate space around him, and looked up to the sky as if to launch.



    “What, no!” Ultra Magnus called out as he pushed his way forward through the crowd. “You’re heavily damaged, battle weary, and low on energon. You’re in no condition to set out and pick a fight with the Quintessons! Plus, how would you get there? I get you have thrusters, but space is dizzyingly vast. You can’t just take off from Earth and get to the other side of the galaxy on your own?” Magnus then looked to Optimus Prime. “How hard did you hit him?”



    Gallus shook his head. “Yes, of course, that was insanely stupid. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”



    “I volunteer to accompany Gallus Honorum!” The massive Fortress Maximus called out, in his arms a silver frame, one that had already started graying in death. “You’re right, Honorum,” Maximus peered directly at the former Prime, “you have much to atone for.” He shifted the body in his arms to draw attention to it. “But witnessing you rescue other Cybertronians from servitude might allow me to forgive you, and it’s a noble way for me to spend my existence.” He then looked around. “But we will need a ship.”



    “Take the Xantium.” Elita One called out as she walked forward toward Optimus Prime but stopping a respectful distance from him. They would have their proper reunion, but in front of so many it was best to adhere to decorum.



    “Many thanks, Elita One.” Gallus Honorum bowed his head to the One.



    “If I may, Elita One,” Fort Max called out, “may I rename the Xantium?” Maximus looked down at the dead frame in his hands. “Steelhaven was a brave and loyal warrior and gave his life to protect a world he knew nothing about. With your permission, I would honor him by naming our craft after him.”



    “Of course, Lord Maximus, I knew Steelhaven, and it would do House Solus honor to have a former ship of ours named after a great warrior.” Elita stated.



    Optimus Prime marched forward quickly to attend to Roller, who was still being treated by Ratchet, and Hot Rod found himself wandering through the crowd, making his way toward Alpha Trion, who was chatting with Ironhide, Prowl and Jazz. As he drew near, he overheard what Alpha Trion was saying to Ironhide. “I’d rather not go into the details, Ironhide, just trust me, it was not a slight against Arlon. Please, just trust me on that.”



    “Whellll, I suppose it’s lahke you and maybe five other guys I’d trust lahke that, so if you say so…” Ironhide replied.



    “And might I add, Alpha Trion,” Jazz chimed in, “excellent name choice. Optimus Prime,” the flashy Autobot said, scrolling his hands through the air as he said the name, “so much marquee value!”



    “Alpha Trion didn’t come up with the name.” Hot Rod interjected. “The horse ghost guy did. He walked right in front of you on his way to Orion…Optimus…I guess Optimus at that point. He’d been upgraded but hadn’t been named yet.” Hot Rod was stunned by the expressions the others were giving him. Jazz bore a look of confused amusement, Prowl was peering at Hot Rod almost nervously, and Alpha Trion bore a stunned look, studying Hot Rod even more intensely than Prowl was. Ironhide was confused and looked to Alpha Trion as if to ask something.



    “Kid, did you take any blows to the head?” Prowl asked.



    “Straight right from Guardian Prime, knocked me out.” Hot Rod muttered, shrugging as though that wasn’t a big deal.



    “He’s not scrambled.” Alpha Trion stated, leaning in to take a closer look at the young Autobot. “But Hot Rod, it is Hot Rod, isn’t it?” Hot Rod nodded. “Let’s not discuss this with anyone else. Keep it to yourself unless one of us, or Optimus Prime himself, asks you to discuss the matter.” Hot Rod nodded.



    “Wait, your serious?” Prowl asked.



    “Horse ghost guy?” Jazz questioned. “You mean Ar…”



    “Enough.” Trion interrupted, still looking at Hot Rod. “I think a bit of personal attention should be given this young Autobot. A dedicated mentor, perhaps.”



    “Oh, Ah know just tha’ guy.” Ironhide laughed. “And he’s not here to oppose tha’ recommendation.”



    “I know who you’re talking about.” Prowl chuckled. “He’s going to hate you for this.” Hot Rod looked at the two older Autobots laughing at his expense and decided it was better not to ask.





    000000





    Emir Xaaron





    The screen faded to black as the overhead lights came on. Xaaron looked out over the Cybertronian Senate, mostly new faces that weren’t there when he had been a senator several years before. Between the culling of Violen Jiger and the Cybertronum Quod Aequalitas, most of his former colleagues were gone, either murdered or voted out. But even the many new senators were aware of him and gave him the respect he deserved. After all, he was a commoner as well, his ascension to Emir of Ultrix due as much to the Aequalitas as their ascensions to the Senate. All of which was timely as they had just witnessed footage of the inspiration for the Aequalitas ascend himself into the role of their new Prime. It was his job now to make sure that the Senate would fully support Optimus Prime. “You’ve seen the footage, separate recordings from the Ark, Blaster and even Gallus Honorum’s own optical database. Not to mention Gallus Honorum himself attesting to the authenticity of the events and his loyalty to the former Orion Pax, now named Optimus Prime.”



    “How are we to know that this attestation wasn’t coerced?” Senator Traachon asked. He had been Senate Consul, but while he was able to retain his status as a senator in the last election, he had been voted down from his Consul seat by the new, typically common born-elected senators.



    “You are welcome to contact him directly, as I did, Senator Traachon.” Xaaron replied. “But if you desire to do so, I suggest you do it soon. Once he sets off on his mission, he will be difficult to communicate with.” Traachon seemed to relent. It was no surprise he would be opposed to Orion Pax, Autobot Commander, becoming the new Prime. It had been Traachon who had led the prosecution against the Autobots accused of assaulting Sentinel Prime years before.



    “Emir Xaaron, if I may?” The recently elected senator from Nova Cronum spoke up. Tomaandi had served as an advisor to Traachon for many years and was now finally a senator. The Aequalitas had far-reaching effects, but many of the old guard and their sycophants still managed to attain power. “With both the Cybertronian forces and Autobot forces significantly weakened in this recent battle on Helios-Three, perhaps peace talks with the Decepticons might be in order. Is this new Optimus Prime open to negotiating with Megatron?”



    “Negotiating with Megatron?” Xaaron scoffed. “Like what Delta Magnus hoped to do at the Grand Convocation?”



    “Those were different times.” Tomaandi countered.



    “You are a fool, Tomaandi. I was there for those times; I was barely rescued from Delta Magnus’s ill-conceived commitment to ally with Megatron by a young battlefield commander who not only got us out of that trap but wound up winning the war against Violen Jiger. A young leader who is now our Prime, and most deservedly so.” Xaaron shot back. “Megatron could not be trusted then, he can not be trusted now. Orion Pax had the sense to know this then, and now as Optimus Prime, he’s even more aware of it. His judgement is the only reason we as a species still exist. I will be following Optimus Prime without hesitation, and I fully expect, and insist, that this Senate do the same. We must never back down!”



    Traachon stood up, looked around the chamber, and then spoke. “This Senate will follow the Prime as it always has. I hope that is sufficient for the Emir of Ultrix.” Affirmations were echoed throughout the chamber, but Xaaron remained unconvinced of the Senate’s commitment.





    000000





    Optimus Prime





    It had been decided that if Megatron was on Earth, it would be best for Prime to remain on the organic world as well. As Prime, he really didn’t need to seek support for his decisions, but he had advisors that were trusted and that had steered him well for years, and only a fool dismisses the opportunity to hear dissenting views. But pretty much everyone agreed with his course of action. And the humans were thrilled to hear that he’d be staying. Both President Tomas and Prime Minister Salazar of Portugal had contacted him directly to say that Optimus Prime’s ‘birth’ being on Portuguese soil entitled him to Portuguese citizenship. Prime told them that he was honored, but he could not do anything that would give the perception of favoritism to the many nations of Earth. As it stood, the various human governments had worked out that the Autobots were operating out of North America somewhere, which had several governments, the Soviets in particular, crying foul. Optimus had pointed out that their base of operations, the Ark, was mobile, and that they would go where they were needed and were not inclined to set up roots in any one location. At least that was what he told them. Mount Saint Helens was an excellent location for them, so for now that was the Ark’s parking spot.



    Ultra Magnus was marching through the halls of the Ark with the new Prime, he was still taller, but the difference had been cut to less than four feet since Orion’s physical upgrade to Optimus. “The waves that battered the western coastlines of the Azores were well below the threshold for tsunami, and really had no impact beyond, either to Europe or Africa. Metroplex did an amazing job of resting the artificial island on the ocean floor. The newly dubbed Steelhaven has been repaired, fueled, and equipped for its journey to parts unknown. Gallus Honorum and Fortress Maximus are co-captaining the ship, not sure how that’s going to work long term, I mean, until you prompted the Matrix to jump ship his absolute leadership had been unquestioned for millions of years.”



    “I think Gallus will do well with a dose of humility.” Prime stated. “And I think the weight of being Prime being lifted from his shoulders will help. He dealt with it on his own for seven million waking years, the only ones to confide in were Galvatron and Jhiaxus.”



    “He had Alpha Trion, or Atrium as he was called then.” Magnus countered. “Gallus Honorum chose who to confide in and who not to confide in. You have that choice as well. I hope you choose more wisely than Honorum did.”



    “So do I.” Optimus nodded, playfully punching Magnus’s upper arm. “Though I think so far, so good.”



    “I hope you’re right.” Magnus smiled. “So, size, strength, durability, any other changes the Matrix made?” Magnus asked.



    “I suppose I’ll have to schedule a session with Ratchet or Wheeljack to quantify the changes, but I think I’m a little faster than I was too.” Optimus answered.



    “Primus, you already had the fastest reflexes I’d ever encountered, I definitely want no part of you in the sparring ring now.” Magnus chuckled.



    “And it even upgraded my alternate mode as well.” Prime continued. “I had been a Kenworth K523, but to better fit my enhanced mass, the Matrix upsized me to a 1964 Kenworth K825.”



    “I’m not sure what all that means,” Magnus came back as the two continued down the hallway, “but I may have to become acquainted with those models. Our original freighter cab modes were similar on Cybertron, so if ever I decide to stay on this Earth long term, I may just adopt whatever form has worked for you.”



    “I’ll be sure to forward you the specifications.” Optimus smiled at the larger robot.



    “Prime,” Jazz came trotting into the hallway after them, “incoming hail. It’s Megatron, says he wants to congratulate the new Prime.”



    Optimus nodded and raised his wrist, indicating that he’d be taking the call to his personal frame. He tapped a few settings. “Hello Megatron, what can I do for you?”



    “Greetings Optimus Prime.” Megatron’s voice came through the speaker in Prime’s wrist. “I must say, that is quite a name, far more pretentious and grandiose than the names of the previous Primes.”



    “I didn’t pick the name.” Optimus replied indifferently.



    “Yes, I know what that’s like.” Megatron replied. “How are you adapting to the trials of leadership?”



    “Not much is changed, though now the Senate and high houses are paying me a lot more attention.” Prime answered.



    “I thought I’d gotten rid of those entities for you.” Megatron chuckled.



    “That’s you in a nutshell, Megatron.” Optimus shot back with a hint of venom in his voice. “Causing vast damage with your ambitions but accomplishing nothing.”



    “Now Optimus, that’s not very nice.” Megatron came back playfully. “Especially as I call with hopes of a less contentious relationship going forward.”



    “What are you suggesting, Megatron?” A skeptical Prime asked.



    “I leave you Nova Cronum and the Taurus Heights, and apart from mining Ore-13, we’ll leave this Earth alone. We’ll even give the local humans fair warning that we’re going to mine certain regions so that they can clear out.” Megaton offered.



    “You want me to relinquish eleven of Cybertron’s emirates and allow you to claim all of Earth’s energon resources?” Prime asked. “What is the true purpose of this call, Megatron?”



    “I wanted to see if there was a difference between Orion Pax and Optimus Prime.” Megatron replied. “Orion Pax was a hopeless idealist, clinging to what he naively considered to be right no matter how impractical or impossible such a stance may be. I’m hoping that that bauble in your chest may have gotten you to wise up and view things a bit more pragmatically.”



    “Hopeless idealism seems to have served me well so far.” Prime answered. “Pragmatism would suggest that sticking with a winning strategy is the best course of action. This bauble in my chest hasn’t changed my way of thinking in that regard.” A light chuckle came through Optimus’s faceplate. “By the way, thank you for intervening on our behalf against the Galactic Council.”



    Magnus chuckled. “Actually Prime, you have it backward, you roped the Galactic Council into intervening against the Decepticons.”



    Optimus nodded at his friend. “That’s right. Have had a lot of balls in the air in recent weeks. I’m sorry to hear about your new battle cruiser, our probes showed that you were able to get it away from the moon’s gravitational pull but had to skuttle it once you made it to Earth’s atmosphere. I believe it’s at the bottom of the south Pacific right now, correct? At least Trypticon made it back to Cybertron, presumably for repairs based on the damage our probes observed on him.”



    “You think you’re cute?” Megatron hissed. “I was ready to threaten you with my superior military might, but now I’m inclined to tell you how I’m going to tear you apart with my bare hands.”



    “That’s quite a threat, Megatron, we’re all terrified.” Optimus replied as he and Magnus continued down the hallway toward the captain’s quarters, Optimus’s personal room. “Your most recent enhancement, the one I heard you were boasting about at the Grand Convocation, what was it called again?”



    “Matrix-cali…” Megatron paused his reply. “Ah, I see, it seems that the Matrix has enhanced your smart-assery.”



    “No, I was as big a smart ass when I was Orion,” Optimus countered, “I just need to feel genuine disdain for the other person for it to really shine when they set me up by saying something incredibly stupid.” Up ahead Ratchet was walking out of Prime’s chambers and started walking down the hallway toward them. “Look Megatron, it wasn’t my intent to quit while I was ahead, but I do have something to attend to here. I have no doubt we’ll pick this conversation up at another time.”



    “You can count on that, Prime.” Megatron hissed. “We’ll pick it up again soon.”



    Optimus switched off the conversation and nodded to the approaching Ratchet. “Any progress?”



    “Yes, it seems that whatever the Matrix was doing to him has run its course.” Ratchet replied, appearing to be suppressing a smirk. “He seems to be back to normal, no apparent adverse effects. He’s waiting for you in your room.”



    “Thanks Ratchet.” Optimus stated earnestly. “I can’t tell you…”



    “You don’t need to tell me anything.” Ratchet replied. “I’ll leave you to teach him how to say Optimus in the Mahpop Code. Magnus, I don’t think you’ve gotten checked out since the battle. Infirmary, now.”



    “I have a lot more to go over with Pri…”



    “Now!” Ratchet wasn’t accepting any other response than to have Ultra Magnus follow him.



    Optimus shrugged. “I suggest you do as the doctor orders.” Magnus nodded and turned to walk away with Ratchet. Optimus watched them walking for a few moments, but then turned to got to his chambers. It would do his spark good to hear his brother’s chirping and squealing again. The door opened automatically as he approached, and he walked in. He didn’t see Roller, but in the center of the room was a small table with a large decanter of what he assumed to be engex and two goblets next to it. Optimus stared at the table, unsure of what to make of it, when he noticed Roller on the far end of the room, resting motionless in the shadows on his six wheels. Optimus nodded. “Roller.”



    “Hello Brother.”



    ‘tsche-chu-chu-chu-tsche’.







    THE END
     
    Last edited: Dec 28, 2022
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