Last time: Following Megatron's incarceration by the Cybertron Council, Windrazor, the leader of the Decepticon Alliance on Cybertron, arrives on Earth and seizes command of the remaining Decepticons. Elsewhere, in the wake of Optimus Prime's apparent destruction, Ironhide and Jazz journey to Cybertron to deliver the news to Elita One, unaware that Sideswipe has stowed away in an attempt to discover the true fate of his beloved Disco. Meanwhile, two of the Technobots have been plucked from the year 2012 by a temporal distortion and are brought to the present day, but they are only afforded a moment to ponder this development before the Decepticons attack!
"Outta the way, humans," the frantic Autobot cried, "or I'm gonna run you right over!"
Strafe and Afterburner sped furiously along the stretches of the humid shoreline, sodium chloride invading their olfactory senses, the sounds of their engines barely audible as hundreds of people scrambled chaotically in every direction to clear a path for them. Afterburner was still shouting at the humans, threatening immediate bodily harm to them if they didn't remove themselves from his immediate path. Afterburner's motorcycle mode was smaller and faster than Strafe's bulky jet configuration, making him far more adept at driving on the loose, dry sand. As the humans obediently fled, they left in their wake a multi-colored spectacle, a veritable jackpot of giant umbrellas, drink coolers, towels, and soda cans that practically covered the terrain, forcing Afterburner to slalom through the obstacle course of abandoned artifacts.
Strafe could have sworn he was on the Planet of Junk.
The larger of the two, Strafe was lagging farther and farther behind. His attempts to fly met with negligible results, as he was still low on power to propel himself into the air for more than an instant before his engines gasped and sputtered. He was forced to gracelessly plow through the terrain, kicking up a tremendous amount of sand and causing it to rain upon the crowd of dispersing, terrified humans. It was the abundance of the panicking populace that had tipped off Strafe to his true planetary location, but his initial confusion seemed understandable.
"Don't wait up for me!" Strafe cried out. "Just drive! Drive as fast as you can, and don't look back--unnhhh!" He swerved out of control momentarily as his blunted, titanium wing tip tore through the legs of a lifeguard's chair, toppling the entire structure into a pile of half-painted lumber. Where Afterburner was managing to maneuver around most of the obstacles with comparative ease, Strafe was left with little choice than to drive straight through them. Truth be told, the only reason he wasn't blasting his way through every living and unliving object in his path was because he simply didn't have the energon reserves to spare.
Unfortunately, Strafe and Afterburner were faced with far more immediate problems than poor driving conditions. Facing with none of the challenges their ground-based prey had to deal with, Terradive and Eagle Eye continued their pursuit from the air, approaching at a frightening and threatening rate.
"Go ahead and run, you stupid pieces of Autobot garbage!" Terradive exclaimed. "You'll never get away, so don't even try! We'll hunt you down just like the rusted junk you are!"
"Just once, Terradive, I wish you'd shut up," Eagle Eye said. "That didn't even make sense."
"Bite me, Eagle Eye," was Terradive's reply.
Afterburner faltered slightly as the high tide came rushing in, momentarily overtaking him. He emerged seconds later, tangles of seaweed clinging to his canopy. "My rocket packs are empty," he called to Strafe. "I'm all outta oomph!"
"Just stick with me," Strafe said. "We can still outrun 'em!" How had these Decepticons managed to instantly transport him to Earth? For what purpose? Strafe had no idea. All he knew is that these Decepticons were obviously every bit as intent on destroying them as those Action Masters that he and Afterburner had been running from only minutes ago.
"Forget that," Afterburner said. "You do what you want, but I'm makin' a break for the water!"
"In that case, maybe I can pull enough power from my weapons systems to get airborne again," Strafe said, more to himself now, as he initiated the proper mental commands to shunt all his remaining energy reserves into his flight systems. He despised the idea of being completely defenseless. He'd always thought of his jet mode as little more than a delivery system for his weaponry, like the only reason he had wings was to get his guns into the sky. There was almost no point in being able to fly if he couldn't shoot anything while he was airborne, but he was left with little choice. They'd kill him if he didn't find a way to escape.
Incredibly, his engines ignited immediately, propelling Strafe into the sky. With most of his automated flight systems too low on power to operate, he had to focus intently on keeping his wings level. On some level, it occurred to him that he wasn't being fired on, which struck him as being extraordinarily unusual, but certainly not worth dwelling on. Perhaps they were toying with him, or maybe they just hadn't noticed yet. Whatever the Decepticons' ultimate intentions were, Strafe was in absolutely no condition to put up a fight.
Afterburner, meanwhile, had made a sharp left turn directly into the ocean, obviously counting on the Decepticons' reluctance or inability to follow him into its depths. That proved to be a mistake when the larger of the two Decepticons extended two gleaming black robot arms from the bottom of his fuselage, quickly broke the surface of the water, and emerged only an instant later with Afterburner in his clutches, who was still spinning his wheels frantically in motorcycle mode.
Afterburner transformed and managed to break the Decepticon's grip, leaping back into the ocean. The Decepticon finished his conversion to robot form and hovered in mid-air, wearing a stupefied expression. "Aw, blast! He's all slippery, now. Maybe 'coz he's wet. Eagle Eye, c'mere and give me a hand!"
The green Decepticon jet also transformed, flew over to his companion, and delivered a swift punch to his head. "Idiot! I'll do it," he said, diving into the water.
By now, Strafe had managed to fly a comparatively safe distance away, having taken refuge beneath a large cement bridge that served as an overpass, leading to the human city in the distance. He didn't even dare peek around the corner. He hated the idea of abandoning Afterburner, but with no offensive capabilities of his own, the only act he could initiate at this point would lead to his own capture and destruction. Hoping dearly that Afterburner would forgive him, and praying that the concrete would serve to block their detection sensors and that his dangerously-low energy levels would preclude a proper signal lock, Strafe was left with no choice but to shut himself down for some much-needed rest and self-repair. The last thing he saw in the distance before his optic sensors went off-line was the pair of Decepticons hauling Afterburner away into the sky.
***
"Caught one of 'em," Eagle Eye reported to his leader, dropping the muddy-orange Technobot onto the lawn in front of what had once been, up until very recently, a prominent robotics research center. At the moment, it more closely resembled a demolitions site.
"No idea where the other one went to," he continued. "Couldn't have gotten far, though."
"One Autobot will do," Windrazor said, gesturing toward the large vessel that had completed its landing in the research center parking lot, having crushed half a dozen lifeless vehicles beneath its massive purple frame. "Take him to the ship."
"I hate this planet!" Terradive exclaimed, stomping on the ground repeatedly with the apparent intent of hurting it. "The air moves around too much! It's impossible to fly!"
"This doesn't make sense," Windrazor said, mostly to himself. "Why would the Autobots of this planet deploy only two troops against us who were too weak and helpless to put up a resistance? Even if they were intended as a diversion of some sort, no Autobot commander would willingly allow two of his followers to be captured or destroyed. We seem to be missing a large piece of the puzzle. Perhaps this Autobot will be kind enough to provide us with some answers."
"I try to fly left," Terradive continued, "and the wind pushes me to the right! I try to fly down, and I get pushed back up! Grr! Stupid wind!"
"We can adapt our forms to better function on this world later," Windrazor said. "First, we have business to attend to."
Windrazor turned to Shockwave, who remained at attention along with five of the Constructicons and a small contingent of his sentinel robots. "What are your commands, Windrazor?" he asked.
"Yes, that's much more like it," Windrazor said with a glint in his optic. "It's about time you fell into place. Shockwave, board my ship and await further orders. May I remind you that Decepticons on Earth are now under my command, and any who defy me will meet a swift and most unpleasant fate." He turned to Soundwave, who stood unsteadily, with a decidedly forlorn regard for his recently-broken chest window.
"We'll replace it later," Windrazor said in a dismissive tone. "Board my craft. I need you to show me where Megatron's base of operations is so we can begin a new campaign. It is imperative that we act as quickly as possible."
Somehow, Soundwave managed to stagger up the ramp into the ship, still reeling from the aftermath of the confrontation with Windrazor and the knowledge that he may have not only forfeited the life of one of his own cassettes, but the very future of the Decepticon Empire as well.
***
Chapter 36: Extra Life
Omega Supreme touched down in rocket mode in the center of Autobot territory, only a few mega-miles away from Iacon. The chances of Decepticon activity in this sector were still possible--in fact, judging by the numerous battle scars across the landscape, Ironhide estimated they were more than probable--but this was nevertheless the safest place to land.
"Destination: Cybertron," Omega Supreme announced.
"Any activity outside, Omega?" Ironhide asked, standing by the ramp entrance inside the rocket, taking a moment to inspect his rifle.
"Activity: null," Omega reported.
Without further commentary, the ramp extended from the center of the cylindrical rocket, connecting with the cold, metallic surface of the planet.
"Ahh, there ain't nothin' like home," Jazz said as he surveyed the surrounding area with a frown. "And this sure ain't nothin' like home."
It was just as well that they'd chosen to land outside Iacon; a huge chunk was missing from the main bridge that led to the city. Whether the damage had been caused by a single blast or was the product of erosion wasn't immediately clear, but similar-sized holes were littered across the region, like craters in the surface of the steel-grey planet. There was no direct evidence of combat--none of the characteristic armor bolts or discarded weapon cartridges or bits of scrap metal that were typically found on the battlefield were in evidence.
The strange and disturbing impression Ironhide came away with was that someone had been systematically pounding the planet from the air, not with weapons designed to kill, but with weapons designed to do as much damage as possible to the surface of the planet and its immediate underlying layers. At a guess, the Decepticons had been trying to find one of the hidden Autobot alcoves, and they wanted to find it bad.
"Prime was right," Ironhide said. "The Decepticons aren't messin' around this time. Are you getting any signals from the city?"
Jazz transformed and pointed his spoiler-mounted receptor dishes in the direction of the great domed compound. "All I'm gettin' from Iacon is feedback, and I don't mean the helpful, constructive kind."
Ironhide knew that Iacon's usefulness as the Autobots' primary staging base had waned considerably since the launch of the Ark, but there should have still been enough surviving Autobot contingents in the immediate vicinity to at least defend the stronghold. Something didn't add up here, but Ironhide was at a loss to explain why. Communication with Cybertron had been spotty in recent years, ever since Alpha Trion had sacrificed himself and the remaining Autobots had turned to Elita One for guidance. Ironhide found Elita's leadership style to be less than stellar, and one of the military decisions she'd made was to break contact with Earth, deeming it too great a security risk. The only way to find out what was happening for sure, then, would be to find one of the missing Autobot contingents. Luckily, if there were any surviving Autobots left on Cybertron at all, Ironhide had a pretty good idea of where he'd find them.
"Wonder if the Decepticons know we're here yet?" Jazz said.
"Omega Supreme, wait here for us," Ironhide said. "We're gonna get to the bottom of all this." Omega's roving tank module rumbled to life and began its patrol on the track that encompassed the rocket base.
"Let's get our axles out of here!" Jazz said. He and Ironhide transformed to vehicle mode and made their way away from the Autobot safe haven into dangerous and uncertain territory.
***
Sideswipe felt quite ill indeed.
For some reason it had never occurred to him before that while Omega Supreme's rocket module traveled at an accelerated rate through normal space, the rest of his body was temporarily shunted into subspace, reappearing in advance on whatever planet the rocket was traveling to. He'd never actually traveled aboard Omega before, so he really hadn't given it any thought; for all he knew, Omega had a separate body waiting for him on whatever planets he regularly visited. It wasn't until after Omega had coaxed him into stowing away inside the tank module that Sideswipe had realized what was about to happen, and by then it was too late to protest.
The experience was, he realized, very similar to how he imagined being turned inside-out must feel like. He knew that some Decepticons supposedly had the ability to actually stuff their entire bodies into subspace, but he couldn't imagine how any sane robot would ever inflict such an experience on himself. He was having an extraordinary amount of difficulty even forcing himself to stand up, since the only thing he really wanted to do at the moment was disgorge the contents of his energon convertor.
"I think I'm gonna be sick," he said to no one in particular.
"Disembarkation: strongly suggested," Omega Supreme replied.
Opening the hatch in the forward section of the tank module, Sideswipe climbed out, dizzy and disoriented, not realizing the tank was still in motion until after he'd tried to climb out of it. He stumbled back clumsily, tripping over the tank's turret on the way back and finally landing in a heap next to the oval-shaped track that encircled the rocket base.
Cursing himself, he managed to scramble around with some effort to the side of the roving tank module, planting his palms on it and following it as he peered around it, hoping his embarrassing loss of motor control had gone unnoticed. Apparently he hadn't been heard, as Ironhide was still headed in the opposite direction at full speed, with Jazz following close behind.
Sideswipe seethed with anger, trying to justify to himself how wrong and unfair it was that Jazz had been allowed to go on this mission, but he knew he wasn't fooling anyone but himself. The simple fact was that Jazz outranked him, and what's more, he just happened to specialize in precisely this sort of assignment. The only real advantage Sideswipe had over Jazz was being able to fly, but being equipped with a rocket backpack didn't usually get you hand-picked for vitally important missions. Sideswipe had been deluding himself, forcing himself to believe that he could one-up Jazz if he managed to make it to Cybertron on his own. It was only natural that Jazz would have been assigned to accompany Ironhide, but for some reason Sideswipe had never considered the possibility. Probably, he realized, because he hadn't wanted to.
Well, while Jazz was busy doing things by the book and searching for Autobot hidey-holes, Sideswipe would be the one to find out what had happened to his beloved Disco and why. He was now convinced that she must have been carrying something of extreme value--either some kind of new invention, or possibly surveillance information--something that the Decepticons had wanted at all costs. He also knew that Disco had been one of the toughest fighters Sideswipe had ever known, and it was utterly inconceivable that she'd simply been caught off-guard. She'd gone down fighting. Clearly, she'd died for a reason, protecting something of the utmost importance.
Sideswipe vowed to find whatever it was. And that meant hunting down the Decepticons who had killed her.
***
Anthrax caught up to Deluge on his way out of the Council Chambers, which was now devoid of occupants, save the technicians who were busy reattaching the main doors and grumbling to each other about mob psychology. She had to sprint to catch up with him, as Deluge was moving with speed and purpose.
"You wouldn't happen to know... where I can go... to get some energon around here, do you?" Anthrax asked breathlessly.
"With Megatron in detention," Deluge said, "I very much doubt there will be any energon on this planet for quite some time."
"Er... yes," Anthrax said. "Look, I'm sorry about that. I really am. I didn't want to see Megatron lose the trial, either. He's the whole reason that I... well, he's very important to my plans. Don't worry, though. I have a contingency plan, but I need to get back to Earth, and I can't do that without Dreadwing."
"Didn't you say something about maintaining a continuous link with him?" Deluge asked.
"Well, yes, of course," Anthrax said. "A slip of the tongue. What I meant to say was that I can't do that until I refuel Dreadwing. I need energon to power his fuel cells."
"I can't help you," Deluge said.
Anthrax darted around in front of Deluge, forcing him to stop. "You can't help me, or you won't?"
"The end result is the same," Deluge said. "Now, if you'll excuse me--"
"What are you in such a big hurry for, anyway? Got another big trial coming up?"
"Actually, no," Deluge said. "Once Megatron's imprisonment is initiated, the Council will be permanently disbanded."
"It..." Anthrax began.
"But..." she continued.
"You..." she elaborated.
She shook her head violently. "Why?" she finally managed. "Is it because of me?"
"Don't flatter yourself," Deluge said with a snort. "The Council deemed Megatron's imprisonment to be beneficial to the welfare of Cybertron as a whole, and more important than maintaining the integrity of the Council itself."
"But without Megatron to bring back energy to re-energize the planet..." Anthrax began. She couldn't bring herself to finish.
"Had the decision been mine alone to make, Megatron would not have been incarcerated," Deluge said.
"What will you do now?" Anthrax said.
Deluge stopped and glared at Anthrax. His expression was of an uncharacteristic intensity that looked out-of-place on the Decepticon's face. "I have spent nearly my entire existence creating the laws that govern our society," he said. "I find that I am now left without a purpose to fulfil. I find that extraordinarily... disquieting."
"I'm on my way back to Earth," Anthrax explained. "You're more than welcome to accompany me," she added, just as she caught Starscream and his group in her peripheral vision. "We could use someone with your... uhh, I... hang on," she said, in a desperate need to be in two places at once. She didn't want to just leave Deluge hanging, the conversation half-finished, particularly since she felt partly responsible for his plight, but circumventing Starscream had to take priority.
"I, uh, really need to speak to him," she finished lamely, and cut into the crowd ahead of her.
***
Starscream was sauntering flamboyantly across Cybertron's landscape, feeling very much like the lead float in his own personal parade. He'd groused for a short while about the indignity with which he'd been treated during the trial (particularly those last few moments), but the delicious sight of a defeated and disarmed Megatron, hands chained behind his back, being led towards the detention center put everything in a completely different light.
Starscream had finally done it! He'd proven once and for all that Megatron was no longer fit to be Decepticon leader, and in front of the entire planet to boot! The fact that he'd even done it all legally, that Megatron's utter incompetence would be recorded for all time within the central Infocore, was just lubricant on the oil-cake, as far as he was concerned. The important thing was that he'd shown them all! He felt like celebrating. He wanted to go home and decorate the entire base with purple balloons and streamers. Well, maybe not purple. He'd always disliked purple. In any event, Starscream was in control, now. He'd proven it to everyone, especially--
"Aww, it's not fair!" Brawl shouted at much-higher-than-normal volume, even for him. "I wanna see Megatron get his head ripped off! C'mon, you at least owe us that much!"
"My word, Brawl, don't be such a barbarian," Blast Off said. "Incarcerations haven't been that brutal for millions of years. I'm sure they simply surgically extract the personality components these days and dispose of the body."
"Nevertheless, I, for one, would quite like to remain behind and witness the procedure first-hand," Onslaught chimed in, his clipped accent at odds with his savage tone. "Not only would it enable us to verify that the Council is indeed carrying out the sentence, but I would derive a great amount of... personal satisfaction from the experience."
"We have no time for petty vengeance now," Starscream said. For just a moment, he found himself wondering whose words those were, since they didn't particularly sound like his. Starscream liked petty vengeance. He lived for it, truth be told. What was interesting, though, was that he no longer had to go along with whatever Megatron decided. Ha! As if Megatron were in a position to make any decisions now!
Starscream realized that for perhaps the first time ever, the next course of action was entirely his decision. He'd been in command plenty of times in the past, of course, but only for the briefest of periods, and always with the ever-present intention of foiling Megatron's plans. Now, however, there were no plans to foil. The responsibilities once belonging to Megatron, which Starscream had always done his best to sabotage, now belonged to Starscream himself.
He found, to his surprise, that this made him a little uncomfortable.
"Don't look now," Swindle said, nudging Blast Off with his elbow, "but I think we're being watched."
Vortex spun around for a look in the most obvious way imaginable. Walking backwards for just a moment, he peered into the distance, using his hand as a visor to block sunlight that wasn't there. Then he stumbled backwards on a raised metal panel, flipping back and landing on his head, the helicopter blades on his back spinning aimlessly.
"Real subtle," Swindle said, making a vigorous thumbs-up gesture and nodding. "Could you be any more nosy?"
"I don't have a nose," Vortex said defensively.
Onslaught stopped long enough to help Vortex to his feet. "What were you looking at?" he asked.
Swindle pointed to a mechanical outcropping that was probably once a communications array. "Well, you wouldn't know it now, but there was somebody following us. A little green guy."
"Oooh, little green men!" Vortex said, holding his hands to his head and sticking up his index fingers like antennae.
"No, it was a robot. I didn't see an insignia on him, though. But now that I think about it, I think I saw him during the trial. He was watching us then, too."
"Speaking of the trial," Blast Off said, "isn't that Megatron's attorney?"
Starscream stopped dead in his tracks just as Anthrax appeared in jet mode, transforming and landing uncomfortably close to him.
"Well, if it isn't Megatron's little friend," Starscream said in his most patronizing tone. "No doubt you've come to grovel for a position in my new and improved Decepticon army. Perhaps if you get down on your knees and--"
"Don't be absurd," Anthrax said. "Did you really believe I was so incompetent as to be unable to defeat you in any capacity? I allowed Megatron to be imprisoned, if only temporarily, because it suited my purpose. I have a mission to fulfill, and he was in my way."
Starscream laughed heartily. "Even Megatron's strongest supporters plot his undoing! How delicious! I suppose I have you to thank for that service... Anthrax, wasn't it? Unfortunately, I simply don't have time to express my gratitude properly. You see, I have a rather pressing date with a small blue-green planet, and Mother Earth does so hate to be kept waiting." He turned and resumed his course for the launch pad in the distance.
Anthrax pressed on. "Starscream, you need to understand why I came to Earth in the first place. The new energon cubes were only the first step of the operation. Now that we have a container that can hold the synergon, we must harvest the energy needed to create it. I can't do that without your help."
"I suppose that means you can't do it at all," Starscream said, grinning. "Megatron may have felt compelled to take you in as his ally, or consort, or whatever his twisted sense of honor demanded at that moment, but I assure you that my interests lay elsewhere. As long as I am in command--as I expect to be for a very, very long time--the Decepticons will no longer be focusing predominantly on the destruction of the Autobots. I do not share Megatron's mad obsession with Optimus Prime. My goals are more simple, much more productive. Would you care to guess what they are, my dear?"
Anthrax sputtered. "Getting a more masculine vocalizer?"
Starscream just smiled. "Blast Off, transform! We're headed for Earth!"
Anthrax stepped in front of Starscream, making "no, no" gestures with her hands. "Wait, Starscream. Just listen to me. Megatron was a fool to pass up this opportunity. The energy source I'm offering you would enable you to lay waste to every Autobot you encounter, to conquer your Cybertron, to fulfil whatever dreams you can imagine. Megatron lacked the vision necessary to recognize this, and it cost him dearly. You have a chance to claim what he denied, to seize the power that he refused--"
"Megatron already possessed more power than he ever realized," Starscream said. "He simply had no idea how to use it. Now that I have taken his place, I possess that power--which means I have no need for you, your partnership, or your empty promises."
Blast Off was now in his much larger space shuttle mode, and the other Combaticons had already begun climbing inside. Starscream was the last to enter, stepping gracefully into the air lock before turning in mid-stride to face Anthrax again. "Let me know if you ever need a job," he said, smirking. "We can always use more troops for gunfodder!" Starscream cackled hysterically, even long after the air lock was shut and Blast Off was rocketing off into space.
***
Chapter 38: Prelude to the Hunt
Sideswipe hated operating alone.
That wasn't an entirely true statement, on the surface. He'd discovered a long time ago that most of the Autobots were content to blindly follow whatever orders Prime had doled out on any given day, and it was a complacency within the ranks that Sideswipe found most disquieting. It was only natural, then, that he primarily gravitated only towards those Autobots who shared his innate distaste for authority. Sunstreaker, for example. In a way, the fact that Sunstreaker also preferred to work alone made them the perfect partners. The fact that they were brothers, forged from the same fires and constructed by the same maker was, ultimately, serendipity.
Strangely, sadly, this was the first time Sideswipe had been faced with a predicament that Sunstreaker couldn't share with him on any meaningful level. The handsome yellow machine had looked at Sideswipe with a vacant, almost bored expression as Sideswipe had attempted to quantify precisely how different his life had become, how horribly, impossibly empty he was feeling, and how nothing could possibly ever be the same again. Sunstreaker had suggested that things weren't nearly as bad as Sideswipe was making them out to be, that he himself had lost Moonshine many ages ago and knew all about the loss of a companion, and had even suggested that he was overreacting, perhaps being melodramatic just for its own sake, or perhaps just looking for sympathy. Sunstreaker had always had a reputation for being colder than Sideswipe, but Sideswipe had never realized how deeply that difference truly ran. He and Sunstreaker had fought countless battles together and had lost plenty of mutual friends over the millenia, but for the first time ever, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe simply didn't have a common reference point to work from. Sunstreaker could never... would never understand.
There were other reasons why he didn't want Sunstreaker along with him, but that was the big one.
So, before he left, Sideswipe had sabotaged Sunstreaker's recharging unit. He'd thought about finding a way to set the unit in an endless recharging cycle, but he didn't have the technical knowledge to bypass the recharger's computers, and he didn't have the security clearance to get Teletraan to do it for him. So, he settled for unplugging the unit in mid-cycle. Sure, Sunstreaker would eventually wake up after his internal diagnostics figured out that someone had cut the energon feed. With any luck, Sunstreaker would blame it on Trailbreaker, since it was precisely the same sort of ridiculous prank he was likely to pull. Even if Sunstreaker figured out who was really responsible, though, by then Sideswipe would be well on his way to Cybertron on board the only Autobot capable of making the trip.
At the time, he'd rationalized the act to himself as a simple precautionary measure, but the more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that he'd overstepped some invisible line this time. He preferred not to dwell on it, tucking that thought away into some hidden, unseen compartment in his mind, replacing it with something else. The only solace he found was in the notion that he had more important things to dwell on now.
Unfortunately, despite how vastly Sideswipe preferred to work by himself, he simply wasn't very good at it. At the moment, his primary objective was to reconstruct the events that had led to Disco's death. The only things standing in his way were the fact that he possessed no detective skills, that he wasn't equipped with any dedicated scanners or tracking sensors, and that he transformed into a bright red Earth vehicle that was a virtual invitation to be attacked by anyone who wasn't colorblind. (Sunstreaker's screaming yellow paint job wouldn't have helped matters much, either. That was one of the other reasons he'd left his brother behind.) These were insignificant obstacles for an elite hand-picked Autobot unit with a wide variety of collective skills, but Sideswipe, alone, wasn't good for much else besides breaking things with his piledriver arms and the occasional short-range flight.
Hi, I'm Sideswipe. What's that, you say? Sure, I can destroy that very small bridge for you! There you go! Oh, I'm sorry, you wanted to cross the bridge first? Well, I reckon I can take you across, but I should warn you that my rockets will cut out after about four seconds!
What possible good could Sideswipe do by himself? What did he hope to accomplish? He had no idea how Disco had died or who had done it. He didn't even know where on Cybertron it had happened. Elita One knew, obviously, but she and the other female Autobots had reportedly relocated to a new base back in the 1980's, and Sideswipe didn't know where it was.
In a way, the situation was delicious. No, not because of what had happened, or why he was here now. It was precisely because he didn't quite know what to do next. Optimus Prime's methods were all about careful planning, perfect execution. It was a method that was so ingrained in Sideswipe, he had trouble shaking it off, despite the fact that he hated it. There were rules that Prime had enforced, in that confident way he had, not really barking orders, but making it very clear that he believed in a certain way of doing things, and that the Autobots under his command were expected to follow along on the same page. These were the rules that threatened to nearly grind Sideswipe to a halt. He wanted to carry out his missions, fulfil his purpose, but the elaborate dance he had to do before even taking a single action, which other Autobots seemed to have mastered so well, was a stumbling block that had gotten in his way again and again.
In combat, Sideswipe knew what needed to be done--but wait! Was this following Autobot protocol? Should be place "i" before "e"? Should he show, not tell? It was the sort of self-censorship that made it impossible for Sideswipe to function. He didn't care about these rules, not personally, and the only reason he'd followed them was because of Prime, because somewhere deep down, he knew Prime would be watching him, judging him, possibly, and that despite his disdain for the laws of the Autobots, Sideswipe did carry a healthy modicum of respect for the one who enforced them. With Prime gone, though, everything had changed.
All he could do was find the remains of the old base and hope that there was something... computer files, personal effects, anything... that would provide him with a clue. Unfortunately, this brought him right back to square one--he simply didn't know how to do this stuff on his own.
It occurred to him, though, that there was one Autobot on Cybertron who might be able to help him.
***
Chapter 39: Falling Star
It ended up becoming a race.
Blast Off had gotten a considerable head start, forcing Anthrax to take some creative measures in order to get Dreadwing refueled. She'd allowed Dreadwing to run low on power intentionally, of course, thus ensuring that Megatron would remain on the planet long enough to see the trial through to its completion, but she hadn't counted on Starscream making a play for Decepticon leadership. In retrospect, such opportunism was inevitable, perhaps, but it clashed rather badly with Anthrax's plan to temporarily assume leadership herself.
Thankfully, Dreadwing had much more sophisticated propulsion systems than Blast Off, so it was a simple matter of siphoning energy from Anthrax's internal reserves to get him spaceborne once again and eventually catch up to the slower craft. This placed her in a potentially vulnerable position once she returned to Earth, should Starscream opt to force the issue of leadership with a physical confrontation, but Anthrax was reasonably confident she could persuade him with a little psychology.
"Scanners have picked up Starscream's craft," Dreadwing reported in a sullen monotone.
"I see it," Anthrax said, peering through the red-tinged canopy window. "Move to intercept. Get ahead of him, but don't overdo it. We need to go just fast enough to push him beyond his breaking point."
Dreadwing overtook Blast Off just as both ships entered Earth's upper atmosphere. Sure enough, Starscream must have given the order to pour it on, as Blast Off's velocity suddenly jumped, even as flecks of paint began to tear away from his nose cone under the intense heat of re-entry. Anthrax pictured Starscream screaming at the top of his ventilators for Blast Off to make it to the planet first, no matter how many pieces they were in when they arrived, and the sheer absurdity of such a notion brought a smile to her face. Starscream's oneupmanship was so strong, she realized, that he would probably even risk his own life to come out on top. With Megatron gone, Anthrax also realized that she, herself, was the one Starscream would now compete with for supremacy. She found herself wondering what Starscream would ever do with himself when there was nobody left for him to compete against.
Blast Off was now literally white-hot, suggesting to Anthrax that he was at least partly comprised of something other than Cybertronian metals. That in itself was interesting. Starscream apparently had opted to press on, despite the inadequate heat shielding of his craft and fellow Decepticon warrior, possibly counting on their impending immersion within the cool depths of the ocean to rectify the rapidly-deteriorating external armor plating. Only a few dark patches of Blast Off's original paint scheme remained, making him look as if someone had applied a hasty and absurdly-colored camouflage scheme to his exterior surface.
Anthrax was half-tempted to tie into Blast Off's navigational controls remotely and arrange for him to plummet into the coast of one of the planet's continental land masses, rather than allowing Starscream and his crew the luxury of a comparatively safe splashdown. Starscream's antics back on Cybertron had inadvertently provided her with a convenient means by which to dispose of the decidedly uncooperative Megatron, at least temporarily, but had nonetheless cost her precious time which she could not afford to waste. Unfortunately, the absence of both Megatron and Starscream, coupled with the strange disappearance of Soundwave during the Arctic battle, would probably disrupt the Decepticon power structure so drastically that taking command of them would be completely impossible. She needed Starscream to provide a stable element. The fact that he already craved the idea of taking Megatron's place was ideal; the only trick now was to persuade him that proceeding with Anthrax's plans--effectively running counter to Megatron's efforts up to this point--was exactly what he wanted to do.
Blast Off hit the sea with explosive force, displacing enough water to create a gaping wound in the ocean's surface before it all came thrusting upwards again and shooting up into the sky. The superheated outer shell of the space craft transformed the water with which it came into contact, creating a tremendous burst of steam before the craft plummeted to the ocean depths below. Dreadwing pierced the thick, white cloud of airborne mist unabated, easily tracking his quarry despite its being completely visually obscured. Anthrax was unconcerned by this development, though she did entertain the passing thought that unlike her last visit to this world, the inhabitants of this planet would undoubtedly detect her arrival this time. She'd been so busy thinking about how to deal with Starscream that she'd forgotten to initiate Dreadwing's cloaking device.
Blast Off seemed to be having some difficulty traversing an aquatic environment, though it was unclear whether this was because of the damages he'd incurred during re-entry, or simply due to faulty design. In any event, Anthrax saw no further reason to pretend that Starscream had any chance of beating her to the Decepticon base.
"Dreadwing," she commanded, "Assume optimum configuration for aquatic... wait, ignore that." Anthrax discovered that Starscream and the other Combaticons had exited through Blast Off's side hatch. An interesting strategy, to be sure, but did he really expect that she wouldn't notice his escape attempt? It was only after Blast Off reverted to his smaller robot form and joined the others that Anthrax realized they were, indeed, planning to force a confrontation.
Starscream hadn't been there when Anthrax had first arrived at the Decepticon base, so he obviously had no clue that Anthrax excelled at underwater warfare. She wasn't at all interested in fighting him now, despite the fact that she was confident she could best him easily, at least under normal circumstances. The whole situation was a bit ridiculous, and she felt as if she was about to relive a previous and very recent chapter in her life. She'd already proven herself to these Decepticons once; it was pointless to go through the entire song and dance once more. Then again, she mused, what else can you expect from an entire planet's worth of Decepticons devoted exclusively to warfare?
Anthrax pressed the canopy release button and allowed the cabin to flood with water before she raised the canopy completely and emerged into the ice-cold depths. Dreadwing transformed and split into his larger robot and smaller drone components, handheld weapons at the ready.
Starscream had landed on the ocean floor and was apparently barking orders on some frequency Anthrax wasn't currently equipped to receive. The Combaticons were transforming to something other than their vehicle modes, some kind of bizarre intermediate forms, at once rounded and blocky, which almost looked like the arms and legs of some gigantic... wait, that's exactly what it was. They were combining together.
"Go, Bruticus!" Starscream commanded, now fully audible, as their transformation was completed. "Show her what happens to anyone who defies my ultimate supremacy!"
On instinct, Anthrax armed her wing-mounted missiles and fired on the connection points, hoping to break the behemoth back apart before he had a chance to strike. Her attack was completely ineffective. The huge, lumbering monster had grown in size by a considerable margin, with both his arms now the size of Blast Off's full-grown space shuttle mode, and a body to match. It became evident now that all of the Combaticons had suffered some lingering effects from the unprotected re-entry into the atmosphere, as the giant's entire body was riddled with more of those dark, sickly splotches. Starscream seemed to have suffered similar detrimental effects to his wings, ostensibly the only parts of his form that had, at some point, been replaced with inferior Earth metals. Whatever damages the Combaticons had incurred appeared to be strictly superficial, however, as the monster advanced on Anthrax and Dreadwing with no sign of slowing down.
"Fire rotorpedos!" Anthrax commanded, and the oversized launcher on Dreadwing's back swung forward to dispense a volley of shots, the same weapons that had obliterated the Earthbound space bridge module.
Bruticus dodged two missiles and absorbed the brunt of two more with his upturned left arm. The resultant explosions temporarily engulfed Bruticus in a dark cloud, but it quickly dissipated, revealing the giant Decepticon to be no worse for wear. Anthrax knew that the water would have hindered the destructive capability of Dreadwing's torpedos, but she hadn't realized Bruticus would be so heavily-armored. Without further ceremony, the propeller blade mounted on his left arm began spinning, creating a powerful torrent that caused Anthrax to lose her footing and tumble backwards. She shifted into jet mode and punctured the torrent with her nose cone, flying unevenly but managing, at least, to avoid being swept back any further.
With Dreadwing's complement of torpedos apparently ineffective and Anthrax too low on power to use any of her energy weapons, Anthrax was at a loss for an easy solution. It occurred to her for just a moment that perhaps this had been Starscream's plan all along, to lure her into the watery depths in order to unleash this secret weapon upon her. Whether Starscream actually possessed that kind of strategic ingenuity was anybody's guess, but the fact remained, for the moment, that he had her at a distinct disadvantage.
Bruticus stopped his rotor blades and began lumbering towards her once more, slowly, uncertainly. He took a clumsy swipe at her with his left arm, which she evaded easily. He changed position and, after a moment of hesitation, tried to crush her beneath his foot. Once again, his slow and awkward movements, almost playful in nature, belied the dangerous nature of the situation. Anthrax had no trouble outmaneuvering his half-hearted attacks. Bruticus clearly held the upper hand in size and strength, but it looked to Anthrax as if he just didn't know what he was doing.
"Use your weapons, you dolt!" Starscream urged. "Shoot her! Destroy her!"
With renewed vigor, Bruticus struck a menacing pose and produced a weapon that was easily as long as Anthrax was tall. He fired in her general direction, apparently not bothering to take aim. Anthrax quickly realized he didn't have to. The effects of the weapon rocked the underwater landscape with sonic waves that made her sensors go numb, disrupting her motor controls and gyroscopic functions. Dreadwing and his drone unit had been standing in the epicenter of the sonic blast, visibly shaken by it, likely suffering no lasting damage but clearly too disoriented to take immediate action. Luckily, Bruticus was only as powerful as the mind controlling him, Anthrax realized, and that mind was not his own. It was time to take down Starscream.
Still in jet mode, Anthrax turned from her attackers and headed upwards, making as if she was preparing to retreat, but quickly executed a climb that turned into a backwards loop. She was upside-down in the water for just a moment, far above Bruticus, before dropping straight down, headed directly towards Starscream, who had up until this point been standing behind Bruticus at a safe distance away. Only now realizing what was happening, Starscream stumbled back in a panic, tripping over a rock formation and blindly firing his arm-mounted guns into the watery depths as he tumbled backwards uncontrollably. She transformed in mid-dive and assumed her most aquadynamic pose, brandishing her sword and pointing it straight at Starscream, still on his back, who covered his face with his hands and forearms, screaming in terror.
The blast came from out of nowhere, knocking Starscream upwards as he collided with Anthrax, sending both of them hurtling through the water and crashing into a coral reef. Anthrax scrambled to get out from underneath the dead weight of the larger Decepticon and spotted Bruticus, standing above the two, his face unreadable. He cocked his head to one side, as though he were waiting for approval, or further orders, or both.
"Not me, you idiot!" Starscream said, fumbling for support, awkwardly grasping behind him at Anthrax's body and wings in an attempt to get himself righted again.
"But you told Bruticus to use weapons," Bruticus explained lamely.
"Grab her!" Starscream shrieked. Bruticus tossed his weapon aside and picked up Starscream in one of his gigantic hands, grasping Anthrax in the other before she had a chance to transform again. He raised them both above his head triumphantly, like a child with a pair of new toys. Anthrax wondered if he was about to squash them both. She tried to shout orders to Dreadwing, but her ventilator was already constricted by the clutches of the monstrous Decepticon.
"Crush her!" Starscream commanded, and Anthrax instantly felt his grip around her tighten even more. She was made of tougher alloys than him, but he had so many units of pressure behind his massive grip that even her vastly superior technology wouldn't save her now--
"Stop fighting!" a powerful, booming voice said. Bruticus instantly froze in his tracks, and Anthrax was able to breathe again. She turned as much as she was afforded, and spotted a small envoy of robots in the water. In the lead was a small, grey robot with twin Decepticon insignias on his chest panels.
"Who are you?" Anthrax and Starscream said in unison.
"My name is Windrazor," he said with a glint in his eye. "Welcome back to the fold, my Decepticons."
***
"I've been back home a few times over the years," Ironhide said, "but I ain't never felt this out of place before."
"You'll get used to it again, man," Jazz said, blissfully careening back and forth, making little screeching sounds as he grasped the terrain with his tires. "You just gotta know how to get back into the groove. These Earth wheels might be made for rocky roads, but improv is a cinch with a little fancy footwork."
"Naw, that's not what I mean," Ironhide grumbled. "It's not me, it's the rest of the planet. We haven't seen anyone since we touched down. I don't like it. Something's just not right."
Naturally, he and Jazz had ventured forth with caution at first, keeping alert for possible signs of Decepticon activity. The fact that there had been no unpleasant welcoming party when Omega Supreme had touched down was a stroke of luck, and it was equally fortunate that they had remained undetected after Ironhide and Jazz were forced to switch on their headlights to continue their journey once the north side of the planet went into its night cycle. It was only after they had crossed the remains of the Iacon bridge that they grew suspicious. Ironhide had made it safely across using his short-range rocket boosters, but when Jazz attempted a slightly more fancy approach by swinging across using the grappling hook in his arm, the support beam he'd hooked it onto had given way. Both Jazz and a large section of the bridge would have fallen into the abyss if Jazz hadn't ignited his own retro-rockets long enough to make it to the other side--something he should have done in the first place.
Suffice to say, the accident had created a receptor-piercing cacophony on the otherwise dead-silent planet, and it was at this point that Jazz and Ironhide both realized that something was definitely wrong. At this point, the only reason the Decepticons hadn't heard them was because the Decepticons weren't there.
Jazz had put that theory to the test by transforming back to car mode and taking a moment to zero in on what should have been the Decepticon air traffic frequency. At any given time, he reasoned, there would have to be at least some radio communication between the troops, if only to report their progress while patrolling a given sector or just swapping dirty jokes to pass the time. Nothing.
Instead of alleviating Ironhide's worries as he and Jazz approached the entrance to the female Autobot secret base, however, this revelation only served to heighten those concerns.
"So, how d'we get in?" Jazz asked, pacing around what was obviously a hatch of some kind, but which lacked handles or knobs or control buttons of any kind.
"I only saw 'em do this once," Ironhide admitted, fiddling with the sensor dish mounted in his forearm until he managed to produce the correct intermittent signal. The hatch opened to reveal a glowing energy beam that extended from the ground which Ironhide recognized as one of their many security measures. Theoretically, the beam acted as a force field that granted access only to robots wearing Autobot insignias.
"You better stay up here," Ironhide said. "Keep a lookout for trouble. If you see any Decepticons, lead 'em away from the base. We have to keep it a secret from 'em."
He was expecting the usual argument from Jazz--the same argument, he realized, he himself would have given, were their roles reversed. Jazz had convinced Ironhide to take him along only because he'd made Ironhide see the folly in embarking on a solo mission, that Cybertron was far too dangerous now to travel alone, that losing Optimus Prime had been bad enough without losing another piece of the command element as well. And yet, that was precisely what Ironhide was suggesting now.
He hoped it was the right decision.
***
It was dark. At first Ironhide suspected that nobody was home, that the headquarters for the female Autobots was just as barren and lifeless as the rest of the planet. Only after activating his thermal sensors did he realize that the computers were still running on minimal power. The base was still active, but it looked like someone was trying to reduce its energy profile to minimal levels, probably to avoid detection from the surface. That meant there were no heating elements running, no defensive shields, and, judging by the low sensor readings, probably almost no energon rations inside the base.
Living in hiding your whole life wasn't a strategy Ironhide particularly cared for. He knew that the female Autobots had been all but exterminated, that aside from a handful of robots who had migrated to other parts of the galaxy, the small troupe under Elita One's command were all that remained of a gender that once numbered in the millions. Ironhide hated to think of any of them as frail or weak, but the evidence against their ability to survive in the wake of the war against the Decepticons was overwhelmingly strong. Like their male counterparts, none of them had been designed for warfare, and only those with the ability to evade attacks, coupled with an indomitable strength of will, had managed to survive.
To have lost yet another member so recently, when their numbers were already so low, must have been a crippling blow to them. Judging by the absence of Transformers on the planet, the war had apparently all but ended quite some time ago, which made the mystery of Disco's violent death all the more troubling. Ironhide was hoping to learn more about the attack and what had caused it, both for his own sake and to somehow vindicate the loss of Optimus Prime. If he discovered the reason behind the attack, Prime's sacrifice would not be in vain. The space bridge tragedy had only renewed Ironhide's resolve to see this mission through to the end, despite the bitter taste it had left. Prime's loss would be felt on countless worlds. Ironhide would also have to deliver word of this tragedy to Elita One. Somehow, delivering such grim news remotely from Earth just wouldn't have been sufficient; Ironhide had to convey this information in person.
There were footfalls in the corridor, and they weren't his own. Ironhide came to a halt as he heard a small metal object falling to the ground behind him. Instinctively, Ironhide whirled around and pointed his sonidar sensor at the source of the sound, but the small scanner dish in his forearm was unable to pinpoint the origin of the noise. His equipment was ancient, Ironhide mused. It had served him well enough on Earth, a planet almost completely devoid of technology, but back on Cybertron, a planet that was entirely technology, he could barely distinguish a ground trooper from the ground itself. He readied his liquid nitrogen tanks as he opened his fingertips and extended his hand outward.
"Who's there? Show yourself!" he demanded.
Without warning, he was fired upon from behind. He dodged the blast, clumsily, and might have avoided it if he'd been a mechanism designed without a head. As it happened, the shot caught him squarely in the side of the helmet, and he let out a pained groan as he stumbled to the ground. He recognized the tingling sensation as the effects of a stun weapon. Fighting the dizzy sensations, he reached around and sprayed frozen nitrogen in the general direction of his assailant, but the lack of an audible reaction from the Decepticon told him he'd missed his mark.
Thinking quickly, Ironhide attempted to relay a distress signal to Jazz, but he was unable to establish a communications link. Had Jazz already strayed so far from the base that he was already out of transmission range? Or was there some sort of shielding on this level that prevented signals from reaching the surface?
Ironhide scrambled to his feet and charged toward his attacker. Orange laser bolts issued forth from the darkness, striking Ironhide in the chest and shoulders. He weathered the stun effects, but he wouldn't be able to endure much more before he was rendered completely unconscious--
Wait. Decepticons didn't shoot orange laser bolts, did they?
"Hold your fire!" Ironhide exclaimed. "I'm an Autobot!"
The attack ended as abruptly as it had begun. For a long time, there was silence.
"You should not have come here."
Ironhide spun around to address the darkness. "Elita?"
"You have endangered us all with your very presence," she responded.
"Then I'll leave as soon as I get some answers," Ironhide said. "Now, why don't you c'mon outta there where I can see you."
Elita One emerged from the shadows. Her body was tarnished, apparently scarred from what must have been countless battles. One antenna on the side of her helmet had been contorted out of shape, while the other had been torn off completely. Small, steel-grey panels were welded to one of her arms, serving as makeshift protection for visibly deep gashes in her armor, clashing badly with her natural pink hues.
"You leave Cybertron largely to its fate until its affairs manage to grow and extend to encompass Earth as well," Elita said. "Once the Decepticon Alliance set its sights on Earth, it was only a matter of time before you sat up and took notice."
"Decepticon Alliance?" Ironhide said. "Naw, you're wrong. This doesn't have anything to do with Earth. I just came here to find out what's been goin' on on Cybertron."
"The events you are referring to have now spread beyond Cybertron," Elita One said. "The ones responsible for the increased hostilities here have tracked their quarry to Earth."
"What quarry?" Ironhide asked. "What are the Decepticons after?"
"Based on the information we've gathered, one of their number discovered a space warp that leads to another part of the universe. He discovered something of vital significance, something too sensitive to transmit electronically. He was captured by enemy forces before he could return to the Decepticons, and now they will do anything to recover that information."
"So that's why the Decepticons have been takin' potshots from the air," Ironhide realized. "They're tryin' to uncover the Autobot base."
"What they don't realize is that there are several Autobot sects on this planet," Elita said. "Only one of them is holding the Decepticon spy. They've been so desperate to recover him that they will interrogate any Autobots they find, usually killing them in the process."
"You ever thought about joining forces with one of these other factions?" Ironhide asked.
"We have very... different ideas about the future of the Autobot race," Elita said. "Such an alliance would only serve as a hindrance."
It was unfathomable to Ironhide that joining forces with one's fellow Autobots could ever be a detriment to the better good. He didn't know what to say, so he just said nothing.
"Now that you have the information you need," Elita said, "I strongly suggest you depart immediately. Even with the Decepticon Alliance gone, Cybertron is still a very dangerous place to be."
"Well, there is one more thing," Ironhide said. "I have some bad news."
"Optimus Prime," Elita said softly, slowly. "He never would have sent you here alone. He would have come himself. The fact that you are here, now, means that he is unable to be."
"Yeah," Ironhide affirmed. "We lost him in the space bridge explosion."
"Do you mean to say that you saw him destroyed, or that he was literally lost? Please, I must know."
"We're not sure," Ironhide admitted. "We haven't found him yet, but there isn't--"
"You must make every effort to locate him," Elita said. Her words were spoken softly, but she sounded as if she were issuing an ultimatum.
"Well, there's not much hope," Ironhide said. "The Decepticons who attacked him were usin' some kinda plasma energy weapons. Our guys don't think that leaves a whole lotta wiggle room."
"You don't understand," Elita said, more urgently now. "Optimus Prime was elected as guardian of the Matrix of Light. It is the singularly most important artifact in the history of the Autobots. It holds the key to our past, present, and future. You must recover it at all costs."
"Recover it? What about Prime?"
"Even Optimus Prime himself would place the preservation of the Matrix before his own life," Elita said. "You don't understand its importance. When Alpha Trion created his first three New Defenders, he warned us of a future time, the dawning of a new age when the lives of every Autobot and Decepticon on Cybertron would be threatened, when the Autobot who opens the Matrix would be bathed in its power to shed light upon the darkness. That hour is fast approaching."
"And you believe in that?" Ironhide asked.
"As should you," Elita said. "Alpha Trion's prophecies have an uncanny way of coming true."
***
As Ironhide made his way out, he was left with a sense of foreboding dread. It was bad enough to have lost Optimus Prime, particularly during a time when the Decepticons seemed to be converging towards Earth on all fronts. The Autobots had lost leaders before and survived, though, and Ironhide had been confident they would eventually manage to continue the struggle just as effectively as ever. It was, simply, what the Autobots did.
The strange and haunting importance Elita One had placed on the Matrix cast some small doubts over this prospect, however, and Ironhide was loathe to consider the possibility that Elita was right, nor was he prepared to linger on the idea, however important it might be, that Elita One had seemed far more concerned with the recovery of the Matrix than she had been affected by the news about Optimus Prime.
"I knew it. I just knew that you would come back and then leave without ever saying hello."
Ironhide approached the chamber that led to the surface, and found that it was blocked by an old enemy and friend.
"There isn't time for this, Chromia," Ironhide said. "I came here on important business. We can talk later. Now, get outta my way."
"You said that four million years ago, and it still hasn't happened yet," Chromia said, standing with her hands on her hips, fire raging in her eyes.
"Look, something major is happening back on Earth," Ironhide said. "I gotta get back there and find out what it is."
"I think I can give you a pretty good idea of what it is right now," Chromia said pointedly. "It's just about every male Autobot alive, running around on some stupid muddy planet and trying to avoid stepping on the locals, while us girls get the honor of trying to keep this entire planet from falling under the Decepticons' grasp. How long's it gonna be this time, huh?"
"Don't you think I try to get back to Cybertron every chance I can?" Ironhide said.
"I haven't seen you in fifteen revolutions! You call that 'everah chaynce ah cayhn'?"
"I don't have time for this," Ironhide said. "Get away from the lift, Chromia."
"You'll have to get through me first," she promised. Chromia's normally pale-blue optic sensors had taken on a decidedly reddish hue.
"Step aside, Chromia." Ironhide said, his voice tightening a little.
"What's the matter, huh?" Chromia taunted. She was in a battle-ready stance, making come-get-me gestures with both hands. "Every moment you waste here puts your precious Earth in greater danger."
"You think I care about Earth more than Cybertron?" Ironhide said. "You think that's what this is all about? Whaddya think the Decepticons'll do if we just stand aside and let 'em get Earth's energy? Huh? The only reason we're tryin' to stop them from getting Earth is so they don't get Cybertron, too!"
"Look around you, Ironhide!" Chromia said, exasperated. "This planet is dead. Why are you still fighting over this? You're four million years too late! There's nothing left to save!"
"That's not true," Ironhide said. "I know it's not true. Now, I'm only gonna tell you one more time. Get out of my way."
"Stay with me," Chromia said. "You don't have to go back. There are plenty of Autobots on Earth already. They can do whatever needs to be done. Whatever's gonna happen, it'll happen whether you're there or not. This is the only place you can make a difference, now. I know, because I'm still here. You can make a difference if you just stay. Just stay here with me. Just stay here and be with me."
"You know I can't do that," Ironhide said. "They need me."
"No, they don't need you. You're not that important. You're Prime's bodyguard, and Prime's dead. What good are you to them now?"
"Every Autobot is important. Why don't you come back with me? Cybertron'll still be here."
"I'm not going, Ironhide. You don't know that Cybertron will still be around. And I... I can't live anywhere else. I will turn this planet around, even if it takes another four million years. And you know, at this point I don't care if you're going to be there to help me or not."
Chromia stepped aside.
"I will tell you this, though. If you leave again, we're finished."
Ironhide looked for some sign on her face, some kind of cue as to what to say next. He found nothing. She was blank, unreadable.
"You can't mean that," he said.
"Try me."
There was a long silence as Ironhide tried to somehow make sense of the thoughts swirling around his head and translate them into a single, coherent statement. It wasn't an easy task.
"Never mind," Chromia said, stepping off the platform. "If you even have to think about it at all... that tells me everything I need to know."
She walked away from the energy lift, her slender blue form engulfed by the darkness behind it.
***
Chapter 41: Concessions
After much begging and pleading with the medical staff, Bumblebee had finally been allowed to enter the hospital on the reasonable condition that he leave his weapon with the security guard, and the unusual but understandable condition that he refrained from transforming to vehicle mode while inside the building. It was, he mused, one of the few perks that came with being one of the smallest Autobots.
After around twelve hours of medical examination and treatment, Carly was out of immediate danger, but her full recovery remained uncertain. Bumblebee resolved to remain with her until she awoke. He felt he owed it to her.
Spike burst through the room with Daniel trotting along close behind. "Wheeljack brought us here as soon as you called," he said. "What happened?"
"We were in the Decepticon undersea headquarters," Bumblebee explained, "and one of the Decepticons shot her. I'm not sure what kind of weapon it was, but the doctors have diagnosed her with first-degree electrical burns. I'm sorry, Spike... I should have protected her. I did everything I could to get her out of there alive, but..."
Spike turned to his betrothed and touched her hand. "You didn't even tell me where you were," he said to her.
"Daddy, what's wrong with Mommy?" Daniel asked. "She looks really red. Does she have a fever?"
"Mommy's very sick, son," Spike said. "She's going to stay here until she gets better."
"Until Ratchet fixes her," Daniel said, with confidence.
"Well, it's not that simple, Daniel. I don't think Ratchet knows how," Spike said.
"Ohhhhh, okay," Daniel said, nodding at a new realization. "First Aid can fix her. Right?"
"No, son," Spike said. "You can't just fix a person the way you fix a robot."
"Don't worry," Bumblebee said to Daniel, crouching down as much as he was able to bring himself closer to eye-level with the boy. "The doctors will take real good care of your mom. She'll be home before you know it." Bumblebee smiled, not entirely sure who he was trying to convince more: Daniel, or himself.
"Daddy, can we go home now? This place is boring. And I'm thirsty."
"In a little while," Spike said.
A woman's voice rang over the intercom. "Attention, please. Will the owner of a white Lancia Stratos Turbo please remove your vehicle from the emergency loading zone," she said.
"This is all my fault," Bumblebee said. "I was in command of the mission. I was the one who decided to split up the rescue team. If we'd just stuck together, then maybe..."
"No, it's my fault," Spike said. "Lately it's gotten harder and harder for her to find time to help the Autobots. She's so busy with things like trying to get her physics degree and working odd jobs that she hardly ever gets a chance to make it out to the volcano. She was just trying to make up for lost time, I think."
"You really think so, Spike?" Bumblebee said, uncertainly.
"What other reason could she possibly have had?" was Spike's response.
***
Over the years, Bumblebee had become closer to the Witwicky family than any of the other Autobots. He supposed that most humans felt like they could relate to him more easily than some of the others because of his diminutive size. He was still several heads taller than your average human, but compared to the others, some of whom towered like giants over the tiny little humans, he was far more approachable. He'd become the Autobots' unofficial liaison to the human population, and he didn't mind the job at all. Though he knew a few of the Autobots didn't much care for humans, even actively resented them, Bumblebee had never felt that way. When he was around humans, he felt important. He felt useful. He liked the feeling of acceptance.
While he'd met plenty of humans over the years, and had even come to know a few of them, his very best friends were Spike and Carly. They'd both taken him in as a friend the very first time they'd each met him, a far more amicable response than he'd been expecting from a species who had never interacted with beings from other planets before. He'd become almost like a part of the family, and it was a designation he was proud to hold. Any Autobot could provide free taxi services, but Bumblebee's participation in their lives far exceeded the sorts of things he could do on four wheels. They frequently invited him to dine with them, which Bumblebee knew to be a social function as much as it was a biological necessity. He'd helped them scoop the seeds from gourds and cut faces into them, and he'd taken part in rituals involving erecting vegetation in their living room so they could hang plastic figurines and candy mints on the branches. These were important social traditions, indeed. They'd even taken him along with them on vacation a few years back.
If they'd merely wanted an Autobot in their presence at all times to protect them, they'd have chosen someone stronger, someone larger. Tracks, perhaps, or Trailbreaker. Someone with actual weapons and defensive capability. No, the fact that they chose Bumblebee meant they actually liked him, that they enjoyed his company. This made Bumblebee deliriously happy. Back at headquarters, he was perpetually the last choice for any task, but when he was with the Witwickys, he was their first choice. He'd never been anybody's first choice before, until the Earth mission. That, alone, was reason enough for Bumblebee to want to stay on the planet forever.
So, now that Daniel was learning to read, Bumblebee had taken on the additional task of home-schooling the boy. Given how closely Spike and Carly worked with the Autobots, they'd both agreed that it was too dangerous to enroll Daniel in public school and risk the Decepticons happening upon his name in the school's computer records. Posting Autobot guards at the school would only attract unwanted attention, so the only remaining option would be to provide his education in the safety of his own home. Bumblebee was only too happy to take on the task.
Recently, he'd been reading Daniel a series of short stories that followed the adventures of a young boy and some of his plush animal toys. The concept of writing fictional tales about toys seemed a bit odd, but Bumblebee found them enjoyable nevertheless. The central character to the stories was a stuffed bear, but Bumblebee found himself drawn to one character in particular, a young piglet, who was the smallest and weakest of the group. Many of the stories made mention of the piglet's dependency on the others because there wasn't much he was capable of, on his own. Bumblebee felt a strong affinity for the character, but at the same time he found the portrayal to be a rather insulting stereotype. Being small did not automatically equate to being worthless.
At the moment, though, he felt worthless. He didn't care how impressed the others were that he'd managed to defeat Runamuck and Runabout. He'd been lucky, and nothing more. What was worse, Carly's luck hadn't held out nearly so well.
Bumblebee was roused from his thoughts when he heard a soft knock at the door. He reached forward and pushed the button, causing the door to swing open automatically. Behind the door was Hound, peeking around the corner of the door frame cautiously.
"How is she?" Hound asked.
"The nurse came by a little while ago to check her vital signs," Bumblebee said. "She's in stable condition, at least. They won't know how bad the tissue damage really is until she wakes up, though. One of the doctors said she might end up needing optic transplants."
Hound sighed slowly.
"Why don't you come in, Hound?" Bumblebee asked. "There's room enough for another Autobot. I bet she'd be real happy to have you here when she comes around."
"Uh, no," Hound said, taking a step inside the room, ducking under the oversized door frame. "I can't... I mean, I wouldn't want to disturb her. She needs rest. I shouldn't..."
He reached out and touched her hand.
"She's very warm," he said.
"Are you sure about that?" Bumblebee asked. "The nurse said her body temperature had dropped to within acceptable levels, so--"
"I know what her normal body temperature is," Hound said with a strange level of certainty. "This isn't it."
He knelt beside her.
"Come back to us, Carly," he said. "We all miss you. I miss you, too."
Hound stood up and made his way out the door. He stopped and looked back at Bumblebee, despair etched on his face. Hound looked as if he wanted to say something more, but then he turned and left.
***
"Wait a minute," Anthrax said, shaking the remaining water out of her systems as she entered the lift that led to the Decepticon base. "Do you mean to tell me that while Starscream and I were locked in legal combat to determine who would remain in control over the Decepticons, you just swooped in underneath both our nosecones and took over?"
"When Megatron left Cybertron so very long ago," Windrazor said as the lift doors opened, granting access to the main control room of the Decepticon base, "many of the Decepticons waited patiently for his fabled return. They told stories of the glorious riches he would bring back with him one day, the wealth of energy supplies he would discover, the limitless power his second coming would represent. Some even went searching for him, but never returned."
"I take it you weren't one of the True Believers," Anthrax said, following him onto the bridge, with Starscream trailing close behind them.
"I was not willing to waste my existence waiting for a savior who would never come," Windrazor said. "Hundreds of thousands of years passed. Finally, I assembled a small force of like-minded warriors to form the Decepticon Alliance. At first, we attempted to continue Megatron's work, searching for energy to revitalize Cybertron."
"At first?" Anthrax asked.
"Cybertron began to wither. It became clear to us that the war with the Autobots had drained our ancient planet inexorably. There was simply nothing left worth restoring. I came to realize that our only remaining option was to amass enough energy to explore the heavens and one day find a new world to inhabit."
"You would simply abandon Cybertron? Coward!" Starscream squawked.
Windrazor's optic sensors momentarily met Starscream's with a ferocious, glowing intensity, then subsided. "I realize you must be accustomed to Megatron's distinctive style of command," he said. "As your new commander, I will give you a chance to adapt. I do not tolerate interruptions. I do not permit my soldiers to contradict me, nor do I allow anyone under my command to insult me. This is your only warning. I suggest you heed it."
"But you can't just turn Cybertron over to the Autobots! The planet has secrets that are far too valuable, no matter how much energy other worlds might--"
Windrazor's kick was swift and savage, hitting Starscream squarely in the chest canopy and sending him soaring back into the wall behind him. Anthrax shielded her face from the barrage as she was showered with shards of orange glass.
"You will behave as you are ordered to or I will rend your body into pieces!" Windrazor shouted. "I will not repeat my warning again!"
Starscream groaned as he unsteadily sat upright, glancing at the dent in the wall behind him before responding. "I... will obey."
Windrazor nodded in acknowledgement, then proffered his hand to help Starscream to his feet.
"The age of Cybertron is long past," he said. "It is time to embrace the future. Recently, my technicians master perfected the means by which to travel through a localized dimensional warp in space. It was our plan to relocate to a new world through one of these warps, enabling us to explore a new, untapped region of space as yet unmarred by our wars. Were it not for the interference of the Autobots, we would be there now."
"You were willing to withdraw from the war entirely?" Anthrax said, her optic sensors shimmering with a purple glint. "You'd be handing the Autobots exactly what they're supposedly fighting for. They'd get to live in peace, and you'd get to resume your exploration of the universe." It was a notion that made Anthrax's energon pump skip a circulatory cycle. What Windrazor was describing was the ideal existence. To shed the arms of combat, to delve into the unknown reaches of the cosmos in the name of science... it was the life she lived in her dreams.
Anthrax felt a kinship with Windrazor, connecting with him immediately in a way that she'd completely failed to do with Megatron. Where Megatron was a warmonger determined to kill the Autobots at the cost of every last spark of energy, Windrazor was a pragmatist, who recognized the value in a flexible military doctrine. Anthrax, too, was willing to accommodate modifications to her original plans. While she'd intended to eventually free Megatron from his incarceration once her preliminary preparations were completed, she was now quite favorably reconsidering that notion. Surely her mission could be completed without him, couldn't it?
"Somehow," Anthrax said, "it doesn't surprise me that the Autobots would put a halt to your plans. They tend to talk a lot about peace and harmony, but when it comes right down to it, I think what they're really interested in is converting us to their way of life."
"Anything we Decepticons manage to accomplish is something the Autobots want stopped," Windrazor said, "simply by virtue of the fact that it was we, not they, who accomplished it. Snipe, my technician, was the first one to travel through the space warp he had created. His discovery there would have changed the tide of Decepticon destiny forever. Shortly after his return, however, he was captured by the Autobots before he could fully disclose his findings."
"What findings? A new energy source?" Anthrax asked.
"I speak not of some random fuel source," Windrazor said. "Snipe was hesitant to transmit his findings in detail for fear the Autobots would intercept his transmission... but he described it as more powerful than the assembled forces of every Decepticon in existence. He said that it was completely unprecedented in the history of Cybertron."
"But you don't know what, precisely, it was?" Anthrax said.
"Snipe has always been my most trusted warrior," Windrazor said, "and he is not given to exaggeration. I believe his every word."
"And now the Autobots have him," Anthrax said.
"My primary reason for coming to Earth was to investigate why the space bridge was destroyed," Windrazor said, "but it was also my intent to draw Rapido out of hiding. Just before you arrived, Soundwave was kind enough to assist me in using this ship's scanners to determine that my ploy was, indeed, successful. Rapido is here, on this planet. If what you say is true, and Optimus Prime has been destroyed, then Rapido may even be commanding this planet's troops. There must be some way to recover Snipe. There must. He holds the key to our greatest victory."
"Well, if you'll allow me a moment to refuel, I'll gladly accompany you," Anthrax said.
"No, no, you don't understand. Rapido is a master strategist. He is far too cunning to ever permit Snipe to be reclaimed through conventional means. To emerge victorious over him, we must first outsmart him."
"What we need is a tactical advantage," Anthrax said. "The Decepticons of this world have been here for dozens of revolutions. Perhaps their knowledge of the planet can serve you."
"Rapido's first step will be to ally himself with the Autobots of this planet," Windrazor said. "We hold no such advantage in that regard."
"Wait!" Starscream said. "We have an Autobot prisoner. Smokescreen, their tactical strategist. He's in the holding cells. We can exchange him for your missing warrior!"
Windrazor's stance visibly sharpened. "If the Autobots have discovered the secret of the space warp, they may gain the greatest advantage they have ever possessed over the Decepticons. They would never place the value of a single life over information of this magnitude. However, our prisoner doesn't yet know what's at stake. Perhaps... yes. I may yet be able to persuade him to assist us."
***
Smokescreen hated himself.
Though he knew that he'd only been in solitary confinement for a matter of days, for some reason it seemed much longer. He felt as if he'd been relegated to some plane of non-existence, being suspended indefinitely until the powers that be finally got around to deciding his ultimate fate. Cut off from the rest of the world, unable to interact with another living soul, he had begun to wonder if the Decepticons had simply forgotten about him. At the moment, even Dreadwing's perverse company would have been preferable to this mindless existence.
He cursed himself for allowing himself to be caught up in this situation in the first place. Had been able to cast his doubts aside, he'd be well on his way back to Autobot Headquarters by now. As it stood, even despite his indecision, he'd still been given another chance to escape in the surprising form of Hubcap. Rather than accept the solution handed to him, Smokescreen had once again over-analyzed the situation, second-guessing his every move, twisting around the reality of the situation until he'd completely lost sight of his purpose.
No other Autobot had the capability for deceit that Smokescreen did, and this time he'd been done in by his own self-deception.
There was nothing now but to wait for his end. He wasn't entirely certain how he would perish, as several possibilities availed themselves. Perhaps the Decepticons would decide he was no longer of any use and destroy him on the spot. Or, perhaps them would blast in into pieces and deliver him to Autobot Headquarters as a message and warning. Maybe they would ferry him into the sky and drop him so the airborne troops could use him for target practice. Or, if Smokescreen's suspicions were accurate, perhaps they really had forgotten about him altogether, and he would simply starve to death.
The worst part of all this was that even if Smokescreen managed to bring back some useful information about the Decepticons' plans (never mind the fact that at the moment, he hadn't got the slightest clue what they were up to), and even if he somehow managed to somehow escape (despite the fact that no amount of coaxing with his onboard access cable would be effective when the computer access terminal was quite thoroughly trashed), it still wouldn't do him any good. Hubcap had no doubt made it back home and had already relayed the story Smokescreen had fed him about having befriended the Decepticons and wanting to remain behind. Had Hubcap actually been a Decepticon traitor, this move would have worked quite favorably for Smokescreen. As it stood, all he'd managed to do was botch his own rescue mission and, in all probability, destroyed whatever trust Optimus Prime had once placed in him.
Smokescreen realized that his best chance of getting out of all this probably rested in Dreadwing. He'd spend enough time with the Decepticon, in Dreadwing's capacity as his jail guard, that Smokescreen felt like he had a good working understanding of the twisted robot's mind. He almost felt sorry for the poor, tormented creature. He'd obviously been psychologically abused, regularly and frequently, to the point where he just didn't care any more what happened to him. Smokescreen was well trained in the art of discovering character flaws and rooting them out in order to exploit them, but Dreadwing was so deeply troubled that it hadn't taken any effort on Smokescreen's part to manipulate him. When it came to unraveling the hidden secrets of a given target, Smokescreen knew that most of the old wounds he managed to open up would close again, in time. With Dreadwing, it was a different case. He'd already been teetering on the brink of psychological collapse, long before Smokescreen had intervened, and it seemed that he'd quite skillfully broken down whatever remaining barriers Dreadwing had erected in his mind to protect himself. Smokescreen felt responsible for him, in a way. Maybe there would be some way they could help each other--
Wait. What was that?
He'd heard a faint clatter in the distance. Smokescreen jerked up, unable to decide whether he'd just been imagining things. He'd been in the base long enough to recognize that the ship occasionally groaned softly as its weight shifted under the tremendous pressure of the oceanic waters, but this was an altogether more purposeful noise.
Smokescreen sighed. The Decepticons didn't need to do anything. Left to his own devices, he'd think himself to death.
The ancillary door slid open to reveal Starscream, followed by two unfamiliar Decepticons. One was a female, clad in purple and black. Smokescreen guessed this one was probably Anthrax, the one the Decepticons had been talking about just before he'd been thrown in detention. The other was a somewhat smaller robot, but he carried himself with an air of authority. He stopped in front of Smokescreen's prison cell bars and studied him for a moment.
"Greetings, Autobot," he said at last. "I am Windrazor, the new commander of the Decepticons. I have a proposition for you."
"Yeah? If it's got something to do with opening up this cell, I'm all ears," Smokescreen said. Instantly, his mind began racing. New commander of the Decepticons? Where'd this guy come from? What had become of Megatron?
"Actually, it does. You see, your Autobot allies have captured a friend of mine. I'm very fond of him, and would very much like to effect his safe return to our camp."
"I always said you Decepticons were just big softies at heart," Smokescreen quipped. He immediately began wondering who this mysterious friend in question might be, since he wasn't aware of any prisoners of war being held at the base, Decepticon or otherwise. Smokescreen sensed that some very significant events had transpired recently, but he was at a complete loss to explain what it was, or how Windrazor was involved. Had Megatron been captured? Was Windrazor part of some special task force assigned to retrieve him?
"Unfortunately," Windrazor said, "I expect that we will meet with considerable resistance should we effect a frontal assault. I wish to avoid wasting energy on a confrontation if at all possible."
"Not that wasting energy will be an issue for much longer," Starscream noted.
Anthrax made a guttural noise. "Muzzle it, Starscream, before I do it for you."
"What difference does it make?" Starscream said, his hand on one hip. "The Autobots will all find out about the synergon when we use it against them!"
"In any event," Windrazor continued, "there is one method by which our efforts might be facilitated. You are familiar with the layout of their headquarters. You know its weaknesses. You know where their holding cells are. You, Autobot, know the safest and most effective method by which to rescue my friend, thus eliminating any unnecessary conflict."
"Give me a break. You don't seriously expect me to spill our defensive secrets, do you?"
"Actually, I do indeed." Windrazor's battle mask covered most of his face, but Smokescreen was certain he was smiling. "You see, my Decepticons are powerful. We have already killed Optimus Prime, and if necessary we will kill every Autobot who comes between us and the acquisition of our quarry. Should you fail to cooperate, you will be directly responsible for every one of their deaths."
The notion of Optimus Prime's destruction was a bluff, obviously, but the very real threat existed that Windrazor actually would start taking lives in the purpose of his goal. Smokescreen's first instinct was to simply refuse to help. You couldn't make a deal with a Decepticon, not when Decepticons had this universal tendency to go against their word as soon as it was convenient for them. At the same time, though, he couldn't ignore the possibility that Windrazor was being sincere. What if Smokescreen's assistance prevented the deaths of his friends? Wasn't that worth making a pact with the devil?
"How do I know I can trust you?" Smokescreen said. "For all I know, you'll just destroy us all anyway. Why should I help you?"
"I thought you might require a demonstration of my good faith," Windrazor said. "Anthrax, please open the cell."
Anthrax approached the computer terminal and, after a moment, reached into the damaged console and pulled out a handful of wiring. She stripped the coating off a couple of them with her teeth and tied the ends together. Then she keyed in a sequence on the control panel. This proved sufficient to cause the energy shield to dissipate as the cell bars were pulled into the ceiling with a slow, labored grinding sound.
"If you decline to help me, so be it," Windrazor said, making a welcoming gesture towards the ancillary exit. "You are free to go. My Decepticons will make no attempts to hinder your departure. We will proceed with our rescue attempt, with or without you. However, I believe all of our best interests will be served by your assistance."
It occurred to Smokescreen that he had a third option. Now that Anthrax had repaired the controls, Smokescreen would easily be able to access them from his cell. All he had to do, at this point, was get the Decepticons out of the room so he could escape undetected. Maybe he hadn't completely botched things after all... perhaps there was yet a chance for him to redeem himself.
"All right," Smokescreen said, "I'll tell you the best way to get inside. Our base is actually a ship, you see, and all our sensors are forward-mounted. If you sneak up and attack the ship from behind--"
"Yes," Starscream said with a thoughtful gaze. "Attack the ship from behind. An excellent suggestion!"
At least somebody was playing along this time, Smokescreen mused.
"Actually, I felt we could utilize your talents in a more immediate capacity," Windrazor said in that same sickeningly satisfied tone. "Your participation will serve to ensure that the operation runs smoothly... affording us a contingency plan in the event you have misjudged the weak point in your defenses. Come, my Decepticons. We will make preparations and then attack under cover of nightfall!"
Windrazor had caught him. There was no way now to avoid doing exactly what the Decepticons wanted him to do. If he continued feeding them erroneous information, the ensuing battle would only be prolonged, and the Autobots would be unable to use lethal force against the Decepticons as long as they had Smokescreen in their possession. The only course of action left now was to make this rescue operation run as smoothly as possible, with a minimum of casualties, and pray the Autobots could forgive him.
And pray that he could forgive himself.
***
Sideswipe had never actually set foot inside the Cybertron Institute for Higher Programming when it was still a fully-functional facility. Being a warrior-type, he'd neither had the need nor the desire. He had no doubt in his mind that the place had provided a highly-valued service, at one time, with so many of the denizens of Cybertron having dedicated their lives to higher learning and exploration of the cosmos. When the wars had begun, those horrible, awful wars which created hundreds of new facilities, a renewed sense of purpose for tens or hundreds of thousands of Autobots, it was the places like this, filled with Transformers who refused to embrace change, that were the first to be destroyed.
More's the pity, thought Sideswipe.
He climbed over the remains of the overturned, larger-than-life statues that had once welcomed visitors with open arms, but which now laid awkwardly in pieces in front of the main entrance. He couldn't help but be momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer perversity that only now had he thought to seek out this place, after it had been all but obliterated.
He kicked the head of one of the statues, causing it to come loose from its moorings, crumbling into powdery chunks as it fell away.
***
The interior of the facility had probably once been very impressive, judging by the sheer size of its main chamber, which spanned at least six or seven stories (possibly more, at one time, but it was difficult to tell since the roof of the building was missing along with however many levels had been destroyed). A few computer terminals were propped up against the walls at various odd angles, but it was obvious that at one point they had stood end-to-end, literally covering the walls in every direction.
"Feh," Sideswipe said. "Give me a jet-judo training room any day."
A private joke, one which Sunstreaker might have snickered at.
He crossed the floor of the programming room and, after piledriving his way through a fallen wall panel that blocked the entrance to the next room, entered a smaller chamber whose purpose he couldn't even begin to ascertain. There was nothing left that even hinted at its original function. There were plenty of buildings on Cybertron like this, of course, particularly in the war zones. Unlike the programming room, though, this room didn't give the overall appearance of one that had been destroyed in a Decepticon attack and then abandoned. The walls were still in a state of disrepair and there was plenty of rubble on the floor, but the artifacts within the room--including a couple of patchwork computer terminals --had clearly been used recently. If anything, it just looked like a really messy laboratory.
"Pardon my housekeeping," came a voice, "but the maintenance droid hasn't stopped by in a few million years."
Sideswipe whirled around and came face-to-face with something that wasn't another robot's face. For a moment he'd thought it was the gigantic blue visor of some bizarrely-shaped mechanoid, until he realized it was actually a vehicular cockpit. Then, he looked up and saw the rest of the robot to which this cockpit was attached.
"Hello," said Skyfire.
"I'd, uh, forgotten just how tall you really were," Sideswipe said.
"And I've forgotten your name," Skyfire said. "My apologies. It's been a long time since I've seen an Autobot."
"Sideswipe. The name's Sideswipe. Me and Wheeljack dug you out of the ice, remember?"
"The ice..." Skyfire said, apparently lost in thought for a moment. "Oh, you mean the second time. Yes, I remember. Sideswipe and Wheeljack. You're the one with the piledrivers."
Sideswipe winced for an instant, then spread out his forearms, matter-of-factly. "Yeah. I'm the guy with the piledrivers."
"I suppose I do owe you a debt of gratitude. For what it's worth, you have my thanks," Skyfire said. "Now, please leave."
"Hey, wait a minute. You've got to listen to me," Sideswipe said. It was only as he finished his sentence that he realized he was saying this to Skyfire's dual-barreled cannon.
"Always demanding, but never asking," Skyfire said, in what Sideswipe thought was an inappropriately amused tone. "Isn't that just like an Autobot?"
"You're an Autobot too, y'know," Sideswipe said. As if to confirm what he already knew, he pointed at the insignia on Skyfire's chest, only to discover that the symbol in question wasn't there. He looked around, hoping perhaps it had simply fallen off.
"In case you haven't noticed, I haven't been an Autobot for a very long time," Skyfire responded.
"I always wondered about that," Sideswipe said. "Nobody ever could get a straight answer out of Prime. All he said was something about how you'd 'made your decision' and that we 'had to respect that,' whatever the flarg that's supposed to mean. So, what's the deal? What made you change your mind about, y'know, fighting the good fight?"
"You know, I've got a gun trained on your head. Do you really think this is an appropriate time to be telling stories?"
Sideswipe shrugged. "I've seen it work," he said.
"Let's just say," Skyfire said, "that your leader and I had some differences of opinion. I willingly endured several combat missions, feeling I owed something to the Autobots for taking me in. I was content to put my scientific endeavours aside for the sake of helping the Autobots in their fight and... serving as their transport." Skyfire emphasised the word with a tone that could have hinted at disgust, or malice, or possibly both. Sideswipe almost liked it better when Skyfire was training a gun at his head and smiling.
"Okay, so you didn't like playing cargo ship. So you left the Autobots over that?"
"No," Skyfire said. "As I said, we had some differences in opinion. Now, I've asked you to leave once. Please don't force the issue," he said, his aim finding newfound resolve.
"Now, this is just stupid," Sideswipe said. "You can't just go around sticking blasters in everybody's face every time they rub your polish the wrong way. That's what Decepticons do. If they weren't so busy trying to--"
Sideswipe's train of thought was rudely interrupted. Not by the laser bolt that he'd been expecting, and had been fully prepared to dodge, but by the hard steel butt-end of the double-barreled blaster itself. It wasn't a particularly forceful attack, though Sideswipe knew that Skyfire could probably have knocked him into the next room, if he'd been so inclined. As it stood, Sideswipe now had a small dent in his helmet, and was developing a very large headache.
"I don't believe it... you actually just bonked me on the head," Sideswipe said. "Is that your idea of forcing the issue?"
"I don't want to hurt you," Skyfire said, "but I will if you don't leave. I don't know how you found me, but..."
"It was the only building left standing that was big enough for you to hide in," Sideswipe offered.
"...but you are simply not welcome here," Skyfire continued. "I was the one who blocked the entrance with that large metal panel that you so helpfully demolished. Perhaps you didn't take the hint."
"I suppose you put those statues in front of the entrance, too?" Sideswipe mused.
"No..." Skyfire said. "That happened during the original attack. I prefer using the back entrance. Incidentally, that was Chromedome's head you kicked."
"Eh, he didn't need it anyway," Sideswipe said.
To Sideswipe's surprise, Skyfire smiled a little.
"I'm not going back," Skyfire said. "Not to Earth, and not to the Autobots."
"I wasn't going to ask you to," Sideswipe said.
"And," Skyfire said, more sternly, "I am not going to take you to whatever planet you need to get to."
"I'm already where I need to be. I just need... that is, I could use... I mean, I would like..."
"You've almost got it," Skyfire said, crossing his arms and leaning back a little.
"Please help me," Sideswipe said. "I'm asking for your help."
***
"So what you're saying, guys," Trailbreaker said, "is that you want to build a bunch of guns and stick them on the volcano?"
"No, no!" Hoist said, bubbling with enthusiasm. "That's the beauty of it. Not on the volcano; in the volcano. Secret compartments, hidden within the rock, that would slide open to reveal the defensive artillery. Why, the shock value alone would be enough to send the Decepticons packing! Isn't that right, Grapple?"
"Well, not necessarily," Grapple admitted. "But it would give us a much better chance of defending against surprise attacks, at least on a temporary basis until the troops are mobilized."
"But what if the Decepticons try to steal these new weapons?" Trailbreaker asked in a somber tone, placing a hand on Grapple's shoulder. "We'd better set up some additional guns to keep the Decepticons from taking them. Of course, we'll have to install even more guns to keep them from stealing the additional ones."
"What?" Grapple said.
"It was a joke," Trailbreaker said.
"Oh," Grapple said.
"And it will cost almost nothing to build," Hoist said excitedly, waving a blueprint or something in front of Trailbreaker's face. "If Wheeljack helps us, we can have it done in five days."
"If Wheeljack doesn't help us, we can have it done in three," Grapple added.
"Yeah, go for it," Trailbreaker said. "You could even get Huffer to help."
"Er, well, I suppose we could, at that," Hoist said. "But, er, why?"
"Well, he is our resident construction engineer, y'know," Trailbreaker said.
"Yes, but he's always so pessimistic," Hoist said. "He's impossible to work with."
"Have you ever tried?" was Trailbreaker's response.
"Well, it's just that..." Hoist began, then turned to Grapple and exchanged a knowing glance with him.
"Look, I know you're trying to do your best, taking command and all," Hoist said, "but there are some things you just don't understand yet. Those of you who were awakened at the same time Optimus Prime was, you had an entire year's worth of experiences that the rest of us just didn't get. You all got a chance to get to know each other, to bond together. Those of us who were still trapped in the rubble, don't you think we could see how differently Optimus Prime treated you, how you treated each other?"
"Is this before or after you got out of the rubble?" Trailbreaker asked with a smirk.
"Why, afterwards, of course," Hoist said. "There's a world of difference between us. You and I, for example, are nothing alike."
Trailbreaker looked at Hoist. Then he looked at himself. Then he looked at Hoist again. "Actually, I've never really noticed this before, but you and I do kinda look alike."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Hoist said with a frustrated sigh. "Optimus Prime understood that we were different. Why can't you?"
"Well, I'm not a Prime," Trailbreaker admitted, "mostly because I'd have to change my name to Trailbreaktimus or something, and that sounds awfully dorky. Right now, though, I am the boss. Which means I get to boss you around and make you work with Huffer."
"But--" Grapple began.
"Be nice," Trailbreaker said, "before I make you work with Gears, too."
"Attention," Teletraan I said, in that strange casual-but-urgent manner it had, "foreign object approaching Autobot Headquarters."
"Uh, you wanna be a little more specific?" Trailbreaker said. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?"
"Approaching object matches approximate size and profile of TFTM-86 Autobot class shuttle. Precise nature of object unknown," Teletraan said.
"You got a visual?" Trailbreaker asked.
A large orange space craft appeared on Teletraan's primary viewscreen, sporting gigantic red symbols on either wing in the shape of a robot's face.
"This is Autobot platoon commander Rapido requesting landing clearance," came a transmission from the ship. "Please respond."
"Y'know, Teletraan, for future reference," Trailbreaker said, "if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it probably ain't an albatross."
***
"I have come to request an audience with Optimus Prime," said Rapido, a small, unremarkable red Autobot. He stood before Trailbreaker and Perceptor and a small squad of Autobots who had arrived to greet him. Behind Rapido, two of his troopers were already carrying some supplies down the cargo ramp.
"Well, not to put too fine a point on it," Trailbreaker said, "but Prime's, uh, well, not here right now. If you want to leave your name and number and a brief message..."
"Please provide me with his location," Rapido said. "I wish to speak with him."
"If I had his location, I'd give it to you," Trailbreaker said. "But I don't. He's missing. Possibly destroyed... but we don't know for sure. For now, at least, I'm behind the wheel."
"Very well," Rapido said. "I am taking command of this unit. Please return inside and await further orders."
"Hey, whoa there, horsie," Trailbreaker said.
"Optimus Prime was, up until quite recently," Perceptor interjected, "the commanding officer over the crew stationed on this planet. He elected Trailbreaker to assume command during his absence, which, unfortunately, may have been inadvertently protracted to an indefinite duration."
"In other words," Trailbreaker said to Rapido, "he left me in charge. Not you."
"That fact is irrelevant," Rapido said. "I am platoon commander of the Autobots on Cybertron, and as such I hold the highest rank of any Autobot under Optimus Prime's command."
"So, eh, what exactly happened to ol' diesel breath, anyway?" one of Rapido's troopers asked, said turning in mid-stride with a crate on one shoulder.
Trailbreaker started to answer, but Perceptor raised his hand in warning. He pointed to the last member of Rapido's crew, an orange-and-blue robot who emerged with an interlink cable leading from the side of his helmet. As he descended the cargo ramp, it became apparent that the interlink cable was connected to a Decepticon, being led by the hand out of Rapido's craft, apparently under his own power.
"Perhaps in the interest of security," Perceptor said, "it would be prudent not to divulge any additional information until we have determined significantly more about our visitors," he said.
"Look, before you guys move in and start rearranging all the furniture, why don't we sit down and talk about this a little?" Trailbreaker suggested.
"Given that there is nothing to discuss here," Rapido said, "I find that suggestion to be wasteful. There are far more pressing matters to attend to."
"Now, wait just a minute," Trailbreaker said, blocking Rapido's path. "I may not be up on every tiny detail of Autobot protocol, but I am not gonna let you just waltz right into our base."
Rapido sidestepped Trailbreaker and entered the volcano entrance, beckoning the rest of his crew to follow.
"Well, okay, I guess you can come in, but I'm definitely not letting you bring a Decepticon inside."
The orange robot was the last in line behind Rapido, with his interlink subject in tow.
"Okay, fine, the Decepticon can come too, but I am absolutely not gonna let you turn around, get back in your ship, and blast off to the Moon."
After a moment, Trailbreaker turned to Perceptor and smiled weakly. "See? They're listening. It's all in the delivery."
***
"Teletraan, let's hear everything you've got on the political structure on Cybertron following the departure of the Ark," Trailbreaker said.
"Insufficient data," Teletraan replied. "Please redefine search variables."
"Uh, okay. Just give me all the information available about the Autobot hierarchy on Cybertron in the last four million years," Trailbreaker said.
"Insufficient data," Teletraan said again after a moment. "New search variables must be specified."
Trailbreaker scratched his head, casting a sidelong glance at Perceptor for a moment before addressing the computer again. "Look, all I want to know is if this Rapido character checks out. Can you at least give me the names of the Autobots who took command on Cybertron after Optimus Prime left?"
"Working," Teletraan said.
"Poor thing's been smashed up by the Dinobots one too many times," Trailbreaker mused.
Prowl was propped up against a stalactite-stalagmite column in a casual pose, arms crossed and one foot resting against the column, but was studying Rapido and his troops with a suspicious eye as they began setting up operations inside the volcano. "His story just doesn't add up," he said. "If he really is in charge on Cybertron, why didn't he ever make any attempt to contact us? Why haven't we heard anything from him since we awakened on Earth?"
"And, perhaps most importantly," Perceptor interjected, "what series of events has recently transpired that caused Rapido to become aware of our presence and provided the impetus for his arrival?"
"Teletraan, what's the story?" Trailbreaker urged.
"Working," Teletraan announced. "Please stand by."
"You're a big help," Trailbreaker muttered. "All right, look. We can at least go along with this guy until we find out what he's all about. He didn't attack us, so that's points in his favor right there, and they are wearing Autobot symbols... wait, are those Autobot symbols? What are those?"
"Perhaps we should consult Teletraan," Perceptor suggested.
"I'll do the jokes," Trailbreaker said. "Actually, now that I get a good look at 'em, they do look a little familiar."
Trailbreaker was afforded a better view of Rapido's faction symbol as the smallish red Autobot approached Trailbreaker and stood before him. It was, quite unmistakably, a symbol representing the face of Optimus Prime.
"I will require a complete technical readout of this ship and its functional facilities," Rapido said. "I will also need immediate access to a secure holding cell."
"Well, we've got a dungeon on the lower decks with some energon bars in front of it," Trailbreaker offered. "The jail kind, I mean."
"That is unacceptable," Rapido said. "Have you no high-security facilities at all?"
"Hey, pal," Trailbreaker said. "We were originally on an energy-scouting mission. This whole place is just an oversized cargo ship. We weren't exactly equipped for a long-term detour."
"I find it highly circumspect that Optimus Prime would have assembled a crew of thirty-two Autobots aboard a Vanguard-class craft if the purpose of his mission were simply to collect energy. I have long held the belief that Optimus Prime's true plans were to escape the war and relocate to another world."
"Oh, now everybody's making with the jokes," Trailbreaker said. "Look, you couldn't be farther from the truth. Nobody was running away. I dunno what part of the planet you were living on, but the entire North Side was totally drained. There wasn't any energy left to fight over!"
"Additionally," Perceptor said, "we were well aware that the Decepticons were experiencing a similar shortage in resources. The crew was bolstered thusly in anticipation of a Decepticon boarding party."
"Right. We were expecting a fight," Trailbreaker said. "We just didn't expect to crash and get knocked offline for the next four million years."
Rapido seemed to be assimilating this information, and the conversation went completely dead as he processed the data. Without another word, he turned to address Skram about something. Trailbreaker could have listened in, were he so inclined, but the truth was he just glad to be rid of Rapido's presence for the moment. There was something altogether odd about the Autobot that set Trailbreaker on edge. It wasn't just the rude and authoritative manner in which he'd taken command, though of course that was a sticking point. There were little things about his behavior, odd mannerisms that sent chills down Trailbreaker's servo-motors. His infuriatingly calm, even, almost toneless manner of speech, for starters, or the way he never really made eye contact with anyone when he spoke to them. Rapido was obviously a living machine, but for all his complete lack of basic social skills, he might as well have been an automaton. It was a little bit like trying to hold a conversation with Teletraan, really, the main difference being that Teletraan didn't suck all the life out of the room.
"So, uh, how 'bout those Pistons, huh?" Trailbreaker offered.
Rapido turned to Trailbreaker and stared at something just behind his head. "We have tracked a group of Decepticons to this planet. We believe they have joined forces with the contingent stationed on this world. The soldier in our custody is carrying extremely valuable information. Given the great lengths to which this Decepticon went to secure the information, I calculate with 98.1 percent certainty that Windrazor will launch an attack on this structure and attempt to reclaim him. I must have access to your database if I am to compute an effective defensive strategy against them."
"Only ninety-eight percent?" Trailbreaker asked. "What's the other two percent?"
"My calculations also allow for the very small possibility," Rapido said, "that Windrazor will attack with the intent of destroying this structure and everything inside it."
"And, uh, what are the odds that you're completely wrong?" Trailbreaker asked, wearily.
"Less than one hundred-millionth of a percent."
***
Chapter 45: Empty Spaces
Hubcap trudged through the aft section of the Ark, making about as much of a scene as possible for an Autobot of his stature. Carelessly, deliberately, he kicked stones and bits of debris out of his way, watching with perverse indifference as they created pock marks in the corridor walls. This was the least important section of the Ark, the least-trafficked and most unkempt part of the craft, the part that had been the most heavily damaged in the crash, the least strategically important area of the whole bloody ship. And it was, naturally, the section of the craft to which Optimus Prime had assigned Pipes and his crew to live.
The rescue mission at the Decepticon base had left an incredibly bad taste in Hubcap's mouth, but he was determined to somehow turn things around to his advantage. Word around headquarters was that Optimus Prime had been destroyed in a space bridge accident, which rather nicely let Hubcap off the hook. At least he didn't have to worry about a reprimand for organizing an unauthorized excursion to the Decepticon headquarters, since the only robot capable of confirming whether he'd actually gotten permission for it was... well, in no position to corroborate anything. Despite himself, Hubcap couldn't help feeling that Optimus Prime's destruction was a great personal loss. He didn't like developing sentimental attachments of any kind, but in this case he really was profoundly and deeply troubled. After all, he'd spent years playing off Prime's sensibilities, slowly building a reputation as a loyal and dependable Autobot. Now he'd have to start all over again, right back at the bottom of the bloody food chain. What a waste.
What happened next would represent a profound impact on Hubcap's role with the Autobots. The question of which among the current troops would assume the mantle of leadership would determine whether Hubcap had a chance at getting in on the ground floor, or would miss the ride completely. Naturally, it was in Hubcap's best interests for an Autobot to take command with whom Hubcap already had a working relationship. Unfortunately, he'd devoted almost all his efforts to sucking up to Optimus Prime; he hadn't really bothered to impress his talent and skills upon anyone else. Well, with one possible exception.
Hubcap entered his personal quarters, which he shared with his former ship commander, Pipes, and fellow crewmate Outback. It was an arrangement made out of necessity, as most of the functional rooms in the great ship had already been assigned a dedicated function, so there had been very few remaining, usable facilities to accommodate Pipes and his crew. Hubcap had no complaints, however, since even the most dismal and dirty parts of the Ark were leagues ahead of the tiny ship that Hubcap had called his home for longer than he cared to dwell upon. That, and the fact that he didn't have to bunk with Swerve and Tailgate.
Not surprisingly, Hubcap found Pipes seated before his work station. Junk station might have been a more accurate term, given the sheer amount of useless artifacts that cluttered his desk. Hubcap had been tempted once or twice to dump it all down the volcano's mouth and be done with it. The only thing stopping him from having done so already was the notion that it might send Pipes completely over the brink, crossing that final line between eccentricity and insanity, and Pipes would be far more useful to Hubcap if he still held some tenuous grasp on reality. At the moment, Pipes was clutching some alien trinket in his hands, peering at it intently as he held it up from different angles, watching how the light struck its surface, occasionally peering at it through a lens so that he could study it at even greater magnification.
It was a level of utter and intense fascination that sent shudders down Hubcap's spinal assembly.
"New toy?" Hubcap asked, slathering on plenty of cheerfulness for good measure.
"Hi, Hubcap," Pipes said. "Oh, yeah. Come look at this. Almost every Earth car has one. I'm thinking about asking Swerve to equip me with one."
"What is it, lad?" Hubcap asked. He squinted and examined the device Pipes was carrying. It was incredibly tiny, silver in color, vaguely cylindrical-shaped, hollow on one end and sporting a black knob on the other end. He wondered what sort of equipment would be considered standard-issue in today's world. "Is it a weapon?"
"Close," said Pipes. "It's a cigarette lighter. See, it's too difficult for humans to start a fire while they're driving, so they plug this device into the car's dashboard. It collects energy from the engine and ejects automatically when its storage cycle is completed. The device causes the cigarettes to combust so humans can inhale the vapors and increase their mental and physical performance. It's the most ingenious thing I've ever seen."
"Aye, bloody brilliant," Hubcap said, in mock-awe.
"I went into town the other day to purchase some cigarettes to test it out. Unfortunately, the shopkeeper said he needed positive proof of my age. For some reason, he didn't seem to believe me when I told him I was over nine million years old. Anyway, I'm going into the Department of Motorized Vehicles tomorrow to undergo a skill assessment test. If I'm successful, they'll reward me with a driving license that proves I've