Recovery

A Transformers: Armada Story

By William Rendfeld

The Earth, a shimmering sphere in the void of space. A shining blue world, teaming with life and energy. Unbeknownst to the majority of its inhabitants, the human race, they are no longer alone. The Transformers have arrived.

"Sir, we're receiving transmission."

"Bring it up, Scattorshot," Jetfire ordered.

The projector in front of the Autobot sub-commander crackled to life as the image of his commander, Optimus Prime, came into full view.

"This is Autobot commander Optimus Prime," the image stated. "Included with this transmission are current mission status and key combat data. Next transmission scheduled in 336 megacycles with next alignment."

Optimus's visage disappeared as data scrawled across the screen in his place. "Nice chatting with you too, sir," Jetfire noted dismally as he looked over the data.

The repair bay was silent, save for the light chiming of the status monitor. Within the repair bay, Longarm remained silent, inert on the cold bit of metal.

"I've been able to repair the physical damage," Red Alert reported at last to Optimus Prime and Sparkplug from within the observation room. "Thankfully, none of Longarm's vital parts were damaged in the struggle. His body is fine, and his spark hasn't suffered any clear damage."

"Then why is he still in stasis?" Sparkplug asked, the concern clear in his voice.

Red Alert looked towards the inert Mini-Con and sighed. "I honestly don't know. I've done everything I could think of, and then some. It's up to him now."

"He'll be fine, Red," Optimus noted in reassurance. "He's not one to just give up."

"Some things you can't help, Optimus," Red Alert noted.

Elsewhere, Starscream silently walked the halls of the Nemesis, going over the current situation in his head. Their latest recovery mission had somewhat worked out in their favor; out of six Mini-Cons, three were in the hands of the Decepticons, while the remaining three were in the hands of the Autobots.

However, that was only the good news; one of the three Mini-Cons recovered by the Autobots was in critical condition, injured by one of the three recovered by his 'allies'. And those three were the Destruction Team, led by one of the most canny Mini-Cons on Cybertron; Dualor. Unfortunately, he also happened to be one of the most ruthless, as well as the kind of Mini-Con that would sacrifice Vector Sigma if it meant survival for himself and his unit.

It was perfectly reasonable to make sacrifices for the greater good, but there are limits to what should and should not be sacrificed. He needed to be reminded of what was at stake, as well as the wisdom of keeping himself in line.

On Cybertron, Jetfire silently walked. He was deep beneath the surface of the planet, moving through one of its many tunnels and substructures, walking a path he had walked many times, one which, to a select few Transformers, never required a map.

At last, he reached his destination, and a voice greeted him. "You seem troubled, young one. Enter and speak of your ills."

Standing before him, in the shadow of a massive spherical computer core, was one of the most revered Transformers in existence; a living example of what existed before war and destruction spread across the surface. His armor, a pristine white and devoid of the familiar faction symbols that had long divided Cybertron's people, spoke of his age, and of his strength. As the ancient Transformer turned to face him, Jetfire nodded his head in respect and said, "Thank you, Vector Prime. I have been troubled lately."

"You worry for your brothers, and for their mission," Vector Prime noted. "It is natural; they are on a world where we are unknowns, facing uncertainty at every level. But it is not the mission that worries you; it is the fact that you are not there to aid him."

"Optimus is the leader," Jetfire replied. "Always has been, always will be. I feel better being by his side, having his guidance."

"Leadership is hardly a quality exclusive to a Prime, young one," the elder Transformer noted. "You are as capable a leader as he, as you have proven time and time again. You are not his direct second-in-command, nor his aerospace commander, simply because of your courage and bravery. Should he require your presence on his mission, you will be made aware."

Jetfire turned away, still clouded by concern, when the elder Transformer continued, "They are aware by now, you know."

Jetfire turned back and asked, "They? You mean Primus knows?"

"He may rest, Jetfire, but his perception remains clear," Vector Prime replied. "But he is not alone in his knowledge of the mission. The other is aware."

Jetfire's optics widened as he realized just what the elder meant, then said, "What should we do? If he...?"

"His target is Cybertron, not Earth," Vector Prime replied. "He will eliminate his greatest obstacles before he deals with the lesser ones. For now, you must keep this from the general population. Inform those in high places; the Decepticon High Command, the Colonial Governments, those under your authority and equal to it. We must remain ever-watchful; just as we are agents of Primus, so are there agents of the Dark God."

Jetfire nodded, and said at last, "My thanks, Vector Prime. Until next we meet."

"Until then," Vector Prime replied.

Jetfire then exited, moving swiftly with urgency and purpose. Vector Prime, meanwhile, looked upwards toward the spherical computer system above him. Its activity had been increasing lately; the time they had been dreading was coming at last. Were they ready? Even he was uncertain of the answer.

"So, how's he taking it?" Smokescreen asked as he and the Mini-Con Liftor stood watch outside the Ark shuttle.

"Not too good," Liftor replied. "He's been through some tough scrapes, Smokes. You know that as well as anyone. But he could've survived something like that; Longarm's the one we aren't sure about."

"He'll get through it," Smokescreen assured the smaller Transformer. "I've worked with Red for ages. He's worked miracles worthy of one of the thirteen in his day for total strangers, and Longarm was his partner through it all. If he can't save him, no one can."

"And if he doesn't?" Liftor asked.

Smokescreen remained silent for a moment, then said, "I'd rather not think about that."

Elsewhere, Diana Masters silently worked in her apartment, going over everything for the rest of her week. As soft jazz music lightly played in the background, her eyes drifted over her notes; Greek architecture, government, drama...and she had to shorten it down as much as possible in the next two weeks before the field trip.

As Diana huffed, a soft 'meow' issued from near her feet. She looked down and smiled to find an orange-striped cat gently rubbing against her leg. "Easy there, Abby," Diana noted as she gently picked the cat up in one arm and walked over to her small kitchenette. She pulled out a can of cat food and opened it, gently scooping it into a small bowl for her cat. As Abby silently ate her food, the phone rang.

"Hello?" Diana replied. "Oh, Miranda, hi. How are things going at your end? The kids okay?" She huffed slightly, then noted, "Well, I'm glad something nice is happening to someone in my life." She plopped down onto a recliner and noted, "Being a middle school teacher is nothing impressive, sis. I would've been better off sticking with studying archaeology in college and getting my doctorate." With a light smirk, she looked through some of her notes on the Transformers and added, "I'm not saying it hasn't been without its perks. Still, I'll be glad for the next vacation." She sighed, and promised, "Yes, I'll visit when I can. Tell Kicker and Sally that their auntie loves them. Bye."

She clicked off the phone, then looked over her notes. "Well Kelly, you wanted me to get more into my life than just anime and history. Bet you didn't see this coming."

"Since the battles against the Quintessons and their forces, the Transformers have been involved in some form of conflict," Dualor noted to his compatriots. "And the Mini-Cons have always been at the forefront of the conflict, either independently or with the others. They control us, 'bots; in their own way they manipulate and use us for their own ends. I intend to end it once and for all, whatever the consequences."

"But what about the legends?" Buzzsaw asked. "I mean, so many believe them. There's got to be some truth..."

"Legends are just that, Buzzsaw; legends," Dualor swiftly reprimanded his comrade as the door behind them slid open. "There's no truth to anything they claim, despite whoever supports them. And the instant I begin believing in legends is the day Cybertron is destroyed."

"That may very well happen," a familiar voice noted in a serious tone.

The three members of the Destruction Team looked up to find Starscream standing above them, his face displaying the utmost level of seriousness.

"Dualor, you and I have much to discuss," the Decepticon noted.

"Really, Starscream?" Dualor asked. "Come to tell me that I should follow Megatron without a word? That I should play by his rules, do things his way?"

"For the time being, yes," Starscream replied. "Because the last time I checked, he placed as much value on other lives, if not less, than you do. The major difference, however, is that he has far greater power to call upon than you could ever hope to have at your disposal."

"Is that a threat, Starscream?" Dualor asked as Drill Bit tensed himself up for a fight. "Several million years have changed you."

"Not a threat, simply a statement of fact," Starscream replied. "Watch where you step, or you and your team could very well end up in the scrap heap. That's a possibility, and a slagging good one. Remember that."

Starscream stepped back from the door, allowing it to slide shut behind him, and leaving the Destruction Team to themselves. "You think that's a bluff?" Drill Bit asked his leader.

"Perhaps," Dualor noted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "And perhaps not. Starscream is always a curious one..."

As Starscream walked away from the holding bay, he thought silently to himself over the Destruction Team. They'd all have to be careful around them; Megatron definitely, but he especially. He had barely begun putting things into place for his own coup against Megatron; the last thing he needed was to have someone figure out what he was doing, only to reveal things, or worse, double-cross him. They could be a useful diversion, but he knew Dualor too well to expect something like that to work out as he'd planned.

He may have to accelerate his timetable a bit.

"Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing idiots I end up being stuck with," Refute noted as he stood next to the off-line Longarm. "You've been around Red for ages, you know how we're made. I could've taken something like that easy, at least easier than you." He sighed, leaned against the table with both claws. "After everything we've been through, all the battles against the Quintessons and rebel Decepticons, the last thing I'd expect was one of our own taking you out. If you don't make it, I swear..."

Refute was lost in thought as a voice weakly asked, "Care to elaborate on that?" He looked in shock to find Longarm's optic bar lightly glowing.

Refute's expression softened as he said, "I'd give Drill Bit such a pounding that he'd think a moon landed on him." He took one of Longarm's hands in a claw and said, "Welcome back to us, Longarm."

"So, you think everything's okay?" Scattorshot asked nervously. "I mean, things have been a little too quiet lately."

"You need to lighten up, Scattorshot," Sideswipe told his comrade. "If something was going to happen, we'd know about it."

"Maybe I need to lighten up," Scattorshot called back, "and maybe you need to listen to your elders a little more. Something's happening, Sideswipe, I can feel it."

As if on cue, Jetfire walked into the communications bay and ordered, "Scattorshot, I need to get in touch with everyone. Lord Straxus, the colonial governments, all outlying ships, I need lines to all of them. Sideswipe, when's the next optimal time for a communication line to Earth?"

"Not for another thirteen breems," Sideswipe answered.

"I want a message prepped," Jetfire ordered. "Tell him that activity is increasing, and that someone else knows what's going on. Priority One, Sideswipe."

"Yes sir," Sideswipe replied as he readied the message. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Jetfire replied. "Pray."

Jetfire exited, leaving the two communications officers alone with their thoughts. The two looked to one another before turning back to their consoles.

"I hate always being right," Scattorshot noted.

"While some of his memory banks have slight damage, Longarm's recovery is well underway," Red Alert reported at last. "Between that and the lack of Decepticon activity, I can't think of any better news."

"Neither can I," Optimus Prime noted as he looked out onto the landscape.

"Something bothering you?" Red asked.

"We're walking dangerous ground, Red," Optimus noted. "We were lucky with Longarm; how long until something worse happens?"

Red Alert remained silent for a moment before he replied, "I try my best not to think of it, Optimus. I advise the same to you."

Red exited the room, leaving his commander alone with his thoughts. As Optimus considered recent events, something caught his attention in the distance; a small flash of light. Something was out there.

His optics narrowed; things just became a little more interesting. And not the kind of interesting that he liked.

The End