Author's Note: So I've been having fun playing Sid Meier's Civilization: Beyond Earth and wanted to write about space colonizing humans meeting Cybertronians, because we only see present-day humans interacting with the Transformers in well-known canon. Beyond Earth and its lore opens up a lot of possibilities that I want to explore and read about. Unfortunately, there isn't a lot of fics written on Beyond Earth, so this is my contribution to the archive. I hope you all enjoy my fanfic!

Chapter Summary: Swindle doesn't do much in this chapter aside from watching and being judgmental about the humans. This is mostly us getting introduced to a few of the Beyond Earth cast.

The last thing Swindle expected to find in this sector of the galaxy was actual sapient life.

He wasn't concerned of the potential harm they would pose on him, if any considering their diminutive size; they barely came up to his knees, and primitive technology. He was more bewildered by the fact that in all his stellar cycles of visiting this planet, there was never indication of intelligent life becoming a possibility. Granted that the native lifeforms did exhibit something that Swindle would, begrudgingly, admit as something that didn't have its processor just set on multiplying.

He had a first-servo experience of how the lifeforms on the planet behaved, and how they barely tolerated his presence. Everything was fine as long as you didn't go out your way to bother them, which Swindle certainly wasn't going to do. What would be the point? If they didn't have so much as a linguistic syntax, then they certainly didn't have a mode of currency. Now driving through one of their nests was a different matter.

It was one nest, for AllSpark's sake, and it blended too well with the surrounding landscape. How was he supposed to know they were housing eggs when he ran his vehicle mode right over it? Honestly, the native lifeforms of the planet overreacted a tad bit over a few broken eggs when everything that squawked, chittered, flew, and stomped came at him with a vengeance.

It was like the entire planet was out for his spark as the creatures pelted him with unspeakable green fluids and nipped at his skidplate while he fled. They only stopped when a brute of theirs launched his frame into the nearby ocean. After that harrowing experience Swindle decided to keep his operations isolated in a cave to minimize contact.

Despite the lack of welcome, the intergalactic arms dealer frequented this planet because it served as his secret hideout when deals went bad or the Autobots had picked up his trail. It also didn't hurt that he stored some of his wares here. Sure he had his personal storage dimension, but there was an old Decepticon saying of not storing all your ammo in one warehouse.

Additionally, Autobot territory ran around the sector, which made getting here extremely difficult without triggering an intergalactic incident. Someone like him could traverse undetected through Autobot space, but that's because he made it his business to memorize patrol routes and blind spots to ensure his shipments didn't fall into the servos of those uptight mechs. He also had no fear of the Autobots actually coming to this planet since they forbade anyone to land on planets with a high presence of organic life.

Now while other places, like Quintessa to name a few, provided much better services to a Cybertronian like him (such as all the oil he could drink), planets untouched by sapient life had their charms. Especially when Quintesson hospitality can go so far. Swindle certainly didn't want to be on the other end of Quintesson trade, which often than not involved enslavement. This planet served as his secret getaway.

Well, he couldn't call it a secret anymore thanks to the non-native lifeforms. He only assumed that based on how out of place they appeared on the planet as they mapped out every klik of its surface. Thankfully his little cave of operations hadn't been discovered by the aliens, both native and non. That didn't mean the non-native organics wouldn't eventually find this place and capitalize on his stash.

He saw how they purposefully scoured the planet, salvaging resources from cylindrical pods that were scattered all over the world. If Swindle didn't know better, he would hazard a guess to say they were a colony. Which probably meant that their home planet wasn't far away. That would, unfortunately, put them close to Autobot territory.

That is if Autobots even cared to make contact with a new species in the galaxy. They hadn't done much, if anything, in galactic affairs for nearly 300 million years. Swindle personally believed it was because the Autobot Commonwealth was still sore after getting in a little scuffle with the Quintesson Pan Galactic Co-Prosperity Sphere. Then top that off with a civil war following shortly after.

A new spacefaring species did mean involving the Galactic Council and their community, but Swindle was more than happy to keep this new species in the dark. There was no need to scare the primitives, and he certainly didn't want to spoil a profitable opportunity. A species that was in its infancy of space colonization was perfect to dazzle with something low-tech while he gave himself a hefty earning without revealing much.

Sure it sounded like he was scamming the poor things, who were doing their hardest to survive in an extraterrestrial world, but they'll be happy getting their servos on something new regardless of its quality and function.

First, like every experienced businessbot, he needed to assess his clients before making a move. Luckily his cave gave a strategic view of one of their cities and he was in no hurry to leave. As long as he wasn't burning credits, Swindle had all the time in the universe.

)))((((()))))(((

Of all the things Hutama enjoyed before the Seeding; a good, cold tinny during a mild night at Bali was what he missed the most. Regrettably, those comforts were far behind them. Light years away to be precise, and probably several meters underwater considering the lasting magnitude the Great Mistake would have on Earth.

Now instead of enjoying a nice cup of lintong coffee from Sumatra, Hutama and those who came on the expedition were on a planet that, to put it quite mildly, was alien in all regards of human imagination.

Everything from the ground to the air felt exotic in a way that human language, for its complexity and rich development across many millenniums, found itself speechless at the profound environment the colonists set foot on. There were no words, only emotions that conveyed both the wonder and terror the humans experienced. Some were eager to explore and document every dimension of the planet, and others bemoaned all that they had left.

Hutama was more intrigued at the possible ways of chitin being a fashionable wardrobe choice since nothing on this planet resembled either fur or silk.

The people needed materials to protect themselves from the elements, and multipolymer fibers weren't growing on the trees of this planet. Adding to that ever growing to-do list was establishing a sustainable supply of food and producing enough fresh water to keep them from dying of thirst (no consensus from the science bloc on whether or not the water here was potable through basic filtration, so colony water it was lest they all get infected with a brain-eating amoeba).

There was so much that needed to be accomplished that the Polystralian began to wonder if his supporters back on Earth were too zealous in their approval of him. It wasn't like he himself made points to the contrary concerning his competency to leading an expedition, even on his own Internet channel for God's sake!

Speaking of which, he should resume "Question, Minister" once the colony could stand on its own. It was bad enough that the populace was scared witless at everything that went bump in the alien night, but added with fact that they were truly disconnected from the Internet was rubbing salt into the wound.

It would do the colony good to see their illustrious leader flash a genuine smile (none of that politician crap) while he juggled informality with serious discussion topics. All of which were neatly sandwiched by his lighthearted sarcasm and liberal use of flashy production.

The crowd did love good pyrokinetics. And federal transparency. He couldn't forget that part.

For now, Hutama was in his office with eyes focused on his transparent computer monitor. His eyes oscillated from one side to the other as he reviewed the details of a trade agreement. The words of the document were projected on the crystalline body of the monitor, their light glowing sharply as letters and figures embedded their forms on the screen.

The agreement appeared sound, but the Polystralian wanted to inspect everything with great scrutiny. Especially when their neighbor and trading partner was the American Reclamation Corporation, headed by one resourceful and ambitious hardliner by the name of Suzanne Marjorie Fielding.

Correction, CEO Fielding, as she liked to be addressed.

If there was one thing Hutama was grateful for since planetfall, it was that trade, no matter how far flung they were in the cosmos, was destined to flourish as long as there was someone willing to exchange goods for a tidy profit.

It was one consistent trait of humanity he was quite intimate with.

Seeing nothing else out of the ordinary, Hutama decided to contact Suzanne to make their agreement solid. If everything went well and both parties agreed to hold their end of the bargain, then everyone would benefit from the cooperation.

One press of a button on his keyboard and his comlink went to hail the CEO. It took a few seconds before the hail was picked up and a dark bronze-skinned woman appeared on the monitor.

"Hola, this is CEO Fielding of the Ameri- oh, Hutama, I was just about to contact you," the woman started when she noticed who it was. "I assume you're satisfied with the details of our trade agreement?"

"Satisfied and ready to go, sahabat," Hutama said, flashing a cheerful smile at Fielding.

He often got the impression that the woman erected walls while in his presence, and he could have sworn one of her temples twitched whenever he was being his informal self. There was something distinctly oaken about Suzanne's mannerism, which Hutama blamed on her unyielding formality.

This placed a noticeable distance between them, which Hutama was struggling to hurdle across. He wanted to be on hospitable standing with the CEO, but so far it felt like he was barely making a break.

"That's good to hear," Fielding spoke evenly as she folded her hands. She returned the smile, but the expression never reached her eyes. "I'll have your Trade Convoys loaded once they arrive with the merchandise as per our agreement."

Spoken in true business dress and code.

"Glad to hear that, Suzanne," Hutama said, purposefully ignoring her title. It felt obsolescent seeing that they were colonists out in the new frontier taming the wild unknown. Again, he swore one of her temples twitched, but that smile of hers never faltered. "Well you have a good day, sahabat."

Suzanne gave the Polystralian a curt nod before the comlink was cut from her end.

Absent of company, Hutama allowed himself a sigh and placed a hand over his eyes. He needed to find a way to gain Suzanne's respect and trust. It was fortunate she agreed to work with his colony, but Hutama was certain it wouldn't last.

Trade only prospered if your client had the belief that there was the possibility of them benefiting if no other methods could achieve a better result. Hutama did his homework on Suzanne and looked into her business practices. She was not one to take prisoners if she reasoned they only served to be extra baggage, and Hutama certainly didn't want to find out what her shrewd mind would come up if she felt his colony was nothing but an eyesore.

Having two people adept in economics sharing a planet was a pressure cooker waiting to explode. Though the two of them were presently on cordial terms, Hutama predicted things might start looking like a vicious chess game if he didn't win the support of ARC's CEO. Suzanne would no doubt slip in subtle loopholes to increase her benefits, which would force him to retaliate for the sake of his colony's welfare.

He wasn't above getting his hands into the economic dirt. It was something he was well-versed in and prepared to do. That was how business worked; outperform the competition and be smart about when to stick out that leg to trip them over. Hutama, however, much preferred the sustainable route of making friends you can count on for being there when you're ready to sell.

If only he had some leverage that appealed to Suzanne.

Running a hand through his gunmetal grey hair, the Polystralian decided he was holed up in his office long enough. A visit to the microbiology department sounded nice. Hopefully they found a viable specimen of yeast on this world for his future brewery. One that could make a decent batch and not kill a human with just a whiff, or turn them into mindless zombies. The last two options would definitely ruin his promise of setting up a brewery in the colony.

Beer good, death by mycotoxin bad.

Hutama chuckled to himself and shook his head as he left his office, still puzzled as to how he was elected to lead the Seeding despite all attempts to throw his eligibility out the window.

Fame certainly had a way of coming around to bite back.

"There is a historical idiom which states, 'What you don't know can't hurt you.' It does not apply to fungi."
- Hutama, We are All Destined to Prosper

Glossary
Sahabat (Indonesian/Malay): (close) friend, friend (person whose company one enjoys)

Tinny (Australian slang): can of beer