The Decepticon ship raced silently in the darkness of space. Its occupants did not feel the peace of their surroundings. They knew that somewhere behind them was the might of the last Autobot guardian tracking their every move. Long Haul piloted the ship steadily with some assistance from co-pilot Bonecrusher. The other four were conversing in the middle of the bridge. Scrapper, Hook, and Mixmaster were debating strategy as Scavenger watched them.

"Maybe he will just give up, you know?" suggested Scrapper, not very confidently.

"Are you crazy? Have you forgotten Hightower, Hauler, Dirt Boss, and Gravedigger? Omega Supreme sure didn't," answered Hook.

"Actually Hauler betrayed us and joined the Autobots before then," added Mixmaster.

"Then we have to lose him somewhere," answered Scrapper. He looked at a star chart on the panel next to him. "And we are going to need energon sooner or later."

"Yes, we are," agreed Hook.

"Hook? Did you say Omega killed the other Constructicons? I thought the battle reports said they were caught in an energon accident," asked Scavenger.

"Our brothers were experts at handling energon in the depots. You don't think it just exploded, do you?" answered Hook.

"The Rayzor Nebula is up ahead. Long Haul! Change course and head into the nebula. I hope that cosmic gas will be enough to hide our engine emissions. If it doesn't then we better look for a planet where we can fight it out with Omega," ordered Scrapper.

"Tote that load, fly that ship," muttered Long Haul. "Nebula approaching."

"Good, now when you start detecting enough particle hits, cut the engine and we'll try to become a hole in the cosmos," said Hook.

"Detect those particles, cut that engine," muttered Long Haul. "We're coasting, now."

Tracks, Skids, and Smokescreen sat inside Omega's rocket mode watching the navigation screen. None of them could actually fly Omega anywhere. The big guy had to do that himself. They could note course corrections however.

Smokescreen turned to Tracks. "I think he lost them," he whispered.

"Maybe that's for the best," whispered Tracks. Tracks had had second thoughts about this venture from about the time that Omega left Cybertron's gravitational influence. He felt oddly alone with nothing but space and the Rayzor Nebula twinkling in the distance.

"Constructicons: lost. Omega: frustrated. Fuel: needed," boomed the guardian's voice within the rocket.

"Don't look at me, I'm no space jockey," answered Tracks.

"Neither am I, but I served some time in the archives of Iacon on guard duty. I picked up a little history. We Cybertronians used to have a great network of colonies anchored by four prominent ones. We might be able to find energon at one of those sites. Of those colonies it looks like only Fisitron is within range of Omega's fuel reserves. I can only hope the natives are friendly," said Smokescreen.

"Why shouldn't they be? You said they were Autobots, right?" asked Tracks.

"No, I said Cybertronians like before the Great Wars which divided Autobot and Decepticon," muttered Smokescreen.

"Well, I think that we will get along fine. Particularly if they aren't Decepticons. I'll just practice my universal greeting," answered Tracks.

"Omega: agreed. Fisitron: selected. Crash landing: likely," answered Omega Supreme as he pulled out of his pursuit and headed toward the old Cybertronian colony world.

Long Haul tapped the monitor and tapped again. He then leaned back in his chair.

Bonecrusher looked at him carefully, "What is it, Long Haul?"

"We lost him! Oh by the Pit, we lost him," sighed Long Haul.

"Excellent work, Long Haul. Now we need to get out of this Nebula and figure out our next move," answered Scrapper.

"Why not high tail it back to Cybertron?" asked Hook.

"Not enough fuel, I'm afraid," answered Mixmaster.

"So what's around this Nebula that we can go to?" asked Hook.

"The charts say that there is a planet called Monacus nearby. According to the data it is a bit of a hole in the wall. There is an energon depot there, though," answered Mixmaster.

"Any Decepticon presence?" asked Scrapper.

"None to speak of out here. When the Autobots launched their refugee shuttles, a small force of Decepticons was sent out to intercept them in space. Last reports indicated those few had become pirates instead. Their whereabouts are unknown, but they are not reportedly on Monacus. No, I think we're on our own," said Mixmaster.

"That's okay with me, Devastator can deal with anything," responded Scavenger.

"Long Haul, to Monacus!" ordered Scrapper.

"Turn that ship here, fly that way there. It never ends," muttered Long Haul.

From space, Fisitron looked like a forboding planet. It's primary attribute was the far reaching steppe, an indicator that the planet was only close enough to its star to support a limited amount of organic life. Parts of the planet were discolored, marking the settlements of Cybertronian colonists. Omega Supreme expended the last of his energy and prepared to land on the planet.

The crash jostled Omega, who now had no power to move. Tracks, Smokescreen, and Skids all tumbled out of the rocket where they found natives waiting. Still battered from the crash, the three Autobots did not really get a good look at their benefactors. Smokescreen watched as he saw a blow unleashed to Skids' head, knocking him out. A similar blow was being delivered to Tracks. That was enough for Smokescreen, he transformed and formed a cloud out of the dust and disappeared. Tracks barely saw him leave as he lost consciousness. Coward, he thought as it went black.

Tracks came to. He found his missiles unloaded and his arms and legs bound. Skids was in a similar predicament, but on the other side of a lab. The lab was fairly nondescript, just a lot of screens and readouts. A spark monitor was clearly visible near both himself and Skids, tracking their life signs. He also saw his captor, who had decidedly nice legs and a curved torso. There were not many female bots, but Tracks could tell this one was one of them.

"You, whoever you are. I demand that you set me free immediately," ordered Tracks.

"And why is that? Because you are a man? Nice try, but you men bots are all the same mold," responded his captor.

"No, I'm not. I was given the ability to fly in vehicle mode. I am not the same," snorted Tracks.

"Currently you share the Infiltrator design with any number of male Cybertronians, the fact you claim to fly is irrelevant," answered his captor in a sweetly tinged voice of authority.

"Ah, whatever! Now explain to me why you have taken two Autobots prisoner with no warning or greeting or anything," said Tracks.

She turned to face him finally and he saw her face. Her color was white with pink detailing in places, including an emergency symbol that Tracks did not recognize. But what caught him completely off guard was her Cyclops head with one blinking pink eye. She was terrifying.

"Because male Cybertronians are a plague carrier, a virus that is destroying our race. Yet science demands that we know why this is. For this reason we will study you and your rather disturbingly attractive companion to find the cause. You will provide your CNA and we will find and destroy the male gene, to cure our race," answered the white scientist.

"Male virus! I hardly believe our current situation shows me as the barbarian here. You bear an Autobot symbol on your chest, but you are the spitting image of the Decepticon scientist Shockwave. Keep in find which of us is engaging in unlawful detainment and possible torture," said Tracks.

"Ah, just so with you men. My model is a combination of the scientist torso and seeker scientist legs. Shockwave was an inferior scientist, and I have no doubt it was because he was a man," answered the scientist.

"Overblast! Has the prisoner given up information on his colleague yet?" came a sweet authoritarian voice. Tracks watched as a sleek burgundy female Autobot entered the room with fusion cannon in tow.

"No, Highwire, he has proven to be stubborn as all men are. I will attempt other means," answered Overblast.

"Do be careful with them, this is one is hideous, but the one over there is gorgeous. We would not want to damage him too much," Highwire spun a small propeller on her arm while looking approvingly at Skids.

"You have not asked me anything yet! How can you be moving on to other means?" asked Tracks.

"Is he always this irritating?" asked Highwire.

"It seems logical. However, I will accede to this request this once. Where are your other comrades?" asked Overblast.

"You have Skids over there," said Tracks.

"Liar. We also have your ship of guardian design," answered Overblast. Skids was a nice name, she thought.

"You have Omega?" asked Tracks, concerned.

"Your concern betrays you. Were you planning to use the guardian to conquer us?" asked Overblast.

"Men are incapable of such plans," added Highwire. "His true motives are still cloudy. Proceed with the cortical psychic patch."

"As you command," agreed Overblast. Tracks felt the lights go out as he drifted into stasis. He never felt the plug implanted in his back.

Smokescreen transformed into robot form. His escape had carried him away from Omega and into a large organic tree. He had watched the female Autobots carry off Omega Supreme. Now he felt comfortable following from a distance. He did not trust the new planet natives despite their apparent symbols. He stalked them until he caught sight of the settlement. It was no Iacon, but it was bustling with activity.