I kicked the shuttle door out of my way. "Computer, what the in the Pit are we doing on Unicron's slagging head?"

"Designation 'Unicron' . . . not recognized."

"I'll give you a hint: it's a slaggin' huge HEAD and we're on it."

The computer whirred briefly. "Shuttle occupant requested open area with . . . minimum risk of casualties for . . . landing procedure. Current location is . . ."

"Forget it, you worthless scrapheap. The shuttle--what condition is it in?"

"Extensive repairs necessary for . . . flight capabilities. Beginning diagnostic sequence. Thruster A1 . . . offline. Thruster B1 . . . offline. Thruster C1 . . . offl--"

"Are any of your thrusters online?"

The computer paused. "Negative."

I sat down and began working on my damaged optic. "Then skip 'em. What else?"

"Forward particle generators . . . offline. Aft particle generators . . . offline. Emergency power generator . . . offline. Environmental controls . . . offline. Graphical interface . . . offline. Landing lights . . . off--"

"Stop." I tilted my head as I fingered the delicate retinal circuitry. "I don't need to hear this. Just tell me what's still operational on this flying pile of scrap."

The computer remained silent for several cycles before responding. "Navigational computer . . . online."

"And?" As I maneuvered two strands of wire together, my left optic flickered to life.

"Listing . . . complete."

My hand jerked involuntarily and the optic died again. "You are the only operational piece of equipment on the whole slagging shuttle?"

"Analysis . . . correct."

"As the Maximals say . . . that's just prime," I said sourly, tossing a frayed piece of wire to the ground.

"Designation 'Maximals' . . . not recog--"

"If you don't shut up the shuttle isn't going to have any functional components," I growled, hefting a gun. "I'll see what I can salvage."

Not much could be saved . . . just a lot of useless hardware, mostly crushed paneling, cables, and wires. I didn't think they'd help much since the shuttle was still missing a few essentials--large portions of the walls and floor, for example.

I considered my options. Self-propelled flight? I wasn't equipped with thrusters or jumpjets so even if I could somehow break the gravitational pull, I wouldn't be able to steer towards Cybertron.

But . . . the D ecepticons had been able to fly.

I grabbed the emergency power cells I'd brought on board, stored them in my chest compartment, and coiled a thick fistful of cables before I began trudging across the vast emptiness of Unicron's helmet. How many millions of years had passed since the war against the giant? How long could that famous die-cast construction last?

"Time to find out," I muttered.

I headed for his eyes. Anything on the surface would've decayed long ago, if it wasn't stolen by opportunists . . . like me. But if something had ended up inside the head . . .

I paused in front of the gaping eyehole. Inside, darkness . . . and a way to escape, if I was lucky.

If.

I knotted the cables around some ancient hydraulics and began my descent. It wasn't as bad as I'd thought . . . when I was about fifty feet down I found a platform to the side of the pit. Swinging onto it, I transformed to beast mode and adjusted my optics to the dimness. Now I saw openings off to the side . . . some shuttling massive cables out of sight and some which had been roughly blasted through the thick metal walls. I chose a jagged puncture surrounded by char marks. Someone had gone this way before me. Maybe they had left something behind. Like some jump jets. Or an operational shuttle.

Hey, a bot can wish.

I crawled through the veins of the dead monster. And crawled. And crawled. And crawled some more. I lost track of time and distance, but twice I had to stop to re-energize. Two power cells left. I tried not to think of what would happen if I ran out of energy down there. I kept moving, kept searching . . .

I felt a little desperate by the time I had to use the third power cell. Shutting down all my external sensors until I had only basic awareness of feeling and light, I blindly pushed through the darkness and hoped I wouldn't unknowingly crawl right by something useful.

My power reserves low and dropping steadily when I sensed the light. I transformed, staggering a little as my systems came online. Above me, a pale shaft of red light stabbed through a grid of grillwork. The floor was uneven, with ancient metallic forms rising from the shadows. I scaled one to get a better look around, disturbing layer upon layer of grease and rust.

It wasn't until I turned around that I noticed a familiar red symbol half uncovered by my tracks.

Kneeling, I scraped away the grime until the battered insignia was fully visible, with its angled rectangles forming a face. In a weird way, it reminded me of the Maximal symbol . . . or vice versa. I took a few steps back, adjusting my optics again. A robot. A huge yellow robot, beyond huge, crumpled on the ground with my footprints filing up his arm. Judging from the huge tire rims on its shoulders, it must have turned into some kind of transport vehicle.

From my perch on the Autobot's shoulder, I could see more--a battered chassis on one side and a whole pile of bodies on the other. Maybe some jets? I jumped down, pulled a laser scalpel from my chest compartment, and headed for the tangle of deactivated robots to find out.

Several mega-cycles later, I aimed a kick at the last of the behemoths. "Slag!" Eroding wires lay tangled around me, trailing out of the legs and feet of the dead robots, draped over the not-quite-rectangular panels of metal I had torn from the carcasses. All for nothing. The chassis had survived pretty well considering their age, but their circuitry and internal hardware was shot to slag, useless after millions of years of neglect. Empty shells. No escape that way.

I twirled one of my guns, considering. I had hacked through the cast-iron hide of every 'bot I could find, but maybe there were more nearby. Outside, maybe. More bodies to pick over.

I never liked scavengers, but what can you do?

Returning to the Autobot I had first scaled, I crept onto his shoulder joint again, glancing at the blazing red sun through the hole above me. It's pretty common for Cybertron to get pulled into the orbit of a nearby star, but sooner or later the gravity of Unicron's head pulls us away by acting as a counterweight or . . . something. I never paid much attention to the mechanics of it.

The red light from this particular star glared off the torso of the 'bot, highlighting a hole in his chest where a windshield had once been. As I cast around for the easiest path up to the surface, I happened to glance at the chest wound . . . and then paused to look again. Something was down there, something shiny and . . . blue? What in the Pit?

I jumped down to take a closer look, landing on a layer of thin, fragged metal. I drew in a hissed intake of air as my optic confirmed it; gleaming blue and silver, a robot hung tangled and suspended in the frayed circuits.

A robot with wings sweeping back from his arms and a cockpit below his torso.

A jet.