Sky Lynx
He had been to Alaxuu several times in the last few million years, and like every previous trip, he was absolutely disgusted by the layers of pollution covering the planet. In fact, it seemed almost as though there was more now than the last time he had flown here as Quintesson transport and security. As he cut through the clouds, both natural and the spewed industrial waste creating a layer of filth in the atmosphere, he noted far more activity on the ground than he'd been expecting. Throngs of Sharkticons in their rarely used humanoid forms were hauling a multitude of equipment, supplies and various other objects toward large transports, while others were dismantling factories and structures.
"They're cleaning house." The orange Landmine muttered from the co-pilot seat within Sky Lynx's upper shuttle mode.
"They know we're coming for them, trying to tie up loose ends." Guardian Prime replied as he stood up from the pilot's chair just to the left of Landmine and headed out of the cockpit toward the back but paused and twisted to look back at the terminal. "Sky Lynx have fun with their air defenses and keep any of those transports from leaving. You get bonus points for any carpet bombing of massed Sharkticons." The Cybertronian leader then continued back toward the rest of his troops and could be heard calling out to them. "Cybertrons, time to hit the ground!" Thirty seconds later Prime and his twelve hand-picked strike troops were barreling out of his lower transport section toward the gray, filthy and busy ground below.
Once all were clear of his lower drop bay, Sky Lynx cut left toward a spaceport where one of the transports was initiating lift-off. Anti-aircraft fire lanced up to take him down or at least dissuade him from continuing toward the vulnerable transports, but the few rounds that hit were easily absorbed by his thick and spark-energy-saturated armor, and he continued on, launching missiles into the base of the transport, ending its flight before it made it a few feet off the ground. The base of the massive transport erupted in a series of minor explosions that followed those of the missiles that had just impacted its base, forcing it to topple over onto the launchpad of the next transport making its rushed pre-launch preparations. Dozens of Alicons and throngs of Sharkticons rushed through the spaceport in panic as Sky Lynx continued his attack and the transports continued collapsing around and sometimes upon them.
A sense of guilty pleasure came over Sky Lynx at the destruction and fear he was instilling in the loyal minions of the Quintessons, but that feeling immediately faded as he noticed dozens of orange colored flesh creatures averaging roughly eight feet in height fleeing away from the carnage as well; creatures Sky Lynx remembered as the native Alaxuuans. "Prime, be advised that there are indigenous lifeforms mixed in with the enemy. I remember them as subjugated labor, not willing collaborators. I'll keep transports from lifting off but going to limit the ground-targeted assaults and I will not be doing any carpet bombing."
There was a long pause before a reply came, one yelled over the sounds of battle taking place on the ground around Guardian Prime. "Your apprehension is noted, and it does you credit Sky Lynx, but unfortunately the good of the mission outweighs the safety of lower lifeforms."
"But Prime, these are intelligent, sentient lifeforms." Sky Lynx replied with clarification. "The Alaxuuans are essentially slaves caught in the middle of this."
"Noted, but they are lower lifeforms none the less." Prime fired back. "Cybertronians first. We are not without compassion, and by no means should you target them, but you are ordered to continue your attack unaltered due to their presence. Is that understood?"
Sky Lynx was silent as he contemplated his orders for several moments, but finally replied. "As you command, Prime." The joined shuttle and ground transport lowered to a few dozen feet from the ground and separated, the shuttle continuing back up into the sky to recommence its attack from above while the ground transport barreled through the Alicon, Sharkticon and unfortunate Alaxuuans to wreak havoc from ground level. Sky Lynx, his attention easily diverted between both forms, did what he could to subdue his hesitation and revulsion at inflicting death and suffering upon those already downtrodden, but he had a duty, and he would not waver from that. Guardian Prime had rescued him from the clutches of the Quintessons; the realization that his being Cybertronian was likely the only reason he had been given freedom instead of a far more convenient death was not sitting well with him, but made Guardian Prime's gift of freedom no less.
The battle raged for over an hour before the massive Cybertronian was contacted again by his Prime. "Sky Lynx be advised that we have located and captured the Alaxuuan Quintesson Governor, Brinn. Converge on my position for immediate extraction, and contact Cybertron. Instruct Omega Supreme to connect with us at the coordinates I'm sending now, his retrofitting with a wormhole generator should be complete by now."
"On my way Prime." Sky Lynx replied as he received and analyzed the coordinates Guardian Prime was sending him. "Prime, these coordinates are for Quintessa. Even with Omega Supreme, invading Quintessa is far too ambitious for us at this time."
"It's not an invasion, Sky Lynx," Prime's voice came back, "it's an extraction. In, rescue, out. Judge Brinn has provided us with the exact location on Quintessa and what resistance we're likely to face, but it's a narrow window, and one likely to start closing as word of this latest attack gets back to the squid home world."
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Sparkplug
It was miserably hot, but damn, what a view. The mountains in the distance made a gorgeous backdrop against the Nevada desert and this never-ending road. Well, not quite never-ending, the airbase and Groom Lake were finally coming into view. Sparkplug continued flooring the military jeep onward, it serving as the lead to a ten-vehicle convoy of C.I.A. operatives, Special Forces back up, and the three Secret Service Agents in the lead jeep, Sparkplug with Agents Michael Fowler and Bernice Carlo, both of whom were engaged in an odd conversation given what they were all heading into. "Look, I'm a good husband, I personally raise the seat when I use it, and lower it when I'm done." The thirty-something African American man in the back seat explained over the sound of the engine to the thirty-something Hispanic woman in the passenger seat. "But what I'm saying is that were I a woman, were it me that had to sit down every time I had business to do, I think I'd prefer the default set to up."
"And have to put it down every time you use it, and put it up when you're done?" Bernice shot back.
"I do the opposite right now, and it's damn near effortless." Fowler answered. "Can't imagine a reverse being any more work."
"So, it's effortless, yet you want to relieve yourselves of that miniscule bit of effort and pile it on the mountain of stuff women are expected to do, is that it?" Bernice growled.
"Look, I'm recommending this change for the benefit of women." Fowler reiterated. "I'm fine keeping with the status quo, but if I were one of you, I'd be seeking this change."
"And why is that?"
"Because every toilet that is shared between men and women winds up having piss on the seat." Fowler chuckled and shrugged as he replied. "Some venues are worse than others, but as a man raised with brothers and now the father of two sons,"
"And Billy isn't even using the toilet yet." Sparkplug interrupted with a chuckle.
"Yes, but even without his contributing to the problem yet, there are still frequently drips on the seat." Fowler continued. "Every seat will eventually wind up with piss on it."
"That's because men are too lazy to lift when they go." Bernice spat back. "I don't see why women should be punished for that."
"It's not about punishment, or justice, or any of that, it's just a fact of life that at some point some jackass is going to leave the seat down and fire away. And if it's a public restroom, the odds go up as even those that technically aren't jackasses are still going to be reluctant to touch the seat to raise it."
"So, women should be expected to raise it?" The agitated Bernice growled back.
"Only after they're done, they need to lower it at first. And if it's up prior to a man walking in to urinate, then there's no reason for there to be pee on it." Michael explained through chuckles.
"Ehhh, based on some of the bars I frequent, that may not be true." Sparkplug added with a light laugh.
"Witwicky, you're disgusting, and even if it's up and it doesn't have fresh piss on it, it's still dirty and you're suggesting women touch it with their hands." Bernice grumbled, but was slowly losing her faux anger.
"You mean the hands you'll be washing forty seconds later?" Michael asked.
"They're women, Fowler." Sparkplug interjected.
"Oh, right, I stand corrected." Fowler chuckled. "You mean the hands you'll be washing six minutes, twenty-three seconds later?"
"Fuck you both." Bernice replied, trying unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.
"I'd be more worried about my piss-contaminated ass that I won't be washing until tomorrow morning's shower." Sparkplug shot in with a grin.
"I take my showers at night." Agent Carlo corrected, a look of seriousness coming over her face and countering the playful discussion, a look related to the besieged military base in the distance but getting rapidly closer.
"Your odd bathing habits make my point no less valid." Fowler replied, nervousness at the situation they were approaching bleeding into his voice as well.
"Yeah, time to get into character." Sparkplug replied as he reached for the mouthpiece of the radio mounted on the jeep's dashboard. "Sir, we're coming upon the base. Looks like it's already been infiltrated. Got six F-5's zipping around overhead, multiple colorations at play. One black with purple highlights, one light gray with blue and red highlights, and four in varying shades of blue and purple." Sparkplug released the button for transmitting.
"And you're sure this isn't the Ruskies?" Agent Fowler asked. "Yeah, they're F-5's, but Ruskies having them is slightly less insane than those planes being giant robots."
"Not a chance, look how closely to each other they're flying." Agent Carlo replied, drawing her sidearm and verifying it was loaded. "The Blue Angels couldn't pull that off without at least a couple collisions."
"You've both read the dossier I prepared, right?" Sparkplug grumbled. "Believe me, these things are real, they've been around a very long time, but they've never attacked a military base before…well, not to this extent."
"Yeah, we know about Patrick Air Force Base." Fowler replied as he too prepared his firearm.
"Anyway, they're real, they transform, they can expand or condense in size if needed. Trust me, I play chess with one of them on a regular basis." Sparkplug replied before nodding straight ahead and raising the transmitter back to his mouth and pressing the speak button as an unbelievable sight was taking place before them in the distance. "Be advised, the white jet, black jet and one of the blue jets have transformed to robot modes and landed before the base. Looks like they're headed into one of the hangars."
"And you be advised we've already received confirmation that we're dealing with Cybertronians!" The voice on the other end squawked back. "Or something very similar. We've made contact with Major Gordon within the Ranch, robots have been walking freely through the base and hangars for hours scavenging for whatever they're after, the Major estimates that in excess of one hundred soldiers have already been killed in a futile attempt to defend the base."
Fowler reached forward and pulled a second of the three transmitters. "They after the A-12's or any other aircraft?" Fowler asked.
"Does not appear so." The voice replied. "Seems they're drawn toward some of the reinforced laboratories and adjacent warehouses."
"They want the energy ore samples we have." Sparkplug replied knowingly.
"That's our assumption at this time." The voice replied.
Carlo grabbed the last handset and chimed in. "Our weapons are going to be useless against these things. I doubt the heavy guns in the trucks behind us will do more than put minor dents either."
"Your orders are to engage and delay them as best you can. Aircraft with weaponry modified per the asset's specifications are being scrambled as we speak." The voice instructed and reassured.
"We flew from D.C. to Nellis and drove here, and those jets still haven't been scrambled?" Sparkplug grumbled disbelievingly.
"It's the weaponry." The voice replied. "Affixing them to our fighters has proven difficult. We're currently working on it, proceed with your orders and know that we'll get you your support as quickly as we can."
"Understood." Sparkplug replied agitatedly before letting the handset drop. "Personnel are easier to replace than jets, so we're on our own. If we survive the day, first round is on me."
"I know how cheap you are, Witwicky," Fowler chuckled mirthlessly, "you'd only make that offer if you knew we didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of surviving this."
"Oorah, Fowler, oooooorah!" Witwicky replied laconically.
"As if dying wasn't bad enough, I'm going to be killed with a couple of jarheads." Bernice grumbled with a laugh. The laugh immediately died as something caught her eye. "Shit, they see us." The three of them looked in horror through their windshield as a lavender F-5 started toward them and initiated what was undoubtedly a strafing run.
"Hang on, going to have to drive like a maniac." Sparkplug warned as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, but just as he was about to jerk the wheel, one of the wings of the F-5 exploded, sending the jet careening off to the side and crashing into the sand and rock a mile and a half from the road. "What the hell was that?" Sparkplug yelled as he and his companions looked to the crashed aircraft expecting it to explode but watched as it began shifting in shape. Their eyes were only on it for a moment before turning them back to the skies to see if they could determine what had downed the light-purple F-5. "There!" Sparkplug called out as he pointed up to the northwestern sky where what appeared to be an alien shuttle craft was disengaging some sort of camouflage that had allowed it to blend into the sky, but was now revealing its bronze-like metal coloration as it sped toward the base that the jeep and following convoy were quickly approaching as well.
"Chesse n' rice, what kind of aircraft are we testing out here?" Fowler asked in disbelief as he stared at the newly revealed ship.
"Could that be our aerial back up?" Carlo asked in equal awe.
"Negative." Sparkplug replied as he recognized a symbol on the side of the ship as it engaged the remaining two fliers in combat. "See that face etched on the hull?" He noted Carlo's nod in his periphery. "It's a religious symbol on Cybertron. Part of a polytheistic southern faith."
"How is it that you're best buds with so many alien robots?" Fowler asked, his gaze still on the aerial battle where the ordinance of the F-5's seemed to have no impact against the hull of what was likely a shuttle of sorts based on what they knew of the size of typical Cybertonians. A shot from the shuttle connected with a muted blue, almost gray jet, knocking it to the ground in a fiery wreck. The remaining jet retreated to the ground, transformed and shrunk in size to a twenty-foot tall robot, and took cover from the side of the base before returning fire on the attacking shuttle.
"One friend, second friendly acquaintance that's likely regarded as an enemy now." Sparkplug spat out as he pulled the jeep to a stop near the building they had been speeding to get to. Fortunately, the giant robot was focused entirely on the shuttle as Sparkplug and the convoy behind him parked just a few dozen yards away from where the winged alien was hunkering down. "Fowler, the M-16's." Sparkplug quietly whispered to his comrade in the back seat, who then slid rifles to he and Carlo while taking one himself. "Works like the AR-15, magazines hold twenty rounds,"
"We know this shit Witwicky." Fowler quietly growled back as he and Carlo quietly exited the jeep. Sparkplug smiled and followed them. "Cripes, been a Captain for five minutes and thinks he's the only one who knows how to do anything." Sparkplug heard Fowler's whispered comment as they spread out to cover their pre-designated assignment areas.
Sparkplug was both excited and terrified as one of his pre-designated areas was the laboratory facility housing the energy ore samples, stalagmites found in the Atlantic off the coast of Florida during a search shortly after what they assumed to be the Manifest was witnessed taking off out of the water. Based on its description, Sparkplug was certain that it was what Alpha Trion called energon, but Alpha Trion was also certain that energon only formed on Cybertron. Whatever the case, they hadn't gotten around to bringing a nugget to the alien prisoner for verification, particularly because the energy density within the ore was such that it could easily be converted to an explosive.
Sparkplug slunk into the base and sprinted through the hallways toward his intended target. He had to exit the building, enter another, exit that one before finally arriving at the building housing the cluster of labs that were holding the ore. In the distance outside he could hear explosions and weapons' fire that he'd never heard before, which given that they were likely alien weapons, made perfect sense. He continued and rounded a corner down the hallway that his intel had informed him led to a warehouse holding the samples and saw the doorway at the end of the hallway was blown apart with human remains scattered all around it. The doorway was too small for Cybertronians so it wasn't a point of entry, likely just where escaping humans were running and was blown apart as the attacking aliens fired upon those humans.
Sparkplug quickly but cautiously edged to the gore-covered jagged open doorway and stared through the scattered storage racks, all scorched from whatever blast had hit earlier. There were a couple of reasonably intact torsos with heads attached, but he made a point of averting his gaze from faces. In the distance he heard the loud yelling of their assailants in their alien language. Alpha Trion had tried teaching him a few words and phrases, at least a few that flesh throat just was capable of saying but like with most foreign languages an average person casually approaches, he really didn't retain much of use. He recognized enough of the sounds and the flow to confirm that it was Cybertronian, but that was about as much as he could do with his limited expertise. As he got closer he could see the speakers, there were a total of six giant robots, three twenty-footers with wings up-slung on their back that had been the multicolored F-5's that had transformed and landed earlier, and three fifteen-footers, one with a blue torso, legs and a green chest plate, one with a blue torso, gray legs and a yellow chest plate, and one with a red torso, black lets and a black chest plate, otherwise the three looked almost as identical as the three jet-bots looked to each other.
It was two of the jet-bots that were apparently arguing with one another, the blue one seemed to be questioning the white one and the white one barked back agitatedly. The six of them seemed almost circled around almost all the energy ore that Sparkplug believed the government had collected and was storing here. He then saw four scientists pulling pallets of crates with a pulsing pink glow emerging through the wooden cracks, clearly more of the energy ore. The terrified humans rolled the pallets to the center of the giant robot circle, and all hesitantly looked up at the white giant. "Is this the last of it?" The white robot asked the question in English in a somewhat high, whiny voice.
"Ye…. yes." One of the men in lab coats replied. "Apart from some scrapes for study in some of the lab, each sample being less than a gram."
"Yeah, we can probably do without those." The white robot smiled and then looked to the three smaller robots and gave an order in their language, and order that prompted the smaller robots to start toward the humans, their hands outstretched ominously to grab them. Two of the humans screamed in panic, knowing their lives were coming to an end.
Suddenly a wall exploded on the far end of the warehouse and a moment later a red cab over engine semi-truck barreled through the cargo-filled racks and spun as it started to skid as it braked, but then transformed, rolling over and over in the process and coming to a stop on one knee, a huge black rifle…or cannon really clutched in his right fist and aimed at the head of the white winged robot. Sparkplug marveled at this new robot; the other six and Alpha Trion were all well beyond incredible, but he could see that this one, even in a knelt position, was something more. Probably a bit taller in stature, but his physique…a twenty-two-foot metal Jack LaLanne would pale in comparison. "*&%^$ #&&&*$# ^&*##$!" Sparkplug didn't comprehend a word, but the message was clear.
The white robot already had his hands raised before him before the sentence started, but as it finished, he smiled, replying in a conciliatory tone. "&$* #$% ^ %#." He then cast his gaze down toward the four terrified scientists. "You are all free to leave. I suggest doing it now." The scientists were frozen for a moment, but quickly came to their senses and ran toward the far end of the room to and intact door.
"Any other humans in the vicinity," the red truck robot called out in his deep voice as he rose to his full height, Sparkplug's estimate of twenty-two feet proving accurate, "leave now, take cover, do not try to oppose any metal beings! Your weapons are unfortunately insufficient against what you face today! If you are caught between groups of combating robots, know that the ones with the squared off red face emblems will not hurt you, the ones with the jagged, triangular purple faces initiated this assault and will harm you!"
"No, humans," the winged white robot called out, "it will be far more than just harm. These purple faces will in the end wipe your species, and every other inferior weakling, from existence. This I swear." An ominous clicking sound coming from the hand-cannon of the red robot silenced the white jet-bot. "%^ $ (^*! %$#$ # ^&*$%!" The red robot nodded his blue-helmeted head and lowered his blaster away from the white robot. No longer in the crosshairs, the white robot barked at the three fifteen-foot-tall robots. "*& # )^#^!"
With that the three robots turned and charged the large red robot, opening fire as they did so. The red robot dove down and to the side with exceptional speed, tucking, rolling, and coming up behind a large metal crate designed for hauling vehicles. The three robots merged to form a weird, box-like contraption mounted on a tripod, but a moment later a burst of energy blasted from it and obliterated the crate that the red robot was taking cover behind.
The red robot leapt into the air, flipping over twice as he did so and directed his hand-cannon at the combined robo-cannon. The blue and black jet-bots raised their arm-mounted rifles in a latent attempt to target him, but their shots missed and they could do nothing as the red bot fired and blasted the merged device back into three robots, who then transformed into three separate, nearly identical…hovering alien artillery cannons, that was the best description the stunned Sparkplug could come up with. The three flying cannons darted out to attack the newcomer, who dodged the first two shots before opening fire and downing one of the flying cannons. He leapt toward a second one, tossing his cannon to his left hand, dodging fire from all the remaining five operational enemies, an orange energy axe emerging magically from his right wrist, and then slicing through one of the flying cannons with it.
The white winged robot roared out more commands in his alien tongue…would tongue be the right term if they don't technically have tong…never mind, doesn't matter, but his orders prompted the other two jet-bots to charge the red interloper with their upper arm rifles firing. The red robot seemed to be handling his numerical disadvantage quite well, but the white leader of the purple pointy-faced group raised his own rifles to cherry-pick a shot on the distracted red robot's blue head. Sparkplug didn't know what to make of the red robot, but he knew that the others were enemies, so he targeted the winged robot's head with his M-16 and opened fire before the winged robot could snipe the red truck-bot.
The bullets impacting the right side of the white jet-bot's black helmeted head proved distracting to him, but nothing more, but it also got the attention of the truck-bot and revealed the sneak attack. "^%(* #!" Sparkplug could make no sense of the incredibly loud utterance bellowed at him by the winged alien but given the hatred on the robot's face and how it was delivered, there was no question it was top-tier threat or denigration. Whatever the case, seeing the arm rifles turning and targeting him made Sparkplug aware that the roared alien insult would be the last word he would ever hear.
A blast tore into the white and red jet-bot's left chest, extending Sparkplug's life for at least another second or so, and a second blast tore into the creature's cockpit/abdomen. The twenty-foot winged robot cried out in pain, his high-pitched voice even more cutting when shrieked, and he collapsed into several wooden crates behind him. Sparkplug turned to see where the shots came from and saw the red truck-bot battering away his opposition. "$% # %^^ &^( *!" The cry came from the downed white jet-bot, and a moment later he was blasting toward the red robot, thrusters in his feet propelling him, but the red robot weathered the rifle shots and as the white robot started to zip dozens of feet above him, jumped with his glowing orange energy axe and sliced deeply into his torso.
The white jet-bot's momentum carried him through the far wall and crashing outside, with more pained cries coming from him. The blue jet-bot, black jet-bot and the remaining fifteen-foot tall hover-cannon-bot disengaged from the red robot and looked toward the collection of energy-ore, prompting the red truck-bot to arch and eyebrow and smile almost challengingly. "*)$% # &^($!" The blue jet-bot barked out, prompting the remaining three to fly out the hole their leader had made and retreat, the two jet-bots transforming into their F-5 modes and shot out grappling cords to snare their fallen leader and haul him with them.
The red truck-bot looked down at the two smaller robots that were inertly laying on the floor, one cleaved nearly in two and probably dead. "I do not intend to begin our relationship with you, your people, your government, or planet Earth on a bad note," the giant red robot raised his optics to Sparkplug and smiled. "especially after you saved my life, but these prisoners will be coming with us."
"Look, I recognized the absurdity of me trying to impose my authority here," Sparkplug stepped forward, "especially as us having common enemies doesn't make us friends, and you could make me a smear on the floor at any time, buuuuttttt, this is American soil, an American military base, so even though it's a fight I'd lose, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist we take the prisoners into custody." He tried to appear braver and more confident than he felt. He then looked to the nearly halved formerly flying cannon on the floor. "You sure these are prisoners, and not corpses?"
The large red robot nodded to the less damaged one. "He'll live," he then nodded to the vastly more damaged one, "he'll need extensive medical treatment, treatment my team is in a position to provide. I severely doubt you have the knowledge or resources to save him."
"You might be surprised." Sparkplug muttered as he locked his eyes with the robot's optics. "My name is Captain William Witwicky, but you can call me Sparkplug."
The large robot let out a light chuckle. "Nice to finally meet you, 'Sparkplug', congratulations on your promotion. Nightbeat's heavily redacted report had you listed as a Sergeant."
"Very recent development." Sparkplug grinned, a genuine sense of relief washing over him as his certainty that this alien would not turn on him grew. "How is old Nightbeat? He left a bit of a mess at one of our bases in Florida."
"I really couldn't tell you, never met him, only read his report, at least the portions I was allowed to read, and know of his reputation." The truck-bot replied. "I am Broteas Pacific, Commander of the Autobots, a planetary-government aligned commoner rights organization from the planet Cybertron, though you already knew where we were from."
"That's a lot to remember." Sparkplug chuckled. "So, you're a highborn."
"Ehhh, sort of. It's a long story." Broteas replied.
"Would love to hear it all." Sparkplug answered with a grin. "Maybe we can arrange an ongoing open dialogue between our two governments."
"Yes, I'd like that." Commander Pacific replied. "But I've received word that some of your aircraft that have been scrambled are actually approaching now. Your prior jets that had been in the air had been holding back, I'm guessing for these guys." The large robot touched the side of his helmet, indicating he was receiving more information. "Ah, I see, these are armed with rail guns." A confused look came over Broteas's face. "We assumed you humans were still decades away from a design that was energy feasible and able to mount on an aircraft."
"Yeah, we're pretty inventive." Sparkplug answered, earning a look of skepticism from the Autobot Commander.
"There was something in Nightbeat's report about you having an asset." The robot smirked.
"I'm afraid I can't comment on anything regarding…anything. Above my pay grade I'm afraid." Sparkplug side-stepped the issue. "So, about these guys?" He waved over the downed robot.
"I suggest I provide you the tools to effectively incapacitate the less injured of the two and leave him in your custody, and I take the more injured to try and save his life. But be aware, the Decepticons…" Broteas noted the look of confusion, "the group who attacked you that these two are members of, they will likely come back for them and try to recover them, so wherever you decide to house him will be a target. If you go that route, I will interrogate the one we take, I expect you to interrogate the one you take, and I suggest we share any information we manage to get with one another."
"And if the powers that be decide to conduct an alien autopsy?"
A stern look came over Broteas's face. "I was hopeful your people didn't do that. Should I be concerned about the asset you have in your possession?"
"No, we like that guy." Sparkplug smirked. "But these guys, I doubt even the gentlest soul on Earth will oppose anything the lab boys may want to do."
"I'm afraid I have to rescind my offer to let you take either of them." Broteas stated, his tone making it clear it was not open for discussion.
"Actually, in light of your warning these Decepticons might come back for their friends, it's probably best if you take them." Sparkplug replied. "Though I'm still going to hold you to your offer to share any information you may get from them."
"Agreed." Broteas nodded. "Need a ride back to the front? That's where my team parked the ship." With that he transformed back into a semi-truck and the driver-side door swung open.
Sparkplug figured that if this Broteas Pacific wanted him dead, he'd have already killed him, and it was a long way back, so he shrugged and clambered into the cab, but turned his head a the noise of two grappling hooks shooting out from the rear of the truck and locking onto the two downed Decepticons. "You're not planning on dragging them, are you?"
"If they die, it won't be because I dragged them." Broteas answered as the door swung shut. Within moments they were through the hole in the wall that Broteas had created as he entered, and they were rounding the buildings. Up ahead was the decloaked ship, with two robots, both smaller than Broteas, standing at the bottom of the ramp and American military personnel circled around them with all sorts of weaponry pointed at them. "Think you can talk your colleagues into letting us leave?" Sparkplug genuinely wondered that as he saw many soldiers ready to open fire on the eighteen-foot-tall red bot and the fifteen-foot-tall white bot.
"I'm not the ranking officer here." Sparkplug replied. "Frankly, I'm just a subject matter expert on you guys."
"An expert on us?" Broteas asked, a hint of humor in his voice.
"Compared to every other human, yeah, pretty much." Sparkplug replied. "You're the third of your species that I've met. Prior to today I was tied with President Johnson at two. Lyndon's not going to be happy that I've pulled ahead."
"Well, we are going to be leaving before your rail-gun armed planes get here." Broteas stated as he pulled to a stop and his door swung open. "How ripple-free that exit winds up being is entirely up to you humans."
"I'm assuming this is a 'don't call us, we'll call you' type of situation." Sparkplug stated as he climbed down.
"We monitor all channels of your communications." Broteas replied as he transformed, pulling the tethers of the two Decepticons after him as he stood and slowly walked toward the ramp of the small ship. "If you really need to get ahold of us, we'll hear you. That's not a guarantee we'll respond, but we'll know."
"Hold up!" Sparkplug looked over to see Major Gordon marching toward them. Broteas stopped and regarded the man. "I appreciate your intervention, but we cannot allow you to leave."
"I mean you know harm, and I hope to begin an equally beneficial relationship with you Americans and the human race as a whole, but we are going to be leaving." Broteas replied.
Major Gordon turned to Sparkplug. "Captain Witwicky?"
"This is Broteas Pacific, he's the Commander of these Autobots, foes of the group that attacked us, the Decepticons." Sparkplug filled in the Major and anyone else within earshot. "He fought off six of those Decepticons, including these two prisoners which he's taking with him, but left the energy ore in the hangar where the Decepticons were collecting it."
"Six?" The white 'Autobot' chuckled. "You're losing your touch, Pacific." His voice sounded almost like some sort of gravelly-voiced Jazz singer.
"Ironhide," Broteas nodded toward the other red robot, "Jazz," nodding now to the shorter white robot, "wave to the Americans."
"These two already loaded a couple of downed winged robots into their ship." Major Gordon added.
"Sir, we can oppose their departure, but I severely doubt we'd be successful on any level and it might upset what could be a needed alliance." Sparkplug provided his opinion.
Major Gordon wasn't convinced, but he eventually nodded. "You're here because you know these things better than almost anyone, Witwicky. I'll follow your gut."
"Thank you, sir." Sparkplug replied, hiding the sigh of relief he was letting out. He then looked up at Broteas. "I can't emphasize enough my interest in your organization and my organization remaining in frequent contact."
"Understood." Broteas replied. "It was a pleasure meeting you Captain Witwicky."
"I kind of prefer it when you robots call me Sparkplug." The human replied.
"Will do Sparkplug." Commander Pacific replied as he dragged his unconscious prisoners up the ramp and into the ship.
Sparkplug kept his eyes fixed on the ship as he slowly walked toward a cluster of other humans, but out of his periphery he noted his partners approaching him. "Looks like you're buying drinks tonight Sparkplug."
Sparkplug chuckled at Fowler's statement. "Beyond happy to be on the hook for that, Mike."
"Commander Broteas Pacific, huh?" Carlo muttered as they came to a stop next to him, all looking up at the departing craft.
"Yeah, it's a mouthful." Sparkplug replied. "Highborn Cybertronians typically have a dual nomenclature type of thing like us, well, fewer names than you Spaniards have."
"Screw you." Bernice shot back at the good-natured ribbing, Fowler chuckling next to her.
"Anyway, Pacific represents his house. Peace must be a common theme for high houses on their planet, I've heard of another house with a similar meaning. Broteas though, hell, that's just a pretentious jumble of syllables."
"Not so, my simple poorly-read friend." Bernice replied. "In Greek mythology, Broteas was a legendary hunter."
"Heh," Sparkplug lightly chuckled, "mythical Greek hunter, just like…" his eyes popped wide as something occurred to him. "Holy shit!" Sparkplug nearly shouted before pointing up at the departing alien aircraft. "Stop them!"
"What?" Both Fowler and Carlo asked, bewildered. "How?" Carlo followed up.
Sparkplug ignored them and sprinted to the jeep he had arrived in, opened the back and pulled out a roadside kit. A moment later he was sprinting back to where the ship had lifted off from, the craft now about three hundred feet in the air and was beginning to vanish as the camouflage system was engaging.
"Witwicky, what in the hell are you doing?" Major Gordon bellowed out, but Sparkplug ignored him and raised the flare gun, aimed just off to the right of the last visible part of the craft, and fired.
The flare burned as the ship finally vanished completely from view. "Please, please, please." Sparkplug repeated as he jumped up and down, waving his hands back and forth trying to get the attention of the ship's occupants. Seconds passed and there was no change, no indication that his request for the aliens to return was heard, or if heard, that it would be granted. After thirty seconds of zero response, the human gave up and lowered his arms. "Damnit." He whispered. Suddenly something impacted the ground a few dozen yards ahead of Sparkplug, something invisible but capable of creating a huge dent in the ground and an impact tremor that sent Sparkplug flying back and onto the ground.
Artificial light cut out through a quickly expanding sliver in the horizon, and soon opened enough to reveal a doorway and rotating downward ramp with the red Ironhide standing in the revealed doorway. "Awlright, Witwicky, what's yer deal?"
Sparkplug scrambled back to his feet and held out his hands, panting as he tried to force the words out. "Com…Commander Pacific…his clan, Pacific, House Pacific, they're the ruling house of the polar emirate, right? The northern polar emirate. Right?"
"Is ya' knowin' than supposed ta impress me? We know ya got an asset!" Ironhide asked in anger, his thick southern accent tickling a string of questions in Sparkplug's head, but they were immediately pushed back by the more pressing ones on the tip of Sparkplug's tongue.
"Wait, wait!" Sparkplug sputtered out. "Broteas, he's not a blood member of the house, or spark member, or metal member, whatever. He's a foundling, right? Adopted or something?"
This line of questioning changed Ironhide's demeanor, his optics widened, and he literally stumbled back half a step before turning his head to the side and giving a bewildered yell back into the ship. "Cah-mander! Can ya' get back here? Ol' Sparkplug's got questions I'm not sure if I should be answerin'."
Several seconds passed before both Broteas Pacific and Jazz came into view. "Sparkplug, you should know that the rail guns can perforate us, but they're worthless against the Oar."
"No, that's not, what…the Oar?" Sparkplug got distracted. "Oh, your ship. No, I'm not trying to stall, I swear. Are you…" he paused, trying to figure out how best to phrase what he needed to ask, "were you born in the last spark pulse, found by a member of House…Pacific, a female named after a flower genus, I'm guessing something like Torenia?" He shuddered; this giant unstoppable robot shuddered like a leaf at the sound of her Earth-translated name. "She found you and brought you home, and you were raised there with a brother called something roughly translated to Roller, but you were only there for a few months, right? You solved an impossible case and became a cop…er police officer, and later went off-world, somewhere safe but unpleasant,"
"Stop!" Broteas commanded.
Sparkplug again held up his hands and nodded, nervously pausing before chancing a question. "That is you, right?"
Broteas walked almost ominously down the gangplank, an indecipherable expression on his face, and didn't stop until he was standing directly over Sparkplug, looking straight down on him. "Tell me what you know of Sparkeaters."
"I…" Sparkplug was at a loss before connecting the term to something he'd read in a recent report, "not much, just something a dog told the President. Are these the zombies or the vampires?"
Orion paused, pondered the response before leaving it unaddressed and continuing with another question. "Tell me what you know of Megatron."
"What is a Megatron?"
"The Autobot acts of terrorism?"
"The what? Wait, you mean you guys?"
"The Great Deception, the decimation of the high houses?"
"I…sorry, what?" Sparkplug stammered, completely at a loss. He could sense the tension from the soldiers behind him, but prayed they'd hold back. However sideways this situation was going, if this was who he thought it was, and he was almost certain it was, it may be their only chance.
"You know a great deal about me, Captain Witwicky, about my family, a bit about Cybertron as a whole, but only hints, from dogs apparently, of anything that's taken place over the last eighteen years, correct?" The giant robot asked knowingly as he glared down. "Which explains the one thing you got wrong about me. I wasn't born in the last pulse, there was one that took place four years ago. You are almost completely ignorant of any recent history, anything that's happened over the last eighteen years."
Shit. He knew. Broteas…well, Broteas for now, but he knew. "Yeah."
"Your asset…is he alive?" Broteas asked, firmly but there was the tiniest hint of genuine fear in his voice.
"Yes, alive and in perfect health, treated well." Sparkplug replied quickly. "He is confined, but I think you can understand that, given our situation, but he's kept in comfort. We provide him with energy resources he can convert to food, and frankly, he's a friend." Sparkplug looked down and nodded. "He's probably my best friend. My friendship with him is what's enabled me to be promoted as quickly as I've been promoted given my age." He looked back up at the Autobot Commander firmly. "And you'll be happy to know that I will defy any order to harm him in any way." He softened and smiled. "And you'll probably be happy to know as well that he thinks very, very highly of you."
"Thank you Sparkplug." The sentiment was genuine. "I would like to open up negotiations for his release. I don't speak for Cybertron as a whole, but I personally would be vastly indebted to you for his safe return, as would House Pacific."
Sparkplug smiled and nodded. "It's Pax."
"What?"
"Your surname, your clan, it's House Pax." Sparkplug clarified. "And your name is not Broteas."
"Ya' don't get ta be tellin' us what names we get ta have!" Ironhide interjected challengingly.
Sparkplug ignored the assertion from Ironhide and kept talking to the Autobot Commander. "Your given name is Orion."
"I said…" Ironhide started to bark back, but Jazz's hand gripping his arm stopped him.
"In this case, he does get to dictate the name." He said with a broad smile. The Autobot Commander twisted his head back and Jazz shrugged. "Don't even pretend Orion Pax isn't a much, much better name."
The Commander chuckled as he turned his head forward again and looked down at Sparkplug. "A-Three calls me that?"
"With great affection." Sparkplug answered, smiling at realizing he was fully aware as to why Orion was using that name for Alpha Trion.
"I give you my word, Sparkplug Witwicky, that you will be hearing from me very soon." With that the large robot turned and marched back into the craft.
00000000000000000000000000000
Mindset
There he was, already here, clearly prepared, though given their barely remembered relationship and current affiliations, Mindset thought that his spark brother would have brought more back up. Yet there Onslaught sat, his frame tall as Guardian Prime, a lean but powerful physique, exuding a 'specialness' that Mindset had been jealous of all his life yet knew was deserved, with only four other Decepticons. Well, four that Mindset could see within this near-deserted tavern in central Hydrax Plateau, knowing his spark-twin, there had to be other safeguards in place. Onslaught was one of the greatest strategists he'd ever known, and as Mindset had been serving with Prime, Galvatron, and considered himself to be close friends with the genius Jhiaxus, that was saying a lot. The now-Decepticon had to have more in reserve than just these four soldiers. Mindset himself had brought thirteen guards to watch over his safety; he'd have brought more, but these thirteen were the only ones he could trust not to mention this meeting to anyone. "Wait here." Mindset said to the two guards closest to him as he stepped away from the entrance area and entered the center of the tavern, locking optics with Onslaught. The guards all stopped and remained near the front of the bar while Mindset continued forward alone.
Onslaught stood from his chair, as did his four companions who turned to leave him and gathered at a table near the rear of the public house. Onslaught rounded the table and approached Mindset, reaching out and roughly grasping Mindset's shoulders when they reached one another. "By the Hand, Mindset, you've certainly bulked up! I didn't think you could handle such an enhancement." He leaned in closer and lowered his voice to nearly a whisper. "Your spark, are you sure it can take the added strain?"
"It's not just armor and presses, Onslaught," Mindset replied as he nodded for them to sit down, "I served as a willing, hell, an eager test subject for an experiment. More than my frame has been enhanced, spark-brother, now we are physically equal." Mindset rolled his head. "Well, almost. My spark has been surgically amplified to at least standard level, though I'm certain yours is higher than the mean. Perhaps yours is even a different color."
"No, blue as the sky I'm afraid." Onslaught replied as he adjusted himself in the chair. "I too had it looked at recently, though not for any enhancement, just for readings to be taken. I was permitted to go offline for the examination fortunately, but there was still significant pain for days afterward."
"What did they need to test you for?" Mindset asked, hoping to prolong the pleasant small talk for as long as he could. He realized that the attachment he held for Onslaught had to be vastly stronger than the attachment Onslaught held for him. It wasn't because of any unreciprocated feelings they'd had as protoforms or younger adults, it was just that Onslaught had not seen Mindset for over one million years, the vast majority of his life, whereas to Mindset, it seemed like only months since he'd last seen Onslaught. After a million years, feelings had to fade even if Onslaught's mind was impressive enough to keep memories intact.
"Just something some scientist wanted to investigate." Onslaught replied. "Believe me, whatever was done to your spark has got to be far more interesting."
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that." Mindset replied, realizing too late that the answer would snap them back on track as to why they were there.
"So why are we here, Mindset?" Onslaught got straight to the point.
Mindset paused before answering. "Surrender yourself, rejoin society. If you provide information, I can ensure your affiliation with the Decepticons can be overlooked. Perhaps even join our forces, your skills are undeniable, with what you know of your comrades you may very well become a valuable asset. They'd forgive you anything."
"Why would I join the losing side?" Onslaught asked nonchalantly as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms.
"We are the legitimate government of Cybertron." Mindset pointed out emphatically. "Led by the greatest heroes of both hemispheres, one being the Matrix-chosen Prime. We wield the greatest warship in Cybertronian history, arguably one of the most powerful spacecrafts in the galaxy."
"We wield a Titan." Onslaught scoffed.
"A dead Titan!" Mindset chuckled back but lost his humor at Onslaught's complete lack of reaction. Neither of them had a face in the traditional sense, and even if they had, Onslaught was in control of his emotions enough to reveal nothing through his features. But Mindset wasn't sensing nothing, he was getting a vibe of confidence and almost amusement from Onslaught, which his spark-brother could fake, but Mindset was almost certain that this was sincere. "Trypticon survived?"
"I'm not at liberty to discuss that." The Decepticon brother mimicked.
"Even if that beast is alive, and even if you can control it, even at full strength it couldn't engage the Manifest. And there's no way he's at full strength." Mindset snapped, but with a notable lack of certainty in his voice.
"Then it seems you have nothing to worry about brother." Onslaught replied.
"Always so confident, just so damned confident." Mindset muttered. "Even for this meeting, only bringing four soldiers to reinforce you?" A pregnant pause sat heavy over the table, Mindset hoping his brother would end it.
"Yes, I have no further back up beyond those four seated behind me." Onslaught clarified.
"Are you mad?" Mindset asked, genuinely stunned that his brother would put himself in such a vulnerable position willingly.
"Are you suggesting that I can't trust you, brother?" Onslaught asked, a hint of mirth in his voice.
"You are a highly gifted strategist and ranking officer in an organization that our government has labeled our planet's greatest threat!" Mindset snapped. "I'd be lying if I were to tell you that despite my feelings for you, I'm not incredibly tempted to have my significantly superior force kill your friends and take you into custody."
"Your force isn't superior." Onslaught replied nonchalantly.
"You'll have to forgive me," Mindset shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I've been gone for a bit, but has counting changed in the last million years? Because I count more than three times the number of soldiers at my back versus the ones at yours."
"It does seem your ability to count may be off." Onslaught replied with no indication of jest. "You and your friends outnumber my friends and I fourteen to one."
"What?" Mindset was baffled by the statement. One? There were five of them, how could they only be counted as…. oh shit. "No. You're joking."
"I assure you brother, much has changed in the eons since the Manifest took you away, but my sense of humor, or lack of one, has not." Onslaught assured him.
"So, you're a Devastator?" Mindset nearly spat.
"The term is gestalt, which I'm sure you know." Onslaught replied, this time a tad bit of humor impossibly laced into his words. "Even the ignorant populace at least uses the term combiner. Devastator is just our first true gestalt. Of course, by 'our', I'm referring only to the Decepticons. I'm sure Jhiaxus could whip together another Magnaboss or Tripredacus if he wanted to."
Mindset froze. "Jhiaxus is dead."
"My condolences." Onslaught replied dryly.
He knew. Mindset couldn't comprehend how, but he knew. No, no he couldn't possibly know, he was fishing for Mindset to give something away. To hell with his insipid attempt, but Mindset felt an obligation to try and save him. "Brother, please, I'm not saying that Megatron isn't without significant resources or that the government will have an easy time eradicating he and his followers, but we are going to win."
"No, you aren't." Onslaught rose to his feet and peered down at Mindset intently. "Join us brother, Megatron will welcome you, I would love to have you at my side as you once were, and we will remake Cybertron as well as the galaxy into how it should be. You know how to contact me, but trust me, do not wait long to contact me. Your forces are on borrowed time as it is."
Onslaught turned and started walking back to his friends. Mindset rose from his seat and glared at his brother's departing form. He desperately wanted to order his team to overrun Onslaught and his squad, but there's no way they could overpower a gestalt. Unless it was a bluff; could Onslaught have been bluffing about being like Devastator, or Magnaboss, or Tripr…wait! "Onslaught!" Mindset called out, prompting his brother to stop and turn his head. "Come back."
Onslaught nodded and returned to the table, the two brothers remaining standing. "What is it?"
Mindset looked back at his nervous team and waved them down, turning back to Onslaught and continuing in a whisper. "Whatever notes you may have found in Jhiaxus's lab regarding gestalt technology would have been early theories, and nothing more. His experimentation took place off world, and the prototype gestalts consisted of colonists completely unknown to anyone on Cybertron, and they and their gestalt names are only known to very few individuals, all of whom are members of the Manifest crew." Mindset shook his head, finally comprehending the ramifications of this. "Who has betrayed us?"
Onslaught just stared at him. "It took longer than I'd hoped, but at least you figured out what I've been telling you." He placed a hand on Mindset's shoulder and leaned in. "Please brother, join the Decepticons, or at the very least, be far from Cybertropolis in the coming days. What I'm doing here is treason, and Megatron would kill me mercilessly if he knew what I was telling you, but despite the time apart, I still feel protective of you and need you to be safe."
"How much time do we have?" Mindset asked, trying to keep the terror in his voice from showing. Onslaught just turned and walked away.
00000000000000000000000000000000000
Omega Supreme
He had seen it before, but over the last fifteen and a half million years he had allowed himself to believe he'd never have to see it again. He remembered Metroplex, he did not know him well, but he was a noble soul who did not deserve to be enslaved by vicious Quintessons, so despite any misgivings, it was time to bring him home…if that was what Metroplex wanted. Guardian Prime saw the Titan as a needed military asset, but as far as Omega Supreme was concerned, that would only be the case if Metroplex chose to fight. He had heard what had happened to Sky Lynx and was disgusted by it. He would make it a point to let Sky Lynx know that should he choose not to be a soldier, it was his right to walk away from it all with Omega Supreme's full and vocal support. And if the Prime had a problem with that, well then, so be it. The Guardian and Guardian Prime would have a falling out if it came to that, and Omega Supreme would be at peace with it should it happen.
Suddenly the space tore, emitting a dim light from the other end of the wormhole, and a moment later Sky Lynx's merged space and ground transports zipped through, the breach sealing behind him. "Greetings Omega Supreme, thank you for arriving so promptly. And Bulkhead, I'm assuming that's you at the conn of The Manifest."
"Yes Prime, it's me." Bulkhead replied through the communication channel from the city-sized warship hovering behind Omega Supreme.
"Omega Supreme, just want to verify Metroplex can be reasoned with." Prime shot through the channel.
"I can certainly try, but I don't know where his loyalties or values lie, especially after so many millions of years." Omega Supreme replied.
"You mis-understand my meaning, Guardian of the Gates." Guardian Prime countered. "The few legends we've come across depict these Titans as very animalistic, perhaps some hidden intelligence, but still very beast-like."
"That was true of most, but Metroplex was highly intelligent. Even the Quintaxium showed near-baseline Cybertronian intellect, though he was far more ape-like in appearance and behavior." Omega Supreme replied. "To the point where the Quintessons modified his body to be more humanoid in failed hopes that it would impact his intellect."
"Why would they think that?" Prime asked.
Omega Supreme scanned the white and blue merged space cruiser and ground transport that was Sky Lynx to see if there was any reaction but sensed none. "I mean no disrespect to Sky Lynx or any other non-humanoid Cybertronian, but the evolution of our species for different sizes and spark intensities tends for intellect to increase as creatures evolve into a more humanoid shape. As shown by Sky Lynx, there's no shortage of exceptions to this, but the trend was noticed by the Quintessons and altering us to better suit their whims was already standard operating procedure for them, as was altering us to test their theories. In the case of Quintaxium, shortened arms, lengthened legs and a more upright posture did nothing for his intellect; nothing other than to drive him mad and force them to lobotomize him."
"I…I remember that." Sky Lynx's sad voice came through.
"As do I, my friend." Omega Supreme sadly supported. "But to answer your question, if his intellect is as it was fifteen million years ago, then I will have no problem communicating with Metroplex. As for convincing him to join us, that I cannot say."
"I didn't think it was possible," Prime's voice came through, "but I hate the Quintessons even more now than I already did."
"Ready to bring the wrath of the true immortals to these self-proclaimed gods." Bulkhead's voice growled angrily through the channel.
Prime chuckled before replying. "Cybertronians, follow my lead!" With that Sky Lynx shot toward the odd conglomeration of shapes that made up the planet Quintessa, a cluster of oddities that seemed to defy the laws of gravity and conveyed an unnatural sense of horror. Despite its evil and ominous appearance Omega Supreme and the Manifest followed the white and blue blur and were soon bypassing the thick rings and soaring into the planet's atmosphere, zipping over vast, foul-looking oceans, finally approaching a coastal city. Throngs of slaves, most lifeless robots but several species of organic and mechanical beings enslaved to the Quintessons filled the streets, looking up in terror as two large spacecraft sped toward them while an unfathomably large ship followed behind them. "Sky Lynx, Omega Supreme, as you've laid optics on him, feel free to tell us if you see the target."
"Or I can just forward you the coordinates of vast energon readings, Prime." Bulkhead replied with a chuckle.
"Or that, thanks Bulkhead." Prime shot back mirthfully. "Omega, head to the coordinates and do your thing."
"Prime…I have never been known for my persuasive rhetoric." Omega Supreme replied through the communications channel as he cruised over the white-capped coastline.
"We don't need flowery, we need sincere from someone he knows, and more importantly, someone he knows to be a straight shooter." Prime replied.
"Oration is not my strength, but I will do my best." Omega Supreme said as he made a straight line toward the coordinates Prime had sent him a moment before, and he quickly recognized the white core structure embedded within the larger city undoubtedly build around it repeatedly over the millions of years. Omega Supreme circled around, found an area that could accommodate his base mode on the outskirts of the city that was not a part of Metroplex and that would cause minimal damage and zero civilian casualties, returned and dropped off the bulk of his freighter form, it transforming to base mode as it dropped to the target area while the portion of him still flying transformed to the smaller shuttle/fighter mode. Another circling of the city, where he strafed several Sharkticon positions, preceded his return to his base mode and a landing. His base defenses and tank fought off a wave of Sharkticons led by an Alicon, but then ceased and transformed to his massive robot mode, though 'massive' seemed laughably absurd standing before Metroplex, who thus far had not reacted to the Cybertronian assault in any way.
Omega Supreme slowly ambled his way through the streets toward the white central section he recognized from ancient Cybertron many lifetimes ago. The chaos of his comrades fighting the city defenders surrounded them, but Omega Supreme remained focused on the vast city center ahead. "Halt!" The voice cut over the sounds of battle, echoing like thunder against the inland mountains several miles away. "I remember you, Omega Supreme. Why are you here? Why do you defy the gods?"
"Gods?" Omega replied, his bellow significantly less thunderous. "Surely you must know that label to be false, Metroplex."
"I…" the Titan's voice wavered, "whether they're actually gods or not is irrelevant. They wield power that eclipses ours, that enables them to impose their will over us."
"We removed them from Cybertron over fifteen million years ago, they have not been back since." Omega Supreme replied with authority. "We have engaged their colony worlds militarily with nothing but success. We are the ones imposing our will over them, including this incursion into the home-world they were forced to make after being evicted from ours in order to rescue you."
"I have no desire to be rescued." Metroplex boomed, his voice following a massive seismic shift, an earthquake that caused buildings to topple and roads to crumble to pieces, the central complex shifting shape, and standing in the midst of the barren stretch of land that he had been planted on for millions of years was now a massive humanoid standing nearly one thousand feet in height. "Leave, leave now before I must act against you."
"I have lived as their servant, and I have lived free to determine my own destiny!" Omega Supreme called out to the robot that was nearly eight times his height and vastly more massive. "I know nothing of your current desires, but I swear to you, years from now you will feel no regret in coming with us. But stay, and we both know you will always wonder whether you made the worst choice imaginable." He saw the uncertainty on the bipedal primate shaped Titan's face. "If you ever want to return, there'd be no way for us to stop you, and the Quintessons will not punish you in any way. You are a Titan; they'd be far too grateful to have you back to do anything that would risk losing you again." Metroplex turned to peer at the chaos around him, the city outskirts being devastated, and Omega Supreme, sensing his temptation, continued. "They are petty and cruel, and it is time for you to stop serving them."
The Titan was silent for another minute before looking down at Omega Supreme. "Your words have reached me, Omega Supreme, I will follow where you lead."
"Who the hell said oration wasn't your strength, Omega Supreme?" Guardian Prime's voice came through the communication system. "Well done my friend, well done!"
Omega Supreme ignored the compliment and continued looking up at Metroplex. "At one time you were capable of space travel. If you no longer possess that capability, our starship back there will be capable of pulling you home."
"No, I still retain my ability for space travel." Metroplex boomed, his statement followed by another transformation that further leveled much of the city, a transformation that resulted in a mobile battle station. "Make way, I am launching but I require a bit of runway."
"Acknowledged." Omega Supreme replied as he started jogging away from Metroplex, and upon reaching an adequate distance transformed himself into his bulk space freighter mode. "Cybertronians, be advised Metroplex is lifting off and following us home. Make way and prepare to disembark."
"You heard him boys, mission accomplished, let's get the hell out of here!" Guardian Prime called out enthusiastically. In moments the Manifest, Metroplex, Sky Lynx and Omega Supreme were cutting through the gray, polluted air toward space.
0000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Megatron
Everything was going to plan, perhaps too much so. He and all but a few of his Decepticons, bolstered by the fully repaired Trypticon, traversed through the entirety of the Hydrax Plateau, crossed the border into Nova Cronum, and now were effortlessly hovering, wading or flying over the Cybericon River, the southern boundary of the planetary capital. Megatron looked up from the gun turret in one of Trypticons towers and took in the rapidly approaching skyline of Cybertropolis in the not-too-distant distance before turning and entering the small command center he had set up for himself just inside that tower. The Decepticon Commander sat before a large wall of computer screens and a cord slipped out from his wrist and jacked into a console at the base of all the screens. At once three of the screens came to life, showing point-of-view displays of three different but equally savage battles taking place. "Shockwave," Megatron commented, his vocalization being transmitted to his second, "transmit from your optic."
With that a fourth screen lit to life displaying another POV battle. "So, what entitles Shockwave to his bit of privacy?" The voice echoed through the small chamber.
Megatron smiled. "An entitlement that apparently I do not even have."
"I do not mean to intrude," the voice replied, "and should you request, I will block my sensors to this chamber, but I was casually monitoring every aspect of this body of mine and made the observation that you have direct access to all your Warriors Elite save Shockwave."
"No harm done, though I expect that nothing you've observed or anything regarding our conversation here will be shared with anyone else." Megatron replied. "Is that understood, Trypticon?"
"Of course, Lord Megatron." The voice of the massive battle station replied.
"As for your question, the upgrades needed to provide Overlord, Black Shadow and the late Heretech with the estimated strength and durability increases provided by the matrix to large point one percenters required Shockwave's research, oversight and implementation, as did my precautionary measures. This was true of the new Warrior Elite Sixshot as well, along with a couple other upgrades we built into him." The Decepticon leader explained.
"Upgrades like the multi-forming you developed after studying my frame?" Trypticon asked, a bit of arrogance etched into his voice.
"That was one." Megatron answered before returning to the answer to the original question. "Shockwave and only Shockwave knew of the monitoring features built into them, and as he was aware of them, he'd likely find a way to bypass or trick them, so ultimately if I ever did have reason to suspect Shockwave of something, it'd be futile using a system he designed and unquestionably had a way around. So I let him believe that I trust him and told him not to bother with the monitoring tech when designing his own upgrade."
"Let him believe…so in truth you do not trust him?" Trypticon asked, almost playfully.
"I trust no one." Megatron replied.
"Not even me?" Trypticon asked, again a hint of mirth in his voice.
"No, though given your raw power, I doubt you'd bother with deviousness." Megatron replied, a chuckle in his own voice. "No need to stab me in the back when you can obliterate armies from the front."
"Oh, there's no need or point in placating me, Lord Megatron." Trypticon countered. "I have no interest in taking command, but even if I did, I'm aware that I can be killed. You forget, I've known death's cold embrace twice. Triptych outlived any other being with a blue or green spark, but for the tail end of his life he was a feeble shell requiring assistance to temporarily stave off death, and eventually all the assistance House Onyx could provide wasn't enough to keep it from finally claiming me. And the dragon…his brain was rendered inoperable, and has since been rearranged and overwritten, but there are still fragments of memories, images and feelings of rage and pain and horror that intrude unbidden. I catch only glimpses of these fragments, but some of the glimpses I've caught are of the dragon's final, painful moments. The metal of my cranium being penetrated, corkscrew-shaped flying fortresses raining death down on me from too high for me to retaliate against, armies laid out before me unloading all the ordinance they have from down below, starvation sapping my immeasurable strength, and utterly lacking the intellect to comprehend what was happening, only that I was getting weaker, and finally, as I collapsed and the brutal blasting stings kept blasting my head open, I accepted death's cold embrace. Or so the fragment tells me, obviously my brain and my spark were of separate minds when it came to giving up."
Megatron smiled. "Yes, you have limits, and it's conceivable that I could arrange a way to have you killed, but for one, I believe you when you say you have no interest in usurping me. Secondly, if you were to change your mind, you'd still be better off just turning and attacking at some point than forming and trying to enact an elaborate deception. I'm not suggesting that you're incapable of devising something, but it would invite opportunity of discovery and therefore warning me, all for nothing. The Great Deception was necessary as I was not able to topple my enemies for many years to come. You're in that position now, you'll be in that position tomorrow, frankly, I can't conceive of a time when you won't be in that position. The dragon failed to see the danger and was easily corralled by the armies of the Quintessons because the dragon was a dumb animal. That's not the case with you, Trypticon." Megatron's smiled broadened. He would always need to fear the power of Trypticon, but like with his Warriors Elite, he had ways of getting the upper hand. And keeping the Titan subdued with flattery seemed a simple yet effective plan. "As for Shockwave, well, he's brilliant, likely smarter than even me, with his modifications he's in all likelihood my equal physically, but he does have his weaknesses."
"I've analyzed Shockwave," Trypticon replied hesitantly, "I fail to see any weaknesses."
Megatron chuckled. "Being a slave to logic makes one predictable. Not to say Shockwave is incapable of creative thought, but he will never be unpredictable, and can be caught off guard by the unreasonable." Megatron watched the chaos taking place on the screens in front of him, where each of his four Warriors Elite were positioned at different points just inside the planetary capital, laying waste to those there to defend the city.
"Speaking of which, why send these four ahead to initiate attacks on the highborn government?" Trypticon asked. "Won't it put them on alert for further aggression?"
"Each one of these four is as powerful as a platoon." Megatron replied. "They'll certainly be on alert for other aggression, they'll see us coming, but they'll direct an inordinate percentage of their manpower inward to futilely counter these four and rely on the wall cannons and other city defenses."
"Yes, and while I'm by no means scared, my understanding is that the city defenses of Cybertropolis have been fully repaired and are operational." Trypticon replied questioningly. "They won't do much to me, but they can definitely thin your troop numbers substantially."
"Yes, they could." Megatron grinned. "At least they could if they were actually as operational as you seem to believe."
"My Lord?" Trypticon asked. "Is there an advantage beyond Prime and the Manifest being off-world?"
"We have an asset embedded within the planetary government." Megatron replied. "I've had to keep that to myself and few others, but I suppose after today, the entire planet will know."
0000000
Jhiaxus
Mindset's nervously whispered threats had been easy to ignore the last few days, even as four separate skirmishes at four separate barracks occurred his worries seemed outlandish. But as images of these skirmishes came in, it was clear that this wasn't a case of some ill-conceived terrorist attack or lashing out. These warriors, they were virtually invincible. Jhiaxus immediately recognized the purple Shockwave of House Torrent, Decepticon or not what he'd read of this treasonous royal was enough to make him feel compelled to meet with him. He knew Shockwave was brilliant, he'd even heard that he was physically formidable, but the purple warrior displayed on the monitor was a weapon of mass destruction; they all were.
The giant he recognized from Autobot files as the crime lord turned gladiator turned Decepticon Overlord, the also towering black winged robot known as Black Shadow, and the predominantly white and green unknown trip…quad…however many-formed powerhouse were mowing through government soldiers and law enforcement officers as though they were made of wood. Most disturbing of all, he recognized his handiwork. The procedure he had developed for Prime truly had gotten into the hands of the Decepticons. He cursed himself for leaving enough notes for the Decepticons to have developed these super-warriors.
But these four alone weren't a conquering force; they certainly weren't an occupying force. No, they were merely jabs to soften and distract. Jhiaxus pressed a button on the console in front of him and scrolled his satellite view to the region to the south, and there they were, thousands of them all clustered around a massive battle station, one he knew to be more than just a battle station. The city defenses should be enough to hold them at bay for many hours, possibly days even with Trypticon, and shred their infantry to a far more manageable number. But based on Mindset's now-valid warnings, Jhiaxus was convinced that those city defenses would be hindered to some degree. There was a traitor, one that had been a member of the Manifest's crew and someone familiar with Jhaixus's prototype gestalts, and Jhiaxus was certain that he knew who that traitor was, which if he was right, meant there were actually three traitors.
"Mindset," Jhiaxus addressed his comrade and friend a moment after opening a channel to him.
"Yes sir?" Mindset's confused voice came back through.
"Your intel was correct; I apologize for not believing you." Jhiaxus stated. "Come to my lab, I have a ship at the ready, but we must leave now."
"On my way sir." Mindset replied as the connection was cut.
The vast expanse that served as Jhiaxus's secret lab and living quarters was silent, but he still sensed that he was not alone. He turned to see two imposing forms, the tall lean Cyclonus and the bulky Scourge. "Comrades, are you here to capture me for the Decepticons, or kill me for Galvatron's whim?"
"The former if you surrender." Cyclonus replied as the two started marching toward Jhiaxus. "The latter if you resist."
"Please resist." Scourge growled. The blue and white robot rushed out ahead of Cyclonus in an attempt to tackle the believed-dead scientist and was stunned as Jhiaxus batted him away.
"I was hoping Galvatron would come down here to do this himself." Jhiaxus smiled as he addressed a surprised Cyclonus.
"How?" Cyclonus asked as he adopted a fighting stance.
"Nature decided not to give me a green spark. I decided not to accept nature's decision." Jhiaxus replied. "Oh, I did lots of modification to my frame as well." The white scientist suddenly shot forward and delivered a snap-kick that sent Cyclonus skipping away across the ground. Scourge lunged at Jhiaxus from behind, but Jhiaxus swung savagely around catching Scourge's jaw with a backfist. "Idiot, you're both outclassed."
"But not outgunned." Cyclonus snarled as he got to his feet, reaching behind him and pulling a rifle from his wing, pointing it at Jhiaxus.
"Fool, do you know where you are?" Jhiaxus barked back laughingly as he touched a small button on his wrist and multiple cannons emerged from the walls and lowered from the ceiling. "You will neither capture nor kill me. You may return to Galvatron and report your failure, or you can die. The choice is yours."
Cyclonus and Scourge gingerly turned and took in the details of the chamber, slowly realizing the futility of their efforts and accepting their failure. Retaining his grip on his rifle but keeping it pointed down, Cyclonus looked to Scourge and nodded to the doorway. "I'll accept responsibility for this failure." He then glared at Jhiaxus. "Next time I'll make sure we're properly prepared."
"Yes, good luck with that." Jhiaxus replied dismissively. "Now get the hell out of here." The scientist watched the two departing traitors intently until the door sealed behind them. "Defenses down, but reactivate if Cyclonus or Scourge return, or if Galvatron arrives." Jhiaxus then marched quickly to the terminal he was at before the unwanted arrival of his would-be captors or assassins and rapidly typed into the keyboard, prompting a large portion of the wall on the far end of the expanse to open up and a small shuttle emerge through an opening panel in the floor. Jhiaxus loaded the craft with almost everything he could fit, and then initiated a data-purge through the computer system. Just as he was completing the steps for his departure the door opened again and Mindset came trotting in. "It's about time." Jhiaxus grumbled. "I would have left without you."
"It's insane out there!" Mindset reported nervously. "In addition to Devastator and the gestalt created from Onslaught and his team, there's another combiner tearing through the city."
"Have they transformed the Titan yet?" Jhiaxus asked as he got into the shuttle.
"No, and I'm pretty sure we'd feel it stomping around, even down here." Mindset replied as he got into the passenger side of the craft. A few minutes later the craft was exploding out through the street several blocks from the capital building, revealing the secret tunnel down to the bowels that Jhiaxus had been living in for months. Of course, those citizens that were close enough to notice barely did, the majority likely believing it was just another explosion related to the invasion overrunning the vast city. "The city defenses never even blipped! Who could sandbag them that effectively?"
"Our beloved Warden of the Southern Hemisphere." Jhiaxus growled as he steered the craft between the skyscrapers.
"Bastard!" Mindset snarled.
"The display in front of you," Jhiaxus pointed to a series of buttons dials and other controls in front of Mindset, "that operates the wormhole generator. I've already programmed in the coordinates; I'm going to need you to activate it once we clear Cybertron's orbit."
"There he is." Mindset muttered, prompting Jhiaxus to hope he had been listening to his wormhole generator instructions and directing his gaze down through the passenger window to see the purple Galvatron battering his way through squad after squad of soldiers in the Primal Courtyard before the Capital Building, his orange fusion tube mounted on his arm as usual, but it was the large battle axe that he was using the wipe out those attacking him. Jhiaxus studied him and realized that Shockwave and the other warriors initiating the attack weren't the only ones Megatron had shared Jhiaxus's Matrix-caliber upgrades with, Galvatron, who was already immensely powerful to begin with, was now as mighty a warrior as Jhiaxus had seen. What physical advantages Guardian Prime had held over Galvatron were now leveled.
With a single swipe Galvatron disembodied the last of the soldiers daring to attack him, and he casually, almost knowingly turned his gaze skyward toward the departing ship. He pointed up and barked a command unheard by Jhiaxus and Mindset, but one easy to deduce as the orbital fighter forms of Cyclonus and Scourge cut through the urban canyons after them. "We need to get the hell out of here now." Jhiaxus stated as he blasted the ship further skyward. "Be ready to open the wormhole, we're not going to be able to reach orbit before doing so!"
"Is that safe?" Mindset asked, his hand over the activation buttons and worry in his voice.
"We'll find out!" Jhiaxus barked out as he banked away from a volley of missiles from the Cyclonus and Scourge but realized too late that that barrage was meant to corral him into a shot originating from the ground, a shot from Galvatron in cannon mode. "Open wormhole!" Jhiaxus roared just as the shot impacted the ship just outside the cockpit. Everything spun, a horrific pain shot through his head and everything was starting to fade to black. Through the front viewport he thought he saw a tear in the sky opening, but only for a moment before it and everything else was overtaken by the dark oblivion.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Orion Pax
The setting sun over the entirely organic horizon truly was gorgeous. The utter lack of vast surface metal and the technological made it seem almost surreal; even in Cybertron's wild and untamed regions there was no shortage of metal outcroppings or mechanical and technorganic flora and fauna. Earth, being wholly organic, would seem to be missing something, yet this world managed to somehow be wondrously complete despite the absence. He may not have the love affair for Helios-3 that Hound seemed to be stricken with, but an attachment was starting to form. And that it somehow had deposits of an enhanced energon certainly didn't hurt. He was pulled from his musings from the sounds of combustion engines approaching behind him from the east, and he turned to see an Army jeep with only the driver, followed by a long black sedan of sorts, a quick reference to his link to Teletran One's vast database identified the vehicle as a 1964 Ghia Landau Crown Imperial Limousine, a very upscale and extremely rare automobile, and something that seemed out of place for this meeting in an isolated section of the George Washington National Forest that stretched into West Virginia.
"I would think the President would require a bit more in the way of back up when meeting giant alien robots." Jazz commented as he walked down the ramp of the shuttlecraft Oar toward Orion and the repair and communication bay that he had altered to transform into a 48' trailer. Roller and Ironhide followed Jazz out of the ship as the human vehicles came to a stop in the high grass a few dozen yards away.
"I severely doubt President Johnson is in that limousine." Orion replied as he took a step toward the humans, recognizing the driver of the long black car, who was not getting out. "It's good to see you again Captain Witwicky. That's a fancy car you've got there, not the type of vehicle you typically see driving through a wooded area."
"You don't know the half of it, Commander." Sparkplug shot back as he tapped the roof of the limousine lightly. "We had to fabricate lots of new equipment just to perform the needed customizations for this baby."
"Bulletproof I assume, Captain Witwicky." Pax Chuckled.
"I'm sure it is, though I personally haven't tested that feature. And please, call me Sparkplug, Commander Pax." Sparkplug beamed, standing next to the car with the door open. "It is Orion Pax, right?"
He seemed to be directing his question toward the vehicle he had just exited, but that made no sense, so Orion assumed the question was for him, despite seeing a green glow reflected off the driver's seat. "Yes Sparkplug, I thought I made it clear when we met, but I have adopted the personal and surnames you suggested."
Sparkplug smiled before shutting the door and looking back up at Orion. "Glad the name was a fit. And thank you for the dossiers your flying drone dropped on the White House porch, valuable information and a wakeup call for our security."
"Information on the Decepticons, we Autobots and the Cybertronian government is something you're entitled to. I apologize for the sparseness of our dossier regarding the Cybertronian colonists on your world, we unfortunately have nothing more than what Nightbeat was able to provide, and most of what he reported was redacted for those at my level." Orion replied.
"Yeah, seems we know a lot more than you guys do on that front." Sparkplug commented. "But still we weren't expecting to receive something for nothing."
"Our world has brought threats to yours," Pax answered, "it's the very least we could do, and not anything we should expect payment for."
Sparkplug nodded and leaned against the front of the long black car. "Well, President Johnson took it as a show of good will and a desire to create an ongoing alliance and friendship."
"I'm pleased that he did." Orion stated a light smile on his face as well. "That is exactly what we want, and hope that it's something that the other governments of this world seek as well as yours."
"Can't speak for the other governments, but yeah," Sparkplug gently tapped the hood of the car as he straightened up and stepped away from the car, "as far as the United States is concerned, we need you on our side and are more than willing to prove it."
With that the limousine shuddered, causing the Autobots to brace for a potential attack, but the shudder was immediately followed by a five-second transformation that resulted in the twenty-foot tall form of A-Three, his coloration and other physical features changed from the last time Orion saw him to accommodate his new shell mode, but it was undeniably him. "Beloved pupils!" He gasped a moment before Orion lunged to him and wrapped him in a firm embrace, followed a half second later by the speeding Roller, who leaned heavily against A-Three's left leg. A-Three released Orion and knelt to place his hands on the vehicular Roller. "My strong, brave child, I knew you'd be emir at some point, but you really beat my time estimates." A series of beeps emanated from the vehicle, prompting A-Three to chuckle. "Oh, believe me, I know. Many of us have found leadership to not be to our liking." A-Three looked back up and noted the look on Orion's face. "Yes, the President shared the content of your dossiers with me." He stood and looked at Orion with disbelieving optics. "It seems both my students have vastly exceeded my expectations."
Orion turned his head to the side to send a sideways questioning glance to Jazz, who shook his head, almost defiantly as he answered the unspoken question. "Ratchet didn't write you a love song, Pax, he simply listed a completely accurate historical account of our recent history, and as annoying as it is to you, you can't talk about Cybertron's last half decade without talking about Orion Pax!"
"Fine." Orion replied quickly, a clear attempt to dismiss the topic and hesitantly looked back into A-Three's optics. "Any and all accomplishments required the efforts of many. Anything about me was exaggerated."
A-Three smiled. "Of course." A more serious look came over his face. "There is much I need to make you aware of as well, Orion."
"It's about tahme!" Ironhide grumbled quietly but intending to be heard, which caused him to get a questioning sideways over the shoulder glance from Orion, to which he shook his head and shrugged. "I made a promise ta' keep it ta' mahself, but it's past tahme ya' knew."
"Privately." A-Three said, prompting Orion to return his gaze to him. "I will explain everything, and let you decide what to do based on that knowledge." The old robot then turned and knelt down facing Sparkplug. "I'm going to miss our discussions, Sparkplug. You've been a true and trusted friend."
"Feeling goes both ways Al…" his eye stretched, seemingly worried, "choo!"
The sneeze seemed inauthentic, but Orion was still new to humans so he was likely wrong. Wait, there was etiquette for this. "God bless you."
"Thank you, Commander Pax." Sparkplug replied before continuing with his former prisoner. "A-Three, I'm really going to missing losing at chess to you."
"I suppose this is where propriety would compel me to say you're actually quite good at the game." A-Three chuckled. "But I've always placed greater weight on truth than on propriety."
"Yeah, that's probably what I'm going to miss most." Sparkplug placed his hand over A-Three's outstretched hand. "I'll give Lyndon your love."
"Please do. He's no Jack, but he has his moments." A-Three said to his human friend. "Just tell him that his plan for southeast Asia is misguided. Either fight to win, or don't fight."
"Better men than me have tried telling him that, but I'll forward the message." Sparkplug replied as A-Three rose back to his feet and turned back to Orion.
"Shall we?" He asked, nodding toward the spaceship.
"Let's go." Orion smiled.
00000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Starscream
Soundwave had claimed Megatron was ready for him when he transferred the call, but Starscream was forced to look through his screen at nothing more than a simple swivel chair in some communications room within Trypticon. Starscream had been staring at the forgettable black seat for over twenty minutes, and was sorely tempted to simply end the transmission, but disrespecting Megatron in such a way would lead to brutal consequences. Besides, it was Starscream that had requested this consultation. Finally, the hulking chrome frame came into view, battle-scorched and covered in mech-fluid that was undoubtedly not his, and slid comfortably into the seat before the communications console.
"Mighty Megatron, congratulations on your magnificent conquest." Starscream flattered shamelessly. Obvious or not, it was a surprisingly good tactic, especially with an egomaniac like Megatron. "The taking of Cybertropolis from under Guardian Prime's nose will be sung through the histories in the eons to come."
Megatron let the flattery wash over him with no apparent affect, merely giving Starscream an appraising glare through the monitors. "I'm confused, Thundercracker's report made me believe you were on your death-slab."
"He's an idiot." Starscream replied, there was no reason to inform Megatron of his…mutation. "Not quite Skywarp dumb, but definitely not one to be providing medical prognoses."
"I hope that his description of your failure at the fleshling military base was an exaggeration of equal proportion." Megatron growled cruelly. He was such a brute, he probably was proud of his obvious segue into the opportunity to ridicule Starscream, thinking it clever, the simple twit.
But as obvious and blunt as Megatron's cruel belittling was, it had the effect he clearly intended. The Air Commander, the former royal, the former pioneer of the gladiatorial circuit was now reduced to the beautiful but lowborn commoner vying for the notice and approval of what he feared deep down to be his better. "It's not my fault!" Starscream whined desperately, the illumination behind Megatron's optics clearly rolling on the screen. "You've saddled me with too few soldiers, all of whom are incompetent fools, on a hostile world."
"Hostile?" Megatron snarled. "They're insignificant organic insects!"
"They've split the atom." Starscream squirmed, desperately trying to sell the humans as being anything more than the tiny goo-sacks they were. "And it's not just them, Autobots led by Orion Pax are here fighting alongside them."
"Yes," Megatron chuckled, "Thundercracker's report mentioned him. Well done gladiator."
"Don't snicker, mighty Megatron," Starscream snapped, "I heard the story of how an unenhanced Pax, barely out of the adolescenter, came within a punch or two of defeating the grand champion of the pits."
"Oh, he's still unenhanced." Megatron smiled. "And when I faced, and defeated Orion, I did it alone. You had six soldiers with you."
"He got the drop on us." Starscream snapped. "We had no warning Autobots were on this world! We're outnumbered and out-resourced, even taking the humans out of the equation!"
"Even surprised and outnumbered, your air superiority should be more than enough to deal with Autobots." Megatron grumbled.
"They have a shuttle." Starscream nearly whispered back.
"You have two, along with the cruiser you arrived in!" Megatron snapped.
"We didn't bring one because we didn't know they were on Helios-3!" Starscream tried to hide the fear in his voice.
Megatron glared intently at him, a small trickle of mech fluid that had spattered onto his helmet earlier came rolling down, the only movement on the screen's image for several seconds before the metal lips started moving again. "So, you're telling me that you're unable to acquire the energon ore native to that world and return it to us, is that it?"
"We've sent some!" Starscream shot back, but knew it was a pathetic retort, that what they'd sent back were little more than scraps, so he looked down and shook his head. "You may not believe this, but Orion Pax and his crew are formidable."
Megatron was silent again, but after several moments his face seemed to soften, nearly imperceptible though the change was. "Actually Starscream, I have no problem believing that. What is it that you need?"
Starscream looked back up at the screen, hope and redemption in his optics. "Reinforcements? Superior numbers?"
"Done." Megatron replied. "Superior numbers, and superior strategy."
"Strategy?" Starscream asked, fear creeping back into him.
"Yes." Megatron replied. "You'll get your reinforcements, along with a steady hand to better guide them."
Starscream swallowed his pride and forced a smile and nod. "Yes, Lord Megatron."
000000000000000000000000000000000000000000
Alpha Trion
"I swear, it was luck more than anything." Alpha Trion did what he could to keep a straight face as he listened to Orion's explanation. "Right place, right time, with the right weapon."
A series of enraged tweets followed Orion's words, to which Alpha Trion…it was past time to reveal that tidbit, merely waved his hand at the agitated Roller as the three of them sat in Orion's quarters. "Yes Roller, I'm aware he's full of…" he looked to Orion for clarification.
Orion shrugged. "He's invented swear words for the code."
"Oh, yes, appropriately inappropriate." Trion shook his head at Roller before turning back to Orion with a short-lived sly grin. "Ironhide showed me the footage." Orion groaned as memories of the footage surged through Alpha Trion's mind, prompting him to reach and grip Orion's shoulder tightly. "It's a miracle you're still alive!"
"Ratchet knows his business." Orion tried to parry the topic.
"Yes, I'm well aware of that." The ancient robot said before looking down and deciding to proceed. "It's time you knew the truth about me. The truth about me, about Guardian Prime, about this world, about everything." He raised his gaze up to Orion's, who was seated across from him at a small table, Roller on the floor off to his right. "What I'm about to tell you, Roller already knows, but agreed to keep it to himself until I had the opportunity to tell you."
Orion let out a nervous chuckle. "You're starting to scare me." The statement was an exaggeration, but the uncertainty in the Autobot Commander was very real.
"You know me as A-Three," he paused, seeing the intensity in Orion's face increase significantly at what was being implied by the opening statement, "but that's only my most recent identity. I've had many identities, many names, but perhaps those most recognizable to you are my first two, the one I was born with, and the one that was given to me when I…when I connected with the Matrix." Orion's optics stretched wide, they quickly darted to Roller after a second for clarification, but in vehicle mode the young royal could provide little in the way of visual cues, so the burning blue optics shot back to Alpha Trion, a name Orion would be guessing at in moments if he hadn't already narrowed it down, though it'd be some time before he came to accept it. Trion decided to pre-empt any further deductive reasoning. "I was born into House Trion, given the name Alpha."
"Impossible." Orion muttered in quiet awe.
"I devoted my life to scientific study and various philosophies." Trion continued, ignoring Orion's disbelief. "I became the foremost scientific mind at the time and was granted permission to study and attempt to quantify our greatest artifacts, including the Matrix. We had no idea as to what it was, it was clearly a constructed object, but there was no evidence of anything that could clue us in to how it was made or to what purpose it served. Legend had it that it was an object of mysterious reverence for those that preceded us as masters of this world, or that it was the jewel of The Hand, or the eye of Primus, or several other myths that provided no scientific insight whatsoever. The only recent, relatively speaking, accounts involving it dated back three million years at that point, to the legends of Solus communing with it and the Matrix providing inspiration for her great works. I set out to de-mystify this ancient relic, to uncover its long-hidden secrets and remove yet another bit of wonder from our world. I spent weeks studying it, using various scanning devices, conducting experiments, having it placed in a multitude of environmental settings, but never once touched the artifact. For weeks my scientific objectivity and detachment kept me from doing the one thing that could get some sort of reaction out of the Matrix, it was an act of carelessness on my part that finally led to…what it led to."
Alpha Trion looked off to the side as he recounted the memory. "I typically allowed my lab techs and students to handle the Matrix, adjust the equipment and set up the experiments, but after another frustrating scan that led to no useful data I marched over to the examination table, grabbed the Matrix with the intent to bring it to a specialty designed quantum field scanner in an adjacent room that I had just completed, but, well, upon gripping it the Matrix opened, and I felt wave after wave of energy permeating through my frame, changing it, rewriting it. I increased in height and mass, and I became more powerful. And I," he paused and lowered his gaze to the floor, "I alone in that lab of dozens, saw the heroes of Cybertron surround me, and heard them bestow the name Primon upon me." He looked up into the stunned optics of Orion. "It never gave me all the answers, but it frequently provided a clarity that I doubt I would have achieved without it. The decisions I made were ones Alpha Trion could have come up with, but as Primon the doubt, the competing other thoughts, the background chatter if you will, they all seemed to fall away. I've often wondered if that was due to the Matrix, or a degree of confidence that came with being hand-selected to lead, or at least that's how Cybertron chose to interpret it once my communion and enhancement became widely known. And the timing…well, it seemed almost ordained by a higher power. Deathsaurus had just marched his army…" Alpha Trion's optics widened, "well, as your origins have been revealed, I suppose you know all this."
"Aye." Orion replied, struggling to fully appreciate the ramifications of what was told to him, his optics darting all over before rising to lock upon Alpha Trion's again. "You remained Primon, until you chose to be Alpha Trion again."
"Primon the Abdicator was a very popular name for me." Trion tried to lighten the mood with the statement.
"You seemed to know that Justicia Ambus would be deemed worthy by the Matrix." Orion asked. "How?"
"I didn't know, but I suspected…and hoped." Alpha Trion explained. "The selection process of the Matrix is not entirely random, you look at the Primes, at the time they were selected, and really, there are no surprises. I suspected Justicia would be chosen, Nova was unexpected, but in retrospect he fit the mold as well as Justicia and far better than I. But Gallus Honorum, that was a case where I KNEW the Matrix would select him."
"How…how were you alive for that, or now?" Orion asked. "You were killed at the end of the second war with Deathsaurus."
"I was gravely wounded, but I survived." Alpha replied. "And at hearing of Nova's selection, I seized my opportunity to avoid leadership on a more permanent basis. And I loved the anonymity. I couldn't return to my scientific pursuits, at least at the level I had prior to my faked death, but otherwise I led a full and wonderful life as Atrium of the Crystal City."
"I know that name." Orion interjected. "Freedom fighter against Galvatron who allied himself with Gallus Honorum and was his most trusted general through that war."
"Yes, maintaining a low profile proved too difficult when leading a resistance army." Alpha Trion chuckled. "Fortunately, I could count on my fingers the number of those that recognized me through my alterations, and even more fortunately I was able to trust each of them with my secret. Arlon was one, your friend Ironhide another. Prior to meeting Gallus I was intent on revealing my identity, but then I met him, a convocation of various resistance leaders brought us together, and I knew…I just knew." Trion muttered. "He walked in with a charisma I'd never seen in another individual, his physical strength was astounding, and he was brilliant, an intellect that rivaled my own. And despite all these gifts, and being born into a royal House, he was humble and kind. Benevolent treatment of the commoners was done by others of his stature, but it was rarely genuine, a show to achieve some end. But with Gallus Honorum, it was genuine. We fought alongside one another in many battles, and he was fearless, always willing to risk his safety for others. He was…he was perfect, and my plans to bring Primon back to life were abandoned. And, well, you know the history. He took Galvatron's fortress, he found the Matrix, and Guardian Prime was born."
"And Atrium?" Orion asked, knowing there was something coming that would somehow be different from the histories he'd been learning his entire life. "What became of him."
"I served my Prime for eons, always tempted to reveal my true identity." Alpha Trion explained. "But as a few million years passed, I noticed unsettling changes in Guardian Prime. His compassion gradually waned over time, his willingness to compromise on previously unbending moral stands increased, and I found myself less and less willing to take part in any decisions of his government, which was fine with him. By this point I had been fully replaced by Jhiaxus, and even his former enemy Galvatron was having more influence than I had. Once again, I disappeared, opting for a life of low-key existence."
Trion paused as he allowed himself a moment to formulate his thoughts before continuing. "Eons continued to pass, I even tried my hand at influencing the scientific community, anonymously of course, submitting hypotheses and observations designed to prompt other scientists to follow lines of theory that I felt should be followed. Most were too dense to fully grasp what I hoped for them to grasp, but a brilliant young scientist did start to yield fruit from the seeds I'd sent out into the world, and soon unraveled the mystery of who and where I was. He confronted me, exceptionally tall, well put together, I evaluated him and while I'm certain his spark was blue, he was astoundingly gifted physically. Not profoundly strong, but his speed, his reflexes, they were likely the equal of yours. And his shell mode," he smiled at the memory, "easily the most perfectly formed for flight that I've ever come across. We worked together for centuries, his mind, again like yours, was astoundingly brilliant, but his interests leaned far more heavily toward theoretical scientific applications than yours ever did. And unlike me, there was nothing keeping him from letting his brilliance shine. He became a rising star in the scientific community and was soon recognized by Jhiaxus. He had been working with Jhiaxus only a short time before realizing what I had known for millions of years; the scientist was absolutely without any morality or limits."
A wave of sadness passed over Alpha Trion as the next series of memories went through his head. "Jetfire considered quitting, not being able to stomach helping Jhiaxus with his weapon designs, but I asked him to continue on. I asked him to find out everything he could about what the sociopath was working on. I asked him to be a spy and put his life in danger doing so. I asked too much, and he paid the price."
"He was the one that leaked the plans for the Ferrotaxis?" Orion postulated.
"Yes." Alpha Trion replied. "But I genuinely think his involvement was never discovered, at least at that point, and Guardian Prime's response gave me hope for Prime's redemption. But it was short-lived hope. Within decades it was clear that he viewed other lifeforms as beneath us, regardless of sentience or intellect or any other factor. Even other mechanical species were our lesser, worthy of more respect than the organics, but in Guardian Prime's mind, we were the pinnacle of existence. And it was becoming clear that he was intent on spreading our supremacy through the galaxy, and I could no longer deny the fact that genocide was a tool in his arsenal that he would readily use."
"No." Orion countered, shaking his head emphatically as he stood from his chair. "No. I am familiar with supremacists, and I cannot accept that Guardian Prime is in any way like Megatron."
"Why, because he's charismatic?" Alpha Trion asked. "He exudes leadership and has done great things?" He stared intently into Orion's still-disbelieving optics. "I'm not telling you what to believe, Orion, but I am telling you to be open to the possibility that he may be something other than the tales have told."
"Did you have a hand in what happened to the Manifest?" Orion turned and asked point blank.
Trion paused, but realized he could say nothing other than the truth. "Yes. I caused the crew to go into stasis, I made sure the ship disappeared on this world, and I assigned a battalion of Maximals, including your remaining kin, to this world to make sure that ship never left."
"Hundreds of soldiers starved to death while in stasis." Orion stated, his voice devoid of emotion.
"I didn't expect there to be a thousand sparks on the Manifest." Alpha Trion explained, remorse thick in his voice. "I didn't expect a lot of things. Those soldiers, Cybertronians likely ignorant to Prime's galactic aspirations and therefore innocent, were just some of the deaths I'm responsible for. Big Convoy, Lioconvoy, and apparently another Convoy that was a protoform birthed in the Sparkpulse that coincided with the fall of House Convoy died on this world, as did many of the Maximals I placed under their command." He noted the devastation on Orion's face that these revelations were causing him. "I am not innocent, and I should be held accountable for all that I've done, but so should Guardian Prime."
"You've provided no evidence of his wrongdoing." Orion said, though his voice lacked any conviction.
"I'll leave that for the detective that solved the Spark Collector case." Alpha Trion answered. "You don't even need to go home to begin your investigation into his crimes. The mutated energon native to this planet, it's not a naturally occurring product of this world. This Helios-3, this Earth, was meant to be a testing ground for the Ferrotaxis. The one thing that redeemed Gallus in my optics turned out to be a lie. Jhiaxus developed it here, along with other morally questionable weaponry, with the full knowledge and direction of Guardian Prime. My understanding is that colonist warlords found out about some of the Cybertronian tech here, and at some point during the conflicts between the Maximals stationed here and these invaders, the Ferrotaxis was discovered and activated for a short time before it was destroyed, or deactivated, I'm not sure, but the short period it was working, it altered the geology of much of the planet enough to create this…Ore-13 as it's been called."
"I…" Orion was deflated, "I will look into this. If there's truth to what you say," he paused, looked down and shook his head, "I will bring it to the attention of all and demand he be held accountable. Nobody, not even our greatest heroes, can be above the law. And if he authorized construction of the Ferrotaxis on a world teeming with life, that's beyond negligence. If his intent was to test it on this world, that's genocide; the genocide of every species on this world. It's planetcide. And if that's truly something he's capable of doing, I would stand against him, regardless of what Cybertronian justice would choose for him."
"Good, because Cybertronian justice is likely to disappoint you. It's little more than public servants doing what they think will keep them in power." Alpha Trion replied. "And they and the masses calling out to them are typically too focused on themselves to spend a care on organic creatures many lightyears away."
Orion paced across the room, stopping before a wall and staring into it. "I give you my word that I will look into these accusations and take whatever action I deem right." He slightly cocked his head in Alpha Trion's direction. "But doing so will likely invite conflict. It would be best if you were not here."
A protesting squeal came from Roller, which prompted Alpha Trion to respond. "No Roller, he's right. By this point Guardian Prime must know I was the one to sabotage and nearly kill him. My presence here puts you all at risk, and I may be seen as an unfair influence on Orion's pending investigation."
"I will provide you a shuttle craft, the Ark has a few, you're already familiar with the Oar." Orion stated as he turned back toward Alpha Trion.
"That won't be necessary." Alpha Trion replied. "I intend to remain on Earth."
"Do you have somewhere you can go?" Orion asked.
"Yes." Alpha Trion replied. "There's somewhere I need to go."
