Part One: Haven

Several months have gone by since the Autobot-Decepticon Alliance emerged victorious over Jhiaxus' legions on Earth. Since then, several small groups of second-generation Decepticons have caused trouble, but for the most part their activities have been disorganized and posed no real threat. The majority of Autobots and Decepticons have turned their attentions elsewhere, with only diehards like Grimlock continuing to pursue the Cybertronians through the depths of space. Predictably, many on both sides have begun to distance themselves from their supposed allies, and the consensus is that the Alliance's time is fleeting. Optimus Prime, perhaps the one being who could hold things together, is preoccupied with his attempts to shed light on Cybertron's dark past, and is spending an increasing amount of his time in the planet's core, studying with the ancient priests who call themselves the Keepers.

On Earth, the humanity has only begun to heal the wounds caused by Bludgeon and Jhiaxus. With hundreds of millions dead across the world, San Francisco and the surrounding area reduced to a radioactive wasteland and many national infrastructures lying in a state of ruin, Transformers are understandably unpopular at the moment. However, the Autobots have no intention of simply abandoning humanity, and have dispatched a new, covert Earthforce to provide clandestine aid to the human recovery efforts...and to deal with some other unfinished business as well.

Even after a week in hyperspace, Ultra Magnus still wasn't sure he'd done the right thing.

Sitting in the captain's chair of the Autobot starship Steelhaven, Magnus stared intently through the main viewport. There wasn't much for him to see while they were going through hyperspace, but that was OK...he wasn't paying much attention to what he was seeing anyway. He was too busy remembering how he had manoeuvred his way into this job in the first place.

Prowl had been planning to head the new Earthforce, but Magnus had pulled rank and taken the job on himself. In theory, he had done it because Galvatron was still at large on Earth and he was best-suited to deal with the maniac when he resurfaced. But the truth of the matter was that he'd just used the situation on Earth as an excuse to worm his way out of his responsibilities on Cybertron.

With the war against Jhiaxus' followers winding down, Optimus Prime had taken to spending a great deal of time in the underlevels of Cybertron, studying ancient lore alongside a small group of ancient mechanoids who called themselves 'Keepers'. Magnus knew the Keepers had proven themselves very useful during the recent crisis, helping Prime retrieve vital information about the second-Generation Decepticons from the Matrix. He hadn't approved of the amounts of time Prime was spending with them, though. He'd told Optimus that the Autobots needed a leader who was there for them, not someone who spent most of his time in the planet's core. He'd hoped to spur his old friend into coming back up for air, but the reaction he'd gotten was vastly different.

Prime appointed Magnus as interim Autobot leader. Then he went back down into the core, and he hadn't been heard from since.

Ultra Magnus had found himself floundering in his new position. He'd never wanted the job, and he had grown sick of it very quickly. To make matters worse, Megatron had decided that Magnus wasn't worthy of his time and insisted that all intra-faction communications go through one of his minions until Prime came back. That left him to try to coordinate things with Soundwave, who had become less and less cooperative with each passing day.

Even after all that, Magnus hadn't thought of leaving the job. Not until a few weeks ago. Not until he'd had that fateful conversation with Springer.

The leader of the Survivors had commiserated with him, and had told him a bit about what his team had found on a recent trip out to Earth. The planet was in shambles, but the humans hadn't wanted his help. In fact, they'd shot at him when he had offered it. Magnus had already known the gist of it, of course; Prowl had come to him with his proposal for a covert Autobot presence on Earth the day before. But hearing about the perils that Earth faced first-hand from an old comrade had sparked the idea of taking the assignment himself. Prowl had protested at first, but the idea of being left in charge of Cybertron had placated him. The strategist had always wanted an opportunity like this, and he had eventually decided that switching roles with Magnus wouldn't be all that bad after all.

It wasn't until after the Steelhaven had launched that Magnus had had second thoughts. He truly believed that Prowl was better-suited to deal with whatever schemes that Megatron and Soundwave might cook up than he was, but he didn't like the idea of simply walking out on an assignment like that. After all, Prime had chosen him for a reason, even if Magnus himself couldn't see what that reason was.

Ah, well. It's too late to change my mind now.

The massive Autobot got out of the captain's chair, more because the movement would distract him than because he had anywhere to go. He noticed that Hubcap glanced curiously over his shoulder at him, suggesting he'd been sitting there staring out the window for a lot longer than he'd realized.

"What's our status?" he asked the Minibot (who was, at the moment, the only other Autobot on the bridge).

"Um..." Hubcap looked down at his board, suggesting that the small Autobot hadn't been paying any more attention than Magnus himself had been. "We're good," he finally said. "Course and speed are as expected. ETA at Earth is...uh...twelve hours. Sir."

"Good," Magnus said in a mildly disinterested tone. "In that case, I think I'll go down and see how much progress Streetwise and Grapple have made on stealth-shielding our shuttles. Keep a watch on things, Hubcap."

"Uh..." The Minibot seemed astounded. "Yes, sir. I'll make sure everything's still in one piece when you get back."

Magnus nodded, then strode into the turbolift.

Stepping out of the elevator, the first thing that struck Springer about Autobase Protihex was how empty the place was. The anteroom was totally unoccupied, a stark contrast to the main command post at Iacon. That place was a swirl of activity, with techs, agents, analysts, guards and other underlings scurrying about, their minds occupied by whatever crisis happened to be gripping Cybertron that particular week. This place, though, was a graveyard, much like the old underground HQs he had worked out of during the resistance. It reminded the veteran Autobot of all the operations he had carried out for Emirate Xaaron during the height of the resistance movement, first as a regular field officer and later as a Wrecker.

There was one major difference, though. In those days, the operations were invariably targeted against the Decepticon tyrants who ruled the majority of the world. But those Decepticons were allies now...and the new ones who had popped up to replace them weren't so easily dealt with.

Springer's reverie was broken up by a rude voice calling from behind him.

"Hey, you! Stop! This is a restricted area!"

Turning slowly and deliberately, the triplechanger locked optics with a black, grey and orange Autobot who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The unfamiliar Transformer was approaching him with an aggressive posture, a scowl on his face, and one hand on the butt of his sidearm.

"I'm talkin' to you!" the bombastic soldier snapped. "Identify yourself, now!"

I don't have time for this...

"Cool it, kid," Springer told him. "Tailspin cleared me at the gate. I'm here to see Wh—"

Not placated, the sentry cut him off. "Sure he did," the Autobot said tautly. He drew his weapon, but left it hanging by his side...for now, anyway.

"Not that I don't believe you...but either show me your credentials or get out of the building!" His optic band narrowed, displaying apparent ire. "And don't call me 'kid'. The name's Sprocket."

"Sprocket, eh?" Springer seemed to mull over that. For a moment, it seemed like he would comply with the rude soldier's orders. But only for a moment. Then the triplechanger lunged forward, knocking Sprocket's gun aside with a lightning-fast swipe of him arm. Milliseconds later, Springer headbutted him in the mouth. Before the surprised Autobot could react, he found himself slammed face-first into a wall with Springer's elbow jammed into the base of his neck.

"My name is Springer," the triplechanger practically growled. "I'm here to see Whirl. My old friend. Your boss. Those are my credentials. So it'd probably smart if you didn't draw your weapon on me again."

The younger Autobot's optics grew wide, obviously realizing he had just accosted a very high-ranking superior officer.

Fairly sure that the youngster wasn't going to make a move on him again, Springer stepped away from Sprocket. The other Autobot shook his head as if to clear it, then collected his weapon from the ground and gave Springer one last dirty look before stalking away.

"I see you haven't lost your touch," a familiar voice called from over Springer's right shoulder.

Turning a bit more eagerly this time, Springer felt a wide grin split his face. "Lets just say I've kept in practice, Whirl."

"I'm sure you have," the gangly blue Autobot acknowledged. "But try not to practice on my field agents anymore, OK?"

"So what brings you to my humble abode after all these years?"

After the unpleasantness with Sprocket, Springer and Whirl had retreated to the latter's office. The Triplechanger was more than a little surprised by how luxurious it was. Expensive furnishings including a fully-stocked energon dispensary and at least a dozen large holotables were scattered artfully around the large room. The effect was rather grandiose, but it struck Springer as a little odd. None of it, he reflected, would have been to the taste of the Autobot he had once known.

It hasn't been that long, has it? Springer wondered silently. He knew the answer, though; it had been that long, and then some. Over eight Earthen years had passed since Xaaron had unceremoniously cashiered the soldier out of the Wreckers and chained him to a desk, and those years seemed to have taken a toll on his old friend.

Not that accidentally ending up in command of a whole city wouldn't take its toll on any one of us.

"Wrecker business," Springer finally said.

"I didn't think there were any Wreckers anymore," Whirl told him. "Not after that Galvatron mess a few years back." There was a note of regret in the monocular Autobot's voice. Springer suspected that he felt guilty for having dodged the bullet that took out so many of his friends. It was a feeling that the roguish Autobot had himself become intimately familiar with over the last few years.

"We're making a comeback," Springer said with a dash of bravado. Truth be told, though, it was false bravado; when Prowl had first asked him to rebuild the Wreckers, he had balked. The strategist had made good points, though, and Springer eventually found that he couldn't bring himself to refuse. The war with the remnants of Jhiaxus' armies had degenerated into meaningless rear-guard harassment and the alliance with Megatron's Decepticons was on tenuous ground. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, and Springer couldn't argue with Prowl's conclusion: quite simply, the alliance was not long for this world. Another war with Megatron's followers was inevitable and the Autobots would need a symbol to rally around. With Magnus busy on Earth, Prime obsessed with religious nonsense and Grimlock fixated on finding the seemingly ephemeral 'Hub' that the second-generation Decepticons spoke of, only the Wreckers could fill that void.

He didn't say any of that to his old friend, though. As a city commander, Whirl surely knew even more about the situation than he did. All Springer said was "You interested?"

"Interested?" The taller Autobot shrugged, a motion that was rendered comical by his overlong arms. "Of course I'm interested. The Wreckers are in my oil, you know that. But I can't."

"Heh." Springer made an annoyed noise. "You like being a bigwig too much to come out and play with the guys anymore, eh?"

"It's not that," Whirl assured him. "They need me here," he said. "All the Autobots here...they're good kids, for sure. But they're still kids."

"Sprocket seems to disagree."

"Huh?"

"Nevermind," Springer waved the question away. "You were saying?"

"Most of them are new recruits, Springer. Only a couple of them served in the resistance. The rest all signed up after the Unicron war. With the situation on Earth and the whole pileup with these second-generation Decepticons...homeworld security doesn't get the attention it deserves. If I left, they'd never be able to replace me." The ex-Wrecker shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry." Springer took another look at Whirl's posh office, then allowed his head to bow sadly. "This was a mistake. I'll see myself out."

As he headed out the door, the image of Impactor frowning in disappointment popped unbidden into Springer's mind.

I lost another one, dammit.

It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for the organics.

As he strode down the main artery of what had once been the busiest freeport in the sector, Skyjack glanced sympathetically at a knot of fleshlings that were trying unsuccessfully to hide in the shadows. Even though he had no respect for the lower life-forms, he felt a pang of empathy for them; they were obviously doomed, and they knew it. But then he remembered the ignorant, speciesist tripe that most of Grand Central Space Station's residents had spouted in his direction during his time there, and he felt a rising urge to turn back and slaughter them where they stood.

No, he told himself. That's what the purification squads are for. They'll clean up the last of this place's former owners soon enough. I've been summoned, and from what I've heard the new boss doesn't brook delays.

Almost before he was done thinking it, he saw two of the Empire's green-and-white footsoldiers approaching from the opposite direction. They saluted as they passed, a gesture that the spy returned absentmindedly. A few seconds later he heard the sound of blaster fire, followed shortly by the wet plop of broken organic bodies falling to the ground.

Skyjack didn't look back.

As he moved through the halls towards the large tavern that had been co-opted and refitted to serve as the Empire's battle-planning centre, the Cybertronian field agent reflected on all the time he'd spent on this hateful station. He was painfully aware that he had been aboard the flimsy floating tin can gathering intelligence for his masters for nearly seventy local solar cycles. By the time Rage and his stormtroopers had blasted their way in, slaughtered the local fleshbags' security forces and taken the station, Skyjack had been so sick of the place that he was seriously contemplating trying to walk home.

Whoever said a spy's life was all excitement and adventure was obviously never a spy...

The Imperial agent came to a stop before a heavily-manned guard post and waited impatiently as one of the troopers carefully examined his credentials. Once the guard had determined that they were genuine, the green-and-white trooper straightened, offered a salute, and let Skyjack enter the secured military wing of the space station.

A few dozen metres down the corridor, Skyjack turned and passed through the dingy doors of what had been known only a few days before as the Black Hole Bar & Grill. The tavern had been the preferred watering hole for the worst of the station's anti-robot bigots, but these days the only life forms inside its walls were of the mechanical persuasion. The thought had a delicious irony to it, one that the spy would have taken time to relish if he had had any to spare. However, he didn't; the room was filled with robots because it was the tactical command centre for the Cybertronian Empire forces sweeping through the station, and he was here because the commander of those forces wished to speak to him.

Stepping into the room was like stepping into another world. Outside, even in the secured zones, firefights were constantly breaking out between Imperial patrols and the pathetic carbonic blobs that still infested the station. Most of the creatures were merely trying to escape, but a scant few were actively engaged in trying to scuttle the station to deny it to the occupiers. Inside the room, though, was the most orderly scene one could ask for.

In one corner, Calcar and his analysts were hunched over a holotable, likely poring over the records of the assault to see which tactics had proven most effective against the fleshlings. Nearby, Afterburner and his technical team leaders were studying the space station's schematics, probably trying to figure out the best way to refit the ramshackle structure into an acceptable forward base for the Imperial fleet. Other division heads were scattered throughout the room, their subordinates contained within their own perfectly-allotted spaces. Scattered between them all, Jetstorm, Drench and their team of coordinators floated with the irritating efficiency that anyone in the taskforce's upper or middle echelons had long since grown to hate.

Skyjack only had a few seconds to take this in, though, before his attention was drawn by someone beaconing him. It wasn't who he had come to see, but it was someone too senior to just ignore. The spy had to repress a frightful shudder at the thought of having to deal with the ominous Rage, but years of training allowed him to gather his wits and head over to meet the stormtrooper commander at the bar.

The very fact that there was still a bar present at all seemed a bit odd, given that the rest of the room was a fully-functional tactical command centre. Skyjack supposed it had been stocked with machine-appropriate beverages, but it remained an oddity. A part of him suspected that Rage had insisted on keeping it solely to irritate the loathsome coordinators, a goal that Skyjack supported wholeheartedly.

"Good to see you, sir," he lied to the high-ranking warrior as he got closer. "I was impressed with how well your troops handled the siege."

"Of course you were," Rage answered with a slightly annoyed tone, as if such things went without saying. "Sit down and have a drink," he told the junior Decepticon in a voice that was half invitation and half order.

"I really shouldn't," Skyjack said in a voice that he hoped didn't betray the nervousness he felt; the only time the stormtrooper commander offered anyone anything was when he wanted something from them...or when his faculties were impaired by some new, exotic intoxicant he had tried. Neither possibility was encouraging. "The Liege Centuro called me in," he said by way of explanation. "I've got to report to him."

"Bah!" The volume of Rage's voice and his mildly slurred speech suggested that he had indeed imbibed too much of whatever vile concoction he was drinking, but Skyjack wisely didn't comment. "The grand and wonderful Clench is in an emergency holo-conference right now. He'll find us when he's done."

Still bitter that you weren't given command of the fleet, are we? It was common knowledge that Rage believed he was a far more qualified leader than Clench and blamed the other's promotion on the fact that one of Clench's spawn-brothers served as a top aide to the Liege Uberlegus. Easier than admitting that Overlord passed you over because of this self-destructive substance abuse habit of yours, I suppose...

Without a word, the spy dropped into a seat close (but not too close) to the officer. Rage deftly collected another tankard from behind the bar and filled it with the bubbling, steaming brew he was drinking.

"The Chromites call this drink flaxa," he said. The stormtrooper's optics narrowed wickedly "Or rather, they did before we conquered them last year. They don't say much of anything these days. It was made from some sort of unique petrochemical by-products that their refineries generated, I'm told."

Skyjack took the tank of brew with his clawed hand and took a sip of it. After setting the foul drink down on the bar, he nodded diplomatically and said, "Interesting."

"It's flaming terrible," Rage said with a note of amusement in his slightly-slurred voice.

The spy chuckled. "Then why are you drinking it?"

"Because all my Syk canisters are still in storage on the Nightshade," the stormtrooper said. An amused expression on his face, he added, "And because most mechs would rather sit here drinking it than just tell me it's terrible."

"You tend to have that effect on people," Skyjack noted.

"But not on you," Rage noted. "You're the only mech on the station who has enough common sense to keep his fears focused squarely on our enemies." A note of grim amusement entered his voice. "Even the ever-wise and almighty Clench is afraid I'm going to fly into a murderous frenzy and tear him apart at the drop of a microchip."

"I'm not sure that you won't, either." Skyjack shrugged. "But then, I spend most of my life in enemy encampments, so I'm used to being around people who might kill me at any given moment. It goes with the territory, I suppose."

Rage's only reply was to take another swig of his vile beverage.

Before either of the Decepticons could say anything more, an imposing figure cast its' shadow over them. Without looking up, Rage rumbled, "Ah, Clench. How magnanimous of you to join us." His optics narrowed maliciously. "Drink?"

"Nnnn." Turning to face the fleet commander, Skyjack saw a mirthless scowl on Clench's face. It quickly disappeared, though, as the Cybertronian leader turned to face him. "Thank you for coming, Skyjack. I'd meant to personally debrief you about your time here, but I'm afraid something has come up."

"If I may ask," the inquisitive spy said softly, "what?"

"New orders from the Hub," Clench said, a note of apprehension in his normally oily voice. "From the Liege Uberlegus himself, as it happens."

Despite his training, Skyjack was obviously taken aback. As a rule, the Liege Maximo's top lieutenant only took a personal interest in the most vital of the empire's activities. "What are we to do?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Clench admitted. "All I was told was to continue fortifying our position and wait for a personal briefing."

"Overlord is coming here?" Rage demanded, his inebriation seemingly burned away by the pronouncement.

Clench nodded.

Skyjack's T-shaped optic sensor widened. Well, he thought, I guess I'm not going to get out of this box any time soon...

"You know, I don't think I'm too crazy about this idea..."

First Aid turned to Blades, his face sympathetic. "It's a perfectly safe operation," he told his patient. His optics sparkled for a second. "And besides...you've never struck me as the squeamish type. You don't want to get a bad reputation, do you?"

Blades scowled. "I'm gonna strike you in a whole different way if you start spreading that around," he warned his fellow Protectobot half-seriously.

Setting down his tools, First Aid sighed. Taking a few steps forward, he sat on the surgical table across from his friend. The medic took a few moments to look around the medical bay, his gaze finally falling on the large viewport through which he could see the white haze of hyperspace. "This isn't about the surgery, is it?"

A full spectrum of emotions flashed across Blades' face so fast that someone unfamiliar with the rough-and-tumble Autobot street fighter probably wouldn't have been able to see it. "The operation doesn't bother me. Not nearly as much as having four guys I barely know plugged into my brain would bother me, anyway. It was weird enough when I had to join with you guys, and I like you guys!"

First Aid nodded, obviously empathizing with his friend. "I understand why you'd be reluctant," he confessed. "No one actually enjoys combining, and being the new guy in an established team is bound to be awkward on a lot of levels. I'm sure it's not something the Aerialbots will be totally comfortable with, either. But if Silverbolt didn't think it was important, he wouldn't have come to me with the idea in the first place. He did, though, and I agreed to talk to you about it. Because he and I both know how much good a functioning combiner could do when we get to Earth."

"I know, but-" Blades broke off, shaking his head. "If I join them," he said at last, "that's the end of the Protectobots."

"That's what's bothering you?" First Aid shrugged. "I can tell you right now there's no reason to worry about that. You, me, Groove and Streetwise...we'll always be Protectobots. Working with different teammates isn't going to change that. Just because Hot Spot went and atomized himself doesn't mean the rest of us are going to give up on each other."

First Aid surprised himself with the bitterness in his voice, and truth be told he was a bit ashamed of it. He had been proud at first, when he had heard of his leader's heroic sacrifice. But Megatron had taken great pleasure in telling him that the Transformer technology that Hot Spot had given his life to destroy was nothing but junk, and now First Aid couldn't help but feel that his friend had inadvertently tossed his life away for no reason.

The surgeon patted his teammate on the shoulder, but whatever he would have said next was cut off by the intercom.

"Doc, this is Chromedome. We're about ready down here."

"I'll be there in a minute," First Aid assured the Headmaster. Turning to Blades, he gave his friend a nod. "You'll be here when I get back?"

Blades set his jaw and returned the nod. "I will."

Bumblebee looked up at the row of six Autobot-sized tubes that lined one side of the Steelhaven's tech bay, a bemused expression on his face.

"What's up?" Jazz asked lightly.

"Oh, nothing," the smaller Autobot said, turning to face his comrade. "I was just wondering where Megatron got those shells of his. The ones that Ratchet used to revive us a few years back, I mean. I don't remember seeing any big tubes like this in his base."

Jazz shrugged. "Who knows, man? He might've had a bunch of 'em stuffed in a back room somewhere. Didn't get to see much of the place before Doc Ratchet blew it sky high, after all."

"True," Bumblebee shrugged, then looked back up at the nearest tube with an appreciative look on his face. "Either way, I'm just happy I didn't have to get fried again to qualify for a new one."

"Don't be so sure," a voice called out from behind the tubes. A moment later, a white head with an orange faceplate popped out from between the tubes. "You keep distracting me with witty banter and I might accidentally cross a few wires in here."

Bumblebee hopped back, startled by the other Autobot's sudden appearance. "Chromedome! What are you doing back there?"

"First Aid asked me to check out all the systems in here before we tested them on a live subject." The computer programmer snapped a panel back into place on the side of the tube, then crawled out from between them.

"I've triple-checked everything and replaced some worn-out wiring," he said as he pushed himself back to his feet. "So you don't have to worry about getting turned inside out when you climb inside. I think."

Bumblebee's optics narrowed. "You think?"

"I'm just a programmer, remember. Brainstorm was the hardware expert in our group. I've done what I can." Chromedome shrugged. "Don't worry about it. The odds of you dying a horrible death are fairly low."

"Fairly low?" Bumblebee headed towards the room's comm panel. "Why don't I call Grapple down and ask him to check it out?"

"Grapple wouldn't know what he's looking at," Chromedome said. "He missed out on fifty thousand vorns of technological advances while his spark was sitting in a storage crystal on the Ark. Sorry, but you're stuck with me."

"I see," Bumblebee was starting to look a bit wary. "Maybe I should try to find another volunteer..."

Chromedome looked like he was going to say something more, but the Headmaster couldn't get it out before he started to laugh uncontrollably. Bumblebee gave him an odd look, then glanced over at Jazz. His friend had a big grin on his face.

"What?"

"Grapple knows exactly how the equipment works," the taller Autobot told him. "He went over the entire system two days ago and said it was A-okay. Chromedome here was just plugging your shell's specs into the synthesizers."

The Minibot stared at Jazz for a moment before turning to glare energo-daggers at Chromedome. "Why, you little..."

Jazz strode towards the still-laughing Headmaster, dropped a hand on his shoulder and steered him towards the door. "Come on, joker. Lets get you out of here before you blow out your vocorders..."

First Aid walked in as the two Autobots were leaving. After glancing at the departing duo, he gave Bumblebee a perplexed look.

"What did I miss?"

Prowl resisted the urge to glare at the image on his communications screen. It wouldn't do any good to get upset at him, and given the Decepticon's rather tenuous status as an ally showing any signs weakness would be bad form.

Besides, I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he's getting to me.

"I understand what you're saying, Soundwave," he said aloud, "But you have to understand where we're coming from. You Decepticons are free to send as many troops as you like out to hunt for the remnants of Jhiaxus' army, but we Autobots have other obligations."

Soundwave's answer was laced with ultra-subtle undertones of contempt and mockery. "'Obligations' such as your mission to Earth, you mean. Why you continue to give aid and support to the ungrateful humans I'll never understand."

Prowl's ire was redoubled by the Decepticon officer's comment.

We have to support them because you and your playmates blew up half of their infrastructure last year just to get a reaction out of us!

After taking a moment to make sure his voice came out steady, he said, "Abandoning the humans would be counterproductive. Their world is in shambles and ripe for conquest by any of a dozen hostile forces, none of which we want occupying a resource-rich world so close to our flank."

"Granted," Soundwave said flatly, as if the topic, which had been the subject of an ongoing debate between the Decepticon and Ultra Magnus for several months, was of no interest to him. "But the humans want nothing to do with your troops. They attacked the last unit you sent to the planet, and I have no doubt they will do the same to the Steelhaven crew when they detect them."

Prowl made a small noise of frustration, but quickly clamped down on his emotions before they could take hold of him. A moment later, the strategist shook his head. "As much as I would love to have this conversation with you for the sixth time," he said, "your message gave me the impression that you had something of substance to discuss."

Soundwave nodded slightly, conceding the point. "Indeed. The Mayhem Attack Squad has reported back in."

"And what did Spinister have to say for himself?" This time, Prowl allowed a small note of impatience to enter his voice; after only a few weeks, he was getting tired of playing these games with the taciturn Decepticon. As the humans would say, it's like pulling teeth.

"Very little," Soundwave replied. "He was injured in the raid and is still recovering in our medical ward. Needlenose, however, had a great deal of new intelligence to share."

Prowl waited several seconds. When it became apparent that Soundwave had no intention of continuing, he prompted, "Such as...?"

"Such as the fact that the so-called 'Cybertronian Empire' has finally appointed a new commander to take control of what remains of Jhiaxus' armies." Soundwave glanced down momentarily, apparently consulting a datapad. "It would appear that this new leader has tasked the remains of the fleet to secure a forward base for a new campaign."

Prowl nodded. "That would certainly explain some of the reports I've been getting," the Autobot tactician admitted.

"Such as?"

Prowl allotted himself five seconds to be amused at having turned the tables on the frustrating Decepticon, then answered. "Sky High and Groundbreaker just got back from a cargo run to Femax," he said. "On their way back, they intercepted some...odd transmissions from Grand Central space station. It would appear that a group of Transformers have seized control of the facility."

"I can't imagine wanting to control such a place," Soundwave said dryly. "But I admit it would make an exceptional staging ground for a force seeking to invade this sector. May I suggest a reconnaissance mission to ascertain the situation at the station?"

"I've already sent Cosmos to scout the area," Prowl told him, a trace of smugness in his voice.

"Very good," Soundwave replied emotionlessly. "Have there been any other developments that the Decepticons need to be made aware of?"

"None on my end," Prowl said. "Do you have any more data to share?"

"No," Soundwave said flatly. "I will contact you again when we do."

With no closing pleasantries, the Decepticon officer's face disappeared from Prowl's screen. Even though he had gotten used to such slights since Magnus had handed day-to-day command of Autobot operations over to him, the Autobot was still irritated by his Decepticon counterpart's rudeness.

Things were so much simpler when they were the enemy, Prowl thought ruefully.

First Aid stood at the control panel for the Pretender formation tubes and went over the schematics of Bumblebee's new shell one last time, then gestured towards the nearest formation tube. The transparisteel tube slid upwards so that the Autobot could get inside.

"Everything looks in order here," he told the Minibot.

"None of the new modifications are going to cause any problems?"

"Not that I can see," the medic replied. "The new chemical sensor arrays in your gloves will draw a lot of power, but it's easy enough to switch them off when you don't need them. Other than that, everything should work the same as your old shell did. Aside from the new mass-shift driver, anyway."

"Good," Bumblebee smiled. "How's that work, anyway?"

"The mass-shifter?" First Aid looked up from the panel and met his fellow Autobot's optics. "It's pretty complicated...even I'm not sure exactly how Perceptor made it work. But it basically shifts some of your shell's mass into subspace so you can shrink it down to human size." The amusement was obvious in his optics. "Well, as long as you're not inside at the time, anyway. I know you're a little guy, but I think things would get a little tight in there."

Bumblebee chuckled. "Here's hoping I never find out." The Minibot stepped onto the disc-shaped base and turned to face forward. "OK, doc. Let's get this show on the road."

First Aid wasn't quite sure what Bumblebee was talking about, but assumed it was human slang of some kind. Still, it wasn't hard to get the gist of it. "This might itch a bit, according to what I've read."

The doctor tapped a button, and the transparent tube slid back into place. A few moments later, a biochemical slurry started to spray down from the nozzle at the top of the device. Within seconds, it started to sculpt itself into the shape that had been programmed into the formation tube's processors. By the time two minutes had passed, the shell was completely formed. The cylinder of transparisteel retracted once more, and a now-shelled Bumblebee strode out.

"How do I look, doc?"

First Aid's expression was serious. "You look like a giant human wearing a yellow and red suit of armour." Behind his faceplate, the doctor cracked a smile. "But since that's what we were going for, I'd say you look pretty good."

Bumblebee took a moment to admire his shell's image as reflected in a viewport, but the Pretender was startled when he saw the white void of hyperspace dissolve into the mostly-black backdrop of realspace.

"I guess the fashion show's over," he said. "Time to get to work. Thanks, Doc."

"Excuse me, Mr. Blackrock. You have visitors."

G.B. Blackrock looked up from his desk full of work and gave his secretary a disbelieving look. "It's nearly midnight, Cheryl. Tell them to come back when they've made an appointment."

"I'm sorry, sir," the young woman said. "But Mr. Goldberg said it was an emergency."

"Well, he'll just..." Blackrock's voice trailed off. "Goldberg, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"Where is he?"

"Waiting right outside the door, sir."

Blackrock frowned, unsure of how this particular visitor could have gotten inside a human-sized building. He's small for one of them, but he's not that small.

"Send him in, I suppose."

Cheryl left, and a moment later a short human wearing odd clothes in a familiar shade of yellow walked in. He was accompanied by a taller man in a similar white-and-blue outfit.

"Mr. Goldberg, I presume?" G.B. addressed the question to the shorter man. The right side of his mouth curled up in a half-smile. "I didn't realize you had one of those things. Or that they could shrink down like this, for that matter."

"We've made a few modifications to our shells," the shorter man admitted, his voice friendly. "Forty foot tall humans don't really make for the best disguises, after all." He gestured to his companion. "You remember Jazz, I hope."

"He's pretty hard to forget," Blackrock conceded. After all, the first time he had met the flashy Autobot Jazz had kidnapped him in the hopes of negotiating an alliance. "I don't mean to be rude, Bumblebee," he said, "but what are you guys doing here? You're pretty far from home, and Transformers aren't very popular these days."

"That's exactly why we're here," Bumblebee said. "After all the damage that our war caused your planet over the last few years, Ultra Magnus felt that we owed it to you to do what we can to help fix it."

"Even if you aren't wanted?"

The Pretender shrugged. "It's our fault. We have to at least try."

Blackrock nodded, images of the still-catatonic Josie Beller flashing through his mind. "I understand. But what does any of this have to do with me?"

Jazz stepped forward. "Your company is big into the rebuilding efforts, right?"

"We are," the industrialist admitted.

"Think you could use some, uh, foreign technical consultants?"

Blackrock nodded. "I think I could find a place for a few. What do you have in mind?"

"You guys swept up that ol' 'Con base in Oregon, I hear."

"That castle they built from the Harrison nuclear plant? Yeah, we bought the land in a government auction a couple years back." G.B. shrugged. "They finally gave up trying to understand the Decepticon technology in there, but my engineers haven't been able to make anything of it, either."

"How'd you like to turn it into a rental property?" Jazz grinned.

In fact, Blackrock was loathe to turn over such a valuable piece of real estate to someone who might get it blown up. But truth be told, there was little he could do with it himself at the moment. The industrialist sighed. "Sure. Why not? It's not doing us any good, anyway." He turned a questioning glance on the Autobots. "But what do you need the place for? You came here in a spaceship, didn't you?"

"Shuttling up and down from orbit is a bit...obvious," Bumblebee told him. "We managed to sneak in this time, but eventually your government would pick up on what we're doing. Since we're not the most popular guys right now, Magnus figures it's a good idea to keep everything as quiet as we can."

"I'll have to make some arrangements," he said. "But it should be all set for you guys to take over in a week or so."

"We'll let the boss know," Bumblebee told him. "Thanks, G.B."

"You're welcome," Blackrock said. But as the two Autobots left, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a monumental mistake.

'Mr. Goldberg' left the Blackrock skyscraper a few minutes later, his associate at his side. There was a pensive expression on his face.

"Come on, 'Bee," the taller Pretender said. "Cheer up. We got what we came for, right?"

"I suppose, Jazz." Bumblebee sighed. It's just...I wish we could have told him the whole story."

"I know," the other Autobot conceded. "I don't like dupin' ol' G.B., either. We've been through a lot with him over the years. But Magnus doesn't want anyone knowing that we're going to be looking for a bunch'a missing Transformers while we're here. Especially since one of them is Galvatron. The humans would be upset if they knew we were back, but they'd panic if they knew he was still tickin'."

Bumblebee just nodded. He didn't like, it, but Jazz was right. It probably was for the best.

The two Pretenders reached the parking lot. One of them climbed into an old VW, the other into a flashy Porsche. Almost as one, they drove off towards the city limits.

Row upon row of green-and-white shock troopers filled the huge cargo bay that Afterburner had hastily converted into an ad-hoc reception room. Running through the middle of the group was an aisle of sorts, and at the end of the aisle the upper-echelon officers of the taskforce were arrayed for inspection.

Skyjack felt a huge swell of pride at having been included in the latter group, an honour granted because of his vital part in securing the station for the Empire in the first place.

At the far side of the bay, the huge cargo doors smoothly slid open. A small craft hovered into the bay, slipping through the magcon field and landing smoothly in the allotted space. The shuttle, identical to thousands of other vessels that could be found in the fleet, betrayed no hint of the importance of its passenger.

As the landing ramp lowered, Skyjack felt a flutter of nervousness in his spark.

Striding down the ramp was the single largest Transformer he had ever seen. Although he had seen holographs of the Liege Maximo's second-in-command many times before, Skyjack hadn't quite realized how massive he was. Taller even than the merge teams that the primitive throwback Autobots and Decepticons were said to possess, Overlord loomed over the assembled throng. The titanic blue, white and black figure walked slowly past the assembled warriors, surveying every facet of the congregation. Finally, when he reached the raised platform upon which the taskforce's leaders stood, he nodded in satisfaction.

"Most impressive," he rumbled. Even in such a simple statement, command echoed through his voice. Skyjack felt himself involuntarily trying to stand just a bit straighter.

An interesting effect, the spy mused internally. I wonder if he had his vocorder modified to create it, or if it just comes naturally.

At the centre of the column, Clench took a step forward to put himself at the forefront of his men. "Thank you, my lord." Dropping to one knee with precision, the commander bowed his head. "You honour us with your presence."

As one, Skyjack and his fellow officers repeated Clench's gesture, dropping and bowing. The arrayed shock troops on the other hand turned 90 degrees to face the assembled commanders, then stomped their right feet down into the deck plating in unison. The resulting cacophony echoed through the large bay for several seconds.

"Rise," Overlord instructed. Clench did so, and two seconds later his subordinates followed suit.

"You have done well," the huge warlord told the soldiers of his master's empire. "This place had long been a haven for the enemies of our kind. But because of your glorious efforts, we have turned it against them. This space station will be the launching point for an invasion the likes of which the races of this sector have never seen! Under my supervision, you will sweep forward and capture the worlds of this region for the Liege Maximo! We have taken blow after blow from our primordial cousins, but no more! We will draw them out, crush them, and convert the worlds they love into colonies of the Hub!"

The array of troopers below erupted into spontaneous cheers, as did several of the less-dignified commanders. Skyjack remained silent, contemplating the dangers of the course that the Liege Uberlegus was plotting for them. Part of him was nervous about the risks yet to come, but another part was excited.

At least, he thought, things don't look like they're going to be boring anymore.

Cosmos perched precariously on a slow-moving chunk of rock, observing the massive gathering of Decepticon warships. Two hours ago, when he had first arrived, he had found a fairly impressive enemy flotilla surrounding the captured space station. Shortly afterwards, though, more and more vessels started to pop out of hyperspace and join the assembled fleet. The last ship to arrive was impossibly huge, and would have easily dwarfed either Jhiaxus's Twilight or the Decepticon Warworld, the largest vessels the diminutive Autobot had ever seen.

Pity I'm stuck out here in the upper deck, Cosmos thought. He knew that it would be insane to venture closer to the assembled fleet, though, and for once he listened to the voice that spoke against his risky antics.

Vigilantly noting all that he saw, the small Autobot took great care to record all the communications traffic he could pick up from this distance. There was a great deal of it, mostly coded, but he had no doubt the analysts on Cybertron would have a field day trying to crack it.

Eventually the small comet moved beyond sensor range of the assembled warships. Cosmos transformed to spaceship mode and blasted off towards Cybertron.

Index | Part Two →