Part Four: Soldiers of the Empire

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Maria groaned and pulled the pillow over her head, hoping the noise would just go away of its own accord. After a minute or so of the racket, she grudgingly acknowledged that it wouldn't. In a groggy fit of rage, the young woman swung out viciously at her alarm clock. The clock tumbled off of her bedside table, but the beeping didn't stop.

Moaning, she managed to push herself to a sitting position. She stared at the fallen clock for a full twenty seconds before she realized that it wasn't the source of the commotion. The time it displayed was 4:45 AM...an ungodly hour at the best of times, made even worse because she'd just gotten to bed two hours ago.

The beeping continued.

My pager. Right. At this hour, it's got to be the precinct...

The young woman dragged herself out of bed, throwing on a robe as she started to dig around for the confounded device. Once she found it, she had to stare at it bleary-eyed for a few moments before she could read the short message it displayed. Groaning again, she roughly combed her dark hair away from her face with her fingers.

Join the police, serve the public good and protect the innocent...yeah, right. Funny how no one mentioned getting called in at all hours of the night...and on my day off, no less.

Maria didn't bother looking for her uniform. Instead, she settled for pulling on the first set of clean clothes she could find. Almost as an afterthought, she clipped her badge onto her belt.

This had better be damned good, she thought as she stalked out of her apartment.

Clench stood over the surgical table, calmly staring down at the red, blue and silver corpse that his science staff had recovered.

"Explain," he said.

"It's Optimus Prime, sir," Deluge replied. "Or rather, it was. The scans I've run suggest that this particular body went into permanent shutdown approximately one-tenth of one vorn ago." He chuckled. "In retrospect, it's obvious that the energy readings we detected on the surface were some sort of...afterimage, I suppose, of the energies of the Creation Matrix."

"I see," Clench said in a distant voice. The officer had an astounded expression on his face, as if he couldn't believe their luck. "I want you to-"

"Lord Clench," Jetstorm's prissy voice issued from the comm panel nearby. "There are three warships approaching our picket line, sir."

The Decepticon commander sighed. "From your attitude, shall I assume they aren't our warships?"

"None of ours, sir," Jetstorm confirmed. "They match the profile we have for local defence force cruisers."

"How long until they hit firing range?"

"About five minutes, assuming constant course and speed."

"Is that so?" Clench scowled. "No chance of getting backup there in time, I take it?"

"Not as such, no."

"Send the two nearest destroyers anyway. They might need the help. I'll be up there ASAP. Clench out." The Cybertronian leader cut the comm line before the tiresome coordinator could say any more.

Turning back to Deluge, he gestured to the body. "I want this repaired to fully functional status. Mend all the structural damage, then replace every obsolete component and system with the most modern parts we have on-hand."

"Uh..." The scientist was perplexed. "Why? It's a corpse."

Instead of answering, Clench continued. "While the technicians are working, I want you to do a complete system map of its brain module. We'll need to know the status of each of its major neural systems...processors, memory, and the like. I'll check on your progress as soon as this little encounter with the natives is over."

"Aye sir," Deluge nodded, still unsure why he was being given this grizzly task. "But why spend so much time repairing a dead body? We're scientists, not necromancers."

Clench's optics were practically blazing. "Propaganda, of course."

The lab door slid closed before Deluge could ask any more. Since the scientist was caught speechless, that was probably for the best.

First Aid sat at his desk in the Steelhaven's medical ward, keeping careful watch on the vital signs of the six patients currently sitting in the ship's stasis pods. Skydive, Overdrive and Tracks were faring well; their damage wasn't life-threatening, and the pods' repair systems would knit their wounds without any intervention from him. Hound and Streetwise were in worse shape. The pods were keeping them alive, but he would have to perform serious surgery on both of them before their recovery could begin. Ratchet's status was still up in the air. First Aid had catalogued all of his major injuries and drawn up a repair schedule, but he still didn't know whether his fellow doctor would be able to recover from his neural damage; there would be no way to tell until all of the repairs had been finished.

Truth be told, there was no actual reason for him to be monitoring the patients. The stasis pods would keep the wounded alive indefinitely and the medbay computer would alert him if any serious problems cropped up with the pods themselves. No...he was there because he was trying to delay the next task on his checklist, the particularly nasty matter of Beachcomber's autopsy. Clinically slicing up a friend's body was the last thing any doctor wanted to do, but someone had to do it and he was the only medic on the expedition.

With a fatalistic sigh, he stood and headed towards the morgue. He had only taken a few steps when the medbay doors slid open to admit Downshift.

"How can I help you?" the medic asked, thankful for a moment's reprieve from his repulsive obligations.

"By coming with me," the unrelenting security officer said. "Right now. We've got a situation we need to sort out."

"My patients—"

"Are in stasis. They're not going to die unless someone comes along and switches off the power." The way he said it unnerved First Aid...almost as if he thought someone was actually going to try it some time soon.

"This is important, doc," Downshift added, his tone firm. "Let's step into your office and get it over with." Although he chose his words carefully, there was no mistaking that he was giving an order.

First Aid sighed. "OK. Try to make this quick, though. I've got a lot of surgeries to perform today."

Downshift nodded gravely. "Trust me...if this doesn't go well, you're going to have a lot more to worry about."

Clench stepped in front of the bridge's tactical display and watched the slaughter.

The native inhabitants of Cameron were fairly advanced as far as fleshlings went. They had been exploring space for nearly three vorns, establishing colonies on three other worlds in their star system and becoming a major player in regional trade. But with prosperity came a lot of undesirable attention, and they'd had to learn quickly how to defend their merchant ships and tourist industry from thieves, pirates and the armed forces of their less-scrupulous neighbours. After so many years of growth, the Cameronian fleet sported vessels that could go nearly blow for blow with Imperial warships.

If Clench had been equipped to do so, he would have smiled. Overlord chose well when he singled out this world as our target. They will serve the role he has ordained for them perfectly.

As the three alien ships moved towards the Cybertronian picket line, the green and white Imperial ships started to move into an attack formation. The picket group, a mix of small gunboats and flights of aerospace troopers, outnumbered their foes ten to one. All the same, they were heavily outgunned and several of the Cybertronian signals disappeared from the display in the first few moments of the skirmish.

Making a disgusted noise, Clench turned his back on the battle.

"Sir?" Jetstorm raised an optic ridge at him. "Do you have any new instructions for our forces?"

"No." Clench swatted the air as if to ward off the suggestion. "The die has been cast. It doesn't matter whether we win this scuffle or not. The natives know we're here; we don't have the element of surprise anymore. Contact the taskforce leaders and tell them that we're moving up our schedule. The attack begins in one hour." Standing, the Cybertronian commander stalked off for his ready room.

Jetstorm seemed taken aback, but he nodded nonetheless. "As you wish," he said. "If I may ask, what are you going to do in the interim?"

"I'm contacting the Autarch. Overlord needs to be brought up-to-date on recent developments."

The door to Clench's ready room slid shut before the coordinator could ask anything more.

On the bridge of the Cybertronian destroyer Intimidator, Rage stared down at his tactical display with a sickened expression on his face.

We've lost nearly a dozen picket vessels and Clench doesn't seem to care! This fool will be the death of us all!

Skyjack stood beside him, but the spy seemed more interested in watching the destroyer's crew than the unfolding skirmish. Drench was standing as far away from the duo as he could manage, occasionally sending baleful glares in their direction.

The Intimidator wasn't the largest ship attached to Rage's taskforce, but even so he had chosen it as his flagship. The captain and crew were among the best in the fleet and they had more experience supporting ground assaults than any other ship available. They had even worked with Rage's personal battalion more than once before, so he had a very good idea of what he could expect from the ship and her crew.

Competence is more important than raw power. And there is something to be said for not planting your flag on the most obvious target in the group. He pondered Clench, who was no doubt sitting in some laughably oversized throne on the Nightshade even now. Of course, that's a tactical lesson that our vainglorious Liege Centuro never seemed to learn.

As he stewed, a pair of larger green blips blinked into existence behind the three enemy craft.

About time.

With the two Cybertronian destroyers entering the fray, the outcome was never in doubt. They savaged the three native warships from behind, punching through their shields like tissue paper. Ten seconds after the attack began, the alien ships were burning in space.

Beaconed by the Intimidator's captain, Rage turned from the tactical hologram.

"Sir." The lesser Cybertronian saluted brusquely. "We have new orders from the Nightshade."

"Do tell," Rage said with a note of contempt. "What would the great and infallible Clench have us do now?"

The captain wisely passed over the chance to question the fleet commander's wisdom. "He's pushing forward the attack. He wants us ready to go in one hour."

Rage nodded, his expression somewhat mollified. "Good. See to it. I'll be in my chambers."

Downshift and First Aid sat on opposite sides of the medic's desk, glaring at each other. They sat motionless for nearly thirty seconds, each implicitly daring the other to speak first.

This is ridiculous, the security officer thought at last. We both have better things to do.

"How do you feel about our mission, Doctor?"

First Aid was incredulous. "You're interrogating me?"

"Just answer the question."

"Someone's got to do it," was all the medic said.

"Uh-huh," Downshift glanced down at his datapad for a moment, then looked up with a concerned look in his optics. "If it's got to be done, why did you file a formal protest when Magnus told you about our mission parameters?"

"If you know about that, then you know why."

"I'd like to hear it first-hand, if it's not too much trouble."

First Aid sighed. "I didn't like the idea of sneaking around on Earth without letting the humans know about it. It's their planet. We don't have the right to operate here without their permission."

"Mm-hmm," Downshift said noncommittally, making a few notes on his datapad. Without looking up he asked, "Is that why you're transmitting our comm logs to Earth?"

First Aid recoiled as if the security officer had hit him. "That's nonsense."

Downshift didn't seem to hear his reply. "Who are you sending them to? The US government? Or someone less savoury? COBRA, maybe?"

"You're making a serious mistake here," the medic warned, his voice growing frosty.

"You're the one who's making the mistake, Doctor," Downshift told him in an equally-cold tone. "Denying your crime only magnifies the seriousness of it. Tell me exactly what you did and maybe I'll be able to get Magnus to quash the treason charges."

"That is quite enough," First Aid told him, rising from his desk. "Get out of my office. Now."

"You're not the one giving orders here," Downshift spoke a bit defensively. The fire in the surgeon's voice had taken him by surprise.

"Yes I am," First Aid shot back. "You don't have a shred of evidence to support your insane theory, let alone enough to have me relieved of duty. Until you do, I'm still this expedition's chief medical officer. I'm the only one who can give orders in sickbay. Now get the hell out of here. I've got lives to save."

"This won't be the last conversation we have about this, Doctor," Downshift said as he got up and headed for the door.

First Aid was too incensed to reply.

Most people don't realize how empty deep space can be.

Oh, it's easy enough to grasp it intellectually. But there's a big difference between talking about light-years and parsecs and actually understanding how unfathomably vast they are. Stars and planets, asteroids and moons...these are naught but insignificant specs, tiny motes of dust that mar the otherwise-perfect emptiness that is the universe. The tragic irony is that it is only those specs that give meaning to the emptiness. Without them to define what emptiness is, the universe would have no meaning beyond the nothingness of the Void that the Chaos Bringer eternally strove for. Cybertronian philosophers have struggled with that incongruity for many long years. Some of their more practical counterparts have learned to take advantage of it.

Overlord was one of the latter.

He knew the massed fleet of warships at Grand Central had been very difficult to miss, and that his enemies could learn a great deal about his plans just by watching the comings and goings in the system. Not wanting to give up even the slightest scrap of useful information to his foes, the Decepticon commander had taken the bulk of the Imperial fleet into deep space as soon as he had seen Clench and his small flotilla off to the Cameron system.

More provincial minds would have balked at the very idea of trying to hide a fleet of hundreds of starships, let alone an armada flagged by a single vessel as large as a small planet. But learned Decepticons like Overlord knew that no matter what they built — no matter how powerful and prideful they grew — everything they did paled in the face of the endless abyss that surrounded them.

Cloaked in black emptiness, more than five light-years from the nearest star, the Imperial fleet was hiding literally in the middle of nowhere.

Sitting in his throne room aboard the unfathomably huge dreadnaught Autarch, Overlord glared down at Clench's holographic avatar. He listened in stony silence as his pawn spoke about the finding of Optimus Prime's body and the unexpected clash with Cameron's natives.

"You bring me interesting news. Both of these incidents will impact our plans as we move forward," he intoned gravely.

Clench remained silent, staring at the floor as if he couldn't bring himself to look up at Overlord's face. The massive Decepticon gave his minion a few moments to stew before he continued. "You truly believe the corpse can be repaired?"

"I do, my liege." Clench seemed confused by his master's choice of topic, but only because he'd been beaten to it. "The damage is severe, but we have the equipment needed to restore functionality. A complex artificial intelligence network can even restore a semblance of life, although of course we can't actually revive it."

"You are wrong." Overlord smiled, and he could see his subordinate shift uncomfortably.

He's afraid. Good. He should be.

"My liege?"

"We can revive the body. Assuming your technicians can repair its core systems, that is." This time, he deigned to acknowledge Clench's obvious confusion. "The Autarch carries some rather...arcane technologies. Equipment salvaged from alien races, mysterious items that we took with us in our exodus from Cybertron, and the like. We are capable of more than you can imagine."

Clench's hologram nodded, although he still didn't seem to understand. "Very well. If it is your wish, I will have the Prime body couriered to your location immediately."

"No." Overlord let that hang in the air for a moment. "No, you will bring it to me personally. If the body's memory circuits are intact, it could become the most dangerous weapon we've ever had. I won't risk it falling into the wrong hands."

"As you wish." Clench obviously wasn't happy, but he wasn't about to argue with his master. "I'll set things in motion here, then bring the Nightshade to the rendezvous point."

"See that you do," Overlord told him. "We will speak more when you arrive."

He cut the connection before Clench could get in another word.

Clench stormed out of his office so quickly that the doors couldn't open fast enough to accommodate his broad shoulders.

"Attention!"

His single word cut through the din of battle preparations. The crew fell silent in anticipation.

"We have new orders from Overlord," he said firmly. "Nightshade is being recalled to rendezvous with the Autarch." Murmurs spread amongst the bridge crew, but he silenced them with an upraised hand. "I'm not at liberty to tell you why, or what we'll be doing when we get there. I can say that our new mission will advance the greater glory of the Empire, and that should be enough for any of us."

"But sir," Jetstorm's voice was cold and clinical, as per usual, "what of the battle here? Has Overlord cancelled the Cameron engagement?"

"Don't be preposterous," Clench said. "The battle goes ahead as scheduled." His optics narrowed. "In fact, you will be staying here to personally oversee the invasion of the Cameronian homeworld. Nightshade departs in half an hour. You have that long to gather a support team and transfer over to the Armada. Once you're on-station, report in with Rage. He'll have overall command while I'm gone."

The coordinator seemed taken aback, but he was too well-trained to let it show for more than a few seconds. "Aye, sir. Hydradread, Fearswoop and Staxx, you're coming with me."

As the quartet swept off the bridge, Clench continued to bark orders to his crew. "Communications, open a channel to the Intimidator. I'll need to have a word with my temporary replacement."

"Aye, sir."

Maria arrived at the precinct in record time and stormed straight into her lieutenant's office without bothering to knock. She'd hoped to irritate him at least a little bit, but all he did was stroke his ridiculous handlebar moustache.

"You're not in uniform, Officer Santos," he noted disapprovingly with a look at her T-shirt and jeans.

"I'm not on duty," she shot back. "What's so bloody important that it couldn't wait until morning?"

The lieutenant didn't answer directly. Instead, he gestured to the dark-haired, well-dressed man sitting in one of the visitor's chairs. "Do you know Detective Reed?"

"We've met," she said in a disinterested tone. "What's so bloody important that it couldn't wait until morning?"

Reed chuckled. "Direct, this one is..."

Maria glared at him, but the lieutenant cut in before she could say anything that she might regret when she wasn't so sleep-deprived. "The detective has been looking into a string of break-ins at Blackrock Enterprises buildings for a couple weeks now," he said. "Whoever's behind them is very good and very direct. They smash straight through a wall, take what they want and disappear. No witnesses. No prints. No evidence whatsoever." His eyes narrowed. "Until last night."

Reed took over. "The thief hit a Blackrock-sponsored university research lab and stole a remarkable array of equipment. On the way out, security cameras captured this photo."

He tossed her a manila folder. Maria opened it. It took her a few seconds to realize what she was looking at. When she did, she dropped weak-kneed into a chair. "Son of a bitch!"

Reed nodded. "I reacted in the same way when I first saw it," he admitted. "But we looked into the files of people who might have some knowledge on the subject, and it turns out you went to high school with one of them. A Mr.-"

"Yeah," the dark-haired woman nodded weakly, still not quite over the shock of what she'd seen. "I know all about that. So what?"

"We were hoping you could contact him and see if he knows anything about this," Reed said. "I know you've applied for the detective vacancy that'll be opening up this fall when Ridley retires, and you'd have a pretty good shot at it if you can help us crack this one."

Closing the folder, Maria sighed. "I'll think about it. Can I go now? Before I help you with anything I'd like to investigate something called 'sleep' for eight hours or so..."

Reed chuckled and waved her away. "Yeah, that's all."

As she started to walk away, he called out, "Oh, Officer Santos? Be careful. This is going to be a dangerous one...for all of us."

Rage's optics glowed with poorly-contained malevolent glee as Clench spoke.

"I've been recalled by Overlord. Jetstorm will be assuming control over taskforce one. You're in command of the combined fleet until I get back."

"Good."

"Good? That's all you have to say?" Clench was incredulous.

"What would you have me say?" Rage's voice was filled with derision. "'Thank you oh gracious and beneficent Clench for your trust'? Overlord structured the fleet's chain of command, not you. We both know you'd rather put anyone but me in charge, so don't expect my thanks any time soon."

You pompous blowhard, he added silently.

"Nnnn."

"Get going," Rage said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll make sure there's still a fleet left when you get back...assuming you do, of course. But you're leaving me with four planets to invade, so forgive me if I don't have time for witless banter!"

"You really must improve your social skills," Clench said. "We'll have to work on that when I get back. Nightshade out."

As Clench's hologram disappeared, Rage snarled. "Buffoon."

Turning to Skyjack, he snapped, "Contact the other taskforce commanders and get status reports from each of them. Then collect all the data you can on the ships and crews under their command. Clench didn't bother telling me about the operations being planned for the other three planets, so I'll need to review everything before we launch. I'll be-"

"In your chambers," Skyjack finished knowingly. "I'll send you the data and alert you when we reach our target."

"See that you do."

Three hours of tossing and turning later, Maria finally admitted to herself that she wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. Half an hour and a long, hot shower after that, she sat on her kitchen counter idly towelling her hair. As she waited for the microwave to finish warming her breakfast, she kept catching herself staring at the nondescript manila folder sitting on the kitchen table.

Just flush it down the toilet, a part of her said. Forget about the whole thing and tell Reed that he told me to go to hell. You've got no right to drag him back into this mess. Not after all he's been through.

She couldn't bring herself to do it, though. This situation...it's going to affect everyone if we don't head it off right now. If he can help in any way...I have to ask.

Picking up the phone, Maria only hesitated for a moment before dialling.

He answered after two rings.

"Hey...Yeah, I know," she said. "Long time, no see."

They traded pleasantries for about ten minutes before she managed to manoeuvre herself to the point of the discussion. "Listen...I was wondering if we could get together some time soon?" She nodded. "Yeah, tomorrow for lunch would be great. Look...I've got to go. Lots of stuff to do, even for a day off. Say 'hi' to Jesse and the kids for me, Buster. See you tomorrow."

As she hung up the phone, Maria turned once again to the folder sitting on her table. Flipping it open, she stared for a few moments at the grainy, black-and-white photo of a mechanical cat strutting out of a smashed building.

I hope I haven't just signed his death warrant, she thought unhappily.

If Rage's office had been equipped with a classic hinged door, he would have slammed it so hard they would have heard it all the way down in Waste Extraction. Since he had one of the supposedly more-advanced sliding doors that were found on almost all spaceships, he had to settle for punching the bulkhead.

A single glance at the tactical data that Skyjack had collected spoke volumes about Clench's incompetence.

The taskforce commanders had been kept in the dark about the operation, only being told data about the specific world that they were targeting. Rage had been disgusted by his assignment to conquer a primitive dustbowl called Cheyne, but he'd assumed that all the worlds in the system were similarly worthless. If not, many of his troops could have been better used elsewhere.

The information he got from Windrazor seemed to confirm his suspicions. The air commander's team had been assigned to the barely-occupied ocean world of Pequod, which was only marginally less wretched than Cheyne. Like Rage, he had more troops than he needed and expected an easy conquest.

The data on Cameron and Pz-zazz was vastly different; both planets were metropolitan, heavily populated and well-defended. Jetstorm and Calcar were both inexperienced commanders, and their forces were both significantly undermanned. Their teams would easily be held at bay by the local defenders if Clench's plans were carried out.

Either our commander is even more inept that I thought...or he never intended to win this confrontation.

Both options were troubling, but Rage managed to clamp down on his fury long enough to sketch out a few ideas that could salvage the situation. They weren't ideal, but since Clench had squandered the element of surprise time wasn't on their side anymore. He'd have to settle for whatever he could throw together quickly.

At that moment, the door slid open to admit Skyjack. "Taskforces one, two and four report ready, and the bridge says we'll be prepped in about five minutes. Shall I give the attack order?"

"No," Rage said. "Tell them to stand by." He scowled. "And have Drench brought to me. I have some...questions about his master's plans that need to be answered before we make our move."

"Sir..." Skyjack phrased his words carefully, "perhaps it would be better if I spoke to him? I am an intelligence officer, after all. This sort of thing is my job, and none of my previous commanders liked to get involved in the...unpleasant aspects of interrogation."

Rage waved the suggestion away. "Then they were cowards. A leader who won't get his hands dirty is worse than no leader at all."

Skyjack's face and voice were as unreadable as always. "I'll see to it, then."

First Aid was still fuming six hours later as he stood over a surgical table with his hands buried deep in Ratchet's chest.

After nearly three hours of surgery, he'd managed to repair most of his fellow doctor's butchered internal systems. He'd even started replacing the configuration circuits that had been ravaged by Nucleon exposure, so that Ratchet would be able to transform if he woke up.

Not if. When.

Even though he knew there was a chance that Ratchet's brain module had been seriously damaged, First Aid refused to consider the fact that he might not pull through.

I've already filed one death certificate today. I'll be damned if I'll be doing another.

The memory of the autopsy he'd performed on Beachcomber after Downshift had left forced itself into First Aid's mind. The doctor repressed a shudder, promising himself that he wouldn't have to do the same thing for Ratchet any time soon.

Once he had finished with the repairs, First Aid skilfully closed up the other doc's chassis and manipulated a set of controls on the surgical table's control panel. The table's life support circuits cut out and Ratchet's own systems started to buzz with activity as they took over the responsibility of maintaining his vital functions. The lifesign monitors started to flash as the injured medic's systems began to reboot.

First Aid watched in concern as Ratchet's optic sensors started to blink on and off arhythmically. He picked up a scanner and ran it over the other Autobot's head, but even as he did so Ratchet's optics lit up in unison and stayed lit.

"Uhhh..." The injured doctor's head moved slowly from side to side. "Please tell me you got the number of the planet that hit us. The insurance bill on the Ark is high enough as it is..."

First Aid sagged as tension drained from his body. "That sounds like the Ratchet I remember," he said with relief.

"First Aid?" Ratchet's head swung in his direction, optics valiantly struggling to focus. "That you? Where are we?"

"We're in Earth orbit on the Steelhaven."

"Earth?" Ratchet tried to push himself into a sitting position. "What about the Ark? Megatron was there. And...and Starscream. Shockwave. Galvatron."

"We know." First Aid put a restraining hand on the other Autobot's chest and gently pushed him back down. "Don't worry about it. A lot has happened since the Ark went down."

"Like what?" Ratchet asked in a curious tone.

"Don't worry about it," First Aid repeated. "There'll be time to get caught up later. Right now, we need to focus on getting you fit for duty."

Ratchet made a disgruntled noise, but settled down on the surgical bed anyway. His expression said that he was only postponing his questions, not abandoning them entirely.

Doctors always make the worst patients, First Aid thought with a smile.

Rage consciously let his optics glow with malice as a pair of green and white enlisted troopers dragged a loudly-protesting Drench into his sanctum.

"How dare you!" The coordinator swung his venomous glare in the commander's direction. "This is wildly out of line, even for you! When Clench hears of this-"

"Clench won't be hearing anything from us for a long time," Rage said flatly. "He's been recalled by Overlord, and we're better off without him. He's left me to salvage this absolute disaster of a battle plan that he's devised. So you answer to me now, and no one else."

With that last sentence hanging ominously in the air, the two Decepticons locked stares for a few moments. Drench couldn't match the fire in Rage's optics, though, and he quickly looked away.

"Fine. What the Pit do you want from me?"

"Heh." Rage gestured towards the stormtroopers; understanding the signal, they backed away from their prisoner. Rage stood and cast an evaluative glance over Drench for a second before backhanding him across the face. The coordinator spun half-way around and toppled to the ground. Rage took two steps forward and planted his left foot on the smaller Decepticon's back.

"If you don't want to make a habit of this, I suggest you show some respect." Rage increased the pressure his foot was applying, and his subordinate squealed. "Now tell me...why is Clench trying to get his entire command killed in a botched invasion?"

"I don't know what you're talking ab-ugh!" Drench's denial was cut short when the commander took a step back, wound up, and kicked him in the gut.

"Try again."

"But I don't-" Drench broke off when he saw Rage pull his fist back for another blow. "The mission...it's a feint! I don't know why, or what for! They...him and Overlord...they've got a bigger plan! that's all I know!"

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Rage hit Drench anyway. The blow landed so soundly that it slammed the smaller Decepticon's head into the deck. He lay there, unmoving, until the guards picked him up and dragged him off to medbay. Rage paid no heed to any of them.

Whatever Clench might be up to, we won't be his sacrificial lambs. We'll survive, we'll win...and if I see him again, he'll have a lot to answer for.

Tapping his comm panel, he contacted Skyjack. "Tell the other taskforce commanders that I'll be sending them revised orders within the next half hour. Once they receive them, they are to launch their attacks immediately."

"Aye, sir." Skyjack's voice carried a barely-noticeable note of curiosity. "I take it Drench was...helpful?"

"He was," Rage said, his own voice showing clear self-satisfaction. "Very much so. Clench seems to be a bit smarter than we gave him credit for...but not as smart as we are. Whatever he might have in mind, I'm not going to let him sacrifice our entire fleet on the altar of his own ambition." He set his jaw firmly. "As of right now, we're fighting to win."

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