Part Seven: Tipping Point

Needlenose drummed his fingers on the arm of the Wraith's captain's chair, bored out of his mind. His optics flicked around the bridge at random until they settled on the room's only other occupant.

"You see anything interesting out there?" he asked lightly.

"Hmmm?" Lightspeed seemed to shake a bit, as if the Technobot was jolting himself from a dream. "Oh. Sorry. No, there's nothing special out there. I just...like the stars. It's so rare I get a chance to see them without an atmosphere in the way."

Needlenose nodded along with the Autobot's musing. "It's a shame, ain't it? I mean, look at us. We're one'a the oldest races in the universe. We've got tech that most folk can only dream about. But the only time we go into space is for stuff like this."

"You're preaching to the choir." Lightspeed turned to look at Needlenose, perching on the edge of the helm console. "All this war, all this death..." He shook his head. "After that last battle on Earth, I actually let myself start to believe that it was all over. Jhiaxus was dead, Megatron and Prime were friends, the Autobots and Decepticons seemed to be willing to live with each other...but I was fooling myself. It never ends, does it?"

"One day it might," Needlenose replied. "The problem is, I'm startin' to think that maybe the bosses don't want it to end. I mean, look at Spinister. He's a great mech, took me under his wing and all that...but if he didn't have a war to fight, I think he'd blow his brain module out. Grimlock, Springer, that freak Sixshot...they're all the same. They've been fightin' so long that they don't know how to do anything else."

"I know," Lightspeed shrugged. "Trust me, I know. Scattershot is the same way. But what's there to do about it?"

"I don't know," Needlenose admitted, deflating a bit. "It's not like we can just walk away from it all while our inbred cousins are runnin' around trashing every second planet they see."

The Technobot sighed. "And as long as they're around, we're going to be soldiers first and people second. But I tell you, it's getting mighty tiresome. I mean, one of these days we should be able to reap the rewards for all the sacrifices we've made, right?"

"You'd think, but I'm starting to doubt—" Needlenose broke off as the bridge doors slid open.

Spinister strode onto the bridge, moving purposefully towards the captain's chair. "It's time. Lightspeed, gather the rest of the crew in the cargo hold. You'll get your mission assignments in fifteen minutes."

"You're the boss," Lightspeed dropped back to the ground and headed for the bridge hatch. "Back to the energon mines, eh?" he said with a look over his shoulder at Needlenose.

"You got that right," Needlenose cracked his knuckles. "Hey, Lightspeed!"

"Yeah?" The Autobot glanced back over his shoulder.

"Watch your back, OK? This one's gonna get messy."

Over his long career, first in the army, then with Triple-I, then back in the army again, Brigadier General Walter J. Barnett had seen a lot. He was justifiably proud about just how hard it was to surprise him these days. Every so often, though, something happened that was so absurd that even Barnett was thrown through a loop. Seeing one of his own tanks roll out, driverless, and start firing energy blasts at the rest of the garrison certainly qualified. Because of his past experiences, seeing that same tank fold up into a twenty-five foot tall robot hadn't come as such a shock.

The unfamiliar dark green Transformer had disabled or destroyed most of the San Jose base's heavy weapons and equipment before anyone had realized what was going on, and what little was left was locked up in a secure bunker on the other side of the base. So far, no one had been stupid enough to try and get past the hostile Transformer to reach them.

"General Barnett? Sir?" Walter turned to look at the young man who was calling his name. "Sir, we've got to get down to the emergency bunker!"

Barnett shook his head. "No."

"But sir, that thing-"

"That thing is a Decepticon," Barnett told the young officer. "Major Decker, if he wants to kill us, burying ourselves underground isn't going to stop him."

"Then what-"

"Get on the scrambler to our friends in Oregon. We helped the Autobots when they were in trouble. It's time they returned the favour."

Manuel Lopez brushed the lint off of his bright red jacket and smiled as he looked out at the car lot. It was his first day on the job, and the young man was intensely proud that he'd landed such well-paying work. Sure, it was a used-car lot, filled mostly with the ubiquitous Volkswagen Beatles that were everywhere to be seen in Mexico City, but it was a job, a real job. In a few months, if everything went well, he'd have all his debts paid off. And after that, he'd be able to start shopping for an engagement ring for Marta...

Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Manuel thought with a smile. You've got to get through training first.

As if summoned by Manuel's thoughts, his new boss walked around the corner and headed his way. Manuel headed in his direction. "Seņor Salazar, I just wanted thank you again..." He trailed off as he saw the look on the older man's face. Salazar was staring through the big showroom window just over Manuel's shoulder. The young salesman turned to see what the problem was.

One of the VWs had come to life. Its engine roaring, it shifted into reverse and shot out of its parking spot. The white car slammed into a half-dozen others along the way, but seemed none the worse for wear. As they watched, the rogue vehicle stopped in the middle of the lot and started to...transform. It folded out into a man-shape, then stared down at the other cars with an expression of contempt on its giant face.

"My God..."

As if drawn by the humans' concern, the robot turned his attention to the dealership building. Grabbing one of the other cars and hoisting it over his head like it was made of styrofoam, the machine hurled it towards the showroom window.

Manuel said a quick prayer and hit the floor.

Billy Cobb half hummed-half sang an old country tune as he walked through his cornfields. The crops were growing like weeds in the rural Louisiana soil, the sunrise was gorgeous, and all was right with the world...except for the annoying buzz of an airplane flying overhead. Billy looked up and scowled at the ungainly jet flying overhead. His son — an air force nut who wanted to grow up to be a pilot — had done his best to teach Billy about planes, so the middle-aged man recognized the jet as an A-10 Thunderbolt. They had a lot of those at the base in Barksdale, out by Shreveport, according to the boy.

None of them ever fly that low, though, Billy thought. Something must be wrong He'd better not try landing that thing on my plot.

Something was wrong, but Billy didn't figure out how wrong until the plane got closer. It was shooting at the ground, he could see, but it didn't look like it was firing bullets. It's got some kinda ray gun. That ain't right. The Air Force ain't got lasers...

The farmer didn't have much chance to ponder that, though, because the jet's energy fire started tracking in his direction. His cornfield burst into flames wherever it was hit. One round landed so close that the force of it threw Billy to the ground.

"You crazy son of a bitch," Billy spat when the jet fighter was gone, "why'd you go and do that for?"

It had taken hours to lie, cheat and bribe his way into the Polyhex Archives without leaving a record of his presence, but it was worth it. As Decepticon Intelligence Director Counterpunch had clearance for all but the most secret of the files stored in the Archives, but he didn't want anyone to know what he was up to. The Decepticon had done many things in the dozens of vorns that he'd been in the intelligence business (let alone the five vorns he'd spent in an Autobot prison after his last mission had gone horribly wrong) but he never would have believed he'd find himself spying on his own commanders.

But that was before Megatron went missing.

Even now, finding himself at a console in the most secure wing of the Archives building, he wasn't sure what he expected to find. He didn't know what about his leader's disappearance had ignited the burning suspicion that now filled the back of his mind, but he knew that he didn't want word of his inquiries to make it back to Soundwave.

If anyone knows what's going on, it'll be him. And I don't think he'll be very happy if he finds out that I'm digging around for his secrets.

With that thought in mind, Counterpunch called up the comm logs from the acting Decepticon leader's private transponder. Scrolling through the list of transmissions sent from Soundwave's internal comm equipment, he quickly noticed a pattern; virtually all of the calls were made to secure Decepticon receivers, most of them in the faction's other garrisons spread across Cybertron's surface. A few transmissions sent to Iacon were evident, too, calls between Soundwave and his Autobot counterpart Prowl.

It wasn't until he hit the records from two months ago that anything suspicious came up.

At first he wasn't sure that there was anything amiss; a single call to an unfamiliar substation didn't seem all that irregular. However, a dozen calls routed through the same substation between then and now...that was definitely out of the ordinary.

Something's up here, Counterpunch decided as he looked up the substation number. Why in the Pit would Soundwave be putting in calls to a receiver ten miles below the planet's surface? There's nothing down there but ancient monks and cannibals.

Before the Decepticon could investigate further, though, he was startled by the sound of footfalls behind him. Dammit, I shouldn't have let my guard down!

"Well, well...what have we here?" Counterpunch recognized Octane's voice without having to turn around and knew the other Decepticon had seen the incriminating evidence on his screen. "The intelligence director, checking up on our glorious 'acting' leader? Oh, I'm sure Soundwave will love to hear about this..."

"Go to the Pit," Counterpunch said. "My orders come from Megatron himself."

"For a spy, you sure don't lie very well," Octane crossed his arms, smirking. "Well, I'll tell you what. You make it worth my while and I'll forget I saw you here."

Counterpunch felt his extremities start to tingle with heat. Oh, slag. Of all times, why now?

Ever since he'd been released from an Autobot lockup after the start of the newfound alliance, the Decepticon had been suffering from blackouts. They hadn't caused him much trouble at first, coming during the late hours of the night when he was alone in his quarters. Counterpunch had suspected that he'd suffered some sort of internal damage while he was in custody, but couldn't be bring himself to check in with the medical staff about it. If he went to Hook or any other Decepticon, word would get around and his subordinates would take it as a sign of weakness. And he certainly wasn't going to go to one of the Autobot medics, since he suspected they were the ones who caused his problem in the first place.

But after he'd been jumped by Quick Switch and Getaway two days ago and dragged into Autobot custody for (from what little he could recall) a fairly uncharacteristic savage beating, the problem had gotten much worse. He'd lost huge chunks of time, minutes and hours that he couldn't account for at all hours of the day.

"Like how?" he said, trying to hide the discomfort that was creeping inwards to the core of his body.

"Well, since you're such a good hacker, it shouldn't be too hard for you to arrange for me to get a pay raise and promotion, would it?" Octane's smirk grew wider.

"You're an idiot," Counterpunch told him, feeling his limbs grow weak. "You think that's going to go unnoticed? Soundwave would have you shot."

Octane said something, but Counterpunch couldn't make sense of it. Static was roaring in his audio sensors and black were chewing away at the edges of his optical feeds.

The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the smarmy Triplechanger's mocking grin.

When he came to, Counterpunch was surprised to find himself on the other side of the room.

What the Pit?

Forcing himself to kneel, he looked around to see if Octane was still around. He was, after a fashion. Not ten metres away, the Triplechanger was lying on the ground. He had a half-dozen obvious gunshot wounds, most of which would have proven fatal on their own and were definitely overkill in combination.

Did I do this?

The idea that he'd murdered a fellow Decepticon, even one as annoying as Octane, shook Counterpunch to the core. The fact that he didn't even remember doing it only made things worse.

Crawling over to the Triplechanger's side, Counterpunch started to examine his wounds.

These aren't photon burns, he realized. My rifle didn't fire the shots that killed him. He was riddled with mortar blasts. But if it wasn't me, then who?

Looking into Octane's optics, the spy was shocked to see that the other Decepticon was still alive. The situation was temporary at best, though; shrapnel had pierced the fueler's skull in a half-dozen places and chunks of his cranial wiring were hanging out.

"Who did this?"

Octane's only response was a rough gurgle. Counterpunch grabbed his fellow Decepticon's shattered head and pulled it to within centimetres of his own optics. "Who did this?"

"You...you..." Octane seemed to recognize Counterpunch and tried to push himself away. Only one of his arms was still attached, though, so he had very little success. "Wha...what are...you? Who did th...this to you? Why..."

Counterpunch's optics narrowed; Octane's words ignited a cold fear in his combustion chamber. "What are you talking about? Who did what to me? I don't understand!"

"You...Autobot...but...you..."

Octane's optics went dark.

Counterpunch let out a sad sigh and lowered his comrade's head back down to the floor. The question that had been burning in the back of his mind for the past six months had suddenly jumped to the forefront of his thoughts.

What the hell did those Autobots do to me?

Ultra Magnus slammed his hand down on the War Room's central table. He'd been afraid of this ever since he'd led his small Earthforce contingent back to the small blue planet that the Transformers had caused so much trouble on. And now it had happened: the Imperial Decepticons had followed them here. He'd thought it worth the gamble. He'd thought wrong, and the price was being paid in human lives.

Four attacks in one night! Dammit, with half the crew in orbit we can't deal with this!

The first sign of trouble had come around midnight, when Jazz called in to say they'd run into the Decepticons who'd been harassing G.B. Blackrock's holdings for the past month. Bumblebee had rushed off to get two wounded humans (including the Autobots' old friend Buster Witwicky) to the hospital, but the special ops agent had tailed the Decepticons back to their base in the desert just across the Nevada border.

Magnus hadn't even had time to gather a battle unit, though, before reports of seemingly-random Decepticon attacks had started to filter in. One of Barnett's tanks in San Jose had suddenly gone feral, transformed and started smashing things. In Mexico City a Volkswagen was going on a murderous rampage. And in rural Louisiana a fighter jet was strafing farms and interstates.

Magnus looked around the room at the Autobots under his command. Their number had been greatly reduced by attrition, their comrades injured and even killed in what was supposed to have been a relatively safe mission. Out of the twenty-one Autobots who'd accompanied Magnus on the mission, only seven of them were standing with their leader now. Silverbolt. Camshaft. Blades. Air Raid. Jackpot. Groove. Fireflight.

How many of them am I going to lose this time around? Magnus shook his head. No time for that now. They're waiting for you. They expect you to know what to do. Pull yourself together.

Slowly, steadily, Magnus stood. "You all know the situation," he said. "Jazz has uncovered a nest of Decepticons and our enemies have struck out against the humans. Their attacks are nothing more than short-term distractions, so I have to assume that they're almost done whatever their doing out in the desert. The clock is ticking. We have to be in four places at once and there's only eight of us."

Earthforce's leader paused a moment, his gaze drifting back down to the table. Forcing himself to focus, Magnus continued. "Camshaft and Jackpot, I want you two to head for San Jose. Minimize collateral damage and try to salvage as much of Barnett's operation as you can. We'll need the fastest fliers we have to get down to Mexico City in time. Silverbolt and Air Raid, that's you. That leaves Blades and Fireflight to intercept the Decepticon fighter making trouble in Louisiana. I'll head down to Nevada, rendezvous with Jazz and try to figure out what to do about their base."

Groove frowned. "Uh...what about me?"

"I need you to stay here and coordinate operations," Magnus said with a note of regret. He knew Groove was a pacifist at his core, but no one was ever happy being ordered to stay at home while his friends went out to fight and die. "Try to track down Bumblebee if you can...I know his friend was hurt, but another set of hands could make all the difference right now. And make sure that the troops up on Steelhaven get down here as soon as they're fit for duty."

"Aye, sir," Groove said sadly. "What about Shockwave?"

"Feel free to talk to him if you get lonely," Magnus said wryly, "but make sure he doesn't get out."

"You got it." As the rest of the Autobots filtered out of the room, Groove settled back into the base's command chair.

If we're really, really lucky, he won't be the only member of Earthforce left standing by the end of the day.

Hubcap ducked his head into the Steelhaven's engineering bay. "You guys got anything for me?"

"Not really," Chromedome said, shaking his head. "Whoever set up this spy program of yours was really good. He covered his tracks pretty thoroughly."

"Aw, come on," Hubcap grinned. "No one's a better programmer than you."

"Mainframe is," Chromedome shrugged. "Other than that...well, I guess now's the time for us to find out, right? He used a polymorphic algorithm to scramble the ID codes that he used to access the system. I can't even descramble the terminal numbers that he's logged on from yet. I will, given enough time, but he's not making my job easy."

"Keep on it," the communications officer said. Turning to Grapple, he asked, "What about you? Dig up anything on the hardware end of things?"

"Oh, yes," he said. "I've found dozens of small listening devices hidden around the ship. They're beautiful pieces of work. It's almost a shame I had to take them apart. I've had no luck tracing them back to our spy, though. Maybe if we were working with the guy who's actually investigating the case, instead of the roguish con mech..."

Hubcap snorted. "Downshift's idea of 'investigating' is wandering the corridors randomly accusing everyone he meets of treason. Trust me, we're better off on our own."

"You keep saying that, but we're not getting anywhere." Grapple threw his hands up in disgust. "I don't even know why I'm listening to you! You're one of my subordinates, not the other way around."

"Actually, we're not even in the same chain of command," Hubcap said helpfully. "You're Earth crew, I'm ship crew. You might outrank me, but I report to Pointblank. Primus only knows why, mind you..."

"And not that you'd listen to anyone's orders anyway," Grapple offered helpfully.

"There is that," Hubcap said with a grin. "Look, you guys don't have to help me out if you don't want to. We won't figure this out without your help, though. You're the best techs we've got."

"Flattery will get you everywhere," Grapple said, "even though it hasn't slipped my mind that we're the only techs you've got. But we can't stay here for much longer. Magnus needs us down on the planet."

"If you've got to go, you've got to go," Hubcap shrugged. "Just let me know when you're off. I've got to get back up to the bridge...call me if you find anything, OK?"

Chromedome watched him walk away out of the corner of his optics. "Why in the universe do we keep letting him talk us into these things?"

"He's good at what he does," Grapple told him. Chromedome couldn't disagree.

Clench ducked his head as he passed through the airlock into the Autarch's central core, wondering not for the first time how Overlord managed to make his way around the ship without bending himself in half. The massive Imperial flagship, a behemoth the size of a small planet, had taken the better part of a vorn to construct and it's interior featured the most irregular design Clench had ever seen. Some of the corridors were large enough to fly a shuttle down, whilst others were so cramped that an average Decepticon nearly had to crawl to move anywhere.

That'll be the last time we use unionized labour, the Liege Centuro thought, chuckling at his own poor joke.

After spending fifteen minutes passing though the expansive engineering zone that filled a big chunk of the Autarch's core, Clench made his way into the command sector. Ten minutes after that, after passing though countless security checkpoints, he arrived at Overlord's throne room.

"My liege." Dropping to one knee before the massive Decepticon's throne, Clench bowed his head.

"Get up." Not bothering with any pleasantries, Overlord asked, "You brought the package?"

"I did," Clench nodded, returning to his feet. "My science officer is accompanying it to your labs as we speak. He was hoping you would let him monitor the reanimation process first-hand." The high-ranking Cybertronian shuffled his feet. "I...must confess to being curious about the procedure myself," he said mincingly.

"Both of you will be allowed to observe," Overlord told him, his voice a deep rumble. "But first...business. Has your ship been given a station in the fleet?"

"Indeed," Clench replied. "The Nightshade has taken point in the lead battle group."

"Good," Overlord said, rising from his throne and heading for the exit. Clench fell into step behind him. "What of the situation in the Cameron system?"

"Rage's last report indicates that the throwbacks have taken the bait," Clench said with a note of satisfaction. "Autobots and the renegade Decepticons who've allied with them have attacked our forces on three out of the four worlds. The Dinobots and Wreckers have been sighted amongst their forces."

"Perfect," Overlord said. The Cybertronian leaders walked in silence for a few minutes, until they arrived at a heavily-armoured door flanked by two heavily-armed soldiers. Seeing their master approach, the troopers stepped aside and keyed open the portal. Overlord let Clench pass through first, then nearly doubled over to traverse the small door himself.

Other side of the door was one of the oddest things Clench had ever seen aboard a spaceship. It was a massive warehouse, over two miles square, crates, boxes and even small bunkers scattered haphazardly throughout. The Decepticon caught himself gaping and tried to muster a more dignified expression.

"Welcome," Overlord was obviously amused by Clench's awe. "Welcome to my private storehouse."

Jetstorm sat in the Armada's captain's chair, an intent expression on his face. His attention was focused on the bridge's main holodisplay, which showed a highly-detailed view of his fleet's battle against the native Cameronian navy. The 'battle' didn't really warrant the name anymore, though; it had descended to little more than a mop-up operation.

Noticing a spot of inefficiency among his forces, the coordinator half-turned to address his air commander. "Fearswoop, tell squadron three to tighten up their formation."

"Aye, sir," Fearswoop's voice was a low rumble, so deep that Jetstorm thought it a miracle that the deck plates didn't rattle whenever he spoke. It was also completely in contrast to his bright yellow colouring, so much so that a less-professional Decepticon would find it almost comical.

"Sir?" Hydradread spoke up from the science station. "We've got an unidentified ship inbound. It looks like one of ours, but it's not responding to hails."

Jetstorm's optic band narrowed. "Show me."

The tactical hologram on the main display was replaced by a detailed image of the incoming ship. It was, indeed, an Imperial ship. "A Class-J gunship," Jetstorm observed. "And one that's more than a little worse for wear, by the looks of it."

"I'll dispatch a squadron to obliterate it," Fearswoop thundered.

"What? No!" Jetstorm shook his head. "It's a friendly."

"Our orders are to destroy any suspicious ship that approaches," Fearswoop countered. "It's a ship. It's approaching. It's not answering hails. That makes it suspicious. We should destroy it."

"That is precisely why it is I, not you, who is in command of this flotilla," Jetstorm snapped. "Commanders must do more than follow orders slavishly. We must use our own judgement to interpret those orders."

"My judgement says that ship is hostile," Fearswoop intoned.

"Uh, guys?" Hydradread tried to get the commanders' attention, but to no avail.

"Out of the two of us, I am the only one sitting in the captain's chair," Jetstorm told Fearswoop. "Thus it is my better judgement that will prevail. If you question me again you'll spend the rest of the mission sitting in the brig. Understood?"

"If you choose to be an idiot, I won't stand in your way," Fearswoop said direly. "The consequences will rest on your head, not mine."

"Guys? Seriously. The gunship's engines are overloading."

"How dare you! I'll-"

"Shut up," Fearswoop told Jetstorm. Turning to Hydradread, he said, "Report."

"The gunship's engines are overloading," he said again.

"Dispatch squadrons four and five to deal with it immediately," Fearswoop ordered.

"Belay that!" Jetstorm's voice was full of venom. He turned to his stocky, blue and brown security officer. "Staxx, arrest Fearswoop for mutiny and escort him to the brig."

"This is hardly the time, Jetstorm." Fearswoop shot a baleful glare at Staxx, who was rooted to his post.

The small Decepticon commando sized up the fearsome air commander, then shook his head. "Sorry, Jets. Not a chance," he said.

"Traitors!"

"The gunship is accelerating!" Hydradread reported, shouting to be heard over the argument. "It's moving to ram the Warmonger!"

"Intercept it!" This time, Fearswoop's voice did rattle the deck plates.

"You will do no such thing," Jetstorm said. "Instruct the Warmonger to-"

"The gunship's reactor's going critical." Hydradread shook his head. "Collision imminent!" He shielded his optic sensors. Milliseconds later, an impossibly bright light flared in the bridge's portside windows. "Warmonger is gone," the science officer reported. "The explosion damaged a half-dozen nearly ships, too. Triumph and Relentless are drifting and non-responsive."

"Idiots! I'm surrounded by idiots! Complete id-" Jetstorm's rant was cut short when Fearswoop grabbed him by the shoulders, tore him out of the captain's chair and tossed him to the deck.

"Consider yourself relieved of command," the yellow and grey Decepticon jet said. "Hydradread, I want all functional ships to re-form into a defensive sphere formation. We can expect more enemies incoming at any minute. Launch all starfighters. I'll lead them into battle personally. You have the bridge. If Jetstorm mouths off again, feel free to shoot him."

The bridge crew just stared at Fearswoop for a few seconds. Hydradread was the one to break the silence. "Aye, commander. Consider it done."

"The Impactor's detonated," Cosmos reported from the Wraith's sensor station. "I'm reading one enemy cruiser destroyed, two smaller ships crippled and a handful of others limping."

"Good work, you two," Spinister's voice crackled from the intercom. The Mayhem commander was already down in the hangar preparing his team for the raid on the Imperial flagship. "Keep scanning and report anything else of import that you see. Lightspeed, get us underway."

"You got it." The Technobot deftly input a command into the helm, and the Decepticon stealth cruiser started to move forward. Within a few minutes they'd slipped into the midst of the Imperial fleet, moving through the hole that had been created by the gunship's suicide run.

"Oh, boy." Cosmos looked down at his sensor board. "We've got a fighter squad headed this way," he said. "Dunno if they've seen us yet, but they're going to." A moment later, one of the fighters fired a laser barrage at the stealth ship. It missed by a hundred metres, but Cosmos' hand was shaking as he flipped the intercom on. "We've been made, boss."

"Understood," Spinister said. His voice was the very epitome of calm, and Cosmos felt his own nerves start to subside. "Launch all fighters. Infiltration teams, get ready to go. Astrotrain and Sky Lynx, take off!"

As Spinister spoke, Cosmos slid out from behind the Wraith's sensor board and moved to the tactical station. He check the status displays, then nodded. "Weapons hot, shields at 100%. We're ready to roll." He looked up at Lightspeed. "Let's get this over with."

Normally, Needlenose would've been incredibly pissed at being left behind while the rest of the Mayhems went on an incredibly dangerous mission. The fact that Spinister's reasons for leaving him behind were sound ones would only have made things worse, and the fact that he'd been replaced by an Autobot would only rub acid in the wound. He couldn't bring himself to be upset, though; the alternate assignment he'd been given had him too excited.

My first command, he thought eagerly. Who'd'a thought we'd ever see this day?

It wasn't a very big unit, and it was only a one-mission assignment, but Spinister had placed Needlenose in command of one of the assault force's fighter support squadrons. Along with fellow Mayhem Windsweeper and the Targetmasters Triggerhappy and Slugslinger, it was his job to keep Sky Lynx safe while the large Autobot delivered secondary strike teams to several smaller Cybertronian warships.

Needlenose watched a bit wistfully as the rest of the Mayhems, loaded aboard Astrotrain, flew off under escort by Skywarp and Thundercracker. Once they'd safely cleared the launch bay he fired up his comlink. "Squadron three, launch and form up on Sky Lynx."

Following his own command, the young Decepticon led his team out into the cold depths of space. He dropped into position to port of the Autobot shuttle and paced him as he headed towards a mid-sized Cybertronian warship. It didn't take too long for the enemy to figure what they were up to.

"I'm reading a dozen enemy fighters heading our way," Windsweeper's stuffy voice reported.

Needlenose felt a rush of panic swelling in his spark and for a few seconds he had to fight the urge to turn tail and flee. Not this time, he said. Spinny's got a lot of faith in me for some reason. It's time to show him I deserve it.

"Break by pairs and engage," he said, his voice only cracking a little. "If it's green, shoot it. And may the Force be with you."

If he'd been in robot mode, the trendy Decepticon would've grinned at his squadmates' confused replies.

Sparkplug Witwicky was expecting the worst when led his daughter-in-law into Buster's hospital room, but even his most dire fears hadn't prepared him for what he saw. His son, his only living son, was lying in a hospital bed, his eyes closed. His right arm was encased in a cast, his forehead was bandaged, and the middle-aged man could count over a hundred stitches on the small amount of his son's skin that was visible. Pale from blood loss, a half-dozen IVs were busily pumping nutrients and medicine into his veins.

The elder Witwicky was so shocked by Buster's injuries that he almost didn't notice the small blond man who was sitting in a chair by the bed. "Who are you?"

The youngish man stood up, a nervous expression on his face. "Did you notice the yellow VW parked in the lot when you came in?"

"No, I..." Sparkplug's eyes narrowed. "Bumblebee?"

"Yep."

Without thinking about what he was doing, Sparkplug wound up and punched the Autobot in the face. He immediately regretted it, falling to one knee and rubbing his sore knuckles. "Ah!"

"I wouldn't do that if I was you," Bumblebee said. "My shell's skeleton is titanium and I wouldn't want you to break your hand."

"What the hell did you drag my boy into this time?" Sparkplug demanded.

Jessie stepped forward and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Calm down," she said with a worried expression on her face. "You know what the doctors have been telling you about your heart."

"Screw my heart," Sparkplug said. "I'm sure these walking tin cans will get around to killing me next anyway."

"Mr. Witwicky," Bumblebee said softly, "I'm sorry about what happened to your son. I really am. But I didn't know he was caught up in any of this...not until we found him and his friend getting attacked by the Decepticons. If I had..." The Pretender shell's gaze shifted down to the floor. "If I had, I never would have let him get involved. Not after what happened to Spike."

"Don't you say his name," Sparkplug growled.

"I'm sorry," Bumblebee said. "I-"

Jessie cut in, trying to deflect the conversation. "Wait a second...you said you found 'him and his friend'? Who was he with?"

"No one I'd ever met before," Bumblebee said. "I think I heard the doctors saying she was a police officer. A Miss, uh...Santos, I think it was."

"Maria?" Jessie shook her head. "Well, that explains how he got dragged into things, anyway. That girl never knew when to mind her own business..."

Sparkplug looked back at the Autobot. All the fire had gone out of him now, and his eyes were hollow. "How is he?"

"It looks worse than it is," Bumblebee said. "He broke his right arm below the elbow and smashed most of the ribs on that side. Mostly it's just cuts and bruises, though. The docs say he should wake up any minute now." With that, the Autobot got to his feet. "I should let you guys be alone with him for a while."

"No, no," Jessie shook her head. "No. You saved his life. You have every right to be here." She glared at Sparkplug. "Doesn't he?"

The elder Witwicky nodded mutely.

"I appreciate it," Bumblebee said. "I really do. I've got a call to make, though. I'll be back in a few minutes."

Ratchet chuckled as he ran the med-scanner over Skydive one last time.

"I still can't believe you let Tracks do this to you," he said, shaking his head.

"What? I happen to think it looks good!" The bookish Aerialbot examined his new blue and silver colour scheme, doing his best impression of his self-absorbed comrade. He paid special attention to the chessboard pattern that now graced his wings. "It's kinda fitting, isn't it?"

"It looks fine," Ratchet smiled. He snapped the med-scanner shut. "And so does the rest of you, by the way. You're fit for duty."

"Thanks a bunch," Skydive hopped down off the surgical table and called across the room to Tracks. "You hear that? Doc Ratchet likes my new paint job!"

"I outdid myself this time, if I do say so," Tracks replied from the table where First Aid was completing his physical. "Of course, it helps to have a canvas who's willing to try something new. Streetwise wasn't nearly as much fun."

"Oh, I don't know," First Aid's voice was mirthful as he shot a look across the room at his fellow Protectobot, who was waiting patiently for his own exam. "I think he looks good in black."

"It's not a fashion statement," Streetwise said defensively. "It's camouflage. The PD near our new base uses this scheme for their patrol cars."

"Sure they do," First Aid said with a hidden smile.

Ratchet watched the group banter for a while longer before he turned his mind back to business. "OK, Hound. You're up."

"What am I, an empty?" Overdrive's tone was miffed.

"Yes," Ratchet said smoothly. "Now can the complaints or I'll let Tracks paint you green."

The Omnibot shuddered and shut his mouth.

As the Autobot scout dropped down on the repair table, Ratchet gave him a smile. "It's good to see they got you back up and running while I was out of the game," he said.

"Thanks," Hound's reply was friendly. "It's good to see you back in the land of the living, too. It's almost like the old days again, eh?"

Ratchet was about to reply when the medbay intercom beeped. "What is it?"

"Hey, doc," Hubcap said smoothly. "I've got Bumblebee calling from down on the surface. He'd like a word with you in private."

"Put it though to my office," First Aid said. Ratchet was about to protest, but the Protectobot shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'll finish up down here."

"It's your sickbay." Ratchet shrugged and walked into the office.

Bumblebee's shell's face was already displayed on the room's monitor. "Good to see you again, Doc."

"I've been hearing that a lot," Ratchet said with a grin. "These other medics you've got must be real ogres."

"First Aid's the scariest guy on the team, don't you know." Bumblebee's smile faltered. "Doc, did you hear about the trouble Jazz and I ran into down here last night?"

"I did," Ratchet said gravely. "I heard Buster got hurt pretty bad. How is he?"

"He'll be fine in a few weeks," Bumblebee said. "It never ceases to amaze me how these humans can regenerate damaged parts without repairs. But his friend...she's in bad shape."

"What happened?"

"The Decepticon that attacked her...it bit her in the midsection. Her, uh, combustion systems got messed up, and she lost a lot of blood. The docs fixed that right up, but her spinal cord got torn up. That's something that the humans haven't figured out how to deal with. They say she'll be paralyzed for life."

Ratchet shook his head sadly. "That's no way to live," he said.

"I figured the same thing," Bumblebee said with a strange edge in his voice.

Ratchet's optics narrowed. "What are you plotting?"

"Well, I was thinking about some of the stuff they've got up in the Steelhaven's biomech labs," the spy said. "I know when they retrofitted people to serve as Headmasters or Targetmasters, they had to replace a lot of their neural systems. I was hoping there might be parts left up there that we could use to...fix her."

"I thought it was something like that." Ratchet sighed. "Bumblebee, you have to realize...humans are a lot more fragile than we are. Performing surgery like that on a healthy one would be a big risk. On someone whose systems are so badly damaged, it would be tantamount to murdering her."

"I'm just asking you to look into it," Bumblebee said defensively. "The only reason she got hurt was because these Decepticons followed us here. We owe it to her to try."

"I'll see what I can find out," Ratchet said reluctantly. "But don't get your hopes up."

"Thanks, doc," Bumblebee smiled. "That's all I'm asking. Earth out."

Spinister jumped out of Astrotrain's hatch before it was fully open, drew his laser rifle and shot the nearest Imperial in the face.

The main strike team had had one hell of a time getting inside the enemy carrier's main hangar, but thanks to some deft fighter support from Thundercracker and skilful teleporting from Skywarp, Astrotrain had managed to slip behind their guard and put down in the bay.

Of course, that left the boarding party to deal with a hangar full of angry green and white soldiers, but Spinister was more than ready to deal with that. He dispatched the first half-dozen enemies before they even realized they were under attack. By then Divebomb and Treadshot had joined their leader on the attack, putting the enemy back on their heels.

The Cybertronians never really had a chance. By the time Battletrap and Ruckus had disembarked, the enemies were falling back towards the bay doors. None of them made it; the ship's bridge crew must have gotten word of the attack, because the main doors slammed shut so quickly that a dozen fleeing Cybertronians were crushed to death between them.

"Afterburner, Nosecone, that's your cue."

The two Technobots, standing in for Needlenose and Windsweeper, were the last to exit Astrotrain. The foul-mouthed gunner immediately transformed to motorcycle mode and drove straight into the crowd of enemies, but Nosecone took a more measured approach. Like his teammate, he transformed. Rolling forward steadily, he sunk the tip of his drill into the hangar bay doors and started to bore through them.

By the time he'd cut his way out into the corridor, there wasn't a single Cybertronian left standing in the hangar.

Ducking to pass through the low portal, Spinister led his men out into the ship's halls. "Astrotrain, Afterburner, Battletrap and Nosecone, head to engineering. Divebomb, Ruckus and Treadshot, you're with me. We're heading for the bridge." Activating his comlink, he added, "Skywarp and Thundercracker, consider yourselves free to engage enemy fighters at will."

Anyone who looked the Targetmaster commander in the optics at that moment would have seen a gleam of grim enjoyment. He was in his element and he knew that nothing the Cybertronians could throw against his squad would be able to stop them.

Blowpipe sat in Triggerhappy's cockpit, his hands resting lightly on his partner's fire controls. Because he transformed into an air cannon, Blowpipe was less than useless in deep space combat. The duo had realized that early on, so the Nebulan didn't bother to mount on his partner's exterior hardpoint when they were fighting in a vacuum. At first neither of them had been happy about it, but it turned out to be for the best; with Blowpipe sitting in the cockpit, he could handle his partner's guns while Triggerhappy concentrated on flying. If nothing else, the arrangement eliminated the regrettable friendly fire accidents that Triggerhappy had caused in his early days in the Decepticon army.

As Triggerhappy whirled around, Blowpipe caught sight of Slugslinger dogfighting with a pair of Cybertronian fighters nearby. One of the enemies floated across his crosshairs and the Nebulan efficiently blasted him to pieces. Slugslinger tagged the other one with a fusillade of armour-piercing shells, sending him spiralling off into deep space with one engine smoking.

"Try not to steal my kills, would you?" Slugslinger's rude voice crackled over the comm.

"Yeah, you're welcome," Triggerhappy told him. "Lets get back to Sky Lynx."

"Whatever."

Slugslinger fell into formation ahead of his wingman, hit his thrusters and accelerated away faster than Triggerhappy could match. Blowpipe grumbled, "Lousy show-off..."

Then the other Targetmaster exploded.

For a moment, Blowpipe wondered if he had shot down their wingman...and then he saw the red glow of visible tracking lasers burning through the abyss in his direction. Grabbing hold of Triggerhappy's steering yoke, he pushed the Decepticon into a dive.

"Hey, what the-" Triggerhappy's protest was cut off as a series of plasma blasts tore through empty space where he'd just been. Blowpipe caught a glimpse of a yellow and black fighter tearing through space above them, but the enemy jet didn't show up on any of his scopes. So that's the guy who got Sluggy...

Triggerhappy arced around to follow him, but by the time he'd righted himself there was no trace of the mystery jet. "Slagheaps! Where'd he go?"

Blowpipe glanced through the cockpit windows, but couldn't see anything. "He's gone," he said sadly. "That guy's using some sort of stealth technology. Come on, let's get back to Sky Lynx."

Denio, Nevada would never be mistaken for a cosmopolitan town, so it wasn't too hard for Ultra Magnus to track Jazz down. All he had to do was drive up beside the first Porsche he saw and say hi.

"The enemy is nearby?" he said without preamble.

"About ten miles away," Jazz said. "When'll the other teams get where they're goin'?"

"Jackpot and Camshaft are about half an hour away from engaging," Magnus said. "Silverbolt and Air Raid in about an hour, Blades and Fireflight in fifty minutes."

"We're on our own, then?" Magnus got the distinct impression that Jazz would have been grinning if he were in robot mode. "Cool. Whatcha want to do?"

"Can you show me what the lay of the land is like?"

"Sure thing." Jazz's Pretender shell leaned out his driver-side window and projected a hologram into the air. It displayed the sensor readings Jazz had taken of the Decepticon base entrance and the shaft that lead down into the depths.

Magnus absorbed the information for a minute, then sighed. "I'm an idiot."

"What?"

"That shaft...is it as straight as it looks on the projection?"

"As straight as a laser," Jazz said. "Why?"

"Because I'm going to fire a laser down it."

"Uh, boss..." Jazz's shell frowned. "Not to rain on your parade or anything, but you'd need one heckuva laser to make much difference..." He trailed off. "Oh, you old fox," the special agent said. "You're gonna whistle up the Steelhaven, eh?"

"I am," Magnus said. "An orbital bombardment won't do much good for our secrecy, but I think that ship's already sailed."

"Wait, wait," the human in Jazz's passenger seat piped up. "You're going to start shooting at my planet? Isn't that what Decepticons do?"

"We're going to be a lot more careful about it, Darius," Jazz's shell smiled. "Our ship, the Steelhaven, see, she's got a really big laser built into her core. It's meant to bust up asteroids, but if we could line her up right she could blast straight down into the enemy base and bring a hundred tonnes of rock down on their heads."

Darius grumbled, but leaned back in his chair and didn't say anything else.

After careful consideration, Cliffjumper decided he liked his new teammates.

Any time I can find two guys who make me look level-headed, I'll take it!

All joking aside, though, Groundbreaker and Leadfoot had proven to be more than adequate soldiers. He hadn't worked with either of them before and hadn't been sure what to expect, but the duo had proven to be a pair of tough customers. He was even willing to forgive Leadfoot's Decepticon origins, considering how many enemy corpses the other Transformer had piled up.

After they'd dropped out of Sky Lynx's hatch into deep space, the three Autobots had blasted a hole in the side of their targeted enemy ship and bulled their way inside. They'd moved perhaps a hundred paces down the hall and already left a dozen enemy corpses lying behind them. Now they were standing at an airlock, Cliffjumper and Leadfoot standing guard while the Pretender tried to bypass the lock's control keypad. Groundbreaker wasn't any more qualified for the job than the other two, but he'd insisted on having first crack at it. Eventually he sighed in disgust, shot the control box and forced the door open manually.

"Done," he said curtly.

"I'll take point," Cliffjumper said, but by the time he'd opened his mouth the Pretender had burst through the door with guns blazing. What a mook... Cliffjumper moved to follow him, but before he could the other Autobot shrieked and backpedalled out into the corridor. There was a gaping hole in his chest where a decorative feline head had once been emblazoned.

"Oh, boy!" Cliffjumper fired laser blasts blindly into the airlock and started to fall back. "Move it, Leadfoot!"

The younger Autobot moved to obey, but hadn't made it two paces before a squadron of enemies boiled out of the airlock and opened fire on him. More than a dozen shots hit Leadfoot in the back, dropping him to the ground.

"Hell, hell, hell, hell, hell!" Cliffjumper snapped off a half-dozen haphazard shots at the enemy troops, hitting a couple of them by sheer blind luck. But as their corpses fell to the ground, a dozen more enemies stormed out into the hall to replace them.

OK...this is too many even for me to deal with.

Dropping his pistol to the ground, the small Autobot drew his backup gun from subspace. The backup, a huge rocket launcher nearly twice as long as his arm, was a one-shot deal. In a normal battle it would be hard to make good use of it, but in the tight confines of a starship's corridor it would be hard to miss.

Not that Cliffjumper thought of any of that. He just aimed, cursed and fired. He turned his head from the heat of the blast, and several bits of shrapnel bit into the side of his face. When the dust settled, he turned to look at the damage he'd wrought. The corridor lighting had blown out, but he could just barely see that the Cybertronians had all been shredded to debris...and so had his two fallen comrades and the corridor that they'd been moving through.

"Talk about a disaster..." Dropping the spent rocket launcher to the ground, he retrieved his pistol and subspaced it. Exiting the ship the way he'd come in, he noticed that the entire ship was dark: whatever he'd blown up with his rocket attack, it had been important enough to burn out the ship's power grid.

He took some small comfort in that as he used his flight pack to steer back towards the Wraith.

Rollout had never been one for subtlety. He was technically assigned as a covert ops specialist, but sneaking around and stabbing the enemy in the back had always gone against the grain as far as he was concerned. He was much happier whenever he got a chance to play barnstormer.

Right now, he couldn't have been happier.

Trusty shrapnel gun in hand, the brutal Autobot was gleefully gunning down Cybertronians one after the other. At his side Sureshot and Outback were doing the same, albeit with a more professional demeanour.

"Hurry it up, Pipes," the Targetmaster sniper was saying. "We can only hold these guys off for so long!"

"I'm hurrying," the smaller Autobot said. Pipes was holding the eponymous smokestacks on his forearms flush to the side of a large power conduit, using the corrosive fumes that they generated to burn though the conduit's armour. All of a sudden, he stumbled forwards. "Got it!"

Rollout risked a glance over his shoulder; the Minibot had indeed gotten it. The conduit was pitted and cracked, with holes all the way through the armour at different points. With a couple punches, Pipes expanded the hole significantly. "Laying the charges!" the Minibot reported.

Rollout turned back to the horde of enemies, raised his rifle, and blew the head off of the first Decepticon he saw.

"Come on guys," Pipes was saying, "let's get out of here!"

"Rollout, take point!" Sureshot ordered the retreat calmly. "Pipes and Outback, follow him! I'll bring up the rear!"

Rollout turned to protest, but he didn't get the chance. As Sureshot was laying down cover fire for their retreating comrades, a stray photon beam hit him in the head. The Targetmaster half-spun around, giving his teammates a chilling glimpse of his ruined face. Even though he was obviously dying, the confident Autobot still had enough presence of mind to toss his Targetmaster gun to Rollout as he fell.

Pipes and Outback both caught sight of the sharpshooter's fall and stopped in their tracks. Rollout waved vigorously at them at the same time as he fired with both guns at the oncoming Decepticons. "Move it!"

Snapped out of their stupor, the two Minibots sprinted back towards the outer hull and the hole that they'd blown to get inside. Rollout followed behind, occasionally turning and snapping off shots with his rifle. He didn't bother to fire Sureshot's partner; the Nebulan was skilled enough to hit his targets without the Autobot's help.

Such fun, Rollout thought bitterly. A pity Sureshot's not here to share it.

The vicious Autobot casually butchered every Decepticon that he met on the way to their escape route, but for once he didn't enjoy it.

Well, not especially.

Sunrunner loved zero-G operations.

Oh, he wasn't too fond of the jobs in and of themselves. They were usually dangerous, thankless and uncomfortable. But he was the only member of the Battle Patrol who was any good at them, and he loved to rub it in.

"Try to keep up, guys," he said. "We've got to make it to the hull before anyone sees us, if we expect to get back out again."

The quartet of Autobot Micromasters floated through the void towards a Cybertronian troop transport, Big Shot and Sidetrack lagging noticeably behind Sunrunner, awkwardly piloting their flight packs. Flak was gamely keeping up, but it was obvious by the expression on the stalwart Autobot's face that he was just as uncomfortable out in vacuum as the other two.

When the quartet of small Autobots reached the ship's hull, Sunrunner gracefully landed, activated his magnetic foot plates, and awaited his comrades. Flak and Big Shot set down easily, but Sidetrack hit with a thump and bounced off again. Only Flak's quick reflexes saved him from floating away; the unit XO grabbed Sidetrack's arm and held him until he found his footing.

"Alright, guys," Big Shot's voice crackled in Sunrunner's audio receptors, "let's get the charges placed."

"You got it, chief," Sunrunner asserted confidently.

It took two minutes longer than they'd expected, but eventually they managed to get the explosives laid at a dozen weak points on the enemy ship's hull. Rendezvousing back at their initial landing position, the quartet pushed off back into space.

"Setting the timer for sixty seconds," Flak said. "That should give us enough time to get clear."

"Oh, more than enough," Sunrunner said. "Watch this!" Transforming to fighter mode, he blasted away from the rest of his teammates.

"Belay that, you idiot!" Big Shot's voice boomed over the comlink. "They'll see your thrust exhaust!"

"And do what?" Sunrunner chuckled. "They'll be dust in thirty seconds, and we'll-argh!" The Micromaster flier cried out in agony as he slammed into an invisible wall of energy at full speed. His entire body burned with pain as he bounced away from the ship's energy shield.

"They've raised shields! You've killed us all!" Flak's voice was suitably furious.

"I'm..." Sunrunner didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, guys..."

And then the charges blew.

There was nowhere to run, and Thrust couldn't have been more terrified.

Along with Snapdragon, Strafe and Scattershot, he'd been assigned to escort the Wraith and protect it from enemy fighters. As if fighting alongside Autobots wasn't bad enough, he was fighting under the command of one, and an especially abusive one at that. He'd put up with the Technobot leader's racial slurs and general insults throughout the dogfight, all the while hoping that he'd get vaped by some lucky Imperial air jockey.

Now he wished the Autobot was here to save him.

Thrust wasn't sure when the unseen enemy had shown up; he certainly hadn't seen him until he'd started shooting. By then, it was too late for his wingman; Snapdragon had been ripped to shreds before either of them could react to the incoming volley of plasma. Thrust never thought he'd miss the slovenly Headmaster's company, but right now anything would be better than being alone with an invisible killing machine.

Catching sight of the enemy's tracking lasers, the seeker desperately looped upwards. Plasma blasts tore through empty space just below his belly. Thrust righted himself and fired a pair of concussion missiles off in the direction he thought the fire had come from, but they just soared harmlessly off into space.

Dammit, where are you?

As he thought that, he saw a flicker of yellow off his starboard side. Banking hard, he turned to face the enemy...just in time to see a volley of plasma streaking in towards him.

Oh, Pit...no other choice...

The Decepticon jet activated his thrust boosters, doubling his speed almost instantly. The plasma streaked by harmlessly overhead, leaving Thrust zooming forward, in what amounted to a collision course with his attacker. The seeker tried to bank out of the way, but he couldn't tell where the enemy was. He felt a dull impact, and then agonizing pain as his left wing sheared clean off. His port engine exploded, sending the Decepticon into a deadly tailspin.

As he careened around, he finally caught sight of his enemy. The other Decepticon was yellow and black, but covered with what appeared to be stealth plating. The only reason he was clearly visible now was because of the trail of flame shooting from one of his engines. He was, however, still under control, and Thrust knew that it was only a matter of moments before he turned around and finished him off.

"Well, well...looks like you've landed yourself in a spot of trouble."

"Thundercracker?" Thrust's voice was confused. "What are you doing here?"

"Spinister cut us loose," the other seeker told him. "And just in time, by the looks of it. Now unless you like spinning off into the abyss to die, I'd suggest you power down that damaged engine and head back in to the Wraith. I'll shadow you."

"No!" Thrust was near panic. "No! Get out of here before he gets you too!"

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about him," Thundercracker said. "Skywarp's got a few tricks of his own. He'll run the guy off."

"Thanks, guys," Thrust would have let out a sigh of relief if he'd been in robot mode. Struggling to right himself, he headed back into the Wraith's hangar bay.

"Fearswoop's down," the replacement sensor officer reported.

"Good," Jetstorm crowed from the corner of the bridge. "Now maybe you people will listen to reason."

"Shut up," Hydradread snapped. "Is he dead?"

"No," the officer said. "But he's badly hit. I can't tell-"

The rest of the officer's report was lost as the bridge door blew open.

Spinister led his team into the ship's bridge, sparklessly gunning down a half-dozen enemy officers before anyone had even turned to look at him. Ruckus and Treadshot were right behind him, firing at will. Energy beams filled the room.

The Decepticon in the centre seat seemed to take exception to the attack. Lunging from his chair, he leaped over the dead bodies of two of his comrades and charged Spinister. Divebomb, the last mech on the scene, took aim at him, but the Targetmaster shook his head.

"He's mine."

Spinister met the other Decepticon's charge, taking a couple punches from the other commander before he could react.

He's manic, but his blows are poorly-aimed. He's not a trained warrior.

The Targetmaster took a step back, swung his laser rifle up and hit the other Decepticon on the chin. He reeled and stumbled backwards. Spinister raised his rifle, took aim and shot him in the face. The enemy commander collapsed to the floor.

Surveying the bridge, Spinister had to conclude that his surprise attack had been a success. All of the bridge crew save for one were lying dead, and that single enemy was standing in a corner, arms crossed, doing nothing. Even he wasn't long for this world; Divebomb stepped over the corpse of the dwarvish blue and brown foe he had just dispatched and strode purposefully in the last enemy's direction.

"Hold." Spinister's command froze the Predacon in his tracks. Taking aim at the last Cybertronian, the Targetmaster took a few steps towards him. "Why don't you fight?"

"Would you fight alongside your men if they mutinied against you?"

"Of course," Spinister said without hesitation.

"Then you and I differ," the Cybertronian said. "My name is Jetstorm, Imperial coordinator. My people have betrayed me. Nothing you do can cause a deeper wound than that."

"Divebomb, watch him. If he acts up, cut him down to size." The Targetmaster turned aside and activated his comlink. "Battletrap, report."

"Battletrap's not here," came a steady voice that he recognized as Nosecone's. "He took a plasma blast in the face as we came through the door."

"Wonderful," Spinister muttered bitterly. Losing subordinates was a part of the business of warfare, but he'd never really gotten used to it. "Do you have control over engineering?"

"Oh, we've got it, alright," Nosecone's voice was rueful. "What's left of it, anyway. We've made quite the mess down here."

"I can imagine. Are we ready?"

"We're ready. Bridge and engineering airlocks are sealed shut. All the rest are locked open, and all the magnetic containment fields are disabled."

"Good work." Spinister turned to Jetstorm and remarked, "You know, I've always wondered why we even bother to pressurize our ships. We don't breathe, after all. Perhaps it's a comfort thing." He shrugged. "But right now it makes my job a lot easier."

Stepping over to the launch control station, he keyed in the sequence to open the main hangar doors.

"You're mad!" Jetstorm caught sight of what he was doing. "You'll..you'll kill everyone! Thousands of your fellow Decepticons!"

"Yes," Spinister acknowledged. "That's rather the point, actually." He punched the 'Confirm' button.

"NO!" Jetstorm lunged, but he hadn't made it half a metre before Divebomb tackled him. The Predacon wrestled him to the ground, rolled over on top of him and took a firm grip on the latter-generation Decepticon's head. A solid-sounding crunch echoed around the room for a moment and Spinister saw that the enemy's head was now hanging at an unnatural angle.

"So much for him not dying with his troops," Divebomb quipped as he disentangled himself from the corpse.

Fearswoop had escaped the teleporting madman a lot more easily than he'd expected, but the Cybertronian air commander had wisely retreated from combat after that. He was damaged badly enough that one of his enemies might be able to take advantage, and it was only sensible to fall back for repairs. He was about half-way back to the Armada when he realized something was wrong.

She's venting atmosphere, he thought. Badly. But she's not hit. What's going on?

The cloud of escaping air was dotted with green flecks that he recognized as his fellow Decepticons, but that didn't concern him too much. It would be easy enough to pick them back up after the battle, after all.

He continued to believe that right up until the second that the Armada opened fire on the cloud.

Using a carrier's main cannons to kill individual troopers was akin to trimming loose wiring with a plasma sabre, but it was brutally efficient. Fearswoop turned away from the slaughter, certain that none of the loyal Decepticons that had been vented from the warship would survive.

The Armada had fallen to the enemy.

Fearswoop looked around him. The battle was going poorly. Between the initial suicide attack, follow-up commando strikes and the enemy's invisible cruiser, half the capital ships in the fleet were burning in space. His air wing, already weakened from fighting the natives, was getting shredded by the superior Alliance fighter cover. And now the most powerful ship under his command had been taken by the other side. If he'd been on the bridge of a starship, with a fully-equipped war room and a staff to relay his commands, he might have been able to salvage the situation. But he was gravely injured himself, his command was disorganized and the enemy knew exactly what they were doing.

The battle was lost. To stand and fight would be tantamount to suicide.

"This is Air Commander Fearswoop to all Imperial forces. All ships, all wings, disengage and fall back to VsQs. I repeat, fall back. We've been beaten."

In many ways, Fearswoop would have preferred death.

Hubcap sat with Pointblank at the Steelhaven's tactical station, an incredulous expression on his face. "Uh...say again, boss?" He kept his voice low for now other reason that to annoy Downshift, who was sitting across the bridge at the security station making no effort to conceal his eavesdropping.

"I want you to prepare for an orbital bombardment," Magnus said clearly.

"So I take it we're giving up the whole 'secrecy' thing, then?"

"It's the best of a bunch of bad options, Hubcap," Magnus said. "I can't stand aside and let the Cybertronians continue with their plans, and a whole garrison is a little much for Jazz and I to handle on our own."

"Gotcha," he said. Turning to Pointblank, he saw obvious disapproval in the Targetmaster's expression. Nonetheless, the Steelhaven's captain keyed in the coordinates of the enemy base. "I've got the coordinates laid in," he said. "I'll need to adjust our orbit to bring us into firing position."

"I'm afraid not."

The voice sent a chill through Hubcap's systems, and it took him a few seconds to realize that Downshift had spoken. "Who asked you?"

"Since I'm the one with the guns, you'll be doing what I say."

Moving slowly, Hubcap turned and saw that, indeed, the security officer was holding them at gunpoint. His lasers were trained on Pointblank and he had his neural shock gun aimed squarely at the Minibot. Hubcap raised his hands in surrender.

Pointblank, on the other hand, wasn't taking this lying down. "So you're the plant?"

"It sure looks that way." Downshift's aim didn't falter for a second. "And it goes without saying that my Imperial masters won't be very happy if I let you kill them. So."

"So." Pointblank was unarmed, his Nebulan partner manning a console across the room. "This is how it ends, eh?" Without warning, he leapt at the traitorous Omnibot. "Hubcap, sound the alarm!"

Downshift's shoulder-mounted laser cannons lashed out, energy blasts slamming the Targetmaster's torso. Pointblank didn't seem to notice, grabbing the traitor's shoulders and dragging him to the ground.

Oh, I'm gonna regret this...

Dashing from his station to the security array that the betrayer had occupied seconds ago, Hubcap heard another series of energy blasts, then the thump of a body hitting the ground heavily. It was followed by a second series of blasts and another, smaller thump.

Milliseconds later, an energy beam narrowly missed his left arm and slammed into a bulkhead. Knowing his time was short, the Minibot leaped at the console. His hand hit the emergency alert button at the exact time a laser volley slammed into his back. Landing hard on the deck, Hubcap tried to move. He couldn't, though; the shots must have damaged his linkages. At the edge of his field of view he could see Pointblank lying on the deck with close to twenty smoking holes in his chest. Peacemaker was lying on the ground far away, his biological fluids forming a puddle underneath his body.

Downshift appeared in the paralyzed Autobot's field of view without warning, looming over him.

"I...I should have known it would be you," Hubcap said. "No one could...could be that useless by accident..."

The traitor scowled, then wound up and kicked Hubcap in the head. The communications officer's world went black.

Epilogue I: Cybertron

For the second time in as many days, Counterpunch found himself doing something he never thought he'd do.

He looked around at his surroundings in disgust. This small cavern in the Manganese Mountains was about as far from the Polyhex Archives as one could get, be it geographically, logistically or functionally. Its sole occupant was a lot less hateful than Octane had been, but potentially much more dangerous.

"Hello?" Counterpunch cast his gaze around the darkness, searching for his quarry. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Out of the darkness, a cold voice rang out in answer. "Yes? Vat do you vant?"

Counterpunch started to speak, then choked on the words he knew he had to say. Letting his optics track down towards the rocky floor, he forced himself to talk.

"I need your help, Mindwipe."

Epilogue II: Deep Space

Clench stood with Deluge and Overlord on an observation platform, watching as the viceroy's minions set up a half-dozen pieces of arcane technology. In the middle of it all was the corpse that his science officer had retrieved from VsQs a few days ago. Repaired, refurbished and upgraded, it no longer looked exactly like Optimus Prime. Overlord's servants had outfitted it with black stealth armour, making it look for all the world like a diabolical wraith that had taken on the form of the Autobot leader.

For all of it, the body was no less dead.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what they're doing, sir," Clench said. "All of this equipment..."

"Patience," Overlord said. "They're almost ready."

As he spoke, the technicians wheeled the last piece of equipment into place. They checked the connections, then flipped a switch. Several bits of arcane technology started to whir softly. The engineers quickly retreated, letting the mechanisms doing their work. Lightning arced from one ancient device to another, growing in power with each leap. Eventually the energy bolts were so bright that Clench had to look away, shielding his optics.

As quickly as it began, the light show ended.

Shaking his head, Clench looked down at the body. For a moment it looked like nothing had changed, like the whole display had been for naught.

Then the corpse's optics ignited, glowing red in the darkened chamber.

"Wha...how?"

"How doesn't matter," Overlord said. "All that matters is that we have succeeded. From the abandoned body of their own beloved leader, the last piece has fallen into place," He turned to one of his adjutants. "Tell the fleet to prepare for departure. And alert our sleeper agents on Cybertron. Tell them to create as much havoc as they can in anticipation of our arrival."

Clench stared at his lord in shock. "You mean to say...the feint, all of this, it was so..."

"But of course. What else could it all have been about?" Overlord actually smiled. "My loyal followers, we're going home."

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