Chapter 9

The first thought to enter Comet’s mind as he gradually regained consciousness was the question of whether or not he was alive and still functioning, until he realized that the answer to that question was self-evident. As his various internal systems slowly returned online he initiated a diagnostic self-test, and the results confirmed it; he was still intact, even though he had been certain that Lockdown would terminate him. Unless, of course, the bounty hunter intended some other purpose for him, one that Comet had not yet considered. He recalled how Lockdown had knocked his transceiver out of his hand the night before, and had overpowered him, locking a circuit dampener onto his neck before carrying him away.

The circuit dampener… he tried to move but, as expected, could not; he had lost all motor control. He realized that his optic sensors must be affected by the dampener, because his vision was blurred and all he could see were shadows. Oddly enough, his audio receptors seemed to be unaffected; he could hear every sound with crystal clear clarity.

Comet wondered where he was. The sounds that he was picking up were mostly unfamiliar to him, though he could tell that he was in a large space of some sort, possibly inside a cargo hold or control room. His first supposition was that he was being held somewhere in Lockdown’s ship, which was probably tucked away out of sight in some subterranean space port. It was even possible that he had already left Alternity City and that he was being transported to some unmarked prison colony, though he was probably far too valuable to simply be disposed of in such a manner and the more that he thought about it, the more he believed it was far more likely that he was still on Alternity City, though his precise location was completely unknown to him.

The question that was now foremost on his mind was what, exactly, had Lockdown been directed to do with him. He was able to come up with a few notions, but none were particularly pleasant and so, after a few cycles, he forcibly removed those thoughts from his mind. In the stillness of the space in which he now found himself, Comet’s focus shifted suddenly to his last conversation with Thunderblast, and how she had casually mentioned Cybertron and the other seekers. Who they might have been, or why they had come to Alternity City, he could not guess. Thunderblast had never been very forthcoming with her information, and had always been a tease; however, he was no fool and was well aware of the games she liked to play.

The sound of something metallic moving in the background caught his attention, and his recent memory of Thunderblast was soon forgotten. He listened carefully in an effort to determine the source of the sound and, sure enough, it occurred again. He decided, with caution, that it wasn’t the sound of another mech in the space with him; rather, it was more like the sound that a sack of mixed parts might make if it were turned upside down and its contents emptied out onto the floor.

This was soon followed by another sound, though it was louder and seemed to be coming from somewhere closer. It was the sound of metal being crushed inside a compactor, Comet realized grimly, and was overcome by a sudden urge to get as far away from this place as possible.

It slowly began to dawn on him that he was inside some sort of processing facility, probably the type that recycles scrap metal or the like. Knowing full well what this might mean for him, he began to wish that he hadn’t surrendered to Lockdown so willingly. It was true that he had not wanted to continue living his current existence; yet, by the same token, he had never anticipated that he would have to endure such a horrific and unceremonious end.

Remarkably, his vision gradually began to improve, but he knew that this could not be possible because of the circuit dampener that was fastened to his neck. He briefly considered the possibility that he might be hallucinating but this, also, was unlikely; other than his disrupted motor control mechanisms, his internal diagnostics continued to indicate that his neural circuitry was functioning normally.

As his optics came fully online, the shadow forms in his field of vision gave way to clear outlines and colors and he soon realized that he was staring up at an expansive, domed metallic ceiling. There was just enough light to make out details in the distance, though he wasn’t able to turn his head to get a better idea of exactly where he was.

The sound of churning machinery returned abruptly, and Comet was certain that it was coming from a conveyor belt system. He felt his sense of panic heighten, and desperate thoughts of escape began to rush into his main processor. He tried to move again, but his efforts were futile. If he could only think of some way to remove the circuit dampener from his neck, he’d have a chance at escape.

Then a voice unexpectedly spoke to him inside his head, as clearly as if it had spoken into his audio receptors, and for a moment his world came to a stand still. You have the power within you… focus your will on the device.

It sounded familiar, the voice of someone he had known over many vorns, since the beginning of his creation. ‘Who is that?’ he thought in confusion, his mind still in shock, but he received no answer. He tried to move again, but all that he could manage was a low groan.

Focus your will.

There it was again. He tried to make sense of the words, but in his current state he was finding it difficult to focus on anything. Still, he had to try. He had nothing to lose in doing so.

Comet concentrated his efforts on focusing his mind so that he could center his thoughts upon the circuit dampener with a singular, purposeful intention. As his focus intensified, he saw within his mind the device loosening its grip on him, the integrity of its force field gradually weakening, deteriorating, until, finally, its hooks retracted and he saw it fall to the ground, inert. As he held onto this mental picture, he felt an electrical disturbance building up around the dampener and he realized, to his astonishment, that this was not part of his imagination. Distracted for only an instant his imagining dissolved into nothingness, and in the same moment the electrical sensation ceased.

‘It’s impossible… I can’t do this!’ his internal voice called out in frustration. It was no use; he’d never be able to disconnect that dampener by using sheer force of will alone, no matter how hard he tried, and he began to resign himself to his fate once more.

You have the ability… just focus your will.

This was followed by a vision that passed through his mind, in a sudden flash that lasted no more than a few astro-seconds. A distant memory, deeply buried; he was lying down upon a berth, in a semi-conscious state. A mech was bending over him, working on his main systems.

That voice… it belonged to the mech in his vision. Who was he? Someone familiar, yet Comet had never seen him before. It didn’t make any sense.

You must try to focus. The mech’s voice again, encouraging him, almost reassuring him.

‘I can’t. Please…’ Comet pleaded. His resolve was weak as a range of emotions coursed through his processor. He had never asked for any of this, yet how had he ended up here, more unsure and uncertain of his place in the universe than he had ever been before? ‘Please… leave me alone.’

But the mech’s voice only became adamant, more forceful. Try to focus!

‘Please, stop!’ His own anger surfacing, a strained cry surged forth from his vocal processor.

In the midst of his turmoil, he realized with a newfound clarity that his vocal processor should not have been able to make any sound; the circuit dampener should have made sure of that.

Try to focus.

Finally, Comet relented. His air intakes were working harder than normal to compensate for the energy-draining effects of the intrusive dampener upon his systems. ‘Alright… I’ll try,’ he conceded, ignoring the sounds of scrap metal in the background as it was reduced to pellets inside the compactor. Again he concentrated his focus upon the circuit dampener, and soon the image of the device reappeared in his mind. This time it was clearer, and he felt as though he had some control over it. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, but he continued to exert his will upon it, nonetheless.

Focus.

The subtle electrical buzzing around the device gradually returned, and with renewed determination he willed the dampener to detach itself from his neck. ‘I can do this’, he told himself in an effort to hold onto the thought. ‘Focus…’

His mental exertion was immense. He held onto the image in his mind as if his very life depended upon it until, just as he was beginning to lose concentration with the intense strain of his effort, a sudden surge of electrical energy engulfed the dampener, and Comet’s head jerked back in shock.

He lay there quietly, listening to his air intakes, too afraid to move for fear that he would discover that his attempt had failed. But then, gradually, he found that he was able to turn his head to one side, and he looked around in bewilderment.

“I did it,” he said softly, and became aware that he could speak. “I did it!” In a sudden burst of energy he sat up, felt for the dampener on the side of his neck. Sure enough it was still there, and he pulled it free. It detached easily, and he held it out in front of him, examining it. It looked as though its circuitry had been fried.

Elated, and with an immense sense of relief, he picked himself up and looked around. He was, indeed, in a scrap metal processing facility. Looking down at his feet, he saw that he was standing on a large pile of broken and discarded components, many of them belonging to once-functional mechanoids. The pile was positioned over a conveyor belt system, which was slowly transporting the refuse to another part of the facility where a compactor was in operation. He could see now how close he had actually come to being reduced to raw materials.

Comet looked down at the non-functional dampener that he still held in his hand and, with a renewed will to live, let it fall from his palm and onto the pile of scrap metal under his feet.

A soft though distinct beeping emanated from Astrotrain’s console, and Astro dashed over to it in alarm.

“Jhiaxus is right behind us,” the shuttle informed him.

“You won’t be able to outmanoeuvre him.” Astro checked their current location on one of the displays. “Not in the air.”

The shuttle veered abruptly to one side as an energy missile narrowly missed them. “Alright, hold on tight,” Astrotrain said and he began his descent, swooping down towards Binaltech at his top-most speed. Astro looked out through the front view screen, watching as the heart of Binaltech city rapidly came up to greet them. A succession of energy blasts shot forward through the air in front of them before exploding in clouds of smoke and debris as they impacted the street below. Astrotrain skilfully avoided most of the missiles, but one of them detonated against his vertical stabilizer and he began to spiral out of control. For several moments he fought to regain navigational control but it looked as though he would not be able to avoid a crash landing. However, just before he was about to slam into one of Binaltech’s crowded main streets he straightened himself out with a ninety degree turn.

Gliding through the air just above the ground, he did not slow as startled pedestrians realized all too late that they stood directly in the path of the oncoming shuttle. A few missiles continued to impact the solid streets and buildings in front of them, and Astrotrain wasted no time; he continued down the main thoroughfare until a large entrance off to the right quickly came into view. Turning sharply, he tilted downwards and flew through the open entranceway, giving pedestrians barely enough time to duck out of the way. Slowing his speed, he hovered down the main flight of steps until the subway tunnel appeared before them, and then headed straight towards it. He made a sharp right turn into the tunnel, avoiding a carriage that was approaching the platform from the opposite direction.

Rook, standing behind Astro, felt the floor beneath him move out from under his feet; it was a sensation that reminded him of being inside an anti-gravity field. In the same instant, the walls of the shuttle rearranged seamlessly into a different configuration and, after a moment, he realized what was happening. He reached out instinctively with one hand to steady himself against a nearby structural rail. Astrotrain’s console, which had reduced in size and taken on a different arrangement, now displayed a layout of Binaltech’s extensive subway system.

Astrotrain navigated his way through the vast labyrinth of subway tunnels, and after a few minutes it became apparent to the three of them that Jhiaxus was no longer pursuing them.

Just a few moments earlier, Jhiaxus had sped through the subway entranceway and had landed at the bottom of the stairs with a show of might, transforming from jet to robot mode while brandishing his missile launcher. He had ignored the fearful shouts of alarm from amongst the crowd of commuters, and had pushed his way past them as if they were worthless underlings.

His sole intention had been to track down that purple and grey shuttle and destroy it, along with the two traitors it harboured, but it had mysteriously disappeared; all that he could see around him were unsuspecting commuters and two subway carriages moving along the tunnel. One of them had slowed to a stop to pick up passengers, while the other one – a much smaller carriage – had left the platform in the opposite direction, and had already moved out of sight.

He grunted in anger, and then ran back up the flight of stairs before transforming back into his jet mode and taking off, soaring high into the sky.

Comet’s repeated attempts at busting his way through the ceiling of the processing facility had failed. The entire perimeter appeared to be reinforced all round with an energy barrier, and he could not get beyond it. The only doors leading into the enclosure were sealed closed with secure codes, and he saw no other exits or openings. For the time being, at least, he wasn’t going anywhere. He leaned against one of the large, automated machines, and considered his options.

With all the scrap metal and spare components littered about, perhaps he could rig up some kind of snare, in case Lockdown returned. With this in mind, he began to search through the piles of junk, looking for anything that might be useful; tools, discarded arrays, a set of probes, wiring looms – anything that was still mostly intact and hadn’t been destroyed beyond recognition. As he went about his task, he tried his best to avoid staring into the faces of the dead – their broken, darkened optic sockets haunting him like wraiths – but it was almost impossible to do. There were many more bodies of terminated mechs here than he’d first thought, and he recognized many familiar species from in and around the local Sector.

It didn’t take Comet too long before he’d put together a small collection of salvaged items, and he quickly cleared a space on the floor before laying out each object. As he carefully examined each piece, his audial sensors picked up something quietly stirring in the junk pile closest to him. He hesitated, deciding that it was probably just a turbo-rat, but then he saw something move within the periphery of his vision, and this time his curiosity got the better of him.

He stood up and stepped closer to the pile, then bent down to inspect it. The glow from his optics intensified momentarily as he became aware of the source of the movement. He immediately recognized the damaged and torn, yet still largely intact, yellow frame of the mech, half-buried beneath discarded power cores and empty canisters. It was an Autobot, his red faction symbol still clearly displayed upon his chest.

Comet hesitated, watching with apprehension as if the mech might suddenly rise up out of the scrap heap and lunge towards him in a catatonic state. But the longer he observed the mech, the more he realized that the Autobot had been left here to die, in a semi-functional state and helpless.

The condemned mech must have sensed his presence, because he slowly turned his head towards him. Comet moved closer until he was face-to-face with the Autobot, and then studied him carefully for vital signs.

The blue optics still emanated a gentle glow, though it was weak and barely detectable. Comet reached out, carefully grasping the Autobot’s chin and tilting his head a fraction whilst checking for any reaction. Dimmed optics looked back at him, accompanied by an expression of eerie calmness as if he had already resigned himself to the fact that he would soon face termination. The Autobot then moved his mouth in an effort to speak, and after a few moments his vocal processor stuttered to life. “Help… me,” he said.

Comet drew his hand away and stared at him in shock. He had not expected to find any mech here alive, let alone with his senses still intact.

“Please,” the mech said again.

Comet stumbled backwards, but then quickly regained his footing as he spun about, looking for something. In a sudden burst of energy he kicked away odd pieces of junk that lay strewn across the floor near his feet, and then returned to stand over the Autobot’s head. Bending low, he grasped the fallen mech from underneath his upper arms and then dragged his frame backwards, pulling him out of the junk pile and into the cleared space that he had just created on the floor.

Without warning, Comet reached across and opened up the Autobot’s chest panel, examining his internal circuitry, and after a few seconds closed the panel again. “You’ve sustained heavy damage, but you’ll live… provided we can get you out of here,” Comet informed him. The Autobot stared back at him, and Comet felt as though the intensity of his gaze could penetrate his very spark. It made him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted position.

“Thanks,” the Autobot managed. His voice sounded strained, as if he had to concentrate upon every word to get it to vocalize properly. “And… who… the slag… are you?” he added, after a pause.

Comet responded, amused. “That’s just what I need – an Autobot near death with an attitude.”

The Autobot attempted a smile, but control of his facial expressions had been impeded by the damage he had sustained. “I… don’t… think… we’ve met… before. What’s… your name?”

Comet shrugged. “You can call me Comet, but I don’t see how knowing my name is going to help you.”

“Comet… huh?” The Autobot paused, and a long moment passed before he spoke again.”You’re… Decepti… con… aren’t you?”

This time Comet hesitated, turned away from him. “No,” he answered finally.

“I… don’t… believe you,” the mech replied.

“Oh? And why not?”

The Autobot shook his head slowly. “Red… optics… for starters… also… you’re… a seeker… and… a liar.”

“Well, the color of my optical sensors has nothing to do with it,” Comet replied indignantly, “nor does my transformation mode.”

“No… such thing… as… an Auto… bot… seeker,” the Autobot responded, and then he lay still for a long time, saying nothing further.

Comet let him be. It would give the Autobot a chance for his internal repair system to do its work, but it wouldn’t restore his linkage, which had been too heavily damaged by whatever punishment he had endured. It was obvious that he’d ended up on some war lord’s bad side, and on Alternity City that wasn’t a hard thing to achieve; having been in similar situations more times than he could count, Comet was all too aware of this.

* * *

A whole hour went by before the Autobot spoke again. Comet, kneeling on the floor beside him as he concentrated on his assortment of broken or incomplete mechanical components, looked up, startled, when he heard the irregular, drawn-out voice. “Huh?”

“I… was… just wonder… ing… what you… were… doing,” the Autobot explained.

“Oh.” Comet shrugged, picked up a relay. “It doesn’t matter. It’s no use, anyway.” He turned to look at the helpless Autobot. “If I don’t find a way out of here soon, Lockdown will be back for me. And if he finds you here as well… you’re going to wish you weren’t alive.”

“Lock… down? Wow… who… have you… crossed?” the Autobot replied, intrigued.

Comet shook his head. “Nobody.”

The Autobot let out a weak chortle. “See? You… are… a liar.”

Comet ignored his comment. Instead, he stood up in frustration and kicked an empty canister out of his path. It ricocheted off a large robotic arm with a clang. Then he looked up at the domed ceiling in contemplation.

“Hey… I’m sorry…” the Autobot said from behind him. His apology sounded sincere.

“Hm?” Comet turned back around to look down upon his battered frame. “What for?”

But the mech didn’t respond; instead, he appeared to be studying Comet intently, and the seeker once again felt the uncomfortableness of his penetrating stare. “Why… are you… helping… me?” he asked.

“Helping you?” Comet replied, amused. “What gives you that idea?”

The Autobot thought about his response. “You… could… have… just… ignored me… left… me on… that…. junk… pile… to… die.” A pause, and then he added, “Isn’t… that… what… Decepti… cons… do?”

Comet grimaced. “I told you before, I’m not–” But he stopped mid-sentence, unable to complete it.

“You’re… not… what?” the Autobot pressed. “Decepti… con?” He turned his head slowly away from the seeker.

“It doesn’t matter,” Comet said finally, before changing the subject. “Anyway, that’s enough about me. How did you end up here?”

After a moment, the Autobot answered. “It’s… a long… story. You… probably… don’t… want to… hear it.”

“Well, that’s up to you. It doesn’t look like we’ll be leaving this place any time soon.” Comet walked over to a nearby scrap pile, sifted through it until he found a power pack. It was depleted, but undamaged.

“Is… there… any way… out of… here?” the Autobot said, turning his head towards the seeker again.

“No.” Comet knelt back down on the floor beside him, power pack in one hand, and began to remove its outer covering. “I don’t even know where here is,” he confessed.

The Autobot gave him an amused look. “Don’t… you?”

Comet briefly looked across at him. “Why, do you know where we are?”

The Autobot gave him a strained half-smile, happy to be able to help in some way. “We’re… in Hitec,” he said.

“Hitec?” Comet repeated, as he pulled the outer covering off the power pack. He examined its terminals, and then proceeded to connect an energy transfer cable from his wrist to the unit. “Well… that makes sense. At least I’m still on Alternity City.” A few minutes passed by in silence, and then he disconnected the power pack from his wrist, placed the small unit down on the floor. He turned his attention back to the Autobot. “You’re going to be of more use to me fully functional again,” he informed him, referring to the mech’s immobilized state.

The Autobot looked up at him. “Glad… to be… of… service,” he replied, not without a hint of sarcasm.

Comet ignored his remark. “I can fix you. But I’ll have to take you temporarily offline.” He reached across, positioned one hand underneath the Autobot’s helm.

“It’s… not… like… I have… any… choice… right?” the Autobot said, attempting to make light of his situation, but he did not try to resist.

“Don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing, Autobot,” Comet responded. He found the access port behind the mech’s helm and opened it up. “Ready?”

“Wait–” the Autobot started. Comet paused, waiting for him to say whatever it was that he needed to say. “Call… me… Sun… ny,” he said.

Comet’s expression did not change. “I know who you are,” he replied simply, before deactivating him.

Optimus, hands clasped together supporting his chin, faced his senior officers as they sat around the conference room table waiting for him to speak. Immediately upon his return to Iacon, Optimus had called for an emergency meeting. He hadn’t spoken a word to anyone other than to his second in command, who had requested to speak with him alone, but Optimus had waved him aside with a gesture of his hand. “Not now, Prowl,” was all he’d said, and Prowl had instinctively known not to press the issue.

Whatever the cause for this meeting, most of the Autobots gathered knew that it was a serious matter, though none of them dared to be the first to speak. The tension in the room was quite palpable.

It was several minutes before Optimus finally began. “Autobots, there’s no easy way for me to say this.” He paused, sighed deeply.

“Ah, Prime?” Ironhide looked concernedly at his leader. “Whatever it is, we can handle it. You can count on us.” Murmurs of acknowledgment and support rose up from around the table.

“Thank you, Ironhide,” Optimus replied, uncertainly. “But you won’t like it.” The room fell silent again as the Autobot officers waited tensely for him to continue.

“As of this moment, I am ordering all of you to abandon the search for Decepticons. Do not pursue them, and do not attempt to apprehend them. Unless your life is in immediate danger, do not engage them in combat or confront them.” Optimus’ tone of voice was determined, his message clear and unmistakeable. His steadfast gaze moved from one Autobot to the next, as expressions of shock and disappointment spread across their faces.

“But Prime!” Ironhide spoke again in exasperation. “I don’t understand.”

A few of those gathered looked towards Ratchet and Trailbreaker, hoping that they would be able to offer some clarification, but the two Autobots appeared just as confused and uncertain as the rest.

Then, after a moment of contemplation, Hound spoke. “Has the High Council given you a reason? For rescinding their directive?”

Optimus considered his reply carefully. “This has nothing to do with the Cybertronian High Council.” Hound shook his head in puzzlement, as the Autobot leader continued. “I gave Megatron my word, in return for my team’s release.” He turned his head towards Trailbreaker and Hot Rod as he said this, and realization slowly dawned on the both of them. Bluestreak, also, put two and two together as he began to understand what must have happened during their recent mission to Polyhex. Only Ratchet remained expressionless, even though Optimus had mentioned nothing about this to him either.

“But we can’t just let ‘em get away with everything they’ve done – just like that!” Ironhide protested indignantly, his hands clenching into fists.

Optimus remained calm, his tone steady. “I’m sorry, Ironhide, but I’ve made my decision, and it’s final.” He stood up and looked towards his second in command. “Prowl, I want an update. I’ll be in my quarters,” he said, and then exited the conference room without another word, leaving the gathered Autobots disillusioned and in a state of confusion.

* * *

Prowl pressed the button on the access panel and waited as it changed from an amber light to a green, welcoming glow, before the door retracted into the wall. Optimus had been expecting him, and immediately beckoned for him to enter. Prowl stepped past the Autobot leader into his quarters and the door slid closed behind him.

“Optimus,” Prowl began. If he had any concerns at all about the brief meeting that morning, he did not show it. “I have the report you requested.” He held out a small data pad, and Optimus looked at it, nodded in acknowledgment.

“Thank you, Prowl,” he said, but did not take the data pad. Instead he made a sweeping motion with one hand and then turned away, walked over to the large view screen that overlooked east Iacon.

Prowl took the cue and cleared his vocal processor. “There have been no reported Decepticon sightings or attacks whatsoever… our maintenance schedule is up to date… all energy reserves are at normal capacity–” He paused, sifting through the detailed information displayed on the small, hand-held screen. “Ah, there’s been an influx of sightings, primarily from Antihex.”

Optimus turned away from the view screen and back towards Prowl, his interest piqued. “What kind of sightings?”

Prowl considered his reply, his words deliberate. “Of Autobots who were previously reported missing.”

The blue light from Optimus’ optical sensors intensified for an instant as the news entered into his main processor. He tried to make sense of it, but the longer he thought about what it might mean the less he was able to get a grasp on it. Prowl, too, looked as though he could offer no explanations. “I see,” he said after a long moment. “I want you to bring them in for review. Find out what happened to them.”

“Yes, Optimus.” The Chief of Security sighed deeply before continuing. “Groove has taken a turn for the worse. He is currently in semi-stasis. He is still alive, but we have little hope for him.”

Optimus had noticed his difficulty as he’d spoken about Groove, so he simply nodded and changed to a different topic. “Is there anything else?”

Prowl hesitated, inhaled slowly. “There is one other matter.”

The Autobot leader turned away again, looking towards the view screen at the busy streets below. “Go ahead.”

“It concerns… Sideswipe,” Prowl said.

Optimus did not reply for a long time and Prowl remained as he was, speaking no further until the Autobot Commander was ready to hear more. “Sideswipe,” he repeated, recalling the name of a mech who had long ago become lost to him.

“Yes. He requested to speak to you. He claims that he witnessed the Neutrals… that they’re preparing some sort of takeover.” Prowl faltered, suddenly feeling as though the very utterance of the notion had placed him into a strange, alternate reality; one that he was not at all used to. To Prowl, the very idea of a Neutral-led rebellion against the Autobots was simply too incredulous to even consider, and he knew that Optimus would see it the same way.

“A planetary takeover?” Optimus looked back to Prowl, then steadily walked towards him until he stood beside his Security Officer. “Are you absolutely certain?”

Prowl nodded his head affirmatively. “That is what he told me. He was quite persistent.”

Optimus stepped away, walking over to a chair, and slowly sat down. “How is it possible? Perhaps…” He spoke quietly, disbelieving yet struggling to grasp the validity of such an allegation. Finally he looked back towards Prowl. “Perhaps, he is mistaken,” he concluded, but his tone was filled with uncertainty. Then, after a long moment, he came to a decision. “Contact Sentinel, tell him I wish to speak with him, at once.”

Prowl nodded once. “Understood.”

“Thank you, Prowl. That will be all.” Optimus watched Prowl silently exit his quarters and, for some time afterwards, he remained in his chair, unmoving.

After Jazz had left Iacon, he’d had plenty of time to think. Replaying recent events over in his mind, he’d tried to convince himself each time that he’d made the right move. Eventually, though, he stopped concerning himself with the way he’d left things with Prime and, to a good extent, Prowl, too. He had never meant them any harm, but the way he saw it he’d had no other choice and, besides, if he could somehow find out not only what had happened to Groove, but also what had happened to countless other Autobots over the last several stellar cycles, he might be able to help shed some light on these events, and maybe then those at Iacon Central might come to understand why he’d taken such drastic actions, and perhaps even forgive him.

From one corner of a small, out-of-the-way oil house in the outer region of West Polyhex, Jazz had sat at his table, alone, for over an hour. He’d seen only two mechs walk past him in that time; one of them had been a Neutral, and the other he wasn’t sure – could have been an Autobot, though in these parts that was highly unlikely. However, it was equally unlikely that it had been a Decepticon, for several obvious reasons.

“Hey, Jazz, what’s up?”

A mech appeared in the shadows behind him, and Jazz turned his head to acknowledge him. “Do you always make it a point to sneak up on bots like that?” he asked, facing the mech.

The Autobot was larger than Jazz, and probably looked a lot more intimidating as well, though this was probably due to the upgrades he’d received during the time he’d spent with the Decepticons. He walked around to the empty seat opposite, and gazed down at Jazz. “Sorry, I guess I can’t help myself,” he said, grinning.

Jazz shook his head, gave him an easy laugh. “No need to apologize, Drift-bot. Thanks for meeting me here.” He gestured towards the chair in front of him. “Take a seat. Can I get you anything?” Jazz watched as Drift sat down, shaking his head. “Alright. So, I figured you still owe me one,” he continued, cutting to the chase.

“Yeah, I remember, Jazz. So… what can I do for you?” Drift replied.

Jazz leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the table in front of him. “I just want to ask you a few questions, that’s all."

Slight concern appeared on Drift’s face. “I do something wrong?”

Jazz chuckled. “Nah, nothing like that. It has nothing to do with you, as a matter of fact.”

The Autobot stared at the special operative, rubbing his chin in thought. Jazz was the type of mech who was very difficult to work out, mostly because he played his part so well that no one could ever tell what he was hiding. “Then what’s it got to do with, Jazz?”

“The Decepticons,” Jazz replied, not pulling any punches.

“Oh.” Drift suddenly became uneasy. “Look, you know I don’t have anything to do with them, not anymore.”

“Well, I was hoping you could help me out with some information.” Jazz watched him intently, looking for any vulnerability in the mech that he could use to his advantage.

Drift inhaled deeply, then shook his head in disbelief. “I really don’t think there’s anything helpful that I can tell you about them.”

“Heh. Why don’t you just let me figure that part out?” Jazz hesitated, sensing the other’s reluctance. “I’ll tell you what; tell me exactly what I want to know, and I’ll call it even. How’s that sound?”

Drift shifted in his seat, gestured with a nod. “I can’t promise you anything, Jazz, but you can go ahead and ask.”

“Were you at the final battle when the Autobot-Neutral Alliance proclaimed victory over the Decepticon forces?”

Drift thought about Jazz’s question for a moment, and then shrugged. “No. Why?”

“Huh. No reason. Except that I wasn’t there either, nor was anyone else I‘ve asked,” Jazz replied. “Seems kind of strange, don’t it?”

“I’m not sure. As I said, I wasn’t there,” Drift asked, puzzled.

“Do you know anyone who was?” Jazz asked, unrelenting.

“Well, I mean… it was an infamous battle. There were probably several who took part. From what I recall, it’s how the Decepticons lost most of their army.” Drift paused, and the look on his face told Jazz that he wasn’t as confident as he sounded. “It should be all there in the official records. Why don’t you just go and check the Archives?”

Jazz shrugged, gestured with open palms. “See, that’s the thing, Drift. I already checked the Archives. You wanna know what I found?”

Drift was cautious. “What?”

“Nothing. Not a single name mentioned. Not even a casualty list… nothing.”

A moment of awkward silence followed. “Look, the Archives are huge. Maybe you weren’t looking in the right place.” Drift hesitated. “What are you trying to say, Jazz?”

“I’m not trying to say anything. I’m only asking questions, that’s all. And you still haven’t answered mine, so let me ask you again. Do you know of anyone who fought in the final battle at Kaon – Decepticon or Autobot?”

The Autobot infiltration specialist turned his head away from Jazz’s unwavering gaze. “I’m sorry, Jazz, but I can’t really help you with that. I was deep undercover when it all went down. By the time I returned to base with my scouting party, it was already over. Victory for the Alliance had been officially declared… and those of us – Decepticons, I mean – who still remained, fled.”

“And you didn’t witness any casualties?” Jazz asked, curious.

Drift shook his head. “No, I was told that our fighters had all been destroyed in battle… that there weren’t any left worth salvaging.”

“That’s too bad,” Jazz said, his voice lowered, as he carefully watched Drift’s reaction.

Drift’s demeanour suddenly changed. “Eh, they had it coming to them anyway.”

“You think the Decepticons deserved what they got?” the first lieutenant probed, ignoring the other’s uneasiness.

Drift turned back to face Jazz. “I thought this wasn’t about me.”

“It isn’t. I was just wondering.” Then he changed the subject. “Look, I need some way to get in contact with them. I figured you might be able to help me with that.”

Drift became wary, and he looked at Jazz as though the black and white mech had a few transistors missing in his cranial circuits. “You can’t be serious.”

However, Jazz’s resolve remained steadfast. “I’ve never been more serious, you can count on that.”

“No way. There’s no way I’m going to try and contact them for you, Jazz. You can just forget it.” Drift leaned back in his seat, his arms folded across his chest.

Jazz looked at him amusedly. “I’m not asking you to contact them for me.”

Drift’s frame relaxed slightly, but he continued to remain on guard. “But you just said–”

”I just said you might be able to help me out,” Jazz interjected. “You were practically one of them. I was hoping you might know of some way I’d be able to draw their attention without alerting the Autobots – or the Neutrals.”

Drift shook his head doubtfully. “It’s been more than a vorn since I had anything to do with them. And even if I knew of a way, there’s no guarantee it’d still work.” He hesitated. “Jazz… whatever it is you’re planning on doing, I’ve got to warn you: stay away from them. They’re extremely wary of any Autobot, and don’t like it when outsiders intrude upon their territory. Believe me, there’s no telling what they might do, especially if they know you’re on your own.”

Jazz listened quietly and when Drift had finished speaking, he nodded. “That what I need to do – intrude upon their territory?” Drift sighed, hesitated, and Jazz persisted. “I’m just asking for a sure-fire way of getting their attention, without Alliance interference.”

“Alright, Jazz. You want to know how to get their attention, I’ll tell you.” Drift had become frustrated, almost impatient, with Jazz’s stubbornness. As the special operative watched him expectantly in absolute calmness, he opened a private com link. “I’m going to transfer you an encoded distress signal.” Jazz accessed the link, and allowed the data to be transferred into his processor. When the operation was complete, Drift severed the link. “If you transmit that signal I just gave you on a secured channel, one of them should come find you. If it’s still active. But just remember that it’s meant for Decepticons – there’s no telling how they might react to an Autobot.”

After a long moment in contemplation, Jazz slowly nodded. “Thanks.”

Drift shrugged. “Don’t mention it. I guess now that makes us even?” He rose from his seat, looked down at Jazz. “Just – be careful, Jazz,” he said and, without waiting for a response, turned and left the oil house.

After the meeting with Prime that morning, Ratchet had headed straight to his quarters. He had briefly considered stopping by the med bay to check on Red Alert, but then reconsidered; instead, a quick call over the com link confirmed that everything was under control, save for Groove’s critical condition.

Something within his own systems hadn’t been feeling quite right, so he’d decided to get an early recharge cycle, putting it down to the recent mission into Polyhex and the unfamiliar Decepticon technology that he and his team had unexpectedly been exposed to when they had all been teleported. It must have caused an electrical disturbance in his circuits, somehow, but despite how he felt his internal diagnostics did not indicate that anything was particularly wrong with him.

He lay down on his berth and powered down. As his mind drifted gradually into semi-consciousness he fully expected to get a full, undisturbed, seven-hour rest, but after only a few cycles it became apparent that that was not to be.

It had started like any other dream – random symbols and images that made no logical sense, conjured up from ethereal, non-corporeal realms – but that’s where the resemblance to any other dream ended.

Ratchet found himself back at the mausoleum, standing before the familiar statue of his best friend. He looked around in alarm and then down at his own frame, touched his arm in an effort to determine whether he was real. As far as he could tell, he was not in any dream.

“Ratch?” a familiar voice called out to him and he spun around, almost drawing his weapon.

There was only one mech who had ever dared call him by his nickname. “Wheeljack?” he called back apprehensively. No; this must be another Decepticon trick, he thought with a sense of loathing.

“Ratch, over here.”

Ratchet spun back around to face the statue, and froze in shock. There, right in front of him, stood Wheeljack, more solid and life-like than he’d ever remembered him to be.

For a moment, he completely forgot where he was or how he’d come to be here, but as his initial shock subsided, he wondered whether the mech that stood before him wasn’t some sort of cruel illusion – the Decepticons, somehow, playing with his memories and emotions in an attempt to break him down. “You’re not Wheeljack.” His voice sounded odd to his audio receptors; rough, distant. “You… you can’t be.”

“Ratch, you’re the only one who can set things right.” It was unmistakeably Wheeljack, right down to his mannerisms and posture, the way he’d always stand with his knees bent, feet slightly apart. “Please, time’s running out.”

Ratchet hesitated, confused. “But you’re – you’re not even real.”

Wheeljack seemed to ignore his words, and instead took a step closer towards the medic. “Voice override command: nine, zero, four, three, three, one, zero, Cyber Jack.”

Ratchet stared back at him in confusion. It sounded like Wheeljack had given him some sort of access code, but any more than that he could not guess what it might be for or what, if anything, he was meant to do with it.

He felt his world slowly fading, being pulled back to some distant, other reality, and he tried to hang on, fearful that another opportunity like this might not come again. “Wait–” he called out, and hesitated as he tried to make sense of what was happening. “How do I know it’s really you?”

Wheeljack began to dematerialize in front of him, and Ratchet rushed forwards, reaching out a hand, but it passed right through his best friend. Before the apparition faded completely from his vision, however, it spoke to him again, his familiar voice still clear. “You made me a promise, Ratch. Find my research notes, and you will find the answers.”

“No, wait–” Ratchet replied suddenly, desperately trying to hold on to what must have been an activated memory fragment. But it was too late; his friend was gone. All that remained in his place was his lifeless statue, a poor tribute to the once lively and high-spirited Autobot engineer.

Before he knew what was happening, Ratchet found himself back in his quarters, his systems fully online. He checked his internal chronometer in confusion, and realized that the recharge cycle had only just begun.

Several Autobots were gathered inside communications central. Most of them were between shifts, and after that morning’s meeting they felt compelled to discuss their concerns with each other but also, for many, share their frustrations.

“Something’s up with Prime. He’s not acting like himself anymore,” Ironhide complained, trying to keep his voice below normal audio range but failing. Hot Spot and Silverbolt stood on either side of him, while Bluestreak, Hot Rod and Trailbreaker were also with them, forming a small circle.

“He’s had a lot on his mind lately. Maybe you should cut him a little slack, Ironhide,” Trailbreaker responded.

Ironhide looked doubtful. “Well, I hope you’re right, ‘Breaker. ‘Cause I don’t know how much longer I can just stand by and watch while the Decepti-creeps run around free, and there’s not a darn thing that any of us can do about it,” he said, his words filled with frustration.

“You’re not the only one who feels that way,” Hot Spot informed him. “Streetwise? Didn’t take it too well at all. I’m worried he’s going to go and do something he’ll end up regretting… and Blades now, too.”

“Well, I don’t blame ‘em,” the munitions expert replied. “In fact, I have half a mind to tell Prime exactly what I think about his latest order.”

“You’re not thinking of defying him, are you?” Bluestreak asked nervously, looking worried that Ironhide would even consider taking such a stand.

Ironhide shook his head. “Nah, I’d never go against Prime’s wishes, Blue, no matter how much I might disagree with them. But I must admit the thought did cross my mind a few times since the meeting this morning.”

“So we’re supposed to just let the Decepticons go free?” Silverbolt joined in, his tone incredulous. He had not been present at the meeting, and did not quite believe Prowl when the Chief of Security had filled him in on Prime’s latest orders.

“Straight from the boss’s mouth,” Ironhide replied.

“I don’t get it. They wouldn’t think twice about turning us all into scrap metal, so why should we treat them any better?” the leader of the Aerialbots continued.

“Well, if you ask me Prime did the only thing he could have done. It’s the only way we’re going to defeat our enemies once and for all.” This time it was Hot Rod who had spoken. He received puzzled looks, as if he had just spoken ancient Cybertronian.

“What in the name of Primus are you talking about, Rodimus?” Ironhide asked him, but Hot Rod did not get an opportunity to respond because in that same moment, a familiar voice addressed the small circle of Autobots.

“Don’t you all have something else you ought to be doing?”

It was Optimus Prime, standing at the entrance to the communications complex. His arms were crossed in front of him.

Ironhide turned to face him, slightly self-conscious. He had no idea how long Prime had actually been standing there, listening in on their conversation. “Ah… sorry, Prime. Now that you mention it, I do have a few errands to run,” he explained, before heading off.

Bluestreak and Trailbreaker stepped past Optimus on their way out, giving their leader a respectful nod, while Hot Spot and Silverbolt watched them go before they also went their separate ways. Hot Rod was the last to leave the communications area, and as he went to follow the others out, he felt a strong hand upon his shoulder.

“Wait, Hot Rod. Not you,” Optimus said.

“Sir?” The red and orange warrior looked towards his leader expectantly.

“What did you mean when you said it’s the only way to defeat our enemies, and that it was the only thing I could have done?”

“Huh?” There was a distant look in Hot Rod’s optics as if he were trying to fathom something that was impossible for him to unravel.

“Hot Rod,” Optimus prompted, giving the Autobot warrior a stern look. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, I’ve never experienced anything like it before. That weird teleportation thing that happened to us yesterday? It must have activated some dormant circuitry or something within me, because I had another vision, only this time it was much more real than any of the others I’ve ever had before,” he explained. “It felt so life-like.”

Optimus withdrew his hand from Hot Rod’s shoulder, inhaling deeply. “Go on.”

Hot Rod shrugged. “I don’t really understand what it all meant, to be honest, but… it’s like I could see two different realities. I think it was showing me our possible futures.”

“Our futures?”

“Yeah, our,” Hot Rod repeated. “I mean, Cybertron’s. The Autobots’, you know?” As Hot Rod spoke, his gaze drifted about the room as if he were searching for something that he couldn’t quite see. “In one future, there was devastation everywhere. All the Autobots, we were gone. It looked like the Great Devastation had hit Cybertron.” He paused as he recalled the horrific scene from his vision, and his expression took on a sombreness that Optimus rarely saw from him.

“I see,” the Autobot leader said in a lowered voice.

“The other future…” Hot Rod shook his head slowly, as if momentarily confused. “The other future was the complete opposite. All the Autobots, we were all okay. And everything was okay, you know? Like there was finally peace, and… and we’d won.” His gaze fixed upon Optimus as he spoke the last word.

It was not the first time that Hot Rod had confided in him about a vision he’d experienced. They had all turned out to be accurate in one way or another, and Optimus knew better than to simply ignore them, especially when they contained such powerful clues.

Optimus slowly nodded, considering Hot Rod’s words carefully. “Then we must do all we can to ensure that a second Great Devastation does not occur.” With deep regret, he realized that the decision he had made recently must have been in error, and he bowed his head. “It seems then, that I’ve made a grave mistake by going against the High Council’s directive.”

Hot Rod, startled, gripped the Autobot leader by his forearm. “What? No… no, no, no… you don’t understand, Optimus,” he said, alarmed. Optimus looked up at him uncertainly. “Look, I know how this is going to sound, but it’s what I saw. I don’t know how to explain it.” Hot Rod paused, struggling to find the right words. He shook his head in confusion. “The Decepticons – they were with us.” His optics focused intently upon Optimus Prime as he relived his vision in his mind, mesmerized by it. “And there was no more darkness.”

Firestar performed a final test of the rebuilt long range scanner they had salvaged from their ship, and then moved away from the work bench, pleased with their team effort. “Alright. We’re all done here.” She looked over at Elita One, who had just disconnected her secure com link. “Elita?”

“Hm?” The femme commander looked across at Firestar, then walked over to her.

“I’ve also hooked up a basic alarm system.”

Elita nodded, hands on hips. “Good work, Firestar.” She hesitated, thinking. “Let me know if you pick up any Cybertronian life signs.”

Firestar nodded, and thought that she could sense what was on Elita’s mind. “Are you worried about Astrotrain?” Elita had informed her about their recent encounter with the Decepticon, and it was the first thing that came to mind as she noticed her commander’s slightly concerned expression. “He knows we’re here, on Alternity City.”

Elita sighed, looking up towards the building’s run-down ceiling. She shook her head. “This isn’t Cybertron, ‘Star. We could encounter far worse than a bunch of Decepticons.”

“Still.” But Firestar left it at that. She had to admit that Elita had a point; Alternity City was home to the most contemptible cybernetic and mechanistic life forms in the Sector, far worse than had ever existed on their home planet. “Speaking of Cybertron, we might be able to rig up a long distance transmitter with some spare parts we have lying around.” She turned towards Moonracer, who was busy studying a map of Binaltech. “’Racer?”

“Binaltech’s got everything!” the green femme blurted out, fixated on her map.

“’Racer! Do we have enough to build a transmitter?” Firestar asked, ignoring her friend’s fascination with the mega-city.

Moonracer finally looked up, distracted. “Huh? Oh, umm, not sure… hold on one astro-sec.” She got up from her seat and sprinted over to the makeshift bench nearby, sifted through various items. After about a cycle, she looked back towards them with an uncertain expression. “Well, our beam array was damaged so we’ll need a new one of those… but, other than that, shouldn’t be a problem,” she explained, shrugging in a casual manner.

Firestar nodded. “Thanks.” She turned back to Elita. “You’d be able to send a message to Optimus… let him know what’s happened. Just a thought.”

Elita was about to say something in response, but then stopped herself. Instead she paced across the room to one of the building’s viewing apertures and looked out into the alley beyond. Silence fell for a long moment. “I–” She shook her head. “We need a few replacement parts, anyway.” Turning to look back at the three of them, she added, “There’s someone here who may be able to help us,” then picked up some equipment and backup weapons, handed them out to her crew. “I’ll worry about Optimus later. Come on,” she said, walking towards the building’s entrance.

Once they’d all stepped outside, Chromia secured the door behind her with an encryption code. “Where are we going?” she called out, but Elita One had already transformed into her car mode and was racing ahead down the alley, leading the way southward.

“Binaltech,” Moonracer replied, smiling happily. Then the remaining three femmes transformed and followed after their team leader.

* * *

Chromia looked out across one of the bustling city streets and briefly scanned the towering, multi-level structures that filled every square inch of the inner city spaces. She nodded towards the largest metallic facade situated directly across the road from them. “Well, that one looks like some kind of mega-complex for spare parts. Anyone got any credits?”

Elita One shook her head. “No.” Her team mates, all in robot mode, kept close by her side. She continued to walk down the main street, as multitudes of passers-by continually moved past them in restless waves. “Come on.”

“This place sure is busy!” Moonracer exclaimed, mesmerized, as Chromia grabbed her by the arm and prompted her onwards.

Elita One and her crew made their way through an access tunnel that led down one level beneath the city, until they arrived at a crowded, underground communications hub. A myriad of mechanical life forms were packed around terminals, or waited their turn in long queues, eager to use the public communications exchange services.

But the Autobot femme commander kept moving, leading the way along a wide, well-lit transport route until they had left the hubbub of the exchange far behind. The enclosed passage before them gave way to a more secluded, quieter section of the city sub-level, where the route terminated at a large, rounded structure. A sealed entranceway was its only discernible feature. “Well, this is the place,” Elita One announced, standing before the dome-like structure. Her expression was one of uncertainty.

“Are you sure?” Chromia asked her.

Elita strode towards the sleek, curved door and pushed a button on the access panel. “We’ll find out.” Sure enough, after a few moments the door retracted into the wall and a tall, blue and white Cybertronian mech with an athletic build stepped out to investigate.

“Devcon,” she acknowledged with a nod, and the mech quickly scanned the area, looked at each of the femmes in turn before beckoning them all inside.

“Elita One, welcome to my little corner of the galaxy,” he said, as the door slid quietly closed behind them. The interior of the structure was deceptively larger than what it seemed from the outside. It was a softly-lit, well adorned space that contained several gaming tables, while a small bar occupied a far corner.

Elita One looked around at the private gambling room and the handful of patrons who were absorbed in their games, and gave a subtle shake of her head. “You run this place?”

Devcon showed the femmes to an empty table, and they each took a seat. “Nah, I’m just visiting. I’m good friends with the owner.” He clasped his hands together and smiled at them. “Can I get you lovely femmes anything?” Moonracer returned his smile, but said nothing.

“No,” Elita replied. “We won’t stay long.” She paused, watching him with interest. “It’s been a while, Devcon. Didn’t think I’d find you here on Alternity City, of all places.”

Devcon shrugged. “There’s plenty of work for me in Binaltech alone – the place is crawling with low lives.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table top. “So, I hear Cybertron Command isn’t too happy with you.”

The femme commander slowly nodded her head, surprised that the word had spread so quickly. “You could say that.”

Devcon shook his head in disbelief. “Wow,” he said, and looked back at the femmes in contemplation. “Time sure changes things, doesn’t it?”

Elita did not respond to his comment, but inhaled deeply. “You’re still hunting fugitives, then?”

“Fugitives, criminals, scum bags – you name it.” Devcon smiled at her, his manner easy going and relaxed. “It’s good to see you again, Elita. I’m glad you thought of me,” he added.

“Well, this wasn’t exactly a planned visit,” she replied, shrugging. “Our cruiser was attacked just before we arrived here. We lost all our energy reserves, and most of our equipment. Not to mention we have no way of getting off this planet. I was hoping that you might be able to help us out.”

Devcon looked at her, intrigued, and then gazed at the other three femmes. “Are you all looking to return to Cybertron, then?”

Chromia glanced across at Elita. “Since we’re already here, we figured we may as well hang around a while – see what we can find out about the strange stuff that’s been happening within the Sector. Many Autobots are being targeted, and we want to know why.”

The Autobot crusader listened intently, and then replied. “Funny you should mention that. I‘ve been following a few clues myself.” His expression changed to quizzical. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the underground base in Hitec?”

Elita shook her head, while the other three femmes drew blank expressions. “Sorry, I don’t know anything about it.”

“Huh,” Devcon replied. “No matter.” Then he looked across to the bar, indicated to the bartender with an open hand. When he looked back towards the femmes, he changed the subject. “So, do you have any idea who attacked your cruiser?”

The femme commander shook sighed in resignation. “No idea. All we know is that whoever it was, they were cloaked.”

“Cloaked, huh?” Devcon watched as the bartender brought over a tray holding five containers of energon and set each container down on the table in front of them. “Please, it’s on me,” he said, indicated for each of the femmes to take one. Once the bartender had left, Devcon lowered his voice instinctively, leaned across the table top. “I happen to know of only two outfits on Alternity City that might have access to that kind of technology.”

“Hmm, let me guess – Decepticons?” Firestar interjected, as she took a sip from one of the energon containers.

Devcon looked directly into her optics. “Nope.”

Chromia shrugged, perplexed. “The Predacons?”

He gave her a brief tilt of his head. “It’s certainly possible, but unlikely. Most of them went quiet after the Great War and haven’t been seen on Alternity City for many stellar cycles.” Devcon lifted his container of energon to his lips, took a gulp.

“Then, who?” Chromia asked curiously.

“The Supremacists from the base in Hitec, as I mentioned earlier, or…” He paused for emphasis, watching the femmes’ reaction, but they said nothing further as they met his gaze expectantly. “Or, the Neutrals,” Devcon concluded, though with a little more uncertainty.