TRANS-SPATIAL INCLINATION
CHAPTER 3

Galvatron followed Dot to the central level and two rooms shy of the bridge. She fished for keys to unlock a narrow brown door. Galvatron read a large blue poster taped on its scratched and worn surface:

“TRESPASSERS WILL BE PHYSICALLY AND MENTALLY VIOLATED. Think ‘grandma in a two-piece swimsuit or drooping boobs in a wrong-sized bra.”

He thumbed at the poster. “Would you make me one of these?”

“What for?” Dot shot back. “You got drooping boobs?” Galvatron peeked under his shirt and the old lady cackled. “Come on, Handsome. I got a nice chair for you-or a lap if you want.”

They stepped into a warm, comfortable room lined floor to ceiling with shelves overstuffed with albums, boxes, books and binders. One sturdy full-back chair waited at a semi-circle desk while another chair, far older than the first, sat in a nearby corner. Warped boxes, old book albums and a broken mechanism squashed the seat cushion. Dot removed the collection of odds and ends, dusted off the arms and patted the flat seat.
“This can be your chair, if you’d rather not sit on my lap, Galvatron.”

“Doubt you could handle me,” Galvatron grinned.

Dot shook a finger at him. “Never underestimate the age bracket, Handsome.” she grinned wickedly when Galvatron’s smile slid off his face. She waved her hand down and capped her ears with a headset and a small microphone. As Dot prattled into the mic, Galvatron studied her desk. Three boards and two strange devices sat within Dot’s reach. A chipped coffee mug stood dutifully to her left. Dot reclaimed Galvatron’s attention when she suddenly switched into in a tongue-twisting language. Galvatron watched as her who body animated with words and a song. She spoke a few seconds before the song ended then slipped into another dialect. She played two more songs then switched to a third language. One song later, she slipped into a trade language Galvatron knew well.

“Coming at you from the not-so-seen corners of the cosmos, you are with Dot Ten-Twelve on the 105.7 on Ursa F frequency. For the next three hours I will ride you smooth into the tunes, take a pause for thought and prayers for the Ground. Right now, tap into the business voices that brings us to you and then sail with me on Mussieer and the Paze.”

She clicked a toggle switch on her desk then laid eyes on Galvatron. “You know, Galvatron, there’s a whole quadrant of folks that might know how to help you and your folks. We might have to sneak around to find the contacts. I might even toss a net over the frequencies, see what I can fish out. I could interview you, let the masses know what’s going on outside their own sector. Could be colorful!”

The Decepticon nodded slightly and tightly pursed his lips. “Before I became a dust mite, I would have relished the notion.” he laced fingers and leaned forward. “I like to think I’m wiser than that now. After all, Skorponok ordered my execution decades before he arrived here. We’re operating under cloak and laser rifle.”

Her right cheek lifted in a wry smile. “I know how to play that game.” She winked, “enjoy the magic of radio, Handsome.”

-INCLINATION-

Rusti said ‘yes.’ A thousand times: Yes! A million times: Yes! And then he lifted her off the ground. Rusti laid hands on his shoulders and locked eyes. I’ve known you all my life. Every part of you is perfect.
And she laid her lips on his. Subtle, tender. He gradually lowered her as their lips lingers scant breaths from one another. Their foreheads connected.

“Rusti?”

“Yes?”

“I need to take a look at that time window.”

She grinned. “Ohhh no. I can’t let you go by yourself, Optimus. You’re too little.”

“Heh.” he squeezed her upper arms then took her hand and their feet swished through tall grasses. Optimus swung her hand back then kissed her fingers. He repeated then stopped and took a good look at her hand.

Rusti waited four seconds: “What are you doing?”

“I’ve been so careful to count the freckles on your face, I never bothered to see if you had any on your hands.” he studied the back of her right hand then turned it over. He counted: “Four. Five. Seven. Nine-“

”Oh!” she stopped him, “No, Optimus. That is a scar.”

“That can’t be a scar.”

“It’s a scar. It, um, the space station. When I was sixteen.” her stomach fluttered when he softly, sadly mourned and kissed the needle prick scar. Her eyes drifted to the left and smiled coyly. “There two on the inside of my elbow.” she shivered when he gently tugged her sleeve upward and kissed them.

Rusti laughed when he stole a swift kiss on the right side of her neck.

“Come, Little Bell, let’s get something done.”

Bypassing the copse of trees, they walked hand-in-hand over a rocky slope and finally to the time window. Shrubs, vines and weeds decorated the giant dolmens in green and brown. Prime tugged overgrowth off three short stone mounts and studied the ancient hieroglyphics etched into the granite surface.

Rusti watched him until a fat caterpillar, the length of her arm, marched up the weather-worn surface. Red and green highlighted the long stiff hairs on its back and bottom. It paused so that it bulbous head roved side to side, taking precaution of the environment. Rusti found its white eyes fascinating.

Optimus tapped the rock with two fingers. “This has been here for a very long time.”

“Before 2013?” she guessed.

His eyes laid on her more like a scientist to a colleague than as a wife. Rusti knew that look; Optimus was enamored with the discovery. “I’m inclined to estimate nine hundred thousand years ago.” he shrugged and tilted his head left. “By Earth-time,” he amended. “This is not original Quintesson technology.”

Rusti waited three seconds before prompting her response. “What?” she smiled, “they watched some distant future episode of Star Trek or something?”

“Not if it’s on the same time as their favorite cooking shows.”

Rusti’s smile twisted with puzzlement. “What?”

“Cooking shows,” he repeated. “Where they teach you how to make food and rudely eat it in front of you.”

“I know what a cooking show is, Optimus. But why are they important?”

“You don’t want to know,” and his eyes returned to the hieroglyphics.

Rusti sat on the stone, arms crossed. “You started this,” she scolded. “Tell me about it.”

“You started this,” he returned. “But very well. Quintessons love seafood. Any fish, any time. Kelp is optional. And they’ll eat anything. I mean anything; sea slugs, puffer fish, crater blobs... probably even hagfish.”

Rusti covered her mouth, disgusted. “How, how do you eat slime?”

He hesitated. “Drink it?”

She slid off the rock, bowed over and tried to keep her stomach intact. “Optimus!” Then she laughed in spite of the thought.

He chuckled and traced the stone with his eyes. “This tech is not of Quintesson origin. But according to this, they abducted someone who knew how to repair these...” his voice trailed. “These,” his blue eyes dropped on her. “Rusti, there’s more than one of these machines in the area.”

“On the planet?”

“No. In the realm. Help me find a map.”

Rusti batted her eyes. “I don’t understand. Why would they keep a list and map of time windows-OH!” It dawned on her: “coordinates.”

“Right.”

Working together they tugged and ripped and pulled weeds, vines and a shrub until the time window stood clear of its overgrowth.
Roddi’s voice sailed over the air with feigned suspicion. “What are the two of you doing?”

Rusti felt like a child caught playing in someone else’s yard. “Uhh, pretending or improv gardening?”

Both Primes zeroed on her with their eyes. “Really?” they chorused.

Rodimus smirked and tramped over piles of torn, uprooted vines. “Improv gardening, Rusti? I doubt the botanists find it amusing. Wait!” he held up a palm. “Scratch that. They’d find Optimus amusing.”

Optimus inclined his head. “That means they’d drag you off the stage.”

Rodimus grinned. “I’m the Daffy.”

BOOM!

The explosion-and Magnus’ litany of swear words-erupted from the Mozart’s direction. Optimus, Rodimus and Rusti dropped everything and raced for the ship.

-INCLINATION-

Magnus lagged behind Pipsqueak and Cloudy. At first he thought about transforming (and showing off) and ushering the ladies to his ship. Instead he grumbled. His new human form proved more disadvantageous by the hour.

Approaching the Mozart, the Major-general warned Pipsqueak that the ship might be more than she anticipated. (Yes, he was bragging.)

“Yadda-nad!” she replied cheerfully. “I am the flea that moves the dog!”

Confused by the alien’s reply, Magnus led the ladies around the Mozart’s tail-end to starboard where he unlatched a human-sized access panel and manually released a boarding dock. It unfolded and Magnus cleared his throat. “According to some Earth customs, ladies go first.” A funny feeling waved in his diaphragm when Cloudstreaker sweetly smiled then he wondered why he felt that way.

“Sooooy,” Pipsqueak said upon entering the dimly-lit ship. She lifted her eyes up and up and up. “She’s a mighty thing!”

“He,” Magnus corrected as he climbed up.

“Hi?”

“Rusti said the Sagittarian Mozart is a he.”

“Hi. Yes!” Pipsqueak agreed, “This heart is strong. Yet I sense kindness, concern, do I not?”

Magnus didn’t know. He loved his ship. The Mozart became his home, his personal sense of stability amid their insane plight. “That,” he said, “is something you’ll have to ask Rusti. She says it appears to her like a... um, a centaur. Er, a ghost of one, anyway.”

With a gleeful smile, the girl walked forward as if she knew the Mozart by heart. Magnus and Cloudy fell in line with the Major-general ready to correct Pipsqueak’s course.

The alien girl’s gait sped into a skip. She turned left and stopped at a door. Pipsqueak waited for Magnus to catch up and eagerly leaned from one foot to the other.

Magnus huffed. “You seem to know where to go. Are you a telemechanic?” He did not wait for her answer. Magnus palmed the dark wall up and down, feeling for the correct panel. His fingers caught the latch and released the lock. Pushing the metal doors open, Magnus led them up a long case of stairs and through another door at the first landing. They climbed cold steel rungs until a trap door snapped open above them. Magnus emerged into a wide circular room honeycombed by crystalline chips the size of 4x6 planks. He helped Cloudstreaker in then Pipsqueak before activating emergency lighting.

“Now,” he warned, “there’s only three and a half hours of light here. So we have to conserve.” He tugged at the first crystal plank and pried it from its home slot. Magnus shook his head and set eyes on their young friend. “You have no idea what it’s like to hold something this large that should be very, very small.”

Pipsqueak’s eyes enlarged. “The ever-shrinking Magnus!”

His face twisted with a combination of distaste and confusion. “What?”

Pipsqueak laughed. “Show me what you need to do.”

The trio spent two long hours identifying the correct sequence of micro-capacitors. They carefully traced over a hundred affected lines into a large number of several re-sequencing boards.

Realizing her initial assumption proved wrong, Cloudy softly whimpered. “Oh, Primus,” she swore. “I didn’t think this through.”

“What?” Magnus asked, a little surprised.

“Well, this is not only one sequence.” she could not look him in the eye. “I’m so sorry, Commander. It’s going to take a lot more than the few of us to do this. I completely underestimated our situation.” Frustrated, she turned away and wiped a wet spot on her cheek.”

Magnus gently squeezed her upper left arm. “We’ll figure this out. Alright?”

From self beratement to heart-skipping thrill, Cloudy’s emotions kept her from breathing. With a blushing smile, she privately wished Magnus would squeeze her arm again.

Pipsqueak tapped a finger on her bottom lip. “Realigning tachyon particles will require an entanglement assimilator. Not easy to find. Difficult to buy.” she paused then grinned. “But I can build one!”

Cloudstreaker stared with wordless awe. “Can you teach me?”

“Love to! Now, we’ll need two of those crystalline capacitors, two samples of your floating sequence regulators, a sample of your anti-electron uplink charges. A-a-a-and the formula for your energon-to-plasma ratio.”

Magnus looked dubious. “That’s quite a shopping list.”

“Oh!” Pipsqueak exclaimed. “I will also need samples of your conductive fluids and a graphic illustration of the ship’s framework and exo-structural shell.”

Cloudstreaker programmed a simplified holographic illustration of the Mozart’s hull while Pipsqueak carefully tapped into several conductive fluid lines and extracted samples in small phials.

Magnus hauled out two crystalline planks and set them on the grass. He returned to the ship and leaving a note with Cloudstreaker, climbed up to Deck 2. Swearing how he never wants to be Human(oid) ever again.
In spite of the Mozart sleeping and offline, Magnus found the uplink charges humming with life. They vibrated like blue-white pistons, regulating the transition from alpha-proton to anti-proton igniters. He stared at the barrel-sized objects. They were heavy enough to hold by hand. He doubted moving them by himself as a much smaller, weaker body, would be easier. But weight and bulk were only part of the problem. Disconnecting even one without proper tools required a feat of ingenuity. Ultra Magnus should know; he installed the damn things himself. And he made sure they stayed that way.

“Well, crap.”

***

Cloudstreaker convinced herself she imagined the bang-clank echoing from elsewhere in the ship. Perhaps the Mozart was trying to reactivate. Or perhaps her humanoid ears played mischief with her mind. But when the eerie metallic scrape-groan repeated twice more, she decided to investigate. Gathering her tools and supplies, Cloudy followed the sound up one deck then the next. When filled the air, she froze and waited. Emergency blue lighting cast soft shadows around her and made her think time stood still.

The noise returned, now mutated into an unnatural squeal. It ended with a reverberating BANG!

With a four-letter word on her lip components, Cloudstreaker yanked open the closest maintenance access and scaled the rungs. She kicked open the corridor panel to Deck 2, paused to transform then stomped her (squishy, Human) foot.

“DAMMIT!”

K’TONG! K’TONG!

She ran and ran and although Cloudy knew her way around the ship, distance from door to door and corridor to control rooms sent her into a fit of frustration.

T’KONG! T’KONG! T’KLANK.

Magnus’ voice rolled from the door across the way and Cloudy tried to keep laughter silent as he swore and cussed at the equipment, at himself (for being so proficient) and at the human situation.
Finding composure, the Autobot femme entered the auxiliary room and stared in disbelief.

Ultra Magnus, by himself, jury-rigged a crane assembled from parts ‘borrowed’ from three unconscious Autobot engineers, pieces of their weapons and wielded them together by means of a pulsar rifle (she could tell by the hit-and-miss burns.)

Remembering her place in the line of authority, Cloudy switched to a more respectful manner. “Commander-“ he grabbed her hand and dragged her across the room before another word was said.

“So glad you’re here, Cloudstreaker!” he said with whispered desperation. “I could use some help.”

“Well, I don’t know how useful I’ll be-“

”I’m trying to use one regulator to power the crane to remove and lift the other two.”

Cloudy’s white eyebrows almost rose to the middle of her forehead. “You’re trying to... you’re trying to do what?”

“A battery-powered crane using the energy flow from one of the regulators.”

Oh, she wanted to laugh and the bubble threatened to burst forth! What Magnus proposed wasn’t only dangerous but genuinely stupid. And she believed he already knew that.

“You’re going to laugh at me, aren’t you?”

She blushed. “Well, no!”

He raised his own brows so she recanted. Quenching the oncoming laughter, her voice stabilized. “Okay, yes,” she confessed. “Let me help you.” His smile, his simple sweet smile made the day worth while.
Working together, they redesigned the crane to work from the ceiling rather than the floor. Cloudy carefully siphoned energy from one regulator and Magnus directed the crane to unscrew the security latches and twist each regulator out from their posts. The Major-general had to admit how surprised he was at the ease and speed with which they worked.

After disconnecting two regulators, Magnus and Cloudy reassembled the crane into a wagon with makeshift wheels.

Cloudstreaker stayed with the second regulator while Magnus towed the first one outside.

But he miscalculated the weight-verses-speed ratio. The wagon clipped his heel and he fell face-down on the ramp. The make-shift wagon rolled over him. He recovered in time to watch it steer out of control, tip over and with it the regulator. The regulator hit the ground-

BOOM!

The shockwave knocked Magnus clear off the ramp. He flopped about like a bean bag then lay still for ten seconds. He popped back to life, laid eyes on the smoldering dark crater and spewed words like a swindled card player.

Optimus and Roddi arrived as the Major-general’s ears stopped ringing. At first he did not hear them clearly. The third time through, he glared at Rodimus who called him ‘gramps’.

Rodimus grinned, moistened his thumb and finger and extinguished the ember glowing on Magnus’ collar. Magnus swatted Roddi’s hand aside then sneezed.

“Gross,” he muttered.

Optimus glanced at the scorched ground then scrutinized Magnus who looked like he crawled out of a trashed car. “What happened?”

“Are you blind?” Magnus snapped. “This condition...” here he waved his hands up and down his torso, “...had better be remedied, Prime, as soon a possible! Now, if you’ll excuse me, Cloudy is waiting for me to get back.” He climbed half way up the ramp before he paused, eyed the sky and swore again. “The wagon’s gone!” he complained. “That means the crane is gone!”

Optimus kept pity out of his voice; patronizing Ultra Magnus would only piss him off. “Did you need help, Magnus?”

The Major-general almost said ‘yes’ but stopped himself and smiled. “No, thanks. I think Cloudstreaker and I can handle this.”

The answer surprised both Primes. Puzzlement warped both their faces and they left. Rusti smiled and followed them.
 

-INCLINATION-

Galvatron understood broadcast communication far as a one-direction exchange of information; he gave orders and everyone else listened.

Radio, he, discovered, didn’t work exactly like that. People could call in and make comments or requests. However, the Decepticon former commander could not tell if Dot instigated the responses she received or if the responses guided her from one topic or mood to the next.

Either way, Dot valued the interaction between herself, her listeners, the music and conversation. Some of her program was live, other parts pre-recorded hours or days ago. And like many under-educated or naive people, Galvatron looked at radio-or audio broadcast-as mere entertainment. But by the third hour, he realized the media held far more power than sharing thoughts or moods. Media was influence, word-of-mouth logic, reasoning, truth and lies. The media wasn’t a toy but a tool, no less powerful than a hand weapon. Media’s power lay in three IN’s: Inspiration, Influence and Instigation.
And then he realized and understood why Optimus talked to his people rather than crudely enforcing orders.

Another song faded and Dot touched her mic, her studious expression u-turned into a smile. “And that bit of tuneage was from Soloson, now celebrating his third twenty-ninth birthday. One day he might be as old as me. But he’ll never look this good, boys! We’re now at the change of the hour and per Dot-Ten-Twelve on 105.7 Ursaf Frequency, we’re going to take a short peep into News and Noise. Don’t go far and don’t touch your redial! I’ll be right back!”

She flipped a switch and a commercial for some off-planet automobile clanged from her headphones. The old lady turned to Galvatron with a grave expression. “You said you wanted to get news from Toronoth.”

“Skorponok,” Galvatron corrected.

“That’s right,” Dot confirmed. “It’s ugly, Galvatron. You and your friends have come to a part of the galaxy that’s tearing itself apart.” Dot frowned, gulped a cup of cold and hesitated. “I have 30 seconds. As we said before, Skorponok works with and for Psyklenex. You could call him a Number Two. He’s turned the planet Toronoth into a military outpost the devil would drool over. What you’re going to hear might disturb and enrage you if you have any compassion at all. Are you still willing to hear this?”

Galvatron turned somber and nodded.

The old lady resumed her place and demeanor before the board, released the switch and targeted her audience with a more serious attitude. “Best evening to my listeners from the Boarder Territories of the Chunyan Rift to the market places on Space Station Cygnus. This is Dot Ten-Twelve haunting your receivers on the 105.7 Ursaf Frequency. With me tonight is none other than Pardar Urmagoth from "Tidings From the Basement." Hello, Pardar, you there, my friend?”

“Ut, greetings, Dot. Bit of frosty morning on the rise here.”

“Morning,” Dot grinned. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Flammagan juice, eggs and the daily ration of Tartarus.”

Dot smiled. “Heh. Well, friend, you can have my share. I’m on a low-Tartarus diet.”

“Tu. Came in loud and clear, Ten-Twelve.”

Tell us what’s flying on the wind, Pardar. I know there’s been an increasing number of people trying to leave Parsus and Tumilitus.”

“Tu. That topic’s hot and sharp, Dot. Whole regions of Parsus have melted into wastelands. As you know, Parsus is practically Toronoth’s neighbor. Not neighborly- neighbor, mind that. Parsus is pretty tight on their independence. But there’s been droughts and famine and disease the likes of which the population hasn’t seen in twenty-thousand years.”

“Mother, may I,” Dot swore. “Are people blaming Toronoth?”

“It’s an outright assault, Dot. Your listeners need to understand that Parsus isn’t just under attack, it’s being invaded and appropriated by Skorponok without a call for surrender. War hasn’t been declared because Parsius has been neutralized. There is no fighting back.”

“What of Tumilitis, Pardar? How is the situation there?”

“Let me put it this way, Dot: every planet and planetoid in and around the Chunyan Rift is being systematically conquered by silent weapons. Sor? As I described Parsus: drought, disease, famine. All incurred by Skorponok’s war machine. Toronoth isn’t even a planet anymore. It’s a monster reconfigured and designed to produce mechanical nightmares. Psyklenex and Skorponok plan to take over the entire galaxy one quadrant at a time. They’ve taken control of one-third of the Persaid Arm and all 142,000 biospheres, sor?’

‘Now I’ve not been to Parsus or Tumilitis. I know of people who have and two of them, both university professors, visited Tumilitis two years ago and have not been heard from since. This is a silent war, Dot.’
Pardar paused then continued: “I’ve been to Dawmalli two years afore. I went there to investigate the caverns of Rue, see if any families still lived there. I will not go back to Dawmalli ever again. I’ll tell you why: on the surface, everything looks normal and ordinary. But the people there, the native inhabitants; they’re not people. They move and behave strangely. There is no life in their eyes. I suspect-and this is only a suspicion-I suspect that most, if not all the Dawmalli has been replaced with mechanoids.”

Dot stared, speechless for four seconds. “That’s a... that a serious statement, Pardar. How could something like that happen without anyone knowing and calling foul?”

“In a word: Nactites.” Pardar paused to let that sink in. “There are a number of people who claim someone they know who has been replaced with bio-mechanoid technology.”

Galvatron’s stomach dropped. His skin turned clammy. The new sensations bothered him less than the horrifying news. Someone found a way to replace bio-organic materials with bio-mechanical. The implications, while amazing, were horrifying. Every person replaced was one more person under someone else’s direct control. The creature within died while the body fell under hive mentality. No freedom of thought and no free will.

Even Dot took several seconds to make a remark. “That is truly disturbing, Pardar. Do you know whether or not these same mechanoid replacements will be or have been inducted into Psyklenex’s surging private army?”

“Well, as you know, Dot, Skorponok has turned Toronoth into a weapon populated by living weapons.”

“Right. Yes.”

“Well, he has turned a portion of that army into construction workers and they are-and I have confirmed this-they are building a massive fleet of ships.”

Dot inched closer to her board. “Let me make this clear, Pardar. When you say ‘massive’ are you talking-”

“Thousands, Dot. Thousands.”

“Sweet mother.” Dot whispered. She recovered from shock and glanced at Galvatron. “Pardar, if someone wants to verify your story-“

”On the Stargrid, Dot. They can contact me via the SS Cygnus. I check my messages every other day.”

“You all heard that here first, people,” Dot declared. “You’ll want to verify this yourself. Don’t just take anyone at their word.”
She signed off and flipped straight into a song.
 

-INCLINATION-

Rodimus hoped a little rest might reset his mood. It failed; he felt just as listless and bored as ever. He should be happy; he and Op were on the same page. He learned to tolerate Galvatron and they miraculously lived through yet another close call. Logically he should be happy and ready for the next challenge: getting back to normal and figuring out their next move. But Rodimus didn’t want to do anything. He didn’t care.
Even hunting Optimus down failed to move the cloud of sadness over Roddi’s head. Magnus’ incident was entertaining for a few moments, but the depression returned once again and Rodimus trailed back to his room and tried to sleep it off.

Fail.

He sat and tried to entertain himself with a book and although he thought it kinda cool to hold a human-sized book in his hands, the moment’s delight did not last. He laid on the bed, he paced, he sat down again.
He didn’t feel right; not since waking from that several-weeks’ sleep on Yolthanis. He paced twice before planting his ass on a nearby chair. Roddi slouched, elbows on knees. The floor wasn’t particularly interesting but he stared at it anyway.

Need to prank someone, he thought. That might lighten his mood. Rodimus considered visiting Witwicky but that would not end well. “Can’t even squish him into gum,” the Autobot complained out loud.
Tired of his own company, Rodimus left solitude to explore the Infraction. At first he ‘poo-pooed’ the vessel as little more than an oversized toy. The Infraction offered several luxurious rooms, a sizable storage bay and a two-person craft for trips from upper-atmosphere-to-ground. Not only did she offer an impressive decontamination chamber, the Infraction also offered four different environments, not the least of which sustained waterborne sapients.

The ship had its own botanical bay by which Bookworm cultivated the crew’s food and medicines.

Then Roddi found the perfect hangout; an audio-video room for tunes and flix. A smile crept over his face as he gave the sharp, classy place his personal approval.

“Like the ship?”

“GAH!” Rodimus felt, heard and saw no one until she stood behind him. He turned cross. “Never, ever, ever sneak up on me like that!”

“Aww!” she mocked. “Did you wet your panties?”

Mortified, he opened his mouth to retort but the damsel-not-in-distress nodded to the AV room, stepped around him and part way down a short isle of seats.

“You like this room, don’t you?”

Roddi narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t we presumptuous?” he sneered. “But please, go on.”

“I love this room,” she declared. “You can fit thirty people comfortably, rearrange the seats-“ she raised her voice: “Infraction, dance floor, please!”

Rodimus nodded when the room rearranged itself. All seating areas slid to the walls, tables rose from the floor and a small stage unfolded.

Roddi shrugged, refusing to give her a fair moment. “Well, I might be amused were it not for the fact that I am a Transformer.”

Rain kept her cool and held on to her smile. “You’re a regular stick-in-the-mud, aren’t you?” He shrugged, she ignored it. “So! You’re the other Autobot leader-or whatever Autobots call their upper-class clowns.”

Rodimus loosened up minutely. He protruded his lower lip and dropped his arms from a fold to his sides. “Quick wit. Loose tongue. What’s not to like?”

“Your looks, for one thing,” she jabbed.

Rodimus leered and pointed to his own face. “Hey, I have a patent for this mug, Sweetums.”

“Might want your money back.”

Rodimus shook his head. “You’re a bright one. Off of what slum hole did they rescue you?”

Rain did not miss a beat. “Cygnus. Space Station Cygnus. They-Dot and Pittstop-they found me wandering around minus a memory.”

“Oh. Amnesia story, hu?”

“Not quite. I was a slave girl, owned by Shuzuul Dyy, Lord of Scum. I was his bath servant.”

Rodimus lost his attitude. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Rain pursed her lips and looked to the wall on her right. “I was so traumatized that Pissant had to erase my past just so I could function like a normal person. When Parthon learned about Shuzuul Dyy’s dirty laundry, the captain tipped an assassin to clean up that side of the station. Every time we visit Cygnus, I mark the wall of his old territory in memory of my freedom.”

Rodimus let silence slip between them for a moment. “You’re sassy, girl. But you speak my language.”

The dimples in her smile signified a silent peace pact between them.

-INCLINATION-

Dinner.

Bookworm planted side dishes accentuated with crispy insects, fish and edible flowers. He arranged dinner biscuits in a pyramid and a roast done perfectly with an amazing balance of fat and lean meat.
Rusti swore she never saw a more beautiful setting, even during Christmas at Aunt Missy’s.

“Eeeough!” Rodimus grunted. “Who in their right mind eats this much food?” As if to answered Rodimus’ question Magnus squeezed past him and Rusti.

Speaking of Magnus, he sat first and scanned the table. “Where’s the hot sauce?”

Pipsqueak, who nosed through a book, scoffed at him. “I dare you to drink that swill straight!”

Magnus glowered at her under his brows and set his square jaw: “Bring it, Darling!”

Rain’s voice called from the hall: “Look who’s heeeer!” She and Parthon emerged into the dining room. Their captain slightly staggered under Rain’s support as they crossed the threshold.

“Captain!” Pipsqueak exclaimed. She jumped from her chair and tugged his in place then she and Rain gently scooted him close to the table.

“I heard there was food,” the weakened man announced.

Pipsqueak reclaimed her chair while Rain poured him a glass of wine. “Bookworm’s best!” they chimed.

Galvatron entered with Dot and tagging behind them came Pittstop carrying Pissant. Cyclonus arrived with Optimus who, to Rusti’s delight, wore a pair of white corduroy pants and a muscle tee.

Bookworm peered round the kitchen wall and looked pleased. “Ah yes, the shirt is a good fit,” he said to Prime. “So glad to help.”

Optimus sat beside Rusti and their lips touched. She smiled before they parted and admired the physic beside her. “Love the look,” she purred. “What’s the occasion?”

Prime hesitated and glanced away. Cyclonus answered in his stead: “Daniel,” he growled. “We both had to shower.”

“Oh.” Rusti paused. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry he’s such a pain in the ass.”

Cyclonus shrugged. “It’s nothing an extended stay at Torquelon cannot fix.”

Galvatron sniggered then burst into laughter. “How do we know they’re even open for business, Cyclonus?”

the Decepticon lieutenant shook his head but his eyes smiled. “They sent me a bill in 2014. Sadly, I seemed to have misplaced the invoice.”

Rodimus, who was drinking tea, choked on it. Everyone else sent Cyclonus confused stares.

Rusti’s mousy tones broke the awkward silence. “What’s uh.. .what..”

Galvatron piled his plate with goodies from every dish. “Cerebral suckers, Mizz Rusti,” he said flippantly. “They entrap you with goo that turns crusty and they drill your cranium chamber with personal questions. ‘What size and type of filters do you use? Do you bathe or sanitize? What is the chemical make up of your emissions?” He paused with a private grin. “They learned far more about me than they liked.”
Captain Parthon chuckled. “Aye-aye,” he said raising his glass. “The last doctor I scared off told me with no uncertainty I was the worst patient he’s ever had.”

Pissant snorted. “I’ll be amazed if this new doctor will keep you after this coming visit.”

Dot: “Your cynicism, Pissant, is noted and filed into the closest disposal.”

“No it iZZn’t!” the hand-sized creature objected. “If my comment was ignored, you would not have made that comment!” he ripped off a piece of leaf and noisily chewed.

Pipsqueak changed the subject. “Are we going tomorrow, Captain? Are we heading for Cygnus?”

“Have to,” Parthon answered. “Already missed one appointment,.”

Cloudy added hot sauce to her slab of meat. “Is this space station a hospital of sorts?”

No, Hon-bun,” Dot croaked. “There are good medical facilities, but it’s not a floating hospital.”

“It’s a city,” Rain added. “A large city. They add new sections every decade or so. Depends on how much money they can collect from the permies.”

“The permies?” Rusti asked.

Rain shrugged. “Permanent residents. “The station offers a large number of hotels and a small number of lavish apartments.”

“Well,” Parthon cut in. “The zoo is the best part of the whole station.”

“Not if they’re showcasing sapients,” Dot grumbled. “The Backner family’s been warned and fined often enough.”

“It’s still a good zoo,” the captain insisted.

Pissant snorted. “The freak show is better.”

Parthon sneered, “what freak show?”

“The one I'm looking at right now!” A blob of gravy splattered Pissant’s left side. He twisted about and examined his besmirched shell. “HEY! What the Torments do you think you’re doing?!” He eyed Rain who feigned innocence.

“Oops. It slipped off.”

Pissant’s voice neared a higher pitch. “I am a creature above and beyond your meager comprehension! I built mighty things that devoured WHOLE WORLDS!! And you said ‘oops’? How dare you!!”

Before she realized it, Rusti jumped from her chair and spoke words not her own: “YOU LITTLE WORM! I knew I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you! Emwaslth, sli’kikik! You, who wallowed in the bowels of Torments!”

“HEY!” Pissant objected. His little voice squealed like a mouse in a tantrum. “That’s RUDE. Who do you think you are speaking to me like that?! HU?”

With her palms planted on the table, Rusti leaned over and grinned. “I’ll never tell, Primacron. And I can’t tell you how delicious it is to see you in such a state! Let me guess: a certain ambassador from the Centarus system condemned you to your current state of existence.”

Pissant pointed at Rusti. “Revenge is MINE! Be assured the matter between me and Ambassador Koontah is NOT OVER!”

Parthon laughed and drained his third glass of wine. “If that’s true, Werm, the ambassador deserves an award.”

Pissant slimed his way down the long table and gave Parthon the one stink-eye reserved specifically for the captain. “Do I look like a worm to you? Hm?”

“Well,” the captain drawled, “your butt wiggles when you move. You’re squirmy and slimy and eat moldy vegetation.”

Pissant squinted one eye and glowered. “You’re a despicable man, Captain.”

“And that, Pissant, is the only reason we get along: mutual animosity.”

Rain yawned loudly and stretched. “Seriously? Watching varnish dry is more interesting than you two right now.”

Parthon took his turn to glower. Pissant sneered but only the captain spoke: “Never despair, Rain, my dear. We’ll be going shopping at the Cygnus tomorrow. And yes, lots of ice cream. Good ‘nuff?”

“Eh, I double-suppose, Captain. Who’s going to put up with Pissant, though?”

“HEY!” the mollusk snapped. “Enough of the pet jokes! I appoint Cyclonus to chaperone me around.”

All eyes turned in Cyclonus’ direction. He stared at the sapient animal with nonplused disgust. “Why?”

“WHY?” Pissant echoed as if insulted.

Galvatron got involved and masticated a hunk of meat as if to own it. “Cyclonus attends no one but me,” he growled.

Pissant narrowed his mean little eyes.

-INCLINATION-
 

“SSC Space Dock 2-9-Gwith, this is Captain Parthon of the Infraction requesting a day pass on board. Over.”

“Reading you, Infraction. Welcome back, Captain and Crew. Please be aware there will be no photon charges allowed on board. No pets on decks 16 and up. All children must be accompanied by an adult and all stimulation or poisoned drinks must be relegated to bars or motel rooms only.”

The entry way opened wide, treating the travelers a landscape view into the space station’s boarding port. Rusti, who was accustomed to seeing a variety of life forms, stared at the wave of people as if she’d never seen extra-terrestrials before. Even her time on Lunarphyte or Cratis could not have prepared her for the diversity coming and going before them.

She did not know what to do or where to go first. “Wait,” she said to everyone, “We don’t have any money. We don’t have anything to exchange for goods and services.”

Cyclonus’ quiet voice lifted with some hope. “Isn’t that too bad?” he eyed the slimy mollusk stationed on his left shoulder. “I suppose our holiday has been cut short.”

“What are you looking at me for?” Pissant snapped. “You expecting me to pull coins out my ass?”

“Not at all,” Cyclonus replied smoothly. “Only that your shipmates will continue on their journey while the rest of us, including you, will have to wait on the Infraction. Or is that too simple for you to grasp?”

Pissant squawked. “WHAT?! Do you not realize how seldom we visit this place?”

Galvatron folded his arms. “Are we supposed to care?”

“Gnag! You people are a pain in the tail!” Pissant spat an icky glop of goo and Cyclonus stepped back to avoid it.

Something wiggled in Rusti’s jacket pocket. She and her shipmates all produced shiny metal cards, each with their own names on them.

“One hundred plix,” Pissant announced. ”Don’t be stupid with it.” He snorted. His voice lit with excitement. “Onward, Cyclonus!”

With a disgruntled groan, Cyclonus complied.

At first the group stayed together, following Rain, Pipsqueak and Pittstop from one store or outlet hut to another. They shared a light snack of deep fried yumminess and drinks with cups that made funny sounds. They watched a short holographic presentation featuring ‘Super Morphic Dogs’ and their owners. The group pressed on to other places once Pipsqueak declared she had shopping to do. Captain Parthon excused himself to his doctor’s appointment and Bookworm disappeared into an herb and spice store.

Cloudy wanted to follow Pipsqueak and learn more about the quadrant’s native technology. But Rain caught her sleeve. “This is an awful big place for you guys to split up and end up lost. How about a game room?”
None of them looked either excited or interested.

She bribed, begged and threatened the Autobots into joining her.

Optimus finally obliged first then Galvatron. Rodimus followed last, unenthused and unimpressed.

Rusti expected some sort of flashy, sensory-overloading gambling room. But the place offered more than craps, cards and casino chips. One room offered a dance center. Another held fierce video game competitions. There were tables filled with buttons and two or more places people drank and played cards. TV screens along a long bar provided everything from animation movies to space weather. And to Rusti’s surprise, one TV played an old black and white show from Earth. As she watched the animated show, she heard Galvatron and Optimus talk privately.

“It’s very crowded here. Are you going to be okay?” Optimus asked their friend.

“I think so, as long as no one climbs all over me.” Galvatron quietly answered. “If I can’t take it, I’ll just step outside and wait. Or better yet, I’ll return to the Infraction.”

“As long as you don’t simply disappear-“ Optimus warned.

Rusti heard the smile in Galvatron’s voice: “I know you’re concerned, Prime. But don’t forget, it’s Mizz Rusti who’s my chaperone.”

At the game room’s far back stood four long pool tables, scarcely occupied. Again Rusti thought it strange that something from Earth ended up in another portion of the galaxy. Thinking on it, she realized that most likely, travelers and traders exchanged information and merchandise, some of which ended here.

Magnus also noticed the tables and egged Galvatron and Rodimus into a game. At first the guys played with caution and bickered over the rules. But by the third play, they organized into teams of one. Magnus and Galvatron took to it with abandon.

Rodimus played for a while but found he was poor competition once Magnus won his fifth round. Galvatron, however, relished the challenge and thereafter, three quarters of the room gathered round the table to watch the mechs trade turns and crass comments.

Magnus’ moves were magnificently strategic. But Galvatron’s smart remarks and brilliant tactics held the crowd’s attention.

Half an hour into the intense, if comedic affair, Rodimus slipped out and paced in the lobby. He heard the crowd applaud Galvatron’s second victory and Magnus called for a rematch by which the crowd cheered with greater enthusiasm. The Autobot leader smirked and shook his head. Whether he liked it, trusted it, or not, Galvatron and Cyclonus were a part of their clique.

Rodimus watched a small group of alien males pass by a clothing shop, laughing and making animated noises. Perhaps, Roddi thought, perhaps ‘clique’ wasn’t the right word. ‘Friends’, maybe?
He thought harder. Galvatron, in spite of his deplorable history, did everything he could to prove himself honestly changed. But he never over-corrected himself. Galvatron was genuine. No sob story retold, no trickery or suspicious activities. And whatever horrors happened on Bare Anches, Galvatron stuck with them.

Rodimus came to realize Galvatron really was more than an ally; he was a brother.

Rodimus choked on that thought and his face and eyes burned before a tear escaped.

He didn’t cry over Galvatron so much as he cried for himself because Rodimus knew as surely as he breathed, that he deserved nothing of the sort. His chest ached when he recalled the people he tortured and murdered under the feverish wiles of the Virus.

He remembered their pleas and prayers and the blood and the screams-

“Hi!”

Rodimus hiccupped, startled. Rain appeared from nowhere and in her hands she two held plastic cups filled with creamy swirly-something.

“Figured you were a little lost in culture-shock. So I got you a frost-fluff.”

He swallowed the emotions and wiped his face with a sleeve. “Wow. Thanks.”

“Not one for chaunko, I see.” she sipped her swirl.
“Chaunko?” he echoed.

Second sip. Rain nodded toward the game room. “What they’re playing.”

“Right.” he tried using the straw but nothing happened. Roddi watched her twice before figuring things out for himself.
Rain nodded two o’ clock of their position. “Come on.”

“Where to?”

“The zoo. We might find your long-lost cousin.”

***

Rusti couldn’t tell if she nudged Optimus, suggesting they leave or if he nudged her. Either way, they politely slipped out. Cyclonus tagged when Pissant goaded him.

At first the trio meandered from one store front to another until a refreshment stand caught Rusti’s attention; or more accurately, her nose.

“I smell coffee!” she bee-lined, dragging Optimus with her. She almost asked him if he had coffee, but caught herself. She plucked up a menu and held it under Cyclonus’ nose. “Can you read this, Pissant?”

“Mister Pissant, to you! And yes. So can you.”

“Thank you,” she sang.

The server approached them at the counter bar. Her soft orange eyes darted nervously from Pissant to Cyclonus then Optimus. “Excuse me,” she said with a slight reverb, “but if that is an Oogli’bian Snail, I’ll have to ask you to leave. They’re poisonous to some people.”

Rusti blinked as Optimus peered past her. “I do not think you need to worry, Miss,” the Autobot leader answered politely. “The only thing poisonous about him is his attitude. He’s a shipmate who ran into the wrong person.”

“Oh!” the girl momentarily covered her teeth and clicked her tongue. “Ran into a Th’Kuuvian mage, did you? My cousin did too and he’s a fish now.” They all stared in disbelief, utterly wordless. The Barista maid forced a smile and planted her hands on the counter. “Can I get anyone something?”

“A massage,” Pissant replied with a nasty smile.

Cyclonus glowered at him.

It took twenty minutes and the poor girl’s last strand of patience for the group to order. Rusti never had coffee before. She ordered sweeter drinks for herself and Optimus and something slightly stronger for Cyclonus and a sticky caramel wafer for the (slug).

Optimus winced with surprise when the heat touched his lips. Rusti recognized the expression and silently taught him to blow on the coffee.

Cyclonus had no trouble took his coffee as if it were a soft drink.

Coffee wasn’t enough for her so Rusti asked for a danish and split it with Optimus. She offered one to Cyclonus, also but he lost interest as he watched Pissant divulge into his icky-sticky wafer. Rusti stared at the mollusk as (it) crunched noisily on his candied snack. A moment more and Pissant spoke with a mouthful.

“What in your mind, human?” he squinted one eye.

“Just thinking about home,” Rusti answered quietly. She felt better when Prime gently squeezed her hands.

Pissant scoffed. “What? You mean Earth? That’s a pitiful thing to worry about.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Rusti snapped. “Ohmigod! Earth is in danger of destruction by a collective of freaks and you brush it off like it was nothing?!”

Pissant spat a glob on the table and his companions pulled hands and drinks from his vicinity. He spoke, unfazed by their reaction. “Don’t give me ‘Earth is in mortal danger’ crap! Earth is getting exactly what it earned.”

“Don’t say that!” Rusti hissed. “Star Trek comes from Earth and I saw you watching it in the game room. You’re all about Dr. McCoy.”

Pissant folded his arms and with a nasal accent, mimicked Rusti’s words. “Star Trek comes from Earth. Guess what? So does Islam, Post-It note pads, tofu and junk press.” the snail held up his hand in defense. “Okay,” he back-tracked. “Okay, I’ll tell you what: there’s two things good about Earth: TWO. One: German roasted coffee. And two: Oscar the Grouch.”

Rusti shook her head. “Unbelievable. You are incorrigible. And how do you know so much about Earth, anyway?”

Optimus nuzzled her hair and tickled her neck. “Let’s go do something fun,” he whispered.

She turned to him, thoroughly annoyed with Pissant. “I’m in the middle of an argument with a slug,” she answered firmly. Rusti drew back, realizing what she just admitted.

“SNAIL! SNA-IL!” Pissant slapped his own head in a fit. “What the runny shit is wrong with you?! Are you honestly so brain-dead that you can’t tell the difference between a snail and a slug?”

“I refuse to insult a snail by calling you one!” Rusti paused then added: “Maggot.”

“That’s it. Tha-a-a-at’s IT! Take your boyfriend-“

”Husband,” Rusti corrected.

“-and go find something disgusting to do!”

Optimus drew closer to the mollusk, his expression neutral except for the twinkle in his eye. “We may not return,” he warned.

“You’d better,” Cyclonus answered abruptly. “You’d better not abandon me!”

Rusti stretched a sympathetic hand toward the Decepticon when Optimus stood and started to drag her away. “Hang in there, Cyclonus. We’ll be back. I promise!”

Optimus and Rusti held hands as they bypassed a kitchen offering live insects slathered with a foul-scented brown sap. The stand beside it offered life insurance for deep-space travelers and their families. Next to that stood an alien with dark striped skin, marketing the tattoo parlor behind him. He rolled out a long spiked tongue pierced front to back with jeweled studs.

Optimus paused before the hairy, wiry male and pointed to his tongue. “Rusti, should I get one piercing or two?”

“No,” She did not need to think it over. Optimus opened his mouth to say something and “No,” she repeated. “No. I can think of better things to do with you-“ she clamped her mouth with her own hand, her eyes turned wide.

The alien withdrew his tongue and cackled.

Optimus softly laughed and hugged her closer. “Beauty might be a fleeting thing, but it makes a better impression, don’t you think?”

Rusti glanced at him twice as they crossed a four-way area punctuated by an animal stature surrounded by benches and trees. “Are you saying that when I’m old, grey and white-haired, I’d no longer be impressionable?”

He paused and stood before her so that she heard him clearly. “You are beautiful, Rusti. But that is not why I love you.” She smiled and he continued: “You remained kind and compassionate even when I was lost in darkness. I have a scar, deep and hollow. And when you are with me, I feel like myself again.” He smiled and Rusti’s heart swelled so that words turned meaningless in the upsurge of emotion.

How did this happen? How did this moment, this dream, this unbelievable miracle come true? It was like winning a billion-dollar lottery. Even Cinderella never had a moment quite like this. How was anyone supposed to act or react to something like this? She wanted to kiss him but didn’t know how. She wanted to wrap her whole body around him. She wanted to scream and dance and because they were in public, she had to bottle it all up; shove it down, down and lock it tight.

Staring into his Autobot-blue eyes, she settled for a caress over his cheek and recalled the rainstorm in Australia and what they shared then. And as passionate as she felt, Rusti kept her kiss light. He returned the kiss, crossing his lips over hers. He pressed his firm mouth against hers, one corner then the other. They broke and he kissed her fingers.

“How about another cup of coffee?”

She grinned. “Okay.”

They searched round and far and found another little shop. Emboldened by their first experience, Optimus chose to order for them. Tall cups, lots of froth and chilled.

Rusti browsed the shop while they waited. She studied the walls decorated with art and magazine clippings from several different cultures.

The young man called their order and the couple sat at a little table and shared a slice of pie. Rusti half spooned, half drank her coffee while Optimus sipped his a little at a time. His eyes drifted across their surroundings until another couple entered the shop. The female wore loose clothing and a small felt hat. The male beside her wore a dark, earth-like suit and a handgun strapped securely to his upper thigh. When they turned round, Prime noticed the female was pregnant and the male led her to another small table and mannerly seated her first.

Attending his own coffee once more, Optimus noticed Rusti’s loose jacket and shirt. He remembered the torn and dirty jeans she wore on Cratis. A fresh pair would be nice and he liked her in jeans.

Prime stirred his drink. “Rusti, do you remember when I took you to some school clothes and I kept handing you things you couldn’t wear?” He watched every slight movement she made and grinned when her forehead wrinkled in concentration.

Perplexed, she tilted her head. “Optimus... ohmigod, I was like, what? Seven? I barely remember that. How do you remember things so well?”

He dropped the stare and sipped his drink. “You cannot be an Autobot officer of any sort without a good memory. Although, some of us have better memory banks than others.” he paused then leaned slightly forward. “There was this femme,” he said softly, “who was lucky if she remembered her present coordinates, let alone her assignment. It was a milk run. All she had to do was drive to the next town south and pick up a subrouter diagnostics adapter.” Optimus chuckled, his grin infectious. “She took the wrong turnoff and drove a hundred and ninety miles to Level Three and ended up in the parking lot of a tar crane assembly plant.” He almost could not hold his laughter back, “She called base and said the crazy bots at the plant had melted all the adapters and she had no idea where the subrouters went!”

They laughed and Optimus finished his drink. Rusti ate the last bite of pie and Optimus led her out the café and down another lane of store. They passed a soap shop, a 3D wildlife theater and a small-children’s play area. Across the mini playground, Optimus spotted what he was after. Without warning Rusti, he dragged her to a men’s/masculine clothing emporium and stopped short at the display window. He smiled broader by the second as his gaze switched from one modeled outfit to another and pointed to a suit much like Earth business attire.

“I’ve always wanted to try something like that.”

Rusti stared at the charcoal grey blazer. It did look sharp with a two-button closure and a notch lapel. Confused, she panned her eyes between the clothes and Optimus and shook her head. “Aren’t you feeling the least bit awkward in an organic form?”

His gaze ate up the sight with growing interest. “I don’t feel all that different, Rusti,” he answered with a more leveled voice. “There are differences. But there are more similarities than you might think.” He dropped his attention to her. “Now, if the ‘outfit’ came with a tail, yes, I suppose I’d feel awkward.”

“A tail,” she repeated. “A tail?”

“It’s like having an arm or leg growing off your spine. I didn’t like it. No matter how straight the face, the damn tail betrayed my mood.”

Rusti twisted her face with disbelief. “You’ve had a tail before?” she squeaked when he dragged her inside. The scent of fresh material and oiled leather unmistakably identified the place as a male-oriented outlet. Even the well-dressed clerks were masculine, albeit not necessarily human.

Speaking of alien, one such sapient approached them. The wavy ridges along his head turned lighter while his dark eyes reflected calm. “Good afternoon, Sir, Miss. Can I help you find anything?”
Optimus nodded toward the entrance. “The suit in the display. I’d like to try one.”

The clerk stammered. “Ah. Uhh...”

“I think it’s the blazer,” Rusti explained.

“Ah! Very good,” the clerk praised. “If you’ll follow me, I can show you our amazing variety. Perhaps... long-sleeved shirts first?”

He was not exaggerating. What looked like a small shop outside spread into a department store inside. Shirts of every size and shape hung from walls, lined along racks or waited in carefully folded piles.
Optimus read everything in a single glance and headed for the long sleeved shirt. As he paged a circular rack Rusti explained to the clerk that they had traveled a long distance and did not know what Optimus’ size might be.

Prime chose an ice blue shirt with two pockets and an extended tail. He held it against himself and silently asked his wife what she thought. Rusti patiently smiled as the clerk returned with a measuring tape. In three swift moves, he calculated Optimus’ size and almost escaped.

Prime laid a hand on his shoulder and nodded toward Rusti. “Would you kindly take her measurements also?”

“Oh no,” Rusti objected with a smile. “We’re here to dress you up, Optimus. I’m just the audience.”

“Until it’s your turn,” he added.

Her smile dropped off. “What?” she dodged the crafty clerk once, ducked, failed then glared when he measured her waist.

“Ten,” the clerk announced, “respectively.”

“Excellent,” Optimus praised. “I like this one.” he handed the shirt to the clerk and nosed toward trousers and slacks. He paid no attention as the alien fellow silently huffed and searched for the appropriate size.
Rusti leaned toward the male with small eyes and flat white hair. “Sorry,” she whispered. “Must be a sugar high.” She tapped round the three racks of shirts to catch up with the Autobot leader and found him comparing one coat against another.

“Rusti,” he said without meeting her eyes, “help me find that blazer.”

“We could just ask the cl-“ she stopped short, “-how did you know it was called a blazer?”

“Labels, Darling.” He gathered four coats he chose from different racks and hung them together on the wrong rack. “I’m sure it’s around here.”

“Man on a mission,” she muttered.

The clerk found them and handed her the shirt. “Ah, does the gentleman wish for an undershirt? Or a second shirt, perhaps?”

Rusti stammered, uncertain. “Uhh, I’m not sure-“

”This is it!” Optimus declared. He spun about and held the blazer against his chest. “This one. Oh, you have the shirt I see. Very good!”

The clerk masked his annoyance with a well practiced smile. “Is that the color of your preference, Sir?”

Rusti tugged the shirt out of the alien’s hands. “Yes,” she answered him, “an undershirt would be fab. A muscle shirt, if that’s alright. And a pack of boxers, since you know his size.”

She turned back and startled when he suddenly stood in front of her. “Let’s get you a nice outfit and we’ll go out to dinner.”

“Optimus, we don’t even know how much-“

”No suit for you, Rusti. You need something pretty.” His solid blue eyes settled on her with an eager gleam. He laid the blazer on a nearby shelf and touched her hair. “I’ve always loved your hair.” That made her smile and she diverted her eyes. He kissed her on the right jaw just above her neck. “And I’ve always loved you... here.” He peeled away her jacket and shirt and softly kissed her shoulder. “... and I love you here.”
Her hands sweated as her stomach fluttered. Rusti’s eyes widened when he knelt before her, discreetly lifted her shirt and kissed her midriff. “And I love you here.”

She clamped a hand over her mouth when he kissed the button on her pants then kissed her at the crotch. “And I love you here.”

Unable to breathe, Rusti glanced around them to see if anyone saw that. Shocked, embarrassed and turned on, she lost all ability to speak. She gave him a toothy, shit-eating grin when Optimus stood and met her eyes. “O-Optimus-“

”I need trousers,” he grabbed the blazer and shot away, leaving her aghast.


-INCLINATION-

Rodimus and Rain approached, gawked and passed one caged creature after another. Roddi thought most of the animals were ugly; primates were especially hideous. The reptiles were cool but the birds captivated his attention. Their colors and songs beckoned him to linger even when Rain insisted they visit the pet shop.

A tamerad, a creature with enormous eyes, a fuzzy coat and slow movements, stare back at him. Rodimus palmed the window between them and understood what it meant to be on display. He did not know which was worse: an animal in a cage, scrutinized by strangers; or an Autobot leader expected to have all answers and held to a registry of standards that would make a demigod cringe. At least the tamerad did not deal with concerns and plans all hours of the day and night. The zoo had closing hours and off-days.

Rain leaned against the thick glass and watched Roddi with a smile. “Are you waiting for it to blink?”

“No. Just feeling sorry for it.”

“Most of the animals here are extinct in their natural habitats. The Backner family has worked tireless for generations to save animals like this.”

Rodimus frowned. “Perhaps one day they’ll have an Autobot on display,” Roddi turned away with a sigh. They entered another room exhibiting giant insects.

“You know,” Rain said, “I have two ears.”

Rodimus tugged at his own ears. “Wow. I have a set of my own. I used to have audio sensors. Sometimes I even use them to hear myself speak. Know why? Cuz I’m the Prime. And when no one else wants to hear me, I can always listen to myself. Makes it cool, doesn’t it?”

Rain hesitated. “Hm. I’m beginning to wonder if the batch they made you from had a little too much sarcasm sauce in it.”

Then Rodimus grinned. “No, no,” he corrected, “sarcasm is a job requirement.”

“Really?” she challenged. “In your case, I’d have to classify it as a defense mechanism.”

Rodimus threw his arms up. “Do you ever-“

”PLUCKY!” Rain interrupted. She sprinted through a forest of people and hugged a blue-skinned fellow with the weight of a paperclip. “Didn’t see you either at dinner or breakfast. What’s moving under your feet?”

Rodimus rolled his eyes and joined them as the Infraction’s supply officer answered Rain: “‘Member that contact-person I said about a week ago?”

“Yes.”

“He’s here. He wants t’ talk.”

“Sweet.” Rain smiled at Rodimus who, in turn, frowned. Socializing sounded too much like work.

Plucky pointed at her. “Not going alone,” he added frankly.

Rain grimaced. “I don’t speak-“

”Doesn’t matter,” Plucky said curtly. “I just don’t feel comfortable facing a Vicin alone.”

“A Vicin?” Rodimus repeated.

“Tu,” came Plucky’s affirmation. “You know about them?”

“No,” the Autobot leader returned. “But I’m into learning new things. A Vicin can’t be worse than that oothoth primate, right?”

Roddi accompanied his shipmates into a small, dark café. A frothy, pink liquid sat on nearly every table. A sweet, pungent odor wafted from it, making Rodimus slightly nauseous.
Plucky lead them to a booth backlit by a large, soothing aquarium.

The Vicin in question, a biped with the skin of an earth shark and a strange, glowing headset, slowly stirred a drink the likes of which Rodimus could describe only as thick and blue.

“Jakden!” Plucky greeted, “what’s on the upside of your reality?”

The alien in question glibly nodded and tapped the crystalline headpiece. The device spoke for him, but the vicin’s mouth never moved. “Happiness to you and your attendees,” the translator stated stiffly.

Plucky nodded to the Vicin’s half empty drink. “Can I get you a refill, friend?”

“No. No. I purchase refreshment for my acquaintances. Plucky, you weigh smaller from time afore.”

For showmanship, Plucky snapped the sleeve cuffs forward and straightened his collar. “Bookworm has learned how to make water lichen pie. And let me tell you, friend, it is a delicacy.”

Jakden laughed, lifted his beverage and took three gulps before the Vicin realized his translator slipped off. He reattached it with a sheepish smile. “Forgiveness, if you please. We have no customary procedures for such devices. Such is the fate of telepaths”

“No worries,” Plucky replied. “So how goes it on the Outer Lying Areas?”

“More military presence in cities. Rumors say Psyklenex changed his own world. He drains the planet’s life forces, leaves it barren and rocky.

“Interesting rumor. Interesting theory.” Plucky smiled at the rotund waiter who now loomed over their table. “How about salisayzian tea with a twist of ipple berry juice? Three, if you please.”

Rodimus forced himself to keep a straight face. “Nipple berry juice?”

Rain laughed. “Ipple berry, dong-dong.”

Jackden leaned over his drink. “Need to tell, Plucky. Tell Dot the Flaming Afflictor has increased his army. They make things that wear the skeletons of the dead.”

Plucky narrowed his eyes and his brows wrinkled. “Here now, good friend. Are you saying Psykee is playing geneticist?”

“Splicing?” Jackdon corrected. The translator awkwardly rumbled, imitating quiet laughter. “Un-say that one, Plucky. Psyklenex needs no such clumsiness. His Oracle of Creation does the work. Yet, rumors are that the Oracle does not create life, but steals it from elsewhere. Its power is great.”

That piqued Roddi’s curiosity. “Who’s the Flaming Afflictor and what’s this Oracle you guys are yapping about? I thought oracles were people who, you know, told the future.” Roddi met each person’s eyes and felt out of place.

“Mmm.” Jackden nodded slowly and grasped his drink with both hands. “The Flaming Afflictor is Psyklenex. He has learned how to set the atmosphere on fire. His body count is long and grievous. Psyklenex refers the Great Device as the Oracle because, he claims, it speaks of many things; of histories long, long lost. It tells of events, news from far away, so that Psyklenex can plan his assault and expand his power.”

Roddi’s eyes narrowed. “So this same thing-a-majig, whatever it might be, also allows him to instill life into his soldiers like...” Rodimus paused to consider Vector Sigma. He realized for the first time in his life that he did not even know what Vector Sigma was. “...like instant artificial intelligence?”

Jackdon tapped his translator as his face twisted with confusion. “Explain for me this word.”

Plucky glanced from his ‘source’ to Rodimus. When it was clear the Autobot leader was at a loss himself, Plucky took a sip of tea and gazed at Jackdon. “Translator can’t tell you what ‘artificial’ means?”

“Pretend or falsified intellect makes no sense.”

“Ah.” Plucky winked at Rodimus. “Artificial intellect, my friend, is like your mother in-law attempting to cook dinner.”

The Vicin’s body jiggled with laughter, though he made no sound. His head bobbed, shoulders bounced up and down. “Non-sapient intellect,” he deduced. “Oh, Plucky, let me invite you to a party.” he sobered and drained his drink. “I know nothing of the Oracle’s means of intelligence, Friend,” he said to Roddi. “Information on that is not found.”

Plucky nodded impatiently. “The Bones People, Jackdon. Remember? You said you had words about the Bones People. Are there any left?”

“Thirty-nine,” Jackdon replied. “Yes. Thirty-nine at count. Escapees, Plucky. Parthon must act swift and strong. They have ‘pacted’ to self-terminate. And then there will be no more Bones People.”

-INCLINATION-

Optimus bypassed three dress shops before finding one he liked. The selection looked more like street wear than formal fashion and although Rusti had doubts at first, she found his choices delightful.

She stepped out the dressing room wearing a pair of denims bound at the sides with shoe-string leather. The denims tapered down, allowing full view of her red pumps. And while Rusti wore casual waist-down, her blouse was formal; white with puffy sleeves tied snugly at the mid-upper arms and cuffed loosely at the wrist. The blouse dropped to mid-abdomen and buttoned back up.

Prime proudly appraised her and held out a hand, inviting her to approach. He guided her to stand before a mirror and stood behind, hands on her shoulders. “This is how I see you, Little Bell.” he dipped his head and purred into her ear, “Scrumptious, curly red hair.”

She freely laughed, twisted round about and their lips met and lingered. She opened her mouth slightly and he kissed her lower lip. Emboldened, she ran her tongue along his teeth and her stomach fluttered. He kissed her again just past the lips before bringing her hands up and kissed her ring.

“What do you say to rescuing Cyclonus from that dreadful miniature punk demon?”

She turned her head slightly. “‘Dreadful?” she repeated. “Is that actually in your vocabulary?”

“Interesting question, considering I never read Alice in Wonderland.”

She lifted a finger. “Point almost made, Optimus.”

His smile turned subtle, chin dipped in the manner Rusti always thought adorable. “You are clearly Alice. But would I be the White Rabbit or the Mad Hatter?”

“Optimus,” she replied frankly, “if you’ve never read Alice in Wonderland, how could you be either?”

“Because I know you’ve read it. More than once.”

He trailed out the store, her confused expression lingered. “What?”

They returned to the coffee bar and Cyclonus. At first both Rusti and Optimus Prime stared, perplexed. The humanoid Decepticon sported a pair of sunglasses and held a book between his hands. To his left, Pissant amused himself with a crossword puzzle.

Rusti tilted her head, leaned over and scrutinized the Decepticon lieutenant, bewildered and fascinated. She flinched when he looked up and lowered the sunglasses. “I don’t believe it,” she said. “You actually look good in those.”

Pissant’s little voice piped: “incorrect preposition.”

They ignored him.

Prime sat and tucked their old clothes under the chair. “What are you reading, Cyclonus?”

“Mystery novel,” came the quiet reply.

Pissant added another word to the paper awkwardly using a pen with both hands. “Cyclonus is an avid reader. However, no amount of reading will ever improve his intellect.”

Optimus folded his hands on the table and turned quiet. Rusti glanced from him to Cyclonus and held the moment close to her heart. Optimus looked perfectly dapper. Cyclonus resembled a plainclothes federal agent. She wondered how a fedora might look on them.

Pissant scribbled the last word on the puzzle and dropped the pen. “Captain Not-So-Pragmatic ought to be contacting us soon,” the mollusk twisted his upper body to the right and frowned at Cyclonus. “I’d suggest leaving Ultra Magnus and Galvatron on their own, were it not for your co-dependant loyalty toward ‘His Turdiness,’ the former leader of the Decepticons.”

Cyclonus closed his book and slid it into his jacket. “And that,” he answered deadpan, “is likely the nicest thing you’ve said all day.”

Rusti sensed something behind them. She glanced over her shoulder and grinned. “Roddi!”

“Hey Lady-Friend.” he brought up two chairs from another table and he and Rain sat side by side.

Plucky joined them a second later as he checked a hand-held electronic pad. “Gots news from Captain P?” he asked.

Pissant folded his tiny arms. “Do I look like a telecommunications center or a telepath to you? And where are Bookworm and Pittstop?”

Plucky pointed at the (slug) “not the babysitter. And hey, listen up: we gotta am-scray. Mr. Giggles says those Bones won’t be taken alive. Don’t know how much time we have. It’s a six-turns trip to Mechlatex.”

“PLUCKY!”

The distant shout caught Rain’s and Plucky’s attention. From their south, Bookworm squeezed through a group of young females. He ducked and covered his head with a catalogue when one girl smacked him with her wallet.

“Sorry,” he offered. “Sorry. Excuse me. PLUCKY!” he repeated, “We need to leave now.” he caught up, heaving and burdened with a large backpack, the thick catalogue and a large duffle.

Rain glared at him. “What did you do, Book?”

“Nuthing.” the doctor/chef answered. “Honest to Osiris. I was perusing an isle of herbs when two One-Face feckles came into the store asking about Automatrons.”

“If that’s the case,” Pissant said firmly, “if there is an Automatron here, we are not leaving until we find him.”

Rusti intervened: “Uh, what’s a feckle?”

“It’s slang,” Rain answered, “derogatory for the single-faced Quintessons. And Pissant, it will take days for us to find anyone in this floating city.” she paused. “Especially if you’ve changed their forms to blend in. By which case, Pissant, it makes you unscrupulous.”

The mollusk gave her the stink eye. “Not so, Pet,” he objected. “I’d be unscrupulous only if I did not care about an endangered species. It’s my one feature that kept me out of the Pitt. “Now, my Ghoulish groupies, let’s find Galvatron and Ultra Magnus before the One-faces get suspicious.”

They returned to the boisterous and busy game room. Crowds sectioned around tables and cloistered at the bar like bees attending a field of flowers. The Infraction’s crew discovered a fresh swarm of bodies around the pool tables. When they saw neither Galvatron nor Magnus, they split up.

Cyclonus and Pissant found Cloudy at a table besieged by players and an attentive audience. To the Decepticon’s amazement, they played poker. He too watched until the femme recognized him and smiled a little too happily. And with good reason: she accumulate a large number of chips and coins stacked to her left. “Cyclonus!” she welcomed him with a free and open expression. “Come on! Join us?”

“No. We are departing.”

She blinked, more surprised than disappointed. “Darn. Well... we’ll have to get Magnus and... and what’s-His-Name.”

Cyclonus blinked, taken back by her behavior. She surprised him further when the usually shy Cloudstreaker abruptly stood, finished half a mug of light blue fluid and divided her earnings 30/70. “Love you guys!” she declared loudly. “But duty calls. I’m taking this cut-“ she scooped the thirty percent into her pockets. “And you sweet fellas can play with the rest. Okey-dokey?”

The men enjoyed her gift but whined, stood and gave her parting hugs. A female did the same and thanked her for teaching them something different. They put several feet between them and the players before Cloudy jingled the coins in her pockets. “I need to cash-out. Magnus is in the next room.” She pointed left, “you’ll have to call for him at the door.

Cyclonus frowned. “I am not inclined to make a spectacle of myself.”

Cloudy’s cheeks lifted with another smile. “He’s wrestling. You’ll have to shout loudly!”

Pissant cackled as with glee over his bearer’s reluctance. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to whistle, Decepticon?”

“SH!”

Pissant continued to snigger.

They wove through the jungle of bodies and around tables and passed machines so that Cloudy could cash out. From there, she and Cyclonus wound and rounded their way to a set of sturdy doors. A nearby waiter opened the way for them and the femme led Cyclonus into a room impossibly crowded by more people. The stench of body sweat, cheap food and adrenaline assailed Cyclonus’ senses and he winced. The further in they pushed, the stronger the smells.

After squeezing and excusing their way to the ring Cyclonus insisted they wait until Magnus saw them.

Head locked by some tall alien with deep purple skin, Ultra Magnus struggled to gain a foothold. He gasped for air twice before punching his opponent at the back of the knee. The other wrestler lost balance. Magnus broke free, rolled to the ropes and pressed against them. The ropes bounced him like a ball and Magnus applied the momentum into his left shoulder so that when Giant Purple stood, he took full brunt of the Autobot’s weight and strength.

Giant Purple bounced against the ropes, too but he did not have the Major-General’s refined reflexes. Magnus stepped back as his opponent splat the mat face-first.

The referee slid to the giant and counted: ONE, TWO-

Giant Purple made an effort to move but the wind left him and he remained sprawled like road kill.

The bell danged and a round of applause followed Magnus who characteristically folded his arms. His expression reflected great confidence.

“Who else wants to try their physic against the J-Chan?” the referee traveled pole to pole on the square mat. A few hands raised but Magnus spotted Cyclonus and took the mic out of the short referee’s hand.
“ROCK to all a’ you!!” he boomed.

The crowd responded: “ROCK! ROCK! ROCK!”

Cyclonus scanned the room, baffled. First Cloudstreaker, now this? What got into them? And was it contagious?

Magnus apologized for disappointing his new-found fandom. He grinned like an idiot when several females declared their undying love. He waved to them. And waved and waved until Cyclonus gripped his wrestling pants and pulled him out the door.

The door closed and Magnus turned about with a ridiculous grin. “J-Chan!” he beamed. “I will always be J-Chan!”

Cyclonus shook his head with a measure of disapproval. “Mmmm.”

They rejoined the others outside and all eyes stared at a sweaty, happy Magnus, or rather, at Magnus’ wrestling pants. Cloudy blushed and averted her interest at the nearby tree.

Optimus kept a straight face but everyone heard the smile in his voice: “Had fun, Ultra Magnus?”

Hands on hips, Magnus dropped his head and grinned. “Don’t tell anyone, okay? And what’s with the suit?” Magnus waited for the answer but Optimus did not come forth. The mostly-naked Major-general wiped his drenched forehead and hair. “Maybe I should get one.”

Optimus nodded. “Where is Galvatron?”

“Hell if I know.”

-INCLINATION-

Once Galvatron won eight games in a row, the crowd faded and Magnus heard the invite to a wrestling match. He tried to get Galvatron involved, but the Decepticon turned him down; too many bodies in one place. He needed air.

Though he said nothing to Magnus during their engagement, Galvatron sensed something lurking amid the crowd. It departed by the middle of their final game and Galvatron’s instincts demanded a hunt.
Confident his companions, both of whom drank three or four mugs of By-You Blue were safely preoccupied, Galvatron stepped out on his own.

Suppressing his phobia as much as he could, Galvatron ignored the colorful sea of faces that came and departed. He concentrated on the feel of shadow; a distinct taste in the air. He wondered whether the entity of interest was an odd alien species or something he should not face alone.

A burst of bodies exited a cinema. Children, adults and some creature with floating eyeballs milled around Galvatron. Two people ran directly into him and excused themselves. Another person shouted for him to move. Another wave of bodies exited the cinema and Galvatron tried to get away. The overwhelming sense of excitement and turmoil of noise and smells forced him to close his eyes and stop breathing. Galvatron’s heart raced and he froze. All those bodies, the rhythm of each life force drowned his thoughts.

“Auschu,” The voice cut through the storm. It repeated and the area around Galvatron cleared and calmed. He relaxed, opened his eyes and faced a female dressed in dark robes. She lifted her hand as her hazel eyes projected concern. “Are you all right? Are you having a panic attack?”

Galvatron trembled and clutched his chest. “I... I’m fine. Just... I don’t like noise. Not like that.”

“Aww. That’s not good. My cousin Wretha’s second daughter suffers agoraphobia. Let’s sit down and moment, shall we?”

Galvatron allowed her to coax him onto a nearby bench. For a moment he lost touch with reality and his surroundings.

Again the female’s voice penetrated the cloud of disorientation “Are you alone?”

“Eh? No,” Galvatron made a quick rundown of his current surroundings. In spite of his rescuer’s thoughtfulness, Galvatron felt uncomfortable around her. “Thank you. Erm, I need to go.”

“Are you alone?”

Wasn’t she wearing black a moment ago? Galvatron shook his head. “I’m with a group-“

”I don’t see them.” her voice turned thin, almost hissing.

Galvatron stood and assessed her from a trained eye. “Vampire?” he guessed.

A slow smile splayed her lips and her eyes flickered with an ancient darkness. “Most people don’t realize their situation until it’s far too late.” She too stood and even with her dark blue robes close about her body, Galvatron saw the bitter pallor of her skin. He winced when he envisioned millions of victims screaming across her body.

The slender creature opened her arms, her smile warmed, eyes inviting. “Dance with me. Let me take you away from your troubles and sorrows.”

Galvatron smirked. “Lady, I’ve lived too many lives to fall for that. Besides, there is a Light within me and you can’t override that.”

Their moment halted when both heard THUNK. THUNK. patter, patter, patter, patter. People huffed and protested when someone pushed his way though the crowd.

“Out of the way! Help me! Move! Run! Someone! Someone help me!”

Galvatron shoved the predator aside and aimed for the source of panic. He jumped on the resting bench and hopped one bench to another until he spotted the disturber. A young male squeezed and tripped his way through. Behind him buzzed a squadron of mechanical wasps.

Galvatron’s intuition surged adrenaline through his body. He swiftly searched for anything resembling a weapon. Eight o’clock of his position stood a decorative light pole. Galvatron assessed its caliber and the mount on which it sat. He didn’t stop to wonder whether or not he had the strength to yank it free of bolts and screws. Nevertheless, it obeyed his determination. The Decepticon leader counted time in the milliseconds. The ‘little guy’ ran toward him and half the sub-second he passed Galvatron, the first wasp ‘bought it’ with Galvatron’s new found weapon. The next flying nightmare almost escaped. It now decorated the cinema’s marquis.

The third and fourth mechanoids abandoned their chase and railed Galvatron. One wasp flew for his face. Galvatron dodged right, twisted round and smashed it from behind.

The last wasp barreled for him. The Decepticon dropped his light pole and grabbed it about the neck in mid-flight. He grunted and cringed when the machine’s stinger sank into his flesh. Its legs clamped about his arm and sank hooks into his skin.

Galvatron drew the mechanical wasp to his face as space station security, EMTs, news reporters and Parthon scrambled to and fro.

“Who do you work for, slaghead?” he growled.

No response. He stared into a hundred empty visual components and determined the mechanoids were only drones. But even drones had a central computation core. With a sneer, Galvatron ripped its head off. He searched the crowd, ignoring those who stared and pointed to his bloody arm.

He jumped off the bench and approached the frightened male. The ‘boy’ paled, his lips trembled. Galvatron nodded in the game room’s direction. “Come with me,” he said. “Unless you’d rather keep running.”
With wild, furtive eyes, the male jumped to his feet and followed Galvatron’s blood drops over and around the recovering crowd.

As Galvatron approached the game room, he noticed Captain Parthon pushing his way through a group of old ladies. He darted around a crowd of young mothers like a girl playing hopscotch. “Galvatron!” he called.
The Decepticon hailed him with the mechanism still attached to his arm. Parthon arrived, jerked off his cloak and lightly wrapped Galvatron’s injury. “Hurry,” he huffed. “We have to leave now.”

“Why?” Shock started to wear on Galvatron’s face as the first symptoms of poison drained his color.

“Who’s this?” Parthon asked instead.

“A helpless cause.”

Parthon took the mechanoid’s head and Galvatron’s arm. “C’mon. Let’s scamper.”

By the time they found the rest of the party, Galvatron’s shirt pasted to his body with sweat. Optimus replaced Parthon’s support and caught Galvatron when the Decepticon stumbled.
Bookworm jumped to his feet. “What the Torments? Who’s that?”

Pissant slimed his way back to Cyclonus’ left shoulder. “He’s the person we’re looking for.”

“No way!” Rain protested. “The last thing we need is a stowaway.”

Pissant squealed with anger. “He’s coming with us and that’s THAT!”

Pipsqueak snapped out her communicator. “They’re coming! The feckles found us!”

“GET US OUT OF HERE!” Pissant screamed.

Parthon smacked his communicator. “Infraction, get us out of here now!”

Pinpoints of light prickled Rusti’s skin. She lost the ability to breathe while light shimmered before her eyes. A soft buzzing tickled her ears and seconds later the scene changed.

Standing in a large empty storage bay, she spotted SS INFRACTION scrawled across the left wall. The room flashed white and the next second, Rusti found herself in Rodimus’ arms. Bookworm hovered over and pinched her arm with a needle.

She whined, tried to move her hand and failed.

Roddi’s voice washed through her disoriented state. “I have you, Lady-Friend. I have you.”