A/N: My goodness, it took me far longer to write this chapter than planned! ‘Psyklenox’ or ‘Psyklenex’ are both correct spellings. :D All mistakes are my own; apologies for the one-shot edit. -T.L. Arens



TRANS-SPATIAL INCLINATION
IV
 

RODIMUS

Rodimus caught Rusti when she fainted. Icy needles drilled into his skin and peeled his face. He watched Rusti’s body dissolve then reappear when they fizzled into another chamber. As Parthon confirmed everyone transported onto the Infraction, Roddi checked Rusti’s pulse. No heartbeat? No? He laid her on the transporter pad when her lips paled toward blue.

“Bookworm!” Roddi shouted, “she’s not breathing!”

The Infraction’s medic leapt from Galvatron to Rusti’s side and scanned her. He swore dirty. “I forgot she was human. Pittstop! Get my aid kit!”

A subtle boom preceded a shudder that affected the whole ship. Parthon, Rain and Plucky leapt off the transporter and out the door. The ship’s alarms cried through the corridor until a hollow masculine voice echoed in every room:

“Attention, Infraction, captain and crew: space station security has identified a stowaway on board your vessel. Please stand by for security procedure. I repeat: a stowaway has been detected. Please stand by for a security check.”

Pipsqueak grabbed their mystery guest by the collar and nailed Magnus with wide eyes. “Move!” she ordered, “NOW.” she yanked the young man out the transporter room while Bookworm slid a thick needle into Rusti’s left hand.

“Come on, lady,” Bookworm pleaded. He twisted round and pointed at Optimus “What are you doing?! Get him to medbay!”

Optimus hesitated until Roddi nodded toward the exit.

“Go. I got her,” he promised. Optimus silently nodded but Roddi knew the senior Prime held his breath with fear. Nevertheless, Optimus secured Galvatron in his arms and took him to medical.

Bookworm slapped Rusti, jolting Roddi. He almost said something when Rusti inhaled. Her eyes popped open, pupils dilated.

The doctor/chef gave her a second shot in the thigh followed by a third in the side of her neck. He sat back and stowed the needles in his emergency pouch. “Let’s go. Hurry.”

As they stepped out the chamber someone else beamed in. Rodimus stepped out of the way when Rain and Plucky who transported from the bridge, raced for the control module.

Rodimus shadowed Bookworm through the tight corridor, through the decontamination chamber and into medical.

The ship shuddered again. Rodimus almost lost his footing before he laid Rusti on a padded table five feet from Galvatron. Optimus abandoned the Decepticon’s side for his wife. Her skin turned pale with a light sheen of sweat. Rodimus planted a hand on his friend’s broad shoulder. “He seems to know what he’s doing, Op. She’ll be okay.”

Optimus dragged air into his lungs and directed his energy someplace else. “Bookworm, is there anything we can do to help Captain Parthon?” he asked.

Bookworm programmed the tables to strap his patients securely. “Not at the moment,” he answered. “Don’t worry,” he added, “We have a good crew. You two just hang tight.”

Parthon’s voice resounded throughout the ship. “Rough ride ahead, folks,” he warned from the speakers, “Hunker down!”

Taking Parthon’s warning as hyperbole, Rodimus planted himself in a nearby chair while Optimus sat on the floor. Ten seconds later, Rodimus changed his mind, copied Optimus and braced himself at the doorpost.

The doctor sat in another chair and strapped in.

The ship turned dark and vibrated with a deep, subsonic noise that rolled pain in both Prime’s heads. Rodimus shuddered and stopped breathing when the vibration intensified, hammering his skull and spine. His teeth chattered and he squeezed his eyes tight.

Then it ended like the flip of a switch. The vibration ceased but Rodimus’ nerves continued to buzz. He swore to Bookworm, “Geeze!” “What the hell was that?”

Bookworm examined Galvatron’s vitals and prepared a syringe. “We just unzipped space.”

“That’s special,”Roddi snarled. “How about a warning next time?”

“Take it up with the captain,” Bookworm muttered. He turned from Galvatron. “Now why don’t the two of you go find something else to do?”

“I am not leaving Rusti,” Optimus replied sternly.

“Well, you are in my way. If you want me to take care of her, you need to be out.”

Rodimus huffed with a glare. “Come on, Op. Let’s go talk with the captain.” He watched Prime gently take Rusti’s hand and stared into her unresponsive face. “Optimus! She’s okay. Let’s hit Parthon for answers, okay?” He understood how vulnerable Optimus felt. But neither of them were physicians. “Optimus,” he quietly repeated. He proffered a hand toward the senior Prime to exit first then with a last glance at Rusti, he too walked out. You’d better not die, Lady-Friend, he thought. You’ll certainly take him with you.

The bridge buzzed with activity and a shouting match, when the two Primes entered.

“This was only a stop,” Parthon shouted. “Not a rescue mission! You endangered our lives and the lives of the Autobots!”

Pissant sat at helm control. Cyclonus sat impassive nearby navigation as if he were under someone else’s control. The snail slimed his way across the black and grey consol. He waved his arms and his voice squeaked with the same intensity as Parthon’s. “I told you we are on the same rescue mission no matter where we go! Darzon was not part of the plan but he’s no less important!”

Parthon rose from his command chair. “I decide what’s important! This is MY ship, I’m in charge and you had NO RIGHT to jeopardize us like that!”

Pissant lowered his voice. “It’ll all blow over, Parthon. They’ll forget about it in a few weeks.”

“NO THEY WON’T! They know who we are, they know the ship, they know our logs and now they know everyone here INCLUDING the Automatron! How do you expect us to clean up this mess? Hu?”

“Eh, I’ll just wipe their minds. The universe can always use more vegetables.”

Rodimus had to say something: “Wow. That’s pretty callous.” He descended two steps and stood beside Captain Parthon’s chair. “It must be nice not having to worry about wrecking other people’s lives. Wish I could be a deity. Meanwhile, what just happened and where are we headed?"

Parthon wiped his face with a hand and stared out the main view screen. “We still have a job. We have to go to Mechlatex.”

Optimus met Roddi’s annoyed expression. “What then?” he asked Parthon.

Rodimus pointed a thumb at Prime. “Yeah. Like he said.” he nodded once at Pissant. “You gonna send us back like you promised?”

“I didn’t promise anything,” Pissant snarled. “You just assumed I did.”

Rodimus clenched his fists. “You filthy piece of-“

”Not now,” Parthon intervened. “We need to find out as much as we can before reaching the Aeotorus System. And according to the slug, our new shipmate has that info.” He glanced from Roddi to Optimus. “You’re invited, if you have questions.” Optimus closed his eyes and nodded. Rodimus glared at Pissant but agreed with a silent glance at Parthon.

However, according to the mollusk, the Automatron, Darzon, wasn’t feeling up to talking at that point. Something like ‘he needs food and rest’ entered Rodimus’ right ear and banged around his head. No one set a time table which meant Optimus would live out the extra time in medlab. As for Rodimus himself, he would find something to do; play games, pick his nose, count the hairs on his chest...

As Roddi darkened the corridor toward his quarters he ran into Ultra Magnus who looked like someone held his dog hostage. The frown on Magnus’ face was enough to convince Rodimus one day it would be the only thing left of the Major-general.

“Rodimus,” Magnus said in greeting.

“That’s right, Mags,” Roddi returned lightly. “I’m proud of you for remembering my name.” He grinned when Magnus rolled his eyes then dropped the grin when Magnus held up the forgotten wasp head procured by Galvatron.

“This needs to be examined,” Magnus stated simply. “And Daniel needs to be fed.”

“I am not in the mood for Daniel torture,” Rodimus answered coldly.

“I know. That’s why I’m offering this while I handle Daniel.”

Rodimus received the wasp head like a present. His jaw dropped, his face lit up. “Magnus! I didn’t know you cared! I mean, yes, of course you care. It’s what you are, right? But taking on Daniel? All by yourself, too? Or is this a peace offering for helping you with Daniel?”

“I don’t need help with Daniel,” Magnus said deadpan. “But you need something to keep busy.”

Rodimus shrugged. “Yeah, okay. It’s all good, Mags. Thanks.” he tossed the basketball-sized robotic head and caught it. Magnus shook his head and left Rodimus with his new project.

Alone once again and safely in his quarters, Roddi set the creepy insectoid piece on the table. He framed it in the middle of his connected fingers like a film director. “Hm. Yeah, you got looks, kid,” he said to it. “But do you got talent?” Dropping his arms, Roddi frowned and decided to take a shower. All the animal smells he accumulated off the space station seeped from his clothing like a dirty air filter. The hot water made him feel better than he anticipated. Tension faded from his neck and shoulders. He soaped up, shampooed and rinsed off and left the bathroom in a mess. Twenty minutes later, he ordered a cup of hot cocoa from the room’s small replicator and lounged in the nude for another hour, staring at the head.

“Infraction,” he called, “play some upbeat music, would you?”

GENRE.

“Rock. Hard rock.”

UNAVAILABLE.

“What? How about something from Sex Pistols?”

UNAVAILABLE.

“Okay. Let’s try Epic Verses.”

UNAVAILABLE.

Rodimus huffed. “Crap. Do you have anything from Sheltered Carnage?”

NEGATIVE.

“Pandora Complex?”

NEGATIVE.

“Journey? Pink Floyd? Neil Diamond?”

NEGATIVE.

“How can you be this cool shtick of metal and have nothing from-pffp. Know what? Never mind. I’ll make my own tunage.” Rodimus laid eyes on the insectoid head. “Can you get that?” he said to it. “Not even some sappy crap from Neil Diamond. And you need a name. I’ll call you Albert.”

Rodimus’ eyes panned right and stared into nothing. His thoughts drifted and he sipped the drink. “I really shouldn’t talk to another head.” He stood, remembered his nudity and scrounged for fresh clothes. “See, Albert, I’ve been talking to bodiless heads for quite some time and it occurred to me that it’s probably not healthy.” he paused. “On the other hand, I still talk to Magnus. Don’t tell him I said that.” He found a pair of underwear, a T-shirt, a pair of jeans and fatigues.

Jeans. It just has to be jeans.

“You know,” he continued, “I remember how Rusti lived in jeans. I think I finally get it.” With another swig of hot cocoa, Rodimus twirled the chair around, sat in it backward and stared at Albert with a more critical eye. “Albert, Albert on the table top, how much handsome do I got? Don’t answer that. I don’t want any lip from you. I do, however, have a question or two.” Rodimus paused again, shook his head then dropped his forehead onto his arm crossing the chair’s back. “No, no. no more rhymes.” he lifted his head with a smile-burst. “On the other hand, it might irritate Cyclonus. Write that down, would you?”

More cocoa.


I’m switching off the lights
It’s much too bright for me in here
The walls begin to closing in
It’s all I can do to fight this fear.
In the mirror all I see
Reflecting what I used to be
Or to the things I used to say
And now I give it all away.”

Rodimus grunted. “Fiction 8. Not strong enough. Maybe a selection from ZZ Top?” He looked to his right hand before remembering his physical attributes did not include equipment upon call. No buzz saw, no forceps or drill. “Damn,” he muttered.

Rodimus spent fifteen minutes canvassing his room for tools. He found three then borrowed two others from Pipsqueak upon request. With a song from Avenged Sevenfold from his lips, Rodimus slowly pried the insectoid head open and examined it piece by piece. He tugged out an optic module, held it at eye-level and sang to it:

This means war...
This means war...
No home to call my own
No finding someone new
No one to break the fall
No one to see me through
No name to carry on
No promise for today
No one to hear the call
No tattered flag to raise

Walk the razor's edge
Cut into the madness
Question all you trust
Buy into the fear
I see the man ripping at my soul now
I, I know the man
I know him all too well...

A smile relieved his dour mood and Rodimus flipped through the card file of his memory and selected a piece from Queensryche.


Three hours later Parthon called Rodimus. The Automatron was up and better and ready to talk.

“Goody,” Roddi answered without enthusiasm. “Don’t start without me.” With a word to Optimus, Rodimus attended the meeting for both of them. He tugged on a pair of leather boots and joined five other concerned shipmates in the AV room. The moment he sat down, Rain leapt over the seat and sat beside him. She did not meet his eyes and somehow, Roddi didn’t think she needed to. He felt comfortable around her and lounged as if bored.

Parthon joined them, followed by Dot, Magnus and Plucky. The crescent seating allowed all of them to face their stowaway without trapping him in a circle of strangers. The Automatron squirmed in his seat and averted his eyes against the walls and floor.

At the last minute the doors opened again and Cyclonus stepped in with Pissant perched on his shoulder like a miniature puppeteer. Rodimus watched as the Decepticon lieutenant tugged a chair at the left and sat beside Plucky. Roddi did not like Pissant’s smile cast in his direction.

To the right, Parthon set a steamy cup of coffee to his lips while Dot on his right activated a small recording device. The captain offered their guest a reassuring smile. “Now we’re not here to interrogate you like a criminal, Darzon. You do not have to answer any questions you think are either too personal or incriminating. All we’re looking for is information before we reach Mechlatex. What we want is to hear your story. Nothing more. Are you comfortable with that? And are you sure you’d rather not just sit in the kitchen?”

“No. No kitchen. No tables. No bright lights on hard kitchen tables. I can’t-I can’t get autopsies out of my head. No forks. No knives.”

“I got a question,” Rodimus pipped to change the subject, “is ‘Darzon’ your name or is it something the snail gave you?”

“No, I am Darzon. I come from the Towering Rocks of Zaldath Canyon. But that was on Dawmalli before the Tsunami of Fire forced us out.”

Dot’s rough voice filled the room. “Dawmalli is close to the Chunyan Rift, Darzon. Were you born on Dawmalli or did you originate from the Rift?”

“I am from Series 409. There were 2,200 of us that molded from Livitune on Dawmalli before the Terrible came with his devils and took everyone away. Series 719 were rerouted and their minds stolen so that the Terrible’s minions could wear their bodies.”

Rodimus grimaced and frowned. “I don’t get anything you’re saying. What is this ‘Terrible’?”

Pissant scoffed. “Darzon, why don’t you describe the Terrible to our ignorant friend here? And leave out nothing.”

Rodimus felt sorry for the young male; he exhibited severe symptoms of PTSD. “I don’t know of the date and time for you but for us, for us from Dawmalli, it’s been two hundred seasons. I mean, since the Terrible destroyed everything. We heard what happened to SL2.” Darzon drifted a moment. Tears ran over his cheeks while his hands lay limp in his lap. “Not all cities fell to violence. Some cities simply turned soulless. The people died from the inside while their bodies continued to work. But other cities erupted with horrifying violence. The communications networks displayed monsters that looked similar to us but were not us. They were a wide, blocky people with great control over their forms. They flew amid the clouds and drove over the land like transports. They murdered and destroyed in the name of the Terrible. I saw the Terrible. I fell sore afraid because he was so great. His claws crushed whole buildings and his tail brought mountains to their foundations.”

Darzon sniffed and wiped his face with a sleeve. His eyes stared into a past unseen except in his own mind. “He changed his form into a giant and he destroyed and destroyed and destroyed until we became a defeated peoples. The devils and their abominable god ripped our moldlings from their cradles. We paid dearly for our ignorance. We considered ourselves the only life in the universe and we refused to listen to the testimonies and whispers of the initiated and abducted. They saw things in the sky and they suffered horrendous experiences and we mocked them. Now it’s hundreds of seasons too late. Dawmalli, Tumilitis, SL2 and BDX 3304 are places where the dead wander amid the shadows, searching for everything they’ve lost. And the moldlings are gone.”

Rodimus did not need schematics and a magnifying glass to guess who the ‘Terrible’ was. His lips trembled, his cheeks burned. Flashes of an ancient memory choked all rational thought from his mind. Hot painful tears stung his eyes as he recalled horrors of his own: of an Autobot called Trion, of another Ultra Magnus, another Optimus. The flashes invoked terrible grief so that Rodimus rushed out the room, leaned back against the doors and aimed for his quarters. But the meltdown caught him and he slammed his back against the right wall.

He tried to breathe and held his head as if it would burst apart. He gasped for air, trying to control himself.

No such luck.

Trion scrunched in front of him and gripped the Matrix tightly between his own two hands. The elder stared into it; treasure of the ages, and nodded. “You must think that I fear your little unholy alliance, Rodimus,” he said softly. “You probably think the Decepticons will come galloping into Metroplex and save the day. But I have the last say, my incorrigible, juvenile recalcitrant. I am taking over.”

Rodimus watched as Trion lifted the Matrix high over his head; an offering in the name of power lust. The traitor brought it down like a priest speeding his knife into a sacrifice. Roddi’s laser core stopped cold. Time froze. Trion smashed the Matrix; he smashed Rodimus’ heart. The Autobot leader stopped breathing. The universe fell silent.

Roddi remembered the overwhelming sadness thereafter. He died. He died.

Rodimus wept. The wound time once healed reopened and bled freely. It was real. It happened and the torment ripped his spark.

Get a grip! Think on something else! “No,” he said to himself. “I’m okay. I’m okay. I’m here and alive. I’m alive.”

The light through his eyelids darkened. Rodimus lifted his eyes and faced a somber lady with crazy dark hair and eyes wearing too much makeup. Rain scrunched before him without getting into his space. “That’s what I told myself every night after I was rescued.” she said quietly. “Get over it, Rain. Quit being such a crybaby, Rain. Grow a backbone and move on.’ That was my mantra for five years.”

She nodded toward the A/V room with a cold frown. “The snail suppressed most of my memories. But like he said, the soul doesn’t forget. You have to relearn how to be a person again. You have to learn how to be fair to yourself.”

Roddi nodded then shook his head. “‘Fair’ isn’t in my vocab, Babe. I’m an Autobot leader. Everything I do and say, every moment of my existence is for the Autobots.”

She blinked, pursed her lips and glanced to the right. “It’s your job, your identity. I get it. But you’re still a person, Rodimus. A plambus might be forced to plow a farmer’s field, but he’s still a plambus. Just because you’re a big shot doesn’t mean you don’t have needs yourself.”

“Oh, Primus,” Rodimus moaned.

“What?”

“You just... oh, you make my head hurt. You’re telling me the exact same thing I’ve told Optimus.” Roddi huffed, sniffed then huffed again. “I guess that means I have issues and it’s only a matter of time before Optimus starts trying to cheer me up.”

Rain drew back a bit, her face reflected bewilderment. “What does that mean?”

Rodimus pushed off the floor and stood straight. “Well, it’ll start out with a pep talk. And then he’ll try to cheer me up with too much happiness and funny. And then, when all else fails, he’ll pull a fast one.”

“What’s a ‘fast one’?”

“A prank.”

Rain walked with Roddi toward his quarters. Her arms folded, her cornflower blue lips spread. “You mean Mr. I’m-So-In-Love-I-Forgot-The-Universe-Exists is capable of pranking?”

Rodimus stretched his arms over his head and laced fingers behind his head. “You could say that, yeah.”

Roddi exiled himself to his quarters for hours. He rejected the call for dinner and engrossed himself over the broken wasp head.

As he picked at the tiniest of pieces, Optimus made the foretold ‘welfare call’. “I’m good, Op,” Roddi all but sang. “Thanks. No, not talking to myself; I got Albert for that. Who’s Albert? He’s, ah, he’s a politician, Optimus. Yeah, that’s right. He said he’s got goods on you, too. Yup. It’s all good, Op. I’m good. Kay, bye!”

At last Rodimus found the goods locked away in the insectoid’s brainpan. He carefully removed a thin strip of silver tape and held it to the light. When the chamber light failed to give him a better visual, Rodimus took it to the bathroom and scrutinized the chain of scratch marks.

“Do not open until Doomsday,” he said aloud. “Oh, wait, T-D-S-C-9.” Rodimus lowered his arms, thought through the lettering and smiled under a half-ass attempt. “Love, Shrapnel.”

The code revealed itself to him in 4. 3. 2. 1.

“Oh, crap,” Roddi whispered. “These were Shrapnel’s drones. Aaand they fought Galvatron.” (Wait for it:) “Oh, crap.”

He stood quite still, blinked once then twice and twirled back to Albert. “So what else you got to tell me, you bastardized Decepticon wannabe? Hm?”

Meanwhile he sang song after song, never finishing one before he started the next. He vaguely and momentarily wondered how the others spent their time.

His door buzzed and he ignored it. Albert was the only thing he cared about because bunk-buddies, good bunk-buddies who gossiped, were hard to find.

BZZZZZT.
BZZZZZT
BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTT!

Roddi slammed a pair of tweezers on the desk. “Dammit!” he yanked open the door and Optimus stood leaning against the door frame.

“Just thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”

“That’s disgustingly sweet of you. Now go away.”

Optimus slowly blinked. “Rodimus... Roddi. I’m worried about you.”

The Autobot’s Second ran fingers through his red hair. “Op, you’re great with the kids. You really are. And I appreciate that you think you can iron out my wrinkles with a few sagacious words. But my music therapy is working fine.”

“Everyone can hear you, Rodimus.”

“And an audience is even better!”

Optimus turned serious (well, more than usual). “Rodimus, caterwauling is not your strong suit.”

Rodimus sneered. “That so? I’ll change the genre.” He closed the door and locked it.

Seven hours passed by the time Rodimus laid the mech-head spread over his table like a multitude of puzzle pieces. He counted ninety-three songs hacked and ruined by his not-so-subtle voice.

“I need a scanner,” he said at last. Standing straight, one hand tucked under an arm and a finger over his lips, Rodimus’ head mulled. Can’t use Bookworm’s gadgets. Magnus would likely find something else for Rodimus to do the minute they ran into one another.

Ah! But Cloudstreaker would likely have what he needed!

“Yup,” he said aloud. He struck up the first chords from Natalie Cole’s Everlasting Love then interrupted it by the second verse with a song from Johnny Cash.

Someone buzzed his door. “Go away!” he shouted. “Evil genius at work!” Roddi spotted an e-pad on his dresser and swept it up.

The door buzzed again.

“Not interested!” Roddi sang. “Go away!” he turned his back on the door and loudly howled a song from Ratner Bensenson and the Lights. He e-tapped Cloudstreaker who answered that she indeed had what he needed but she and Pipsqueak had their hands full with delicate materials and she could not leave.

The door buzzed yet again and Roddi broke into an annoying Disney song. He e-tapped Cloudy he’d drop by and nab-

BZZZZZZTT!

With a swear word on his lips, Roddi threw open the door. “WHAT?!”


ULTRA MAGNUS

Adrenaline pumped through Magnus’ veins like the sweetest hot sauce in the galaxy. Leaving the wrestling ring was like bidding farewell to a favorite chair. Magnus did not restrain his fight. He tied no strings around his power and he delivered every punch like a divine stamp of approval.

He did not care how Rodimus and the others stared at his clothing-or near lack thereof. Like a comic book hero, their expressions bounced off his chest; weak as paper bullets. The wresting tournaments lent him a therapy unlike anything in decades.

Oh, certainly there have been many campaigns and battles that have allowed Magnus to release his inner powerhouse. But even the battlefield had its rules; when the fight was called, it was done. But the ring (at least at Cygnus) liberated his passion for fighting. No rules, no time limits, no mercy.

Without a doubt, Magnus’ opponents felt the same, even if someone else had to drag them off the mat.

But oh, was he sore! Magnus inwardly laughed at each bruise he counted.

Now he shoved his victory onto the shelf of experience and moved forward. He was not expecting events to heat up before they returned to the Infraction, however. Everyone turned when they saw Galvatron appear from a bench eight stores away. A squad of mechanical wasps headed in their direction while a young male humanoid pushed his way through the crowd of shoppers. Everything moved so fast but what caught Magnus’ breath was how Galvatron fought them. No hesitation. No spared second for thought. One by one each menace met an untimely end, smashed to pieces as if Galvatron were the only gladiator in an arena. He caught the last wasp and did not so much as groan when it sank its legs into his arm.

Meanwhile someone shouted for them to leave. Magnus spotted several other figures following the wasps, people Galvatron did not see as he and Parthon raced for the group.

Four single-faced Quintessons flew in their direction, tentacles flaying behind them. One drew a photon rifle as the world around them lit with shimmering stars. Rodimus caught Rusti when she fainted. Galvatron, the stranger with him and Parthon leapt into their midst. Optimus caught Galvatron and Magnus caught an oddly shaped object before the world flashed with freezing pinpricks.

An abrupt shift in scene, temperature and atmosphere disoriented Magnus. He staggered against a nearby bulkhead and winced at the cold hard surface. In front of him, Rodimus shouted for Bookworm. Optimus grunted under Galvatron’s weight and adjusted his center accordingly.

The floor under them trembled and Magnus realized they returned to the Infraction by means of a transporter. As Magnus’ head cleared, Rain and Parthon jumped from the pad and raced out the room.

The ship shook harder while voices shouted over the intercom.

Pipsqueak grabbed their alien stowaway and yelled at Magnus. The ship shuddered a third time as Bookworm rushed to save Rusti’s life. Glancing first at Cloudstreaker, then the object in his hands, the Major-general followed Pipsqueak out the room and to the left. They raced down the poorly-lit corridor, winding one direction then another. Their new shipmate spoke incoherently as Pipsqueak tugged him along. He stumbled and Magnus thought the Infraction’s engineer was going to stop and haul him over her shoulder. Instead she slapped a door to their left and led them into the engine room.

Leaving their guest with Magnus and Cloudy, Pipsqueak jumped high, caught herself on a short ladder and scrambled onto the engine’s upper level. She punched two large yellow knobs into the side of a cylindrical generator. A loud drone thrummed through Magnus’ bones and he winced.

Pipsqueak grasped a lever high over her head and almost as big as she. “Hang on!” she shouted above the roar.

The Infraction bucked and jittered before a powerful vibration resonated through the interior. A shock of cold slammed into Magnus; Cloudstreaker collapsed. Their stowaway screamed, clasped the sides of his head and dropped to his knees. As sudden as it hit, the effects vanished and left the three of them shivering.

Magnus gathered every ounce of strength to locate Pipsqueak where she lay on the lip of the upper story. “Pipsqueak?” his thin voice barely penetrated the air. He breathed twice then called her again.
“Yadda-nad,” she replied weakly. She tugged her wilted form against the engine and rested a moment before hitting a button above her head. “Sorry ‘bout that, Captain,” she said with an equally exhausted voice.
Parthon gasped for breath over the intercom. “It’s good, Pip. You did good. So glad we don’t use that all the time!”

“Tu,” Pipsqueak smacked the button again. She and Magnus stared while Cloudstreaker stirred.

“What the smelt was that?” Cloudy demanded.
 
Pipsqueak smiled as she recovered. “Last resort escape plan. I invented and installed it myself.”

“Escape plan?” Magnus echoed.

“Tu. It does three things: First, it jumps the ship twenty light years. Second, it vaporizes our pathway so no one can track our neutrion trail. And third: my personal fave, it blows all scanning equipment within a decaleap.”

“What’s a decaleap?” Cloudy instantly asked.

“Uh, well, if you were to take the Infraction and multiply her by 209,907.84 thekams, you’d have a decaleap.

Magnus’ turn: “what’s a thekam?”

“The Infraction is 4.17 thekams.”

Cloudy and Magnus both calculated the sizes in their heads. “Oh,” they chimed.

“The problem,” Pipsqueak continued, “is that it drains bio-electricity from organics. Can’t seem to find a way around it.”

“No kidding,” Magnus sneered. He stood on shaky legs and gracelessly hauled the young man to his feet. He helped Cloudstreaker up, picked up Galvatron’s consolation prize then gave Pipsqueak his infamous dour expression. “What now?”

Pipsqueak jumped from her perch and smiled nervously.

They joined Parthon on the bridge and behind them Cyclonus entered with Pissant on his shoulder. The snail smiled at their new member and waved.

“Zaschitsa, Darzon! Meit do aline keight demelos.”

“P-pazazine elg diame, ven bosteir.” the young man stammered in turn.

Cyclonus set the snail on the navigation control consol and sat in the next chair. Pissant counted the group. “Where are the rest of us?”

“Never mind that!” Parthon snapped. “What the cangot is this about?! YOU’RE responsible for his being here, Pissant! Out with it!”

Unfazed by Parthon’s temper, Pissant’s voice came calm and condescending. “First, Dear Captain, shall we not extend some courtesy and assign him some quarters? And you, Magnus, I’ve had quite enough a view of your chest. Please go away and clean up.”

All eyes zeroed on Magnus who held his hands apart, the wasp head dangled from his left. “What?” he asked innocently. “My outfit does not disqualify me from decency. And it’s far from important.” Magnus found it difficult to suppress a smile when Cloudstreaker silently laughed. Neverthless, all eyes froze on him, a silent reprimand. “Fine,” he growled. “Pipsqueak and I will escort- what’s your name?”

“It’s Darzon,” Pissant answered in the Automatron’s stead. “And thank you, Magnus. You made a wise decision.” He ignored the obscene gesture Magnus flipped him as he exited the bridge.

Pipsqueak, Magnus and Darzon took the nearest lift from the bridge. Pipsqueak picked Darzon’s room around the corner from Bookworm’s. She and Magnus waved him good night when he plopped on his bed and sighed straight into sleep. They took five steps before Pipsqueak spoke again.

“I was wondering who was going to take care of your eighth party today. We’ve been gone several hours at the space station.”

“Eighth party?” Magnus looked perplexed.

“That Daniel fellow we have locked up.”

“Oh, shit!” his glance shot toward the back end of the ship and thereby the storage bay. “Optimus Prime was taking care of him.”

“Tu. But he took the bald hero to Bookworm’s medical bay.”

A soft laugh escaped Magnus’ diaphragm. He cleared his throat, catching himself. “Right. I, I guess I’ll have to look in on him.” Magnus held the wasp’s head up so that it swung from artificial connective tissue. “I suppose I should find a place to put this, first.” Another thought came to him: “Pipsqueak, I’d like to know more about that... that device you made. I’d love to have something like that for the Mozart. Though, I don’t know what you’d charge for it.”

Tilting her head, Pip’s face lit with piqued interest. “Larger ship. Greater challenge. Let me think on it, Mister Magnus.”

Magnus found his own way back to the corridor where his quarters were stationed. He spotted Rodimus approaching from the opposite end and grinned. “Rodimus!”

“That’s right, Mags,” Roddi frowned. “I’m proud of you for remembering my name.”

Magnus rolled his eyes and dangled the wasp head. “This needs to be examined.” He suddenly decided to give Rodimus a choice, rather than an order. “But Daniel also needs to be fed.”

“I am not in the mood for Daniel torture,” Rodimus scoffed.

“I know. That’s why I’m offering this while I handle Daniel.”

Rodimus took the wasp head like a present. His jaw dropped, his face lit up. “Magnus! I didn’t know you cared! I mean, yes, of course you care. It’s what you are, right? But taking on Daniel? All by yourself, too? Or is this a peace offering for helping you with Daniel?”

“I don’t need help with Daniel,” Magnus returned confidently. To be honest with himself, he’d just as soon as strangle that asshole with a shoestring. Magnus forced on a subtle smile. “But you need something to keep busy.”

Rodimus bounced his own head from shoulder to shoulder. “Yeah, okay. It’s all good, Mags. Thanks.” he tossed the robotic head into the air and caught it.

Magnus shook his head and wondered if Rodimus would ever develop a more serious personality.
 

“Well, now! What divine authority has seen fit to bless me with a visitor?” Daniel Witwicky’s voice barely penetrated the cargo bay’s deep silence. Magnus activated the lights and scanned the large cargo hall wall to wall. Huge crates and wooden boxes lined the sides, piled atop one another or squatted under large wrinkled tarps. A chainlink cage sat in the middle. Apparently the contraption was designed for animals. A small dark enclosure contained a bed within the cage. A slot at the front gate yawned tall enough to allow dishes in and out. Magnus scoffed with approval.

“I like your new layout, Daniel. It’s more fitting than an energo-prison.”

“Oh, I’m sure you find my predicament most amusing, Magnus. Witwicky emerged from the shadow. His dark eyes reflected weariness. He scowled. “Magnus, did Prime or Prime decide they were suddenly too good to feed their pet? Did they forget about Spot?”

“You’re far from pet material, Daniel,” Magnus opened a small storage cupboard and made meal choices.

Witwicky grunted and folded his arms. “I don’t suppose there’s a pad I can have; something with a game on it?”

“There’s real books here.”

“Oooh,” Daniel mocked. “Is there a Danco S’Vore or Testament of Graces there, too?”

Magnus actually checked the collection in a paper box beside the cupboard. Not surprising, none of them were written in English. “No.”

“Just as well,” Witwicky snarled. “I’d only use them to wipe my ass.”

With a stone-solid expression, Magnus brought a plate piled with sandwiches and slid it under the door. He followed that with a canteen of water. “That’s not surprising, Daniel, considering you wipe your ass on everything else.”

Witwicky sneered. “You keep treating me like some sort of criminal.”

“You are a criminal,” Magnus returned sharply. “We just haven’t taken time to deal with you.”

“Oh.” Witwicky picked up the plate and examined the food. “I’m pretty sure the Autobots have better things to do than harass me.”

“Mm. By the way, I know what you did on my ship. And yes, I’m talking about Chalk-Talk. I would have you executed, Daniel, had I any say about it.”

Witwicky remorselessly stuffed his mouth and nodded. “Won’t happen ,” he said around the bread. “You’ll all just leave me to rot someplace else.”

“There are things worse than death, Daniel.”

Witwicky smirked and ate another bite. “I’m mot going to die, Magnus. So you can relax. I bet-“ he licked a finger. “I bet I’ll outlive you. In fact, I’ll outlive all of you.”

Magnus scorned him. “And you know this how?”

“You kidding me? You’re all fools. You’re out playing the universe like a pinball machine and you expect to come out the winner. You won’t win. Remember Cratis? You and Rodimus had your asses handed to you. And Grimlock: permanently out of commission. In fact, I find it sad that you guys won’t pull his plug and let him die with a measure of dignity.”

Magnus crossed his powerful arms. “You’re a fatalist, Daniel.”

“I’m a realist, Magnus. The rest of you have become the backside of all the Lost In Space jokes I’ve ever heard. But hey, at least I get a front row seat watching you mechanical morons swirl down the drain to your demise.”

“Hm.” Magnus fell quiet then added, “you know, Daniel, you haven’t lived long enough to say things like that. I’ve lived hopeless. This is not hopeless.”

Daniel snorted again. “What do you call it, then? ‘Long Road Home With Several Detours’? Did it occur to you that we may never get back to the Autobots? How many trans-dimensional leaps into Never-Never Land do you think we have to make?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Witwicky cleaned his teeth with his tongue. “And what if there’s nothing left by the time we get there?”

Magnus’ lips turned upward but the smile was not a cheerful one. “There’s always the hunt for justice or revenge.”


Magnus left Daniel, glad to get away from Witwicky’s brooding mood. Magnus vowed he’d allow Optimus the privilege of handling Witwicky next time.

As he entered his quarters, Magnus heard the squall of a dying yak.

Wait.

Was that... was that Shen Zu Pang’s ‘Entwined’? It sounded like-

“Rodimus,” Magnus surmised. And the horrible singing leeched through the ship’s vents.

“RODIMUS!” Magnus bellowed, “SHUT UP!”

Immediate silence did not last longer than twenty seconds before Rodimus struck up tones from a rock opera.

Knowing nothing said or shouted affected Rodimus’ immature mood, Magnus abandoned his room for a quieter place.

He made for the kitchen when Rain caught him.

“Hey! ‘Conversation With an Alien’ is about to start. We’re meeting in the AV room if you wanna listen in.”

Magnus unscrambled her message. “Yes, I do. This is not the first time we’ve encountered an Automatron.”

“Really? Come on, then. Not all Automatrons are made of the same metal.”

Magnus trailed behind Rain and entered the AV theater with Dot and Parthon. The captain strolled in with comfortable clothes, slippers and a cup of hot coffee. Magnus picked a seat and noticed with amusement how Rain annoyed Rodimus like a pesky little sister.

Once everyone settled, Darzon sadly explained himself and his history as prompted by Rodimus then Pissant. The humanoid-mech spent as much time recollecting himself as he recounted his grizzly tale of death and destruction. Magnus held no doubts Skorponok kept himself busy.

But as Darzon surrendered more details, Rodimus abruptly fled the room. Rain tracked after him a moment later, leaving the others confused and a little concerned.

Pissant, however, insisted they continue. “What we need to know, Darzon, is whether or not the survivors are scattered across the stars, or if they are banded together. Mind you, I understand it’s easier to pick off a group than hunt down individuals. But we-as directed by the good captain here-are trying to lend assistance. Clearly you were the only Automatron on the SS Cygnus. Where are the others?”

The young male gripped his dark hair and bowed over. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “There’s Ryumee on Mechlatex. But she’s the only contact I’ve had for five cycles. I’ve just been running. I won’t go to Mechlatex and I won’t go to Plapaudonus.”

“Plapaudonus?” Dot echoed. “That’s just a desert planet. Do you think there are others there, possibly?”

“No.” Darzon folded over, his words barely audible. “No. Plapaudonus is empty. It’s nothing. There’s nothing. People think it’s safe. Nothing is safe.”

“I have a question,” Magnus stated. “What exactly do you plan to do once or if you find all the Automatron survivors? I don’t know how far and wide Psyklenox’s territory runs, but now that he’s teamed with Skorponok, chances are, his regime will expand exponentially. Is there anyone who is trying to put a stop to it?”

The Infraction’s crew glanced at one another until Pissant spoke again.

“No.”

“What?”

“No.”

Magnus creased his brows in confusion. “I don’t-“

pissant’s voice strengthened. ”There is no army, Ultra Magnus. No group, no people strong or powerful enough to fight Psyklenox and Skorponok.”

Magnus passed his bewildered expression from the snail to Parthon, Plucky and Dot. “How many planets are involved? How many systems? There is not one government, not one people willing to stand against this insanity?”

Dot’s sad voice filled the theater. “There is resistance, Ultra Magnus. But that’s not the same thing as an opposing army. The only reason people can still move from planet to planet or territory to territory is because Psyklenox’s attention is on his growing army, not in controlling everyday life. It won’t be long before he starts oppressing the masses, however. As you saw on the Cygnus, there are cameras and soldiers and ‘investigators’ everywhere. People are distracted and catered to so they have nothing to complain about. News is carefully controlled but there are a few of us who manage to get the truth out. It’s just that we don’t know how many are listening. When you are having fun, the last thing you want to hear is how whole sections of cities or planets are destroyed by war, famine or disease. And once our voices are cut off, then you know there is no more freedom.”

Magnus turned back to Darzon and realized the Automatrons were practically an extinct people.


After several insignificant questions, the session ended and Magnus returned to his quarters in a worse mood than before. He dropped onto his bed, despising their situation. They needed to get back to Earth and end the Quintesson Occupation once and for all. Sadly enough, this section of space suffered a similar dilemma wrought by an ancient warlord and his new minions. Magnus wanted to help these people and their children who were losing their homes, their freedom and their lives. But Earth was just as important, if not more so.

“You say that I'm the only one...”

Magnus eyed the air vent. He did NOT hear that. No dead donkeys in the air vents, please.

“...But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning sun...”

“RODIMUS, THAT HAD BETTER NOT BE YOU!”

“...And I won't ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?”

Magnus did not know the song; he did not care. He recognized the next song from Fleetwood Mac and roared his displeasure.

Silence.

Twelve seconds.

Silence.

Twenty-two seconds.

“Ohhhh... tie a yellow ribbon ‘round the old oak tree...”

The last filament busted and Magnus decided it time to act.

Four and a half hours into his plotting, Magnus’ stomach called. He forgot his disadvantageous situation and checked his chronometer.

What chronometer?! Human, remember?

Dammit!

He twisted round right then left, searching for a clock.

No clock amid the room’s inventory.

Damn.

Pushing from the table, Magnus tugged on his boots and the vest from the Mozart.

And thinking of his beloved ship, the Major-general intended to pour through all sketches and ideas for the Sagittarian Mozart. The depressing conversation with Daniel Witwicky made Magnus realize their fleet consisted of refugee ships, not war vessels. And while his ship, the Trench Driver, the Sabor’s Claw and the Armored Crest had good weapons and great scanners, they fell far short of Decepticon battle cruisers. The Restitution, for example, had the bulkhead of fifteen feet of solid metal. Megatron once boasted how the Restitution sliced clean through an Autobot flagship.

Although Magnus was not looking to reformat the Mozart into a space-faring battering ram, he needed a serious upgrade.

“And I’m going to give him one,” Magnus said aloud.

Someone buzzed Magnus’ door. “Yeah,” he replied.

The door slid open and Dot peered in. “Ultra Magnus? Something’s happened to Cyclonus. You might want to come with me.”

They had two fully functional and conscious Primes on board. Magus forgave Optimus, whose mind and heart were preoccupied. “What of Rodimus? Did you talk with him?”

“He won’t answer either door or com.”

“Of course not,” the city commander growled.

He followed the old lady two rooms down where Bookworm and Captain Parthon hovered over the Decepticon’s fallen form.

Cyclonus lay face-down near his bed. Pissant plastered himself to the wall nearby the doorpost. He wrung his hands and watched as Bookworm scanned the fallen Decepticon with two different devices. Captain Parthon and Ultra Magnus stood nearby, waiting Bookworm’s prognosis.

Pittstop joined them a moment later carrying a flat metal board. He sent Pissant a look of disgust. “Must you has to hangs on the wall likes that?”

“Yes,” the mollusk answered instantly. “And if it annoys or grosses you out, I’ll be sure to do it more often.” He added a smug smile and folded his arms.

Pittstop sneered and stepped between Magnus and Parthon, stretcher at the ready. “I doesn’t knows where you keeps yer stuff, Books. This was alls I could find.”

“Good ‘nuff. Help me turn the patient over.”

“Is he going to be all right?” Magnus asked.

Ignoring Magnus’ question, Bookworm and Pittstop unfolded the metal board and pinched its four corners. The device changed into a long gurney complete with an antigravity drive and a force field that held Cyclonus in place during transport. Bookworm stashed his scanners into pockets and turned the gurney toward the door.

“Pittstop, who’s manning the bridge?” Parthon followed.

“Rain’s gots the bridge, Cap’n,” the navigator answered.

Bookworm cut Pittstop off to answer Ultra Magnus. “I don’t know yet. I don’t think it’s anything to do with the transporter. He was fine until now. Unless, of course, Pissant knows something we don’t.”
Parthon and Ultra Magnus turned to the doorway and found Pissant conveniently missing. Parthon swore in one language and Magnus in English. The captain snorted. “Here, Books, let me help out with that.” He took up the doctor’s place at the gurney.

Magnus clenched a fist. “I don’t suppose you’d mind if I have a short conversation with the slug, would you, Captain?”

“Wait at his door, Magnus. It’s safer if I’m there, too.”


Magnus waited as instructed, hovering around the snail’s quarters like a sniper with a rash. Parthon joined him ten minutes later and buzzed the door.

The captain smirked mirthlessly. “I don’t really expect him to answer the door, Magnus,” he said. “It’s just that I’m too polite.”

“I could bust it down if you’d like,” Magnus offered quietly.

Parthon huffed and grinned. “Not necessary. I am, after all, both ship’s captain and the owner.” He produced a control device the shape of a boomerang and pressed a button.

They stepped through the door together and scanned Pissant’s quarters. The snail, engaged in a holographic game, ignored them until he lost the session. With a foul word on his little lips, the mollusk slimed his way to the edge of the room’s table and gave his peers a bored, condescending expression.

“So nice of you two to knock,” he groused quietly.

“What happened to Cyclonus?” Magnus asked without preamble.
 
Pissant scoffed. “How the Torments am I supposed to know? Do I look like Bookworm’s medical journal?”

Parthon’s expression hardened. “Pissant, you’re not just some sapient snail. So quit being an ass and answer the question.”

“In case you have not noticed, Captain P. Ass is part of my name in reverse. But don’t think about it too long. I don’t want you to go comatose with brain damage. As for Cyclonus, I can’t be certain. I may be an awesome little spit wad but I am not omniscient. Tell you what: that Human female, Rusti, seems to know all about me. You might ask her. After all, she’s not entirely what she seems to be. Sorta like you, Ultra Magnus. And I’d develop that further, but Decepticons are not an exciting topic.”

Magnus’ patience waned. “Then how can we find out for certain?”

Pissant smiled. “I suppose we’ll just have to wait. You hate that, don’t you?”


Magnus returned to his quarters. The two days of relative quiet in their lives unraveled a moment at a time. He knew without question trouble waited for them around the corner. He sat at the edge of his bed and rubbed his forehead.

A deep, unscratchable itch nagged Magnus; an itch to get back to their fleet and prepare for war. More than ever, he determined to make changes to his ship. Magnus wanted the Sagittarian Mozart to lead the refugees against the Quintessons. Cyclonus’ illness gave the Major-general a shortened sense of time. Whatever they needed to do, needed to be done as immediately as possible.

An off-key screech like aluminum scraped over rocks, rollicked out the air vent.

Rodimus. Singing. Horribly.

And on purpose.

Again.

Magnus’ nostrils flared. Enough was enough. He had enough. He gathered all the notes, plans and sketches for the Mozart and worked on those finishing touches to the plan to ruin Rodimus’ day. He was going to say something with such finality that Rodimus will never forget or forgive.

After all, Ultra Magnus did not need forgiveness, just a set of audio receptors and a meta processor with a decent connective system.

First, however, there were a few items needed.

Magnus left his quarters in search of Pipsqueak. He departed down the corridor, took a left and found a door marked with a poster.

Magnus would have passed it by were it not that his eye caught the word FART. He stopped, looked puzzled and reversed course.

GALVATRON’S FART CHART

Magnus planted fists on his hips. “You have got to be kidding me.”

SINGLE STANDARD FART.........4 PTS
BELCH + FART.... 20 PTS
QUIET BUT DEADLY ...... 25 PTS
“IT’S THE DOG’S FAULT”.... 20 PTS. 40 IF EVERYONE BELIEVES YOU.
THREE FARTS+...30 PTS. ADD 25 IF THEY’RE LONG-LASTING.
SNEEZE + ACCIDENTAL FART... 20. 35, IF STINKY.
TWO (2) BELCHES + A FART ..30. ADD 50 IF IT’S A RACE TO THE BATHROOM.
FART DURING SLEEP... 30 PTS. 70 IF SOMEONE ELSE IS IN THE ROOM/BED
PUBLIC FART.... 40 PTS. 100 IF SOMEONE DIES.
BATHROOM STINK BOMBS... 100 PTS. 250 IF THE PAINT PEELS.

Magnus frowned. “And I thought Rodimus was immature.” The Autobot commander scoffed at each door he passed. Galvatron’s brand of mischief was harmless, if not so subtle. At least he did not produce the fireworks of pranks that Rodimus was infamous for. Optimus’ was always last-minute, undetectable. Magnus considered himself a non-prankster. It was a childish waste of time.

Magnus stepped through the door into engineering where Cloudstreaker and Pipsqueak welded wiring to a five-foot cylindrical object in the middle of the cavernous room. Cloudstreaker cheerfully greeted Magnus.

He ignored her in favor of the Infraction’s chief mechanic. “I need a favor,” he announced.

Pipsqueak lifted a dark visor from her eyes and her cheeks bubbled with a smile. “So you say!” she handed a Y-shaped tool to Cloudy and joined Magnus. “Hi!”

“Erm, it’s more like a shopping list.” The Major-general handed her a small e-pad. She walked away, reading his list.

Cloudstreaker’s voice bounced off the engine room’s walls and floor as she continued to work on the mechanism’s complex frame. “Pipsqueak is teaching me technology I might be able to apply in other areas in the fleet.”

Magnus nodded, half listening. “Hmhm.”

Awkward silence.

Cloudy tried again. “I heard there was a commotion over Cyclonus.”

Magnus answered without meeting her gaze. “They don’t know what’s wrong. Not really, anyway.”

Pipsqueak returned with a large box in her arms. She handed it to Magnus and took a rope from between her teeth. “The white stuff you can get from one of Pittstop’s pillows. And careful, it’ll get everywhere.”

“Got it.”

Cloudstreaker wiped excess lubricant from the steel frame wonderd what preoccupied Magnus’ attention. “What are you working on, Ultra Magnus?”

The Major-general took a swift inventory of his goods. “A project I should have done years ago.” he departed without either a thank you or a good-bye. He was a mech on a mission long since overdue.

Rodimus now sang a stupid, really nasty ditty. Magnus resisted the urge to bang Roddi’s door and shove a pair of dirty underwear into Prime’s mouth.

Stick to the task, he told himself.

At the last, he produced a remote control from his pocket and startled when he realized Galvatron stood beside him.

“Whatchya doing?”

Magnus almost dropped the remote and shushed the Decepticon. He dragged Galvatron down the end of the hall and round the corner.

What the hell ‘r you doing here?!” he harshly whispered.

Galvatron shrugged. “I’m on a new campaign.”

“Yeah. I saw your posters.”

The Decepticon smiled as pleased as the shiny spot at the top of his head. “Education is important.”

“A fart chart, Galvatron? That’s hardly educational material and a little juvenile.”

Galvatron puckered his lips in thought. “Everyone needs a hobby. And speaking of which, what were you building in the middle of the hallway?”

Magnus stared at Galvatron’s solid red eyes. “Revenge,” he said a moment later.

Galvatron smiled, a dubious look on his face. “And I’m juvenile why?”

Magnus shook his head. “Later! I’m about to have a long-overdue, perfect moment.”

Galvatron looked nonplused but Magnus ignored him. The Autobot commander peered round the corner and pressed a button on his remote.

Rodimus’ door buzzed.

GALVATRON

Galvatron sat beside an old friend. A cheerful fire lit the comfortable living room just enough to chase out the shadows from their faces. A cup of brew warmed Galvatron’s hands while the world outside turned silent under the growing blanket of snow.

Galvatron’s sweet wife slept soundly in the next room while he and his friend, Emanuel, talked long into the night. They spoke of sports and science discoveries. They laughed over past events and considered ideas for the future. Galvatron listened more than talked. He concluded long ago that nights like these were the best times of his life.

“Have you heard the Music, Galvatron?” his friend asked.

“Now and again,” the Decepticon answered quietly. “It’s a sweet, short melody, something I love to listen to over and over.”

“And you will,” Emanuel promised. “Your life is far from over. You are already aware of this.”

“Yes.” And not for the first time that evening, Galvatron smiled and sipped the rich brew in his cup.

“You will be a leader again, Galvatron. You have been good and faithful in those few things. I will bring you a people to care for and ministrate over.”

Galvatron mulled over the promise. “What if I am no longer interested in leadership? Have I not brought the curse of solitude upon myself?”

“It is not what you do that causes me to decide these things, Galvatron,” Emanuel replied as he watched the fire. “It’s what pleases me to do.”

“Then I will do the very best I can,” he promised.

Emanuel smiled. “I know you will.”


Galvatron regained consciousness. The dream left him with peaceful hope and confident expectation. Once he realized he lay in unfamiliar surroundings, he marched his eyes to the right. Galvatron smiled, discovering Optimus sitting not far away, slumped over the edge of another bed.

The Decepticon’s smile faded to worry when he noticed who lay on the bed. “Prime,” he croaked. “Ahem, Optimus.”

His friend lifted a weary head. His light smile did not go beyond his lips. “Glad to see you conscious again.”

“How long have I been out of commission, and what happened to Rusti?”

Her body, um the transporter was not set for human physiology. Her... some of her organs shut down and Bookworm is keeping her under while they repair.”

“I’m sorry. Will she be alright?” Optimus nodded and Galvatron laid back on his pillow.

“How is your arm?”

“What of my arm? I have an arm?” Galvatron lifted his injured arm and grinned. “Oh, hello, arm! I can’t feel you, right now. What am I on and what did that?”

“You were playing hero in the mall, Galvatron.” Optimus read the Decepticon’s confused expression. “The wasp drone?”

“Oh! Seems like I did not win.”

“You won but with a price; you were poisoned.”

His memories slowly unfolded and Galvatron knitted his brows. “There was a little fellow-“

”He’s safe with us.”

Galvatron smirked. “Safe with us? Smacks of irony. What’s safe about us?”

“Considering what we’ve been through, absolutely nothing.”

“I’ll personally take responsibility for that. I have nothing else to do today.” The former Decepticon leader rested a moment then drew a breath. “You know what I need right now, Optimus?”

“To get laid?”

The response was so swift and so un-Optimus it took Galvatron by surprise. He stared at the humanized Autobot leader and laughed. Optimus joined him with a quiet chuckle.

Galvatron tested his fingers. No broken bones, nothing missing. He sat up, staring at the heavy dressing. “I need to get out of here. I need to move, to run. I need to fly.”

Optimus tilted his head slightly forward. “I suggest you get some clothes on first.”

The Decepticon checked under the covers and flushed. “What the Pitt...?” Optimus only shook his head. With a slight grimace, Galvatron got out of bed and winced at the cold flooring. “You’re right, Prime. I need clothes. Where are they?”

“I do not know what Bookworm did with them. There is, however an open gown at the foot of your bed.”

Galvatron picked up the white article with a finger and thumb as if it were filthy and smelly. “This will not do,” he said aloud. “Damn doctors and their bad sense of humor.” He slipped the clean gown on backward and twisted round like a dog looking for the tie. “I know there’s a belt here somewhere.”

Stifling laughter Optimus went to help. “First,” he said, “It’s on backwards.”

“But it’s open like a robe,” Galvatron whined.

“It’s not a robe.” Optimus held it open so that the befuddled Decepticon could slip it on with both arms.

“But, it leaves me butt-naked.”

“So that doctors can examine you, Dummy.”

“I don’t wanna be examined!” Galvatron reached back as Optimus tied the gown behind him. “It’s breezy back there.”

“Just sneak back to your quarters, Galvatron. You’ll be fine,” Prime promised. He returned to Rusti’s side while the Decepticon settled down. He paced one way, then another and finally stood still.

“You know,” he said to Optimus. “The thought of walking the halls in bare skin sounds appealing; especially if it annoys Rodimus.” He paused. “Wait a minute. Do I even have a change of clothes in my quarters?”

Again Optimus smiled but a hint of weariness rounded his eyes. “I have some in my quarters. You’re welcome to use them. And honestly, Galvatron, no one really wants to see that much of you.”

Galvatron turned toward the door with a grin. He hesitated then turned back to Optimus. “Is this the same as breaking out of jail?”

“What?”

“You know: AMA.”

“Auto-mechanical abandonment?”

Galvatron could not tell if Optimus was seriously that ignorant or if he was joking. “Against Medical Advice.”

“No one is advising you anything. Go away, Galvatron.”

Whole-heartedly amused, the Decepticon slipped out the door. He made sure the corridor was devoid of traffic before proceeding forward. The coast was clear as the view of his ass. Encouraged, the Decepticon swiftly tracked the hall, making as little noise as possible. He took a left and down four steps into the quarters portion of the Infraction.

“Hey! What goes you this way?”

Galvatron squeaked and flattened his back to the cold metal wall. His right arm protested the sudden movement and he grimaced.

Pittstop, the fellow with green-tinted skin and large, bulbous eyeballs, stared at Galvatron like a hungry person at a steak. Pittstop pointed a long boney finger at Galvatron. “You’s supposed to bes in sickbay, Galvatron. Bookworm says you gots poisoned.”

Galvatron huffed nervously and cradled his injured arm. “Is that a fact? Is that why he thought it a great idea to stash my clothes?”

“What? Were you going to yours room?”

“Noticed that, did you?”

“Your escape plans need refinesment, Galvatron.”

The otherwise sheepish Decepticon trained his face into neutral. “I used to fly out of such peculiar and embarrassing situations.” Something gurgled in Galvatron’s gut. He grinned with embarrassment and scooted down the wall. “My quarters await me, Pittstop.”

“You’re still unders medical care.” Pittstop’s large eyes grew larger at the bomb-tastic sound Galvatron’s body made. The alien’s lips drew wide and thin before he cackled with laughter. He laughed and laughed then held his middle and laughed harder. He bowed over and kept laughing.

With a controlled, if nervous smile, Galvatron inched his way down the wall until he slipped into his quarters. Even when the steel door clanged shut, Pittstop’s whooping laughter continued.

Galvatron leaned against the door, grateful for the privacy. He gently rubbed the growing pain spiking up and down his arm. Maybe leaving medbay wasn’t so good an idea. No matter. Galvatron’s restless state refused to settle. And while he stood in the middle of his quarters, doing nothing, his mind raced over a million subjects; where were they headed? Was everyone okay? Where was the kitchen? Didn’t Optimus say he had extra clothes in his quarters?

The pain mutated into a burning sensation that soured his stomach and Galvatron knew someone was bound to give him an ‘I-Told-You-So’. AMA: not so spectacular an idea, not when it felt as though someone shoved a long, fiery icepick into his wrist and up his shoulder. At first he thought finding better clothing a greater priority. But as the painkiller wore thin, his brain yearned to shut down.

AMA, he thought. Won’t do that again. At least Optimus did not make fun of him. Or maybe he did. Auto-mechanical abandonment? Yeah, pretty sure Op made fun of him. The bed seduced his agitated, restless state. Galvatron nested his baldness into the pillow and little by little succumbed to the lure of sleep.


He woke much later and stared at the flat metal ceiling until his organic body begged him to take a trip to the lavatory, aching arm or not. After using the bathroom a number of times since their transformation, Galvatron learned to appreciate organic life forms. What a pain in the ass (literally) it was to stop several times a day to ‘dump the trash’.

He washed and carefully dried his hands and upon returning to the main room, found a small pile of folded laundry on his bed. Were those there before? Or did someone enter his room? Optimus’ clothes, he realized. Atop the pile lay a handwritten note from Dot inviting him to the kitchen anytime he needed a snack.

Nice. He grabbed for the jeans and grit his teeth. Every move he made resonated with pain. Go slow. As he picked up the clothes, a hard cover book smacked the floor at his feet. Bracing for another dose of pain, he picked up the book and found page after page of blank lines. He huffed with a light smile. “Hello, Book,” he said cheerfully. “How about a story?” Galvatron dropped the book on his bed and with one arm, put on underclothes and tugged on the jeans. The black T-shirt would have to wait.

“Oh, I guess you can’t speak,” he added. “That’s a little antiquated, wouldn’t you say? Oh. So sorry. You can’t say because you don’t have the words. My job, right?”

He scanned the room for a pen or pencil. Delighted he found one, Galvatron sat at a little table and opened the first page. Of course, the great Decepticon was dexter. But Galvatron prided himself a mech of many talents and wrote with his left hand.

DEAR... BOOK.

That looked right.

I WRITE SINISTER BECAUSE AUTOBOT PRIMES AREN’T THE ONLY MECHS WITH AMAZING ADAPTIVE POWERS. TEN DAYS TO MECHLATEX. SO FAR, SO GOOD. I AM A FLESH CREATURE. AND SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. WELL, WE’VE BEEN FLESH CREATURES FOR...

Galvatron paused and searched high and low for the date and time. To his consternation, he discovered he slept over two days. He calculated, failed and decided to take a good guess.

...OVER A WEEK NOW.
WELL, MAYBE NOT OVER A WEEK, BUT YOU GET THE GIST OF IT. I AM HANDSOME, ANNOYING, BALD AND HAD A GOOD TIME AT SOME SORT OF SPACE MALL.
OPTIMUS, IN HIS USUAL RELAXED SELF, IS TAKING THE SITUATION WELL. OF COURSE, HE’S GOT HIMSELF LOCKED IN THE RED CURLS OF THIS GIRL. (NOT THAT I BLAME HIM.)
RODIMUS, CLOUDSTREAKER AND ULTRA MAGNUS ARE NOT FINDING OUR HUMANOID SITUATION QUITE AS AMUSING. CYCLONUS IS TAKING IT FAR BETTER THAN ANYONE.
I HAVE TO GO. BYE FOR NOW.

Galvatron wanted to write more but pain forced him back to the pillow. He tried to convince himself the throbbing, burning discomfort was nothing compared to the agony he once suffered under Unicron. Nothing topped that. Not even the life-sucking planet of Torqulon delivered that kind of pain. But the humanoid body mocked his fake macho delusion and forced him to bed, even if the pain kept him awake.

After a while the familiar sweet Song seeped into Galvatron’s mind and lulled him into a mental dance. He softly hummed the remnants of the tune and thought it like a gentle lover; there one moment and faded the next. What a sweet Song.


Galvatron woke again but to the screech of a dying cat. He sat up and rubbed a stiff face. His head pounded and between the beats, woeful tones carried through the ship’s vents; words slurred like a drunk man’s melody. Galvatron ignored the bad music until he picked out what was sung:

YOU’RE PUSHING TOO HARD, UH PUSHIN’ ON ME.
YOU’RE PUSHING TOO HARD, UH WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE.
YOU’RE PUSHING TOO HARD, ABOUT THE THINGS YOU SAY.
YOU’RE PUSHING TOO HARD, EVERY NIGHT AND DAY.
YOU’RE PUSHING TOO HARD,
YOU’RE PUSHING TOO HARD, ON ME....

With a groan wrought of misery, Galvatron dropped back on the bed. His arm softly throbbed, reminding him of the need for a good painkiller. As soon as he had the energy, he vowed to march right back to medical.
Oh, but Rodimus. The horrible singing came from Rodimus. Galvatron knew because no one could be intentionally as irritating as Rodimus Prime.

Well, maybe Daniel came a close second.

Unable to sleep, Galvatron grabbed his writing book and pen.

DEAR BOOK
RODIMUS IS BORED. I CAN HEAR HIM SING THROUGH THE AIR VENTS. SOMEONE WILL NEED TO SANITIZE THE SHIP.
I DON’T KNOW ALL THE SONG TITLES OR ARTISTS, BUT IT DOESN’T MATTER BECAUSE HE’S SINGING BADLY ON PURPOSE. NO SONG IS SACRED.
STAY HERE, BOOK. I’M OFF TO KILL A PRIME.

However he hesitated. If he planned to use more energy to leave his room, he should make it worth the effort. Thankfully, if oddly enough, the pain slowly subsided to a manageable ache. Feeling a little better, Galvatron opened drawers and cupboards until he found a pad of paper. He tore off a handful of sheets and scribbled the same notes on each of them.

Was five pages enough?

Was ten?

Fifteen?

He settled on twelve sheets of paper when Rodimus cranked his voice to the theme of the TV series ‘Cheers’. The Decepticon smiled. It was time to verbally annoy Rodimus. Let the punishment fit the crime!
Galvatron started two doors from his quarters and pasted the hand-printed papers down one hall, round the corner and at the start of the next row of rooms.

More papers. He decided to forgo Rodimus in favor of his new-found campaign. Galvatron trailed down the rest of the hall, turned right and into his ‘home hallway.’ He paused abruptly when he caught Magnus setting a paint-and-glitter trap. And truly it was a lovely design. The trip wires strung into a lovely web, barely even visible. Magnus even made them sticky, like a real deal. Magnus sniggered and added a box of tacks as a final touch.

With questions on his lips, the Decepticon quietly approached as the Major-general produced a little black box from his back pocket.

Rodimus sang a ZZ Top song, cut half way through and sang something else from Pointer Sisters.

Galvatron smiled like a cat. “Whatchya doing?”

Magnus startled and fumbled with his toy. His eyes turned into whirlpools. He grabbed Galvatron by the shirt and hastily retreated down the hall and round the corner.

“What the hell ‘r you doing here?!”

Galvatron shrugged his right shoulder. “I’m on a new campaign.”

Magnus: not amused. “Yeah. I saw your posters.”

Galvatron stood and bounced his brows once. “Education is important.”

Magnus’ mouth lined like a forbidden zone. “A fart chart, Galvatron? That’s hardly educational material and a little juvenile.”

Galvatron looked innocent. “Everyone needs a hobby. And speaking of which, what were you building in the middle of the hallway?”

“Revenge.”

Galvatron thought it un-Autobot-like. But then, Magnus was an exception to many rules. “And I’m juvenile why?”

“Later!” Magnus hissed. His voice smoothed into cool anticipation: “I’m about to have a perfect moment.”

“You know,” Galvatron said, “I think I saw something like this in a cartoo-“

”Sh!”

Rodimus’ song shifted from a bad rendition of Natalie Cole to Johnny Cash. Galvatron winced. Did he have to do it to Johnny Cash?

Yes, because Roddi followed that with a piece from Pink Floyd.

Magnus pressed several buttons on his remote control. The door buzzer on Roddi’s room called.

Magnus and Galvatron moaned when the annoying Prime changed his voice and tried to sing a song clearly not fit for his range. A little girl’s hopscotch song or other equally as annoying trite tune warped under Rodimus’ sense of humor.

Magnus pressed the button again.

The doors snapped open.

“WHAT?!” Rodimus exploded. “Oh shit.” Magnus’ near-invisible web plastered Roddi’s entire front side. White paint sprayed him from the other side of the hall and then feathers followed. Not feathers with quills. No, no. Magnus made certain he used down feathers; little fluffy pieces of joy.

“OP-TI-MMUSSS!!” Roddi shouted, “I’m coming for you!”

Galvatron kept his cool and silently laughed. Magnus, however, slid silently to the floor and bit his finger to keep from bursting.

They waited, frozen to the wall and held their breath until Rodimus retreated into his quarters. Magnus peeked, keeping head and shoulders as close to the floor as possible.

He sat back, released his breath and nodded. “We’re good. It’s good.”

They sat quietly until Galvatron spoke up. “He thinks Optimus did this.”

“I know. I heard.”

“That’s not going to go well.”

“Better they than me.”

“You are in grave danger, Magnus,” the Decepticon cautioned.

Ultra Magnus studied his companion. “Did you just leave medbay?”

“No. Why?”

“Where’ve you been?”

“In my quarters, where there’s real clothing and a journal to write in.”

Magnus shook his head. “You don’t know what happened?” He waited for Galvatron to shake his head. A chunk of lead sat at the bottom of Magnus’ stomach. “Galvatron, something is wrong with Cyclonus. He’s in medbay with Bookworm right now.”

Galvatron paled, jumped to his feet and took the first few steps backward, eyes lingered on Magnus. He swung around and ran for medbay.



OPTIMUS

Galvatron barreled for the group and Optimus braced to catch him as the shopping environment dissolved. The transporter room received them in a tight corner; too many bodies in one space. The ship shuddered with a blunt impact and alarms drowned his thoughts. “Attention, Infraction, captain and crew: space station security has identified a stowaway on board your vessel. Please stand by...

Galvatron would have crashed face-first had Optimus not caught him. The Decepticon’s right hand leaked blood everywhere. “‘m gonna kill s-squints,” Galvatron muttered in Prime’s left ear.

The Autobot leader ignored him when Rodimus laid Rusti on the floor and shouted for Bookworm’s help.

Bookworm snapped his fingers at Optimus and pointed to the doorway while the Infraction’s crew dispersed. “Get him to medbay!”

With no alternative, Optimus secured his friend and hobbled out the transporter room. Galvatron reverted into his own language, saying a few things Optimus vowed never to repeat. They made it to medical and passed through decontamination with a few choice words from Prime himself.

“You’re going to get us both killed, Galvatron,” he swore.

Galvatron started to weep as Prime laid him on a bed. “Don’t say that,” he sobbed. “You’re a friend!” His right arm fell uselessly away and his eyes flared hot. “Stay my friend, Optimus!”

The doors whisked apart before Prime said anything. Rodimus laid Rusti on a bed a few feet away while Bookworm added another shot. Without pausing, he uncapped a syringe and all but pushed the Autobot aside. “Move.” he jabbed Galvatron’s right wrist first then sank another shot into his neck.

Optimus stood beside Rusti and clenched the edge of the table. Just a few hours ago they were alone and free from duty and responsibility. Focus, focus, focus.

“Bookworm, is there anything we can do to help Captain Parthon?” The doctor answered, but Prime paid him no attention. The leader in him tried to press beyond the moment but the lover refused to let go.
Parthon’s voice filled medical: “Rough ride ahead, folks. Hunker down!”

The Infraction’s hyper-jump seized Optimus with fear. All life monitors shut off and he thought his skin diffused like insubstantial matter in water. But the crisis ended and ship and passengers remained intact.
Neither Prime enjoyed the jarring sensation nor did they appreciate how they left the Cygnus with Quintessons tailgating their bumpers. Prime and Prime paid Captain Parthon a visit. Fortunately Rodimus’ head was clearer. He asked all the questions and dished out comments when and where appropriate.

Optimus, on the other hand, listened to Pissant carefully and kept no illusions regarding the uncouth sapient mollusk. He disapproved of the mouthy mollusk who clearly controlled Cyclonus, no matter how subtle. The fact that the Decepticon lieutenant did not complain over his new job demonstrated a great strength of character or something more sinister.

The medbay doors slid open and Magnus poked his head through. He met Prime’s eyes. “I’ll take care of Daniel, Prime.” He nodded toward Rusti. “How is she?”

Optimus swallowed the block in his throat. “Her... she’ll be okay. I just can’t leave-“ The Autobot leader looked away, ashamed of his shift in priorities.

Magnus nodded, silently supportive. “Call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Ultra Magnus,” Prime said whole-heartedly.

Magnus let slip a small smile. “You know you never have to, Prime.” The city commander departed, leaving Optimus in solitude. The Autobot leader resigned himself to keep vigil over Rusti and Galvatron.

Three hours after their escape from Cygnus, Galvatron woke up with his brain disengaged. He insisted leaving for his own quarters. Optimus couldn’t blame him. The offensive odor of antiseptics, medications and sterilizing fluids left a bitter taste in his mouth. More than that, however, Galvatron felt confined.

Bookworm left to bake a meal in the kitchen and when he returned half an hour later, the doctor/chef glowered his displeasure at Prime.

Optimus understood. He didn’t care, but he understood.

Bookworm prepared three vials of medication before saying anything. “How about you off and follow your friend’s example and get sleep?” Prime stared as if he heard nothing. With a deep scowl, Bookworm picked up a scanner and ran it over Rusti twice before reading the results. “She’s still under. The medication works but it’ll be a while yet. Go get sleep, Autobot. You do her no good with self-inflicted deprivation.”

Optimus did not answer right away. “How about I sleep on Galvatron’s bed?”

“I need to sterilize it,” Bookworm answered tersely. “Go to your own quarters.”

“I do not want to leave her.”

“I can see that. Thank you. She is not going anywhere. Go sleep.”


Optimus obeyed after ten more minutes of Bookworm’s terse nagging. Leaving Rusti was like detaching a leg or an arm. To be truthful, he dreaded sleep. Dreams skipped across his head with shadowy and distorted images while memories left painful reminders in his soul. Worry for Rusti kept all those things at bay.

Optimus counted fifteen steps out medical and he already missed her. Rusti’s presence gave him a sense of home. He watched her grow up; this little entity whose attachment to him and Roddi gave Optimus the sense of family he did not have since... so long ago. Optimus supposed he should think it odd that he never felt fatherly toward her. In fact, it was she who taught him more than the other way around.

As he lay in the near-dark, Prime realized neither he nor Rodimus taught Rusti how to walk. She slept on his desk during emergency visits. She watched cartoons on his wall screen. She picked flowers on their Sunday afternoon drives.

How did we ever start that?

It was a game.

It was a game.

Omk zh’vvupteen. I. PLAY. NO. GAMES.

There was a card game.

Tiny, tiny cards with colors on them.

Memory.

Yes, Memory. It was Optimus’ turn.

A card; yellow as the sun, yellow as a daisy.

Rusti sang. That’s what happy little girls do.

She poured a cup of tea. The cup was empty because it was only pretend tea.

WHAT POINT HAVING WHEN NON-EXISTENT?

You have no soul. You’re not supposed to ask those kind of questions.

She hummed while he held the yellow card.

An old man and his thumb. Monkeys jumping on the bed. Ten monkeys on the bed.

Not monkeys, Autobots.

Listen up. Listen, because Optimus made his own version. Listen because Dark and Desolate nested in his mind.

“Ten little Autobots walking on the line
One fell off and lost his mind.
God called the doctor and the doctor chimed:
Just move on and leave it behind.”

OH WAIT! WAIT! There’s another one! Remember? Yes, there was another one:

Two Autobot Primes dancing from the strings
one tore off and broke his wings.
God called the doctor, but the devil replied,
don’t worry about them, they’ve already died.

The Virus screeched and rammed its head directly at Optimus. He cried out and shot up from the pillow. Spooked, Prime leapt off the bed and slammed his back against the door.

There was darkness. There was darkness and silence and the vast emptiness within the shell of the Matrix.

Optimus’ heart slammed against the breastbone. Nope. No sleeping. No more sleeping. He swept up an undershirt and headed straight for medbay.

No Bookworm. Optimus directed his senses from wall to wall but only picked up Rusti’s presence.

The senior Prime returned to his chair and sighed. “I suppose it’s just the two of us, Sweetheart.”

The medbay doors opened and Plucky poked his head forward. “Books? Anybody seen Books? Or maybe-oh, hey!” he fully entered, eyes on Rusti. “How she be?”

Optimus offered a kind smile but did not answer until the Infraction’s second-in-command approached. “Bookworm was not here when I arrived,” he answered. “And she’s okay, just sleeping off the treatments.”

Plucky smiled broadly. “It’s good,” he approved. “Never good to see suffering.” he turned about, aimed for the door then stopped and spun back around. “Can I talk with you?”

Optimus gave him visual attention and wordlessly nodded. Taking permission, Plucky grabbed Bookworm’s favorite stool and planted himself thereon with a rigid back and an eager expression. “We don’t have any plans.” He blinked, waited and blinked again. “How about I translate myself?”

“That would be helpful, yes.”

“We’re vagabonds. We take jobs; shipping cargo, transportation for planet-hopers. We pass info via Dot’s radio station. This whole Automatrons thing? Way beyond our jobs norm. Don’t matter what Pissant says. We got neither licence nor equipment for some sorta rescue squad. Pissant’s kissing up. I caught that ball. But it doesn’t mean we’re obliged. But you guys: large ship, off to another part of the galaxy, far away from our war. Good fit.”

Optimus nodded slowly. “Doesn’t seem to be much of a war, here, however. Where are your warriors? Where are your armies?”

Plucky shook his head. “Glad you see that. Not kidding about the bones people in danger. Pissant’s unbearable to deal with, right? But he’s right. The Automatrons gotta get help. We’re not help.”

Optimus weighed the information. “We are willing to take Darzon with us. But he needs to understand we might not return for a long, long time. Our situation is unpredictable.”

Plucky tightly pursed his lips. “Not just Darzon, Optimus Prime. Not just Darzon. No. There’s more. The Automatron we’re rescuing knows where the rest are.”

“I am not so sure they would be any safer with us, Plucky. We are gearing up forces to strike at the Quintessons. That’s not ideal refuge conditions.”

Plucky leaned forward and spoke slowly. “But they won’t be living exosuits, Optimus Prime. They won’t be lobotomized and enslaved.”

That hit home with the Autobot leader. He sat back and considered options. “Very well. However, it would be helpful to know more about Mechlatex. It’s been millions of years since I’ve...” Prime dropped his head, unable to complete his comment.

Plucky dropped his head to his shoulder. “We have Mechlatex information. It’s complicating. Haven’t been there in two revolutions; some info might be dated.”

“It’s a start,” Optimus accepted.

Plucky vanished and returned fifteen minutes later with paper notebooks, rolled maps and a short stack of books. “Nuthin’s been electronic transferred. Stuff’s smuggled from person to person over the last ten Tumilitian solar revolutions.”

Prime accepted the items, glanced over the books then lifted his blue eyes. “How did you come by them?”

Plucky clasped hands behind his back and rocked on his heels. “I won them.” he paused and pointed to the air. “Fairly, I’ll add. I didn’t cheat.”

Optimus laughed and examined the books again. He now found a purpose.

Before plunging head-first into Mechlatex’s history, Prime studied road and geological maps. It’s been seven million, some-odd Earth-years, he thought. Map One presented cities and towns, lakes, mountains and jungles.

Map Two showed a more politico-social range.

Map Three contained several pages of planetary photos taken from space. The first fold-out page looked familiar to the Autobot leader. Wide open deserts, mile-high mountains and forests choked with giant trees. But by the fourth page, he found a list of extinct species, both animal and sapient.

The same story throughout the galaxy. Something good comes into existence and little by little, it fades into history, legend and myth. Nothing remains the same.

Page eight alarmed him. Whole sections of Mechlatex turned metallic.

“This cannot be correct,” he said aloud. Optimus pondered and carefully re-examined the maps. When logic failed, he decided to find someone with answers.

He called Plucky. Plucky sent him to Dot. Dot invited him to her quarters.

The old lady welcomed him into a room as stuffed with her vast music collection as her ‘radio closet’. Even part of her bed shared cases and boxes of media recordings.

Dot made room for him at her two-person table. She poured tea before dragging a large, fat book off a shelf in her ‘junk room’. Optimus removed most of his materials as she took her seat.

“So you’re wondering what the hell is going on with Planet Mechlatex.”

Prime stabbed Page Eight with a finger. “I want to know what is causing this. Is this real?”

“It is,” Dot confirmed. “And yes, it’s a natural process.” she answered simply. “The -here, you need something up to date.” she opened the giant book, flipped the large tome around and pointed to three photos from space.

A shiver ran down Optimus’ back. The planet he once knew changed to ten percent organic, the rest metal. He had one word: “How?”

“Another wonder of the universe, my friend,” she flipped several pages ahead and pointed to photographs of tall twisted metallic structure. “What’ll really bake your brain is that these things are alive.”

“What?”

“They grow, strands break off at the edge and they keep growing.”

“A metallic tree?”

“Best guess.” Dot sipped her hot tea. “Conspiracy nuts swear on their mother’s grave Psyklenox is responsible for the change. But it’s been proven time and again that what’s going on, crazy as it is, the planet is changing its own composition.”

Optimus studied each photograph and committed it to memory. “Mechlatex was nothing like this the last time I was there.”

Dot’s question hung in the air until she had to ask: “How long ago was that?”

The Autobot leader counted in rounded numbers and smiled just a little. “About seven million years ago.”

Dot’s face turned blank with shock. “I knew Transformers lived a long time, but that long?”

Optimus looked at her with the same smile in his eyes. “Alpha Trion, a first-generation Autobot, existed before the Thaldounite Empire died out.”

Dot shook her head and blinked. “I’m no sweet young thing but that old?” Optimus nodded. “Well,” she continued, “do you know anything of Psyklenox? You did say you’ve been to Mechlatex before. I’m old, but not old enough to remember when that son of a devil took Mechlatex for his own. Seems he’s always been there.”

“He has not. But the last time I’ve been to Mechlatex, Cybertron passed through this solar system. That is why I’m so surprised. Mechlatex was an organic world wild with plant life.” Optimus sent his gaze to the right. “However, I don’t recall seeing animals or insects. There were no life forms; just organic vegetation.”

“Huh. A planet with plant life but no animals? Unusual, but not unheard of.”

Optimus nodded once. “Psyklenox was only a myth up to that point in Cybertronian history. He was remembered because Alpha Trion remembered him.”

Dot lifted a finger. “I see. And exactly what did this Trion of yours remember?”

Prime took a sip of tea and smiled into the cup, remembering tea parties and stuffed animals. “Trion and Psyklenox were both first generation Quintesson mechanoids.” With eyes on the photographs, Prime did not see the old lady’s jaw drop. “There were others, of course,” he added. “But they’re gone and forgotten. Alpha Trion served on Cybertron while Psyklenox was often off-world. According to Trion, Psyklenox was the very first prototype; an accident, for all intents. I believe that Psyklenox was the Quintesson’s first experiment with artificial intelligence. Trion once said that implants from a Quintesson brain were interfaced with crypta-mechanical life force frequencies.”

Dot gasped. “Anti-life?” Optimus solemnly nodded. Dot narrowed her eyes. “That explains why energy weapons are ineffective against him. In fact, it explains a great deal about him. And when people say he’s the son of a devil, they’re not far wrong.” Again Prime nodded and drank more tea. Dot studied him and pursed her lips. “You hold dark memories, don’t you? I know that look. I’ve seen it on the faces of those who survived torture and war.”

Prime pasted his eyes on her long before surrendering an answer. “I have history with Psyklenox.” He let that phrase dangle between them before adding more: “it started good and promising. But it ended...” His eyes fell away.

“It ended badly,” Dot guessed. “It ended ugly?”

Optimus’ stare drifted. “Tens of thousands, Dot. Thousands of thousands.” his palpable grief hung thick like rain that failed to fall. Optimus drew a deep breath. “There are times I wonder how I survived as I have. Or perhaps it’s not so much survival as it has been rescue.”

The old lady let silence settle before pouring them both fresh cups of tea. She lifted her own cup. “I too, have been rescued a number of times, Optimus. So here’s to the rescuers: the sapient and the Divine.”
Optimus lifted his cup and they drank. Thereafter, he closed the large book and stood. “Thank you, Dot. You’ve been very helpful. If you’ll excuse me, I need to see how Rusti is doing.”

He almost reached the door when Dot spoke again. “Maybe you’ll not mind telling me more about your pretty girl some time.” Their eyes met. “It’s most unusual that anyone recognizes Pissant as Primacron.”

“Even I don’t know that story,” he answered stiffly. The old lady nodded and Prime left for medbay.


Bright grey eyes smiled at him the moment Prime entered medbay. He froze and deeply drank the sight of red curls and soft lips. That was not a sweet little girl whose gaze stole his breath, but a woman who held his heart, his life in her delicate hands.

“People can’t fall in love three times in their life. Can they Optimus?” How many life times ago did she ask that question? He approached, set the books and papers on the table beside her bed and reached for her hands. “Rusti.” He lost his voice, bowed his head in embarrassment and grinned.

She rubbed his hands with her thumbs and peered into his face. “Optimus, are you going to blush all day or are you going to kiss me?”

He bowed over and touched her lips with his. Rusti grinned and lowered her chin so that his lips met her forehead. “I need a shower,” she declared.

“Did you need help?” The words slipped out without Prime realizing their double connotation. She laughed and for him, the whole room brightened.

Rusti settled back while her eyes ate him up head to toe. “How long was I out?”

He sat on Bookworm’s stool and drew a deep breath. “Sixty-seven hours and forty-two minutes.” The Autobot leader shrugged. “Standard Pacific Time, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed. “What happened and where is the closest refrigerator? I’m famished.”

Before Optimus answered, the medbay doors opened and Bookworm hurriedly entered. Captain Parthon and Pittstop followed him, carrying Cyclonus on a stretcher. They laid him on Galvatron’s bed and removed the stretcher from under him.

Optimus stood, alarmed. “What happened?”


CYCLONUS

Sounds. Voices. Images.
Round and round.
Sounds. Voices. Images.
Round and round.
Who are you? What’s your name?
Who are you, what’s your name?
What’s your name?
His life traveled backward. Yolthanis. Bare Anches. Cratis. Earth. Mars. Skorponok. Vector Sigma. The Hate Plague. Back and back and back. Unicron. Megatron. South America. The crashing ship. Bombshell.
He was Bombshell.
He was Bombshell.
No.
He FLEW the Bombshell, a prototype PSX 427 jet fighter that exceeded mach 105.2 with the ease of a hydrojet on grease.
His life traveled forward. Alaska. The academy. Mars. Europa. The Lunar War. Forward and forward and forward. The Hate Plague. Marla. Stephani. His children: Joshaua, Shotero and Courtney. His mistress, Pricillia DeMarco.
Forward until The Rift tore him apart.
Back. Stop. Take one moment. Take another. Doctor Harding warned of time disorientation. She said the new fuel formula might tamper with the flux and flow of tachyon particles. The PSX 427, the Bombshell was so top secret, Jackson was not allowed to live off base for six months.
What of Stephani? What of Josh, Shotero and Courtney? If he died here, he’d regret cheating on his wife. She was a good woman.

He clicked on the mic and checked the cockpit’s temperature. “Hello, Stockville,” he called. “Are we there yet?”

Colonel Hawk smiled as he spoke. “What’s a matter, Jackson? Getting itchy or bored?”

“No,” Jackson sighed. “And why do you insist using my first name, Colonel? Keep it up and I’ll announce your middle name over the airwaves.”

“You’re a dept bugger, Cyclonus, Sir,” the colonel pouted. “Hang tight, Son, we’ll get you into space all too soon.”

Lieutenant Cyclonus huffed. “Hold all my calls, then, would you, Colonel? I have to step out of the office for a bit.”

Hawk grunted. “You going for a milk run, Cyclonus?”

“Maybe.”

“Space humor,” Hawk frowned. “In and out of reality.” he paused when someone in the background spoke then returned to the astronaut. “We’re on the go, Jackson. Better use the little boy’s room before you head off.”

With a snort, Lieutenant Jackson Cyclonus waited for the countdown and the rush of adrenaline as the jet shot off the ground and into the air. The hypersonic speed pressed against his chest and lungs. The computer compensated for the pressure and adjusted the cabin’s comfort zone.

“Stockville,” Cyclonus called, “What’s the speed limit here?”

Colonel Hawk scoffed. “Didn’t anyone tell you, Lieutenant? You’re the one who’s going to find out.”

The test pilot’s subtle smile broadened and he applied the first thrusters. “Mach two,” he announced.

Mach 24.

Mach 105.

Mach 3...

Cyclonus took his eyes off the equipment. The skies looked strange. The clouds around him smeared as though brushed by a human hand. The ethereal light gave him a sense of surrealism. Was he dreaming all this? And if so, it was the greatest sense of euphoria he ever experienced.

He felt nothing, even when blood soaked his suit. He felt nothing even when the jet around him ceased to exist. Great metallic walls and a dark world appeared around him. Blue lines raced on either side of him. Drunk with euphoria, the lieutenant saw nor felt anything until it was too late. He slammed into a star. It choked him. The shock ripped his mind apart and memories not his own cris-crossed into and out of his existence.

Forward and forward. Bombshell. Earth. The crashing ship. South America. Forward and forward: The Hate Plague. Skorponok. Mars. Bare Anches. Yolthanis.

NOW!

Cyclonus sucked in all the oxygen possible in a single breath and screamed.


-INCLINATION-

Rusti ate a light meal, showered and changed into real clothes while they waited for news from Bookworm. She sat in a kitchen chair and tugged on boots while Optimus told her of his research. She stood, stretched and swept wrinkles off her pants.

“Psyklenox is sort of a Trion-class Autobot?”

Optimus blinked at her, stopped short by the unusual question. “Technically, Trion was never Autobot or Decepticon. The split did not occur until millions of years later.”

“But your description sounds like Trion was a prototype Autobot and Psyklenox, a prototype Decepticon.” She folded her arms and gazed into his eyes, thinking carefully. “Optimus, did you say he was anti-life?”
He stammered. “S-sort of. It’s the best way to describe-“

”The Virus is anti-life.” Silence spread between them as Prime raced through the implications. Their moment halted when Dot touched the threshold.

“Bookworm’s done. Thought you’d like to know.”


Bookworm ripped off his gloves and dropped a mask as he stepped into medbay’s entry room. Expectant faces and worried eyes met him.

“Can’t tell what’s wrong,” he announced “Don’t know what’s-I don’t know or understand. Yet, Galvatron remains unaffected.”

Captain Parthon glowered at Pittstop. “Well, then, the werm will have to tell us what’s wrong.”

Pittstop nodded as if his head were attached to a spring. “Yeses to that, Captain P,” he agreed, “Don’t mean he will. Weird how Pissant stucks to hims like a parasite.”

Parthon stared at Bookworm but spoke to Pittstop. “Get Plucky and tell Pissant he needs to be here.” The captain looked at Pittstop to make himself clear.

Optimus: “Can Pissant heal Cyclonus? He changed Darzon and us into humans. Perhaps he made a mistake with Cyclonus.”

Dot answered the question: “Pissant can do a lot of things, Optimus. Doesn’t mean he will.”

Captain Parthon sighed heavily. “He’s told me on more than one occasion he’s limited to-and I quote-“X-number of miracles in a day.”

Rusti huffed. “Super creatures.” She caught her breath as Magnus and Galvatron entered the doorway. Optimus gave Magnus a double-take, wondering why the Major-general blossomed with happiness.

“Magnus,” Galvatron said, “Magnus, um, said something was wrong. No one told me.”

“It just happened, Galvatron,” Rusti answered. She held no fear even when his bright red eyes nailed her.

“What just happened?” he demanded.

Parthon’s scowl deepened. “We found Cyclonus unconscious in his quarters. I’ve sent Pittstop to get the slug.”

No one had words appropriate enough to ease Galvatron’s anxiety. He slowly blinked. “What has that abomination have to do with anything?”

The group turned to the right in unison when Pissant’s little voice shouted down the hall. “Plucky, you’re thacking lucky I can’t kill you! I protest! You take me back right NOW!”

Parthon’s second-in-command approached with a soured face. He held the snail away from his body, his hands dripped with slime and a runny brown substance.

Parthon and Dot moaned and rolled their eyes. “Seriously, Pissant?” they chorused.

“It’s worse,” Plucky gagged. “He’s been eating carp liver.”

Pittstop maneuvered two feet around Plucky. “He won’t let me washes him off, Captain.”

“I like my liver!” Pissant snarled. “Now what the Torments is this all about?”

“You tell us, Buster,” the captain demanded. “Bookworm can’t figure out what’s wrong with Cyclonus and I know that you know.”

“What?” Pissant spat. “Why don’t you just ask the girl, or whatever she is?”

All eyes bounced from Rusti to Pissant.

Parthon folded his arms. “I’m asking you. You’re responsible for this mess. I expect you to have the courtesy to help fix it.”

“I can’t.” Pissant replied succinctly. “His condition is among the two or three things that are far above and beyond my superior, supernatural abilities.”

Exasperated, Galvatron pointed toward medical. “I don’t care what your excuse is. Fix him!”

Pissant groaned and pointed at Galvatron. “Forward, Plucky, if you don’t mind.” Everyone gave the icky mollusk and his reluctant bearer a clear path. “Now listen, mighty warrior. The universe does not adhere to anyone’s wishes. Shit is allowed to happen. Do you get that? No matter how powerful a creature may be, a creature is still a creature, not a god. Your precious Cyclonus suffers from co-habitation with a persona from another reality. How that happened, why it happened is beyond my amazing powers. Are you happy now?”

Pissant eyed Rusti with disgust until Rusti realized he probed her mind.

“What are you staring at?” she snapped.

“Not what,” Pissant corrected, “who.”

She bristled with half a mind to flip him off. But the mollusk would more likely laugh at her than feel offended.

Galvatron schooled his expression into neutral, turned about face and walked away.

“Hey!” Pissant called after. “Where do you think you are going?”

Galvatron did not face the accursed snail. “To do some thinking.”

Optimus folded his arms. “Leave him alone.”

Pissant scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

“Shut up, Pissant,” Parthon, Bookworm and Rusti chorused.


Galvatron treaded the corridor like a wounded soldier determined to reach home. He entered his quarters and dropped on the bed, stunned and exhausted. The old powerless feeling came back. What would he do if he lost Cyclonus? Why was this happening? Why? A cold sadness settled at the pit of Galvatron’s innards and it felt as if he were rotting from the inside out.

Fear held him tight; a vice that petrified his muscles and squeezed his heart. No one meant more to him than Cyclonus. Oh, Galvatron was painfully aware he did not deserve Cyclonus’ loyalty and friendship. Of all the soldiers and right-hand mechs Megatron had throughout the megania, not one of them measured up to Cyclonus. Even Soundwave did not reach the same standards. Soundwave was hard working and loyal but he was not a friend.

Galvatron swallowed hard and wiped a tear from his eye. He searched the ceiling with a desperate sadness. “Please,” he begged softly, “if you must take a life, take mine. I’m the worthless one, remember?” he choked. “I’m the worthless one!”

Just because the room remained silent did not mean Galvatron’s plea went unheard. He knew that. All this time, all these years he and Cyclonus remained safe with the Autobots. Events did not affect them as they did Grimlock or the Primes or Sunstreaker. Galvatron fell into a false sense of security, almost assured the storms of life whirled around them like a tornado, striking this person or that; missing them entirely. He and Cyclonus were part of the refugees, but separate of their plight. Galvatron knew, of course, that he and his friend were every bit a part of the bedraggled and homeless fleet as the humanoids whose cards were cast into the same deck.

This moment now tested Galvatron’s faith and loyalty. The choice before him: back out and search for help on his own, or stay with the Autobots no matter the consequences.

In for a penny, in for a pound, isn’t that what he said at the start?

Eat your words, oh mighty Decepticon! You who took that second chance will now stand on it!

One sweet Note echoed through the chambers of his wounded heart followed by another. Like keys on a piano, the Melody tumbled as if from Eternity into his soul.

Is that not the same sweet tune that called him time after time? Music like morning dew sparking in spring sunlight. Gentle notes beckoned his heart: listen. Yes, the Music spoke again. Its sweet haunting melody offered wordless promises.

Why did it sound so clearer, so pronounced now? Or was it that Galvatron began to understand its preternatural language? His spark reached for it; oh, just out of grasp!

“I’m coming,” he whispered. Its profound beauty lulled him to sleep.

Galvatron awoke an hour later. He felt better, though still eaten raw with anxiety. Breathe. Breathe. He needed to do something. He needed to be someplace. With a firm decision, the Decepticon nabbed his pen, picked up the journal and headed for medical.

A quiet ship and sleeping crew kindly stayed out of his business. Galvatron’s mood refused to compromise with niceties. He entered medbay, barely tolerated decontamination, and found himself a chair. With one leg crossing a knee, Galvatron watched Cyclonus a long time before opening the journal.


DEAR BOOK
I WANT TO BLAME MYSELF FOR CYCLONUS’ STATE. IF I WERE TO BLAME MYSELF, THEN PERHAPS I COULD FIX IT. BUT I AM NOT AND I CANNOT. IT’S FRUSTRATING AND UNSETTLING AND IT’S TWISTING MY GUT.
AS FOR EVERYONE ELSE, THEY’RE WORRIED ALSO. NOT AS AFFECTED AS I, HOWEVER.
BEFORE THE INCIDENT, ULTRA MAGNUS THOUGHT IT CUTE TO PRANK. I SWEAR I’VE NEVER SEEN MAGNUS SO HAPPY. HE WAS HUMMING-YES, HUMMING! RODIMUS, NO DOUBT, IS ON A WAR PATH. AND WHILE I STOOD WITNESS TO THE PRANK, I WAS NOT INVOLVED. I SUPPOSE I OUGHT TO WARN OPTIMUS BUT I AM CONFIDENT THAT SOONER OR LATER HE WILL FIND OUT FOR HIMSELF.
WE ARE EIGHT DAYS ON THE CELESTIAL HIGHWAY. I FEEL CONFINED, TRAPPED. I NEED TO RUN, I NEED TO FLY. THERE’S AN INTERNAL ITCH I CANNOT SCRATCH AND PRIVATELY, WE CANNOT REACH MECHLATEX SOON ENOUGH.
I AM SERIOUSLY UNAMUSED WITH THE DAMN SNAIL. MAYBE SOME TABLE SALT WILL EXPRESS FOR ME HOW I FEEL.

Galvatron closed the journal and settled back in chair. Each time he laid eyes on his friend, he expected Cyclonus’ condition to change. But the former lieutenant remained comatose, unresponsive; lost.


-INCLINATION-

Rusti woke and did not recognize her surroundings. Warm silken sheets comforted her from the oppressive dark. Across the room sat a figure, darker than the dark.

Just a dream, she told herself. Don’t be afraid. Rusti sat up and touched the lamp beside her. That was when she found Optimus, sleeping soundly, facing her.

“It’s rude to sit and watch people sleep,” she said to the entity.

“I watch everything,” came a stiff, masculine reply. He approached the bed in long strides, a cane kept time with his footsteps. He stood before her dressed in a tan suit, a fedora and the polished wooden cane in his right hand. “What I want to know, Human, is how you communicated with me. No one has ever communicated with me.”

Rusti stared at him and tried to unravel the puzzle. She tilted her head to the right and made a wild guess. “Infraction?”

“No other.”

“But you’re not an Autobot ship. How... how?”

“I don’t know, Human. But you see me. You hear me. I’m guessing that makes me a living thing.”

A million things ran through her head but only one word answered him: “Okay.”

“You’re not new to this, are you?”

“No. But it’s still strange and unsettling. And I am most likely dreaming it, aren’t I?”

The Infraction’s persona did not answer right away and Rusti almost turned out the light when he spoke again. “You’re headed to Mechlatex.”

“Yes, we are.” she confirmed.

He nodded. “I should very much like re-tuning on my port wing. Will you let Pipsqueak know that? Mechlatex has the finest tuning rods in the regime.”

“Why do you need your wing tuned? What does that mean?”

Infraction planted both palms on his cane and leaned into it. “I have metal fatigue, Human. Jumping hyperspace can be hard on metal and certain frequencies will allow me to heal myself.”

“Frequencies,” she recited. “Okay.”

He started to fade then reappeared. “Oh, another thing, Human. Inform Pipsqueak that the conduit cusps on the entanglement assimilator are on backwards.”


“One. Two. Three. Four. Five...”

Rusti woke to Optimus’ soothing voice. She blinked when his finger tapped the air above her face.

“Nine. Ten...”

“Are you counting my freckles again? I’m going to start wearing makeup.”

Prime lay back, a soft smile splayed his lips. “I’ll still find them,” he assured her.

They lay quiet for a while before Rusti spoke: “I’m starving.”

“So am I.”

“Pancakes-no! Waffles! With lots of bacon. And scrambled eggs and cranberry parfait.”

Optimus looked at her. “They don’t have Denny’s here, Rusti.”

“Yeaaaah,” she mourned. “I miss that.

Optimus held quiet another moment. “I miss some aspects of that life, also. Saturday morning cartoons, Sunday drives. Picking you up from school.”

Rusti raised her brows. “Well, I don’t miss school. But I do miss the Dinobots. In fact, I miss everyone. I hope we get back before I turn old and grey.” she paused. “What if we don’t? What if we end up stuck here?”

“There’s no such thing as 100% guarantee in life, Little Bell. There was no guarantee Roddi and I would survive the Virus.” She could stare at him all day if given a chance. Optimus had a beautiful form. He sat up and for the first time, Rusti noticed the Autobot symbol tattooed on his left shoulder.

“Breakfast,” she repeated. “And I want to see how Cyclonus is doing.”

“No shower?” Prime asked as if disappointed.

“Optimus,” she whispered. “If I stay in bed with you much longer neither of us will get anything done.”

He fixed his eyes on her. “Will you kiss me? I need to make sure this is real.”

With an eager grin, Rusti sat on her knees, wrapped arms around his head and kissed him.


BREAKFAST

Bookworm refused to leave Cyclonus. Captain Parthon stepped up and made one plate after another. Sweet cakes, coffee, canned fruit and meat sat on the table, bracing for snatch-and-go.

Magnus ate like a machine. Hot sauce smothered eggs, meat and a small bowl of hot peppers vanished in minutes. Cloudstreaker sat beside him holding a one-sided conversation while he flipped through notes and schematics of his beloved ship.

Darzon sat beside Dot who urged him to read news off a pad.

Optimus held a chair out for Rusti before sitting between her and Darzon. The captain set coffee before Optimus and Rusti and refilled Dot’s large mug.

Pipsqueak entered wearing a puffy robe and animal slippers. Her hair stuck out of place at the top while her eyes struggled to stay open. She dropped in the chair beside Cloudstreaker who fell wordless and slumped.

Optimus glanced from one shipmate to the next. “Has anyone seen or spoken to Galvatron?”

Pipsqueak and Dot gave him a negative answer before Parthon reentered the dining room with another plate of steamy goodness. “He’s not left Cyclonus. I don’t think he slept. Bookworm whines but it’s because he’s not used to an audience. And by the way, Optimus Prime, that Daniel-fellow? I have a plate for him.”

Optimus startled. “Who fed him last?”

Magnus lifted a hand. “Me. Last night. Again.”

“I’ll do it,” Rusti volunteered.

“Not a good idea,” Magnus cautioned.

Optimus gently squeezed her hand. “I’d rather you not go near him, Rusti.”

Rusti’s voice turned firm and confident. ”You and Magnus and Roddi have taken quite a bit of BS from him. I’ll take a turn.” she smiled and blinked. “Just once.”

Magnus looked up from a tablet. “Would you like to borrow my gun?”

“For what?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Magnus drawled, “In case you can’t stand him after the initial five seconds. Of course, seeing you might agitate him.” Magnus sat back in his chair. “I like that idea. Get his frame bent out of shape.”

Rusti nodded, appreciating Magnus’ light humor. “Okay,” her eyes drifted to Pipsqueak who ate three pieces of fruit and bread with jam. “Pipsqueak,” she said, “the Infraction said its port wing needs re-tuning and the conduit cusps on the assimilator are on backwards.”

Everyone except Magnus and Optimus stared at the red-head with confusion. Parthon drew a chair and sat beside Magnus.

“The what now? What’s that mean?”

Pipsqueak lapped her arms on the table and drew a small smile. “The Infraction spoke to you, did she?”

“He,” Rusti corrected. “And yes. I know that sounds weird.”

“Hmm. Might be weird for Humans. My cousin was a watchmaker who could change watches to make them run backwards yet keep perfect time.”

Cloudstreaker squeaked in surprise. Pissant transported onto the table, snapped his fingers at her and crawled toward the fruit bowl.

“What a lovely sight. Good day to you, Darzon. Sketz staw?”

“Yes. Yes.” the humanoid Automatron stammered.

“Very good. And where are Rain and Rodimus Prime? Hmm?”

Rusti ate what was on her fork before responding: “Counting faces, or bodies, Pissant?”

“Oh-ho! Very dry, my dear. Very dry. Captain P. How much closer are we to Mechlatex?”

“Five days, Pissant. You know that.” Parthon answered around a full mouth.

Pissant slimed his way into the bowl of fruit and Rusti pushed her plate away.

Dot snarled at the snail. “You should ask first, Pissant. No one wants to eat after you.”

“Oh, I know. It’s just that I enjoy the disgust and queasy expressions on your dull and vapid faces.”

Rusti stood away from the table. “Had enough. I’m off for a walk. On second thought, Captain, where’s that plate you made for my dad?” Her body abruptly catapulted into the air and her back slammed against the doorway. Rusti lost wind when she splat the floor face down. She recovered by breathing first then tucked her legs under and sat up, stunned. The universe narrowed a moment while she tried to clear her head. The room and everyone in it froze as Pissant crawled to the table ledge.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Come out and speak to me. I know you’re in there somewhere, whoever you are.”

Rusti stood on shaky legs and raised a set of bright blue eyes on the snail. “You disgusting, abhorrent werm.”

“Name calling is ineffective. Who are you?”

“I am Mechlatex, sister-daughter of Driazadyn.”

“Oh crap.”


-INCLINATION-

a metallic, alien world spread before Galvatron in crystal and light. Spires of minerals and foil rose from the ground like earthen twisting vines. Mountains of unknown substances curved over the landscape or refracted light in multi-faceted blocks and nooks much like coral beds. Those were the only features for which Galvatron had the vocabulary; his ability to describe the rest of the land failed. A feminine presence joined him. Her clothing radiated soft colors; her shapely form befitted the world; wordlessly beautiful.

“It has taken much time to make it just right.” she searched his optics with a set of deep violet. “Do you like this? I hope you will call this home one day.”

“All of this is for me? I have done nothing and been nothing to deserve something so rich, so... astounding.”

Her smile glowed. “It’s not just for you, Galvatron. You, your people, the Autobots, the Automatrons and all those who have been scattered across the galaxy, searching for a home. It is not finished, I will admit. But in a short while, I will send for you.”

Galvatron turned and set his hands on her shoulders. “Mechlatex?”

“Are you truly so surprised, Galvatron? I have been with you all through this journey. I have waited and waited. And soon you will come home to me.” She laid a hand on his left cheek. “You are my son, now. You are all my children. No greater honor has been bestowed upon me than the gift of adoption.” She embraced him and the cool touch, the warm scent comforted the Decepticon.

The Music came him again and he parted from her, optics searching the sky. “Is that your music, Mechlatex?”

“No, Galvatron. That is Music of the Chosen. Claim It, Galvatron. Claim It as It has claimed you; as I have claimed you. You will be home soon. I promise. Your job isn’t finished. Be the leader you were meant to be, Galvatron. Finish your job and come home.”


Galvatron woke with a deep breath, a foggy head and aching eyes. The stiff chair failed to keep him awake. He rolled his head left and popped a vertebrae. He rubbed one eye then the other. Cyclonus sat up in bed and stared. It took a second for Galvatron to register Cyclonus’ conscious state. He jumped out the chair and forgot to draw another breath. “Cyclonus!” he croaked. “Cyclonus, you’re awake!” Galvatron punched the intercom button for Bookworm’s attention. “He’s awake! He’s awake!”

Galvatron reached back for his friend and planted hands on Cyclonus’ shoulders. “Don’t ever scare me like that again! That’s an order, Cyclonus!”

Cyclonus glared. “Sir, you’ve just laid hands on United States property! You will dispense with this charade and return me immediately to Stockville, Nebraska. No questions asked.”

Cyclonus’ usual quiet, gritty voice snarled with an accent Galvatron never heard before. He withdrew, baffled and wordless. He turned when Bookworm trotted into the room. The doctor snapped on blue gloves and activated a hand scanner.

The pretend-Cyclonus glared with disgust. “Lieutenant Jackson Cyclonus. Serial number Bravo, Georgia, Zebra 8446-024. United States. All questions will not be answered except with an attorney present.”

Bookworm paused. “We’re fresh out of lawyers. Now hold still.”

Cyclonus recoiled. ”Do not make me repeat myself!” he growled. “And get that thing out of my face!”

Bookworm glanced at his scanner. “What this? Well, how about this, then:” He zoomed his flat wide nose in the Decepticon’s face and smiled. “Wanna repeat yourself now?” Bookworm zoomed out and turned away. “Never mind. I can annoy by other means.” He paused and stabbed Galvatron with his eyes. “Why are you still here?”

Galvatron clammed his mouth shut and folded his arms. He stared at the alien. The alien doctor stared back. Stare. Stare. Stare. Stare.

“I SAID I want a lawyer!”

They turned to Cyclonus, one face crinkled with annoyance, the other with disbelief.


After Bookworm cleared him, they set Cyclonus in the kitchen and fed him. He ate with no sense of dignity and chewed noisily. “I’d ask for a beer,” he said at one point, “but I suspect you don’t have any.”

Rusti hung back in a corner and watched the Primes and Galvatron watch Cyclonus. All three leaders stared as if expecting the lieutenant to suddenly change and say his behavior was a joke.
With a gulp of coffee, Cyclonus pointed at her with a short smile. “Who’s the pretty lady there? You guys going to introduce me or will I have to make up a name for her?”

Rusti unfolded her arms and took a place at the table. “I might consider being your attorney, Sir, if you answer their questions.”

“Oh.” Cyclonus pushed the plate away and wiped his mouth with a paper towel. “Well, I’ll do about anything for a pretty face.”

Rodimus took point here: “You said your name was Jackson Cyclonus and something about Stockville, Nebraska.”

“At’s right.” Cyclonus picked his teeth and sat back. “The Bombshell PSX 427 is top secret United States property and you bozos had better return it and me in one piece or there will be a not-so-nice little war. President Naghu is already pissed and I doubt he’ll hesitate to push the big red button.”

As amusing as she found the situation, Rusti did not smile. “You are not on Earth, Mr. Cyclonus.”

“So you say. So, perhaps the German space station, then?”

“No.”

“Aussie? There’s been talk that Australia has been dabbling in space exploration.”

“No,” Rusti repeated.

“What then? You gonna stick with the ‘alternate reality’ story? Come on! My six year-old daughter can concoct a better story than that!”

Rusti smiled at that one. “No, she can’t. You can’t make this stuff up.”

Rodimus, who still suffered from Magnus’ prank, leaned back in his chair. He laced fingers behind his head as if bored stiff. “All bad jokes aside, how do we get our Cyclonus back? What about hypnotic suppression, for example? I’ve heard of stories where some poor soul is hypnotized and during the session, their alleged past life is revealed. Maybe the reverse is possible.”

“Whoa, whoa there!” Captain Cyclonus held his hands out. “You’re talking about submersing me into this other guy’s subconscious so that he’s in control? Don’t think so, Mac. I have a right to exist as much as he does.” Jackson paused before adding one more thing: “Cosmic oops notwithstanding. Which, by the way, is a drink, I’m still not taking.”

Optimus frowned. “There has to be a way to undo the situation.”

Galvatron, who remained silent until this moment glared at Prime. “I don’t suppose we can look for a solution before returning to the Autobots.”

Optimus sighed. “We’re going to do everything we can, Galvatron.”

Jackson scoffed. “Well, that’s fantastic. You people don’t even consider how I might feel about this. You just want your buddy back.”

Rodimus quietly laughed. “You want to take his place, Captain? Cuz I’m sure Galvatron is more than happy to hug you all over again.”

“That’s not funny,” Galvatron objected.

Jackson glared hotly at Rodimus. “NO, I don’t want to take this bozo’s place! I want to go back to MY time, MY world, MY family!”

Jackson said something more but Rusti ignored him in favor of Optimus’ attention. She took his hand and when he looked, she mouthed an I-love-you. The smile in his eyes made her heart flutter. Then Jackson abruptly stood, finished his coffee and slammed the cup on the table. “Had enough of you jerks. I’m outta here.”

Rodimus smirked. “Do you even know where you’re going, Captain?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

And out he went, leaving the Primes, Galvatron and Rusti to sit in the now-quiet. The silence grew uncomfortable until Galvatron spoke.

“That damned self-serving snail did this. I don’t understand why he can’t undo it.”

Rusti: “What if he just turned Cyclonus back into his robotic form? Wouldn’t that undo the process?”

“It’s got nothing to do with his body, Lady-Friend,” Rodimus replied. “Pissant said the souls were merged. Kinda like oil and water.”

“There is an answer out there,” Optimus insisted. “We just have to find it.”

Galvatron volleyed his eyes from one Prime to the other. “Do you think we can remain on Mechlatex long enough to search for an answer?”

Rodimus searched the ceiling and scowled. “That could take anywhere from days to weeks. And we don’t know that culture’s level of technology.”

Optimus glanced from him to Galvatron to Rusti. “Whatever we do on Mechlatex, we have to be very, very cautious. We do not want to be noticed by Psyklenox. And Rusti, I would feel better if you stayed with the ship.”

“It’s a meet-and-rescue mission, isn’t it?” she returned. “How about this: how about Galvatron and I go on the information scavenger hunt while you guys look for the Automatron? I mean, how much trouble can we get into sitting in a library?”

Rodimus protruded his lower lip. “Sounds ideal to me. And maybe that sweet old lady will help out.”