Coreward of the Rigel sector, near the edge of the United Galactica proper, lies a rogue planet, unaccompanied by any star, serene in its own private orbit around the Galactic Core. Though it has no sun, it glows with a light of its own, illuminated from within. Upon first seeing it, many take it for a gigantic space station. They assume it must be an artificial construct, for the whole planet is covered with spires and sheets and jumbled strata of gleaming metal. Scarred by ancient and terrible battles, it remains somehow beautiful, a gem set against the blackness of the interstellar void.

Cybertron, homeworld of the Transformers.

Komilia Sterling certainly thought it was beautiful, especially right now. After days of hard running, she and five of her six sisters had reached their destination at last. Palpable relief ran through her body as a white-and-scarlet VF-1S Super Valkyrie with distinctive Autobot markings pulled into formation with her own VF-1J, at the lead of the three-ship formation she had just led out of hyperspace. Her center MFD flickered, then resolved into a virtual image of the same fighter's battroid-mode head and shoulders.

"Eight-Ball Eight, this is Jetfire. You guys look like you've seen some action."

"You could say that," Komilia replied. "I imagine you've seen a newspaper sometime this week?"

"We're monitoring the situation with great concern," Jetfire replied. "You aren't the first to reach us."

Komilia suppressed an urge to ask who else had made it; she had more important business to take care of, and so did Jetfire. "Request you clear us through to Queltaadu City."

"Negative, Eight," Jetfire replied. "I have orders to take you straight to Iacon. Optimus Prime wants to see you."

Komilia's eyebrows went up. "What for?"

"I dunno. If I had to guess, I'd say you knew Gryphon better than any of the others who've made it here so far. Prime's trying to figure out how one of his best friends could just up and lose his slagging mind."

"Oh, horseshit," Komilia snapped. She wouldn't normally have shown such heat, or said such a thing over the comm, but the events of the last few days had left her brittle and short-fused.

"Well, yeah," Jetfire agreed. "Still, you've got to admit something weird is going on. Anyway, he probably wants to ask you about the last couple of days before... you know."

Komilia sighed. "Might as well get it over with, then," she said.

So it was that, immediately upon landing at the military spaceport adjoining the great dome of Iacon, the six Sterling sisters were ushered directly to the nerve center of the Autobot capital. Though a few of them had been to Cybertron before, none had ever seen the Autobots' command center. Unfortunately, all were too tired and emotionally strung out to enjoy it, or to take much notice of each other's condition, for that matter. Komilia had all she could do to keep herself together, stay cool and in charge. Maia and Miranda looked to each other, as always, and Therèse was off in her own little universe, preoccupied with a thousand details. Only Emilia had enough spare mental bandwidth to notice how profoundly miserable Mylene was, and all she could offer was a hand on the youngest's shoulder and reassurances that sounded insultingly hollow as soon as they fell from her lips.

They were a wretched little group, feeling small and vulnerable, when they arranged themselves on the catwalk ringing the command balcony in the Autobase command center and waited.

A moment later, the giant door at the back of the balcony opened and in strode Optimus Prime, supreme leader of the Autobots. His appearance alone lifted the spirits of the six young women who stood before him. His massive, gleamingly armored form, his tall stance, his confident gait, all spoke of indestructibility, of absolute integrity. Even with so much of their faith in what they had believed to be eternal shaken or shattered outright, the Sterlings felt faint flickers of hope stirring within them at the mere sight of him.

He stood for a moment and gazed at them with softly glowing blue optics that conveyed an impression of his great kindness and wisdom. When he spoke, his mighty voice was gentle.

"It's good to see you're all alive," he said. "We had begun to wonder... if any more would make it."

Komilia took charge, as she always did, and introduced her sisters; she was the only one of them who had met the Autobot leader in person before. Then she asked him what was going on.

"I wish I knew," Prime admitted. Placing his massive hands on the railing in front of him, he looked past the little group of women at the situation displays in the war room, as if they could somehow decode all the happenings that had rocked the galaxy over the past five days.

"Sometimes it seems as if the whole galaxy has gone mad, and not just one man," the Autobot leader said softly.

Komilia looked shocked, then angry. "Dammit, Prime, you can't believe - "

Before she could go on, an alarm sounded. On the main monitor, red lines and icons suddenly appeared, indicating new presences in Cybertron's celestial neighborhood.

"Springer! Report!" Prime ordered, his bearing suddenly brisk and businesslike.

"Space fleet defolding at Point Gamma," Springer replied. "I make it thirty ships. Big ones. They're vectoring to enter orbit."

"Incoming transmission," Sideswipe reported from another console. A window appeared on the main monitor, showing the hatchet face of a middle-aged man in a high-collared grey uniform and peaked cap.

"Attention, Autobot Command," the man said in a cool, clipped voice. "This is Captain Lorth Needa of the GENOM Corporation Star Destroyer Avenger. You are harboring Wedge Defense Force fugitives in violation of United Galactica Assembly Decree 2288-1257. You will surrender these fugitives immediately."

Before Prime could respond, hotheaded Sideswipe had keyed his own mic. "Oh yeah?" he snapped. "Or what?"

Needa smiled thinly. "Or Cybertron will suffer the consequences prescribed by law," he replied.

"Is that supposed to intimidate us?" Sideswipe demanded. "Do you know who the fuck you're talking to?"

"Sideswipe," said Prime, his voice firm but not sharp. Then, with just a hint of amusement in his tone, he added, "I'll handle this."

Abashed, Sideswipe yielded the floor with a muttered, "Yessir."

"This is Optimus Prime, supreme commander of the Autobot forces and military governor of Cybertron," Prime said, addressing himself directly to Needa. "The Autobot government does not recognize the jurisdiction of GENOM Corporation's Military Arm in this matter. Our protest against Decree 2288-1257 remains on file with the UG Assembly pending arbitration."

"I take that to mean you refuse to surrender the fugitives," Needa said dryly.

"GENOM ships are moving into attack formation," Springer reported, knowing Needa wouldn't hear him with his own panel's comm pickup turned off. "Looks like five Imperator-class Star Destroyers, a dozen Victory-class, four Invid Hive command ships and assorted support vessels. The Invid are prepping for launch."

"Captain, be warned," Optimus Prime said, his voice calm. "If you attack Cybertron, Autobot forces will respond. We will not tolerate any threat of invasion."

"Be reasonable, Optimus Prime," Needa replied. "We're not interested in conquering or occupying Cybertron. All we want is the Wedge Defenders you're harboring."

Prime dropped his diplomatic formality, reverting to the confident, no-bullshit arch-gunfighter persona that had made him such a successful resistance fighter against the Decepticons (and drawn so many comparisons to John Wayne from his admiring human allies). Folding his arms, he replied flatly,

"Well, you can't have 'em."

Needa's thin smile turned into a cold glare. "So be it, then," he said. "Thus ends Cybertron's second golden age." With that, he cut the transmission and vanished from the screen.

"Planetary condition red!" Prime barked. Sirens howled and lights turned red throughout the Autobot defense installation network as Sideswipe jammed down the master alert button. "Energize defense cannon grid! All Autobots to battle stations! Prepare to repel orbital assault! Aerialbots, Air Guardians, scramble!"

Then, turning to face the eldest of his guests, he added privately to her, "I'm not sure yet what's happening, Komilia. But one thing I know is that I will never deliver anyone into the hands of Maximilien Largo." Clenching one massive metal fist before his chest, he added, "I'll die first."


Lorth Needa had no illusions that this would be an easy day's work. Cybertron was a planetary fortress of a caliber not often seen, and with his relatively small fleet, it would take a lot of work to subdue. He was confident that he could get it done, though. Between the relentless pounding his Star Destroyers' guns could give the surface and the vast numeric advantage his Invid and boomer fighters had over the Autobots' relatively small aerospace contingent, he felt victory was assured.

If he was being honest, he preferred it this way. His orders did not require him to conquer Cybertron, but the Autobots were well-known WDF sympathizers - hell, Optimus Prime was still wearing the version of the Autobot shield that was superimposed on the WDF diamond - and the planet could yield considerable rewards. If nothing else, the company might be able to offer it to the exiled Decepticon forces in exchange for commercial considerations.

"All weapons trained and locked on, Captain," his weapons officer informed him. "Fighters ready to launch."

"Autobot air defense craft are launching, sir," a sensor officer reported. "It looks like the Zentraedi garrison at Queltaadu City is launching battle pods as well."

"So much the better." Needa folded his hands behind his back and prepared to watch the show. "Launch all fighters. Commence surface bombardment as soon as they're clear of our firing arcs."

"Captain!" another sensor officer piped up. "Subspace anomaly in grid area 337."

Needa turned. "Cause?"

"Unknown. It's - wait - yes! Reflex spacefold bearing zero one zero mark zero five, range 1,500 miles!"

Needa's eyes widened slightly. "Fifteen hundred miles!" he blurted. "With the SDF-17 destroyed, only one kind of starship can execute a fold near a planetary body with that kind of precision."

A moment later, his suspicion was confirmed. With a brilliant outpouring of light, the sky over Cybertron was suddenly occupied by more than just Needa's fleet and the swarms of fighters issuing from its ships.

With a beep, a holographic comm window rezzed up in the space between Needa and the Avenger's forward bridge windows. In it was the image of a woman in a black-trimmed scarlet Meltrandi officer's coat. Needa noted with detached amusement that her short mop of tight curls was exactly the same shade of ketchup red as her coat and wondered if that were a coincidence. A very young-looking woman for her apparent seniority, she had a severe expression that marred what would otherwise have been a pixie face.

When she spoke, her voice carried the strange harmonic undertones of a full-sized Zentraedi, and she used the harshest, most guttural form of the Meltranese battle tongue. The Avenger's onboard computer provided a running translation as subtitles on the holo-image.

"Attention, GENOM vessels. I am Group Captain Xeralia Fallyna Sterling of the 127th Meltrandi War Fleet, Battlegroup Quevillon. I have orders from Domillan Exedore Folmo of the Zentraedi Alliance High Command to protect the Wedge Defense Force members taking refuge in this planetary system. You will withdraw immediately or I will annihilate you."

Needa raised an eyebrow. "The Zentraedi Alliance chooses war with the United Galactica?"

Xeralia's full lips twisted in a cruel smile.

"The question is whether the United Galactica will choose war with the Zentraedi Alliance at the behest of the synthoid Largo, Micron," she replied. "Lord Exedore's bet is that it will not... and he is very, very good with odds."

Needa kept his face composed, but inside he knew she had him. There was no conceivable way his fleet could stand against the force that had just arrived. Even a tiny Zentraedi battle group like this one numbered a hundred ships or more, each one at least the size of his own flagship, and the Zentraedi flagship was one of their gigantic Nupetiet-Vergnitzs-class dreadnaughts, nearly two and a half miles long and bristling with firepower. Besides, she was probably right. A GENOM fleet that entered into an outright shooting fight with a Zentraedi battle group would bring the full weight of the Zentraedi Alliance down on the United Galactica, and Largo's support in the Assembly did not extend to that Assembly sticking with his policies to the point of galactic suicide. The Zentraedi were relentless, implacable, once the war-lust was on them. They would see the whole galaxy in flames before they would give up.

"... Very well, Group Captain," he said, his accent even more clipped as he restrained his fury. "You win this round. But if any of those fugitives ventures out of this system, they're our game. Even the Zentraedi cannot be everywhere."

Xeralia folded her arms. "We shall see, Captain Needa. We shall see." Then her image was gone, leaving Needa wondering uneasily how she had known his name. Turning to his XO, he snapped, "Recall all fighters and prepare the fleet for hyperspace. Set your course for Niogi. I will make a personal report to Master Largo."


"How disappointing," Xeralia remarked in Standard as the GENOM ships jumped to hyperspace. "I was hoping he would call my bluff."

"Was it a bluff?" Optimus Prime asked.

Xeralia smirked. "Zentraedi do not bluff... unless I'm bluffing right now."

"You're late, Xera," Komilia said, stepping into the holo-pickup's field of view. The others followed her so that Xeralia could see they'd all made it.

"Not too late to bail your Micron ass out," Xeralia replied. "I'm glad to see you all made it. Where are Mom and Dad?"

Komilia blinked. "They're not with you?"

"No. I thought they were with you."

"We all got separated when the Prometheus made a run for it," Miranda put in. "Dad said something about rendezvousing with the Zentraedi fleet, but they were jamming our comms, so I only got about half the message. I assumed he was talking about your fleet."

Xeralia shook her head. "No... no, I haven't seen them. I... " She trailed off, then shook her head again, this time more briskly, making her scarlet curls bob. "Eh, they must be taking a long way around to shake off pursuit. They'll be along. I mean, hell, who could possibly kill them?"

Komilia didn't answer for a long moment. Behind her, Mylene finally reached her breaking point, turned to Emilia, grabbed hold of her, and started to cry. The others, grave-faced, looked out of the screen at Xeralia, but she had no answers for them.

"Well," Optimus Prime said, breaking gently into the tableau, "you can wait here as long as you need to. The Autobots won't abandon our commitment to our friends just because the galaxy has gone insane." Addressing Xeralia, he said, "Group Captain, what are your plans?"

"My group and I will stick around and secure the area in case those GENOM hounds come back," Xeralia said. "Lord Exedore has returned from addressing the UG Assembly and his escort group is making ready to leave Reflex Point now; they should be here within 24 hours. He wants to discuss the overall situation with you personally."

Prime nodded. "We'll make ready for his arrival. And thank you for the save," he added wryly. "I'm sure some of my bots are as disappointed as you are, but any fight you never have is one that everyone walks away from."

Xeralia grinned. "Our pleasure, Optimus Prime. Quelquira-Nuur out." Her image disappeared, replaced by the tactical plot again, this time showing the Meltrandi fleet moving into a defensive formation all around Cybertron.

Prime gazed at it for a moment, then addressed Sideswipe.

"Stand down from condition red. Space defenses to remain at condition yellow until further notice. Recall the air groups. Springer, coordinate orbital patrols with the Zentraedi fleet."

"Roger that, sir," Springer replied. Prime turned to Komilia.

"The six of you are welcome to take quarters anywhere on Cybertron," he said. "Commander Bron asked me to extend you his personal invitation to stay in Queltaadu City."

Komilia nodded. "Thank you, Prime. I think we'll take him up on that." She turned to regard her younger sisters. Maia, Miranda, and Therèse all looked back, even tough, commanding Maia seeming at a loss. Emilia looked up from comforting the still-sobbing Mylene and gave Komilia a look of consummate uncertainty.

Turning back to Prime, Komilia said, "Give me a few hours to settle the others, and I'm at your disposal. Whatever I know is yours."

Prime's optics smiled kindly. "Tomorrow will do," he said.


Sunday, September 16, 2288
Iacon, Cybertron

True to her word, Komilia reported to Optimus Prime's office in the Iacon command center the next morning. Upon falling into a borrowed bed in the Micronian wing of the Zentraedi base at Queltaadu City, she had slept like the dead. It was the first real sleep she'd had in five days, since her last night aboard the SDF-17. Since then she'd only caught uncomfortable naps in the cockpit of her Valkyrie, usually in hyperspace.

Even now, after more than 15 hours of sleep, she felt sluggish, exhausted mentally and emotionally more than physically. The world had a faint, superimposed sense of surreality, as if what was going on couldn't really be happening. The thought kept running through her mind that the last time she'd slept in a bed, it had been in her stateroom aboard the SDF-17... and that that room was now gone.

When she rang and entered, she was surprised to find that Prime had undocked his human-sized core robot from the much larger chassis that most people thought of when they thought of Optimus Prime. She'd only seen him in this form once before, many years ago. She supposed he'd done it to put her a little more at ease. He continued this pattern as he welcomed Komilia into the office; solicitous and polite, he directed her to a seat at a human-scale conference table and offered her a hot beverage before sitting down opposite her and beginning what amounted to an intensive debriefing.

Komilia could handle debriefings. She was a fighter pilot with centuries of experience, had carried out the occasional commando mission as part of her duty with the elite Eight-Ball Squadron, and had given reports, formal and informal, after thousands of sorties. This was different, though. This wasn't a report of the outcome of a mission, successful or otherwise. It was a requiem for a force that had been her home all her long life.

And for an era.

Optimus Prime, it occurred to her as she spoke, had seen eras end before. She was old by human standards, over 250 years old in an era where the average human lived to be 170 or so; but the Autobot leader was millions of Standard years old. His civilization was one of the oldest in the known universe. His people had been traveling between the stars when both Earth's humans and the forerunners of the Zentraedi had been proto-sapient. By all rights, he ought to be uninterested in the happenings of the last few days, letting them pass with the awesome detachment of a creature who could outwait entire organic civilizations.

And yet he was listening to her with both sincere interest and sincere concern. He was genuinely upset at the sudden turn the galaxy had taken, not because it boded poorly for Cybertron, but because it boded poorly for the galaxy - and for beings he considered his friends.

That was the perspective the old Zentraedi leaders like Bodolza lost, she suddenly realized. It was irrelevant to the situation she found herself in, but she was a student of history and her mind was functioning at such a strange frequency right now that she couldn't help but think of it. Only Breetai and Exedore understood - as Prime understands - that all life is... is...

Komilia lost the thread of it, realized she'd stopped talking. She tried to regroup her thoughts, but they scattered under the pressure, and after a few moments she realized that she could, for the moment, do nothing but weep.

Optimus Prime got up from the table and walked a few paces away, his hands folded behind his back. Komilia dully wondered if the spectacle of an organic lifeform crying made him uncomfortable. Do Transformers cry?

"I'm sorry, Komilia," Prime said quietly. Komilia looked up, blinking away tears, as the Autobot leader turned to face her. "This must be especially hard for you. You have something far heavier than the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders; you have the weight of your family."

For just a second, Komilia thought that he was being sarcastic, pointing out that his problems were much bigger than hers; but then she realized that he meant exactly what he was saying. The sentiment brought a little warmth back to her heart, chilled though it was by sorrow and fatigue.

Thus bolstered, she explained everything she knew. Admittedly, it wasn't much. The Eight-Balls took part in the military operation against the then-unknown attackers of Musashi City, then returned to the Prometheus, hit the showers, and went off-duty while Gryphon and the Lovely Angels joined the Shadow Squad for a mop-up operation, dealing with a hostage situation at a grade school.

The next thing Komilia knew, things had taken a turn for the very strange. The team returned from the surface with Gryphon all shot up and under guard. There were rumors that he'd gone crazy, shot up a schoolroom, killed a bunch of children - and she found video that seemed to prove the rumors true. Released from sickbay the next day but still under guard, Gryphon wasn't allowed to make contact with any of his pilots. Eventually, either infuriated by the charges against him or desperate to avoid court-martial, Gryphon somehow finagled access to the Prometheus and left aboard his personal Valkyrie.

Things happened very fast after that. First Kei Morgan, who had nearly bitten Erik Swimm's head off earlier, took the Lovely Angel and left in pursuit; then Zoner resigned his command and took off with the Daytona from Hell, destination unknown; then Yuri flew off with a hyper-equipped Valkyrie, apparently not going after any of the three. The Eight-Balls, fed up with the craziness and secrecy, were saddling up to go out, round the lot of them up, and make them all sit down and explain what the hell was going on when everything suddenly hit the fan.

"We had loaded hyperpacks because we were planning to chase the boss and the others," Komilia said, her voice low, her mood bleakened once more by retelling the sad and confusing story. "Once the Wedge was clear, we were able to escape the system under our own power. We had no common nav points loaded, so we ended up scattered from hell to breakfast. There was no way to regroup, find the Prometheus, anything. Terry and I were still together, and we got a text message from Maia invoking Mom and Dad's contingency plan."

"Your parents were wise to plan for the worst," Prime said.

Komilia nodded. "That's Dad. Thinking ahead. I think he might've realized what none of the rest of us did - that the WDF had faultlines that a smart enemy could exploit. But... " She gave Prime a helpless look. "I don't understand how it could have been so easy. I mean, I was almost as much an outside observer as you, but... it's all so strange. It's like they all just went crazy."

"Indeed," said a voice from the doorway. "In fact... if you assume that Gryphon didn't do what he's accused of doing on Musashi, he suddenly emerges as the player in this little drama who acted the most sensibly - an innocent man, cornered and confused as his friends inexplicably turn on him, trying to get some space and figure out what to do."

Komilia turned in her chair, then looked up, and up, and up some more, her eyes wide. "Exedore!"

Domillan Exedore Folmo, Minister-at-Large of the Zentraedi Alliance High Command, smiled and bowed. Though very short - nearly a dwarf - by Zentraedi standards, he still towered over her merely human frame.

"Greetings, Komilia Dana Fallyna Sterling," he said. "It's good to see you again. I regret it isn't under better circumstances."

"As do I, Domillan Exedore," Optimus Prime said, inclining his head. "Welcome back to Cybertron, your excellency."

Exedore made a dismissive gesture and seated himself at the end of the large conference table, turning his chair to face them. "I hardly think we need to stand on ceremony at a time like this, Optimus Prime." Addressing himself to them both, he went on, "The Zentraedi High Command has reviewed all the available information on this incident. It is our conclusion that the incidents on Musashi were deliberately arranged to create conditions favorable for the attack on the SDF-17."

Komilia brightened. "Then you believe Gryphon is innocent?"

"We do. However," he added with an upraised hand before she could speak, "we have been unable to convince the United Galactica Assembly; they are too much cowed by Largo. Even the honorable ambassador from Salusia could not move them. Their judgment against the WDF - and their tacit legalization of GENOM's ongoing campaign of extermination - stands."

Komilia bolted to her feet, aware as she did so that the gesture lacked something when confronting a giant, but too impassioned to care. "Where is Lord Breetai?" she demanded. "Why has he not struck back? The Kridanik Fleet could annihilate GENOM MILARM Command. By God! Macronize me and give me a Queadluun-Rau, and I'll bring you Largo's head myself! What the hell are you smiling at?!"

"I beg your pardon, Komilia Fallyna," Exedore said, sobering. "I'm not laughing at you, I assure you. It's merely that you reminded me so strongly of your august mother just now. I don't know where Breetai is. He and his fleet have vanished. They left Reflex Point as soon as the first reports of the SDF-17's destruction arrived and haven't been seen since. Perhaps they plan a counteroffensive against GENOM, as you suggest, but for all our sakes, I hope not. Should the Zentraedi Alliance attack GENOM in the WDF's name now, the United Galactica's military forces would get involved. The result would be a galactic war - one that we would almost certainly win, but at a terrible cost, not only to ourselves, but also to the people of the United Galactica, most of whom are blameless in this affair. Do you think that course of action justified?"

Komilia stared up at him, her eyes still fierce, for a few moments; then she sagged, all the fight going out of her, and slumped into her seat, elbows on tabletop, head in hands.

"... no," she said, her voice barely audible.

Prime walked around the table and put a hand on her shoulder. Despite the fact that the hand was hard and metallic, she found it oddly comforting. She pulled herself together and asked Exedore if he'd heard any news of her parents.

Looking troubled, Exedore replied, "Oh dear. It seems I'm destined to bring you nothing but bad news today. I'm afraid I haven't heard anything. I had assumed they would be here with you."

"Maia said he told her something about meeting up with a Zentraedi fleet. We thought that meant they'd be with Xera, but she thought the same as you."

"Well, there are a good many Zentraedi fleets, and all of them that Maximilian would know how to reach would shelter them," Exedore pointed out. "I'm sure they'll turn up." He sighed. "In the meantime, all is not quite lost. Though we were unable to reverse the UG's decision, neither can they enforce their decree upon the Zentraedi Alliance itself without risking the same disastrous war, so any WDF personnel who find their way to us are safe as long as they stay with us, at least."

Optimus Prime nodded. "I'd like to see the information you have available - we've been able to piece together quite a bit from witness accounts, but hard data is always useful."

Exedore nodded. "Certainly. I'll have my commtechs put together a complete package for transmission to Teletran-1 at once."

Komilia gathered herself and got to her feet again, more slowly this time.

"Prime... Domillan Exedore... do you need me for this? If not, I think I'd like to get a little more rest," she said, her voice subdued.

Prime, his hand still on her shoulder, gave a gentle squeeze and let her go. "Of course," he said. "I'm sorry, Komilia. We'll speak again later - when you've rested and I've had a chance to absorb all the information."

Komilia nodded to him, bowed to Exedore, and then slowly left the room.

"Protector" (Part 2 of Patience, an Exile Mini-Story Serial) by Benjamin D. Hutchins
Patience plotted by Philip J. Moyer
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© 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited