THURSDAY, OCTOBER 6, 2005 DEEP SPACE "Oh, how it -pains- me to -do- this." The mocking words replayed over and over in the barely working consciousness of Megatron, Supreme Commander of the Decepticons. Starscream. Why had he let the treacherous fool live as long as he had? Answer: because the treacherous air warrior was very, very good at his job. And because Megatron's arrogance had led him to think himself invincible. Well, Optimus Prime had proven that wrong, and now it appeared that Starscream had finished the job. So dim had Megatron's awareness of the emptiness around him become, and so engrossed in this galling realization was he, that he failed at first to notice that his name was being called. "Megatron," the voice said again, a voice so deep and rich and all-embracing that it was as if the very universe itself had chosen to speak. "Welcome, Megatron." Emergency energon reserve pumps kicked in, giving the badly damaged Decepticon leader the strength to recover control of his drifting flight through space. Megatron stabilized his trajectory, shunted energy to his optics, and saw a vast metallic spheroid before him, orange and grey and girded by a strange-looking mechanical ring. It looked strangely familiar, though he knew he hadn't seen it before. He wondered why the sight of it filled his spark with dread. "Who - who said that?" Megatron had the strange sense that the entire planetoid was regarding him judiciously before it spoke again, and when it did, its simple pronouncement explained the dread entirely: "I... am Unicron." Megatron's optics widened. "Impossible," he said flatly. "Unicron is a myth. You don't exist!" Unicron considered that for a moment, then replied in a tone of dry amusement, "You are in no position to dictate my existence, Megatron. At any rate, I have summoned you here for a purpose." Wounded, low on energy, dying, and faced with his race religion's embodiment of chaos and destruction, Megatron still refused to be cowed. "Nobody summons Megatron!" he snarled. "Then it pleases me to be the first," Unicron replied in a tone of smug complacency. Megatron scowled. "State your business," he said, as though he were the one in control of this interview. Unicron paused as if considering whether to take Megatron to task for his disrespectful tone. Then the monstrous planetoid announced as if Megatron hadn't spoken, "This is my command: You are to destroy the Autobot Matrix of Leadership. It is the one thing - the only thing - that can stand in my way." Megatron smirked. "You have nothing to fear. I have already crushed Optimus Prime with my bare hands." "You exaggerate," Unicron said, sounding faintly amused again. "The point is, he's dead!" Megatron snapped. "And the Matrix died with him." "No, the point is, you are a fool," Unicron replied tartly. "The Matrix has been passed to their new leader, Ultra Magnus. Destroy it for me." "Why should I?" Megatron demanded. "What's in it for me?" Unicron somehow gave the impression of a planetoid stopping just short of emitting a derisive snort. "Your bargaining posture is highly dubious; but very well. I will provide you with a new body and new troops to command." "And?" "And nothing! You belong to me now." Unicron's bland pronouncement sent a spike of anger through Megatron. It cleared the wounded Decepticon's mind and made him realize just what he had been about to do, what sort of being he'd been on the verge of striking a deal with. Was he -mad-? Had his wounds addled his -mind-? This was -Unicron-, the Destroyer, the Devourer of Worlds! If he thought the Autobot Matrix could stand in his way, that was fine with Megatron - given that Unicron's way, if the legends were true, led directly to the annihilation of Cybertron. "I belong to nobody!" Megatron roared. Unicron thought that over. "Perhaps I misjudged you," he said. Then he added dismissively, "Proceed on your way to oblivion." Scarlet energy filled the space around Unicron, convulsing Megatron's battered frame with anguish. Then, his displeasure expressed, Unicron turned and moved away. In spite of the static scrambling his optics and the agony knotting his limbs, Megatron still had to be impressed at the Dark One's terrible majesty as he cruised past, accelerating. "Unicron," he rasped, barely able to speak. "You will regret trifling with me. If it takes a million years, I will see you kneel before me. No one owns Megatron." His voice, though weak, was filled with a furious intensity that would have taken any other listener aback as he raised a clenched fist and repeated, "-No one-." Then he twitched, sparking, as a degraded junction finally broke down. The voice of his internal computer announced calmly, "Energy depletion critical. Stasis lock commencing." The last thing he saw was Unicron vanishing into a scintillating vortex of scarlet light. Blackness followed. /* Bowling for Soup "1985" _A Hangover You Don't Deserve_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited and Imagination, Unlimited present UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT TRANSFORMERS: CYBERTRON RELOADED Issue #1 - "Cybertron Welcomes Careful Fliers" Philip Jeremy Moyer Benjamin D. Hutchins The Transformers created by Hasbro/Takara (c) 2005 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited MONDAY, JUNE 4, 2412 ACROSS MOBILE HEADQUARTERS PHILIP MARLOWE METASPACE TRANSIT A scintillating vortex of scarlet light, shot through with ribbons and slashes of blackness, reflected off Priss Morgan's skin and eyes as she stared out through the unshielded viewport that formed one wall of the Overlord-class dropship Philip Marlowe's recreation lounge. Priss was bored. This was not entirely her fault, or that of her teammates; but there were only so many things a person could do onboard a combat dropship before she started to repeat herself. It was a strange feeling to be back aboard, back with this group of people, back in this uniform. Priss had spent the last couple of years in a very different outfit, the gold-trimmed silver coverall of a Worlds Welfare Work Association trouble consultant cadet. Though she'd kept her rating with simulator time, she hadn't been behind the controls of a real Getter Machine in more than 24 months. She was out of the giant robot business... or she would've been if not for the war. The previous month had seen the United Federation of Planets collapse and a state of open war break out among its former member-states. On February 10, a massive Starfleet-Earthforce combined offensive sought to bottle up the Wedge Defense Force in the Zeta Cygni Dyson sphere, crush the Confederate Freespacers Mercenary Fleet at Jyurai, and destroy International Police Station Babylon 6 near Bajor. None of those operations had succeeded. The fleet sent to Zeta Cygni suffered a major schism in its command structure, and most of it defected to the International Police; the WDF easily mopped up the rest. The fleet sent to Jyurai was wiped out by the Jyuraian Royal Navy and the Freespacers in a monumental counterattack. The Battle of Bajor had seen the IPO backed up by forces as diverse as the Imperial Klingon Defense Forces and the Autobot Expeditionary Force, and in the end the arrival of the WDF broke the back of Starfleet Admiral Cartwright's assault, driving him from the field. In the wake of that colossal engagement came a full-scale galactic war. The Babylon Foundation quickly engineered an alliance to drive the Earth-dominated Federation remnants from their occupied territories. That campaign had recently culminated in the fall of the Earth Alliance, but the mop-up promised to take up most of the allies' military resources for some time to come. This, in turn, meant that there was a greater call for police and paramilitary response to address security concerns. Part of that response involved the reactivation of the Getter Team of ACROSS, which had been inactive since Priss and Sylvie left for the 3WA Academy. Initially, ACROSS Supreme Commander Martin Rose and the agency's field commander, Colonel Misato Katsuragi, had considered putting new pilots into the three Getter Machines; but with the Academy adjourning for summer break, two of the original pilots were conveniently available... and so they found themselves drafted back into service. Spending the summer in New Avalon would've been irritating enough for Priss, who had planned to take some optional summer studies at the Academy. As it turned out, though, it was worse than that. "Hey, Lieutenant?" It took Priss a moment, sunk in her reverie and unused to the title as she was, to realize that the speaker was addressing her. Turning in her seat, she found herself facing the New Guy, ACROSS's junior pilot, freshly assigned to Getter Machine #3. A young man recruited in from the WDF's Veritech fighter forces, Sergeant Chuck Keith was reportedly an excellent pilot with a real head for variable-geometry mecha, and he seemed like a nice guy, but Priss wasn't really in the mood for chitchat. All the same, it wouldn't do to be rude to the poor guy, so she made herself as pleasant as she could manage and replied, "Yeah?" "Have you ever been to Cybertron before?" "No," Priss replied. Chuck waited for her to elaborate; when she didn't, he blinked at her in surprise. "Aren't you excited?" he said. "We're going to Cybertron! It's one of the most beautiful planets in the galaxy. And we're going to be training with the -Aerialbots-. How cool is that?" "Uh... yeah," Priss replied, failing to muster any enthusiasm. "Thrilling." In retrospect, the whole not-being-rude-to-Chuck part might not have been much of a success. Sitting at the opposite end of the lounge couch, Sylvie Daniels frowned slightly, then put on a cheery face and said, "Don't mind Priss, Chuck. She's just bitter that you aren't Domon Kasshu." "Get -bent-, Syl," Priss said sourly. Chuck looked hurt. "Well, look," he said. "I might not be a former Mobile Fight Champion, but I'm good at what I do. Colonel Katsuragi wouldn't have picked me if she didn't think I could do the job." "It's nothing to -do- with you, or Domon, or anyone else," Priss said. "I just have places I'd rather be, OK? Cybertron is -dullsville-. Nothing's happened there since before I was -born-." "Well, -I'm- looking forward to it," Sylvie said. "I have a lot of friends on Cybertron." Priss snorted. "-Internet- friends." "Not all of them," Sylvie replied breezily. "But yeah, so, what's wrong with that? It's a very wired planet. You have to expect that from a cybernetic culture. Remember the time we went to the Borg datacommune? That was pretty cool." "Pff. Cool if you like creepy, pasty-faced robo-hippie dudes who talk about how they want to 'assimilate' you." "You have no sense of adventure." "I have no desire to have my -eyeballs- drilled into," Priss retorted, folding her arms. "Well, I promise, there won't be any eyeball drilling on Cybertron," Sylvie said, patting her shoulder. "Come on, Chuck. There's no talking to her when she gets into this mood. Let's go down to the caf and see if the tech crew got all of that pie." Priss watched them leave, then sat back on the lounge couch and sighed. She hadn't really meant to be so mean to the New Guy, and she felt a little bad about it, but damn it all! Sylvie, of all people, should know why spending time on -Cybertron-, of all planets, wasn't high on her priority list. Oh well. There was nothing for it but to try and get through it. She was stuck with the job, at least for the summer. The faster her father's fleet got done taking back the Federation from Earthgov, the sooner she could get back to doing the -important- stuff, and leave defending the galaxy to somebody else. "So... " Chuck said as he punched buttons on the Snack-o-Mat in the Philip Marlowe's cafeteria. Sylvie, frowning disconsolately at the empty pie case, took a moment to respond. "So what?" "What's with Lt. Morgan, anyway?" Chuck asked as the snack machine delivered his selection. "She's nothing like I was told to expect." "She's having a bad year," Sylvie replied offhandedly as she surveyed the Snack-o-Mat's options. Eventually, with a grumble, she opted for Twinkies - a damned poor substitute for pie! - and a soda, then followed Chuck to a seat in the corner. The caf aboard the Marlowe was actually smaller than those found aboard standard Overlord-class dropships, which was at odds with the considerable roominess of the rest of the ship. Completely overhauled and custom-fitted for its job as the ACROSS mobile headquarters, the Marlowe had more room for creature comforts because of its much smaller crew. A standard Overlord was designed to haul 36 Destroids, their pilots, and the manpower to support them in the field, as well as a sizeable crew to operate the ship itself. The Marlowe, on the other hand, carried a mixed bag of mecha which, though more powerful than a battalion of Destroids, required a lot fewer people to operate. The technical crew was about the same size, but many of them doubled as ship crew when the vessel was moving. All of this meant that the accommodations aboard the Marlowe were much more comfortable than those found aboard a standard Overlord; but, since fewer people needed to be served in it, the caf itself was smaller, more like a small restaurant or snack bar than the industrial-grade (or, as more than one Destroid jockey over the years had thought, prison-grade) messhall to be found on a normal combat dropship. "Having a bad year, what does -that- mean?" Chuck wondered as he and Sylvie took their seats. She thought about how to respond for a moment, then sighed and said, "Look, Chuck, it's nothing personal, OK? But Priss doesn't usually discuss her troubles with people she's just met, and she wouldn't appreciate it if I did either. She's got places she'd rather be this summer, that's all. If she wants to elaborate later... " She shrugged and peeled the cellophane from her Twinkies. "It's not that you're the FNG, but, you're the FNG, you know?" "I suppose. It's just that if I knew what the problem was, I might be able to help." Chuck opened his cupcakes and cracked the top on his bottle of blue milk. "I mean, the three of us, we're supposed to be a team, right? In orientation I got a lot of talk about how Getter pilots have to be able to anticipate each other's moves and stuff... " "Hey, we haven't even started training together yet," Sylvie said. "What do you think this trip is -for-? We're probably not going to be very good at it the first few times we try. Hell, even with Domon in #1 and Priss in #3, we could barely even change modes without wrecking everything the first couple of weeks. We had better luck with the autopilot." "That's not very encouraging," Chuck mused. "How'd you end up in this job, anyway?" Sylvie asked. "I volunteered," Chuck said. "I started out with the WDF as a space-Destroid pilot." "Ah. Gundam jockey, eh?" "Well, Machine Weapons, at first. My last Destroid posting was in a Gundam-F91 squadron. I went from there to Veritech conversion training and spent a year in a VF-19 squadron, and then did some test piloting for the Advanced Flight Test Center. I must've caught somebody's attention, because they offered me my pick of postings when I finished that job. I could have transferred to the Colonial Forces and trained on the Viper Mark X, or come here, and I decided I wanted to get in on something... something truly -unique-, you know? There's only one other Getter Robo in the -universe-, and it's inactive, so I'd be flying the one and only ship of its type. Even Colonial Warriors can't say that, except the ones in Blue Rose Squadron." "Huh. Yeah, I suppose there's that," Sylvie said, nodding. "What about you?" "Me? I got drafted. Well, this time around. Initially, it just seemed like a good idea at the time." Sylvie laughed. "A lot of IPO projects are like that." They'd just about finished their snacks when the caf door hissed open and in came Misato Katsuragi, looking relaxed. She was dressed casually - no uniform for Misato unless some outside circumstance demanded it - but still had the habit of wearing her old WDF Armored Cavalry jacket. "There you are," she said, spotting the two pilots. "Hey, Misato," said Sylvie with an absent wave, but Chuck Keith was on his feet in moments, not quite standing at attention but coming close to it. "Colonel Katsuragi," he said with a nod. Misato snorted. "Sergeant Keith," she said, sketching a vague approximation of a salute. "This isn't Advanced Flight Test, Chuck, and I'm not Guld Bowman, thank God. When we're not under review, you can call me Misato if you want." "Uh... " Chuck relaxed slightly, looking a bit sheepish - clearly this was not the first time she'd had to tell him that. "Sorry. Old habits... " Misato laughed. "We're coming out of metaspace soon - you guys should get to your arrival stations. Where's Priss?" "Rec deck," Sylvie said. "She's still in a mood." "Well, I'll go see if I can roust her, then. You guys get to the control deck." Misato found Priss just where Sylvie and Chuck left her, staring out the viewport, lost in thought. "Hey, kid," she said. "We're about there. We need you on the bridge." "Hm? Oh. Coming," Priss said, levering herself from her seat. Misato waited by the door for her, then put a hand on her shoulder as they left the room together. "Listen," she said, "I know this is totally not what you wanted to be doing this summer, OK? And you have the right to be pissed off about it. But I -need- you. I need someone with your experience, your ability, and your instincts, and I need her in Getter Machine #1 this summer." "I'm here, aren't I?" Priss replied a trifle sharply. "You're here, but you're not really here," Misato replied. She stopped walking and turned Priss to face her. "Priss, when you're at the controls of a Getter Machine and your head's in the game, nobody can touch you. -Nobody-. That's why you're Domon's replacement in #1. That's why I made you Getter Leader when I reactivated the team. I need -that- Priss Morgan, not the half- hearted, bitchy one I've got here." "And just what the hell do you need her for?" Priss shot back, her pale blue eyes acquiring their first real spark of life since she'd boarded the dropship back in New Avalon. "The galaxy's going to hell in a handbasket and what are -we- gonna be doing? Playing with ourselves on -Cybertron-." "Only until we're field-ready," Misato replied. "After that we're on active duty - " "Standing by to guard New Avalon in case Big Fire decides to lob in a K-unit or two while Dad's out of town? HelLO, that's why GUY'S there? We didn't NEED two kaiju-class combatants in town even during the Big Summer." Misato smiled - she liked it when Priss showed some spirit, rather than just moping around, and in this case she actually had something to tell the younger woman that she figured would be appreciated. "Hell, no," she said. "We're needed for a much more interesting job than that." "What?" "I can't tell you yet. But I can tell you this: I'm going to need a Getter Team at the top of its game to pull it off, and for that I need a Getter Leader at the top of -hers-. So what's it gonna be, Morgan? Have I got that leader now, or do I have to shop around for another one? 'Cause there are plenty of fighter jocks out there who'd love to get a shot at your seat, I can tell you that right now. Hell, I might be tempted to try it myself! I'm an old lady and I get tired, but at least I -give a shit-." The two women glared at each other for a few brittle seconds. Priss cracked first, letting out a stifled snort, and within a few seconds they were leaning toward each other, hands on each other's shoulders, and laughing. "OK, OK, fine," Priss said, wiping her eyes and turning down the hall toward the turbolift again. "But this job you're talking about had better be good." "You'll love it." "I'd better." "You will!" DECEPTICON FLAGSHIP NEMESIS II EXACT LOCATION UNKNOWN The Supreme Commander of the Decepticon Forces stood on the bridge of his flagship, hands folded behind his back, gazing silently at a holographic image of his target. Well, hand folded behind his back, anyway. He had only one hand; his left arm ended in a weapon barrel, which he grasped with his right hand in lieu of a left wrist to hold onto. His face was impassive, but then, his face was always impassive, for strictly speaking he -had- no face; just a featureless plate with a single round optic dead-center. Shockwave's cool, dispassionate voice betrayed just the faintest quiver of emotion as he regarded the hologram and spoke a single word: "Cybertron." Another Decepticon walked up behind and a bit to the right of the commander and surveyed the hologram. His face was neither featureless nor impassive, and he didn't bother hiding the cruel longing in his voice as he said, "It's been a long time." "Indeed," Shockwave agreed, nodding. "Too long. But our moment is at hand, Hun-Grrr. The Autobots are complacent and our strength is at its peak. They thought us beaten and scattered after Galvatron's destruction - but his end was, in truth, precisely what the Decepticons needed most." Shockwave turned to survey the flagship's bridge crew, then looked back at the hologram of Cybertron. "We will crush the Autobots once and for all. I will succeed where Megatron and Galvatron both failed. It is logical. It is inevitable." "But why -now-, Shockwave?" asked a third Decepticon. Shockwave turned his head to regard the speaker. "Explain your query, Onslaught," he said. "We've built our strength and our fleet in secret these many years, Commander," the Combaticon leader replied. "Why must we attack -right now-? You've seen the reports from Laserbeak and Ravage. There's an unusually high concentration of Autobots on the planet at this time. Why not wait until some of those who are normally posted elsewhere have left again?" Shockwave didn't even pause to consider this. When he spoke, his voice was flat and cold. "No. There can be no delay." He turned his head again to fix Onslaught with his single unblinking optic. "Question my orders again and you will be destroyed." Onslaught looked back at him for a moment, appearing faintly baffled, then drew himself to attention and turned back to his task. In the back corner of the bridge, Onslaught's fellow Combaticon Vortex turned to jet warrior Thrust and remarked in a low voice, "(Guy's getting more like Galvatron all the time.)" "(Tell me about it,)" Thrust replied. <> said Soundwave from the helm station, his oddly flattened voice cutting through the other sounds of the bridge as it was designed to do. <> "Looks like you were right about the new drive system," Hun-Grrr observed. "They have no idea we're even here." "I am always right, Hun-Grrr," Shockwave said calmly. "Soundwave. Flag to all ships: Prepare to surface the fleet and commence the attack. I want the orbital defense grid down and our main force on the surface within twelve Standard hours." Decepticons moved to obey their commander's orders. Despite their personal opinions on his apparent coldness, they were unified by a singular goal - the desire to return to Cybertron. They had been gone for far too long. There would be no stopping them this time. <> Heads turned to look at Soundwave, who was studying one of the displays at the helm. <> Onslaught turned his gaze towards their commander, waiting to see what Shockwave would do with this unexpected development. After all - as he well knew - no matter how logically plotted out, no battle plan withstood its first encounter with the enemy. "Well, there it is, troops - Cybertron," Misato announced as the Philip Marlowe emerged from the metagate. Priss and Chuck watched the metal-clad planet move into view from their stations on the dropship's bridge as they approached. "Establishing communications uplink, Misato," Sylvie announced from her own station, her fingers sliding over the controls. "Requesting an approach from Autobot ATC... now." "Hey, hey, hey, if it isn't one of my favorite netizens!" an enthusiastic voice proclaimed from the speakers. A moment later, an inset window appeared on the main viewscreen, revealing a grinning red-horned, silver-visored metal face. "How's it hangin' in the lands of the real, Sylvie?" Sylvie grinned. "It's hanging well, Blaster! How's the rest of the cassette crew?" "(And, of course, the first call she -makes- is to a netfriend she knows...)" Priss grumbled under her breath, but it was half-hearted at best. Blaster chuckled, his blue optics reflecting his merriment. "Oh, the same as usual. Rewind and Eject have been running net classes, Ramhorn's volunteered to play in the 'Hammer Time Online' expansion test with Steeljaw - " "Steeljaw dragged him online by his neck, you mean," smirked Sylvie. "Well, if you want to put it -that- way," Blaster admitted. He looked about ready to add something, but then his brow furrowed. "Hold on an astrosec - " The image of Blaster jumped, and flickered, and then attempted to stabilize. When it came back, the video was filled with static. " - wha- the -ell? Wher- di- THOS- -ome fro- " "Say again, Blaster?" Sylvie frowned, then jabbed at her console, trying to clear up the signal. <> Soundwave continued to gather and relay information about the newcomer to the tactical displays, even as a portion of his conciousness coordinated the jamming of Cybertron's communications networks. Onslaught chose this moment to speak up. "Your -orders-, Commander?" he asked Shockwave, somehow managing to restrain any measure of challenge in his voice. Shockwave glanced back at Onslaught, then returned his attention to the tactical hologram. On it, an egg-shaped vessel - not too impressive by warship standards, but quite large for a landing craft - was headed away from the lattice shape of the metagate. Course projections flashed through his logic centers. There was a 85 percent chance, plus or minus five percent, that this ship would be headed for Iacon, even though there was a very low probability that they had come specifically to assist the Autobots, given the timing of the arrival. However, the weapon capabilities of a Overlord-class dropship and its attendant mecha, if handled by a capable crew, were not to be ignored. An Overlord could carry a full battalion of 36 Destroids, along with all the support equipment and personnel required to sustain the battalion in extended field operations. Destroids were not Autobots, but Decepticon clashes with WDF forces had demonstrated again and again that a properly equipped Destroid in the hands of a competent MechWarrior could pose a serious threat. A battalion of them would constitute significant reinforcement of the Autobots' primary position. There was also the fact that the dropship's course would cross the path of the Decepticon fleet. Taking these factors into account, the final decision was simple enough. "Dispatch Air Squadrons Five and Six to destroy the intruder," Shockwave finally announced, not turning away from the display. "All other forces, proceed as planned." "Dammit, Misato," Sylvie cursed as she continued to try and break the sudden jamming. "Something seriously screwy is going on - we've just lost all out-system transmission capability, and ship-to- shore isn't doing too hot, either." Misato frowned from her seat at the helm. "I don't like this. Chuck, sound General Quarters. Priss, get our weapons up and active. Sylvie, any luck?" "No, not unless you've got a J-class mainframe in your back pocket. If this keeps up, I may have to do a netdive and try to find the source - " "Negative, Sylvie. We need you out here and focused. Keep an eye out for any bandits, try to do unto them as they're doing to us." "All right." "Any idea who could be doing this, Colonel?" Chuck asked, even as he checked the status of the dropshop's defensive systems. Priss paused in her preparations to point at the bridge's main display. "Those -warships- might provide us a clue." Misato's head jerked up from studying her own console. "What the -hell-?" She stared, watching as a fleet of warships flickered into existence below Cybertron's geosynchronous orbit. Flashes of light began to flare as various orbital defense platforms came online to fire on the intruders, then were vaporized for their troubles. "Sylvie, can you get an ident on them?" "Working on it," Sylvie replied, her expression one of concerned focus. "I can't pick up any IFF codes, and I doubt I could get any with this jamming. Hell, I can't even get the Autobot transponders. Let me try visual." She zoomed several of the dropship's external cameras, focusing them on the lead ships of the unexpected fleet. The command crew watched as the main display revealed several large battleships, slab-sided but sleek, designed with a clearly brutal efficency. Around them were smaller craft, destroyers and vessels that looked to be, to Misato's practiced eye, at the right scale for Destroid combat operations. They too were coldly designed, clearly built as weapons of war. And within the middle of the formation was a much larger command vessel: part battleship, part carrier, and all warship. It lacked the elegance of even the most uncouth designs found in the WDF, IPO, or Federation fleets. On its forward flight deck was a broad, angular purple emblem. Chuck sucked in a sharp breath. "-Not- good." Misato looked at the screen in shock. It took her a moment to regain her voice. The insignia was sharp and angular, two triangular hollows serving as glaring eyes beneath four upward points that seemed to form a crowned helm. Misato's long career had never brought her across the path of those whose flag it was, but practically every Destroid jockey and Veritech pilot in the WDF had been trained to recognize it. "-DECEPTICONS!-" The Decepticon fleet was a hive of frenzied activity. Squadrons of Jetwarriors launched themselves into the space over Cybertron, while their ground-bound brethren operated shipboard weapons and prepared their dropships for landing on the metal surface of the planet. Two of those squadrons cut away from the main attack force at Shockwave's command and vectored towards the rapidly approaching human dropship. The lead warrior, one Windrazor by name, had been put in charge of this mission, in command of Air Squadrons Five and Six. However, to be honest, he was more concerned with keeping two of the members of Air Squadron Six in line than with the coming attack on a pathetic fleshling vessel. "Hooligan! Space Case! Cease that Pit-spawned inanity and get back in formation!" the grey fighter snapped, his patience beginning to run out. "Aw, c'mon, Windrazor!" replied an orange and red tiger-striped fightercraft. "We're back on Cybertron, and it's time to have some FUN!" "Yeah, Windrazor, don't be such a killjoy," chimed in a second fighter, white and red with forward-swept wings, as he flew around the members of the more tightly ordered Air Squadron Five. "Just think, in minutes we'll be able to play 'pop the squishies'! I just can't wait to see their faces when we vent their ship to hard vacuum!" "We are not yet ON Cybertron, you idiots." A tightness entered the Decepticon's voice as his undercarriage weapon charged up. "And I cannot wait to see your faces when -you- have to explain to Commander Shockwave how you botched the mission by flying recklessly - provided you HAVE faces when I'm finished with you." A subprocess alerted the squadron leader that he had successfully locked onto his two subordinates. "Whoa, wait an astrosecond, Windrazor!" Hooligan exclaimed. "Yeah, hold on! We were just fooling around!" Space Case chimed in. "You know us - " "All too well," he replied, his voice calm and controlled. "Do I have to make myself any clearer?" "N-no sir!" the two jets replied. "Good." With an internal whir, Windrazor's weapon went back to standby, and he released the targeting lock on the two malcontents. "Air Squadron Five, Air Squadron Six, accellerate to flanking speed. Terradive, prepare for bombing run. We shall run interference." A thick-winged black bomber rolled to wave its wings, acknowleding his commander's orders. "Affirmative, Windrazor." "Squadron Five and Squadron Six: Attack!" /* Goo Goo Dolls "Long Way Down" _A Boy Named Goo_ */ "Decepticons?" Priss blurted as she checked her status indicators. The dropship's Gauss cannon ammunition feeds and missile loaders were fully operational, already preparing for the first salvos, so she felt that she could at least spare the time to ask rhetorical questions. "But that's impossible! Weren't they wiped out ages ago?" "It'd appear that the rumors of their disappearance were greatly exaggerated, Priss," Chuck dryly replied, even as he verified that the dropship's defensive systems were working at top efficency. "After all, it's not like the WDF, United Galactica, or the Federation made serious efforts to hunt them down after the Autobots' defeats of them." "Chuck, I hate to interrupt, but can we save the history lesson for later?" Misato interrupted. "Sorry, Colonel - " A fervent beeping from several sensor consoles cut off Chuck's apology. "Incoming!" Misato consulted her own display, and swore. "Crap - yeah, I can see that. How many?" "Four... no, seven jets... I -think-. The jamming's messing up some of my long-range sensors." Misato frowned, studying her navigational console. The airspace above Cybertron was becoming a madhouse as Autobot fliers took to the skies to try and repel the Decepticon assault. In turn, the enemy fleet was beginning to spread out, blazing a path for its main ships through the outer defensive lines. The strikes were precise and efficent, creating a wide kill zone that most of the Autobots were wisely avoiding. This kill zone was rapidly expanding, and had already overtaken the Philip Marlowe's original intended flight path. Misato Katsuragi did not like the odds this presented for the survival of her crew. "Damn. Screw this. We can't stay up here, and we can't wait for landing permission. Priss, shoot anything Decepticon that moves. Chuck, cover our rears. Sylvie, do what you can on ECM." Misato tabbed a control on her console, and moments later, her voice echoed through the Philip Marlowe's compartments. "Crew, this is Colonel Katsuragi. We've just entered a hot zone and it's swarming with Decepticons. We're going to try and make a run for it before they can crack us like an eggshell. Hang on, kids, it's gonna be a bumpy ride." Then, with a grim smile, Misato opened the dropship's main engines to full throttle. With a twist of the helm's control yoke, she turned the ship in a sharp arc toward Cybertron's surface. "They're onto us, Windrazor," a sleek green fightercraft blandly stated as their ovoid-shaped quarry abruptly changed course. "I can see that, Eagle Eye," the squadron leader replied. "This will be to their detriment. I planned for this. Eagle Eye, Afterburner, run interference. Skyjack, cover Terradive. Space Case, Hooligan, attack at will." "ALL RIGHT!" the two unruly jets exclaimed in chorus, before igniting their afterburners and launching themselves towards the destroid dropship. Eagle Eye opened a private channel to Windrazor. "Hoping they'll get themselves wiped out, boss?" The Decepticon replied, "If I am very lucky, yes." Eagle Eye allowed a quiet chuckle to echo across the private channel before returning his attention to the battle at hand. "Here they come!" Priss's eyes narrowed as she heard Chuck's warning. The light of the control panels reflected off her fingernails as she began to plot firing solutions. Two sleek fighters, each emblazoned with a purple Decepticon emblem, shot past the Philip Marlowe before the targeting computers could get a solid lock, and opened fire. Three more fighters followed, launching their own salvoes as they spiraled around the ship's hull. "-Fuck this-," Priss muttered under her breath. Abandoning the use of the dropship's targeting computers, she slaved the ship's main gun emplacements to her own neuroprocessor, and opened fire. Hypervelocity Gauss slugs, laser bolts, and particle beams spat forth from all four quadrants of the Overlord's primary weapon emplacements, filling the space around the ship with fiery death. Much to Priss's chagrin, the five jets appeared to be better fliers than their late 20th-century designs implied. They easily evaded the first wave of Priss's assault, and then circled around for another pass, adding missles into the lethal mix. "Shit!" Misato snarled, even as she pulled the Overlord into a roll that was definitely not in the original engineer's performance specifications for the ship. "Priss, can you DO something about those Jetwarriors?" "If you could get me a good firing angle, then YES, MAYBE!" Priss snapped back, rapidly trying to get a lock on one of the Decepticons with the Marlowe's heavy particle cannons. "These bastards are just too fucking -fast-!" Chuck frowned, checking shield status as power reserve values fluctuated at every laser and missile strike from the attacking jets. "At this rate, they're going to nickel-and-dime us to death, Colonel. Shields are already down to 80 percent and falling." "Hold on, Chuck," Sylvie interjected. "I've got a sensor scrambler sequence that could be patched into the shield systems; it should make it harder for them to lock onto us." "Do it!" Misato ordered. "Well well," Afterburner commented as his sensor suite began to have difficulty analyzing the dropship's state. "It would appear, Windrazor, that there may be a squishie onboard with some rudimentary grasp of shield physics. My targeting system can no longer get a reliable lock on the ship's major external systems." "Who cares? Just SHOOT IT ALL!!" Space Case exclaimed, and redoubled his rate of fire, relying on visual targeting to pepper the space around the Philip Marlowe. He cackled with glee as several shots hit home, sending sparks up from the dropship's hull. "That does not matter, Afterburner," Windrazor replied. He consulted his own sensors, and saw just what he needed to see: the black form of Terradive, escorted by the equally dark-fuselaged Skyjack, closing in on the rear of the dropship. "For the humans, it is already too late." At that moment, Terradive, going full burner to match the Overlord's course changes and so close to the dropship's drive exhaust tail that his nose was beginning to heat up, dropped his payload of two heavy missiles and a single drum bomb. A siren abruptly blared on the bridge of the Philip Marlowe. Chuck immediately consulted his sensor panel and was startled by what he saw. "Colonel - two heavy missiles, incoming!" Without waiting for an order from Misato, he prepped a Gauss cannon and missile salvo of his own, in hopes of taking the missiles down and hopefully tagging the hostile that had sent them in the first place. He was too late. With a mightly crumpling sound, the superstructure of the Overlord shuddered as the two missiles found their marks. Misato struggled for control of the Marlowe's flight as she abruptly lost power to two of the five main engines. Before she could stabilize the flight path, a third rumble shook the dropship as the drum bomb finished the job the two missiles had started. "HOLY SHIT!" Priss exclaimed as she was tossed about in her chair. Thankfully, those on the bridge of the Marlowe were all belted in, but it was still painful to get jerked around as the ship's internal gravity tried to compensate for the sudden jolts. "Chuck, what the hell just HAPPENED?" "They got us - dammit, hold on, -there's- the bastard." With a grim expression behind his glasses, he activated the dropship's aft laser array. Although they were paltry in the grand scheme of things, they did their job: they startled and illuminated the black Decepticon fighter enough so that the missile salvo that Chuck had earlier prepared could find its mark. "That did the trick, Chuck," Sylvie announced. "He's breaking off." Chuck grimaced. "Should've been faster on the trigger; gotten the missiles in flight - " "Better than nothing, Chuck," Misato blandly replied. "We can't hold off everything. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She returned her full focus to the helm, rerouting thruster controls. The auxillary and maneuvering thrusters on the side of the damaged engines flared to life, stabilizing some of the dropship's flight. "... Maybe we can still get down to the surface in one piece." "Well, there goes Terradive," Eagle Eye commented as the squadron watched the black fighter break off from his close tailing of the dropship. "He has done what he needed to do," Windrazor replied. "Now. Eagle Eye. Skyjack. Hooligan. Resume strafing runs. Focus on the damaged side of the dropship." "Engineering to Bridge, Bascht reporting," the Hoffmanite Chief Engineer's voice suddenly inserted itself into the din of the activity on the bridge. "Yes, Mora? We're kind of -busy- up here," Misato replied with forced calm as she jinked the dropship away from yet another Decepticon strafing run. A chorus of exclimations of consteration came over the speaker in the background. "Yes, we noticed," Mora dryly replied. "But you'll be glad to know that we've kept the damage caused to Number Three and Number Four primary engines from cascading to the others." "Well, -that's- good to know. And the bad news?" At the weapons console, Priss spat a curse as one of the Decepticons lobbed another missile at the Marlowe. She barely detonated it in time with a pulsed laser blast. "Unless you can steady the ship's flight, we aren't going to be able to repair the damage." There were the sounds of hasty patched repairs being attempted behind Mora Bascht's voice even as she spoke. "The stabilizers and feeds are totally -shredded- for Three and Four, and we're starting to get reports from the Fire Supression teams on the other decks. The interior hasn't been breached, but secondary damage looks to have done a number on the various hangar doors." "So, no Getters?" "Negative on Getter Machine launch, Colonel. Not in these conditions." "Damn. Well, keep me informed." "Affirmative. Bascht out." Priss's eyes widened at this news, and she redoubled her efforts to try and get a solid, decisive hit. Despite herself, the well of frustration that had been slowly building over the course of the day suddenly overflowed. Not only had her vacation plans been hosed to hell and gone, not only had she so far had an abysmal hit ratio against the Decepticons, but now she couldn't even go head to head with these assholes in Getter Machine #1? Screw THAT. Time to get serious. Hooligan was unaware of the shift of temperament of the Marlowe's weapons officer, lost as he was in the moment. He didn't particularly care about anybody's temperament except his own at the best of times. Hooligan threw himself into combat at a moment's notice for the sheer thrill of it; his speed and skill had kept him from a messy end so far, and only served to increase his reckless antics. He also had a bad habit of pulling cruel practical jokes, on enemies and allies alike. One of his favorite 'jokes' was to fly in front of commercial spaceliners, frightening the pilots and passengers, firing missile salvoes at the the hapless vessels as he taunted and cracked jokes. If they got destroyed in the process, what did he care? Given the failure of the Overlord to successfully incapacitate his squadron-mates so far, Hooligan felt the time was ripe to reprise this 'classic routine'. He circled around towards the front of the dropship, and opened fire with lasers and missile launcher, cackling all the while. He could see the shields flickering with every hit. "Hey, fleshies! Why did the egg cross the spacelane?" he crowed, not caring if anybody heard him on any of the combat radio frequencies. "To scramble to the sunny side! Get it?" The forward Gauss cannon opened fire on the Decepticon as he said this, and he laughed, transforming to robot mode and dancing between the rounds. "Don't like jokes? Then how about a dance routine? 'Daa-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah, you can't touch this!'" Hooligan continued to jink and spin across the forward firing arc of the Marlowe, taunting its crew. "'Daa-dah-dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah, you can't touch this!'" He was so lost in the moment, he didn't even notice the telltale charging glow of the ship's forward PPC. He did, however, notice when the PPC fired, nailing him across his torso armor. His cockpit nose instantly vaporized, and in turn his legs were shorn clear away. The integral turbines exploded, leaving Hooligan adrift, leaking energon, and propelled by the detonation into the dropship's flight path. He barely had time to scream as his optics took in the sight of 9,700 tons of Exo-Salusia Heavy Industries Overlord-class dropship bearing down straight for his head. Then he didn't notice anything at all. "Gotcha," Priss muttered under her breath. "-Finally-." "What the slag - HOOLIGAN!" Space Case exclaimed as his wingmate was crushed into debris by the mass of the Philip Marlowe. Screaming with the whine of his plasma-turbine engines shoved beyond full throttle, he accelerated towards the dropship with mayhem and vengeance on his mind. "Space Case! Get back in formation!" Windrazor shouted over the squadron's tactical band. He had seen the abrupt death of Hooligan as well, and while he wasn't about to leak any cleaning fluid over the malcontent's loss, it didn't bode well for the rest of his squadron if the ship's attacks became deadlier. "That is an ORDER!" Space Case ignored him. Flying at over 2,000 miles per hour, he shot around the circumference of the ovoid dropship in a tight orbit, firing missiles all the while. He expertly jinked and rolled, avoiding with ease the enemy missile salvoes that were launched at him at turn. He was more than capable of dodging the slower projectiles, leaving them to spiral around the dropship in confusion. The sudden heavy laser and pulse laser bursts from two adjacent quadrants on the dropship? They were another story. Caught off guard, Space Case flinched as the weapons crossfire scored his armor. He transformed, trying to stabilize his flight and ready himself for a counterattack, but this proved to be a critical error. For in slowing down, he permitted the Philip Marlowe's missiles to catch up with him. They impacted him from multiple angles at once and detonated. The explosion was short, sweet, and very much to the point before the debris cloud was scattered in the wake of the dropship's exhaust. "Where do they -get- these guys?" Sylvie asked nobody in particular as she observed the destruction of Hooligan and Space Case. "Never mind dragging out crappy 20th-century music..." Sylvie paused, and then considered the communication and sensor readouts from her console. "Hmm... I wonder..." Getting an intense expression, she changed her focus from trying to deal with the overall communications jamming. Instead, she scanned the nearby tactical bands for the ones the attacking Decepticons were using. As she did this, she rummaged in a belt pouch for a data crystal. Eagle Eye was one of the more skillful of Windrazor's wingmates. He and Windrazor had been flying together a long time; he was perhaps the closest thing Windrazor had to a friend. Serving as his second-in-command, Eagle Eye was often put on the most delicate of infiltration missions, the fastest of quick strikes. However, for all his skills, there were still some places where he was sorely lacking. "Windrazor, I'm beginning a run on that side particle cannon turret. I'll need some backup," he requested over his private channel with Windrazor. "Affirmative, Eagle Eye. Terradive has recovered, he wi - " The tactical channel suddenly erupted in static. "Say again, Windrazor? Windrazor, respond!" Eagle Eye requested. He tried several communications channels after the other. The only answer on each was the sound of static - - until it was replaced with something that sounded a bit like what a ramjet would sound like if it tried to play the bagpipes, interspersed with utterly random, spasmodic electrodrums and gravelly samples of people saying very dire-sounding things in mixed German and French. Taken completely by surprise, Eagle Eye tried to change comm channels, to get away from the hideous noise. He was spectacularly unsuccessful, and every second listening to it frayed his neural circuits, unravelling his usual calm. "eeeyaaAAGGHHHHHHH!!!" Eagle Eye finally screamed, transforming in mid-flight and firing wildly in desperation to try and eliminate the sonic input. This failed, and while a few of his shots hit the Philip Marlowe, twin laser bursts hit the Decepticon in turn. Jerking spasmodically, Eagle Eye flew erratically away from the dropship, and tried to recover his wits. "Good -God-, Syl, what did you -do- to him?" "You remember when Kate told us about what happened the first time she really went out with Juri on Earth?" "Yeah, so?" "Remember what sort of music Ragulin was into -before- he got his groove on?" Priss shuddered. "And you were carrying THAT with you, Syl? Are you crazy?" Sylvie shrugged. "I've been trying to decrypt it. I'm convinced there's some kind of data stream hidden inside it." "What sort of music was it?" Chuck asked, guileless. "YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW," Priss and Sylvie replied in stereo. Windrazor stared through his wing and nose cameras at Eagle Eye's tortured expression as he drifted away from the enemy ship. What the Pit had the humans -done- to him? This battle was beginning to take a decidely downward turn, and that did not speak well for their continued survival, either from the fleshling's attacks or from Shockwave's inevitably 'logical' dismissal of his team for failing in their mission - by termination. "This must be finished soon," Windrazor muttered. "I believe I may have something to contribute, Windrazor," Afterburner breezily announced. "It should do just the trick!" "And why, pray, did you not mention it sooner?" "Well, I just remembered I had been carrying it. You -know- I've only got so much cargo capacity, and I had originally thought I had loaded my Seismic Destabilizer instead." Windrazor kept himself from answering with the first five replies that came to mind. Instead, he just said, "Skyjack, assist Afterburner in his task. I will distract the humans." "Here comes that grey fighter again," Chuck announced, relaying the relevant information to both Priss and Misato's consoles. "He's persistent, I'll give him that," Priss muttered, using the Gauss cannons and lasers to try and drive the enemy fighter away. The Decepticon was too fast, and easily evaded her shots, spiraling around the dropship, in and out of the Marlowe's fields of fire. "Right... hrrrm, yes, yes, this is the place," Afterburner announced as he flew in low along the hull of the dropship and transformed. He landed solidly on the metal of the ship, and shimmied his way up close to one of the side weapon turrets. Behind him, Skyjack flew in close as well and did the same, using his free hand and his knees to hold onto the ship's superstructure. "Care to enlighten me what this little wonder device of yours is going to do, Afterburner?" he asked with forced calm. The Decepticon inventor's creations had a bad habit of not performing entirely according to their designer's original specifications. "Hmmm? Oh yes. It's quite simple, really." Still low to the hull, so as to avoid the side turret's firing arc, the blue robot pulled out a blunt, thick-muzzled device. "This here is designed to preemptively trigger a missile's detonator within a certain radius. And according to the Overlord-class dropship specifications, right below us is the missile loading system for this quarter of the ship. It will be child's play to cause those missiles to cook off!" Skyjack considered this. "You don't -need- to be -right next to- the weapon to trigger it, right?" "Of course not!" Afterburner scoffed. "That would be -stupid-." "Of course," Skyjack deadpanned. Humming cheerfully to himself, Afterburner readied the weapon, adjusting several dials and knobs. He pulled the trigger, and with an outrushing of gas, four thick disks shot out from the muzzle and impacted on the hull, magnetically affixing themselves. "That should do it! Come on, Skyjack, we're done here." "The sooner the better," Skyjack muttered. The two of them kicked off from the hull and began to fly away. "I want to be -far away- when those things go off." "Oh, don't be such a wimpicon, Skyjack. What's the worst that could happen?" Afterburner replied. He pressed the detonator. "Hey -- where'd those two guys come from?" Chuck blinked, as two Decepticons in robot form became visible on the main screen. "Shit! They must have come in low under our sensor shadow!" Sylvie cursed some more, trying to adjust the focus of the sensors. She didn't get far. As intended, Afterburner's weapon did what it was designed to do. With a specifically keyed energy signal, the four disks detonated, flooding the interior of the dropship with a concentrated energy pulse right below them. The missiles, ready to be loaded, abruptly came under the impression that they had been launched and should explode RIGHT NOW. They did so, and the Philip Marlowe jerked sideways in its flight path as the entire weapon emplacement on that quarter of the ship was shredded, damaging the exterior and interior simultaneously. The damage was mitigated somewhat by the dropship's own construction, which incorporated both Cellular Ammunition Storage Equipment - designed specifically to deal with magazine blowouts - and Ferro-Fibrous armor; but the vessel was still gravely wounded. There was one flaw with Afterburner's weapon, however. It was bi-directional. "AAGGHHHHH!!!" Skyjack screamed as his own missile launcher detonated, destroying his right arm in the process. He pinwheeled out of control, unable to successfully transform due to the damage. "Hm. -That- was unexpected," Afterburner mused, even as the shockwave of the explosion threw him off course and away from Skyjack. Sirens screamed on the bridge of the Philip Marlowe as the entire dropship shook. The lights flickered, dimmed, and returned at emergency levels, flooding the room with a diffuse red light. Priss jerked in her seat and winced as the sudden destruction of the weapon emplacement caused a burst of nasty data feedback to surge against her neuroprocessor's inputs. Her barrier elements caught most of it, but what got through was enough to wring a grunt of pain out of her and make her grab reflexively at her jack collar. "Nnngggghh!" "Priss!" Sylvie exclaimed, her head whipping around. "Are you - " Grimacing, Priss shook her head, trying to clear it. "No, I'm -not- OK, but at least I'm not brain-dead." Still feeling out-of- sorts, but gamely trying to recover, she consulted her weapons console readouts, trying to confirm what she had felt. "Well, -shit-. Misato, we've just lost the #1 portside weapons array. We're out one Gauss cannon, a missile launcher, and the lasers that were near it. Looks like a magazine cookoff." "-Damn-," Misato interjected, still trying to keep the Overlord on course. "What next?" "Engineering to Bridge, Bascht reporting." "(I had to ask,)" Misato muttered, then continued in a louder voice, "Go ahead, Mora." "Whatever the hell happened outside, we got a power surge across the ship, and the backsurge looks to have done a number on our primary powerplants. We're working on stabilizing it now, but you won't have full power for the other three engines forever." "-Great-. What else?" "Fire Suppression teams in the damaged quadrant report that the bulkhead seals have lowered and secured," Mora replied. "They don't think anybody was in the damaged portions, but we won't know until they can do a headcount. And whatever caused this, it doesn't look to have affected the other ammo compartments." "Wow!" Chuck marveled. "That CASE really does the job." "Thank God for small favors." Windrazor was besides himself with frustration and fury. Just how much would it take to destroy this Pit-damned human contraption? Even though he could easily see the amount of damage his squadron had caused - two engines dead and distorted, a sizeable chunk of one quarter of the hull carved out, plus numerous small fires and cracked portions of armor - the dropship was STILL FLYING. He did not know the current state of his wingmates, and he didn't particularly care. The human ship was to be destroyed, and he would do so. Even if he went down with it. Punching his burners to full, he opened fire with all of his weapons, accelerating towards the damaged side of the dropship. "Windrazor, DON'T!" Eagle Eye's voice cut into his tactical band, startling him out of his furious fugue. "What?! Eagle Eye, the ship MUST be destroyed, those are Shockwave's ORDERS!" Windrazor snapped back, his patience gone. "I will NOT let some pathetic FLESHLINGS get the better of the Decepticons!" "Look, the human ship's clearly on its last flight. With that engine and hull damage, plus who knows what else, it's just a matter of time before Cybertron's gravity well finishes the job. All of us remaining are still capable of flight to some degree. We need to cut our losses and get back to the Nemesis II for repairs." As if to punctuate Eagle Eye's point, one of the dropship's auxiliary thrusters abruptly exploded, pushed far beyond its performance envelope. Windrazor considered Eagle Eye's words, even as he continued to shoot at the Philip Marlowe. "-Fine-." With an almost contemptious gesture, he let fly one last salvo of missiles and blaster bolts into the hole in the dropship as he abruptly reversed thrust, flipping 180 degrees and flying away from the Overlord. He had the satisfaction of seeing some more explosions bloom across the ship's damaged portions. "Air Squadron Five, break off and return to the Nemesis II. Afterburner, Terradive, transform and carry Skyjack back. This mission is concluded." Sylvie let out a sigh of relief as, on the main screen, the remaining Decepticon fighters turned away from the Philip Marlowe. "-Finally-," she said, moving to unbuckle her seatbelt. "Now maybe we can catch a breather." "Don't be too sure, Sylvie... we've still got to -land- this bucket," Priss replied. She looked over at Chuck at his station. "How's it look?" Chuck studied his displays and grimaced. "Well, the good news is, the inner hull isn't breached. The bad news is, we can't afford to let that side of the ship get damaged more during the descent. And with two of the five main engines out, there's no way we can do a standard landing." "So we'll just have to do it the old-fashioned way," Misato replied, already entering a new set of commands to the helm. "Sylvie, find us an LZ. Chuck, reroute the shields -" "Already on it, Colonel," he replied, entering his own set of instructions to the dropship's defensive computers. On one of his displays, he could see the power distribution to the various shield projectors shift. He removed nearly all the protection from the portside quarter that had been damaged, redirecting the energy to doubly reinforce the nose of the dropship and the starboard quarter, which had the least damage. "Shields in place, Colonel." Priss blinked. "Oh no. No, nononono, you -can't- be thinking about doing -that-... " Misato glanced back at Priss. "I'd suggest you buckle up, Priss, but you already are. So I won't. Do you have a drop location for me, Sylvie?" Sylvie, having not left her chair after all, studied what visuals she could grab from her remaining visual sensors, then compared them with the files she had on Cybertron's 'geology', territories, and superstructure. "Checking... checking... -there!-" She punched a few keys. A vast metallic grid of plains and thoroughfares, interspersed with the occasional building or processing plant, appeared on the main display. The visual feed was overlaid with a terrain and tactical plot. "Gazetteer says that's the Tagon Heights," she said, "and it's the best we'll get with what time we have." Misato studied it critically, and then nodded. "Good enough." She began to work at her navigational console again, programming in a new, modified course. Even as she did so, she hit the All-Call button for the dropship. A moment later, her voice echoed across the Philip Marlowe: "Colonel Katsuragi to Crew: Assume crash positions. I repeat, ASSUME CRASH POSITIONS. Stand by for emergency landing." /* Don Davis "Woman Can Drive" _The Matrix Revolutions_ */ Shuddering, the Philip Marlowe slowly rotated on its long axis, putting its least damaged side and the reinforced shields between the ship's human cargo and the cold, hard surface of Cybertron. The three remaining engines flared hotly, then dimmed, then flared again as the overall descent was adjusted. The remaining functional maneuvering thrusters fired regularly in an attempt to tilt the nose of the Overlord upward. Then the dropship hit Cybertron's atmosphere. The entire vessel rattled, buffeted by air resistance. The doubled shields sparked and flared, keeping the worst of the possible damage at bay, but even they weren't enough from keeping the hull from heating up due to air friction. Armor panels along the sides which had been damaged during the earlier battle began to flake away, torn loose by the descent. "Dammit, -hold together-, buddy," Misato muttered through clenched teeth. "Just a little further to go... that's it," she murmured, her grip tense on the helm's control yoke and her free hand rapidly tapping out thruster adjustments. "ATMOSPHERIC SHEAR. ATMOSPHERIC SHEAR," the pilot information computer replied. "PULL UP. PULL UP." At her own station, Priss watched, wide-eyed. She barely even registered the readouts on her own consoles, reporting whenever one of the external weapons mounts gave up the ghost due to the atmospheric turbulence blasting its way around the sides of the ship. This was insane! But at the same time, she couldn't look away as the surface of Cybertron rapidly approached, filling the main screen's field of view. The Tagon Heights was one of Cybertron's less-populated territories. Originally, it had been an industrial sector, dedicated to producing refined materials and consumer goods, but as the Great Wars began, it had been one of the natural first targets. As centuries had passed, the Heights had been destroyed and rebuilt again and again as both sides had tried to secure the sector for various purposes. Eventually, somewhere along the line, it had been decided to replace the majority of the Tagon Heights' surface with simple photoelectric power stations. Cheap and easy to mass-produce, the stations were a desperate attempt to gather power for the planet from the ambient light from the distant stars, now that Cybertron's sun was long dead. They may have been a drop in the bucket, but every little erg of generated energon helped the Transformers to survive. Also, if they were destroyed in a border skirmish, they were very easy to replace. This proved to be very fortunate, as the Philip Marlowe came careening down to the surface of Cybertron, its underside now white- hot from air friction and overloaded shields. "TERRAIN. TERRAIN. TERRAIN," declared the pilot information computer implacably. "Oh, shut up," Misato growled. Then she smacked a fist down on the collision alarm, setting off new sirens throughout the vessel. "This is it - BRACE FOR IMPACT!" The dropship hit the ground at an angle, its remaining main engines flaring once again to force the ship to maintain its foreward momentum. This prevented the ship from creating a large crater in the middle of the Tagon Heights. Instead it carved a long furrow, smashing through abandoned stellar power stations like they were made of tinfoil. Shattered photoelectric collectors were tossed about in every direction in the dropship's wake, flying up and back like hastily-thrown confetti. Inertia and friction warred with each other as the Philip Marlowe scraped its way across the plain. Each impact and second of prolonged ground contact slowed the ship ever so slightly, but at the same time the sheer mass of the dropship and its cargo meant it would take a long while to come to a halt. That is, unless a suitably large building happened to be in the way. "Oh SHIIII - " Priss blurted out, but Misato was already two steps ahead of the redhead's panicked reaction. With a sudden jerk of the control yoke and a simultaneous slam on the maneuvering thruster controls, Misato forced the dropship to once again roll on its long axis, even as it continued moving forward. The Overlord twisted and rolled as it began to bounce across the Tagon Heights, having narrowly avoided the building's exterior by mere meters. The multiple impacts and changes of course were finally taking their toll on the Philip Marlowe. Now more a large metal hulk than a functioning dropship, its progress across the rest of the Heights began to slow as momentum ran its course. A long trail of shattered power stations and miscellaneous small abandoned buildings were left in its wake. For the briefest of moments, it seemed as if the dropship would keep going until it reached one of the many crevasses that crossed Cybertron's surface. However, a final series of thruster firings, timed to work against the dropship's momentum, prevented it from coming to such an end. With a slow, shuddering, final scrape, the Philip Marlowe came to a halt. "... Well!" said Misato, feeling unusually calm amid the sudden, startling silence of the control room. "That went better than I expected. Everybody still alive?" "I think so," Chuck Keith replied after a few moments' consideration. Sylvie punched the release on her seat harness, turned out of her seat, landed in a half-crouch on the aft bulkhead, which was now the floor. "What'd you use for pilot training software, anyway, Katsuragi? Super Mario Kart?" Misato huffed. "I'd like to see you do better with half a dropship," she said. "It felt more like the mine cart level of Crash Bandicoot vs. Carmen Sandiego to me," Priss observed as she slipped out of her own harness, caromed off the remains of an auxiliary environment panel, and rolled neatly to a halt next to Sylvie. "Everybody's a critic," Misato grumbled as she climbed less acrobatically down from her station. Chuck managed to free himself from his harness after a bit of struggling, nearly caving in his head on a glow-rod fixture. "Well, we can't be TOO bad off," Sylvie mused. "I mean, we're upside down, but the lights are still on." A moment later, the lights went out. "... nice one, Syl," Priss grumbled. Before Sylvie could reply, something thrummed under the deckplates and the gravity abruptly shifted, changing from Cybertron-natural at a strange angle to Galactic Standard centered on the floor. With a number of consternated cries and heavy thuds, the disarranged contents of the room were referred back to shipboard standard orientation. "... oww." "Damn, Priss. Have you been doing special exercises while I wasn't looking? Your butt's like a rock. Not very ladylike." "That's not my butt." "Oh! Sorry, Chuck." "Uh... that's OK, Lt. Daniels." "Sylvie, I know you think he's hot, but now is really not the time." "Yes, Colonel Killjoy." By the time the lights came back, everyone had more or less sorted out the problem. Blinking in the sudden brightness, they found their way back to their stations. "Well, I guess -somebody's- alive below decks," Misato observed. She went to a comm panel, punched a couple of keys, and got no response. "Hmm. Intercom's dead. Chuck, if the twins are done admiring your muscle tone, go down... up... over to Engineering and see how they're doing." Reddening, Chuck half-saluted and replied, "Yes, ma'am," before climbing to the emergency hatch, yanking it open, and clambering down the ladder. "Sylvie, see if you can raise the Autobots," Misato went on. "I mean, I imagine they noticed us smashing into the planet and all, but still. Priss, you want to see if we've got anything left for defensive systems?" Priss returned to her console and surveyed it gloomily. "Panel's trashed," she noted, then pulled open a couple of service hatches, rummaged within them, and remarked, "Some of the circuits are still live, though, so I might be able to cobble something together. Won't do me a lot of good without sensors, though." "Hell," Misato grumbled, bracing herself against the navicomputer so that she could pull open the kick panel below the sensor management console. "Hang on, let me see if there's anything still working out there." "Windrazor. Report." "The human dropship has been dispatched, Commander Shockwave." Had Shockwave possessed eyebrows, he would have raised one. "'Dispatched' is not 'destroyed', Windrazor." "No, sir," Windrazor replied. "The vessel proved to be an unexpectedly hard target. My forces lost two killed and several wounded in the engagement, but we were able to force the dropship down. It has crashed in the Tagon Heights and cannot be salvaged in any expedient manner." "Who were your casualties?" Shockwave inquired. "Space Case and Hooligan destroyed, Skyjack heavily damaged, Terradive and Eagle Eye slightly damaged," Windrazor replied. Shockwave nodded. "The Tagon Heights, you say? Onslaught. Tactical plot." The monocular Decepticon surveyed the resulting three-dimensional map view for a few moments, then nodded again. "Very well," he said. "Their crash site is along our approach vector for Landing Zone Alpha. We will complete our dealings with them then. After all... they aren't going anywhere." Windrazor had never heard Shockwave make even the faintest attempt at a joke before. He found the effect rather chilling. "Satisfactory, Windrazor. Refit your squadron as best you can and reinforce the primary assault." "Yes, Commander," Windrazor replied. His face disappeared from the main comm screen. "Onslaught." "Yes, Commander." "Prepare your troops for surface attack. The time has come for us to take back what is ours." Despite his misgivings about the particulars of Shockwave's plan, Onslaught felt a smile spread beneath his faceplate at the prospect of the coming ground assault. This was what he and his Combaticons lived for - to be at the point of the lance - and it had been far, far too long. "With pleasure, Commander," he said. /* Team Sleep "The Passportal" _The Matrix Reloaded_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited and Imagination, Unlimited presented UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT TRANSFORMERS: CYBERTRON RELOADED Issue #1 - "Cybertron Welcomes Careful Fliers" The Cast (in order of appearance) Megatron Unicron Priss Morgan Charles "Chuck" Keith Sylvie Daniels Misato Katsuragi Shockwave Hun-Grrr Onslaught Vortex Thrust Soundwave Blaster Windrazor Hooligan Space Case Terradive Eagle Eye Afterburner Mora Bascht Skyjack Principal photography Philip J. Moyer Gaffer Benjamin D. Hutchins Gaffees The EPU Usual Suspects NEXT ISSUE: ACROSS has arrived on Cybertron - but so has a Decepticon armada bent on conquest! Can the Autobots drive back yet another Decepticon attempt to seize their world? And will ACROSS be able to help them? TRANSFORMERS: CYBERTRON RELOADED #2 "Getter Robo vs. the State" February 2006 E P U (colour) 2005