SUNDAY, JUNE 10, 2412
                       DECEPTICON COMMAND NEXUS
                        VILNACRON, CYBERTRON

        Onslaught despised uncertainty.
        The Combaticon commander stood in one of Vilnacron's upper 
command galleries, hands clasped behind his back, observing the events 
far below him in one of the fortress city's inner courtyards. 
Observing?  Brooding, really, if he had to admit it.  If he could have, 
he would have frowned.  Instead he settled for watching other 
Decepticon warriors as they sorted and piled the debris that had 
accumulated over the centuries of neglect since they had been forced 
to abandon Cybertron and their capital.  There was quite an impressive 
assortment; it was very apparent that the inefficient Autobots had 
never bothered with the regular maintenance that a military 
fortification required.
        Instead they had left the interior of Vilnacron mostly alone, 
leaving the ghosts of the past wars dead and buried.  Aside from an 
initial sweep ages ago to remove anything of tactical, strategic, 
technological, or informational value (which Onslaught grudgingly 
admitted had been a good move), the buildings and fortifications had 
been sealed up and left to the vagaries of time.  The only concrete 
examples of the Autobot occupation that remained, now that the 
Decepticons had taken back their city, were the many heavy-duty 
electro-cipher seals that had been welded over most of Vilnacron's 
doors.
        Those, and the garrison's heavy weapons emplacements that had 
been hastily reinforced by the Autobots to help defend the city from 
Shockwave's recent assault.  They had left the large and bulky heavy 
phaser arrays and particle beam cannons behind - either as some strange
gesture of goodwill, or simply because they knew the Decepticons would 
just erect their own defenses if the existing ones weren't left, 
Onslaught wasn't sure.
        The Autobots may have been weak fools, but they were not total 
idiots, Onslaught reflected.
        As he watched the goings-on down below, Onslaught saw another 
disposal team haul in a load of Autobot door-seals to toss onto one of 
the many debris piles.  He felt a mild twitch of satisfaction within 
his spark as Brawl, normally one of his most intractable teammates, 
vented some of his frustration by transforming to tank mode and using 
his main gun to reduce the pile of large Autobot emblems to flinders.
        Doubts gnawed at the corners of Onslaught's processors.  If he
didn't know better, he would have, upon first analysis, written off
this returned Megatron as a pretender.  Not pressing the advantage
when it was clear that within a few more cycles the whole of Cybertron
could be theirs?  Not attacking Prime full out, even when he had
categorically proven his strength destroying Shockwave?  Opening
diplomatic relations, however tenuous, with the Autobots?  These
events left Onslaught feeling ill-at-ease, unsure of what Megatron
would do next.
        But no.  Even if Onslaught allowed himself to feel more
emotions than Shockwave ever did, the logic in the current scenario
made sense.  This way, the Decepticons could consolidate their current
position.  The wounded could be repaired, and Vilnacron itself had
been taken with no further loss of spark.  By making such a dramatic
entrance, Megatron had taken iron-fisted control of the situation,
cowing the rank-and-file and leaving the subcommanders waiting for new
orders.
        And if that wasn't enough, the raw ruthlessness of Megatron's
battle with Shockwave, the cool efficiency of the logician's demise,
and the sheer casualness with which he blasted Motormaster's cab to
fragments upon his arrival led to an inescapable conclusion.
        This indeed was Megatron.
        The question thus became: What would be his next move?
        And speaking of certain subcommanders...
        Onslaught turned where he stood, regarding the other combiner
team leaders who had joined him in the command gallery.  All of them
were present, save for Blackjack (still in Autobot custody) and
Scrapper (who was 'otherwise occupied").  At the moment, they were
trying to ignore Motormaster's constant complaints.
        " - and if somebody doesn't slaggin' get on the -stick- soon
and fix my -feet-, I'm gonna start tearin' exhaust pipes out."
        The dark-armored Stunticon commander sat in one of the gallery
chairs, his broad arms crossed.  He scowled down at the end of his
legs.  They were in fine working order, but down where his tractor-cab
feet should have been, there were plain, boxy structures.
        Razorclaw lounged where he sat, watching Motormaster calmly,
but offering no opinions, if indeed he had any.  Nearby, Hun-Grrr was
tapping small pits with his finger-claws into the surface of the table
he sat at.  This left Snaptrap, the leader of the Seacons, to look
over at Motormaster and answer.
        "Oh?  And what would be the excuse Hook is giving -this-
time?"
        Motormaster sneered.  "Oh, he's -just- so -busy- carrying out
Megatron's repair orders, that the -best- he could do at the time
was to give me these -temporary- replacements," he replied with a
mockery of Hook's usual supercilious tone.  His voice then dropped
back down to roughness, and he slammed a hand down on the endtable
next to him.  "I can't even slaggin' TRANSFORM with these things on!"
        Onslaught considered this fact for a moment.  "And Soundwave
is unable to serve as Hook's replacement for this procedure?"  It 
was well known that in the past, when a dedicated technician was
unavailable, that Soundwave could perform most necessary Transformer
repairs, and had done so often before the Constructicons had joined the
Decepticon troops on Earth.
        Motormaster barked a cruel laugh.  "Oh -nooooo-, smelting pool
-forbid- that Megatron's number-one lackey-bot would be seen lowering
himself to doing a simple repair job!  -He- and -his- scraplets are
busy securing the data-nets for Megatron."
        Hun-Grrr nodded at this news.  "So, what're you gonna do about
it, Motormaster?  Grab 'em and force 'em to get on with the repairs?"
        Razorclaw finally spoke up.  "It would be a waste of energon to 
engage in such folly."
        Snaptrap snorted.  "And why is that?"
        "Because to do so would be akin to challenging Megatron
directly," continued the Predacon commander.  He left the obvious end
result unsaid.
        A cool silence descended over the group, as they considered this
fact.  At this point, nothing was certain, and their desire to risk
Megatron's wrath was low in the extreme.  Not after what had happened
to Shockwave.
        "Be that as it may," Onslaught slowly offered, after gathering
his thoughts, "we will not know either way until Megatron removes himself
from seclusion."
        At his words, the assembled commanders turned and regarded a
locked chamber door at the back of the room.


                           /*  Joe Satriani
                         "One Robot's Dream"
                     _Super Colossal_ (2006)  */

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                                 and
                        Imagination, Unlimited
                               present

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT

                   TRANSFORMERS: CYBERTRON RELOADED
                       
                   Issue #4 -- "The New World Order"

                         Benjamin D. Hutchins
                         Philip Jeremy Moyer

              The Transformers created by Hasbro/Takara

                (c) 2007 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited


        Within the chamber, the overhead lights were dimmed.  The sole
illumination came from the myriad computer monitors and holographic
displays that circled the room, reflecting from the seated form of
Megatron.  His red optics glowed faintly as he took in datatracks and
video recordings, going back four hundred years, that had been
provided to him by Soundwave.
        During his long voyage back to Cybertron, Megatron had
occasionally wondered what had become of the galaxy that he had left.
Had the interstellar society started by the Salusians and their allies
collapsed, as such things often did?  Had Cybertron's civil war
continued in his absence, grinding on as it had for millennia?  What
had become of the humans who had aided the Autobots at the turn of the
twenty-first century?
        Some of these questions had been answered once Megatron had
reached human-occupied space.  It had been something of a challenge to
access the Internet without drawing attention to himself, but after
nearly four centuries of stasis, he had relished the challenge.
        It had come as something of a shock for Megatron to learn that
the natives of the little mudball where his forces and those of the
Autobots had crashed had gone on to become one of the dominant species
in the galaxy.  While they had experienced their own rises and falls
over the years, they had managed to surpass Megatron's expectations.
        But this was mere background information for Megatron's true
focus: the history of Cybertron in his absence.
        Some of that information had been available from the planet's
local data nets.  While the Autobots, understandably, were not about
to let any Decepticon have access to Teletran 2, their main planetary
operations mainframe, there was more than enough data cached around
the other networks that Soundwave was capable of pulling together a
reasonable overview of Cybertron's history in Megatron's absence.
        Despite himself, Megatron was moderately surprised and
impressed.  After the devastation of the Great Wars, the multiple
Decepticon attempts to take back Cybertron after Unicron's attack in
2005, and even the fall of the United Galactica, the Autobots had
managed to bring Cybertron back to a measure of its pre-war splendor.
It would take decades, perhaps even centuries, for the reconstruction
to be complete, but something that had once seemed impossible was now
within Cybertron's grasp.
        Provided it did not fall apart thanks to outside or internal
forces...
        Megatron continued to review the information provided to him
by Soundwave, his lips compressed in a line.  He had gone over his
communication officer's personal datatracks several times now, and had
drawn at least one conclusion:
        Galvatron, whoever and whatever he had been, was certifiably
insane.
        He did not know how this doppelganger, this second-rate copy,
had come to be, though he certainly had his suspicions.  What struck
Megatron as strange was that while Galvatron had rapidly descended into
paranoia and desperate malevolence, his first few appearances in
Decepticon records showed a cool ruthlessness that reminded Megatron
of himself in older days.
        A sound of synthetic horns interrupted Megatron's reverie. His
optics flickered as he returned his focus to the first entry in the
current archive.
        The sound of trumpets distorted as in the video track their
ends were shot off.  The point of view shifted, panning to take in the
dais that was at the center of the Decepticon Plaza Of Heroes, and the
wide winged buffoon who was the center of this pageantry.
        "My fellow Decepticons," the image of Starscream proclaimed,
gesturing grandly, so as to make sure his attached cape made the right
motions.  "As your new leader, I... "
        The sound of high-power turbines caught Soundwave's attention,
and the focus once again panned.  A sleek purple-winged fightercraft,
scaled for a Transformer to pilot it, flew straight down the plaza,
scattering Decepticons to both sides.  The pilot ejected, after which
the purple ship transformed to land beside the newcomer.  Both
approached the dais.
        "Who disrupts my coronation?" Starscream angrily demanded.
        The newcomer, a barrel-chested Transformer with a purple torso
and forearms, looked up at the egotistical Air Commander with clear
contempt.  "Coronation, Starscream?" he remarked in a deep, dangerous
voice.  "This is bad comedy."
        Starscream's optics blinked.  He took a wary step back.
"Megatron?  Is that you?"
        The newcomer snarled, "Here's a hint!" and then transformed,
becoming a large artillery piece.  The orange barrel of his weapon
form flared to life, and a bolt of violet-white energy, outwardly much
like that produced by Megatron's own fusion cannon, lanced forward to
strike Starscream dead-on.
        Screaming, Starscream was frozen in place, unable to turn away
as his entire superstructure was converted to inert matter.  His shell
turned grey, crumbling to metallic shards as his crown tumbled down to
the decking in front of the dais.
        Megatron did have to admit, Galvatron did get style points for
crushing Starscream's crown beneath his foot, leaving gold and red
crumbs on the floor.
        "Will anyone -else- attempt to fill his shoes?" Galvatron
inquired, looking out over the crowd of Decepticons.  The cheers from
those assembled secured the newcomer's temporary leadership.
        Frowning, Megatron turned off that one particular display.
Despite what Shockwave had been attempting to do in his absence, he
did have to admit the treasonous Operations Officer had had a good
point while he was still alive - the damage caused by Galvatron's
madness to the Decepticon Army had been almost irreparable, given
that despite his clear insanity the surviving Decepticons had clung to
him out of desperation and fear of his power.
        It would take a firm and steady hand for anybody to undo the
damage that had been caused.
        Megatron got out of his chair and turned to leave the room,
shutting off the displays with a gesture as he headed for the door.
There was no more time for idle cycles; now it was time to get down to
work.

        There was a soft "pleep" from the datachamber door's
occupation indicator.  Since the gripe session between the combiner
leaders had resumed after its brief pause, the sound went unnoticed,
except possibly by Razorclaw, who didn't deign to react if he did hear
it.  The conversation came to an abrupt halt, however, as the chamber
door slid open.  The five Decepticons looked up at the figure who
emerged.
        Each of them had been, at one point or another in their long
lives, at the receiving end of Megatron's facial expressions.  Even
back then, to be the recipient of one of the Decepticon Supreme
Commander's cruel glares was something to cause even the stoutest of
warriors to quake in their servos.
        This expression, however, was different.
        The sheer purposefulness, the utter determination that could
be seen on Megatron's flexmetal face, brought them all up short and at
a loss for words.
        Megatron looked at them all, his scarlet optics meeting each
commander's briefly.  None of them reacted to his gaze; they were, each
and every one of them, not about to speak up first and draw attention
to themselves.
        Megatron considered them for several more astroseconds, and
then nodded.
        "Come, my Decepticons.  We have much work to do."

                          MONDAY, JUNE 11
                        CONFERENCE SUITE 5
                          AUTOBASE, IACON

        Misato Katsuragi had been to more than her share of general 
staff meetings during her long military career.  For the most part, she 
regarded them as a massive waste of time.  Sure, some meetings in the 
past had been useful and productive - those that had been directly 
involved with mission planning for her 'Mech lances first came to mind. 
Work got done, objectives got laid out, and they were mercifully short 
and to the point.  Those weren't really meetings, though; they were 
-briefings-, which was a whole different animal.
        IPO staff meetings also had things to recommend them; not only 
was the overall 'corporate culture' of the International Police nice 
and non-stressful, Lu Durgo had a habit of bringing fresh donuts and 
coffee just the way Misato liked it - and the Chief hated wasting time 
in meetings just as much as Misato did, so, again, his meetings were 
more like tactical briefings.  Get in, lay out the objectives, get out 
and get to work.  Misato liked that in a commander.
        But the majority of the meetings she had attended in her day 
had been filled with long-winded summations of current events and 
things she already knew or didn't really want to care about.  She was a 
soldier - a field-grade officer.  It was neither her job nor her 
concern what the political backdrop of the current conflict was.  Her 
concerns were simple and straightforward: How do I accomplish the 
mission and get my people home alive?  Too many "staff meetings" 
involved people who did not have direct impact on her own squadron or 
division, with little actual time devoted to the meat of whatever 
issues was being discussed.
        Add to that mixture uncomfortable chairs, tepid coffee, stale 
snacks, and piles of documents and data pads scattered over the 
briefing table, and it was little wonder that Misato didn't care for 
meetings.  On more than one occasion (when she wasn't bored out of her 
skull), she had to restrain herself from indulging in a private 
fantasy of reaching across the conference table and slapping some sense
into some stuffed-shirt bureaucrat or addle-brained intel officer. 
Sometimes she hadn't been successful in keeping that restraint, which 
was one of the several reasons she'd never made it past major, but it 
wasn't for lack of trying.
        At least she wouldn't have to worry about that particular 
problem at -this- staff meeting; the conference table in question was 
the size of a hockey rink.
        The door at the far end of the room hissed open.  As it did
so, Prowl rose to his feet and barked, "Atten-HUT!"
        Misato didn't normally go for this kind of military pomp
either, but she supposed that for Optimus Prime, she'd make an
exception.
        Prime strode into the room, placed a stack of data solids next
to the terminal at the head of the table, and remarked, "As you were,"
before seating himself.  The assembled Autobots sat, except for
Ironhide, who had entered with Prime and now stood, arms folded,
behind and to the right of the Autobot commander's seat.
        "Let's start with a quick department head report.  Prowl?"
        "Megatron's been as good as his word... so far," Prowl
replied.  "All Decepticon forces have stood down and reported to
Vilnacron, except their space fleet.  That's taken up a defensive
deployment in high orbit.  Situation's quiet, for the moment."
        "Red Alert?"
        "I concur with Prowl," the Director of Planetary Security
reported.  "No incidents to report.  The Decepticons are keeping their
peace, for now.  Most are staying in Vilnacron; those that have left
the city aren't offering to cause trouble.  It appears they're just...
sightseeing.  Not too surprising, really, given how long it's been
since some of them were last on Cybertron.  Of course, I have officers
monitoring all Vilnacron access points; if they try to launch any kind
of covert operation, we'll know about it."
        "Jazz?"
        "I've spent most of the day on the com with the headbots of
the non-aligned and Minicon settlements near Vilnacron," said Jazz.
"Nothing's happened, but they're nervous, and I can't say I blame
'em.  A few are demanding increased security presence.  I think
they're just looking for some reassurance that us lettin' the 'Cons
have their city back doesn't mean we're gonna leave the civvies
swingin' in the breeze if the situation goes south on us," he added.
        Optimus Prime turned to his left.  "Red Alert, can you spare a
few officers for increased patrols of the non-aligned districts?"
        "No, but you'll get them anyway," Red Alert replied.  "I'll
have a revised rotation available within the hour."
        "My crew and I can help out with that," Hot Rod offered.
"We've got a pretty good rep in the Minicon community, thanks to
Bobcat."
        "I'd be glad of the extra botpower," Red Alert agreed.
        Prime nodded.  "Thank you both.  Jazz, anything else?"
        "While we've been wrapped up in our own little war," Jazz
noted ironically, "the galaxy's been busy too.  We're going to need to
choose a delegate to the constitutional convention for this Galactic
Alliance deal the Z-man's settin' up before too long."  He spread his
hands.  "Other'n that, it's like Red Alert said.  Quiet."
        "Too quiet," Ultra Magnus put in.  "But I can't really
complain.  It gives me an opportunity to rest and repair the troops
and facilities damaged in Shockwave's attack.  On the ground, we're
still in pretty good shape, but our aerospace defenses took a serious
pounding."
        Air Commander Jetfire nodded.  "Orbital defenses, especially,
are a shambles.  The Decepticon fleet is taking up most of the slack
there, actually, but the problem with that is obvious.  The Air Corps
is coming back up to speed.  Most of our wounded will be out of Repair
by the end of the week, including Air Raid."
        "Good to hear," said Prime.  "Ratchet, anything to add to the
medical update?"
        Chief Medical Officer Ratchet half-rose.  "Casualties were
surprisingly light given the ferocity of the Decepticon attack, most
likely because Megatron's arrival forestalled their heaviest push.  My
full report will be ready by the end of the day, but off the top of my
head, we're looking at a dozen killed and about sixty wounded, fifteen
seriously.  Most everybody should be back online by Friday.  On the
Decepticon side, the worst off are the Vozdushnikons, who we'll
continue to treat here.  Well," he added wryly, "apart from
Shockwave."
        That got a chuckle that made its round of the table before
Prime moved on, asking, "Bumblebee?  Your analysis?"
        "I'm stumped, Prime, and I don't mind admitting it," Bumblebee
replied.  "I must've crawled through every duct and maintenance space
in Vilnacron before you handed the place over, and I'm scrapped if I
can figure out what Shockwave was so fired up to get at in there.  And
judging by Decepticon activity since they took over, they don't know
either.  Or Megatron doesn't care nearly as much about it, if he does
know.  For now they seem to be doing just what he said they were going
to do - move in, clean up, and get the place back online."
        "Blaster?"
        "Nothin' concrete to report," said the Autobots' chief
information officer.  "The 'Cons quit jammin' and the signal
strength's slammin'.  We're seein' some weird signal patterns in the
bandwidth back 40, but that could just be lingering subspace
distortion from all the heavy ordnance.  I'm - "
        "We're," Sylvie tossed in.
        " - keepin' an ear on it," Blaster added without missing a
beat.
        "Good.  Keep me posted.  Commander Kondaka, what news from
Queltaadu City?"
        The full-sized Zentraedi officer at the far end of the table
rose to his feet.  "The garrison remains on secondary alert," he
reported in his booming, harmonic-rich voice.  "My orders from Reflex
Point are to place my aerospace forces at your complete disposal.  My
security forces are also available to help yours increase patrols to
the neutral areas.  Please accept once again my apologies for our poor
response to the initial assault."
        Prime looked surprised.  "I've read the report, Commander," he
said.  "Your forces were completely bottled up by a Decepticon siege.
They specifically targeted Queltaadu City to prevent you from
assisting us; you did well just to survive such a concerted attack.
You have nothing to apologize for."
        "Nevertheless, I feel we performed poorly," Kondaka replied
stiffly.  "Be assured we will acquit ourselves better should the
Decepticons choose to abandon their non-aggressive stance," he added
with just the faintest hint of a nasty smile.
        Prime sighed inwardly.  He had to keep reminding himself that
Kondaka was not a man who could be mollified or bantered with, unlike
his predecessor in command of the Queltaadu City garrison, Commander
Bron.  It was said the Zentraedi officer didn't even want to be on
Cybertron, and regarded his posting as a punishment, though Kondaka
was far too professional a soldier ever to let such a thing be
confirmed.
        "Very well, Commander," Prime said.  "I accept your apology -
and your offer of support.  Please have your unit commanders
coordinate with Jetfire and Red Alert for their assignments."
        "Sir!" Kondaka replied.  He saluted before returning to his
seat.
        Prime turned to Misato.  "Colonel Katsuragi, I understand you
and your people will be staying with us for a while."
        Misato nodded.  "The Chief and Lor - er - Hammer have agreed
that the ACROSS Getter Team should stay here for the time being, both
because most of our equipment is still in repair, and because we'd
just be sent back anyway if anything untoward happens in the next few
weeks."  She grinned.  "Besides, if things stay this calm, we might
even be able to do what we -came- for one of these days."
        Prime chuckled.  "Let's hope so.  In any case, you're most
welcome."

        The meeting broke up not long thereafter, Optimus Prime and
his department heads having determined that there was little to do but
watch and wait to see what Megatron did next.  Sylvie went with
Blaster as far as the corridor that branched off toward the
small-scale residence block, where she peeled off, telling him she'd
stop by the Communications Center later to see what was doing with
those anomalous signals.
        "Hey, Priss, I'm back," she called as she entered the small
suite she shared with her fellow pilot.  "You didn't miss much, but -
... Priss?"  Getting no answer and seeing no one in the tiny living
room, she went to the door of Priss's bedroom, knocked, then keyed the
door open and put her head in.
        Priss Morgan sat in semidarkness, the room illuminated by the
glow of a holographic projector she'd set up on a small table at the
foot of her bunk and the display of her portable computer.  She had on
a data monocle as well; Sylvie could see the greenish flicker as it
superimposed scrolling text on everything else Priss was seeing.  The
portable's screen seemed to be patched into Teletran-2, the Autobots'
central computer, downloading a number of large files while
simultaneously controlling the playback on the holojector.
        Above the glowing horizontal eye of the projector, reproduced
in miniature, a war was raging.  The scene appeared to be somewhere on
Cybertron, but so devastated that Sylvie had no idea where.  The
combatants seemed stalemated, locked in the Cybertronian equivalent of
pointless trench warfare... until suddenly, out of nowhere, came a
silver and black armored vehicle, bristling with weaponry and
seemingly invulnerable within its sloped armor.  It crashed through
both lines, scattering defenders in all directions, then transformed
into a huge and powerful warrior.
        Sylvie blinked.  The Transformer at the center of the
holographic action, though filmed unsteadily from some distance away,
was unmistakable.  His alternate mode was different, and thus the
configuration of his robot mode was unfamiliar, but his color scheme,
the shape of his head, and the black cannon affixed to his right
forearm couldn't belong to anyone else but Megatron.
        That must be what he looked like before he went to Earth,
Sylvie thought as she watched the holo-Megatron wreak havoc on the
defenders.  Those unfortunates didn't seem to be Autobots - they all
had roughly the same configuration and bore no markings she could
recognize - but whoever they were, they were no match for the
Decepticon leader, who smashed like cheap toys hand-to-hand any who
eluded his devastating firepower.
        "Well," said Sylvie when the clip ended, "that was...
interesting."
        "Oh, hey, Sylv," Priss said, noticing her friend for the first
time.  She paused playback before the projector could go on to the
next clip and flipped up her monocle display.  "What's up?"
        "Nothing much.  You didn't miss much at the meeting.  Things
are quiet.  I was just going to head over to the repair center to see
how things are getting on with the Getter Machines."
        Priss nodded, tapped a few keys, took off the monocle's
headpiece, and climbed off the bed.  "Hang on, I'll come with.  I
could stand to get out of here for a while."

        Ironhide stood at the edge of one of Iacon's outer curtain
walls, looking down into the small courtyard at the base of the wall.
A husky, blue-armored young Autobot, one of Hot Rod's Seventh Cav
rookies, was standing down there, looking thoughtfully off to the
southwest.
        "Offroad!" Ironhide barked.
        The young Autobot in the courtyard turned, looked up, and then
waved.  "Yeah, Ironhide!" he called back.
        "You gonna patrol that sector or just -admire- it?"
        Offroad considered that, looking over his shoulder at 
the long, arching elevated highway leading off toward Vilnacron.
"Well, it -is- an awful nice-looking sector," he allowed.
        Ironhide chuckled.  "Get rollin', you cam-crackin' punk."
        Grinning, Offroad saluted and said, "On my way, old-timer."
Then he transformed to his bulky sport utility mode and roared off up
the highway.
        "Well, Ironhide, looks like you've got that one trained," a
familiar voice said from behind the senior Autobot.  Ironhide turned
to see a group of his comrades standing nearby.
        Making a dismissive gesture, he said, "Ah, he ain't got the
sense to get in outta the rain, but he does okay if you watch him.
What's doin', Brawn?"
        "We're headed to the Neutral Zone," Brawn said, angling a
thumb back over his shoulder.  "Thought you might like to come hoist a
couple."
        Ironhide nodded, looking satisfied.  "Reckon I might.
Supervisin' punks like Offroad's thirsty work."  Shaking his head, he
added, "I don't know how Blitzwing puts up with it."

        Misato was getting used to observing events from high
places. In this particular case, she stood on the gantry walkway in
front of Repair Bay 23's auxiliary command post, looking out over the
wide, well-lit metal expanse of the chamber as Autobots and IPO TacDiv
bluesuiters worked on repairing ACROSS's military assets.
        Along one wall, the damaged light assets - the Meerkats,
Warthogs, and Napoleons - were being stripped down to their basic
chassis by the bluesuiters and some Minicons, to give the repair teams
a better sense of what needed to be fixed.  Along another wall, one of
Mora Bascht's lieutenants was directing the distribution of the
salvaged supplies from the Philip Marlowe from their storage
containers that had been carried on the remaining intact Meerkats and
Pelicans.
        Taking up one third of the shop space, however, was the
recumbent form of her damaged Atlas.  Skullomania was incongruously
laid out on what looked to the Major like a gigantic operating table.
Upon taking a second look, Misato realized that was exactly what it
was.  Several Transformers stood around the table, working on the
assault-class 'Mech as if it was just another Cybertronian casualty.
TacDiv bluesuiters climbed over the table and the Destroid to get into
the smaller spaces the Autobots couldn't easily reach.  Chuck Keith
had taken a kind of supervisory role over the whole operation,
checking Skullo's 'vitals' and directing the repair team's efforts to
specific areas.
        Armor panels had been removed and set aside for reforging. The
damaged assemblies of the particle projection cannons had been removed
as well and placed on a separate table for inspection and rebuilding.
The whole of the Atlas's main torso had been opened up to allow the
team to extract the destroid's damaged gyrostabilizer systems, while
part of Skullo's jack-o'-lantern head had been peeled away, the
long-range antenna's mountpoint removed to allow for easier repair.
        Misato sighed at the sight of her pride and joy having been
laid low, but she knew in her heart that it had done what it was
designed to do: protected its pilot long enough to carry the battle
through to the end.  That fact filled her with a surprising amount of
pride, still more so because her teammates in ACROSS had shown even
more courage than they had thought themselves capable of.  Priss had
snapped out of her funk, Sylvie had gotten back on track, and Chuck -
well, her trust in his skills and suitability for the team had been
amply rewarded.
        She allowed a slight smile to cross her face as she watched
Lt. Keith pilot the repulsorlift platform he was using as an
observation post over the length of Skullomania, pointing out where a
power conduit had been overloaded and needed to be replaced.  If
nothing else, Misato reflected, Keith had a good chance of making it
as ACROSS's next squad maintenance engineer if being a Getter pilot
didn't work out for the long haul.  After all, one never could be
quite sure when the IPO might decide to reassign some of her core
personnel, like her Hoffmanite chief engineer, if the need became
great enough.
        Speaking of whom...
        Misato shifted where she stood, and was treated to the sight of 
some of the top mechanical minds among the Autobots - Ratchet, Wheeljack,
Perceptor, and Hoist, along with a host of smaller Transformers and
Minicons - listening intently, taking notes, and asking questions of
Mora Bascht on the whys and wherefores of Getter technology.  While
Ratchet and Hoist seemed to be taking the details in stride, and
Wheeljack was positively brimming with glee (if the flashing of his
'ears' as he spoke were any indication), Perceptor had such an
expression of befuddlement on his face that Misato had to restrain
herself from laughing out loud.
        "Wait," Perceptor said.  "Are you saying it's polycrystalline
-and- photomorphic?  That's impossible."
        "Well, no, not under normal conditions," Mora replied. "But when 
the particles are suspended in a Getter-ray flux above 2,300 saotomes,
they separate and mimic a substance with both properties."
        That didn't seem to enlighten the Autobots' chief scientist
much.  Misato could relate.  She was a decent hand with a wrench - had
to be, with so many years of experience as a MechWarrior and Veritech
jock - but the principles behind a technology that close to magic were
well beyond her understanding.  Besides, she didn't have time to
exercise her more mundane technical skills much any more either, not
with a whole special detachment to run.
        Misato didn't like being away from the front-line realities of
a combat outfit.  It was one of the reasons she'd never managed to be
promoted past major, despite her great experience and natural skill.
She simply didn't have the patience for any job where the rear-echelon
requirements exceeded the front-line ones.  Running ACROSS was right
on the borderline, especially right now - being part soldier, part cop
hadn't been an easy transition for her in the first place, and now,
with the political situation so unstable...
        ... it was all so much easier when it was just about who
needed shooting and where.
        The sound of knuckles knocking against the railing she was
leaning on snapped Misato's focus back to the here and now.  She
turned her head, and saw the approaching figure of Shana O'Hara, still
clad in her efficient combat harness and black fatigues.
        "Hey, Scarlett... what brings you by?"  Misato pushed back
from the railing, giving the redhead her full attention.
        "Eh, 'Bee's headed off to Little Iacon to check on some
things, and I got done with my admin stuff for the day, so I figured
I'd come down here and see how -you- were doing."  Scarlett took up
the leaning position that Misato had just abandoned, whistling as she
took in the repair proceedings herself.  "I read the reports, heard
your presentation; but to see the damage in person - this takes the
chromium cake."
        Misato quirked a grin and slapped Scarlett on the shoulder.
"You should have tried -living- through it, Scarlett.  Not an
experience I care to repeat anytime soon.  I'd rather leave
kaiju-class fights to the experts - except we -are- the experts."
        Scarlett laughed. "Isn't that the way? Sounds like some of my
old missions with the Joes.  'Fight for freedom where ever there's
trouble. GI Joe is there!'"  She quipped the last in a sing-song
voice.  "Though without so much Rock-em-sock-em robots.  Most of the
time," she continued in her normal voice.
        Misato let out an appreciative chuckle.  "One of these days,
I'm going to get you to tell me about some of those missions; you must
have had some whoppers."
        Shana smirked.  "Get some time off, and I just might.  Speaking
of which - how's your team doing for time?"
        "Mmm?" Misato raised an eyebrow and looked back out over the
repair bay.  She studied both the Atlas's and G-Machines' physical
states with a practiced eye.  "Well, at the rate Chuck's going, the
particulars of Skullo's repairs should be finalized and in progress
within the next few hours; after that, they won't need him to hold
their hands to take care of the rest.  As for Professor Bascht over
there..." Misato grinned.  "... I'll probably have to get her to take
a breather before Perceptor's cerebro-circuits melt down from the
confusion.  Give them a chance to process what they've learned before
the next session.  Priss and Sylvie?  I'll have to check in on them,
but - no, hey, here they come now.  Well, that'll be simple."
        "And you?"
        "Well, uh... "  Misato glanced towards the transparisteel
window which took up the outer wall of the auxiliary command post.
The two women could easily see the piles of data pads and printouts
that had slowly taken over Misato's temporary desk tasked for
overseeing the ACROSS repairs.  "Scarlett?"
        Shana O'Hara replied calmly, as if she hadn't noticed the 
paperwork hill that was taking over the Major's workplace, "Yes,
Misato?"
        "You wouldn't happen to -know- of any places around here where
a girl could get a good beer, would you?" Misato asked, equally
deadpan, as if she didn't know she was being led on.
        Scarlett smiled slightly, knowing that she had truly caught
Misato's interest.  "For you, Misato, I think I've got just the
place..."

        Like all planetary cultures, Cybertron had its share of
entertainment and recreation areas.  There were not that many of them;
the damage that had occurred to the infrastructure during the Great
Wars had put priority on repairing those facilities that could
contribute to the war effort.  However, a handful of Transformers had
put their own lives on the line to carefully support and maintain
parts of Cybertron's cultural heritage.
        Some of these were museums of artwork and libraries of data
tracks that had dated back to before the Great Wars, hidden deep
underground from the destruction caused by the Decepticons and the
Autobots during the battles for Cybertron.  Others were performance
spaces - usually disguised as simple meeting halls, but convertable at
a moment's notice to serve for the production of Transformer shows.
        And others were just places to meet and kick back an energon
ale, to try and put the horrors of the war behind and to find a
measure, if only for a few hours, of peace.
        One such place was nestled within the borderlands between
Iacon and Vilnacron.  Both sides' leaders had turned a blind optic to
it over the centuries, since it didn't practice any particular
philosophy, and sometimes useful information could be exchanged or
seeded through it.  After the Decepticon Defeat of 2026 it had become
more publicly known, and began to cater to Minicon, Human, and
offworlder clientele.  However, its original cachet remained.
        It was simply known as "The Neutral Zone".

        "Nice place you've got here," Misato commented as she, the
Getter pilots, and Mora Bascht followed Scarlett through the
Minicon-scale auxiliary doors into The Neutral Zone.  It was arranged
much like many other bars and watering holes throughout the galaxy.
Seating booths circled the walls, tables and chairs shared the open
middle space with several gaming tables, and a wide bar counter curved
around the far end of the room.  The only things that made it truly
different were the facts that everything was giant-sized to match its
regular patrons, and there was a pervasive aroma of motor oil and
exhaust where Misato would have expected the pungent scent of
alcoholic beverages.
        "... Interesting decor," she added, glancing back at the inner
doors, which Sideswipe was now just stepping through.  "What's the
story with -that-?" she asked, pointing back and up over the inner
doors.
        Above the entrance there hung a very odd sight: a portion of
the lower hull of a Romulan Warbird, somewhat twisted and mangled
along the edges, mounted like a bizarre hunting trophy.  It was
stained with a slight patina of carbon scoring, but it was still
recognizable as of Romulan make, given the prominent bird-of-prey
logo that was still visible on the hull.
        Scarlett shrugged, leading the small group off to the left,
where several ramps led up to a series of smaller balconies.  "No
idea, Misato... it was mounted up there when I got here. I tried
asking some of the regulars about it once, when I first settled here,
but nobody had any idea who bagged it or mounted it."
        Misato nodded. "Oh well."  She hrmed, glancing at the balcony
they were now entering.  "Let me guess: Minicon seating?"
        Scarlett nodded, working her way through the small groupings
of Minicons, and the organic bipeds who had, for some reason or
another, decided to remain on Cybertron despite the renewed
Decepticon presence.  "What tipped you off?"
        "The fact that I don't have to strain my neck to contemplate
climbing the seats was a clue."
        Taking a seat in one of the Minicon booths, Misato gave the
Neutral Zone another once-over, this time checking out the clientele
rather than the decor.  The bar was moderately busy, not jam-packed
like it would tend to be on a weekend.  There were Transformers in a
few of the larger booths, or standing in small groups here and there.
In the alcove opposite the bar, a group of off-duty Zentraedi soldiers
were playing holo-pool.  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but there
was an odd frisson of tension in the air - very faint, but definitely
palpable.  It took Misato a few moments to realize why: Not all of the
Transformers in the place were Autobots.  A few, clustered near the
bar or in shadowed booths, were Decepticons.
        A waitdroid rolled over to the group's tables, balanced on
its monopod wheel as its waldoes manipulated a small datapad for
effect.  It regarded the humans with yellow-gold optics as it asked,
"Okay, ladies and gent, what'll it be?" in what its designers must
have thought was a reasonable approximation of a New York waitress
accent.  "I'm WA-7, call me Wanda.  I answer either way."  Scanning
the table, WA-7 matched the identity of one member of the party and
blinked her optics in surprise.
         "Well, I'll be!  If it ain't Scarlett O'Hara!  I haven't seen
you 'round for the past five months!  Whatcha been up to?"
         Grinning, Scarlett gave an offhand shrug.  "Oh, just the same
old same old, Wanda... keeping an eye on things, making sure our boys
don't get into -too- much trouble."
         The waitdroid made a digital snorting sound.  "Do you have to
keep extra restrainin' bolts around just to make sure?  I swear,
sometimes Chester could use one or two, just to keep him from
upgradin' things when he shouldn't..."
         "No, it doesn't get -that- bad."  Scarlett laughed, while
Misato watched the byplay with clear amusement. "Speaking of whom,
how's he doing?"
         "Why don't you ask him yerself?"  WA-7 spun about on her
single wheel and called out towards the vicinity of the balcony's
smaller bar and kitchen, "Hey, Chester!"
        A guttural voice answered from the depths of the human-scale
kitchen.  "Yeah?"
        "Someone to see ya, honey!" the droid replied, and then in a
smug tone continued, "A redhead, by the looks 'f her!"
        "Eh?"  There was a grunt from the kitchen's service window,
and Misato turned to look over her shoulder to see who it came from.
A heavily-jowled alien face was now looking through the window, and
his heavy, hairless eyebrows lifted in surprise as his wide mouth
split into a smile.  "Shana!  Be right with ya!"
        There was more noise from the kitchen, and then the owner of
the voice and face entered through the smaller kitchen door.  Misato's
own eyebrows went up, surprised.  The cook for the Minicon/Humanoid
section of the bar turned out to be a brawny, four-armed Besalisk
wearing a food-stained shirt, smock, and wide pants.  Besalisks came
from someplace out on the Rim, Misato couldn't remember exactly where;
not a species one expected to find on Cybertron, in any event.
        The alien chef sidled to the two booths, radiating good cheer
as he clapped Scarlett on the shoulder with one meaty hand.  "So, my
friend, it's been way too damn long.  What can I do for ya?" he said
with a smile, using another hand to pull over a wide stool to sit on.
        Shana smiled back, briefly squeezing the chef's hand before he
removed it.  "Well, for one, you can take our orders while I introduce
you to my friends."  She turned, tilting her chin towards the ACROSS
commander.  "Chester, this is Misato Katsuragi of the IPO.  Misato,
this is Chester Jettster, chef, mechanic, and all-around scoundrel."
        Chester laughed.  "Flattery'll get you -everywhere-, Shana."
He turned slightly in his seat, fixing Misato with a evaluating eye as
his lower arms fished out a worn data-pad and stylus.  "IPO, eh?
Well, good to meetcha, Misato.  What'll it be?  Some liquid
refreshment to tide you over?"
        Misato considered for a moment.  "You wouldn't happen to carry
Guinness?"
        The Besalisk chuckled and replied, "Tap, can, bottle, barrel,
chilled, warm, boiling, or frozen?"
        Misato blinked, then laughed.  "Can, chilled."
        "Right you are!" He made a note, and then regarded Scarlett.
"And you?"
        "Maccadams Pale Energon Ale," the redhead replied casually,
which caused Misato to boggle slightly at her companion.  Scarlett
looked back at the ACROSS commander.  "What?"
        Misato shook her head.  "Nothing.  Nevermind."
        Chester ignored the byplay, and took the orders from the rest
of Misato's crew.  He then used a small head-mounted commlink to tap
into the bar's speaker system to ask Sideswipe, who'd taken a seat at
the large table below with Ironhide and his crew, if he wanted his
usual.  The red Autobot replied with a hand wave and a nod.
        "So, Chester," Scarlett said, leaning closer to the Besalisk
and lowering her voice, "what's the word on the street?"
        Chester arched a brow ridge as he leaned forward.  "Well, as I
suspect you can guess, folks have got... concerns.  So far, the
customers have been keepin' to themselves, but the boss's havin' me
work on the Zone's defenses whenever I get off shift."  He gestured
expansively with his four arms, taking in the Cybertronian bartender
behind the larger-scale bar and the clusters of robots arrayed around
the room.
        "Which he wouldn't have had to -do- if he hadn't spent the
past decade using the parts to set up a new lighting system," WA-7
interjected as she rolled back over to the group, carrying their
drinks.  "I mean, really, a DISCO BALL?  Who uses a mirrorball in this
day and age?  What kinda scrap were you thinkin', Chester?"
        The alien chef rolled his eyes.  "Don't you have somethin' to
do, Wanda?"
        "I'm doin' it right now, Chester honey," Wanda shot back,
finishing handing out beverages.  "Which is more than what -you're-
doin'."
        Chester grunted.  "Fine, fine."  Snorting, he got up from
his impromptu seat.  He looked both ways, and then leaned in close,
shielding his mouth from view from the other patrons.  "Shana, I'll 
send you and the 'Bee a datawave once I clear it with the boss.  
Some interesting convo's goin' round."
        Scarlett nodded as the Besalisk stood up straight and pulled
down his stained shirt in a futile attempt to cover his bulging waist.
        "Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies... and gent," he said,
nodding to Chuck Keith to show he wasn't being left out, "I'll get to
work on your dinner orders."
        Sylvie watched him return to the kitchen, then took a closer
look at the booth Sideswipe had slipped into.
        "Wow," she observed to Priss.  "Check it out.  Veteran
central.  I think Sideswipe's the youngest bot there."
        Priss looked.  "Yeah, hell.  Brawn, Ironhide, Trailbreaker...
dunno who the Minicon is, but he looks like he's been around the block
a time or two thousand... "
        "That's Refute," Sylvie said.  "There's an entry on him in the
O'Coyne Guide.  "He's a real old-timer, all right.  They say he and
Ironhide used to fight together in the Quintesson Arena.  That was a
-long- time ago."
        "Huh," Priss mused.

        "Exciting times, eh?" Brawn remarked.  "Big changes coming.
Be interesting to see how they play out."
        Ironhide put down his ale barrel and regarded his old comrade
with a questioning look.  "Sprock it, Brawn - you don't honestly think
that Megatron's -serious- about remakin' the Decepticrud army?" 
        Before Brawn could respond, a dry, cultivated voice
interjected, "You're not the only ones wondering that, Autobots."
        Ironhide turned to see a black-armored Decepticon Sky Soldier
standing behind him, arms folded.  Those who had known Ironhide for a
long time, like Brawn, still marveled at the fact that the old
Autobot's face could take on such a look of delight at the sight of a
Decepticon, any Decepticon.  And under normal conditions it wouldn't,
but this particular Decepticon was, in Ironhide's view, special.
        "Baffle!" he declared.  "Well I'll... Pull up a barstool!" 
        Baffle looked mildly put-upon.  "Oh, if you -insist-,
Ironhide," he said with wryly affected weariness.

        Up on the balcony, Priss watched the Autobots chat with
Baffle, wondering what made that particular Decepticon not just
acceptable, but a welcomed guest at the table of veterans like Brawn
and Ironhide.  Before she could get in much quality eavesdropping,
though, she was interrupted by the incoming-message tone of her ACROSS
PDA.
        Hauling it out, she read the screen message, grinned, and
started playback of the attached video clip.  Sylvie leaned over to
see what it was and saw, without much surprise, that it was another
old clip of Megatron, this one showing him in his "modern" form,
fighting Optimus Prime atop a gigantic dam somewhere, probably on
Earth.
        "... And this one is... ?" she asked.
        "Sherman Dam, 1984," Priss replied without taking her eyes off
the tiny screen.  "Rewind found it for me in an archive copied over
from Teletran-1."
        "So, uh... are you planning on starting a fan club website, or
just collecting for your own amusement?  You must have nearly every 
file image and video clip of Megatron the Autobots -have-."
        Priss answered the question with another question: "Don't you
think there's something... I dunno, -compelling- about him?"
        Sylvie rolled her eyes.  "Priss, he's a giant robot.  A giant
-evil- robot.  This cannot possibly end well."
        Priss waved the objection away irritably.  The only reply
was Megatron's voice, rasping tinnily from the PDA's tiny speaker:
        "Because everything I touch is food for my hunger - my hunger
for power!"
        I definitely do not like the direction this is taking, Sylvie
mused to herself, but, seeing that she wasn't going to get anywhere
with Priss right now, she turned her attention back to the table
below.

        "I see you're back in your old colors already," Brawn
observed, pointing to the Decepticon symbols on Baffle's wings.
        "Yes, I'm surprised it was so easy myself," Baffle replied.
"I just reported to Vilnacron and declared my intentions, and they
took me to see Megatron.  He was... "  Baffle paused, searching for
words.  "He was as I remembered him, not from the bad times, but in
the beginning, when we served together under Scorponok."
        "How are the other Decepticons taking his 'new order' so far?"
Refute wondered.
        "Some better than others," Baffle admitted.  "The
Constructicons seem to be very happy, but then, he has them building
things, which they'd be happy to do for anyone.  Some of the other
veterans grumble, though I've seen no overt dissention yet.  The
younger ones, those who never served under Megatron before... well,
those created under Galvatron's rule have no idea what to make of the
present situation, but the youngest ones seem to be very pleased
indeed.  I've been placed in command of a wing of Sky Soldiers who are
all very green, but utterly committed to the new way."  He sighed
melodramatically and added, "It makes a fellow proud to be a
Decepticon."
        Ironhide grunted.  "I ain't convinced," he said.  "Megatron's
always been good at actin' a part if it'll get him what he wants."
        "Mm," Trailbreaker agreed.  "Question is, what -does- he want?"
        "Well, for whatever it's worth, I believe he's sincere," Baffle
said.  "He's deeply concerned about Cybertron, about the meaning of
the calling so many of us have heard.  It's a concern that overrides
all others."
        "Uh-huh, well, even if that's true, what happens when the
crisis, whatever it is, is over?" Ironhide wondered.
        "I wouldn't have agreed to wear the brand again if I didn't
believe in its future, Ironhide.  You know me better than that."
        "I don't doubt that," Ironhide replied.  "I'm just
thinkin'... what if you're wrong?"  He shook his head and took another
drink.  "Ah, don't listen to me.  I'm just gettin' paranoid in my old
age."
        "And you've certainly got plenty of -that-," a sneering voice
cut in.  Ironhide and Baffle turned to see a new group of
Transformers, all wearing the Decepticon brand, though most of them
sported features that made it plain their alternate modes were ground
vehicles.  At the front of the group, the one who had spoken featured
bright yellow armor with sleek styling.  At the sight of him,
Sideswipe's fists clenched at his sides.  Sylvie saw Brawn slowly put
a hand on the red-clad Autobot's forearm and heard him murmur very
quietly,
        "(Eeeeasy there, cowboy.)"
        "Well, well, well, look who we have here," the yellow-armored
Decepticon sneered.  "How's business, Ironbutt?  Failed to protect any
Autobot leaders lately?  Y'know, I'm surprised Prime gave you your old
job back after you came back from the dead.  But then, he always -was-
a little -soft-."
        Ironhide rose slowly to his feet and turned to face the
speaker.  "Your kind ain't welcome here, Sunstreaker," he said, his
voice tightly controlled.
        Sunstreaker snorted derisively.  "This is the Neutral Zone,
scrap-for-brains."
        "I ain't talkin' about Decepticreeps," Ironhide replied,
raising a clenched fist.  "I'm talkin' about -traitors- an'
-cowards-."
        "Okay, not good," Scarlett remarked.  Her face assumed the
slightly faraway look that Misato always associated with Lensmen -
presumably she was on the horn to Bumblebee via cybercomm.
        For her part, Priss looked ready to draw her weapon and get
involved, however unwise the scale discrepancies might be, but for
Chuck Keith muttering to her,
        "Take it easy.  We're guests on this planet, remember?
Besides, Ironhide can take care of himself."
        "Nobody calls me a coward," Sunstreaker snapped, through the
observers couldn't help noticing that he didn't object to the
"traitor" label.  "You want to go for it, old-timer?  Trust me, I'd
like nothing better."
        "Brawn, I can't hear too well in my old age," Ironhide said in
an exaggeratedly casual tone.  "Is that a turbopump with a bad bearin'
I hear whinin', or is some low-displacement punk askin' for directions
to Fist City?"
        "Low-displacement punk?  That's rich coming from a rustbucket
like you," Sunstreaker shot back, but before he could take another
step and make the confrontation absolutely face-to-face, a hand on his
shoulder stopped him.  Half-turning, he saw a Transformer he didn't
recognize holding him back.
        The stranger wore no markings of allegiance, but the shape of
his head and the aeronautical features of his robot mode gave him a
passing resemblance to a Decepticon Seeker.  His armor was mostly
maroon and sky blue with some black patches, and he was clearly a bit
the worse for wear: His paint job was badly battered, with heavily
chipped edges and obvious carbon scoring along what the onlookers
guessed would be his wings' leading edges.  His face was badly
damaged, with almost the entire right half's flexmetal plating torn
away and replaced with a rigid and unsightly patch.  From the look of
him, he was either the veteran of many hard-fought battles... or just
a bum.  No one could really tell.
        "If I were you, I'd take it easy, friend," said the stranger
in a quiet, slightly raspy voice that was pitched a bit high for a
male-pattern Transformer's.  "The whole planet's on a hair trigger.
You don't want to be the one who sets its off."  He chuckled
ironically.  "Your leader wouldn't like that very much.  And you
-know- what happens to those who displease Almighty Megatron," he
went on, an audible sneer twisting the last two words.
        Sunstreaker snorted and shrugged out from under the stranger's
hand.  "Megatron isn't here," he replied coldly.  "And you, my poorly
maintained friend," he added, looking the stranger up and down
disdainfully, "are obviously not part of his inner circle, in any
event."
        The cajoling good humor remained in the stranger's voice as he
replied, "Obviously.  Oh, don't get me wrong, friend.  I don't presume
to speak -for- him.  I'm just saying... you wear his colors, it's in
your best interest to follow his rules.  Unless you think you can
replace him, of course.  That would be... interesting."  Gently
grasping Sunstreaker's elbow, the stranger continued, "Come, let me
buy you a drink and we'll discuss your chances."
        Ironhide blinked, staring at the stranger.  "... can't be," he
murmured, his voice nearly inaudible.
        "Take your filthy hand off me, cretin," Sunstreaker snapped,
smacking the stranger's hand away again.  His own right hand 
transformed into a weapon barrel, which he leveled at the stranger's 
head.  "Now run along back under whatever scrap pile you crawled out 
of and sleep it off, you boost-addled buffoon.  If I have business 
with this Autoscum, it's none of your affair."
        The stranger chuckled dryly.
        "Well, I -tried- to be reasonable about this..."
        Then, faster than the eye could follow, he grabbed
Sunstreaker's wrist, shoved his arm upward so that, should he fire his
weapon, the bolt would go harmlessly into the ceiling, and then
applied a cross-body hold and threw the Autobot turncoat halfway
across the room.  Sunstreaker hurtled through the air and crashed into
the Warbird hull over the entrance with a resonant BONG, bounced, and
came to rest on a corner table, smashing it and sending drinks and
patrons flying.

                         /*  Extreme
                        "Play With Me"
                     _Extreme_ (1989)  */

        Sunstreaker scrambled resiliently to his feet and would have
thrown himself into a counterattack, but he discovered to his chagrin
that the patrons whose table he'd smashed wanted a word with him about
the damage.
        "Okay, -really- not good," Scarlett said, drawing her
miniature bowcaster and arming the first energon bolt in its magazine. 
In the manner of bars all around the galaxy, once triggered, the 
violence spread like a virus, engulfing the whole Neutral Zone.  The 
simmering tensions between various groups - Autobots and Decepticons; 
newly-law-abiding Decepticons and their more mayhem-minded comrades; 
"big" Transformers and Minicons; even Transformers and Zentraedi -
all erupted into a wild, near-cathartic free-for-all of punches, 
kicks, and throws.  To Scarlett's mild astonishment, though, no one - 
not even Sunstreaker - employed a weapon.
        "You guys help me cover the exits!" Scarlett called to the
ACROSS team.  "Anybody who's not putting up a fight, make sure they
get out.  Shoot to wound if you have to!" she added with a harried
grin.  "Ratchet's good with legs."
        "Is that Scarlett O'Hara?" one of the rumbling Decepticons
asked.
        "Oh, slag, -Bumblebee's- Scarlett?"
        "Let's get the sprock out of here!"
        In the melee that followed, Misato noticed a few times, with a
combination of awe and amusement, that even the biggest, baddest
Autobot and Decepticon warriors - including Sunstreaker himself -
would go to almost comical lengths to avoid having even given the
impression that they were drawing on or in any way targeting
Scarlett.  Most had no qualms about trying to intimidate the other
humans, to say nothing of the various Minicons who had decided to help
them contain the melee rather than run away, but they all gave the
redhead in the black tac gear a wide berth.
        Misato also noticed, but didn't quite know what to make of, 
another human who seemed very adept at staying out of the path of
trouble, even in such a full-on throwdown.  A young-looking man with
short brown hair, dressed in a brown leather bomber jacket and khaki
pants, he had a slightly ironic grin on his handsome face as he deftly
avoided any combatants who came his way, slipping through gaps between
brawling Transformers without any apparent fear of the dangers
presented by fist-fighting giant robots.  In this artful fashion, he
made his way to the side exit, turned to take one last look at the
action, finished his drink, put the mug down on the nearest intact
table, and then left.
        The general chaos only abated when Sunstreaker and the
stranger, the pair who had started it all, found themselves facing off
in the center of the room.  At that point, sensing a good show was
about to begin, the others participants seemed to abandon their own
aggression in favor of crowding into a circle, leaving a patch of
clear space among broken tables, to watch the main event.
        "I don't know who the slag you are, stranger," Sunstreaker,
somewhat the worse for wear following his argument with the Warbird
and the subsequent fracas, snarled, "but I'm gonna make you wish you'd
never been sparked!"
        The stranger smirked with the half of his face that was
capable of expression.  "Non, je ne regrette rien," he replied
sardonically.
        Sunstreaker launched himself at his opponent, unleashing a
combination of kicks and punches that would have wrecked most foes
outright.  The stranger blocked them all, even managing to give the
impression that he was a little bit bored by the proceedings; then he
got inside Sunstreaker's guard, looped an arm around his upper body,
and dragged him completely off-balance.
        "(Who's the judo master now, Autobrat?)" the stranger murmured
in Sunstreaker's pickup as he overmatched the yellow-clad warrior's
balance.
        "What - ?!" Sunstreaker gasped.  His concentration completely
broken, he lost any chance he might have had of regaining the
initiative and crashed to the floor.  By the time he regained his wits
and was in a position to get up, he found himself with the blade of a
crackling energon sword nearly nudging the point of his chin.
        "Sunstreaker," the stranger said, his mocking tone turning the
very name into an insult.  "You were a pathetic Autobot, and you're 
even MORE worthless as a Decepticon!  Get out of my sight before you 
give me cause to feed your tailpipe to your mouth."
        Sunstreaker backed slowly away, rising cautiously to his feet
as soon as he was clear of the point of the stranger's blade.  Then,
gathering his dignity as best he could, he sneered, turned, and
retreated into the night, followed by a few of the comrades who hadn't
already fled the scene.  The stranger watched them go, then put his
sword away and walked through the devastated barroom, unconcerned with
the damage around him, toward the side exit.
        Baffle intercepted him before he could make his exit, saying,
"What's your name and your drink, stranger? And which side are you
on?"
        The stranger gave him an ironic smile.  "I'm just a nameless
Transformer, home after centuries away, learning what's changed.  I
have... things to find out.  Glad I could help, though - Sunstreaker's
always been a kickplate."
        Then, gracefully sidestepping the black-armored Seeker, he
left through the side door and disappeared as well.
        Brawn stood looking at the door, rubbing the top of his domed
head.  "Something about that guy's familiar," he finally said.
        "You're imagining things, Brawn," Refute said.

        Autobot and Decepticon military police, led by Nightstick and
Onslaught respectively, arrived a few minutes later and, with help
from the least of the offenders in the brouhaha, started taking
statements and putting the pieces together.  A few combatants who
owned up to their roles in the fracas left under arrest.  The rest
filtered out into the evening of their own accord, discussing the
excitement among themselves.
        "Okay," Misato asked as the small convoy of Autobots she and
the others were riding in made their way back to Iacon.  "What was the
deal back there?  Who was that yellow guy and what was his problem?"
        "Nnh," Sideswipe said.  "Can we not talk about him?"
        Misato glanced in surprise at the red Autobot's center
console, but Sideswipe hadn't even put his virtual image up on the
video display to make the remark.
        "Uh... okay," she said.
        The rest of the ride back to Iacon passed in an awkward
silence.

        A lone swoop bike sped over the metal highways and through the
structural canyons of one of Cybertron's many industrial districts.
This particular district had been abandoned long ago, its various
warehouses empty and unused.  In this way, it was not much different
from many other such districts on the planet.  Most active storehouses
were closer to the City-States, so as to be easily protected; those on
the borderlands had become run down, unused save for the occasional
lone Cybertronian who wished to remain unnoticed by the combatants of
the Great Wars.
        The pilot of the swoop bike was no Transformer, but he too had 
a desire to remain undetected for the moment.  He had risked a lot to
come here, but so far he was getting away with it.
        The hoverbike continued its journey for quite some time,
unseen by curious optics.  Its pilot was privately glad that he had
managed to bring his bike along.  While the outside wasn't much to
look at, covered with dings and scrapes from a lifetime of travel, the
bike was still well-cared for, and capable of more thrust and
maneuverability than many newer gravbikes.  Cybertron was huge, no
place for those without an alternate means (or alternate form) of
transportation.  Doubly so for those who had some cargo to transport,
as the bike's rider did: two large pannier-sacks strapped to the sides
in front of the main thrusters.
        Finally, the swoop bike slowed to a halt outside one
particular warehouse.  It wasn't much to look at - dull, grey, blocky,
lacking any sort of insignia or title - but the rider of the bike
smiled all the same at the sight of it.  He parked his ride next to an
ajar loading bay door, unsecured and hefted the two large sacks, and
worked his way inside the building.
        The interior of the storehouse was much like its outside.
Patently unremarkable, save for the rather large hole in the roof,
letting in the faint starlight that suffused Cybertron's atmosphere.
It cast pale illumination on the floor and side walls of the building,
but also intensified the darkness of the shadows which surrounded the
corners and crevices of the interior.
        One of those shadows on the far side of the warehouse moved as
the man made his way to a small hovel that had been improvised from
the remains of a large shipping crate.
        "Man... you would NOT believe the kind of day I had," the man
spoke out loud as he set down his cargo.  Despite appearances, he was
not talking to himself, but to the moving shadow, which loomed upwards
in the half-light.
        The source of the shadow directed its attention towards the man 
as he started to rummage in the packs, and made a questioning sound as
it moved closer.  The rumbling noise echoed softly off the warehouse's
bare walls.
        "Yeah.  I know, I know - you were dead-set on coming here, and
I agreed to help and come along...  but I'm telling you, this place is
tense, and getting tenser by the day.  Hell, it's getting worse than
home was back in the fifties!  And -that's- saying something."
        The shadow tilted to one side, somehow expressing curiosity, 
even shrouded in darkness.
        "Well, give me a moment, and then I'll fill you in." Having
said that, the man continued unpacking the two panniers, setting their
contents aside, and activating a travel lantern that was inside the
crate-turned-domicile for some better illumination.  The source of the
large shadows moved back and patiently waited, little illuminated by
the small lantern.
        Finally, the man finished his tasks, and sat back against the 
side of the crate.  "Okay.  Here's what happened..."
        He then proceeded to recount the events of the bar brawl in
the Neutral Zone, taking care to elaborate any details when prompted
to by his listening companion.
        "...  And there you have it." The man stretched back, the dark
reddish-brown leather of his bomber jacket creaking with his
movements.  "We've been under their radar so far, but if they get wind
of -you-... well, we're talking -blah-blah-blah- all OVER again."  As
he said those last few words, he put his hands up next to the sides of
his head and waggled them in the standard human expression for 'going
crazy'.  The larger shadow chuckled, a deep rolling laugh, and
repeated the gesture and sound.
        The man smiled at the sight.  "All right, all right.  I think 
you get it.  Just... be careful when you do go out, okay?"
        The shape rumbled again, raising one silhouetted arm in a
salute.
        "Yeah, but you were never a Boy Scout.  Or an Eagle Scout.  Or 
a -Cub Scout-, for that matter."
        A grating harrumph was the man's answer, followed by a curious
head-tilt.
        "Eh? Oh, -right-!"  The man slapped his forehead.  "I got so
wrapped up in what's been going on, I almost forgot why I headed out
in the -first- place." He grinned, moving to one of the extracted
piles of cargo from the bike.  "You're lucky that when the blockade on
Cybertron was lifted, the shipping companies got back on the ball,
otherwise we wouldn't have these in the first place."  He paused,
considering this fact for a moment.  "Of course, we wouldn't -be-
here, -either-, but..."
        The shadowed shape gave an impression of mostly-patient
waiting.  Finally, the man turned around and handed to his companion a
thick stack of printed material, many of them brightly colored.  "Here
you go!  Still, I should warn you, I've got some good news and some
bad news.  The good news is, with the embargo lifted, the comic shop
in Cybertropolis was able to get its backlogged shipments delivered.
The bad news is, so many folks had been waiting for their subs, they
were all out of the Moyer covers by the time I got there."
        There was a disappointed rumble from his shadowy friend as its
attention turned downwards towards the stack of comics on the floor.
        "Hey, don't look so down.  Apparently, according to Previews,
he's going to have an artbook coming out in a couple of months.  I'll
hook you up with a Zentraedi edition to make it up to you, okay?"
        The shadow's mood lifted perceptibly; it made a sound of
eager interest.
        "Hey.  You got my word on it."  Saying that, the man sat back
against the crate again, pulling his own stack of comic books nearby,
as well as an auto-cook cup ramen that would serve as an abbreviated
meal.  "But for now, just relax, and read your comics."
        And so they did.

        There's just no getting around it, Misato Katsuragi thought to
herself as she lay and looked up at the unfamiliar ceiling of her
Iacon suite.
        I didn't drink enough to get to sleep.
        Sighing, she got out of bed, threw on a robe, and wandered
into the kitchenette to see if there was any Guinness left.  She
wasn't sure where she'd get more at this time of night in Iacon, of
all places - do they have 7-Elevens on Cybertron? - but she supposed
there'd be someone around she could ask.
        She was mildly surprised when the hallway door chimed - the
big one, not the little one next to it.  She went and keyed it open - 
        Sideswipe was leaning down on one knee in the hall, delicately
dangling a six-pack of Guinness at human eye level from his left
hand.  In his right he held a half-dozen 55-gallon drums lashed
together with plastic industrial shipping straps.
        "Care to do some drinkin' with me?" he asked with a slight
smirk.
        Misato regarded him for a moment, then took the beer and
stepped back.
        "C'mon in," she said.

                           /*  Joe Satriani
                      "Is There Love in Space?"
                 _Is There Love in Space?_ (2004)  */

        They went out on the balcony, where Sideswipe slumped into the
Autobot-scale chaise longue with his six of Maccadams beside him while
Misato took a more modestly sized seat a short distance away.  For a
while they just drank in silence, watching the lights of Iacon's air
traffic flit around in the distance.
        Then, as he finished off his third drum, Sideswipe said,
"Sunstreaker's my brother."
        Misato regarded him over the top of her third Guinness.
"Seriously?  That Decepticon?"
        "He wasn't always a Decepticon.  He used to be one of us.
First Guards, same as me.  We both went to Earth with Optimus Prime."
        "... So what happened?"
        "Well... in the mid-2100s, the Decepticons under Galvatron
were working as mercenaries, and they signed on to help a human
terrorist group called Cobra.  The Earth governments put together a
military commando unit to stop them, and a bunch of us joined up to
help because of the 'Cons.  Prime put Bumblebee in charge of the
detachment - it was his first major command.  You can imagine how
juiced he was about it.  Well, Sunstreaker got all on his case about
how Prime was only sending him to help the -humans- because he was
useless to the -main- Autobot force."  Sideswipe shook his head.  "He
used to ride 'Bee all the time.  Said we needed soldiers, not
mascots.  Said it right to his face."
        Cracking his fourth drum of Maccadams, he went on, "'Bee
brushed it off and led the Autobot task force back to Earth.  It took
them ten years and cost a lot of lives - ours and the humans' - but
they did eventually stop Cobra from taking over the solar system."
        Misato waited for half a Guinness before prompting, "And?"
        Sideswipe drained his fourth energon ale, crushed the drum,
and tossed it off the balcony into the alley below.  "And, 'Bee
brought what was left of his task force back to Cybertron, and no
sooner was he back than Sunstreaker was into him again, this time
about how he'd managed to get a chunk of his force killed fighting an
enemy force that was mostly -humans- of all things, and Sunstreaker
hoped he was proud of himself, and... well, on and on.
        "Finally 'Bee just looked at him and said, 'Sunstreaker, shut
up.'  Sunstreaker thought that was the funniest thing ever, Bumblebee
telling HIM to shut up.  He started in again, really riding 'Bee about
the casualties in his unit.  'Bee told him again to shut up.  That
pissed him off.  He said 'You wanna come over here and make me, you
little twerp?'  And 'Bee looked at him a second, and then he said,
'Okay.'"
        Misato winced.  "Bad move on your brother's part," she said.
        Sideswipe chuckled hollowly and tore the top off his fifth
ale.  "I know.  I was -there-.  It was the damnedest thing I've ever
seen.  There were some great fighters on Bumblebee's team, humans and
Autobots both.  He'd learned from all of them.  He led a squad through
ten years of hard combat against a well-equipped human army with
Decepticon support while Sunstreaker sat on his ass back here on
Cybertron.  I don't think Sunstreaker ever really understood how that
kind of experience could change a bot."  He took a pull of his ale and
then gazed sadly into the drum.  "I don't think any of us who weren't
assigned to that mission understood until then, but we all wised up
damn quick.
        "'Bee learned a lot of tricks during his first command - but
I don't think he would have gone after Sunstreaker if Sunstreaker
hadn't goaded him into it.  He really didn't think 'Bee had the guts
to take him on, let alone the skills to get it done... but he was
wrong.  Bumblebee always had more guts than any of the rest of us.  He
just needed experience, and he got that with the Joes.  With Shana.
He picked up some of his moves from her, but I think the most
important thing she taught him was that he didn't have to take slag
from jerks like Sunstreaker."
        He finished the fifth drum, tossed it aside, and regarded the
sixth without opening it.
        "He was out of the repair bay in a couple of days, but... he
never really recovered."  Sideswipe sighed.  "I dunno.  Sunstreaker
was always a little... off.  He was so cold and ruthless in combat.  I
mean, I like a good scrap as well as the next bot and I'll fight dirty
if I have to, but Sunstreaker...  he didn't want to just -beat- his
enemies.  He always fought to kill.  I was never like that.
        "Anyway, after that, he got even colder, more remote.  He
stopped talking even to me.  One day, in the middle of a firefight
with a Decepticon raiding party, he tried to shoot Bumblebee in the
back - figured he'd get away with it in all the confusion, but Shana
spotted him and stopped him.  He ran away and... "  Sideswipe looked
down at his feet, shoulders slumping.  "... joined the 'Cons."
        Misato discarded her fifth Guinness can and said, "That's
awful, Sideswipe.  I'm sorry."
        Sideswipe made an attempt at putting a brave face on it.
"Ehh, it's ancient history," he said, popping his sixth ale.  "Say,
are you even feelin' those?  'Cause it's startin' to hit me, and I
figure in about five minutes I'll be fuckin' -hammered-."
        "Kind of," Misato replied.  "Takes a lot with me.  A Detian
with a well-honed tolerance.  Barkeeps love to see me coming."
        Sideswipe laughed.  "I bet," he said.  "Well, lesson learned.
Next time, bring the lady a case."
        Misato snorted, then lay back and contemplated the starry
sky.  No, a six wasn't enough to get her really wasted, but it -was-,
she thought, just enough for a buzz and a good night's sleep.
        She was just starting to doze off when a thought occurred to
her, rousing her enough to say, "Hey, Sideswipe?"
        "Yeah?" came the fuzzy reply.
        "Who do you suppose that guy Sunstreaker picked the fight with
was?  It seemed like some of the other guys recognized him, or thought
they did... "
        "I 'unno," Sideswipe replied.  "I mean... he din' -look- like
anyone I know.  Somethin' kinda familiar 'bout 'im, but... "
Sideswipe shook his head.  "Gotta be a coincidence.  Guy he reminded
me of?  's -dead-.  I mean -real- dead.  Kinda dead you don' come back
from."  Then, yawning, he dropped his sixth empty next to his chaise
and said, "Hope y'don' mind if I crash here.  'Cause if I try ta drive
home, I'm DEF'NITELY gonna crash SOMEPLACE!" he added with a roll of
drunken laughter.
        Misato giggled.  "Sleep it off, big guy, doesn't bother me."
She got up and gave a theatrical shiver.  "Me, I'm goin' inside," she
said.  "Gettin' chilly out here."
        Sideswipe lurched up and to the side, overturned his chaise,
sprawled on the balcony floor, and raised himself on one elbow.  "Oh
hey, no, don' go 'way," he said; then his face took on a look of hazy
concentration.  "Uh... hang on a sec... how does... ah, hellwithit,
vehicle mode!"  Thus commanded, his onboard diagnostic computer took
over from his muddied conscious processes and transformed him into his
car form.  "There," he muttered.  One of his doors swung upward
invitingly.  "Climb in," he said.  His virtual image, slightly
staticky, appeared on his dashboard VDU and gave a comical leer.  "I
got heated seats... "
        Misato considered the offer for a second, then said, "Hell,
what more can a girl ask for?" and climbed in, closing the door behind
her.

                           TUESDAY, JUNE 12
                              VILNACRON

        Returning from patrol, Skywarp cruised low over the abandoned
zone east of the city's main entrance.  Below, he saw the
Constructicons, minus Hook, clustered around a bunch of tangled scrap
metal that had once been, from the look of it, part of the support
structure for the long-defunct monorail that had once run between the
city and Iacon.  The five seemed nonplussed by whatever they'd found,
though to Skywarp, it all just looked like more wreckage, just like
you found everywhere else in the abandoned areas.
        As he passed overhead, his audio pickups caught a fragment of
their conversation, Mixmaster's voice saying in puzzlement, " - almost
like something ATE - "
        Not -my- problem, Skywarp thought, winging over for final
approach to the city's central courtyard.  As he approached, he saw a
line of Decepticons standing at attention near the command bunker's
gate while a familiar figure stalked along the line.
        And -that's- not my problem either, Skywarp thought gratefully
as he transformed, landed, and took up a position a cautious distance
away, waiting while Megatron concluded his business at hand.
        "... believe I made my instructions very clear, but apparently
-not-," Megatron was saying sardonically.  "Is that how it happened,
Wildrider?  Were my instructions unclear?  Did you not understand
them?"
        "Er... n-no, Megatron.  I mean yes, Megatron.  That is... "
        Megatron kept the hapless Stunticon pinioned on his gaze for
several seconds, then turned and walked away.  He strode up the line,
past his nervous troops, until he found himself in front of
Sunstreaker.
        If he was surprised to see the former Autobot there, Megatron
showed no sign of it.  He looked Sunstreaker up and down coldly, then
said,
        "I understand you started the mess in the first place.
Curious.  I remember your -brother- as the impulsive one."
        Were Sunstreaker capable of blushing, his face would have gone
bright red.  As it was, he fidgeted.  Megatron noticed and gave him a
tiny, cold smile.
        "By all means, Sunstreaker.  I haven't -laughed- yet today."
        For just an instant, Skywarp thought the ex-Autobot was
actually going to go for it; then Sunstreaker backed down, his hands
unclenching.
        "You are confined to quarters until I decide what to do with 
you," Megatron bluntly stated, his red optics boring into the former
Autobot's optics.  "Dismissed."
        Sunstreaker swallowed, nodded, and made his best attempt at a
military bearing.  "As you command, Megatron," he replied.  He turned
to leave, somehow managing not to transform and peel off on all four
tires for his quarters.
        Megatron regarded the remaining Decepticons in the line
balefully, then turned and crossed the parade ground, stopping next to
Onslaught, who had watched the whole situation with folded arms.
        "What do -you- think, Onslaught?" Megatron asked.
        Onslaught's optics dimmed.  "... Sir?"
        "What would you do with them?" Megatron persisted.  "In my
position, how would you address this pathetic lack of discipline?"
        "Well, er... "  Onslaught was unused to being asked such
questions - certainly neither Galvatron nor Shockwave had been in the
habit of putting these matters to a discussion, and nor had Megatron,
not for quite a long time.  Finally, noting that his leader was
waiting, he cleared his vocabulator and replied,
        "Confinement to quarters is a good start.  For some of them,
Sunstreaker and the Stunticons especially, I recommend restricted
energon rations and increased drills - punishment detail."
        Megatron thought that over for a moment, then said, "It's
unimportant.  Onslaught, I have a task for you... "
        Taken off-guard for the second time in as many minutes,
Onslaught said again, "Sir?"

                                IACON

        In many ways, Sylvie Daniels was a classic example of the
early-25th-century net-head.  She had a set of classic Frankensteiner
cervical-spine interface jacks, an integral cyberbrain auxiliary
processing module, an internal barrier array that served as a backup
to the standardized anti-hacking external barrier collars, and a suite
of subdermal smartlink inductors that could be used for contact
interface with quite a variety of 3WA, IPO, and off-the-shelf
equipment.  She owned a Fairlight Curtana, the sleekest, most
sophisticated cyberdeck on the market, a piece of hardware not found
among the possessions of anyone but the most serious webdivers.
        But Sylvie understood something that a lot of the really
hardcore net fiends - the pallid, haughty types who affectedly
referred to the real world with derogatory terms like "meatspace" and
confidently predicted that all the really -smart- people would bring
about a Total Machine Society within two generations - either didn't
get, or had willfully blinded themselves to:
        The Wire might be a great source of information and an
intriguing intellectual exercise, but the flesh is where the -fun- is.
        So when she got out of bed that morning, it wasn't to gaze
ruefully at another day Locked in the Prison of Meat and perform the
minimum possible maintenance before plugging in and walling off the
Mundane World.  She did switch on, sure, but only to rifle through the
room service menu and order a gigantic breakfast, then jack out, get a
shower, and consume said breakfast dressed in nothing but a damp towel
while considering her day's options.  It wasn't until she was done
with breakfast and dressed that she plugged in again, and that was
just to take a quick surf across the main local news feeds.
        She encountered an item on one of them that stopped her cold.
She scanned it twice, more slowly the second time, then ran a couple
of minor trace routines to make sure it was authentic.
        Then, letting out a sound that was somewhere between surprise
and dismay, she clipped the deck to her belt, jumped into her shoes,
and ran into the hall.
        Sylvie's original intention was to run to the Autobase comm
center, where she'd spent a sizeable chunk of the ACROSS team's
enforced downtime on Cybertron, but it occurred to her belatedly, as
she pelted down one of the long, arching skyways that were such a part
of the Cybertronian landscape that it was, after all, a very long run.
        Should've called somebody for a ride, she mused ruefully.
Just then, she noticed a pedestrian coming the other way along the
skyway - a Minicon, his plating mostly in shades of blue, with
occasional accents of yellow and orange "goggles" on his face.  Sylvie
spied what looked like little jet turbines on his legs - a good sign.
        "Hi!" she said, skidding to a halt near him.  "I'm Sylvie.
What's your name?"
        The Minicon regarded her curiously, then emitted a stream of
electronic tones, similar to the electrocode "speech" of an astromech
droid.  Sylvie blinked - every Minicon she'd met before had had a
standard full-function vocoder, but oh well - she could probably
download a program for her Curtana that would subtitle it for her, but
right now she didn't have time.
        "Uh... okay, we'll figure that out later," she said.  "Listen,
I need to get to Autobase CommCen in a hurry.  Can you help me out?
Do you have a vehicle altmode?"
        The Minicon cocked his head the other way, blinked, uttered a
few more untranslatable tones, and then shrugged and transformed,
dropping to the metallic pavement of the skyway in the form of a jet
hoverboard.
        "... Okay, good enough!" Sylvie said, stepping aboard.  "You
know the way to CommCen?"
        The board-bot breedled, powered up his repulsor array, spun
180 degrees, and rocketed off, barely keeping his startled passenger
aboard.
        "I guess so!" Sylvie said as she recovered her aplomb and
balance.  She was just starting to have fun when they entered another
of Iacon's interconnected buildings, banked hard to port to catch a
cross-corridor, and approached the hallway leading up to the main
gallery from the firing range.  Priss Morgan was emerging from that
hallway - and before she consciously registered what was approaching,
Sylvie had reached out, grabbed her arm, and hauled her aboard the
speeding board.
        "WHA!" Priss remarked, grabbing instinctively onto the first
firm handhold she saw, which happened to be Sylvie's belt.
        "Easy there!" Sylvie called back over her shoulder.  "I might
arguably be an exhibitionist, but there are limits!"

        "I can't believe they think this is coffee," Misato Katsuragi
was complaining as she and Chuck Keith walked up the main hallway from
the commissary.
        "They're probably not used to serving humans," Chuck replied.
        "Well, it's not like it's that hard!  They could download the
coffee episode of 'Good Eats' off the net or something.  I mean, this
is terrible."  Misato took another sip, grimaced, and went on, "You're
a young boy, full of natural energy, Chuck.  You don't understand.  We
old people, we... we -need- coffee in the morning.  Especially when we
sleep in a car."
        Chuck blinked.  "You sleep in a car?"
        "Well, I did last night - look, that's not important," Misato
said, waving it away.  "What's important is that we find someone in
this place who can explain to the caf crew what coffee is supposed 
to - "  She trailed off, her face going blank.  She and Chuck stopped
and turned to watch in unison as a strange, strange thing hurtled up
the hall, passed them, and disappeared in the other direction.
        Misato look at her coffee again.
        "I really, REALLY hope that wasn't this excuse for coffee
making me see things," she said.
        "Like Priss and Sylvie on a rocket-powered skateboard?" Chuck
asked.
        "Yeah."
        "It's not the coffee."
        They looked at each other, then ditched their coffee cups on
the nearest horizontal surface and ran after the strange spectacle
they'd just seen.

        Autobase CommCen was jammed when Sylvie, Priss, and their
Minicon benefactor arrived.  Apparently many of the Autobots had
picked up the same message, and reacted to it about the same way,
in the course of their morning routines.  Everybody was talking at
once, creating an overcurrent of hubbub that Blaster had to talk under
as he noticed them arriving and ducked through the crowd to join them.
        "I was just about to call you," he said.  "Take it you saw the
morning news - oh, hey, Grindor.  What's shakin', li'l guy?"
        Sylvie and Priss's ride resumed his robot form and uttered a
string of electronic beeps and burbles, shrugging nonchalantly.
Blaster laughed.  "Yeah, that'll happen a lot with these two," he
agreed.  "Anyway, stick around, the Visitors' Bureau is gonna want to
know about this."
        Grindor nodded and beeped some more.
        "Good, yeah, that works," Blaster replied.  Turning his
attention back to Sylvie, he said, "Decepticon Command is supposedly
gonna go live to give everybody some details in a few minutes.  You
recordin'?"
        "Always," Sylvie replied.
        "Good, 'cause my attention's gonna be netside," Blaster
told her.  Then, to her questioning look, he added, "No time to
explain right now.  Somethin' -weird's- goin' on in the ether.  I'll
bring you up to speed after the main event."
        Sylvie gave him a dubious look and might have pressed for at
least a -little- detail now, but before she had a chance, the door
leading to the main war room opened to admit Optimus Prime, Ironhide,
and Prowl.  The hum of conversation died out for a moment, then surged
back to twice its previous volume as everyone started asking
questions at once.
        Prime held up a hand.  "I don't know any more than you do," he
said.  "Blaster, any word yet from Vilnacron?"
        Blaster shook his head.  "Negative, Prime," he replied.
"Channel's - wait one... message coming through now.  Hang on while I
authenticate the message headers...  Yep, it's the 'Cons, all right.
Text message with full-dress command cipher."
        Prime nodded.  "Put it up."
        The massive main display screen at the front of CommCen
flickered, then filled with a glowering Decepticon insignia before
turning to slowly advancing text.  Priss, who couldn't read
Cybertronese, made a small frustrated noise.  Hearing it, Sylvie pulled
one of the modular interface cables from her Curtana and offered it.
Priss took the wire, plugged it into the input on her data monocle,
and donned the display device; immediately, it began adding subtitles
to Priss's perception of the scrolling text.


                       DECEPTICON HIGH COMMAND
                   MILITARY OPERATION ANNOUNCEMENT

ATTENTION ALL STATIONS: Decepticon High Command hereby announces that
Decepticon Forces will be conducting SIMULATED COMBAT EXERCISES in the
Aravex Wasteland, Sectors 17 and 18, north of CITY STATE TYREST.

Exercises will begin at 0900 GALACTIC STANDARD TIME tomorrow,
WEDNESDAY, JUNE 13, 2412 SC, and continue until 1750 GST FRIDAY, JUNE
15, 2412 SC.  These exercises will be LIVE FIRE COMBAT SIMULATIONS.
Non-combatants should avoid the exercise area at all times during the
scheduled exercise period.  The minimum safe overflight ceiling for
the exercise area will be 125,000 Standard feet above mean surface
elevation.  Aerospacecraft flying below this flight level will likely
be taken for a ruse of war by one or both of the simulation forces,
making any interlopers subject to attack.

Civilian, Autobot, and other observers are welcome in designated safe
observation areas at any and all times during the scheduled exercise.
Those wishing to obtain observers' passes and directions to the safe
observation areas can get them from Decepticon Communications Officer
SOUNDWAVE and/or other authorized members of High Command General
Staff, Decepticon Armed Forces, at DECEPTICON HEADQUARTERS,
VILNACRON.

This exercise does not constitute an act of aggression against any
group or organization presently on Cybertron.  Decepticon forces
traveling to and from the exercise area will be subject to strict
safe-area protocols.

Authenticated Data Signature HP480//:

                               MEGATRON
                 Supreme Commander, Decepticon Forces
                        Governor of Vilnacron


        For a few moments, everyone in the room stood and regarded
Megatron's electronic signature in silence, each alone with his or her
private thoughts on the matter.  Then Ironhide broke the reverie by
jacking a shell ostentatiously into one of his sponson guns and
turning to Prime.
        "Gimme an hour and a dozen bots," he said.  "We'll bottle up
those Decepticreeps in their city before they even think of being
ready to move out."
        "I'm with Ironhide," Hot Rod added.  "Say the word, I'll have
a Seventh Cav interdiction squad ready to move out at Iacon South."
        "I'll alert all aerospace forces to be prepared for
interdiction," Jetfire agreed.
        But to everyone's surprise, Optimus Prime... shook his head.
        "No," he said.
        There was an explosive outburst of puzzlement and
disagreement, one which Prime cut straight through the middle of with
a single word:
        "Blaster!"
        "Uh... yo!" Blaster replied.
        "Get in touch with Soundwave.  I want Megatron to know that we
-will- be observing his war games... with -great interest-."
        The silence carved out by Prime's declaration lasted only a
few seconds before his officers started chipping in again.  He let
them talk over each other for a few seconds, then raised a hand and
said in an only slightly elevated tone,
        "All RIGHT."
        That brought quiet to the room again.
        "I know this is risky," he told them all.
        "-Risky-?" Ironhide blurted.  "Megatron's done this -before-,
Prime, and it was -always- the first move in a major offensive."
        "I -know-," Prime repeated, a very faint edge coming into his
voice.  "But I'm going to take a calculated risk.  Megatron was in a
better military position when he first replaced Shockwave; if he had
wanted to take Vilnacron by force, or even move on Iacon, he could
have.  Instead, he chose his current path.  I think we owe him the
benefit of the doubt... at least the benefit of -one- doubt," Prime
added with slight wryness.
        "But that doesn't mean we're just going to sit around and see
what happens," the Autobot leader went on.  "Red Alert, maintain
security watch on all the back ways out of Vilnacron.  Hot Rod, your
unit will be Red Alert's backup if the Decepticons do try to slip
anything past us the back way.  Ultra Magnus, you'll maintain Iacon at
the highest state of readiness, just in case.  Nightstick, you and
your military police will maintain a strict cordon around the exercise
area.  Coordinate with the Decepticon MPs - play it like we're
offering to help them keep a lid on their own games."
        The armored Autobot MP folded his arms.  "They'll never buy
that," he observed.
        Prime chuckled.  "They don't have to," he said.  "They won't
turn us down anyway.  It would look bad."  Turning his attention to
the next Autobot in the group, he went on, "Jetfire, prepare patrols
and stay on top of the situation in the exercise area, but do -not-
interfere with the games unless they deviate from protocol."
        "Understood."
        "Prowl, Ironhide... muster the First Guards."  Optimus Prime
nearly smiled.  "Megatron welcomes us as guests - the least we can do
is turn out in style."
        Ironhide grinned.  "-Now- yer talkin'," he said.
        "We'll be ready," said Prowl with a crisp nod.
        "With fresh wax on!" Ironhide added, his grin turning a little
bit nasty.
        "Easy, Ironhide.  I'm not planning an end run," Prime said.
"We're going to approach this in good faith until Megatron gives us a
reason to do otherwise.  He's in a very vulnerable position right
now.  Not only is he trying to consolidate his return to leadership of
the Decepticons, he's made public an agenda that involves massive
changes to the Decepticon way of life.  If he's going to succeed, he
needs all the support he can get."
        "An' by the time he shows his -real- hand, it might be too
late," Ironhide objected.  "We all -know- he's up to somethin',
Prime.  Better to crush 'im now, -while- he's vulnerable!"
        Before Prime could make another stab at talking his
recalcitrant lieutenant around, a different voice was raised in answer
to Ironhide's objections - the voice of Megatron himself, emanating
from the speaker of Priss's PDA:
        "Optimus Prime, make war where none is offered?"
        Everyone turned to stare at the redheaded human, who had
climbed up onto a table in order to make the announcement better
heard.  Ordinarily she'd have found all this attention a little
intimidating, but right now, all that was on her face was
determination.
        Like all the others, Ironhide just stared for a moment.  Then
he shook off the surprise and took a step toward her, his lip curling.
        "You stay outta this," he said, raising a finger.  "You been
on Cybertron for what, less'n a week?  -I- was here for the -wars-.
I seen whole cities burn - hundreds o' thousands die - 'cause Autobot
leaders made th' mistake o' trustin' Megatron!  I don't intend ta
stand by an' let that happen again."  Shaking his head, he added in a
tone just short of outright contempt, "You don't understand Megatron."
        Optimus Prime put his hand on Ironhide's shoulder and
forestalled whatever Priss's response might've been by saying,
"Perhaps not, old friend, but she understands -me-.  I know how you
feel.  Believe me, I do.  But Agent Morgan is right.  I - WE - can't
be the aggressors here.  If we attack the Decepticons while they're
minding their own business - if we don't give them a chance to
demonstrate that they're serious about the changes they've announced
to the world - we become no better than they were.  Pre-emptive
warfare?  Presumption of guilt?  Is that really what you want the
Autobot name to stand for?"
        Ironhide clenched both fists, clearly struggling with himself;
then he went slack, hands falling open at his sides.
        "... No," he said.  "No, Prime, you know I don't.  I just... "
He shook his head.  "I don't trust Megatron.  Never have.  Never will."
        "It's hard for me as well, old buddy... but we have to try.
If Megatron has truly changed - if he truly is trying to lead the
Decepticons back into the light - then we owe it... not just to him,
but to everyone who died on -both sides- of our ancient war... to see
his vision realized.  To see the day... when all are one."
        Slowly, Ironhide nodded.
        "Wish I could believe in that day, Prime... but I believe in
-you-, and right now that'll have ta be enough."
        Optimus Prime's optics smiled above his half-mask.  He gave
Ironhide's shoulder a friendly shake.
        "Good enough," he said.  "No one could ask for more."  Then,
raising his gaze to the rest of the Autobots and humans, most of whom
had watched the proceedings with some degree of naked shock, he added
in a firmer voice, "You've got your orders.  Autobots: ROLL OUT!"
        As the Autobots, snapped back into action by their leader's
voice, left the room, Sylvie looked up at Priss, still standing on the
comm table, with an enigmatic expression for several minutes, then
turned back to Blaster.
        "So... when you get off the line with Soundwave, what were you
talking about when I got here?"
        Blaster nodded, holding up a "one moment please" finger.

        Up on the table, Priss Morgan scrolled through the translated
text of Megatron's announcement again on her PDA, her face a mask of
concentration and deep thought.


     /*  Team Sleep  "The Passportal"  _The Matrix Reloaded_  */

                     Eyrie Productions, Unlimited
                                 and
                        Imagination, Unlimited
                              presented

                UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT

                   TRANSFORMERS: CYBERTRON RELOADED
                   Issue #4 - "The New World Order"

                               The Cast
                       (in order of appearance)
                              Onslaught
                             Motormaster
                               Snaptrap
                               Hun-Grrr
                              Razorclaw
                               Megatron
                           Misato Katsuragi
                                Prowl
                            Optimus Prime
                              Red Alert
                                 Jazz
                               Hot Rod
                             Ultra Magnus
                               Jetfire
                               Ratchet
                              Bumblebee
                               Blaster
                            Sylvie Daniels
                            Kondaka Dessai
                             Priss Morgan
                               Ironhide
                               Offroad
                                Brawn
                              Perceptor
                             Mora Bascht
                             Shana O'Hara
                              Sideswipe
                             WA-7 "Wanda"
                           Chester Jettster
                             Trailbreaker
                                Baffle
                                Refute
                             Sunstreaker
                      The Cybertronian Stranger
                          The Human Stranger
                          A Shadowy Presence
                               Skywarp
                              Mixmaster
                              Wildrider
                               Grindor
                        Charles "Chuck" Keith
                              Nightstick

                      Written and Illustrated by
                         Benjamin D. Hutchins
                           Philip J. Moyer

                   With the Gracious Assistance of
                        The EPU Usual Suspects

                             NEXT ISSUE:
While the Decepticons play at war on the surface, strange things move
in Cybertron's interior - and unusual visitors converge to add new
wrinkles to the situation above.  What does this mean to the planet's
hard-won, delicate new balance?

                 TRANSFORMERS: CYBERTRON RELOADED #5
                     "Intrusion Countermeasures"

                         E P U (colour) 2007