[ EDITOR'S NOTE: The longtime reader will notice a certain amount of Soviet-style revisionism in this piece, which arbitrarily shortens the events of "Cybertron Dreams" from their original six-month span (September 2412 to March 2413) down to a couple of weeks in September, concurrent with "Road Movie to Naboo" over in the "Warriors of the Outer Rim" sub-arc. This is part of the extensive redesign that "Cybertron Dreams" will need someday in order to make it fit into the way the Future Imperfect arc has evolved around it since its (very early) creation. This is all a known problem and will most likely be corrected by a thorough stalinization of "Cybertron Dreams" at some later date. For now, just relax and enjoy the ride. --G. 10/31/2K2] I have a message from another time... Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presents UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT Transformers: Collision Courses Fables of the Reconstruction Benjamin D. Hutchins Transformers bios and history amalgamated from Hasbro, Takara, Sunbow Productions, Marvel Comics, Mainframe Entertainment, and Sunrise (c) 2002 Eyrie Productions, Unlimited OCTOBER 1, 2412 A RUINED SECTION OF CYBERTRON NEAR VILNACRON "What are we lookin' for?" Scavenger asked as he turned over another slab of wreckage. Long Haul moved a shattered support member. "Who says we're lookin' for anything?" he asked sourly. "Thundercracker just has us on cleanup duty. Constructicons, my ass! They oughtta call us the Custodicons." "Quit your bitchin, Long Haul. Would you rather just leave the place a mess? We'll get to rebuildin' as soon as we finish the cleanup," Bonecrusher said. The Constructicons' demolition expert punctuated his point by transforming and ramming into a large pile of rubble. "Scavenger raises an interesting point, though," Mixmaster said, picking up and closely examining a bar of glittering violet metal. "Hmm... vizorium. Lucky this didn't explode." He tossed it offhandedly over his shoulder into his mixing drum. From inside the drum came a muffled "plunk" and a soft sizzle. "What was I saying?" "You were saying I had a point," Scavenger said. "Oh yes." "On yer head!" Bonecrusher cracked. "Shut up, Bonecrusher!" Mixmaster barked, and then proceeded in a quieter tone, "I was talking." "Primus, yes," Hook muttered from behind an access panel, where he was working on getting power back to the quadrant. "Fates forbid anyone should interrupt the great Mixmaster when he exposits." Ignoring Hook, Mixmaster continued, "I think we -are- looking for something. Why else would Scavenger be -here- instead of in one of the active salvage sections? Either this job requires us all to be together - and you know what -that- entails - or Scavenger's unique talents are required. I'd bet on that more readily than the other." Bonecrusher returned to robot form. "An' yer point is?" "My point is simple. If we -are- here to search for something, would it not help us greatly to know what that is?" With a spitting crackle from the access panel, the lights came on in the quadrant. A brief cheer went up from the Constructicons. When it died down, Scrapper, who until now had been leaning silently on a still-standing pillar of steel and watching, unfolded his arms, stood straight, and said, "Yeah, we -are- lookin' for something." "Mind telling us what, so we can find it?" Scavenger asked. "Sure, sure. I was just enjoyin' watchin' you guys argue." He paused. "This is super-secret stuff, fellas. Not even Thundercracker knows what we're doin' out here, so you can't say nothing to nobody. Got it?" The Constructicons nodded as one. "Okay. We're lookin' for... " Scrapper paused and looked around overdramatically before continuing, in a low and conspiratorial tone, " ... the suspension chambers." Bonecrusher's optics blinked in disbelief. "You're slaggin' us." "Nope. Before he left, Megatron asked me to get you guys down here when I got the chance and look around for 'em. Who was I to say no?" "What does Megatron want with the suspension chambers?" asked Hook. "I dunno. Maybe he figures we can afford to open 'em up now." Everyone knew about the suspension chambers, of course. They were one of the darker bits of Decepticon history. During the Third Cybertronian War, about fifteen thousand years back, Decepticon resources reached the point where it was no longer possible to support the complete Decepticon force. Those considered less essential, those who consumed a large amount of energy, those with whom the leadership had personality conflicts, and even a few Autobot prisoners (in the days before the Decepticons stopped taking prisoners as a matter of policy) were placed in stasis lock, hanging in an un-life that was just short of photon death with only the tiniest of charges keeping body and spark together. Transformer life is a remarkably resilient thing, and the chambers were extremely economical to operate. And then, in the ensuing chaos of the end of the Third and beginning of the Fourth Wars, the precise way to the chambers was... lost. They were concealed deep within Cybertron, everyone knew that; but exactly where was a matter of considerable speculation and wondering. Apparently Megatron had some idea that they were in this sector of the planet, or at least an entrance was, and counted on Scavenger's unique sensory powers to find them. That fact was not lost on Scavenger, but then, nor was the stress of obligation that came with it. "Well... then I guess I'd better get to it, huh?" Scavenger transformed and started searching, rolling slowly along and sweeping the ground with his sensor-laden shovel assembly. "It's been so long... I'l be lucky to remember what they look like." Hook seemed to be on the verge of saying something insulting, so Scrapper headed him off with, "The rest'a you guys, get busy cleanin' this stuff up. If he does find 'em, we gotta be able ta reach 'em." "Ten-four, boss," Bonecrusher replied, and went back to his favorite activity: smashing up wreckage and shoving it out of his way. Hook busied himself loading larger bits into Mixmaster, who rendered them down and amused himself by making ingots of precious metals and various useful compounds and items out of them. Long Haul paced around, bored and restless with nothing to transport. Scrapper stood immobile and silent next to the lighting panel, watching (or if you prefer to give the activity its proper name, supervising). Several hours passed. The other Constructicons had long since finished cleaning the area up, and now they loitered, talking, playing cards, and generally trying not to watch Scavenger work. They knew it made him nervous to be watched, and when nervous he didn't function at peak efficiency. Two more hours dragged by. Then, from over in the corner of the quadrant, they heard Scavenger's voice: "Hey! I think I got something!" The others hurried to him; he stood in robot mode next to a small building which had survived the devastation vaguely intact. It was squat, square, and had no discernible entrance, and it looked much, much older than the surrounding territory. "I can't be sure," Scavenger said, "there's a lotta distortion and interference... but I think this's it. I'm definitely getting low-level positron traces from it." "It's too small," Long Haul said. "I remember seein' the suspension chambers once... there was hundreds of 'em." "They're underground, Long Haul," Hook said in his "tried patience" tone. "This is merely the entrance." "If they're down there," Scrapper cautioned. "Remember, we're only in this quadrant on a hunch." He walked completely around the small structure, then said, "I don't see a way in... I guess we'll have to make one. Mixmaster?" "One moment, O fearless foreman," said Mixmaster. He concentrated, the drum on his back turning as he put something together to bring the wall down, and then got his weapon from its holster on his leg, connected a hose extending from a socket at the drum's base, and aimed it at the wall. "Stand clear!" he cautioned, and fired. A stream of glowing green slime splattered the wall; Mixmaster directed it in a vaguely door-like shape. Said shape became an opening in the wall as the slime oozed slowly down the door, melting the material as it descended. Within moments, there was a large opening in the wall, and a pool of steaming sludge on the ground. "Showoff," Bonecrusher grumbled. He would never be convinced that his method wasn't more elegant. "Save it, 'Crusher," Scrapper said tersely, and the six Decepticons descended into the darkness. "This place gives me the creeps," Long Haul muttered as they walked through a mostly dark and completely deserted passageway, with featureless walls and a slight downward slope to its floor. They walked down and around several right-angle turns, their path describing a square as it descended ever deeper into Cybertron. Finally, they arrived at a large interlocking blast door, adorned with the Decepticon insignia. "See if you can get it open, Hook," said Scrapper, and Hook went to the access panel, tore off its face, and fiddled with the wires. "This section has power," Hook said, a note of surprise in his voice. "The lights must have simply burned out in this corridor - if I remember correctly, they were left on for access." "I hope to hell the lights inside work," Long Haul grumbled. "Hush," Hook said, and crossed a circuit. The door clicked, then emitted a deep -boom- which reverberated through the corridor, split horizontally in the center, and began to grind slowly open. It slammed to a halt about halfway open, making the Constructicons stoop under and step between the interlocking teeth to duck through the gap. Then they stopped, gathered together in a group, and stared in awe. "Primus... " whispered Scrapper. They stood on a platform at the junction of two catwalks, one running across a wide wall and the other stretching out in front of them into the darkness. Similar catwalks stretched away from the one along the wall, one every thirty yards or so. Along each of these were row after row of doors like the one the Constructicons passed through, flanked by control panels. Above and below there were -more- grids of sarcophagus-like chambers interlinked by catwalks, accessible by platform lifts placed every ten chambers along the long-axis catwalks. And above those, and below... "There must be hundreds of them," Bonecrusher whispered. "Thousands, if the old rumors were right," Mixmaster replied in the same hushed tone. "Why the hell are we whispering?" Scrapper said aloud, causing the others to jump, then look at each other with shared embarrassment. "Ain't nothing here can hurt us," Scrapper went on. "C'mon. Let's have a look around." "All Megatron wanted us to do was find the place, Scrapper," Scavenger said. "Maybe we should just mark the location and report." "What're you scared of, Scavenger? They ain't dead. There won't be ghosts or nothin' like that. C'mon. Let's see if anybody we know is in here. Hook, see if you can turn on the lights." Hook went to the panel by the door and flipped a switch. With a THUNK high up in the rafters, the cavernous room blazed into light. "Well. -That- was certainly challenging," Hook observed dryly, but Scrapper had already started down the center catwalk, reading the nameplates on the chambers. "I wonder if they're still Corrupted," Long Haul mused as the other Constructicons followed their commander. "Dunno," Bonecrusher replied. "Y'know, I been thinkin' about that." "Goodness," Mixmaster said. "I hope you didn't hurt yourself." "Y'know, that's pretty funny, Mixmaster," Bonecrusher said with exaggerated thoughtfulness. Then, after a brief glare, he continued to Long Haul, "Ain't it kinda weird, how some of us came out of the Corruption all around the same time, an' others didn't? An' lookit the ones who went with Windrazor, too. All the young ones an' the crazy ones. The Stunticons - hell, we built them on Earth! The Combaticons, they was always crazy, even before the Corruption. The Terrorcons - even younger than the Stunts. Windrazor, Eagle Eye, an' that bunch - Galvatron's new blood, back in the big Kilrathi war. I tell ya, it's fuckin' creepy. Somethin' weird is goin' on with that whole Corruption thing. It's almost like Unicron had something to do with it." "What do you mean? Unicron came once before, and nobody came out of it then," Hook said, his interest captured by Bonecrusher's idea. The Constructicons stopped walking as Scrapper turned around, vinterested as well, and all listened to Bonecrusher outline his theory. "Sure they did," said Bonecrusher, "only not as fast an' not as many. Unicron wasn't payin' as much attention that time - he figured he'd just eat Cybertron an' be on his way. He didn't think we was a threat, so he didn't think much about takin' the place out. This's just a theory, but... what if Unicron -caused- the Corruption in the first place?" "I'm really surprised at you, Bonecrusher," said Hook. "This is quite a complex piece of reasoning." "Thanks, I think. Anyway, look at the way it went. Unicron came, and after he was wrecked, I think his power lessened. Some of us threw off the Corruption then. Octane ditched and went indie. Blitzwing went Autobot, fer cryin' out loud, an' I know Breakdown wanted ta, but he was scared of Motormaster. Probably went with Windrazor for the same reason, poor bastard. He never really had his heart in it - an' if my theory is right he was never really Corrupted." "You think the new generations just turned out evil because they were created by Corrupted Decepticons?" asked Mixmaster. "Exactly," Bonecrusher said. "An' since everybody turns out a little different, there were a couple of the young ones who turned out to be OK, like Breakdown did. But that ain't my real point. Now, Megatron's got a Matrix, right?" "Right." "So if the stories're true, an' the Matrix is a piece of Primus's spark, then it woulda resisted the Corruption, right? Except it can't, because Megatron's always surrounded by other Decepticons. He's lost in it. But Starscream throws him adrift, right? So he drifts, alone, like he told us. Nothing to do but think. An' I figure as he did, the Corruption finally weakened to the point where the Matrix could purify him. Then he came back here... an' while Unicron was conserving his resources for the big attack, Megatron talked us around. Maybe we were comin' outta it anyway, I dunno. Maybe the Matrix even had somethin' to do with it." "All right... explain Starscream, then," said Hook. "That one's easy," Bonecrusher said with what, on his semi-humanoid face, passed for a grin. "He was dead, right? On a whole 'nother wavelength, ya might say. An' he was in the Wedge computer with Eve. Any o'you guys met her?" "Only in passing," Mixmaster said. "I ran into her while I posted some material requisitions to Wedge Co-op Command last month." "She's quite a presence, ain't she?" "When did -you- run into her?" "She came by the MUD I play a while back." "Well," said Hook, "let it never be said MUDs don't have a use... " "Shh!" Long Haul interjected. "Let him finish." "Yes, go on, Bonecrusher," Mixmaster encouraged. Scrapper continued to watch and listen, arms folded, face unreadable. "Well, that's basically it," Bonecrusher said. "I think we old-timers weren't really bad... just that Unicron did something to us on his way here, some kind of mental link with Primus, I dunno. Tryin' to split up the Transformers against themselves, an' it worked, too. The ones who stayed with Megatron are those Decepticons; the ones who went with Windrazor were the old-time creeps anyway, and the new breed. Bad seeds. Every race's got 'em." "Ya know," Scrapper cut in suddenly, "I might recommend you for that promotion after all, BC... now c'mon. Let's get back ta lookin'. Oh, yeah, BC - write that up in a report an' get it ta Thundercracker. I think he'd be interested. Prob'y oughtta send copies ta Perceptor an' like that, too. Maybe even Optimus Prime if ya got the bearings for it." Bonecrusher looked simultaneously pleased and nervous, and said, "Gee... thanks, boss." "Anytime," Scrapper said, and went back to walking up the aisle between the chambers. "Well, at least we won't have to worry about Windrazor's Impericons much," Hook observed. "Why's that? There are some pretty powerful Decepticons there. Hell, they got all of our composites, 'cept us." "Yes... but Windrazor, while skillful, has all the charisma and leadership ability of a Sharkticon, but lacks their social grace. His troops will be about as organized and motivated as a squad of Slygors, assuming Slygors could be put in squads." "Hey!" said Scrapper, stopping so suddenly that Scavenger bumped into his back, then apologized. "Check it out. I found Jolt." "No slag?" asked Scavenger. "No slag." "Cool." "Thaw 'im out," Bonecrusher suggested. "I don't think that's such a great idea," Long Haul said. "Why not?" Mixmaster replied. "The six of us can handle Jolt if he gets out of line." "Mixmaster's got a point," said Scrapper, and pushed the big green key on the control panel for that chamber. The Constructicons stood back with quiet expectation as the chamber hissed and then clunked, the door parting and, unlike the main door to the cavern, opening smoothly. Inside, connected to a web of wires, was a purple Decepticon warrior, his face a Valkyrie-like visor slit. There were wheels on the sides of his chest and his legs; he was a ground warrior. Most of the Decepticon ground warriors had been suspended in favor of airpower, leading to the deficiency in the ranks which had led Megatron to order the creation of the Stunticons on Earth. "Computer online," a pleasant feminine voice said from the chamber's control panel. "Stasis unit 2-249-55 operational. Unit 'Jolt' confirmed in stasis lock." "Computer," said Hook. "Recognize unit 'Hook', Constructicon surgical engineer." "Unit 'Hook' recognized," replied the computer. "Release stasis lock. Bring unit 'Jolt' online." "Confirmed. Releasing stasis lock." As the Constructicons watched, Jolt's visor slit flickered, then glowed strongly to life. He stirred, shifted, and then moved, stepping out of the tangle of wires as they snapped and hung limply around him. He stepped out of the chamber and into the corridor and looked around, disoriented a bit. "Hey, fellas," he said in a pleasant-sounding, rather mid-range voice, a neutral accent neither scholarly nor coarse. "What's doing? Where is everybody?" "Brace yourself for a shock, Jolt," said Scrapper. "Hey, shocks are my specialty," Jolt replied cheerily, letting some lightning arc around the discharge ports on one of his forearms. "When'd you go in?" Scrapper continued. Jolt looked up, contemplating, and then said, "Uh... 298-989252, I think. Maybe 53." Scrapper nodded. "Thought so. Third War. It's been five million years, Jolt... lots of stuff has changed. We're in with the Autobots now." "Hey, no slag?" asked Jolt. "No slag." "That's cool. Always felt bad, bashing on those guys when I should've been racing them." "I think there's definitely something to this theory you have, Bonecrusher," Hook muttered, aside. "So when do I get brought up to date?" Jolt asked, stretching out his joints and rotating them. "Man, those chambers really leave a guy stiff." "Soon as we get back to the surface," Scrapper promised. "How're we gonna explain him ta Thundercracker?" Bonecrusher asked. "We can't tell him we found the chambers." "We'll tell him we found one, by accident, not the whole complex." "He'd be pissed if he knew we was lyin'." "Well, Megatron told me not ta tell anybody... what're ya gonna do?" Scrapper shrugged. "I can't very well put him back." "Hell, no," Jolt said. "If it's a problem I'll lay low, but better bored and online than locked in one of those damn things." What Scrapper's reply was to be, no one would ever know, for he was cut off as, a hundred meters or so further into the complex down the catwalk, a hole in the universe appear with a bang, the shockwave blowing all seven Decepticons off their feet. "What the -hell-?!" Long Haul yelled as they tumbled a bit down the metal-grating catwalk floor. The strange rift was about the size of an average Transformer, perhaps a bit bigger, and it looked for all the world like video static. It made a noise like a freight train, and a gale wind was blowing out of it, keeping them all down. Suddenly a bulky shape tumbled through; then the rift slammed shut with a boom that shook the chamber complex, and for a moment, all was silent. The new arrival stirred first, getting to hands and knees with a groan; he faced away from the Constructicons, having apparently been pushed through the rift. As he got to his feet, the recovering Decepticons could see that he was a Transformer as well, big and powerful, on the same scale as Ultra Magnus or Optimus Prime. His armor was mostly black, with some gunmetal blue and grey accents. Wheels on his legs and shoulders indicated that his alternate mode was some sort of a truck, heightening his resemblance to the Autobot leader. He turned to face the Constructicons and Jolt as they regained their feet. Scrapper nearly gasped - the newcomer's face, too, resembled that of Optimus Prime, so strongly that for a moment Scrapper thought, other differences aside, he -was- Prime. Then the newcomer spoke, and ruined the impression. "Who dares?" he demanded, his voice deep and laced with an undercurrent of rage. His optics glittered a bright pink as he regarded them with his impassive half-masked face; then the bridge of those optics drew together in a scowl. "I know you," the newcomer rumbled in an it's-just-dawning- on-me tone of voice. "You're Destrons." His voice hardened, and his expression with it. "Backstabbing Destrons. -Traitorous- Destrons. Destrons who DID THIS TO ME!!" he bellowed. "DEATH!" The double cannons in the turrets on his shoulders barked out a burst of fire. The fusillade of shells missed Scrapper, exploding against the far wall of the cavern, as the Constructicons and Jolt ran for cover. "Who -is- this headcase?!" Long Haul cried as he dove behind Jolt's empty suspension chamber. "I don't know," Scrapper replied. "The hell's he talking about, 'Destrons'?" Long Haul asked. "I don't know that either," said Scrapper, "but he's got a real big problem with us, I think." "So let's give him a real big problem of our own," Bonecrusher said, ducking as another burst of fire tore into the side of the chamber he was hiding behind. He wondered who was in it, whether he was hit. "Guys?" Scrapper asked. "Let's do it!" the other Constructicons replied. They transformed with clearly practiced precision, then careened out into the middle of the wide catwalk, braving the fire for the seconds it would take them to all but ensure their safety. Then another transformation began, one Constructicon building on another until at last one single mechanical behemoth towered over the suspension chambers, Jolt, and the stranger. An ill-aimed volley from the newcomer's left-side cannons glanced harmlessly off the powerful forcefield which aided the mechanical linkages in holding the giant together, and he took a jarring step forward, chuckling. "Devastator!" Jolt whispered. It had certainly been an eventful awakening. "Fools!" the stranger snarled. "Black Convoy does not fear giants." Black Convoy plowed into Devastator and carried them both over into a tangle, rolling down the catwalk and smashing into another chamber. "Hey! Watch it! Friends of mine are sleeping in these things," Devastator grumbled, getting a hand under Black Convoy's chin and shoving him away. "Bah!" replied Black Convoy. He reached behind his back and suddenly produced a gleaming scarlet photon sword. He swung that sword, crackling with energy, and slashed at Devastator's chest with it. Devastator twisted aside, taking only a glancing blow that knocked the big wing across the giant's chest askew. The sword complicates things, Devastator noted to himself as he got to his feet. Black Convoy came at him again, seeking to damage the joints that held Scrapper and Mixmaster, his legs, in place. With a speed Black Convoy didn't expect, the giant lashed out with a side-on kick that caught the black warrior full in the face and knocked him tumbling forty yards down the catwalk. Black Convoy rolled to his feet and unleashed his cannons again; Devastator dodged, taking part of the burst in the side and wincing as some surface damage was done. His balance hindered by the impact, Devastator fell, twisting as he did to crash to the catwalk instead of a suspension chamber or two. Behind him, the blast took out a large chunk of the cavern wall. Staying at range is clearly a bad idea, Devastator thought. He charged, again faster than Black Convoy expected, and plowed into the black interloper. The impact carried them further out onto the catwalk, far enough that Devastator could see the other side of the cavern and its matching blast door. Black Convoy punched at his wounded side; Devastator seized the arm, and, startled by the newcomer's immense strength, succeeded only in partially stopping the blow. Grunting with pain, he rolled sideways and got to his feet, squaring off with Black Convoy again, then slugging him with a good old-fashioned left cross to the jaw. They fought like this for a short while, until Devastator got off a thunderous side-kick to the body that left Black Convoy struggling to rise to his feet halfway the far door. "Had enough?" Devastator asked. "We don't have to beat each other to scrap, you know." "I must - must escape," Black Convoy said, forcing himself to his feet. "My mind - the transition - I can't think. I must escape!" Then, standing shakily on his feet, Black Convoy started to glow, bright blue in color, pulsing slightly. Devastator took a step back, wondering what -this- was, and then the glow ballooned outward like a slow explosion, and Devastator -knew- what it was. He backpedaled rapidly, not wanting to get caught up in it, and succeeded, outpacing it and winding up well outside as it stopped, encompassing most of that end of the catwalk, about three aisles in either direction, and one level up and down. Then it collapsed, and where it had been there was nothing left but air. It dwindled to a pinprick, flashed once, and was gone. "Space-fold," Devastator mused. "A small jump drive. Pretty clumsily executed, too, unless he -wanted- to take a few dozen chambers with him." Jolt came out from behind his chamber and looked up at Devastator. "Er... don't take this the wrong way, Big D, but, um, you're... smart." "I know," Devastator replied with a smile. "The Reconstruction has been good to me." He separated into the individual Constructicons, who returned to robot form and stood looking with varying degrees of awe and annoyance at the damage left behind by the newcomer who called himself "Black Convoy" (especially Long Haul, who was now nursing a damaged leg). "I think we're gonna have to report this, boys," Scrapper said, causing Long Haul to facefault. Acting Decepticon Commander Thundercracker stood with his arms folded across his plastron, his face set in a deep frown. A silence almost palpable hung over the the conference room. The Constructicons shifted nervously; Jolt, who felt as if the whole thing were his fault, looked as if he hoped the ground would swallow him up again. Thundercracker turned and paced away from them, looking out of the window and over the ruined city of Vilnacron, slowly but surely coming back into its proper shape. His optics narrowed as he surveyed the distant dome of Iacon; then he turned and went back to the table. Standing on that table was a humanoid whose blue skin and red-black eyes marked him as a Gamilon. He was tall for a humanoid, somewhat past middle age but powerfully built. He had a regal air about him, amplified by his hawk nose, swept-back silver hair, and the severe black corporate suit he wore. He seemed not at all intimidated by the fact that he had to stand on a table the size of a house trailer to be near eye level with the Transformers in the room, and stood, impassive, watching. Finally, Thundercracker spoke. "You've found the suspension chambers." "At least one complex," Scrapper replied. "With the accessway destroyed, we'll have to get creative to reach the next one behind it, but that shouldn't be a big problem." "They appeared in good condition?" "Perfect workin' order, I'd say. Jolt's was the only one we actually checked, when we opened it." "Mm." Thundercracker turned and regarded Jolt. "And you say you've no problem with the new Decepticon code? Alliance with Autobots and carbon creatures? I won't have any private bigots in my army, so speak up. Better a general discharge now than making me throw you out later. Believe me." "Hey, I just drive fast and shoot straight," Jolt replied with an eloquent shrug. "I leave the politics to other people." Thundercracker gauged the revived warrior carefully in a couple of seconds, and then nodded. "All right. Jolt, as of now, you're reinstated to your old position of ground warrior second class." Jolt gave the new salute he'd seen the Constructicons give, crossing his right forearm over his chest, and said, "Hail, Thundercracker!" "All right," Thundercracker repeated, rubbing his chin. Then he punched a comm key on the conference table. "Thundercracker to Feedback, come in." "Feedback here," a voice crackled back as a Transformer's face appeared fuzzily on the vidscreen, the image jumping periodically. "Proceed, sir." "Your signal's weak, Feedback, what's the problem?" "Lots of EM interference in this sector," Feedback replied, "and me without my field booster. Unicron dropped a couple of tac-nukes, looks like. Hell of a mess. What can I do for you, Commander?" "I need a sci-survey team up here at Command immediately," Thundercracker said. "Full subspace sweep equipment. Also, round up as many as you can spare for a rescue-salvage operation. The Constructicons have found the suspension chambers." "Say, that's good news," said Feedback. "Okay... I should have your teams up there by 1950." "Understood. Thundercracker out." Thundercracker broke the connection, then turned to the Gamilon. "Zarak. Any ideas?" Zarak Argeum, representative of the multistellar Tri-Optimum Corporation to the new Decepticon nation, looked thoughtful, then replied, "None come to mind. I take it you intend to try tracing the fold this 'Black Convoy' made." "Actually, I'm more concerned with where he came from than where he's going. One thing about insane Transformers: they tend to turn up whether you look for them or not. Powerful as the Constructicons say he is, though... I think some preparations are in order. It's going to take a lot of energy and equipment to get those suspended Decepticons up to fighting speed again." Zarak nodded. "Of course. I'll contact Corporate immediately." "Thank you," said Thundercracker. The executive nodded to him, then to the others, descended the staircase on the side of the table, and left the room. "Right then..." mused Thundercracker, gathering his thoughts. It was hard to tell through his blue skin, but Thundercracker had the impression that Zarak was looking a little pale. Admittedly, he'd had an eventful time since his assignment to Cybertron; the day after his arrival as TriOp liaison to the Autobots, Unicron had locked down the planet's communications systems preparatory to his return. It had all been rather hectic since then. Perhaps the man was just tired. Thundercracker knew he himself was, and he was a -machine-. "Hook, stay here for a minute, would you? The rest of you are dismissed. Constructicons, get some rest and meet the teams Feedback will send at the gates at twenty-hundred. Take them to the chambers and start getting the rest of the suspendees out. Jolt, report to the Housing Block and get a quarters assignment. Your choice, any open section. I want you to go along, too, to help the revived suspendees reorient themselves." "Uh, all due respect, Thundercracker, but I'm not real sure of anything myself... people are telling me Megatron came back and I didn't even know he was gone, that sort of thing." "Oh... yeah." Thundercracker looked pensive for a second, then said, "OK, then go to QM and get a room, then dig into the history archive and get yourself up to date, and -then- report to the suspension chambers." "Roger," said Jolt. He and the Constructicons, except Hook, saluted and left. "What do you need, Commander?" asked Hook, looking curious. "I'd like to know what you've been up to down in your lab," said Thundercracker without transition. Hook stared at him, startled into total silence, until Thundercracker smiled a little and said, "Well?" "Er... that is, eh... " Hook fumbled, then concluded lamely, "Uh, nothing." Thundercracker gave Hook a sardonic grin. "Hook, I'm not an -idiot-. And you're not necessarily in trouble, either. I just want to know what you're -doing- down there. Whatever it is, it's using up a lot of weird supplies. I know you're not -wasting- them, you never waste anything, but as your commander, I think I have a right to know what you're using them for." Hook hedged for a few more moments, then relented, his shoulders slumping. "Well... all right. Come with me." He led the way to his lab in the lower levels, then paused before keying the entry code into the door. "I have to warn you," he said, his tone somewhat grim. "What you will see when I open this door may... eh, shock you. I beg you not to... overreact... until I've had a chance to explain." "Just open the door, Hook," said Thundercracker irritably. "Very well," said Hook, and he did so. He was right. What Thundercracker saw when the door opened did shock him. "Primus," he whispered; then he turned to Hook and said, in a tone of exaggerated calm, "OK... explain." "Well," said Hook hastily, following Thundercracker through the room as the Acting Commander walked between the two rows of metal tables, his face thoughtful. "These were very powerful Transformers. The technology their shells embody is quite remarkable, and I have learned a great deal from studying them." "This doesn't look to me like you're studying them," Thundercracker said pointedly, pausing by one of the tables to lift a hand and let it drop. He turned to Hook with a penetrating gaze and said, "It looks to me like you're -rebuilding- them." Hook hesitated, then admitted, "Eh, well... I am." Thundercracker blinked. "All right... I'm still calm. Tell me why this is a good idea." "You must understand, Commander - these are only shells. The sparks that made them dangerous criminals have gone, never to return. And the shells themselves, even as badly damaged as they were... well, they were too valuable to just throw away. And so, while I was studying them, I thought: why not apply what I've learned about their construction to make them functional again? At peace with the Autobots, we surely have access to Vector Sigma. It can create new sparks for these restored shells, and just like that, our ranks are swelled with powerful new allies." Thundercracker looked from Hook to each of the lifeless Transformer shells laid out on the tables. Then he nodded toward the bench at the end of the second row. "And that spark crystal hooked up to a sustainer?" "Eheh... well," Hook began, but at another piercing glance from Thundercracker's optics he went on hurriedly, "Oh, relax, Thundercracker, I'm not plotting a coup or anything. I'm testing a theory I've had about the Corruption. He's quite helpless, and will remain so until I'm satisfied that he's free of the stain." "Who -is- it, or do I even dare ask?" Thundercracker inquired, a note of weariness creeping into his voice. "It's... well... " Hook gestured toward the body at the end of that row. Thundercracker's optics widened. "I can't believe he survived." "Neither can he," Hook replied with a chuckle. "I also can't believe I'm considering letting you keep on with this," Thundercracker went on, "but I am. Everything you've said has made sense. We -can- use all the help we can get, and these guys -would- be powerful allies." He stood in thought for a moment, then said, "All right, carry on. I'll talk to Optimus Prime about getting access to Vector Sigma when they're ready." "Wh - thank you," said Hook, surprised and pleased. He'd been certain Thundercracker would shut his project down, order the defunct shells scrapped. "Oh, and Hook," said Thundercracker, pausing at the door. "Yes, sir?" said Hook. "Next time you launch a major project," Thundercracker said with mild irony, "would you mind -asking- me first? I'm only supposed to be your -commander- and all." "Er... yes, of course. I'm sorry. It won't happen again." Thundercracker nodded. "OK. That's all," he said, and he left. Hook watched the door close behind him, then leaned against his workbench, tension draining out of him. As he picked up his tools and turned to work on one of the bodies again, he marveled at Thundercracker's perception. No more dull-witted Thundercracker, whose wits had been dull only because his motivation to participate in the Decepticons' activities had been lukewarm at best. What a difference a little recognition and motivation made! It was going to take a good deal of getting used to, this newly revealed sharpness and quickness in the acting commander. Zarak Argeum leaned against the door to his quarters, breathing hard, his fingers tangled in his now-disordered silver hair. He stared out between his fingers at the room with wide, blank eyes. It was happening again. Great Kru, it was happening again. What he was seeing was not the sitting room of his Vilnacron apartment; it was Hook's laboratory. But not as it currently was, with new equipment alongside old and the reconstructed shells of dead Decepticons. No. It was darker, under power restrictions, the equipment of an older type and yet new-looking in condition. There was only one table, which Zarak was seeing from the height of a Transformer's viewpoint. Beyond it stood Hook and the rest of the Constructicons. "Is it ready?" Zarak heard himself say, but it was not his voice. "Very nearly, my lord. It lacks only some finish work... and a spark, of course." "Good," said the one from whose eyes Zarak was looking. "Leave me." Hook and the others bowed themselves out, and Zarak remained, alone with the shadowy shape on the table. There was a very strange sensation, and Zarak felt a panel open in his chest. He reached inside and drew something out, a component that gleamed with its own inner light. It was a silvery-grey ball, big enough to be held in a Transformer's two hands like a softball, with winglike handles protruding from either side. Inside the ball, visible through diametric slots converging on a center hole, was a glowing, pulsing scarlet gemstone. With a shock Zarak realized that "his" hands were not hands at all, but jagged purple pincer claws. Still, these terrible appendages were quite deft as they opened the chest of the body on the table and placed the elaborately-cased gem within. The recipient's internal components restructured with a soft sound like transformation, swallowing up the gem and its case and hiding them deep within the robot's inner workings. Zarak closed the robot's chest, then his own, and turned away. As he did so, he felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. The vision washed away in a blaze of white, and he found himself in his quarters, sitting on the floor with his back to the door, head in hands, bathed in sweat and panting. Primus, he thought. What is happening to me? Primus?! Oh, great Kru, I am going mad. OCTOBER 2, 2412 CHARR 14.75 Pc COREWARD OF CYBERTRON Several Decepticons sat in a makeshift shelter out of the driving rains of Charr's southern hemisphere. Among them were Breakdown, Brawl, and Dead End. Breakdown looked glumly out of the shelter's open door, watching the rain turn the ash that passed for soil into mud, and shivered inwardly with a cold that was not entirely externally generated. "Why did it have to be Charr?" he wondered aloud. "Boy, you said it," Brawl replied. "Seems as though every time our luck goes bad we end up here. I dunno about you, but I'm gettin' good and sick of this place." "Stop complaining," Dead End replied, stretching out on a makeshift bunk and looking up at the ceiling. "Before long we'll all starve anyway, and then our suffering will be over forever." "Yeah," Breakdown said, sighing and tossing a chunk of rubble out into the rain. "Things haven't been this bad since the first time Unicron came." "It's all Windrazor's fault," Brawl grumbled. "I mean, sure, doin' merc work was demeaning, but it was better than starvin' to death." "Apparently our great commander doesn't share your enthusiasm," Dead End said. "What does it matter? Death comes to us all, eventually." "Shut up, Dead End. You give me the creeps." "I seem to have that effect on a lot of people." "If only we could get out of here," Breakdown said. "You mean leave the Impericons?" said Brawl. "Yeah. Grab a ship and just get out. Ever since we left Cybertron my mind has been getting clearer and clearer... I'm starting to think maybe Megatron was right." Outside the shelter, Swindle, passing by, stopped in his tracks and listened. "You'll have to excuse my comrade," Dead End injected. "His heart has never really been in the Decepticon cause." "No, actually, I think he's right," Brawl said, excited. "I was hopin' somebody else felt this way. The other Combaticons... we've all had it with Windrazor. We want to go back and see if Megatron will take us back." "Windrazor would destroy us if he heard us talking this way," Dead End observed. "Not that it's necessarily a bad thing... " Breakdown looked dejected. "Yeah... Windrazor. He'd only kill us if Motormaster didn't get to us first. He's all for this, and so are Wildrider and Drag Strip." "Mm. And while I don't necessarily dislike the idea of death, I'd rather Motormaster didn't introduce us." "If only... " This could be useful, mused Swindle to himself as he continued on his way. Very useful indeed. "The troops are restless," Eagle Eye observed, looking out at the rain from the bridge of the larger of the two starships stolen by the Impericons upon their departure from Cybertron. "Windrazor knows this," Windrazor replied testily. "There is little Windrazor can do about it." "Morale is in the basement, and we're starving to death. What we need is action, Windrazor! Like the old days!" "The old days?" Windrazor said, getting to his feet and leaning across the map table, his eerie, green, crystalline facelessness staring into Eagle Eye's optics. "The old days, when Galvatron the Crazed led us into battle against -carbon creatures-, in the pay of -other- carbon creatures? The old days, when the mighty Decepticon Army was nothing but a laughingstock, a band of mercenary fools?! -Those- old days?!" Unflinching, Eagle Eye replied, "Yes. The old days. When we had energon in our circulators and a cause, however flimsy, to believe in. Not all of us are ashamed of our days as soldiers of fortune, Windrazor. Some of us find cause to be proud." "You overstep your bounds, Eagle - " The door to the bridge slammed open, interrupting Windrazor's threat. Standing in the doorway was Onslaught, the Combaticon commander, and he looked annoyed. "Windrazor!" he said. "We have languished on this burned-out rock -long enough-! The Combaticons demand - " He, in turn, was interrupted by an incredibly bright flash of blue-white light and a tremendous crashing noise from outside. "What the - ?!" Windrazor, Onslaught and Eagle Eye burst out of the command ship at the same time that most of the other Impericons came out of their shelters, and all of them saw the same thing: the bulky, angular shape of a Transformer none of them recognized, kneeling in the middle of a blast-blackened circle of bare ground, surrounded by a tangle of equipment, collapsed scaffolding, and what looked like two dozen or so armored lifepods. "Who in Unicron's name are you?!" Windrazor demanded, leveling his weapon. "Who am I?" the stranger replied, his voice quiet. He rose slowly to one knee, then got to his feet, and raised his face. Breakdown flinched at the sight of his face, gasping. Even Windrazor drew back a step. "Optimus Prime?!" Windrazor asked, his voice a strained hiss. Black Convoy's optics flickered as he saw the Impericon shield on Windrazor's chest. "Destrons," he said, his voice now calm and even slightly pleased. VILNACRON, CYBERTRON "Well, I don't claim to be an expert on humanoid neurology," said Hook as Zarak sat up and took off the interface helmet, "but there doesn't -appear- to be anything wrong with your cerebration unit." "No indeed," added Perceptor from his position next to the diagnostic table, where, cables still attached to his master optic, he was sitting in microscope mode poring over the data. "A slight imbalance in receptor chemicals, but that can be attributed to mild exhaustion." The Autobot scientist resumed his robot mode and shrugged. "Or, to put it more simply, Zarak, you're in perfect health. You just need rest." Perceptor blinked as a thought struck him. He turned to Hook. "My dear colleague, did I just hear you say that you don't claim to be an expert on something?" Hook gave Perceptor a look, then returned his attention to his display. "It's probably not relevant to your blackouts, but your energy signature is quite remarkable," he said to Zarak. "Do you have any ancestors who were Transformer binary partners during the Last War?" "I don't think so," Zarak replied. "I come from a long line of corporate types," he added with a small smile. "Until me, we'd managed to stay out of the front lines." He had only told Hook and Perceptor that he was experiencing blackouts, not wanting to explain his visions to them; he wasn't sure how they would take them. Anyway, they all had secrets; why else would they be in Hook's secondary lab, the door to his primary workroom sealed and double-locked? Zarak knew what was in there, but Perceptor didn't, and apparently Hook didn't want the Autobots to know what he was up to just yet. "Hm. Remarkable," Hook repeated. "Your personal energy signature is very like a Transformer spark - a common thing among binary partners, but rare in unaffiliated humanoids." Zarak thought he knew what that meant, but he concealed the sinking feeling it gave him and forced his face to smile. "How odd," he said offhandedly. "Ah, well, Perceptor is probably right - I just need more sleep. If some people can hold back their desire to file obscure parts orders at three in the morning," he added with a gently barbed glance at Hook. Hook drew himself up and proclaimed grandly, "You shall be undisturbed for a minimum of twenty-four Standard hours: so swears Hook, Constructicon surgical engineer." Bonecrusher leaned on a chunk of rubble and repeated again the statement that was becoming something of a mantra for him during this seemingly-endless reconstruction effort: "Man, what a mess." This time there was an extra edge of something like despair in his voice, and for good reason. Before Unicron's second coming, the mess he was looking at had been the tomb of Scorponok, Megatron's predecessor and a great Decepticon leader - just how great, the Decepticons were only now beginning to realize. Millennia ago, when the Corruption began overtaking the Decepticons and turning them against their Autobot brethren, Scorponok had seen it coming. He had recognized that he would not be strong enough to fight it off, and in his lucid moments, he worried that he would use the Decepticon Matrix of Leadership, one of the two surviving fragments of the spark of Primus, for some awful purpose. He didn't know exactly what, and he never wanted to find out. Soundwave had pieced the rest together before he left, with the aid of Megatron's reminiscences and the Autobot historian, Rewind. Scorponok had one advantage in that the Decepticon Matrix's existence was known definitely to only two Transformers, himself and Alpha Trion, the Autobot Matrix-bearer. The Decepticon Matrix had been a legend for centuries, but Scorponok publicly dismissed it, and Alpha Trion, for whatever reason, went along with the lie. Scorponok knew that the only chance he had to prevent the Decepticon Matrix from being used for evil was to hide it - but where could something like that be hidden? His answer to that question was breathtaking in its daring, its cunning, and the sacrifice required of Scorponok to make it work. First he had the Constructicons create a Decepticon warrior with the potential to be more powerful than Scorponok himself. Then he secreted the Matrix within the nearly-complete but sparkless body, without the Constructicons' knowledge. Once the warrior was complete, Scorponok hooked up a lot of important-looking equipment, did a lot of handwaving, and invoked the power of the Matrix one last time to create his new warrior's spark. The new warrior, who took the name Megatron, came to consciousness never knowing that he bore the Decepticon Matrix within him, nor that he was its direct child, nor even that it existed. Over the next several hundred years, Scorponok's plan played itself out with what to the human mind would have seemed agonizing slowness and care. In his increasingly-rare lucid moments, the Decepticon leader sabotaged his own operations, carefully constructing for himself the appearance of an aging leader losing his touch. He slowly and subtly ensured that Megatron would grow ambitious, plot against him, and subvert important Decepticons to his side. Finally, in an act of almost unimaginable courage, Scorponok engineered his own death at the hands of Megatron, ensuring that the only Decepticon who knew where to find the Matrix - Scorponok himself - would not be alive to seek it out and misuse it. Scorponok knew that his plan was risky, even ignoring his own certain death. Though Scorponok believed Megatron would be strong enough to throw off the Corruption, he could not be sure how long that would take, and he knew there was the possibility that the new Decepticon leader would wreak untold havoc before that time came - and indeed, as the universe has seen, this fear was not groundless. But throw it off he had, and the Decepticon Matrix had been at hand for Cybertron's darkest hour, just as Scorponok had hoped. But in that hour, his tomb, carefully maintained by the Decepticons for millennia - the one gesture of sentiment for his creator that Megatron would allow himself - had been laid waste. Now the Constructicons stood at the smashed gate of the crumbling outer wall of the ruined mausoleum, surveying the destruction with great trepidation. The other Constructicons had grown a bit tired of Bonecrusher's constant declarations that whatever they were looking at was a mess, but this time, no one said anything. The six of them just stood there, staring at the rubble as the sun sank toward the horizon and the jagged shadows of the wreckage lengthened. It was Scrapper who broke the silence, his voice a hoarse near-whisper. "Come on," he said. "Let's get him out of there." CHARR Windrazor tried to get up, but his body, what was left of it, failed him. He got about halfway to his hand and knees; then something in his remaining elbow fizzled and spat, and he fell back to the ground on his face. Fluids pooled around him as he tried to force his shattered exostructure to work and only worsened the damage. Suddenly there was a hand on his back. For a moment he thought it was that black-clad shadow Prime, back to finish him off, but a moment later, a familiar voice spoke. "Stop trying to move," said Eagle Eye. "You're only tearing yourself apart. We got you into the ship, we can get you the rest of the way." Barely conscious, Windrazor complied, subsiding to the floor. Eagle Eye straightened up. "Terradive, Shriekback - get him to the CR chamber." "A waste of energy and restoration resources," snarled Razorclaw from his slouching pose atop the smaller starship's hypernav panel. "The fool is doomed, and good riddance, I say." Eagle Eye stared coldly at the Predacon leader, his optics dimming with cold annoyance. "'The fool' bought you your life, Predacon. While you were lying around, too lazy to defend yourself, that black monster would have torn you apart if Windrazor hadn't worn him down to the point where he had to retreat." Razorclaw growled. "I would have fought when the time came. Unlike some of us, I don't waste energy with -unnecessary- running around." His optics narrowed. "And you would do well not to speak against my courage a second time." He made a dismissive gesture. "Waste your energy dragging Windrazor to the chamber, then. It won't do any good. He's too far gone." Looking at the shattered remains of his leader, Terradive had to admit to himself that Razorclaw was probably right, but he followed Eagle Eye's instructions anyway. He and Shriekback dumped all the bits of Windrazor they could find into the chamber, closed its door, and let it get started. "In the meantime," Razorclaw remarked, stretching and yawning, "we ought to decide what we're going to do next." "Windrazor is still our leader," Eagle Eye replied firmly. "We wait for him to emerge from the chamber and instruct us." He folded his arms and went on dryly, "There've been -enough- turncoats uncovered today." That got a reaction from Razorclaw; he actually went so far as to transform to robot mode, move forward a couple of steps, and glower into Eagle Eye's face from fighting distance... but only for a few moments. Then he whirled and stalked away, snarling. "Fine," he said, returning to beast mode and his spot atop the hypernav panel. "Wait for the chamber to be done with your precious leader... and then we will see." CYBERTRON As he slept, Zarak Argeum knew it was happening again, but he could not awaken. Abruptly, his dream had gone from the ephemeral mutability of illusion to the cold solidity of reality, of memory as perfectly preserved as optical data. "He" was in an arena; by the look of it, it was somewhere on Cybertron. Indeed, its stands were full of Transformers, many of them Decepticons he recognized. There were the Constructicons, and a few of the jets. Oddly, they were all at the other end of the arena... and they weren't cheering for him. Standing on the arena's floor opposite Zarak was none other than Megatron, a sneer on his face. The dream descended into a jumble of random images soaked in pain. Zarak had the impression of a titanic battle in which he was one of the participants... a battle which he lost. The jumble resolved itself into Zarak on "his" back, a searing agony throbbing in place of his arms, and the muzzle of Megatron's fusion cannon filling his whole field of vision. "Goodbye... 'father'," Megatron sneered, and everything was white. Zarak expected the dream to end there, but it didn't. The brutal white of Megatron's final blast smoothed itself into a warm red glow and a feeling of peace and contentment. How long this went on, Zarak couldn't say. Eventually, there came a curious surge of excitement, a feeling of tremendous purpose and urgency; and after it, a flash of green, and suddenly Zarak could see something besides colored radiance again. He was falling toward Cybertron's surface from a great height. There were the spires of Vilnacron and Iacon... the familiar gash where Unicron's arm had crashed down - this was Cybertron as it was, not today, but very recently! Cybertron as it had been at the end of the battle with Unicron! Zarak's point of view was swooping down over Vilnacron as if searching for something, plunging into the steel canyons of the streets, turning this way and that down side streets and alleys. He paused for a moment at a particularly forlorn tangle of rubble, then sped on, away from the Decepticon city and then into the halls of Iacon Tower itself. Zarak would have gasped, had he possessed a body, when he saw what came next, for "he" rounded a corner and saw himself! His body, so tiny by the standards of the Transformers, was crumpled under a slab of wall plating in the wreckage of a conference room. His viewpoint put on a burst of speed, and as it approached his body, he saw a tiny blue-white glimmer of light escape it and rise up toward the ceiling. With a start, Zarak realized he was witnessing his own death. His point of view streaked downward and collided with that gleam of light; there was a great tumbling confusion of thought and feeling, and then he was plunging back into his body. The pain and cold were unbelievable. There was a hideous crushing sensation in his chest; but as his consciousness came to rest back behind his eyes where it belonged, the incredible warmth and strength of that red glow filled him, pushing out the pain, the cold, the feeling of suffocation. The rubble over him shifted and fell away as his chest expanded, ribs popping back into position. He had a momentary feeling that millions of tiny ants were rushing en masse from the center of his body to the ends of his limbs under his skin, and a great polyphonic shriek burst from his throat. Zarak awoke, clawing at his bedsheets as he surged up to a sitting position, chest heaving, heart pounding. He could still hear that scream echoing in his mind as he sat, trying to get himself under control. He thought back to what had happened to him in Iacon during the battle with Unicron. He'd stayed in the conference room where he'd be out of the way and as safe as one could be on a planet being attacked by another planet. He remembered the wall falling, striking him, but the pain hadn't been very bad as he'd blacked out. The next thing he remembered was waking up in Iacon's hospital wing and being informed by First Aid, the Protectobot medic, that he'd had a lucky escape. It was shortly after that when his fascination with the Decepticons and their history had begun. He'd had himself transferred to establish the TriOp liaison office with the Decepticons' new government... and not long after that, the visions had started. Zarak looked down at himself and gasped. The fingers of his left hand were dug into the mattress of his bed, leaving ragged furrows in the material where they'd slashed through cover and innards alike. Severed springs stuck out where his fingers had sheared right through them. The back of his hand glittered in the dim light from his bedside clock. Zarak tumbled out of bed and ran to his bathroom, shouting, "Lights!" The lights blazed up, and he looked at himself in the mirror and gasped again. He'd become... become a -robot-. His body was sheathed from throat to toe in metallic armor like that he'd seen the binary partners of various Transformers wearing. His hair was like wire, the planes of his face gleaming metallic, his eyes like crystal replicas of human eyes, glowing softly from within. He stared at himself in shocked, surreal fascination. This is not happening, he told himself. I have gone mad. This -cannot- happen. A man does not go to bed a man and awake a machine! I am -not- a machine! I am Zarak Argeum! I am a -Gamilon-! I am a -man-! There was a quiet transformation sound, and with a weird but not unpleasant falling, folding sensation, Zarak changed from the metallic form that had greeted him back to his familiar light-blue self, the armored covering sliding away somewhere within him and leaving no wounds or seams in his flesh. Even his pajama trousers had returned, unharmed. "Am I still dreaming?" he whispered to himself. He took his bathrobe from the hook on the back of the bathroom door, threw it on, and dashed out of the door and down the hall. Damn the hour! He had to find Hook, or First Aid, or someone, to explain to him what was happening! He burst into Hook's lab, as much as a man can burst through an automatic door built for a being many times his size, and was drawing breath to shout for Hook's attention when all of his -own- attention was captured by the enormous form stretched out on the center table, a form that hadn't been there when Zarak had last been in this room. Hook and the rest of the Constructicons were all gathered around it, gazing down at it with unreadable expressions. Zarak stepped onto the elevator platform on the table's side and rode it up to Transformer observation height, so he could look down at the form too, and when he did, he felt his knees weaken. He gripped the safety rail around the platform for support and gasped, "By the Lost Matrix!" Hook gave a start and turned. "Zarak! I didn't hear you come in," he said. Zarak ignored the small talk, pointing down at the massive figure stretched out on the table. "Is this... ?" Hook nodded. "His mausoleum was destroyed by Unicron's attack," he said, "but the body is unharmed; the sarcophagus was undamaged within the rubble." The body on the table - broad purple chest, powerful green arms ending in wicked-looking purple pincer claws, thick two-tone legs, and all - was that of Scorponok. Scorponok, Megatron's creator, who gave him the Decepticon Matrix of Leadership before his creation. Scorponok, Megatron's predecessor as leader, who was slain in a duel with Megatron over that leadership. Suddenly everything made sense. Zarak flung aside his bathrobe, climbed over the rail, and dropped down to stand on the Decepticon shield in the center of Scorponok's barrel chest. The Constructicons gasped and drew back in surprise. "Zarak, what are you doing?!" Hook demanded. "You repaired the body after the duel," Zarak observed, looking at the smooth, undamaged armor and the cleanly attached limbs. "Yes," Hook replied, "but the effort was to honor his memory, nothing more. His spark had gone." Zarak strode up the robot's chest and looked down between the broad cannon-studded shoulders. He looked up at Hook, an eyebrow cocked. "Where's the head?" he asked. And indeed, Scorponok's body had no head - merely an empty helmet, a two-horned shell with a clear visor and nothing but a yawning void where the face belonged. "Destroyed by Megatron's coup de grace," Hook said. "We restored the rest of the body, but we felt it would be more fitting to leave the helmet empty - to symbolize the emptiness of the body when the spark is gone." Hook seemed to realize who he was talking to and shook his head. "Now, please, Zarak, get down from there. It... it's disrespectful." Zarak again ignored him. His face was set in a look of determination. Without hesitation, he slid down the top of Scorponok's chest. The visor on the empty helmet slid up and out of the way as he fell toward it, and he landed squarely inside the empty helmet shell. "I am not Zarak," said Zarak, his voice strangely layered. "Zarak Argeum died in Unicron's siege of Iacon." He looked from one Constructicon to another, his piercing scarlet gaze making Scavenger suppress a shriek, for though courageous enough in battle, the salvage expert feared the strange and supernatural. Then he changed - transformed - first becoming a metallic version of himself, clad in the transfiguration armor of a binary partner. He remained in this form for only a split-second before transforming -again-, this time collapsing into the well of the empty helmet and filling it up, spanning the gap from side to side as he became... Scorponok's head. The visor snapped down over his eyes, and the ancient Decepticon leader slowly sat up and looked again from one Constructicon to another. Scavenger squeaked and hid behind Bonecrusher, who didn't look much steadier on his feet. Scorponok scowled at them all for a moment, and then his face slowly smiled. "What's the matter?" he asked, his voice as familiar as if they had last heard it the day before. "Didn't you miss me?" /* Information Society "Seek 200" _Hack_ */ Eyrie Productions, Unlimited presented UNDOCUMENTED FEATURES FUTURE IMPERFECT Transformers: Collision Courses Fables of the Reconstruction written by Benjamin D. Hutchins featuring Michael Bell as Scrapper and Eagle Eye Don Messick as Scavenger Neil Ross as Bonecrusher and Hook Gregg Berger as Long Haul Frank Welker as Mixmaster and Megatron Tony Jay as Devastator Henry Winkler as Jolt Keith David as Black Convoy John Stephenson as Thundercracker John Ratzenberger as Feedback Alan Rickman as Zarak Argeum/Scorponok Alan Oppenheimer as Breakdown Tony St. James as Brawl Phillip Clarke as Dead End Scott McNeil as Windrazor Steve Bulin as Onslaught Paul Eiding as Perceptor Joe Leahy as Razorclaw Feedback and Shriekback created by Benjamin D. Hutchins What fate awaits Windrazor and his remaining Impericons? What is Black Convoy up to? What sort of trouble are Hot Rod and Outrun getting into on Niogi? And who are the mysterious strangers who are helping them out of it? Next time on "Transformers: Collision Courses" - THE BERLIN ENCOUNTER E P U (colour) 2002