Greetings! Yes, I *have* been writing...just stuck with an absolutely obscene case of writers block for a while, but suddenly, I'm inspired again. Probably because I have other work I *should* be doing. When I have tons of free time, I can't write. When my life is in crisis, suddenly, I can't sleep because I have to tighten up the dialog in a story. My subconscious hates me.

General notes: Since this takes place long before the Ark ever left for Earth, and indeed before humans evolved on Earth, all characters have 'Cybertronian' forms. If I didn't describe someone exactly, imagine them as a sleek, high-tech version of their Earth form.

In the Lizardverse, Megatron has always had his G2 form, or its' Cybertronian equivalent. I'm a lone heretic in this regard, but I always felt that a tank was a more useful mode than gun which needed someone else to fire it.

This story contains some highly variant history, including the existence of Galvatron as Decepticon leader long before any of the established continuity. All will be made clear, but I can't promise everyone will like it. Oh well. It's my universe. Nyeah. :)

That's it for notes. I think. Oh yeah..the three parts posted form 'Section I' of the story, with Chapter III ending more or less where the prologue takes place.

(Note: For convenience, this story will use terms like "week", "day", "month" to connote time passages, even though such terms are fairly meaningless on Cybertron. Likewise, slang or colloquialisms which refer to non-Cybertronian concepts can be seen as translations to the nearest English equivalent. Ditto gestures, facial expressions, etc.)

RENEGADES:Prologue

===============

The pain had finally begun to subside.

The five of them, in the room deep below Cybertron, reacted to their captivity and subsequent torture in their own ways.

The largest sat still, almost motionless, while his eyes flickered with intense concentration. Occasionally, he would scratch a small diagram in the oil-slick floor of the room, ponder it a moment, then wipe it away.

The green one grunted incoherently, tearing at the massive restraints which bound him. Metal creaked and strained, audible even over the whine of his servos.

Another looked around the room with disdain, stood, walked a few steps, then sat back down, fairly oozing contempt as he glanced from one to the other, evaluating and dismissing.

The grey one just sat, feeling the ache in his motors slowly fade, and dreamed thoughts of malicious revenge.

Only one seemed less than totally consumed with rage or frustration. He, too, looked from one to the other, evaluating and measuring...but with progressively less disdain, progressively more satisfaction.

Finally, he spoke.

"My friends...though fate may have put us together much against our wills, there is no need to drown in anger or meekly accept our fate. If you will just hear me out, we can all profit from this. I have a deal for you...."

A month earlier...

CHAPTER I :Lost Lives Part I: Swindle

War may be hell, thought SW-20, but it *is* damn good for business...at least, my sort of business. The sleek tan vehicle sped across the broad metal roadways of Cybertron, magnetic induction coils keeping it floating a few inches above the surface. The front cab unit, designed by their long-gone masters to hold two humanoids, was empty, and the rear cargo unit, an extended flattened hexagon, was full of fusion coils and delicate optics. Someone, somewhere on this world, was going to want to purchase them...and SW-20 knew where to find such beings.

Suddenly, he turned and aimed his vehicular form towards a particular tangle of fractured girders and twisted metal plate, seemingly one more bit of ruin from the millennia long civil war. But, as he accelerated, he transmitted a complex binary code, and the rubble folded and shifted out of the way, sealing up again behind him. The roadway angled down, now, twisting and turning into the lower levels of the metal world.

Finally, a huge auditorium opened up, dimly lit by flickering lights from far, far above. Long ago, this had been one of thousands of factory rooms, where others of his race were assembled to be sold as slaves to a thousand worlds across the galaxy. Now, like the world itself, it had been usurped and turned to a different purpose.

Dozens of displays and open-faced stalls filled the room, staffed by robots of all makes and descriptions. Many more wandered up and down the hall, talking, examining, bargaining. Finally, there were the mercenaries, hired to keep order in one of the few neutral, albeit secret, points on the planet. Here, Autobot and Decepticon went about their business together, and conflict was forbidden. The Peace of Dives prevailed.

SW-20 pulled up to his own area, noticing that his guard was, indeed, doing his duty. The sleek black robot had a most useful alternate form, a triangle-shaped flyer, and a unique ability regarding sonic attacks. SW-20 was worried; the Decepticons were "recruiting" those of this line with exceptional vigor. Best to start putting out feelers for a new guard, and soon.

"Did you get some good stuff, boss?"

SW-20 opened the rear doors of his cargo hatch and mentally ejected the contents. Then he transformed, the cargo bay shifting and reforming to become legs, arms peeling back from his sides as his cab shifted forward and down to reveal his head. He had a flat black face, with two large optics that glowed a light purple.

"Sure did, Thandark." The guard's model line was actually THN/DRK, but he preferred to have a name. Names were coming into fashion now. All those involved in the war used military "handles", and many of the neutrals were taking them, too. Maybe, thought SW-20, I'll find one I like.

Thandark moved to begin sorting the cargo. He held up a fusion coil, admiring the reflecting patterns as light passed through the crystalline matrix. "Very pretty."

"Pretty, yeah....and profitable. Fusion coils can be used in weaponry, power refiners, energon converters...the works. And *these*...these are special."

"Why special?"

SW-20 laughed. "'Cause they're factory rejects. Unstable central inducers. They'll last only half as long as the good ones, so we'll sell them for 25% less. Undercut the competition."

"But...who will buy them, if they're defective?"

SW-20 would have sighed, if he had lungs. Thandark was loyal, trustworthy, and competent...but more than a little too naive for his own good. "We don't *tell* them they're defective. Get it? Considering the stress and strain these things undergo, no one will ever notice. Besides, I'll just put something about 'No Refunds' in the nanoprint."

"Uhm....and the optics?"

"Off by a few tenths of a degree. No one will notice. Hm. Customer."

SW-20 walked to the front of his display, where a hulking greenish robot was staring at the weaponry options. Staring? Practically drooling. "Can I get you anything?" SW-20 asked, gesturing magnimoniously at the display of weaponry.

"Uh....I'm looking for weapons. Powerful ones. Should be really big."

"Well, my friend, I think I can help you...but let me see the voltage of your Energon first."

A panel slid open on the green robots chest. He withdrew a few cubes of Energon. SW-20 ran a scanner over them and was careful to control his reaction. This was top-grade material, level *seven* purity! And this one seemed to be an utter dolt. Primus is smiling on me today!

"That's just fine. Here...why don't we come back to my testing range?" The weapons there were all top quality. SW-20 would carefully swap out the best components before actually shipping them, and the ones he missed would be handled by his "friends" who did installation and customization. At times, SW-20 wondered how much shorter the war would have been if it wasn't for all the 'modifications' he and the others had performed on the weapon systems they sold.

Weapons were fired, simulated targets destroyed, and a deal struck. The customer was cheerfully directed to one of SW-20's confederates for "proper installation". SW-20 watched him go, then smiled. Half of this energon would be stored in a secret place, the other half traded for more stock.

A few hours later, he was skimming along one of the smooth surface highways, heading for a weapons production plant. Ostensibly run by the Cybertronian Government, it was a slipshod operation that supplied dozens of hustlers like himself. The government was composed of squabbling relics from the Great War of Liberation, rapidly becoming known as the First Cybertronian Civil War. Only one of them had any sense, and rumor had it he was going to be expunged by the Inner Council.

As he spun around the final turn to the factory, he knew something was wrong.

Clouds of smoke hung in the air, and his sensors detected heavy radiation and traces of anti-matter. There were blackened scars along the ground, and parts of the factory still smouldered. He transformed and stood, approaching cautiously. Stepping on something, he looked down, and jumped back in mild surprise...he had just crushed the remnants of an optic circuit. Broken metal littered the normally empty loading lot....a quick glance told him nothing was salvageable.

There were beings still moving ahead. Slowly, he moved towards them.

One of them was setting up a holoprojector. With a sneering glance at SW-20, he activated it, then walked away. SW-20 approached to study the message.

"This factory, formerly controlled by the treasonous Council, has been liberated for the greater glory of Cybertron by the Decepticon Army of Cybernetic Domination. All former clients of this factory are instructed to see Commander Shockwave to discuss new terms." After a few seconds' display of the Decepticon symbol, the message replayed.

This was bad, he thought. Very bad. Still...there isn't a being on this world who doesn't want *something*, and I can find some way to provide it. Let's see this "Shockwave" character.

He headed towards the main control center, where the old supervisors used to lounge around and play 'Integration'. It had been rapidly cleaned of debris, holoposters of attractive fembots, and other folderol. The room looked clean...no, sterile. No one seemed to be there, just some hulking purple machine positioned facing the work floor. SW-20 had decided to just wait, when the machine turned silently and spoke.

"Inquiry: Your desire?"

SW-20 was startled. It didn't have a face, just a flat hexagon. One of its arms terminated in a crystalline tube. The voice was dead, utterly devoid of life or feeling...even the old guardian robots sounded more emotional.

"Ah...I was a client of this factory when it was under...old management. I'm here to see if I can resume my dealings. And..." SW-20 approached Shockwave, who was at least twice his height, "...I'm sure any such ventures will be mutually profitable. You want high-potency energon? Some of the banned retrofits? We can work it out...."

"This factory now exists to outfit the Decepticon Army. It will serve no other purpose."

"Yeah, yeah, we know the company line. But who'll miss, oh, 1 or 2 percent of your output? And, trust me, I can make it worth your while...."

"You have nothing we desire. You will leave in fifteen seconds, or be terminated. Countdown commencing....now." Suddenly, the massive purple robot shifted into a huge, floating cannon. A targeting device flipped up and SW-20 knew he was beaten...at least for the moment. He folded down into his vehicle mode, spun around 180 degrees and accelerated away. A few hundred feet from the factory, he stopped and shifted back.

Damn Decepticons! he thought furiously. Conquering worlds is fine, civil war is no big deal but this! This is going to affect my *profit margins*!

Angrily, he kicked at one of the many corpses that had been piled up outside the conquered factory.

War *is* hell, after all, he thought glumly, as he transformed and headed off.

Part II :Brawl

Sensors flared to life. Autobots!

Brawl, newly allied with the Decepticon Army, was enjoying his first solo mission. His vehicle form was a compact but very powerful cargo hauler, modified and outfitted with the latest weaponry. He tapped a subspace link once again, just to be sure it was all there, then accelerated towards the sloping plane of metal in front of him. Powerful electromagnets activated, setting up a terrifying vibration in the ground. It would reach a hideous crescendo as he sped over the edge of the incline, into open air, the ground fifty feet below....

At the apogee of his climb, he transformed, rolling in air to orient his newly-formed feet groundwards and, as he fell, summoned a rapid-fire shell cannon from his subspace arsenal. As he fell, he fired in random bursts among the assembled Autobots below. He didn't hit many, but the entire area was a hell of fire and mangled metal before his feet smashed into the surface, denting it slightly. Then he began to aim.

A small red and yellow delta-winged ground cruiser began to accelerate away from the carnage. Three shots, and it exploded. A rumble behind him caused Brawl to spin around, in time to see a whitish-grey Autobot charging towards him in ramming mode. With a contemptuous sneer, he smashed down, causing it to flip end-over-end through the air. Then he fired at it, and it crashed downwards into the flaming corpse of the first. Brawl smiled and laughed. This was *fun*!

There were more. That one, Brawl thought. A small yellow one, just starting to shift into a disk-shaped vehicle of some sort. He aimed, fired...and nothing happened!

He shook the gun a few times, then fired again as his target dwindled. Still nothing. Furious, he smashed it to the ground, then jumped on it a few times. His quarry was receding into the distance. Blast! He transformed into his hauler mode and fired several busts from the primary cannon. The first impacted near the fleeing Autobot, but it quickly accelerated away. A few quick calculations showed that there was no hope of catching it.

As he sped off, Brawl reached a decision. Time to dip into his carefully hoarded energon and buy some new guns.

The arms bazaar was supposed to be a secret, but Brawl had heard about it from a few of the other mercenaries tenuously allied with the Decepticons. He wandered around the vast underground chamber in a slight daze, astonished at the variety of killing implements displayed. Every few minutes, there would be a flare of light as something was demonstrated to a client. At random, he picked a small stall and walked towards it.

There were two beings there. One was a small tan robot...the other was larger, and had the distinctive styling of the delta wing aerial attack craft that were forming the main force of the Decepticon Army. Administrator Prime Galvatron was posting a large reward for the location of any of them, for 'recruitment' purposes. Brawl logged the visual image, and the location, for future recall.

The tan robot approached. "Can I get you anything?" he asked.

Brawl was slightly lost in thoughts of a finders' fee. "Uh....I'm looking for weapons. Powerful ones. Should be really big."

The smaller robot smiled broadly, and his voice was carefully modulated. "Well, my friend, I think I can help you...but let me see the voltage of your Energon first."

Brawl understood. There were supposed to be a lot of cheats around! Mentally, he opened a small storage compartment and revealed a few cubes. The merchant scanned them quickly, then gestured for him to follow. "That's just fine. Here...why don't we come back to my testing range?"

The testing range had an amazing assortment of powerful weapons. Moving holograms of assorted generic-looking transformers and flesh creatures appeared and moved in random patterns. Brawl tried weapon after weapon, finally settling on a concussion pistol and a plasma rifle. They would just barely fit in his subspace weapons bay, but fit they would.

The merchant took the appropriate payment, then spoke. "Look, you shouldn't waste time trying to coordinate the installation and summoning codes for these. I've got a friend who can do that for you...just three booths down, then right. Tell 'im SW-20 sent you. And if you have any problems, any problems at all, don't hesitate to come back."

Brawl smiled and took his purchases away. Rather a nice guy, Brawl thought. Not a conniving crook like some of those others he had dealt with.

Part III Onslaught

"And here are fifteen more directives requiring your authorization codes, General. Then there's a priority-green special emergency meeting of the Greater Sub-Council of Thanacron Sector, and...uh..there's this."

General Onicrax, hero of the War Of Liberation (or was that the First Cybertronian Civil War?) looked down at his assistant. Tiny, like all of his kind, Recall was a specialist in data storage and retrieval. He could transform into a tiny datachip and interface directly with the Communicators. When linked, Recall could show anything he had ever seen in the many millennia of his existence. He observed everything and preserved it.

Onicrax took the chip. "What's on it?"

"Bad news, sir. The details are messy, but, basically, we've lost the Karnos Production Facility. I know, it wasn't ever very productive, but still..."

"Autobots or Decepticons?"

"Decepticons."

Onicrax said nothing for a long time. Recall waited.

"What of my latest recommendations for the restructuring of Cybertron Defense Force?"

"The Council is....still considering." Recall shook his head sadly. "It's painful to record those idiots, General. If they'd listened to you..."

"They didn't. They won't." Onicrax paused for a moment. "To the smelters with their meetings. I'm going out. Record it for me and I'll send them my comments next cycle."

He tapped a control pad angrily, and the office wall folded out into a ramp. Transforming into an elongated, heavily armed missile platform, he accelerated along the ramp and onto the broad roadways that girded Cybertron. This city, Vilnacron, was still free from war, due primarily to the fact that Onicrax was coordinating defenses. But they wouldn't put him in charge of the CDF as a whole, and the idiots who WERE running it were losing megamile after megamile to the two warring forces.

I'd leave the council in a second, he thought as he raced along the twisting roads, if I had a better option. The Autobots are fools -- simpering pacifists who wish to make peace with the galaxy, ignoring the fact that the other races out there cheerfully bought and sold us for millennia. The Decepticons are worshippers of pure force and, despite their claims of wishing to lead Cybertron to glory and power in the galaxy, show an utter disregard for the populace at large and are all too willing to exterminate any dissidents, even those who are of no threat to their cause. Wasteful.

A third faction? Under my control? That has...possibilities. But most of the best warriors have already chosen sides.

Suddenly, his introspection was shattered by loud explosions. Instantly, his main internal battle computers came online. A hundred or so attackers were translated into vectors of possibility, angles of assault and defense. With each microscopic change in position, a hundred recalculations of potential futures were made.

It was the Decepticons, of course. Seizing Vilnacron would be their greatest coup. He'd warned the council this would happen, but...

No time for that. A greenish war machine blocked his path, the barrel of a powerful cannon aimed squarely at his own vehicular form. Mentally, he primed his missile batteries for launch, when the opponents barrel suddenly turned aside. The war machine spoke, and its voice was calm but commanding.

"My name is Megablast, General. Can we...talk?"

Onicrax considered. The limited Guardians surrounding Vilnacron were falling; already he had seen Fireflower and Darkforce explode in flames, and they were the best still loyal to the Council. There could be no harm in speaking, he thought -- not even I could escape a concerted effort to kill me. "Very well. But transform -- I like to see people's faces."

"As you wish, General. And...I do, too."

Simultaneously, the two vehicles transformed. Onicrax's long, flat body fractured and expanded into limbs and a head, his weaponry sliding down and becoming a back-mounted gun emplacement. His opposites' upper turret split horizontally as his lower body split vertically. Standing, they were of nearly equal height.

Megablast's eyes glowed a deep, warm, red, and his face was placid. He stood there, arms crossed, as explosions, fires, and screams filled the air. Onicrax was, despite himself, impressed. This one, he thought, could go far, indeed. I can command, I can lead, but I cannot truly *inspire*. My troops followed me because they knew I was right...I'll wager his troops follow him simply because he *exists*.

Megablast gestured broadly, to encompass the carnage around him. "You've earned your reptuation as the greatest strategist of our race, General. What do you think of the Council's chances?"

Onicrax analyzed the data in nanoseconds, then, eyes dim, he spoke. "4% chance of victory. 8% chance of stalemate."

Megablast smiled, not maliciously. "Assuming the unlikely -- that my forces are routed -- what will be their chance of victory when I attack with new troops, an army as strong as this one, in less than a cycle?"

There was no need to calculate. "Negligible."

"Even with you there, in the midst of it, giving orders and fighting on the front lines?" Was there mockery creeping into Megablast's voice? Onicrax couldn't tell...

"Still negligible. The most brilliant strategies cannot enable the nanobot to defeat the battlestation."

Silence for some time.

Megablast smiled once more, but it was a bit forced. "Do you wish me to beg, Onicrax? Shall I perform the Nine Gestures of Servitude, as we all once did before the Quintessons? What more do you wish me to say?"

"You're waiting for me to ask to join you."

Megablast looked down, to the core, where Primus (so the legends say) lived. "YES! Of course! Why else are we here talking?"

Onicrax laughed. "To increase the odds of council victory from 4% to 8%, Megablast -- by keeping you out of the battle." He looked around. "It didn't work."

"I'm sorry, General." Megablast made an almost unseen sign with his right hand. Suddenly, energy exploded around Onicrax. His limbs felt heavy, his weapons systems nonfunctional. Null beams....

Consciousness left him.

Megablast looked down at the immobile form, then up to a nearby building top. His closest friend, the one being he would trust with his life, looked back down at him.

"You shouldn't have waited so long, Megablast! Didn't I *tell* you he would never join us willingly?"

"Ah, Starscream -- you are far too cynical. You have to learn to give people a chance." Megablast transformed again. "Now, let's get him back to Administrator Galvatron."

Part IV: Vortex

"Hey, look at those two towers up ahead -- think I can get between them?"

"Wha...no! You're insane! Why are you doing this?"

"Cause I like to. And because you aren't being at all helpful."

With that, Vortex cut his engines. Despite his forward momentum, he began to plummet downwards. His passenger, fixed to his lower hull, screamed as the metallic ground began to approach. Instants before collision, Vortex reactivated his main thrusters and headed skyward again.

Vortex's prisoner suddenly gained a surge of bravado. "You..you wont kill yourself, and you cant kill me without doing that!"

Vortex laughed, a bitter sound that cut through even the keening whine of his many small rotor blades. With a thought, he cut the magnetic force pinning his victim to the hull. With a scream of terror, the Autobot prisoner plummeted down.

Nearly every Cybertronian brain contained specialized subprocessors designed to enhance their specialty. In the case of Vortex, he could instantly calculate accelerations, velocities, angles of ascent and descent, wind resistance, and a thousand other factors. He could toss a sandgrain into a raging windstorm and know where it would land to within a centimetre. So, it was a trivial task to time his next manuever.

He waited until his calculations told him he could wait no longer, then shifted all power to his upper rotors while cutting antigrav completely. He shot downward far faster than gravity alone could take him, flying past the still-screaming Autobot. Then, he reactivated his magnetics, pinning the prisoner once more to his hull.

"You see? You die when I want you to...but why die? All we need to know is the name of the leader of your cell. Then, well just toss you in a nice, safe prison camp until the war is over...which wont be long." He laughed again.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh? You didn't hear? We've captured Vilnacron. The council has fallen. Its all over but the smelting."

"No....you're lying. Onicrax would never..."

"Onicrax has joined US. We are the future, and he knows it. Now then..."

Vortex kicked in his full lifters. Cybertron fell away below them. He was limited to atmosphere, but he could extend the size of his rotor blades to allow him to work in even the thin air near the edge of space. "Im getting really bored with you. Either talk now, or become one with Primus the HARD way."

"I...alright. I work with Blowout and Turbocharge." Even pinned to the hull, he seemed to slump in defeat.

"See? That wasn't so hard." Vortex banked right, heading back to the thicker air. Friction began to heat his outer surface. "Oh, yes...that camp I mentioned..."

"What?"

"Its right below. Try not to miss!" He cut the grapplings and, in a nanosecond, calculated the Autobot would scream for 16.2 seconds before impact.

Sixteen point 199997? Id better get my algorithms checked. Might have picked up a virus.

He slowed to conserve fuel and reduce the heat, heading for Decepticon headquarters. Scanners showed a smaller flying shape moving beside him, transmitting a proper IFF. Laserbeak.

Laserbeak squawked. He could talk in a standard fashion when he wished, but he preferred to communicate everything in a single high-data burst and let whoever he was talking to do the translation.

"Yeah, of course I got the data. Tell your pals Frenzy and Rumble to go take out Blowout. That should weaken the resistance even further. As for me, I need some Energon."

In the huge lounge and recreation area within the headquarters, Starscream was holding forth on his favorite subject -- the leadership of the Decepticons. The others listened with politely feigned attention, or didn't listen at all, depending on who they were trying to curry favor with.

"And I tell you, the problems with the Decepticons are not due to you, the loyal warriors and workers of the force! The problems are caused solely by our leadership! It is time for change, my fellow Decepticons. I am saying that we need new blood!"

Blitzwing, one of the few triple-changers to survive the first Civil War, spoke up. "And who is THAT supposed to be? You? Give me a break!"

Starscream looked offended. "Me? Of course not. I have no desire to lead! I say that MEGABLAST should be leader!"

There was a surprised buzz. This was a new twist.

Vortex spoke up. "Megablast? Does he even want to be leader?"

Starscream turned to face him. "My friend is unaware of his true potential. I'll...help him to see it."

Vortex laughed. "You know, if Administrator G were to hear about this little idea of yours, you and I might be going for a trip."

Starscream glared, but said nothing. However, with that single remark, Vortex had unwittingly changed his own destiny forever.

Part V: Blast-off

Cold. Darkness. Silence.

Heaven.

Blast-off glided silently in the highest orbit be could manage, his sensors turned outwards from Cybertron. The world had been built in the bleakest void, light years from any sun, far from natural wormholes or other channels of transport. A secret, hidden world where the Quintessons could churn out merchandise safe from invaders or pirates.

Now, the world belonged to that merchandise. Blast-off sneered. That's all most of them are fit to be, he thought -- talking toasters. None of them can equal me.

His form was an elongated, thin obelisk, ending in flared triangular wings. Designed as a high-speed military courier, he now sought only privacy. With each slow rotation of the planet below him, he could feel his loathing for the landbound growing ever greater, the pull of the stars growing stronger....if only...if only...

With a sudden surge of will, he tried again. Thrusters on full, fuel consumed at a phenomenal rate, he struggled against the gravity well, out to where he could fly free. With each moment, he moved outwards, his orbit spiraling ever higher...but it wasn't enough. Exhausted, fuel low, he began the slow descent.

As he drifted down, depression overwhelming him, he noticed flares of violent activity. That, in itself, was typical, but they seemed to be coming from Vilnacron. Targeting sensors came online and he brought the scene into focus.

Vilnacron had fallen. The Decepticons had clearly won. The last remnant of the old Council had been swept away. At first, Blast Off saw no purpose in even thinking about this...and then it hit him.

****

"You want to JOIN us?"

Starscream looked at the green, lanky robot with suspicion. Certainly, many genuine volunteers filled the ranks of the Decepticon army, but apart from the very powerful (who knew they could prosper) and the weak or psychotic (who knew there was safety in numbers), a lot of the rank and file needed a little...persuasion to join.

This one, with a mode capable of high-orbital flight, was a prime recruit...and here he was walking up of his own free will! Astonishing.

Of course, it could easily be a trick. Though the Autobots had almost no military strategists or intelligence specialists among their ranks, they were learning, painfully, how to fight.

Starscream fumed. This, he thought, is why I must replace Galvatron with one of my own pets. If I choose to accept this one into our ranks, Galvatron will accuse me of stupidly permitting a spy to enter. If I reject him, Galvatron will accuse me of weakening our forces by driving off worthy warriors! Primus, what am I to DO?

He decided. "Very well...Blast-off, you call yourself? Consider yourself a provisionary Decepticon. You'll have only Grade-Epsilon clearance until you can prove yourself...but enough of this!" Starscream forced a smile. "Come on in and meet the rest!"

With a flourish, he ushered Blast Off inside. The two walked downwards into the base, ending at the Energon dispensary and meeting lounge. Just as Starscream was about to introduce his new find, a silence filled the room. Administrator Prime Galvatron had entered.

"I see all, I hear all! I am Galvatron the Mighty! And I see a new face among my minions!" He turned to Blast Off, as Starscream began to sputter pacifying phrases. Galvatron's yellow-crystal fusion cannon glistened ominously as a low throbbing sound built up inside it. "Who are you, and why come you here?"

Blast Off didn't miss a beat. He quickly signaled servitude and submission. "I am Blast Off, mighty Galvatron, and I come to serve you. Do with me as you will."

Galvatron laughed. "Oh, what a proper response! Careful, Starscream, or this recruit might someday take your place as the most groveling of my unworthy followers!" He paused for a brief moment, then continued. "Get mission file 12 from Skyhopper. Do as it instructs." Galvatron spun around and walked out, then, a few feet from the door, spun again, transforming to his cannon mode, and fired a fusion burst which slashed between Blast Off and Starscream, singing their outer coloration. A few inches either way, and one or the other would have been scrap.

"And DON'T fail!"

****

Chapter Two -- Gathering

Hook studied the prostrate form before him, then checked his scans once more. Precision is everything, he thought. There was no measurement so accurate it could not be made more accurate still...regardless of how long it took.

Unfortunately, others were less patient.

Shaking his head, annoyed at having to work under such ridiculous constraints, he signaled Galvatron.

"I've completed the first round of tests, Lord Galvatron, and..."

"Yes or no! Did you succeed or fail?"

"I have succeeded, of course! You should know there is nothing beyond my ability..."

"Which is the only reason you are permitted to serve me. What of the others?"

"There are numerous candidates for the secondary positions....both within our ranks and not. I can transmit a list..."

"I cannot be bothered with such trivia! I have an Empire to rule! Send it to....oh, Starscream. Make him feel useful, before I have him junked."

"As you desire."

Galvatron terminated the connection. Hook shook his head. Starscream? He felt sorry for whichever four on the list had most recently earned his displeasure over some petty slight or assumed insult.

***

"So, there I was, and there was these three Autobots, right? So I jump down into the middle of 'em, and then I..."

Blast Off could feel his tolerance fuses approaching the snapping point. He had tried, once, to turn his audio off, but he found himself continually prodded for commentary by his garrulous companion. So he endured. Hopefully, he thought, it will not be long before my obvious value is made apparent even to that…psychotic...who seems to be in charge. Then, he mused, I will convince him to refit me...the stars! I will reach the stars!

"Quit dreamin'. You're heading down!"

The voice startled him. What? Then he reoriented. Brawl was pointing to the tunnel. "Are you coming down with me, or not?"

"Ah...certainly. This is the correct location?"

"Yeah. One of da most famous arms-bazaars on Cybertron. But, you gotta remember da rules...no fightin'." Brawl looked extremely distressed at the mere existence of such a rule, much less having to actually remind someone ELSE of it. Only some very clear warnings, punctuated by fusion flame, had convinced him to restrain his natural inclinations.

"Underground." Blast Off's voice was emotionless.

"Yeah...so it's safe from the fighting."

Blast Off felt a momentary surge of fear, but fought it down. It would not do to show any weakness in front of this..this...this thug. "Well, go on! You know the correct route, I assume, or have you forgotten it?"

"No, I ain't forgotten it. Just follow me..."

The two went down. The trip did not take long, and soon ended in an immense underground space. Blast Off immediately felt better -- though far underground, the room was large enough to fly in, and well lit, and that relieved the terror of claustrophobia.

***

"Hey, boss...that green guy is back. With another customer."

SW-20 looked up from what he was doing (replacing high-quality imaging chips with some cast offs he'd acquired) and saw the two Decepticons approaching. One was, indeed, a previous client...the other he did not recognize. It had wings, visible even in this form, and had a sleek look overall. Almost certainly a flyer, but not one I'm familiar with.

He walked forward, smiling. "Good day....what can I get for you? I have just acquired some marvelous imaging enhancers which can be yours for a VERY reasonable price..."

Brawl began to speak, but Blast Off shoved him out of the way. "Please read this." he said, handing a datachip to the tan creature sniveling before him. SW-20 accepted it and, after a quick scan for viruses and spies, tossed it into a reader.

FROM: Octros SUBJECT: Calling in old debts

Alright, SW-20. You owe me a lot, and I'm collecting. I know you've been using one of the flyers as your henchman for a while now. Well, I promised Administrator Galvatron I could get him to join the 'cons without the usual messiness. And you're the one who's going to help me do it, old pal...unless you want to see your source of fuel cut off. I've checked your lines of supply, and without me...you're going to be selling body parts -- your own! -- to pay off what you lost when that factory went under.

MESSAGE END

SW-20 frowned. Octros, a triple-changer, controlled a lot of the fuel supplies in this sector of Cybertron...and could make good his threats. He glanced over at Thandark, waiting loyally, silently, for his command. The military models all had an almost instinctual desire to follow a leader...they were all free willed and could ignore their basic inclinations, of course, but most acted according to type. Thandark had been loyal and useful...but...business is business...

"Wait here, gentlemen. I'll be right back."

He walked towards Thandark. "Come with me a second. We need to talk about your future."

Blast Off and Brawl watched him go. At a signal from Brawl, the datachip leapt from the reader and unfolded into a flying disc-like robot with a flexible, elongated neck. It perched on Brawl's shoulder and began transmitting a signal back to Decepticon headquarters.

****

Hook looked at the datastream with fascination. The level of coincidence was improbably high, but...he rechecked his calculations. Yes. The mix of arrogance, cunning, and rage would provide astounding psychological flexibility...in theory. The gestalt personality could draw on those varied aspects of itself, coordinated by the genius of the leader...if all worked as well in reality as it did in the specs, this would be a glorious triumph.

A decision made, he reached for the comm panel. "Commander Starscream? This is Hook. Arrange a special greeting party when your search team returns. And issue them this order...get the arms dealer! Never mind the other names on the list -- those three are perfect!"

"It seems you're still one short, Hook."

Hook frowned. Starscream was up to something. "You have someone in mind?"

"Oh , yes. A *perfect* match!" The Decepticon laughed, and it was not a happy sound.

****

Brawl turned to Blast Off. "Uh...we got some new orders. They want to see that dealer guy, too. What do we do?"

"We wait until he returns with our main target. Then we...decide."

****

"My future, boss? What do you mean?"

SW-20 clapped a hand on Thandark's shoulder. "I mean, Thandark, this isn't the life for you."

"It isn't?"

"No, no, no. Standing around, watching energon flow back and forth, looking impressive...I mean, what sort of life is that?"

"Well, I like it. It's comfortable. And it isn't all just standing around. I fight once in a while, too."

"Yes, but not *enough*. You're a WARRIOR, Thandark...you should be at the front lines, smashing your enemies, wading through pools of lubricant. Glory! Honor! It's what you're MEANT to do!"

"It is? I'm not sure..."

"You see? All this standing around being peaceful is making you confused. Your mind is filled with doubt. You keep questioning. You have to trust me." SW-20 paused, and adopted a look of deep regret. "I've...wronged you. Tried to make you something you weren't. But...I can make it up to you. Please....for me...let me make amends."

"Amends? How?"

SW-20 sat down. The idiot had taken the bait. "Well, after pulling some strings,and calling in some old debts...and making a few sacrifices here and there...I've managed to get you a commission with the Decepticon Army of Cybernetic Liberation. They'll help you to realize your full potential. To be all that you can be."

"But...I'm not sure..."

"Look. It's not easy for me to do this. But..well, I like you, and I want to see you prosper."

Thandark thought, which wasn't something he was good at. He always found it troubling to have to make his own decisions...it was always easier to follow orders. And SW-20 had been good to him, treated him well...even if there were some things he did that seemed a little odd. And the thought of being a real warrior, fighting for the greater glory of his long-oppressed people...well, that was nice, too. He imagined the future, when the name 'Decepticon' would be linked forever to justice and prosperity.

"Alright, boss. I'll do it."

The two returned to the main hall. Brawl and Blast Off were waiting.

"Well?" Brawl fairly spit the word out. He had been standing here for a long time watching AUTOBOTS going by and he knew he couldn't do anything about it. That made him mad. Well, madder.

Thandark mustered a grin. "Uhm...I guess I'm going to go with you guys. I'm looking forward to being part of the Decepticons. You're the only future for our kind, right?"

Blast Off barely controlled his contempt. This witless lumpkin was quoting the most banal propaganda as if it were his own idea. Anyone so easily taken in by cheap demagoguery and shallow arguments DESERVES to be blaster fodder. But there was more to do, yet...

"That's correct. We ARE the future. And, SW-20...we're going to need you to come with us. We...ah...we may be able to make some *special* arrangements for future deals."

In the back of SW-20's mind, a small voice seemed to cry, "Run!". But SW-20 ignored it. Flush from the success of this little con, he lurched towards the next one, an addict in desperate search of a fix. He put on his best "Trust me" expression.

"Certainly, noble warriors! Please...lead on!"

****

Laserbeak, having left the weapons bazaar while SW-20 was preoccupied, glided silently back to Decepticon headquarters. Just as he entered, he received a coded transmission from Blast Off. His optics glinted as he saw the elements of the plan falling into place so smoothly.

Entering through a narrow slit which only he and his 'brother', Buzzsaw, could traverse, he sped through the twisting corridors, until he emerged in the massive command chamber. As he flew in, a small module attached to one of the computers detached itself, unfolded and expanded into a thirty foot robot. A portal opened in his chest, and Laserbeak flew in, transforming as he did into a small data cube.

Galvatron watched the whole process with some slight amusement., then spoke. "Well? Report! I have no time to waste!"

"Laserbeak reports success. The THN/DRK unit has been acquired. The other desired target is accompanying our operatives. Report ends. Full data of the encounter has been transferred to the archives."

Galvatron waves his hands impatiently. "Don't keep bothering me with such mundane reports! I only want to hear about things that matter!" He swung his arm in a mighty arc, destroying a bank of hardware. "The Autobots infest MY planet like scraplets burrowing into battlefortress, and you report to me about minor recruiting!"

Soundwave said nothing. Galvatron often gave the appearance of insanity, but that insanity was also the source of a ruthless and brilliant cunning which had led the Decepticons to victory after victory. But that cunning also deserted him at the worst possible times.

****

SW-20 checked his internal chronometer for about the five hundredth time. Every second he spent in the company of the two Decepticons was a second he was not making deals...it was annoying, and they didn't seem to be rushing.

To fill the time, he tried to decide which he disliked more. Brawl was crude, rude, violent, arrogant, and stupid. Blast-Off was snide, condescending, arrogant, and not as smart as he thought he was. At least I'll never see either of them again.

Suddenly the dark purple of Cybertron's perpetual night turned blazing orange. Explosions rocked the ground around them as missiles shrieked through the air. SW-20, in vehicle form, pulled up and turned just as the metal ground in front of him dissolved with an acidic hiss. The turn was too sharp; he capsized and needed to transform to robot form to right himself. In that second, he was helpless as he saw the glint of a cannon barrel wielded by a red-hued Autobot.

"Hah! Ahm gonna' bag me another Decepticreep!"

Herbivores, faced with death, react instinctively -- they freeze. Carnivores, faced with death, react instinctively -- they lunge to the attack. SW-20, faced with death, also reverted to instinct.

"Hold it...we can make a deal!"

The Autobot was taken aback for an instant. "A...deal?" Then he remembered himself. "Ah don't deal with Decepticons!" But as he lined up for his final shot, Brawl charged full-bore into him, knocking him over. Then Blast-Off transformed into his aerial form and began to spray the area with high-energy particles, adding an eerie violet glow to the atmosphere. Thandark, too, took to the skies and began revving his engines for a devastating sonic assault.

The five or so Autobots were quickly outgunned...they had no flyers among their group. The red one, seeing the way things were going, ordered a retreat. Brawl, in vehicle mode, began to accelerate after them.

"Brawl, cease! We have a mission to perform!" Not that I care, thought Blast-Off, but I need to impress Galvatron as quickly as possible. Keeping this lunk in line seems like a good way to do that.

Brawl slowed, weighing his desire for violence against his fear of Galvatron. Fear won. He spun around and joined the other three, then transformed.

"Hey, ya know...we make a pretty good team! Took them Autobots right out!"

Thandark beamed. SW-20 and Blast-Off just looked disgusted, then, realizing they seemed to be in total agreement, quickly transformed and proceeded on their way.

****

Hook observed the results on a monitor which none of the combatants knew existed. Starscream had routed the four through a suspected Autobot ambush. He wished to see how well they worked together. Hook was surprised by the results. The three clearly disliked each other intensely, yet, they seemed to blend well. It was possible they would survive the gestalt process.

That was four. The fifth..the fifth was going to be a problem. Starscream was going to use the decision as a tool for gaining status, not caring if it was valid or not. The Constructicon leader shook his head. There was nothing to do for it, he thought. Starscream has the might, and might is right.

Speaking of Starscream...

"This is Hook to Commander Starscream. I have the results you wanted...full analysis is forthcoming."

There was a moment of silence, then Starscream's ingratiating whine crackled across the comm channel. "Excellent, Hook! You've done very well. As it turns out, I've decided who your fifth candidate should be! I'm sure he'll be quite honored to have been chosen!" Hook heard Starscream's manic laughter as the channel was closed.

Returning to his work, he fumed. A madman for a leader. A hollow-voiced spy for a second in command. And a sadistic backstabber for...hm. Hook suddenly realized Starscream had no official title, no real rank...he just seemed to have power flowing around him. Amazing how he managed that.

In any event, we need better leaders. Someone like....

"Hook? Megablast here. I've got the holomodels of Vilnacron prepared, and I've located some unsafe points. We need you and your Constructicons to shore up our defenses if we want to hold this place against the Autobots. Hook? Are you there?"

Hook shook his head and responded. "Yes...yes, Megablast. I'll send Scavenger, Bonecrusher, and Mixmaster to you at once."

Someone like Megablast...a strong warrior. A clever strategist. Courageous. Merciless, but not sadistic. Cunning, but not insane.

Someone like Megablast...

***

"Skywarp, this is Blast-Off. We have completed our mission as requested. The...arms dealer...is with us."

"Uhm...Ok. Let me check with the boss...Yeah. Come on it."

The huge door leading into the Decepticon main base slid downwards, revealing a cavernous passageway large enough to permit even the legendary Scorponok to pass through. This was a part of the base quite different from the quarters and recreation areas that Blast-Off had seen before. The darkness yawned before him, and it frightened him in a way the darkness of space never could. But, for the chance to journey deep into THAT darkness, he had to brave this one.

The four entered. Suddenly, Skywarp spoke again. "Candidate...Thandark? You should enter at gate Green-5, up above."

Thandark paused, then held out his hand to SW-20. "Well, boss, it's been great working with you...and I'm really grateful for working out this chance for me."

SW-20 shook Thandark's hand, forcing himself to maintain a straight face. "It's been...good knowing you." With that, Thandark transformed into a sleek pyramidal craft and shot skyward, arcing into a gate high above.

He then turned to Blast-Off and Brawl. "So...what was this about a deal?"

Blast-Off just sneered. "Follow me."

The trio walked down, down, down. Brawl, who thought he had seen all of the base, whistled appreciatively. "You know, I never knew the base went down this far. We must be a mile or more below the surface by now." He glanced up. "All that metal..."

Blast-Off controlled the urge to transform himself and launch straight up. "Just...keep walking. Why hasn't someone MET us by now?"

Finally, after three attempts by SW-20 to convince them that the Decepticons really, *really*, needed to hire his cleaning and maintenance service, they spotted a bright light up ahead. Feeling an unreasonable panic, suddenly uncaring what his companions thought of him (and, really, why should he care what such inferior beings might think?) Blast-Off ran for it.

Then he stopped. Vortex was there, his form badly charred. One rotor was a crumbled mass and there was a spiderweb fracture in one optic. He looked up, pointed beyond Blast-Off, and beyond even the other two moving quickly forward. A slab of metal was crashing down behind them, with the hideous sound of metal being stressed beyond its' nature. And then it was done.

Blast-Off looked around. The room was huge, large enough to hold a battlefortress in robot mode, but it was still sealed. Uncounted megatons of steel weighed down on top of him, and the software fuses in his emotional circuits began to snap under the strain. It wasn't so bad, he tried to tell himself. It's enough space to fly in. And it's bright...

And then the lights went out.

*****

Chapter III -- Transformations and Revelations

Starscream walked down the corridor in a state of elation, almost bouncing in joy as he moved. Sometimes, he thought, I astonish even myself! The fate of Vortex will serve as an ample warning to the others that I am not to be trifled with. The "Combiner-B" project moves ahead on schedule. And the seeds of revolution have been planted...

His joy evaporated. He knew what a risk he was taking...but it had to be done. The knowledge he possessed seemed to press on him, imposing a responsibility he didn't like. But, he realised, it could not have been mere fate. Somehow, he knew, he had been *chosen* to do this thing. And, if it ended up granting him comfort and power for the endless millennia of his life...well, that was a fit reward!

But it's taking so long to get the pieces into place! Every move, so carefully planned...but the endgame approaches.

He tapped the access panel, which instantly recognized his individual electronic signature and allowed him to enter the war room. There was, as he expected, only one inhabitant at the moment.

"Still working? There's high-potency energon available for the taking, as well as a variety of new training sims."

Megablast looked up from the holographic map of Cybertron. "No time for that, Starscream. We've had some major victories of late, but we have to consolidate them before..." He stopped talking.

Starscream waited, but it seemed Megablast wasn't going to continue on his own. "Before WHAT?" he prompted, his voice taking on a slight edge.

"Nothing, Commander. " Megablast was wary. Starscream was a true friend, but also ever on the alert for opportunity. He wasn't sure just how far his friend was willing to go for power.

Starscream sat down opposite Megablast, and placed a small device on the table. It was octagonal in shape, and contained a glistening red crystal. He flicked a switch, and the crystal turned pale green.

"The bugs are jammed now. We can talk freely. " He glanced up at Megablast. "'Before Galvatron's limited grip on sanity slips and he leads us into disaster'? Is that what you were going to say?"

Megablast looked downwards, not wishing to look his friend in the face. "Yes." He looked up. "I'm as loyal as Soundwave, or Hook, or even you! The Decepticon cause is my life! But..." he faltered "...I don't understand how we can win with that madman as our absolute leader! I don't even understand how he could have created the Decepticon army in the first place!"

Starscream's voice was very quiet. "He didn't."

"What?"

"He didn't."

"But...I remember it...I saw it..."

Starscream weighed his options carefully. He certainly didn't want Megablast knowing *everything*. On the other hand, too much ignorance could be fatal. How can he know enough to rule the Decepticons, and be ignorant of enough so that *I* can rule *him*? There's no alternative. He needs to know.

"Well, " Starscream began, "it's like this....".

And he spoke, for hours. When he was done, he simply turned and left. Megablast sat there in the empty War Room and listened to the sounds of his world falling apart.

***** Time passed....

***CRASH**** ***CRASH**** ***CRASH****

For hours, now, Brawl had been smashing against the slab of metal which had sealed them into their prison. The thundering was loud, regular, inexorable, and seemingly useless. SW-20 had long ago reduced his audio receptors to a minimum -- as if Brawl's pounding wasn't bad enough, there was Blast-Off's wailing. That left one possibility...the grey one.

SW-20 walked up to him. He was sitting against a wall, picking carefully at the fractured crystal that had been his left optic, trying to remove the loose shards before they dislodged into his internal circuits. Even with pain sensors dimmed, it must have been torturous.

"You know, I have a line on some excellent replacements for that. When we get out of here..."

Vortex looked up at him. "You think we're getting out of here? Hah!"

"What would the profit be in imprisoning us?"

"Heh. Ask Starscream -- he's the one behind all this." Vortex turned, suddenly, a glint appearing in his good optic. "But who are you? You're not a Decepticon."

"I'm a simple merchant, an honest trader in...."

"Hmm. You sell weapons? Armaments? Sold anything to anyone that might have made them your enemy?"

SW-20 was about to launch into a denial, then stopped. This one seemed to have a gift for asking the right questions. That could be dangerous. Instead, he said simply, "You ask a lot of questions."

"It's my job." replied Vortex, then returned to his painful self-repair.

Time passed.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

Brawls' hammering was slowly weakening. SW-20's internal chronometer reported over two days had passed. His Energon levels were depleting, but slowly...he had been doing nothing which required large quantities of power. He'd missed six appointments...he could almost feel his trade networks unraveling.

As for Blast-Offf, his screaming had turned into a painful groan. Evidently his vocal equipment had finally burned out, or perhaps his core consciousness had just gone into protective shutdown mode. One catatonic, one monomaniacal, one too clever for my own good, thought SW-20. What a revolting situation.

Time passed.

CRASH! Crash! crash. cra. . . . . .

Brawl was kneeling in front of the huge slab of metal which he had been venting his rage on for days. Finally, he had depleted his energon reserves to the point where automatic safeties had cut in. His fists, heavily armored though they were, had been reduced to chunks of mangled metal.

SW-20 looked at the sight with disgust, and just the faintest echo of admiration. The idiot certainly has tenacity -- not that it did him any good. Why haven't they come for us yet? Vortex kept giving oblique hints as to their collective fate, but did he know anything, or was he trying to acquire information through trickery?

Well, SW-20 thought to himself. If they wanted us dead, we'd BE dead. So that means they want us alive. Which means they want something from us. This whole internment is some method of weakening us, making us pliable -- and if they need us pliable, that means, they can't *force* us to do whatever it is they want, they need us to cooperate.

His eyes brightened in the darkness. And THAT means there's room to make a deal.

Just as he reached this conclusion, his optics, adjusted to the near-total darkness of the room, flared white as new light entered. When his vision cleared again, he saw the wall lifting, with an eerie silence, into the darkness above.

Brawl snarled incoherently and lurched forward, but his power was almost gone; he staggered a foot or two and collapsed. Vortex, his wounds unhealed and sheathed in static bursts, stood slowly; behind him, Blast-Off seemed to recover some semblance of coherent thought. SW-20, the only one physically and mentally fully functional, was scanning his memory banks for the perfect opening line.

"Gree.." he began, then leapt back as a blue-white fusion beam slashed the floor in front of him.

"SILENCE! Be quiet before the presence of GALVATRON!"

The Decepticon Administrator Prime strode into the room. SW-20 recognized him, of course, and the unctuous flyer beside him -- Starscream, the one Vortex had mentioned. He wasn't certain about the silent, blue one to Galvatron's right -- he looked like a mere communications specialist, but there was something chilling about him.

Behind the trio were six smaller Decepticons, each colored mixture of green and purple. Their body language, and similar coloration, told SW-20 they were some sort of team.

And behind them, were quite a few soldiers. They seemed to be carrying something....a body? SW-20 couldn't quite tell...and then there was another burst of energy, this one close enough to char his outer coloration.

"WELL? Have you no words of RESPECT for your RULER?"

"But...you said to be sil..."

"ENOUGH! I do not wish to listen to your endless prattle!"

SW-20 glanced back at Vortex. He just shook his grey head sadly and made a gesture of resigned hopelessness.

Galvatron stood silent for a second, then whirled on Hook. "I have done enough! You know what to do. I have other matters to attend to." With that, he walked off, pausing only to knock some of his guards aside as he left.

Hook eyed SW-20, then the rest. He nodded approvingly, even when he noticed Brawls mangled condition. "Still trying, I see. Excellent. I've chosen well."

"Y-yes, Commander. You always do. I.."

"Oh, be quiet, Scavenger. I don't need to be fawned over by such as you."

"Ah...Hook, was it? My name is SW-20. I suspect you *want* something from me, and I'm prepared to be very flexible in..."

"Don't waste your time. You're mine, now, and will be for quite a while."

"Ah, perhaps you misunderstand why I accompanied your fellow Decepticons back here. I was interested in pursuing some future negotiations, not..."

"You've joined the Decepticons. Or do you think you'd survive as an arms dealer once we've declared you renegade? Besides, the days of freewheeling dealmaking are over. As you sat here, the old bazaar has fallen to our forces. Cybertron is ours, now, and there's no room in the new order for...independents."

"But...."

"'SW-20', eh? No, I don't think so. That's a slave name. Your new name is...Swindle." At this, the other Constructicons laughed, and even Vortex managed a chuckle.

"SWINDLE? That's outrageous! I won't...."

Hook made a subtle gesture. One of the larger of the green robots stepped forward, to tower over Swindle. "Da boss says dat's your name, so dat...is....your...name. GET IT?"

Swindle nodded slowly. "Got it."

"Good." replied Bonecrusher, who stepped back slowly.

Finally, Vortex spoke. "So, Hook. What sort of depraved experiment has Starscream put you up to?"

Before Hook could answer, Starscream himself answered, his voice a silken purr.

"Depraved? Why, Vortex, you should be flattered. You are to be part of the next wave of Cybertronian evolution. I only wish *I* were qualified..."

"Words are insufficient. Constructicons -- Demonstrate."

Hook nodded in response to the terse order from Soundwave, pointedly ignoring Starscream. He then turned to the other Constructicons.

There was a pause, then..."Constructicons! Merge to form...DEVESTATOR!"

Swindle thought he had seen nearly all there was to see in the realm of transformational abilities, from tiny datacrystals changing to robotic animals, to cities becoming walking fortresses. But this...

Two of them, Scrapper and Mixmaster, leapt oddly, expanding and transforming as they did so, and crashed into the ground with surprising force. The other four leapt in the air as lightning surged and crackled, each expanding, twisting, unfolding, into forms not even hinted at in their robotic modes. As one piled upon another a body formed. Two huge arms grew from the torso, and gargantuan purple hands, each capable of crushing an average Cybertronian, extended from the arms. For a moment, it was a headless nightmare, and then, from within the torso, a malignant face arose, glaring down at the puny creatures beneath it with undisguised contempt.

"I....AM....DEVASTATOR!!!"

Starscream and Soundwave had known what to expect. The other Decepticons, there to guard the prisoners if they were so foolish as to try and escape, did not. One, Turbothrust, forgot himself and panicked, firing a few pathetic bursts at the monstrosity.

Devestator felt the stings of a tiny insect. He turned, ponderous, and targeted the attacker. Tiny creature. It would be destroyed. Casually, he reach forward, tearing out a chunk of the door which had ignored all that Brawl could throw at it, and hurled it with surprising accuracy at Turbothrust, who was beginning to transform. There was the squeal of crushing metal, and then a muffled roar as the flattened body exploded.

The other Decepticons backed away. Even Starscream was surprised at what had just occurred. He backed away, slowly. "Hook? If you're in there, I think they've seen enough...."

Devestator turned to look down at him. "I...AM...NOT...HOOK. I...AM...DEVASTATOR!!!!" His eyes an angry red, he reached for Starscream....

...and then he fractured, collapsing into his six component parts. Starscream ran to Hook, who was holding his head in pain. "What is wrong with you? Why did you let him kill one of our own troops?"

Hook stared at Starscream with open loathing. "Starscream, you are a fool. You never bothered to read the reports I sent, did you?"

"I...reviewed them...I have more important things to do than...read *reports*."

"Well, if you HAD read them, you would understand something. Devastator isn't just a composite body, or even a composite personality. Devastator is as much of an individual as you or I. He is us...and he is also him. We can....influence him, but we cannot fully control him. When he was attacked, his will just overwhelmed ours temporarily. Of course, " Hook continued, glaring at Long Haul and Bonecrusher, "some wills are more easily overwhelmed than others." The two glared back at him, but said nothing.

Swindle suddenly realised what was going on -- why they were here, why they were shown that...monstrosity. "Hold it! You aren't going to make *me* into part of something like that. No deal!"

Starscream laughed. "This isn't a matter for 'deals'. You'll do as you're told, or be destroyed. But you'll be working with the best!" His voice took on a slightly hysterical edge, then he seemed to collect himself. "Dirge! Ramjet! Bring him out here!"

The Decepticons nodded, then moved aside. Behind them was the olive drab body of General Onicrax, the lifelight barely flickering in his eyes. Starscream, impatient, stepped forward, grabbed the immobile form by the left arm, and hauled it into the light.

Swindle stepped back in shock -- Onicrax was revered as a near-god, one of the great heroes of the revolution, akin to Alpha Trion and Indigo -- and the Decepticons were treating him like scrap metal. You had to respect that kind of hubris, he thought....

Brawl's reaction was less sanguine. A soldier through and through, he could not abide the thought of so great a leader being treated so shabbily. Fresh rage surged through his system. The safeties which had brought him to a shutdown overloaded and fused. With a burst of energy from emergency reserves, he leapt forward onto Starscream, his mangled hands still seeking to tear out the vital power conduits running through the Decepticon commander's throat.

Soundwave was quick to react; Brawl had almost nonexistent barriers to his thoughts (such as they were), and Soundwave could read them with ease. With a mental command, the portal to his private universe opened in sync with the physical gateway built into his chest. "Rumble, Frenzy, eject. Operation -- Restraint!"

In a blur, the two small robots, one red, one blue, leapt outwards, transforming into their humanoid mode as they did.

"Alright! Action!"

"Yeah! We bad!"

The two nearly identical robots, alike except for coloration and some external features, slapped hands together and began performing a bizarre dance. They seemed to be pointedly ignoring the battle occurring just a few feet away.

"Stop chattering and get him OFF me!" Starscream glared at Rumble and Frenzy, then back at the other Decepticons, and the Constructicons as well. None of them seemed to be moving to help him! Why? What was WRONG with them?

Of course. He'd almost forgotten. Brawl was a Decepticon, and that made this a leadership challenge. If he let Soundwave's pets help him...

"Oh, never mind!" he shouted at the two diminutive transformers. "I can handle this one myself!" Yes, he thought. The room was big enough....

He transformed. Brawl, unprepared for this tactic, was shaken off. Starscream, now resembling a sleek, elongated pyramid, soared upwards into the vast room, then turned and dove, executing a spectacular double-corkscrew. Brawl started to transform, to bring his more powerful weapons to bear, but it was too late. In the air, against a groundling, Starscream was virtually invincible. Before Brawl could finish the transformation, null-rays screamed out. Brawl dropped, unmoving, and Starscream landed next to him.

Slowly, his gaze transversed the room. Soundwave, of course, was unreadable. The other flyers met his eyes with respect, if not friendship. Five of the Constructicons seemed to be talking among themselves; only Hook looked directly at him. They stared at each other for a brief moment, then Hook nodded slowly. Starscream's authority, for the moment, was secure.

With that settled, Starscream turned to the other three. "Does anyone *else* have any problems with our plan? No? How delightful."

He turned to go. "Hook, I'm sure you can handle it from here. Don't hesitate to alert me if you need any...help." He waved the others ahead, then left. Soundwave, the two cassette warriors, and the Constructicons remained.

Hook frowned. He had wanted a larger backup of warriors, just in case the earlier demonstration of Devastator's prowess inspired an attack out of blind fear, rather than the docility desired. Still, demanding help from Starscream would be a sign of weakness which he could not afford. Politics, he thought, the word feeling acrid in his circuitry.

He knelt by Onicrax, removing the inhibitor that had kept the fallen warrior in a state of stasis, his powerflow reduced to just barely enough to keep his personality matrix integrated. In seconds, the lifelight flared again in his eyes.

He got to his feet, slowly, allowing the lubricants pooled in his joints to flow freely again. A slow, careful scan of the room followed. Finally, staring directly at Hook, he spoke.

"What do you want?"

"We would have preferred you came to us more willingly, Onslaught, but...."

"'Onslaught'?? That is *not* my chosen name. I am General Onicrax, Commander of..."

"Commander of an army that no longer exists, serving a government which has been quite literally...dissolved. " He lingered on that word, to make sure Onslaught -- and the others -- caught his meaning.

"The pits." Onslaught's voice was flat, but his eyes dimmed in sadness and regret.

"Yes." Hook continued, slowly. "The old smelting pits are activated once more. There's a new order ruling Cybertron now...all that remains is to clean up a few anachronisms. "

"If you are not part of the future...you are part of the past," Hook continued. "Your old name is gone. You are Onslaught of the Decepticon Army of Cybernetic Liberation, and you had best forget any life prior to that."

Onslaught considered. He realised he had no way to determine where on Cybertron he was being kept, how well guarded this installation was, or the true condition of the rest of the world. Any direct rebellion would be foolishness, but open acceptance would be viewed as suspicion. A middle course was the best option....

"I accept what you say for the moment. Assuming I decide to...cooperate...what role do you have for me?"

"A very important one, indeed. You shall be commander of an elite force...a powerful weapon against the forces of terrorism and anarchy which...."

Onslaught laughed. "'Terrorism and anarchy'??? The *Autobots*? A band of overly idealistic scientists, poets, and junkyard philosophers? Allow me to begin my role in your army by giving you some strategic advice -- never believe your own propaganda!"

"You da..." Hook began, then restrained himself. He was not used to being mocked, especially not by new recruits who had not yet learned their place. But he was under orders to treat this one well, and he knew the reasons for such orders. But his own troops were expecting him to respond to the challenge. Politics.

"Soundwave! Can you access the recordings of yesterday's raid on Binarius?"

"Affirmative. But that data is classified. Most here are not permitted to..."

"Override classification!"

Soundwave, for reasons of his own, complied.

A beam of light projected forth from his chest. The view was Binarius, a small city in southern Cybertron, as seen from the air. The way the image swooped and jumped, it was obvious it was recorded as a direct feed from someone's optics.

The city sprawled below, a marvel of interlacing metal paths, glistening spires and domes, and streams of energy. The streets, though, were strangely empty....

"Curfew." Soundwave spoke without being asked.

The city streets grew larger and larger. The recorder, whoever he was, was landing. Then the perspective jumped suddenly. Transformation.

The viewpoint moved through the streets. The few inhabitants scurried out of the way as they came into focus. Onslaught frowned. Ahead of the viewer was a pile of rubble. The junction of the buildings ahead created a number of blind spots. And the giant broadcast array atop the building to the right could fall across the gap, creating a barrier which would trap a flyer long enough to be destroyed...

"They will be attacked from behind that junk. The first shots will seem to go wild, but will actually be aimed at the struts supporting the antenna. Emboldened by the seeming incompetence of their opponents, your warriors will charge. Reinforcements will appear from the blind spots. Your soldiers will take to the air in order to achieve a better view of the battlefield, be trapped, and sliced to chaff before they can correctly adjust to their limited flight area."

Hook stared at him. The scene had been in view for less than a tenth of a second before he had begun to speak. And, of course, events transpired just as he described.

Five Autobots leapt from behind the barricade, aiming in seeming panic. From behind the viewer, a Decepticon soldier charged forward, laughing as he dodged the clumsily aimed shots. The viewpoint also accelerated, jerkily, towards the Autobots.

Then, beams of deadly light, followed by the streaking smoke of missiles, emanated from the surrounding buildings. More Autobots moved into view. The viewpoint shifted, rapidly, then focussed on the sky as the recorded leapt skyward, accelerating and beginning to transform to flight mode. Then a slab of grey latticework metal slammed down. The image jumped rapidly as the flyer impacted. Static streaked the hologram, three dimensional lightning fracturing the image. Then there was a flare, and darkness.

"Recording over."

Hook stepped forward. "You see? They aren't as easily dismissed as you claim. We lost four of our warriors in that ambush..."

"A single battle does not win a war. And your warriors were fools -- that trap was not the work of any sort of military genius. There were numerous weaknesses."

Hook shook his head. "That's not the point. They never *used* to fight like that at all! They'd just run out of somewhere screaming some idiotic slogans about freedom and be turned to scrap metal. Something's *changed*. They've become...not dangerous, but not a joke, either."

Scrapper walked up. "Commander, forgive this interruption....but our schedule is tight. We should begin now."

Hook sneered. "We'll begin when I deem it suitable. I am in command of this operation, and..."

"Be alert. All that you say is being recorded." Soundwave was as emotionless as ever, but the threat was clear.

Hook balanced the need to assert authority in front of his Constructicons with the risk of Galvatron's wrath, and decided that, in this case, discretion was the better part of valor. "Of course. Your loyalty is commendable, Soundwave." He looked back to the door which Devastator had so casually ripped apart. "Mixmaster! Bonecrusher! Get that door patched up...we wouldn't want our guests getting any ideas about leaving, would we?" He turned back to the five. "Now then....shall we begin?"

*****

The next few days would be indelibly stamped on Swindle's memory; the events seared themselves into the very core of his personality. Bodily integrity was a fundamental part of every Cybertronian personality; major alterations to the physical body carried a risk of insanity or catatonia. But he was disassembled, reassembled, altered, enhanced, rebuilt, and reprogrammed. And because they wanted to preserve his mind as much as possible, he was *conscious* for most of it. Hook explained to him that if he was aware of the bodily alterations, his personality matrix could adjust to them more readily; Swindle considered it pure sadism.

Most of the time that he wasn't being torn apart, he was allowed blissful unconsciousness. Once, though, a short reactivated him, and he watched for a time. Blast-Off hung in mid air, writhing, as Hook and Scrapper redesigned him. Then they stepped back. Mixmaster pushed a button on a control pad he held, and Swindle watched in horror as Blast-off screamed, bent double, and then....there was an *arm* floating in the center of the room, complete with hand. Swindle knew what was happening to them all, of course, but this was the first time it had really sunk in -- he was being turned into a *piece* of something. Then the fear overwhelmed the short, and he slipped into the darkness once more.

*****

Onslaught was held spread-eagled on a slab designed to hold a being many times his size...and he wasn't small. Hook, who seemed to respect him more than the other four, was explaining the procedure.

"So you see, your body becomes the 'core' of the new being...and your consciousness will remain the strongest."

"Does yours dominate Devastator?"

"No...we six Constructicons are co-equal in the gestalt....which isn't to my tastes."

"Hm. Then why did you design it that way?"

Hook was silent for a moment. "I didn't." He paused, considering. The more he understands, Hook thought, the more likely the experiment will succeed. "The ability was present, dormant, in we Constructicons. Evidently, the Quintessons developed it, but decided not to activate it. For millennia, we existed as a team, never quite understanding why we worked together, but feeling...compelled to. Then, a few years ago, one of my subordinates...."

"Uh...that was m-me. Scavenger. I'm the one." Scavenger's taillike array of sensors and excavating tools twitched excitedly as he spoke.

Hook glared coldly at him. Scavenger's continued efforts to prove his worth were made all the more annoying when he happened to be right.

"Yes, it was you. After bringing thousands of pieces of useless junk back to base, you finally found something halfway decent. Now....go look for some left-handed lugnuts in the storeroom." Hook shook his head in disgust as Scavenger transformed to his treaded vehicle mode and rolled off.

"As I was saying....we found an old datacrystal, something which survived the Purging....rare enough in itself, but it contained details about *us*. A lot of random notes, mostly encrypted and referring to things we couldn't decipher...but it also contained a key-sequence which activated some previously....unknown....components."

Onicrax nodded. "And you've since mastered this lost technology well enough to recreate it?"

Hook smiled tightly. "We're working on it."

****

Starscream glanced casually at the reports. The probability of success was high...over 60%. That was better than ever before, but still risky. Suddenly concerned, he called up the old data for review. Nine failures so far...nearly fifty Decepticons destroyed or rendered so insane they had to be destroyed. But with each failure, they'd learned....

....and there was still so much unknown. Starscream smashed a metal fist on the console in front of him. Of all the indignities, all the humiliations, visited on his race by their old masters, he was convinced that the Purging was the worst. The discovery of the gestalt ability in the Constructicons was lucky chance... discovering how to activate it was an even greater triumph. But to be able to duplicate it, to master at least some of the lost technology...that would be something beyond luck.

Starscream nodded slowly. Once we have this mastered...we will prove that we are the true future of Cybertron. The neutrals and waverers will fall into place behind the leaders of the Decepticon Army....

...and I will be leading the leaders.

*****

"...I have a deal for you."

Onslaught looked up from the diagram he had been idly sketching. He did not need such aids, of course, but if he had discovered that those under his command often benefited from them. "A deal, Swindle?" He smiled, coldly. "What have you found to sell in this dank prison?"

"The most valuable commodity of all, Gen..." He was cut off by a dark, terrifying glance from Onslaught.

"No more. I failed in that post; I allowed the Council to argue itself into destruction. The only rank I have now is the one forced on me. General Onicrax is dead. Long live Onslaught of the Decepticon Army of Cybernetic Liberation!" As he spoke, he gestured around the small, heavily shielded room they were trapped in.

Swindle nodded slowly. "And why not, 'Long live Onslaught of the Independent Combaticon Mercenary Force'?"

The lifelight in Onslaught's eyes flickered rapidly, the Cybertronian equivalent of a human blinking in surprise. The other three also stopped to stare as Swindle; even Brawl stopped straining at the chains which bound him.

Onslaught spoke slowly, marshalling his words as might marshal troops for a battle. "Mercenaries? To be hired by who? The Decepticons would never deal with renegades who broke from their ranks, and I don't think we could function well under the ideological idiocies propounded by the Autobots."

Swindle, of course, was prepared for this argument. "And how long do you think that can last? The Decepticons were united under their goal of overthrowing the council and controlling Cybertron. Now that they've mostly accomplished that, it's obvious their internal conflicts will tear them apart. I mean, look at that *madman* leading them! How long do you think they can remain united?"

Onslaught stood up, arms crossed. Once again, he was the commander; these were his troops. "Excellent reasoning, Swindle. You're not exactly my idea of a good soldier, but your grasp of psychology is extraordinary. It's not as if this simple, two-sided war of ideology against ideology could last for millions of years. Such archetypal conflicts require archetypal leaders...virtual demigods leading ferociously loyal followers to battle after battle, and that isn't the way the world works. It's a lot less clean in reality.

"So." He turned to the four, who were silently watching him. "We either willingly do as we are told...serve our new masters as slavishly as the Quintessons wanted us to serve them...or we take the gift they gave us and use it for our own purposes. As Swindle has said, like it or not...we're a team. As solitary individuals, we would not stand a chance against those who would seek revenge on us...but united, we possess a power few can match." He paused, letting his eyes meet those of each of the other four in turn. "Are you with me?"

There was a brief pause, then, as one, the other four shouted, "AYE!"

"Good. Now here's my plan..."

Chapter IV -- Joining

The chamber was immense.

The roof arched high above, to the point where optics needed to go to magnification mode to make out the details. It stretched on, and on, and on, into darkness. And it was *very* far underneath the surface.

Hook and his Constructicons entered first; the newly-named Combaticon team followed; and behind them was a full squadron of the finest Decepticon air warriors. Also along, of course, was Soundwave, with his 'family' surrounding him.

Hook looked around, slightly nervous. He wasn't sure why. He'd done this before, several times; but dealing with *him* (or was it 'it'?) always unnerved him. Not that he'd let anyone else know!

"Onslaught! Give the command!"

Onslaught nodded, glancing at the other four. They looked back, hesitantly. Swindle shrugged. "Might as well go for it, boss. We made a deal."

Onslaught faced Hook, then spoke. "Combaticons! Form...Combiner-B!" That was the temporary codename, of course. The new being wouldn't have a name until after....

Onslaught's thought was shattered in a whirlwind of energy and transformation. The verbal command activated preprogrammed instructions. He leapt upwards, his body changing in ways it never had before, as he flew towards the others.

Vision was chaotic. He could see Swindle and Brawl, below him, contorting into legs; Blast-Off and Vortex flying towards him from the left and right, rearranging themselves as they did. Then, there was a sudden contact, and his consciousness seemed to vanish altogether for a moment.

It returned. He was in a very dark place...no, not dark. Lightless. Soundless. Sensationless.

Not soundless. Not quite. Voices?

"I want *out* of this deal!"
"Gotta hit somethin, gotta hit somethin, gotta hit somethin...."
"The darkness..."
"They'll pay. Oh, how they'll pay..."

Experimentally, he tried to send a thought to his teammates.
"Combaticons!
Attention!"

"Attention? We don't have bodies!"
"Swindle? Zat' you?"
"Of course it's him, you idiot."
"Yes, and his mind is the most astonishing wastepit of..."

"Vortex? You're reading my mind? Hey! Stay out of there!" Swindle suddenly filled his consciousness with endless equations of profit and loss, trying to drown any lingering thoughts of deeds done in his past. But wait...if they can see into my mind...I can see into..

"SILENCE!"

Onslaught's mental command shot through the chatter. "I am in command here. Blast-Off. Does this...place...seem empty to you?"

"Yes. It's odd. I have no sense of body, but I feel a sense of...space. It's like netspace, only totally empty...like the dead areas of the CyberNet."

"Hey, you know where you can get the *good* datagrams?"

"Shut up, Brawl.", 'said' Swindle, Blast-Off, and Vortex in perfect mental unison.

"Just askin'. Sheesh."

"OK, fine, we're all better now. But what are we waiting for? What's happening out there?"

"I am...trying to control the optics of this new body. But I cannot. The body...isn't mine. It's...uninhabited."

"This is *spooky*."

"Thank you for that brilliant observation."

"Hey, I was just talkin', you know?"

Listening to the mental chatter, Onslaught wished he had a head to shake in disbelief and disgust. From hero of the Revolution....to nursebot to a cheat, a sadist, an egomaniac and an idiot.

"HEY! Who're you calling a...."

"cheat?"
"sadist?"
"egomaniac?"
"er...what did he call me again?"

And, apparently, no privacy.

***

Hook looked up, up, up at the being before him. A lifeless, immobile, statue, it still had the power to impress. Of course, he mused, I've seen this stage before. It's the next part which always fails.

He glanced at the guard troops. They were alert. His own Constructicons? Ready. Starscream? Standing, looking impatient. Let him stew a bit, Hook thought. I'm not going to hurry for him.

He made a show of checking, and rechecking, his calculations. He called Scrapper over, had him perform some final tests. Every few seconds, he'd glance at Starscream. Careful now...time this right. There. Starscream was stepping forward, opening his mouth to speak...

Hook activated the Key.

From the floor in front of him, a pylon arose, flowing up out of the metal like a living thing. The top of the pylon glowed brightly, level with Hook's face. He took a different shape each time, Hook noted. Why?

Then, the voice. Deep, resonant, and terrifying. To every Cybertronian, it was literally the voice of the Creator. The Quintessons had built their shells -- but *he* had made their souls.

"BEFORE CYBERTRON WAS, I WAS. WHO AWAKENS ME?"

"I...Hook, one of your children. I ask you to give life to this being. Make him a warrior, a soldier, a skilled fighter for the Decepticon cause. Make him strong, focussed, disciplined. Take the best of those who compose his body, in order to form his soul." Well, it was a pretty speech, Hook thought to himself, but *he* was not a simple computer to obey inputs blindly. The next few seconds would tell.

There was an almost imperceptible flicker. Then: "IT IS DONE."

The pylon melted back into the ground. The Key stopped glowing. Hook turned back to the being behind him, and saw the light flicker in his eyes...

**** Darkness.
Light.
Awareness.

For the first time, light flooded through newly activated optics. At the same time, the light of consciousness exploded internally. For a brief...painfully brief...moment, the new being was one with all of Cybertron, linked to Vector Sigma, the source of all consciousness, all life.

And then the connection shattered, forever, and the new being stood alone.

A voice. Words.

"Who are you?"

There was no need to ponder that. Self-identity was instinctive, as was speech and basic functionality. There was no period of uselessness;a Cybertronian was self-supporting from the instant of its' creation.

"I...AM...BRUTICUS."

Bruticus looked down, allowing himself to identify what he saw. Below him, many other Cybertronians...but so tiny! Around him...a chamber, huge compared to the little beings below him.

And there were voices! So many voices, echoing through his mind...hard to think. Hard to filter them out. But there was something else...duty. Yes, duty. I am a soldier. A soldier obeys orders. The information flowed into his consciousness from the vast store of data he was born knowing, but not understanding. But I have no orders to obey! There was a moment of confusion, of panic, of doubt, then the answer came:Ask for them.

So he did.

"WHAT...ARE...MY...ORDERS?"

Hook looked up, trying to control his excitement. Every prior experiment had either collapsed in a pile of brain-dead wreckage at this point or gone on a mad rampage. But this one....no. It was too early to tell. Still, no reason not to have fun...

"We must test your reflexes!" Hook pointed at Starscream. "Pretend that one is an enemy! What do you do?"

An enemy? What was...then it came to his consciousness. An enemy must be destroyed. But how? There was so much information on combat and fighting in his memory storage, but how to pick what to do? For a moment, there was confusion, then he knew. The voices were telling him!

He lurched towards Starscream, clumsily at first, then more surely. His body felt odd initially, like it wasn't really his, but then he got the feel for it. The enemy, the small blue one...grab him! Crush him! Hurl him against the wall!

Deep within, Brawl exhorted Bruticus to action. Starscream had humiliated him, trapped him, tortured him...now he'd make him pay! And the others weren't resisting...indeed, they seemed eager to wreak their own vengeance, and this body they shared was a perfect tool. Individual conflicts forgotten, the five and one formed, for a time, a single consciousness, united in purpose.

Starscream had a second to react in horror at Hook's pronouncement, then began to stagger backwards, watching the lumbering giant move towards him with ever-growing dexterity and purpose. In three steps, it had transformed from a clumsy gargantuan to a smoothly striding engine of devastation.

Cold metal pressed against Starscream's back. Back to the wall, he thought. Well, that's when I'm at my best. So....Hook wants to test this creature's reflexes, eh? Let's see how he does against the Ace of the Cybertronian Air Academy!

His metallic features set in a malign sneer, Starscream transformed to his flight mode and launched directly at Bruticus. The creature was too big for null-rays, and that wouldn't be fun, anyway...Starscream summoned forth his wingtip lasers, each appearing at the vertex of one of his three sail-like wings.

His first shots caught Bruticus square in the chest. Only light discoloration appeared, of course, but it still stung. Bruticus tried to swat at the small flyer, but it wasn't there...then another sting, from behind...he whirled, and there was a lashing burn along a leg...he bent down, and a laser seared along an arm. No matter which way he turned, it wasn't there! His motions grew more frantic. The voices were all calling out contradictory commands....too much information, too many conflicting ideas....he felt his mind starting to fracture...

..and then his body did, too, and Bruticus' personality fragmented among the five bodies, to lie dormant until they joined again. The five fell to the ground, seared from where Starscream had raked them in their combined form. Onslaught staggered to his feet, and fixed Starscream with a truly evil stare.

"What is the point in tormenting a newly-born warrior?"

"The point is to be sure you have control over him!" Starscream shouted back, his fear finally coming to the fore. If he'd been a trifle slower, if one of those blows had connected...."We've already SEEN what happens if something that size can't be controlled correctly!" He smiled at Hook, who said nothing.

The other four began to speak at once. "That was...."

"FUN!" exclaimed Brawl.

"disgusting." sneered Blast-Off.

"intriguing." Vortex was almost purring. Such interesting minds....

"disturbing." Swindle looked around at his four partners. He had never imagined the deepest recesses of his mind exposed like that. He considered all he had learned about them...and feared all they learned about him. What good was a treasure trove of blackmail information when it was shared by four others?

Well....two others. Brawl was too stupid to know what to do with it, Blast-Off too haughty to care. Onslaught, he knew, would use it to keep them in line....but Vortex...there's the real problem.

"Pondering something, Swindle?" Vortex had closed the gap between them. "A new deal? Some treachery? It astonishes me how....entangled...you are. You skim off the top while dealing from the bottom, as it were."

"Not at all, not at all. It's obvious that your...militaristic...background blinds you to the intricacies of modern commerce. I'll be *quite* happy to explain anything you might fail to understand."

Vortex laughed. "Oh, believe me, I understand all too well."

Hook and Scrapper approached. "The others will accompany you back to your cell. I'll be contacting you later regarding the timing of further tests."

"'Cell'?" Swindle's voice echoed practiced outrage. "Haven't we proven our loyalty?"

Hook's eyes glowed malevolently. "Do you take me for a fool? It will be a long time before you are trusted enough to..." he stopped. Soundwave was beginning to transmit a signal.

"WRONG, Hook! I am the arbiter of security here!" Galvatron's voice was, as always, a mixture of authority and insanity. "*MY* judgement says they are to be given adequate lodging in the main complex. Dare YOU question it?" Even through the hologram, Galvatron radiated an aura of menace.

"N..No, Administrator. I was just..."

"Just DEFYING my ORDERS! You are fortunate I permit you to continue existing. Do as I command!" With that, the hologram blinked off. Soundwave stood, impassive and uncommenting, but Hook knew that he was scanning for any sign of treason. In mute rebuttal, Hook began to mentally recite the tensile strengths of the three thousand, six hundred and ninety-one metals available on Cybertron, at all known temperatures. In binary.

"Hey! You heard Galvatron. Stop stallin'! Take us to our rooms!"

"Very well, Brawl. Long Haul! Bonecrusher! Escort them to the western corridor, third level."

****

Swindle studied the room he had been given. It was small -- perhaps sixty feet by forty feet. On the left wall was a recharging palette, on the right a small energon dispenser and a computer terminal. A circular holodisplay occupied the center of the room; displayed was a menu of programs, almost all propaganda or battle simulations.

Swindle went to the palette, lay down, and extended tiny wires from his fingers into the appropriate sockets on the bed. The connection was made. His consciousness began a slow, voluntary shutdown; his internal systems began shunting energy from servos and polymer muscle and integrity fields into creating thousands upon thousands of nanobots which spread through his body like a horde of ants. Energon was converted into simple matter, the simple matter into complex molecules, which were transported by the nanobots to where it was needed. Worn rotors were rebuilt, frayed wiring strengthened. Serious damage, of course, required hours or days in repair bays; the self-repair mechanisms could only do so much.

As his body regenerated itself, so did his mind. Beings who live for hundreds of thousands, even millions, of years need to filter and process their information even more than short-lived beings do. The total capacity of a Cybertronian brain was immense, but still finite; Swindle's priority filters, his 'subconscious', if you will, discarded some experiences as irrelevant, compressed similar experiences together to save space, and subtly edited a few so as to not set up negative feedback loops that might conflict with his fundamental programming.

One of his countless mental defense programs noted a discrepancy. It attempted to call in correctional algorithms, run doublechecks on the data, and signal the conscious mind of the problem...when it was overwhelmed and devoured by a cyberspatial entity that smashed through Swindle's internal barriers as if they did not exist. The entity rampaged across the mind, altering, tainting, infecting...then withdrew as quickly as it had come.

Swindle stirred slightly on the bed, then relaxed again, oblivious.

****

"A *hurricane* cannon?"

Onslaught nodded. "Yes, a hurricane cannon." He glanced disdainfully down at Hook. "You *can* install one, can’t you?"

Hook looked up from his workbench. A dozen tools, two dozen holographic sketches in various states of completion, and a multitude of parts lay splayed out in front of him. Around him, the huge workroom was crammed with much the same -- an incredible array of technology and data, most only partially understood.

"Of course! But I’m curious as to why you want one for Bruticus. Wouldn’t an electron gun be a better choice?" Besides, Hook thought to himself, I’ve got one of those preassembled...

"No. Bruticus is powerful, but his aim is poor. While trying to draw a bead on one foe, he can be overwhelmed. His strategy, then, is to disable a large number of attackers, then destroy them bare-handed...or fragment and let the Combaticons handle the now-weakened attackers. The flexibility of this new style of fighting offers many....possibilities."

Which was true as far as it went, he mused, but the hurricane cannon was needed for his immediate plans. It could be replaced later if necessary.

Hook was silent for a moment. If I defy him, and Bruticus fails, I look bad. But if I accede to his requests...if Bruticus still fails, it becomes *his* fault, and if Bruticus triumphs, I can claim some of the credit for building his weapons. Not bad...

"I’ll be happy to do it, Onslaught. I’ll let you know shortly when the fitting will take place."

"Good." Onslaught was puzzled at how quickly the Constructicon commander had relented. Hook had been extremely difficult of late...the success of the "Combiner-B" project, rather than elevating him, had made him replaceable...Devastator was no longer unique.

And, if all goes well, in short order, Devastator will be out of the picture for a while.

***

"One more time, Brawl."

"Come on, Swindle...we’ve done this twelve times already."

"And you got it wrong ten of those twelve. Say it again."

"I go to find Long Haul, right? And I make fun of da fact he got whupped by dat wimp Autobot Bumblebee, right? And he’s supposed to tell me he can whup me, and then, I tear him to pieces, right?"

Swindle nodded. "Right."

"But...I kinda *like* Long Haul. I don’t wanna rip him. You want I should rip up Hook instead?"

Swindle tossed his hands in the air. "I give up. Vortex...why don’t you try explaining it to gear-brain here?"

Vortex nodded silently, then walked over to Brawl. "Brawl. If you do not follow Onslaught’s plan to the letter, he will tear out your endoskeleton and use it clean the grit from his joints. Understand?"

Brawl, stunned into silence for once, just shook his head affirmatively. Vortex turned sneeringly towards Swindle. "You know, I think our Commander overestimates your psychological acumen."

"Hey....I prefer to get people to deal with me because they want to, not because they’re terrified."

"*I* prefer whatever works."

"And *I* would prefer to not deal with you...or with anyone else...at all. But I see no realistic alternative."

"Yeah, Blast-Off. We all know how much *better* you are than the rest of us."

"I’m glad to see you acknowledge it." he replied, missing the sarcasm entirely.

"ATTENTION!" The four ceased what was about to become a full scale bickerfest and turned towards the door. Onslaught stood there, arms crossed, looking down at them.

"I’ve secured the weapon from Hook. He’ll be installing it in Bruticus’ subspace partition tomorrow. Then, next time we drill..."

Onslaught bent down so he was optic-to-optic with Brawl. "Brawl, we’re depending on you. Freedom or slavery rests on what you do now. Do you understand your orders?"

"Yeah. I do."

"Good. Then carry them out!"

Brawl transformed. His repulsors hummed as the built up the power to lift his armored form off the metal floor. The sound became a deafening rumble as he accelerated out of the central meeting room.

"Uh...boss..."

"Call me ‘Commander’, Swindle. We will have discipline."

Yeah, and call me something other than Swindle, why don’t you, thought Swindle, but kept it to himself. "Commander. What if Bruticus doesn’t go along with the plan? I mean...he’s someone, too. What’s in it for him?"

Onslaught considered. As a general, he was used to thinking in terms of orders, loyalty, discipline...but Swindle thought in terms of deals and profits. He had useful insights, sometimes.

What *was* in it for Bruticus?

***

In his vehicle mode, Long Haul resembled an elongated platform, with a pilot area at the front end and powerful thrusters at the back. His broad, flat center surface could carry tremendous amounts of cargo, and he could reconfigure it for liquid transport as well. Physically, he was ideally suited for his supply role; mentally, it chafed at him. Hook and Scrapper got to design and build; Mixmaster made explosives and unique materials; Bonecrusher was often on the front lines, and even Scavenger got to explore and discover. But *I* just move stuff.

Forward scanners picked up a moving shape....Autobots? Nah. Brawl. Probably with some new orders from Galvatron.

"Yeah, what is it?" Long Haul grunted.

"Uh...Onslaught said there was...uhm...trouble possible, and dat I should escort you to Vilnacron."

Long Haul said nothing at first, just moved over on the broad roadway to allow Brawl to roll parallel to him. After a while, though, his boredom got the better of him. "So Onslaught thinks I can’t handle any trouble on my own? What does *Galvatron* think?"

OK, thought Brawl. Dat’s my cue..."Well, I ain’t talked to the Administrator *personally*, but I’ve been hearin’ dat he’s a little worried, what with what happened *last* time you was out alone..." Swindle had spent hours forcing Brawl to memorize a dozen leading lines.

"Last time? Hey, that little runt got the drop on me, that’s all..."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say."

"Hey! You tryin’ to tell me you don’t believe me? I coulda took him out EASY if I’d gotten a clean shot!"

"Right, right. I ain’t sayin’ otherwise..." But his voice clearly betrayed his disbelief.

"OK, that’s IT!" With a sudden lurch, Long Haul transformed, his cargo of tritanium armor plate scattering across the road, some falling to the vast gulches to the sides, where the scavengers would have a field day. He then leapt onto Brawl’s back.

Brawl bucked, firing his powerful bottom thrusters. Long Haul went careening off as Brawl, too, transformed. The Constructicon bounced once, twice, then skidded to the edge of the roadway as Brawl advanced on him...

Too slow! Long Haul shifted back to vehicle mode and accelerated, preparing to ram...

..as Brawl leapt up, over and onto his back! Before Long Haul could stop, swerve, or transform, Brawl smashed *down*, hard, driving his fist through the roof of the vehicle’s forward section. Long Haul screamed in pain and began to skid out of control, as Brawl smashed down again and again. He had orders not to do more damage than was necessary, but the bloodlust was overtaking him....

Nearby, a data transmission tower, one of thousands lining the road, came to life. Arms extended from the transmission points as a head arose from the main tower. Legs formed as the central tower expanded.

Soundwave wasted no time. "Slugfest, eject. Operation: Restraint." Slugfest was about the least useful of his children for this particular purpose, but the others were on assignment...

Slugfest’s optics flickered as they adjusted to the light. His body resembled the upper half of a circle, resting on red treads. Along his back was a row of monomolecular blades, which began to vibrate fiercely. He could spread them, extend them, contract them -- making close contact with him was impossible even for the most heavily armored. His head, a tiny cone pitted with sensors, seemed incongruous on the bulk of his body.

He saw the battle in front of him. Restraint? Whatever. I’ll bet they’re fighting about me, he thought, as he lumbered into the fray.

ENEMY--DESTROY! ENEMY--DESTROY! Brawl’s primary behavior modules were dominating all aspects of his intellect. Subprocesses devoted to restraint, caution, self-preservation, etc., were being given no priority at all.

Long Haul, meanwhile, was barely functional. His body had gone into virtual shutdown, with all resources being devoted to preserving his laser-core -- the essence of his existence as a being, not a machine.

Slugfest’s plan was simple. Separate the combatants, then hit Brawl until Brawl stopped moving. He communicated as much to Soundwave, who appeared to impassively observing but was, in fact, calling in any other Decepticons in the immediate area. A little inter-faction squabbling was expected, even condoned -- but Brawl was on the verge of rendering Long Haul permanently dysfunctional, and THAT was going too far.

The first wave of missiles blasted Brawl and the unconscious Long Haul apart. Shrapnel tore at Brawl's armor, doing little damage, but one spike landed in an exposed joint. Pain shot through one leg, and Brawl turned to acknowledge the new threat.

NEW ENEMY -- REDIRECT OFFENSE! Brawl turned as the missiles exploded around him. There was a yellow robot heading towards him, and the blur of the blades on his back spelled trouble. As he watched, the blades extended and spread out, giving the new enemy a deadly defense. But if he didn’t close, the missiles would keep pounding him....as instinctual responses failed, higher level processes came back on-line...and Brawl suddenly realized where he was, what he was doing...and how much trouble he was in.

"Hey! Hold it! It’s OK!"

Soundwave sent a rapid command to Slugfest to hold. Thundercracker and Dirge would be arriving in seconds, anyway. Then the matter would be resolved by a quick tribunal.

****

The tribunal hall was mostly empty. This altercation was unlikely to end in an all-out battle, so there were few spectators. And Galvatron was away for a few days, overseeing some remote Decepticon brigades, so it was the dispassionate Shockwave who was running the show -- no fun there.

"Due to this *unprovoked* assault by Brawl, one of MY team will be incapacitated for weeks -- and that will interfere with my plans! I demand that he be punished by dissolution!"

Shockwave, serving as Judge, Jury, and likely Executioner, looked down at Hook. The cyclopean eye revealed nothing, neither dimming nor brightening, and the hexagonal face showed no expression at all.

"Your entreaty has been noted. Your request is considered valid."

"Wait! I demand the right to speak in defense of *my* subordinate."

"Affirmed, Commander Onslaught. You may proceed."

Onslaught nodded, then gestured to his right. "I hereby appoint Swindle to state my case for me."

"Uhm...yes. Now then...Hook, of the Constructions, called the assault ‘unprovoked’. I would like to request Soundwave, who was present, to replay the exact sequence leading up to the incident in question." Soundwave’s presence along the chosen route had been known to all of the Combaticons *except* Brawl. Onslaught had planned this little trick well.

Soundwave did as requested. A holographic image formed, replaying the minutes leading up to the brawl. As Hook watched in dismay, it became more and more apparent that, not only did Long Haul strike the first blow, but that Brawl had said nothing particularly offensive -- just the standard teasing which was par for the course among all soldiers. Long Haul’s own temper had sparked the fight.

"As you can see," Swindle continued, "my comrade is wholly blameless in this instance. Now, it is true he defended himself with perhaps a bit too much vigor -- but I would refer you to the incident of Starscream vs. Firecloud, a situation which mirrors this in degree and..."

"Further speech is wasteful. I have reached a decision. Onslaught, you sent a member of your team on a mission without proper authorization. You will serve three shifts of patrol duty in the Sewage Swamps. Brawl, you have seriously damaged a fellow Decepticon. You will suffer a 1-grade demotion and 1/4 reduction in Energon rations for the next week. That is all."

"WHAT?!" Hook strode forward. "A minor grade reduction and a trivial punishment detail? Long Haul is nearly destroyed! It will be weeks before he is even capable of limited function, longer still before he will be fully repaired!"

"I am Galvatron’s voice in matters of internal dispute. Do you care to appeal my decision to HIM?"

Hook stepped back, his voice quiet in defeat. "No."

"Then I declare this tribunal ended."

***

In Onslaught’s quarters, considerably more spacious than those of his subordinates, the five Combaticons engaged in a rare moment of camaraderie.

"Hey! We did it!"

"Indeed, Swindle. Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I thought."

"Thanks a LOT, Blast-Off."

"What about me? I’m da one what got pummeled on!"

"You have all performed admirably, my soldiers. Tomorrow, Bruticus will be summoned for another round of combat practice. Now that there is no possibility of Devastator being formed, we should have no meaningful opposition. Tonight, though...I am going to be wading up to my optics in toxic sludge." He glared down at Swindle, who just shrugged.

"Look, I did my best..."

****

Elsewhere...

The monitor glowed brightly. It used a different frequency than the ones Galvatron routinely employed, the ones which Swindle had found trivial to block.

"Look, Starscream! We need to warn Galva...no. We don’t. But what do we do?"

"Simple, Megablast. We let them go. This is just what I hoped would happen."

And Starscream laughed, for a long time...

End Chapter Four