Back to Main
        To Chapter Three
 

        "Your hospitality is unparalleled in this galaxy." Cyclonus could not help but let the sarcasm drip into his vocoder. "Pray you do not subject me to it again. I am but a single Decepticon; there are those who are more powerful, who would not hesitate to crush you utterly for what you have caused to happen here today."

        "Again, we most humbly apologize for our error," the central Quintesson said, his egg-like shape bowing slightly on its multiple tentacles and antigravity beam. "We have seen where we were guilty."

        "I sincerely doubt that; but what morals you carry is of no significance to me. I have come for your knowledge."

        "We have much of that, yes," the Quintesson on the right said, his voice faintly snakelike. He had changed his face, so that Cyclonus was now gazing into a slightly demonic, red-helmed and red-eyed face.

        "So I have been told. It is the reason I have come here—to get that knowledge from you. And after this debacle, I think you owe it to me to give your knowledge freely, if for no other reason than the small amount of energon you have made me waste." Small amount, indeed. "I have discovered a remnant of Unicron, his leg. From it, I wish to extract the secrets of his power, his weaponry, his very indestructible hide. I would have this technology for myself and for my Decepticons, and I would have it now. And I would have you glean those secrets for me."

        "The secrets of Unicron," the Quintesson on the left spoke up now, having changed his face to that of a red-turbaned humanoid, "are many and vast. How can you hope we can unlock them?"

        Cyclonus pointed his gun at the Quintesson. "It is amazing what a being can do when its life is threatened, don’t you think?"

        "We must discuss this amongst ourselves," the central Quintesson now spoke.

        "You misunderstand my purpose. I have not come to ask for your help, Quintesson. You shall give it, or you shall die. You have already had your minions attack me once—if I am attacked again, you yourselves shall pay the price for your stupidity." Cyclonus was lying—his energon levels were at the point where he would have to run if he were to actually come under attack again. That was fine—if that happened, he would bring all the Decepticons here, and they would wipe this planet clean of life, but for a few harried specimens of Quintessons. Genocide through no fault of his own. All he came for was unlimited energon, and he would have it, by Primus, or the Quintessons would cease to be. "Do I make myself clear?"

        The central Quintesson narrowed his eyes and spoke haltingly. "We. . .exist. Only to serve Cyclonus Supreme Commander."

        Cyclonus smiled. "Excellent."

        "Bring us this remnant of All-Seeing Unicron, Cyclonus Supreme Commander. We must get to work on it as quickly as possible, to please you." The Quintesson on the right said.

        "You shall work by my whims, Quintesson. Do not forget your place—under my heel!"

        The Quintesson’s tentacles spread wide around its base, and it bowed its egg-shaped body dramatically. "Of course, mighty Cyclonus. I meant not to offend."

        Cyclonus raised his right leg and brought it quickly down on top of the Quintesson. Its shell was roughly as delicate as that of an egg, as well, shattering nicely. Cyclonus stood over the two remaining Quintessons, his right leg embedded in their compatriot. The faces they chose to show on the front of their bodies carried looks of horror.

        "Do not ever think that I will allow any of you to speak to me with such insubordination. I will not tolerate sarcasm from you any more than I have to."

        The other Quintesssons nodded quickly. Cyclonus extracted his foot—he would have to wash it off, later, if for no other reason than cleaning off the unpleasant slime for a smoother transformation. He rather enjoyed killing the thing; it reminded him too much of Starscream, a figure he remembered only dimly as being detestable. Megatron had tolerated Starscream because he was a good warrior. Cyclonus knew that this Quintesson was very intelligent—but he would not tolerate potential treachery. After all, look where it had gotten Megatron. No, he had gotten all he genuinely needed from the dead Quintesson—an idea.

        "Enough of this needless destruction! Obey me, and you shall not suffer. Betray me, and you shall die. Two dozen of my minions will arrive here shortly with the leg of Unicron. Do as I have commanded—study it, and learn his secrets. Remember that you belong to me. If you dare to betray me, I shall bring genocide to this misshapen world. Do you understand me?"

        "Yes," the Quintessons agreed in unison.

        "So be it." Cyclonus leapt into the air, transforming into his sleek starfighter mode as he did so. With his powerful nuclear turbines rocketing him back into the chill of deep space, he thought about his deal with these Quintessons. Unicron’s technology for their lives. They would be fools, though, to give all of Unicron’s secrets to the Decepticons without keeping at least copies of them for themselves. He did not trust these Quintessons to hold their end of the bargain—they were cruel and deceitful, as their reputations attested. Qualities he could admire, yes, but he would eventually have to destroy them because of those qualities. For now, though, they were useful to him. He activated his commlink.

        "Scourge! Your Sweeps are to take the leg of Unicron to the world of the Quintessons! You shall accompany me—I have business elsewhere, and I need you to attend me."

        "Of course, Cyclonus."

        "Unidentified spacecraft, please hold position and identify yourself."

        Bumblebee frowned at the monitor. The Autobots had set up this remote observation post on the third and final of Cybertron’s moons, and there had generally been very little action. He wished he had Spike here to keep him company, but Spike had a family and a world of his own to go back to, one he hadn’t seen in a long time. So now Bumblebee was up here, all alone, watching on the sensor screen as a blip approached Cybertron on a direct course.

        "Thank Primus you’re not planet-sized," he said aloud to himself before trying the comm signal again.

        "Unidentified space—"

        "Greetings, Earthman. I come in peace." Came the reply, cutting Bumblebee off in mid-sentence.

        "Uh, you are--?"

        "Wreck-Gar’s the name, junk hauling’s the game. Where’s the beef?"

        "Beef?"

        "There she blows! ‘Tis Moby Dick!"

        "What are you talking about?!?" Bumblebee felt like he was losing his grip on reality—what was this Wreck-Gar talking about? He made no sense. He had to call this in to Autobase. "Come in, Autobase. Jazz, are you there?"

        "Right here, little buddy. You got any jumpin’ and jivin’ going down?"

        Primus, Jazz was almost as difficult to understand. But at least he’d been around Jazz for a few dozen years. "I’m not sure, Jazz. I’ve got somebody out here named Wreck-Gar, but—"

        "Finally!" Rodimus Prime cut into the transmission, and Bumblebee’s monitor split to show both Rodimus’ face and Jazz’s. "Let him through, Bumblebee. He’s here to pick up Unicron’s head."

        Bumblebee looked at the viewscreen that showed the ratty brown ship Wreck-Gar was on. On the side of the ship, written in green human letters, was "Wreck-Gar Service. Best in the Galaxy. Call 1-900-GET-JUNK." It had already flown past the outer layers of Cybertron’s defense grid and was moving in on Unicron’s head at a pretty good clip.

        "I don’t think that’s going to be a problem, Rodimus. Bumblebee out."

        Unicron’s head. He would be glad to see the end of it. He remembered being sucked into the thing, to feed its massive hunger for energon. Of course, anything that big would need a lot of energon, but that didn’t mean Bumblebee wanted to be the food. This was a good start, a nice way to get Cybertron back to its pre-War days. The place would be really nice without Unicron’s dead eyes staring down at everybody all the time.

        "I might even go there for a visit, now." Bumblebee said to himself. He nodded. "Yeah, that’s a good idea. It’ll be good to get my feet back on home territory."

        Lord Ghyron watched as, in the sky over Quintessa, the leg of Unicron grew larger. Already the world shook with the gravitational forces birthed by the enormous fragment of the Planet-Killer. If the Decepticons did not land it on the surface of Quintessa soon, it would shake the planet apart—another victim of Unicron. It would almost be a blessing—that way, he wouldn’t have to help these Decepticons in their plots and plans for conquering the universe.

        "Why have we agreed to help them, Ghyron?" Lord Churkon asked, echoing Ghyron’s own sentiments. "They have barely diminished our forces. And neither of us cared for Striaka."

        "Fool! Have you forgotten our past?" When Churkon didn’t answer, obviously an affirmation of Ghyron’s claim, Ghyron continued. "That was a Transformer—more specifically, a Decepticon. Nine million years ago, we created their race, and their world of Cybertron. We built them as commodities, as slave labor for the highest bidders. Cybertron was our factory, at least until one revolutionary, A3, inspired the Transformers to revolt. We lost their world, and the money we were getting from them."

        "And we’re helping them specifically so they can betray us again?" Churkon asked sarcastically.

        "We are helping them, fool, because by helping the Decepticons destroy the Autobots, we sow confusion in the ranks of the Transformers. With luck, they will destroy each other, or so badly damage their forces that we can travel to Cybertron with our own armadas, with our Sharkticons, and retake that ancient world. Vector Sigma was a singular accomplishment—you’ve seen how weak our Sharkticons are in comparison to these original Transformers. We need the power of Vector Sigma in order to recreate our ancient breed, and make our Sharkticons worthy of being our creations."

        "It is unfortunate we have never been able to recreate Vector Sigma."

        "Not for lack of trying! I am happy that you know at least something of our past, Churkon. Now, come—if my plan is to succeed, we will need unity among all our people. We must inform them that we aid the Decepticons now to gain the power of Unicron for them and for ourselves, and to regain what once was ours!"

        Both Quintessons left the wrecked Sharkticon arena, and as Ghyron floated toward the communications center in the complex adjacent to the arena, he felt the need to cleanse himself in a pleasant energon bath. His former bowing and scraping to the Decepticon Cyclonus had left him feeling vaguely soiled, despite his knowledge that he did so for a greater cause. He shook off such emotion—it would overpower his will, if he let it, and that would do him no good whatsoever. Cybertron, and Vector Sigma, would belong to the Quintessons once again, he would ensure it!

        The shaking of the planet under his tentacles ceased with one final, enormous wrench. The key to the Quintessons’ return to glory had arrived, delivered on the silver wings of their treacherous creations.

        "We’re going where?"

        Cyclonus would have rolled his optics, were they deployed. "We are traveling to Cybertron, to the head of Unicron. As I just said."

        "But why? I mean, it—it’s Unicron! What if He’s still alive—He’ll be angry we betrayed him! We’ve got no reason to go stirring up ghosts!"

        "Scourge, your superstition is becoming tiresome. The Quintessons mentioned Unicron as the ‘All-Seer.’ This fits well with what we already know of Unicron—he knew the location of the Autobot Matrix at all times, he knew what we said and did, despite the fact that at all times he was not present at the location of the things he saw! Granted, he might have been able to see through us, having installed some kind of tracker device when he rebuilt us—but I sincerely doubt he was able to do the same with the Matrix of Leadership! No, the Quintessons were right—he could see far beyond the scope of his being, and with any luck he was able to see where Galvatron disappeared to."

        "But. . .but. . ."

        "But nothing! We approach Cybertron—there! Now, let us hold our positions until we see the head of Unicron in its orbit. We should be able to time our approach in order to avoid the Autobot scanners on the surface, and the others on the surviving moon."

        They waited for nearly three hours. Scourge, on occasion, would speak up once again about his fears, but after Cyclonus ignored him for about ten minutes he would go quiet again. After a while, even Cyclonus became restless—Unicron’s head orbited Cybertron very quickly, and it should have come into view by this time. The third moon was in the right position, but—

        "Blast!" Cyclonus fired up his thrusters and spun in space, turning away from Cybertron. "Scourge, follow me! They’ve taken the head of Unicron away from Cybertron!"

        "What? Why?" Scourge followed, and they left the vicinity of Cybertron—though Scourge’s thrusters couldn’t match Cyclonus’s speed, and he had to struggle to keep up with his leader.

        "Because of superstitions like yours, no doubt! Come, Scourge—there is only one place where it could have gone. The Autobots would not have destroyed it, it is not in their nature. Which leaves only—"

        "The planet of Junk!" Scourge cried, excited that he had been able to follow Cyclonus’s train of logic. "I’ll summon the Sweeps!"

        "Do not! I want them on Quintessa, watching the Quintessons, for the moment. I do not trust them alone with the technology of Unicron. No, Scourge, if Unicron’s head is on the planet of Junk, it will be better for a smaller force to sneak in and take the information from Unicron’s data tracks. And if, by some miracle, the Junkions have only recently begun to move Unicron, then we can perhaps catch them in deep space, where their primitive forms and land-based vehicle modes will be no match for our space superiority. Now, come! For the glory of the Decepticons!"
 

       To Chapter Five