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        "Sky Lynx, come in buddy, I know you’re out there." Jazz’s voice came in crystal-clear over the subspace radio.

        "I’m answering him this time, Cliffjumper. You know my reputation for being reliable."

        "You know he’s just going to give us orders to return to Cybertron, Sky Lynx."

        "An order’s an order, Cliffjumper. I simply wouldn’t be able to show myself if word got out that I didn’t obey an order."

        Cliffjumper sighed. "Fine, do whatever you want. After all, your reputation is more important that finding the Unicron-spawn that did this."

        "Cliffjumper—" Sky Lynx wanted to say something about how Cliffjumper was being unfair, about how that had been a very mean-spirited thing to say, but in his laser core he knew the little red bot was right. He had been thinking about his reputation first, and justice for Darios IX second.

        "I mean," Cliffjumper started, straightening in the pilot’s seat, "we’ve kept up radio silence, so technically we’re not refusing anything, now are we? We don’t know that’s what they’re going to tell us."

        "Yes, we do. That’s why we’ve kept up radio silence."

        Cliffjumper shook his head. "No, no, no—that’s not what I mean. I mean, failure to receive an order isn’t the same thing as failure to obey an order, now is it?"

        Sky Lynx thought about it. The Autobots had no regulations books or anything of the sort—there had never really been a need, as everybody had their place and worked to the best of their ability in that field. And finding clever ways to get around orders had never been Sky Lynx’s specialty. However, what Cliffjumper said did make a good deal of sense. And everybody on Cybertron knew him to be a very sensible bot.

        "I’m not sure it would hold up as a good enough excuse, but I’ll buy it for now. You’re just going to have to keep reminding me of it, or I’m going to give in to my better judgement. And everybody on Cybertron knows what good judgement I have."

        Cliffjumper would’ve rolled his optics, but he’d gotten used to Sky Lynx during their month-long stint of patrol duty. "Sure thing, Sky Lynx, big buddy. Whatever energizes your drivers."

        The control panel in front of the ship’s helmsman exploded into a thousand fragments, most of which drove through his skin and killed him. Captain Mac Calligan swore under his breath and turned to his communications officer.

        "Have you been able to break through the jamming field?" He had to almost-yell over the fires crackling on the bridge of his deep-space fuel tanker, the Big Mac.

        "No, Captain, I haven’t." The young man called, frowning and shaking his head. "If that message we were able to get out before they set up the jamming field doesn’t reach anybody, then we’re screwed."

        Another explosion rocked the ship. Calligan saw through the windows at the front of the bridge that another Sweep had just made a strafing run across the Big Mac’s upper hull.

        "Dorsal laser cannons are out, Cap’n!" The firing control officer yelled from her post. "Shit! They’re coming in for another run, and we’ve got no way of defending ourselves!"

        "I thought all the Decepticons had disappeared, dammit!" Calligan stood up and moved toward the helm—no good, it had been completely destroyed. "We can’t take evasive action, and with engines at only half-power we won’t be able to outrun them. Brace yourselves!" Calligan crouched on the deck and put his arms over his head in a crash posture. The other two people left on the bridge did the same, leaning against their own consoles, waiting for the inevitable explosion that would decompress the crew compartments and send them in pieces to meet their maker.

        It didn’t come.

        After nearly a minute, Calligan stood up and looked around out the main windows. "What is it? What happened? Did they veer off?"

        "I’m not reading them on my scope, sir." The weapons officer said, a smile cracking wide on her face. "Hot damn, sir, we made it!"

        Relief flooded over Calligan. He had been hoping the Decepticons wouldn’t want to go too near the main shipping lanes for fear of being detected. When they first attacked, he set the ship on a course for a full throttle run toward the nearest space lane—they must’ve made it there just in time. That would teach him to try and take the most direct routes from one place to another—there had been a reason the Autobots set up the shipping lanes, namely to protect ships from the Decepticons. That would teach him to ignore them to shave off some time from his schedule.

        "Confirm the readout."

        After a few seconds: "Done, sir. They’re not there!"

        "And the jamming signal is gone, as well," the comm officer said.

        Calligan nodded. "All right, send out another signal. Tell them we managed to survive—" he looked over to the helm, where the ship’s young navigator was slumped back in his chair, his arm hanging lifelessly over the side. "—we survived, but we took losses. Any assistance would be appreciated."

        "Aye, Captain. Sending message. . .now."

        "Captain?" The weapons officer called. Calligan stepped over to peer at her console over her shoulder. "Sir, we’re nowhere near the shipping lanes. They’re still a thousand klicks ahead of us."

        Calligan straightened. "Then why—?"

        "Thanks for sendin’ that message, Cappy." A roughly human-sized blue robot stepped onto the bridge from the corridor outside. The silver guns in his hands were trained on Calligan and his crew. "We really appreciate it."

        Calligan recognized him from television broadcasts. "Rumble, of the Decepticons."

        Rumble bowed slightly. "In the circuits. Now, if you don’t mind, could you all just line up over there, in the middle of the bridge? I really appreciate it, thanks." His voice was dripping with smugness, and his robotic smile carried none of the warmth that Calligan could feel from the smiles of the Autobots.

        Calligan hesitated in following Rumble’s command. "Just take the fuel and go. We won’t put up a fight—there are just three of us against all of you. I assume you Decepticreeps just cut a hole in the side of the ship and flew in? Like you did with the shuttle that attacked Autobot City?"

        "Gee, Cappy, guess I’m especially lucky that you didn’t figure all that out before you sent the message, huh? You, there—don’t bother, Soundwave’ll be jamming your signals again."

        Calligan looked over to the communications console, where Rumble had motioned with his gun. The officer there frowned at Calligan, shook his head. Calligan looked back at the Decepticon. "Look, you’ve crippled my ship and killed one of my crew. Please, just take the fuel and go."

        Rumble smiled. "No, see, you don’t understand. We need the ship, too."

        "Then we can pilot it for you!"

        Rumble shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Cyclonus said, ‘No witnesses and no liabilities!’ An you fall into both those catemegories. And since you didn’t get in the middle of the bridge like I asked you to, I’m really going to enjoy this."

        Calligan tried to duck and roll out of the way, but Rumble was faster. On either side of him, the communications and weapons consoles were destroyed, killing the people manning them, and Rumble turned both guns on the Captain, who was now running at him with the hope that a good enough collision would at least knock Rumble off his feet.

        He was knocked off his feet by a well-aimed shot directly into his gut. He felt something give way in his back, and he could no longer feel his legs. As he fell forward, he knocked his head against a large chunk of debris from the ceiling, dazing him.

        "Stupid flesh creature," Rumble said. "I’m not gonna waste any more energy on you."

        The last thing Captain Mac Calligan felt before the world went dark for him forever was the pressure of a robot foot against his skull.

        ". . .Decepticons! We’re under. . .can’t. . .some kind of jamming. . .help us! Please. . .just a fuel transport. . .dozen of them. Help us. . ." The transmission finally ended in static.

        "Were you able to trace it?" Cliffjumper asked.

        Sky Lynx sighed. "Of course I was able to trace it, Cliffjumper. I’m changing course now—with any luck, we’ll be able to get there within a few thousand astroseconds. Hold on!"

        Sky Lynx’s engines flared with white-hot power, and he shot off toward the location of the distress call of the Big Mac. In his cockpit, Cliffjumper pulled out his laser gun and began polishing it, checking to make sure it was fully functioning and had all its charges.

        "But the Sweeps can pull it just fine, Soundwave." Rumble said, looking up at his master.

        "Additional velocity needed to escape Autobot rescue attempts." Soundwave spoke with an emotionless, monotone voice despite Rumble’s bout of insubordination. He was barely paying attention to the little Decepticon, so busy was he with Frenzy and one of the Sweeps filling energon cubes. "Activate the engines immediately."

        "Aw right, aw right," Rumble said, returning to the control room to power up the Big Mac’s four powerful thruster turbines. He looked around, realized he’d done too good a job in wrecking the place. He would have to jack in directly, from the engine room. He left again to do just that.

        ". . .dozen of them. Help us. . ."

        Skyfire would have frowned, had he been in robot mode. As it was, with no one to talk to, he traced the location of the distress call silently, narrowing down its origin point to a single small sector of space, in which the signal seemed to have lost cohesion. Typical of a jamming field. He would have sent a message that he was on his way, but didn’t bother wasting the energy—it wouldn’t have broken through the jamming field, after all.

        He changed course for the location of the freighter, and hoped he would get there in time. He hoped also that he would be able to fight off a dozen Decepticons. Then he decided they were attacking the freighter most likely because they needed fuel, and comforted himself with the thought. Without fuel, they would be a cinch.

        Cyclonus, Scourge and the Sweeps who weren’t carting their dead member with them swooped low over the Decepticons gathered on the rocky plain of dusty Charr to land in the center of their ranks. Scourge and the Sweeps transformed first, while Cyclonus hovered over the heads of the Decepticons, the thrum of his repulsorlifts swirling up little eddies in the dust on the ground.

        "What’s going on, Scourge?" Motormaster stepped forward looking down at the smaller Scourge, using his sheer size to try and intimidate an answer out of the leader of the Sweeps. Scourge, for his part, returned Motormaster’s gaze without a hint of emotion.

        "We have returned to you with a leader!" Cyclonus spoke, extending his voice as far as he could over the plain. "We have searched for a year—and we finally find the only Decepticon worthy to lead us!"

        "Spare us!" Mixmaster called. "The only one of us worthy to lead was killed by Rodimus Prime! The Decepticons are doomed!"

        The hatch atop Cyclonus opened, and Galvatron leapt up out of the cockpit to land with resounding thump! on the rocky ground. Dust kicked up from his arrival, and it almost seemed as though he were arriving amidst an enormous cloud of smoke.

        "G-Galvatron!" Mixmaster stepped back, as did most of the other Decepticons. Only those who already knew about him did not move. Motormaster crossed his arms and frowned, gazing at their returned leader with open skepticism.

        "Is this what has become of the mighty Decepticon Empire?" Galvatron asked, his voice echoing across the plain, as he strode confidently into the ranks of the Decepticons, gazing at their condition. He made brief optic contact with each of them as he passed. "We once held half the galaxy in fear of our name! Now look at us—scrounging for the barest scrap of energon, attacking each other savagely, like animals, in our hunger."

        Cyclonus looked briefly at Scourge, who glanced back and frowned. Cyclonus knew Scourge thought Galvatron had no place speaking of Decepticons attacking Decepticons—he hoped his steady gaze would be enough to keep Scourge from speaking up about the matter.

        Though he needn’t have worried. Scourge was one of the finest of the Decepticon warriors, and knew that Galvatron, and his speeches, were necessary to hold the Decepticons together. Indeed, as he watched Galvatron walk among the Decepticons, so tall that his head and nearly half his chestplate were visible over most of the Decepticons, Cyclonus admired his leader. Already he saw the Decepticons revitalized, given a hope that he himself had not been able to inspire within them.

        All, that was, except Motormaster. Cyclonus’ optics moved to the large Decepticon, watching steadily as Motormaster sized up Galvatron. Cyclonus was wondering if the leader of the Stunticons was trying to decide whether he could take Galvatron down, or whether he was trying to decide if Galvatron was the real thing. Cyclonus hoped it was the latter—but he readied his gun in case it wasn’t. After all, Motormaster had given Megatron more than a little trouble concerning the duties of leadership, and he and the Stunticons had been one of the most outspoken factions demanding control of the Decepticons for the past year. If he decided to attack Galvatron, Cyclonus would act to end his insubordination—permanently, if necessary.

        "I say our hunger is misplaced! We are Decepticons—we do not take our nourishment from mere energon. We conquer! Conquest is what drives us onward, ever onward, what has always driven us! This is what you have forgotten in my absence—that is the true reason why the Autobots have defeated you!" Galvatron’s speech hit its peak in volume as Galvatron spat the hateful words of defeat out of his mouth. Then, inexplicably, he smiled and placed his hand gently on Breakdown’s shoulder. Cyclonus wondered, briefly, if Galvatron knew what a dangerous game he was playing, directing his attentions to one of Motormaster’s Stunticons while Motormaster himself chafed at the appearance of the Decepticon leader.

        "But," Galvatron said, his voice soft, seemingly speaking just to Breakdown, though loud enough that it could be heard by all the other Decepticons on the plain, "you need not near the Autobots any longer. I have returned, and with my return shall come their fall." He whirled away from Breakdown, once again amplifying his voice to speak to the Decepticons as a whole. "We shall suffer this indignity no longer! The Autobots will be wiped off the face of Cybertron, and we shall hunt their stragglers to the ends of the universe until they have all been destroyed, and only we are left to rule! Decepticons forever!"

        A cheer rose up among the Decepticons, and even Motormaster, resigning his doubts, raised his fist in the ancient battle cry.

        "Decepticons forever! Decepticons forever! Decepticons forever!"

        Cyclonus became so caught up in the moment that he lost complete track of how much time had passed. A quick check of his internal chronometer indicated that the Decepticons had been cheering the return of their leader for nearly twenty Earth minutes when the first Decepticons spotted the ship flying in low over Charr.

        The ship was severely battle-scarred, and Cyclonus could see several weaponry emplacements that had been destroyed along its sides. It was a fairly large, rectangular ship with Earth markings on its side. The only thing that was protecting it from the full firepower of the Decepticons was the Sweeps escorting it. Its powerful engines sent a painful thrum through the thin air of Charr, stirring up the dust and debris lying around on its surface. Cyclonus narrowed his optics to protect them from the flying matter and pushed his way through the Decepticons to stand next to Galvatron.

        "What is this, Cyclonus?" Galvatron asked, waving his gun-arm expansively to take in the freighter.

        "A gift for you, and for all Decepticons, on this eve of your return to us. A freighter filled with energon, ready for the taking!" Cyclonus smiled, as he could tell that mighty Galvatron appreciated this gesture.

        "You have done well, Cyclonus." Galvatron grasped Cyclonus’ shoulder in an almost-crushing grip of momentary affection before turning to face the rest of the Decepticons. "Come, my legions!" He called over the noise of the freighter’s engines. "Partake of this energon! Refuel yourselves! For when we are re-energized, we attack Cybertron and reclaim it in our name!"

        The Decepticons cheered and ran forward to the freighter even as it was landing. Cyclonus was amazed to see they were arranged in an orderly, regimental fashion—drastically different from the scrabbling animals he had seen for the past year. As they ran, they cheered "Hail Galvatron!" in a singular voice that echoed even louder than the engines of the human freighter.

        Beside Cyclonus, Galvatron nodded, smiling a predatory smile.
 

       To Chapter Nine