“Are you sure this is wise?” Motormaster asked Hook.  The Constructicon was standing next to him, looking out through the window.  Before them lay the universe, a trillion twinkling points of light on a jet black canvas.  But the Decepticon pair wasn’t concerned with the majesty of the cosmos or the beauty of the stars.  Rather, their attention was absorbed by the massive construct that was being created before them.  Over seven hundred metres long, it is surprisingly fragile looking.  A collection of what could best be described as ribs run off from a central cylinder.  Within the ribs, the two Decepticons could see dozens of small vessels moving around, putting on the finishing touches to the construct.

 “What’s not to be sure of?” Hook asked.  “We need a starship manufacturing facility.  So we’re building one.”  For his part, Hook could not figure out what Motormaster was talking about.

 “Well, it just seems that we would be better off launching an assault against the Autobots now.  Although they might expect it, there’s no way they could be ready so soon.  We could take victory now.” Motormaster said, answering Hooks unspoken question.

 “Don’t be stupid, Motormaster.” Hook replied.  “First of all, the Terrans are bound to send their task force reinforcements, so we must be ready for that.  Second, the Autobots are not a threat right now.  Third, we can use the warships against the Autobots when the time comes to make a move.”  By now, Hook was getting tired of explaining this to the newest council member.  It seemed that Motormaster could think of no battle plan more complex than ‘smash them all’.  Which was useful sometimes, Hook would freely admit.  But usually, it was a good thing that Soundwave was on the council, to balance out Motormaster’s ‘exuberance’.  For his part, Hook knew that he and Snaptrap were the healthy medium, not too base, but not overly cunning.  “Now, do you know why we were summoned here?” he asked.

 And, just as he suspected, Motormaster didn’t.  “No.  I simply received a summons from Soundwave.  Much, as I’m sure, you did.” he said.  Hook simply nodded.

 “And I.” a voice came from behind them.  Turning, they were not at all surprised to find Snaptrap standing there.  “It would seem our quartet is nearly assembled.  All we are missing now is Soundwave.”  Walking towards them, Snaptrap stopped beside Hook, with the Constructicon between him and Motormaster.  The three of them returned their gazes to the construction yards, where the great ships of the Decepticon Empire would soon be built.

 “This time,” Snaptrap said, though it was unclear whom he was speaking to, “we’ll do it right.  Inhabited planets will be avoided, so the Autobots will have no reason to stop us.  We will seek out high-energon planets, and the Empire will grow strong on its resources, while the Autobot sphere of influence dwindles.  In another generation, the universe will once more be ours.”  By now, Hook and Motormaster had figured out that he was talking to himself, thinking out loud.

 “Indeed.” came a monotone voice from behind.  Without turning, the three knew it was Soundwave.  No other could so effectively hide any hint of emotion, except for the late, lamented Shockwave.  “In the absence of armed conflict, the Autobots will be unable to prevent us from spreading throughout the galaxy.  However, we must be patient.”  It was clear that that statement had been intended for Motormaster, and the Stunticon fairly bristled under the insinuation.

 “Great words.” Motormaster retorted.  “Yet, I see no proof.  Even now, both the Autobots and the Terrans encroach upon our borders, while our colonies secede with impunity.  Where is your great space fleet when we need it, Soundwave?”

 “You speak as a Terran child, Motormaster, wanting everything now.  Construction has only just begun on the spacedock.  Surely you do not expect me to create warships out of thin air?” Soundwave retorted.  “As for the colonies, they will be dealt with in due time.”  He paused then, thinking.  “But the Terrans.  Now that is a point worth considering.  As we speak, two Terran battleships orbit Cybertron, and over a thousand of their foot soldiers are establishing a base outside Viridia.”  The three turned at last, to see him stroking his chin in contemplation.

 “Yes, they will be dealt with soon.”

 In the Cybertropolis Primary Care Facility, seventh floor, room 724, someone stirred at last.  Within this room lay three damaged Autobots, victims of a drunken rampage.  Outside the room, standing guard as it were, were the Dinobots Swoop, Slag and Sludge.  None of them was looking into the room, so they were unaware of what was happening.

 Moving very slowly, Kestral reached up to rub her head.  Though whatever outward damage there had been had been cleared up, her tactile sensors were still sending off random signals, generating the Cybertronian equivalent of a headache.  She touched her forehead, and then her face, and was surprised at just how much it hurt.  It was several minutes, in fact, before she dared to open her eyes.  Nothing that hurt this much could lead to something good, she thought.

 But at last, her curiosity won out over her worry, and she activated her optic sensors.  Slowly, the world came into view, but she was disappointed with what it held; nothing more than an unfamiliar ceiling.  Turning her head, she found that she was in a Primary Care Facility, and given where she had been attacked she assumed she was still in Cybertropolis.  By chance, she had turned her head towards the window, and so was unaware of the other patients in the room with her.

 In the bed to her left, her companion Kobal lay, unaware of his surroundings.  And, in the
next bed over, the reason the three of them were here was still out cold, sleeping off the combined attack of the two Autobots and the copious amounts of energon he had imbibed the night before.  For now, though, Grimlock was better off where he was; when he woke up, he was going to ache in every servo-motor and circulation tube in his body.  And, as if that weren’t enough, Optimus was not exactly pleased with his actions, and was quite ready to vent his frustration.

 Behind her, she could hear a slight grunt.  Rolling back slowly, she was startled to see Kobal.  He was stirring slightly, groaning as his own tactile sensors flared.  Of course, he had taken much more damage than she, so he was in worse shape.  She could see that there were still small dents in his armour, and his optic sensors were still offline.  Slowly, she sat up, wincing as her head spun.  Once the world had settled itself, she swung her legs out over the side of the bed, pausing again.  Getting to her feet, she walked over to where Kobal lay.
 “Oh, Kobal.” she murmured.  “So brave, and yet so foolish.”  Though she had not been conscious, she could see how the altercation had happened.  That foolish drunk had attacked her, and he had flown into a rage.  It was sweet, in its own way.  Not that she would ever tell him that, of course.  Placing his hand in hers, she settled down on the side of the bed.  To wait.

 “Idiots!” Swoop cried out.  He was looking through the window into the recovery room, and had spotted Kestral sitting on the bed.  “Why didn’t you guys see her?”

 “Cause we were asleep.” Slag replied.  “Just like you.”  At this, Swoop fell silent.  They had
all been tired, and a vigil in a PCF was hardly riveting.  It was no wonder, really, that they had nodded off.  It was not, however, acceptable.

 “All right, Snarl, call First Aid.” Swoop said.  In the absence of Grimlock, he was nominally in charge.  Of course, that was really because the other two couldn’t really be bothered to take the lead.  “He’ll want to know that one of his charges is up.  Sludge, see if you can find out where that Kestral girl is working.  We should call her work, tell her she’s not coming in.  And,” he paused, letting out a sigh.  “call the Peace Forces.  Tell them this Kobal guy is laid up.”  The other two hurried off, and Swoop turned back to the window.  With a deep breath, he heads over to the doorway.  Stepping through it, the first thing he sees is Grimlock, still laid out.  After a quick check, he looks up to Kestral.  Pink, he thinks to himself.  What is it with fembots and pink?  By the time this thought has passed through his head, he is standing on the other side of the bed that Kobal occupies.

 “Hello.” he said, startling Kestral.  Her attention had been engaged by Kobal, and she had not even noticed him enter.  “I am Swoop, of the Dinobots, and…”  He was allowed to go no further, however, as Kestral spoke up.

 “I know who you are.” she said testily.  “I’ve studied history.  And I also know that that lunkhead over there,” she said as she pointed to Grimlock, “is Grimlock, commander of the Dinobots, some-time commander of Autobot military forces, and current co-ruler of the Autobot portion of Cybertron.  What I don’t understand is why you let him get piss drunk and run around beating people up.”  ‘Piss drunk’, of course, was a Terran expression.  Since their contact with the Terrans, the Transformers had found that they were using more and more of the slang terms and literary allusions.  Various linguists, cultural anthropologists and would-be politicians had raised a fuss about the ‘loss of Cybertrons cultural identity’, but nobody paid them any heed.  Besides, the Terrans really had covered a wide range of feelings with imaginative sayings.

 “Well, usually we don’t.” Swoop lied.  Actually, when Grimlock got drunk, he usually started at least one barroom brawl.  But those were never this serious; the participants would end up with a few bruises and maybe some dents, but Grimlock would buy another round and all would be forgiven.  “It’s just that, what with all the stress he’s under, he needed a release.  So, we figured we’d take him out, and he’d settle down.  We never expected this to happen.”
 “Well that’s no excuse.” Kestral shot back.  “Because of you, Kobal and I ended up here.  And yet, I don’t see a scratch on your shiny hide!”  Belatedly, Swoop realised that coming in here might not have been such a good idea.  His presence was obviously disturbing to the female, and the last thing she needed was more aggravation.  And of course, this was the exact moment First Aid chose to show up.

 “What are you doing?” he shouted.  “Coming in here, getting my patients all riled up!  It wasn’t enough that you put them here?”

 “Whoa, doc, calm down.” Swoop replied.  Putting his hands up in a gesture of surrender, the aerial Dinobot moved towards the door, and away from Kestral.  “I was actually trying to calm her down.  I’m sorry if…”

 “Fine.  Nice.  Just leave, Swoop.  I’ll call you when the patients are in a state to receive visitors.”  First Aid brushed past him, walking over to the bed that Kobal was lying on.  Seeing him approach, Kestral stood up, letting Kobal’s hand fall back to his side.  “Look, I need to get out of here.” she said.  “I’ve got work today, and I’m sure the reports are piling up…”  But again, First Aid was not interested in listening to people try and weasel out of what was good for them.

 “I’m afraid not, miss.  You suffered damage to your cranial substructure and possible damage to your neural net.  You’re not going anywhere.”  Looking away from her, he checked on Kobal’s condition.  Still in stasis, the nanite teams were doing just what they were supposed to.  His psychograph was steady as well, which was always a good sign.  “Now, if you’d be so good as to lie back down?  Good.  The sooner we get this done, the better for both of us.”  With the usual bustle of a medic in action, First Aid managed to not only get Kestral back into the bed, but hooked up to the diagnostic array.

 From the doorway, Swoop could only watch in awe as First Aid managed to take total control of a situation that Swoop had been lost in.  There were times when the medical establishment’s calm under what, to him, were frantic situations boggled the mind.  Of course, the Dinobots were hardly a quivering bunch of cowards.  But still, one must admire the docs.

 Shaking his head, Swoop steps through the rest of the doorway, and out into the hallway beyond.  Before him, the other two Dinobots are standing, looking restless.  Snarl has obviously completed his task, and once Swoop asks, Sludge informs him that he has contacted both the Peace Forces and Blastech Laboratories, which is where Kestral was working.  “Good job, guys.” Swoop said.  “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”  That last sentence had been punctuated by Swoop pointing towards the med-room with his thumb.  “First Aid is all business.”

 “Colonel McQueen, are you there?  Repeat, Colonol McQueen, please respond.”  The man in question is, at this moment, just stirring.  Feeble rays of light peek through the canopy of his tent, but the communications screen gives off most of the light in the room.  Groggy, he rolls off the cot, and stumbles over the uplink, pausing just long enough to throw on a shirt and shorts.

 “This is McQueen.” he says, pressing the ‘acknoledge’ key.  From the starfield pattern with the Earth in prominence, a face emerges.  A young tech, probably no older than twenty.  “Please stand by for Commodore Ross.” the boy says, and the screen returns to the starfield.  In a moment, however, Ross’ face appears.

 “Sorry to wake you, Colonel.” he said, looking fresh as a daisy.  “We’ve just received word from Terra.”  Immediately, McQueen comes around fully.  News from Terra?  This was going to be big.

 “As of 0001 hours this morning, Cybertron standard time, the Terran Hegemony has extended to you the full right to execute the capture of the Decepticon criminal Onslaught.  You are permitted to use whatever means you deem necessary in the course of this duty.  Do you understand?”  Ross finished.  The Commodore was obviously unhappy with these orders, but there was nothing he could do about it.  What did the lords of Terra care about the thoughts of a lowly Commodore?

 “I do sir.” McQueen answered.  “The Terran High Command has just declared war on the Decepticon Empire.”  For there could be no other outcome of an intrusion into Decepticon territory by armed Terran marines.  No, this would mean war.