“Look, I’m telling you, there’s nothing there.” Goldbug said.  The excursion to Sector 12 had proven to be totally pointless.  By the time they had reached the area, there was no sign of any ships.  Even the hyperspace ‘footprint’ that marks where a ship re-enters normal space had degraded horribly, and was impossible to pick up.  The planet that it had been assumed the radio transmission had come from was about as quiet as it had been when Captain Bloom had been here, with only light electrical signals emanating from the planet.

“All right.” Hosehead sighed.  “We warned Optimus that a sighting would be a lot to hope for, and now we’ve proven it.  Recall your drones, Goldbug, we’re heading out.”  Leaning back in his command chair, Hosehead signaled for similar operations concerning his own ship.  This had been a monumental waste of time and resources, but, he thought to himself, his was not to question why.

     On Goldbug’s ship, meanwhile, the small yellow Transformer was pondering just what could have happened.  He had worked with the Earthlings before, and knew that their military was one of the better ones.  In fact, he had first hand experience of their skill.  So the idea of three ships simply vanishing seemed bizarre to him.  There must have been others here, but they had no chance of spotting them now.

     Suddenly, a display on the sensor console beeped.  Searchlight turned to it, punching up a display of what they had registered.  Turning in his chair, he motioned for Goldbug.  “You’d better come take a look at this.” he said.

     The throttlebot hurried over, and leaned over Searchlight’s shoulder, peering at the display.  There was a human, very disheveled looking and obviously injured.  Immediately, the two Transformers recognized Captain Bloom from the briefings they had received.

     “Hello?  Is anyone up there?” he asked.  The transmission quality was poor, and threatened to break apart at any moment.  “…major systems failure… crashed on this planet… need rescue…”  After that, the transmission finally succumbed, fragmenting into static and meaningless noise.  Goldbug and Searchlight stared at the empty screen for a few more seconds, wondering if the face would reappear, but no such luck.

     Goldbug straightened and returned to his command seat.  Calling up a sensor map of the planet, he tried to figure out where the signal had come from.  At last, the sensors established a lock on the general area.  The extremely low power output from the ship meant that, not only had it blended into the background electrical patterns, but that it was impossible to exactly spot the ship.

     “All right,” Goldbug said, activating the internal communications array, “Backstreet, Blades and Divebomb, you’re with me.  We’re going down there to find out what’s up.”  Just before he exited the bridge, he turned back to Searchlight.  “Radio Hosehead, tell him we may have found survivors.”  Though the message had been a good sign, there was no way to tell if it had been live, or a recorded distress signal.  No way, of course, until they got down there.

     It was a rough ride down.  The shuttle had shuddered through an atmosphere rich with magnetic interference and severe storms.  Once they were down, it was hardly any better.  Stepping out, Goldbug looked around, surveying the area.  It was not a pretty sight.

     Whatever had happened to the race that originally lived here, it hadn’t been quick and clean.  The ground was filled with crags and dips, and living plants were few and far behind.  The sky was red and angry looking, with thunderclouds blocking out any sight of space.  Scanning the air, Goldbug was shocked to find that it was laced with more toxins and particulate matter than was survivable for Humans.  Off in the distance, they could see a large object, which they assumed was the crashed Infinity.  Setting off in their alternate modes, with Blades leading the way, they approached the shattered hulk rapidly.  There were huge sections missing, and the Transformers could clearly see where the ship had come down.  A trail of smaller wreckage and a huge gouge in the ground showed that the ship had skidded for a while, before coming to a stop.

     Standing before the remains of the ship, the four beings reverted to their robot modes.  Looking over the ship, Blades took the opportunity to do a few quick scans.  He could detect no life signs, but that was unsurprising.  The hulls of Hegemony spacecraft were designed to block unwanted radio and electromagnetic signals from passing through their hulls.

     “All right, guys, let’s go.” Goldbug said, leading the way.  A huge chunk of hull had been ripped out about fifty feet down the hull, providing a serviceable entrance.  As they walked, Goldbug and Blades conferred on where the humans would most likely have taken refuge.  Since the air would kill them, they had to make sure the area was fully sealed, which eliminated the outer rooms.  With the damage done coming down, none of them had the structural integrity to be truly safe.  That meant it was likely they were holed up nearer the middle, probably in one of the engine rooms.  At last, they reached the ‘entrance’.

     “Now remember, we can’t send or receive signals to the ship while we’re in here, so be careful.  And if we find the humans, remember not to break whatever seal they have in place unless they give you the go ahead.”  Content that his team knew all he could tell them, Goldbug lead the way inside.

     “Well, they’re in sir.” Tracks said.  Looking down at the sensor map, he had watched as the four Transformers vanished from the screen after entering the Infinity.  Leaning back in his seat, he half-turned to face Hosehead.  “So, what do we do until they get back?” he asked.

     “We wait.” Hosehead responded.

     At last, a little over six hours after they went in, the four Autobots reappeared.  Goldbug first, then Backstreet, Blades, and Divebomb finally brought up the rear.  Once they were clear of the hull, Goldbug opened a channel to Hosehead.

     “No good.” he said.  “It was a recording after all.  The hull seals and interior seals had failed, and everyone asphyxiated.  Not a pretty sight.”  The diminutive throttlebot commander sounded disturbed by what he had seen in their.  Hosehead understood, he thought.  Though Transformers couldn’t die from lack of oxygen, death by low energon levels could be considered fairly similar, and it was one of the most feared deaths.  Not because it was especially painful, but because it was long and drawn out.  Personally, Hosehead would rather take a fusion blast to the head than know death was inevitable, and would be slow coming.

     “All right, get back up to your ship, Goldbug.” Hosehead said, speaking into the comm. line.  “We’ll head back to Cybertron, and tell Op what we found.”  It was not a task he really looked forward too.  Oh well, at least Goldbug would be with him when the time came, and he would know more about it anyway.

     “Tracks,” Hosehead called out.  The Autobot officer turned to look at his CO.  “Plot a course back to Cybertron, all possible speed.”  “Aye sir.” tracks responded, setting to work immediately.  In a few moments, Hosehead received a signal informing him Goldbug and his team were ready, and Tracks provided the relevant course.  In tandem, the two ships sped out of the system, headed back to their home planet.

     Optimus and the Council sat, listening to yet another complaint, this one from Ultra Magnus.  One of the two commanders of Crystal City, Magnus is complaining again about the goings on in Polyhex.  Standing before the Council, the red and blue city commander expresses his outrage over the situation.

     “Twelve dead, and another fifteen wounded, and what’s the Military doing about it?  Nothing!” he shouts.  It’s hard to tell if he’s addressing the Council or the gallery.  And though Optimus shares his sense of frustration, he cannot let this august assembly be reduced to spectators.  Raising his fist, he brings it down, hard, on the table in front of him.

     “Ultra Magnus, you have been warned.  Control your temper when you stand before us.” he says, his voice betraying no emotion, lest he sound hypocritical.  “Now, we realize that the situation in Polyhex is out of hand, and we are going to do something about it.”  Thinking for a moment, he reached a decision.  “The 5th Infantry division will be moved in to keep the peace, and…” but he got no farther.  From the other side of the table, Megatron spoke up, interrupting the Autobot leader.

     “Prime, admit that the military is incapable of dealing with this and save us all some time.”
he said.  “Send in a dozen armed Decepticons, and we’ll take care of the problem.”

     “You Decepticons are the problem!” Ultra Magnus shouted from his place in front of the Council, and a cheer went up from the mostly Autobot gallery.  “What we need are some armed Autobots walking around, to teach you some respect!”

     “Enough!” bellowed Optimus.  Unwilling to let this degrade into anarchy, he pounds the table, bringing some semblance of order to the room.  He gave everyone a few moments to settle down again, then began to speak.

     “The problems in Polyhex are symptoms of the problems around Cybertron.  Autobots and Decepticons have been fighting each other for millions of years, and perhaps it was naïve of us to think that it could all just be set aside.”  He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  “However, it would be folly to give up simply because things are rough now.  Surely we have all learned perseverance in our long struggles, and what is this, if not another struggle.  We must learn to put aside past problems, and try and work together.”  Then, before anyone could say anything, he signaled the end of the session.  Getting up, he hurried out of the room, anxious for a few moments to collect himself.

     Outside the council chambers, in a room with floor to ceiling windows, Optimus stared out at the city.  The bustle outside was reassuring, reminding him that though events in the council sessions were important indeed, life went on outside regardless.

     Behind him, Optimus heard the tell-tale hum of the automatic door opening.  Without turning, he said “Please leave.  I do not wish to be disturbed.”  However, the hum of the door did not sound again, and Optimus turned, exasperation evident in his eyes.  That faded, however, when he saw who it was.

     “Still want me to leave?” Elita One asked.  She stood there, silhouetted against the doorframe, with her hands behind her back.  Striding across the room, Optimus swept her up in his arms.  It had been solar cycles since they had seen each other, and Optimus was glad she was here.  Once he set her down again, the two of them walked over to the windows.  Wrapping his arms around her waist and standing behind her, Optimus felt at peace for the first time in a long time.

     “So, what’s wrong?” she asked.  She had always been able to read him like a book, ever since his days as Orion.  It seemed like she had not lost the skill in their long time apart.

     “It seems like I’m pushing, and the whole world is pulling.” Optimus replied.  Elita waited for a few moments, allowing Optimus to go at his own pace.  Finally, he continued.  “There are major problems in Polyhex, the Humans are bothering us for help, Autobots and Decepticons are still fighting a millions-year old war, and it seems like the treaty is bursting at the seams.” he said.  It was only then that he realised just how long he’d been holding it in, repressing his feelings of frustration for the good of everyone else.  It was wonderful, he found, to just get it all out.

     “Poor Optimus.” Elita murmured.  “Stuck in the Council chambers, listening to people complain.  You’ve lost sight of the great things you’ve done.”  Taking one of her hands from his, she waved out at the city stretched out before them.  “There are millions of Transformers out there that feel safe at last, free from the threat of imminent death.  There are other races, safe now from Jhiaxus and his insanity, because you stopped him.  There are Autobots and Decepticons getting to know each other, learning to be friends, and lovers.  And you helped them all.” she said.  They were both silent for a long time afterwards.  Elita One had, as always, put life into perspective.  And it was true, though not unexpected, that Optimus’ perception was a bit slanted, given the things he listened to all the time.  The moment of peace seemed to stretch on into eternity, with both of them lost in themselves and each other.

     But nothing lasts forever.  A chime at the door indicated someone needed to speak with Optimus, and as if the heavens were toying with him, his comm line went off at the same time.  Elita One stifled a laugh, and Optimus sighed in resignation, before moving towards the door.  Before he reached it, Elita drew his attention again.

     “Well, I’m sure you have important things to attend to.” she said, still trying not to laugh.  “I’ll be on Cybertron for the next week.  My ship’s in for repairs, and I’ve got nothing to do ‘til it’s fixed.  Call me sometime, would you?” she asked.  Optimus nodded, hoping he could keep his word this time.  Too often in the past his duty had impeded his ability to have a life.  With a quick wave, Elita One dashed out one of the other doors in the room, off to who knew what.  Prime turned back to the door, ordering it to open.  With that predictable hum, the door slid back to reveal Blur.  The ultra-fast Transformer was back to being a data courier, a fitting position for someone so speedy.

     Knowing how difficult it is for people to understand him, Blur elected not to talk this time.  He simply handed a data pad to Optimus, and got him to sign the receipt.  This job finished, he was off like a shot.  With the pad held tightly in his hand, he turned back to deal with the other interruption.

     Pressing a key in the wall, he acknowledged the signal.  Immediately, an image of Blaster appeared on the wall screen.  Seated in one of the communications centers, Blaster was happy to be broadcasting again, even if it wasn’t the Earth music he enjoyed so much.

     “What is it, Blaster?” Optimus asked.  The crimson Autobot smiled at him, then got down to business.

     “I’ve got a priority call from Goldbug and Hosehead, sir.” he replied.  “They say they’ll re-enter Cybertron space in a little over a day, and then they’ll make their report.”  Yet again, it seemed, bureaucracy had intruded into his life.  Normally, his two captains wouldn’t have bothered to report until they were actually in Cybertron space, but with the new regulations, ships were required to report to whoever sent them off once they were within a days travel time from Cybertron.  Just his luck that he had been selected to order the two off.

     “Thank you, Blaster.  Please inform me when they reach orbit.” Prime said.  Reaching out, he flipped the switch that turned off the comm line.  Looking down, he remembered the data pad he held.  Inputting his personal code, he watched as the message scrolled across the screen.  At first, he was shocked, but that quickly gave way to outrage.  Tossing the pad away, he turned and sped out of the room, headed for the nearest transport he could find.

     Smoke hung over the city, low and menacing, as if the devastation wrought was somehow feeding this malevolent entity.  Fires still burned in isolated areas near the center, but most had been extinguished by now.  The Military, responding at last, had cordoned off the area, with troops guarding the perimeter.

     It was this scene which greeted Optimus Prime when he at last entered Rubigen airspace.  Having managed to get a hold of a shuttle, he had come here as quickly as he could once he heard the news.  Now that he saw it, however, he couldn’t believe.  The center of this once proud city was now little more than a smoking ruin, with rubble strewn about the streets.  All around him, emergency teams rushed about, helping the wounded and clearing away the rubble.  As he walked through the streets towards the center, Optimus was stunned that someone would go so far.  Up until now, the problems in Polyhex had seemed the most severe, but this… this was much worse.  Searching for the head investigator, he was eventually pointed towards Groove, the Protectobot scout.  It seemed that he was in charge here.

     Making his way through the crowd, Prime caught a glimpse of just how bad the damage was.  The building in which the Rubigen council had met had been huge, a glittering spire stretching into the air.  Now, however, it was no more than a huge crater and a lot of rubble.  Groove was ahead now, talking with several other Transformers the Optimus didn’t recognize.  Since the war had ended, Transformer births had gone way up, as Cybertron was repopulated and outer territories were colonized.

     The conversation finished, and Groove turned towards Optimus.  He jumped a little, startled by the appearance of the broad Autobot leader, but regained his composure quickly.  Groove had always been a pacifist at heart, and had been overjoyed when the war ended.  He took a position with the Rubigen investigation team, and now enjoyed being able to, as the Humans said, ‘Protect and serve’ without being forced into violent confrontation.

     “What happened?” Optimus asked.  Though he tried, he was unable to hide the shock and outrage from seeping through.

     “The basement was rigged to explode.” he replied.  “Heavy explosives wrapped around the foundations.  When they went, the building dropped like a stone.  It’s just lucky it was an even blast, so the structure dropped, rather than toppling sideways.”  Groove paused, looking back at the rescue crews still sifting through the wreckage, occasionally finding a survivor, but more often than not simply Transformer pieces.

     “Working numbers so far are,” he said, pausing to consult his data pad, “fifty-six dead, one hundred and eight wounded.  And they’re still pulling bots out.” he finished.  Prime was speechless.  Fifty six dead.  And how many of those did he know, had he worked with?  How many innocent Transformers were dead now, Transformers who had had no connection with the terrible events of their millions-year long wars?

     “I’m afraid it gets worse, sir.” Groove said.  Optimus stared at him, shocked.  How could it possibly get worse?  With over one hundred and fifty wounded, and who now how much collateral damage done?  Groove answered in a moment though.  “Though there wasn’t much to work with, we did manage to pull together a few bomb fragments.”  He handed the pad to Optimus, who took it reluctantly.  He didn’t even want to think about what was coming next.

     Staring down at the pad, Optimus saw a row of names flash past, stopping on a particular one.  “I’m afraid fragment analysis points towards the Combaticons, sir.” Groove finished.  On the pad, Optimus watched as the materials used here were compared with those used in other Transformers weapons.  The best match came up for the Combaticons, the Decepticon team of military vehicles.  This was horrible, a disaster.  If it became known the Decepticons were bombing buildings, it wouldn’t take long for the cease fire to fall apart.
 Looking down at Groove, his mind racing, Optimus gave the best order he could think of.  “I want you to keep this quiet, Groove.  Tell the press you haven’t got a definite match yet, or something.  But no-one must know about this until the Council has had a chance to convene.  Understood?”

     “Yes sir.” Groove replied.  Optimus knew he could count on him.  There were few Transformers who would despise a renewal of conflicts more than Groove, so he could be counted on to keep this under his hat.

     Turning on his heel, Optimus raced back to his shuttle.  He had to get back to Cybertropolis, and convene a meeting of the Council.  Before it was too late.