In space, as the saying goes, no one can hear you scream.  That particular saying, however, doesn’t apply to Transformers.  While their actual voices can’t travel across the vacuum of space, the automaton race also communicates through radiowave.  Thus, when one speaks, not only is actual sound produced and transmitted, but a perfect recording of the message is recorded and sent out as well.  So, in effect, Transformers could scream in space.  And boy did they.

“I swear to Primus,” a Decepticon bellowed, floating past the ruins of part of his ship.  “When I get out of this mess, someone is going to pay!  I hate floating in space!  It makes me queasy!”  The spaces around damaged and destroyed Decepticon warships were rife with such comments.  Surprisingly, though, despite the fact that the enemy had turned out to be a mechanical life form as well, their soldiers were totally silent as they drifted.  It was as though each were mute.

The same could almost be said of Soundwave, Decepticon Fleet Commander and basically the ultimate power in the new Decepticon Empire.  After giving his troops their preliminary orders he had sat, almost totally still, and watched the battle unfold.  Occasionally he would speak, to order a redistribution of troops or warn a fighter group about a possible trap.  But, on the whole, he could easily have been a statue, sitting in the command chair.

At last, however, he moved again.  Lifting himself out of the seat he had occupied for the last half-hour, Soundwave strode purposefully to the main viewer.  “The battle is over.” he said, staring at the screen.  On it was displayed a few badly damaged invader vessels, the Terran ships and the Decepticon warships.  The latter two groups were still in good shape, but the invader’s had been crushed between the two forces.  “Order the Terran forces to withdraw, and then send out shuttlecraft to search for survivors to interrogate.  I will have answers.”

Having issued his orders, Soundwave turned and strode off the bridge, heading back towards his private quarters.  Things were changing rapidly, and Soundwave wanted to make sure he was, if not a step ahead, neck and neck.

“They ordered us to do what?” Ross asked in shock.  Standing on the bridge of the Saratoga, he was both outraged at Soundwave’s imperialistic tones and shocked at his presumption.  Terran forces had suffered, as had Decepticon, to protect a planet that wasn’t even theirs.

“Transmission from the Nemesis repeats, sir.  Soundwave orders all Terran forces to withdraw from the field.  They’re claiming this is an internal investigation, and as such, outside our jurisdiction.” the young comm tech replied.  Though his right side was a little singed from a fire that had broken out, he looked none the worse for it.

“What’s the fleet status?” Ross demanded, rounding on Harkness angrily.  Fortunately, the sensor technician had served with Ross long enough to know he wasn’t angry at him.

“Ganges reports moderate damage to her port side, and estimates running at seventy-six percent of normal.” Harkness replied.  “One Cobra was destroyed outright, with two more in no position to do anything more strenuous than cruise at sublight.  Fighter wings are at roughly eighty percent strength." he finished.  “Decepticon forces, at the moment, outmass us by a little over twenty percent.  They also have a greater total fighter strength and more heavy ships.”

“Dang.” Ross cursed under his breath.  It would accomplish nothing to make an issue out of this right now.  The Decepticons could cut his ships to pieces if they had to, and Ross knew they wouldn’t hesitate.  This round, at least, had to go to Soundwave.  “Very well.” he said, straightening up. “Signal all ships to return to geosynchronus orbit above Cybertropolis. We’ll make repairs there; signal the Autobots that we’ll need some help.”

And considering what they’d just done for them, the Autobots had damn well better provide it.  Ross was in no mood for anything else.

With a crunch, the shuttle bounced off the surface, jostling the passengers around inside.  Though the pilot struggled to raise the nose, it stubbornly refused, planting itself on the second landing.  The velocity of the craft, however, drove it forward, crushing the already-stubby nose back into the body of the ship.  The pilot scrambled out of her seat, just making it before the wall in front of them collapsed in.  The co-pilot was not so lucky.

Off in the distance, Optimus raced forwards, watching as the shuttle finally returned to Cybertron.  It was not, however, the happy return the builders had no doubt envisioned.  Fortunately, they had taken into account that it might not be.

Moving warily, once he reached the edge of the wreckage, Optimus approached. Though he’d told Grimlock these could be relief forces, they could equally well be a Decepticon ambush party.  Drawing his rifle, Optimus moved closer. The shuttle was ruined, and would obviously never fly again.  The fact that it had even survived reentry and landing was a wonder.  Whoever was piloting that shuttle was most impressive.  Unfortunately, from the look of the front end, they were also dead.

Suddenly, without warning, an emergency hatch dropped open.  The loud clang as it hit the ground was shocking, and Optimus found he had involuntarily taken a step back.  His rifle, he noticed, was also pointed up towards the hatch.  For the life of him, he couldn’t remember doing it.

Smoke poured out of the hatch, obscuring whoever it was coming out.  Prime could just make out a shape, rather small and boxy, climbing out through the hatchway.  Dirt and grime covered the figure, making it even more difficult for Optimus to guess who it was.  The figure, however, had no trouble determining who was waiting for them.

“It’s Optimus!” he shouted, turning back towards the shuttle hatch.  At once, the tension in the air seemed to diminish, and the figure obviously relaxed.  As he hurried forward, Optimus could finally make out who it was. “Beachcomber?” he said, the shock clear in his voice.  “The colonies cut off all ties with Cybertron.  What are you doing here?”  Sliding his rifle back into its holder, Optimus strode forward, curious as to just what was going on here.  The last thing they needed right now was more trouble.  Unfortunately, Prime didn’t think Beachcomber and whoever else had come for a pleasant afternoon chat.

“Running.” Beachcomber replied perfunctorily.  “Give us a hand, Prime?  We’ve got some pretty banged up ‘bots in here.”  Prime nods, and the two of them quickly head back to the shuttle.  The first few Transformers through the hatchway were, Prime hoped, the worst.  Many were missing limbs, or had extensive damage to other places.  They had to be helped down, gently, and then laid out on the ground.  Prime’s greater physical strength meant that he ended up doing most of the work.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here, Beachcomber.” Prime said, as he lowered an Autobot missing most of his left side.  “And what happened?  It looks like you were involved in some serious fighting.”

“That’s the understatement of the millennia, boss.” Beachcomber replied.

“We’ve been fighting and running for months now, some of us.  But I think I have someone who can answer your question a little better.”  Wondering who, Prime turned around, coming face to face with…

“Elita?”