“So, Morrow demand Onslaught, and not listen when I try to tell him that Onslaught, and all other Combaticons, in hiding.” Grimlock finished.  He was sitting in a chair in the hospital, next to Optimus’ bed.  It was the day after the message from Morrow, and Optimus was still resting, under orders from Ratchet.  In light of the apparent difficulty of fulfilling Morrow’s request, Grimlock had chosen to come to Optimus for advice.  The advice offered, however, was not exactly what Grimlock had wanted.

     “I’m afraid there is little that can be done.” Optimus replied.  Sitting up in the bed that Ratchet insisted on keeping him in, Optimus still felt lopsided, an understandable condition of his missing arm.  “You can contact Earth for assistance, and organize searches for the Combaticons, but there is really nothing that you, personally, can do in this situation.  The human, Morrow, Onslaught, and pure chance will determine what will happen when the week is out.” Optimus finished, sighing.  This was a large problem, and one that Optimus should be dealing with personally.  Ratchet, however, was unwilling to even talk about replacing the limb until he had ‘regained his strength’.  Which, Optimus was glad to know, should be some time late today or early tomorrow.

     “That best advice great Optimus can offer?” Grimlock asked, incredulous.  Though he didn’t expect an answer to all his problems immediately, he had hoped for a little more than that.

     “I’m afraid so, Grimlock.” Optimus replied.  “But don’t worry.  I’m sure that you will be able to find some way out of this problem.  Have faith in yourself, Grimlock.”  This was the best Optimus could offer, and he knew it was too little, in Grimlocks eyes.  But perhaps, in time, the dinobot would learn that if one has faith in oneself, the universe will often follow suite.  Perhaps.

     Grimlock got up from his chair, preparing to leave.  “Well, me thank you for doing what you could.  Must go now, organize search for Onslaught, and other Combaticons.” he said, adding in that last part as an afterthought.  He walked over to the door, but turned before he passed through it.  “Hope to see you back soon.” Grimlock said.  Then, a touch of wry humor showed in his eyes.  “Maybe you can deal with Megatron and Morrow.  Primus knows I can’t.”  With that, he passed through the door and out of sight of Optimus.

     Leaning back, Optimus began to think of all the things that could possibly go wrong in this next week that would stop Grimlock from either settling this with the Terran Senate or finding the Combaticons.  There were, he discovered after a few moments, a staggering number of potentially cataclysmic possibilities.  Reaching out with his right hand, he pressed the intercom button that connected him with the administration.  “Ratchet, get down here.” he said, his voice returning to the commanding one he had used during those dangerous war years.  “I want my arm back.”

     “So, we are prepared, then?” Megatron asked.  Around the table sat, as usual, Soundwave, Hook, Snaptrap and himself.  The four of them had become the ruling body of the Decepticon city-states, and though Megatron still held the majority of the power, he had learned his lessons in the Great War.  It was foolish to attempt to do everything by yourself, and you created resentment amongst your troops if you held all the power alone.  So, he was content to share it with those he trusted.  For now.

     “All is as you requested, Megatron.” Soundwave replied.  “The power stations are operating at peak efficiency, and the emplacements are prepared.”

     “Excellent.” Megatron murmured to himself.  Turning his head, he looked at the other two people seated at this table.  “And the ground forces?  What is their state?”  Snaptrap was the first to respond.

     “All ground forces are in a state of total readiness.  I estimate that they can be deployed in five minutes from the alarm.” the Seacon replied.  “In addition, they are all instructed as to where the estimated drop positions will be.” Hook added.  Megatron leaned back in his seat, satisfied, a wicked smirk playing across his face.

     “Let them come.” he said to himself.  “Let them come, if they dare.”

     It was now three days since the ultimatum delivered by Rear Admiral Morrow.  Grimlock was sitting in the Council chamber with the lights turned down low, by himself.  There was still no sign of the Combaticons, even though he had used every Autobot peace officer available to sweep the Autobot controlled side of Cybertron.  Low powered scans had only been able to penetrate a short distance into Decepticon territory before jamming towers shattered the beams, rendering them useless and sending back either nothing, or an infinite number of useless patterns.

     The towers were a serious point of concern for Grimlock.  They implied that Megatron had something to hide, and that that something was too large to simply conceal in a normal manner.  There were few things that Grimlock could think of that would be that large and should be hidden, and none of them were particularly encouraging.  Grimlock only hoped that whatever it was, it was blew up when they turned it on.  A futile hope, he knew, but it was fun, nonetheless.

     There were also worrying reports from off-planet.  Nearby, Rear Admiral Morrow had placed his task force in a geosynchronus orbit over Polyhex.  That was a disturbing little tidbit, as it implied that they were waiting for something, and that something was to originate from Decepticon space.  Farther out, Cybertronian colonies were apparently breaking away.  Several outer systems had simply ceased communication with either Autobot or Decepticon leaders, which was most disturbing.  It seemed as if Optimus had been worryingly close.  It appeared that the end, as they said on Earth, was nigh.

     But the end was not here yet, and Grimlock could still fight against its coming.  Leaning back in his chair, he composed yet another message to Earth.  The first three had not gotten through, due to subspace interference.  Cybertrons erratic orbit, still settling into its new system, sometimes made for unpredictable atmospheric disturbances, which could disrupt communications.  This time, the message would be sent both over subspace and by courier, insuring that it would reach its destination in some form or another.  Pressing the record button, he began to speak.

     “This Grimlock, of Cybertronian High Council.  Some time ago, it is believed Decepticon Onslaught led an attack that destroyed Hegemony ships Infinity, Einstein and Hook.  In accordance with Terran/Transformer Treaty, we willing to surrender Onslaught.  However,” he said, pausing.  “We are unable to locate him at this time.  Furthermore, Rear Admiral Morrow, commanding Dreadnought Copernicus, may be adding to tension in system.  Morrow has delivered ultimatum: surrender Onslaught within a week, or Terran troops land on Cybertron and capture Onslaught.  This is, understandably, unacceptable.  Request that you radio Morrow, followed by sending a courier, with orders not to land troops here.”  Up until now, Grimlock had been sticking with the standard diplomatic language.  However, this last sentence was much too blunt for him to say with those fancy terms.

    “Otherwise, Council fears Decepticons will take troops as sign of hostilities with Earth.  Rear Admiral Morrow could start intergalactic war.”  If anything could make the Terran Senate rein Morrow in, it would be that.  Grimlock only hoped that an answer could reach him in time.

     Optimus had finally managed to get Ratchet to release him.  Old friend or not, Ratchet had seemed intent on keeping Optimus in the hospital forever, just so he could run ‘one more test’.  In the end, Optimus had had to order Ratchet, as a member of the Autobot High Council and his superior officer in the military, to release him and certify his health, something Ratchet did only under extreme prodding from Optimus.  But at last, he had agreed with Optimus’ reasoning, and released the Autobot leader from post-op.

     Prime only hoped that it wasn’t too late.  Grimlock had been doing all he could to avert the disaster which waited in the wings, but he didn’t sound very optimistic the last time they had talked.  Hopefully, Optimus could have greater success.

     As he walked through the streets towards the Council chambers, Optimus was surprised
at the changes that had taken place in so short a time.  It seemed that the attitude of Cybertropolis was one of worry.  The streets, so packed in times not long past, were now populated only by scattered groups, and the once vibrant storefronts were now dark.  Everywhere he looked, he could see that Autobots were walking around armed, as though they expected trouble to break out any second.  It was rather depressing.  After the Decepticon break, it had seemed as though the Autobots of Cybertropolis, at least, felt safer.  Violent offenses were way down, and the number of still armed Transformers had dropped as well.  Things had begun to look up.

     But now, with four Terran warships hovering over Cybertron, everyone was on edge.  Not that he could blame them, really.  The older Transformers were reluctant, to say the least, about the outbreak of more hostilities, and the newer generation of Autobots had heard enough grizzly stories to know that war was far from the romantic ideal portrayed in both the Terran and Cybertronian literature.  Nobody wanted a war.

     And yet, it seemed that nobody had the power needed to avoid one, either.  And a lack of control tends to make people a little unpredictable.

     In the main care facility of Rubigen, the night was quiet.  Almost all of the patients from that terrible bombing had been released by now.  And the few that were still there were, for the most part, quiet.  In general, anyone that was so badly injured that they were still there was in some form of stasis lock of systems freeze.

     The same was still true, unfortunately, of Kup.  After all his heroic battles, all his interminable war stories, to think that he could be sidelined by something like this.  Not the mechano-bats of Voltar III, or acid seas on Aquaria Prime, or even the dread Archons of the Korellis Nebulae had succeeded in doing this to the venerable warrior.  It was, in the end, his supposed allies that had placed him at the mercy of circumstance.

     Not that Hot Rod knew of all these dangers his friend had faced.  The young cavalier had had a tendency to doze or tune out while Kup was relating what this desperate stand reminded him of, or how this cave was like a half dozen others.  But at least Hot Rod was there, with his friend, even though he knew it made no difference.

     And Kup, conscious but locked inside his damaged frame, knew it.  And appreciated it, more than he would ever let on, really.  He hoped that he would someday get to show the lad how much their friendship meant to him, though hopefully the circumstances wouldn’t be quite so bad.

     But above all, he swore that he would get back at Swindle, the Comabaticons munitions expert.  He had seen the Decepticon skulking around the lower levels of the building, but had dismissed it for the moment.  He had assumed that he was there for official reasons, as he did share the rule of the city with Kup.  To think, that he had been set up by his counterpart, and never suspected a thing.  Well, this was one favor he would damn sure repay.

     On the bridge of the Dreadnought Copernicus, Rear Admiral Thomas Morrow sat and sipped his coffee.  The bridge was quiet, the men and women on duty rarely speaking, and only the background hum of the ships systems broke the silence.  It was late, the night shift had come on, and he really should be in his quarters.  However, he had not wanted to leave the bridge this night.  He had much preferred to sit here, at the helm of this powerful weapon of death and destruction, and go through the ships reports again.  Though it had been a few days since Megatrons insult, the imagined sting was still painful to Morrow.

     Though he liked to portray himself as a man in total control of all facets of himself, he was, in reality, a rather small man.  Secure in the knowledge that he came from a powerful family, and that he was a respected member of the Terran Fleet, Morrow knew that it should have been easy enough to shrug off the mocking of a single Transformer.  And yet, he was finding it to be incredibly difficult, and he couldn’t fathom why.

     Though he could never admit it to himself, Morrow was really quite weak.  As a boy, he had been small and weak for his age, and the only way to get by was to ingratiate himself with those larger then him.  Thus, his likeability was a major factor in his life, and he had tried to get everyone to like him.  A futile effort, he was too young to know that at that stage in his life that it was impossible to get everyone to like you all the time.

     So, when someone expressed any type of negative comment against him, the young Tom would react the only way he could; he would manage to convince the others, his friends, to ‘correct’ the other person.  He had quickly grown into a rather spiteful young man, and the trend had continued all his life.

     That was why he was so hard on his crew.  That was why he was quick to punish his subordinates when they didn’t respond to his wishes.  And that was why he was so eager to teach Megatron a little humility.

     Things had definitely gotten tense in Viridia recently.  For a while, it had seemed as though everything was on the up and up with the Decepticons.  There had been no sign of any kind of military build up within the walls of Viridia or Polyhex.  The Decepticons had seemed happy to be living with their own kind, away from those pathetic Autobots.

     Then, of course, had come Morrow.  He and his task group had contacted Megatron and his council, and things had gone downhill from there.  Nobody, outside of those four Transformers, knew what had been said in that conversation, but speculation had run rampant.  Some thought that Morrow was the harbinger of a Terran fleet, one that was coming to demand the surrender of the Decepticons.  Of course, no self-respecting Decepticon believed that the Terran Hegemony was a threat to them.  They had crushed the human’s military time and again in the war, and though some felt a twinge of remorse now and then, nobody would hesitate to do it again if their lives were on the line.

     Few had made a connection between the task force and the attack on the Infinity and her charges, mostly because none of the Decepticons believed that Onslaught would risk leaving anything to chance.  And even those who did could not know that Onslaught and the Combaticons had gone into hiding, or that there were sections of the Terran /Transformer treaty which stipulated the extradition of criminals to the other star nation.

     Counter-Punch, however, was fully aware of both of those things, and had made a tenuous connection rather early.  He had also assumed that the task force was here to collect Onslaught, in accordance with their rights under the treaty.  And last, he had come to think that Megatron had no intention of co-operating with the Terrans in any way.  After the buildup he had seen, Counter-Punch was willing to bet that Megatron was prepared to resist any attempt made to extricate the Combaticons by force.

     All this had been in the reports that he was sending back across the border.  Though the amount of time between each was erratic, owing to the increasing difficulty of cross-border movement and transmissions, he was still giving his reports to his superiors.

     And Goldbug was glad to receive them.  He knew that the Decepticons were gearing up for something, and he wanted to be prepared when the time came for him to move.  A time that was coming closer.