The Energon Pub

Shuttle Longevity - Docking Boon

With Scoop finishing loading up the last of the medical supplies into the shuttle, the special operations director stood in the doorway between the docking boon connecting the Guardian to the Longevity to get a head count on all everyone who would be boarding the ship.

"Ships ready for departure." Railway stated as he approached the black and white mech standing watch, "Want me to go get Smokes' over there?"

Jazz placed a restraining hand on the bulky Train-formers forearm as he began to inform Smokescreen about their departure.

"Easy there big fella, Smokes' knows what's up around here. Let the man say his goodbyes, don't wanna be the bot to kill a moment like that." Jazz then turned his head and gave a subtle nodding gesture to signal Railway that he needed to load up. He kept his optics off of Smokescreen and Tracer as the two mechs shared a bit of a private moment with one another.

With a shrug, the Terror of the Tracks returned to the Longevity's interior. Inside he looked towards the troop compartment and shivered with a sense of uneasiness. Enclosed spaces be damned. This was going to be one of the uneasiest rides he was ever going to take if he had to sit up there with all them. He walked over to his seat and set himself down, resting his head against the edge of the wall behind him.

****

"What's happening you two? How we rollin'?" Jazz greeted the approaching Blindside and Veneer with a welcoming smirk as they made their way aboard the shuttle. "Step inside and we'll be getting this show on the road."

The black and white mech turned back into the docking tube and made his way towards the pilots cabin. He took a seat in the navigator's chair and raised his legs up and settled them on the edge of the console. He leaned back in his seat and locked his actuators together as he brought them around his head and rested his processor in the palm of his intertwined fingers.

Shuttle Longevity Interior

Getaway could feel his optics glazing over as Skids went on and on about the Fallen and possible strategies to locate him. Surprisingly enough, Getaway did not check out half-way through his partner's spiel as he used to when they first began working together. There was, of course, the amazing urge to bomp Skids too, but he crushed it down. It wasn't time yet. Passing those milling about outside, the pair boarded the shuttle with Getaway taking his place in one of the passenger seats, paying little mind to Smokescreen as the diversionary tactician entered the craft.

Guy looked like he had a lot on his mind anyway. Getaway kicked up his pedal actuators on the seat in front of him and locked his digits together behind his head. He looked over to Skids, not wanting to let his partner feel ignored. "Well, we obviously have a destination in mind Skids. We don't need to locate him. Still. Feels a bit...trappish. Someone who can sneak aboard our ship undetected and take out the generators and we suddenly find him? A guy like that knows how to cover his tracks. He wants us to find him."

Getaway turned his head to stare blankly forward. His usual facade of supreme confidence in the face of adversity faded as he thought seriously about their chances. They didn't look great, considering, but Getaway was not one to let panic or uncertainty seep into his processor. No. He'd go through this mission like any other: with a cool head.

Shuttle Longevity – Docking Boon

“Well, this is it, Tracer," Smokescreen whispered as he caressed her cheek with his actuators. “Stay safe."

Tracer, unable to speak, only offered Smokescreen a small nod in response. What else could she do? He had a need to fulfill his duty and she was stuck on a ship unable to help.

The tension, uneasiness and anxiety seemed to melt away the second he kissed her chevron. Tracer let out a low contented sigh as she leaned in a bit closer.

“I’m ready. Let’s go,"

Her hands fell away as he backed away and turned toward the shuttle. He was ready. He was going. Tracer placed both hands over her chest, directly over her spark and watched. He stopped and glanced back but there was no smile.

Tracer returned Smokescreen’s nod and wave. And then he was gone.

Glued to the deck-plating the scout could only stare. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for…would he come back out? Would he change his mind and not go at all?
No. He had to go.

Tracer let her arms drop to her sides. There was no reason to stay. She turned around and stared back toward Wheeljack’s lab. The pain was intensifying and she wasn’t sure if it was due to the withdrawal or the broken spark.

Whichever it was due to she wanted it to stop. The pain had to go.

_____


A small smile grew on Veneer’s face as he looked over at his companion. When he caught himself staring the nurse turned his optics back onto the shuttle’s entrance. Although he wanted nothing more than to stand there and commit every millimeter of Blindside’s frame to memory, it just wasn’t the time. He could only hope that they would both return and none the worse for wear.

A quite settled between the two. There were the voices of the other mechs moving and working about but the absence of any sound from either one of them was simply painful.

He needed to put an end to this torture. Veneer turned to face Blindside, “Side, I just…” He stopped as he watched Blindside place his box on the floor and then stand back up. A quizzical look crept onto his visage for just a brief moment.

It was when he was in Blindside’s arms that he knew what his dear friend wanted to get across.

Veneer relaxed into the embrace, as well as he could, and smiled. “I know, Side. I do too,” he whispered. Outward expressions of affection they were things Blindside avoided. Veneer has always known him to be fiercely private. He’d even dare to describe him as slightly shy.

Veneer smiled inwardly at the thought.

He shut off his optics when he felt the gentle peck to the top of his head. Yes, this was very unlike Blindside, but it was not unwelcome.

And then just as quickly as it had begun it was over. The tactician pulled away, albeit reluctantly picked up the box and smiled at the content nurse.

"Alright, Vee. Where should we set down our load?"

Veneer had just opened his mouth when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Axle said to the confused nurse. With a gentle pat to Veneer’s shoulder plate the field medic turned his attention to Blindside. “I can take that for you, Blindside. You should get to you r seat. We’ll be taking off once Magnus gets here.” He carefully slipped the box from Blindside’s grip and began to move into the shuttle.

Axle stopped and looked over his shoulder and smiling at the two bots he said, “Let’s go, Veneer. Ratchet’s waiting.” He glanced back toward Smokescreen who was already headed toward the shuttle’s hatch.

"What's happening you two? How we rollin'?" Jazz greeted the approaching Blindside and Veneer.

The nurse sent a broad smile in Jazz’s direction before the saboteur made his way back into the shuttle.

Veneer nodded to the black and green medic before turning back to Blindside. “I’ll see you soon.” He smiled, stared for a moment and then jogged off after Axle. As the two disappeared into the shuttle Veneer threw a series of questions out concerning the Fallen, his Heralds and his role in helping out.

Shuttle Longevity - Docking Boon

“It’s okay," Axle said to the confused nurse. With a gentle pat to Veneer’s shoulder plate the field medic turned his attention to Blindside. “I can take that for you, Blindside. You should get to you r seat. We’ll be taking off once Magnus gets here."

It might have been an exaggeration to say that Blindside had nearly jumped out of his armor plating when Axle suddenly appeared beside Veneer, but not by much. The tactician swiftly composed himself and nodded with his usual amiable smile at Axle. "Right! You've got it. Here you are," Blindside said perhaps with a bit too much cheer to disguise his embarassment.

The blind tactician dearly prayed to Primus that Axle had seen nothing. How would he ever live this one down? No. No. Axle had seen nothing. That must surely be the case. Blindside hadn't seen him look. Then again...he hadn't exactly been 'looking' at anyone but Veneer at that moment...In the end, Blindside decided it best not to dwell as he handled over his supply crate.

"What's happening you two? How we rollin'?"

Primus, no! Another one... was all Blindside could think as Jazz approached their trio. He had probably seen his overt and rather dramatic display of affection as well. Egad. This was dreadful. Yet...Blindside did not really regret it. Blindside offered the black and white operative a wide smile. "Hey Jazz. It's good."

“I’ll see you soon."

Blindside turned his head to look at Veneer, smiling at the nurse and nodding. He watched Veneer jog after Axle and disappear into the shuttle. He supposed he ought to get going as well. Blindside followed in their wake, entering the shuttle as well.

Shuttle Longevity - Interior

Blindside's thoughts turned away from Veneer as the blind mech entered the passenger section of the shuttle and toward the battle ahead. Working with the Decepticons to defeat the Fallen left a foul taste in Blindside's mouth. He knew their methods. Their tactics. He had been on the receiving end of their brutality. They would use any means to achieve their goal. It was likely that they would simply turn on the Autobots as soon as the Fallen was defeated. If the Fallen was defeated.

Taking a seat in the extreme rear of the shuttle next to Howlstrike without paying the former Predacon any mind, Blindside interlocked his actuators as he leaned forward in his seat, lost in thought. To the outside observer who did not know Blindside, it would appear as though he was simply offlining his optics as he thought. One would have to look directly at his optical socket to divine that behind the protective glass covering, it was empty.

Slaying a god was no simple matter. It was not like the theaters of war that the tactician had performed upon before...and both sides were now without their leaders. Their champions. Not that Blindside faulted Ultra Magnus, but there was only one Optimus Prime, and they desperately needed him. Whether it was coincidence or purpose that caused the Fallen to attack now, it mattered little. The moves had been made.

Not to mention that the Fallen had actually possessed their comrades, turning them against their own. Hex...which...to be brutally honest, Blindside could care less about the fate of. He had been rather unappealing even before his possession. Hardhead, however...to have one like that decapitate Warpath and Howlstrike? It was hard to swallow, but Blindside had seen Howlstrike and Warpath's bodies. Even possessed...one would think that some semblance of their former selves must have been inside. Somewhere. Or not. It was possible that...they could not be saved. Any of them. Or they could have turned of their own free will. It was possible. In which case, death would be the proper sentence, although most would insist that they be saved...

Blindside clenched his hands tightly as he mulled it over. He would do what was necessary. Even if none of the others would. The tactician felt the familiar grip of apathy enshroud him in its cold thrall. A prelude to cold savage fury that the tactician fought with. When the Decepticons inevitably turned on the Autobots, he would be ready. He would be waiting.

His resolve now unshakable, Blindside finally took a moment to assess the rest of the occupants of the shuttle. Getaway and Skids were here. He could see other milling about, no sign of Ultra Magnus yet. What did interest the tactician, however, is that he was sitting directly next to Howlstrike, whose every contour bespoke hostility and tension. Clearly, the former Predacon had not taken decapitation well, nor could Blindside particularly blame him. The tactician had made the Decepticon who took his sight pay a hefty price for his actions.

Unlocking his actuators and leaning back in his seat a bit more, Blindside considered Howlstrike without turning his head to the lupine Autobot. The tactician had been rather concerned for the former predacon when he had stormed out of the medical bay so suddenly. While Howlstrike looked as if he was about to tear the nearest mech's cranium off, Blindside had faith in him. Many did not trust Howl, but he had made the choice to leave the Decepticons and suffer the DJD's wrath after all. One did not make that decision lightly.

"We'll make them pay," Blindside said finally, inclining his head slightly in Howlstrike's direction, "Have no fear." The tactician paused for a moment and then turned his head so that he was looking directly at the former Predacon, concern showing clearly on his faceplate. "Are you alright, Howlstrike?"

Shuttle Longevity: Docking Boon

Ultra Magnus waited in the shadows of the long corridor that lead from the link between the Ark-22 and the Medical Frigate Guardian. His back was to the last few stragglers as they made their way to the confines of the docking boon, his optics tuned to the under carriage of the larger star ship as large double doors began to spread open along the aft seem. Few remaining running lights on the streamlined multiple purpose vessel flashed in the mesmerizing blues and reds as the visible door locked into place. A count down within his processor ticked of the astrological seconds as they faded into non existence and soon a small snub nosed, broad winged shuttle slowly emerged from the cavernous space at the end of the 22. The wide glowing exhaust port from the ion engine flared to life once the shuttle was clear of the mother ship’s extended starboard engine pod. It banked hard towards the surface of the Earth and was lost as it disappeared behind the bulk of his flagship.

The illumination strips across the carbon scored ceiling flickered briefly before deactivating completely, the final sign that the last of the support links that tied the Longevity’s primary generators to the two Autobot ships had been severed. Protocol demanded that power to non essential areas would be cut to preserve power in the event of battle or an emergency situation, of which Magnus agreed qualified. Though at the moment, protocols and procedures were the furthest as they could possibly be from the Supreme Commander’s processor. He knew how obvious this entire situation seemed, a deliberate invitation by the enemy to their waiting maw for a potential slaughter. Any and all strategies that they could muster now were only pale imitations to properly developed battle plans. Those who boarded the Longevity now voiced what he had felt the moment he ordered their deployment.

Destruction of the power generators on both vessels only served to give Magnus a chance, or at least the excuse, to change the timing of the battle which lay before them. If the there had been enough power to bounce them from the points around the globe to the battlefield… Well Magnus figured it would be exactly what the Fallen entity had wanted. By dividing the assault approach, he forced the infection to consider different possibilities and to devise appropriate counters. It also afforded them a chance to force an opening for the Decepticons who by their very communiqué had already departed for the surface. “Commander,” a voice snapped the silence in the hallway and forced the large Autobot to turn around and look towards the deck.

“Ironfist? I was under the impression you had already returned to the main engineering section of this vessel.” Magnus said not entirely as a question but more of a demand of an explanation as to why the engineer was not presently at his assigned post trying to get the Guardian back to operational status.

“Actually Ultra Magnus, I was on my way back there. I have already made an initial assessment, and they are as to be expected. But I am glad I managed to catch you before your team left for the surface.” The weapons engineer reached into his customary satchel and pulled out five ammunition clips and a pair of data cards. “I had a few modified instruments that I figured your team could utilize to greater effect. These contain a more concentrated Acid Pellet mixture, at least twice as strong as the original mix currently employed in standard firearms. They were a pet project I was working on for Prowl a few cycles back, figured he could use a little more oomph than usual.”

Ultra Magnus accepted the materials and placed them in a holding compartment along his left side. “I am sure that he will appreciate your efforts Ironfist.”

Ironfist nodded briefly before he reached in and grabbed a small triangular pyramid device. “Before I forget, this is for you. It’s a prototype stasis Grenade. I haven’t had a chance to test it, but I believe this is one of those rare times where such precautions are… well out the airlock. Its range is shallow, probably has a five meter blast radius. Not sure on the duration, simulations were… inconclusive. But every little bit helps.”

The device was placed into the same compartment as the ammunition clips and the required data upload cards for the weapon modifications and calibrations to targeting systems. The second card however held only a single sigil, possibly a card to calibrate the targeting systems for the one who would be in trusted with the stasis grenade. The engineer concluded his delivery by commenting that a crate of sensor equipment and weapons had been included in the delivery to the shuttle… as well as a portable power generator, for emergencies. He was dismissed and disappeared around the bend.

Ultra Magnus closed the storage hatch on his side and turned towards the shuttle as the final goodbyes were dispensed between friends who were going and those who were ordered to stay behind. He took the first deliberate step towards the final boon. He paused briefly behind Tracer as the smaller scout began to depart from a conversation with the diversionary specialist Smokescreen. He said nothing and only offered a nod of acknowledgement to the scout before he walked passed.

Quietly and almost regally his imposing form crossed the threshold into the interior of the combat shuttle. He did a quick survey of the cabin and took note that those who had been summoned had indeed arrived and were preparing for deployment. A few moments passed, seconds really, allowing for the last stragglers to arrive onboard the vessel before he tapped a command into the keypad located to the right of the air lock. A muted hiss of compressed air escaped the jacks as the thick airlock doors spiraled closed and locked tight into position.

He made his way to the cockpit and quietly took his seat in the command chair located behind the helm and navigation station in the center of the bridge. “Jazz, activate final checks. Clear the docking moorings.” Magnus paused as the counter intelligence officer took over the helm position and began following the assigned tasks. “Disengage umbilical’s as soon as the checks are complete.”

As the tasks were carried out, Magnus tapped into the communications link still available via the docking boon. “Longevity to Guardian… Requesting cleared flight vector to planetary surface. Engage available masking effects.”

Ironfist’s voice came across the communications speaker, evidence that he had taken habitation in the secondary command center located in the engineering section. “Planetary vector confirmed. Masking effects are spotty but active. Try not to fly over too many heavily populated or developed regions. Good luck Longevity, we’re all counting on your success… Guardian Out.”

Ultra Magnus said nothing and instead elected to allow the others to voice their own empty platitudes before the channel was terminated. “Helm, disengage the docking boon and take us out of the Guardian’s gravity well at one quarter thruster. As soon as we have cleared the Guardian full flanking speed to the Autobot City Coordinates provided in the navigation link. Everyone else, prepare yourselves for reentry.”

Shuttle Longevity

Once he and Getaway had boarded the shuttle, Skids wasted little time engaging his safety harness. Direct combat operations weren’t necessarily his area of greatest expertise, but he certainly didn’t want to be pounded into scrap bouncing off the ship’s interior bulkheads during re-entry. He watched as the other Autobots made their own preparations, and his partner slipped into an unusual, reflective silence. It was not long before the theoretician’s own thoughts began to wander, even as they began to get under way.

“You know,” he said, speaking to no one in particular, “Emissary-class vessels like this one were almost retired from service just a few megacycles after their first major production run. Victims of their own lack of specialization, one might say. Weapons systems comparable to an attack shuttle, defenses similar to or better than one would find on the average diplomatic transport, sensors and operational range not far short of inter-system scouting craft, it has a great many perks to recommend it. The problem, of course, is merging all those disparate advantages within the confines of a relatively small hull. That’s where ships like the Longevity begin paying the price for their lack of optimization.

“For one thing, they’re a maintenance nightmare, requiring more specialized parts than practically any other spacefaring vessel out there—including a few components completely unique to the class. Yes, they’ve got better survivability than most shuttles, but one big firefight can lead to megacycles of repair work to get it back to full functionality.” Skids tapped the bulkhead beside him. “They’re notoriously cramped, too; most of the interior space is given over to equipment necessary to keeping one system or another going. And all that is before one even considers the staggering amounts of fuel they consume—as much as a small corvette, when every piece of hardware’s online and running at peak capacity. It’s not surprising you don’t see them around much, except in the service of VIP’s, or particularly well-supplied commando units.”

Transmission to Ultra Magnus from Shuttle Serenity

>>"Commander Magnus, this is Chromedome aboard Shuttle Serenity. We are kicking the landing gear up now and moving out to the rally point Blaster provided. Once we pick up the 'Bots stationed in Africa, we'll meet up with you guys in Australia. Chromedome, over and out."<<





((OOC: I'll add Jazz on this later))

Shuttle Longevity - Interior

Once Smokescreen was on board the combat shuttle, he quickly found a seat not far from where Skids and Getaway were sitting. The diversion expert flashed a brief smile at both mechs before strapping himself into his chair for what would likely be a bumpy ride ahead. The rallybot’s thoughts were still on Tracer and how she would fare alone while he was fighting to prevent the coming apocalypse down on the planet’s surface.

She’ll be fine. Primus will watch over her, Smokey thought as he off-lined his optics for a moment. The red and blue racer wasn’t exactly the most religious ‘Bot on board, but he couldn’t deny the seriousness of the coming battle. If the Fallen was real than so were Primus and Unicron. All of those old stories told to scare young protoforms were, in fact, true. Perhaps, it was not too late to start praying. Although, somehow Smokey thought that it would take more than just praying to win the battle ahead.

The diversionary tactician on-lined his optics once again at the sound of Skids’ vocals as he rattled off the history of Emissary-class vessels such as the one they were all currently sitting in along with the reasons why they weren’t used that much anymore. The theoretician clearly knew his stuff when it came to shuttles like the Longevity, and he seemed to be trying to keep everyone’s minds occupied with something other than the upcoming battle with a fiery demigod. Smokey had to admit that the dark blue mech was doing a pretty good job even if Tracer was still on the rallybot’s processor. However, for a brief astrosecond, Smokey wasn’t sure if he was actually sitting close to Skids or Bluestreak.

“Hey, Skids,” Smokescreen finally called out as he looked over at the a resident anthropologist with a grin on his faceplate. “You’ve been taking vocal lessons from Bluestreak again, haven't you? Don’t get me wrong, I found all of what you just said very interesting, but I must say you’d give the ol’ chatterbot a run for his energon chips if he were here right now. Heh.” The rallybot couldn’t help but laugh, hoping his words wouldn’t be taken seriously and instead help to relieve some of the tension within the passenger cabin. He was simply trying to keep up his usual friendly demeanor in the face of such adversity even while anxiety filled his very spark. “I kid, of course.”

The arrival of Ultra Magnus had not gone unnoticed by Smokescreen. The imposing Autobot Commander waited patiently for the last of the stragglers to arrive before closing the airlock and moving into the cockpit. It was almost time to get going. Soon, they would be on their way to ultimately face the greatest enemy in the history of this Primus-forsaken war. Ironically, it was an enemy even greater than the Decepticons, themselves, and one that would require said ‘Cons to help defeat. There were so many things that could go wrong. Primus help us all.
_________

Howlstrike remained seated at the very back of the passenger section of the shuttle in deep meditation. His anger had subsided but was not entirely gone. He would never really be completely devoid of anger. The former Predacon had to deal with such rage for the whole extent of his existence. It would seem strange to finally be totally purged of it. Howl kept it under control, however, and that was most important.

With his optics off-lined, Howlstrike had not noticed any of the Autobots who entered the Longevity after him, not Smokescreen or Ultra Magnus or even the one that was now sitting in the chair right beside him. The tracker was in his own little world, one that provided him with some sense of peace in a life that was otherwise dominated by rage and aggression. Howl had hoped that Kup would be on board the Longevity with him, but alas that did not seem to be the case. The green and black hunter was on his own surrounded by those who didn’t fully trust or want to have anything to do with him.

Then Blindside’s words invaded Howlstrike’s audio receptors. The tracker wasn’t sure at first if the tactician’s comments were directed at him or someone else. Howl only knew that he had been awakened from a nice and relaxed meditated state by the useless musings of someone he had little to no contact with in the past. The hunter was somewhat familiar with the sightless mech, but he had never spoken to him and never had any intention to, either. It wasn’t until he heard his name that the former Predacon knew for certain that Blindside was actually speaking directly to him.

On-lining his optics, Howlstrike let out a deep sigh before sending an icy glare in the blind Autobot’s direction. The tracker had specifically taken a seat at the back of the shuttle in order to avoid everyone else and now here was some disabled mech, who had plenty of other vacant seats to chose from, not only sitting right next to him but also wanting to start up a conversation. Who did this ‘Bot think he was kidding? Except for Kup, no one ever wanted to talk to the former Predacon, unless of course they were forced to work with him by their superiors. Otherwise, most avoided Howlstrike all together.

“I fear nothing, Blindside,” the ex-Predacon growled as his optics remained fixated on the mech next to him. “And your concern for my welfare is not needed nor was it asked for. Let’s not kid ourselves here, friend. You don’t like me any more than the rest of them, so stop pretending that you do.” Howlstrike took another intake of air as he turned his head away from the blind tactician, off-lining his optics once more. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to meditating, which I was doing before you interrupted me.”

Shuttle Longevity - Interior

Blindside listened to Howlstrike sigh deeply as the former Predacon turned his head around to look at him. Where another mech might have been able to easily and immediately perceive the icy glare that Howlstrike sent the tactician's way, Blindside was only able to recognize it with some intense scrutiny of the contours of Howlstrike's faceplate. Most mechs could see when someone was glaring at them without having to do the blind mech's equivalent of 'squinting their optics'. Just another thing that the blue tactician had grown accustomed to.

“I fear nothing, Blindside," the ex-Predacon growled as his optics remained fixated on the mech next to him. “And your concern for my welfare is not needed nor was it asked for. Let’s not kid ourselves here, friend. You don’t like me any more than the rest of them, so stop pretending that you do."

To say that Blindside had expected any less hostility would have been a lie. The tactician had heard about the former Predacon more by passing remark in conversation than any direct questioning. His hostility was well reciprocated by many. Blindside let out a sympathetic sigh and then stopped mid-sigh when he realized that Howlstrike could interpret that as pity. The blind mech was well acquainted with being treated differently than his comrades. Even Veneer could be guilty of it at times.

Being blind came with a certain social stigma. Many refused to serve under him because they were afraid that his disability would get them killed. He was given special treatment of a kind. It was pity. They pitied him. He would never see color or shape or movement again the way that they could. He wanted none of their pity or stares. And nor would Howlstrike, the tactician guessed.

Howlstrike took another intake of air as he turned his head away from the blind tactician, off-lining his optics once more. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to meditating, which I was doing before you interrupted me."

"I did not mean to suggest that you were a coward," Blindside said apologetically. The blind tactician turned his head away from Howlstrike, not needing to 'look' at him to 'see' him. "One does not turn his back on the Decepticons and risk the wrath of the Decepticon Justice Division lightly, Howlstrike. Why should I not like you? Or at least afford you the trust that you have rightfully earned." Blindside frowned grimly. "It is the least that any Autobot could do for you. Unfortunately, not many see it that way," the tactician added with a sigh mixed with both sorrow and frustration.

Blindside paused to consider Howlstrike's meditations from which he was keeping the lupine mech with every syllable. A former Decepticon...but still a mechanoid like any other. He played a certain part as an irritable former decepticon, but the tactician could not help but wonder if that was a facade to keep the world at bay. They all had their masks. He decided to risk a few more syllables. "Howlstrike..." Blindside said slowly, ruminating over what had set the hunter on edge, "I will help you strike back at Hardhead. Should you wish that."

Blindside readjusted his position in his seat and ensured that the safety straps were secured before falling into silence, examining the small space that they found themselves confined in. A mere metallic hull separating them from the abyssal void of space. One void that not even his new 'sight' could pierce.

Shuttle Longevity - Interior

All Howlstrike wanted was to be left alone in peace and quiet so he could continue with his meditation. Was that really so much to ask for? In all actuality, it was better for not only the ex-Predacon but for everyone else on board the shuttle, as well. Meditating kept Howl from becoming a savage and enraged monster that would end up ripping everyone in the passenger cabin apart in a gory display of energon and mechanical entrails. Blindside, however, did not seem to understand this concept and continued an attempt at a conversation with the tracker beyond the few words they had already exchanged.

The Autobot hunter let out yet another long, deep sigh that was loud enough for even those in the cockpit to hear him. This sigh was also mixed with a low growl that would hopefully help the blind mech in taking a hint. Of course, the tactician kept on talking, his words filling Howlstrike’s cranial unit with the noise he was trying to avoid. To his credit, Blindside did apologize for suggesting that the ex-Predacon was a coward, even mentioning the Decepticon Justice Division in the process. That was a good start but hardly enough to get Howl to open up and play nice. Then the disabled ‘Bot questioned why he should not like the lupine mech. Blindside was clearly trying to suck up to the tracker like so many before him. Although, it never lasted that long as there were so many reasons not to like the animalistic turncoat.

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?” Howlstrike finally said, on-lining his optics and glancing over at Blindside. “You must be Bluestreak’s twin. Sigh. Fine, have it your way. But if I turn into a raging lunatic and go on a rampage, it’s your fault. Got it?” The annoyed tracker then turned to look directly at the bulkhead across from his seat in front of him. If he was going to be forced to talk with the disabled tactician then at least he would remain in a comfortable position when doing so. “Let’s get one thing clear. I did not abandon the Decepticons, they abandoned me. If the DJD should have anyone on their stupid list it should be Razorclaw for being such a dishonorable and piss poor leader. As for why you should not like me, well, where should I start? Heh.”

Howlstrike let his last question linger in the air for Blindside to consider. Even he should be well aware of the former Predacon’s reputation amongst the Autobot ranks. After all, Howl wasn’t exactly the friendliest mech around and had a penchant for violence like his prior comrades. The hunter was about to provide the tactician with a long list of reasons why to hate him when the blind ‘Bot suddenly offered something to the tracker that surprised him. “What?” Howlstrike replied in a low tone as he once again looked over at Blindside. “Did you just say you would help me to get back at Hardhead? Why would you do that? You do realize that Hardhead is supposedly possessed and not responsible for his own actions, right? I mean, I could care less, but then again, heh, I’m me.”

The former Predacon bore his optics into Blindside, looking for something, anything, that would explain why the disabled mech would make such an offer to him. It was unlike any Autobot to help Howlstrike at all let alone to aid him in seeking revenge against another ‘Bot. It was unusual to say the very least, especially for someone like Blindside as it didn’t really seem to match his personality. Perhaps there was more to this blind tactician than met the optic. “So, Blindside, tell me, why are you willing to help me with such a vengeful task? What’s in it for you? Hmmmmm?”

Shuttle Longevity - Interior

"Jazz, activate final checks. Clear the docking moorings."

With Ultra Magnus making his presence on the shuttle well known, the Counter Intelligence agent dropped his feet back to the ground and walked from the navigator's seat over to the pilot's seat and began following the armored mech's orders.

“Helm, disengage the docking boon and take us out of the Guardian’s gravity well at one quarter thruster. As soon as we have cleared the Guardian full flanking speed to the Autobot City Coordinates provided in the navigation link. Everyone else, prepare yourselves for reentry."

"Aye Aye, Magnus!" Jazz replied as his charcoal-colored actuators began typing away at the controls to the ship. "Everyone on board? I'm deactivating the docking boon connection now." From out the corner of his optical visor, Jazz could see the docking boon slowly retreat back against the hull of the Guardian as he took over the controls of the free-floating space craft. He slowly tugged at the forward lever in front of him, bringing the shuttle to Magnus' requested speed.

The Longevity pulled away from the Guardian’s side as it crept away from the conjoined Autobot vessels. Once it was far enough away from the artificial gravity well, the black and white mech at the ship’s controls increased the shuttle’s speed to reentry point and pulled the Autobot shuttle down into the Earth’s atmosphere.

“Coordinates set and Longevity is beginning to pass through Earth’s atmosphere. Expect smooth sailing with a bump of turbulence here and there.” Jazz announced to Ultra Magnus as he placed an actuator on the temple of his processor plating and activated his internal broadband frequency, which quietly began playing music provided by Blaster into his audio receptor.

>>Around the World, Around the Wooooorld, Around the World, Around the Wooooorld…<<

***
As the shuttle traversed through the void of space, Railway kept his faceplating in the palms of his actuators, still feeling uneasy about the tight conditions he was placed in. He audio receptors perked up as Blindside seemed to provoke the former Predacon, Howlstrike who was sitting off to his right a seat or so away.

“Hey c’mon buddy,” Railway finally said as he broke his uncomfortable silence, “Blindside’s just trying to help out. We don’t need any infighting when we’ve got bigger issues on our actuators. Only way we’re gonna beat this Fallen character is if we stick together and work as a team.”

The train-former leaned across the empty seat and extended his bulky arm out to the Autobot tracker whom he never seemed to met before in hopes he'd shake his hand after his little pep-talk could have changed Howlstrike's demeanor.

“Name’s Railway by the way.”

Shuttle Longevity – Hold One – Combat Casualty Care

“I haven’t had much time to read through all of the files on our three that have been…you know,” Veneer cast a quick glance in Axle’s direction as the two finally entered the hold. After getting little reaction from the field medic the nurse turned his attention to the sparsely equipped area.

Veneer slowly moved past the black and green medic only stopping when he reached one of the medical slabs that would no doubt be put to use during their upcoming battle. He placed the box he had been holding down on the smooth cold surface and sighed.

“Is this all we’ve got?” He asked without turning to look at Axle.

A grunt from behind told him the other medic wasn’t happy with the idea of heading into a potential warzone with so little. “It’s all we could spare. So it’ll have to do.” Axle stepped up alongside Veneer and placed the box he had taken from Blindside down next to the nurse’s.

Veneer nodded stiffly.

Silence. It was painful. Too painful to let it go on for so long.

“How are we going to get them back, Axle?” His voice was so low almost too low to make out.

Axle shook his head as he stepped away from the other mech. He stopped at a cabinet and began shifting items around making room for the equipment in the boxes. Veneer sighed heavily while sifting through the items before him.

“I don’t want you to worry about how we’re going to get them back.” A voice grumbled from the back of the room. Veneer’s head snapped around and caught sight of the CMO moving toward he and Axle; a set of surgical tool clutched tightly in his hands.

Veneer settled and went back to work. “Then we do have a plan? There is a way to save them?” He hoped the answer would be a resounding yes. Instead, silence. The nurse placed a scanner down gently before he turned around. “Ratchet. Tell me the truth,” Veneer looked from the CMO to the field medic and back again. “Are any of us going to be alive to see tomorrow?”

A scowl formed on Ratchet’s face as he dumped the load in his arms down on a cart. He quickly stalked over to the nurse but was intercepted by Axle who pressed his hand against Ratchet’s chest. “You listen, scraplet, and you listen good!” Ratchet tore Axle’s hand away and stepped in closer to both subordinates. “I will not lose a mech on this mission! I will see to it that every single one of us makes it back fully functional!” Veneer could feel the hot breath from the irate doctor waft over his plating. He stepped back pressing into Axle who was standing behind him.

Ratchet physically composed himself. Straightened his stance and crossed his arms over his chestplate. “And yes, we have a plan.” Veneer relaxed slightly stepping slowly away from Axle. He took care however not to get too close to Ratchet. “What...what are we going to do?” He asked quietly.

Axle placed a hand on Veneer’s shoulder catching the nurse’s attention. “Distraction. We’re going to split them up.” A pause. “There’ll be four groups consisting of one or two mechs to distract and contain each of the Heralds.” Axle quickly looked to Ratchet who simply nodded.

“The rest will distract the Fallen. Once his Heralds are taken out of the equation we’ll be able to concentrate on just the Fallen.” Axle stared at the unmoving nurse and removed his hand. “How…who will be in the groups?” Veneer questioned.

Axle stared for a long moment internally debating on whether revealing the potential candidates would be wise. But it was Ratchet who spoke. “Axle and Chromedome will be concentrating on Hex. Hardhead…” Ratchet took a quick glance in Axle’s direction before looking back to the nurse. “Well, we’re certain that Howlstrike can handle Hardhead on his own.”

“And the ‘Cons…Darkride and Drag Strip? We’re not sending our own after them, are we?” Veneer looked from one mech to the other. “The idea of this plan is to send someone who the Herald is familiar with as a distraction giving the other bot a chance to move in and sedate the target.”

“So we’ll need the ‘Cons to send some of their own to retrieve Darkride and Drag Strip.” Veneer nodded in understanding. He looked at Ratchet who frowned in return. “Do you think it’ll work?” he asked hesitantly. The old CMO growled lowly. “We’ll make it work. I told you before; I’m not going to lose a mech; not to that thing.”

With his optics focused on his nurse Ratchet opened up a comm line with Ultra Magnus. He'd need to provide the Commander with the names of the bots he believes would be beneficial to the mission.

>>"Magnus. I've a few names for you and their potential targets. Axle wants Chromedome with him when he looks for Hex. We're also interested in having Howlstrike look for Hardhead. I'm confident that the slagger won't deactivate him after beating him into submission. And that's better than losing Hardhead altogether. We'll need to talk to the 'Cons about their own. Whoever they send; they'll need to have some kind of relationship with Drag Strip and Darkride. Won't matter if said relationship is or was good or bad. It'll work either way."<<

Shuttle Longevity - Interior

“You’re not going to shut up, are you?" Howlstrike finally said, glancing over at Blindside with an indicative twitch of his head. “You must be Bluestreak’s twin. Sigh. Fine, have it your way. But if I turn into a raging lunatic and go on a rampage, it’s your fault. Got it?"

There it was. Veneer would call it 'the cracks are showing' or something similar. Blindside couldn't quite recall. Instead, Blindside held up his hands in a pacifying gesture. "Got it. All my fault," the blind tactician responded with a slight grin as he rested an elbow on his leg and his head on top of his actuator as he turned to look at Howlstrike. Was a start right? Though if Howl did go on a rampage...that would be...problematic. Not that Howlstrike would...Blindside had more faith in the lupine tracker than that. Still, Blindside was going to make it a point to not accidentally antagonize the former Predacon more than he already had.

“Let’s get one thing clear. I did not abandon the Decepticons, they abandoned me. If the DJD should have anyone on their stupid list it should be Razorclaw for being such a dishonorable and piss poor leader. As for why you should not like me, well, where should I start? Heh."

Had Blindside optics, he might have rolled them at Howlstrike's last statement. Seeing as he did not, he was content to simply stare at the tracker. It seemed as though he were actually going to provide a list of reasons too when the disabled tactician's last statement caught Howlstrike off guard.

“What?" Howlstrike replied in a low tone as he once again looked over at Blindside.

Nod.

“Did you just say you would help me to get back at Hardhead?"

Nod.

"You do realize that Hardhead is supposedly possessed and not responsible for his own actions, right? I mean, I could care less, but then again, heh, I’m me."

And once again Blindside nodded with a rather matter of fact look on his faceplate. Blindside watched as Howlstrike gave him a long hard stare, boring his optics into the tactician's empty sockets. If the former Decepticon was looking for answers somewhere in their abysmal depths, he would not find them there.

“So, Blindside, tell me, why are you willing to help me with such a vengeful task? What’s in it for you? Hmmmmm?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" After a brief pause, Blindside answered his own question, "Probably not...Fine. Let's say I know what it is like to have something taken from you. Your pride. Your dignity. The respect of your peers..." Blindside trailed off for a moment in quiet contemplation. He shook it off and glanced back up to Howlstrike, continuing in low tones, "If Hardhead isn't possessed, then he deserves to suffer for attacking one of our own...dearly. But if he is...it still makes no difference. That thing inside him has got to pay for what its done. Hardhead would want us to make the slagger hurt. Make it pay. I won't let it get away with it. Let me help you. Please."

Blindside only just realized that he had been clenching his free hand's fist tightly. The blind tactician leaned back in his seat and slowly exhaled, releasing the tension in his body. Thinking of the day that he lost his optics...it never failed to dredge up some dark memories. That wasn't the only reason that Blindside had sought to compose himself, however. He had 'seen' Railway turn his cranial unit their way.

“Hey c’mon buddy, Blindside’s just trying to help out. We don’t need any infighting when we’ve got bigger issues on our actuators. Only way we’re gonna beat this Fallen character is if we stick together and work as a team."

Blindside smiled at the larger mech, a courtesy he doubted Howlstrike would indulge in. The disabled tactician had heard of the much larger mech, here and there. He usually got mentioned because of his size. Well that and who would win in a fight, Railway or Broadside. Blindside waved at the bulkier mech. "Hey Railway, good to see you on board," the tactician said by way of greeting.

Shuttle Longevity

Scoop sat at the auxiliary tactical display, his optics scanning the sensor feeds as they continued their passive sweeps over the long hulls of both crippled Autobot vessels. Small portions of the green wire grid scale matrix slowly took shape along the port side of the engine strut of the Guardian, the infantry mechanism zoomed in to the jagged ring. He typed in a few commands to clear the feed and shook his head at the starburst of green plasma flames as they flickered in and out of the vents. Individual drones darted back and forth throwing fire suppressant onto the spire of green fire, though Scoop was versed enough in the basics of engineering to know a futile effort when he saw one. The source of the fire had to be separated from the fuel before such a blaze could be extinguished, and judging by the size of the burn, such an effort was well underway.

He toggled the scan back to the Ark-22 and saw little external damage, which was not surprising given the size of the vessel and the distance between the engine core and the exterior hull plates. Still it did not necessarily mean the vessel itself had escaped damage beyond the destruction of the primary generators. Power overloads had spread through multiple key systems of the ship, necessitating not only major power loss but also key systems being forced off line. From Scoop's perspective, the attack had been a grave failure for the Fallen and his minions. Tactically speaking had the attack gone according to plan the Autobots would have bounced down into the waiting guns or unholy tendrils ready for their obliteration. While it was doubtful such a diversion would not be considered, the approach from two different directions in a pincer type maneuver was a decidedly more effective tactic than appearing in mass for the slaughter.

The hulls of both vessels faded from Scoop's monitor as his mind began to wander to a simple passage from the Fourth Book of Primus and the tale of Dorma of Tendrak. "Until darkness stands my lads we traverse the night. Until darkness fades my lads we traverse the light. For Primus our creator and our ultimate guide provides neither doubt nor fear for he is the beacon that pierces the failing might." His voice was a mutter and he did not wish to cite the rest of the verse about a king who had been forced to challenge the dreaded beast of Xexion in the eldest of days. A broken spear and shattered body the king battled with every ounce of his spark to free the dark lands from the despicable monstrosity that had torn through the populace. The story concluded with the king earning the favor of Primus and was fused with a brilliant power in which Dorma used to slay the beast and free the land.

Ultra Magnus offered only a brief glance from his command chair, of which Scoop barely noticed. But the nearly imperceptible nod at the quote gave the air of approval.

Scoop toggled the sensor package of the auxiliary tactical station to assume the role of defacto navigator. "We are currently entering Earth's atmosphere. Adjusting course to bypass the reported storm cell over the South American Continent. Transmitting correction to helm. Jazz adjust your angle of reentry by point zero zero two four degrees on the Zeta Axis."

Moving the whole Shuttle Crew to the Autobot City: Hidden Foundations thread.

Engineering Room: Deck 2

"Get out... Main plasma conduit's going to blow." A frantic voice echoed through the cramped passage as a half dozen midshipmen pulled set of large liquid nitrogen tanks along the warped super heated decks. The destruction of the Quantum Generator had been the catalyst, the interrupted flow of power and fuel had ignited in several junctions through out the engineering deck and threatened to engulf the frigate in brilliant emerald flame. Half melted slag already drooped from the ceilings as wires began to succumb to the intense heat and building radiation. "Where are those damn tanks, scrap... its too late. We're going to lose this deck in another astro-minute."

Another voice, feminine from the higher pitched audio tone, barely climbed above the frenzy as another coolant pipe burst under the intense pressures of heat and flame. "MEDIC!!! yeomen Wrench Lift..." the voice was consumed by the echoes of a crackling inferno further down the poorly illuminated corridor.

This was the scene that greeted Ironfist as he dropped down from the higher core deck into the inner workings of the vessel he had come to call his own. To anyone who worked on the concourse or the bridges of these magnificent beasts, these were the nether regions which dark and mysterious forces dwelled. To engineers, particularly to innovative ones, it was a place where miracles were an every day occurrence. The stench of burnt synthetics, boiled lubricants, and melting metal mixed with a ting of plastics mixed in... it was intoxicating to say the least.

Ironfist's olfactory sensors immediately began to register the components of the noxious gasses that now infused the corridor. It told him more in one analysis reading than could be told by the blithering pipes worker who was desperately trying to pull a wounded mech away from the green flames further in.

Without pause, the weapons engineer transformed into his vehicle form and dashed to the very edge of the heat-sphere. His shock absorbers barely managing to keep him stable as the decks warped erratically the closer he got to the fire line. Wisps of acrid smoke and dense pockets of nitrogen hovered like a thick fog, his lamps barely penetrating a quarter of a meter.

He arrived at the last line of defense, the original six crew men were using their liquid nitrogen tanks to cool as many of the vital connections down as they could while creating pathways for evacuation teams to race in and grab wounded. Others were laid haphazardly against the corridor walls and bulkheads, their bodies showing signs of overheat and in several cases, stasis lock. Ironfist transformed to his robot mode and quickly summoned his turret from subspace.

"I need a SIT REP NOW peoples," the engineer called over the roar of the flames though through the sheer intensity of heat and radiation he could well guess what had happened.

Chron, a minibot in the mold of Beachcomber though decidedly less sentimental, threw a sideway glance towards the engineering chief and offered a smirk. "We're having a nice cesium salami roast Chief. Dot there just forgot to bring the Marshmellons." The remark brought on a few good natured chuckles from the six man fire defense line which had precious few moments to reflect on the situation they presently faced. Each one had been trained for moments such as these, and in Ironfist's humblest of opinions, the damage response team onboard the Guardian was second to none.

"Sorry Chief. Left 'em in my locker back in the barracks," the female engineer, in the mold of Warpath albeit without the pair of massive cannon hanging off her chest, replied as she twisted out an exhausted tank for a fresh one.

Ironfist shook his head as he placed his thumb and fore finger to his temple. "And about the fire itself, any progress?"

This time a larger mechanism, green with yellow finish turned around and nodded. "Yes Chief. Aside from the Salami roast and the forgotten Marshmellons, we can safely say that this entire section is broiled to a nice glazed finish. We're about to pull back and vent this section."

"Fire suppression systems offline I take it Pike?" Ironfist did not need a response. His optical sensors immediately told him that the initial explosion had fused the response circuitry. Which also meant that the vent controls in the section where they were doing their work was unreliable at best... at worst a waste of absolute precious seconds. Pike's shaking head only confirmed it.

Dot and Chron stepped back as a burning piece of bulkhead that was supporting the ceiling collapsed before them, spraying them with molten metal. "You know, this would be a scrap of a lot easier if someone had invented a null heat capsule." Chron's sarcasm was not lost as it laced his words like molten cybertronium over a silicon wafer.

"Remind me to get on that later Chron. Dot, position your spray point zero zero two degrees on the X axis, raise it by point four degrees on the Y axis. Chron, inverse instructions." The two smaller mechs did as they were told and managed to stifle the expanding inferno from the fallen beam. Ironfist meanwhile made his way back to his turret and began to program the sensors to analyze precisely how to get to the primary section venting system on the opposite end of the corridor.

A small window appeared above the primary targeting display. Moments later a green wire map of the corridor intersection appeared within the narrow holographic frame. A nanosecond ticked by as the thermal temperatures and pressure gages were added followed by radiation readings. Ironfist committed each detail to memory and ordered his turret to reconfigure. "All of you, fall back to defense line Beta Epsilon Libra. Except you Colt."

Colt nodded at the order and stepped to the side as the other five members of the defense team maneuvered to the following intersection behind turret, they were lost to view in the thick black smoke and licks of emerald flame. "You asked for me to remain behind chief?"

"That conduit is about to blow if we don't alter the flow to secondary subsection 21.24. Add to that we need the vents open to get the atmosphere out of this quadrant so the plasma fire can be extinguished." Ironfist pointed to the small box near the vent controls through the holographic display. Each moment the temperature rose with an estimated failure level imprinted below the continually changing readings.

Colt nodded in understanding of the situation. "You want me to go and activate the reroute subroutines and..."

"Not exactly. Those temperatures would turn you to a puddle of slag in moments. What I need is for you to reroute those commands through the turret interface." Ironfist set a reassuring hand on the younger Autobot engineer's shoulder. "You can do this, just remember your training and you'll be fine."

The electronics engineer nodded and took position behind the turret controls. He pulled a link plug from the side of his head and connected it to the platform. His optics darkened slightly as the youth instigated the dangerous dive.

While Ironfist's subordinate began diving into the crippled mainframe he hefted up one of the half spent extinguisher canisters and slung it on to his back. "Wreck'n Rule." He lowered his head as he swung the nozzle in front and began a steady arc to evacuate his chosen course.

Main Engineering: Deck 2

The heat was intense; in fact it was near the level of mind incinerating. The decks buckled and warped as concussive waves of super heated gases burst through the already charred halls of the lower deck. Pipes strained and ruptured as their contents expanded and boiled through bolt and joint, adding to the already poor visibility and the noxious miasma that strangled the section. Brief spurts of liquid nitrogen did little to quell the chaos and bubbling synthetic materials, only serving to forestall what had been deemed as the inevitable.

Ironfist swung the black inverted cone shaped nozzle down one of the halls that lead to a photon generator and pulled back on the trigger to dispense the super cooled liquid in a tight stream. The sizzling splash of near invisible froth assailed his audio receptors before being lost in the crackle and roar of the inferno. As a coolant conduit ruptured from the sudden change in temperature, sending a large cascading roil of flame back towards the engineer, Ironfist dove to the deck and re-aimed his extinguisher nozzle back towards the plasma conduit. The burning ball of gas tore over his back armor plate, gouging out a sizable carbon scar though little else in damage.

He depressed his trigger again and sent another stream of nitrogen back towards the corridor, this time his specific target was the damaged emergency lock to the hatch that separated the inferno from the smoke choked yet still relatively unharmed photon generators beyond. This time his shots connected and immediately froze the panel, instantly closing the circuit that had been damaged by the heat of the fire. The doors slid shut in a rumble filled second and locked from the other side with protective thermal seals that were standard equipment throughout much of the vessel.

A sudden snap and crack of rending metal soon caught his attention and forced the engineer to roll through a burning puddle of molten slag. The beams from another section of the upper deck gave way and crashed through where he had previously laid. The plates groaned under the new stresses, already weakened by the obscene temperatures that cursed this deck. Spider webs began to crisscross the deck floor; metal bent and whined, screeched and cursed as the I-beam shaped bulkhead began to press further through the weakened floor plates. Ironfist barely managed to push himself to his feat as the deck gave way.

The engineer swung the nozzle of his tank tightly as he began to lose his footing, the deck giving way swiftly and steadily. Before he fell into the pyre below, he launched the nozzle as hard as he could towards a junction of pipes still secured along the farthest wall of the intersection. He felt the sharp jerk and bounce as the nozzle cone caught in the junction and held fast like a grapple. Digits held tight to the fraying hose as Ironfist carefully attempted to plant his feet along the burning rupture in the section deck. Fragments of wreckage already pooled below his feet and began igniting smaller fires that were immediately assailed by his engineering staff that had been conducting repairs there.

The hose shredded just as a stout hand wrapped around Ironfist’s wrist and helped the stocky engineer back to a more stable footing. “Chron?” Ironfist rubbed his optics briefly as his filters struggled to adjust to the rising levels of toxins in the atmosphere. “I ordered you to fall back.”

A brief nod from the smaller crewman gave view of a rather wide and satisfied grin across his faceplate. “Sorry chief couldn’t hear the order over the stink of this blasted inferno.” The bulky mech pushed his commanding officer back towards the deck just as a power conduit exploded sending shrapnel crashing through the chest plate of the yeoman. Sparks gushed forth from the dozens of wounds as energon and other fluids slowly began to dribble out only to be boiled away in the blaze. He slumped to the ground and fell face forward straight into Ironfist’s shocked arms.

Ironfist did not hesitate; he drove both of his arms under Chron’s and hefted him towards the hole in the floor. He pivoted his waist so briefly until the yeoman’s legs were no longer supported by the solid surface, and he let go. His optics did not falter as the smaller Autobot disappeared into the inverted maw of wreckage and flame. He turned on his heel and raised his forearm over his face to protect from the rage. The sensors on his fingers were screaming pain as a burst of flame leapt up from the junction where the nozzle had been set, the nozzle now nothing more than a sagging hunk of half melted materials.

A brief link with his turret announced that his time was almost up. Temperatures within the section were now beyond critical, and if they continued to climb they could very well lose the entire deck… not to mention the bulk of the Guardian itself. The turret could not offer a more precise time given the bulk of the processing power was now diverted to Colt and his attempt to reconstruct a bypass for the plasma main. He deactivated the link and drove his fist into a relatively stable section of the wall. He wrapped his fingers around a support girder and pulled back hard tearing it from its bolted moors and rending off the panel with a horrific metal shriek.

Flames whipped in frenzy and beat heavily against the makeshift shield. The alloys began to warp slowly with each wave of heat, the edges curling ever slightly closer towards the pale white arm that held it at distance. Slowly the shield trudged forward as Ironfist carefully took calculated steps over holes that had boiled through the deck and rubble that cascaded from blown out panels across the passage. Another eruption tore through the hall as a converter failed; the shockwave nearly tore the heat shield from Ironfist’s immovable grip.

The heat and flames, acrid smoke and noxious toxins began to take their toll on the weapons engineer. His progress slowed even more as he was twice forced to his knee to regain some clarity to his intake filters. He knew he had only a few more moments before the section was lost, and he needed to pick up the pace, or…

Main Engineering - Deck 2

Ironfist swore under his face mask as another gas line fractured and vented super heated vapors in steaming geysers. Thick viscus smoke billowed from ruined panels choking what little visibility remained, hindering visual optics and rendering thermals practically useless. His optic shield lowered ever so slightly at an angle as if an eye brow furrowing. Fingers wrapped tighter around the makeshift heat shield as the nearest geyser lanced searing hot gas straight towards the engineer.

A grunt of anger soon grew to the point of a low rumbling roar that began to build lower still in his vocal processor. His fingers tightened further on the shield to the point where his small bar snapped, its crisp sound swallowed by the omnipresent belching of flame.

The engineer twisted sharp to his left, to allow the geyser to pass worryingly to his exposed right thigh and torso. With as much strength as he could offer, Ironfist spun what remained of the heat shield and threw it straight into the mixing conflagration. The super heated shield tore through unseen pipes and conduit... forcing the flames to change direction and vent upwards rather than straight towards him.

With the brief window of opportunity now available to him, Ironfist raised his left arm to protect his optics and face from potential surprise detonations. With his free hand stretched out, desperately grasping for the switch. Each step his internal thermometer screamed out leaps in temperature as his own internal systems started to suffer critical failures and distortions.

His fingers splayed out in the darkness, optics no longer viable and inferred scanners showing nothing but the ever presence of burning white light, blind in both degrees of the spectrum. From memory he counted the steps needed to reach the airlock control panel. 10 meters remaining, the seconds were now to the final ten countdown before the main plasma conduit ruptured... killing everyone on the deck.

9 meters, 9 seconds remaining, the alarms roared in his head as emergency klaxons warned of impending devastation that would leave the Guardian lifeless in space... its exposed guts open to the primitive species on the planet below. 5 seconds... 4, 3... Ironfist ignored the range finder reports. He crouched ever so briefly and threw himself into the murk. 2... 1...

A violent explosion tore through the hall ways. The kiss of the frozen void and the rush of escaping ozone ripped from the swiftly rising airlock hatch. Ice began to frost across the scarred deck as Ironfist slumped against the deck and shock frozen wall. Above him the broken gauge of the plasma conduit slowly sank to the lowest possible levels as the smoke and toxic fumes raced into the airless vacuum of space.

"You did it." He sputtered as he looked up in time to see the slender computer programmer unplugged the link from the turret. "You are so going to be put in for a commendation Colt."

The smaller programmer simply nodded as he offered his hand to help the Chief Engineer up to his feet. "The fact that the codes were mostly in tact was a miracle from Primus in and of itself. I simply had to reroute power from various valves and subsidiary turbines."

Ironfist raised his hand and chuckled hollowly. "Tell me after we get back." The roar of the venting section began to subside as the last of the flames were snuffed out. He opened his communications link. "Pike... fire's out. Get your team down here immediately and start evaluation and repair. I want this area mopped up by the time Hot Spot gets back." He closed the link after the brisk affirmative. He slapped Colt on the shoulder and headed back to the primary engineering deck.

Med Bay - CR Chamber

Am I alive? I can't even tell. I mean I'm thinking, listening to my own thoughts right now so that must mean SOMETHING. It's dark so it must mean I'm not dreaming. Is this the afterlife? Have I joined with the allspark? I don't remember seeing any light of Primus...Maybe that's just the myth. Maybe when we die we just are left with alone with our own thoughts to keep us company. What a shame, I was really hoping I'd get to show my awesome cannon to Primus himself.

Inside the CR chamber, the chassis of the red tank-former jerked as he layed within the green liquid.

I don't remember much of what happened. I was decapitated and then BLAM! I'm left here. Did they ever stop him? Was Hardhead ever detained? GAH how am I suppose to know?! I have no idea what's happening while I'm stuck like this...

Warpath's body gave another life filled squirm in his CR chamber, his internal systems starting to come back online.

I just hope he knows that whether I go back to the land of the functioning, or he ends up in this limbo like I am, that he's gonna be in a world of pain. BLAMO!

Engineering Deck

"Hey! Eggheads! What gives?!" Sunstreaker exclaimed as he burst through the doors of the engineering deck. The yellow warrior had just come from the bounce chambers, only to find them dysfunctional. He had to get down to Earth's surface per Magnus' orders but without enough power to fuel the entirety of the Guardian, he and the other Autobots aboard were left sitting around.

"I figured a couple of engineers were capable of keeping the ship held together, but instead I find that you can't even keep enough juice running through this damned rust bucket functioning at full power."

He folded his arms over his chest plating as a scowl grew across his faceplating while he awaited a response from any of the engineers on deck.

Great, Sideswipe is probably already down there kicking aft and I'm stuck up here protoform-sitting a bunch of techies.

Main Engineering: Central Generator Chambers

Ironfist emerged from the upper deck Access Tube that was still billowing noxious white smokes from the recently secured fires that riddled the section. His hands were coated in creosote, soot and baked lubricants from where he had hastily engaged emergency patches to breached conduits and power cables. The engineer quietly made his way over to the orange railing that separated the deck from the two levels plummet to the bottom of the main transwarp drive engine below. Off to either side of the central dormant pillar were two large cylinders, each burnt out and in their central portions turned to mega tons of molten slag.

Two constructobots, Wedge and Hightower, had already begun tearing away the damaged generators. What had once been ten meter long cylinders had gutted along the fringes and pulled away from the engine tower. Ironfist nodded briefly as Wedge sent a brief salute of acknowledgement to their Engineering Chief. A young lad eager to please and determined to some day make a name for himself, Ironfist could appreciate that.

"Status Report?" Ironfist called down as he pushed himself off the rail and out of his brief respite. "How long before that wreckage is cleared and the back ups can take over."

Wedge shifted his weight ever so slightly as he pushed the remains of one of the damaged generators onto a smaller anti gravity sledge. "Well sir, the wreckage is almost cleared... we ran into a few problems with the plasma torches and other power outlets earlier. Possibly due to the results of the connections of the backup generators to the primary transwarp drive."

High Tower transformed from his large crane form into his robot mode that was just as imposing. If Ironfist had not known better, he would have pegged each of them as dead ringers for their Decepticon counterparts. "Shouldn't be too much longer Hoss. Just like Wedgie here said... power went out thanks to that broasting of the upper decks. Now that's under control shouldn't be too much longer fore we get this thing back up to snuff."

Wedge turned to his hulking friend and sneered. He gave a quick light jab to the chest plate of the craneformer. "I was just getting to that."

"If you were, we'd have had to wait another stellar cycle before you got to the point." High Tower laughed in a carefree manner to put many of the engineers and laborers at ease.

Ironfist stepped off the small lift that had transported him from the top tier down to the base engineering level. He was about to address his subordinates when the double doors slid open to reveal a rather irritated gold and black warrior. "Just what I needed..." he muttered to himself as the safety doors slid open and allowed him to freely move about.

"Sunstreaker, fancy meeting you in the depths of the ship." Ironfist picked up a greased cloth and began to rub his hands with the synthetic fibers. "If you hadn't spent your time preening, you would not have had to worry about the bounce chamber or its status."

The engineer approached the warrior without fear or hesitation. He knew full well Sunstreaker's reputation as well as his rather short fuse. Truth be told, Ironfist was rather surprised that the gold soldier had not killed his twin because of that fuse. "You want to get down to the surface and join the others in the battle of this or any other century?"

He was now face to soot covered face masked face with the warrior. He reached behind his back and tapped a small concealed pocket where tools were kept. A few microseconds passed before he extracted his hand and placed a multiple function tool into Sunstreaker's unsuspecting palm. "You can start by helping Wedge and High Tower get that back up generator installed." He stepped to the side and with his still grimy, grease and soot covered hand, he slapped the racerbot on the golden back with a very muted squish sound. "Just tighten the bolts they tell ya. Sooner we get that power generator installed, sooner I can get those bounce chambers back online."

Med Bay

The greenish liquid that resided inside Warpath's CR Chamber began to drain out the bottom of the tube that contained the crimson tank-former and siphoned back into the reserves. Once the tube was emptied of its liquid contents, the access door opened with a sharp hiss. Warpath's optics flickered as the CR Chamber reactivated his primary systems and bringing him back to life once more.

>>PRIMARY SYSTEMS: ONLINE. OPTICAL SENSORS REACTIVATING...>WARNING! WARNING! GYROSCOPIC SYSTEMS: OFFLINE.>OPTICAL SENSORS: ONLINE. PRIMARY MOTOR FUNCTIONS: ENGAGED. GYROSCOPIC SYSTEMS: ONLINE.<<

Warpath rolled over onto his back as his optics came back online at full power. He was blinded momentarily by the light emanating from fixtures installed in the ceiling. As he rose to a slump, he checked the condition of his chest cannon, a fixture in his chassis he cared more about than his own processor. The warrior sighed with relief as his fall had not harmed his favorite feature.

"Gez Doc, could you not get anyone on hand to help me from my nap?" Warpath asked aloud inside the empty room as he stretched his arms out to his sides. "Err...Doc? Where you at?" Warpath looked about the med bay but found no one to answer him. "Huh...Strange..."

Walking over to a computer console, Warpath opened up the ship's log to see if it could tell him anything regarding the whereabouts of the Autobot medical teams that worked to fix him up.

-

"They all went planetside? And they didn't wake me for it??" As he continued to read the reports, he switched over to some of the security cameras to see if he was the only mech still onboard. As he passed through every room, he continued to find himself isolated on the ship, not another Autobot in his sights anywhere. That is, until he stumbled upon the security footage of the engineers working to repair the generators and particularly Ironfist slapping Sunstreaker across the back with a sludge-covered palm

"BLAMO! They are!" The crimson warrior exclaimed as he practically leaped in his spot before turning and making his way to the engineering deck.

Engineering Deck

"You can start by helping Wedge and High Tower get that back up generator installed." He stepped to the side and with his still grimy, grease and soot covered hand, he slapped the racerbot on the golden back with a very muted squish sound. "Just tighten the bolts they tell ya. Sooner we get that power generator installed, sooner I can get those bounce chambers back online."

Sunstreaker jumped a little in his spot at the sound of the black greasy sludge pressed against his back thanks to Ironfist, who handed him a multifunctional tool. The warrior tried what he could to look over his shoulder to see how bad a mess Ironfist left for him to clean off later, but had no luck.

"Errghh" Sunstreaker growled as he tightened his grip on the tool and pointed its end towards Ironfist. "Listen here short-round, try something like that again and you're the one who's gonna need your little egg-head buddies here to fix you up. You don't ever, EVER touch the paint job."

The yellow warrior pivoted on his heel strut without allowing the weapons engineer to usher another word to him and walked over to where Wedge was standing and began working to reinstall the generator. He did what he could to help the situation but was very cautious with action he took, not because he wasn't sure of what to do in this situation, but because Ironfist's little stunt had put Sunstreaker on edge about his paint job and he wasn't wanting to scratch it or scorch it anymore than it already was.

"That spot is gonna take breems to scrub out..." Sunstreaker grumbled under his voice as he tightened a bolt High Tower pointed out to him to install.

Main Engineering

Ironfist did not respond immediately to the egomaniac that was Sunstreaker. To be honest, there was nothing that needed to be said. Facts were facts, the weapons engineer had personally designed the golden Autobot's current pigment in all its luster. He knew what sorts of chemicals it could handle and what it could not, as well as what sort of solvents it would take to remove the thick viscus hand print from his back with out so much as a polish fiber cloth stroke. As Sunstreaker turned and stormed down to Wedge and the others Ironfist simply smirked with satisfaction as he withheld the information a bit longer. He figured that a few days trying to remove the thick globules would be enough punishment for the rather impolite attitude that the racer had displayed.

Instead, Ironfist made his way over to a secondary generator conduit and began pulling off a secured panel. Once exposed he began sifting through wires, pulling out burnt circuits or wire junctions and replacing them with spare parts brought to him by the efforts of Heavyload. The effort took only minutes before the wounded core was restored and connections were patched. He knew that he would have to return and give the core a full rebuild, but for the moment the job was done and he could move on to the next.

With the panel replaced he turned his attention to the installation of the back up generator. He filed himself in between High Tower and Wedge as they pulled the final piece of conduit out of Heavy Load's massive transport bed. High Tower transformed into his crane form and secured the heavy piece of equipment with reinforced magnetic chains.

With the talents of rest of the build team, Gridlock in particular, the conduits were attached to the back up generator, bypassing the damaged quantum generators in favor of the intact replacement. It also allowed for a more direct access to the anti matter fuel stores in the reinforced holds of the ship below. "Alright," Ironfist cracked his knuckles briefly as he watched the four members of the young team of engineers transform back and forth from vehicle forms to robot as they removed debris and replaced damaged instruments and equipment. "Time to bring this ship back on line."

The six Autobots, Heavy Load, Gridlock, High Tower, Wedge, Sunstreaker and Ironfist... as well as a half dozen other engineers who had been scurrying about trying to affect repairs to one system or another, all made their way to the upper command ring of the engineering section. The lights throughout the ship were immediately extinguished as the Guardian's chief engineer pulled the connections away from the emergency batteries. Carefully, slowly, Ironfist placed the final power cable to the secured power circuit now that had been restored by the backup generator. Without fanfare or celebration everyone quietly held their collective breaths, if they had breath to hold.

Slowly the lights across the deck began to come to life. Security terminals and alert klaxons erupted to the sound of cacophony. The pulse of new life spread from the new power generator as every terminal began to activate with floods of emergency reports from across the ship. Immediately the sensors began sweep across the ship's interior and the klaxons began to silence themselves. "Well that is a good sign."

He turned to Sunstreaker. "You want to get into the fight down on Earth, gather who ever is available and meet in the bounce chambers. I think I have an idea that may require you to deliver something very vital to Ultra Magnus and Prowl." With that Ironfist disappeared into a segmented laboratory.

Corridors

They had been tasked with getting the ship's generators back online and, as tasks went, Jetfire felt largely comfortable in leaving said task to Ironfist while he caught up on some reading. He had assisted here and there, remotely, when it was requested but Ironfist had never really seemed to need any more direct assistance and Jetfire was not overly of a mind to offer any. Such things were Ironfist's modus operandi, after all.

The same could be said, he supposed, of the battle that was taking place down on the surface of Sol-3, as Jetfire unaffectionately referred to it, though in that regard he understood significantly less: why had he been left up here when he was possessed of a skillset that would be at least reasonably useful in ensuring they did not all become a collective sacrifice to some anomalous entity claiming to be a member of the original thirteen Cybertronians? Jetfire did not understand but he also did not argue as others might. He had decided to content himself in offering what support he could to his peers in whatever role they deemed necessary.

Even so, idle hands and all that. Content though his mind largely was, he could not really satisfy himself in a vacant set of quarters, reading, when there were so many other more productive things going on. Productive and destructive, depending on one's locale. That, more than anything, had prompted him to finally make egress from the quarters--a space that had not been his own to begin with but was suitably unlocked--and ultimately head for the section of the ship that contained the primary engineering hub.

En route, the tall and lanky mech encountered a smaller but easily recognizable Autobot who appeared as if he might share the same destination as he--Warpath. An earlier perusal of ship's logs had told him that the warmech had suffered some especially brutal treatment at the hands of the anomalous entity's underlings, thus providing him an ill-deserved trip to the cryonic regeneration chambers. Fortunately, the damage done had not been so severe that it could not be undone.

"Ah, Warpath. You look....better. Decidedly," Jetfire said as he approached from behind, not really sure what to say to a mechanoid who had been beheaded not all that long before. He supposed the obvious would have to suffice for a start.

Corridors

"POW! Jetfire!! Good to see ya!" Warpath exclaimed at the sight of the scientist running into him in the corridor. "Yeah I'll say, thank the stars my head was the only thing taken off a while back, I don't know what I'd've done if that fragger had decapitated my cannon off! Haha KAH-BLAM!!"

"Anyways, I take it you're here for repair work, eh? Yeah I woke up in the med bay a little while ago. Gonna head to the engineering deck to get a low down on what's going on."

Engineering Deck

Sunstreaker was finishing tightening in the last few bolts of an electrical support panel running under the main power line to the generator when the lights flickered back on it the room. After the last bolt was in place, he rolled from underneath the opened access panelling and dusted off whatever debris and grim fell upon his chassis during his repair work.

"You want to get into the fight down on Earth, gather who ever is available and meet in the bounce chambers. I think I have an idea that may require you to deliver something very vital to Ultra Magnus and Prowl."

Stated Ironfist before the weapons inventor turned and enter a laboratory inside the engineering deck. Sunstreaker huffed in frustration. Why is some engineer giving him orders? Last he checked, Ironfist wasn't any duly appointed commander of the Autobots. Whatever, the egg-head still had a point. Now that there was some preliminary power back in the ship, the bounce chambers should be online and running again.

"Well, I'm not heading down to that miserable mud-hole looking like THIS." Sunstreaker commented to himself as he pivoted on his heel, "First a power rinse, then I gather the troops." He froze in his tracks as his foot stepped into a stray puddle of crude energon/hydraulic fluid mix, the sensation sending a shiver up his spinal strut. "Eeeuugghhh...maybe two rinses..."

Corridors

Jetfire arched back at bit at Warpath's sudden exclamations. He did not know why really, as he knew they were a perfectly longstanding characteristic of his. Nevertheless...

"Hah. Um. Indeed," Jetfire said, feeling slightly awkward in the presence of Warpath's conviviality. It was not that he did not appreciate such camaraderie. It was simply not his specialty. He nodded in the affirmative as Warpath guessed the scientist's reasons for having been brought aboard the ship and was at least passingly pleased at the revelation that they were headed for the same destination.

"Ah. Nice. That's where I'm headed also," Jetfire said, struggling considerably in the way of small talk, but maintaining a demeanor of pleasantry over dismissiveness. The latter was so easy to adopt when those of their field and function interacted with those who were not. Jetfire made his best effort to avoid it.

The two mechs continued on for a short time before arriving at their intended location. With codes entered, Jetfire stepped forward inside the engineering deck, his optics scanning for Ironfist.