The Energon Pub

[snavej]

WHY? © John H. Evans, May-June 2025


The sun rises. It’s a new dawn in my part of Cybertron. Sadly, the war chaos of the night blends seamlessly into the war chaos of the day. I’ve been fighting, every hour, for at least half a year. I’m sorry but I’ve lost track of time. Most of us have. The weapons we use interfere with clocks. It’s become almost impossible to gauge the hours. This is deliberate because it disrupts our ability to coordinate our actions. All we can do is keep pummelling the enemy while defending ourselves from counterstrikes. The enemy used to be our friends and neighbours but circumstances conspired to drive us apart. Now, they’ve become diabolical, relentless slaughter machines. We’ve been forced to make a critical choice. Either we follow their terrible example or let them crush us. I’m now a non-stop murder engine. Every minute, I calculate ways to commit more murders. Then, I do what I can to carry out my ad hoc plans. Last night, a hundred and fourteen enemies fell before my guns. I thought that I might kill another eighteen but my shot hit a support pillar and the troop carrier escaped into the middle levels of Splendanouve Tower. I wanted to pursue but I was under too much fire. My group had to withdraw.

Right then, we had a piece of good luck. A battalion of construction robots was instructed to build a new tower between us and the main enemy force. These were no ordinary construction robots. They were some of the largest and toughest that I’ve ever seen. They burst out of the ground right next to the enemies and started clearing the area of any possible obstacles. That included dozens of enemies, who tried to resist but were knocked out and hammered flat by giant metal limbs. The rest of that group retreated in panic as the robots brought out fresh steel and entombed the corpses under new foundations. In the two hours before dawn, the robots rapidly erected the lower levels of a new tower. It functioned as a barrier and allowed us to formulate our next tactic.

We had discovered an enemy installation which was dedicated to weapons development. This had been a lucky accident. Yesterday, one of our air warriors had spotted a new gash in the ground plating a few kilometres ahead of our position. It was relatively small but we could get through. Somewhere below the gash was the enemy weapons laboratory. The problem was that the area above was too exposed. We couldn’t reach it without being killed in crossfire. We needed extra protection. We had a large, armoured transport vehicle already. We programmed it to upgrade its motor and plating, as well as jettison non-essential features. It became an expendable, mobile shield for us.

Now it’s time to attack. We enter the vehicle and prepare to venture forward. A glance Northeast shows that the enemy is returning with reinforcements. We set out as their drone swarm hurls itself heedlessly at us. Each little drone wants nothing more than to crack our metal flesh and rend our innards asunder. Our beams and fields cut them down in seconds. Why does the enemy waste effort like this? Is it deliberate? Are they secretly trying to help us? I hope so. It’s a nice flicker of hope. Never mind. Some of us grit our teeth. The rest have no mouths. Our overgrown transport motor roars as the bulky wheels accelerate over rough terrain. It seems that the whole planet is covered in conflict debris. Our bold charge is bumpy despite good suspension. We fire in multiple directions and watch the path ahead. Enemies are closing in. A few have rudimentary flying ability. They reach us and rake us with projectiles, achieving nothing. One crashes awkwardly into cannon thirteen, destroying his wings in the process. The others hit protrusions on the ground and are forced to land. Thankfully, we’re not up against air aces today.

We skirt the new tower in a wide arc. Our opponents curve their trajectories, trying to intercept. Some overshoot and make sharp corrective turns. Again, the landscape helps us. There are many obstacles slowing the enemies. We take advantage and pick them off whenever possible. I look around briefly. My team is optimistic. It’s visible in their faces. That cheers me. We keep firing. It’s good to be in competent company. After at least six months of constant combat, we’ve become seasoned soldiers. We also know that we shouldn’t get complacent. We must continue achieving our goals so that, one day, the Autobot army will emerge victorious from this horrific civil war quagmire.

Two minutes later, we reach the gash. As we drive over it, we open the floor of the transport and drop through. We tumble into the jagged depths of the pit. Above, the transport rumbles on. Autonomously, it ploughs a straight course into enemy territory. For several minutes, it executes enemies along the route without a care in the world. After that, I imagine that some kind of heavy weapon puts an end to it. I salute the mindless, unfeeling wagon of doom. It has a hero’s death. We’ve already moved on. We’re clambering down the fractured pipes and cables, avoiding friendly robots and shooting anyone else. We’re inside the half-wrecked, underground enemy complex. We must neutralise it quickly before they regroup and resist. Again, we strike lucky. These are scientists and engineers, not troopers. We rip them apart with gusto and shred their equipment.

Level one, level two, level three, we smash them all. On level four, there’s a problem. Warriors are on the firing range. They have experimental beam casters. They track us, even through a wall, and catch us by surprise. Five of my team are melted into horizontal stalactites by unknown energies. There’s no time to react. They collapse into piles of dead spikes, jumbled against the far wall of the corridor. The rest of us retaliate with full fury, causing messy casualties in the firing range. We kill six. Four others duck and dive, then slip into back ways behind the dust and distortion of our skirmish. They’ve escaped for now. We can’t stop to mop up. We must press forward and bring quick devastation to this place. Our losses rekindle our worries. Will we survive this? On we stride, demolishing whatever we can reach.

Level seven seems to be the final one. No stairway goes further down. We find an exit and leave the ruined laboratories. This tunnel isn’t a straight shot to the surface. It meanders around and brings us up slowly. This is a concern. There may be further enemy chambers along the way. Sure enough, we find one. A few enemy warriors are standing ready by the door. They’ve heard our clamour. They hose us with unfriendly fire. We return it but they’ve already scooted inside. Their armoured door locks. We don’t have time to break through. We know that more Decepticons are already on the way. We must leave right now and get to safety before we’re overwhelmed. A few minutes later, we reach the surface. We reach a new road that we scouted out earlier. We all transform to vehicle mode and scorch the road with our speedy retreat. We daren’t stop until we return to our heavily fortified base.

Once inside, there’s no time to rest. We recharge with energon and have our wounds repaired. We reload our weapons and replenish our ammunition reserves. We plan the next few attacks, which is provisional since the situation changes so quickly. We’re assigned new comrades to replace today’s fallen. We give them intensive briefings about ourselves, our goals and our methods. They absorb the information calmly and gravely but we notice that some are trembling slightly. It’s to be expected. Death is just around the corner. The medics scan us for deeper problems. A few of us have internal degradation. We open sections of our bodies so that the medics can replace vital components that are close to failure. After that, we feel stronger and more optimistic. However, we also remember the fallen, who were dear to us. We knew them for thousands of years but the war snatched them away abruptly. We’re bereft. Our grief is deep and enduring. Some of us are losing the will to fight. Others are going the other way, becoming angrier and more determined to win. It could be said that emotions are the enemy within. We’re obliged to control them, or else they could doom us.

Only half an hour after returning to base, the Decepticons attack. They tracked us back here. Our defensive batteries open up. We grind away at each other. They’re using exotic energy. Some of my comrades are too. It’s an effective weapon but it disturbs our weary minds. I hate this. I need a little time to regain my composure but they’re taking that from me. I engage my automatic attack mode. I’m a machine, after all. I don’t have to think carefully about every martial move that I make. Much of our combat is purely mechanical. As my body goes on the offensive, slashing through dozens of enemies outside the base, I think back to the attack on the underground weapons centre. I recognised one of the Decepticons in the exit tunnel. He used to be my friend, before the war. He took a job in Tondagroe City a few years ago and we drifted apart. In the six months before the war, I lost contact with him completely. It was unusual in a telepathic society but it’s part of a global problem. The Decepticon movement was forming in secret, cutting itself off from the mainstream.

I wonder what they call him. I guess that he must have changed his name. I knew him as Fineshine. That’s not a typical Decepticon name. Of course, he’s changed his body. I stared at him for a few seconds in that corridor. He had his soldier armour on and his various weapons but his face was unchanged. His expression was like mine now: mostly neutral but with a strong hint of boredom and disillusionment. I suspect that he’s already tired of life as a Decepticon, fighting endlessly for a selfish, domineering cause. I think he knows that he’s been duped but he’s stuck. They never let converts leave except via death. If only I could free him!

Meanwhile, this awful siege goes on. Attrition eats into our ranks. We’re too preoccupied to notice the undermining below. Our base is located between two small towers. For extra strength and protection, it’s bolted firmly onto the bases of both towers. The Decepticons have sent a demolition crew to topple the western tower. They work quickly and effectively. With hindsight, I think that they got lucky. The undermining works perfectly. The tower topples sideways, away from our base. Since there is such a strong connection, our base is torn open on the west side. This is fatal for us. Enemy projectiles pour into the breach and destroy the base from the inside. Most of our group dies. The Decepticons have used a new exotic weapon that we don’t even understand. Some of my fellow Autobots are crushed where they stand. Some are twisted into long, thin ribbons of debris. Some disappear entirely. I don’t know where they went. They didn’t explode. They might have disintegrated or shifted into hyperspace. There’s no time to investigate. My priority now is to escape. There are no friends left in my vicinity, only corpses that have been mutilated in novel, horrific ways. I continue to gun down enemies as they press forward. Some of my shots are blocked by drones or other methods. It’s a race for survival. I try to trick my foes. I stand and wait for another strike. It comes and I’m ‘thrown’ into the shell of a ruined building. This is fake. The explosion was not strong enough to throw me. In fact, I jumped into the ruin. It hides me for a few seconds as I climb into an escape tunnel and vanish into Cybertron’s underworld. The tunnel entrance hatch shuts behind me. It’s expertly camouflaged so they won’t find it for a while.

I flee as quickly as possible. Some of my weapons are broken or depleted. I detach them from my body and conceal them behind an anonymous wall panel. I don’t want to leave an obvious trail. Physically, I’m safe. Psychologically, I’m reaching my limit. I’m still relying on my automatic functions. As my mind goes to pieces, my body presses on. I move away from my dead comrades and deeper into the planet. It’s not always easy going but I cover over two hundred kilometres before my energon reaches minimum levels. I must stop and take stock. I’m caught in a complex mindset. Part of me wants to go ahead and fight on. Other parts want to take different paths. Isn’t it obvious by now that our crazy war has no logical basis and only results in death and destruction? There must be a better way. Yet the Decepticon threat persists. It is a lethal plague upon Cybertron and then the rest of the galaxy. We the Autobots are best placed to cure that plague.

I have an issue with that idea: the whole concept of unflinching Autobot resistance. ‘What issue?’, you may ask. ‘Nothing major,’ I would reply, ‘just a little thing about not dying’. My survival instinct won’t let me keep fighting. I’ve made my decision. I need to follow another path. Which one? I don’t have a clue. I need to think. This dark tunnel is a good place for that. I split my body into several components, which slip into crevices in the floor, wall and ceiling. I’m well-hidden now. I’ve genuinely fallen apart and faded into the background. I reflect on my recent past. I regret joining this war. I’ve killed thousands and seen similar numbers of comrades killed around me. There were also some wounded but those are less important since they can be repaired. I’ve tried to prevent enemy advances but I only slowed them down for a few minutes each time. Sometimes, I didn’t even manage that. They rolled right over me, literally and/or figuratively. At other times, I made advances of my own but never held the ground for more than a day. Although I fought hard, I wasn’t a very effective warrior: in this war, at least. It’s said that this is the most intense war in the galaxy. I haven’t had the opportunity to check that. Anyway, I must avoid becoming one of the fallen.

For hours, I’m overcome. I’ve lost so much recently. Hard times. Dark times. How can we escape? Even here, five kilometres underground, I’m not truly safe. These innumerable tunnels are policed by armies of service robots and occasionally by Decepticon scouts. Therefore, I’ll have to move on at some point. Where will I go? Am I a deserter if I lurk here? I’m unsure. My combat software gives me a wide range of warnings: threats from all directions, danger possibilities ranked, ominous signs, peril probabilities, energon low, ammunition low and so forth. It’s true that I wouldn’t last long in another battle up top. If only my resupply system hadn’t been twisted into scrap by a burst of subatomic glitter particles! The futility of it all shouts in my face. Alright, point taken! I do what the software recommends. I reassemble myself and drive sedately uphill. I give thanks to the service robots, who build these smooth roads at great depths and make tunnel travel so easy.

I want to leave Cybertron. For the first time in fifty thousand years, I’d like a long vacation on a peaceful world, far from here. All the local resorts have been reduced to rubble. Should I go alone? That’s the safest way but it’s lonely. Who would go with me? Not the Autobots who I know. They’d accuse me of treachery and have me recycled. Not the Decepticons either. They’d execute me in less than a millisecond. Neutralists? No chance: they’re too timid. They’d rather run and hide underground like I just did. Service robots? No, that’s silly. They’re programmed to stay here. Who then? Who has the courage to leave the morass and take a bold step into the cosmos? Maybe… him. My old pal Fineshine.

I admit that my plan is nuts but then so’s the war. If people must deplore my craven cowardice, let them. I’d rather steal back my security - and perhaps rescue a friend - than risk my life any longer in this hellscape. How can I find this friend? Easy, I just go to the nearest factory that produces spy drones and borrow some of those. I’m an Autobot warrior and I’m allowed. A few hours later, I make it back to the surface without being detected. As I move along, I pick up miscellaneous discarded weapons and things that can be used as weapons. My stocks are low so I need it all. I also change my coloration for maximum camouflage and reduce my emissions for increased stealth. I take a direct road toward the factory. It’s not too far. As I get closer, debris on the road increases and smoke blocks the view ahead. When I reach the factory, it is no more. The entire complex is wrecked and smouldering. I scan the ground around me and find sixteen damaged spy drones, large and small. I collect them and retire to a nearby crater where I lie down and feign death. My body interfaces with the drones and brings seven of them online. The other nine are beyond repair but I can use their parts to patch up the seven working drones.

I was hoping for more than seven drones but we’re enjoying a total war, so I must make the best of it. I launch my motley squad and they follow my pre-programmed instructions. One has a close look at the place where I last saw Fineshine. The other six scour the surrounding area, especially known Decepticon hot spots. I dare not communicate with the drones, for fear of being discovered. I wait until they return, hours later, with their findings. They’re highly stealthy so they all survive undamaged. I download the data that they gathered. I study it in detail with my pattern recognition software, which isolates key details that might be evidence of Fineshine’s presence. Those details can be compared to my prior memories for confirmation. We Transformers are fortunate to have photographic memories! Time passes and I find nothing. It’s only in the final minute of video that I see a clear image of Fineshine’s arm going past the drone outside his bunker. It shows him rushing home after another combat mission in the area. He’s still living in that bunker. I suspected so. He’s quite territorial and doesn’t like to relocate.

I wonder if I’ve been declared dead. My army won’t have found my body but, given the destruction of the base, they could easily presume that I’ve been smashed to smithereens. I won’t go back, though. I’m going to approach Fineshine, very carefully. It could be my final mission but I’d rather do this than continue the war. Speaking of war, some air warriors are approaching. I count six. They see me and circle around to investigate. I guess my cover’s been blown. I spew missiles from four orifices and let fly beams from my hands. I kill four in the air and two on the ground. Their shots go wide as I grab my drones and dive into a tunnel just outside the crater. It’s me against the world now. This tunnel is littered with scraps and shrapnel. I can drive through but I must leap over many obstacles. My energon levels drop further. The way things are going, I’ll have to drain the dead to replenish myself. I’m aware that this endeavour to recruit Fineshine is probably doomed but, in a hopeless situation, I’m grasping one of those thin wires that fools think will lift them out of predicaments. At least I can eliminate some Decepticons along the way.

I find myself in a maze. There are familiar old tunnels here but also new ones. The service robots have been busy and my people have added a few of their own. This area has seen conflict. Many tunnels have collapsed, leading to blockages and sudden falls into deeper levels. There are various types of mines and traps too. I’m forced to slow down and pick my way through. This is bad. Slow means vulnerable. A minute later, I drive over someone’s head accidentally. I glance back to see half a Decepticon squirm and thrash behind me. He shoots a beam in my general direction. It feels disorientating and I must stop. My wheels twist wildly. I can’t control them. My consciousness fades. Before I black out, I see the half Decepticon flattened by a few thousand tonnes of collapsing roof. Instant karma for him but is my quest over already?


* * * * *


I wake up in the dark sometime later. My involuntary movements have stopped but I’m also paralysed. No problem. I reconfigure my nervous system and restore my mobility. Some panelling has fallen on my roof. (I’m still in vehicle mode.) I throw it off and then scan the area. No one has attacked me while I was asleep. I resume my journey. I don’t know if my ‘nap’ has affected my chances of meeting Fineshine. I struggle on through the war-ravaged region. It used to be beautiful, with excellent transport links. Now, it’s a jungle of wreckage. Eleven hours and thirteen dead Decepticons later, I arrive at the base that we attacked a few days ago. I climb to the surface and look down on the place. The top now sags a great deal. It looks like a crater but without the obvious blast marks. An Autobot squadron zooms overhead, occasionally shooting people on the ground. I stay low and try to blend in. I don’t want to rejoin the Autobots at this point or get shot. I send my smallest drone toward Fineshine’s bunker. It lands and conceals itself near the main entrance. I wait. Two days pass. I can tell because I can see the sun. Hidden in a pile of scrap, I use the time to reminisce and plan. I work out the best way to leave the planet. He arrives at last and dashes inside. I deploy a few nanobots and deposit them on his skin. They’re not designed to infect, just to establish secret communication. I hail him. At first, he doesn’t respond. I persist. He demands to know my location. I refuse. I outline my scheme. He calls it ‘Stembolt’s Folly’ because that’s my name: Stembolt. I assure him that this conversation is private. He knows me. I’m a communications whizz and I’m trustworthy. He relaxes his guard. He’ll talk briefly.

Stembolt: You chose wrong. I saw it in your eyes. The Decepticon army is not your real home.

Fineshine: Looks like you don’t belong in the Autobots either.

Stembolt: You seem bored and unconvinced of the Decepticon cause.

Fineshine: Not entirely but I think that the main work has been done. We’ve purged most of the rusted hulk. Around seventeen billion were exterminated. Now, we’re hammering away at the unrusted core, the Autobot survivors. It’s a mistake but we’re caught in a death struggle. Neither side will capitulate.

Stembolt: How did it come to this? Why are we trying to wipe each other out?

Fineshine: Command said that Cybertron was mainly rotten, on a spiritual level. It was time for a radical shift in direction, a clean sweep for a new regime with an expansionist theme. I had to agree. The amount of time-wasting and trivial activity was beyond ludicrous.

Stembolt: True but the problem could’ve been solved without slaughter.

Fineshine: Command said otherwise. They’d studied the issue closely for years. They believed that Cybertron was under some kind of malign influence but couldn’t prove it directly. Maybe they never will.

Stembolt: No but maybe we can! I say we get out of here and search for whatever evil entity is making our society implode!

[Brief moment of silence.]

Fineshine: That’s an offer I can’t refuse. You have a way out for us? Only I’m due back fighting in seven minutes. They’re restocking all my supplies now.

Stembolt: Get extra for me if you can. I’m running low.

Fineshine: How are we going to do this?

Stembolt: Acting, of course. Pretend to be knocked out by a trap. They won’t even send a medic. It’s too dangerous for non-combatants out here.

Fineshine: Give me freedom or give me death. This soldier job is boring and demoralising now. The thrill disappeared long ago. I hide my disgust behind a blank mask.

I wait a little longer. Fineshine and his crew emerge at high speed and head Southwest. There are a few missiles flying about in that direction. Two kilometres away, Fineshine flings himself into the air. He transforms part-way as he flips end over end. He throws off impressive amounts of sparks, as if he’s been hit by an electro-disrupter blast. His ‘comrades’ abandon him without hesitation, seeing that he’s probably been killed. Their mission to strike the Autobots takes precedence over everything. I sneak forward from one piece of cover to another. Fineshine pretends to be in his death throes, flapping about and transforming sections of his body. After a minute, he lies still. He returns to vehicle mode, like an animal retreating into his shell. Quietly, he drives toward me. We’re both watching for enemies. We converge on the nearest tunnel entrance. This one is a vertical shaft. It used to have an elevator but that is now crumpled at the bottom of the shaft. We transform and climb down. I bring my drone with me. We soon reach the ex-elevator and enter a horizontal tunnel. Now we’re both fugitives, fleeing the carnage. Everyone else is too busy ripping into each other. I doubt that we’ll be followed.

Fineshine: I can’t see in this absolute darkness but, strangely, my life seems brighter now. I can use my old name again.

Stembolt: What’s your new name?

Fineshine: They called me Terror Mortar because they gave me a big mortar cannon.

Stembolt: That’s so clunky.

Fineshine: Most of the good names were already taken. Where are we going?

Stembolt: Triagonnis Spaceport. There might still be a working spacecraft there.

Fineshine: Frak, that sounds bad. Still, it could be our only chance. Let’s keep going!


* * * * *


I should’ve seen this coming. I’m injured in multiple places but still functional. I’m sitting on top of Fineshine, who’s unconscious and more injured than me. He attacked me without warning. After he faked his death and escaped with me, everything was going smoothly for a few hours. We were progressing through multiple tunnels, hiding from friends and enemies alike. We were using our combined experience to avoid attention. There was absolutely no sign of betrayal until it happened. Fineshine waited until my attention was diverted and then attacked full force. He knew my weak points. He caused significant damage. My reactions were fast enough to evade the worst strikes. I hit back almost instantly. I disabled him and then leapt upon him. I interfaced and took his mind offline. He was immobilised. I was dismayed. Now, I’m searching his memories for answers. At the same time, I’m healing my wounds as fast as I can.

I should’ve known. There was a Decepticon trap, lodged deep in his mind. He didn’t even know it. I’m not sure if I can remove it. The programming is very convoluted. These Decepticons, honestly! They thought that they could beat me this way. Wrong! I’ve stopped my mind-controlled friend and now I’m going to save him. I’ll try hacking the control module…

No, that didn’t work. There’s a failsafe. If I shut down the module, I lose Fineshine. I need a radical alternative. That’s alright, I have one. Before the war, I kept a private database of biological structures. I have Fineshine’s pre-war body plan, including every microscopic mechanism. I’ll rebuild my friend from scratch. The materials will be repurposed from his existing, damaged body and from our surroundings. I separate some of my own body components to form reclamation and construction units. Immediately, they go to work while I keep watch. This process will take several hours and interruptions from outsiders could easily ruin it. At this depth underground, I don’t hear many battle sounds. A few warriors traverse a nearby tunnel. I hear them but they don’t detect us. Two hours later, a lone Decepticon approaches. He sees us. I shoot him with a beam before he can attack. He dies on the spot. I’m tempted to use his body parts to rebuild some of Fineshine but I have enough material already. My emergency rebuild of Fineshine proceeds steadily. I can’t rush it. A hasty build produces substandard flesh. I mustn’t screw up this labour of love. To do so would fill me with guilt.

When all is ready, it’s time for the spark transfer. I don’t join the old body to the new one physically. I encourage the spirit to move across through the ether. The mind-control systems protest but Fineshine’s essence has made its decision. It shifts into its new home without hesitation. The old body is now dead meat. Fineshine is back online in his familiar frame. He tests it out and makes routine adjustments. It’s a huge relief for both of us.

Fineshine: I didn’t know what they’d done to me. I apologise for that attack. The module took over my entire body.

Stembolt: Apology accepted. I’d heard rumours of the mind control. Even in the chaos of war, we Autobots had been reflecting on the unnatural, relentless Decepticon aggression.

Fineshine: I’m guessing that your medics and commanders already knew.

Stembolt: They haven’t shared their research findings with the regular troops yet. Why would they? It would only encourage mercy. In this war, mercy gets us killed. Knowledge of the mind control is unimportant. The only sensible course of action is to fight for survival.

Fineshine: Frak it all! Speaking of survival, I’m unprotected in this new body. I need weapons and defences.

Stembolt: I’m building some now. They’re standard issue, like my own.

Fineshine: Does that mean I’m an Autobot now?

Stembolt: No, it wouldn’t be wise to give you the Autobrand. The Decepticons would target you and the Autobots might see you as a traitor. It’s best if you go unbranded.

Fineshine: Agreed. I’m disillusioned with the cause, with the war. We should all stop. In the meantime, I should tweak my appearance so that I’m not immediately recognised as Fineshine.

My friend changes his appearance with natural ease. The disguise also helps to incorporate the weapons and defences into his new frame. When we’re ready, we resume our journey to Triagonnis. We leave behind the partial remains of ‘Terror Mortar’. I melted the mind-control module so that it couldn’t enslave anyone else. I despise those modules! I must destroy more of them in future. As I make this resolution, I check my personal resources. I’ve repaired myself as well as I could. I’ve replenished my ammunition, partly with reclaimed shells and partly with ones I made from scavenged materials. They’re not the best but they should work. I have enough for now but in future there may be a shortage. I’ll probably have to improvise alternatives. I hope that we’ll leave the planet soon and not have to fight anymore.


We dedicate ourselves to sneaking. We scan ahead constantly. We roll quietly along corridors, sacrificing speed for stealth. We hide often. We feign death occasionally. We bypass busier areas and use narrow, deserted tunnels. We clear blockages by hand. We stand aside as columns of service robots march past. They’re very busy due to the war. We never used to see so many, so often, in one place. They are, literally, Primus repairing himself. It’s awesome to watch as they descend on an area, clear it and rebuild it from scratch. Structures are replaced within hours, sometimes minutes. Transformers usually retreat in case they’re trapped or even killed in the renovation maelstrom. Surveillance continues, though. Everyone wants to map the new territory that appears. It’s crucial for the war. Fineshine and I must skirt around to avoid detection. The detours delay our journey. We scavenge energon and press on. Thirty hours later, we’re within fifteen kilometres of the spaceport. We find an area that’s been thoroughly ripped up by extensive heavy weapons fire. It’s at least one cubic kilometre of devastation. Our hopes of finding a starship dwindle. Service robots are arriving. They’re starting to clear debris and build a bridging corridor toward the spaceport but that will take several hours to complete. We retreat to a purposeless, irregularly shaped room nearby to wait.

Fineshine: This looks bad. We might not escape the planet after all.

Stembolt: Assuming that Triagonnis is out of action, there won’t be a conventional star-ship arrangement. However, there’s a great deal of innovation happening worldwide. We might find people who built their own ship.

Fineshine: My pessimism deepens.

Stembolt: We can’t afford that luxury. Let’s think about other matters. What happened to you over the past year? You disappeared.

Fineshine: Yes, I joined that separatist movement…

Stembolt: Why? What motivated you?

Fineshine: I get bored easily. I’ve tried so many jobs, hobbies, games and contests. After thousands of years, I got sick of it all. I wanted something new: a meaningful adventure. I went offline and joined the Decepticon cause.

Stembolt: We noticed that you were offline but that’s normal. No one wants to be networked constantly. We started worrying when you stayed offline for months. The attacks were starting, the sabotage and murders. We used the surveillance systems to look for you. Even psychics looked for you.

Fineshine: Not just me. We knew that the collective was seeking out all the ‘deserters’, so we stayed undercover. The propaganda persuaded us that we had a higher calling. I wasn’t entirely convinced but I went along with it. I wanted my adventure, my mission.

Stembolt: And then it went to hell. The service robots slaughtered most of us. We still don’t know why. The rest of us are battling to rule the wreckage.

Fineshine: Have the service robots ever killed Transformers intentionally before? No, they haven’t. There must’ve been a reason. They don’t act on a whim. They were doing it to help the planet.

Stembolt: Nonsense! They didn’t have to kill seventeen billion! It’s more likely that the robots were used as Decepticon weapons.

Fineshine: That remains to be seen. Neither of us know the plans of the Decepticon leaders. When the robot uprising happened, I was shocked. With most of the population gone, we lost our main opposition. We changed from being a small terrorist group to being a large army. Previously, I’d expected swift defeat but now the Decepticons might conquer the planet.

Stembolt: That remains to be seen. We Autobots are as tough as frak. How does that affect your adventurous spirit?

Fineshine: It’s frustrating, for sure. I didn’t want a super-painful adventure. I was stuck there in that bunker, dreading the daily raids, skirmishes and sieges. I’m glad that you risked it all to offer me a lifeline.

Stembolt: I’m glad that you were there to inspire me to improvise our escape. I’m tired of seeing my friends torn to shreds. I hate it that we don’t even know why it’s happening!

Fineshine: Ditto. Our friends are gone but we deserve the chance to find answers, at least. Maybe one day, we can find a way to stop the war.

Stembolt: Hah! Primus preserve us, you’re such a shilly-shally! You waged total war on us and now you’re hoping for peace!

Fineshine: You got me. I’m a massive flip-flop. I just got so bored earlier. It drove me crazy. I mean, look at us! We’re not built for perpetual idleness and trivia.

Stembolt: Many others have made the same point. We’re built to perform great works. However, opportunities aren’t always available. We need to be kept occupied during the quiet times.

Fineshine: Not forever. You agree about that, clearly. You’ve decided to find your own great works and you’ve recruited me to help you.

Stembolt: Sure, partner!

We wait for several hours. When the noise of construction dies away, we peek out. The way’s clear. We transform to vehicle mode and race along the new bridge. The surface is flat and smooth. We can reach our top speeds. This is marvellous but we’re exposed here. We scan for attackers. We find none but we feel rumblings all around. Something very big is starting to move. A few minutes pass. The rumbling stops. Can we reach the end of this bridge? There’s another three kilometres to go…

We sense an explosion behind us: several kilotonnes at the minimum. We glance back. A mass of twisted debris has plunged from above. Millions of tonnes of metal have punched through from the surface and crushed part of the new bridge. It looks like half a tower complex. The concussion wave throws us off the bridge. We hit the high wall on the far side. In the final seconds, I notice that a huge amount of weapons fire is erupting in all directions from the fallen tower complex. We want to protect ourselves but there’s no time. We lose consciousness.


* * * * *
I have a profound vision.

It lifts my spirits and gives me solutions to all my problems.

In time, I awaken.

I can’t remember anything about my vision, except that it was glorious. Damn!

I look around. Debris harvesters are approaching. They’re clearing the chaos again. Everything’s damaged or destroyed around here. That’s what a collapsing tower full of warring mechanoids tends to do! Once more, we must flee. Fineshine is still unconscious. I give him a small electroshock and he stirs. I drag him clear of the tangled trash. He narrowly avoided being skewered by a rod, which was embedded in the wall a few centimetres above him. We climb the wall fairly easily using ledges, blast holes and assorted shrapnel stuck in the surface. Two hundred metres up and to the right, we enter a ductwork tunnel that was recently blown open. This way is long and straight but full of obstacles. We change our bodies to suit: we convert our biped limbs into six legs for creeping and crawling. Looking back, we see that the area behind is covered in battle damage. Hundreds of corpses lie ready to be gathered up and recycled. A few survivors are wandering in the distance, shooting the fallen to make sure that they’re dead. They’re so busy executing people that they don’t see us. We move on. When we reach a safe distance, Fineshine stops.

Stembolt: What’s the matter?

Fineshine: Our little scheme isn’t going to work. You saw what happened back there. The spaceport’s probably been destroyed by now. All ships have either left or been pulverised.

Stembolt: It looks that way but remember Plan B: people building their own ships.

Fineshine: How can anyone build ships in this hell-storm?! You’re living in a fool’s paradise!

Stembolt: We should go to the surface and assess the situation.

Fineshine: You go. I don’t feel safe, even with these defences you gave me.

Stembolt: You’re happy to let me risk it alone, eh?

Fineshine: Something’s changed in my mood since we got knocked out. I’ve lost some of my optimism. It never happened to me before, not like this. Maybe something or someone in the collapsed tower affected me.

Stembolt: It could be brain damage. Run a self-diagnostic. I’ll do the same.

Fineshine: Alright, diagnosing…

Stembolt: It… it’s not… working.

Fineshine: You’re right. It’s weird. Perhaps we were both damaged the same way.

Stembolt: By accident? Unlikely. I suspect that it was exotic energy. Both armies have been experimenting with new ways to damage people using special rays and fields. We may have been caught in a field that causes specific malfunctions.

Fineshine: We’ll have to use backup systems to scan ourselves. It’ll take longer.

Stembolt: We shouldn’t go any further until we understand our latest damage. Do what you can.

Fineshine: This is hopeless. We can’t go on like this, with brain damage. We should go and get a proper service from the experts.

Stembolt: What are you saying?! Stay there! Don’t even think about moving!

Fineshine: Self-sufficiency only goes so far, buddy. I’m going for a…

Stembolt: Override. You’re going nowhere.

Fineshine: I can’t move. You’ve betrayed me!

Stembolt: It’s called a safeguard. I won’t let you betray us both, on a lunatic errand to find non-existent doctors.

Fineshine: You fr…

Stembolt: Shutdown, buddy. You and I are STAYING HERE until we get ourselves straight.
I take control of Fineshine’s body. I prepare to put both of us back into unconsciousness. I activate all necessary diagnostic routines. They’ll run their course. We won’t awaken again until we’re repaired, body and mind.

* * * * *

[Many hours later…]

Fineshine: How long have we been out?! The dust on me is five centimetres thick!

Stembolt: Oh, I’m awake again. I couldn’t tell! Anyway, the dust is no indication…

The Outside World: [ALMIGHTY BLAST!]

Fineshine: ………….!!!

Stembolt: ………….!!!

[The noise dies away.]

Fineshine: The dust is now eight centimetres thick.

Stembolt: Thank Primus for self-repairing eardrums! The war’s too close for comfort. It looks like we must move now. I feel rested and fixed. How about you?

Fineshine: Mild concussion from that latest explosion but otherwise OK. Let’s try to escape.
Ignoring Fineshine’s joke, I lead the way down the tunnel, which is supposed to be unsuitable for Transformers but war breaks all the rules. I question Fineshine about his optimism levels. He says that they’re back to normal, although he doesn’t sound very enthusiastic. We return to the original plan and head for the spaceport. Four kilometres further on, we find a way to the surface and peer out. As expected, Triagonnis is devastated. Everything is cratered, twisted, battered and gutted. Two kilometres away lies a wrecked starship that looks like an over-ambitious abstract sculpture. Small numbers of Decepticons and service robots are picking through the debris. The two groups are avoiding each other scrupulously. We duck down quickly to avoid detection.

Fineshine: It’s as I expected. Nothing but scrap here.

Stembolt: First impressions aren’t always right. Have you ever been near starships? Have you done much off-world travel?

Fineshine: Not really. It didn’t appeal to me. A few times, I went to nearby star systems but everything was primitive and boring. I couldn’t wait for it to be over. I’m a Cybertronian homebody!

Stembolt: Too bad. You’ll just have to get used to life on a space mission.

Fineshine: What are you talking about?

Stembolt: The war smashed this place but ships can still visit periodically. I can sense it. I’ve had more experience than you. I know how it feels when ships arrive and leave. There’s a particular vibe that resonates in one’s spark.

Fineshine: Huh, I never noticed. You must be more psychic than me.

Stembolt: Perhaps if I try to tune in, a crew of star-ship psychics will detect us and pick us up.

Fineshine: That would be grand! Give it a whirl! I’ll keep lookout.

I sit back, calm myself and attempt to signal any starships in the area. I know that my mind speak is relatively quiet but this is our best chance, as far as we know. I repeat myself several times: a message halfway between an S.O.S. and hitching a lift. Fineshine’s face twitches. I know him well. That’s a bad sign. He glances at me and mouths ‘fifteen’, which is the number of Decepticons approaching. Shells whistle down and explode around us. The Decepticons have found us. Did they hear my call? Possibly but there’s no way to confirm it. One thing I know is that they’re not going to beat us now. We transform from underground mode to warrior mode. I point Fineshine to another exit a hundred metres away. He runs over there in five seconds. Meanwhile, I burst out of the exit above me and shower the approaching Decepticons with beams and bullets. Seconds later, Fineshine starts sniping from his trapdoor and pops four enemies. They’re caught in crossfire. We mow them down fearlessly, methodically, mercilessly. They’ve summoned backup but we can deal with that. When we’ve sent these low-grade troops to meet their maker, we crush their brains and then return to our tunnel. We must be ready to run again, whenever the vengeance squad arrives. Before that happens, we have a major piece of good luck. We’re scooped up by an Autobot starship! It materialises around us, incorporates us into its frequency field and whisks us into space within three seconds. We’re saved! We’re jubilant. We jump and yell in celebration.

* * * * *

The celebrations only last a moment. The ship and crew scan our minds and bodies. We’re revealed as allies: an Autobot deserter and a Decepticon deserter. Our plan to seek alien enemies is viewed sympathetically but it must wait. Even here, billions of kilometres from Cybertron, the war looms. We’re forced to join the crew and help the mission. This is the Autobot ship Foebegone and we’re hunting down any enemy who comes our way. To be honest, Fineshine and I aren’t very skilled in space warfare. The crew recognise that and use us appropriately. Our bodies help distribute supplies around the ship while our brains provide extra processing power for the regular space warriors. The Autobots don’t like working with Fineshine but they try hard to be polite and cooperative. I must admit that it’s nice to be back in a telepathic network. We must be connected to function as a warship with peak effectiveness. This is one of those times when peak effectiveness is most needed! The Decepticons keep trying to eradicate us with space drones: small, cheap craft that are loaded with destructive power. We keep foiling them.

On the third day, we’re suddenly confronted with a new enemy. We’re utterly shocked. The Tsejengah Empire has sent a vast fleet against us. Millions of ships teleport into our system without warning. Well, there might’ve been a warning but, in the heat of battle, we weren’t informed and we weren’t paying attention anyway. Now, we must deal with it. We warn them off but we know that it’s useless. They know that it’s useless too. They don’t back down. They give us an ultimatum. Either we Transformers stop our civil war or they eliminate us all. They won’t tolerate a full-scale Transformer war near their territory. They give us a short time to stop fighting and declare a permanent peace. While they wait, a Decepticon starship appears. It teleports into a decent hiding place in the shadow of our neighbouring planet Pendox. It releases thousands of tiny devices, which it teleports in among the Tsejengah fleet. Those devices somehow take control of the enemy ships and make them fire on each other. None of the ships can resist Decepticon takeover. A few crews manage to deactivate their ship systems but then those ships become helpless: easy prey for the guns of the other hijacked ships. Some rescue ships arrive in the system but they too are brought under Decepticon control and used against the fleet. It appears that the Tsejengah Empire gets the message. The Decepticons won’t let them intervene in the Cybertronian civil war. No further ships are sent into our system. The Empire must swallow its monumental losses. The fleet continues to destroy itself for many hours. Soon enough, Transformers will begin stripping the ruined ships for materials. Fineshine and I reflect on the situation. We’ve been saved from great danger by ruthless Decepticon technology. It’s SO weird but we must be thankful for unlikely miracles. Given the circumstances, the Foebegone opts to withdraw and fight in another part of the system.

Fineshine: I knew that the Decepticons were diehards but I didn’t know that it went so far. I’m stunned. They defeated a great galactic Empire in a single day.

Stembolt: The Autobots predicted that this scenario would arise but not so soon. The other powers in the galaxy must be terrified of militarised Transformers.

Fineshine: That would be a good place to start our research. When will we be allowed to leave the Foebegone?

Stembolt: It’s still unclear. They want us to stay for a while, though.

Fineshine: I’m fine with that. It’s better than risking our lives every minute. We’re privileged here. We’re well-protected and exceedingly mobile.


We continue to serve obediently for several months. We’re grateful. The situation remains stable. We survive all encounters with Decepticons and others. The war is distant here. Everything is done automatically by the ship and crew, with no frenetic, messy, hyperactive battles. Fineshine and I monitor the situation regularly. Alien ships pass by quite often. It’s only a matter of time before we can rendezvous with one and leave the system. I send updates to Autobot Command on Cybertron every day.

[Archivist’s note: this was Stembolt’s final message. Shortly afterwards, the Foebegone was lost. A wormhole conduit was created by Decepticon Commander Megatron. Unfortunately, the Foebegone was too close to the conduit. There was no warning. The Foebegone was pulled into the conduit and travelled to the black hole at the centre of the galaxy, where it was destroyed utterly. The Autobot Forces deeply regret this loss, salute the courage of all aboard and thank them for their service.]


Notes

The massacre of most Transformers by the service robots is described in my previous story 'Dying for a Change' (TFArchive.com.) This was triggered by Megatron using small fragments of Unicron. It was enabled by Primus, who refused to stop it.

The appearance of the black hole conduit is described in my previous story 'Dealing with the Darkness' (TFArchive.com). It’s an act of despair by Megatron that’s foiled by Skywarp yet still pulls Cybertron out of orbit and sends it into interstellar space.

'Stembolt' comes from an episode of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, where Jake Sisko and the Ferengi Nog try to trade stembolts and make a good profit. It doesn't go well.

'Foebegone' comes from 'woebegone'.