CHAPTER ONE
General Neech stood on the bridge of the Retaliator, a permanent scowl fixed on his face. His lieutenant stood behind him, nervously tapping his fingers on the edge of his datapad.
"Just for once," Neech rumbled, more to himself than anyone else present, "I would like to hear something of semblance to good news."
The lieutenant swallowed audibly, as he had anything but. He remained silent until Neech made a sharp gesture.
"Go on, then. Let's get this over with."
The lieutenant nodded curtly and began reading from his report. "Frayus has called for a global evacuation. Admiral Vember and her fleet are down to three ships, and the Black Block Consortia has already claimed the northern hemisphere."
Neech grimaced. The news had been exactly what he was expecting; for some time now, the Galactic Council had been at war with the Black Block Consortia over control of the Benzene Cluster, a major galactic trading port that was rich with resources. And against all odds, in spite of being a relatively small separatist state, the Consortia was winning.
That was why Neech had been called in, following the loss of the Dredbos system. He was expected to turn the tide and drive the Consortia back into their pocket of backwater worlds; as if he could just snap his fingers and set things right. He only wished it were that easy....
Between this and the recent mess involving V'tra, Neech was having a very stressful year... and he doubt it was going to get better.
"Send an order of retreat to Admiral Vember's fleet," he finally said to the lieutenant. "No use in defending a planet of cowards."
The lieutenant nodded. "Right away, sir."
Once the officer had departed, Neech redirected his gaze to an ensign seated at the ship's controls. The ensign's tendrils danced across their console as they continued to plot a course through hyperspace. Nearly fifteen minutes had passed so far and Neech was still staring at the same field of stars.
"Why haven't we changed course yet?" he growled to the ensign.
"Apologies, sir," the pilot answered nervously. "The space in this sector is very... threadbare."
"Threadbare?" Neech repeated. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that a single jump can just as easily take us into another universe as it can another star system."
Neech snorted. "Don't give me that garbage, ensign. Just get us to Jo-Ad or else I'll personally have you committed to the psyche-ward."
"Yes, sir. Understood, sir," the ensign hastily said.
With a disgruntled sigh, General Neech returned his gaze to the stars, wondering how this day could possibly get worse.
* * *
"This day just keeps getting better and better...."
"I know, right?" Misfire was grinning widely as he crawled out of an alcove, carrying a large bazooka-type weapon. "I thought High Command had banned Destructo-Mators, but lookie what I found here!"
Krok groaned to himself as the walls of the base shook again. When word had reached that the planet of Frayus had been evacuated, he had thought that that would have left the abandoned Decepticon base "Camp Conclave" open for the taking. Unfortunately, that was far, far from the case.
"We don't have time to forage, Misfire," Krok grunted. "Just find the ununtrium -- if there is any -- so I can radio Foldspace to teleport us back to the Alchemor."
"Why the rush?" Misfire asked. His query was partially drowned out by the sound of a loud explosion nearby. "You're not afraid of a buncha organics, are you?"
"If they manage to bring this place down on top of us, I will be." Krok tapped a finger on his wrist comm and raised it to his faceplate. "You still tracking us, Foldspace?"
"Yeah, but could you speed things up down there?" the old Mini-Con replied. "Things are getting hectic up here."
"Go ahead and get a transportal up. We'll be along shortly." Krok then turned back to Misfire, who struggling with the Destructo-Mator as it fell apart in his hands. "Just leave it, Misfire. There's nothing here worth taking back."
"Nonsense!" Misfire protested. "This is Camp Conclave we're talking about! Megatron himself once presided here! You mean to tell me that there wouldn't be some goodies stashed here?"
"If there were, it's sure to have been scavenged already."
Seconds later, a purple portal materialized just outside the door to the base. It would only be a matter of time before it attracted unwanted attention.
"That's our cue," Krok said, already walking towards it. "Let's go, Misfire."
The magenta jet sighed in an overdramatic manner but followed Krok anyway. The two Scavengers stepped through the portal and were immediately brought back to the Alchemor... which was shaking violently as Galactic Council and Black Block Consortia ships alike fired upon it.
"About time you got back!" Crankcase shouted at them. The ship lurched as he piloted it out of the line of fire. "I sure hope you found something that was worth us nearly getting blown up for."
"Oh, we found plenty of things!" Misfire said before Krok had a chance to speak. "A Destructo-Mator, discarded learner plates, an unfinished battle chart for the Second Vorsk Offensive--"
"But no ununtrium?" asked Spacewarp, leaning against the wall.
Misfire's face fell. "Uh, no. None of that. At all."
"Okay. Because that's the only reason we came halfway across the galaxy to this dirtball for."
"Well, hey, the Benzene Cluster is said to be full of riches! Maybe Bathyos has some--"
"Crankcase, get us out of here!" Krok hollered to the pilot.
"And just where in the blazes am I supposed to take us to?" the Triggercon retorted.
"Take us back to that human planet. Dirt or Earth or whatever it's called. The Council doesn't have a presence there, so we'll have a chance to recuperate before deciding our next course."
"Fine. Foldspace, plot a course for us. Fulcrum, Spinister, stay on the guns until we're out of this mess."
"Why can't you plot a course?" Misfire asked. "Wouldn't it be as simple as going back the way we came?"
"Not when space is threadbare like this," Crankcase grunted.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It's science stuff. You wouldn't get it."
"You're not a scientist."
"Neither are you, so shut it before I--"
"Done," Foldspace piped up.
Without a word, Crankcase pulled the warp lever and the Alchemor jumped into hyperspace, escaping the wrath of the warring organic forces.
"Thank Primus." Crankcase slumped in his chair in relief. "I swear, one of these days you guys are gonna get me killed."
"What I tell myself everyday," Spacewarp muttered.
As the others waited to reach their destination, Fulcrum and Spinister stepped onto the bridge, followed closely by Nickel.
"Close one as usual," Fulcrum remarked. "Where are we headed now?"
"Earth," Krok answered. "It's far enough into the Neutral Territories that the Galactic Council doesn't seem to care about them. That should give us enough peace to plan our next destination."
"Preferably one that isn't a war zone," Crankcase said as he pushed the lever back up, bringing them out of lightspeed.
The Alchemor dropped out of hyperspace and the planet of Earth came into view. Right away however, the crew could tell something was off about it.
"I thought you said the Galactic Council didn't have a presence out here," Misfire murmured, staring at the fleet of ships surrounding the planet.
"Maybe it's a belated invasion," Fulcrum said, even though said ships were facing them and not the planet... and they were clearly marked with Terran scripture.
"They've got us in a tractor beam," Crankcase muttered as the Alchemor shook to a halt.
"I hate you guys so much," Spacewarp growled.
Krok sighed as he buried his face in his hands, wondering how this day could possibly get worse.
DISTANT STARS
Part 4: In Danger of Contamination
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