CHAPTER TWO
--The Axiom--
"Unidentified Cybertronian ship contained. Registered Autobot model RID-2015. Eleven passengers. All Decepticons."
AUTO listened to the Axiom's computer as it read out all of the details on the ship that had been caught in their tractor beam. The vessel itself was far too large to fit in the Axiom's hangar, meaning they were going to need a boarding party.
Of course, protocol did permit him to simply blast the ship out of existence; they were, after all, Decepticons. The problem was... there couldn't be any Decepticons (or Autobots, save for Dion) left in the universe. As far as anyone knew, Cybertron was a dead world, the Transformers having long gone extinct. The only logical explanation was that these Decepticons, like Dion, were from the past... and that unlike Dion, their intentions were less than friendly.
Still, if there was anything AUTO had learned in the past twenty years was that not everything was as it seemed. And while he could just eliminate these Decepticons to avoid further headache, he also did not want to waste potential assets.
After less than two seconds of deliberation, AUTO transmitted his command: "Dispatch Squad 231 to captured vessel. Directive B579. Proceed with caution."
He then extended a spoke from his frame and brought up a visual of the Cybertronian ship, planning to watch the proceedings with great interest.
* * *
"What are they waiting for?" Fulcrum asked quietly, anxiously watching the giant Earth ship. "Aren't they going to blow us up?"
"I think they're trying to figure out how to pull us in," Krok replied. "Our ship's too big to fit in their hangar bay."
"That's hilarious," Spinister commented.
"Yeah, I'm shaking with laughter," Crankcase grunted. "Why don't we just abandon ship? That way, we can give them a reason to blow us up instead of making us wait for a slaggin' eternity!"
"Not so fast," said Foldspace. "I'm detecting several robotic lifeforms approaching us."
Krok leaned over the Mini-Con and saw a number of egg-shaped robots departing from one of the Earth ships. As they began to surround the Alchemor, guns deployed, a light began to flash on the console, indicating that they were being hailed. After exchanging a glance with Spacewarp, Krok answered the call.
"Uh, bah-weep-gra--"
"State your name and business, Cybertronian vessel," cut in a sharp and monotonous voice.
Krok cleared his vocal processor. "Er, right. This is Krok of the Alchemor. We, uh, we're just making a stop here to get away from some bad company. We had no intention of--"
"Identify 'bad company.'"
"The Galactic Council. You guys wouldn't have heard of--"
"The Galactic Council?" The voice sounded perplexed. "Are you saying you're fugitives?"
Crankcase and Spacewarp swore loudly as the robots outside trained their guns on the Alchemor. Krok's optics went wide as he fumbled for a response.
"Uh, now, I didn't say that. It... it was more of a misunderstanding."
"Hold it." Krok saw one of the egg-bots raise a fin-like arm, indicating it to be the speaker. "What year is it?"
Krok blinked. "Pardon?"
"You go by the Cybertronian dating system, correct? What's the current cycle?"
"Uh, 9816."
"I see." The voice fell silent for a moment, before delivering the following bombshell: "You've traveled 817 years into the future. The current cycle is 10,633."
"Oh." Krok glanced back at the Earth ships. "That explains a lot."
"Not my choice of words," Crankcase muttered.
"Indeed it does," said the voice. "Please remain put, Alchemor. I'll need to speak with my superiors on how to proceed."
"Er, right, no problem. Say, what was your name again?"
No response. The line had went dead.
"Well," Fulcrum murmured, "at least they didn't kill us."
"Yet," Spacewarp grunted.
Krok rubbed his helm. His processor felt like it was beginning to overheat. "817 years. How do we get ourselves into these messes?"
"Could be worse," Misfire remarked. "We could still be stuck on Lovetopia, surrounded by--"
"Don't," Krok sighed. "Just don't even go there."
* * *
"So it is as I suspected."
"Correct, sir," reported the purple-eyed EVE unit, her face displayed on one of AUTO's viewscreens. "So far, their intentions do not appear to be hostile."
"They are called Decepticons, Probe Five," AUTO reminded her. "Deception is all but their name."
"Maybe we should bring Dion in on this," said Pox. The A.I. had just materialized next to AUTO in the form of an androgynous human wearing an over-sized lab coat and fogged goggles; for the past few weeks, it had been their preferred avatar. "I mean, he would know better than anyone on how to deal with these guys."
"I agree," AUTO said. "However, Dion and his squad are presently occupied. Ariel is also busy helping the Exodus crew. That just leaves...."
The autopilot trailed off, leading Pox to smile knowingly.
"I guess you don't have much of a choice, do you?"
"No," AUTO said firmly. "It is too dangerous."
"Says the guy who nearly killed him...."
"That was a long time ago," AUTO insisted hastily. "Besides, even if he does have experience interacting with Cybertronians, have any of them been Decepticons?"
Pox shrugged. "Dunno. You'd have to ask him. And if you're really that concerned for his safety, you can always send EVE or any number of her sisters with him. They've dealt with worse before."
AUTO aimed his single red optic at Pox. "How would you know?"
The avatar smirked. "You see, this whole time you've been fretting, I've been taking the time to actually look up exactly who we're dealing with; this Krok fellow."
"And?"
"And believe me when I say this: We're not dealing with the upper crust of the Decepticon Empire. We're not even dealing with the crumbs. We're dealing with the rotting, month-old leftovers that got pushed to the back of the fridge."
AUTO stared at Pox. "...I do not understand."
Pox sighed, running a hand down their face. "Captain was right: You really don't have a sense of humor."
"Please get to the point."
"The point is that these Decepticons barely register as a threat. Even if their intentions were hostile, it would take less effort to deal with them than it would to polish Commander Nebula's boots. The point," Pox stressed as AUTO whirred impatiently, "is that we have nothing to worry about."
The autopilot rotated his frame. "You are certain?"
"Positive. 100%."
"I find your calculations to be dubious... but no matter." Turning back to the monitors, AUTO plugged into the console. "Hangar 5B, transmat Cybertronian passengers from ship Alchemor. Dispatch all SECUR-T units. Probe One, Load-Lifter One... your presence is required."
* * *
"Whoa, hey!" Crankcase exclaimed as he and the other Scavengers were unexpectedly teleported from their ship to the hangar of one of the Earth ships. Pristine white walls now surrounded them, as did a number of small, block-shaped robots. "Talk about a violation of transportation!"
"That's not a thing," Fulcrum said.
"Well, it should be!"
"Quiet," Krok hissed. "We've got company."
The others looked to see more robots enter the hangar. Most of them resembled the egg-shaped robots they had encountered earlier, although one was carrying a yellow cube-shaped robot with treads. Upon reaching the Scavengers, the cube-bot was set down and it cautiously approached the Decepticons.
"Kinda looks like a Tau-Ursan," Spacewarp commented.
"A lot tinier though," Spinister grunted.
The robot looked up at the Scavengers with its binocular-shaped head, regarding them curiously. It then extend its hand as it spoke.
"WaaAA-lll-eeee."
The Scavengers all exchanged baffled looks, unsure if this was some kind of alien greeting. After a moment, Misfire turned back to the small robot and raised his own hand.
"Per-wip-grazna-boo-boo-zong."
Everyone in the hangar collectively gasped and the egg-shaped bots all deployed their guns, aiming them at the Decepticons.
"You just told him his motherboard reroutes diodes in Hell," Krok said exasperatedly.
"Oh." Misfire smiled weakly. "Well, I didn't mean it like that...."
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