CHAPTER ONE
The Alchemor, docked on Hedonia
“How do I look? Be honest.”
“Let me put it this way,” Krok said as he assessed Crankcase’s current appearance. “If you were a mirror, and I was staring at my own reflection, I would punch you and shatter you into a million pieces.”
“It’s the helmet, isn’t it?” Crankcase replied, readjusting the large tin bucket he had over his head. “It clashes with my color scheme.”
“Yes. That’s exactly what the problem is and not the fact that wearing it makes you look like a complete idiot.”
“Maybe I’m overthinking this too much,” Crankcase said, pulling the bucket off of his head. “I just want to make myself look presentable, you know? Make a good first impression.”
“You know, out of everyone on the crew, you’re the last person I’d expect to be concerned about how they presented themselves on a date,” remarked Fulcrum, leaning against a nearby wall. “Even Spinister I can see making some sort of fuss. But you? You’re like the Poster Bot of anti-social people everywhere.”
“For the last time, it’s not a date!” Crankcase snapped. “It’s just a meet-up, that’s all. Besides, you guys will be with me. It would be a pretty awkward date if you were all there for that.”
“And since when did Crankcase of Scowlex become the expert on dating and romance?” Krok quipped. “Fulcrum has a point, though; you’ve always had an aversion to interacting with people, whether its us or people we meet along the way. What is it about this ‘CONS4EVA’ guy that’s got you coming out of your shell?”
“He just seems like an interesting bot,” Crankcase replied. “We’ve been talking on the Big Conversation network for some time now and… I dunno. We just sorta click.”
“Is this the same CONS4EVA guy who got the Big Conversation shut down for a bit just before all that Thunderwing stuff went down?” Fulcrum asked.
“Nah, he told me his account got hacked.”
“And you believe him?” Krok asked.
“…Yeah? Why wouldn’t I?”
“I mean, I’m working under the presumption that this CONS4EVA individual is a Decepticon as well. And, well, deception is kind of in our name.”
“Okay, fair point,” Crankcase grumbled. “I still don’t see why he would lie to me about that, though. Pretty sure a lot of people’s accounts got hacked during that time.”
“Do you know what his real name is?” Fulcrum asked.
Crankcase gave him a confused look. “Um… CONS4EVA?”
“Ha. But, no, seriously, what’s his real name?”
“I just said it, didn’t I?”
“You don’t really believe that CONS4EVA is his real name, do you? I mean, come on, who calls themselves CONS4EVA?”
“You realize that the more you call them that, the further it legitimatizes it as a name, right?” Krok said to him pointedly.
Fulcrum held up his hands. “I’m just saying: Crankcase, Fulcrum, Krok, Misfire, CONS4EVA. One of these things is not like the other.”
“Speaking of Misfire, where even is he?” Crankcase asked. “I honestly expected him to be here mocking me instead of you two dipsticks.”
“He and Spinister are scouting out the area,” Krok explained. “Making sure the establishments here are Cybertronian-friendly.”
“We could use our holomatter avatars!” Fulcrum suggested.
“And risk another Magisteria incident? I don’t think so.”
Crankcase sighed as he set the bucket down. “You know what? I think I’m just gonna go as myself. No point in pretending to be something I’m not.”
“That’s the spirit,” Krok said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Besides, this is just a ‘meet-up,’ right? Not a ‘date,’ romantic or otherwise, right?”
“I can hear the finger quotes in your voice.”
“Did he say where he was going to meet you at?” asked Fulcrum.
“He said he would be hanging around a place called the Trick Diamond,” Crankcase replied. “Sounds like some kind of casino.”
“I’ll radio Misfire and Spinister and ask them to scout the area,” Krok said. “Hopefully they haven’t gotten into any trouble in the meantime.”
Fulcrum sighed. “Knowing them? I’d say it’s a given.”
* * *
“You really think we might find other Mini-Cons here?”
“When it comes to Hedonia? Anything is possible,” Spacewarp said as she pressed a few commands into the Alchemor’s primary console, bringing up numerous holographic displays that Nickel could barely wrap her brain module around. “Don’t let its outwardly peaceful and harmonious nature fool you; planets like this one are always hiding a dark secret.”
“She’s right,” said Spacewarp’s Mini-Con companion Foldspace, standing next to where Spacewarp was sitting. “The people of Hedonia are actually some of the best-connected arms traders in the galaxy.”
“Really?” Nickel’s optics widened for a moment before narrowing. “You’re kidding me, aren’t you?”
Foldspace shook his head. “Look it up, if you want. A lot of planets that seem nice always hold a dark secret: Lovetopia, Cuddlex—”
“Okay, now I know you’re joking. I bet those aren’t even real planets.”
“Pipe down, both of you,” Spacewarp said. “Foldspace, I need you to look at these readings.”
The gray and purple Mini-Con hopped up onto the console and crouched down, adjusting his optical sensors to get a better look at the text and other technical nonsense displayed on one of the screens. Nickel wished she could have understood such things better, but her job had always been a medic; both on Prion and with the Decepticons. She had never really had a chance to expand her talents or to explore different kinds of skills, and she had always been too nervous or afraid to ask for such an opportunity.
“Well?” Spacewarp said after a moment. “What do you think?”
“Those are definitely spark signatures,” Foldspace replied. “Lots of them, too.”
Spacewarp huffed impatiently. “But are they Mini-Con spark signatures?”
“Some of them are; others seem to be standard Cybertronian signatures. Maybe even a few Camiens as well.”
“They appear to be concentrated in this particular hot spot,” Spacewarp observed. “Looks like there’s some sort of establishment there. The Trick Diamond, I think it says? Must be new; I don’t remember seeing a place with that name the last time I visited here.”
“If they’re here on Hedonia, then maybe they’re not in any peril,” Nickel said hopefully. “Maybe they were able to escape from whomever Demus sold them to.”
“Weren’t you listening earlier?” Foldspace snapped at her. “Hedonia isn't all ‘hearts-and-rainbows’ like it makes itself out to be. Besides, the galaxy overall tends to take a more lenient stance on machine trafficking than it does organic trafficking.”
Nickel frowned. “What do you mean by that?”
“This conversation can wait,” Spacewarp said, rising from her seat. “Let’s meet with Krok and the others and head out.”
Foldspace jumped down from the console and transformed into his lunar rover alternate form, attaching himself to the larger Decepticon’s arm. Nickel waited a moment before following them, the other Mini-Con’s words still ringing in her head.
* * *
“And just what exactly are you supposed to be?”
“Er, we are the Masked Riders,” said the red-armored humanoid who was supposed to be Misfire. “We come from the planet Edenoi. We are here to participate in your… whatever this is.”
The green, pointy-eared woman standing in front of the two armored strangers narrowed her eyes skeptically. “Edenoi? Wasn’t that planet destroyed by the Troobian Empire?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Where did you hear that?”
The woman sighed, rolling her eyes. “Whatever. I just need to see some form of identification.”
Spinister stepped up, his holomatter avatar wearing armor similar to Misfire’s only in purple and magenta, and waved a hand in front of the woman’s face. “You don’t need to see our identification.”
“I do,” the woman said curtly.
“What do you even need it for?” Misfire gestured to the casino which laid beyond the green woman standing in their way. “Isn’t this one of those ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ kind of places? ‘What happens on Hedonia, stays on Hedonia?’”
“You still need to be at least twenty-one years of Standard Intergalactic Age in order to enter,” she replied. “Two hundred and one if you’re from Liaria.”
“All right, fine.” Misfire reached into a pouch on his belt and produced two identification cards, holding them up to the woman. He didn’t hand them to her because they would have phased right through her hand and their cover would have been blown.
Thankfully, the woman did not try to grab the cards and, after a cursory scan, stepped aside from the door. She put on a phony smile that was all pointy teeth as she beckoned for them to enter the casino.
“Enjoy yourselves.”
“Oh, we will, ma’am,” Misfire said as he and Spinister proceeded to walk into the Trick Diamond.
The casino was bustling with activity, packed with beings of various alien races from all over the galaxy. To one side, some Nebulans were crowded around a slot machine, watching pictures of food and numbers spin around. To another, an assortment of different aliens sat at a table while holding cards, looking at one another as if they were hiding something. Misfire failed to see the appeal of such a pastime, but it wasn’t really any of his business anyway.
“Let me know if you see any giant robots,” he said quietly to Spinister. “Then we’ll know this is a safe place to—”
“Found some,” Spinister said.
Misfire stopped in his tracks and turned to see a room adjacent to the one they were that opened up into a larger chamber with a ceiling high enough to fit even the largest type of standard Cybertronians. Other races that matched them in size, both mechanical and otherwise, were also present, such as Catharsians and Stentarians. Many of them seemed to be gathered around a large table, watching as small vehicles raced around on a set of tracks.
“Well,” Misfire said, placing his hands on his hips. “Looks like this is the place to be. I’ll radio Krok and tell him and the others to meet us here.”
“Say….” Spinister raised an arm and pointed to a short gold and black bot. They were standing in some sort of balcony that oversaw the game table beneath them. “Doesn’t that bot look familiar to you?”
“I’m sure we’ll see plenty of familiar faces here; we’re among our own kind after all.” Misfire turned to leave. “Let’s just hope we don’t run into anyone who hates our circuits or anything.”
“Yeah,” Spinister muttered, staring at the gold bot for another moment before following his fellow Scavenger. “That sure would suck.”
* * *
“And it looks like Racer Number 57 is out of the race!” Swindle exclaimed as the miniature red and black drag racer crashed into a wall, allowing the other mini-cars to zip past it. “Better luck next time!”
As the rowdy spectators cheered on, with some begrudgingly handing over whatever money they had bet on the red racer to their gambling compatriots, Swindle turned away from the scene and grinned at the black and yellow femme leaning on the balcony next to him.
“Looks like business is doing great!” he said to the Camien Decepticon. “I told you that shipment from the Vestial Imperium would prove profitable.”
Trickdiamond looked back at him and smiled. “So it has. I apologize for ever doubting you, Swindle.”
“Ah, don’t sweat it,” Swindle said, despite the fact that they were both robots and therefore incapable of excreting such foul-smelling moisture. He just knew it was a thing organics liked to say and had picked up on saying it in his transactions with them. It helped build a sense of understanding and cordiality, making it easier to scam them out of their hard-earned currency.
Not that he would ever admit to that aloud.
Returning his attention to the race down below, Swindle watched as the remaining five cars continued to speed their way around the track, entering the final lap of the race. In the lead was a silver and black race car of similar design to the red one that had crashed. As he didn’t have much stake in the races themselves, caring only for what money people spent to watch them and gamble on, Swindle didn’t really care which one of the racers won. At the end of the day, the only real winner was going to be himself.
“Hey, boss,” a raspy voice said from behind him. Swindle looked over to see a small, primate-like and rust-colored Decepticon standing behind him. “Call for you on line 86.”
“Ah, thank you, Headlock.” Swindle turned back to Trickdiamond. “Can you handle things for me here?”
“Of course,” she purred back to him.
Swindle beamed at her before taking his leave. He had to admit, this crew of his that he had assembled since the end of the war was probably the best crew he had ever worked with. With the Combaticons, Swindle had never felt like he truly belonged with them or that any of them trusted him. Granted, they probably had very good reasons for not trusting someone with the name ‘Swindle,’ but it was disheartening nonetheless. Here at the Trick Diamond however, he felt like he was more among his own kind — or at least somewhat adjacent to it. Trickdiamond was the proprietor of a casino, which was ripe grounds for his kind of operations; Gutcruncher had experience working on the black market and knew certain clients and clientele that even Swindle was unfamiliar with; and Headlock had his own way of persuading people with things that interest them, which was how he had gotten himself arrested by the legendary Ultra Magnus himself once long ago.
These bots — these fellow Decepticons — knew how to speak Swindle’s language. The only downside was that he would have to try extra hard to con them once he was done with his businesses here on Hedonia, as they already knew all of the old tricks in the book. Then again, there was nothing wrong with facing a little challenge in life once in a while; so long as he ended up on top, of course.
Upon reaching his office, which was conveniently located near the back of the building just in case he needed to make a ‘hasty departure,’ Swindle switched on the transceiver and situated himself at his desk as the holoprojector hummed to life and displayed a tiny holographic image of the individual calling him.
“Thank you for calling the Trick Diamond. Swindle of Kaon, speaking. How may I help you?”
“Swindle of Kaon.” The voice of the caller was distorted, as was their tiny holographic image. “I require your services once more.”
Despite the distortions in both audio and visual, Swindle knew right away whom it was he was speaking with. Sobering his tone, the former Combaticon said, “Of course. What is it you need?”
“Are you aware of a device known as the Transwarp Blaster?”
This question gave Swindle paused and he took a moment to consider it. He was familiar with plenty of devices that had “Transwarp” in their name — not all of them genuine — but wasn’t sure if he knew one that was known specifically as a “Transwarp Blaster.”
“Not sure if I can say I’m aware of it,” he finally said, choosing to take the “politician route” in his response. “But I can make myself aware of it. What do you need it for?”
“My reasons for needing it are mine, and mine alone. What I can tell you is where I’ve heard it to be located: The seventh orbit of the Sigma system.”
“Sigma Seven?” Now that rang a bell in Swindle’s processor, though he did not tell his contact this. “That should be easy enough to arrange. The Sigma system isn’t too far from here. I will send my bots there as soon as I get the chance. While you’re here though, I have to ask — simply for the sake of business — what your price is for this ‘Transwarp Blaster?’”
“Are you sitting down?”
“Uh….” Swindle shifted in his seat. “Yeah?”
His contact gave him their price.
Minutes after the call had ended, Gutcruncher would later find Swindle laying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling with the biggest and stupidest grin on his face.
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