The Cybertronian Civil War part 1
Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2007 2:37 pm
Hello all, this is 7Knight-Wolf! It's my first time on the console. My favorite Beast Warrior is Silverbolt and I am like him in many ways. I enjoy writing, fan fiction or otherwise.
This fan fiction is part of a series called "The Cybertronian Civil War." It takes place after Optimus comes back to Cybertron at the end of Beast Wars Season 3. In my story, Beast Machines never happened. However, there will be some of the same ideas and characters from that series. (7Knight-Wolf claims no rights over any aspects of Beast Wars or Beast Machines.) My story is a little confusing, so here's a few helpers for readers:
DPS: Department of Planet Security (run primarily by Maximals.)
President: (Presdient Thundering the Maximal is in charge of Cybertron)
GS Club: Green Scientists Club (any kind of robot involved in the project of helping Cybertron be more organic.)
"Crowe" and other Mercenary Weapon-sellers: groups of predacons and humans who sell dangerous weapons and bombs to anybody.
With that in mind:
[b] “The Cybertronian Civil War"
Part 1: The Taking of the Dome [/b]
“I’m just saying what I have been saying for years now!” exclaimed the young agent from DPS. Every bot in the stuffy room where the Maximus Council was meeting now glanced at the newbie Topazor. Most of their expressions displayed annoyance and disgust.
The head of the meeting, Airsweep, said impatiently, “We know your argument, Topazor. But regardless of what we all clearly know, there’s nothing we can legally do about it. We can’t charge the Predacons with anything. We’ve fully investigated the rebel Megatron’s history and all his connections, and the Predacon alliance was not involved. They cannot be held responsible.”
Topazor folded his arms irritably. “Cybertron need this to happen,” he stated.
Airsweep fixed Topazor with a stern stare. “Cybertron needs it,” she said, “or you need it? We all know your demanding need for vengeance, and we all know that—due to an accident—the Predacon Alliance killed a ship full of maximals. Topazor, that tragic event happened before you were even born and yet you’re furious about it. The one thing you should know about government diplomacy is that you can’t be chasing after vengeance.”
Topazor heaved a long sigh. “You are all so oblivious,” he said, shaking his head. “Now while you sit here in your stuffy pompous offices, war brews outside, and order is being lost everyday! If you bots want to continue sitting here rambling about stocks till your audio circuits sizzle, I have no more business here. Good afternoon.”
The young bot rose from his chair and walked toward the door. As he went, he threw a last glance at Airsweep. She sat with her usual solemn and authoritative look in her magenta optics. She was prim and slightly built, and getting along in years. Due to her numerous trips to Earth, Airsweep had acquired an alternate mode: a gray and magenta colored jet. Topazor was tempted to stay and continue his argument, but he knew that it was unwise to irritate a powerful bot like Airsweep. After all, Airsweep was the spokesbot for the President of Cybertron.
Topazor turned and punched the door-button. The metal exit-way slid open and the DPS agent left.
Topazor was a true and patriotic maximal. He was a tall, skinny bot mostly colored blue and grey, with metallic spikes on his shoulders and long, dexterous feet and hands. His expressive optics were golden-yellow, and he had silvery-brown wings. These two features made him bear an obvious resemblance to the maximal knight Silverbolt. Topazor was in fact the son of the recently departed fuzore. Since Topazor had a love for keeping the innocent safe, he had joined the DPS or the Department of Planet Security. He was asked to the DPS spokesman during the Maximus Council.
The purpose of the meetings were to discuss plans for future security as well as what was happening now. A long time had passed since the lost crew of the Axalon returned and imprisoned the rebel predacon Megatron. Now, there was chaos on Cybertron. Upon the return of Optimus, the tension did not lessen between maximals and predacons. In fact, the tension was doubled. There were bombings, violent protests, every kind of trouble that two clans could make on each other.
Before Topazor was born, a satellite outside Cybertron had exploded. There was a little bit of ship-traffic at that time, and at least one maximal ship had been caught in the explosion. Just this year, the maximals discovered that the predacons had rigged the satellite to explode. They did this to prevent Cybertron from detecting a transwarp wave and following it to its source: the lost crew of the Axalon. The Predacon Alliance had actually sent a covert agent down to kill both Megatron and the Axalon’s crew.
Oh yes, the Predacon Alliance had dug one perilous pit for itself! First they had been blamed for Megatron’s rebellion, and “paid the price in diplomatic repercussions.” And then they had intended to destroy a team of maximal warriors and scientists! Lastly, that ship full of maximals had been destroyed. The DPS, made up of maximals and predacons alike, had a plan to shut down the Predacon Alliance once and for all. But vice-president Airsweep disagreed.
Topazor clenched his long hands into fists. He disliked most predacons, but Airsweep had been wrong when she accused him of seeking vengeance. Topazor, though inexperienced, was at least coolheaded enough to try handling situations diplomatically.
The Cybertronian situation did need to be handled—and handled quickly. Somehow, Topazor had to convince the other members of the Maximus Council the desperation that really went on in these metallic streets and cities.
Leaving the “good” area of the city, Topazor retreated to his solitary haunts in the crime-rampant suburbs. Here he used to sit on top of the buildings and watch the sun set. But then this place had become overridden with rebels and activists, criminals and madbots. This was Topazor’s first time here in several months. It was a dangerous place, and high-ranking DPS agents were in high demand in the hostage market.
However, this was the perfect place to find a bot who could tell the Council what things were really like on this planet.
Night fell, and Topazor crept along the sides of the dark streets. He had switched to his alternate mode. Most bots on Cybertron who had alternate modes always transformed into jets or spaceships commonly found on the planet. Topazor, being Silverbolt’s son, had inherited a wolfish look in his alternate beast mode. Small spikes went down his back and tapered into the long metal spikes which formed his tail. Besides his eagle-like wings, most of Topazor’s wolf-body was blue. His pointy-nosed canine face was both noble and ferocious-looking. He had extensive, sinewy limbs and long dexterous paws. The light from his yellow optics cut through the darkness; he could control the level of light they gave off.
As Topazor walked the metal streets, he came to a narrow alleyway. Faintly, he heard voices from that direction. He crept stealthily down the dirty little street and came to a sharp turn which, Topazor guessed, backed into a cul-de-sac. He glanced around the corner only for a fraction of a second—just long enough for him to see if there were any bots around the angle.
Three or four bots were arguing in hushed voices. Topazor guessed from their beastie appearance that they were space-explorers. He stuck his head around the corner again. Most likely, those bots out there had become rebels fighting against the President for some cause or other. Who knew what they were up to? Just as Topazor was getting his nerve up to talk to the bots, their argument began to heat up. Topazor couldn’t use his flashy eyes to light up the scene without being noticed, so he tried to see what was going on in the dark. One bot seemed to be in the thick of all the fighting; it was unmercifully beaten as it tried to fight back. The rebels pulled guns on each other, and one of them was getting ready to run out of the alley. Knowing that he couldn’t stick around here any longer, Topazor swiftly retreated. He slipped into a nearby tavern, transforming into robot mode as he did so.
The tavern was a dimly lit and very busy place. So this was where everybot went for recreation! All sorts of oil drinks were being served, hot and cold, some bots were playing music, and some were amusing themselves with cards. Topazor was shocked to see that a human was running was behind the bar during most of the serving.
After the Axalon’s crew returned, the great explorer Cheetor had taken off on a mission to recover lost friends on Earth. However, he was lost and believed to be dead, and the time-vortex outside of Planet Earth had disappeared. Now that the wormhole was gone, Cybertronians could go to earth if they wanted. Travel was also reopened between other planets. The technically-advancing earthlings, too, had started doing lots of space travel. So there were humans on Cybertron, it was just rare to see them.
Taking a seat on a barstool, Topazor ordered a very light oil blend. He watched the efficient little human at work, and was tempted to ask about why he had come to Cybertron. But just then, the door burst open, letting in the cold night air, and a half-scrapped bot stumbled in. She sat down on a barstool near Topazor and rested her head on the counter wearily. Topazor recognized this bot. She was the one in the alley who had been so outnumbered.
Her name was Miratron. When she was very young, she had gone with her parents to a wilderness on Earth commonly called the “Out Back” or “Down under.” Spending several years in that place gave Miratron her Australian accent. She had also acquired an alternative form: a platypus. The platypus head was positioned on her chest while she was in robot mode. Miratron’s forelimbs in platypus mode became her legs in robot mode, and the back feet rested on her shoulders. Her metallic green face was set with a pair of sparkling blue eyes and a sweet mouth. The golden helmet-like piece which rested on her head curved down over her nose like a beak. Her flat, scaly platypus tail hung from her shoulders like a cloak.
At least, that was what she would have looked like normally. Now the bright hue of her metal was faded and scratched, she was beat-up and her golden nose-guard had turned to a dim brass color. The sparkle in her blue eyes was dimmed with weariness—she looked much more tired than she was hurt.
As she sat next to Topazor, Miratron fingered a gun and muttered to herself about how she should have shot a bot in the head instead of the arm.
Topazor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are the topics that the regulars discuss around here always as charming as yours?” he asked.
Miratron turned her dim, almost bored-looking eyes to Topazor. The wolf-bot got the feeling that he had been quickly looked over and pronounced as a weirdo. “You’re a scrawny fella, aren’t you?” Miratron said. “Well at least you’re clean. More than I can say about some bots.”
Topazor asked, “Might I inquire your name?”
“What’s it to you?” she muttered in a dry, slurred voice.
“I’m looking for somebody who can help me. You seem like just the bot.”
Miratron scoffed. “I’ve heard that before,” she coughed. “But let me tell me you, punk, that the only thing I’m selling is my service as a thinker. Clear? My name’s Miratron, and if you got a use for a pair of rough hands and a brilliant central processor, I guess I am the bot you’re looking for. Ugn, but time and time again I’m hired and fired, hired and fired! Never good enough for anybody, haven’t got no friends exceptin’ a few soldiers.”
Topazor felt pity for Miratron and was reluctant to ask her any favors. But he remembered the urgency of his errand. “The only thing I ask of you,” said Topazor, “is to be my spokesbot tomorrow evening.”
Miratron gave the wolf-bot a puzzled look. “Say what?”
Topazor scooted his chair closer to hers and whispered, “I am an agent of DPS. Shh, don’t be alarmed. For days and even years I have been trying to convince the Maximus council of the true, desperate state Cybertron is in. So I went looking for somebody who could really tell them off.”
“What, the DPS has no influence anymore?” asked Miratron.
“I certainly don’t,” replied Topazor. “The Council thinks I‘m an inexperienced pipsqueak.”
“Sorry to hear that. Well, I guess I could come to your meeting. Though, after my interview with the Tri Predacus Council, I’m not much interested in politics.”
“The Tri Predacus Council?” interrupted Topazor. “Why would you go to them? Are you—pardon my asking—are you a Predacon?”
Miratron grinned. “Don’t worry, scrawny, I’m a neutral. My pap was a Pred and my mum a Maxi, but now I’m just in things for myself.”
Topazor stared at Miratron pensively. He too knew what it was like to have parents from both factions. Blackarachnia had been a predacon for quite a while, and even Silverbolt had served Megatron, if only for a few hours.
Miratron gazed around the tavern with her sullen, dim eyes and said in her dry, hopeless voice, “ ’Katro Tavern’ is a busy place. This may be a dangerous area of Cybertropilas, but it’s also famous. Everybody passing through has to stop in on the ‘Katro Tavern,’ even military personnel. And humans. Maybe it’s the loud meetings held here or the drunks that hang around, or that slagin’ blarin’ music, but I think it’s just the drinks. Anyway, if you come here often, you know what loud meetings I’m talking about. Passionate groups of rebels planning their attacks on the Cybertropilas Dome and the prison. Some groups of mercenary weapon-sellers trying to make deals with the military. Uck, the soldiers that come through here are perhaps even more badly behaved than the anarchists.”
“But you said you had befriended them? The military, I mean?” asked Topazor curiously.
“One or two of ‘em,” Miratron shrugged. “I have quite a bit of influence in the back-street life. I mostly hang out with the mercenary weapon-sellers. It’s quite an entertaining and life-threatening pastime for an unemployed middle-of-the-roader.”
“But you will come to the meeting tomorrow?” said Topazor anxiously.
“Sure; where do I meet you?”
“The Cybertropilas Dome, at sunset.” Topazor stood up. “See you then, my friend.” He walked out of Katro’s Tavern and hurried on his way home, feeling satisfied.
****
Meanwhile, at the great Cybertronian Prison, vice-president Airsweep was looking into the most hated yet renowned cell of all. The rebel predacon Megatron abode in the dark cubicle. Megatron was very old and withered now, and after three brilliantly-planned attempts at jailbreak, he had become introverted. Since his Transmetal 3 body had been stripped and replaced with that of a simple worker-bot, he was pathetic to look at. Yet you could still see the same greedy, brilliant, and roguish expression deep in Megatron’s eyes.
Airsweep looked in on him. “Your humble servant is here,” she hissed.
Megatron looked up and said in a withered, though still low voice, “A few decacycles ago, I never imagined myself working with a maximal. But you‘re such a poor businessbot, that I couldn’t resist the offer. I gave you a few codes and data tracks in exchange for my freedom. Ha!”
“Those codes and data tracks will prove more useful than you know,” Airsweep said smoothly, “because they led me to some invaluable comrades in arms. Thank you, Megatron. Now, about your freedom…” Airsweep smiled slyly. “I won’t break my word. Tomorrow, you will be set free. But you will be in the hands of rebels…and you understand, I won’t be able to control their actions.”
Megatron instantly caught on, and stared wordlessly and hatefully at Airsweep, who laughed.
“Ah, the old conqueror Megatron had finally grown old,” she smirked. “How could you not see this trick coming? How could trust me, a fox who plays this game just for her own wellbeing? Your processor is old and your spark has lost in brilliance too. Yes, mighty Megatron, tomorrow you will die.”
***
The next evening, Topazor came to the Dome punctually. He was so used to seeing the gigantic, exquisitely-built meeting place with its dome-shaped roof that he took no heed of it. Once inside the metal, computer-covered building, he sat down in the central lobby on the first floor to wait for Miratron.
There were dozens of security cameras and alarms, and the bright lights bounced off the shiny metal floors. High above, the roof of the first floor was intricately carved with Cybertronian history. This was a great historical place, but Topazor and all the other busy politician bots and the stuffy secretaries behind their desks took no heed of it. To them, this place was taken for granted. Surely this building would never be destroyed!
When it was almost time for the meeting to start, and Miratron still hadn’t arrived, Topazor thought that maybe the platypus had pulled one over on him. He stood up and went to the second floor. Just outside the central computer-room and Dome database, Topazor stopped abruptly. Miratron was there! She was talking to the guard-bots who stood in front of the door. Little red flags went up for Topazor…how did Miratron get in? Did she find a way to breach the Dome security?
The guards were looking over Miratron’s shoulder at the rapidly approaching Topazor, but Miratron had her back to him. “You better know how to use the stuff I sold you,” she huffed viciously. “It won’t be my fault if you get your heads blow off. Now—”
“Miratron?” asked Topazor.
The platypus-bot whirled around to face Topazor. She looked flustered. “Oh, hi,” she said.
“Is anything the matter?” Topazor inquired.
“No, no nothing,” replied Miratron hastily. “So, I guess we should get to the council?”
“How did you get in here?” asked Topazor.
Miratron smiled reassuringly. “I told you I had lot of influence. These guards are my friends; they let me in just a while ago. Come on, scrawny, let’s go.”
The wolf-bot’s red flags went down. There was no longer a hint of suspicion.
When Topazor and Miratron came in, the maximals were discussing the Great Orchard Project. For years, a group of scientists had been working in secret to bring some greenery back to Cybertron. It was actually discovered that some earth-like life still lived on Cybertron—one might find a flower in a crack in a metal road. Bats and moths were found deep underground, as well as fresh water. A green liquid material was discovered even deeper underground, one which would enhance organic life. It was this green fluid which had regulated the flow of oxygen and carbon-dioxide on Cybertron for years, making it possible for humans to breathe here.
Many bots planted orchards all over Cybertron. There was even a small forest that the scientists discovered. But now, the so-called “Green Scientist Club” proposed a new law for Cybertron: that every city was to have at least two orchards. The GS Club exited the room as Topazor entered. They left the building.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” said Topazor. “Where is vice-president Airsweep?”
“She was busy today,” replied an old voice. The president of Cybertron, the maximal Thunderwing, stood up. “I myself came today. Who is this bot you brought with you?”
Topazor bowed low. “Sir, this is Miratron. She is a good bot hard-pressed by a life alongside rebels and thieves. She has agreed to inform you of what she has seen. You may trust this good lady.” Topazor smiled over at Miratron. “She is a diamond in the rough.”
Miratron was startled by Topazor’s earnest speech. He certainly was a trusting bot, thought Miratron, with a touch of guilt. “Greetings to the Maximus Council from the streets of Cybertropilas,” said the platypus-bot with a bow of her head. She sat down at the table. “President Thunderwing, it is an honor to see you here today. Shall we get down to business? If I may be so bold, the trouble of which you have been ignorant is grave. Where I come from, rebels and activists roam the streets, as well as thieves and assassins.”
“This we are aware of,” replied Thunderwing. “When the business of our economy is settled, we will enforce our military to seize and crush the skirmishes.”
Miratron made a quizzical face. “No, sir,” she stammered, “I-I think you misunderstand me. My argument is that the suffering people are reduced to lawbreakers because of poor planning on the part of the Cybertronian officials. There are some real dangerous gangs like the Crowe Mercenaries, but most of them just want their necessary needs and rights met.”
“Are you saying that my hired officers are causing the mayhem?” coughed Thunderwing.
Miratron said nothing for a moment. But the answer was obvious in her eyes.
“How dare you!” Thunderwing exclaimed. “The Cybertron officials are—”
“The Cybertron officials,” interrupted Miratron, “are not the problem. You’re the problem!”
In response to this remark, Thunderwing and everybot in the room stared in astonishment.
Miratron calmed herself with effort. “There are some people out on the street who are too smart to be fooled any longer. We all know that your poor skills are causing all this trouble, Thunderwing, and some of them are thinking, what can we do about it? Right now.”
Topazor interposed, “So you understand, President, that there really is trouble out there.”
“Most of the really dangerous groups are combinations of bots—mostly pred, and even some of Unicron’s descendents,” continued Miratron. “These High Priority Groups plan on taking over the planet, and to do so they will destroy this dome along with you, President. The other anarchists are the more diplomatic Maximal Radicals who are planning to break into the Prison and kill Megatron themselves to achieve justice. They want revolution. You’re on the brink of war.”
“I’ve had enough of this lies,” sneered old Thunderwing. “Somebody escort this vagabond back to where she belongs—the slums.”
“But sir—” began Topazor.
“This conversation is over!” interrupted Thunderwing. His optics glowed with anger at being argued with. “I am in charge of Cybertron,” he said lividly. “Like this Dome, which has stood for decacycles, I am strong and powerful!”
Miratron had already stood up and was walking toward the door. She shook her head at the president, and said, “Then like this Dome, you shall fall in your blindness.” Then the platypus-bot left the Dome, and her mocking laugh echoed through the halls.
Ten minutes later, the world changed before Topazor’s eyes. Nobody had time to react. Nobody knew that the guards of the Central Operating room had been killed and replaced by Miratron’s friends that morning. Nobody knew that they were planting explosives all over the central operating room. And nobody had time to escape.
The Green Scientists Club, as well as Miratron, looked behind them as they departed from the Dome, and they saw it explode and crumble.
The noise was deafening, fire spread everywhere, rubble and metal was propelled hundreds of feet into the air! Smoldering fire and billowing smoke emanated from the ruin. And all the bots on the street stood starting in disbelief. Whether or not they were conscious of it, everybot who saw the Dome crumble sensed the greater danger that would now inevitably befall them.
The president was dead, hundreds of bots who worked in the Dome were dead, the spokesman for DPS was dead too. Or so many bots assumed.
Topazor lay buried under rubble, but he was still alive. He couldn’t move, and he wished stasis lock would come on and give him the peace of unconsciousness, but of this pleasure he was denied. He was not quite injured enough for stasis lock. Well then, though Topazor, I must be the best off of anybody.
Time passed—Topazor didn’t know if it was clicks, cycles, or megacycles—but at length Cybertronian police and doctors were digging through the rubble. They were looking for any survivors as well as searching for the president.
But their search was suddenly interrupted.
Topazor heard gunfire and screams. He managed to move his dented arm forward and push away a large piece of metal which had been blocking his vision. Now he could see that a whole army of rebels from downtown were taking over the ruins of the Dome. They were mostly Maximal revolutionaries. They were shooting down police and civilians mercilessly.
By the end of two hours, they had taken what remained of the Cybertropilas Dome.
Topazor passed out.
This fan fiction is part of a series called "The Cybertronian Civil War." It takes place after Optimus comes back to Cybertron at the end of Beast Wars Season 3. In my story, Beast Machines never happened. However, there will be some of the same ideas and characters from that series. (7Knight-Wolf claims no rights over any aspects of Beast Wars or Beast Machines.) My story is a little confusing, so here's a few helpers for readers:
DPS: Department of Planet Security (run primarily by Maximals.)
President: (Presdient Thundering the Maximal is in charge of Cybertron)
GS Club: Green Scientists Club (any kind of robot involved in the project of helping Cybertron be more organic.)
"Crowe" and other Mercenary Weapon-sellers: groups of predacons and humans who sell dangerous weapons and bombs to anybody.
With that in mind:
[b] “The Cybertronian Civil War"
Part 1: The Taking of the Dome [/b]
“I’m just saying what I have been saying for years now!” exclaimed the young agent from DPS. Every bot in the stuffy room where the Maximus Council was meeting now glanced at the newbie Topazor. Most of their expressions displayed annoyance and disgust.
The head of the meeting, Airsweep, said impatiently, “We know your argument, Topazor. But regardless of what we all clearly know, there’s nothing we can legally do about it. We can’t charge the Predacons with anything. We’ve fully investigated the rebel Megatron’s history and all his connections, and the Predacon alliance was not involved. They cannot be held responsible.”
Topazor folded his arms irritably. “Cybertron need this to happen,” he stated.
Airsweep fixed Topazor with a stern stare. “Cybertron needs it,” she said, “or you need it? We all know your demanding need for vengeance, and we all know that—due to an accident—the Predacon Alliance killed a ship full of maximals. Topazor, that tragic event happened before you were even born and yet you’re furious about it. The one thing you should know about government diplomacy is that you can’t be chasing after vengeance.”
Topazor heaved a long sigh. “You are all so oblivious,” he said, shaking his head. “Now while you sit here in your stuffy pompous offices, war brews outside, and order is being lost everyday! If you bots want to continue sitting here rambling about stocks till your audio circuits sizzle, I have no more business here. Good afternoon.”
The young bot rose from his chair and walked toward the door. As he went, he threw a last glance at Airsweep. She sat with her usual solemn and authoritative look in her magenta optics. She was prim and slightly built, and getting along in years. Due to her numerous trips to Earth, Airsweep had acquired an alternate mode: a gray and magenta colored jet. Topazor was tempted to stay and continue his argument, but he knew that it was unwise to irritate a powerful bot like Airsweep. After all, Airsweep was the spokesbot for the President of Cybertron.
Topazor turned and punched the door-button. The metal exit-way slid open and the DPS agent left.
Topazor was a true and patriotic maximal. He was a tall, skinny bot mostly colored blue and grey, with metallic spikes on his shoulders and long, dexterous feet and hands. His expressive optics were golden-yellow, and he had silvery-brown wings. These two features made him bear an obvious resemblance to the maximal knight Silverbolt. Topazor was in fact the son of the recently departed fuzore. Since Topazor had a love for keeping the innocent safe, he had joined the DPS or the Department of Planet Security. He was asked to the DPS spokesman during the Maximus Council.
The purpose of the meetings were to discuss plans for future security as well as what was happening now. A long time had passed since the lost crew of the Axalon returned and imprisoned the rebel predacon Megatron. Now, there was chaos on Cybertron. Upon the return of Optimus, the tension did not lessen between maximals and predacons. In fact, the tension was doubled. There were bombings, violent protests, every kind of trouble that two clans could make on each other.
Before Topazor was born, a satellite outside Cybertron had exploded. There was a little bit of ship-traffic at that time, and at least one maximal ship had been caught in the explosion. Just this year, the maximals discovered that the predacons had rigged the satellite to explode. They did this to prevent Cybertron from detecting a transwarp wave and following it to its source: the lost crew of the Axalon. The Predacon Alliance had actually sent a covert agent down to kill both Megatron and the Axalon’s crew.
Oh yes, the Predacon Alliance had dug one perilous pit for itself! First they had been blamed for Megatron’s rebellion, and “paid the price in diplomatic repercussions.” And then they had intended to destroy a team of maximal warriors and scientists! Lastly, that ship full of maximals had been destroyed. The DPS, made up of maximals and predacons alike, had a plan to shut down the Predacon Alliance once and for all. But vice-president Airsweep disagreed.
Topazor clenched his long hands into fists. He disliked most predacons, but Airsweep had been wrong when she accused him of seeking vengeance. Topazor, though inexperienced, was at least coolheaded enough to try handling situations diplomatically.
The Cybertronian situation did need to be handled—and handled quickly. Somehow, Topazor had to convince the other members of the Maximus Council the desperation that really went on in these metallic streets and cities.
Leaving the “good” area of the city, Topazor retreated to his solitary haunts in the crime-rampant suburbs. Here he used to sit on top of the buildings and watch the sun set. But then this place had become overridden with rebels and activists, criminals and madbots. This was Topazor’s first time here in several months. It was a dangerous place, and high-ranking DPS agents were in high demand in the hostage market.
However, this was the perfect place to find a bot who could tell the Council what things were really like on this planet.
Night fell, and Topazor crept along the sides of the dark streets. He had switched to his alternate mode. Most bots on Cybertron who had alternate modes always transformed into jets or spaceships commonly found on the planet. Topazor, being Silverbolt’s son, had inherited a wolfish look in his alternate beast mode. Small spikes went down his back and tapered into the long metal spikes which formed his tail. Besides his eagle-like wings, most of Topazor’s wolf-body was blue. His pointy-nosed canine face was both noble and ferocious-looking. He had extensive, sinewy limbs and long dexterous paws. The light from his yellow optics cut through the darkness; he could control the level of light they gave off.
As Topazor walked the metal streets, he came to a narrow alleyway. Faintly, he heard voices from that direction. He crept stealthily down the dirty little street and came to a sharp turn which, Topazor guessed, backed into a cul-de-sac. He glanced around the corner only for a fraction of a second—just long enough for him to see if there were any bots around the angle.
Three or four bots were arguing in hushed voices. Topazor guessed from their beastie appearance that they were space-explorers. He stuck his head around the corner again. Most likely, those bots out there had become rebels fighting against the President for some cause or other. Who knew what they were up to? Just as Topazor was getting his nerve up to talk to the bots, their argument began to heat up. Topazor couldn’t use his flashy eyes to light up the scene without being noticed, so he tried to see what was going on in the dark. One bot seemed to be in the thick of all the fighting; it was unmercifully beaten as it tried to fight back. The rebels pulled guns on each other, and one of them was getting ready to run out of the alley. Knowing that he couldn’t stick around here any longer, Topazor swiftly retreated. He slipped into a nearby tavern, transforming into robot mode as he did so.
The tavern was a dimly lit and very busy place. So this was where everybot went for recreation! All sorts of oil drinks were being served, hot and cold, some bots were playing music, and some were amusing themselves with cards. Topazor was shocked to see that a human was running was behind the bar during most of the serving.
After the Axalon’s crew returned, the great explorer Cheetor had taken off on a mission to recover lost friends on Earth. However, he was lost and believed to be dead, and the time-vortex outside of Planet Earth had disappeared. Now that the wormhole was gone, Cybertronians could go to earth if they wanted. Travel was also reopened between other planets. The technically-advancing earthlings, too, had started doing lots of space travel. So there were humans on Cybertron, it was just rare to see them.
Taking a seat on a barstool, Topazor ordered a very light oil blend. He watched the efficient little human at work, and was tempted to ask about why he had come to Cybertron. But just then, the door burst open, letting in the cold night air, and a half-scrapped bot stumbled in. She sat down on a barstool near Topazor and rested her head on the counter wearily. Topazor recognized this bot. She was the one in the alley who had been so outnumbered.
Her name was Miratron. When she was very young, she had gone with her parents to a wilderness on Earth commonly called the “Out Back” or “Down under.” Spending several years in that place gave Miratron her Australian accent. She had also acquired an alternative form: a platypus. The platypus head was positioned on her chest while she was in robot mode. Miratron’s forelimbs in platypus mode became her legs in robot mode, and the back feet rested on her shoulders. Her metallic green face was set with a pair of sparkling blue eyes and a sweet mouth. The golden helmet-like piece which rested on her head curved down over her nose like a beak. Her flat, scaly platypus tail hung from her shoulders like a cloak.
At least, that was what she would have looked like normally. Now the bright hue of her metal was faded and scratched, she was beat-up and her golden nose-guard had turned to a dim brass color. The sparkle in her blue eyes was dimmed with weariness—she looked much more tired than she was hurt.
As she sat next to Topazor, Miratron fingered a gun and muttered to herself about how she should have shot a bot in the head instead of the arm.
Topazor cleared his throat awkwardly. “Are the topics that the regulars discuss around here always as charming as yours?” he asked.
Miratron turned her dim, almost bored-looking eyes to Topazor. The wolf-bot got the feeling that he had been quickly looked over and pronounced as a weirdo. “You’re a scrawny fella, aren’t you?” Miratron said. “Well at least you’re clean. More than I can say about some bots.”
Topazor asked, “Might I inquire your name?”
“What’s it to you?” she muttered in a dry, slurred voice.
“I’m looking for somebody who can help me. You seem like just the bot.”
Miratron scoffed. “I’ve heard that before,” she coughed. “But let me tell me you, punk, that the only thing I’m selling is my service as a thinker. Clear? My name’s Miratron, and if you got a use for a pair of rough hands and a brilliant central processor, I guess I am the bot you’re looking for. Ugn, but time and time again I’m hired and fired, hired and fired! Never good enough for anybody, haven’t got no friends exceptin’ a few soldiers.”
Topazor felt pity for Miratron and was reluctant to ask her any favors. But he remembered the urgency of his errand. “The only thing I ask of you,” said Topazor, “is to be my spokesbot tomorrow evening.”
Miratron gave the wolf-bot a puzzled look. “Say what?”
Topazor scooted his chair closer to hers and whispered, “I am an agent of DPS. Shh, don’t be alarmed. For days and even years I have been trying to convince the Maximus council of the true, desperate state Cybertron is in. So I went looking for somebody who could really tell them off.”
“What, the DPS has no influence anymore?” asked Miratron.
“I certainly don’t,” replied Topazor. “The Council thinks I‘m an inexperienced pipsqueak.”
“Sorry to hear that. Well, I guess I could come to your meeting. Though, after my interview with the Tri Predacus Council, I’m not much interested in politics.”
“The Tri Predacus Council?” interrupted Topazor. “Why would you go to them? Are you—pardon my asking—are you a Predacon?”
Miratron grinned. “Don’t worry, scrawny, I’m a neutral. My pap was a Pred and my mum a Maxi, but now I’m just in things for myself.”
Topazor stared at Miratron pensively. He too knew what it was like to have parents from both factions. Blackarachnia had been a predacon for quite a while, and even Silverbolt had served Megatron, if only for a few hours.
Miratron gazed around the tavern with her sullen, dim eyes and said in her dry, hopeless voice, “ ’Katro Tavern’ is a busy place. This may be a dangerous area of Cybertropilas, but it’s also famous. Everybody passing through has to stop in on the ‘Katro Tavern,’ even military personnel. And humans. Maybe it’s the loud meetings held here or the drunks that hang around, or that slagin’ blarin’ music, but I think it’s just the drinks. Anyway, if you come here often, you know what loud meetings I’m talking about. Passionate groups of rebels planning their attacks on the Cybertropilas Dome and the prison. Some groups of mercenary weapon-sellers trying to make deals with the military. Uck, the soldiers that come through here are perhaps even more badly behaved than the anarchists.”
“But you said you had befriended them? The military, I mean?” asked Topazor curiously.
“One or two of ‘em,” Miratron shrugged. “I have quite a bit of influence in the back-street life. I mostly hang out with the mercenary weapon-sellers. It’s quite an entertaining and life-threatening pastime for an unemployed middle-of-the-roader.”
“But you will come to the meeting tomorrow?” said Topazor anxiously.
“Sure; where do I meet you?”
“The Cybertropilas Dome, at sunset.” Topazor stood up. “See you then, my friend.” He walked out of Katro’s Tavern and hurried on his way home, feeling satisfied.
****
Meanwhile, at the great Cybertronian Prison, vice-president Airsweep was looking into the most hated yet renowned cell of all. The rebel predacon Megatron abode in the dark cubicle. Megatron was very old and withered now, and after three brilliantly-planned attempts at jailbreak, he had become introverted. Since his Transmetal 3 body had been stripped and replaced with that of a simple worker-bot, he was pathetic to look at. Yet you could still see the same greedy, brilliant, and roguish expression deep in Megatron’s eyes.
Airsweep looked in on him. “Your humble servant is here,” she hissed.
Megatron looked up and said in a withered, though still low voice, “A few decacycles ago, I never imagined myself working with a maximal. But you‘re such a poor businessbot, that I couldn’t resist the offer. I gave you a few codes and data tracks in exchange for my freedom. Ha!”
“Those codes and data tracks will prove more useful than you know,” Airsweep said smoothly, “because they led me to some invaluable comrades in arms. Thank you, Megatron. Now, about your freedom…” Airsweep smiled slyly. “I won’t break my word. Tomorrow, you will be set free. But you will be in the hands of rebels…and you understand, I won’t be able to control their actions.”
Megatron instantly caught on, and stared wordlessly and hatefully at Airsweep, who laughed.
“Ah, the old conqueror Megatron had finally grown old,” she smirked. “How could you not see this trick coming? How could trust me, a fox who plays this game just for her own wellbeing? Your processor is old and your spark has lost in brilliance too. Yes, mighty Megatron, tomorrow you will die.”
***
The next evening, Topazor came to the Dome punctually. He was so used to seeing the gigantic, exquisitely-built meeting place with its dome-shaped roof that he took no heed of it. Once inside the metal, computer-covered building, he sat down in the central lobby on the first floor to wait for Miratron.
There were dozens of security cameras and alarms, and the bright lights bounced off the shiny metal floors. High above, the roof of the first floor was intricately carved with Cybertronian history. This was a great historical place, but Topazor and all the other busy politician bots and the stuffy secretaries behind their desks took no heed of it. To them, this place was taken for granted. Surely this building would never be destroyed!
When it was almost time for the meeting to start, and Miratron still hadn’t arrived, Topazor thought that maybe the platypus had pulled one over on him. He stood up and went to the second floor. Just outside the central computer-room and Dome database, Topazor stopped abruptly. Miratron was there! She was talking to the guard-bots who stood in front of the door. Little red flags went up for Topazor…how did Miratron get in? Did she find a way to breach the Dome security?
The guards were looking over Miratron’s shoulder at the rapidly approaching Topazor, but Miratron had her back to him. “You better know how to use the stuff I sold you,” she huffed viciously. “It won’t be my fault if you get your heads blow off. Now—”
“Miratron?” asked Topazor.
The platypus-bot whirled around to face Topazor. She looked flustered. “Oh, hi,” she said.
“Is anything the matter?” Topazor inquired.
“No, no nothing,” replied Miratron hastily. “So, I guess we should get to the council?”
“How did you get in here?” asked Topazor.
Miratron smiled reassuringly. “I told you I had lot of influence. These guards are my friends; they let me in just a while ago. Come on, scrawny, let’s go.”
The wolf-bot’s red flags went down. There was no longer a hint of suspicion.
When Topazor and Miratron came in, the maximals were discussing the Great Orchard Project. For years, a group of scientists had been working in secret to bring some greenery back to Cybertron. It was actually discovered that some earth-like life still lived on Cybertron—one might find a flower in a crack in a metal road. Bats and moths were found deep underground, as well as fresh water. A green liquid material was discovered even deeper underground, one which would enhance organic life. It was this green fluid which had regulated the flow of oxygen and carbon-dioxide on Cybertron for years, making it possible for humans to breathe here.
Many bots planted orchards all over Cybertron. There was even a small forest that the scientists discovered. But now, the so-called “Green Scientist Club” proposed a new law for Cybertron: that every city was to have at least two orchards. The GS Club exited the room as Topazor entered. They left the building.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” said Topazor. “Where is vice-president Airsweep?”
“She was busy today,” replied an old voice. The president of Cybertron, the maximal Thunderwing, stood up. “I myself came today. Who is this bot you brought with you?”
Topazor bowed low. “Sir, this is Miratron. She is a good bot hard-pressed by a life alongside rebels and thieves. She has agreed to inform you of what she has seen. You may trust this good lady.” Topazor smiled over at Miratron. “She is a diamond in the rough.”
Miratron was startled by Topazor’s earnest speech. He certainly was a trusting bot, thought Miratron, with a touch of guilt. “Greetings to the Maximus Council from the streets of Cybertropilas,” said the platypus-bot with a bow of her head. She sat down at the table. “President Thunderwing, it is an honor to see you here today. Shall we get down to business? If I may be so bold, the trouble of which you have been ignorant is grave. Where I come from, rebels and activists roam the streets, as well as thieves and assassins.”
“This we are aware of,” replied Thunderwing. “When the business of our economy is settled, we will enforce our military to seize and crush the skirmishes.”
Miratron made a quizzical face. “No, sir,” she stammered, “I-I think you misunderstand me. My argument is that the suffering people are reduced to lawbreakers because of poor planning on the part of the Cybertronian officials. There are some real dangerous gangs like the Crowe Mercenaries, but most of them just want their necessary needs and rights met.”
“Are you saying that my hired officers are causing the mayhem?” coughed Thunderwing.
Miratron said nothing for a moment. But the answer was obvious in her eyes.
“How dare you!” Thunderwing exclaimed. “The Cybertron officials are—”
“The Cybertron officials,” interrupted Miratron, “are not the problem. You’re the problem!”
In response to this remark, Thunderwing and everybot in the room stared in astonishment.
Miratron calmed herself with effort. “There are some people out on the street who are too smart to be fooled any longer. We all know that your poor skills are causing all this trouble, Thunderwing, and some of them are thinking, what can we do about it? Right now.”
Topazor interposed, “So you understand, President, that there really is trouble out there.”
“Most of the really dangerous groups are combinations of bots—mostly pred, and even some of Unicron’s descendents,” continued Miratron. “These High Priority Groups plan on taking over the planet, and to do so they will destroy this dome along with you, President. The other anarchists are the more diplomatic Maximal Radicals who are planning to break into the Prison and kill Megatron themselves to achieve justice. They want revolution. You’re on the brink of war.”
“I’ve had enough of this lies,” sneered old Thunderwing. “Somebody escort this vagabond back to where she belongs—the slums.”
“But sir—” began Topazor.
“This conversation is over!” interrupted Thunderwing. His optics glowed with anger at being argued with. “I am in charge of Cybertron,” he said lividly. “Like this Dome, which has stood for decacycles, I am strong and powerful!”
Miratron had already stood up and was walking toward the door. She shook her head at the president, and said, “Then like this Dome, you shall fall in your blindness.” Then the platypus-bot left the Dome, and her mocking laugh echoed through the halls.
Ten minutes later, the world changed before Topazor’s eyes. Nobody had time to react. Nobody knew that the guards of the Central Operating room had been killed and replaced by Miratron’s friends that morning. Nobody knew that they were planting explosives all over the central operating room. And nobody had time to escape.
The Green Scientists Club, as well as Miratron, looked behind them as they departed from the Dome, and they saw it explode and crumble.
The noise was deafening, fire spread everywhere, rubble and metal was propelled hundreds of feet into the air! Smoldering fire and billowing smoke emanated from the ruin. And all the bots on the street stood starting in disbelief. Whether or not they were conscious of it, everybot who saw the Dome crumble sensed the greater danger that would now inevitably befall them.
The president was dead, hundreds of bots who worked in the Dome were dead, the spokesman for DPS was dead too. Or so many bots assumed.
Topazor lay buried under rubble, but he was still alive. He couldn’t move, and he wished stasis lock would come on and give him the peace of unconsciousness, but of this pleasure he was denied. He was not quite injured enough for stasis lock. Well then, though Topazor, I must be the best off of anybody.
Time passed—Topazor didn’t know if it was clicks, cycles, or megacycles—but at length Cybertronian police and doctors were digging through the rubble. They were looking for any survivors as well as searching for the president.
But their search was suddenly interrupted.
Topazor heard gunfire and screams. He managed to move his dented arm forward and push away a large piece of metal which had been blocking his vision. Now he could see that a whole army of rebels from downtown were taking over the ruins of the Dome. They were mostly Maximal revolutionaries. They were shooting down police and civilians mercilessly.
By the end of two hours, they had taken what remained of the Cybertropilas Dome.
Topazor passed out.
