Part 5: The Fleet
Topazor and Springer quickly looked around town for any human who could help Chris. They had not been searching long before Chris woke up. Topazor, who was carrying Chris, said, “Glad to see you awake. How do you feel?”
“I’m fine,” answered Chris in his coarse voice. He struggled down onto his feet, staggered a little, and stood up straight.
“We’re going to take you to a doctor,” explained Topazor.
“I don’t need a doctor,” growled Chris defiantly. “Don’t need you guys to carry me around like a sack either. Why don’t you packs of nuts and bolts leave me alone.” He spat on the ground to show his insubordination.
“Well, you don’t have to see a doctor if you really think you’re alright, but it’s a three-day journey to earth in a standard ship, and even longer in a slower craft.”
“Who says I’m going anywhere with you?” growled Chris. “I’m especially not going to Earth! I’m not going back there! I’m not!”
“Simmer down,” said Topazor. “We just care about your safety. No offense, but you’re a bit less capable than us—”
“Capable?!” fumed Chris. “Capable! You want capable? Leave me alone or—” Chris reached down into his spacious pocket and pulled out an energon gun. (Like the one Springer had seen in the tavern.)
“Whoa, put that down!” exclaimed Topazor. “Chris, you don’t know what you’re doing.”
A ghost of a smile played on Chris’ face. “Dude, you’re a politician. I’m an experienced dealer of weaponry. I think I know what I’m doing.”
Springer did not look intimidated. He chuckled.
Chris pointed the gun in his direction. “What are you snickerin’ about, scrap-heap?”
“Oh nothing,” said Springer complacently. “I just know that you can’t hurt us with that gun. I unloaded it while you were unconscious.”
“You’re bluffing,” said Chris. “How could a bot without a beast mode touch chips of raw energon without being damaged, eh?”
“I’m army strong,” smiled Springer.
“We’ll see how strong you are!” said Chris, and fired.
“No!” shouted Topazor, but his cry was uncalled for. The gun was indeed empty of ammo; nothing happened. Chris stared for a moment in rage while Springer smiled gloatingly. Then, with a roar of fury, Chris threw his gun right at Springer’s head, and jumped forward at the formidable bot.
“Wait, wait stop!” interposed Topazor, before anyone was hurt. “Look Chris, forget what was said earlier. Just listen to me for a minute, alright? Springer and I are going to Earth to look for Cheetor. After that, we’ll probably head back up to Cybertron, and can drop you off wherever you want along the way. It’ll only be short trip to Earth. This may be your only chance for a long time to get off the planet. Do you want to come or not?”
“You’re sure…it’ll only be a short trip?” Chris asked.
“Short and sweet,” Springer answered. “The only question is, how do we get a ship?”
“That part is easy,” Chris said, stashing his gun away. “We weapon-sellers also sell and buy a lot of spacecrafts. I’m sure Miratron and her buddies took off with most of the loot, but I’ve got a smaller ship hidden.”
As they group walked toward Chris’s spacecraft, Springer wondered aloud, “I thought Miratron was a no-nonsense bot. If she had friends ready to turn murderer any second, I thought she’d have told ‘em to get lost a long time ago.”
“It’s amazing what humans—or Cybertronians—can do when they’re desperate,” stated Chris.
“As has already been so clearly illustrated by you already,” Topazor said hurriedly. “Are we nearly there?”
“We are there,” Chris replied. He scrambled through a big broken window into an energy storage building. Stopping in front of a large sealed bin, Chris whispered, “These bins are very important; they’re used to store cubed and liquid energon. Energon is a rare commodity, as you well know. Anyway, Nightscream and I used this bin to hide our ship in.”
Topazor had his doubts about Chris. How could a human and a no-account teen-bot legally confiscate an energon bin? Let alone use the energon inside. They simply couldn’t have done it lawfully. However, the thing that weirded out Topazor the most was that Chris had the access codes to get into all the bins. When the human opened a tiny, portable database device, Topazor saw many codes and passwords on the screen.
“Where did you get all those?” he asked.
Chris thrust the device back into his pocket. He stared darkly at the robots for a second, before saying, “Some of them I got by exploits of moot legality. Most of them I got from my older brother.”
“And where did your older brother get the codes?” questioned the wolf-bot.
“He used to be a big business man, do a lot of energon trade with Cybertron. When he got sick of paparazzi and stress overload, he changed his identity and went to live in some rural hole.” As he spoke, Chris punched in the access codes and the top of the bin opened. “Give me a lift up there,” he said to Springer.
Chris was lifted up the edge of the bin where he jumped over the edge and inside it. “The ship’s not here!” the human gasped.
“Great,” said Springer, “now you can carry us to Earth on your back.”
Suddenly a voice called, “Hey gents, looking for this?”
Topazor and Springer whirled around to see a small gang of heavily armed worker-bots. Behind them was a small ship—namely, Chris’s. Topazor stood still in vacillation—trying to figure if he should negotiate or run—for only a split second before Chris shouted, “Get outa the way!”
The human and two bots jumped behind the energon bin, their only means of shelter. They got in the defensible position just in time—the worker bots started shooting! The bullets and blaster ammo struck the base of the bin, causing it to totter precariously. Swiftly, Chris and Topazor darted behind the next bin. Springer joined them, leaping out of the way of the falling bin just in time. He fired at the little enemy bots as he jumped, knocking two of them into stasis lock.
The threesome was safe for a moment.
“Who are you?!” one of the worker bots shouted. “Air-raiders no doubt, like the ones who destroyed Cybertron as we know it! Are you looking to steal all our energon, or just the ships?!”
As he listened, Topazor thought, who were the air-raiders, anyway? Predacons, maximals, or gangster revolutionaries like Miratron?
Meantime Springer responded to the attacker’s question by saying, “The energon or the ship? Are you offering us both? Thanks; what a deal! You guys should go into business!”
The wisecrack was answered with another round of gunfire.
“True businessmen!” grinned Springer.
“Just give us our ship,” said Topazor suddenly, coming out from the energon bin with his hands up. “It belongs to us. Chris, tell them. Chris? ”Topazor and Springer realized at the exact same second—Chris was nowhere in sight. Both bots stared at each other blankly.
“Drop your weapons!” ordered the bots.
“Do what he says,” said Topazor adamantly.
“What, are you crazy?” Springer demanded in a whisper.
Topazor was not listening. He flashed a quick look all around the room, increasing the level of light that emanated from his golden eyes. Where was Chris? Wait—there he was, lurking in the deep shadow on top of a sealed energon container. He was aiming his energon gun!
Springer meantime shrugged and murmured sarcastically, “Okay sure, Topazor. Let’s give them our weapons. After all, what’s wrong with surrendering ourselves and our only means of survival to a bunch of tuna cans who are gonna shoot us no matter what we do? I prefer that over soarin’ through space on our way to a nice green planet—“
“Springer, do you have the ammo you took from Chris?” Topazor asked frantically.
“Well, uh, no,” said Springer. “I guess Chris swiped the ammo from me. At least I don’t have to give THAT to the tuna cans.”
No sooner had Springer answered than three worker bots fell dead, one after another with barely half a second between. Chris was a bull’s-eye hitter.
“Under cover!” shouted the worker bot. “And kill those terrorist bots!”
As the worker bots found shelter and made use of their weapons, the energon bin was punctured with their gunfire. A rush of liquid energon came cascading through the holes, soon breaking the walls of the bin and flooding the room.
“I’m sure glad this stuff is stabilized!” Springer laughed, grabbing Chris and Topazor so they weren’t swept under.
“Let’s get in the ship, NOW!” shouted Chris. The agile young man sprung over to the spacecraft. Seeing the worker bots busy recovering, he broke through the ship’s window and started her up.
Topazor had to punch his way past a few bots, but he too reached the ship. Springer couldn’t fit inside the small vessel, but he clung to the outside of it. The ship took off, crashing through the window of the energy storage building. It zoomed up into the sky at the fastest speed Chris could make it go, but…
“We’ve got a big problem!” Chris shouted.
“You bet there’s a problem kiddo; I’m hangin’ on to the back of this rubber ducker’s bumper!” shouted Springer.
“You call that a problem?” chuckled Chris. Then he got serious, and said, “We’re getting near the atmosphere—the front window is broken—I won’t be able to breathe in just a few more seconds!”
“Quick, maybe we can fix it,” Topazor suggested, frantically groping around for a repair kit.
“It’s too late!” Springer shouted. “The air is already getting too thin!” Springer climbed on top of the ship, making it rock back and forth. He crawled to the front of the ship, reached his hand through the broken window, and pointed to a small supply hatch. “Topazor, there should be an oxygen helmet in there! Give it to Chris!”
Topazor clumsily obeyed. Chris slipped on the metallic helmet and immediately felt better. “This won’t last long, though,” he said, his voice muffled. “I figure I’ve got about five minutes before the oxygen gives out in this thing. We’ve got to fix the window; here’s the repair kit!”
“I don’t know how to use it!” exclaimed Topazor. “Springer, can you—?”
“I know a thing or two about ship repairs,” interposed the big green bot. His big square hands seized the repair kit, and he began work immediately.
“Not bad, not bad!” said Chris, impressed. “You’re doing almost as well as me.”
Topazor was looking ahead anxiously. He didn’t want to run into any foebots, now that they had entered space. But this was wishful thinking. “Whoa, don’t look now but…there’s a fleet of ships approaching!” Topazor warned.
It was a small fleet of some seven ships, all medium-sized and in good shape, with weapons built onto them. The ships were not marked with predacon or maximal symbols. Who were they? Some of those air-raiders, maybe?
“Stay calm,” said Chris. “I’ll try some hailing frequencies. Maybe these guys are friends!”
“Window’s just about fixed,” said Springer; “once I melt in this last piece I’ll be stuck outside. I can handle it, so long as that fleet don’t start shooting at us.” Springer sealed up the repaired window.
Half a second later the head ship of the flotilla opened fire.
“Hey, I just fixed this thing!” Springer shouted madly, shaking his big fist at the fleet.
“Steer away from the fleet,” said Topazor to Chris. “We can’t let Springer get shot down.”
“I—I’m trying! It’s not working!” Chris shouted. As he spoke the ship lurched forward and headed toward the fleet at top speed. “I can’t steer,” he said furiously. “They’re using a strong gravitational energy field on us.”
“But they stopped shooting,” observed Topazor. “They must want us to meet with them.”
The small ship came to rest on top of the medium-sized battle craft which led the flotilla. A small band of heavily armed robots, most of them predacon, demanded that the threesome come out. Reluctantly, Topazor stepped out.
“Please take us inside,” he said calmly. “My human friend here is running out of oxygen.”
The bots signaled for Springer, Chris, and Topazor to follow. They were led inside where Chris could take off his helmet. After walking down several metallic corridors, they reached the control room.
Inside the control room there stood a few worker bots, and the largest one sat watching the controls. The large worker turned around to look at his new prisoners. This bot had improved his lowly form by adding warrior weaponry and strong purple-and-black armor plating, so he barely even looked like a worker anymore.
“Ah, welcome,” he said pleasantly. “I’ve been watching this planet for a day or so, and you’re the only ones who have successfully made it off Cybertron. Thus I presumed this fine crew was worth looking into. You could be quite useful, yes.”
It was not until the stranger bot spoke the word “yes” that Topazor realized the truth. The eyes, the deep pleasant voice with a hint of malice, and the roguish leer—these facets belonged to none other than Megatron.
