Prayer Lines

By: Katalina

 

Author’s Note: This takes place in Season 3, before Megatron created his Transmetal 2 technology.

 

I need Thy presence every passing hour.

What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?

Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me

–Henry Francis Lyte, Abide With Me.

 

---

The Mirrorwave sailed through the darkness of space, rushing quickly as time of space would allow. It had a sense of urgency, a need to join its herd. The occupants inside tried to locate the fleet they intended to travel alongside with, if the ship wasn’t behind with takeoff repairs.

 

The Mirrorwave was small. It was weak. It was venerable.

 

The crew of the Mirrorwave knew this.

 

The de facto leader of the crew uttered a prayer to the god of the Transformers, Primus. He hated the fact that the captain of the fleet decided to leave them, but he couldn’t blame him. The fleet commander had thousands of other ships to be concern with. But nonetheless the mech hated the situation. His two crewmates, a human and a Transformer surgeon, expressed their frustration with him—with the aid of vodka and distilled liquid energon. The captain shook his head at the thought of the two. He one of them was more like a daughter to him and the other as a solitary high-class lunatic who managed to pass all of her medical exams with an inane grin.

 

“Yo, yo,” a femme said. She sat next to the captain. “Found any leads?”

 

The mech sighed. “Nope. If it was a smaller fleet, they would at least slow down and wait for us. But that is not the case.”

 

“They just can’t deal how awesome we are,” the grey femme said gently. “Especially me.”

 

“Oh, Primus, not again.” the green mech rolled his optics.

 

“I mean, I’m fabulous, okay? I have incredible fashion sense,” she gestured to her painted form, “money,” she made a flapping gesture with her decorated hands, “and a killer form, if you get that right? As a result, we are fabulous because you all have me, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“Besides, if we can—hello, who’s the pretty boy?” she pointed at the screen. The mech peered at the screen. A dark ship, almost as small as the Mirrorwave, appeared. He had never seen such a ship—unlike the roundness of the Maximal ship; it was black and jagged like a broken piece of glass.

 

 

The green captain frowned. “Funny, the sensors didn’t detect it. Computer, identify ship,” he ordered.

 

“Predacon.”

 

Both Maximals look at each other, astonished.

 

“Computer, bring—” the grey femme started but was cut off by the sudden boom. The ship shuddered. Another voice, younger, cried out but neither bots could hear her over the noise.

 

“Autoguns, online!” the captain ordered. The grey femme strapped herself to a seat and started to working on the navigation boards. She shrieked in fear as both ships exchanged fire. The black assaliant changed tactics and started firing at their engines. The sound of engines hissing, exploding, melting made the mech bared his teeth in fear. “Slag!” he yelled. A false bravado on his part. He grabbed the joystick and twisted it around, yellow optics narrowing as the crosshairs on the screen targeted on the opposing ship’s weapons.

 

The third occupant of the Mirrorwave finally joined the bridge. “What’s happening?” she cried out, swaying along with the ship. “Are we under attack?”

 

“Yes, we are!” the grey Maximal yelled. “Now sit your pretty ass down and get your damn mask on! I’m going to avoid the fire—aw, hell’s bells!”

 

“What is it?” the captain yelled, his concentration undisturbed. He fired back onto the Predacon ship’s weapons. The green mech saw two silent explosions as two of the weapons reduced to slag. The computer answered his question.

 

“Temporal transwarp vortex detected. Reverse course immediately.”

 

The younger female looked panicked. “Vortex? What does THAT mean?”

 

The grey femme consulted the navigational board. “It means we are getting sucked inside that space hole!” she shrieked. She struggled frantically as she secured herself with the straps. Her fright shocked the smaller figure more than the vortex at that moment. Never in her life had she seen the elite femme in hysteria.

 

And it scared her.

 

“Everybody hang on!” the mech captain yelled and braced himself. With a quick gesture of his hand, he consigned his spark to Primus. 

 

 

                                                                        *                                                                       

 

The Predacons were on the run. They were not running for their lives, but rather for their freedom. The so-called ‘leader’ had inner agendas in their freedom, but so did they. Predacons always have inner agendas.

 

All of the Predacons were startled when they ran into the Maximal ship. A transport ship, from the looks of it. But the leader dared not to let the possibility slip that they could report an unknown Predacon ship flying solo. In doing so, he silently prayed to Primus, and open fire on the Maximal ship; he specifically targeted the engines.

 

After exchanging fire, he was amazed that a ship with such weak weaponry could put up a remarkable fight. It suddenly changed tactics and started to take turns on firing both weapons and engines. The Predacon leader begrudgingly saluted the unseen captain of the Maximal ship, and ordered his crew to fire back in a similar tactic.

 

But then everything went to hell.

                                               

“Temporal transwarp vortex detected. Reverse course immediately,” the computer of the stolen Predacon ship chimed. The Predacon captain glanced at the consulting screens: the diagraphs were correct. The black-and-brown bot snarled under his breath and turned to the navigation boards.

 

“Computer, reverse thrusters, Maximum Burn,” he ordered. The captain yelled in surprise as the Burn only to destroyed one of engines in the end. Slag! He fought the fear rattling his cortex. A commander who allows fear to be shown will destroy his team. A Predacon commander who shows fear will be killed.

 

A low, cold voice pierced the rocking booms of the ship, “Twenty-percent damage on weapons, fifty-percent on engines.”

 

A loud, rude, and course voice shouted in the darkness, “You think that’s our biggest problem? We’re being sucked inside the vortex!”

 

“Quiet,” the Predacon commander shouted. “Both of you both take out that ship as much as you can. I’ll deal with the navigation systems.” But much to his horror, the computer told him the pull was too much. Primus, no, no, not when they just fought all this way for something . . . !

 

“Everybody strap on!” he shouted to his crew, obeying his own order. He prayed he will meet his maker in the Matrix.

 

-           -             -            -            -            -            -            -            -            -            -            -            -        -

 

Back on Earth, Silverbolt was flying in his turn of patrol. He was deep in thought on what had happen lately. Optimus Prime, Blackarachnia’s defection, Rattrap’s underwater mission, Sentinel, Depth Charge’s attitude—practically everything. The situation was dire in the beginning, it became more so now that they lost Sentinel. It seems like the Maximals are always on the receiving ends of bad luck.

 

Silverbolt was once determined not to have negative thoughts cloud his cortex, but now he cannot help but wonder if Primus is really looking over them. It seems more and more difficult to fight the Predacons. They had at one point attacked the blast doors not once, but three times in one day! It was almost to the point of ridiculous, even though the situation is far from humorous.

 

He gazed down at the wilderness below him, barely making out his shadow among the trees. How odd now the humans are in ignorant bliss on the total danger they are facing. True, they seem to acknowledge the Transformers and were able to distinguish from Predacon and Maximal. Other than that, they are in ignorant bliss of the whole situation with their future at hand. Silverbolt managed to grasp some abstract irony in the situation.

 

It hurt Silverbolt that there was a possibility that no help was coming, no rescue ship. He tried his best, Primus knows, not to think that way. He had to think positively, to think for the next minute, to face tomorrow; to be with Blackarachnia.

 

With those positive thoughts, Silverbolt felt slightly better. He looked around his perimeters. Nothing seems off and the air smelled clean. His tracking ray detected neither Predacons nor Maximals. Silverbolt checked his time and realized that his turn for patrol is almost up.

 

As he circled back, he heard distant rumblings. His wolf ears perked up. Silverbolt looks around and saw nothing. His scanners alerted him two energy signatures and Silverbolt finally looked up. He saw two flaming objects streaking across the horizon in opposite directions of each other. His internal computer calculated one was heading north, close to Predacon grounds. The other was heading toward Sector Delta, closer to the sector Silverbolt was patrolling.

 

“Silverbolt to Maximal base, come in,” Silverbolt alerted his communications link.

 

“Heard you, Bird-dog,” Rattrap’s voice came in after a second of energon interference. “We just saw the energy sig. on two space junks. What’s da situation dere?”

 

“I’m not too sure.  One of them is heading over at the Predacon territory, the other on sector Delta. I’m heading over there right now.” Silverbolt forced his wings even more to prove his point.

 

“All right, Optimus said he and Cheetor are comin’ as back-up.” At this point, Optimus took over the communications. “Silverbolt, I want you to keep a safe distance away from the impact area when we get there.”

 

“Understood.” Silverbolt agreed. He then frowned. “What of the other one?”

 

“More than likely Predacons would be swarming to its crash site. But to be sure, Rattrap will check it out. Optimus out.”

 

Silverbolt turn off his communications link and flew toward the crash site.

 

                                                                        *

 

Silverbolt was not the only one who noticed the two flaming objects. Red optics narrowed at the sky.

 

“Inferno to the Royalty.”

 

“Yes, Inferno.”

 

“I have spotted two objects coming out of the sky. One is heading toward our territory. The other   . . .” Inferno’s internal computer made the calculations. “Is heading nearby the Maximal base.”

 

Megatron consults the computer. Inferno was right; his computer detected two energy signatures.

“Computer, identify energy signatures,” he ordered.

 

“An energy signature in vector Troy Predacon. An energy signature in sector Delta Maximal,” the Darkside computer replied flatly.

 

Megatron felt a sudden jolt, as though someone overdose him with energon. A Maximal and a Predacon ship, both heading to Earth? Crashing by coincidence, or landing for his arrest, as Ravage attempted to do?

 

If the new Predacons were after his arrest, then perhaps he can persuade them to help out in the destruction of the Autobots. If they weren’t, just coincidently crashed on prehistoric Earth, then this will help him greatly, yes. 

 

“Inferno, wait for me to join you as we welcome the new Predacons on vector Troy,” Megatron ordered. With the Maximal vessel, well . . . he preferred to have someone to take care of the new Maximals, but there was no one qualified to perform such a task. Rampage was still missing and managed to avoid the ship’s scanners (how did he do that?); Waspinator was out collecting much needed energon and Quickstrike was out looking for Rampage. This left to Megatron and Inferno to deal with them, with the back-up of the new Preadons.

 

With that, he transformed into flight mode and left the Predacon base.

                                               

                                                                        *

                                                           

Optimus, Cheetor, and Rattrap were outside of the blast doors, preparing to leave. Optimus look down at the Transmetal ratbot.

 

“Remember Rattrap.  This is a reconnaissance mission only. In Megatron’s jamming zone, you are on your own, so try not to expose your self if Predacons are crawling all around the crash site.”

 

Rattrap snorted. “I won’t!” With that, he transformed into car mode and took off. Cheetor and Optimus watched him for a few seconds before transforming themselves and took flight.                                                                   

                                                                        *

 

 

Silverbolt couldn’t believe it.

 

The debris was actually a ship, damaged and smoking. It crashed to an open field, but bounced several times before skidding to halt nearby a swamp.  It was small, almost half the size of the Axalon, its white coating and spherical shape covered with mud and dents. The angled wings were torn off, among with other debris. But what made his spark pulsate were the Maximal insignia and the name MIRRORWAVE spelled out in Maximal lettering. But to his worry, he noticed black smoke emitting from what it appears to be the engines.

 

“Silverbolt to Optimus.” Silverbolt circled above the crash site.

 

“Optimus here. What’s the situation?” Optimus said, the wind providing background noise.

 

“The flaming debris in Sector Delta is a Maximal ship, both the name and my tracking ray affirmed.” He could hear Cheetor’s celebrated cheers.  Silverbolt sighed and decided to confirm his suspicions. “The Maximal ship is badly damaged, I’m afraid. I detect major damage from the engines.” Cheetor fell silent.

 

“We’ll see from the situation,” Optimus said calmly, but even he could not hide the faint traces of disappointment in his voice.

 

Silverbolt felt a strong sense of sadness coursing through him. More innocent bots involved this sick pageantry of the Beast Wars, he thought morosely. The ship gave out an angry hiss and ejected somethingfrom the damaged ship: a dark, metallic sphere of sorts. Suddenly it expanded and yellow light came out as the sphere started to rotate in midair. Silverbolt climbed for higher altitudes and resumed his circling.

 

Silverbolt opened the channel again. “I believe our future comrades are scanning for their Beast Modes. I will greet them as soon as they leave their ship.”

 

As he did so, he thanked Primus.

                                                           

                                                                        *

 

The other crashed vessel that landed on Predacon grounds crashed with even less grace, thanks to the rough terrain near to the ocean. It could never fly again, could never send for help, and could never provide any sort of safety save protection from energon storms. The three Predacons inside the stolen ship knew this.

 

A snarling wolverine was pacing the small room of the bridge. The savage gleam from her eyes was frightening. They provided no mercy.

 

“All weapons destroyed, all engines disabled . . . well, well, everything’s gone down the exhaust pit, hadn’t?”

 

The two male Predacons, a black vulture and a moray eel, said nothing. The wolverine growled venomously. She glared daggers at the vulture.

 

“Well? You got us here, now get us out!” she snarled. The vulture shook his head slowly and bird-walked his way to the mammalian Predacon.

 

“Jezevant,” he said slowly with each step. “I never intended us to be here. But we are here, but I can’t get us out without certain cooperation. So if you would be so kind, take your frustration out on a crippled cub.” He thrust his naked head toward the dark-furred Predacon. “Everything is not in vain, Jezevant,” he said in a hushed voice. “We can repair this ship, and we can get off of this planet. But only with your willingness to follow my instructions.” Beak to snout, they were almost touching. “You are very well aware of my previous expertise, as of your ignorance,” he breathed.

 

The eel smiled faintly at the scene, but it soon faded into nothing.

 

The wolverine stepped back and growled, her ears low against her skull. “Fine,” she spat.

 

“Attention,” the computer alerted the three criminals. “Two Predacon signatures approaching.”

 

Jezevant smiled, teeth bared, her bad mood gone. “So, our weapons are offline, Czar Carrion. Whatever shall we do?” she said mocked cruelly.

 

The vulture known as Carrion gave the briefest of smiles. “Why, greet them, of course. Carrion, terrorize!”

 

Carrion’s vulture head slid down as a chest plate as his robotic legs appeared. The talons became hands as feathered forearms appeared. When his head appeared, it was a handsome light brown face with black optics, crowned with black feathers. He pulled out a sniper fusion rifle from his subspace pocket and checked the ammunition.

 

“Jezevant, terrorize!” The wolverine snarled. The large mammal’s head was pulled back inside the back as a new head appeared, dark and feral like her beast mode with similar teeth and glowing red optics. The front paws moved back to the forearms as clawed hands revealed themselves. The back legs folded back on her back as new legs appear. The savage femme looked down her body, a satisfied smirk on her face. “Not too shabby,” she said to herself.

 

Both Predacons started to walk to the hatch when the femme turn around and faced the eel, curled around one of the chairs. “Well, then? What are you waiting for, Devivile?” she sneered.

 

The aquatic bot normally preferred to stay in the back of the battle, not fighting at all. But now he didn’t seem to have a choice in the matter.

 

“I’ll be out enjoying the battle.” He implied the last word with sarcasm. “Devivile, terrorize.” The eel’s head split apart, becoming the hands of the quiet Predacon. The tail split into legs as a scaled upper torso appeared. His face was angular and hard, with yellow optics so dark they were almost black. The colorations of his face were a sick green, with a black stripe that crossed his optics.

 

With his head/hand, he pushed down a button. The hatch opened with a grinding hiss. The three walked out, blinking in the bright sunlight after being so used to the darkness of space.

 

Carrion, being the sharp-eyed bot he was, leveled his weapon and noticed the two Predacons in flight. One was huge and purple, the other a reddish-brown color. From the corners of his optics he noticed Devivile placing his head-weapon together. Jezevant revealed her cannons on her forearms.

 

As the rouge Predacons sidestepped into their position, they waited on the fast approaching Predacons.

 

They soon became too close for Carrion’s liking. “That’s close enough, comrades.” He shouted at them, preferring his favorite word for unknown Predacons. He eyed them suspiciously. One of them seemed to be some sort of a metallic dinosaur, flying alongside with another who seemed to have an insect head as a chest plate, in flight by some sort of a rotor.

 

The purple and silver Predacon smiled at Carrion, exposing large, sharp teeth. “Greetings, fellow Predacons.” With that greeting, he gave out a large roar and transformed. “I am Megatron, leader of the Predacon faction on this planet. And you are?”

 

“Carrion,” the avian Predacon replied curtly. He narrowed his optics at this Megatron. He was aware of this bot, this criminal overlord. Any Predacon with a criminal record as long as Carrion’s would be aware of his name. A brute with a cultural taste. A delicate monster. Conniving, ruthless . . . the prime example of what a Predacon should be. Primus help him, but Carrion more than likely would have to be temporarily allied with him on an unknown planet if this bot had more Predacons behind him.

 

But what would a Predacon would do?

 

Under fake politeness, he asked, “Where are we? We were fighting with a lone Maximal ship when we were sucked into a transwarp vortex.”

 

The purple tyrant nodded. “As I suspected the case, yes. Ah, well, at least more Predacons to help our desperate cause.”

 

Devivile frowned, and started to power up his weapon, an intended threat. Megatron avoided answering the question. “What cause, Megatron?” he coldly asked. “Yours?” Like Carrion, he too was aware of whom Megatron was.

 

Megatron merely smiled and began his dramatic explanation.

 

“The cause for Decepticon and Predacon rule! To destroy the Autobots, descendants of the Maximals! Welcome, my fellow Predacons, to our noble cause! Welcome to prehistoric Earth. Welcome to the Beast Wars!”

 

                                                                        *

Rattrap finally managed to get to the crash site, but he was too late. He saw Megajerk and the antbot at the ship where he saw three other bots. Still in beast mode, he slowly padded his way to a bush and hit there. He made his audio senses full range and eavesdropped to the three newcomers. According to them, they’re Predacons crash-landed while fighting against a Maximal ship. Rattrap groaned when they accepted Megatron’s invitation to join the Beast Wars. More Preds, just what they need!

 

Rattrap’s mech fluid froze as Megatron said, “I have discovered the location of your nemesis’ ship in sector Delta. Care to witness its destruction?”

 

One of them, a black birdbot smiled coldly. “Why, of course we will.”

 

The two new bots gave each other sly, knowing looks. With that,  they took off, Inferno holding a dark femme and the bird holding carrying a green bot.

 

Rattrap closed his eyes and waited as the sounds passed. He opened them again and only saw distant dots on the midday horizon. He pushed his way out of the bush, feeling the mixed emotions of dread and hope. New Predacons. New Maximals.

 

He switched to car mode and took off to sector Delta.

                                                           

                                                                        *

 

“Ow.”

 

Silence.

 

“Ow. Ow,” The voice complained again. The small figure struggled in her restraints as she pulled the oxygen mask off her face. She shook her head and fumbled with the straps.

 

“Is everyone okay?” she asked, blinking in the strange light as she removed rumpled hair from her face. Instead of the inky blackness of space, she saw sunlight spilling inside the bridge. She rubbed her eyes and pulled the stray hairs away from her face. Green eyes squinted, adjusting to the glaring light.

 

“We are good, Cordelia,” a voice rumbled beside her. Cordelia spun and saw a crocodile next to her, its huge tail crumpled uncomfortably against the bridge’s wall. Cordelia’s eyes widened and froze on the spot. The crocodile chuckled.

 

“Don’t worry, it’s me.” He smiled his crocodile smile. The human relaxed slightly. She then frowned.

 

The large reptile caught her expression. “What is it?”

 

“Why do you have a Beast Mode?” she asked.

 

“High energon levels,” he said.

 

“Ah.” She continued fumbling with her straps, but gave the crocodile another look. “Why did you pick a crocodile?” The reptile shrugged as he could with his crocodilian shoulders.

 

“I mean, it’s not like I have anything against crocodiles,” Cordelia amended. “It seems a funny creature for someone like you to pick out.”

 

“It’s amphibious and adaptable,” He said. “It’ll work. Now that I’m a crocodile, I'm thinking I should think up a name for myself.”

Cordelia looked surprised. “What’s wrong with your name?” she asked.

 

The crocodile blinked slowly, his jaws opening and closing. Just looking at his teeth freaked Cordelia out, despite her closeness to the Maximal captain.

 

“It is considered to create a name for yourself when you have a Beast Mode.” He said finally.

 

“That’s it?” Cordelia said incredibly. “You get two identity cards? ‘Here you go, here’s my card for my name Cybertronian name Novillian and here’s another for Crocnix.’”

 

“Crocnix?” The crocodile said to himself, musingly. “Crocnix. I like that.” Cordelia looked at him in disbelief. She rolled her eyes.

 

“Keep those eyes still, missy,” said another voice. Cordelia gave a brief glance to the other bot before returning back to the task of freeing herself from the straps. Realizing what she just saw, she did a ridiculous double take.

 

Her companion’s Beast Mode was a fuzor. In place of a lion’s head and back legs were a bighorn sheep’s legs and head. The horned beast smiled smugly. “Well?” She asked, flicking her leonine tail. “What do you think? I’m thinking of being . . . Stoneroar. Nice, no?”

 

“It’s . . . interesting,” Crocnix replied, not answering her question. Cordelia smirked to herself as she adjusted her long red hair into a pony tail. Before she could say a word, the computer interrupted.

 

“Attention, attention. One Maximal signature approaching.” Both beast and human looked at each other, surprised.

 

“Well, then,” the large reptile rumbled. “Let’s greet our new friend.”

 

“Hopefully.” Cordelia added. Stoneroar ignored the pessimism. Cordelia could see Crocnix moving his crocodile lips in a silent prayer.

 

“Cordelia, open the hatch, but stay inside. As a safe side, check if we have any operating weapons if things turn ugly.”

 

The human nodded and turned to the bridge. “Hatch opening,” she announced, pushing a lever up as she put on her red-and-yellow colored oxygen mask.

 

The door open with a hiss and slowly opened. Stoneroar gave out an almost goat-like snort and stomp of her back legs as she lower her head. More sunlight spilled, making Cordelia squint as she watched Stoneroar stomped daintily out, with Crocnix slithered behind her. She turned and noticed one of the cameras outside was still functional. She tweaked it so she could see the strange Maximal and the events unfolding among the three.

                                                                        *                                                                       

Under Cordelia’s watchful eye, Crocnix and Stoneroar encountered a grey and silver bot, with talons as feet and massive wings on his back. Crocnix could almost call it a bird-bot if it wasn’t for the dog-like legs on the bot’s arms. Another fuzor, perhaps? He wondered.

 

“I am Silverbolt,” the feathered Maximal stated, his voice pure and noble. “My commander is coming soon, and I will like to say I am honored to meet both of you.”

 

“And myself to you,” Crocnix replied neutrally. “Crocnix, maximize!” The crocodile gave out a guttural hiss as the reptile’s back legs suddenly twisted backwards and extended as robot legs while the sides open and arms appear. The head folded over and became a chest plate as a robot head appeared.

 

Crocnix stood taller than Silverbolt, his arms and legs partially covered with his crocodilian hide. The eyes of his beast mode shined a greenish yellow on his chest, the behemoth tail folded neatly on his back. The face was green with a refined silver helm, with two chevrons above his audios and forehead, giving him a rather kingly appearance. Like Cheetor, he contained additional facial plating, this time formed in a shape of a beard.

 

The goat/lion hybrid declared “Stoneroar, maximize!” The sheep’s head folded over as a chest plate; the front paws unhinged and cross themselves behind the bot’s back as new arms appeared. The back legs of a goat readjusted to support the femmebot as she flexed her arms subconsciously. Her head appeared, a completely gray head that is formed after her beast mode’s head, similar to Silverbolt’s robot head, with the notable exception of miniature ram horns instead of ear flaps. The femmebot was very tall, almost tall as Crocnix. Stoneroar folded her arms in preemptive aloofness.

 

“Greetings, Stoneroar and Crocnix,” Silverbolt greeted, “I am sorry for what had—” large rumble cut him off. Stoneroar and Crocnix look around, but Silverbolt looked up. The two bots looked upwards too and saw a cat-bot flying toward them and . . . well, Crocnix had no idea what it was. A jetbot perhaps.

 

Silverbolt notice Crocnix slowly inching into his subspace pocket. “No need to worry, Crocnix. That is my commander, Optimus Primal.”

 

Crocnix jerked in surprise. “Optimus Primal? That’s him?” His mouth opened in disbelief. Stoneroar had a similar expression on her face, sky-blue optics wide. Both looked at the behemoth Maximal with unabashed awe as he transformed from flight mode to robot mode. He landed with a mighty thud, shaking the earth. He coughed, embarrassed at their reactions.

 

“I am Optimus Primal,” the Maximal leader greeted, his enormous hand gesturing in a friendly manner.

 

“And I’m Cheetor,” the cat-bot added helpfully, his smile friendly.

 

Stoneroar regained herself. She gave herself the gall to sneer. “Well, at least this dissolves the theory of you and your crew being dead.” Crocnix elbowed her to be quiet. Optimus and Cheetor looked at each other, surprised.

 

“We are considered  . . . dead?” Silverbolt said slowly, his optics dimming.

 

“No, no,” Crocnix quickly amened. “You’re considered lost. The authorities were looking all over the galaxy for you. Some people simply thought you might be dead. ”

 

“So you’re not a rescue ship?” Cheetor asked, disappointed.

 

“No, I’m afraid not. We are the crew of the Mirrorwave, a medical supplies ship. We were going with a fleet, but our ship suffered damage during take off. We stay behind and patch up, then join up with the fleet alone.” Crocnix coughed. “Unfortunately, we ran into a rogue Predacon ship. It attacked us, and forced us to engage battle. By then a transwarp vortex had sucked us both in, and here we are.”

 

“Where is here, by the way?” Stoneroar asked, looking around in the swamp.

 

“You traveled back in time,” Optimus explained. “This is Earth, in the prehistoric times.” Optimus watched the two newcomers’ turn to look at each other surprised. Then Stoneroar laughed. “Oh, this is rich. I think Cordelia will love this.”

 

Silverbolt looked puzzled. “There are more of you?” Crocnix nodded and turn to the damaged vessel. “It’s safe, Cordelia, you can come out.”

 

“The air’s breathable,” Stoneroar added, amused by the puzzled expressions on the Maximals’ faces. Crocnix glanced at the sky, silently praying Primus would grant him the slightest mercy on him. He does not want to Stoneroar’s attitude to give grief to Optimus and his crew.

 

Cordelia stepped out of the hatch. She cautiously walked down the ramp, staring at Optimus, Cheetor, and Silverbolt as blankly as possible. She stood beside Crocnix, not saying a word.

 

“This is Cordelia,” Crocnix introduced. “She is our assistant.” She looked slightly uncomfortable with the astonished expressions of the three Maximals.

 

“Hi,” the human offered. She craned her neck upwards, looking at Crocnix’s optics. “Is it true, then? This is Earth?”

 

“Slightly ironic, isn’t it?” Stoneroar commented dryly. “We left Earth and crashed on Earth.”

 

“I’m afraid it is.” Crocnix admitted. He turned to Optimus. “What of the Predacons that shot us down? Where are they?”

 

“I sighted another ship heading over at Megatron’s territory. If those are Predacons, then they would more likely join Megatron’s side,” Silverbolt replied.

 

“I imagine they would,” Cordelia said dryly.

“Megatron?” Crocnix asked, confused.

 

 A loud static noise came to, making both the two bots and the human to jump.

 

“Rattrap to Optimus!”

 

Optimus open his link. “What is it, Rattrap?”

 

“Megs and Firestarter are comin’ to sector Delta, with three new Preds! I’m heading over there right now.”

 

As soon as those words were formed, Cheetor cried out in pain. The force knocked him into the mud of the swamp. Crocnix looked up and saw a red bot laughing manically alongside a dark bot with massive feathered wings. A giant bronze-and-purple bot was next to them, snickering darkly. Optimus told the Rattrap something he couldn’t decipher.

 

“Buuuurrrrn Maximals!” The red bot yelled his battle cry and dove straight to them. Crocnix grabbed Cordelia’s shoulder and shoved her into the ship. She stumbled into the bridge.

 

“Close the hatch!” Crocnix yelled. The hatch closed with a hissing slam. Crocnix turned around and saw the red bot firing manically, laughing. Crocnix knew instinctively he have jets on his back that enable him to fly. “Jets on!” he shouted. Crocnix flew up and gave the antbot an uppercut. Inferno recovered quickly and replied in kind with his gun.

 

Crocnix fell several feet in the air before regaining himself. He withdrew his two pistols and started fired, instinct taking over his processor. The Predacon laughed as he dodged the shots. Crocnix swore to himself. To Crocnix’s amazement, the antbot took a hit and flew back several yards in the air. Crocnix looked down and saw Stoneroar firing furiously at the rotor-propelled Predacon, shrieking holy hell. The giant purple bot turned around and saw Crocnix in midair. Before Crocnix could fire a shot, the bot fired at him with a laser beam. It hit his left shoulder, making Crocnix pummel down to the earth.

 

“Ah!” he cried out, despite himself. Stoneroar yelled colorfully and fired at the bot. Crocnix brought himself up and hid behind a tree for cover.

 

Stoneroar continued firing at the aerial Predacons when a shot between the shoulder blades took her down. She fell to her knees, and with a muttered curse, went into stasis lock.

 

Crocnix spun around and saw a green and black bot sneaking from behind. The silent Predacon merely sneered as he placed his hands together to form a snake-like head.

 

Too slow. Crocnix fired his two pistols and watch his attacker flying up twenty feet and landed with a hard thud. Satisfied, he turned back to the battle when he saw another Predacon joining the battle.

 

A dark-furred femme shrieked in joy, perched on a rotten log. She jumped on a sinking Cheetor, laughing manically. He struggled against her furtively as he slowly sank into the mud, thanks to her added weight. She slashed at his face, ignoring the jabs from the cat. Her laughter turned into shrieks as Optimus grabbed her and threw her straight to Inferno. Both crashed to the shallow of the murky waters with a mighty splash.

 

Optimus fired at the remaining Predacons with his cannons, alongside with Silverbolt. Crocnix added his fire. He roared in rage and turns around and fires a laser beam at Crocnix. He jumped down and hugged the earth as the beam streaked past him harmlessly. He was about to fire again when suddenly both Megatron and the other Predacon were blasted out of the sky.

 

Crocnix turn his head and saw the Mirrowave’s few functional weapons releasing a relentless stream of firepower. The feathered bot made a hasty retreat, with the purple bot retreating with him not before giving Optimus a look of utter hatred. The weapons stopped firing for a split nano after they retreated. They resumed firing a few more bullets for extra measure. 

 

After freeing Cheetor from the mud, Optimus walked over and observed Stoneroar. “We need to bring her to the CR Chamber.” he observed.

 

Crocnix nodded. “We have one in the ship. We can get her back inside . . . that is, if Cordelia is done being trigger-happy.”

 

“I heard that,” a voice cracked from Crocnix’s wrist.

 

Optimus chuckled. Silverbolt smiled. Cheetor could only frown as he discovered that he was completely covered in mud from head crest to paw. A noise of a rumbling noise of a vehicle went through the air. The three functional Maximals turned and saw Rattrap transformed. He gave the Mirrorwave’s condition a look, then muttering himself “Aw, slag.”

 

“That’s what I was gonna say,” Cheetor muttered. Silverbolt elbowed him to be silent.

 

“What should we do with the other Predacons?” Crocnix asked, looking around. He gasped. The antbot and the femme were gone, disturbed mud swirling in the water. The green Predacon had also disappeared.

 

“I think they've had enough.” Optimus said.

 

“Might as well,” Silverbolt added, watching Crocnix starting to heave Stoneroar back to the ship.

 

“So what will happen to the three of you?” Silverbolt asked. “Are you staying in the crash site?”

 

“Three?” Rattrap asked, confused. The hatch of the Mirrorwave opened, revealing Cordelia. “Yeah, three. Uno, dos, tres,” she pointed to Crocnix, the unconscious Stoneroar and herself. Rattrap gave Cordelia a look of incredibility. Then he rolled his optics and raised his arms in mock celebration.

 

Crocnix sighed and continued dragging Stoneroar across the bridge. Optimus peered inside.

“We will for now. We were lucky first time, but I don’t know how damaged we are. If it looks bad, then we might have to move to a more secure location.” He paused as he open the bridge door and continued his hauling of his fuzor companion.

Optimus turned to Rattrap. Crocnix could barely make out what was the Maximal leader was saying.

 

After opening the CR Chamber and placing his friend inside, he took in the liberty of looking around the ship. It was small, for a transport ship. The storage unit was the largest room on the ship, stocked up to the ceiling of both Transformer repair equipment and a single blank protoform and human medicine; with more of the latter. Next to the room were the four resident quarters—Stoneroar took the spare room as liberty to store her mishmash collection of Earth and Cybertronian scrap and oddities.

 

The final three rooms were human-custom—a bathroom, a food supply room and a kitchen (which, in Crocnix’s opinion, was a useless room; Cordelia couldn’t cook to save her own planet), and a shower. To his immediate relief, he couldn’t find any damage to the inner structure. If there was any, it could hamper the Mirrorwave’s defenses.

 

Crocnix walk down to the end of the hallway and open a hatch on the floor. He jumped inside the trapdoor. Inside the darkness Crocnix groped on the walls when he touched a lever. He pushed it down, the lights filled the room. What he saw made him give out a long disappointed sigh.

 

The engines below deck were damaged beyond repair. Twisted, burnt, and mangled, they managed to look like a twisted artist’s version of the remains of turbo-foxes. It seems like they are truly stuck here. Crocnix uttered a small prayer of hope to Primus, and climbed back out of the engines room. 

 

He return to the bridge and fiddled with the communications board. The spatial communications ray was destroyed in the space fight. Crocnix prayed briefly for the fourth time, this time in preservation.

 

Help us, Primus. Help us. Help us all. Please . . .

 

He returned to the outside where he saw Optimus talking to someone over a comm. link, with Silverbolt standing alert alongside. To Crocnix’s amusement, he saw Cordelia with a rag, helping Cheetor wipe the mud off his armor.

 

“Optimus,” Crocnix said to the large bot after he signed off his link. “I did a quick check on our communications and engines. All of them are reduced to scrap. I also briefly checked the condition on the inner structure—it seems that we will be fine in this location. We have our defense system in case of any attacks. But if push comes to shove, we might have to move to somewhere more secure.”

 

“You are always welcome at our base,” Silverbolt offered, with Optimus Crocnix nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate the offer,” he thanked graciously. “I think we’ll be alright for now.”

 

Optimus nodded. “We’ll come back sooner or later, to check up on you. You’re far from Predacon grounds, but that doesn’t stop them.”

 

“I can see,” he admitted dryly. He looked back to Cordelia, who was talking animatedly with Cheetor and Silverbolt.

 

Primus, what about Cordelia? With the Predacons loose, she is nothing but an easy target, he thought. No, no, he chastised to himself. One problem at a time. Working the defense systems almost counterpoised as protecting Cordelia.

 

He looked at Cordelia, who was talking animatedly with Rattrap while helping Cheetor with the mud. She doesn’t look entirely fazed from the crash, or the surprise Predacon attack. She did remarkably well in finding the operational weapons and fire on the attacking Predacons. She did it with a level head, thinking clearly, opposing to Stoneroar’s panicked tendencies to shriek. But Stoneroar didn’t do too badly either, for a human surgeon.

 

But when it came down to experience in warfare, Crocnix had the true experience. Once fought in the civil war of Triopax, he knew war and battles and the effects of them. The femmes did not.

 

Crocnix shook his head to free such negative thoughts. Right now, his concern is to establish security and Cordelia’s well-being. Only then he would consider Cordelia’s role in this situation. She turned away from the two Maximals and noticed Crocnix. She frowned in a look of concern and walked over.