AUTHOR COMMENTS:
Copyright 1997, Robert A. Jung
Originally published April 29, 1997
All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...

* * *

The moan was the first sound I heard. It was a weary noise; the cry of someone who's just been awakened, and wishes he hadn't. An embarrassing, weakening cry.

It was me.

I stopped moaning and looked around. A quick scan showed no dangers. Slowly, hesitantly, I turned my head and took another peek.

Still nothing.

Good.

Even just lying there, half-awake, I was already starting to recognize a hundred different aches all over my body. But something in my mind scolded me; being flat on my back was a luxury I didn't have. Hesitantly, I sat up, ignoring the pain in my arms and back as I assessed my situation.

I was sitting on a pile of junk. Unidentifiable garbage surrounded me, the perpetual rubble that dominated most of Cybertron. There were no landmarks visible, which wasn't much of a surprise; the most notable buildings had fallen eons ago, and whatever structures still remained tended to be generic, bombed-out shells. The landscape was almost pitch black, and the only lighting came from a few dim, flickering lights. The ceiling of this subterranean level was high overhead, buried in the dimness. A soft whisper of wind was the only noise around.

With a ragged sigh, I organized my thoughts, replaying the last things I remembered. The attack had gone according to plan: my squad had moved with well-rehearsed precision, and we had caught the Autobots by surprise. It didn't take them long to start their counterattack, but we were ready for that, and I had the situation under control.

At least, I thought I did.

The guy I was fighting-some green-and-black 'bot-didn't take too long to crack. After just a few minutes, he transformed into an aircar and ran off. I chased him, of course, hoping to score a capture and earn some brownie points. He tried to lose me through a mess of fallen towers, but I wasn't worried; I was pretty good at tailing folks even before the war.

Of course, Glitch's Law says that I got zapped precisely because I was too overconfident. Didn't even see who or what or where it came from. One minute, I'm flying along in hot pursuit. The next minute, I'm lying on a junkpile, dinged and bruised and aching and confused.

That confused me at first. After getting blasted by the Autobots, I would have expected to wake up in a cell or something. But I wasn't, which meant I ended up someplace where they couldn't retrieve me. A big blast, one strong enough to knock me far away from the battlefield, didn't seem likely; I should've had some serious burns if that was the case.

The only alternative left was that I fell down a hole. Whoever shot me must've had the dumb luck of knocking me down an access tunnel or a hole or something. It made sense; if the other Decepticons were closing in, they probably decided to disappear rather than send someone after me.

Of course, with my luck running the way it was, that also meant that my guys didn't know I was down here. If they were looking for me, they'd be searching upstairs. And when I didn't show up, they probably assumed the 'bots had captured me.

It made sense. Not that it helped me much, but it made sense.

Anyway...

The silence meant that the fighting was over. Unfortunately, I had no idea who had won, where I was, and how far it was to the nearest Deceptibase.

When in doubt, assume the worse.

Autobots, then. Assume the Autobots won the fight. Assume I'm deep in their territory. Assume they're now combing the area, looking for Decepticons still hanging around. And assume the Decepticons can't go looking for me, either because they thought I was captured, or were chased off by the Autobots, or both.

That left only one thing to do.

I carefully pulled myself upright. It took an effort to suppress the urge to groan, but I did it. My flamethrower was smashed, along with the guns from my air mode. All I had left was the laser rifle, with enough energon left for maybe four or five shots. That, and whatever fighting skills I could muster.

Better get out of here quickly, I thought, and started to transform.

I screamed.

I stopped instantly on reflex, but still in excruciating pain. It took me a few seconds of gasping and staggering to recover my wits. Flying back to headquarters was out. Whatever happened to me had slagged my transformation systems, and bad.

No flying. If I wanted to go anywhere, it'd have to be on foot.

I gave myself another three seconds of rest-a minor luxury-then started walking.

* * *

It didn't take me long to discover the limp.

Or the cracked arm. Or the broken strut in my side. Or the leaking knee.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrreat.

I would have tried to patch myself with what was available, but there wasn't anything. Nothing useful, anyway. Any scraps I could find were too big, too small, or too twisted out of shape to be of any use. And waiting for my internal repairs to fix things would have taken way too much time.

Still, I wasn't too ungrateful. I could still move, after all. Anything's got to beat lying comatose on a junk pile, waiting to get captured. Or worse, dying a slow death as my reserves of energon ran down. Sorry, but "live fast, fight hard, leave a rusting corpse" was never part of my philosophy.

So I kept walking. Call it willpower, call it desperation, call it whatever you want. All I knew was that it had to be done, so I went ahead and did it. You didn't last long in Cybertron's five-million-year-old war if you took every opportunity to whine an excuse out of duty.

Not that I was thinking such deep thoughts at the time. It took most of my concentration just to move. Besides the throbbing aches and the external damage, my body just wasn't being too cooperative. Each step was a conscious effort, and I almost always kept at least one handhold nearby to avoid a faceplant.

My brain must have been scrambled even worse than I thought; it took me almost an hour before I realized that I had no idea of where I was going, or even if I should be going that way. That sobered me up quickly-waltzing right through the front doors of the local Autobase would've been a sure-fire way of getting killed.

I stopped again, leaning wearily against a broken spire for relief. The lighting was a little better here, so I readjusted my optics for low-light viewing and took a look around.

I was directly in front of something called the Revatel Holohouse. Not that it did me any good, as I'd never heard of it before. It looked as cozy as the inside of an exhaust pipe. Only the first two floors were still standing, and the rest of the house had collapsed on itself. The front doors and most of the outer panels were gone, probably looted by scavengers. The inside was packed with rubble.

Behind me was a restaurant of some kind. Only one fragment of the sign remained, and the only thing I could read was "-ire's Pit-". It had seen better days; the interior was badly scorched, and most of the stools and chairs and tables were gone (scavengers again). I'm sure that whoever ran the place must have done some good business with the spillover crowds from across the street.

I'm not exactly sure why, but I climbed through one of the broken windows and started poking around the mess. Maybe I was hoping to find some leftover energon or something. Yeah, as if there would be any remaining after who- knows-how-many wanderers have picked through the mess. Don't ask. Like I said, my brain was pretty scrambled.

I didn't find any, but I did find a pole. Not too long, not too short, and not too heavy-about as tall as I was, just right for walking. And, if I had to, it'd be handy in case of a fight. Not that I wanted one, as only an idiot starts a fight he can't win. "Live and let live" was my motto, and I hoped that the next person I met would also share that idea.

Of course, if it was an Autobot, all bets were off. Those zealots won't leave anyone alone, especially a Decepticon. I think it's in their programming to stick their noses in other people's businesses, regardless of what it is. I double-checked the charge on my laser rifle just then, to be safe.

After a fruitless search of the main dining room, I entered the kitchen by squeezing through a door half-blocked by debris. It was a little cleaner than the main room, but otherwise in about the same shape. A search turned up nothing useful.

I was about to leave when an odd sound came from the floor. I stopped instantly, listening carefully.

Nothing but silence greeted me. When I finally felt safe again, I started tapping the ground.

* * *

It was a secret passage, of course, hidden behind a loose floor panel. A narrow shaft led down to a small room, accessible by a flight of rusted stairs. It was probably used originally to store extra supplies or equipment or whatever, back when the restaurant had actual customers.

Going down the stairs wasn't easy, not in my condition. I had my rifle tucked under my right arm, in case there was trouble, and used my left hand to hold the pole and keep myself upright. I didn't bother to be stealthy-instead, I deliberately made a lot of noise, and made sure to holler, "Is anyone here? I come in peace," that sort of stuff, the whole way down. Didn't need to get my head shot off by a trigger-happy idiot, after all.

I didn't have to worry. There was someone beneath the restaurant, all right, but he was long dead. From the looks of it, the poor guy probably died of energon drain. He slowly ran out of juice, until he got to the point where he didn't even have enough energon to crawl out of his hidey-hole and find any more. It's probably the worst way to go.

He was just some Neut, of course. If he wasn't, he wouldn't have been stuck down here by himself, since his buddies would have been watching out for him. There were still a lot of Neuts out there, even after all these years, and I could understand why. Joining sides in the war is not an easy decision to make, because that meant you risked getting killed in a fight. On the other hand, there's safety in numbers, as well as (usually) a full recharge every day. And if you did get killed, at least being vaped was faster and less painful than starvation.

Part of me had no sympathy for the guy-if he was dumb enough not to join up with someone, then he deserves what he got. But I couldn't be completely apathetic, nor did I try. After all, I was a Neut once. It could have been me lying there, a rust-covered husk forgotten by everyone, buried alive in a makeshift grave.

Thinking about those days made me wince. I was no better than a scraplet then, living day to day and hand to mouth, fighting for whatever energon I could find, hiding when I couldn't beat off the other hungry-mad Neuts. The scary thing is that I used to think that was the only way to live-was that stupid, or what?

It was only when I finally got my head out of my exhaust pipe that I realized how dangerous my lifestyle really was, and that there had to be a better way. Then, when a bunch of Decepticons were passing by on a raid, I allowed myself to get captured so I could sign up with them. Yeah, I still go hungry when rations are low, but everybody suffers equally then. And at least now I have peers and friends, people who'll help watch my back, to share the good times with, to listen to me gripe on bad days, and who won't kill me for an extra kiloerg of juice.

Unlike the Neuts. The ones dead and dying in the streets. All those people whose lives were ruined by the war.

Blame the Autobots for that.

* * *

I slept for a while. I hoped the rest would give my busted knee a chance to heal some, and I figured the Neut wouldn't mind.

Waking up was easier this time. Not painless, but at least easier. My arm was starting to heal, and the knee looked a little better. The busted strut had reduced itself to a low throbbing ache in my side. It took me less time to get my bearings and remember the mess I was in. I suppose that can be either good news or bad news, depending on your perspective.

I was getting ready to head out when I heard the voice.

I did two things at once: I froze, completely still, and I activated my communicator.

The radio hissed and crackled a little, but I didn't hear anything. Slag. That meant that whoever was upstairs wasn't a Decepticon. I checked a few of the other standard Decepticon comm channels, but it didn't change the situatio.

I turned off the radio and listened carefully while I considered my options. My visitor was alone; either that, or his friends were as talkative as my Neut roommie. His voice was so faint that I couldn't make out any specific words, but the cadence and rhythm of his conversation told me that he was probably speaking to someone over a radio.

Probably an Autobot. Neuts with radios weren't very likely, and I knew that even the best scavenger gangs would keep their comm gear for the top bots (who wouldn't be poking around a ruin, since they had subordinates for sludge like that). Unfortunately, I couldn't tell if he was in the kitchen or the dining room-the room I was in was echoing his voice, and it seemed to be coming from all around me.

I considered trying to ambush the guy, but quickly nixed the idea. With my injuries, quietly sneaking up the ladder didn't seem likely, and even assuming my "guest" was alone, I didn't feel confident about taking him out. Besides, even if I did get the drop on him, his pal on the radio would surely get suspicious and check. Those Autobots might be fanatics, but they watch out for their own, too.

"Live and let live," I muttered to myself as I snuck over to the base of the ladder. I got into a comfortable sitting position and leveled my rifle up towards the trapdoor. If the Autobot opened it, I'd try and get him first. On the other hand, if he was nice enough to leave me alone, I wouldn't give him any grief.

Seemed fair.

I don't know how long I sat there, waiting. I kept myself busy by maintaining noise discipline while trying to make out what the guy was saying. Even while straining my microphones to the max, I could only catch a few words here and there; nothing I could assemble into a sentence. I couldn't even tell if this was a hunt for lost Decepticons like me, or just a routine patrol. How deep was I in their territory?

Thank the Maker, he finally went away. I waited for another twenty minutes after the voice disappeared, just to be safe. Then, cautiously, I gathered my stuff and slowly headed up. My fears receded as I realized the restaurant was deserted, but I didn't allow myself to relax until I got back outside.

Checking that the area was clear, I strengthened my determination at getting back to friendly territory. Since the junkpile I started from was to my left, the only alternative was to go right...

* * *

After slowly staggering forward for several hours, I spotted a translevel interchange on the horizon. The distance didn't matter; all that I cared about was that it was a way out. All I had to do was take it up a level or two, then find some familiar landmarks and locations, and make my way home from there. And since the interchanges were just ramps and roads, I didn't have to worry if the transit power grid was still working in this area or not.

I headed straight for the interchange-or as straight as the roads would allow. I wasn't worried; I could see it over the tops of the buildings nearby, so I couldn't get lost. This was just a simple matter of time and endurance, both of which I felt sure I could muster.

By the time I saw the crowd ahead, it was too late to turn around. They had seen me already, and if it was a gang, my sudden reversal would have been a big neon sign reading "Hey! I'm a victim! Rob me!"

They were still a ways off, though, so I had some time to compose myself. I stealthily disengaged the safety on my rifle and released the lower strap, allowing it to swing free from my hip for a fast draw. I also straightened my back and stopped favoring my bad knee, trying my best to walk proudly instead of limping by. My battered chassis detracted from the effect somewhat, but even a banged-up soldier beats a crippled target any day.

We watched each other as I finally approached. They barely moved at all, but I refused to lower my guard. They were too quiet to be a gang; at least, I've never met a gang that wasn't overloaded with brash and bravado. No, it was just a crowd of rusted Neuts, huddled together for company.

And nourishment. I was finally close enough to see that they were gathered around a public recharger. It had been through the inferno and back, but it still worked, thanks to a bunch of clumsy repair jobs. The Neuts were guarding it, and they probably had set up some rules for access and rights. The power coupler's dim light hinted at the charger's low yield, which would explain the Neuts' lazy, energy-saving motions.

I spread my empty arms open as I approached. "Hello, everyone," I said, trying to sound congenial. I took a quick head count; there were a half-dozen Neuts directly in front of me, and probably another score in the shadows. How many of them were armed?

A slender mechanoid to my right nodded, his faded blue head barely visible in the charger's glow. "Welcome," he flatly growled. "You looking for anything?"

I stole a quick, ravenous glance at the recharger. A zap-even a small one-would have done miracles for me right about then. "Not here, no," I lied. "I got lost from my squad, that's all, and I'm on my way back."

"You've got a long way to go, 'con!" a voice cackled to the left. The speaker was a short, stocky robot, whose bronze hull barely peeked through endless layers of dirt and grime. "Go find the Autobots, it'll be easier!"

I ignored the jibe. I had no argument with Neuts, even smart-mouthed jerks. A part of me realized that the comment was his idea of fun. I was probably the most entertainment these losers had seen in a vorn. Turning back to the first speaker, I asked, "So where am I, exactly?"

The blue robot gave a dismissive shrug. "Sianglos district, level 19. As if that means anything these days."

Level 19! No wonder I was lost; my fight had started up on level 16. Only The Maker knows how I managed to fall so far without smashing myself to shreds. And that explained why I hadn't seen any Decepticon rescue patrols, either-if they were searching for me, they'd be looking three levels above...

"Thanks," I replied coolly. "I guess I'll be leaving now. Unless I could use your recha-"

"No!" Bronze abruptly yelled. "Stay away from our charger, you scum!"

I kept a lid on my anger; I was in no shape for a fight. And even if I did, there were enough Neuts nearby to turn it into a losing proposition.

"Don't mind Bolt," a third Neut drawled, his vocoder creaky with age. "He hates all soldiers, Decepticons and Autobots evenly."

I nodded slowly in understanding. I was once like that, too. Stay out of the crossfire, keep to yourself, and whatever you do, don't pick sides. Favoritism-even the illusion of it-could spell death for a Neut if the wrong person was listening.

Blue spoke again, and now there was a touch of menace in his voice. "We don't want any trouble ... and if you'll just move along, there won't be any."

I gave a friendly bow to the crowd. "Thanks," I said, then slowly proceeded forward, looking as casual and healthy as I could.

Only when I was out of sight did I finally drop the facade. I found a convenient doorway to rest in, then quickly hunkered down as I moaned and massaged the throbbing ache in my knee.

* * *

I reached the interchange in another day. That is, I walked for a few hours, slept for a few hours, then walked again for a few more hours-I didn't trust my internal clock, and it's hard to tell time on Cybertron without a chrono of some sort. I made good time by avoiding pointless side trips; aside from briefly exploring the remains of a crystalline art gallery, I allowed nothing to distract me from my goal.

Enough remained of the interchange's battered directional sign for me to verify the Neut's claim. Sianglos district, level 19. A second sign directed travelers to the upper layers, which was what I was interested in. The nearest Deceptibase that I knew of was in Bechnell, up on level 15.

I started hiking, completely ignoring the urge to rest for even a moment. Four levels was nothing trivial, but the sooner I reached Bechnell, the sooner I would be back in friendly territory.

I stayed in the outer lane of the corkscrewing road, on the chance that I could get an early warning of any Autobots who might be approaching from the distance. Not that I truly expected it to make a difference; wheels beats heels any day, and the interchanges don't have any places for a fugitive to hide. If someone was after me, the best I could hope for might be to run up to the nearest level and reach an off-ramp before he arrived.

Yeah, right.

I didn't think about that, though. At first, I was too focused on watching for incoming hunters to think of anything at all. But after the third or fourth time around, the repetitious scenery started to bore me, and my mind wandered.

I tried, for the umpteenth time, to understand the Autobots. Their complete inability to comprehend the Decepticon way was impossibly frustrating. What was wrong with wanting a life beyond Cybertron, beyond endless days playing games and watching holovids? Not that I'm against luxury, of course, but you can only goof around for so long before it gets boring. To find new worlds, to challenge the elements, to tame them and colonize them and spread our people to the stars ... what's wrong with such a dream?

And yet, the Autobots didn't like that. It went against their beliefs, which was a banged-up mix of superstition and passivity. One argument was, "We must all remain on Cybertron and be as One, to stand united when the Darkest Hour falls over us." It doesn't make sense to me; I mean, if the end of the world was coming, then wouldn't a Cybertronian Empire be the best way for us to survive? Anything that attacked one world would have to deal with the others, and maybe we could find a way to stop the danger before it could take us all out. Instead, these folks wanted us to keep everyone on Cybertron, which would make it easier for someone to take us out at once.

The environmentalists weren't any better: they said that we shouldn't go colonize other planets because we would destroy whatever life might be out there. And to make it more ridiculous, not only were the organtics supposed to be "intelligent," but they were supposed to be sentient! What next, equal rights for rust spots? There are scraplets with more brains than the blobby, squishy things on those worlds. Yeah, I suppose they'd make neat pets if you want to clean up after them, but saying they're as smart as one of us was completely crazy.

But that's the Autobots in a casing-superstitious oldsters, environmental zealots, and a few gullible idiots tossed into the mix.

Still, everyone's entitled to an opinion. It wouldn't have been so bad if the Autobots just stayed behind on Cybertron while the rest of us headed for the stars. But they couldn't take that, either. Like all fundamentalists, they had to impose their idea of morality on everyone else. And when people didn't like their ideas, they turned to violence, which was what started the war.

I spent hours wrestling with the topic, thinking and re-thinking as I continued to walk. Maybe it was the fatigue clouding my mind, but I wanted to understand the Autobots, to think like they did and see the world from their skewed perspective. I guess I just wanted to comprehend them, and not think of them simply as maniacs. But despite my efforts, the sheer irrationality of it was too much for me.

I could see why the other Decepticons despised the Autobots, though. It's hard to feel concern and respect for a gang of crazies when you remember that their twisted ideas was what locked Cybertron into a war for more than five million years. All the waste-of time, of energy, of lives-was far too much to simply forgive and forget.

Madness. Shockin' Autobot madness.

* * *

I pushed myself pretty hard, not stopping until I reached level 17. Then, after finding a place to hide, I fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Waking up was not a pleasant experience. My knee was getting much worse, probably because I pushed myself so hard. As it was, each step sent a piercing jolt of pain throughout my body, and I could almost see the metal slowly shearing with each step. I relied on my cane more than ever, which reduced the wear and tear, but really slowed me down.

As if that wasn't bad enough, my energon stores were dropping to dangerously low levels. My vision turned fuzzy at random times, and it was starting to be an effort just to keep myself awake. Despite my body's urges, I fought the urge to get some more sleep. It was the classic paradox of energon drain; each nap would bleed me slowly but surely, until I couldn't move even if I wanted to.

Just like the dead Neut beneath the restaurant.

I mustered up my courage and ignored that possibility. Instead, I thought of nothing but walking, not giving myself a chance to think of what might happen if I stopped. Just two more levels to go, I told myself, turning it into a mantra. Two more levels, two more levels, two more levels...

There were times where I swear I was moving on automatic. My legs kept pumping and I kept climbing, but I had no memory at all of actually making progress. Lapses, most likely-my brain shutting down nonessential activities, trying to stretch out the last of my juice to keep me going. But I kept repeating my mantra, kept myself moving:

...two more levels...

...two more levels...

...o more lev...

...more...

...
Then I heard the roar.

It sliced through my mental fog like laser through tin. Combat skills kicked me awake instantly-it was a low rumbling engine, coming from below, clearly someone driving up the interchange.

I didn't bother checking my radio-it didn't have the range, not with what little strength I had left. Besides, it had to be an Autobot; Decepticons would be flying, after all, and the engine was too clean, too healthy, to be a Neut.

The roar grew louder.

Despite my fatigue, anger consumed me for an instant-Not now! I'm too close!

But just as suddenly, I clamped down on the panic. Training took over once more, my body moving by reflex. I quickly dropped to the ground, gracelessly rolling over to a sitting position. My arms ached with pain as I lifted my rifle, my hands trembled as I disengaged the safety.

The roar grew louder.

My arms trembled; static clouded my vision. The fade was starting.

I winced as I concentrated, forcing myself awake for another few seconds. Realization flared in my mind: I was too tired, too weak, too far gone to fight. I didn't-couldn't-trust myself to stay focused for any length of time, not even the few seconds it'd take to empty my rifle.

By blind reflex, I reconfigured the rifle. Burst mode, then. A single concentrated blast, hopefully enough to take out my pursuer. Or at least do a respectable chunk of damage.

The roar grew louder. The Autobot appeared, an explosive thunderbolt of white, tires screeching to a sudden stop. The Autobot emblem on his hood gleamed like a beacon.

My view dimmed-
he transformed-
I aimed-
yelled-
vision fading-
raised-
Shoot-
his-
him-
gun-
now-
Bang.

* * *

"Ident confirmed."

"Gotcha, Firefinder. Ident confirmed. What's his stat?"

"Critical but stable. He'll be better once we get him back to HQ."

"Medivac?"

"No need. We've got it under control. Won't be long."

"All right. Maintain passive tracking. Chatterbox out."

"Firefinder out."

"Another day, another win! Is he ready to go?"

"Just about. You guys finished?"

"Yeah, Headlock's got the prisoner secured. We're just waiting for you."

"Right. Give me another minute."

"Sure, take your time."

There was a small jolt in the back of my neck, and then my sight returned. The picture was blurry and flickering, but it was there.

"Hey, Spinister. Can you hear me?"

I moaned softly in reply. It was a weary noise, all that I could muster.

The amorphous blob jiggled in response. "Don't worry, pal. You're in good hands now. We'll get you back in the repair bay in nothing flat."

I nodded weakly in reply.

"That was something amazing," he continued respectfully, "Thunderwing's going to commend you for this one. Not only did you crawl your way out of deep enemy territory by yourself, but you even took out an Autobot while on the edge of a fade. Good thing we were close by and heard the sound of your rifle, or we might have passed over you. The guys will be talking about this for years."

Firefinder's arms slipped beneath, effortlessly lifting me. "Okay, guys, I got him. Let's go!"

I didn't even notice the push as we took to the air. I saw nothing but Firefinder's red hull, shining bright against the purple sigil on his chest. I sighed deeply and relaxed my entire body. For the first time in a long time, I felt secure, safe, and protected. My mind drifted away as I started to sleep.

I was going back to the Decepticons.

I was going home.

The End