www.TFCyberHaven.com

November 4, 2006

The dice bounced across the table and landed in front of Bluestreak. Jazz looked at where his roll landed him and smiled at the game board. 

“Energon Depot,” Jazz announced, full of hope, and moved his game piece five spaces ahead. Maybe after landing on Decepticon Ambush and getting sent to jail for a turn, and not to mention all of the other squares of misfortune he landed on prior to that, his luck would finally turn around. He crossed his fingers and reached for the deck of cards. “C’mon, Lady Luck.”

Jazz tipped the top card of the deck and looked hesitantly underneath. Across the table from him, the suspense teased Bluestreak as he tried to read Jazz’s expression for some clue as to whether the card was good or bad news.

“Well, what is it?” Bluestreak inquired anxiously.

Jazz raised his optic visor to gaze at Bluestreak. For a frozen moment, Bluestreak worried that his advantage was about to disappear. But at last, Jazz flipped the card over and slouched back into the couch.

“Major repairs,” Jazz resigned, looking at his dwindling assortment of energon chips. “Pay two hundred credits.”

Bluestreak snickered. It felt good to be winning. The excitement of the game brought a whole new angle to the edge of uneasiness he often felt, something that made him feel almost normal. This was indeed good stress.

“I don’t get it, ‘Streak.” Jazz began as he reluctantly paid the game’s fee. “How come you’re gettin’ all the luck and I’m just gettin’ skunked?” He mocked a look of concern and rubbed his chin. “Could be those dice.”

Bluestreak missed Jazz’s feign. On the edge of an emotional knife, the excitement overshot into fear and he reacted defensively. “Oh no, Jazz. I didn’t do anything to them.” He shook his head emphatically. “R-remember, you brought them…?” 

Jazz chuckled and put his right arm up on the couch. “Hey, chill out. I’m not sayin’ it was you.”

Bluestreak looked mildly relieved.

“I just think I’m not rollin’ them properly, or somethin’,” Jazz figured, casually tapping his hand on the couch arm. He looked elsewhere in the room, ending that line of the conversation.

A true grin returned to Bluestreak’s faceplate. He enjoyed Jazz’s company. The black and white Autobot never laid heavies on him and never criticized him. In fact, now that he thought about it, of course Jazz would not accuse him of fixing the dice. He had only jumped to that conclusion. Feeling better, Bluestreak picked up the dice and began to shake them in his right hand.

Jazz turned to look over his shoulder as someone approached the lounge. “Hey, “Mirage,” Jazz greeted. The blue and white Autobot entered the lounge, but continued across the room past Jazz and Bluestreak, uninterested in the game they were playing. “You guys just leavin’?”

Mirage stopped and crossed his arms. “We will be if the others can get the lead off their rear axles.” He gazed off through the doorway, back down the hall.

 Mirage was looking forward to the upcoming competition. He and several other Autobots were preparing to leave for a few days of special racing on a closed track down south. The one rule of the race was to win, and that meant that the participants were free to use any ability to assist them. Jazz suggested the idea to prevent a bunch of stir crazy Autobots from making trouble while Prime and Prowl were gone for a week at a national conference. The concept was appealing to many, which was a good thing, Jazz knew, because any trouble makers looking for action would be away from the Ark. Jazz’s job of caretaker would be easy during Prime’s absence.

As he continued to shake the dice, Bluestreak’s attention was caught by someone else coming quickly toward the lounge. It was Smokescreen. The red, white and blue Autobot posed in the doorway, showing off his racing stripes as he regarded Mirage on the other side of the room.

“You calling me full of lead, Mirage?” Smokescreen taunted. Already a rivalry was beginning.

Mirage laughed, aloof. “I did.”

“Just wait until I beat you to the track,” Smokescreen responded, not really upset, but playing the part well, nonetheless. “Then you’ll eat those words.”

“If you want to beat me,” Mirage haughtily challenged Smokescreen as the glowing rectangular frame of his electrodisrupter powered up, “you have to see me.” Encasing him within its boundaries, the prism then vanished, taking Mirage with it. Now invisible to the others in the room, Mirage transformed and peeled his tires on the metallic floor before speeding away. 

Smokescreen ran a few steps after him then stopped to engage Jazz and Bluestreak. “He forgets that he needs to see where he’s going.” The diversionary tactician chuckled. “I have a few aces up my own sleeve, so to speak.” With a sly smile he also transformed and raced from the room after Mirage.

Jazz chuckled to himself. “You sure you don’t want to go too, Bluestreak?” he asked, wondering if the silver Autobot across from him might change his mind. “It’s your last chance.”

“Nah,” Bluestreak focused on the modified Monopoly board in front of him, still shaking the dice. He already knew that he was fast and did not want to prove it. Besides, he was not keen on the idea of other Autobots using their abilities against him. His only defense was his weaponry, which was morally off bounds to him and did not count as a special ability that he could use. “I’m more interested in playing this game.”

Jazz’s smile tilted to one side. “More like you want to win this game. Hey man, that’s cool. You’re giving me a run for my energon.”

Bluestreak returned the smile, and placed his left hand over this right. With the dice cupped in both hands, he concentrated. Maybe he was doing something special to bring himself a streak of luck. He shook the dice one last time to add that special something to his roll, then released them to scatter back across the table. 

Whatever he did, it worked. Again, his roll brought him fortune. “Like magic,” Bluestreak gasped, astonished at his own luck.

“Yeah, lucky you,” Jazz sighed through his vocalizer as Bluestreak moved his game piece ahead eight squares to stop on Big Falls Dam. It was probably good for Bluestreak’s morale to have the game turn out so well for him, Jazz thought. Winning did not matter so much to Jazz. It was just a game.

Looking at his considerable stack of energon chips, Bluestreak rubbed his knee, considering what he wanted to do. “I think I’ll start with three energon compressors.” He already had four compressors installed on Bonneville Dam. “And…it’s time to put up an energy silo at Bonneville.” He smiled from audio receptor to audio receptor as he placed the three energon compressors on the first facility. “Jazz, this game is great.”

Jazz rested his head against his hand. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re havin’ the time of your life.”

Bluestreak leaned across the game board to place the energy silo on the game square. Without warning, he felt the room tilt ever so slightly. Feeling disoriented and out of balance, Bluestreak knocked over the four compressors. He set down his game piece and regarded Jazz with wide optics. This was unusual.

“You shakin’?” Jazz inquired as he looked around the room, not trusting his own balance control either.

“I don’t know, I mean, I hope not, I mean, I really don’t know,” Bluestreak sputtered. “Are you?”

Bluestreak followed Jazz’s gaze over the table between them. Both Autobots observed the game board where Bluestreak’s game piece, a mini Sky Spy replica, had tipped over. All of the game pieces had shifted.

“Weird,” Jazz decided, shaking his head. “Like my balance control just got funky.”

Bluestreak instinctively grabbed the arms of the chair. The fear of something unseen trying to control both of them gripped him. Optics struck with panic, he held perfectly still. 

Jazz was unfazed by the event and stood up to test his own equilibrium. “Hmm. Everything’s normal now. How ‘bout you?” He looked down at Bluestreak. The silver Autobot stared at the far wall, paralyzed.

After a moment, his optics darted up to Jazz then froze again, locked onto the black and white Autobot. He tried to speak quietly without moving his mouth. “I don’t know.” He fought the urge to look behind him.

At that moment, Jazz’s communicator status blinked urgently as someone tried to reach him.  Bluestreak almost jumped out of the chair, spooked by the flashing lights. Coolly, Jazz opened the line. It was Cliffjumper, obviously excited about something.

“Did you just feel what I felt?” the red minibot asked suspiciously.

Cliffjumper’s concern, coupled with Bluestreak’s paranoia, alerted Jazz that maybe something was up, after all. “Oh, you mean like a little bit of shakin’?”

“I mean-” the minibot began, but was interrupted when a larger tremor jolted the Ark. At both ends of the communication channel, everyone braced themselves. “That!”

His survival systems triggered, Bluestreak flung himself out of the chair and produced his beam rifle. His chromed, shoulder-mounted missiles gleamed under the overhead lounge lights as he swung around, pointing his weaponry at anything and everything in search of a target.

The blind panic in Bluestreak’s optics now indicated a very real threat. Jazz ducked, knowing that when the gunner was this spooked he could shoot at anyone, friend or foe. “Hey, cool it, Bluestreak! Calm down!” Bluestreak jerked his rifle in Jazz’s direction, aiming everything he had at the other Autobot. Jazz tensed with his arms raised to protect his faceplate. “Hey, cool it, man! Don’t shoot!”

After a moment, the gunner’s optics cleared and he recognized Jazz. 

“One day, you’re really gonna do it, ’Streak,” Jazz laughed to alleviate the tension. “And I’ll be Autobot confetti.” He checked his communicator link with Cliffjumper but the line was closed, so he clicked the screen back into place in his forearm. 

Bluestreak lowered his rifle and disengaged his missile targeting system. “Sorry, Jazz. I didn’t mean to,” the gunner stiffened for a moment. “Hey! The shaking, it stopped! What could have caused it? Maybe…it was a weird group experience induced by a disruption of our cerebral circuitry. Or maybe, it was…oh no, it wouldn’t be that because Teletraan I would have alerted us. Well, maybe – maybe it’s one of Wheeljack’s inventions again! That was a pretty big explosion. I sure hope he’s okay because-”

“It wasn’t caused by Wheeljack,” Jazz interrupted in an even tone. Once Bluestreak got started, there was never a natural pause where one could get a word in. “He’s probably already left for the race. I don’t know what it was, but I better go check it out. Wanna come?” 

Bluestreak shook his head. There was no way he was going to go anywhere near the source of something that could disable him like that.

“Okay…” Jazz turned to leave. “Hopefully this won’t take too long.”

With no one else in the lounge for company, Bluestreak realized the alternative was waiting alone while something unknown lurked out there. “On second thought, maybe I better come along.” He smiled self consciously.

Bluestreak kept a firm grip on the handle of his beam rifle. The gunner frequently spun around to make sure there was nothing following them as they made their way through the Ark to Teletraan I. Jazz knew the source of the shaking was probably no big deal, so he tuned out Bluestreak’s antics. They were just a couple of little tremors, after all. 

Without anyone actively monitoring the main computer, the lighting in the control room was left at a soft level. Rather than turn all the lights back on, Jazz preferred to leave the lights down low to briefly check on security status before getting back to the lounge and the game he was most definitely going to lose - unless a miracle happened. As he viewed the history log, the light from Teletraan’s main screen washed over Jazz’s features. Behind him, Bluestreak kept guard, mindful of anything disguising itself in the shadows that flashed across the room as Jazz moved between readout screens. 

“Teletraan One says all surveillance communication was disrupted at precisely the same time that we felt those two tremors,” Jazz read aloud.

“What does that mean?” Bluestreak asked, coming closer.

Jazz faced him. “It means that we just felt a couple of little earthquakes.”

Bluestreak’s frame relaxed. “Little earthquakes?! Hah! And I thought it might be some Decepticon intruders!” He laughed heartily at himself as his high-strung anxiety melted away into grateful relief.

Jazz puzzled over the rest of the report on the screen. Although the earthquakes were small, the epicenter seemed to be located right beneath their feet. He crossed his arms and held his chin, pensively. “I think,” Jazz considered carefully, “we better go see what Beachcomber makes of all this.”

At ease now, Bluestreak followed Jazz below the ship to a cavernous hollow where their resident geologist had set up a seismic monitoring station. Sure enough, the blue and grey minibot was already there, reading the output of his machinery.

“Hey, Beachcomber,” Jazz greeted the geologist. Beachcomber, who was facing away from him, must have been lost in his own world since he responded after a lazy pause.

“Did you guys just dig that rhythm?” Beachcomber asked in a smooth, relaxed voice. “I mean, that natural Earth beat?”

Bluestreak looked to Jazz, hoping for an interpretation.

“Yeah,” Jazz quipped with a big smile, “it had us rockin’ without the rollin’.”

A casual smile spread across the geologist’s faceplate.

Jazz continued in his usual cool demeanor. “I’m in the groove for the lowdown on what’s down below.” Jazz finished with a stylish flick of his head and slouched back onto one leg.

“It’s deep, man. I mean…rrreal deep,” the blue minibot slowly bobbed his head. 

Bluestreak bobbed his head in synch with Beachcomber, mesmerized by the motion. He was not following what either Autobot was talking about.

“I dig it,” Jazz answered, and tilted his head to the other side. “But what kind of vibe is this for all of us up here?”

Beachcomber hooked his thumb back at the seismic reports on his equipment. “Hey, it’s all groovy. You can trust me ’cause I’m tuned in to the Earth. Just be one with it and ride the wave,” he finished, complete with hand gesture simulating the motion of a rolling wave. 

Jazz crossed his arms, attentive.

“I’m in the zone,” the geologist continued with confidence, persuading Jazz. “…this thermal hiccup won’t give us any negative energy.”

Bluestreak suddenly interrupted. “W-what are you guys talking about? What’s this about a thermal hiccup?”

The other two Autobots smiled knowingly and changed their register for the benefit of Bluestreak. Jazz translated their conversation.

“Beachcomber says it’s no big deal, but we might feel some more small tremors.”

“It’s this volcano, Bluestreak,” the geologist calmly explained in plain terms. “The rock plates of the Earth underneath us are shifting all the time. We’ve got a bit of magma happening below us just now, but don’t worry. It’s all just part of nature.”

“Magma!” Bluestreak sputtered. “Jazz, isn’t magma bad?!”

“Hey, no, man,” Jazz replied. “Take it easy.” 

“A little heat reaching up from the Earth’s core is what a volcano’s all about, Bluestreak.” Beachcomber paused to mull something over. “I bet the geothermal energy compressors are extracting a ton of energon right now.”

Jazz beamed at Bluestreak. “See? It’s all cool. So let’s just chill about it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bluestreak accepted, glancing over at Beachcomber. Bluestreak did not understand geological mechanics. He scanned Beachcomber’s faceplate for any hidden anxiety, but found none.

“Relax, Bluestreak,” the geologist replied in a soothing tone, “I’m on top of it. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Bluestreak crossed his arms and pressed his lip components together in an accepting grin.

Jazz’s communicator lights blinked again.

“Sorry, guys,” Jazz apologized and turned away to take the call. It was Cliffjumper again.

“Jazz, I’m in the lounge. You gotta get down here!” the minibot eagerly instructed.

“Someone better not be finishing my game for me,” Jazz frowned.

“Nah,” Cliffjumper dismissed with shining optics. “We’re about to get turbo charged!” Cliffjumper panned his communicator away from his faceplate to show Jazz the scene in the lounge.

A bunch of Autobots were congregating in the room, gathered around the energon dispenser. Sure enough, someone found that the energon pumps were running at full capacity, brimming with a fresh surge of energon from the recent seismic activity, and quickly spread the word. A couple of pans lay on the floor, brimming with energon that overflowed through the dispenser nozzle. Jazz saw Ratchet in the role of what humans would describe as a keg master. The medic scooped cups of energon out of the pans and handed them out. Brawn, with a cup of energon in each hand and a huge smile splayed across his faceplate, walked in front of the screen. 

“See?” the minibot asked excitedly, bringing himself back into view. “What are you waiting for?!”

As Jazz turned to the others, the image on the screen blinked off. Jazz chuckled. “I guess you’re right, Beachcomber.” He laughed at himself for not figuring it out. “Looks like the others figured it out first. There’s plenty of energon to go ’round.”

“Then what are we waiting for? Llllet’s go!” Beachcomber quickly entered a code into his monitoring equipment before the three left to join Cliffjumper and the others.

With the energon flowing like water as a result of the volcanic activity, it was hard for any of the Autobots to mind a few small, periodic tremors. The aftershocks were minor and, over time, it was easy to confuse the energon buzz with the disorientation caused by an occasional tremor. Jazz and Bluestreak each received a cup of energon from Ratchet and resumed their board game where they left off. Jazz forced a toast with Bluestreak to lift the silver Autobot out of any remaining concern so that he could relax and just enjoy the moment. When Beachcomber received his cup brimming with the radiant pink fluid, he held it as if it were liquid gold. The energon glow reflected off his silver optic band as he meditated on the drink clutched in both hands before his faceplate. Jazz shook his head. Only a geologist could appreciate a cup of geothermal energon like that.

On a rocky slope outside Autobot Headquarters, Air Raid kicked a chunk of rock free, sending it tumbling below. “This stinks,” the Aerialbot complained loudly, fists clenched, as he watched the rock smash itself smaller and smaller as it rebounded off other rocks on the way down, “we shouldn’t be stuck out here on guard duty and have to miss the party.”

Slingshot turned in the direction of the other Aerialbot standing atop a mound of rock to his right and huffed in agreement. 

Silverbolt was staring at the rock between his feet when he saw the remains of the rock smash against a large flat of the slope below and finally come to rest. The destructive image jarred him out of his moment of complacency and he radioed Air Raid.

“Hey up there,” the tall white and red Aerialbot leader addressed Air Raid, as small stones continued to crumble away beneath Air Raid’s feet. “Remember that you’re not the only one out here, so be careful.”

Air Raid laughed into his communicator. “We are the only ones out here. We are the Autobot defenses.”

“Yes, Air Raid. We, meaning your fellow Aerialbots.” Silverbolt paused, but kept his optics on Air Raid. Slingshot must have been able to hear the conversation as the Autobot’s orange optic band turned down toward Silverbolt and he put his fists on his hip plates.

Sure enough, Slingshot joined the conversation a moment later. “Yeah, Silverbolt. What exactly are we doing out here? I don’t see anything happening. They don’t need us on guard duty.”

Silverbolt sighed. “The point is that while we’re out here, nothing will happen. You see?” Silverbolt could see their point, but knew that if he gave in to their complaints, he would lose their dedication to guard duty for sure. The others closed the radio channel with the Aerialbot leader. He leaned back against the rock behind him and scanned the skies above him for Fireflight.

Silverbolt squinted against the bright, overcast sky to see the red F-4 Phantom fighter jet. Fireflight circled the volcano and rolled his wingtips back and forth as he flew past the other Aerialbots near the entrance to Autobot Headquarters and up the valley again. Fireflight appeared unstable in the air, but Silverbolt knew that the Aerialbot was only wrapped up in whatever he saw below him, which was what he was supposed to do when he was on patrol. Nevertheless, Silverbolt hailed Fireflight over his radio to check in with him.

“Fireflight, do you see anything of interest up there?”

“Do I ever,” came the overwhelmed response. “You ought to come up here and take a look for yourself.”

Silverbolt turned and craned his neck to observe the mouth of the volcano high above and behind him. A stream of white steam vented high into the sky above. “Uh, no thanks. I think I’ll stay down here.” He did not know anything about the inner workings of the Earth, and was concerned about the information relayed to him regarding the source of the tremors. Somehow the idea of an active volcano so close to home, even if the volcano was not predicted to erupt, spelled trouble one way or another.

***

Kickback landed lightly in the next field but the weight of his frame still crushed the remnants of the harvested wheat beneath him. A flurry of wings chattered around him as grasshoppers fled his ominous shadow. He inched himself forward on his appendages, looking over the length of the field for a patch missed by the harvester. The bristly ends of the pale wheat shafts brushed harmlessly against the underside of the Insecticon. 

Two clones of the giant Decepticon grasshopper set down on either side, waiting for their host to lead the way to the next food source. A moment later, the chassis of an enormous metallic boll weevil hurtled into the same field, leaving a trough of freshly ploughed earth behind him. 

“Where’s the grub, Kickback, Kickback?” the boll weevil Insecticon echoed in his tinny voice.

Kickback tested the cut wheat shafts in his mandibles then spat the bristles out. “This field’s been spent by those puny humans, humans.”

As the dark shape of the third Insecticon scuttled into the field beside the other two, both Kickback and Bombshell tensed instinctively. The third Insecticon wrapped his mandibles around the nearest dry stalks, but immediately spat them out also. The large chromed jaws of the black and purple Insecticon, in the form of a giant stag beetle, twitched with distaste. 

An incomprehensible metallic echo resonated from the stag beetle before he spoke. “All of the food is gone, gone.” 

During the recent summer months, the Insecticons enjoyed their fill of organic resources, but the harvesting season was nearing its close and food sources were growing scarce. They and their growing clone army needed to feed, and they needed to find a new source of energy soon.

It would have been easier to return to a different part of the Earth where their feeding could continue uninterrupted, but once they tasted the variety of rich energy sources in North America, they did not want to leave. The buffet was definitely superior here than in their former habitat of Indonesia, but it was harder to feed on the choicest items because the accursed Autobots were always alerted to their actions. Very often it was not worth the effort to pursue the human energy resource facilities because an ensuing battle with the Autobots burned through much of the energy they devoured, bringing the Insecticons back to an energy level close to that before their meal.

Also, an alliance with the other Decepticons failed since Megatron did not want to share his energon with anyone but his loyal warriors. First, the traitor promised the Insecticons a cornucopia of energy sources in North America, luring them away from their monopoly on the fields of Bali. But then Megatron double-crossed them by opening fire on them when the Insecticons fed on the energon that Megatron dutifully provided in exchange for a favor. Megatron was not a trustworthy source of energy. 

So, with Megatron and the Autobots competing for energy in the same vicinity as the Insecticons, the Insecticons needed to increase their numbers if they were to stand a chance of surviving. The production of their precious clone army, created from Bombshell’s insecto-shells and Shrapnel’s clone beams, was the answer. However, once the army was created, it needed to be sustained, which required much more energy than the three chief Insecticons did. Luckily, the increased numbers gave the Insecticons the confidence to attempt an attack on a more potent energy source than measly, organic foodstuffs.

Bombshell raised his long, chromed snout above the field, testing the air. “We may have missed the feast here, Shrapnel, but I smell something good in the air, air.”

Kickback’s antennae perked up. The large, metallic grasshopper double-checked his olfactory sensors. “That must be what I’m smelling, smelling.” He pushed himself forward with his powerful hind legs, eagerly testing for the source of the delectable smell wafting over his sensors. “I knew I was headed in the right direction, right direction.” The grasshopper brought the ends of his hind legs up against his body, then, with an enormous thrust of his hydraulics, jetted himself high into the air. A moment later, his aerial thrusters kicked in and he soared through the air, led by his olfactory sensors.

Bombshell turned to address the clone army. “Insecticons, follow us, us!” 

Both Bombshell and Shrapnel took to the sky after Kickback. Behind them, a dark swarm of their copies obediently followed.  

The cloud of Insecticons flew east across the dry, harvested fields far below, coasting on the wind toward the approaching mountain range. The smell of energy blowing in draughts toward them from some unknown source grew stronger as they passed over the range of forested foothills below. With energy absorbers starved dry, the Insecticons and their army could not deny themselves the feast that awaited them, no matter what it was. The more the scent of energy coated their olfactory sensors the more determined they became to find the source and take it. As they approached through the mountain passes, the Insecticons determined that the energy was emanating from the base of the high white cloud venting into the sky, however they had yet to fully comprehend what the source was.

“I can’t wait to gorge myself on such a fresh smelling source of energy, eh Bombshell, Bombshell?” Shrapnel commented, appendages twitching excitedly underneath him.

Bombshell turned his chromed snout in Shrapnel’s direction as he answered. “What do you say it’s a large tanker spill, ripe for us to clean up, clean up?” 

That would be easy pickings, indeed. The two beetle Insecticons laughed in their tinny, metallic voices, until Kickback interrupted them.

“Autobot, Autobot!” Kickback announced with an exasperated echo. “Flee before he sees us, sees us!” The Insecticon abruptly descended from the sky and disappeared into the thick of pine trees below.

“We don’t need to flee an Autobot! There are so many more of us than them, them,” Shrapnel replied with a metallic tone of glee.

“No,” Bombshell ordered, altering his flight path and following Kickback. “We are too low on energy. We can’t risk him calling for others, others.”

Reminded of the need to protect their clone army, Shrapnel reluctantly also dropped out of sight into the wooded mountains below. He knew that they may be able to defeat a single Autobot, but would risk losing a significant number of their clones should more Autobots join a fight. 

The boll weevil Insecticon landed on a boulder barely larger than him. He adjusted his footing, balancing as he inched himself around to find the others nearby. The Insecticon army dropped out of the sky around them like dark, metallic rain. The clones were not picky about where they found a foothold while they waited for the next direction from their hosts. Robotic grasshopper, stag beetle and boll weevil copies clung to the nearest tree, rock, or patch of ground.

“So what do we do now? That Autobot is blocking our way to the energy, energy,” Kickback asked, worried that their feast may be denied them.

“He is in the air, but we are now on the ground. We can burrow beneath him to our meal, meal,” Shrapnel responded with confidence.

“But that will take much energy,” the grasshopper replied with a tinny vocalizer filled with dismay. “How much farther is it, is it?”

“That, my fellow Insecticons,” Bombshell answered, “is the question of the day, day.” He double-checked his internal geo-tracking system, and raised his mandible to address the other two as well as the entire Insecticon army. As he spoke, his metallic vocalizer rang as if he were smiling. “My sensors tell me that today we will be feasting courtesy of the Autobots. This delectable smell that we’ve been following has led us to the Autobot’s Headquarters, Headquarters.”

The other two Insecticons’ vocalizers gasped with a raspy noise of shock and surprise.

“What?!” Shrapnel demanded, indignantly. “You expect us to take energon from the Autobots, Autobots?”

Kickback made a tinny noise in desperation. “We can’t fight them for it, for it.”

Bombshell laughed a strange, metallic laugh. “Fight them? We don’t need to fight them. We’ll take it right out from under olfactory sensors, sensors.”

Shrapnel recalled the white cloud venting off in the distance and realized that the source must have been the Autobot’s volcano, with the smell of fresh energy coming from their energon processing equipment. It must be overloaded, he thought with mouth buzzing for energy, for it to be emitting a scent so strong, so far away.

Realizing Bombshell’s plan to attack the energon generating equipment below the Autobot base, where there were no defenses, the Insecticon raised his chromed mandibles high, confidence renewing. His tinny chuckle resonated deep within his vocalizer. Yes, they would take as much energon as they needed, and no one would even know they were there.

“Insecticons!” Bombshell ordered loudly. “We burrow underneath Autobot Headquarters! A fresh batch of energon awaits us, awaits us!”

Kickback’s antennae perked up at Bombshell’s plan. Bombshell dug his long chromed mandible into the ground in front of him. Chunks of heaved earth flung to each side behind the chief Insecticon as he burrowed into the ground and disappeared. A moment later, Kickback bounded after the boll weevil Insecticon in the freshly turned out tunnel.

Shrapnel shoveled the earth before him with his own large mandibles until he had a hole started that he could press his metallic frame through. As soon as the third host disappeared, the first of the Insecticon army began to chew their own holes into the ground. The clones pushed themselves into a few earth passages to gain the advantage of their joined efforts in burrowing quickly to the energy source. Within minutes, the entire Insecticon army disappeared from sight under the cover of the sweeping boughs above.

***

Fireflight swooped down out of the sky and transformed into his robot mode. He balanced himself on the diminishing thrust from his engines, setting himself gently down near Silverbolt. The Aerialbot leader stood awaiting Fireflight’s report.

“It must have just been a flock of birds,” Fireflight explained, perplexed. “I didn’t find anything unusual, or even interesting.”

Silverbolt considered the Aerialbot’s reconnaissance. “Strange…but I suppose it the right time of year for them to be migrating.”

Fireflight shrugged as Skydive approached up the slope toward them.

“I suggest we keep our sensors alerted,” the air warfare strategist recommended with a hint of suspicion in his vocalizer. He placed his fists on his hip plates and gazed up at the volcano behind the other Aerialbots. “I don’t know about you, but my alert sensors are buzzing about this.”

Silverbolt trusted Skydive’s assessment, although he had no inner sense of alert over a large flock of birds, or whatever it was, observed on radar to the east of the base. After all, it was not the first odd thing the Autobots had ever picked up in their aerial space. 

“Okay,” Silverbolt conceded. “Skydive, you and Fireflight keep up aerial surveillance, just in case you’re right. If there’s something out there in the sky or on the ground, we’ll be sure to find it…or put else the concern to rest.”

Skydive nodded solemnly in acknowledgement. Glad to be directed back to the skies, Fireflight simply turned and leapt high into the air over the edge of the mountainside, kicking in his engines to catch his weight perfectly as he transformed midair. The hot exhaust from his thrusters pushing him skyward gusted over the other two Aerialbots. Skydive reflexively raised his arm to cover his faceplate, and a moment later followed Fireflight skyward, although careful not to vent the Aerialbot leader with his engine exhaust.

Silverbolt shook his head. 

***

Ratchet turned his head lazily to face Jazz, who was seated about ten feet away from him with a group of minibots. The black and white caretaker of the Ark had his feet up on the table and both arms spread across the back of the couch.

“Shouldn’t we be storing some of this energon?” the chief medical officer inquired, as he leaned over in his seat to dip his cup in the pan of energon on the floor. His motors tiring from the overcharge, he relaxed his frame.

Before Jazz could answer, Brawn interjected with a hearty laugh. “Only if there’s anything left!”

The comment elicited a chorus of laughter from the other minibots nearby.

“I’ll drink to that,” Bumblebee smiled merrily, eyes glowing brightly. He raised his cup and clinked it with the cups of Gears and Warpath.

“ZOWEE!” Warpath replied, his battle mask vents glowing bright blue, whether or not he was speaking. “You can BLAM say that again!”

“Oh, spare me the sound effects,” Gears complained, holding his head with one hand and his drink in the other. “They’re starting to give me an overcharge headache.”

“Oh, Gears…” Bumblebee whined in protest.

The lounge lights flickered. For a brief moment it seemed they would fade out, but the power ramped back up and all was normal. Ratchet exchanged a concerned look with Jazz. 

The saboteur grinned playfully. “Maybe a little too much power for the ol’ ship, eh Ratchet?” Jazz could not help but notice the gunner’s wide optics from a distance. “Oh, c’mon, Bluestreak. It’s nothing. Just a power surge. These things happen.”

Ratchet turned and observed Bluestreak. The silver Autobot never did like the energon buzz. After a moment, Ratchet slowly nodded his agreement with Jazz’s conclusion, and Bluestreak began to relax.

“See?” Jazz chuckled and shook his head. “Plenty of power.” 

Ratchet did have a good point, though, about storing the excesses for later. Too bad it would mean that he had to exercise his overheating hydraulics in order to get a little bit of work done. 

“Exc-uuuse me,” Powerglide said with inflection as Jazz lowered his feet for the minibot to get by. 

Jazz recognized Powerglide’s maneuver to leave before being asked to go to work storing the energon. Being so laid back after a few cups of energon, Jazz did not want to involve anyone that might be hard to work with, so he turned to Bumblebee to be his first volunteer.

“What do you say you help me get some storage containers for all this energon, Bumblebee?” Jazz asked as cool as possible so as not lay any heavies on the minibot.

“I’ll help the little guy do it,” Brawn volunteered himself with bravado, “as soon as I’m done this energon.”

Across the room, Huffer leaned back in his chair at the sound of Brawn’s loud voice. Brawn picked up his half-filled cup and downed it quickly, followed by the second full cup, double-fist style.

“Okay,” Jazz stood up, and placed a hand behind his head. “That lets me off the hook.”

Ratchet sat up straight, surprised to hear Jazz not taking more of a role in supervising the handling and storage of the energy. He might be a little buzzed on energon, but was not going to sit by idly while the job was not properly managed. Jazz was usually very good at managing others, but liked to do things with his own style, a style that did not always mesh with Ratchet’s expectations. 

“No it doesn’t,” Ratchet firmly corrected Jazz. “You can start by taking these pans and emptying them down below, where those two are going to take some storage containers. And when you’re done emptying them, bring them and some bigger ones back and I’ll turn this thing back on and we’ll really get going.”

Jazz raised his hands defensively, mocking concern. “Sure thing, boss Ratchet.”

“Boss?!” The chief medical officer looked cross for a moment, but then his expression gave way to lighthearted mirth. “Go on, get out of here.” 

Jazz chuckled as he turned back to face Bumblebee. “You know, on second thought, let’s go check the generator down below, just to make Bluestreak happy. C’mon, Bee.”

Bumblebee sprung out of his seat. Brawn was slower, but not less enthusiastic. There was work to be done.

The three Autobots ventured down to the deck below. The generator was located in a large room of its own due to its great size. It was one of the first pieces of equipment set up when they stabilized their base in the mountainside after coming out of stasis lock. The Autobots packed many generators for their journey, expecting them to be set up and extract resources for the contingent left back on Cybertron. But a substantial number of them broke loose in the crash and were heavily damaged. The one the Autobots used to convert the volcano’s geothermal energy into a reliable power source was one of the few that miraculously survived the crash without sustaining much damage.

Arriving at the generator room, the trio stopped and listened. The low drone of the generator running at capacity inside was muted through the double doors. Jazz looked between the others, observing their expressions as he adjusted the sensitivity of his auditory sensors. Finally, he shrugged and opened the two large doors.

Even though the machine was well isolated to prevent vibration transfer through the floor, the air waves carried the low, resonating sound toward the three Autobots standing at the doorway. Bumblebee covered his auditory receptors and decided to wait out in the hallway with the energon pans. Brawn took a few steps inside and looked around the room.

Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The thick conduits above the compressor module contained the fresh energon distributed to the ship’s systems, to Teletraan I and up to the dispenser in the lounge. Down below the generator, far beneath the floor that they stood upon, was the other half of the energy extraction equipment.

The physics behind the generating equipment was beyond any of their understanding. If it were not for Wheeljack and some of the other more technically inclined Autobots they would have powered down for the last time long ago, unable to provide themselves with the energy that powered their circuits.

Jazz checked the protection and alarms on the control panel. An amber light blinked its silent alarm status, indicating a fault on the main pump in the compressor unit. Jazz checked the dormant pump behind him. The secondary pump was on, taking up some of the load, so he tried resetting the breaker. After a brief moment, wherein the machinery ran a diagnostic, the big pump cycled back up and the compressor system was back up to full capacity again.

“Got it fixed?” Brawn asked loudly over the drone of heavy machinery as Jazz came back toward him.

“Yeah, no problem. Like I said: everything’s A-OK.”

“So, what was it?” the minibot inquired as they joined Bumblebee back in the hallway. The doors closed behind them and the sound level dropped back down to a normal level.

“Some kinda problem with one of the pumps. I just reset it,” Jazz shrugged.

“Well then, let’s get to work getting that energon stored,” Brawn stated as he rubbed his palms together.

“Okay,” Bumblebee chimed, full of energon as he picked up one of the pans and handed it to Brawn. 

With the other pan handed up to Jazz, the three made their way to one of the Ark’s storage vaults to pick up as many energon storage containers as they could carry. Energon cubes were useful for short term storage, but with the quantity of energon they were producing, they would need to use containers that would keep the energon fresh for longer. There were plenty of containers on the Ark since the purpose of their flight from Cybertron was to gather as much energon as possible and return home with the resources they needed to turn the tide and win the war. But thanks to the fact that the Earth was populated, it was not a simple matter for the Autobots to gather energy en masse as they had hoped. Add to that the fact that Megatron had to be stopped from destroying the Earth’s resources and harming humanity, there were plenty of empty energy storage containers available in the vault.

Brawn slung one of the large, silver cylinders effortlessly over one shoulder. “Hand me another, Jazz.” Jazz handed the tough minibot a second cylinder, which he heaved over the other shoulder with as little effort as he did the first. Brawn grinned at the other two Autobots. “I’ll see you two over at transfer room.”

The transfer room was the only place where they could safely transfer the energon to the storage containers. The room was designed to be explosion-proof and it contained all of the equipment to cleanly transfer energon and contain it at the necessary density for economy of space. 

Jazz picked up a cylinder and pivoted to face Bumblebee, then paused as he changed his mind. The cylinders were awfully big for the little yellow minibot, he realized. Jazz set the cylinder down on its end beside him and gently leaned on it as he spoke to Bumblebee.

“Hey Bumblebee, why don’t you go see if you can find some bigger pans to bring back to Ratchet. You know, somethin’ clean.” 

Bumblebee shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you say, Jazz.” 

As Bumblebee left the vault, Jazz picked up the two energon pans, carefully balancing them on one forearm then slowly lifted the cylinder under his other arm until he had all three items under control. Being the largest of the three Autobots, he could handle carrying more than the other two could. All he had to do was make it to the transfer room without experiencing a small tremor. He knew his chances were good that he would make it, since the periodic shaking seemed to be diminishing in the last hour. But just to make the trip a little more interesting, Jazz turned on his stereo to provide some tunes for his trek over to the transfer room.

Bumblebee headed down the vacant hallway, past the locked rooms on either side of him. He heard Jazz’s music echo down the hallway in the opposite direction as Jazz headed over to the transfer room. Thankfully, Jazz did not have his music turned up too loud. Whatever was in the rooms must not have been needed very often for Prime to keep them locked, he pondered. Still, he was curious about the nature of the rooms’ contents. 

Since the lower levels of the ship were not occupied, but instead used for storage, they were dimly lit to conserve power. There was something written above a couple of the doorways, but Bumblebee had trouble making out the script.

“Now where would they put a light switch around here?” he wondered out loud, head still buzzing with energon. 

Bumblebee felt along the wall as he walked further along the hallway and around a corner. 

“There’s not even a control panel around here,” he complained to himself.

As he continued to look for a light switch, his optics gradually adjusted to the soft lights, and the script became more readable. With brightly glowing blue optics fixed on the plaque above one door he read the description.

“Miscellaneous tooling. Nope. That’s not what I’m looking for.”

The gentle lighting above appeared to become brighter as the minibot’s optics continued to adjust in the dim hallway. He checked the plaque across the hall, but the room only turned out to be full of recycled oil and filters, so he slowly continued down the hall, temporarily distracted by trying to learn what was in all of the rooms on either side of him.

“Consoles, manifolds, and housings,” he read aloud to himself. “Nope. That’s definitely not it.”

The energon buzz briefly interrupted the functioning of his cerebral circuits, and Bumblebee stopped, having forgotten what it was he was looking for. “Oh slag, what was it I was looking for again?”

He was answered by a raspy metallic noise further down the hallway. Surprised to hear anything in that part of the ship, he quickly turned in the direction of the noise. Everyone was supposed to be upstairs, that is, unless Ratchet had come down to help them find the containers himself.

“Ratchet? Is that you?” Bumblebee called into the shadows. The door-lined hallway disappeared into darkness. He strained his optic servos, waiting for a reply. None came, so he took a few steps further down the hall, expecting to see the larger Autobot emerge out of the shadows any moment. 

Bumblebee chuckled. “C’mon Ratch’, you can cut it out. I know you’re there.”

An eerie silence followed his words as they echoed into the darkness down the hallway. Just as he began to wonder what he ought to do, there was another metallic noise from down the hall, followed by another, and then another. He tilted his head as he listened to it. 

“What on Earth is that?” Bumblebee spoke softly to himself, realizing it was obviously not Ratchet.

It sounded like something was cleaving the metal on the ceiling. Or more like it sounded like something heavy that was on the ceiling. The sound of deforming metal increased in frequency and volume, until Bumblebee finally realized that there was something hurriedly approaching him along the ceiling.

“Uh-oh,” the minibot uttered as several large shadows sprung toward him. As he disappeared underneath a multitude of dark shapes, a metallic cry rose up and was carried back up the hallway where it mingled and faded with Jazz’s music.

Brawn held the third cylinder upright against the base of the filling rack and locked the clamps in place. Jazz’s rock and roll music jarred his auditory sensors as the other Autobot connected the filling assembly to the storage cylinder and emptied the pans into the transparent sump tank. As he stood back and watched Jazz, the sound resonated uncomfortably with a natural harmonic of his cerebral chips.

“Jazz, do you mind turning that thing off?” Brawn asked, squinting. “I don’t know how much longer I can take it.”

Jazz poured the last of the energon into the sump then turned his stereo off. “Sorry, Brawn,” Jazz apologized. “I forgot you don’t like my easy listening music.”

“What I don’t like is it shaking my cerebral chips loose like that misfit machine, Rumble,” Brawn answered bluntly. “Ah…that’s more like it.”

Jazz gazed over at the sight glass on the side of the sump. It was only an eighth full. 

“We’re gonna be here a looong time,” he reflected to Brawn.

“Yeah, too bad we can’t just run some hoses down here,” Brawn replied with hands upturned. “We’re gonna need a bunch of bigger pans...”

“…and a whole lotta help,” Jazz finished the thought.

Brawn rested his knuckles on his hip plates and pushed out his chestplate. “Well, I’m all juiced up and ready to go,” the minibot stated, a wide overcharge grin on his faceplate.

Jazz chuckled at Brawn’s pun. True enough, they had enough energon in them to last well through the job, even if it took them into the evening just to keep up with the new energon being pumped. If they paced themselves they may not even feel the aftereffects once the buzz wore off.

Brawn turned and looked through the doorway of the room, leaning to see further down the hallway. 

“Where’s Bumblebee?” he wondered. “It isn’t that hard to find bigger pans around here.” The olive green and orange minibot laughed at the thought of the weaker Bumblebee struggling to handle a set of large pans. “I bet I’ll have to carry them for him.”

With that, Brawn strode out of the room with Jazz behind him. The two Autobots returned to check the room where the pans were located, but Bumblebee was nowhere to be found, so they ventured back to the vault. The door was still open, but the large repository was vacant. Jazz scratched his head.

“Where’d he go?” the black and white Autobot wondered out loud.

A faint metallic scratching echoed down the corridor outside the room. Both Autobots spun around, surprised by the unusual sound. Brawn looked out in the hallway, but saw nothing in the shadowy distance.

“Bumblebee….?” the minibot asked, unsure how Bumblebee would be making such a strange sound.

“Let’s go check it out,” Jazz told Brawn. “He must be having some trouble.”

As they approached the corner in the hallway, the sound resolved from scratching into the clear and awful sound of metal being bent and ripped. Both Autobots looked at each other knowingly. They hurried around the corner and were dumbstruck by what they found.

Their mouths hung open in disbelief.

“Insecticons!” Jazz finally cried, prying his optics off the torn chassis of Bumblebee. 

Bumblebee lay unconscious on his back underneath five Insecticons. His faceplate missing, all his facial mechanisms were visible. Bumblebee’s chestplate and neck were cleaved open and the ends of his severed fuel lines rhythmically gushed energon. The five Insecticons, glowing pink energon coating their quivering mandibles, were busy feeding off the minibot’s fuel lines when Jazz and Brawn surprised them.

“That’s my friend, you rotten pests!” Brawn called angrily out toward the unfazed Insecticon clones.

He ran forward several steps, ready to grab the nearest Decepticon and toss it into the others, but stopped abruptly when he kicked something in the shadows. The dull grey object slid across the floor and rebounded against the wall before finally coming to rest next to Bumblebee. It was his faceplate. Brawn winced at the grisly sight.

One of the Decepticon grasshoppers placed a protective appendage across the waist of its prey and continued to chew on a burst fuel line. The beetle Insecticons hissed a grating, echoing noise, warning the Autobots to stay away.

“I said-” Brawn scolded them as he boldly approached, grabbing the large chromed mandibles of a stag beetle clone. He twisted the jaws until the Insecticon flipped over into a boll weevil clone, knocking it into the wall, before the momentum flipped it over again, back onto its right side. Brawn rushed forward and grabbed the stag beetle again by its large jaws. He thrust forward, pushing the chromed mandibles of the stag beetle into the air until the underside of the Insecticon was exposed. “Bug off!”  A swift kick to the prone underbody sent it hurtling into the shadows, where it landed with a loud crash. 

Two grasshoppers leapt on top of Brawn, searching for an easy joint to cleave open. Energon dripped from their open mandibles onto him as he struggled to hold both of them off him. But two quick bursts from Jazz’s photon rifle dispatched them and the minibot was free again. Brawn made quick work of the last Insecticon, another stag beetle. He swung it by the mandibles, letting go so that it flew into the other recovering Insecticons. With a momentary reprieve, Jazz rushed forward to provide cover fire for Brawn as Brawn bent down and picked up Bumblebee’s partially eaten chassis and faceplate. He carefully placed Bumblebee over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could toward the elevator.

“Jazz!” he called heartily to the other Autobot. “Time to go!”

“Coming!” Jazz replied as he let off another shot to keep the Insecticons at bay.

The clones inched forward, looking to reclaim their stolen meal, but were met by Jazz’s photon blasts. As he backed away from the Decepticons, Jazz let off a final rapid succession of shots at the five Insecticons. Landing several shots to the head of one of the grasshoppers, it stopped and collapsed where it stood. A steady stream of energon poured out from its ruptured throat line deep inside its broken head casing.

Smelling the fresh fuel so close by, the other Insecticons lost interest in the Autobots and turned on the fallen grasshopper clone. Seeing the Decepticons distracted, Jazz turned and bolted for the elevator after Brawn.

Inside the elevator, Jazz hit the close door button and the heavy door slid shut, comfortably sealing them inside. He hurriedly pressed the button for the lounge floor, where Ratchet and the others were. As the elevator lifted, Brawn looked over his shoulder at the still yellow and black minibot.

“Is he…dead?” Brawn asked hesitantly, fearing the worst.

“I don’t know,” Jazz replied flatly as he gazed at Bumblebee’s loose body resting over Brawn’s shoulder. “Let’s just get him to Ratchet. He’s the only one that can do something.”

The elevator door slid open. The hallway on the lounge level was quiet. Jazz poked his head out and checked in both directions, his trigger finger ready on his photon rifle. Brawn tightened his grip on Bumblebee’s faceplate, aware that if they encountered any trouble he was seriously inhibited from fighting. 

“All clear,” Jazz announced, and stepped out into the hallway. “I’ll scout ahead to make sure its safe. Follow me.”

The tip of Jazz’s silver photon rifle flicked quickly around the corner, followed by the tensed Autobot an instant later. The coast clear, he silently motioned forward to Brawn. Jazz jogged as quietly as possible up the hallway, his audio sensors turned up to detect the slightest noise out of the ordinary. The carefree voices in the lounge echoing softly toward him told him that there were no Insecticons blocking their passage.

“C’mon Brawn!” Jazz called. “Shake a leg!”

The smaller Autobot’s feet resounded heavily against the metallic floor as he hurried toward Jazz and the lounge. “This is fast as I can go carrying two tons of Bumblebee.”

The sudden sight of Jazz and Brawn bursting through the doorway into the lounge caught everyone by surprise. As Jazz stopped to lock the door behind them, Brawn hurried over to Ratchet and laid Bumblebee’s chassis and faceplate on the floor. Curiosity faded into mute shock as the Autobots gathered around their fallen friend. Some had to look away.

“What on Cybertron happened?” Ratchet cried as he knelt down beside the broken minibot. His training took over as he began to assess the severity of Bumblebee’s injuries. 

“Insecticons!” Jazz and Brawn announced in unison. 

“The Insecticons did it,” repeated Brawn, angrily. “We found them over by the storage lockers.”

“What?! How would Insecticons get in here without us knowing?” Cliffjumper asked incredulously.

A murmur rose up as the others pulled out their weapons. Teletraan I should have detected the intruders. Since no alarm had sounded, fear and confusion began to spread throughout the lounge. Decepticons were not supposed to be able to penetrate their way into the Ark without any warning.

Ratchet quickly removed the fragments of fuel line lagging from Bumblebee’s interior so that he could get a good look at the injuries. It was difficult to see how far the damage extended with all of the energon coating the minibot’s internal components.

“Get me a rag!” the chief medical officer ordered sternly, and someone handed him one a moment later.

Ratchet began to wipe down the mechanisms, then set the rag aside when he realized that it would be more effective to remove several damaged modules to get at Bumblebee’s core conduits more easily. It was obvious that the lines to Bumblebee’s head were damaged beyond simple repair, but the medic needed to know the extent of any disruption to Bumblebee’s laser core system. He moved quickly, manually shutting off the valves to Bumblebee’s non-vital systems to conserve energy and removed the modules in his way.

Several Autobots stood dumbfounded around the chief medical officer. Bumblebee was the last Autobot that deserved to suffer such a fate, and a grisly example of what could happen to any one of them. Jazz seized the moment to get the others’ attention.

“Hey, everyone!” he called loudly. Everyone but Ratchet turned their optics in his direction. “Autobots, we have got a big problem on our hands here. We’ll have to move fast to stop these Insecticons.”

“I’m gonna bust up some Decepticons and make them wish they never heard of the Ark,” Cliffjumper stated angrily with clenched fists raised.

“Yeah,” Ironhide enthusiastically joined in. “We’ll show them not to mess with us.”

“Hold it guys,” Jazz responded quickly. “I said ‘fast,’ but we can’t just go chargin’ in there blindly.”

“No?” Ironhide tensed as he challenged Jazz through narrowed optics. “Just watch me.”

Cliffjumper nodded his agreement.

Jazz put his hands on his hip plates and tilted his head to one side. “I counted five Insecticons down below.”

“And how many of us do you see, Jazz?” Cliffjumper retorted emphatically.

Brawn interjected, knowing Jazz’s conclusion. “What he means is the Insecticon clones have gotten into the Ark somehow.”

“And I don’t think we met up with the real McCoys,” Jazz finished.

“That still makes eight of them against…fifteen of us?” the red minibot pushed his point.

“But there could be hundreds of those things,” Huffer protested as he stepped forward to add his input.

Ratchet shook his head as he listened to the conversation between the others. He needed to get Bumblebee to medical bay, and he was going to need help doing it. Discarding the burst hose ends and removing the intake manifold for Bumblebee’s power converter, he observed the array of tiny valves hissing dryly as they sucked in air with each timed opening. His systems are starving!

“I need a volunteer, fast!” Ratchet interrupted the others.

Bumblebee was still functioning, but his chances for recovery would depend on how quickly he received a new supply of energy. Sustaining his power core was vital now, but micro valves could not be supplied from an energon dispenser tap.

Ratchet’s request was met by obstinate silence as the others struggled to comprehend what he was asking for. The chief medical officer furrowed his optic ridges, growing frustrated at the lack of response.

“I need someone to give Bumblebee an energon transfusion,” Ratchet explained crossly. “Now someone better step forward or, so help you, I’ll choose one of you myself!”

“I’ll do it,” Gears announced with sullen resignation. He sat down on the floor next to Bumblebee and shrugged. “It’s not like I’m going to be of much help, anyway.”

Cliffjumper rolled his optics and looked away. “Pathetic…” he cursed quietly.

Ratchet moved over to the other side of Gears and pushed against his chest plate to get him to lay down.

Gears turned his head towards Ratchet. “Just do me one favor,” he requested as the chief medical officer began to disassemble his torso down to his power assembly.

“What’s that?” Ratchet inquired as he hastily worked.

“If we’re losing, don’t bring me back online.”

The large red and white medic stopped and looked at him with surprise. “I’m not taking you offline,” Ratchet explained, then finished with a half-smile. “You’ll be awake through the whole thing.”

Gears moaned. He felt the power to his legs leave as Ratchet disconnected a multi-head power conduit and fed it into Bumblebee’s torso.

As Ratchet continued to set up a transfusion interface between Bumblebee and Gears, the other Autobots formulated a tactical response.

“We need action now,” Ironhide demanded of Jazz, pounding his fist into his palm. “Either you have a plan, or I’m takin’ matters into my own hands.”

“Cool it, Ironhide,” Brawn interjected. “Prime left Jazz in charge, and I’m sure he has a plan. Right Jazz?”

Everything was happening so quickly that Jazz had no time to devise a failsafe response, and the excess energon in his systems was not helping matters. He needed to get to Teletraan I, but first he had to direct the others with him in the lounge. 

“Okay, guys,” Jazz waved his arms in the air to get everyone’s attention. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna split up into two teams and search the Ark to find out where the Insecticons are coming in and try to stop them. Focus on C-deck first. The lounge will be our rallying point.”

“But I need help getting Bumblebee and Gears to medical bay,” Ratchet protested.

Jazz corrected himself. “Okay, three teams. Brawn, Huffer.”

The two minibots stepped forward at Jazz’s request.

“Help Ratchet take those two to medical bay, then stand guard there,” Jazz instructed them.

“But what if the Insecticons find us?” Huffer worried.

“Don’t worry, Huffer,” Brawn responded gruffly, nudging the orange and grey minibot with his elbow. “I can handle a few big bugs for you.”

Huffer looked to Ratchet for some consolation that they would be safe in medical bay.

“I can lock the door, but I can’t do much else,” Ratchet explained as he finished the energon transfusion.

Huffer crossed his arms and laughed at the futility of the situation. “We’re doomed.”

“Maybe you’d like us to all give up right now,” Cliffjumper reacted, then turned his back on Huffer. “Well, I’m gonna fight as long as I’m functioning.”

Several other Autobots voiced their agreement with Cliffjumper.

Cliffjumper eagerly looked up at Jazz, his optics still glowing brightly blue from all the energon. “Jazz, who’s on my team?”

Jazz looked about the lounge. Huffer transformed and Brawn and Ratchet carefully lifted Gears and Bumblebee onto the back of the small orange tractor trailer rig. Jazz summed up the available Autobots, including a few that were elsewhere in the Ark. This was a job for everyone.

“Cliffjumper,” Jazz addressed the minibot with an air of authority. “You and Bluestreak find Trailbreaker. The three of you are team one.”

“Right away,” the minibot acknowledged Jazz. Cliffjumper opened the locked door and hurriedly left the lounge with his pistol in hand. Bluestreak picked up his beam rifle, which was leaning up against the arm of the couch, and followed him.

“Warpath, Windcharger,” Jazz announced the names of the two minibots. “You are with me on team two. I need you two to find Hound, then regroup back here. I’m gonna check what’s up with Teletraan then meet you back here.”

“You WHAM said it,” Warpath confirmed the order, and the other two minibots left the lounge to find their other team member.

“What about me?” Ironhide inquired with concern in his vocalizer. “Where’s my piece of the action?”

“Sorry, Ironhide,” Jazz apologized. “But I need someone to guard our rally point.”

The old veteran grumbled his displeasure. “But I can fight.”

Jazz laughed and shook his head. “I don’t doubt it, man.” 

“Then let me go with Cliffjumper, or even to medical bay,” Ironhide suggested, hoping to persuade Jazz. “I don’t want to sit here on my tailpipe while everyone else gets to bust up these Deceptibugs.”

“Ironhide,” Jazz addressed the older Autobot with a sigh. “You’re the best ‘bot for the job. It’ll be you, Beachcomber and Powerglide, when you find him.”

Across the room, Beachcomber leaned sideways, resting his head in his hand upon hearing Jazz’s news. While he was glad not to be assigned a fighting role, he also hoped that the three of them were not attacked. The thought of potentially having to deal out violence or suffer it done to him visibly disturbed him. 

Ironhide observed the easy going geologist and crossed his arms. “Alright,” he reluctantly agreed with a tense jaw mechanism, then looked back at Jazz. “But I don’t like it.”

Ratchet followed Huffer through the doorway, then stopped and looked back at the two conversing Autobots. “Don’t let Ironhide give you any trouble,” the chief medical officer offered in support of Jazz. “He’s just been cooped up in here too long.” He smiled at Jazz and Ironhide, then disappeared behind the door as it shut.

With his photon rifle ready, Jazz left through the other door, headed for Teletraan I. Alone in the lounge with Beachcomber, Ironhide thought for a moment about radioing Powerglide about being needed to guard the lounge. But, he grinned to himself, if he left to look for the minibot himself, he might chance seeing some action if he was lucky. So with that, the security chief left Beachcomber by himself. Beachcomber looked as if he would protest for a moment, but refrained from saying anything as Ironhide left.

Using the cover of shadowy sections of hallway and protection behind corners, Jazz stealthily crept through the Ark toward Teletraan I. Bluestreak might have been right to be worried about what lurked in the shadows, after all. Sneaking around inside the ship reminded him of the tension of special operations back on Cybertron, when the game was all about survival. Being cool was essential for overcoming fear and concern for oneself during a mission, and it allowed him to focus expertly on the objective. This was no different.

He cautiously checked the perimeter of the control room before entering. The main screen blinked on as if Teletraan I knew that Jazz was coming to check it. The room appeared clear, so the saboteur entered and approached the large main computer.

“Teletraan I,” Jazz summoned the computer as he pressed buttons on the console. “Why was there no alarm when the Insecticons got in?”

“There are no Insecticons inside Autobot Headquarters,” Teletraan I replied in monotone.

“What?” Jazz asked aloud in surprise. “What about outside the base?”

“There are no Insecticons detected outside the base.”

Jazz was puzzled. Something must be wrong with Teletraan I because there were definitely Insecticons inside the base. 

“Teletraan, get me Silverbolt,” he stated firmly.

A grainy image of the Aerialbot leader appeared on the large screen in front of Jazz, lighting up the room. Jazz adjusted the output to improve the connection with Silverbolt to no avail.

“Silverbolt, what’s happening out there?” Jazz asked urgently.

“What do you mean?” the Aerialbot replied, confused by the question. He double checked around him before continuing. “Nothing, I think. Why? What – is it the volcano?”

Jazz had not stopped to think that there could be a connection between the recent seismic activity and the arrival of the Insecticons, but there was no time to think about it just then. 

“We’ve got Insecticons crawling around in here. They already took down Bumblebee. Are you under attack out there? We didn’t get an alarm and we don’t know how they’re getting in,” Jazz answered quickly.

Silverbolt was stunned by the news. “Insecticons…?” There was no sign of any Decepticon activity outside the base. That is, he slowly realized, unless those radar anomalies were not migrating birds at all. Suddenly, it made sense. The reason why Fireflight and Skydive could not find anything was because the Insecticons must have gone underground, right beneath their feet into the base. “No, it’s been quiet out here, but I think -”

“No time right now,” Jazz interrupted. “Just find out where -”

Interference interrupted the communication and the screen turned to white noise as circuitry crackled inside the paneling near the right side of Teletraan’s console. Something was crunching through conduit and electrical components inside the main computer. He aimed his rifle at the spot, unable to see what was behind the surface. Teletraan I’s screen flickered and shorted out, leaving him in the dimly lit room. 

Whatever was behind that paneling was the cause of the signal interference. Jazz knew what it had to be, he just did not know how many. He adjusted his grip on his photon rifle and prepared to shoot the panel open and find out. As he aimed carefully at where he gauged to be the center of the noise, he regretted having to shoot at Teletraan I. But if he did not shoot it, the rest of the computer would become lunch.

Three quick, precise blasts opened up a section of the orange-gold housing. Something inside the machine moved in the flashes of light from the ruined circuitry, but then stopped when it saw the one who interrupted its meal. In an instant, the housing peeled away from the blast hole as a boll weevil Insecticon burst forth, the end of its chromed mandible coated with energon and pieces of broken computer chips. 

Jazz instinctively backed away as the Decepticon emerged out of Teletraan I. The sight of it was surreal. How could Insecticons get in so thoroughly without any warning? This one must have chewed through the Teletraan’s communication cables.

The Insecticon did not attack immediately, but instead stopped and lifted its long chromed snout, sensing Jazz. Jazz took the opportunity to aim his weapon for another shot, but it sensed the danger and leapt at him. He squeezed off a single shot, but it missed entirely, leaving a smoking black scar on the floor. Jazz struggled to remain standing as the Insecticon grabbed his limbs, tightening its grip and forcing his joints to flex. Several tense seconds passed before the Insecticon reared itself up in frustration and aimed its mandible at Jazz’s chestplate.

Realizing that the big Decepticon bug was interested in going for his power, Jazz shifted his weight, forcing them to be overbalanced to one side. The maneuver worked perfectly, and the two crashed to the floor with the Insecticon pinned underneath Jazz, however his photon rifle slipped from his hand and clattered on the metallic floor. 

Prone now, the Insecticon let go of Jazz long enough for Jazz to free himself and twist away from its grasp. As he turned away, he swiped his hand along the floor, collecting his photon rifle. Before the boll weevil could right itself, Jazz focused his aim on the underbody and fired rapidly. The Insecticon twitched under the first few shots as they penetrated its underbody. After another half dozen blasts, its appendages went slack, the mechanical components damaged so that it could no longer move.

The danger passed, Jazz held his fire and stood up tall. He coolly approached the Insecticon, which he knew to be a clone since it did not transform without a command from Bombshell. The clone’s mandible clicked at him as he trained his weapon between its optics.

“Lights out,” Jazz told it, and he squeezed the trigger. 

***

After several unsuccessful attempts to re-establish contact with Jazz, Silverbolt gave up and closed the static-filled communication channel. He needed to get down to the control room to find Jazz himself since Jazz may need help. But, as he formulated his plan, he caught a glimpse of Slingshot dashing toward the entrance to the base out of the corner of his optics, and the Aerialbot leader turned in surprise to see what was the matter. 

Slingshot stopped short of the entrance to regard the large, closed blast doors. In a moment of disbelief, he walked up and put his hand on the metallic surface. A few seconds later, Silverbolt emerged around the rock outcropping and tensed when he saw the base closed off.

“What’s going on? Why did they close the doors?” Slingshot asked Silverbolt, confused, as the Aerialbot leader ran toward him. 

Seeing action, Air Raid quickly followed the other two and landed next to Silverbolt in time to hear Slingshot’s question.

“I don’t know,” Silverbolt began, shaking his head. “Jazz said they were being attacked by Insecticons, and then the signal went dead.”

“Then we have to get in there!” Slingshot concluded and stood back, quickly pulling his neutron rifle from its subspace pocket and taking aim at the doors. He cursed as several blasts deflected harmlessly off the blast doors, one barely missing Air Raid as he ducked out of its path. “Serves them right for holing up inside this wreck!” He feigned a frustrated kick before hammering his fist against the large blast doors. The rap sounded insignificant through the thick metal.

“You just need to pick the lock, Slingshot,” Air Raid explained as he produced his own weapon and sighted up, aiming for the control panel at the side.

“No! Wait!” Silverbolt called out fervently.

Air Raid lowered his weapon and both Aerialbots looked at their team leader as if he was crazy.

“You mean you don’t want us to break in and help the others?” Slingshot retorted.

“No,” Silverbolt replied, then blinked at the double meaning of his answer. “‘No’ is not what I mean. If you destroy the controls we’ll never get in.”

Slingshot was incredulous. “Who cares about the controls if it’s locked?! We just need to get the door open!”

“Slingshot, we have to try,” Silverbolt instructed his contemptuous charge. “Air Raid, see if you can find a way to get the door unlocked…without ruining the controls.”

“Right away,” Air Raid acknowledged and ran over to the control panel.

Slingshot crossed his arms and looked away. This was wasting time.

Air Raid furrowed his optic ridges as he made attempt after attempt to open the blast doors. Seeing that Air Raid was not having any success with the lock, Silverbolt approached to help. After many painfully long minutes, Air Raid finally turned to Silverbolt with desperation in his vocalizer. “It’s no use. It must be locked from the inside.”

Slingshot’s patience was thinning. “How on Cybertron did Insecticons get past us?” Slingshot asked in frustration.

“They went underneath us,” Silverbolt answered plainly. He radioed the other two Aerialbots out on air patrol and explained the situation to them, requesting their return to the base.

“Okay, so tell me why don’t we form Superion and break the door down then?” Slingshot shot at Silverbolt.

Silverbolt was accustomed to Slingshot’s challenges, but he was starting to push the limits of Silverbolt’s patience with him. He paused to reflect on Jazz’s request and considered their options. As he did, Skydive came in quickly from patrol and transformed into robot mode behind the three Aerialbots, followed closely by Fireflight. 

“Because,” Silverbolt reminded them, “you’ll leave the base defenseless until the door gets fixed.”

“That should be the least of our worries!” Air Raid sniped, not believing his own auditory receptors.

“What exactly happened, and what are we doing?” Skydive inquired as he approached the other three Aerialbots.

The others turned to face him. 

“Well, let’s see,” Slingshot began in a mocking tone. “Insecticons burrowed underneath us into the base and are attacking the others as we speak, but our fearless leader here doesn’t think we should blast the controls or break the door down to get-”

“Slingshot! I didn’t say that!” Silverbolt snapped then quickly collected himself. The other Aerialbots jumped at their leader’s flash of anger. “Sorry, guys,” he apologized to the others then sternly faced Slingshot. “You’re not helping anything get done here.”

Slingshot withheld the signal to his vocalizer. Seeing that Slingshot was still riled up, Silverbolt addressed the others.

“Jazz instructed me to find out how the Insecticons are getting in,” he explained with firmness in his vocalizer tone. “The others are not defenseless, so I’m not in any rush to break down the door at this point. For all I know, they were closed on purpose.”

Air Raid exchanged a look of acknowledgement with Skydive and Fireflight. Silverbolt’s assessment made sense. 

“Now, SkyDive, I want you to stay here at the entrance with me, and the rest of you go find where those Insecticons burrowed and make sure that no more get in.”

A wide smile spread across Air Raid’s faceplate as he quickly pulled his fist back toward him with excitement. “Finally, some action!” 

Before he and Fireflight charged off for the skies, Skydive was quick to catch their attention. “That area where those radar anomolies disappeared…check it again. I bet that’s where the Insecticons went.”

“Right, good idea,” Silverbolt agreed.

Fireflight nodded and both Aerialbots jumped into the sky, transformed, and roared off in jet mode. Slingshot remained, brooding. But he was not about to look foolish in front of Silverbolt. As he prepared to leave also, he tried a different approach.

“Yeah, well, let me know when you feel like knocking the door down,” he began in a more pliant tone as he subspaced his neutron rifle. “Otherwise, I’ll be out in the field with those two.”

A gust of hot exhaust blasted toward Silverbolt and Skydive as Slinghot catapulted himself skyward, transformed, and shot up with a sudden thrust of his engine.

“Not very cooperative today, is he?” Skydive responded.

“Tell me about it,” Silverbolt replied with exhaustion.

As the three Aerialbots flew across the landscape to find the Insecticons’ entrance holes, Skydive tried his hand at working the blast door controls. Silverbolt attempted to call some of the other Autobots, but it became clear that all communication with the base was cut off.

***

Jazz hurried back to the lounge as fast as he could since it was not safe for any Autobot to be alone while Insecticons lurked inside the ship. The metallic sound of his bipedal stride gave him away before he emerged through the door to find team two and Ironhide’s group of three gathered in the lounge. Having just learned more of the seriousness of their predicament, he urgently addressed those present.

“Guys, I’ve got bad news!”

“Oh no, more bad news?” Beachcomber asked woefully, putting his head in his hands.

“What could be worse?” Windcharger called out.

“Aw, don’t ask a question like that,” Ironhide criticized, shaking his head, “‘cause you’ll always get it.”

“Let him talk,” Hound called from the back of the room.

Jazz’s figure slumped before he spoke. As he looked about the lounge, he counted nearly half the number of Autobots were now elsewhere in the Ark. This spelled a new problem.

“An Insecticon got into Teletraan I and chewed up the communications hardware. Without a repeater here underground, all our communicators are dead.”

Expressions of dismay were exchanged as the implications set in. At last there was a reason why Teletraan I did not issue an alarm with Insecticons inside the ship.

“Good thing you came looking for me, Ironhide,” Powerglide stated to the red and grey Autobot nearby, as he held an injured arm. Sparks shot out of the rupture in his forearm as he flexed the fingers of his right hand. “This is not the kind of situation where I’d want to be left alone.”

Ironhide grinned and tilted his head to one side. “Yeah, well you sure took care of that Insecticon,” he mused as he recalled the smoking chassis of the stag beetle clone in the hallway when he met up with Powerglide. “but I’d have liked to help.” 

Windcharger called out over the others for more information. “Hey Jazz! Did you figure out how the Insecticons got in?”

The guardian of the Ark shook his head. “It’s nice and quiet outside. I told Silverbolt to find out where they got in, but the signal broke up halfway through,” Jazz answered with hands upturned. “I just hope he got the message.”

“He didn’t come down to the control room?” Hound inquired.

Ironhide grumbled in response. “Sounds strange to me.”

“I can only guess he must have tried,” Jazz figured. “There was no time for me to go up there and have a discussion. We’re in the middle of somethin’ here and we’ve just gotta handle it.”

As Jazz finished his sentence, the lights briefly flickered again. The Autobots looked up with worried expressions.

“You know, that’s really starting to get annoying,” Powerglide complained. “Why are they doing that?”

“’Cause the Insecticons must be going after the power.” Jazz’s expression relaxed as he revealed the reason for the Decepticon invasion. He appeared cool about the Insecticon problem as he stood with his photon rifle on its end beneath the palm of one hand. 

“Of course,” Beachcomber agreed quietly.

A few of the others turned in surprise to hear his reflective realization behind them.

Beachcomber was silent for a moment before sitting up straight and looking about at everyone, waiting for Jazz’s queue to continue. Jazz’s lip components twisted to one side in a cunning smile, signaling for Beachcomber to explain.

“It’s rrreal simple,” the geologist explained to the others. “This volcano’s positively radiating energy with its activity. The Insecticons must have smelled the energon we’re producing and come looking for it.”

“Like ants to sugar!” Hound interjected.

“Like what to what?” Warpath finally spoke up, wondering what Hound’s statement had to do with the problem. Beside him, Windcharger shrugged in response.

Hound explained. “Ants are Earth insects that work together in groups, sort of like the Insecticons. When they smell sugar – or in this case, energon – they won’t rest until they find it.”

“That’s why they attacked Bumblebee?” Windcharger asked with surprise. “Because they could smell the energon he’d been drinking?”

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