Deep space....
]We have the information. 
]There is more. Of a new sort. It must be assimilated before the
Incarnation can be selected.
]We shall aquire this information. These beings are now irrelevant.

*****

	"Hm. It appears that there have been some...ah...unexpected
side effects.  We....AUGH!"
	Afterburner went flying through Astrotrain's cavernous
interior, propelled by Brawl's fist. As he impacted the rear wall, he
summoned his particle-accelerator rifle from subspace and aimed it at
the charging Combaticon. A small explosion between the two temporarily
distracted them.
	Onslaught, in his missile truck form, spoke. "Enough!
Punishment for failure is Megatron's duty and pleasure, Brawl...not
yours. Besides, if you destroy him, none of us can undo what he has
done. Which is not to say I don't sympathize with your feelings."
	"Yeah, well I say he can work just as well if he's missing
some useless parts....like those wings of his!" Brawl advanced on
Afterburner, who was still trying to regain his footing. The chamber
was too narrow for him to transform, putting him at a significant
disadvantage.
	"Hold, Brawl. You will NOT violate my orders." Reluctantly,
Brawl stopped.  Each one of the Combaticons had faced Onslaught at
some point in the past;each one had barely crawled away
intact. Onslaught was leader not merely by appointment, but by right
-- the right of might, which was all that mattered in Decepticon
political philosophy.
	Onslaught shifted back to robot form, walked over to the now
standing Afterburner. He glanced, derisively, at the accelerator
rifle. "That toy won't harm me, but it will anger me enough to forget
what I said to Brawl.  Put it BACK." After a moment's hesitation, the
rifle vanished. "Good.  Now....you have made a grevious error, but not
a fatal one. If you find a way to undo it, you may well be permitted
to live after only...minor...punishment. If you fail...we all die
here, but you will die first, and not pleasantly at all. Your Energon
and capacitors will keep us functional for quite some time. Now
then...." Onslaught towered over the smaller Decepticon, "...undo what
you have done and *get* *us* *moving*."  Each word was spoken with a
razor-edged fury.
	Afterburner reluctantly moved towards the device he had
implanted. It had, at the time, seemed brilliant. He had linked the
motive controls of Astrotrain with those of SkyLynx, by a very devious
use of minor subspace distortions. Unfortunately, the link was *too*
good;something had happened to Sky Lynx, and that had caused a
powerful feedback reaction in Astrotrain's motive circuits. Even more
unfortunately, thought Afterburner, was that I can't quite *remember*
exactly what it was I did. It was very clever, I know that..but the
details are rather faint. Hm.
	He glanced behind him. All five of those thugs were standing
there, glaring at him. He turned back to his work. Stall for time,
stall for time. Then, maybe, I'll think of something.
	Fortunately for him, such tactics became unnecessary in short
order.
	The Autobots had the advantage of having a survivor of a
previous encounter with the Borg ship. They had locked down all
cyberspace input except that involving direct physical connection. The
Decepticons, of course, didn't know to do this. In seconds, all six
were reeling from the sensory overload as the Borg ship swung into
range. It wasn't even trying to contact them;the incredible cyberspace
prescence of the mass-mind simply radiated around it like a battering
ram.
	Brawl, the least cerbral of them all, was the first to
recover. His optics were flooded with static, which slowly resolved
down to normal vision.  There was a sort of flesh-creature in there
with them...at last! Something to hit!
	He tried to shift into his tank mode, failed for a second,
then recovered enough to do so. Without hesitation, he fired a stream
of shells from his main cannon and energy bolts from his rear-mounted
double barrelled blaster. The fleshling dissolved into vapor
instantly. Sadly, so did a part of Astrotrain's hull.
	Explosive decompression occurred instantly. Brawl, and the
other five, who were still struggling to full consciousness, were
swept out. As they flew out into space, Brawl saw a faint greenish
glow within Astrotrain, then he tumbled away.
	He drifted for a few minutes, firing small retros to try to
regain stability. While he was not designed for space, nearly all
Cybertronians had some limited 0-G manueverability. He also began a
homing signal to guide his companions, and wished, desperately, for
something to hit.
	It was not too much longer when a signal crackled through his
internal receivers. "Idiot. Stay where you are. I've gathered the
others. Curse the day Megatron selected *me* for this team. How DARE
he demean me so...."  Brawl just clenched and unclenched his fists
rapidly. Blast-Off could be, often, nearly intolerable...but they were
still bound together. That made it worse.
	The greenish spacecraft moved into view, slowing as it
approached. The hatches over the main cargo bay opened, spilling the
other three into vacuum. Brief flashes of light could be seen as
manuevering thrusters fired. Brawl tensed, knowing was was coming. His
optic focussed on Onslaught, waiting for the signal....
	"Combaticons! Merge and form....BRUTICUS!"
	Stars blurred by Brawl's optics as he was pulled into the
raging vortex of energies that flared around Onslaught. His body
twisted into a foreign shape and merged with the others...and his mind
expanded and joined into a more powerful entity.
	Bruticus awoke. He existed so briefly, only a few sparse
moments at a time....he felt the rippling and shifting of the other
consciousnesses within him. They had a purpose...an enemy, of
tremendous power. He moved to fight it.
	Fire flared from his feet, and he accelerated towards the
cube. He brought his arms forward, focussed his mind on the huge rifle
stored in subspace.  As he closed on the cube, he summoned it, and
fired blast after blast into the cube.
	The first shot gouged a hole in pitted girderwork of the Borg
ship.  Onslaught struggled to the forefront of the massmind, locating
weak points, calling for precise strikes....fighting with Brawl, who
just wanted to see things explode...and there was a persistant
undercurrent from Swindle, a demand for negotiation and trade...can't
we cut a deal?
	NO! Screamed the minds of the other four, drowning him in a
flood of mental static.
	The second shot tore out another chunk of metal. The
third....a much smaller pit. The fourth....bounced off a transluscent
plane of energy.
	Bruticus paused, momentarily confused. As his subordinate
personalities battled with suggestions, a lance of blue-white energy
slashed through space, impacting him square-on.
	Bruticus screamed, silently. In the minds of his components,
the scream echoed, then was joined by their own shrieks of
agony. Through the pain, the part of Bruticus that was Onslaught still
managed enough discipline to release the binding.
	Bruticus' mind shattered again into the five. Their bodies
hung in space, occasionally twitching as damaged capacitators spilled
energy into frayed circuitry.

]We have the information.
]The incarnation has been chosen.
]Aquire the incarnation and assimilate it.

	A small cube broke off from the bulk of the main ship. It
moved rapidly away, then streaked into warp.
	Borg workers were already swarming around the minor damage
inflicted by Bruticus, repairing it....according to new
directions. The process of assimilation had begun.
	The Borg ship continued on its' path.

*****

	Afterburner sat in the darkened, broken cargo bay and fumed.
	First, he had been shocked into unconsciousness. Then, when he
awoke, he was floating in space while strange creatures, almost like
fleshlings but not quite, swarmed over Astrotrain, who was still
paralyzed. He had tried to stop them, but had nothing to show for it
but a hopelessly shattered right wing. There was some slight hope of
rescue, but even Bruticus had been brushed aside by these
creatures. Now, he was alone.
	No. Not quite.
	This was intolerable, unthinkable, inconceivable...but there
truly was no other option.
	"This is Afterburner, of the Decepticons, calling the
Autobots. I offer a temporary truce. This is...."
	Repeating, again, and again, and again. There was nothing else
to do.

*****

	"Commander Grimlock, I am....receiving a signal. Weak, but I
can amplify it."
	"Me, Grimlock say: Let's hear!"
	"This is <crackle>ner of the Decep<snarl> calling <buzz>

Autobots. I offer a <hiss>rary truce. This...."
	Slag spit a small glob of plasma. "I don't trust him." Murmers
of assent came from the others. Grimlock snarled at them, turned back
to Perceptor.
	"Me, Grimlock, say....Ask him why we need truce with him!"
	Perceptor quickly complied. After a few moments, "He says he
knows we're stuck here. So is he. He claims, with our help, we can all
get back to Earth."
	"Me, Grimlock, say:Perceptor clever. What YOU think?"
Actually, he thought, 'Me Grimlock say', you have a keen analytical
mind. What is your assesment of the situation? Of course, it never
comes out that way.
	"At last, you begin to see the wisdom of listening to
me. Hm. My opinion.  Well, on the one side, we are indeed trapped
here, and any options are to be carefully considered. On the other
side, Afterburner is treacherous ad extremem, and cannot be
trusted. But, again, he may well be trapped in as dangerous a
predicament as we are. Still, he may think it is worth his own
existence to take us with him. Then again...."
	Sky Lynx' interior shuddered as Sludge stamped his massive
feet.  "Ssss...Get to the point! Yesss or no?"
	"I am *trying* to approach this rationally, you....sauropod!
Oh! I do believe I just lost my temper. How fascinating! I don't think
I've ever...."
	"ENOUGH!" Grimlock's roar stunned them all into silence. "Me,
Grimlock, say....we work with Decepticreep. But...how we get to him?"
	"I believe *I* can solve that problem."
	Perceptor shifted to his larger, treaded microscope form and
rolled over to the open panel which exposed Sky Lynx's circuitry. He
angled the main "tube" of his body back, until it was nearly perfectly
horizontal, then extended a series of probes and interface plugs. In a
few moments, he was fully plugged into Sky Lynx.
	His voice, when he spoke, was distant and distorted. "I
can...reach his realspace manuevering...controls. His
consciousness....is still here, but....shut down....subspace systems
are...off line. I've locked on to Afterburner's signal...here...we
go."
	The interior shuddered slightly. The massive rear jets of the
crippled Autobot crackled once, then flared to life, guided by an
alien mind. The body turned, zombie like, and followed the signal back
to its' source.
	It took the better part of a day to reach them. Slag peered
out at the crippled Astrotrain. "Good Decepticon....HURTING
Decepticon." He laughed.
	Perceptor disconnected himself, shifted back to humanoid
form. "We aren't doing so well ourselves. I hope this isn't some sort
of trap...."
	"Me, Grimlock, say, we can beat them!" Perceptor favored the
Dinobot leader with a sidelong sneer, but said nothing. He hoped so.
	The two stricken transformers, both in quite similair forms,
were nudged near to each other. Perceptor focussed through the gash in
Astrotrain's side, and saw the charred and battered bodies of the
Combaticons.  Afterburner had opened up most of them and was
assembling a curious device.
	Perceptor activated his radio. "What, exactly, is it that you
are building?"
	"Our salvation! Sometimes, I even surprise myself. Using some
components from my defeated comrades...and I'll need some from your
brain-dead leader, there..." Perceptor put out a hand to restrain
Swoop, who was preparing to leap across space to tear out
Afterburner's primary power conditioner, "...we can get
home. Astrotrain's subspace engines are intact, but he lacks
navigational facilities. You, on the other hand, know how to get
home...but lack the means. As my sadly dysfunctional comrade Swindle
might say, I think we have a reason to deal."
	Perceptor considered. The device seemed functional...and his
probes detected no hidden bombs. It was risky, very risky...but..."I
concur. Tell me which components you need, and I will retrieve
them...myself."

*******
	"Yeeee-haaaaah!" The scream echoed through the Colorado
forest, followed by a sound of breaking timber and a squeal of burning
rubber. This was followed, in turn, by a deep rumbling sound and the
whine of jet engines slowing to sub-flight speeds.
	"Bang! Zoom! Can't you stay on the Kazam! roads?" Warpath
unfolded out of this tank form and walked into the shattered stand of
trees. Behind him, Powerglide landed, transformed, and followed.
	"Yeah! Really, Reb, you drive like a girl! Hey...Spike! You OK
in there, buddy?"
	Spike clambered out of the slightly dented cab of Rebel Yell's
truck form.  He wondered briefly if this was all some sophisticated
plot by Carly to kill him for his life insurance, than consoled
himself by remembering he didn't have any. "Yeah...I'm fine. Reb? How
about you?"
	"Dang, never felt better...eh...could one of y'all give me a
little tug backwards?"
	Warpath complied, freeing Rebel Yell from the trees he was
wedged in. His pickup form shuddered for a moment, then transformed
back. In robot form, he was primarily red and blue, about the same
size as Warpath. On Cybertron, he'd been configured similairly to Kup,
but, once stationed on Earth, had chosen a suitable local
form. Unfortunately, he still hadn't gotten totally used to the
limitations of the new mode.
	"Kapow! I think we should walk into the Zamm! town."
	"Yeah. Me too. Come on, Reb, Spike...it's only about a mile."
Powerglide looked back. "Wonder if anyone needs some firewood?"
	The 'border' between America and New Cybertron consisted
solely of a simply chain-link fence and notices of the change in
status. There was free passage between the two countries, for a
variety of fairly obvious reasons.
	The town was officially still called "Andersville", but it had
come to be known as "Robotown". It served two entirely different, and
not altogether compatible, groups of people...the workers, scientists,
and journalists who were involved with the Cybertronians as a matter
of day-to-day life...and the gawkers, tourists, and so forth who
viewed the Transformers as scenery rather than people. Not to mention
the occasional fanatic out to "save the Earth from the metal
monsters!"
	"So...uh...where do you guys usually hang out?" Spike knew
that many of the Transformers went to the human town on a regular
basis, but usually for business reasons. He wasn't quite sure where
they would go for 'fun'.
	"We usually rotate...don't want anyone to think we're leaving
them out!  But, tonight, I think....there." Powerglide pointed to a
building at the end of the main street, which seemed to have a
mettalic glint to it. "Let's give the tourists a *real* thrill...I
mean, how often can they see me?"
	"Yeah...let's just hope they ain't eaten soon! I hear seeing
you has that effect on fleshlings!" Rebel Yell slapped Powerglide
across the back, hard enough to cause him to stumble forward; Warpath
grabbed him, then they all laughed loudly.
	Carly was right, thought Spike. They're idiots. Sighing, he
followed along, running slightly to keep up with their much longer
strides.
	Spike arrived at the bar, which was constructed as something
that vaguely resembled a Russian Orthodox church, done Art Deco style
and coated with christmas lights from a week-after-christmas sale. He
read the bars name, emblazoned in glowing neon, blinked, and read it
again, just to be sure.  "Iacon Bar&Grill" And, in smaller letters,
"Guaranteed Authentic Replica of Cybertron Architecture" He turned to
Warpath. "You're here to level this place, right?" he asked,
hopefully.
	"Kazam! No! This is our favorite place!"
	"Yeah, for humans, they serve pretty good high-Octane
Energon." added Powerglide. "Er...you won't mention that part to
Prime, right Spike? I mean, Prime's OK and all, but sometimes, he
forgets...you know...how to have FUN!"
	Spike nodded, albeit hesitantly. This was *not* making him
feel better...if anything, he felt worse. Apparently, an entire
human/Cybertronian subculture was building out here, and he barely
knew about it. Some Ambassador. OK, this is now a 'fact finding'
mission. "No problem, Powerglide...let's go."
	Powerglide was never known for subtlety. He did nothing to
alter that reputation.
	He slammed open the doors, which were massive enough to admit
the smaller of the Cybertronians, and stomped in, loud enough to make
sure the crowds attention was focussed on him (where it belonged, of
course!) and called out, "Hello, humans! In case you've been in a cave
all your life, I'm Powerglide, greatest warrior Cybertron ever
produced, and these are my friends, Rebel Yell and Warpath! Say
'Howdy', fellas!"
	"Shoot, don't listen to that loudmouth, people! Ah'm the REAL
warrior of this bunch!"
	"Ha! He can't even fly!"
	"Yeah, well, you can't drive!"
	"Kablam! I got a bigger gun, so you BOTH better Krang! watch
it!"
	There was uproarious laughter from the humans in the bar as
the three Autobots went through an ever more bizarre series of
put-downs and posturings...and, suddenly, Spike got it. The three of
them aren't nearly as dumb as they let one, he thought. I wonder if
they thought of this themselves, or if someone like Skids put them up
to it? Unnoticed in the commotion, he slipped deeper into the bar to
find a seat.
	The interior was as garish as the exterior implied. As one of
the fewer than a dozen humans who'd actually been on Cybertron, the
falseness was especially glaring. For one thing....it was too
bright. Cybertron was a dark world of tarnished metal and dim,
flickering light. The walls were decorated with all manner of
allegedly "hi tech" garbage;broken circuit boards, some gears, and,
here and there, a few bits of genuine Cybertronian junk, cast-offs
from the contruction site, carefully inspected to be sure no
"forbidden" technology escaped. Controlling the rate of technology
transfer was yet another thing to worry about. The Autobots had seen
what had happened when advanced Terran nations had carelessly tossed
advanced technology to less developed nations that lacked the
structure to support and maintain it, and they wouldn't let that
happen.
	Voices from behind him, cutting through over the general
din. "I'm telling you, that's him! He was in Time just last week!"
	"Oh, come on. What would *he* be doing here with people like
*us*?"
	Spike glanced around. Obviously, some celebrity had wandered
in...then, in a moment of accute embrassment, he realized the two
young women were talking about him. He made accidental eye contact,
smiled weakly, and turned back to his drink...but it was too late.
	"It *is* you!" One of the women, medium height with slightly
curled brown hair, far too much makeup, and a dress that was probably
illegal in several states, had wedged herself in next to him, while
her friend hovered over her shoulder. "Ambassador...Witwick? Was that
it?"
	"Witwicky. And...you can just call me Spike." It beats the
name my father stuck me with, at any rate.
	The tourist squealed excitedly. "And you've been with the
Autobots for YEARS! That must be so *exciting*!" Spike deeply wished
to say something along the lines of, "Look, there's three of them over
there quite eager to put on a show for you.", but thought the better
of it. Instead, he merely muttered, "Yeah..quite a few years." My
whole adult life, maybe?
	The other tourist pushed her way to the front, with a sidelong
sneer at her friend. "So, uh, tell me..why you? I mean...how come you
ended up hanging out with them? What was it about you?"
	"Um...I really can't say." I really *can't*, thought Spike,
though I'd sure like to know myself. It all seemed to make sense at
the time, but looking back over the years, it seems ridiculous. I've
become very useful to them NOW...but how could they have known that
fourteen years ago? "I think....I was the first human they met when
they arrived on Earth. It just sort of....happened."
	"Wow. Kind of like, you know, ducks. Imprimation. I read about
in Reader's Digest last year."
	Diplomat. You're a *diplomat*. Be *diplomatic*. Spike repeated
that mantra a few times, silently, then answered, "Yes...exactly like
that, I suppose."
	Spike was spared further conversation by a flash of light
ricocheting off the mirrored surfaces, and raucous laughter, human and
mechanical, from the far end of the bar. Warpath, wearing
a....tablecloth? wrapped around his optics, was holding a laser
pistol. Rebel Yell and Powerglide were slapping him on the back, and
money was changing hands among the humans.
	"Ah told y'all he couldn't do it!" Rebel Yell proclaimed,
loudly. "He couldn't hit the broad side of a comet if it was in a
tau-field!"
	"Someone blang! must have moved the target on me!"
	"Here, let ME show you how it's done!" Powerglide took the
laser, then knelt down in front of a young woman who was looking up at
him with adoration. "You wanna give me a hand, little....huh?"
	Spike noticed it to. There was a rapidly growing light coming
in from the outside. Powerglide straightened out and headed to the
door, not panicked but curious. Warpath and Rebel Yell
followed. Spike, seeing an opening, dodged through the crowd and out,
as well.
	People were running from buildings, screaming, and pointing
upwards. A fireball was streaking from the sky, seemingly heading
straight for the town.
	"I'll check this out! Probably a Decepticon sneak attack on
our favorite bar!" Powerglide shifted into plane form and took off for
the sky, to applause and cheers. Evidently, people assumed this was
just another show.  It wasn't.
	Even as Powerglide was angling upwards, a squad of emergency
vehicles came rolling in from the direction of the Ark, led by a
bright red firetruck.  All sans drivers, of course. Spike ran to meet
them as they came in.
	Inferno was the first to transform. "We picked this up on the
scanners a few minutes ago. Trajectory and composition are all wrong
for a meteor, but it looks to be hitting here any second
now. Protectobots! Start getting these humans out of the line of
fire!"
	Hotspot nodded. "Protectobots! Merge into DEFENSOR!"
	The crowd was silent as the process occured. Five robots leapt
together, twisting and transforming as they did, piling together to
form, impossibly, a single massive unit. The crowd began to edge
backwards.
	"HUMANS. DO NOT PANIC. I AM HERE ONLY TO PROTECT YOU.
PLEASE. MOVE AWAY FROM THIS AREA. GO SOUTH. I WILL BE SURE YOU ARE
SAFE."
	It didn't take much urging for the humans to obey. The crowd
moved in the direction Defensor was pointing.
	Powerglide soared upwards. He was no longer the only flying
Autobot, but he still loved the air. The meteor...or whatever it
was...was still looming larger and larger in the sky. The heat it was
giving off mad flying difficult...make that, would have made flying
difficult for, say, those kiddie Aerialbots or those wimp
Decepticons...but not for ME! Bouncing and riding the heatwaves like a
surfer, he continued to climb.
	Optics locked on target, magnified, amplified, corrected for
distortion.  There were TWO forms in there, seemingly bound together
and sheathed by flames. But the details were impossible to resolve. He
contemplated ramming into it, knocking it off-course away from the
town, but his internal computer told him the intertia was too much to
overcome. It was going to hit, and hit hard....just outside of town,
it appeared. He pulled away hastily as it tore past him, then angled
around to follow it down....
	Spike instinctively covered his eyes and ducked as the object
impacted barely a quarter-mile away. The ground shook and a blistering
wind roared across him. Then, silence.
	For about three seconds, which is how long it took for Warpath
to transform to tank mode and go smashing through the trees, clearing
a trail for Inferno, already spraying neutralizing foam, to follow.
	The arrived at a site few of them had seen since the early,
brutal days of the war. Two huge forms lay smashed and crumbled amidst
the blazing woods, and a few smaller forms could be seen staggering
from the wreckage. Molten metal droplets were everywhere, and the
stench of evaporating lubricant and charred insulation filled the
air. It was a charnel house...or a junkyard, as the case might be.
	Warpath's optical sensors focused on one of the moving shapes.
Pattern-recognition systems and IFF logic circuits flashed
instinctively on, and a cold rage built inside him. Decepticrud! He
aimed his barrel to fire at the staggering form....this would be an
easy kill. He mentally triggered the firing control....
	...and suddenly twisted the barrel out of the way while
hastily pulling it up, up....as the lumbering form of Grimlock
interposed himself in front of the Decepticon. Metal strained and
fuses snapped, but the devestating shot arced harmlessly over the
trees.
	"Me, Grimlock say...Ally! Not shoot!" He then collapsed
forward, half transformed back to robot mode. Inferno and Hotspot were
there then, dousing the burning woods as fast as they could manage. In
thedistance, the other Autobots approached.
	Spike leaped out of Rebel Yell's cab and hurried forward, only
to be held back by a firm mettalic grip. "Y'all be careful
there....that's still dangerous for humans."
	Ratchet and Wheeljack arrived few moments later. By this time,
the burning forest had been doused with fire-retardent foam, giving it
a sort of Christmas-in-hell atmosphere. As the fire died down, the
battered shapes of Sky Lynx and Astrtrain could be seen. Both were
badly charred and twisted, but there was worse damage visible. Sky
Lynx' forward cabin had been.....drilled. Astrotrain showed signs of
significant battle damage as well.
	Astrotrain's rear hatch was open. Afterburner and Grimlock lay
on the ground near it, Grimlock still trying to get complete his
transformation.  The pathetic clicking and whirring that emenated from
his prostrate form was painful to listen to. Ratchet walked up, then
reached down and mercifully disconnected Grimlock's consciousness
circuits. He looked around at the two crippled spacecraft and the
wreckage of twelve other Cybertronians, Autobot and Decepticon
alike. He turned back to the others, waiting for his report.
	"What the hell *happened* out there?"

Sometime later...
	At first, there was nothing but a jumble of lights and
sounds. Then, pattern-matching and symbolic integrations circuitry
came online. A blur of colored dots dissolved into the face of....the
enemy! An Autobot! Attack!  Afterburner tried to lurch forward, but
his body wasn't responding...helpless here...no...wait. Memory began
to return, higher consciousness coming online, overriding instincts
and accumulated behavior patterns. We had a truce...we were coming in
to Earth when the circuits finally gave...lost control...there was a
vague image of that lump-headed Dinobot leader saving his life, but
Afterburner chalked that up to memory-core damage.

::Vocal systems check?
::Vocal systems: Online 85% capacity.

::Motive systems check?
::Motive systems: *OFFLINE*

	Damn. Clever Autobots.
	"Dr. Ratchet, I presume?"
	"Correct. I see your optics are working. Now then...why don't
you tell me, in your own words, what happened out there?"
	Afterburner thought furiously. I survived. Odds are, at least
one of the Autobots and some of my fellow Decepticons survived as
well. Since I can't predict their lies, I'm better off sticking close
to the truth.
	He did so, more or less, only slightly exaagerating his own
brilliance and conveniently forgetting some of his more embarassing
errors. When he was done, Ratchet nodded.
	"Very good. That matches...close enough...with what we've
gotten from the others. Wheeljack?"
	The other Autobot moved out of the shadows, holding a small
device. "This is a little invention of mine, Afterburner. Called an
inhibitor. Ratchet took the liberty of implanting a little control
device in your subspace linkup circutiry. So long as you're within ten
miles of this little toy, you can't transform or summon your
weaponry." His 'ears' flashed, and he continued.
	"If it were up to me, you poor excuse for an engineer, I'd
have made it permenant. But Commander Grimlock ", Wheeljack sneered as
he spoke the name, " insisted I abide by the terms of the truce. Your
own medics can remove the device easily when you've returned to your
base. Ratchet, give him mobility."
	Ratchet reached down into Afterburners chest and connected
some circuits, then closed the opening. "Don't think you're fully
repaired, by the way.  I've implanted a lot of repair nanobots in you,
but they'll be sucking energon from you for weeks to come. Even if you
*could* transform, I wouldn't do it often."

::Motive System: Online 43% Capacity

	Afterburner stood, slowly. His limbs moved jerkily, and one of
his wings was held together by a very visible reweld. Transforming
would probably shatter it.

::Activate Weapons systems
::*CRITICAL FAILURE* *SUBSPACE INTERCHANGE FAILED*

	Why, he wondered, don't Autobots ever lie?
	"How long?" he asked.
	"Nearly four full Terran days. " Wheeljacks 'ears' flared
red. "You and your Decepticon 'buddies' have taken up a lot of our
time and resources...more than I'd say you deserve. Pity Optimus and
Grimlock don't agree with me."
	"Now, if you don't mind, I'll have Red Alert show to your
temporary quarters. For the duration of this 'truce', you'll be
treated as a guest...not as the treasonous worm you are." He motioned
to the Autobot security chief. "Take him away."
	Ratchet looked at Wheeljack after the other two
departed. "What *is* it with you? Afterburner's hardly the worst of
the lot."
	Wheeljack's voice was flat, but edged with threat. "It's a
long story, and I don't feel like telling it." With that, he
left. Ratchet shrugged, a mannerism he had learned from humans, and
returned to his other patients.

A day later....
	Onslaught was wary. Crippled by the inhibitor, badly damaged,
he was sitting face-to-face with the greatest foe the Decepticons had
ever faced.  Many of his comrades despised Optimus as a weakling for
his compassion and ethics....Onslaught knew better. Optimus Prime
permitted himself such apparent weaknesses because he was able to be
extraordinarily effective *despite* them.
	"Alright, Onslaught. I know what you think of me...and you
don't need to guess what I think of you. So sit down and listen.
	"I've been looking through the reports and memory dumps from
your people and ours. Fourteen of our kind dispatched in mere
mintues...and the only reason you're all still functional, albeit
barely, is because you weren't worth bothering with once you were past
the point of interference. And that thing is heading here."
	Onslaught stirred. "So what has that to do with me?"
	"You're supposed to the master strategist. What are the odds
of either of the sides in this war defeating that thing on their own?"
	Onslaught considered, then responded. "Negligable." He could
see where Prime was leading.
	"And together?"
	"Still negligable...but much greater. I understand your point,
Prime...but you are a fool if you think Megatron will ally himself
with you. He'd rather die. For that matter..." Onslaught sneered, "so
would I."
	Optimus stood. His face, as always, was an unreadable mask,
but the bright blue lifelight of his hexagonal eyes darkened to a
malignant purple. "Oh, I have no doubt you'd rather *die*..but death
isn't going to be your option.  We've determined what those creatures
are. They're parasites on a cosmic scale. They encounter other
cultures and assimilate them, absorb them, use them. You and I and
Megatron and all the others won't be killed...we'll be
*absorbed*. We'll just become cogs in their great machine."
	Optimus moved so that his faceplate was mere inches from
Onslaught's. "You remember the *first* Civil War, don't you...General
Onicrax. You remember why we died by the millions to overthrow the
Quintessons. You remember the one thing which unites *all* of us, the
one truth at the core of our beings...that we will *NEVER* be used as
tools again!"
	Onslaught nodded, slowly. Prime, curse him in the name of the
Enemy, was right. Put that way...even Megatron would agree. The
alliance would be painful, tense, and dangerous for all
concerned...but it would come to pass.
	Optimus backed away, his voice and eyes normal. "Your
companions aren't in perfect health, but they can travel. Astrotrain
won't be flying for a while, though. You'll be escorted to a neutral
point, and we'll arrange for the other Decepticons to meet you and
take you home.
	"I don't trust anything about you but your own sense of
self-preservation, Onslaught. I'm expecting that will be enough for
you to take my proposal to Megatron and make sure he listens."
	"What condition are my Combaticons in?"
	"They'll continue to function, though at greatly diminished
capacity. Your own medics will need to give *all* of you a thorough
examination....we don't have records here of your personal quirks."
	"If you have no further...requests, we will leave now."
	"Agreed."

	Elsewhere...
]We approach the gravity well of the system.
]This is not the homeworld of the assimilation target.
]However, this is where the Incarnation has been found.
]Shall we assimilate this world, as well?
]Yes.

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