Note:Trauma, mentioned in this segment, is not a "real" (toy)
transformer, but one I created. He is a decepticon surgeon/battlefield
medic whose personality is somewhere between the Marquis de Sade and
Jack the Ripper....

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

	Elsewhere.....
	Megatron sat, immobile, in the vast command center. He was
seated in a massive chair, sculpted to his robot-mode configuration,
that was part throne and part virtual-reality center. He played out
scenario after scenario of the next battle with the Autobots over this
planet's fuel resources. Would the Decepticons superior air power be
most useful here....or there? How could he use the Autbot's innate
cooperation and concern for each other against them...and how he could
he channel his own troops bickering to constructive purposes? Use the
gestalts as shock-troops or swarms? So many decisions....but I am
capable of making them. I have led the Decepticons for six million 
years, and nothing has yet...
	He disconnected from the stimulation, still unmoving. Starscream
had returned. Dead End had been spotted rushing homeward by Laserbeak.
Something was wrong with the Spacebridge.
	He waited and watched, through scanners and relays and hidden
sensor-nets, as Starscream landed, transforming as he did so. The hidden
doors of the Decepticons current fortress, bargained for from some
fleshling "terrorists", swung open to allow him to enter, then sealed
again, merging seamlessly with the mountains. 
	It took only a few seconds for the Starscream to reach the
command center. "Oh, mighty Megatron....", he began. Megatron decided he
couldn't stand another picosecond of Starscreams practiced ingratiating
whine. 
	"I do not need your flattery, Starscream." His voice could have
cut titanium plate, and several of the other Decepticons stepped back,
half expecting him to vaporize Starscream on the spot. "Simply make your
report and get out of range of my optics."
	"Swindle...of the Combaticons...." he began, looking chillingly
at Onslaught and Vortex...."...reported a possibile assault on the
Spacebridge. I returned here to alert you to this...rumoured...attack. I
*know* you would not wish me to leave even the slight possibility that
Swindle was telling the truth unverified. And, in truth, as I flew away,
I DID detect an explosion...oh, look! Here's Dead End now."
	Dead End walked in, one optic a shattered mass of crystal, the
other one flickering madly. His outer shell, laboriously polished, was
pitted and charred. When he moved, i  was with a definite jerkiness, as
if some of his motive generators were misfiring.
	Megatron turned towards him, looked down. "Your report,
Stunticon?"
	"The inevitable occured," the smaller robot replied, and turned
to leave.
	Enough of this, thought Megatron. His huge shoulder mounted
cannon fired, gouging a hole in the floor. "REPORT!"
	"Very well. The spacebridge exploded. Swindle is lost."
	"You saw no Autobots?"
	"None. I wasn't really looking. I didn't think it was
important."
	"Get down to repair. I'm sure Trauma will enjoy working on you.
Starscream?"
	"Yes, glorious leader?"
	"Can you offer an explanation?" Megatron's cannon, still
smouldering from it's recent use, began to throb with a build up of
power. You don't need to slaughter your troops, the Decepticon leader
mused, so long as they are convinced you will at the slightest excuse.
"We have lost Swindle, which robs us of Bruticus, which leaves us
unbalanced against the Autobots. Gestalts are not easy to come by! YOU
were at the spacebridge most of this day. I look forward to hearing your
story."
	"I have told you all I know, my leader! Perhaps the Autobots had
sabotaged the spacebridge, hoping to trap you! Had I but known, I would
have sprung the trap myself!"
	Megatron seethed. He knew Starscream had plotted this, but had
no proof. He weighed, carefully, the punitive effect of simply
destroying the treasonous warrior against the risk the other Decepticons
might see him as too mad or unstable to serve as leader.  Finally,
slowly, he powered down his weaponry.
	"Leave me, Starscream." He turned to the main communication
panel. "Constructicons!  Head for the spacebridge with all the supplies
you can carry! I want that system repaired by this world's next solar
cycle, or I'll have you broken down for scrap!"
	A quick chorus of "Yes, Megatron!" "At once, sir!" "As you
command!" echoed through the chamber as the various members of the team
replied. A human would have sighed, but Megatron simply returned to his
throne and began replaying the  simulations. Let us assume we lack
Bruticus, but the Autobots use Defensor. That would mean....

Elsewhere/Elsewhen

	Quark stepped forwards, adopting his best "humble barkeep" pose.
The large mettalic entity was walking smoothly across the promenade
towards him. The Thirty Fifth Rule of Aquisition sprang to mind:"New
Species Mean New Opportunities". The machine could not sit at the bar,
so it stood there, it's round purple eyes looking down at Quark.  Quark
smiled, baring his twisted teeth. "Can I get you something? Romulan Ale?
Lubricants?"
	Was he imagining things, or were the multiple metal plates that
formed the robot's visage shifting into something resembling a human
smile? "Low-Friction lubricant WOULD be useful, fleshling."
	"Call me Quark. Anything you'd like, we can get." He turned to
Rom, kicking him surreptitiously. "You heard the..man. Get the stuff we
use on the cargo loaders. And put it in a NICE glass!" He turned back to
his guest. "My brother will have your refreshment shortly. Hmmm..." He
left the bar, and walked around the transformer,  whistling
appreciatively. This was one of the most sophisticated machines he had
ever seen. And what it had done when it arrived....changing from a
vehicle to a humanoid configuration....he'd seen some much more
primitive examples, but nothing as sophisticated! His lobes were
practically burning with anticipation.
	"If I might ask...where do you come from? The Gamma Quadrant?
Are there more like you? Ah! Here!" He handed Swindle a crystal goblet
brimming with a viscous grey-gold liquid. A panel in Swindle's chest
swung open. He poured the liquid in, returned the goblet.
	"I come from Cybertron. I do not know what...quadrant....it is
in. My species does not use your coordinate system."
	"You didn't come through the wormhole, then?"
	"No." Swindle stopped, looked around, then re-focused on the
flesh creature...'Quark',  it called itself. "Quark. You run things
here, don't you?"
	Quark gestured noncommittaly. "Oh, I dabble here and there. But
I'm mostly just a simple bartender, happy to serve my customers...."
	The robot pulled back, and it seemed to look disappointed. "I
see. I was misinformed, then. I was told you were the man to see about a
deal...."
	"....and part of serving customers is seeing to their special
needs." Quark hastily added, barely missing a beat. "Why don't you and I
go someplace more...private? Like my office?"
	Rom was in there, counting out bars of gold-pressed latinum.
Quark turned to him.  "What are you doing in here? Go out and see to the
customers!"
	"But...Brother! Today is the day I get to count the profits! You
promised!"
	"I lied. Get out there and serve. And don't bother me again!"
	"Yes Brother...." Rom shuffled out. Quark shook his head.
"Relatives. What can you do? I don't suppose you have any siblings."
	"Not as such....", said Swindle, thinking of his cantankerous
teamates...."but I think I understand."
	"Now then...", Quark began, as he placed himself in a low lying
chair, "I believe you mentioned the word 'deal'"
	"I did."
	"What can you offer?"
	Swindle grinned. This time Quark was sure of it. "Myself. You've
never seen anything like me before, have you? My technology is totally
alien to you."
	"Let's just say it's not common. But I don't think you're going
to trade off pieces of yourself."
	"No....but I can fill your computers with technical schematics,
basic engineering principles, theoretical constructs....things your
scientists might not discover for centuries. You could let these
discoveries leak out slowly, and reap tremendous rewards."
	"That's delightful. But what do you expect in return?"
	"Two things. First, energy. Lots of it. Secondly....a way home."
	"A way home? You don't know?"
	"I arrived here by accident. I don't plan on staying."
	"Well, I'll see what I can do. As for energy....I might be able
to score some dilithium, fully refined."
	For the first time, Swindle was put at a slight loss. His
internal databanks held no record of 'Dilithium'. He knew this 'Quark'
was going to try to cheat...that was a given in this line of work. But
not so soon. Whatever he was offering WAS valuable. But what was it?
	"I'll also need a computer terminal to work from." It would take
seconds to transfer the sum of the stored data on this station to his
own storage units.
	"Certainly. There's one right over there."
	Swindle walked over to it, careful to not disturb the
furnishings that cluttered the room.  He knelt down in front of the
terminal and slid back a small hatch covering one finger.  A tiny probe
extruded. He placed it near the main input jack of the terminal, and the
probe instantly altered to fit. Swindle jacked in.
	Cyberspace was barren here, a vast plain dotted with occasional
dull grey obeslisks representing data. These people made little or no
use of the cybernetic world, Swindle realized...they might not even be
aware it exists! This is going to be too easy!
	He approached the first monolith. The entry point was guarded by
a...oh, how laughable! A voice interface! It was pathetically simply for
him to input the correct frequencies...and a torrent of data flooded
into his personal storage. He let most of it slip by, unanalyzed, but
kept a filter on for 'Dilithium'. Eventually, he found it.  Crystalline
mineral....rare but naturally occuring...used to channel and
direct...ANTI MATTER?
	Swindle nearly jacked out in shock. These...primitives had
stumbled, somehow, on the secret of controlled anti-matter! Megatron
used anti-matter as a weapons system, but he couldn't channel it to
create energy. This one secret would give the Decepticons are 
permenant, fatal edge over the Autobots. The War, the six million year
old War, could be over in weeks...and he could go back to doing what he
did best, and never see his fellow Combaticons again. Thank Primus!
	If I can get home. If...
	He jacked out. Quark was hurrying over. "If there's a problem,
I'll be glad to run the system myself for you. Here, let me...."
	"There's no need. I'm done."
	"Done? But you were only there for...Hm. Well. Is there anything
else I can do for you?"
	Swindle looked down at him, and Quark seemed to sense, for the
first time in their encounter, something resembling sincerity. "Find me
a way home, Quark."
	Quark watched as the robot left. Find him a way home? I don't
even know where he lives! Hm. I'll bet Sisko and the other's are working
on it, too. Let's see....there are three hu-mons stationed in Ops this
shift who owe me money, and two I have blackmail on. Getting this
information shouldn't be too hard. And then there's the Grand Nagus.
He'd know, if anyone would...but he'd want a share of the profits! But
if I don't do something, there won't BE any profits! The Fifty-First
Rule Of Aquisition:Profits shared are better than no profits at all. But
first, I'll see what the hu-mons know.
	He left his office, and noted that the robot...he'd never even
learned it's name!...was talking with several aliens in a corner. Fine.
Keeps him out of trouble. "Rom!"
	"Yes, brother?"
	"What are you doing out here? You're supposed to be counting the
take!"
	"But brother...I...you...the machine....oh, never mind."
	In Ops, a familiar scene was being played out. Sisko was sitting
behind his desk, trying to remain calm. Major Kira was pacing in front
of his desk, trying to destroy the station by shouting. Or so it seemed
to him.
	"You allowed a giant, terrorist robot on board this station? Why
didn't you just shoot it?  This could be an advance scout for the Borg,
or a Cardassian plot, or..."
	"Major...."
	"And you evidently kept an entire WAR out of your history books?
Here I am trying to convince my people the Federation are their friends,
and I discover you revise your own history! And furthermore...."
	"Major...."
	"And if that isn't enough, he's been seen talking to QUARK!" She
paused, suddenly registering the fact he had spoken. "What?"
	"Destroying sentient life without cause isn't the Federation
way. If that had been a crippled Cardassian ship out there, we would
have aided it, too. And the Decepticons are not Borg. If they were, we
wouldn't be here by now. And, lastly, I didn't write the history books.
You'll note I've done nothing to keep, ah, Hound's prescence on the 
station a secret."
	"'Hound'. Silly name for a giant killer robot."
	"Believe me, there were some with worse. Besides, they're
codenames. All of the Transformers humans encountered were part of one
of two vast military units."
	"Oh. So he's involved in a war. And what happens when his
enemies show up? I hope you're not planning on dragging Bajor into this,
because..."
	"That's the other reason I brought him on board. I want to know
what he's doing here.  He shouldn't exist now...none of his kind have
been seen for nearly three hundred years. If the War is flaring up
again, we need to know and be prepared. Now...let's see what the others
have found."
	He stood up, walked around the desk, and gestured to the door.
Kira began about three different sentences, bit them off, and finally
stormed out. Funny, thought Sisko.  Whenever she walks like that, I
think she's trying to knock a wall down with her forehead.
	Shaking his head, he followed her out.
	"Dax, O'Brien....what do you have?"
	"Well, Commander....there is definitely some sort of phenomenon
out there, a few light-seconds past the station. Near the wormhole, but
not inside it."
	"Also, Benjamin, it seems to be fairly stable. Possibily even
two way, though it seems to be 'closed' at the moment. I'm not sure if
we can reactivate it or not."
	"If we did, would we be able to reseal it? The last thing I want
is more of them coming through."
	Dax and O'Brien looked at each other, shrugged. "We'll get right
on it, Commander."
	It was, of course, impossibile for seven people to run a station
the size of DS9. Jadzia Dax and Miles O'Brien were both skilled,
competant individuals...and a large part of that skill involved
coordinating the work of others. They laid out plans and offered 
theories, passing the grunt work down to subordinates. One of these
subordinates, a young Bajoran woman who had made one too many mistakes
at Dabo, found her way to Quark's bar during an off shift.
	"Quark, I shouldn't be telling you this, but..."
	"Yes?"
	"They've found a rift, not connected to the wormhole.
Our...vistitor probably came through it. They might even be able to get
it open again."
	"Excellent, excellent!" He turned to go back to his bartending.
	"But...wait! How much does this reduce my debt?"
	Quark looked momentarily shocked. "Reduce your debt? Madam, if
you wished me to PAY you for that information, you should have fixed a
price FIRST. But, since I'm a nice guy, you can have one glass....a
*small* glass....of anything you'd like from the bar. Good stuff,
too...not replicated. Rom! See to the nice lady!"
	The young woman hissed as he left, "May the prophets curse you
for this!"
	Quark turned back, smiling, "You have your prophets, I have my
profits. Let us each take care of our own." He strolled over to the Dabo
tables. Swindle, still calling himself  "Hound", was there...and to
Quark's horror, he was accumulating many bars of latinum!
	"Now...ah...friend..."
	"Call me Hound, Quark!"
	"Hound, then. Why don't we go into my office and discuss our
arrangements...away from all this noise and bother?" And away from my
gambling tables!
	"Yes, that would be fine. Let me simply take these..." Swindle
gathered up the latinum into a small pile, then transformed into is
vehicle mode, drawing startled gasps from the onlookers. "Put those
coins in my trunk, will you?" His rear storage hatch opened by mental
command. Quark, seeing no alternative, loaded the precious bars in. The 
hatch slammed shut, and Swindle reformed to robot mode...his gains
safely shunted into subspace.
	"How do you DO that?" Quark asked, as they both headed towards
the office area.
	"When you've paid me, Quark, you will have the answers."
	Quark clenched his fists. What I need are more Bajorans and
fewer robots! This one is practically a Ferengi! It will be worth much
status to out-deal him.
	They entered the office. "Now then, Hound...about your payment."
	"My agents have located the rift which brought you here. They're
working on reopening it. I'll keep you posted."
	"And the....dilithium?"
	"Oh, yes...dilithium. Look....why don't we just agree to meet
halfway? Say....half your data for the key to the rift?"
	"All or nothing, Quark. We have a deal."
	"A quarter of your data?"
	"If you can't meet my needs, I'm sure someone else can....you
people have a leader, don't you....a Nagus, I believe? Perhaps HE could
aid me..."
	How did the machine know that? Who told him? Rom! Must have
been. That idiot....
	"The Nagus is very busy. You'll wait weeks...no..years before
you can see him. But....he happens to be a very close personal friend of
mine, and I'll be happy to intercede for you. Why don't you
go...ah...play some more Dabo, while I take care of this trivial 
matter?"
	"Very well. I'm sure our arrangements will continue to be
profitable."
	Quark glowered as he watched the robot walk smoothly out.
Dilithium, why did he HAVE to mention that? Should have just bargained
on the rift. The Nagus generally allowed his underlings free reign, but
dilithium was something he controlled tightly.  There was no choice. No
choice at all...
	Resigned, he headed for his personal subspace communicator, the
one not tied in to the stations databanks. Carefully, he entered a long
string of digits that would serve to tie him directly to the Nagus...if
he wasn't off cementing a deal...
	"Yes, Quark? What is it? Why are you bothering me? Time is
money, you know!"
	"Yes, Grand Nagus, yes. I have a potential profit to share with
you."
	"Profit? Why didn't you say so? What is it?"
	Quark explained, hesitantly at first, then, as he saw the
Nagus's interest, more confidently. The Nagus wasn't badgering,
complaining, or threatening....this was very odd behavior. Finally, he
spoke.
	"Quark, you've done *very* well. I'm very proud of you. I'll
send a cubic meter of dilithium on my personal shuttle. But...I'd like
to meet this charming machine you mentioned. Make sure he stays there
until I arrive."
	"Certainly, Nagus. Certainly. How long will that be?"
	"Oh, a day or two. Don't worry. I'll cover all your expenses!
Nagus...OUT!"
	Quark began to worry. Cover all his expenses? The Nagus was
definitely up to something, and Quark began to see profit slipping
through his fingers.
	Light years away, the Nagus turned pale. This was not something
that was ever supposed to happen, but he knew what to do when it did. He
opened a small box and removed a device that had been handed down from
Nagus to Nagus for untold millenia.  With a trembling, wrinkled finger,
he pushed a tiny button. A small light began to blink, in coded pulses,
and a message went out....

Elsewhere/elsewhen....

	The last echoes of Dead End's screams were fading from the
mettalic halls as Megatron, in tank form, rumbled down the halls.
Reaching the combination operating  theatre and interrogation center, he
transformed.
	"How is your work progressing, Doctor?"
	Trauma, his white form splattered with dark machine oil, turned
to Megatron. "Very, very nicely. Here, Megatron. Notice how reformed
circuits pulse when I activate this probe?" He slashed a sparking rod
down the length of Dead End's exposed spinal power conduit, noting with
glee the twitches that wracked the Stunticons prostrate form. 
	"Quite fascinating, Doctor. Is he functional?"
	"Yes. " He picked up a metal plate and sealed it back into
place. "Get up." Dead End did as instructed. "You could have let me
expire from my wounds. Why do you insist on prolonging this existence?"
	"Your wounds weren't fatal. Not even close! Believe me...I know
terminal damage when I infl...er...see it. Now, transform. Let's see if
that works."
	There was a moment's paralysis as newly laid circuitry
interfaced with the old, then, Dead End shifted smoothly into his terran
form, a sleek red sportscar. After a few seconds, he transformed back.
"Can I go now? Not that I have anything worth doing..."
	"Yes, you do. Get the rest of the Stunticons and meet me in the
main bay. I have a mission for you." Megatron didn't wait to hear Dead
End's response, he simply walked out.
	In the bay, Megatron surveyed the selected troops. The
Stunticons and Combaticons eyed each other warily. They had long seen
each other as rivals, but now, with Swindle presumed dead, the balance
of power had shifted.
	"Decepticons! Attend!" Megatron's voice cut through the
murmuring that consumed each group. "I have heard from Hook that the
spacebridge has been repaired.  Apparently, it was sabotaged....probably
by some Autobot...and took Swindle through a rift in both space and
time. Fortunately....we can replicate the phenomenon, but only for a
short while. In a few hours, the changing patterns of spacetime will
render the rift unreachable."
	"Stunticons, I want you to go through the rift and return
Swindle." Now, Megatron thought, the fun should begin. Onslaught or
Brawl?
	Brawl smashed his way to the front of the line. "Hey! We all
think Swindle's a lying, cheating, rustbucket...but he's OUR lying,
cheating, rustbucket. No way are those overgrown go-carts gonna rescue
him! Besides, I still owe him for what he did with my brain!"
	"I'm amazed he could find it.", sneered one of the Stunticons.
Drag Strip? Didn't matter, thought Megatron. This was all going
perfectly.
	"Why you lousy...." He transformed to tank form, smaller than
Megatron's alternate mode but still bluntly powerful, and rolled towards
the assembled Stunticons. Onlaught leapt to hold him back, while
Motormaster did the same for Drag Strip. Not that they cared if someone
got torn to pieces, but Megatron expected them to keep their troops in
order...or else.
	"In your own ineloquent way, you are correct, Brawl." Megatron
fairly purred. "I rescind my decision. You and the rest of the
Combaticons form the rescue team.  Motormaster, your Stunticons will
serve as escorts to the spacebridge. And, lest you get any ideas,
Laserbeak will be watching the whole time...and reporting to me! Are
there any questions?"
	There were, of course, none. 
	"In that case...roll out!"

Elsewhere/Elsewhen

	"Odo, this is Commander Sisko. How are things going with Hound?"
	"I've been watching him all day. He's cheated at Dabo, but I
figured that's poetic justice. He's been talking to nearly every alien
who'll listen, and he never tells the same story twice. He's a liar, a
thief, and probably a lot worse. Reminds me of someone ELSE we have on
this station...."
	"At least he hasn't killed anyone yet. Do you know what sort of
weapons he uses?"
	"There are no weapon on *my* promenade!"
	"According to what I remember from the histories I managed to
find, they keep weapons stored in a sort of personal subspace fold. If
he ever decides to go into combat mode, he'll summon them out. With any
luck, he won't do that. Anything else?"
	"Yes. His name's NOT Hound. That much I'm certain of. He's
slipped up once or twice.  I know when a man...or a machine...is using
an alias."
	"I suspected that, Constable. Stick close to him. Sisko out."
	Dax ran into the office. "There's an alien ship coming through
the wormhole. It's like nothing we've ever seen before."
	Commander Sisko walked out into Ops. On the screen was a huge
ship, nearly half the size of DS9. It resembled, more than anything
else, a mettalic helix. It was obviously well armed and armored.
	"We're receiving a hail."
	"Onscreen."
	Despite years of experience will aliens of all sizes and shapes,
something about the visage the filled the main viewscreen caused the
crew of DS9 to recoil. A bulbous, mettalic skull, with features
seemingly carven of pure malice. Underneath the spherical head dangled
an array of metal tentacles. The eyes were lattices of dark crystal, and
when it spoke, it was with a voice like razors on a chalkboard.
	"We are the Qunitessons. You have...."
	And then the creature rotated around it's central axis,
revealing a second face, totally different but just as hideous, and a
new voice, like shattering glass. "....our property. Return it to us or
face...."
	Rotate again, and a voice like tortured animals, "...dire
consequences."

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