Epilogue

	Blaster, Chorale, and Soundwave, all in robotic mode, stood
inside the dome. Starscream stood with them. It had been his continual
manipulation of the fields frequency and harmonics that had kept the
invaders out. He was making quite sure no one would forget that fact,
too.
	"Hm. In the abscence of Prime or anyone else, I declare
*myself* new leader of the Alliance. My first order is to..."
	Blaster grabbed Starscream by the right arm and hauled him
forward. "Drop the jabber -- AND the screen. We've got to scout for
survivors."
	"Concurred." Soundwave's monotone still managed to speak
volumes, since he was also concurring with Blaster's defiance of
Starscream -- a fact not lost on the Decepticon would-be leader.
	"Very well, have it your way." Starscream sneered, then
casually flicked a switch. The was a subtle shift in the air pressure
as the field dropped.
	"Laserbeak, Buzzsaw, eject. Operation: Observation."
	A mechanical click, and the two avian Transformers ejected
from their pocket universe and soared skyward.
	Blaster slowly looked around, taking in the
surroundings. Locked in concert with the other two for the whole of
the battle, he had only a vague idea what was going on -- but now he
could easily see the devestation that had taken place. What little of
the forest that wasn't trampled -- was burning. He knew that the
invasion team had cleared the Borg ship, but if they landed in this
hell, they were as good as dead anyway.
	Including Steeljaw. He hadn't told Prime, of course...but if
Prime lived, there'd be the smelting pit to pay. Prime certainly
wasn't as violently megalomaniacal as Megatron, but he insisted on
some semblance of order -- and he trusted Blaster almost more than
anyone else but Ironhide.
	And I'll never know if it did any good, he thought glumly.
	He mentally scanned through his immense library of music and
finally settled on a selection of medevial dirges. It suited his mood.
	High above, Laserbeak surveyed the carnage, rapdily flickering
through a range of different filters and optics. The data coming back
was, to say the least, surprising -- despite the tremendous damage
done and the general destruction of the area, every inactive
Cybertronian scanned still showed positive consciousness signatures,
though in most cases they were in lockout mode.
	Why? Well, Soundwave or one of the others can judge that. It's
still nice seeing so many shattered and mangled Autobots and...

[Motion Detected]
[Active Cybertronian Lifeform Vector 7.9 Alpha 6]

	Laserbeak fired a manuevering thruster, altered the flow
across his airfoils, and swooped down.

[Identity confirmed] 
[IFF signal verified]

	With a squawk of mechanical delight, Laserbeak glided low,
right in front of a staggering Frenzy.
	Frenzy's optics and identification circuitry were still mostly
off line.  Visual acuity was down to 12%, and the normally automatic
process of identifying a figure as an ally or an enemy was running
rather slowly. And Frenzy's last coherent memory was of smashing a
seemingly endless horde of pseudo-fleshlings. So he can be forgiven
for lashing out blindly and knocking Laserbeak into the burning stump
of a tree.
	Then, finally, he got a postive ident. He smiled drunkenly,
powered down the few weapons systems he had remaining, and sprawled
forward into the dirt.

***

	A medley of Terran death-ritual music provided Blaster with
accompaniment as he wandered through the burning charnel yard. Bodies
were everywhere.  The vast majority were the Borg, either dead or
staring insanely, helplessly, as they desperately tried to contact a
collective mind that had simply winked out of existence. But there
were also the fallen of his own kind. Blaster knelt by one, a
Decepticon jet warrior -- Thundercracker, he guessed, though the
coloration and insignia were seared off.
	Blaster stepped back in surprise. Though his consciousness was
clearly off-line, Thundercracker's eyes still flickered, dimly, with
life.  Curious, he ran to the next corpse...Bumblebee. One arm was a
shattered mass of torn steel and half his faceplate had been atomized,
but again -- life remained.
	Two doesn't make a pattern, Blaster hurriedly reminded
himself, but even so...
	He walked more quickly, now. He checked body after body. Each
seemed to be on the edge of funtionality. It was as if the enemy knew
just how much force to apply to render a foe inoperative, but
repairable. Cybetronian survival reflexes were designed to preserve
the memory core as long as possible...if a body was damaged below a
certain point, all functions would be automatically shut down and all
energy remaining was reserved to keep that core alive.
	With a thought, he killed the dirge, and switched to some
Beatles. Hope remained.

***

	This is hopeless, thought Spike. He lay crumbled at the base
of a smoldering tree. Each breath sent sharp pains through his chest,
and he could taste blood in his mouth. One eye seemed to be swollen
shut, and the only thing he could see through the other one was smoke,
which stung to the point where he shut it again. He tried to cry out,
but couldn't draw enough breath without the pain causing his slim grip
on consciousnes to fade.
	Broken ribs, he thought. And at least one leg. Probably a
concussion, too.  Combined with internal bleeding. At the least, he
thought, I expected to die *quickly* -- an incinerating blast from
Megatron, flattened by Menasor, or something like that. Not like this.
	Flickering memories of the last few minutes raced through his
brain. He had reached the transformed Megatron and planted the "Remote
Field Enveloper" that Wheeljack and Afterburner had devised, based on
Perceptor's study of Borg teleporter technology and Skywarps unique
abilities. Then he'd signalled Skywarp, and he had activated his
teleportation circuits, pulling them all from the Borg craft...then he
was falling, and then he was here.
	He coughed again, and felt blood run down his chin. He
attempted to pull himself forward a few feet, but the pain overwhelmed
him. Then darkness closed in once more.

***

	Idiots!
	Starscream fumed as he smashed through the woods. Look for
survivors, indeed! As if there was any point to...
	Sprawled on his back, a spear of rock through his abdomen, was
Megatron.  He was covered with encrustations of Borg technology, as if
his internal circuits had become diseased and had festered out through
his skin. His outer coloration was badly charred and pitted, and his
fusion cannon was twisted to uselessness.
	Starscream moved cautiously closer. Check the eyes, he
thought...the eyes...
	One was covered with a strange optic enhancer, or something
similair, the other was lit, very dimly, from deep within, and a
flicker of red could still be detected.
	By the smelting pit! Starscream swore silently. He still
functions!
	For the moment.
	With a thought, Starscream summoned his scattergun from
subspace. One small explosive shell, oh mighty Megatron, and you'll
finally be finished -- and having proven my abilities as leader, I'll
have the *loyalty* I could never get before.
	His finger tightened on the trigger. Starscream was savoring
this moment, the culmination of eons of waiting, the chance to correct
a mistake he had made five million years before -- and that was his
undoing.
	With a growl that could terrify even the staunchest
Transformer, Ravage propelled himself out of surrounding woods,
knocking Starscream's gun out of his hands. Then he landed, turned,
and prepared to leap for the traitor's throat.
	"No....wait!" Starscream pleaded. "You misunderstand...it's
not as it seemed...I would NEVER harm Megatron!"
	Ravage paused for a second.
	"It's only...we don't know if he was still under their control
or not...I was *covering* him until I could be sure he was fully
recovered!"
	Ravage pawed the ground, growling low. Starscream's duplicity
was legendary...but what he said made sense...and there were so few
fuctional Decepticons remaining...
	Slowly, very slowly, Ravage backed down. Then he went over to
Megatron's immobile form, and gently nudged it with his head. He
batted gently at one arm with his forepaws, then sat back and
whimpered sadly.

*****

	It was Optimus he found next.
	One cyrstalsteel chestplate was shattered, and the damage to
his leg was severe -- transformation was out of the question. Blaster
knelt down beside his fallen leader. He was no Ratchet, but there were
some basic repairs anyone knew how to make. If he could just get
Optimus *conscious* again...
	He patched some fractured lubricant tubes, and reconnected the
shattered primary power conduit. Optimus' eyes flickered for second,
then glowed a steady, if unhealthily faint, blue.
	"B...Blaster?"
	"Yes! Optimus, you're functional!"
	"Did we..."
	"We kicked Borg tail, Op!"
	Optimus couldn't smile, of course, but his eyes brightened
momentarily.  "Survivors..."
	"Better than we'd ever have hoped. Wounded and maimed as far
as the optics can detect, but no terminals...yet."
	"The humans?"
	Blaster was silent.
	"Blaster...."
	"I...haven't seen either of them, Op, or even the Decepticons
who were up there with them. They got out, but..."
	"Help me up."
	With some difficulty, Optimus regained his footing. He took a
few cautious steps, then fell forward, grabbing a tree for
balance. Then he snapped a century old oak in two and created a
makeshift walking stick.
	"Let's go."
	"Wait a minute...gettin' something....it's Chorale!"
	"Put it on full audio."
	"This is Chorale. I've intercepted some transmissions aimed at
Soundwave.  They've found two of their own...Frenzy and...Megatron."
There was a pause. "Megatron sill functions."
	"Location, sis?"
	"Vector 7F from Alpha Quadrant."
	"Gotcha. Locked and ready!"
	Blaster turned to Optimus. "Can you make it?"
	"Lead on, old friend. I'm not done with this war yet."

*****

	"We're....still functional." Brawl just kept repeating that,
as if to fix the statement into reality.
	"You've said that before...idiot." Blast-off was struggling to
transform, but even the beginning of the process paralyzed him with
pain. The wounds were still too severe.
	Swindle made a motion of dusting himself off. "Well, the
battle's over, we're alive, and everyone else is probably scrap
metal. So, guys, it was a fun couple of millenia, but, hey, it's all
gotta end sometime. I'll survive, don't worry about me..." Swindle
started to walk away.
	"Swindle, if you take one more step, you *will* be scrap
metal, and I doubt Megatron will be angered in the slightest."
	Swindle spun around to stare at Onslaught. "Look, boss -- it's
OVER! The damn war is finally over. Megatron's dead. Optimus is
dead. We just go to the spacebridge, go home, and get back to our
lives already!"
	"Megatron lives." Onslaught paused for a second. "And so does
Optimus."
	Swindle said nothing for a few seconds. Then:"Oh. Well, why
didn't you SAY so? All that stuff about leaving...I just *kidding*!
You know me, always joking, always..."
	"Be quiet. I am planning our next move."
	Swindle looked from one Combaticon to the other, and saw not
the slightest hint of sympathy. They couldn't possibly be holding a
grudge over that little incident a few years ago? That was just
business. Still...
	Swindle shrugged mechanically, sat down, and awaited further
orders.

*****

	"Whoa! Strong life readings up ahead, Op!"
	Blaster and the still-limping Optimus knocked through some
barely standing trees, to come face-to-face with the five
Combaticons. Onslaught stepped forward as his four teammates spread
out behind him, in standard battle formation. The massive warrior
studied the crippled Autobot leader.
	"I could take you easily, Prime."
	Optimus sneered. "Go ahead and try."
	For a second, it appeared as if the Decepticon strategist
would, indeed, try. Then he relaxed and grinned broadly, if
coldly. "No, Prime. I'll defeat you in honest battle, when you are at
your peak -- so you can go to meet Primus knowing that at your best,
you could not defeat me. Now then -- let's round up those who are
still capable of movement and take our forces home."
	Prime simply nodded.

*****

	Dr. Arnold Brenkwitz had just transferred to Andersville a
mere month ago.  In that brief time, he had seen an two air raids, a
meteor impact (or something like one, at any rate) and a duel between
two gargantuan machines. He'd also treated human workers from the
nearby New Cybertron for such industrial accidents as plasma burns,
bone fractures caused by hypersonic rays, and exposure to something
called "glass gas". And now...an ambulance had just smashed THROUGH
the front doors of the small hospital's lobby.
	I should have been a plastic surgeon, he thought.
	The ambulance spoke.
	"Doctor....there are two humans in my bay. They are both in
critical condition and need immediate repairs. One of them is
constructing."
	Brenkwitz blinked. Constructing?
	Ratchet fumed. Any systems deemed nonvital were shut down, and
that included the idiom-mapping portion of his speech software. He
couldn't even transform, but was frozen in his ambulance mode. It
didn't matter.  This couldn't wait.
	"Just DO IT, Doctor...or don't human doctors PERFORM emergency
reconstruction?"
	"Uh...no. I mean yes! I mean...open your damn doors, if you
want me to heal your patients."
	Ratchet complied.
	Brenkwitz looked in. The ambulance looked totally normal from
the outside, but the inner bay was lined with very odd equipment. And,
indeed, there was a man and a woman, both in obvious need of
attention, lying inside.
	Brenkwitz poked his head back out. "Nurse! Get Moldower and
Jensen off that golf course and back in here, and prep room six!
Hurry!"

******

	The battlefield.
	Onslaught, giving orders.
	Flashes of green, and enemy troops everywhere.
	A soldiers duty -- defend his commander.
	Ramming into half-mechanoid, half-fleshling bodies.
	A flare of light, the brief shriek of missiles.
	Darkness.
	Light.
	Consciousness.
	"Hey, old-timer! You still with us?"
	Optics? Blast it, where are my optics? Rewired...ah..there
they are. [Activate] Ironhide?  "Ironhide?"
	"Yeah. Ahm glad you could make it. Ahd hate to be the oldest
one still functioning."
	"We won."
	"Yup."
	"The rest? Prime?"
	"Prahms' still alive and kicking. Ah don't think anything
could knock him out fer good."
	"Tell me...everything."
	Ironhide obliged. He had stayed functional right up almost
until the very end, and had been finally overwhelmed trying to provide
ground support for Ramjet and Dirge. When Ironhide finished his tale,
Kup shook his head sadly.
	"A giant, five-mile tall robot? And I *missed* it? I'll NEVER
get a chance to see anything like that again."
	Ironhide laughed. "Ahd rather be dead than see anything lahk
THAT again!"

*****

	His troops, assembled and ready.
	Alert! Attack! Enemy!
	Smashing through them, scattering them, fusion cannon firing
madly...  A flare...green light everywhere.  The world shattered, then
reformed.  Machines...probing..disassembling...remaking...
Battle...killing my own people...all I know, all my skill, being used
without my consent...  Now where?  PAIN!!!!
	Megatron screamed.
	"Ah...very good. You *felt* that."
	Trauma, his own body still badly damaged, leaned over
Megatron's newly-restored face. "I've succesfully removed the implants
from you, Commander, but I was worried that there might be...residual
effects.  I...gahhhhkkk!"
	Megatron's one hand was tightening on Trauma's throat. While
Cybertronians did not breathe, there were still vital power conduits
and structural mechanisms in the throat region. "If you have any
further tests, Doctor, either you disconnect my pain sensors, or *I*
shall disconnect your central processing unit!" With more effort than
he would ever admit, Megatron flung the Decpeticon surgeon away and
stood upright. Around him, in grim disarray, were dozens of broken
bodies. Some moved slightly, one or two were still upright. All were
burned, scarred, pitted.
	"You have a lot of work ahead of you, Doctor. I suggest you
begin it. Send each survivor to me for debriefing as soon as they are
capable of it."
	"Y..Yes, Mighty Megatron."
	Trauma watched him leave, then shook his head. Barely
functional, living on tertiary power and triply-patched backup
circuits, and he still takes immediate command. And that idiot
Starscream thinks he can do the job?  Hah!
	No one but Megatron will *ever* lead the Decepticons again.
	Now....who here has the most...interesting...wounds?

*****

	"We're not doing so well, Prahm."
	"I know that, Ironhide. Repairs are taking longer than we'd
hoped, and the Decepticons had more survivors in better
condition. Suggestions?"
	"Ahve established contact with some rebel cells on
Cybertron. Most of the planet is still Decepticreep territory, but Kup
knew some people who knew some people and..."
	"Go on."
	"We've found one of your proteges. Remember Magnum?"
	Prime scanned through eons-old data files, long
unaccessed. "Yes...I think so."
	"He's callin' himself 'Ultra Magnus' now, rebuilt himself to
look a lot lahk you, in fact...and he's got a whole team of operatives
under his command. Kup worked with them, he'll vouch for 'em. There's
a triple-changer named Springer, someone named Arcee, and a punk kid
callin' himself..."
	"I don't need the dossier right now. If you can bring them to
Earth, then do it."
	"You got it, Prahm."

*****

	"Perceptor?"
	"Hm? Ah...yes, Carly? What can I do for you?"
	"I just haven't seen you since Ratchet pronounced you fit to
go back to work. What have you been doing?"
	"Oh...I..well..."
	Carly jumped up onto the transformer-scaled computer console,
and winced slightly. Some the wounds were still healing. She peered
down at the screen, having learned to read Cybertronian technoglyphs
years before.  "That looks like an analysis of the human/cybernetic
fusion technology the Borg used." She smiled conspiratorially. "Didn't
Prime say that data was too dangerous to be used?"
	"Well...he did...but you see...he is sometimes TOO
cautious...I mean...knowledge can't just be thrown away, it must be
preserved and..."
	"Don't worry, Pereceptor. I agree. But you can't keep that
data in these systems for long. Even you can't hide it from Blaster,
and Blaster won't truck with anyone disobeying Prime."
	"I am cognizant of this. I am preparing a single encoded,
compressed transmission to an ally of mine on Cybertron, a fellow
scientist called...ah...Chromedome would be the human translation of
his chosen name. He has long had an interest in such fusions...the
possibilities are fascinating. There are certain..."
	Carly hopped down. "Well, don't get too distracted. We need to
get back to work on our main project."
	Perceptor nodded. "It's really not all that important, I
suppose. I doubt there's any practical application for this
technology, anyway."

*****

Subspace.
	One of uncounted billions of 'pocket universes' which coexist
with our own.
	In an instant, this universe was filled with ten trillion
pieces of exploding Borg. But this particular universe was already
occupied, and the matter it could hold was fixed. As the Borg ship
warped in, the previous occupant was forced out.
	FREE!!!!!!
	AFTER UNCOUNTED AEONS, I AM FREE!
	HUNGER. I HUNGER.
	THERE.
	FOOD.
	Slowly, very slowly, the planet-sized sphere began to drift
towards the nearest sun...

THE END.

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