The Beginning
The row of chairs, in the dark, cool room, was filled. In front of the chairs was a long table, covered with data-pads and glasses of a glowing blue liquid. Behind the cluttered table, each member sat straight and dignified as they listened silently and without a spark of emotion, to the mech’s speech. He was on the podium in the middle of the vast room, hands laid on his chest in regular Cybertronian formality.
“...And to ask for your wisdom and acceptance, my lords. My brother and I have discovered a new planet with a core of energon, and it is a safe and clean place. It is perfect for mining and allowing the cities to flourish. Energon is always needed: we have many more generations that will come to pass, long before Cybertron will languish, and we would not want any innocent citizen to starve, would we?”
The mechs seemed unmoved, but whispers were heard from the audience in the grandstand, hesitant, quiet voices that seemed fearful. As the whispers faded away, the mechs of The Cybertronian Legislative Order looked at each other, and began to speak in low voices.
Finally, the mech in the center of the row slowly rose to his feet. He was eldest of The Order, and deep lines ran down the sides of his face. His eyes were concealed by a glowing green visor—a color signifying prominent status.
“Brother Necronus,” he said, in his slow, careful way. “As every sparkling is taught, and every living mech and femme is undoubtedly aware of, the Order must make its decisions carefully. We have been given the most important task in our world, and we cannot bear it lightly. We must think over every suggestion with caution, with involvement, with wisdom.”
The mechs of The Order nodded, always solemn and wise.
“But this time,” the old mech continued, “we have no need to think through your suggestion. Our answer is unanimous.”
Necronus’ head never moved, but his heart was swelling with pride and joy.
“You cannot mine the planet.”
His head jerked up, and his one eye widened. “My—my lords?” he stammered as a wave of murmurs swept through the audience behind him.
The old mech shook his head—he was not joking. The Order never joked. “You have no approval from The Order, Brother Necronus. It is an evil thing to even think of mining a planet inhabited by innocent species. And even if there was no living thing, we still would not have given you our consent: you could bring the order of every galaxy into pandemonium.”
Behind him, the audience’s murmuring was growing louder. He heard several mocking cries. Necronus suddenly felt hot—his body grew rigid, and his one blue eye blazed.
“Is this because my ancestors were the Blades of Chaos?” he cried out, anger drowning out the voices of his mockers. “You only reject my suggestions because my family name is evil? Oh, Order, you are blind, deceitful mechs who lust for power and crush anyone who would only want to help you. You consider anyone wanting to give advice dangerous, you hurt transformers who’s lineage may once have been evil, but do not act like their ancestors, and you prefer to harbor all power to yourselves!”
There was a gasp from the audience. Insulting The Order was something unheard of—each member was just and good, having been chosen by the Council of Primus itself, and they were loved dearly by Cybertron’s citizens.
The old mech stiffened, and there was a dangerous glint beneath his visor. “Necronus, watch what pours out of your mouth. Evil thoughts are taking over your mind, and you need to stop them. This is how your ancestors became the Blades of Chaos—when they no longer wanted to listen to good counsel!”
But Necronus was not finished. Stepping from the podium, no longer clasping his hands above his chest, he exclaimed in rage, “I will not listen to your counsel! I refuse to believe you have made a wise decision, and I will travel myself to the planet. I never wanted to be a hero to Cybertron—I simply wanted to help it as it traverses into greatness and earn a better name for my family! My feelings have been injured, but my will has not, and I will aid these great cities and change the evil thoughts concerning my lineage!”
With that, Necronus gathered his cape up about him and stalked from the room. His mind was numb from anger, shock, and hatred, but his tongue wasn’t. When he came through the doors, his young brother Megatron came up beside him. The red-armored mech was handsome and only several centuries old, but he was wise beyond his years, like Necronus.
“How was it, brother?” Megatron asked eagerly, mistaking Necronus’ angry footsteps for excitement. “How did The Order act?”
Necronus did not answer at first. But then he finally choked out, “They’ve already made a decision.”
“Already!” Megatron exclaimed in astonishment. “But usually such suggestions are contemplated for a long while—sometimes even several solar-cycles!”
His brother was still shaking in rage. Through gritted teeth, Necronus said, “They have claimed our thoughts are evil. We are not allowed to mine the planet.”
The brothers stepped out of the building and into the sunlight. Below the platform they stood on, streets were filled and busy, and transformers were wandering back and forth on the walkways. Buildings were always set above the busier roadways—there was a less chance of something being destroyed, a citizen injured, or insurances abused.
Necronus stared down at the citizens, who were so unaware as they chattered with friends and went out to work, of the danger they would be in some foul day in the future. He felt his hands curl into fists.
He glanced at Megatron. “Brother, how much do you want to bring good to our family’s name?”
“Dearly, Necronus. Nothing would please me more than to see my child live a normal life.” He looked towards the horizon, where his home was and where his sweet wife and young boy waited for him.
Now Necronus clasped Megatron by his shoulders, looking down at him. “Then will you follow me, brother Megatron, even when everyone else says I am evil and committing horrible crimes?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Megatron nodded. His young face shone with trust. “I will, my brother. I will follow you to the end.”
₪₪₪
The opening of the tunnel was cool and musty-smelling. Several inches of dust covered the floors, as if no one had stepped foot inside the corridors for a millennia. The hidden hallways were buried beneath the great Eastern city of Vendetta. They were an ancient labyrinth of tunnels that led to a room simply known as the Antechamber.
Now, in the room, sat the Thirteen Primes. They were seated about a concave table with a flat rim, sitting in silence in the pale blue light, their eyes resting on the center of the table. They had been recently awoken from their eternal slumber, and now were again looking over the past events that caused the war, by means of a hologram.
When the hologram flickered, then finally disappeared, the blue lights dimmed and there was now only a shaft on sunlight in the center of the room. The light came from the surface far above, and would only be there for a short while.
There was a long silence, and as the shaft of light slowly began to fade, the Visero Raze of Vendala asked, “Have you the list, sirs?”
In answer, a Prime named Eltura handed him a glowing data-pad. The Visero took it, and, after adjusting his visor solemnly, read its contents. There was a long silence as the mech looked through the list. Finally, his mouth pursed, and he glanced back up at the Council.
“Why have you chosen only ten warriors? We need a much larger army, my lords, to defeat Necronus and save the planet Earth.”
The Primes each shook their heads. Eltura said quietly, “We have found no one worthy except these mechs and femmes.”
“But surely there are more?” the Visero asked. “Surely many more mechs and femmes are worthy to join our army, ones who have not enlisted.”
“That may be,” Eltura murmured. “But dear Visero Raze, how are we to find them? Millions of transformers live in Vendetta alone, and many, many more across the surface of Cybertron. It would be a waste of time just to find more.”
Visero Raze shook his head. “It would be a waste of time to send only ten warriors to Earth, my lords, for they would be killed immediately and we would have to start all over again.”
“You question our wisdom, Visero Raze? Then why did you awake us in the first place?” Eltura asked quietly. But underneath the placidness of his voice, there was an edge of annoyance. The other Primes looked on stolidly. “We have decided, anyway, that a stealth team is a much wiser choice than an army. We would have to invade the humans’ territories, in full view, and all agreed they would rather not have that.”
The Visero bobbed his head quickly. “No, sirs. I ask for your forgiveness. But...” he tapped on the data-pad, “...what is the background on each of these soldiers?”
“The first, Arcturus Warmonger, is a proprietor of a weaponry business,” Eltura said. “And although he has a sharp tongue and rather unpleasant temper, his spark is pure and he is by far the most worthy of these ten to be in our army. We have chosen him as the leader—the Prime.
“Dynamo Raider is—ah, my apologies—was a construction worker. He is also like Arcturus in tongue, temperament and spark, although much more quiet. But unlike Arcturus, he was eager to join the ranks. He has had some battle experience, as he was in the Midnight War for a short while. When he was blinded he was sent back to his home city, Atelus.”
“He must be rather old if he was in the Midnight War, my lords,” the Visero said. “Are you sure he isn’t taking to his age?”
They all nodded. “We are sure,” Eltura replied. Then he continued.
“The twins Velocity, as you might have guessed by their name, are from a noble family of warriors. They are very practiced in fighting, but have never been in a real battle. Another mech like them—battle-bred, I mean—is Sentinel Magnus, son of Lieutenant Ultra Magnus. He is also experienced in ship repair.
“Alloy Jetfire is our youngest warrior so far... if I remember correctly, he’s only one hundred and ninety-six. He also tends to be a little reckless at times. But he was valedictorian of the Kalazia Academy, top in his class, and even given a blessing by the director. And like Sentinel Magnus, he knows how to repair ships.
“Sprocket Halogen and Ratchet Lesion are the two medics and scientists. Neither have much fighting experience. Also, along with science and medical skills, Sprocket is a navigation expert. Both are quiet and calm, and able to take problems without panic.
“One of the last warriors we chose is Jazz Stellar. He is an orphan, and also from the city Atelus. When he came to Vendetta at the age of three hundred and forty-two, he took on self-defense lessons. Then he became a gladiator, and now he is well-known for his fighting skills. But—” Eltura said, before the Visero could exclaim his indignation, “—although he is a gladiator, he is a very noble and friendly mech. He does not adhere to the gladiator ways as his fellows do.”
The Visero nodded shortly, then took a closer look at the list. When he noticed the name at the bottom, his jaw dropped.
“Triage Vice?!” The name was flung out of his mouth as if it were a coal of fire.
“Hold you tongue!” Eltura snapped. “He may be a Vice, but he has not the spark of his father—or his uncle. Triage is a good young mech. He makes mistakes, like any of us, yet he is pure in thought and reasoning. He has suffered without cause ever since Megatron turned, and his mother was murdered, and we feel that he could deserve some justice. We have watched him carefully, and our vote was unanimous: Triage Vice is going to Earth to fight his uncle, whether you enjoy it or not.”
