The Ilbal of Popocatepetl

Warworld 67 hung in space like a broken skull. The damage it had sustained in the battle at the Barricade was as fresh now as it was then. Nothing had rotted or corroded or decayed. The vacuum of space had preserved it perfectly. Starlight bounced across its metal surfaces, giving it a halo-like outline--a foreboding aura. It was one of the most destructive weapons in the Decepticon arsenal, and whether as active as it was then, or as dormant as it was now, it meant certain doom for those that would cross its path.

“So remind me again why we’re going up there?” Sideburn asked Pitstop, pointing at the Warworld that sat squarely in the centre of his view screen.

Pitstop approached his fellow Autobot and rested his arm on his shoulder. “Because Crosswise detected some Decepticon activity there, and we were the closest shuttle.”

Tow-Line joined the pair. “Grimlock’s on his way with a military squadron from Cybertron. We shouldn’t have to wait too long for back up.”

“Yes, but why us?” protested Sideburn. “You two, a doctor and a mechanic, and me, a recently ex-cadet who doesn’t know what to do with his life.”

“Our scanners aren’t telling us much from here, so it’s best that we take a closer look.”

“And why am I wondering that if we take too close a look we’re going to be feeling a particle rifle pushed against the backs of our heads?”

“The kid has a point,” agreed Tow-Line. “We may have won the war, but some of the Decepticons just don’t know when to let it go.”

“Look,” said Pitstop. “We have our orders from Star Saber, and I’m already on thin ice with him after I foiled his plan to deactivate Brave Maximus.”

Tow-Line slowly nodded.

“And besides, it might be a bit of an adventure for us.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Sideburn sighed.

Blast Off waited patiently on the docking rim of the Warworld. He was, as usual, alone. According to Soundwave, the rest of the Combaticon team were dead, and since receiving the news Blast Off found himself reunited with an old acquaintance.

“Dark Convoy!” the ex-Combaticon transmitted. “An Autobot shuttle has docked the Warworld.”

There was a pause before the Imperial responded. “How many inside?”

“Scanning now.”

Blast Off’s scanners pierced the Autobots’ shuttle and registered its three occupants. The energy signatures matched those of Pitstop, Tow-Line, and Sideburn. A surge of loss rushed into Blast Off as the name of the Autobot cadet sparked a memory flash of Swindle’s murder.

“Well?” demanded Dark Convoy.

“Three Autobots, sir,” Blast Off replied.

“Nothing we can’t handle here,” Dark Convoy scoffed.

“With permission,” Blast Off requested, “save the smallest one for me. I have a personal issue with that one.”

The three Autobots disembarked their shuttle, now safely housed within one of the Warworld’s hangars. The very thought of treading in enemy territory scared them.

“No lights,” commented Tow-Line. His words echoed up the walls.

“We’re lucky the integrity of the floor is holding out,” said Pitstop. “This place is a husk-oh, and I just came up with fourteen jokes about Grimlock’s brain!”

“Well I’m glad you still have the nerve to make jokes, this place is creepy.”

Pitstop took out a small scanner and handed it to Sideburn. “Okay, you may as well start your training with this. Scan for the Decepticons.”

The young Autobot stepped up obediently and activated the scanner. “S’broken,” he said nonchalantly.

“Can’t be!” protested Tow-Line. “I serviced it myself.”

Pitstop peered down at the scanner in Sideburn’s hand and concluded that, “there’s a lot of ambient radiation interfering with the signal.”

“What do you suppose...?”

“Could be residual weapons discharge from the Barricade battle?”

“Possibly.”

“It’s a localised source,” confirmed Tow-Line, activating one of his own scanners. “It’s emanating from a central storage lock right in the middle of the Warworld.”

“Worth investigating?”

“Most likely. I am sure it’s what the Decepticons are after.”

“But how do we find the Decepticons?” asked Sideburn.

“Find the radiation source, find the Decepticons.”

The black corridor that stretched out in front of the Autobots seemed to have no end. There was no background hum of machinery or interstellar spacedrives. The only noise was of the Autobots’ own footsteps; metal against metal.

“Watch your step,” warned Pitstop. “The flooring could collapse right beneath our feet.”

“Wouldn’t it be a better idea to transform and distribute our weight across our tyres?”

Pitstop and Tow-Line stopped in their tracks and turned to Sideburn. “The kid’s smart,” Pitstop smiled.

“So, have you made a decision yet little buddy?” Tow-Line asked Sideburn.

“I’m still not sure,” he replied. “Mechanic or medic?”

“Both excellent trades,” said Pitstop.

“But I don’t—“

“Just think of it as prevention and cure.”

“Huh,” said Sideburn, “I like that.”

“There’s no rush to decide anyway, is there?”

“I guess not.”

As the threesome continued on their route, Sideburn could feel a cold wind at his back. He turned but saw nothing. If truth be known he was a little scared of the dark. He refocused his attention back on Tow-Line’s searchlight.

A voice whispered behind Sideburn. “Get some, killer!” it spoke.

Sideburn winced and turned around again.

“What’s wrong?” asked Pitstop.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“A voice,” said Sideburn. “I heard a voice behind me.”

“Maybe a Decepticon!” said Tow-Line as he marched past the other two and shone his light back towards the hangar.

“What if the Autobots find us before we find it?” Skyfire asked nervously.

Dark Convoy bent down to the level of his minion. “I told you to be quiet!” he whispered sternly. “They can’t track us any more than we can track them.”

“But—"

“I just need you to have a little faith for once,” Dark Convoy growled, wrapping his hand around Skyfire’s face.

“Besides,” said Windsheer, “Blast Off’s subneuro speechdrive transmission said there were only three to deal with.”

“Quite,” said Dark Convoy. He turned to Windsheer. “How far now?”

“According to the increasing levels of radiation emitted from the Ilbal, my triangulation and echofeed calculations—“

Dark Convoy narrowed his optics.

“—uh, not more than three breems, commander.”

“What’s wrong, Pitstop?” Tow-Line asked, cupping his hand onto his friend’s shoulder. “Are you in pain?”

“Headache all of a sudden,” Pitstop replied. “Nothing serious. Probably just my optics getting tired from compensating for the darkness.”

“Well tell me if it gets any worse.”

“I will, don’t worry.”

Sideburn darted quickly in between the pair. “The scanner’s come back online!” he cried.

“What’s it picking up?”

“Okay, let me see if I can figure... uh, four discreet Transformer signals-us, a three-strong Decepticon signal, a single Decepticon signal moving to their position, and... this is weird, a single Autobot signal.”

“You mean another Autobot’s here? Who?”

Pitstop paused for a moment while he accessed his internal medical database. “Unless it’s a really early scout from Grimlock’s team? The rest of the Autobots are all on Cybertron.”

“Well no one’s responding to a short-distance radio hail.”

“Weird,” said Pitstop dismissively, trying to push his headache away. “Add it to the rest of the mysteries on the list.”

The alien vessel exited the Void a short distance from Warworld 67. The spherical husk was a thief in the Einstrom’s eyes. Its tall, sinewy and glistening form tensed at the thought of finally retrieving the Ilbal from its captor.

The craft boarded the Warworld and the Einstrom disembarked. Its walk was silent save for the padding of its leathery feet against the cold metal floor.

No technology comprised the alien’s physiology but it instinctively detected the life signs of the Autobots and Decepticons onboard the Warworld. And the Ilbal, of course.

With a fervour borne from hundreds of years of searching, the creature began running towards the Transformers with a hunger for death in its maw.

“Get some, killer!”

“Get some, killer!”

Sideburn twisted his head around, nervously hoping (or not hoping) to see the source of the whispers. There was nothing but darkness.

“Get some, killer!”

The small Autobot quickened his pace up to Tow-Line and Pitstop, hoping that the voices would stop. All they did was to remind him of the death of Swindle at Wildride’s urging. Sideburn had thought—mistakenly—that Wildride would be right; that killing Swindle would avenge Speedbreaker’s death.

“Commander!”

“What now, Windsheer?”

“I’m getting a reading... there’s a non-Transformer life form on the Warworld.”

“Non-Transformer?”

“Comparing it to the datab—ah, it’s you-know-who.”

“Damn,” spat Dark Convoy.

“Goodie,” sang Skyfire. The Decepticon lifted his hands and hot white flames burst from his fingers.

“No, not ‘goodie’,” said Windsheer. “If he gets his hands on the Ilbal before we do, all this will be for nothing.”

Tow-Line stopped suddenly, taking Pitstop and Sideburn unawares.

“What?”

“Look ahead,” whispered Tow-Line.

Before the Autobots stood a tall figure, outlined only by a burnt orange glow. Its hulking shoulders heaved as if the lungs inside were out of breath.

Sideburn sidestepped behind Pitstop and readied his weapon.

The Einstrom widened his eyes and let them burn. It growled.

“Uh... uh...” panicked Tow-Line.

“Is it going to attack?”

The alien contracted its arms and legs and squatted down.

“I reckon so.”

The Einstrom launched itself upwards, and in one leap it landed right in front of the Autobots. Before they could react, the massive creature swung its arm; bony protrusions escaped its knuckles and connected with Tow-Line’s stomach.

The Autobot doubled back in pain, screaming and falling into Pitstop’s arms.

Sideburn fired his weapon at the alien, but the lasers merely ricocheted off the black leathery skin.

“Can you walk?” Pitstop asked Tow-Line.

“Hell with walking,” Tow-Line cried. “I’m running!”

The three Autobots took to their heels and fled from the alien. With another leap it was in front of them again.

“Turn back and split!” shouted Pitstop. “It can’t follow all three of us.”

“Uh, you sure?” cried Sideburn, looking behind.

As the Autobots sped back in the opposite direction, the Einstrom spread its arms out as if ready to explode. Instead, it separated and dissipated into a swarm of tiny, insect-like organisms.

The horde of aliens split into three masses and followed each of the Autobots along each of their separate escape routes.

“He’s just done his party trick,” reported Windsheer. “I’ll start timing.”

In his haste, Sideburn had lost his footing in an upthrust of battletorn Warworld flooring and tripped and fell. The mass of Einstrom circled and buzzed him. Flashes of heat and light danced across the Autobot’s metal skin as they attacked.

Sideburn wailed out in pain.

He thrashed his arms over his head, hoping to swat as many of the insects as he could. Their barrage was relentless and the noise of their wings was a riot in Sideburn’s audio receptors.

He could feel their collective grip pulling him down. He wailed again, begging them to stop. The Einstrom continued to pinch and bite and burn until the Autobot stopped fighting.

A harsh, bitter taste entered Sideburn’s mouth. His oil was burning from the inside, and flames licked his throat. His vision began to blur as primary systems began to short out.

There was a flash of neon yellow and suddenly the pain stopped. The insects had gone, leaving behind the sight of Sideburn’s saviour-and best friend.

“Speedbreaker.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” said Sideburn. His voice was low and careful. He feared the slightest vibrations would tear into Speedbreaker’s armour and kill him again. “For the longest time I felt responsible for your death. You can’t imagine how tough it’s been... the guilt... the regret...”

“I had a tough time getting back to you, little buddy,” replied Speedbreaker, smiling, “but it was worth it.”

“How?”

Speedbreaker reached forward and clasped his hand around Sideburn’s shoulder. “That’s not important right now.”

“But...”

“We need to get you, Pitstop and Tow-Line off this Warworld immediately.”

Sideburn glanced down at his injuries. “No arguments here.”

Pitstop’s shoulders tensed and reeled as he slid his fingers over his injuries. The insect-like Einstrom had bitten right through his armour. Moving quickly, Pitstop cauterised a small wound that was leaking oil into another wound; and that was causing painful chip flashes.

He stood groggily, clutching his head. His headache seemed to be worsening. He ignored the pain and scanned the darkened corridor. There was no sign of the alien. For the moment.

Falling into his medical training protocol, Pitstop transmitted an emergency beacon. He didn’t consider for a second that it would reach as far as Cybertron, but it would hopefully warn Grimlock’s team prior to their arrival.

Pitstop then gathered together his tools and medical equipment and dashed in the direction he came. The Warworld was a maze to him, and despite the savage nature of the Einstrom’s multiple attack, he was confident he would find his friends in a repairable state.

“How long have we got?”

“Just under seven breems, commander,” Windsheer replied.

Dark Convoy flexed his fingers and straightened out his arms. “And how far from the Vault are we?”

“We’ll get there in two breems. Easy.”

“Then follow me,” Dark Convoy instructed.

Skyfire and Windsheer marched up behind their leader as he strode purposefully down the corridor. His footsteps were loud and brash, confident in the knowledge that the alien force that had stalked his kind for so many years would not be able to attack again until he had the Ilbal in his possession once more. The sound echoed along walls of the Warworld, their weakened foundations shaking as if themselves scared of Dark Convoy’s presence.

Skyfire remained vigilant, untrusting of Windsheer’s calculations. He repetitively glanced behind his back.

“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Windsheer reassured. “I’ve been studying the Einstrom from centuries. After splitting into their insectoid form, they need time to gather and recharge.”

Skyfire flicked his igniters nervously. “I’ll feel better when we get the Ilbal and torch this place.”

“Less chat and more pace,” growled Dark Convoy. The group came to a fork in the corridor. The left led to the command deck and the right led to a medical bay. Dark Convoy kicked at a cover in the floor with his right foot. “Open this.”

Windsheer crouched over the cover and prised it open. There was a pressurised hissing noise and a small plume of white smoke evaporated in the thin atmosphere. “So, who’s first?” he asked.

Dark Convoy pushed him aside. “Rhetoricism,” he grunted.

A trickle of honey-like liquid splashed onto Tow-Line’s helmet, spurring him into action. “What?” he muttered to himself as he shifted himself upright. He wiped the ooze from his head and rubbed it over his fingers. “Organic?”

Tow-Line glanced around. The air around him was clear and fresh, almost the opposite of the tense atmosphere (or lack thereof) aboard the Warworld. He was sat on an earthy, grass-covered mound. Above him hung a nest of some kind from a tree with thick and gnarled branches. A black insect crawled from out of the nest and buzzed away into the green sky. The Autobot recognised the insect as the same type that was attacking him just moments ago.

In the distance, Tow-Line noticed a stone formation. The stones were roofed and tall openings gave the impressions of doorways. He wasn’t sure what kind of creature would habit such caves... but he should have known.

“Decepticons!” he whispered to himself.

Striding out of one of the caves was Onslaught, the legendary Decepticon strategist. Tow-Line had never met him, but recognised him all the same. Onslaught was quickly followed by his four team members, Brawl, Swindle, Blast Off and Vortex.

Tow-Line inched closer, under the cover of the earthy mounds, in a bid to figure out where he was.

“He’s late,” frowned Swindle.

“Patience,” replied Onslaught.

In front of the Combaticons, a small rift in space opened. There was a bright flash of light, and when it dissipated, Dark Convoy stood in its place.

The large black Decepticon handed Onslaught a box. The box was bulky and composed seemingly of brushed titanium. There was a small display panel on one side.

“Don’t open this until you hear from me again,” Dark Convoy commanded. “The Ilbal of Popocatepetl killed almost a hundred of my best troops.”

“We’ll keep it safely in the Vault and await your orders,” said Onslaught.

“Excellent,” said Dark Convoy.

“Once I have mastered the Ilbal and overthrown the Empire, you five shall rule by my side.”

Tow-Line tapped the side of his helmet. He was confused. He checked his internal systems for sensory misfire, but all systems were functioning within normal parameters.

He checked his chronometer. “1997,” it told him. Tow-Line was sure he hadn’t travelled back in time, but nonetheless the evidence was there.

The Autobot’s thoughts were interrupted but a low-toned growl behind him. He turned with a start to see a tall, dark and not-at-all-handsome creature standing behind him. It was the same creature that attacked him on the Warworld.

Tow-Line scrambled on his back, trying to move away from the alien. It seemed to look right through the Autobot, and it’s attention moved to the Decepticons. In a single leap, it launched itself into the air and landed among the Decepticons.

Swindle and Vortex were swatted away. Onslaught ducked out of the way and fired his weapon at the Einstrom. Dark Convoy unsheathed his sword and lunged forwards.

Blast Off moved to the side and transformed into shuttle mode. “Get in!” he hollered.

The Decepticons obeyed and Blast Off, living up to his codename, left the Einstrom snarling and growling and feeling cheated of the Ilbal.

Blast Off gripped his ionic blaster tightly in his hand. He had heard Sideburn’s screams when the Einstrom attacked, heard his panicked footsteps when he ran away, heard the beautiful sounds of a horde of insects biting at Autobot armour. He hoped the alien hadn’t killed Sideburn-he was here to finish the job.

“Which way back to the shuttle?” Speedbreaker asked Sideburn.

“I’m not sure,” admitted Sideburn. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“If Pitstop and Tow-Line are still alive, that’s where they would have headed.”

“Do you think they’re dead?”

“You were lucky I was here to save you from those alien insects,” said Speedbreaker, “but they had no one watching their back.”

“That’s something you Autobots ought to remedy,” sneered Blast Off as he emerged from the shadows.

“Buh?”

Before the Autobots could react, Blast Off discharged his weapon into Speedbreaker’s chest. The explosion folded Speedbreaker in half and he dropped to the ground.

“No!” screamed Sideburn.

Blast Off fired again and Sideburn slumped to the floor.

Pitstop was losing faith and confidence. He had walked a hundred corridors and still no sign of his friends. He couldn’t shout out for fear of attracting the Decepticons or the alien, but at this rate-

He stopped suddenly, hearing Sideburn cry out in the darkness. Stupid lad! thought Pitstop, they’ll all come running.

Blast Off recharged his blaster and stepped slowly towards Sideburn. Sideburn was slumped against a corridor wall, offline—possibly dead—with his mouth open.

“Blasted Autobots with their incomprehensible humanisms,” Blast Off commented. He knelt down and tilted Sideburn’s head back. He then pushed the barrel of his weapon into Sideburn’s mouth.

“You’d think I would be above petty notions like revenge,” said Blast Off. “After all, I’m above most other base emotions.

“But then you wouldn’t think of all that being a combiner entails,” the Combaticon continued. “’You’ll be like no other life forms in the universe,’ Megatron told us. ‘You’ll share your mind as well as your body.’”

Blast Off pushed his weapon further.

“And we were like no other... five minds as one. There was nothing we could hide from one another. It was a level of honesty that not even the closest of beings shared.

“And you destroyed it.”

Blast Off craned forwards and prepared to pull the trigger.

Pitstop fluidly lowered his fingers behind Blast Off’s neck and squeezed. Blast Off arched back in pain, attempted to cry out and promptly went into stasis lock.

The Autobot medic shook the energon from his fingers. “Primary energon conduit,” he told the offline Decepticon. “Feeds the brain, and when it ruptures, your brain switches to battery back-up and you become helpless.” He would have smiled if the situation wasn’t so desperate.

Pitstop turned his attention to Sideburn. Sideburn’s optics were blank and Pitstop could detect no energy signatures. There was nothing.

“Oh god,” said Pitstop, realising that Sideburn was dead.

Windsheer nudged Skyfire and gestured to his energy scanner. “Looks like our escape route has just gone offline,” he said, pointing at Blast Off’s dead signal.

“Well you and me still have jet modes,” laughed Skyfire. “We can’t just keep the Ilbal for ourselves and leave Dark Convoy behind.”

“I’d like to see you try that once we switch to remote mode.”

“Bah!”

As the two Decepticons approached the vault, Skyfire noticed a white glow in the surface of the shielding. “Get back!” he shouted to Windsheer.

“What?”

“That thing will fry our brains... look! The casing’s cracked.”

“No. Really! Maybe you think that’s how the Einstrom tracked it down?”

“Uh?”

“That thing’s been emitting its radiation ever since the throwbacks had their little battle here.”

“...”

“And the reason we managed to find it?” Windsheer knocked Skyfire on the side of his head. “Thick as two short energon rods, you.”

“So is it time for us to switch to remote mode now?”

Pitstop was past caring who could hear him. His headache was worsening by the minute, he’d already lost Sideburn and he hoped to Primus he hadn’t lost Tow-Line as well.

“Tow-Line!”

“Tow-Line!”

“Tow-Line!”

“Tow... Oh no...”

At the end of the corridor, Pitstop could make out the outline of his friend. Tow-Line was slumped, like Sideburn, with his back against the wall. Pitstop stopped in his tracks and waited for any signs of movement. He waited for Tow-Line to leap up and throw an energon snack at him, to laugh and run over and punch him playfully in the chest and recite the universal greeting backwards.

He waited until he realised that Tow-Line wasn’t going to get up.

Dark Convoy appeared behind Pitstop. “Dead, is he?”

The Autobot turned slowly, the cold voice sent surge over his circuits. “I-I think so.”

Dark Convoy’s optics glowed as he stepped up to Pitstop. “He’s not dead, but he may as well be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your two friends are enthralled by the Ilbal-the ambient radiation you surely detected when you arrived here.”

“The Ilbal?”

“...Of Popocatepetl. It’s the prize I lost many warriors to hundreds of years ago. It’s the prize that I’ve had hidden from the Einstrom until I was mentally prepared enough to possess it without it possessing me.”

“It’s that what it’s done to my friends?”

“Yes,” said Dark Convoy. “And if I was interested in the Autobots I might wonder why you haven’t been affected.”

“Could it be used to free them from its thrall?”

“My plans don’t account for reviving Autobots, only killing them,” Dark Convoy hissed. “Like I said, they’re as good as dead.”

Pitstop sank to his knees.

“And with that in mind, it’s two down and one to go.”

Dark Convoy laughed. He had a sword in his hands and an Autobot on his knees.

Pitstop tensed as the Decepticon stepped closer. Despite his obvious delight in the imminent murder of an enemy, there was a hesitation in his stride. Pitstop realised he was physically and tactically outmatched in every way by Dark Convoy. He had to use the one tool he was adept with-his intelligence.

“I’ll be honest with you, Autobot,” Dark Convoy said, “Your kind usually just serve as target practice. I’ve never taken an interest in your motives or affairs... until I met you.”

Pitstop lifted his head to Dark Convoy, despite the pain of his mysterious headache and replied: “And what have I done to change your outlook?”

“You intrigue me.”

“Uh, I’m really not that kind of robot.”

Dark Convoy knelt to Pitstop’s level and slid the edge of his sword against his chest. A hairline cut appeared on Pitstop’s chest and thick oil began to seep out. “I don’t do jokes,” Dark Convoy hissed. “I mean that I am intrigued that you haven’t succumbed to the Ilbal’s powers.”

The two robots turned in unison to Tow-Line’s lifeless body.

“Not like your friend, there.”

Pitstop returned his glance to Dark Convoy and noticed the hesitation again. He activated his internal medical scanners in the hope of using it to his advantage.

Some levels down, Skyfire and Windsheer obediently retrieved the Ilbal of Popocatepetl from the Vault. Their movements unnatural and their optics unlit.

There was a small pool of oil forming between Pitstop’s knees where it had been seeping from the fresh wound on his chest. If Dark Convoy had a mouth, he would surely be smiling broadly.

The Decepticon lifted his sword from Pitstop’s chest and pressed its edge against the formation of wires in his neck—the most vulnerable part of his body. The heat from the sword started to melt the wires and a quiet squeal escaped Pitstop’s vocaliser.

Dark Convoy drew his sword across Pitstop’s neck, preparing himself for that satisfying clunk that an Autobot’s head made when it bounced on the steel floor.

“Wait!” cried Pitstop. “Stop!”

Dark Convoy ignored his plea.

“I know you’ve been lying!” Pitstop shouted.

The Decepticon quickly snatched his sword away, and grabbed Pitstop’s arm, lifting him to his feet. “What?”

Pitstop tried to compose himself. “This whole thing about you being ready to control the Ilbal... it’s all a lie!”

“So defiant, and so close to death,” Dark Convoy snarled.

Pitstop shakily administered a heat laser to his neck, cauterising the wound. “You don’t intimidate me any more... I know that you’re just as scared of the Ilbal as any of us.”

“Oh?”

“I scanned you. You’ve been preoccupied with remote controlling your two minions to get the Ilbal from the Vault. It’s why you’ve got them ‘switched-off’... in case the Ilbal enthrals them too. And it’s why you haven’t retrieved it yourself.”

Dark Convoy sheathed his sword in admission.

Good guess, Pitstop thought to himself. He moved towards Dark Convoy, his confidence building. “Tell me,” he asked, trying to buy himself some time, “why do you want the Ilbal?”

Dark Convoy folded his arms and chuckled. “My opinion of you has changed, Autobot, from being intrigued to being impressed.”

Pitstop cocked his head to one side and smiled falsely.

“Very well,” the Decepticon agreed. “What do you think it is that drives the power-hungry?

“It is the complete control and subjugation of the population. A population that will, without question, grant the wishes of its Overlord.

“The Leige Maximo was on the right lines... but his downfall was caused by those that were outside the boundaries of his control.”

Dark Convoy’s optics flared. “But with the Ilbal in my possession, I will not be vulnerable to chaos or free will. There will at last be order throughout not just the Cybertronian Empire, but countless galaxies as well. All will be in unison and ordered by a single guiding force...

“Me.”

“You’re mad,” said Pitstop.

“Not at all, Autobot. Unlike those that tried before me, I am in complete control.”

Pitstop turned away from Dark Convoy. “Like I said before,” he said dismissively, “you’re lying. If you were in complete control you’d be wearing that damn Ilbal and getting on with your conquest of the known Universe.”

Angry, Dark Convoy reached for his sword again.

“Though you have to wonder,” Pitstop continued. “Why haven’t I been affected by the Ilbal? Why am I not ‘dead’ like Tow-Line and Sideburn?

“Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why? If I’m not affected, then maybe I can use it on your behalf.”

Dark Convoy laughed. “Oh, I already know why you’re not affected. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do. You think that if the Ilbal did this to your friends, then it can be used to free their minds.”

Pitstop could make out footsteps further down the corridor behind him. It was Skyfire and Windsheer with the Ilbal.

“At last,” said Dark Convoy.

“I am ready for you,” sung Dark Convoy. “After hundreds of years of preparation and training, I am ready.”

He held the Ilbal of Popocatepetl at arm’s length. It was composed of millions of tiny crystals—each facet emitting light. It looked fragile, as if the slighted knock would shatter it completely.

Pitstop wondered if he should be looking directly at it. The pain inside his head was worse now than ever.

“But,” said Dark Convoy, “this Autobot before me thinks he can take control of you and free his friends. I wonder, should I grant him the opportunity? Or should I use you to make him succumb to his fantasies and leave him comatose forever more?”

Pitstop stepped towards the lure of the Ilbal. He was desperate to try anything to save Tow-Line and Sideburn.

“It will kill you,” warned Dark Convoy.

“I don’t care,” said Pitstop. “I need to try.”

“Why?”

“Because I am a doctor, and I will do anything and everything in my means to save the life of another.”

“I don’t doubt that at all, Autobot. You are by far the most intelligent being I have ever met.

“But as far as I’m concerned, that is your greatest weakness.”

Dark Convoy returned the Ilbal to Skyfire.

“If you want the Ilbal, you will have to kill me for it.”

A short distance from the Transformers, the Einstrom awoke. It had recharged enough and was ready for another attack. It would not fail its masters. It would return the Ilbal to its rightful owner.

“I can’t kill you,” Pitstop told Dark Convoy.

The Decepticon just laughed. “You can’t because you’re too scared? You’ve realised how hopelessly outmatched you are compared to me?”

“No,” said Pitstop. “I can’t kill you because that’s not who I am. Like I said, I’m a doctor. And what kind of doctor would I be if I started trading one life for another?

“I’m sorry, but I’m not one of those characters that changes their personality just to fit the story.”

“If you’re not even going to try to fight me, then I’m afraid I can’t give you the Ilbal.”

“Yes you can,” assured Pitstop. “And you will give it to me.”

Before Dark Convoy could question Pitstop a distant noise alerted him. “Oh no,” he said, “The Einstrom.”

The Decepticon glanced quickly at his two remote-mode puppets and then at Pitstop. “That alien that attacked you, he’s coming back.”

“Is he now?” said Pitstop nonchalantly.

“He’ll kill us all to get the Ilbal back!”

“Then you had better give it to me so I can save my friends.”

“And how will that help me?”

“Because,” explained Pitstop, “you have no means to get off this Warworld. You’re trapped. Your transport—Blast Off, I think he’s called—is currently offline, and I, being the only doctor, am the only one with the skill to repair him.”

“But...”

“And you may switch off the remote-mode of your two pals there, hoping that the three of you together can kill the alien, but then the Ilbal will engulf their minds.”

The approaching footsteps of the Einstrom became louder in Dark Convoy’s receptors. He was beginning to panic. He was beginning to lose control.

“So, as you can see, I don’t have to fight you, and you have no choice but to give me the Ilbal so I can save my friends, and you can save yourself.”

“Where Decepticons then?” Grimlock asked Tow-Line. “What about signal we traced?”

“Gone I’m afraid, commander,” Tow-Line lied. “They must have taken off before we arrived.”

Grimlock clenched his fists and grunted. He was disappointed.

Pitstop was lost in his gaze out of one of the Salvation’s starboard windows. In his hand was a single shard of the Ilbal of Popocatepetl.

Sideburn touched Pitstop on the shoulder. “I don’t know if I can thank you enough,” he said.

Pitstop turned to the younger Autobot. “You don’t need to.”

“Come on! Single-handedly defeating yet another Decepticon conqueror, saving mine and Tow-Line’s lives, and possibly everyone else’s in the known Universe... and all without firing a weapon or lifting a fist!”

“Just because our race has been embroiled in a bitter, multi-generational war for millions of years doesn’t mean that one or two of us can’t find a peaceful resolution.”

Sideburn laughed for a second. “But how did you know what to do?”

Pitstop looked at the crystal shard. “Destroying the Ilbal was the only way. There are some forces that are too powerful to be controlled.”

“I appreciate that you want to keep all this quiet and stay away from the whole glory thing, but I really do think you deserve a medal or something.”

“Thanks, Sideburn.”

Sideburn turned to leave, but Pitstop stopped him. “Have you made a decision yet?”

Sideburn paused for a moment. “Yeah, I want to be a doctor, like you.”

“Any reason?”

“You said you and Tow-Line were like prevention and cure, but the way I see it after all that happened on that Warworld, there’s no way anyone could have prevented that.” Sideburn smiled. “But you managed to cure it.”

As Sideburn left, Pitstop turned back to the window. While the destruction of the Ilbal freed his friends from its thrall, his own headaches hadn’t gone away. Dark Convoy had said he already knew why Pitstop hadn’t been affected, and now Pitstop was concerned with finding out exactly what he meant.