Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-10

“I don’t believe it!” called Optimus happily over the screen the next day. “You beat the Decepticon Headmasters?!”

“They’ve left for Animatros,” replied Llyra.

“What IS Animatros, anyway?” asked Amy.

“One of our colonies,” explained Optimus. “Bots with beast modes instead of vehicle modes like us.”

“That explains so much,” muttered Amy.

“It sounds like you’ve had quite the adventure on Nebulos,” chuckled Optimus.

“She has honored us with her involvement in its liberation from my father,” proclaimed Llyra.

“Er, then why do you still have your family crest?” asked Optimus. “Doesn’t the House of Skargh now have dishonor staining its name?”

“Sentiment, mainly,” sighed Llyra. “And it does.”

“Llyra,” called Trema, “how would you like to replace sentiment with a new beginning?” She then took her own family crest off her shoulder and held it out to Llyra. “This has been too long. I have been a stubborn old woman to not notice your own honor.”

“Lady Trema?” asked Llyra.

“The House of Rozak,” declared Trema, “would be honored to welcome you into our family as a warrior, a wife, and a leader.”

“Does this mean…?” gasped Llyra.

“You and Galen have a wedding to plan, my daughter-in-law,” chuckled Trema. Llyra got misty-eyed as she accepted the crest and pinned it to her shoulder. They then did a Roman handshake, then a hug.

“You know, if you’re going to accept me into your house,” mused Llyra, “then it is only fitting that I improve your position.”

“You don’t need to,” assured Trema.

“But I must,” insisted Llyra. “Galen, Stylor, and I have been discussing your plans for the future.”

“I was not aware I HAD any plans,” muttered Trema.

“Lady Trema,” offered Llyra, “how would you feel about being named Nebulos’ official ambassador to Mobius?”

“…I’m not a diplomat,” argued Trema.”

“Nor am I a politician,” replied Llyra, “but this whole time has proven that fate can play cruel tricks on us.”

“She’s right,” mused Amy. “Mobius needs your skills. What’s more, I need you.”

“Well, my first duty is to my house,” answered Trema.

“Am I interrupting?” asked Galen’s voice. He approached the group. “What is this I see?” he asked.

“On top of me finally accepting Llyra into our house?” quizzed Trema. Llyra showed her shoulder off to prove it. “We’ve been discussing whether or not I should be Nebulos’ ambassador to Mobius. As I told them, my first duty is to my house.”

“Mother, I see no honor,” replied Galen, “in keeping you from your friends.” Trema considered, then decided.

“It has been a great honor fighting Zarak with you, my son,” she bid.

“The honor was mine,” replied Galen. Trema then turned to Llyra.

“Lady Llyra, as you accepted being Supreme Councilor,” she declared, “I accept being an ambassador.”

“Excellent,” cheered Llyra. “Your first assignment is to tell Optimus that Nebulos wishes to join the Autobot Alliance and fight the Decepticon Empire! You will also offer aid in any way you can, even combat aid!” Trema grinned, then turned to the screen as Optimus grinned.

“Optimus, Nebulos wishes to join the Autobot Alliance and fight the Decepticon Empire,” she relayed. “I will give aid in any way I can, even combat aid.”

“Wonderful news to hear,” chuckled Optimus. “Llyra, we’ll have to have a summit the instant Aleena and I finalize the terms of Mobius’ membership into the Autobot Alliance.”

“Mobius?!” yelped Amy. “Part of some interstellar alliance?!”

“Why not?” asked Trema.

“You and I have a lot to talk about when I get back,” chuckled Amy.

“When can I expect you?” asked Optimus.

“Master Trema, how long did it take the Retranga to get here?” quizzed Amy.

“Let’s see,” mused Trema, “Nebulos is 23.35 light-years from Mobius and we were going at warp 7, not counting the interruptions from the D.J.D and Ex-Traboon Monzo, so, 13 days. But we’re not taking the Retranga home.”

“Trema and I have already discussed this,” supplied Llyra. “You’re using the Space Bridge to return to the Autobot base on Mobius.”

“It’s a lot like the Ground Bridge,” continued Trema, “just more intense.”

“It’s going to take the better half of the day for our scientists to calculate where the Space Bridge portal will be placed,” finished Llyra, “even with the coordinates Optimus gave us. So we have all day today to have a farewell tour.”

“I would like that,” cheered Amy.

“Then I’ll leave you to it,” bid Optimus. “See you tomorrow.” The call ended and Amy smiled.

“I’ve missed Mobius,” she sighed. “It would be nice to see home again.”

“A feeling I’ve had since I came to Mobius,” remarked Trema. “There really is no place like home.”

Amy, Trema, Natalie, and Sira were at the Space Bridge platform with their luggage in tow the next day. They were given a hero’s farewell after freeing Nebulos from the Decepticons. Llyra was at the Space Bridge apparatus with a technician at the controls. He set the coordinates and a larger portal opened. Amy, Natalie, and Sira almost lost their footing. “Intense was right!” shouted Amy over the din.

“Coordinates confirmed,” called the technician. “You may proceed.”

“May honor and victory bless your battles,” bid Llyra.

“And may they bless yours,” returned Trema. “Tell me when your wedding is. I don’t want to miss it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of excluding you,” replied Llyra. “Farewell.”

“Farewell!” called Trema and her sister witches. They soon walked through the portal.

Back at Autobot HQ, a portal opened inside the Ground Bridge apparatus. Optimus, the Autobots, and Sonic and his friends were waiting in the Command Center. Soon, four figures walked through, a Nebulan woman, two human women, and a female Mobian hedgehog with pink fur. “SONIC!” cheered Amy as she started hugging him. As she nuzzled her face in his chest, everyone noticed that he was less eager to get away.

“Well I never,” chuckled Optimus. Amy broke the embrace and turned to everyone else.

“I have a LOT to tell you guys!” began Amy. To make a long story short, she told them all about her adventures on Nebulos and in space from running into the D.J.D to helping Starna place Black Scar in mode-lock and giving Zarak and his cronies discommendation.

“Even Megatron got discommendation?” muttered Optimus. He then whistled. “That’s a blow to the Decepticon Empire. If the leader of an organization was stripped of honor on Nebulos, the entire organization is stripped. Looks like Nebulos and the Decepticons aren’t on speaking terms.”

“Eggman wasn’t too happy about being stripped of honor either,” recalled Trema.

“He’s one of those people that would scoff at the notion of honor,” mused Amy.

“Even so,” sighed Optimus, “we DO have a bit of trouble since Nemesis Prime’s allied himself with the Decepticons.”

“But, through those struggles,” called a woman’s voice, “we have a new wizard and new allies.” A femme then came up. She was colored rusty red and copper rust green and had the ladder-boom of a fire engine on her back with the bucket behind her head. The fire engine’s cab formed her feet while the rear of the engine formed her arms and shoulders. Her helm had horns like Ratchet’s and she had a white face with red eye makeup and lips.

“Who are you?” asked Amy.

“I am Pyra Magna,” introduced the femme, “leader of the Rust Renegades, or Torchbearers, whichever you prefer, and Optimus’ teacher when it came to magic.” She then looked at Sira. “I understand you knocked some sense into my student when he went through a power craze.”

“I did,” replied Sira. Pyra Magna then grinned.

“I owe you a great deal,” thanked Pyra Magna. “For, through your actions, you have assured me that Optimus is worthy of wearing a Wizard’s Crest.”

“A Wizard’s Crest?!” gasped Amy. She then turned to Optimus. “You mean…?!”

“I’m now a full-fledged Wizard of the Red Order,” confirmed Optimus.

“Congratulations!” cheered Amy.

“And your actions on Nebulos,” interjected Sira, “have assured me of my decision.” She then drew out a necklace with a rose-based crest colored in red. Amy’s eyes went wide.

“…Me?!” she gasped.

“Amy Rose O’Hedge,” proclaimed Sira, “I, Sira Mayworth, Grand High Witch of Mobius, do hereby recognize you as a sister Witch of the Red Order. You have successfully completed your training and kept an open mind wherever you went in the universe, fixing mistakes as you went and learning from those mistakes. May you strengthen the universe as a true witch.” She then tied the necklace around Amy’s neck and it glowed red for three seconds before fading. Amy was misty-eyed as she hugged Sira.

“Thank you!” she bid.

“You’re welcome,” Sira replied softly. The embrace broke off.

“Congratulations, Amy,” cheered Optimus. “We can certainly use another full-fledged witch in our group.”

“So,” quizzed Amy, “what happened while we were away?”

“WHAT HAPPENED HERE?!” bellowed Megatron as he waved the report around. Nemesis Prime stood up on the bridge of the Nemesis to explain.

“My Lord, I had simply seized command when Shockwave was reluctant to…” he managed to get out before Megatron interrupted.

“You mean YOU’RE the lunatic that set back my plans?!” he roared.

“You are speaking to the current commanding officer,” hissed Nemesis.

“Give me Shockwave!” ordered Megatron.

“I told you, I am in command of the Nemesis,” dismissed Nemesis, his arrogance on full display, “according to every rule set down before you left for Nebulos. If you have anything to say at all, it will be said to me.”

“There’s only one thing I want to say to you, you weak carbon-copy of my young brother!” roared Megatron. “You have jeopardized my plans! Shockwave, ship status!” Nemesis rolled his optics before waving Shockwave over to report.

“Warp Drive out,” she reported. “Shields down. Transporters under repair. Weapons systems are going through final checks. At our present rate of repair, we will be under full power in 10 days.”

“What is your position right now?” asked Megatron.

“We are currently assuming a holding position above the moon base,” replied Shockwave.

“Continue holding position until I give the order to attack Mobius,” demanded Megatron.

“I told you, I am in command!” shouted Nemesis. “I will give the orders! We are going to attempt another bombardment of G.U.N. HQ!”


“You can’t relieve me and you know it!” snapped Nemesis. “According to my rule…”

“TO THE PIT WITH YOUR WARPED SENSE OF RULE!” shouted Megatron. “Shockwave, I order you to assume command and hold Nemesis Prime in a cell on the base until repairs are completed! That is a direct order on my personal authority as leader of the Decepticon Empire!”

“At once, My Lord,” confirmed Shockwave.

“Don’t you dare!” growled Nemesis.

“Nemesis Prime, you are relieved of command and are hereby ordered to the holding cell on the moon base,” declared Shockwave.

“I don’t recognize a Decepticon’s authority, even IF their views align with my own!” snarled Nemesis.

“You aren’t in your native universe,” observed Shockwave. “It is illogical for you to try and force your views onto us. You ARE going to a holding cell for your irresponsible leadership.” Nemesis didn’t move. “Nemesis Prime, I do not wish to injure you.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” challenged Nemesis. Shockwave got into a fighting stance. “You’re bluffing,” dismissed Nemesis.

“It is illogical to bluff at this time,” replied Shockwave. Nemesis scoffed.

“I’m not moving from this spot!” he snarled. Wrong answer. Shockwave delivered a punch and a kick to the gut, a punch to the face, and foot-jabs at the knees. As Nemesis struggled to get up, Shockwave gave Soundwave a look. Soundwave then unleashed a tendril, wrapped it around Nemesis’ waist, and shocked him so hard, he started smoking and lay unconscious.

“Got a cell ready for him,” he called.

“Put him in it,” ordered Shockwave, Soundwave dragged Nemesis off the bridge. “Lord Megatron, I shall be detailing more repair crews to try and accelerate repairs.”

“See to it immediately,” sighed Megatron. He ended the call and snarled. “Allowing him to assume command while I was away was a mistake,” he muttered to himself.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-9

Megatron, the Seekers, Dark Oak, Eggman, and Zarak and his flunkies were at the podium for the Council of Peers. “My peers,” called Zarak, “this is a momentous occasion! The Disease finally has a cure! Under the direction of Vorath, Galen provided us the necessary data towards the cure and now, thanks to Galen’s great sacrifice, the Disease is no more! No more will children be born out of wedlock! No more will our daughters be forced into their intended mates’ lust! No more will we…!” His speech was interrupted as Llyra flung the doors open, flanked by Trema, her family and her friends. “Ah, Llyra!” greeted Zarak. “You’re just in time. Your future mate…”

“YOU!” bellowed Megatron as he and Eggman clapped eyes on Amy.

“Llyra, are these the outsiders that helped release Galen?” asked Zarak.

“They are,” answered Llyra, “and they are here on Trema’s request, enjoying the delights of our planet, expanding their magic knowledge.”

“Their WHAT?!” roared Zarak. “You consort with Witches?!”

“I do!” answered Llyra. The Council started talking amongst themselves at this revelation.

“Llyra, how dare you!” bellowed Zarak. “After your mother died at the hands of a magic-user, you dare disgrace her name?!”

“YOU’RE the murderer disgracing her!” Llyra bellowed back.

“I beg your pardon?!” protested Zarak.

“I’ve found the Ledger and diary!” hissed Trema. “It detailed your confession! Observe!” She activated a screen and the confession was played. In it, Zarak had admitted to killing his wife because she displayed magic where she thought she was alone. As the confession went on, Llyra detailed other crimes her father had committed.

“END!” boomed Zarak. The screen switched off. “Llyra, I do recall telling you,” he hissed, “that what I have done was in the best interests of Nebulos.”

“You mean YOUR personal interests!” argued Llyra.

“Llyra, I do NOT appreciate having my name dragged through the mud!” roared Zarak. “Guards, escort her back to her chambers!”

“Belay that!” called a voice. Galen then stormed in. Trema’s mind was filled with concern that her baby boy was made a slave to Zarak. “All of Nebulos saw what you did!” shouted Galen. “You are of dubious honor!”

“Galen, what are you doing?!” snarled Zarak. “You are acting out of line! Think of poor Recoil!”

“I’m not binary-bonded to Recoil,” answered Galen.

“…Could have fooled me,” laughed Vorath.

“I’m afraid my partner did,” replied Galen.

“Pardon?” asked Zarak.

“Recoil died in the fight against the Autobots to drive them from our planet,” explained Galen. “There was another bot that volunteered under his name.”

“But…” stammered Vorath, “but I bonded you to him! You’re his head now!”

“I AM a bot’s head, but not Recoil’s,” corrected Galen. “Scan the area. My partner’s in alternate mode in our airspace.” Megatron did so and found a match. He transmitted the findings to Zarak, who read them over in shock.

“Whom are you bonded to?!” yelped Zarak. “Name the bot!”

“Oh, Lord Zarak,” laughed Galen, “I’m Cerebros’ Headmaster. That name mean anything?” Fear then seized Zarak’s heart. Megatron then contorted his face into a snarl as he keyed in a command. He then spoke into his comms to confirm the command.

“Master Brace Override!” he ordered. All Headmasters’ wrists sparked. “None may connect to their binary-bond partners unless I give the order! As for you, Llyra, you have caused undue stress to your father!”

“What I am about to do,” snarled Llyra, “will put Zarak’s title of father to the test.”

“Are you seriously…?” hissed Zarak.

“Father, I hereby challenge you to a Duel of Honor,” declared Llyra. “The winner will lead the crowd in the Discommendation Ritual for the loser and their associates!”

“You know as well as I do,” argued Zarak, “that a child cannot give Discommendation to their parent. Such a duel will require a champion. And I know you don’t want to risk your precious Galen.” At that moment, Galen stepped forward.

“Maybe she’s not willing for me to risk Discommendation,” replied Galen, “but I AM one of her associates. I would be stripped of honor even if she lost. I request that I be her champion.”

“Galen!” protested Llyra. “I can’t let you do that!”

“He has that right,” argued Trema. Llyra considered, then nodded to Galen.

“I will allow Galen to fight in my place,” she proclaimed to Zarak.

“Very well,” remarked Zarak, “but we will not fight here. Rather gauche to fight in a place of politics. The Sornak Grounds.”

The Sornak Grounds, according to Nebulan Legend, was where the first four Nebulans slew their gods before casting them off the planet. The Grounds were considered a sacred area for duels and only the most heinous of dishonor could be judged. A crowd had gathered to see the duel and pass judgement. Galen and Zarak faced opposite each other wielding their Ban’grazas in a ready stance. A Nebulan Priestess was serving as the main judge. “As ordained by our ancestors,” she declared, “no guns, no assistance, and no killing. Duel until one of you is unable to fight. On my mark……GOREN!” (BEGIN!) The battle began with Zarak making downward slashes with both his blades. Galen blocked them with his left blade and slashed with his right, but Zarak kicked it aside. Zarak then rotated his blades and punched Galen square in the jaw. Galen then swept his leg under Zarak and tripped him up. Zarak grabbed Galen’s shoulder and they both fell. Galen got up first and was about ready to stab Zarak in the leg, but he was tripped up by Zarak sweeping his leg under his opponent.

“This is a standstill,” sighed Megatron. He then keyed in a command and whispered into his comms. “End Master Brace Override, Decepticon Headmasters only.” The wrists of Zarak and his flunkies then sparked again and functions were restored. Zarak knew what happened but decided to give a lie.

“Well now,” mused Zarak, “it looks like the fight has knocked Megatron’s override loose. Apologies, Lord Megatron.”

“Quite all right,” replied Megatron, playing along.

“Still, it DOES leave an option open,” said Zarak. He put his left fist to his hip and thrust his right hand across his front in a diagonal fashion and slowly rotated it to his right side. “HEAD…” he bellowed. He then pulled his right hand into a fist and put it to his hip and thrust his left arm across his front. “…ON!” At that moment, a giant, mechanical spider appeared. Zarak then leapt into the air…and transformed! His legs swung up to his face and his arms sunk into his sides. He then flipped himself so his head was facing down and backwards and everyone could see the face on his backside, right-side up. It had a visor on it and two fangs protruding from the mouth. It then spoke.

“BLACK SCAR, TERRORIZE!” it announced. The spider then changed in a fashion similar to Blackarachnia, but the mouth parts and pedipalps formed pincer-style claws. The bot was also missing its head! That’s when the head Zarak turned into attached itself to the upper torso. The visor flashed red and the robot started laughing. “Sweet Primus, I’ve been in alt-mode for too long!” cheered the Decepticon, Black Scar.

“…Zarak just turned into his head!” gulped Amy.

“That’s the charm of ALL Headmasters,” replied Trema. “In this instance, however, that MUST be cheating!”

“He DID receive assistance,” agreed the Priestess. “However, he won’t acknowledge defeat in this mode. I have something that will rectify that.” She pulled an orange dome that fit into her hand.

“A mode-lock!” breathed Trema.

“I’m going to assume,” mused Natalie, “that it locks a Transformer in a certain mode?”

“And it’s set for the alt-mode,” confirmed the Priestess. “That will eject Zarak from Black Scar.” Unfortunately, Megatron saw the mode-lock and guessed her plan.

“HEADMASTERS, STOP HER!” he bellowed. Zarak’s flunkies saw what was going on and assumed ready-stances. Grax, stuck both arms to her right, then rotated them to the left until the left arm held her fist up and the right held her fist sideways.

“Head on!” she called. A green and pink crocodile appeared, then spoke.

“SKULLCRUNCHER, TERRORIZE!” The tail split down the middle from the tip and attached to each side, then the backside folded out to reveal legs. The lower torso then rotated to face the audience. The head swung down to reveal the robot’s shoulders and robot hands came out as the front beast feet folded onto the wrists. Grax transformed as Zarak did and his head-mode, one with a yellow face and a red visor, attached to the robot’s shoulders. Skullcruncher was complete as he roared to the heavens. Vorath was next. He swung both arms to his right side, then rotated them to his left, then pulled his right hand back before putting it back to its original position while his left hand went to his hip.

“Head on!” he announced. A bat appeared and Vorath changed into a head with a visor and a ‘Fu Manchu’ moustache.

“MINDWIPE! TERRORIZE!” shrieked the bat. The bat’s tail swung towards the front as the rear of the bat swung down to make legs. The areas where the wings were attached swung 180⁰ and unfolded arms with the hands popping out. The bat head swung down to allow Vorath’s head mode to attach to the shoulders. The rear of the bat was now the front of the robot. Mindwipe was now complete as he gave a screech. Monzo stuck his right arm to the side and his left arm pointed towards the right. He then rotated his arms so they were sticking out to the left.

“HEAD ON!” he called as he pulled an imaginary rip cord on his left arm with his right. He transformed into a head with a red visor and a red face. A yellow and blue wolf appeared.

“WEIRDWOLF, TERRORIZE!” it howled. The tail detached from the rump as it went up to allow the rear paws to fold into the legs. The legs then folded up and straightened to make robot legs. The front paws folded back to reveal humanoid arms as the wolf head folded back to allow Monzo to attach to his shoulders. Weirdwolf howled like a wolf when he was complete. Spasma was next as she placed her right elbow on her left wrist and moved the arm configuration across her chest, then she placed her wrists together with one hand on top of the other and pushed outwards.

“Head on!” she roared as she rotated her hands. She jumped up and turned into a head while a gorilla came up, wearing parts of a jet.

“Wait, that gorilla has a head already!” protested Amy.

“That’s not his robot mode, that’s one of his TWO alt-modes!” corrected Trema. “And Snapdragon has two alt-modes as well!”

“…They’ve got THREE modes?!” yelped Amy.

“Hence the name, Triple-changers,” replied Trema.

“APEFACE, TERRORIZE!” roared the gorilla. His gorilla arms swung backwards and the forearms and hands folded upwards. The sides of the gorilla’s chest swung up and extended to become legs. The turbines he was wearing extended to reveal arms and the gorilla legs swung up to become shoulders. Spasma’s head-mode connected to the shoulders, completing Apeface’s robot mode as he pounded his chest, roaring. Krunk was the last as he brought his fists up to his head’s right side, right above left, and clenched harder. He then brought his right hand to his hip while his left arm extended. He then rotated it over to his left.

“Head…” he hissed. He then extended both arms to his right. “ON!” he shouted before turning into a head. A bipedal-saurian robot with jet parts on it appeared.

“SNAPDRAGON, TERRORIZE!” he roared. The feet flipped up and the legs straightened. The head swung backwards while the forearms swung into the upper arms. The jet’s nose cone he used as a tail swung out as the dino-arms’ bases swung down. The arms’ bases then pivoted down and the whole assembly extended to make legs. The rear platform then swung down to allow the nose cone to pivot down. The jet turbines extended and revealed arms and hands. Krunk’s head-mode came onto the shoulders and Snapdragon gave a terrifying roar.

“And THAT’S a whole mess of trouble,” gulped Amy.

“Cover the Priestess!” ordered Trema as she got her Ban’grazas out. Llyra snarled and got hers out as well. Amy summoned her hammer while Sira summoned a small fireball and Natalie coaxed the air around her to circle her.

“We will assist the Headmasters,” called Megatron to Eggman, the Seekers, and the Metarex. They nodded to confirm as Eggman docked his Eggmobile into a new robot, looking a little like Snapdragon’s beast mode. The Seekers then drew swords. Starscream with a broadsword, Thundercracker with a foil, and Skywarp with a katana. The Metarex got into a fighting stance as well, Dark Oak drawing his sword, Red Pine pulling out a knife, Yellow Zelkova slamming his hands together, Black Narcissus cracking a whip, and Pale Bayleaf drawing a gun.

“Natalie and I will handle the Metarex,” declared Sira. “Amy and Trema, you deal with the normal Decepticons and Eggman while Llyra and the Priestess try to get the mode-lock on Black Scar.”

“Understood,” replied Trema.

“Arkoom, grazin oom, orgtagh!!” chanted Llyra. With the Ancient Nebulan Battle-cry having been said, the group attacked. Amy dealt with the Eggman Robot.

“You’re on an alien world!” she taunted. “Try some new tricks!”

“This new enough for you?!” asked Eggman as he unleashed missiles. Amy just knocked them towards him with her hammer.

“Not even close!” she laughed. One of the missiles then blew the robot sky-high while Eggman tumbled out, smoking and sooty. “Now I understand the whole thing about old dogs and new…” Amy didn’t complete the sentence as Megatron’s left hand caught her and hoisted her up to his optic level.

“Miss Rose,” hissed Megatron, “don’t think I’ve forgotten when you slammed your hammer onto my head repeatedly, turning my helmet into an echo chamber! I still owe you for the massive processor-ache!”

“Haven’t you heard of…‘forgive and forget’?!” strained Amy.

“I seem to have forgotten that,” replied Megatron as he raised his fusion cannon. “But, I still remember ‘Goodbye’!” Megatron was then slashed across the back by Trema. The pain made him release Amy as she chose a new target, Thundercracker. He fired off a pair of shots from his guns but missed both times.

“Let me guess,” remarked Thundercracker, “you’re gonna play counselor while Blackarachnia’s out of the picture?”

“I guess you overheard Skywarp’s story,” replied Amy as she jumped above one of his sword swings.

“I did,” confirmed Thundercracker. “I was there when Jhiaxus convinced him to join us.”

“Did you know they butchered all those people?!” accused Amy. “All of those children, dead because of you!”

“NO!” shouted Thundercracker as he fired again. “Those children did NOT die at our hands! That was on Zeta Prime’s head as well as the Decepticon that didn’t listen!”

“And I supposed you wouldn’t?!” argued Amy.

“I WOULD NEVER…! I would never…!” Tears started going down Thundercracker’s face. “…I always thought I would never!” he sobbed as his sword dropped. “…but I did! Tell me, what do you know about Firestar?!”

“Ironhide’s daughter?” asked Amy. “Died in Washington D.C. around 2014 while protecting Then-President Barack Obama and his family. A Seeker killed her when a fire started.”

“…I guess Ironhide told you,” mumbled Thundercracker. “Did he say who?”

“No,” answered Amy. “He couldn’t tell who because of the blaze after Starscream shot some Energon and set the place on fire.”

“Well, I guess the flames would obscure what happened,” sighed Thundercracker as he picked his sword up. “And they were fitting, really. The bot that killed a child deserved to be cast into the Pit! I don’t care if the child was named a soldier! She still didn’t need to die! She was too young! Primus, SHE HAD NO REASON TO FIGHT!” Amy then realized what Thundercracker was talking about.

“Are you…?” she asked.

“Figured it out, did you?” muttered Thundercracker. “You’re looking at Firestar’s executioner! I killed her!”

“THUNDERCRACKER, KEEP YOUR MIND ON THE JOB!” bellowed Starscream as he joined the fight. He swatted Amy aside just to berate his subordinate. “Frankly, I don’t give a retro-rat’s aft if you feel guilty about Firestar’s death, I just want to know that you can keep your mind on the present! Now do your job, soldier!” While the altercation went on, Megatron joined the Headmasters to stop Llyra and the Priestess.

“Megatron, look away!” warned Mindwipe as he started doing some hand motions. Megatron decided to switch his optics off so he could use the vibrations of his surroundings to fight. While his leader fought blind, Mindwipe started chanting, then closed his hands before putting his pinkies, pointers, and thumbs together. The Priestess, unfortunately, looked into Mindwipe’s optics as they flashed. Her mind was then filled with a voice urging her to let go of her will. “Listen well, Priestess,” called Mindwipe in a calming tone, “there is no need to interfere in Zarak’s fight. Let the mode-lock go. Let our lord finish his…” a stream of water slammed into his face as the Priestess nearly dropped the mode-lock. “MY OPTICS!” shouted Mindwipe as his hypnotic hold was released. The Priestess shook her head and continued on towards Black Scar. Mindwipe snarled, then found who fired that stream of water. Llyra was levitating water globes with various hand motions. “Impossible!” breathed Mindwipe. “You’re a…!”

“Witch of the Blue Order!” finished Llyra. “Your hypnotic powers have no effect now!”

“Bah!” dismissed Mindwipe as he drew his gun. “Powers or no, I can still vaporize a foolish girl like you!” He fired but Llyra dodged. The Priestess managed to dodge Apeface and Spasma’s shots, almost losing her head to Dark Oak. Natalie fired an air gust that knocked the Metarex leader off his feet, causing him to fall onto Black Narcissus.

“WATCH THE ARMOR!” roared Black Narcissus.

“WATCH HER!” argued Skullcruncher as the Priestess made it to Black Scar. She attached the mode-lock to his leg and he started sparking and changing back into his spider mode, ejecting his head and causing it to turn back into Zarak. Blind rage filled his eyes as he saw the Priestess. He grabbed a gun and shot her right in the chest. The laser sound rang throughout the grounds and all activity stopped. The Priestess looked at the hole in her chest, then looked at Zarak.

“You broke…all three…” she gasped before slumping to the ground, dead. A few members of the crowd went to her to try, and fail, at waking her up. All eyes then turned to Zarak.

“What was it she said at the beginning of this duel?” hissed Llyra. “Ah, yes. ‘As ordained by our ancestors, no guns, no assistance, and no killing.’ I see a gun in your hands, you killed the Priestess, and you received help from Black Scar. I can see that Galen is a mess, but still alive. Even if he is unable to fight and you won, you still lost this duel by breaking all three sanctions. You will not receive victory. You and your associates have no place in Nebulan society!” She then crossed her arms over her chest, then opened her hands in a claw fashion to show that Zarak’s honor was shattered. The crowd followed her one by one, even Amy, Natalie, and Sira joined. Zarak, Megatron, Eggman, Dark Oak, and their respective followers were stripped of honor and a good deal of rights. Megatron turned to Zarak.

“You idiot!” he roared. “As I recall, killing a Priestess is grounds for Discommendation! Nebulos is lost to the Decepticon Empire! You and the other Headmasters are to go to their home-world of Animatros. You will seek asylum there.” He turned to the crowd. “Know this, Nebulos, the Decepticon Empire will remember what has happened here! You have sided against us in battle! And this, we do not forgive or forget! Eggman! Dark Oak! We will return to Mobius!” He took his retinue out of the Sornak Grounds and went Northeast to a nearby Space Bridge. Zarak and his followers looked at the crowd in disbelief.

“…Do as he says,” sighed Zarak. “We’ve failed. Everyone, board Scorponok. We’re leaving.” He managed to get the mode-lock off of Black Scar. “Head on.” Zarak didn’t even bother with the poses as he turned back into Black Scar’s head.

“Black Scar, terrorize,” muttered Black Scar as he assumed robot mode and his head reattached to his shoulders. The Decepticon Headmasters then left the Grounds. Once they had departed, Stylor came to the Priestess. Amy followed as did Trema.

“What was her name?” asked Amy.

“She was Starna, Stylor’s sister,” replied Trema. “A noble warrior.” Stylor then opened Starna’s eyes and looked angrily towards the heavens.

“Gana, barten te!” (Gods, warned, be!) bellowed Stylor. “Starna, gota ga tami falen, sag bem yan, al fergat tam an tam bemi fergator ge nar skema sepo, palerta!” (Starna, born of your blood, she who was, to defeat you as you were defeated by the first four, arrives!) He then shut her eyes and picked her up, bridal style. “I will keep vigil over her,” declared Stylor. “I will not allow evil spirits to enter her. You may continue with the rites as you see fit.” He then left the grounds. The Deputy Supreme, who had attended, was holding the Sash of Rule, the symbol of the Supreme Councilor. He placed it onto Galen.

“Hail Galen, leader of Nebulos!” he proclaimed. He then pounded his staff twice. “Galen!” he pounded his staff twice again, this time more people joining him. “Galen!” More people joined. “Galen!” At that point, the crowd was chanting Galen’s name.

“Wait, hear me!” called Galen over the din. “HEAR ME!” The chanting stopped. “What I have done,” spoke Galen, “was for our planet! A new day must dawn. I am not the one to usher in that day. That honor belongs to the woman who will be my wife.” Llyra’s eyes went wide as Galen took the Sash off.

“Galen, no!” protested Llyra.

“It is yours by right of duel,” answered Galen. “A champion can put that kind of power in the hands of the one who the champion fought for.”

“Galen, you saw me use magic!” yelped Llyra. “Witches already have more than enough power! We do NOT seek more!”

“Great leaders do not seek power,” answered Galen. “Power is thrust onto great leaders.” The crowd looked at Llyra expectantly.

“…Is this the will of my Peers?” she asked. The crowd nodded. Llyra sighed. “Very well, I accept.” Galen set the sash around her.

“Hail Llyra!” cheered Galen. “Leader of the Imperial Republic of Nebulos! Leader of Fate!”

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-8

Amy had let Stylor measure her for outfits that would show her status as a member of his House. “I’m surprised you could translate my measurements into Nebulan units,” she giggled. “Then again, I guess I’m like a doll for you.”

“Hardly,” assured Stylor. “A doll’s clothes are crudely made. I will not allow such crudeness on one my wife considers a sister.”

“You honor me with your words,” thanked Amy.

“Just speaking the truth,” replied Stylor. He then finished entering her measurements into his spreadsheet. “There, that ought to do it,” he mused. “Amy, trust me when I say, when it comes to keeping warm, NOTHING beats Samfa wool undergarments. If you ever change your mind about the earmuffs, I’ll have them on hold for you.” When he mentioned holding the earmuffs, the intercom buzzed and Trema’s voice came through.

“Stylor, sweetie,” she called, “I need to see you in the drawing room. Bring your tailor’s kit. Make sure Amy does NOT listen in.” Stylor and Amy looked at each other in confusion.

“Okay, what does she NOT want me to listen in on?” asked Amy.

“I guess you will NEVER find out,” chuckled Stylor as he picked up Amy and his tailor’s kit. He place Amy on his shoulder and headed to the drawing room. Once they were at the door, he set her back down. “You will NOT wait here,” he joked.

“Understood,” she replied. Stylor entered the room and shut the door. “Audite,” whispered Amy as she pointed to her ears. They tingled a bit and she could hear the conversation going on in the drawing room. Spasma was visiting.

“I want to be measured for a new dress,” directed Spasma.

“…Now?” asked Stylor.

“Right now,” replied Spasma.

“My clothes are NOT cheap,” warned Stylor.

“They’re affordable,” assured Spasma, “with my new Traboon salary.”

“Wait,” hissed Trema. “I heard about what happened yesterday! You start a fight in the GEPHMR, then get promoted?! What kind of system is that?!”

“I had to make it up to Zarak,” answered Spasma. “What with organizing a little invasion to assist our Decepticon allies.”

“Invasion?” repeated Stylor.

“That rock, Earth,” replied Spasma. “Wait, no, it has a new name. What is it? Ah, yes, Mobius! The Decepticon Headmasters are going to invade it, suppress the population, strip mine it, and then use the resources to build up the Decepticon Empire.”

“I think I have everything I need,” finished Stylor. “Could you tell me which dress style you would like?”

“Number 8 would be splendid,” answered Spasma. Amy had heard enough and ran for the Retranga, where Natalie and Sira were spending some time together.

Sira and Natalie were dancing on the Retranga’s bridge, slowly and closely. If one listened closely, one could hear their skirts rustling against one another. No music was needed for their dance. As they danced, they got closer until their lips made contact. Their kiss reinvigorated their bond that they’ve shared for ages. As they broke off the kiss, they curtsied to each other and headed arm-in-arm off to their quarters. As they walked, they heard hurried footsteps. “If that’s not the sound of Amy’s boots,” mused Sira, “then I’m not a Witch.”

“Well, you are,” replied Natalie, “and that sound IS coming from Amy’s boots. There she is now.” Amy burst onto the bridge and looked panicked.

“Guys! We have to call the Autobots!” she wailed.

“What?!” yelped Sira.

“There’s an invasion of Mobius being planned!” replied Amy as she jumped onto the Communications console. She used various spells to operate the console. “This is Amy Rose contacting the Autobots on Mobius! Optimus! Ratchet! Teletraan! Respond!” Optimus and Teletraan’s avatar came up on the screen.

“Amy!” cheered Optimus. “Good to hear from you again! We’ve missed you here!”

“Are you ready to return?” asked Teletraan.

“No! Far from it!” countered Amy. She then told Optimus what she overheard.

“An invasion?!” yelped Optimus. “Why would the Nebulans invade Mobius?!”

“A demonstration of power,” guessed Sira.

“They don’t have the resources!” protested Optimus.

“Then why plan an invasion if they don’t?” quizzed Natalie.

“Ladies,” interjected Teletraan, “is the Retranga still at Trema’s estate?”

“Yeah, why?” quizzed Amy.

“In the Folassian Forest?” continued Teletraan.

“…Yes…” confirmed Amy.

“There’s an Autobot stationed there,” explained Teletraan. “A Metrotitan by the name of Fortress Maximus with a partner named Cerebros who’s the basis of all Headmasters. You have to find him! Convince him to stop this invasion!”

“He’s right, we can’t deal with an invasion,” supplied Optimus. “We have enough trouble being harassed by Nemesis Prime!”

“He’s back?!” yelped Amy.

“And Nemesis Prime is…?” asked Sira.

“Here’s the summary,” began Optimus. “From an alternate reality where the Autobots are bad guys and Mobius, Moebius over there, is full of cowards trying to ruin the world. Evil Me landed, killed Evil Sonic and his ‘friends’ except for Evil Tails. Evil Me dies. Evil Tails wires himself into Evil Me’s chest and uses Evil Me’s body as his personal Mech suit. He commands the Evil Autobots and crossed over to our universe on Halloween one time, when we were celebrating our one year anniversary of our arrival on Mobius. We sent him back, but now he’s here, commanding our Decepticons in Megatron’s absence.”

“We’ll stop the invasion, if not delay it,” declared Amy. “Amy out.” The call ended.

“The Folassian Forest,” cried Natalie, “is large, even for Nebulans. We’ll never find this Fortress Maximus in time!”

“We need to, at least, try!” urged Amy. The instant she said that, the alarm rang. “WHAT NOW!?!” demanded Amy.

“All inhabitants, report to Galen’s room!” called Trema’s panicked voice. Amy, Sira, and Natalie turned into mist and flew towards Galen’s room. His EMPTY room!

“Where is he?!” yelped Stylor.

“Look!” called Amy. She pointed out a note. Trema picked it up and read it aloud.

“‘The Ministry of Science’,” she read “‘feels that it cannot, in good conscience, let Galen die. We have taken him to Vorath to undergo the binary-bonding process. Do not attempt to intervene or Galen will die of the Disease.’” Trema snarled. “They had no right!”

“Galen’s been kidnapped!” guessed Amy.

“VORATH, I ORDERED MEDICAL QUARANTINE!” roared Galen as Vorath dragged him over to an operating table.

“The Disease is not something to be taken lightly,” answered Vorath. “I cannot let someone like you die.”

“I will not be binary-bonded to Recoil!” struggled Galen. “Do you hear?! I WILL NOT!”

“Lord Zarak’s orders,” dismissed Vorath. “Nothing I can do.” He turned to his subordinates. “Sedate him.” Galen’s neck was stuck with a needle and he fell into a deep sleep. “Let’s begin,” chuckled Vorath. The process was a messy one, involving removing limbs, rearranging organs, and preparing nerve connections to the armor so he could still feel. Inside his mind, he was screaming for release. After what seemed like an eternity to him, his mind heard a voice.

“I see they’ve ignored your request,” sighed the voice. It was masculine and deep yet caring.


“You haven’t,” assured the voice. Then, images flashed through his head. Images of Autobots receiving orders from him. Images of the Decepticons being defeated by him. Images of Recoil being destroyed.

“He’s…dead?” realized Galen. “But, then who…Cerebros?!”

“Bingo,” answered the voice. An Autobot that towered over him the same way normal Autobots tower over us stepped into view. He had a domed head and a visor over his optics and a grill on the front with the Autobot logo emblazoned proudly in the center. “I trust I haven’t put any stress to you?” quizzed the bot, Cerebros.

“Quite the contrary,” assured Galen, “my stress has gone down. However, I AM confused. Aren’t you Fortress Maximus’ Headmaster?”

“Indeed,” answered Cerebros. “However, we’ve decided that we cannot let Zarak bring this planet into conflict. As such, I disguised myself as Recoil and underwent the process to let you be MY Headmaster. Now, you control not only a Metrotitan’s Emissary, but the Metrotitan himself.”

“But, why you?” asked Galen. “Aren’t you a pacifist?” Cerebros sighed.

“Regretfully,” answered Cerebros, “my ideals will only get me killed. Black Scar, Zarak’s binary-bond partner, has risen again and is warping Nebulos through Zarak’s desires. In light of this, I cannot, in good conscience, allow such barbaric practices to occur while I stand idly by. However, I do not possess the warrior’s aptitude your people have. With your help, we may free Nebulos from the Decepticons. What say you?” Galen thought for a moment, then made his decision.

“Cerebros, we have a deal,” he declared.

After Amy, Sira, and Natalie told them about finding Fortress Maximus, Trema led them and Llyra through the Folassian Forest. They arrived at a massive city with weapons in rest mode. “Mighty Fortress!” called Trema. “This planet needs you!”

“Fortress?” asked Amy. “That’s Fortress Maximus?”

“Where is his smaller robot body?” quizzed Sira, remembering Metroplex.

“Not how it works,” answered Trema. After a few seconds of waiting, there was a distinct rumble. Lights around the city flashed on.

“Fortress Maximus,” called a booming voice, “heeds your words. Speak.”

“Fortress Maximus,” pleaded Trema, “my son has been kidnapped by Zarak and his minions! We need help!”

“I know of his kidnapping,” answered Fortress Maximus. “I have sent Cerebros to intervene.”

“Has he succeeded?!” asked Trema.

“Your son is now a Headmaster,” replied Fortress.

“…What?” she said weakly. She stumbled and managed to catch herself on a tree. “…Un mari…” (My baby) she whispered.

“That’s too far!” snarled Llyra. She then stormed off.

“Where are you going?” asked Amy.

“To get the materials needed for the Discommendation Ritual!” answered Llyra. “After which, Trema may safely take her revenge on my father and his cronies.”

“…The Council may disagree with you,” muttered Trema.

“I’ve compiled a list of my father’s crimes,” growled Llyra, “and have kept the Council up to date. They know of his dishonor. Originally, I wanted to prove to the Council that he could change, but I was mistaken to do so and believe such. My father and his minions are nothing more than honorless cowards and I will see to it that they are removed totally from Nebulan Society.”

“Thus, they will have no family, no refuge, no resource,” said Trema, explaining the consequences to her Witch Sisters. “They will be a pariah in Nebulan society.”

“Sounds pleasant,” muttered Amy.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-7

“Do what?!” asked Trema to Llyra over the viewscreen.

“Accommodate the Metarex’s power needs,” replied Llyra.

“Our planet can’t do that!” protested Trema. “We no longer HAVE Borzonite!”

“Which is why I did a little investigation, unbeknownst to my father,” answered Llyra.

“…Isn’t that illegal?” quizzed Trema.

“And a small stain on my house’s honor,” agreed Llyra, “but Father has become increasingly totalitarian. A greater stain, I’m sure you would agree.”

“Maybe,” remarked Trema, “but a small stain cannot wash away a large one.”

“Then, what would you suggest?!” argued Llyra. Trema tried to come up with a good strategy but could find nothing. “I thought so,” remarked Llyra. “Amy, Sira, and Natalie have discovered where the Metarex are staying and I’ve found what Spasma is writing.”

“What do you intend to do?” asked Trema.

“A little…altercation will happen between Spasma’s party and the Metarex tomorrow,” replied Llyra.

“…Oh no,” muttered Trema. “Rings, help us!”

“There she is!” called Amy as Spasma entered the GEPHMR during midday. She, Llyra, Sira, and Natalie were on a high level walkway, looking down on the floor they were in when Galen was released.

“How did you know she would come here at this exact time?” asked Natalie.

“When you’ve spent all your life around Daddy’s associates,” muttered Llyra, “you tend to know them as well as him. Spasma’s a creature of habit. After a hard morning’s work, she deserves her glass of Drasma.” Spasma headed over to the Chef and ordered her glass. She looked around to see the Metarex standing at rapt attention.

“‘Why are the Metarex here?’ she asks herself,” chuckled Natalie, guessing what’s going on in Spasma’s head. “‘They don’t drink, they don’t eat, they don’t gamble, all they do is take up space.’” As the Chef poured her drink, Spasma asked him something that couldn’t be heard over the din, but it was easily guessed by Sira.

“She asks the Chef if he had seen a pad she was working on in her office this morning,” she mused.

“The Chef tells the truth,” observed Amy. “He hasn’t seen it.” Spasma slammed her hand on the counter and her face contorted into a snarl.

“She believes him,” chuckled Llyra, “but still hates that answer. The pad contained a draft of the secret memorandum she was working on concerning the lack of Borzonite. In it, she believes that, without the crystals, the Metarex will go berserk, killing everyone in their path.”

“She recommends that,” guessed Natalie, “if an adequate power source cannot be located, they should disguise the Yorkonium supply as Borzonite. The Metarex are fooled and they take a source that would attack their internal cellular structures, breaking them down in a messy way. It would still be quick and would eliminate a threat to Nebulos. Amy, how did you get her pad anyway?”

“Your wife taught me to be good with my hands,” giggled Amy. She then spotted three people enter the restaurant. “It’s Yellow Zelkova!” she reported.

“Flanked by Black Narcissus and Red Pine,” observed Llyra. “Even better. They’ve spotted her.” Yellow Zelkova held up a pad and Spasma made a swipe for it. Yellow Zelkova kept it out of reach.

“The missing pad,” giggled Sira. More Nebulans came to assist Spasma as she got up in Yellow Zelkova’s face and pointed accusingly at him. “She accuses them of stealing it,” remarked Sira.

“They say they found it outside their quarters,” answered Llyra. “Right where Amy left it. Good work, Ms. Rose.”

“Thank you,” bid Amy.

“How did you know this would work?” quizzed Natalie.

“An alcoholic Nebulan with a temper problem and Nebulans hating the Metarex as much as Cybertronians hate the Quintessons?” asked Llyra. “What other outcome was there?” The Chef tried to intervene, but to no avail.

“GET OUT OF MY WAY!” bellowed Spasma as she tossed the Chef over the counter and punched Yellow Zelkova. That did it! Nebulans and Metarex were brawling in the restaurant! Utensils were used to damage one another, the Metarex used the tables against the Nebulans, the Nebulans used chairs as clubs against the Metarex, it was a GORGEOUS row, as Professor Tolkien would put it. As soon as they could, people entered the restaurant to investigate.

“Daddy!” yelped Llyra.

“With Megatron and Dark Oak!” gulped Amy.

“You better hide!” urged Llyra. Amy, Natalie, and Sira shrouded themselves as Llyra came down in a way that made it look like she just entered the restaurant as Megatron fired at the ceiling. That got their attention as Dark Oak and Zarak questioned their respective people.

“I had to confront them!” lied Spasma. “They attacked…!”

“I don’t care what they did!” snarled Zarak. “You should never have let this situation get out of hand! Get out!” Spasma glared, then shoved her way past a few Metarex to get to the exit. After the questioning was completed, Megatron, Llyra, and Dark Oak joined Zarak.

“Why would Spasma,” asked Dark Oak, “be so stupid as to write such an inflammatory document and leave it lying around for anyone to find?!”

“Your men stole it from her!” growled Zarak.

“We are NOT thieves!” insisted Dark Oak.

“And Spasma is no liar!” argued Llyra.

“Keep your voices down, all of you!” ordered Megatron. He then put his arms around them all. “Our men need to see that we’re still allies. Smile and wave.” Everyone did so, but begrudgingly. At that moment, someone came in, a Nebulan male named Vorath.

“What are you doing here?” called Llyra.

“Presenting findings,” answered Vorath. “Lord Zarak, I have news about Galen.”

“Go ahead,” replied Zarak.

“He has displayed symptoms of the Disease,” reported Vorath. Llyra and Zarak’s eyes went wide.

“The Disease?” asked Zarak.

“My future husband?!” wailed Llyra.

“…If I recall, he is the last one needed to give all available data on the Disease,” mused Zarak, “and can only be cured with the binary-bonding process.”

“Exactly,” answered Vorath. Zarak considered his next move, then called Spasma.

“Come back here, please,” he directed. “I may have a way for you to make it up to me.”

“THE DISEASE?!” wailed Trema when Llyra delivered the news to her personally. Stylor, Galen, Sira, Amy, and Natalie were there with him.

“What’s the Disease?” asked Natalie.

“That’s a rather personal question!” snapped Galen.

“It must be answered,” urged Trema. “They ARE my sisters.” She turned to them. “It’s an illness, genetically passed on. It’s a recessive gene, but it appears he won that booby prize. His body is, very slowly, cannibalizing itself as a non-Mobian cat would when it’s old. It attacks the younger Nebulans and it has driven many to…take a mate without protocol. The baby would be born out of wedlock.”

“I will NOT allow myself to stoop that low!” hissed Galen. “I will not allow myself to surrender to my baser instincts! But…there’s a problem.”

“There’s no cure?” asked Sira.

“There IS,” answered Galen, “but I would have to undergo the binary-bonding process. With that done, the scientists will gain intimate knowledge on how to cure it.”

“Then do it!” urged Amy.

“Out of the question,” dismissed Galen. “The only one available would be Recoil, a Decepticon.”

“…And being a Decepticon’s Headmaster would put you under Zarak’s control,” guessed Amy.

“…Yes,” replied Galen.

“We can at least try to block that control,” assured Trema. “We can start with a…”

“NO!” roared Galen. Everyone silenced themselves. “I do NOT require treatment or the binary-bonding process! I can deal with the Disease myself!”

“How, pray tell,” argued Stylor, “do you intend to do that?!”

“There are certain meditative techniques,” insisted Galen, “that can strengthen my immune system. I will be fine if simply left alone! Please, let me isolate myself in my room, order a medical quarantine if you wish, but I demand that my family and friends allow me to resolve this affair privately!”

“…Very well,” sighed Trema. Galen was released to his room and the Witches, Stylor, and Llyra sighed.

“What are we going to do?” asked Llyra. “His only chance of survival is the binary-bonding process and doing so would make him a slave to my father.”

“We’ll come up with a way to save him,” assured Amy.

“I hope so,” sighed Trema. “Because, at the moment, I feel helpless.”

“As do I, my love,” replied Stylor as he embraced Trema. There’s a problem growing on Nebulos and successfully getting rid of it hinged on Galen.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-6

Llyra and Trema were taking Amy clothes shopping the next day. Amy HAD considered using spells to shrink Nebulan dresses down to her size, but the shops had replicators that made a dress in her size. As she tried on each dress, she felt like a model on a runway. There were quite a few dresses she really like, so she got those. After Llyra and Trema both paid, they left the store with Amy on Trema’s shoulder. “I know you already told me this,” remarked Amy, “but I never thought a warrior culture would bother with fashion.”

“Even warriors need to know how to look good,” replied Llyra. Amy looked around and took in a breath, exhaling happily.

“I might need to make a home here,” she sighed.

“Many an off-worlder has said so,” mused Llyra, “but none have taken advantage of the opportunity.”

“Well, I’M gonna see if…do you hear that?” quizzed Amy.

“The sound of metal against the ground in a footstep rhythm?” replied Trema.

“The Headmasters in full Robot Mode?” asked Llyra.

“Too fast for them,” countered Trema. “They’re coming this way! Quick! Behind here!” They all hid behind a fountain and peered over it to see who the footsteps belonged to. “…I don’t believe it!” whispered Trema.

“Dark Oak?!” gulped Llyra. “Daddy?! Megatronus?! Wait, who’s that blob in the flying chair?”

“That’s Dr. Eggman!” whispered Amy. “He’s a mad scientist conqueror from Mobius! Sonic’s main enemy!”

“And I believe we already told you that the Megatronus you knew is gone,” hissed Trema. “That creature calls himself Megatron, Lord of All Decepticons.”

“Too much has changed!” snarled Llyra. “Daddy told me he had a summit going on, but with those three?!”

“I think he wants to assure Megatron of Nebulos’ use in the Decepticon Empire,” mused Trema.

“In any event, Galen needs to find some way to halt this,” urged Llyra.

“It’s his Council shift in two hours,” guessed Trema. “You could get him to wrap the Council in endless debate on allowing any more Decepticons on our world.”

“I better do so now,” affirmed Llyra as she brought out her communications tablet.

“I’m taking you back to my estate,” Trema said to Amy. “We need to warn Sira and Natalie of Megatron’s presence here and plan a method of destabilizing the whole thing.”

“If we had dirt on them, that would help,” sighed Amy. Llyra finished her call and returned to the two witches.

“Galen’s got a plan,” she reported. Trema then produced a bottle of Rock-rum. “In public?!” yelped Llyra.

“If he succeeds, we can drink to his courage,” answered Trema. “If not, we can still drink to his courage.”

“Lord Megatron, I’m mystified at your accusations!” protested Zarak. “There is no trouble here!”

“Oh really?!” snarled Megatron. “An Autobot sympathetic group on a world that’s a member of the Decepticon Empire?! The leader of said group being released when your daughter whined about it?! The leader’s mother having been involved?! That’s not a recipe for trouble to you?!”

“Our Headmasters are dealing with this issue!” assured Zarak.

“All I’ve seen your vaunted Headmasters do,” growled Dark Oak, “is enjoy the delights of their power too much!”

“After a hard day’s work, they deserve a little pleasure!” argued Zarak.

“Zarak, I have never known you to be afraid of anyone,” scoffed Megatron.

“You dare insinuate that I’m a coward?!” roared Zarak. He then calmed down. “You know, you did that when you were a stuttering Autobot that couldn’t pull the trigger when he had the chance. Perhaps that cowardice hasn’t fully left you yet.”

“And yet, I have Dark Oak under my command after a little trouncing,” replied Megatron.

“Must you mention that?” grumbled Dark Oak.

“Gentlemen, please,” called Eggman. All arguing stopped when Eggman spoke. “Let’s remember who the REAL enemy is,” he continued. “Besides, if they’re really doing nothing against your administration, Zarak, then, by all logic, they won’t do anything against your visitors.”

“…He raises a fair point,” conceded Dark Oak.

“Then we need to proceed with subtlety,” declared Zarak.

“I highly doubt the presence of off-worlders screams subtle to anyone,” snarked Megatron.

“Perhaps,” mused Zarak, “but I always have a plan.”

A Nebulan woman set down her pad, stressed out over the events unfolding on her home world. Spasma was her name and she was a Rookeel that had a tendency to drown her sorrows in alcohol. She got up to get her preferred Drasma to ease her worries. “That no help,” called a voice in her head, her binary-bond partner, Apeface.

“It works for me!” she hissed as she opened the bottle.

“It poison!” argued Apeface.

“I already have ONE voice in my head,” snapped Spasma, “I don’t need another!!” Apeface grunted, then silenced himself as Spasma downed the glass in one gulp. Drasma worked as something that wakes you up in the short term, but was still a depressant in the long run, lowering inhibitions. After the drink, she exited her office and proceeded down the hall to her chambers where her “lover” usually waits. Her son, Benak, approached her.

“Mother,” he called tentatively.

“Speak,” she sighed.

“L-Lord Zarak wants to talk to you,” replied Benak. Spasma growled.

“Where is he?” she asked.

“In the main hall,” reported Benak. She then strode off to the main hall to see Zarak sitting in a chair.

“May I help you, My Lord?” she asked.

“You are aware of our alien visitors, correct?” quizzed Zarak.

“You told all of us Headmasters,” replied Spasma. “Metarex, a human, and Megatron’s retinue, right?”

“It’s about the Metarex’s needs,” answered Zarak. “They require Borzonite crystals to gain power.”

“It’s rare on this world,” muttered Spasma, “practically nonexistent. My mines are exhausted.”

“…Regrettable,” sighed Zarak. “I will need a proposal in two days to help accommodate the Metarex. See to it at once.”

“Yes, My Lord,” confirmed Spasma as she knelt down. “You honor my house with your presence.” She kissed Zarak’s ring and Zarak departed. Spasma decided to forgo her tryst with her lover and returned to her office.

“Can’t exactly help Metarex,” mused Apeface. “We no have crystals.”

“I’m painfully aware of that!” snapped Spasma. “If we don’t…if we don’t…”

“…No!” wailed Apeface. “Me know your thoughts! Spasma, no!”

“Spasma, yes!” declared Spasma. She then got her pad out and started writing up a draft.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-5

The Council of Peers had assembled the next day. What is the Council of Peers, you ask? Why, it’s the ruling body of Nebulos. It is where all laws are decided and it is where Zarak addresses the people. He took the podium and cleared his throat before starting. “My friends,” he began, “it is clear to me that something has upset a certain percentage of the population. If I can find out what it is, I will address it and fix it. However, it has become clear to me that these…upset citizens do not wish to go through the usual methods, believing those methods to be too slow. I will be the first to say that speed is necessary for addressing grievances, but, members of the Nebulan Destiny Movement. taking the law into your own hands is NOT the way. It only causes people distress. My own daughter, usually a level-headed woman, has been so stressed that one of the founders, one who she wishes to marry, would do such a thing. She has attacked ally and enemy alike to gain answers to answer why Galen became so power-hungry. In all honesty, I can only pity him. He has fallen victim to power, forgetting his responsibilities as head of the World Watchers, our peace-keepers. Now, I cannot fully disregard him or the voice of the people, so I will leave the floor open for any who wish to object. Anyone?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” called a voice. Llyra rose from her seat and took the podium. Zarak wasn’t too scared. He figured he had it in the bag. “Nebulans, it IS true that a new movement is scary,” began Llyra, “but I have heard no testimony, nor have I seen any evidence, of this group being a terrorist organization. Trema and I have researched any police activities relating to this group.” Zarak raised an eyebrow at this, concern reaching the front of his mind now. “I am not aware of any law stating that holding public debates was a criminal offense. I have seen no graffiti on public property, I have not even heard any word of toppling our government, and whoever told my father that I attacked both ally and enemy is uninformed of what happened. My main source of answers was being treated wrong and I simply…reminded the offenders of a concept that some people forget, manners. After I heard from the Second in Command of the World Watchers that Galen was arrested, I had to find his family and inform them personally. I knew they would cover all bases, but Trema wasn’t on Nebulos. I found her on a planet called Mobius. Back when many of us were young, it was the site of the last battle in the Great War between our Decepticon allies and their enemies, the Autobots. I am, of course, implying that Earth has become this Mobius. A group of them have become her friends and have voiced their disapproval of Galen’s imprisonment. Obviously, interstellar notice would bring ruin to us. Therefore, I must urge his release. I do have the necessary petition to release him, the necessary signatures, even from the off-worlders, and the Seal of Approval from the Prison Warden.”

“…With what my daughter has said,” grumbled Zarak, “it would seem a vote on Galen is in order. Because my daughter and I are involved, we cannot vote, only act on the will of our fellow peers. You have 10 minutes to decide.” He and Llyra then left the Council chambers and waited outside. “You would dare retrieve a petition behind my back?!” he hissed.

“Galen is my betrothed, Father,” replied Llyra. “His voice has weight on the Council. Trema needed help to get her son out. I fail to see the issue.”

“The issue is that you are falling for Galen!” shouted Zarak. “He is dangerous! Power-hungry!”

“The man I love may be many things,” argued Llyra, “but power-hungry is not one of them. This locking up of political rivals isn’t like you! Nor is promoting an idiot like Monzo to Traboon or allowing members of the High-class to lord their status over their enemies or Low-class fellows! What’s happened to you?!”

“I have issues that demand my attention!” replied Zarak. “Some things need to be sacrificed for the greater good of Nebulos!”

“Be careful saying that, Father,” remarked Llyra. “Those who would tell others to give up a few of their freedoms to gain safety deserve neither.”

“Llyra, I have a summit coming up on Blesagh (Wednesday, by our calendar), and I do NOT require any demonstrations during that time!” snarled Zarak

“You would get demonstrations out the rear if Galen stays locked up!” argued Llyra. At that moment, a Councilwoman poked her head out the door.

“Excuse me,” she called, “the vote has been decided.”

“We will discuss this later,” Zarak hissed to Llyra as they entered the chambers.

“Supreme Councilor Zarak, Son of Zoonthar,” began the speaker at the podium, an elderly female, “Llyra, Daughter of Zarak, the Council of Peers has made its decision. As you are peers, you are bound by your oath to abide by our decision even if it goes against your personal feelings. Do you understand?”

“We do,” replied Zarak. Llyra nodded to confirm Zarak spoke for her.

“The petition, while acquired in an unorthodox manner,” declared the speaker, “IS legal and has gained interstellar attention. It would look poorly upon our honor and dignity if we locked up a voice that simply spoke ideas contrary to our own and has committed no aggressive action. Galen is to be released at once.”

“…If that is the decision of our peers,” hissed Zarak, “my daughter and I will abide by it. I trust there is no objection to my allowing Llyra to open Galen’s cell?” The voting board flashed red, indicating no objections. “Very well,” said Zarak. He handed Llyra a key. “He is in Cell 25, Block 4, Ward Y,” he told her.

“Thank you,” bid Llyra. She then left the chambers with a fat grin on his face.

“…Now that THAT’S out of the way,” sighed Zarak, “we have other business to attend to. Farmer Ramzar is requesting 50,000 Gorruks for compensation of his Shplenargh (Nebulan beast of burden, a combination of a camel and horse). It seems that one of the overseers we assigned to that farm allowed the beast to die of an untreated infection.”

Galen sat in his cell, still dressed in his usual red splendor. He played a small song on his flute, a present from Llyra. Once he finished, he then contented himself with staring at the instrument for a while. It lasted a few minutes before he spoke. “Llyra,” he mumbled, “I swear by the Rings of Nebulos, I WILL escape this prison and return to your loving embrace!”

“I thought jailbreaks were illegal,” called a voice. It was at that moment that Galen could see Llyra and all four of his parents.

“How did you get special permission to visit my cell?!” yelped Galen. “Not that I’m ungrateful, but visiting hours are over!”

“We’re not here on a visit,” answered Llyra as she produced a key. “We’ve successfully swayed the Council of Peers to release you and absolve you of whatever crime my father wrongfully accused you of.”

“We even have off-worlder signatures on our petition,” supplied Trema.

“I thought you didn’t like Llyra,” remarked Galen.

“She managed to show that she DOES care about other people,” answered Trema, “and she revealed to me a little secret.”

“I’ll tell you when we’re at the safety of your estate,” replied Llyra. “For now, we need to celebrate your release!” She put the key in the lock and opened the cell door. Galen stepped out and hugged everyone.

“I am forever indebted to you all!” he cheered.

“And I am indebted to Llyra,” replied Trema. “Without her help and knowledge of the current state of affairs, I would have joined you in your cell.”

“Well, thank goodness THAT didn’t come to fruition,” chuckled Galen.

“Shall we?” asked Llyra as she gestured towards the exit.

“Lead the way!” bid Galen. They left the prison to see Gort waiting with Amy, Natalie, and Sira outside. Galen’s eyes popped open to see them. “Tam nar ger-renkarta Galort trukinark, ram?(You the off-worlders Mother mentioned, are?) asked Galen

“Ro ram,” (We are.) replied Sira. “I am Sira Mayworth. This is my wife, Natalie, and my student, Amy Rose O’Hedge.”

“Those sound like Earth names,” mused Galen.

“They are,” replied Sira, “however, the planet has been renamed to Mobius since the dawn of people like Amy.”

“It’s good to see you,” greeted Amy as she gave the Nebulan salute.

“And you,” replied Galen. “Mother has told me a lot about you, especially how you managed to stomach Heart of Gorfuu.”

“It’s actually very tasty,” giggled Amy.

“I’m afraid I was a little squeamish,” replied Sira.

“Enough chit-chat,” declared Trema. “My stomach rumbles.”

“To the Gardens of Eternal Peace and Harmony Macrobiotic Restaurant!” proclaimed Galen.

“The…what?” quizzed Amy, not even daring to try to say it all.

“The Gardens of Eternal Peace and Harmony Macrobiotic Restaurant,” explained Galen. “Or, if you wish to use the English alphabet, the GEPHMR, a High-class, multi-floored restaurant that has the most delicious cuisine on Nebulos.”

“Sounds pleasant,” mused Sira. “Let’s check it out.”

The GEPHMR is a rather large restaurant, even for Nebulans. All citizens of all classes have eaten there. The entertainment is also one to view, with comedians, singers, dancers, and other various performers that would knock your socks off. One of Nebulos’ most famous comedians, called Rokeri Berlim, had a steady job at the restaurant. What’s he like? …He’s Nebulos’ George Carlin. The topic he was poking holes in was about a phrase used on Nebulos. “‘Have a nice day!’” he said in a nasally voice before adopting his usual tone. “Yeah, yeah, yeah! Would you give me my f***ing change, please?” The crowd laughed. “Some people are really insistent! ‘I SAID, HAVE A NICE DAY!’ All right, all right! OKAY, GODS DAMMIT, ALL RIGHT! That’s the trouble with ‘Have a nice day’! It puts all the pressure on YOU! Now YOU’VE got to go out and, somehow, manage to have a good time! All because of some loose-lipped off-worlder! ‘Have a nice day’! Maybe I don’t FEEL like having a nice day! Maybe, just maybe, I’ve had 63 nice days in a row! And, by the Rings, I’m ready for a CRAPPY day! Let someone wish me a crappy day! I never hear that! ‘Have a crappy day!’ That’s no problem at all! All you have to do is go for Ban’graza practice some mornings! There’s no planning involved!” That got another roar of laughter from the audience. As the routine went on, Trema and her group arrived at one of the food counters. The Chef, a fat man, approached them.

“Tam roko al ogi, balt di?” (You wish to eat, what do?) he asked.

“Let’s see,” mused Galen, “we’ll have some Dormako,”

“Dormako,” repeated the Chef as he served it up, purple looking ground beef.

“And some Galtorii, no sauce,” continued Galen

“Galtorii, no sauce,” replied the Chef as he put the food on a plate, a red lettuce-looking vegetable.

“And some Borgu,” finished Galen. “Wait, would that be too much for our smaller visitors?” The Chef cut up smaller portions of a light violet fruit that looked like an apple with warts on it.

“And Borgu, with smaller portions for the smaller visitors,” he confirmed.

“May I?” asked Amy.

“Don’t be alarmed,” warned Galen. Amy picked up a small pinch of the Dormako and winced.

“Galen, I can’t eat this,” she replied.

“I know it looks odd, but…” assured Galen. Amy turned to the Chef.

“What are you trying to pull here?!” she snarled.

“Is there a problem?!” boomed the Chef.

“Your preparation of Dormako!” answered Amy.

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat it!” roared the Chef.

“This thing looks purple!” declared Amy. “I want it to look as if it was bathed in your Gods’ blood as your ancestors destroyed them!” The Chef then realized where Amy was coming from.

“I see you have tasted both the well-done and the RARE stuff!” he laughed. Galen was surprised.

“You’ve tried rare Dormako?” he asked.

“Your mother brought a sampling of many Nebulan dishes,” explained Natalie.

“We prefer the rare stuff,” assured Sira. “The well-done stuff made us barf.”

“I like off-world customers that know cuisine when they eat it!” cheered the Chef. “One minute!” He took the plate back and dumped the contents into a bin labeled “Rokamro” (Compost) and put the plate in a sink. A fresh plate was taken and he put blue Dormako on the plate along with the un-sauced Galtorii and the Borgu.

“Much better!” praised Amy. “There’s nothing worse than scorched Dormako.”

“On that, you will receive no argument,” agreed the Chef as he accepted Galen’s payment. “Rakel!” (Enjoy!) Galen’s group then found a table and sat down for their meal. They ate with chopsticks. Galen then noticed that Llyra’s chopsticks were holding a piece of Dormako near his lips. Galen smiled before eating it. He then gave a piece to her and she accepted.

“You two lovebirds enjoying yourselves?” teased Gort.

“Wait until you fall in love,” chuckled Galen. “You’ll see why we do what we do.”

“Doubt it,” replied Gort.

Over at the Council chambers, near their landing pad, Zarak was awaiting an arrival via Space Bridge. Krunk and Grax flanked him, all three looking nervous. The Space Bridge portal appeared. “Here they come,” gulped Grax.

“We’re going to catch some beri (s***), aren’t we?” mumbled Krunk.

“The notion has crossed my mind,” replied Zarak. Figures then appeared in the portal and came towards them in a slow, purposeful march. A flying object followed them. Soon, they revealed themselves to be Starscream and his Seeker Trine, Eggman, the Metarex Five, and Megatron. “My allies,” called Zarak as he knelt, “you honor my house with…”

“Get up,” demanded Megatron. “Kneeling isn’t like you.”

“No, of course not,” replied Zarak.

“Now, I believe you have a report on the state of affairs here?” quizzed Megatron. Zarak gulped.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-4

Trema’s butler, Lorko, approached the landing pad as the ramp came down. He looked distressed. “Un Rala!” (My Lady!) he wailed. “Le rodane, tami cori!” (Is needed, your help!)

“I am aware of my son’s predicament,” replied Trema. “I came here as soon as I heard.”

“Not your son,” answered Lorko, “your other spouses! They disappeared! Lady Grax says she has business concerning them! She’s here now!”

“Of course, she is,” snarled Trema. “Let me see her.”

“Right here,” called a voice. A female Nebulan came forward, dressed as lavishly as Llyra, but allowing her cybernetics to be shown. She was accompanied by a Nebulan man that Amy was familiar with. The man was also outfitted with the same cybernetics.

“I never pegged you to be binary-bonded with anyone,” growled Trema to the woman, Grax.

“My partner, Skullcruncher,” replied Grax, “is quite the Rival Eliminator.”

“And then there’s you!” hissed Amy as she pointed to the man.

“Do I know you?” asked the man.

“We met on Mobius!” answered Amy. “You were working with Aaron!”

“Ah, yes, the Scarlet Specter,” replied the man, Krunk. “Tell me, what happened after the battle?”

“Aaron’s in prison! As you should be, from what Trema told me!” snarled Amy.

“I have Zarak to thank for that,” answered Krunk. “He pardoned me on the condition that I would scout out your planet to see if any wizards or witches could easily be manipulated to serve us. Regrettably, I was unsuccessful and so left Mobius after that business with the Eggman Transformers.”

“I’m always a fan of nostalgia,” interjected Grax, “but we have some business to attend to.” She started handing out data pads to Stylor and Trema. “The criminals’ signatures for your records,” she explained, “for the servants on your estate, and for our assurance that you have copies.”

“But…you haven’t even told me what the charges are!” snarled Trema.

“No, I haven’t,” replied Grax. She stayed quiet for a while. Trema rolled her eyes before getting on one knee and bowing her head.

“You honor my house with your presence,” she muttered before kissing the ring on Grax’s finger.

“Your son is charged,” revealed Grax as Trema stood up, “with violating Nebulan Civil Law, Subsection 1,008, Paragraph 45.”

“I’m not sure as I’m familiar with that particular part Civil Law,” remarked Trema.

“Then you need to obtain a copy of the Laws,” chuckled Krunk.

“Which YOU happen to have!” hissed Trema as she knelt again. “You honor my house with your presence,” she proclaimed before kissing his ring. He then handed Trema a pad containing every single law on Nebulos. “Let’s see,” muttered Trema as she started searching. “Civil Law…Subsection 1,008…Paragraph 45.” She then read the appropriate law. “Formation of counter-intuitive political movement?” muttered Trema.

“Your other spouses,” explained Grax, “have presented themselves to the Council of Peers this morning to explain the crimes of Galen, Son of Stylor.”

“What is he charged with?” asked Trema. Grax and Krunk said nothing. Trema sighed as she knelt again. “You…”

“Get up!” growled Llyra. “These idiots do not deserve to be honored by you!”

“Who are you to interrupt?” called Krunk. “You are a High-class citizen like us.”

“I’m not just any High-class citizen!” snarled Llyra. “I’m Llyra, Daughter of Zarak, commander of the Black Battalion! You will tell us what Trema wants to know or I will have you idiots removed from your current positions and sent to the Swamp Mines!”

“Not even you have the right to threaten us!” roared Grax as she and Krunk pressed a button on their left wrists. Their clothes were teleported away as armor took their place, complete with helmets. On the back of the armor were upside-down faces. Llyra then pressed a button on her bracelet and summoned her armor, not as high-tech as Krunk and Grax’s, but it gets the job done. Her opponents swung a punch at her head, but she ducked, grabbing their arms, then flinging them into a wall. She then strapped her Ban’grazas onto her arms and held them to her opponents necks.

“Now,” she whispered, “why is my betrothed, the head of the World Watchers, in prison?”

“I see no reason to…!” snarled Grax.

“He’s charged with forming the Autobot sympathetic Nebulan Destiny Movement!” yelped Krunk. “A dissident movement demanding a restructuring of the government!”

“FORAMI!” (COWARD!) bellowed Grax.

“A dissident movement?” cried Llyra. “My Galen?!”

“Typical Galen,” muttered Stylor. “He can be so hot-headed sometimes!”

“Leave this estate now,” warned Llyra to Krunk and Grax, “before I risk dishonor by staining Nebulos’ soil with blood.” Krunk and Grax tool the hint and fled in Krunk’s jet, or should I say, his partner, the Decepticon triple-changer, Snapdragon. As Snapdragon took off, Llyra considered the next move. “I need the history of the Nebulan Destiny Movement,” she declared. “See if they vandalized public property, assaulted officials, anything of that nature.”

“See if they actually harmed your father’s administration or if they just voiced their opinions,” guessed Trema.

“Most likely the latter,” mused Stylor, “if I know Galen.”

“Let’s start researching,” proclaimed Llyra.

Zarak, an elderly Nebulan, was finishing up some paperwork. His cybernetic hand wrote his signature onto the screen built into his desk when his intercom beeped. He pressed a button to accept the call. “Speak,” he demanded.

“Snapdragon has arrived with Krunk and Grax,” replied his secretary. “They wish to speak with you.”

“Well, I just finished my paperwork,” mused Zarak. “I have some free time. Send them in.”

“At once, My Lord,” replied the secretary. The call ended and Krunk and Grax were permitted entry. Zarak saw them massaging their bruises. They were back in their normal clothes.

“What happened?!” called Zarak. “Did Trema do this?! Because, if she did,” a wicked grin crossed his face, “that’s enough to keep her precious Galen in jail.”

“It wasn’t Trema!” hissed Grax. “It was your headstrong daughter!”

“Llyra?!” growled Zarak. “What did you say around her?! I told you idiots to be tactful in her presence!”

“Why are you blaming us?!” protested Grax. “We’re the victims here!”

“All we did,” replied Krunk, “was get my sister to show us respect whenever she needed an answer.”

“BALUKA!” (IDIOTS!) roared Zarak. “You were lording your position onto a citizen in Llyra’s presence! Do you know how much she values our planet’s ideals of honor and respect?! She would fight you if you lorded your position onto a Low-class citizen!” He sighed. “Did you at least keep your mouths shut on the charges?” The two shuffled their feet. “…I don’t like your silence!” snarled Zarak.

“Krunk blabbed about it when she threatened him!” explained Grax. “It was a minor threat!”

“You call a Ban’graza to the throat a minor threat?!” yelped Krunk.

“A Ban’graza to the throat?” repeated Zarak, his tone indicating he regained control of his temper. He then chuckled quietly. “I think we can use THAT to our advantage.”

“You’ve lost me, My Lord,” replied Grax.

“The dissident movement has distressed my daughter so much,” began Zarak, “that she is trying to gain answers as to why Galen would suddenly turn power-hungry. Thus, she will attack ally and enemy alike to get answers.” Krunk and Grax then got the hint.

“It’s going into tomorrow’s speech,” guessed Krunk.

“Exactly,” replied Zarak. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must draft said speech up. Despite the hiccup at Trema’s estate, you have performed your duties to the Imperial Republic with distinction. Keep this up, and you two will be Traboons in no time.”

“Thank you, Oh Gracious Zarak,” praised Grax. She and Krunk knelt down.

“You honor us with your words,” they bid. They then kissed his ring and departed.

“Llyra, Llyra, Llyra,” chuckled Zarak. “You should know better than that. A politician can use any event to their advantage. This will make the Imperial Summit in a week’s time easier.”

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-3

The Retranga was entering the main Nebulan solar system. Llyra was in her quarters, reading a novel and munching on a Nebulan snack, when the door chimed. “Enter,” she called. Amy came in wearing her robes. “Magic practice?” guessed Llyra.

“Homesick,” corrected Amy. “Wearing my robes usually gets rid of any distress I feel. Of course, it depends on how much I have. Trema does the same with meditation.”

“It’s nice to have something to remind you of home,” agreed Llyra. “I usually read novels from Nebulos to stave off my homesickness.”

“You’ve been off-world before?” asked Amy.

“Every Nebulan has left our world once or twice in their lifetime,” replied Llyra. “I pity those that are in exile or have no home world anymore. They can never cure their homesickness.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re lucky in that regard,” mused Amy. “In any case, I wanted to know something about you.”

“Ask away,” urged Llyra.

“I heard Arcana mention something about patrols,” recalled Amy.

“That’s where I come in as a last resort,” answered Llyra. “If our holo-filter fails, I can get us out of any situation.”

“How?” asked Amy.

“Regretfully,” sighed Llyra, “I can’t tell you until the situation actually gets that far.”

“…All right,” muttered Amy as she shrugged. She then saw the title of the novel Llyra was reading. “Struggle of Eternity?” she asked. Llyra then looked at Amy in surprise.

“You can read Modern Nebulanese?” she quizzed.

“Ara U omparep tami galamar, rant torik le,” (How I learned your language, that novel is) replied Amy.

“E klafeer ro Trema, tam reem arak!” (A student of Trema, you truly are!) praised Llyra. “Only Trema would teach our language with the finest novel ever written as a reference!”

“I’ll…take your word for it,” mumbled Amy.

“I take it you DIDN’T enjoy it?” asked Llyra.

“Well,” floundered Amy, trying to be polite, “I thought it was…interesting, if a bit dull in parts.”

“By the Rings,” swore Llyra. “I can’t believe a student of Trema would consider Struggle of Eternity, Lokoro’s greatest work, to be dull.”

“I just thought the story got a little redundant after a while,” explained Amy. “Lokoro’s supposed to be talking about seven generations of a Nebulan family, but he tells the same story over and over and over again! All of his characters lead selfless lives of duty to the Nebulan state and honor to their family, grow old, then the strongest of those characters dies in glorious battle, then the next generation comes along and does it all over again!”

“But that’s exactly the point,” countered Llyra. “A repetitive epic is the best way to demonstrate Nebulan morals to the people, stemming of from our elders telling us the same stories over and over again to make sure we understand the morals thoroughly. Struggle of Eternity is the greatest achievement of the repetitive epic, taught in Nebulan schools across the planet.”

“But none of the characters ever come alive,” sighed Amy. “And, while I will agree with the morals about honor to your family, there’s more to life than just that and duty to the state.”

“An Autobot view if I ever heard one,” mused Llyra.

“I’ve held that view before I even met the Autobots,” sighed Amy.

“If I may change the subject,” interjected Llyra, “how did you meet them?”

“I kind of stumbled on one,” replied Amy. “I thought an Autobot’s holo-form was someone I have a major crush on and got a surprise when he vanished and the sports car turned into Optimus Prime.”

“Optimus Prime?” repeated Llyra. “I thought it was Sentinel that was Prime.”

“Sentinel stepped down,” explained Amy, “and the Matrix chose Orion Pax as its new bearer, Optimus Prime.”

“Pax?” quizzed Llyra. “I knew that family, Arcanus and Soleanna Pax, and their children Dion and Megatronus.”

“Well, from what Dion, Ultra Magnus now, told me,” elaborated Amy, “they had a third child after the Great War.”

“Dion’s a Magnus now?” chuckled Llyra. “What about Megatronus? Is he teaching mathematics now?”

“Actually,” replied Amy as she winced, “Megatronus switched sides and leads the Decepticons as their new Supreme Commander under the name Megatron.”

“What?!” Llyra gasped in disbelief.

“It threw us for a loop,” answered Amy. “His stutter was just an act when we knew him.”

“Oh, poor Pax children,” moaned Llyra. “Their brother is on the wrong side.”

“Worse than that,” sighed Amy. “It would help explain why we ran into the D.J.D a week ago. The war between the Autobots and Decepticons is back on.”

“It’s back?!” yelped Llyra. “That must be why there’s a dissident movement on Nebulos.” Amy thought about asking her about the dissident movement now but buried it quickly.

“And Optimus is going through all this at 153,” she continued.

“153?!” yelped Llyra. “That’s adolescence on Cybertron!” The door chimed again. “Enter,” called Llyra. Trema came in. “You never told me the new Prime is in a war at only 153!” cried Llyra.

“We’ll discuss that later,” replied Trema. “Right now, we have more immediate concerns. A patrol ship is coming towards us.”

“Duty calls,” mused Amy. Llyra got up and all three made their way to the bridge.

“Any sign of them figuring us out?” Trema asked Duros.

“No, My Lady,” replied Duros. “The holo-cloak is working perfectly. Nobody here but us Femaxians.”

“How about the holo-filter?” asked Trema.

“Still works perfectly,” answered Duros. “I could make you look like a hedgerhino, if you like.”

“Femaxian Captain Sharveen will do nicely,” remarked Trema with a grin at the joke.

“They’re getting closer,” gulped Gort.

“Easy, Young Gort,” assured Duros. “As far as their scanners are concerned, we’re a Femaxian Merchant Vessel.” His console beeped. “We’re being hailed.”

“Open a channel and engage the holo-filter,” ordered Trema.

“What if the Captain of that ship is male?” asked Arcana. “You’d have to be blatantly sexist towards him.”

“No, even Femaxians wouldn’t dare be sexist towards a Nebulan male,” replied Trema. “Stylor could tell you stories about his dealings with Femaxians.”

“Some other time,” smiled Stylor.

“Channel open and holo-filter engaged,” reported Duros as a heavyset Nebulan male filled the screen.

“This is Traboon Monzo, Captain of the Boroba and Headmaster to Weirdwolf,” the man introduced himself. “Identify yourselves.” He could only see a Femaxian crew, thank goodness for holo-filters

“When did HE get promoted to Traboon?” thought Llyra.

“This is the Femaxian Merchant Vessel, Gold Medal,” answered Trema. “I’m Captain Sharveen. How may I help a strapping man like you?”

“What is your destination?” asked Monzo.

“Why, Nebulos, your lush home world,” replied Trema. “We’re carrying a shipment of Rezardium needed for the military.”

“Standby while we board your vessel,” demanded Monzo. Worry struck the hearts of the Retranga crew.

“Traboon Monzo,” urged Trema, “the Rezardium is urgently needed. I would hate for a fine man like you to risk your career explaining why it was delayed.”

“The Rezardium can wait!” snapped Monzo. “Dissident activity has been on the rise in our system! By the order of Lord Zarak himself, all incoming vessels are to be stopped and searched!”

“If they get too close,” whispered Natalie, “we’re finished!”

“Standby,” called Trema. The call ended and Trema turned to Llyra.

“I believe it would be best to drop the holo-filter,” she suggested. Everyone’s eyes went wide. “Trust me,” assured Llyra. “I’ve gotten paperwork signed to allow us passage with no further interruptions from patrols.” Trema thought for a few seconds before deciding.

“Do as she says,” she told Duros. “Gort, be prepared to get out of here fast if this doesn’t work.”

“Aye, My Lady,” replied Gort. Duros called Monzo back. Monzo’s face was one of surprise as he saw who the “Femaxians” were.

“Tam rog lamatray, bara tho?” (You get promoted, when did?) asked Llyra.

“Keb Femaxiana, tam ram!” (Not Femaxians, you are!) snarled Monzo.

“Rokesnarm, tam ram,” (Observant, you are.) scoffed Llyra. “Tami recoa maroma, tam reli mora!” (Your ships around, you will turn!)

“Zaraka prilanma, tam tho ba…!” (Zarak’s daughter, you may be…!) roared Monzo.

“Og Regon locen celomer, rant le!” (An Omega level mission, this is!) interrupted Llyra. “Raji-Raji-Forea-Talo-Coret-Fet, nar celomer gorb le! Ti nar gorek ga un talort, tami recoa maroma, tam reli mora, hal fora ga rant gorshaben, tam reli farshi, ga rant al yi far, feg tam reli reank! Tam morrofarek, te?” (Five-Five-Seven-Nine-Eight-Six, the mission code is! On the order of my father, your ships around, you will turn, all logs of this encounter, you will erase, of this to no one, and you will speak! You understand, do?) Monzo entered the mission code into his console.

“Faretiam, nar celomer gorb le,” (Verified, the mission code is.) droned the computer.

“Barametema, U mek,” (Forgiveness, I beg.) gulped Monzo. “Moratemo ga tami celomer, U lan,” (Ignorant of your mission, I was.)

“Al rocear tami filaca morp solirmatori, tam ramate,” (To perform your duties with distinction, you wanted.) assured Llyra. “Boru, rant bori le,” (Over, this call is.) The call ended and the patrol ship veered off.

“They just told the other patrol ships,” reported Duros, “to let us pass uninterrupted.” Llyra released a breath.

“That went better than I expected,” she sighed.

“Good to hear,” replied Trema. “There IS something that confuses me. …TRABOON MONZO?!”

“Don’t look at me!” protested Llyra. “He was still a Rookeel when I last saw him!”

“Why would Zarak promote an idiot like Monzo to Traboon?!” yelped Arcana.

“We’ll find out when we land,” replied Trema as Nebulos came into view. A green planet with tiny patches of blue, surrounded by rings, and two green moons orbiting the planet outside the rings, it looked beautiful. “It’s been too long since I saw it,” said Trema. “Gort, begin landing procedures.”

“Aye, My Lady,” confirmed Gort. The Retranga lowered effortlessly through the atmosphere, through the silver clouds and gliding over the trees, right to Trema and Stylor’s estate in the Folassian Forest.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-2

“You’ve been what?” Trema asked Amy after a few days of flight.

“Talking to Llyra so I could get dresses that would flatter me,” repeated Amy.

“Amy, I can’t believe you’re getting involved with her,” snapped Trema. “The whole notion of you being friendly with her is ridiculous!”

“I guess you’re going to tell me not to associate with her?” guessed Amy as she made plans to disobey such a command.

“And you’re telling me that Stylor and his Headmaster associates are giving you support?!” snarled Trema.

“We’re in this together!” insisted Amy. “And, feud or not, Llyra’s the only one who can get us through this! I really don’t care if her father did something you thought of as cowardly.”

“This has nothing to do with my specific distaste for Llyra’s father,” argued Trema.

“Then what’s the problem?!” snapped Amy.

“You really want to know?!” growled Trema. “You absolutely want to know what my problem is?! I’ll tell you! The history of Zarak’s lineage, that’s my problem! Every time magic tries to resurface on Nebulos, we get ostracized by Zarak’s family! In the height of his time, we magic-folk weren’t welcome! Yes, we could be performers or janitors, but citizens? Forget it!”

“Maybe that’s what Llyra’s father may believe is right,” countered Amy, “but I’m not seeing that with Llyra herself. I have never felt uncomfortable around her and neither have your husband or the Headmasters! Even Sira and Natalie have gotten tips on how to go through Nebulos from her!”

“Don’t you see?! That’s the lie!” insisted Trema. “When she was a young girl, she always believed in the inherent good of people and wasn’t corrupted by her father’s ideals! She is blind to the fact that it’s still not an easy time for magic users and I am NOT going to pretend that it is!”

“Trema,” argued Amy, “I can respect the fact that her views may not be a totally accurate reflection of the political situation, but I always believed that people like her could see both sides of the issue. She can see the way things could have been, the way they should have been.”

“We cannot ignore the truth about the past!” growled Trema.

“Letting Llyra help us isn’t going to make us forget who we are and where we came from!” snapped Amy. “What it does is remind us that we can flourish if both sides give each other a chance! The only way to do that is to accept that we are not bound by any limitations! At least, only the ones we choose ourselves. Now, if you’re still going to tell me that I can’t talk to her anymore, just know that I have every intention to disobey that.” Trema sighed.

Llyra and Stylor overheard the entire conversation. An accusing look from Llyra was directed at Stylor. “You never told me your wife’s prejudice of my family stems from something like that!” she accused.

“Trema’s a woman of strong convictions,” replied Stylor as he polished his Headmaster armor. “She believes that high-class members of society can never truly see the suffering going on in the middle and lower classes and shouldn’t even try to change.”

“That’s a prejudiced, narrow-minded view!” growled Llyra.

“There IS precedence for that view!” snarled Stylor. “Her family suffered greatly in the relocation camps all magic folk lived in! If someone wishes to join OUR house, they must prove that they can understand the value of both magic AND science!”

“I HAVE proven that!” insisted Llyra.

“And Galen wouldn’t have proposed to you if you didn’t,” assured Stylor. “You have proven yourself to be an honorable woman and a great warrior.”

“Then you should say that to Trema!” urged Llyra.

“…N-n-not such a good idea,” stammered Stylor. “I don’t want her to think I’m stepping into her domain as Head of House.”

“…Perhaps I should say something,” mused Llyra. “If I made my case that I CAN listen to those that were oppressed, it wouldn’t seem like a challenge to her authority.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you!” warned Stylor.

“…Why?” asked Llyra.

“Well…,” floundered Stylor, “to tell you the truth…she doesn’t like politicians either.” Llyra rolled her eyes as she sat down.

“Of course she doesn’t!” she hissed.

“Don’t let that bother you,” replied Stylor. “Rexna, Orbenth, and I had EVERY right to override her when Galen chose you as his bride. She’s accepted the fact that there’s nothing she can do about THAT.”

“How comforting,” snarked Llyra. The comms then beeped.

“This is Gort calling Stylor and Trema!” called the young helmsman.

“Stylor here,” replied Stylor.

“Go ahead,” directed Trema’s voice.

“We’ve just entered Nebulan space and have spotted a ship held in a tractor beam!” reported Gort. “The held ship is a Femaxian vessel and the ship firing the tractor beam is the Peaceful Tyranny!”

“The D.J.D’s ship?!” yelped Llyra. “They have no right to hold vessels in our space!”

“Battle Stations!” ordered Trema’s voice. Everyone made their way to the bridge and took their stations.

“I heard Llyra say it’s the D.J.D’s ship,” called Sira. “What does D.J.D mean?”

“Decepticon Justice Division,” explained Trema. “They’re a branch of the Decepticon Empire that deals out ‘justice’.”

“I could practically hear the quotation marks around ‘justice’,” observed Amy.

“When I say ‘justice’,” growled Trema, “I mean ‘unmarked graves’. They kill any Decepticon transgressors in the messiest fashion possible.”

“They usually use a computer program called The List to find and execute their victims,” supplied Llyra. “Many Decepticons prefer suicide over the D.J.D knocking on their door. None of them get the chance as the arrival of the D.J.D is the only clue that they were ON The List in the first place. They’re very much hated among the Decepticons’ rank-and-file.”

“The question I have is this;” muttered Trema, “why are they holding a ship in OUR space?”

“We’re about to find out,” reported Duros. “We’re within visual range.” The Peaceful Tyranny was a small vessel compared to the Nemesis, looking like a sword fish with a few extra fins and two extra noses.

“Hail them,” ordered Trema. “Engage our holo-filter, see if you can make us look like Decepticon supporters.” Duros did so and a face filled the screen. It was Cybertronian and was covered in a mask that was the Decepticon symbol.

“This is Tarn, leader of the Decepticon Justice Division,” answered the bot, the voice being very deep and very masculine. “How may I help you, my friends?”

“You can start by telling us why you’re holding that ship!” snarled Trema.

“We have orders to search all vessels attempting to go through Nebulan space,” explained Tarn.

“Search them for what?” asked Trema.

“For Decepticon transgressors,” replied Tarn. “What else? Each ship will be scanned, its cargo searched, and its crew members and passengers subjected to mental testing.”

“On whose authority?” snapped Trema.

“On the authority of the Decepticon Lord,” answered Tarn, “and the Decepticon Empire. You know, the Empire your people are members of?” Amy, Natalie, and Sira arched an eyebrow as they hid behind Trema’s chair.

“The D.J.D,” hissed Trema, sensing her friends’ worry, “has no jurisdiction over ships in our space.”

“We assumed you would welcome our assistance,” remarked Tarn.

“Do you have any evidence that there are transgressors aboard the ship you have in your tractor beam?” asked Trema.

“How can we have evidence,” countered Tarn, the limits of his patience being reached, “until we conduct our tests?!”

“Tarn,” growled Trema, “Nebulan law strictly prohibits any unwarranted search and seizure of vessels in our territory!”

“I have my orders!” hissed Tarn. “Now, keep your place!” He terminated the call.

“Let me talk to him,” urged Llyra. Trema turned and looked at her. “Please,” pleaded Llyra. “I can get him out of here, but only if you let me talk to him.” Trema considered, then turn to Duros.

“Hail them again,” she ordered. “After I have delayed him long enough, Llyra will step in and handle interstellar diplomacy. Ready weapons if she wishes.”

“Thank you,” bid Llyra. Tarn’s face came back, looking a little irritated.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of this?!” he demanded.

“There have been reports of Decepticon smuggling in this territory,” answered Trema. “Usually, these kinds of searches, like the one you plan to conduct, are ways to deter other ships to search THEIR vessels. I have a warrant for searching any Decepticon vessel, so, unless you release that ship, I will need to search your vessel.”

“Forget it!” shouted Tarn. “And if you attempt to board our vessel, I will consider it an act of piracy and have you turned over to Zarak! Is that clear?!”

“You can call it whatever you wish,” roared Trema, “but we’re not leaving until one of two things happens; you allow us to search your vessel, or you release that ship!”

“Well,” chuckled Tarn as Trema subtly nodded to Llyra, “in that case, Captain…”

“In that case,” interrupted Llyra, “you will comply with the captain’s wishes!”

“Llyra?!” yelped Tarn. “I don’t understand! Your father gave me permission to search any vessels going through your space!”

“Within reason, if I recall!” countered Llyra. “If you do not allow either of the captain’s choices to come to fruition, she has permission to destroy your vessel’s engines and then search it to see if YOU are behind the Decepticon smuggling ring!”

“Llyra, this is outrageous!” boomed Tarn.

“I agree,” replied Llyra, “but I will not allow this breach of legality to continue in my people’s space! Now, release that ship immediately!”

“We are your allies!” urged Tarn.

“Go ahead!” Llyra called to Trema.

“Tactical, target the Peaceful Tyranny’s engines,” ordered Trema. Tarn then made his decision.

“Vos, deactivate the tractor beam!” he ordered. He then turned back to the screen. “Llyra, your father and my Lord will hear of this!” The call ended and the Peaceful Tyranny left Nebulan space.

“We’re being hailed,” reported Duros. “It’s the Femaxian Captain.”

“Put her through,” replied Trema. The Femaxian Captain came through with a fat grin on her face.

“Captain,” she greeted, “this is Captain Sharveen of the Femaxian Vessel Gold Medal. I don’t know what you said to the D.J.D, but it must have been good.”

“Captain Sharveen,” replied Trema, “with your permission, and the right amount of Arsanium, I would like to use your vessel and crews’ image for my vessel’s holo-cloak.”

“You saved my ship from the D.J.D,” answered Sharveen. “It would be rude of me to take any Arsanium from you.”

“Given the fright you may have had,” argued Trema, “I say Arsanium will help calm your nerves. Would 40 bars calm your nerves?” Sharveen considered.

“…No,” she replied, “but 70 might.”

“50,” offered Trema.

“60,” countered Sharveen.

“Done,” replied Trema. She turned to Duros. “Beam over 60 bars of Arsanium to the Gold Medal’s bridge. Sharveen needs to be assured that the Arsanium is genuine.” Duros did so and Sharveen checked the bronzish metal for authenticity.

“Scan away!” she replied. The ship was subjected to a holo-scan and, after it was completed, left Nebulan space.

“Er, Trema,” called Amy as she, Sira, and Natalie stepped from behind the chair, “you told us Nebulos had dealings with the Decepticons in the past. You never said you were part of their Empire.”

“The rest of the planet may support the Decepticons,” replied Trema, “but not my family.”

“Another reason for her distaste for me,” mused Llyra. “Father’s a bit too friendly with the Decepticons. Shta, (Nebulan equivalent of Hell) he married a Decepticon after Mother died.”

“That’s news to me,” remarked Trema. “Who was the Decepticon?”

“Nightracer,” explained Llyra.

“That anti-social femme?!” yelped Stylor. “How did a recluse like her get married?!”

“I thought she died during the Great War!” continued Trema.

“A little pet project of Shockwave’s brought her back,” answered Llyra. “Her Spark was digitized and stored on a storage device hidden within her body. The device was then inserted into a blank protoform and it became a Spark chamber for Nightracer’s new body. One time use for Spark safety.”

“A Nebulan marrying a Transformer?” muttered Amy. “I somehow can’t fathom that.”

“What I can’t fathom,” hissed Llyra, “is why Father insists on forgetting Mother!”

“…I have the distinct feeling your relationship with your father is strained,” observed Natalie.

“It is,” confirmed Llyra. “Father doesn’t know I have acquired a pardon for Galen.”

“That’s why you insisted on coming,” realized Trema. “You needed the family as witnesses.”

“I can, at least, get us past the tougher areas like the patrols,” replied Llyra.

“I see,” mused Trema. “While this doesn’t entirely have me liking you, this is a step in the right direction.”

“…Thank you, Lady Trema,” bid Llyra. “May your house prosper.”

“And yours,” replied Trema, returning the wish as manners demand.

“That’s better,” chuckled Amy as she smiled. Sira and Natalie could only agree.

Transformers: Mobian Chronicles Transformers: Mobian Chronicles (Arc 9: Amy’s Alien Adventures)

TMC 9-1

The Autobots and their allies had been informed of Trema’s intentions and her desire to bring her friends along. A large area had been charted as a landing pad for the ship about to pick them up. As they waited, Optimus looked around. “We need to make a dedicated landing pad,” he mused to Topaz and Sonic.

“I drafted a proposal for such a thing for Aleena to look over,” replied Topaz.

“It would be way past cool to see Mobius join other space-faring civilizations,” sighed Sonic.

“You just want to find new places to run,” guessed Amy.

“Guilty,” confirmed Sonic.

“Landing site, this is Angela,” called the Blue Typhoon’s grasshopper First officer.

“Go ahead,” replied Optimus.

“A ship has entered our territory,” reported Angela. “It’s giving us the registry number and name and is requesting permission to land.”

“And the registry and name are?” asked Optimus.

“Registry: 4-7-7-4,” relayed Angela. “Name: Retranga.”

“My family’s ship,” explained Trema. “They may land.”

“Escort the Retranga to the landing site,” directed Optimus.

“Understood,” replied Angela. “Angela out.” The call ended. After a few minutes, the Retranga started its landing cycle. It was a large vessel, fearsome looking, like a bat with razor-sharp wings. It deployed its landing struts and lowered a ramp. A Nebulan man came out, his teeth gleaming.

“Tami tuurg ment rant, orbe tam rande belas, Stylor,” (Your teeth like that, only you would flash, Stylor.) remarked Trema. The man, Stylor smirked.

“Nar rakt nor al vian estar, el le, Un mara,” (The best way to show style, it is, My wife.) he declared. He then switched to English. “It has been too long!” They embraced one another.

“I wish the circumstances were different,” sighed Trema.

“We WILL get Galen out,” assured Stylor. He then swung his metal hand over his upper right heart. “This, I vow.”

“Did you get into an accident?” asked Trema as she pointed out her husband’s hand.

“Ah, this,” he winced. “I was being stupid and didn’t adjust the estate’s fuel rods correctly.”

“I received news of your accident and recovery,” replied Trema. “Go on.”

“The only way to save my life,” explained Stylor, “was to undergo the binary-bonding process with one of the Autobots stationed on Nebulos. As such, I am now a Headmaster, binary-bonded to Chromedome.”

“That was never revealed to me!” yelped Trema. “Why was I not told this?!”

“I didn’t think you would stay with me if I told you,” answered Stylor.

“Stylor, you and I both know,” assured Trema, “that I would never abandon you over this!”

“I realize that now,” sighed Stylor, “and I regret dishonoring the family like this.”

“Helping me get Galen out will clear the stain you perceive,” replied Trema. She then turned to her fellow witches. “Is everyone ready?”

“Time to see a new planet!” cheered Amy.

“Just a minute,” interjected Stylor, “why did you ask them if they were ready?”

“They’ve helped me adjust to life on this planet,” explained Trema. “I consider them my sisters.”

“Do you?” replied Stylor. “In that case, welcome to the House of Trema. I am one of her three spouses, Stylor.”

“I’m Amy Rose,” greeted Amy.

“Sira Mayworth, at your service,” introduced Sira.

“I’m her wife, Natalie Mayworth,” replied Natalie.

“Excellent,” cheered Stylor. More Nebulans then joined him, two women and two men. “Ah, good. Permit me to introduce my partners. The lovely lady here is my scientist, Arcana, Headmaster for Brainstorm. The soldier-man is my weapons specialist, Duros, Headmaster for Hardhead. The strapping young man is my scout, Gort, Headmaster for Highbrow. The last lady…needs no introduction.”

“TAM?!” (YOU?!) roared Trema as she clapped eyes on the Nebulan lady in an extravagant dress.

“Tam ree, e lapferno al ska,” (You too, a pleasure to see) remarked the woman.

“Tam reeck Llyra morp tam, bem tho?!” (You bring Llyra with you, why did?!) Trema demanded of Stylor.

“It was her insistence,” replied Stylor.

“Galen DID propose to me,” continued Llyra in English.

“I don’t care WHO he proposed to!” snarled Trema. “You have no right to come here!”

“Er, Trema,” asked Amy, “why are you shouting at her?”

“She’s Zarak’s daughter!” replied Trema.

“And Galen’s betrothed,” supplied Llyra. “I would rather have my future husband be OUT of prison. You need me to convince my father to let him out.”

“Trema,” said Sira, “whatever grudge you may have with her needs to be put aside. If she can get Galen out, we need her.”

“I can get him out just fine without a coward’s help!” snarled Trema.

“Much as I would like to reminisce on how much our families HATE one another,” remarked Llyra, “Galen doesn’t have the time.”

“…Very well,” grumbled Trema. “But, you WILL be watched!”

“That is acceptable,” replied Trema.

“Everyone, we have a mission to complete!” barked Trema. “We will not rest until my son is free! To Nebulos!” Everyone boarded the ship with Trema in the Captain’s seat, Stylor sitting by her side, Arcana at the engineering station, Duros at Tactical, and Gort at the helm.

“I can’t believe it!” giggled Amy as she bounced up and down. “I’m going to another planet!”

“With how Trema’s talked about Nebulos,” sighed Sira, “I would love to see it.”

“It sounds like a perfect honeymoon getaway,” mused Natalie.

“Gort,” directed Trema, “take us out.”

“Aye, My Lady,” confirmed Gort. The ship then went upwards slowly. As the landing struts retracted, the people on the ground waved goodbye.

“Gort, once we clear the atmosphere,” instructed Trema, “go to maximum warp for Nebulos.”

“Won’t the Decepticons detect the warp signature?” quizzed Gort.

“This ship is designed for stealth at any warp speed,” assured Trema. “Maximum warp to Nebulos when we leave the atmosphere.”

“Very well,” replied Gort as he set the course. The ship had left the atmosphere and then went to Warp 9 for Nebulos.

Regretfully, Megatron was taking a stroll around the moon-base and saw the flash of a ship going to warp. Eggman joined him, having also seen the flash. “What was that?!” yelped Eggman.

“That, my dear doctor,” replied Megatron, “was a Wing-class Nebulan vessel leaving the solar system at maximum warp.”

“How can you tell it was a starship?” asked Eggman.

“The warp flash pattern is highly distinctive,” explained Megatron.

“We’ve fully repaired Scarship,” declared Eggman. “Let’s send our Metarex allies after…!”

“I would prefer that the Metarex stay in this system,” interrupted Megatron. “If we were to send Scarship after a Nebulan vessel, our alliance with them would prove ill. The Nebulans don’t like the Metarex.”

“But, we can’t let that ship get MORE allies!” shouted Eggman.

“If the talks I’ve had with Zarak are true,” replied Megatron, “we don’t need to worry about allies.”