CHAPTER 3: The Solar Flux

SOME WORDS TO KNOW..

Kcerio --(Core-ee-o) The Kcerio star district

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“It’s been an adventure, but I’ll be happy to get out of here.” Swindle said shielding his eyes.

“That makes two of us.” Motormaster added.

“Greetings, Cyclonus.” Razorclaw stood erect as the boarding platform lowered. He saluted with a smile, “I trust you received Galvatron’s transmission?”

“Yes.” The commander passed him.

“We were worried that we might not be able to recover you.” Tantrum added quickly, “The pulsations of solar flux temporarily disrupted our communications and trackers 134.9 astro-miles outside of the Kcerio star district. We could not get the asteroid’s location on the monitor so we engaged the Decepticon aura signature feed to trace you.”

“Is it functional now?” Scourge asked entering the ship’s bridge. His eyes skirted the navigation deck where Divebomb sat.

“Scourge.” Cyclonus frowned at him, “I can ask my own questions!"

“They're currently operational, Cyclonus.” Tantrum assured, “For how long is another matter. Order to open the cargo bay? The sooner we get back to Charr, the better.”

“And that’s exactly where we’re going. Order everyone aboard!”

“But, Cyclonus?” Razorclaw was confused, “What about the Cybertonium?”

“There’s been a change of plans, fur-face.” Ramjet breezed by him with Soundwave running a close second, “Galvatron will tell you all about it.”

“Cyclonus!” Rumble pounded up the boarding dock pointing, “I dunno about you, but I really hate the look of that. My circuits are surging.” Above him the already bleeding flux was quickly breeding far-flung tendrils spreading along the space field looking a lot like the long, slender legs of an enormous spider. It’s infection didn’t stop there, following the pink back to it’s origin, the horizon was beginning to blossom and spiral.

“Cyclonus?”

“Everyone on board now!” He exclaimed grabbing the small Decepticon and pulling him inside, “Now! Right now!! Move it!!” Noone liked the alarming concern brewing in his tone. Cyclonus was never easily timid, and not at all fearful. If he was at all worried, it couldn’t be anything at all good.

“What in Primus is that thing?!!” Long Haul shivered. Mixmaster shoved him inside, “Ask later! I really don’t feel like sticking around to find out!!”

“Everybody in?!” Ramjet couldn’t take his eyes off the viewscreen, “Mother of---” His optics ballooned; saturated by the raspberry sky outside, “What in the hell is that thing?!!!”

“I ...” Cyclonus began, but stopped. One of the rare occasions where he had no knowledge to offer, “..I ...I don’t know.”

“I know one thing; it’s no solar flux that I’ve ever seen.” Swindle informed, “And I’ve seen several.”

“Wait!!” Dead End begged from the outside, “Wait for me!!!” Transforming, he floored it up the gangplank, barely missed the closing hatch, and sideswiped Mixmaster in the leg who was standing there still. “Whoa —sorry, green dude.”

“Razorclaw!” Cyclonus’ fingers were already sailing across the transporter’s control panel, “Blast us out of here!!! Engage thrusters!!” He snapped his neck to Soundwave, “Soundwave!! I want you to spy the nebula. Extract as much data as possible.”

The cargo unit rattled and jerked on take off. Nothing unusual, the transporter began to lift off.

"We're safe," Scrapper said, breathing a sigh of relief. "Not yet," Scourge countered, reading a blueprint of the ship’s nosology dawning upon the monitor, “Cyclonus! One of the main reactors is down! 74% percent!”

“As long as it stays above 50, Scourge. Lay in a course to Charr, Razorclaw, and engage to warp 4.”

“No can do, Cyclonus.” Divebomb looked rather grim and now Scourge was cutting in again. Cyclonus dropped his head into the palms of his hands.

“Er ...Cyclonus?” Divebomb began again anyways, “We used up at least 3 quarters of the ship’s power units just trying to get here when we lost our trackers. I might be able to get us to warp 2. ..3 maybe.”

“What about the transporter’s energon reserves? ...Never mind, we’ll do at 3, just get us there ...and WHAT SCOURGE! WHAT?!!” Still clamping his eyes shut in dull curiosity, Cyclonus sunk into the nearest seat until Scourge came back with his dark answer, ““Cyclonus. It’s dropping.”

“What?!” The saboteur leapt from the chair. At the navigation controls Tantrum’s hands flying desperately across it’s gages was sign enough there was a serious problem.

“It dropped to 66% just before--”

“63% ..Cyclonus!! ...61 ...” Tantrum’s voice grew plump with panic, “We’ll never break the gravity pull if we drop below 50!!”

"Emergency!” ---Hitting the 60 percent mark triggered the control grid’s automated response alert system (as if they didn’t already know) and the computer’s voice chip always seemed to have that overly-cheery flight attendant tone; smiling it’s report:

“Systems critical! Red Alert ...Red Alert!”

Sirens screamed to life. "Scourge! Shut up that noise!" Cyclonus shouted punching at the panel. The alarm stopped, but the lighting had dimmed, and the red bars around the bridge still flashed urgently on and off.

“Systems critical! Red Alert ...Red Alert!!”

“We have no choice. Razorclaw! Inject the energon fuel reserves!!”

“But we need it to make the landing at Charr!”

“It would be better for us to bail out and risk crashing the cargo unit into Charr if we must than it is to not even make it there at all. Inject the energon reserves!!!”

Wise decision, and spoken with the typical smug authority of the second-in-command. Decision –-good. Smug look –-fake, but the other Decepticon’s bought the calm professionalism, and that was enough. “What was going on?!!” The truth to the matter screamed loudly in Cyclonus’ processors as he stared into the computer’s screen. The emergency lights bathed him in almost the same color as the threat outside. Even for a cargo unit, the ship had 4 main reactors just for the purpose if one was ever lost. One defective reactor should not be slowing them down like this! Not even the loss of two! The asteroid couldn’t possibly have that much gravitational force. ...could it? Still, the diagnostics confirmed they were at maximum impulse power.

Mental warning hit him like a blast from Galvatron’s fusion canon. It WASN’T the asteroid that was causing the pull! He recalled to mind quickly the transmission problems while talking the Decepticon leader, and Razorclaw’s report that the transporter has suffered a loss of power that had knocked out communication and the ship’s trackers. Cyclonus’ eyes lit up as bright as the warning lights.

“Soundwave!!! I need that data reading now!!”

“Information –extroverted.”

“Hurry.” Cyclonus swung in the pilot’s chair back to the navigation grid, back to the maelstrom trickling into the cabin through the viewport. His fist locked tight around the controls in front of him, but in truth there was nothing to do, and nothing that could be done. He could only watch and wait –wait and watch with the rest of his comrades as the nightmare in the sky stretched out for them; it’s ambrosial glow competing with the cherry flashing luminosities of the ship’s red alert. It was quiet. Much too quiet.

“System recovering, Cyclonus.” Divebomb broke it with good news, “Power now at 73% and rising.”

“Hahah!!” Rumble cheered. The bridge lights snapped off at the same time, “Aww-right!!” He hooted, “The energon reserves worked, Cyclonus!”

“79 percent!”

“Good. Now lets beat it outta here already.” Motormaster delighted. Once more the cargo unit shifted and jerked forward.

“Cyclonus, attention” Soundwave said, “Information obtained.”

“Report.”

“Data indicates the flux is of a much stronger intensity; of a rare variety called a galactic ribbon.” He added, “A solar fracture.”

“A solar fracture?” Rumble mushed up the right side of his face in question, “What in Cybertron is that, Soundwave?” A hand touched his shoulder. Long Haul answered for him, “The result of when two galaxies have expanded and rub together. It’s result is like an atmospheric earthquake.”

“Bad thing, huh?”

“Very bad, Rumble. Space fractures can upset the balance of a galaxy’s super structure. It can destroy planets, and rip others to shreds if it’s severe enough.”

“And that looks mighty severe.” Swindle said rather unplugged. He crossed his arms. Perhaps it was the security that the energon reserves had done the trick. The power core was up to 88% now and had been for a few moments now as the transporter was reaching passed the asteroid’s atmospheric limit, away from the pink devil fanning around it’s southern side....a demon that wasn’t that easily defeated.

Another jolt, this time the cargo unit tipped right spilling it’s Decepticon crew across it’s deck like tossed jacks. Shaken off his feet, the slack washed from the combaticon’s expression when he toppled into Dead End, who collided with Ramjet. It was like dominos.

“What the--!! Rumble tried to grab for the polit’s chair, but ultimately landed hard on the bridge floor; the same place both Mixmaster and Scrapper were, only that Mixmaster had at least managed to stay perched on one knee.

“Unnn —ahhh!” Mixmaster called out. The whole ship was rattling now; as it’s hull popped and pinged. A few moments later the proximity alarm sounded once again chanting it’s mellow dramatic warning. “Damn! How could we be out of power! We just fed it everything we had!!”

“It’s the flux!” Cyclonus confirmed quickly, he could barely hear himself over the loud whoops of the siren, but there was no way to silence them this time either. This time, the control grid wasn’t responding to his command. His attention tossed to the navigation panel across from him to the forward view port. Outside, a shower of blush and rose starlights were skipping across the shuttle’s beak; flowers of energy that burst bright and died all at once.

“It’s sucking us dry!!”

“We’re getting pulled back!!” Razorclaw called out above the turbulence. “The transporter’s right stabilizer is blown and unless I can level us out there’s no way we’re going to be able to escape!”

“Mayday, mayday!!” Tantrum called into the communicator. It’s units chirped tiredly; it’s power cells almost exhausted by the same adventive force that was sipping away at the ship’s power reserves now. “Mayday! Trypticon city come in!! Emergency! Cargo unit A-42793 damaged and unable to stabilize!”

It’s helpless! An exercise in futility. Cyclonus knew it already as he listened to Tantrum repeat the plea. He remembered that Galvatron told him earlier that Charr had been suffering regular communication black-outs. The chances that Trypticon could hear them would be miracle enough ---a miracle of the highest magnitude if any Decepticon could dare brave the storm in order to reach them, much less even attempt too.

"Mayday, mayday! This is unit A-42793 to Trypticon city. Can anyone hear me? Emergency! Our craft is damaged and we are unable to stabilize! We’re being pulled into the solar flux! Requested help immediately!!"

The radio whined and popped, squealing under the torture just outside. The emergency band whirred, but nothing else.

“Mayday!! May---”

Mid-line, Cyclonus pulled the intercom away from him. He tossed it onto the control panel, “That’s enough, Tantrum” Cyclonus said sadly, “They can’t hear us. We’re going to have to find a way to solve this ourselves. Razorclaw?! Where are you?”

“Right here. You want the slightly bad news, bad news, or serious bad news?”

“We’re dead aren’t we?” Rumble asked.

“Just give me the status report.”

“We’re critically low on power.”

“Spare me the obvious. What can we do to get power?”

“The drive is hopeless. It’s coils are fused beyond any attempts to repair it ourselves. And we used the last of the unit’s energon reserves. We’re about 2 miles outside of the fracture’s strongest pull force. But with the stabilizers blown I---”

“What exactly needs stabilized?” Cyclonus just wouldn’t let up.

“The ship’s right tail thrust is leaning. At it’s current angle, the nebula has that much more control over us”

“Mmmm.”

Cyclonus was brewing something. Scourge could tell by the flow of questions and the way he was massaging his chin considering the information of each one.

“What if we could get it leveled out?”

“Er? That would be great. If we had a wing and a prayer.”

“I don’t pray, but I do have wings. Scourge! Ramjet!” (Sure enough) “Follow me!”

“What?!” Ramjet brow triggered in question, “Like where?!!”

“Outside the shuttle.” Cyclonus had already pivoted his chair leaping out of it and bouncing to ship’s hatch.

“Are you fragg'in defective?!!?!” Ramjet’s jaw dropped open. His hands snapped open, hooked shut into rock solid fist, then snapped open again as though he were fighting to grasp hold of the logic that seemed to be entirely lacking from the commander’s latest orders. Ramjet didn’t follow after him, but he did turn as Cyclonus passed him with wide eyes and still shaking fist, “You’re outta your damn mind!!”

“Quiet and listen up!” Cyclonus retorted resting a palm on the door, “It might be a long shot, but we have nothing else left. When we get outside, move to the shuttle’s right wing, grab hold and together all three of us will activate our jet thrusters to see if we can tip it back to a level position.” His gaze lifting, he tossed the idea to Razorclaw , “Got that, Razorclaw?”

“Got it.”

Cyclonus dipped his head in acknowledgement as the hatch hissed open, “Now if we can keep the shuttle together is another matter.” His vision fell down the door face; it was no longer tight in it’s frame, and jiggled as it slide open.

“This?” Divebomb laughed and smiled, "Eh! Don't worry. It was made of the best stuff in the galaxy. Real tip-top quality stuff." For emphasis, he punched the control grid. It fizzed at him. “Well ...err ...?”

“E –xactly.” Cyclonus shoved the hatch open the rest of the way, “Just try to keep us together...Rumble!!”

“Er..yeah?”

“Stand by the door and report when we’ve reached the stabilizer.”

“Right!”

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1

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“Don’t transform!!” Cyclonus hollered over the roar of the turbines beside him. It was no match to the roar of the beast at their heels. He had a good look at it now, craning his neck over his shoulder to the magenta spin. It was a good distance away as Razorclaw had informed, but it’s arms were over top of them and ripping the space ceiling to shreds of violet and fog blue.

“You’re ...” Ramjet slammed his eyes shut whining at the pressure wrestling with him, “Crazy!!”

“Activate your magnetizers!” Cyclonus ordered, “Hold onto the ship!!”

“I don’t even know what direction I’m going in!!”

“To the right! Move right!” The Galaxy’s pain screamed in his audio. It seemed to know what they were planning, more of the burst,, like return fire, lanced across the sky ringing the ship, and spitting heated sparks of fire into his face, “Just don’t transform!”

There was a reason Cyclonus was so adamant about not transforming. The gravity outside sucking at the ship might also tug them away from it and possibly off course. If they couldn’t regain, there was a good chance they would not be able to catch up to the shuttle again. He gripped the under-carriage, hooking his fingers around the emergency ladder connected there and jungle-gym’ed his way across it.

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2

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On board the ship, Razorclaw’s only witness to the plight outside was through Rumble’s eyes who was lying half-way in, and half-way out the hatch with Hook holding his legs for good measure.

“Rumble! Are they there yet?”

“Um..almost. I’ll signal.”

“I sure hope this works.” Long Haul eyeballed the navigation grid.

“What a way to die.” Dead End fumed, “Eaten by a Strawberry Dairy Queen Blizzard!” Divebomb and Swindle looked at him with creased heavy brows, “Ehh...hahaha ...Um, it’s an ice cream treat.” Dead End explained, “From Earth? .....??....nnna-never mind.”

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3

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“Ramjet was the last to reach the damaged wing stabilizer. Once he grabbed for it, Cyclonus began to explain, “On the count of three we’ll all activate our thrusters to max power. Ready?! 3...2...1! GO!!!!” The shuttle creaked like sharp nails down a chalkboard, “Go! Go! GOOOOO!!”

“Razorclaw!” Rumble barked over his shoulder waving madly, “They got it! Punch it!!”

Screaming against it’s handicap, the cargo transporter did little more than rock on the first attempt. The ship’s stabilizer thrust started, but quickly choked out; it’s engineering whirring when Razorclaw tripped the ignition.

“We gotta hold on!!” Cyclonus insisted. He could feel the shuttle moving now. “We almost have it! Give it everything you have!!” He whined suddenly; one of the starry bombs had pegged his right wing tip squarely and skipped across like a firecracker with a thunk, “Errr!!! Don’t stop!!”

“Ah! This is torture!!” Ramjet ducked another angry spiral of the nebula’s charge.

“Cyclonus!” Cyclonus’ intercom crackled. The voice startling him that it was actually working at all, “Cyclonus? It’s Razorclaw! If you can hear me holler back. The communicator is working and diagnostics show the ship is moving away from the storm! I think we did it!”

“Razorclaw?”

“Cyclonus? You can hear me?”

“I wouldn’t be answering you if I couldn’t.”

“Alllllllllright!!!” Motormaster’s joyful voice bled over top of the Predacon’s, “Cyclonus.” Razorclaw fuzzed, “Return to the shuttle.”

Ramjet grinned at the message, “Good! Cause I think I’m low on energon. I think I wore myself out inside the temple ruin we found.” He quit his engines, “Wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep this up.”

“Just get back to the ship.” Cyclonus stretched for the ladder following him across to where Rumble’s face was grinning at them upside-down. “Get the message?” He asked as Ramjet bench-pressed the door frame swinging to the inside overtop of him.

“We got it, pip-squeak.”

Hooking the last rung of the ladder, Cyclonus kicked his legs for the hatch as more charges from the solar fracture cometed about them nailing the retreating ship with supercharged hail. Scourge drew his legs up narrowly missing the rouge monster’s incredible heartburn, but as he monkeyed for the bar just behind the second-in-command, Cyclonus’ eyes flowered at the napalm spearing towards them.

“Scourge! Move!!!” — It was barely out of his mouth when the fury of the shot sizzled against the sweep leader’s hand as still another danced upon his shoulder. His mechanisms numbed as the cool electric charge ran the length of his body. Squinching, Scourge’s eyes leapt wide open realizing he lost his harness on the ladder.

“Ahhhh! Cyclonus!” His arms sprang out and caught Cyclonus by the wing. “UhhhAHHHH!!!”

“Ah! Scourge! Noo!”

“Cyclonussssss!”

“Scourge!” Cyclonus kicked, squirming for the hatch.

“Cyclonus!” Rumble reached an arm out, “Hook! Help me!”

“Scoooooourge!” Cyclonus agonized. His personal magnetizers was not specialized for the weight of two robots. The door or Rumble’s hand —both options were right there. “Come on! Cyc!!” Rumble demanded, leaned more, and shook it at him now, “COME ONNN!!!”

When Scourge slipped to his waist, Cyclonus had finally caught Rumble’s hand, but a loud pop tore his optics clean open as terror shriveled the starlights in each one, to pinpricks.

“My Hand” ---It was the last clear word distinguishable enough to still translate. The rest; the calls, had turned to thunder bleeding and gurgling together with a prolonged hum. His magnetizers had come unplugged from the cargo unit and now Cyclonus was reaching, but floating; flying against his will stretching a scream across a flood of dazzling pink fires and neon spokes that turned everything to mosaic when he opened his eyes. A web of energy was coning up to take them.

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4

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Hook’s arm was stiff-straight before him, Reaching out until the linkages popped, his hand was still open; paused on a past just seconds old. Slowly, it locked into a tight claw around the emptiness....around pink frosted nothing. Only a blink before when he knew just what had happened, Hook sprang forward, but even then his fingertips had barely managed to tickle against Rumble’s leg. It was already too late. Cyclonus, Scourge, and Rumble, too! He couldn’t see them anymore. Lost in the fanning vapors they were leaving. Ramjet and Motormaster’s horror looked identical staring out at the magenta in disbelief.

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5

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"Mighty Galvatron?" The voice beseeched over the console moments before it’s owner’s image fuzzed once and flicked to life upon the viewscreen.

“What is it, Dirge?”

“Galvatron?” Dirge saluted quickly, “I just thought I’d let you know that the emergency generators have been activated as you ordered. Thus far they are stable and holding.”

“Good.” Galvatron cooed, “Gooood.”

“Galvatron...Trypticon City sends a urgent report that the Predacon’s cargo unit from sector 849 was heavily damaged by the electric storm and crashed just west of the city.”

The pointed fingertip massaging his bottom lip since Dirge’s first words now sagged away and sunk mid-chest range. The ruler’s narrow eyes cracked open as Dirge resumed: “The crew ejected safely prior to impact, but Soundwave is here, Galvatron. There was a mishap in about 10 quarter astro-miles outside of the Kcerio star district.”

“Mishap?”

“Cyclonus and Scourge. Rumble, too." Each other word after fell like amplified drops in a bucket. Magnified, it sapped away all other sound and voices. "They were sucked off the shuttle into the core of the storm. They--” Jags of static on the screen twisted Dirge’s face like a careless tie-dye.

“Are they functional?"

A Silence. But not for long, "Rescue attempts were impossible....Galvatron? ... Galvatron are you there?..”

“Yes.” Galvatron finally observed shallowly, “Of course. Thank you, Dirge.”