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Snarl was decidedly displeased. The snow settled on the matted synth-organic fur of his back, fading into water that seeped through onto his thick metallic skin. His lips curled with distaste and he shook the moisture free, trails of water and ice falling from his body and leaving tiny pits in the pristine white.

In the distance, one of the carbon-based pack animals that humans had once used howled into the night, lonely and afraid.

Of the two things Snarl disliked the most, snow was one and waiting was the other.

Along with his compatriots, Dreadwing and Overbite, Snarl was a member of the Predator Attack Team; a unique cadre of fringe Microns, their sparks awakened by the brush of a malignant Destron presence. Yet despite the ferocity of their reputation, they had been given the unenviable task of waiting in the bitter cold for the arrival of a larger Destron taskforce of questionable motives.

They had been given no timeframe nor any indication of how many soldiers would be arriving, all they had been told was that their presence was required.

The pack animal yowled in loneliness once more and then abruptly, the cry turned to startled terror and the earth resounded with a heavy thud as a dark shadow fell from the snowy heavens and tore it apart. The stink of blood filled the air and Snarl widened his nostrils, taking in the scent with all the disinterest of a cultured yet jaded predator.

"It would appear that Dreadwing at the very least has found ample sport." A calm voice whispered at his side.

Snarl turned his head marginally to see the dark shadow of Overbite's animal form against the pale snow.

"At least someone is." Snarl remarked with displeasure.

Overbite lifted his nose to the wind, his wide nostrils spreading and then collapsing as he drew the scent of the recent kill deep within his olfactory processors.

"So it would appear." Overbite replied in a guarded fashion, cautiously refraining from expressing his jealousy.

There was silence for a moment with only the scent of blood and the howl of the wind between them.

"I hate this place." Snarl mused darkly, glaring into the heavy snow that fell about them and the ice that crystallised amongst his fur.

A sudden flash of light illuminated the heavens above them, its trail burning brightly through the ice blue and falling snow. Both Destrons lifted their heads, teeth barred at the sight.

"A meteorite?" Overbite questioned hesitantly.

Snarl shook his head from side to side.

"That's no meteorite." He whispered. "That's a ship."

---

Kicker watching the trailing star-lines scarred across the velvet of the vacuum. It had been several months since he had seen either Seibertron or Earth, several months amongst the cold emptiness of space and the savage life cycles and bellowing winds of foreign worlds.

He no longer felt the stifling fear of the cosmos that had so punctuated his childhood but neither could he confess to being entirely comfortable with the conditions the varied mechanical members of Team Convoy took for granted for great swathes of time.

He folded his arms across his chest, sighing more from boredom than unrest.

The ship suddenly shuddered violently, throwing him across the bridge and into the side of Roadbuster's leg, the blurred star-lines fading into the seeming stillness of normal space, marking their exit from hyperspace.

"What on Seibertron's name was that?" Hot Shot cried, racing past them and slamming his large metal hands onto the towering console miles above Kicker's head.

"We seem to have been caught in an interdiction field, sir!" Called out one of the Omnicons.

"What the hell's that?" Kicker shouted in an agitated voice, pushing away from Roadbuster and crossing the difference to the centre of the bridge again.

"It's a field generated on a certain frequency that acts like a hyperspace magnet, effectively pulling any craft passing through hyperspace back into the relative co-ordinates in normal space that the field originates from. They require massive amounts of Energon to power and are prone to self-destruction, making them a somewhat less-than-desirable choice for anyone but the most assured of military commanders." A voice called from behind, the doors of the bridge lift sliding closed.

Both Kicker and Roadbuster turned to see Rodimus Convoy, resplendent in the dim, emergency lights that the shuddering damage of the Miranda II's exit from hyperspace had inflicted.

Hot Shot glanced up from his position amongst the crew area, his hands still moving over the terminal before him and the vast screen turned from the view of the scattered stars to a detailed map of their co-ordinates.

Framed awkwardly at the furthest points of the screen were two large triangles flashing a dulcet red colour and spreading waves out from the co-ordinates they occupied.

"There's the source of our interdiction field." Rodimus mused solemnly.

Kicker looked from the two massive robots standing next to him and down to the crew pit where Hot Shot stood amongst the Omnicons.

"Is there anything we can do to break free of the field?" Kicker questioned anxiously.

Rodimus shook his head in a slow, measured movement.

"Not this time. We can either edge slowly back the way we came or we can crawl forward at impulse speed and see if we can knock out whatever those two craft generating the field are."

"They must be hulks." Hot Shot remarked. "Any aggressive force would have launched…"

The words died in his throat as several waves of smaller dots separated from the two triangles, spreading out like pollen from blossoming flowers.

"Switch to main screen! All hands on deck!" Rodimus cried, diving forwards to the nearest terminal.

Kicker swiftly slipped the helmet he carried over his head, the faint fear of atmospheric decompression as a result of damage clawing at the back of his mind.

The screen filled with the image of ancient and worn craft, each one different from the last though all were unified by a common theme. They crowded out the stars, some with central circular pods like a single human eye caught between four wings arrayed in an X formation, others with the narrow nose of a snubfighter bracketed between straight walls or sharp forward aiming points.

"What are they?" Kicker asked, his lips curling in disgust at the armada's poor aesthetic appearance.

"I've never seen their component parts before but during the war we called their kind uglies: ships or even, in some terrible cases, Transformers who were cobbled together from the remnants and debris of a number of damaged parts." Rodimus said carefully.

"They certainly live up to their name." Kicker remarked.

"That they do." The old warrior nodded sagely.

He set his jaw and turned away from the screen once more.

"Hot Shot, inform Convoy of the situation and get Sprung and Wheeljack to meet me in airlock #5." He turned around and looked directly at the Cybertron next to him. "Roadbuster, you're with me. We're going to engage those uglies and see just how much of a repair bill we can give them."

"I'm coming with you!" Kicker proclaimed.

Roadbuster looked down at his younger companion.

"Kicker, I…" he began to protest.

The boy kicked him hard in the leg and headed off in the direction of the lift.

"Don't argue. Let's go!" He shouted back over his shoulder.

Rodimus smiled and placed a hand on the other Cybertron's shoulder. Roadbuster sighed and followed in the young boy's wake.

---

Char watched the curved shape of the bounty hunter's vehicle mode as he led the way ahead. The large view-screen in the impromptu bridge area within Fortress Maximus was not of the quality usually used on Seibertronian vessels but it was adequate. The whole area had been created out of necessity rather than design, a reminder of the Cybertron Headmasters' long return voyage to Siebertron from Planet Master all those years ago.

Momentarily he moved his eyes from the screen to scrutinise Fortress, standing with her back to him and her own eyes trained intently on the shape of the bounty hunter ahead.

Before their departure, the bounty hunter had indicated their destination as a world named Hoth, a world all but barren of indigenous life but rich in secrets, at least if Jango Fett was to be believed.

"We're almost at our destination." The bounty hunter's voice rasped through the bridge communicators. "Another click and we'll be within the bounds of the Hoth system."

"Affirmative." Called back the disembodied voice of Fortress Maximus' combined form. "We're right behind you, Jango."

The bounty hunter made no reply but simply continued to move forwards. Ahead of them, a small white sphere appeared in the horizon-less skies and, further beyond that, a dim and distant sun.

The size of the world grew with every leap further into the system they moved. The cold sun seemed to remain distant and foreboding. Solemnly he watched as the craft ahead dipped down and plunged forwards, diving through the clouds of the planet's atmosphere.

Without pause Fortress Maximus followed and within, Char felt his sense of foreboding crystallise within him.

"I've got a bad feeling about this." He whispered quietly to himself.

Ahead, Jango Fett continued to dive deeper through the clouds and towards the planet's pale white surface.