Tales of the Intermezzo - S&H
                       A Transformers Universe Story
                     copyright 1998 by Dave Van Domelen
                     based on properties owned by Hasbro
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     "intermezzo - n. A brief entertainment between two acts of a play."
          - American Heritage Dictionary

     On a planet on the far side of the galaxy is a bar.  Well, there's more
than just the bar, but the bar is the only piece of real estate we're really
interested in here.  It's name is "Reg's Big & Tall," and it's an imposing
structure, with a doorway nearly 40 meters high.
     A sign on the door reads, "We guarantee service to all life forms of all
sizes!  Class 10 or larger entities call for catering or visit our second
location on the southern continent."
     Another sign on the door is repeated twice, once at "eye level" for a
being that would just fit through the door, and again about two meters from
the ground.  It reads, "Management not responsible for accidental damage
inflicted on Class 2 or smaller life forms.  Entry to the premises
constitutes waiver of right to compensation for damages on the part of such
life forms."
     Scrawled on the wall in laser burn next to the lower sign are "Watch
out, or we'll step on ya!" and "Tinies Go Home!"
     
               *              *              *              *

     "Gimme another round," Defcon said to the barkeep, a squat organic being
with thick, ropy tentacles and stubby eyestalks.  He extended a small laser
probe from his index finger and transmitted a credit authorization into the
small (to him) terminal set into the bar, then idly brushed a bit of road
dirt from his dull blue forearm housing.
     "Here ya go," the barkeep rumbled, placing a cocktail of hydrocarbon
fuel and low-yield energon in front of where the mercenary Cybertronian
stood.  No furniture was to be found in the place, but most entities large
enough to frequent it didn't need furniture anyway, being built to stand or
squat still for extended periods.
     Defcon started to lift the draught to his lips and engage the fuel
processors in his mouth when he was interrupted from a voice on the floor.
     "Are you the Autobot known as Defcon?"
     He looked down.  Then down some more.  Finally his gaze rested on a
small squad of robots, each no larger than his head.  "Micromasters," he
said, by way of greeting.  They didn't seem to like being called that, and he
grinned inwardly.
     "You are Defcon, yes?" the lead figure repeated.
     "Well, yes.  I'm Defcon.  Not an Autobot though," Defcon smirked, then
took a sip of his drink.
     "You wear the Autobrand."
     Defcon looked down at his chest and reacted in mock surprise, as if the
symbol hadn't been there the last time he looked.  "Well, I guess I do.
Sentimentality, I suppose.  And it helps keep away the wrong kind of
employer...too many people wanna hire mechanoids for suicide runs, after
all, Micro."
     "We are Maximals, not Micromasters," one of the others replied huffily.
     "Look more like minimals to me," one of the other bar patrons chimed in,
getting a round of polite chuckles, as if this was an old and tired joke at
the bar.
     The Maximal leader did his best to ignore this.  "Defcon, we are here to
bring you back to Cybertron.  The Autobot-Decepticon War is over, and it is
necessary to bring in any stragglers to ensure that you do not reignite the
conflict under the mistaken impression that it is not over."
     "That war was over for me long ago, Maximal," Defcon said flatly.  "I
may have helped Autobots a few times in the past few vorns, but that's just
because I need to get my altruism circuits examined.  Go find a straggler who
gives a slag."
     There was a pregnant pause.  Then, "Frankly, I'm surprised no one has
brought you back yet.  We're on the tail end of our sweep, and only checked
because this world was on our way back in to Cybertron.  But one way or
another, you WILL return to Cybertron.  The peace is too fragile and too
important to let adventurers like you wander around the galaxy, causing
trouble."
     "Was that a threat?" Defcon asked in amusement.
     "Uh, sir?" one of the soldiers nervously looked around at the gigantic
patrons of the bar.
     Defcon smiled at the trooper.  "Oh, don't worry, they won't interfere.
Bar policy.  You wanna try and back up that threat, it's just me you'll have
to deal with.  Not that this should make you feel any better...the port
authority would have made you leave any heavy weapons on your ship."
     "I'm sorry it had to come to this, Defcon.  We'd rather not take in
Autobots, even former Autobots, by force.  But we will do so if forced to.
This is the last time I will ask you to come along voluntarily...do not
presume that our onboard weapons are proportional to our size," the Maximal
leader warned, his eyes starting to glow green.
     "Kiss my skid plate," Defcon turned back to his drink and ignored the
Maximals.  
     "Fire," was the quiet command.
     Six pairs of green eyebeams lanced out and struck Defcon's armor plating
right over his reactor linkage, blasting away chunks of armor.
     In one smooth motion, three things happened.  Defcon's backpack unit
extruded a heavy armor plate to cover the hole being eaten in his armor.  His
head spun around to face backwards.  The cannon mounted on his helmet spat
blue fire at the Maximals, instantly knocking them to the ground and
deactivating them.
     He stood and spun his head back forward, then stooped to pick up the
fallen Maximals.  "Damn, this group's better trained than the rest, they
almost did some real damage with those coordinated beams."
     "Nah, yer just gettin' slow in yer old age, Def!" the witty patron from
earlier shot back with a laugh.
     The barkeep pulled a metal box out from under the bar and flipped open
the top.  Inside were stacked dozens of Maximal soldiers.  Defcon dumped the
latest batch in.
     "That just about fills it up," the barkeep said, closing the box and
rummaging around for a sealing tool.
     "Allow me," Defcon extended his fingertip laser and welded the container
shut.  Then he passed his finger over the top, imprinting a shipping code
across it with the laser probe.  Finally, he put the probe into the bartop
terminal.
     "That should cover shipping back to Cybertron, could ya stick it in the
morning mail for me?  I got a cruiser to catch for my next job," Defcon asked
the barkeep.
     "Sure thing.  See ya next time around."

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Author's Note:

     I considered sending the Maximals postage due, but decided Defcon's not
that nasty.  }->