((cf. here))

Fatima concentrates on driving the cart loaded with supplies while Zoe rides shotgun. Daniel has fallen asleep on the pile of crates and bags. Zoe tenses as they zone out of the Nexus and back into the streets of Aldebaran VII's capital city and major starport. There's no anti-violence field on Aldebaran; she holds the military shotgun with its drum magazine at the ready. The host government strongly discourages crime and violence during the Trade Fair, but the crew of Von Octane's Express are not a trusting bunch.

They make it back to the Express without incident. The pale blue, hazy skies presage another clear day; the swollen globe that is the primary star of the system hangs in the sky shedding morning light on everything as the cart rolls up the main loading ramp into the cargo bay.

// Aieeeee! Talifeyah, Mirriam, we got dinner guest! Tell Al-Shaykh when he and Sandstorm get back. Young Daniel comes to visit! //

After leaving Earth, the Express had pushed hard to make the Interstellar Trade and Cultural Fair on Aldebaran VII. Not only was the Fair a major trade rendezvous, Aldebaran was one of the few systems that regularly supplied the Decepticons on Charr. As such, it was one of the few places Octane could sometimes make contact with old acquaintances and probably not get shot on sight.

One of his favorite stops was an old mech-bar run by an even older mech who was rumored to be a renegade Neutral who'd fled the destruction of Tarn at the start of the War. "Sig's" was comfortable place that served reasonably good drinks, and was also the hang-out of choice for travelling Cybertronians of whichever faction. It did pay to keep a wary eye on the domininant colors when you came in; being the only Con in a crowd of Autobots or vice versa could get really uncomfortable fast.

He's just finished doing business with Sig, selling him a few dozen cases of Libyan High Grade with the option on whatever leftovers he had after the Fair was over, assuming Sig did even half as well with the Fair crowd as he usually did, and settles down for a long, leisurely drink before returning to the Fair and more business.

After his return from talking with Elita One, Octane flew back to the Express, causing some consternation in the Portland Approach Control for being a jumbo jet without (a) a regulation transponder or (b) a required flight plan wandering through their airspace and off the radar.

Oblivious to their consternation, Octane returned to his ship, his home. He came in low over the mountains and transformed on final approach, slowing to a hover, then dropping down to the Express's waiting ramp.

Sandstorm came out to greet him. "Hey, Octane, buddy! You're looking better! Ready to relax a bit?"

Octane looked at the big orange triple-changer and smiled weakly. "Yeah, just about. One more thing I need to do, then I'll take the watch until Talifeyah or Fatima are back on-line. Then we can relax."

"You got it, buddy! I holding you to that--don't you go getting all caught up in something now!" Sandstorm gave Octane a friendly pat on the shoulder.

"Not a problem. I think."

Octane opened a private comm channel. // Starscream, you got a moment? We need to talk. //

Octane strides briskly onto the bridge of the Express and looks around. Refueling is complete; supplies are still being loaded. His second-in-command, Talifeyah is arguing with someone over the radio.

"Talifeyah! How soon can we get moving?" Octane asks brusquely at the first break in her conversation.

The tall Bedouin woman looks up at Octane, wrinkles around her eyes hinting at the frown beneath her veil. "Shaykh Al-Octane--what is the emergency? Now is not a good time to depart; everyone is scattered, and we do not have a cargo yet."

"Yeah, well..." Octane looks decidedly unhappy. "Figure we might have to leave in a hurry. What's the hold-up? We're refueled, and almost resupplied."

Talifeyah stands up from her console, turns to face Octane directly, and places her hands firmly on her hips. "Mirriam, Johanna and Alysse at hospital for follow-up treatment. Sandstorm went ashore with Frostbite and still busy somewhere. Fatima and the engineering section need rest. Also, we have presents for Daniel to deliver when he awake again; big emergency if you make us cancel that!" Talifeyah's tone of voice is far from approving. Unsaid is that she needs rest as well. "So what big rush?"

Octane looks a bit sheepish. "Um, I said some things I shouldn't to Starscream. And to Acting Air Commander Steadfast. And to Ratchet."

Talifeyah folds her arms. "So because you got both hooves in mouth, everyone else has to panic and run?" She's definitely scowling now.

Octane sits down heavily. "I don't know. No one shot at me, but I'm not Mr. Popular right now, and I'm thinking that pulling out while the going is good might be the wisest course of action...."

As the Express nears the landing pad, five of the escorting F/A-22s peels up and away, circling Autobot City at a safe distance. The sixth, brightly colored in blue and red on Air Force gray, merely rolls around the scarred, dark blue shuttle and hovers above it as it descends for landing. Another shuttle, this one a bit smaller and white, closes in rapidly.

Octane eases back on the main throttle until his ship is just hovering on its lifters; then he eases back on their throttle, too, letting the Express lower itself onto the landing pad like an oddly-shaped elevator car, coming smoothly to a halt at the ground. There's a barely-felt scuff as the skids touch pavement and take the ship's weight.

Octane cuts the throttles entirely. "Well, we're down. Talifeyah, you do what you need to do with Swindle and Vortex. Fatima will secure things groundside."

// All hands, we're on the ground. Wounded and sick are getting off first, starting with Daniel Witwicky and family. Departure will be via the forward cargo ramp, for the ease of emergency vehicles and rescue Transformers. Judging from the reception committee out there, the Truce is still on, so no shooting on the way out. Thank you for flying with the House of Al-Octane! //

The forward cargo ramp cranks down and touches pavement with a 'clang'.

It's a long way to Tipperary, and an even longer way to Earth, but Von Octane's Express is finally underway. Sandstorm's holding down the bridge while Octane finishes processing the last of the contaminated fuel and catching up on his reading. Frostbite and Fatima are busy putting the two Stunticons and Elita One back together, while everyone else mostly stays out of trouble. The antibiotics are taking hold in Daniel's system and his lungs are starting clear.
( Octane takes the helm )

Von Octane's Express drops back into normal space somewhere inside the orbits of the outermost gas giants of the Tau Ceti system. Tau Ceti itself blazes a familiar yellow-white--it's a G-type star like Earth's own Sun.

Octane's piloting; Sandstorm is up on the top deck, manning the main laser just in case. Talifeyah holds her usual post on the communications console. ("Open hailing frequencies, Lieutenant Uhura!")

Octane locates and sets course for the ball of iron and heavy metals known as Tau Ceti VI.

"We're going to drop that booze at Tau Ceti VI first, and re-stock on acetone. If we can," Octane announces to the bridge crew. "Anything special out there, Talifeyah."

Talifeyah studies the communications read-outs intently. "I have notified Freeport," she says in Arabic. "There's something odd about some of the ships on approach to Three--nothing definitive yet."

"Keep an eye them," Octane responds in the same language. He patches himself into the ship's speakers.

//Attention, everyone--welcome to Tau Ceti system! We'll be making a very short stop at Tau Ceti VI, dropping supplies for a bunch of very thirsty miners working the lodes. Figure six hours to Tau Ceti III, so get your plans in gear! I'll be meeting you in the galley after we lift from Six.//

Aboard his ship, the Von Octane's Express, Octane studies the roster of passengers for his charter. "Sandstorm, haul your stuff into our cabin--we gotta convert that stateroom for Transformers. And number 3, too. Fatima, we're going to have a bunch of humans in number 4 and 5. Tell Ahalya we may need medical care on pick-up. Talifeyah, our passengers include some you know: Swindle, Vortex, Drag Strip and Dead End--"

"Jeep-jeep coming?? Bism'allah! MIRRIAM! Lock up ordinance and the cargo bays! We got some thermite grenades still?" Talifeyah switched to Arabic, giving orders rapid-fire to the rest of the crew.

Fatima answered Octane briefly, "Getting my girls to work on converting quarters," and then joined in the general debate in Arabic.

Octane takes the helm of the Express and begins de-orbit procedures. His destination: Autobot City.

"Now if only Vortex believes that I was possessed by Starscream that time I dismantled him in the hangar..." Octane mutters to himself.

Twenty minutes later, the good ship Von Octane's Express touches down just outside Autobot City and opens her main entrance lock.

Welcome aboard, everyone!

Deck Plans. Big cabins forward are dual-use cabins, can be converted to bunk multiple humans or 2-4 mechs. Small cabins amidships are human crew quarters. We don't have hydroponics, we have secure storage instead. We don't have cyro-tanks, we have washracks. Also, ignore the scale--the Express is TF-sized, not human-sized. Larger-scale drawings available if necessary.

Octane, once Decepticon warrior, now exiled Decepticon merchant, looked over his domain. It was a rather small domain, perhaps 200 meters across its greatest extent--but within the hull of the fast trader Von Octane's Express, Octane was absolute lord and master and answered to no one. Few Decepticons could ever claim that much.

"Octane, old buddy, we going to get this crate moving anytime soon?"

Sandstorm's voice dropped Octane back into reality. Sure, Octane was master of this ship, but not absolute tyrant, and he answered quite regularly to his partner, Sandstorm. And he was responsible for a great deal--and the bills still had to be paid. Octane sighed. That was one aspect of ruling the Decepticons that 90% of the would-be emperors had never figured out. The big fuel tanker mech wondered idly if Megatron had ever truly appreciated everything that Octane had done to keep the Decepticon cause afloat--Galvatron certainly hadn't. Shockwave had known, of course, since Shockwave had built him and given Octane his missions, but Shockwave was gone along with large chunks of Cybertron in the wake of Unicron.

The past was dead. No point in clinging to it, and the bills still had to be paid. Merchant Prince Octane was just as good a way to do it as Decepticon Logistics Officer Octane, and fewer people shot at him. And those that did, didn't pack such heavy weapons as the Autobots.

"We're ready, the ship's ready, just waiting for those apparatchiks Earthside to give us clearance," Octane said.