INHERITANCE
By Raksha
I wish that I had known you
when you were a little younger,
'Round me you might have learned a thing or two.
If I had known you longer
you might be a little stronger,
Maybe you'd shoot straighter than you do.
--Johnny Cash, "The Baron"
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Deep Space
Earth Date: 2052
Part 1
The immense star cruiser Stratofortress hung motionless
against the backdrop of space. The size of a small moon, it was
painted a matte-black that reflected only little of the surrounding
starlight. Some steel gray accents highlighted its austere design, and
the foremost hullplates bore a pale-violet Decepticon insignia that
spanned the width of an entire landing field. Against the bulk of the
ship, however, it was almost insignificant in size, and was conspicuous
only for its color. Stratofortress itself had no sleek lines, no eye-
pleasing streamlined shape. It was almost reminiscent of an old-style
mobile projectile cannon, blunt and boxy and ponderous in a way that
suggested a thunderous power, a slow, relentless forward assault that
could crush all in its path.
At the moment, however, the massive space station Destron
blocked the cruiser's path. Larger even than the huge ship, it bristled
with intimidating spires and projections, an array of gunports and
swiveling laser turrets. Unlike the almost unbroken surface of
Stratofortress, irregular clusters of lights were scattered across the
station's surface, which looked like pinprick colors against its
immense rounded structure and gave it a vaguely jewel-like and
mysterious glitter. Boldly painted against the dark metal, a bright-
purple Decepticon symbol stood out above a pair of sealed hangar-
doors that might have accommodated a small armada.
Like two opponents staring each other down, the two
structures drifted together in the void, as though locked together, their
distance from one another never changing.
The deceptively tranquil silence of deep space was sliced
apart abruptly by a barrage of laser beams that lanced out from
Stratofortress and flared bright against the space station's shields.
An instant later the defensive spikes and spines along the station's
nearest edge returned fire. The cruiser unleashed a volley of missiles
at almost the same moment that Destron responded with plasma
bolts. Shields on both sides flared bright. One missile broke through
and arrowed toward the center of the station, only to be blasted apart
by a well-aimed laser beam. The sharp-edged debris knifed into the
station's hull, causing minor damage to one small section; a few
pinprick lights flickered and died. A retaliatory plasma blast shattered
the weakened left forward shield of the cruiser, and a follow-up burst
of laser light scored the ship's side before the damaged shield was
powered up again. The star cruiser and the space station had been
pounding each other for days, and the defenses on both sides were
beginning to falter.
Aboard the bridge of the Stratofortress, Megatron glowered
at the forward viewscreen from his command chair. The ship rocked
noticeably under the counter-assault.
"Shields weakening," Skywarp warned unnecessarily from his
station at the laser controls.
Megatron could see the power read-out for himself. "Very well,
cease fire," he growled reluctantly. "Divert weapons power to the
shields and activate the repair crews."
The same pattern had been going on for days, except that the
battles were growing progressively shorter, and the resulting damage
was becoming more extensive, requiring ever-longer repair periods
between assaults. Stratofortress' resources were slowly but surely
being depleted. Megatron's only consolation was the knowledge that
Destron could not be faring much better.
A few last laser bursts from the station flared bright against
the ship's fortified shields, and then ceased. The other side, it seemed,
was also more interested in undergoing repairs than in continuing the
battle.
Megatron regarded the screen thoughtfully. He would try one
last ultimatum, he decided, before taking a more drastic course.
"Open a channel to the station commander," he told Soundwave.
A moment later the image appeared on screen. Deathsaurus
was a powerful, ambitious warrior who had taken command of the
Decepticons during Megatron's absence. But Megatron had returned
now, and he wanted his command back. "Deathsaurus," Megatron
addressed him, "I'm giving you one last chance to surrender and turn
command over to me. You've done well for yourself in my absence,
and I might be inclined to let you live -- even to let you retain some
rank. But you will not continue to lead the Decepticons in my
place. Surrender now, while you still can."
The other Decepticon laughed mockingly. "You would have
to destroy me before I surrender to you or to anyone. And you seem
unable to do that!"
"Our conflict has barely started," Megatron said. "I have
plenty of time to destroy you. I'll remind you that you're the one
under siege."
"A siege that you can't keep up for much longer,"
Deathsaurus retorted. "Your energy reserves are running low, and you
can only repair your shields so many times. We can wait you out."
"You've got it backwards," Megatron snapped. "How many
times have you repaired your shields? And don't think we haven't
noticed, the intensity of your laser beams has gone down considerably
over the last few battles."
"As have yours, Megatron," Deathsaurus said pointedly.
The two commanders glared at each other over the
viewscreen. It had become a matter of pride to both of them: they
would destroy each other before Deathsaurus would surrender or
Megatron would back down. Megatron was secretly pleased, despite
his frustration, that Deathsaurus was reacting exactly as he himself
would, were he in the same situation. He could judge his opponent's
moves by what he himself would do -- and in truth, he would have
been disappointed in Deathsaurus if the other Decepticon had simply
handed over his command without resistance at Megatron's arrival.
But there were limits to Megatron's patience, even toward
Deathsaurus. Aside from mutual destruction, there was now only one
honorable way out of the stalemate for both of them. Megatron had
rather hoped it wouldn't come to this, but there seemed to be little
choice left.
Megatron leaned back in his command chair and regarded his
opponent with a calculating intensity. "Deathsaurus," he said almost
casually, "do you agree that our forces are, at this point, fairly evenly
matched, and further hostilities would result in considerable damage to
both sides?"
Deathsaurus' scarlet eyes, so similar to Megatron's own,
narrowed in suspicion. He hesitated as though expecting a trap, but
then inclined his head fractionally. "I might agree with that
assessment," he said guardedly.
"And -- while we still have a mutual enemy on Cybertron -- is
it right for us to take so many of our best warriors to their deaths in
our conflict?"
"What do you suggest?" Deathsaurus asked cautiously.
"I suggest..." Megatron paused for dramatic effect, "that we
settle this in the traditional manner, the way Decepticons have always
settled disputes over leadership or territory."
The other commander's eyes brightened slightly with an
eagerness he couldn't quite conceal. "Combat to the death," he mused
slowly. "Yes. Yes, I accept your challenge, Megatron. And I look
forward to commanding that impressive star cruiser of yours."
"Don't plan a boarding party just yet," Megatron replied, unperturbed.
"My tacticians will contact yours to work out a mutually acceptable time
and location. Then we'll see who takes command of the star cruiser
-- and the space station." He broke off the contact, and
Deathsaurus' arrogant smirk was replaced by the bristling, jeweled shape
of the space station against the backdrop of stars.
Megatron stared at the screen in silence for a few long
moments. Now that the challenge was issued, he began to have second thoughts.
Wasn't there, perhaps, another way? Gradually he sensed someone watching
him, and looked over to see Soundwave regarding him quietly from his
communications station. Megatron could read the question in his
friend's eyes: "Are you really willing to kill him?" Megatron shot
Soundwave a look that said the decision had been made, and it could hardly be
taken back now. All things considered, perhaps this was the best way, after
all. Megatron rose abruptly from his command chair and headed for the
turbolift, making it clear to Soundwave that he was not willing to entertain
discussion on the matter.
* * *
Sometime later, Soundwave watched from the darkened
observation deck as Rumble, Frenzy, and Kaliber moved through the
ruined-city environment they had programmed for themselves. He
was glad to see the young Decepticons making use of the cease-fire to
improve their battle skills in one of the ship's holographic simulator
chambers.
Each robot's kill-ratio was displayed on a readout in the
observation deck. Below, in the chamber, a simulated enemy sprang
forth from the wreckage, and as one the three turned on it with lasers,
blasting it apart. It was Kaliber's score that increased the most; he had
scored the first hit, reacted fastest. It was interesting, Soundwave
thought, how Kaliber was always happy to leave the command of such
"missions" to Rumble. He was younger than Rumble and Frenzy, but
had been their companion almost since the time of his creation. He
displayed little of his father's command ambition, but of the three, he
was easily the most skilled fighter. Soundwave supposed that was
partially due to the way he was being raised. Soundwave himself
made few demands of his creations, while a great deal was expected of
Kaliber.
Light, almost imperceptible footsteps approached from behind
and caught Soundwave's attention. He recognized the sound, even as
it hesitated at the door. "Come in, Nightbird," he said without
turning, as he was still watching the simulation below.
Nightbird laughed softly as she entered the darkened room.
"You're the only one who can ever hear me coming," she said.
Casting a glance at the scores, she observed, "Kaliber's doing
well."
Soundwave nodded. "He has been practicing. Which I
cannot say for Rumble and Frenzy. Maybe I should suggest it to them
more often."
"They're doing fine," Nightbird countered. "Megatron's just
such a perfectionist where Kaliber is concerned. His creation has
got to be the best, and all that." She laughed softly again, ironically.
Soundwave turned toward the darkly beautiful female. He
had the definite sense that Nightbird had more on her mind than an
exchange of parental anecdotes. It was not his way, however, to pry
with questions. He watched her quietly, waiting for her to bring up the
subject herself.
Just then the simulation program ended. Frenzy, Rumble,
and Kaliber half-ran, half-flew up into the observation deck in their
eagerness to see their scores. Noisily they burst through the door
leading from the stairway.
"See, what'd I tell ya?" Rumble exclaimed. "Kaliber won
again!" He seemed a little annoyed at this, all the more so perhaps
because Frenzy's score, and not his, had come in second.
Frenzy slapped Kaliber good-naturedly on one spiked
shoulder and said conspiratorially to his brother, "Next time we tie one
hand behind his back!" They laughed and continued out into the
hallway, with a quick wave to Soundwave and Nightbird.
After this brief flurry of sound and activity, a deep silence
settled into the small observation room. Nightbird had unconsciously
slipped a pair of throwing stars out of one of her hidden
compartments, and began fidgeting with them in one hand, sliding
them against each other. The resulting whisper of metal against metal
grated on the stillness. It was the only visible sign of Nightbird's
agitation, but from the normally calm and imperturbable female, it was
a glaring statement.
Soundwave moved toward the door and keyed it shut, turning
the interior lights up a bit. Maybe the added privacy would help.
"What do you think of this challenge of Megatron's?" she
burst out abruptly.
"It is the traditional method for Decepticon leaders to settle
their differences," Soundwave replied noncommittally.
"I know that. But is it necessary? 'You could negotiate
with Deathsaurus instead of fighting him,' I said to Megatron, but no,
'That's not the way it's done.' 'Leave him his space station, then, and
we can attack Cybertron ourselves' -- but no, he won't hear of it. 'It
would undermine my command position,' he says. He's absolutely determined
to go through with this combat to the death."
"Megatron has triumphed in such combat many times," Soundwave pointed out.
"Yes, but--" Nightbird broke off and sighed in exasperation.
"I just have a bad feeling about this. Deathsaurus looks tremendously powerful.
And -- I hate to put it this way, but he's a lot younger than Megatron.
I'm afraid, Soundwave. Afraid for Megatron."
"I know," he replied.
Had Nightbird known what Soundwave knew about Deathsaurus, she would have had
far more reason for her fears. He had been built as the ultimate killing machine
-- nearly invulnerable, with his father's sheer physical power and his mother's
agile speed. Soundwave himself had worked extensively on his structure and
internal circuitry. Ironic to think that the product of his own skill, the
meticulous care he had taken on the project at Megatron's command, might now
become the instrument of Megatron's demise.
"You know?" Nightbird echoed, bringing him back to the present.
"That's all you're going to say?"
"What else would you have me say?"
"Well, talk to Megatron. Try to make him see reason.
You're his best friend, after all."
"Affirmative. But that does not mean he invariably takes my advice.
You are his consort, after all, and he does not seem inclined to take
your advice."
Nightbird turned away, obviously upset and fighting for
control.
"There is one thing I can attempt," Soundwave said gently.
He hadn't meant to say anything about his plan, but he could see that
Nightbird desperately needed some hope.
She whirled on him, eyes bright. "What is it?" she asked.
Soundwave hesitated. "You may not like it."
"I don't care what it is, as long as it saves Megatron."
"I may have to remind you of that."
"No. Tell me what you're planning."
"It is best that I do not share the details with you. But if
Megatron inquires as to my whereabouts, tell him you know nothing."
"That's not far from the truth," Nightbird said, a little
exasperated, but her visible agitation had subsided. She had found her
way back to her usual calm, at least outwardly. Soundwave noticed
that she had somehow replaced her throwing stars into storage while
he wasn't looking.
She turned to leave, then paused, reached out, and lightly
touched his arm. "Thank you," she said, then keyed the door open and
vanished almost soundlessly into the corridor.
* * *
Deathsaurus could see the dark, motionless bulk of the star
cruiser from where he stood at the rectangular and slightly convex
viewport. Destron was in its night-cycle and his quarters were
lightless, making it easy to see out. He regarded the shadowy form of
the ship and absently ran a finger lightly along the razor-sharp edge of
the scimitar he held. He had always had this scimitar, as long as he
could remember -- before the positron cannon, the energy-mace, or the
breastplate launchers. Despite all the sophisticated long-range
artillery that was available to him, the scimitar was still his favorite
weapon. He would undoubtedly use it against Megatron in their
upcoming combat.
The former Decepticon leader had disappeared half a century ago
in a space battle under enigmatic circumstances. That had been before
Deathsaurus' time, so he knew the story only from the fragmentary
historical records that remained to the expatriate Decepticons. What
reports there were, contained garbled and unintelligible references to
Death Gods and Chaos Bringers -- more like bits and pieces of a fairy
tale than a historical event. Deathsaurus doubted that much more
complete information was left on Cybertron either. The long civil war
had not left much standing -- and although the Decepticons had been
driven from the planet decades ago, the Autobots' rebuilding had been
a slow and laborious process that was far from finished.
Deathsaurus knew much of this information only from what
historical reels he had been able to scrounge up in the course of his
self-education. As best he could, he had studied the Decepticon
leaders of the past -- had examined their strategies, their successes,
their failures. To Deathsaurus' frustration and disappointment, it
seemed that most had been complete idiots. Some had been marginally good
commanders; a few had been worthy of true respect. Of these, the one
that had always stood out in Deathsaurus' mind was Megatron. He
had consciously tried to model his life and his leadership style after
this mysteriously vanished Decepticon leader -- had admired, in fact
idolized, what was probably a somewhat mythological image of a great
leadership figure. On occasion Deathsaurus had come across
Decepticons who had served under Megatron and remembered him;
invariably they spoke of Megatron's ruthlessness and intensity in battle,
his highly demanding nature, though also of his courage, his calculating
intelligence and inspiring charisma, his indomitability in the face of
overwhelming odds. Deathsaurus had come to see himself as carrying
on that tradition, and strove to follow in Megatron's path as a true
Decepticon leader.
It had been easy when Megatron was an abstract concept, a
long-dead and fragmentary chapter in the annals of history. And then,
a few days ago, the legend had come to life. The star cruiser
Stratofortress had appeared out of the void; Megatron was not only
alive but very much the Decepticon leader -- he wanted his command
back, and expected Deathsaurus to give it to him. And, much as
Deathsaurus had idolized the image, he found himself in enmity with the real
fuel-and-metal Decepticon. He found that he could not just step
aside and allow someone else, anyone else, to take command from
him. He had fought too hard for it.
Still the realization hurt, on some level, that he would have to
kill Megatron -- kill the legend that had sustained him in his darkest
hours, when he had battled for his own identity as well as the respect
of those he would come to command. But he would do it. He would
kill to remain in power, and that, too, was following in Megatron's
path.
A soft rustling behind him caught his attention. He turned
his head to see Ptera stir slightly among the bedding of his recharge
platform. Her large crimson optics brightened a bit. "Death?" she
asked sleepily. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said, but more sharply than he had intended.
"Go back to sleep."
Ptera's eyes brightened further. She propped herself up on
one elbow and regarded him with a concerned frown. Megacheiroptera, called
Ptera, had been the prototype for a design that Deathsaurus had applied to
himself and six of his best warriors: a removable breastplate that
transformed into an animal for additional attacking power, or into a
weapon for added firepower. Ptera's breastplate, a tiny duplicate of her
own bat mode, was called Microcheiroptera, or Micra, and transformed into
a handheld pistol. Micra was in fact a sentient Transformer, though
remained essentially deactivated when nestled into Ptera's chest, until a
mental command awakened her. The scientific records that documented the
technology had for the most part been lost, as had the records for the
superficially similar "Targetmaster" technology. So Deathsaurus'
technicians had had to work backwards from the finished product, Ptera
and Micra, in order to duplicate the effect. It had not been entirely
successful. Deathsaurus' breastplates, and those of the Liokaiser team,
were only semi-sentient beings, more like pets than partners -- though they
responded to mental commands, startled the enemy, and increased attacking
power, and Deathsaurus was not displeased with them.
In the course of working with her on the project, Deathsaurus
had found himself attracted to Ptera, and they had embarked on a brief
but torrid affair. Their ardor had cooled over time, but they still
occasionally found their way into each others' quarters at odd hours of
the night.
"Not worried about that combat with Megatron, are you?"
Ptera asked.
"Don't be ridiculous," Deathsaurus muttered, turning back
toward the viewport.
"You shouldn't be, you know," she continued, as though she
hadn't heard him. "You can take him. Easy."
A deep growl formed in his throat, a warning sound that
came to him unbidden sometimes, that Ptera should have heeded.
"I mean, he's just an outdated old clunker," she continued instead.
"Think what we'll be able to do with that starship. We could--"
Deathsaurus whirled to face her in a sudden burst of fury.
"That's enough from you!" he snarled. "Megatron is hardly a 'clunker.'
Get out!"
Ptera sat bolt upright in bed, her eyes brightening to their full
intensity. "But--"
"Out!" Deathsaurus thundered. His scimitar caught the
starlight and flashed silver as he whipped it up and used it to point
toward the door.
"As ... as you command," Ptera stammered and hastily
disentangled herself from the blankets. She backed toward the door
with quick, light steps and ducked through as it slid open. With a soft
whisper the door slid back into place and she was gone.
Deathsaurus drew the scimitar close to him, cutting edge
upward, and curled the tips of his short sharp claws over the lethal blade.
* * *
Normally it would not have been this easy to make off with a
shuttleship unnoticed -- but in the last few days, attention had
been focused on the ongoing repairs to shields and weapons, not on
internal security. Added to that was the generalized agitation and
excitement of the crew, first of all over returning to their home sector
after fifty years, and secondly over the upcoming showdown between
Megatron and this new Decepticon commander, which promised to be
a truly exciting event. So Soundwave, in possession of all the access codes
anyway, had had little problem in disabling the unauthorized-activation alarm
and piloting a shuttle out of one of the hangar decks in the belly of the immense
Stratofortress.
He moved away from the star cruiser at high sublight speed,
half-expecting at any moment to be hailed by the Stratofortress,
snared in a tractor beam, or simply blasted out of the cosmos. But no
one was looking for a small shuttlecraft. All attention was focused
forward onto the space station that receded behind him, its lights
blending with the pinprick colors of distant stars.
Soundwave shifted to low superlight drive. His shuttle was
one of the larger ones, and one of only two in which the new
netherspace engines had been installed. The energy field they
generated, hurled the ship into a realm which was "beneath" normal
space into what had come to be called netherspace, where time and
distance had completely different meanings. It was in fact possible to
"tunnel" underneath the normal fabric of the Universe, and to re-
surface almost anywhere. It was in some ways similar, but not
identical, to a naturally-occurring wormhole or space warp effect,
except that with these engines, the process could more-or-less be
controlled. It was not yet well-understood or completely failsafe -- but
without the netherspace engines, the journey home from the Zhiacsa
Quadrant, that had taken Stratofortress mere hours, would have
taken 500 years at even the highest of superlight speeds.
Soundwave was hoping to retrace that route, at least in part.
He entered his calculations into the onboard computer and re-checked
them carefully, making minor adjustments and modifications. The
netherspace effect was still relatively crude, and was only useful for
traveling immense distances; it was far too easy to overshoot closer
targets by hundreds of thousands of light years. Even distant targets
had to be plotted with the utmost precision, and even then, it was
never certain how close one would actually come to the intended
coordinates.
Soundwave re-checked his calculations one last time. He
could not afford to spend weeks at superlight speed, searching for the
planet, if the engines fell short of their target. At last he was satisfied
that his coordinates were as close as he could possibly make them.
Bracing himself, he activated the new engine system.
The shuttle lurched as though leaping forward at tremendous
speed; then all sensation of movement ceased. The instrument panels
and viewscreens went blank, but out the forward windshield
Soundwave could see the characteristic effect of swirling, multicolored
clouds. The netherspace engines generated a force field that
encapsulated the ship and protected it from the discordant energies of
this "beneath-space" -- but normal matter was still out of phase with
this realm, and it made for some strange and unpleasant effects.
Another problem that would have to be refined, Soundwave thought,
as the interior of the ship seemed to elongate around him, and its solid
lines and edges began to waver like heat-mirages in the distance. A
wave of dizziness and nausea washed over him, and he dimmed his
eyeband, but the effect wasn't visual -- he himself was out of phase with
this realm. He gripped the semi-solid surface of the console in front of
him, keeping his eyes dim and waiting for it to end.
There was no way to tell how much time had passed. Had it
been too long? He resisted the urge to reach for the engine controls, or
to brighten his eyeband and look at those few read-outs that still remained
functional. He would have to trust his own calculations, and the less-
than-reliable new engines. Still, it seemed that he'd been in the
netherspace realm for a minor eternity, and he was growing
concerned, not to mention increasingly uncomfortable.
The ship shuddered and lurched. The console solidified into
a smooth, cool surface beneath his hands, and the mind-numbing
dizziness drained away. Soundwave slowly brightened his eyes. Out
the forward viewshield, the normal deep black of space was a welcome
sight. The instrument panel came back to life, with its multicolored
lights and faint sounds, and Soundwave scanned his surroundings.
Calling up a star map, he matched it to the nearby constellation
patterns and was pleased to find that he was not all that far from his
target. In fact, out the viewshield he could see the sun that he wanted
to aim for, as a small red fireball slightly off to the left. Larger than
the glittering pinpricks of more distant stars, and yet still only a tiny
disc, it would take perhaps eight hours to get there under normal
engine power. Soundwave kicked the shuttle up to its highest
superlight speed and arrowed toward his destination.
* * *
Megatron paced the spacious anteroom of his quarters aboard
the Stratofortress, swinging the heavy spiked warclub rather
carelessly with one hand. To really swing it upward and bring it
crashing down effectively required a two-handed grip, even for him,
but he was not really practicing with it at the moment, merely awaiting
news. He glanced over the array of weaponry, both his and
Nightbird's, that hung displayed on much of the wallspace of this
room. Where he had taken down the warclub, a blank space glared
incongruously between a laser-enhanced battle axe and three
intricately designed sword-hilts, that would generate long straight
energy-blades when activated. Traditional inter-Decepticon combat
tended to rely heavily on sheer brutal force rather than high-tech
firepower, and so blade and impact weapons were the customary
armaments of choice. Though of course Megatron had his fusion
cannon, that attached to his arm and was basically a part of him; the
new upgrade was even more powerful than the original, and he would
use it if necessary, just as Deathsaurus had some inbuilt long-range
weaponry that he would not hesitate to apply if he needed it.
The door chimed, and Megatron turned towards it. "Enter,"
he commanded, leaning the warclub against the wall beside him.
The entrance slid back to admit Onslaught and Skywarp.
"Commander," Onslaught began, stopping before Megatron at
respectful attention. "Deathsaurus' tacticians have sent the suggested
coordinates for a nearby battle site. There's an asteroid belt half a
lightyear from here, in orbit around the nearest star. Some of the
larger planetoids have a marginal atmosphere. Deathsaurus suggests
this one." He handed Megatron a computer pad that displayed part of
a starmap, with a small solar system and an irregular object
highlighted in its orbit.
"Have you taken scans?" Megatron asked. "Atmospheric and
geological readings, radiation counts?"
Onslaught nodded. "I dispatched Blast Off and Starflight to
thoroughly check the asteroid itself and the surrounding area of space.
They found nothing amiss. The data is in the report." He indicated
the pad in Megatron's hands.
Megatron touched a button and the starmap faded, to be
replaced by extensive lists of data. He scrolled quickly through the
various subsections, assuring himself that the most important readings
fell within the normal range. "Alright," he said then, handing the pad
back to Onslaught. "Tell Deathsaurus this will be acceptable."
"As you command, Megatron," Onslaught replied, and
stepped back.
"Skywarp," Megatron addressed the other warrior, "is your
team ready?"
The black jet grinned. "Ready and waiting, Megatron. Don't
worry about a thing."
Megatron gave him a dubious look. He'd had too many
underlings screw up his plans in the past, whether on purpose, from
downright incompetence, or from sheer unlucky chance, to ever fully
trust anyone's word. At least Skywarp's intentions were always in the
right place, he had to admit. "Just see that you don't fail me," he said,
casually reaching for his warclub.
Skywarp's optics flickered toward it for a fraction of a second,
and then back to his leader. "Don't worry," he repeated confidently.
Megatron nodded, and dismissed them both. He swung the
warclub in a shallow arc, turning away from the door to see a dark,
silent shadow enter from the other room. Nightbird paused in front of
him, then came forward wordlessly and wrapped her arms around his
waist, pressing herself close. Megatron braced the warclub against the
floor and curled his other arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry
about a thing," he murmured to her. "Everything's going to be fine."
* * *
The planet Shintu-Ka, Zhiacsa Quadrant.
Soundwave had set the shuttle down where, fifty years
before, the battered and limping Stratofortress had more crashed
than landed amidst the dense jungle foliage. Not a trace remained of
that impact site -- no broken treetrunks, scorched plants, gouged earth
or packed soil. The jungle had re-claimed that patch of ground so
thoroughly that Soundwave had had to hover and burn clear a small
landing circle with the shuttle's lasers, in order to set down.
He stepped out into the steaming atmosphere of the tropical
planet. Immediately condensation beaded on his plating and ran down
his sides in rivulets of water. The normally red-tinged light of this
world's sun was deepened by approaching twilight, and the green,
blue, and purple foliage was lined with scarlet where sunlight reflected
from a sheen of moisture. He had to hurry. He needed to move out
into the jungle, but was not certain he could find his way back to the
shuttle in the tangled vegetation, once darkness fell.
He pushed aside a curtain of rope-like vines and stepped
forward between the scaled trunks of massive trees. He tilted his head
and listened. From all directions a cacophony of bizarre animal calls
and chirps rose from the forest to greet the approaching night. The
sound he wanted would have been unmistakable above all of these
others, but it remained absent.
Soundwave activated his playback mode. A tape reel moved
in his chest, and the desolate, multi-harmonic cry rang out, that he had
recorded so long ago. He had quite a few of these "songs" on tape --
had been fascinated with them, in fact, but had not listened to the
recordings in quite a while. Now he hoped they would attract what he
sought, the reason he had come this long way and perhaps risked his
career. He upped the volume on his playback function, and ran the
tape again.
As the cry faded to silence he listened intently, but heard no
hint of a reply. Moving forward between the trees, he ran the tape at
regular intervals, always pausing to listen in between. Nothing. He
walked faster, pulling aside the tangle of understory vegetation that
blocked his way, and kept playing the tape.
Shadows deepened around the tentacle-like root systems of
the trees, where the distant canopy branches blocked the red twilight.
Soundwave could still see by the light that filtered halfway down the
tree trunks, but that would fade quickly. He upped his volume one
more notch and broadcast the cry, then stood still to listen. The sound
had the effect of silencing the nearest insect noises, but these started
up again within moments. In the distance something whooped and
chattered, a flock of birds or monkeys. Soundwave sighed and moved
on.
He was about to run the tape again when he heard the faint,
almost soundless whisper of soft, wet leaves sliding against each other.
He turned, peering into the shadows, but the movement had died.
Experimentally he broadcast the cry, then waited. Nothing. He turned
away and walked further. A faint rustling came to him again and he
whirled, certain this time that it was close, and that it had followed
him. Determinedly he moved toward that patch of underbrush,
clawing aside vines and ferns. Leaves murmured together behind him.
Whatever it was had circled around. He was going to reach for his
gun as he turned, when something burst out of the bushes and
launched itself at him. He staggered backwards as he was suddenly
enveloped in a flurry of metallic coils and iridescent feathers. A
drumbeat of wings pounded around him, and he instinctively tried to
struggle free, almost expecting to feel those coils draw together into
iron bands of constriction, or to feel the hot needles of poison fangs
sink into his metal.
But the scaled coils withdrew and melted into a slender
bipedal form that stood silhouetted in the shadows before him. In this
mode she launched herself at him again, flinging her arms exuberantly
around his neck. "Soundwave!" she exclaimed. "How wonderful to see
you again! What are you doing here?"
"I will tell you, Raksha, as soon as I manage to restart my fuel pump,"
he replied.
Raksha laughed. "Oh, come now -- you heard me coming!
You're the only one that ever could." She drew back and looked up at
him, the faint light catching in her eyes and reflecting fluorescent
green.
"Yes, but how was I to know it was you?" he chided.
"Are there any other members of my species left in the
Universe?" Raksha grinned, showing her long fangs. She was so
delighted to see him that even the bitterness with which she would
normally have said those words, was absent from her voice.
She curled her arms around one of his, hugging tight. Her
eyes glittered with happiness. "I've loved it here, Soundwave, but I
missed you a lot, you and the others. I almost went looking for you a
few times, but...." She trailed off, and shrugged. "Where are the
others?" she resumed eagerly. "In orbit?"
"No, back in the Cybertron sector. We were finally able to make our
way back."
"Oh, well, then it wasn't as much of a problem as you thought
at the time, was it?" Raksha remarked.
Soundwave tilted his head in amusement. "It did take us
fifty years to develop the technology."
Raksha stared at him in amazement. "Fifty years? I've
been here that long?"
Soundwave nodded. He was not surprised that Raksha had
totally lost track of the passage of years; that was simply a
characteristic of her species.
"Then a lot has happened in all that time," she mused.
"Affirmative," Soundwave agreed thoughtfully.
Raksha smiled at him brightly. "Well, you can tell me all
about it while I show you around the planet. Come, one of my favorite
spots is just beyond--"
"Raksha," Soundwave cut her off, hanging back as she tried
to urge him deeper into the jungle, "ordinarily I would be most pleased
to see your planet. But I did not come on a social call. There is a
matter of great urgency that we must deal with, and we have no time to lose.
I will explain on the way, but right now we must find our way back to the
shuttle."
She sobered visibly, even in the almost total darkness. "Oh.
Well in that case, I'm with you, of course."
"This way, I think," Soundwave said, starting back the way
he'd come.
"No," Raksha said, moving off at a different angle. "This
way." She kept a light grip on his arm and led the way into the
underbrush. Soundwave followed without protest. In this sort of
environment, he trusted her sense of direction far more than his own.
* * *
Megatron swung his heavy warclub and stood waiting at one
end of the open, naturally-formed "arena" that was bordered on three
sides by jagged red cliffs. Around his half of the battlefield, a sizable
majority of the Stratofortress crew gathered in an approximate but
attentive semicircle. In the background, on the level plain beyond, a
cluster of shuttleships perched on the cracked, dusty ground. Those
Decepticons who had not made the journey to the planetoid, were
patched into the battle scene back at the ship, and Megatron supposed
the same was true on Deathsaurus' space station. He didn't know
exactly how many warriors resided under Deathsaurus' command, but
it looked as though a majority of them had made the journey as well,
situating themselves around the opposing end of the arena.
Deathsaurus himself emerged from a group of his immediate
underlings on the other end of the arena. He took a few swift,
confident strides forward, folding his long wings back behind him. If
one watched closely, he did not move entirely like a Transformer, but
with a hint of alien, animal grace. His scarlet eyes burned like flames
in the distance. The thin, cold atmosphere of the planetoid lent a
harsh glare to the sunlight, and it caught and flashed on the broad-
bladed scimitar that Deathsaurus swung experimentally. Recognizing
it, Megatron felt a brief pang of regret. Things might have been
different. But his honor as Decepticon leader was at stake, and it
was too late to back out now. Best to get it over with quickly and
move on, to forget about what might have been.
He had no doubt that the upcoming battle would be hard-
fought, but he did not seriously entertain the possibility that he could
lose. He knew Deathsaurus' precise strengths and weaknesses, after
all. It was mostly a matter of avoiding his speed and wearing him
down.
Megatron turned one last time toward his warriors. His eyes
swept the assembled masses, picking out Nightbird in the foreground.
She stood poised and perfectly composed, even looked unconcerned,
but her eyes were the wrong shade of amber, somehow darker than
normal. Shadore stood close beside her, ostensibly offering moral
support. Some distance from them Megatron could see Starscream,
who looked undecided about who he was rooting for; perched on his
wing and leaning against one shoulder sat Kaliber, his eyes glittering a
bright gold with excitement and concentration. It annoyed and
concerned Megatron that Kaliber spent so much time with Starscream,
and after today's business was taken care of, he would see that
something was done about it ... his optics narrowed as he scanned the
rest of the crowd. Where the hell was Soundwave? Did the
Communications Expert have some perverse moral objection to his
killing Deathsaurus, Megatron wondered? His grip tightened on the
warclub in a surge of anger. Megatron was not a leader who stood on
great formality, but he did expect his ranking officers to be present at
official functions. Friendship or no friendship, he would take
Soundwave to task for this later.
His attention focused itself sharply on Deathsaurus as the
other Decepticon stepped forward. Slowly, deliberately, Megatron
moved toward the center of the arena to meet him.
Part 2
Deathsaurus' hand tightened reflexively on the hilt of the
scimitar. The pale sunlight flashed off of Megatron's silver plating as
the other Decepticon moved forward with a deliberate, imperturbable
confidence. His physical form did not quite match the few pictures
that Deathsaurus had seen in the history reels -- the most notable
differences being the wing-like planks that projected from his
shoulders, and the larger, silver, and more squared-off fusion cannon
on his arm. There were subtle differences in his helmet-shape, and his
body looked even more powerful than it had in the old holo-
images. But his eyes smouldered with the same scarlet fire. He moved
smoothly and with the utmost self-assurance, swinging his spiked
warclub. Despite Ptera's ignorant statement of the night before,
Megatron was definitely no easy kill.
Deathsaurus' mind reeled momentarily. This was a scene
straight out of Decepticon history, the glorious days of the old empire,
and he was living it! He was closing in with the greatest military
commander his species had ever known! Gripping his scimitar, he
fought down the dreamlike sense of unreality that was coming over
him. He had to focus on the battle, nothing but the upcoming battle.
He would kill Megatron in the dust of this dry, red planetoid and
replace him as the ultimate conqueror in the records of future history.
The two Decepticons drew together in the center of the arena
and began to circle each other slowly, each looking for an opening, a
fraction of a moment when the other's concentration wavered.
Deathsaurus struck first, whipping up his blade and slashing down in
a movement that was so sudden and unexpected, he was surprised
when Megatron blocked it with the shaft of his warclub. Megatron
used the heavy weapon's momentum to swing repeatedly at
Deathsaurus, forcing him to back up. He retaliated with slashes of his
blade, which Megatron in turn had to avoid. They resumed circling,
still in the stage of testing each other.
Megatron launched the next assault, slamming his club
upward and trying to strike Deathsaurus' head from below, but
Deathsaurus easily evaded the move. Faster than Megatron, he spun
around his enemy to attack him from behind, but was met by the club
coming at him from the opposite direction. It was as though Megatron
had known he would make this move! Deathsaurus snapped up his
scimitar to block the club, but not in time; the impact forced the dull
edge of the blade back against him and sent him reeling backward.
Rather than losing his balance and falling, Deathsaurus sprang a few
rapid steps backward. Megatron followed up with relentless strokes
that gave Deathsaurus no time to regain an offensive position. It was
all he could do to block, and keep backing up.
Ducking under the latest swing of the club, Deathsaurus
sprang a few paces to the side, giving himself some maneuvering
room. Dropping his scimitar, he transformed to dragonbird mode and
blasted Megatron with a jet of scalding flame. A purple-glowing
energy shield materialized instantly at the edge of Megatron's fusion
cannon, deflecting the blast -- but not all of it. Megatron backed up as
the narrow wing-planks on his shoulders were singed and visibly
blackened. As the column of flame faded, Megatron dropped his
shield. His eyes flashed scarlet fury. "So, you want to play the
transformation game, do you?" he snarled. Discarding his warclub
and leaping into the air, his body folded into a new shape, a huge,
hovering cannon with wings out to both sides and powerful thrusters
in the back.
This was new. This definitely did not match the
configurations that Deathsaurus had seen in the history reels. He
dodged barely in time to avoid the thunderous blast of light that
streaked toward him, gouging a smoking furrow into the hard red
earth of the arena. Megatron swung to follow his movements, and
Deathsaurus sprang into the air, avoiding an interwoven pattern of
repeated blasts. Only his speed and extreme agility saved him from
the full impact of Megatron's deadly fusion blasts -- though the edge of
the lightstream caught one of his wings and sent him tumbling toward
the ground. Deathsaurus screamed as the liquid fire ate into his wing,
but managed to catch his balance just before crashing to the ground.
His scream of pain became one of fury as he pushed himself off from
the surface and launched himself upward toward the hovering
Megatron, blasting forth a jet of flame. It had caught Megatron
enough off-guard to delay a further fusion blast until Deathsaurus was
upon him, tearing into the silver plating with his razorlike claws and
teeth.
Megatron whirled in the air, trying to shake him.
Deathsaurus lashed his tail from side to side, keeping Megatron off
balance and preventing directional flight. He reached out with one
taloned forelimb and raked his claws into the nearest thruster. He was
rewarded by a bright shower of sparks, and a cry of pain and
frustration from Megatron as the hovering cannon reeled and spiraled
toward the ground. Deathsaurus tilted the cannon so that it crashed
heavily to the hard ground, with himself on top. A plume of red dust
rose all around them. Deathsaurus sunk his fangs into the gunbarrell,
jerking his head from side to side amidst deep-throated snarls, trying
to tear chunks out of the metal.
The plating shifted beneath him and a fist impacted with his
jaw, snapping his head backwards. Megatron, in resumed robot form,
swung a sparking and crackling fusion cannon at him. Not very
effectual as an impact weapon, the raining blows still prevented
Deathsaurus from regaining his feet, and he scrambled backward,
transforming to his own robot mode for greater mobility as he did so.
He lifted his arms to fend off the furious assault, and noticed the end
of the warclub lying in the dust close beside him. Enduring a blow
that came crashing down onto his helmet, he twisted to the side and
grabbed the club -- only to have it nearly wrenched away by Megatron,
who had realized almost too late what he was doing. Deathsaurus
hung on tenaciously, using the entire weight of his body to drag the
club down and away from Megatron, who stood above him and was
trying to wrench the club upward.
Megatron's left arm was gouged with teeth-marks, and black
fuel flowed down freely onto Deathsaurus's plating. The two
Decepticons' eyes locked, both relentless, both unyielding. "Give it up,
Megatron," Deathsaurus gasped. "Yield and I'll grant you a quick
death. You're damaged, you can't last much longer."
"Watch me," Megatron snarled.
"Watch this." Deathsaurus gave the mental command and
his chest-shield launched itself upward, springing into its tiger form
and tearing into Megatron's already damaged left arm. With a shriek
of startled agony he staggered backwards, losing his grip on the warclub.
Deathsaurus scrambled to his feet and swung the club, just as
Megatron ripped the Tigerblaster from his arm and pounded it into the
ground, partially crushing its head. Deathsaurus' blow glanced off his
shoulder. He lurched forward but did not fall, rising to face him. The
Tigerblaster lay in the dust, twitching and emitting sparks.
A second command detached Deathsaurus' other chest shield,
and sent the Falconblaster spinning towards Megatron. His eyes
brightened in momentary surprise, but when Deathsaurus swung the
club forward he reached up and blocked it, grabbing the handle and
trying to wrench it away once again. The Falconblaster fired
repeatedly on Megatron, but the lasers did little more than leave thin
scorch-marks on his plating. He all but ignored it, putting his entire
concentration into wrenching the club from Deathsaurus' grasp.
Deathsaurus felt his grip slipping. Even damaged as he was,
even under attack from the Falconblaster, Megatron had him
outmatched in raw physical power, if only slightly. With a twisting
motion he wrenched the handle from Deathsaurus' grasp and
immediately followed up with a blow that impacted with the front of
his helmet. Only the protective spire that jutted out to the front
prevented that Deathsaurus' optic lenses were shattered. Still the
crushing pain shot through his head, and fuel seeped into his eyes. He
staggered, but kept his feet, straining to see Megatron through the dark
haze that veiled his vision.
An old survival instinct rose in him, one so old he did not
even know its source. All conscious thought faded from his mind.
The instinct took over, guiding his movements -- a lightening defense
that intercepted and turned away the next clubstrike, using Megatron's
own momentum to throw him off balance. Deathsaurus lashed out,
kicking Megatron's legs out from under him. As he fell, Deathsaurus'
eyes caught the glint of the scimitar in the dust. Moving with a
fluidity that seemed not his own, he snatched it up and raised it above
his head, just as Megatron tried to roll out from under him. But there
was no more escape. Megatron's eyes went bright in horror and
disbelief as the glistening blade streaked down toward his throat.
An eerie, multi-harmonic shriek cut into Deathsaurus'
consciousness -- a primal and desolate cry that made his fuel run cold.
He recognized that sound! Its after-echoes had haunted his dreams on
many an occasion; its memory was so far back in his mind that he
often wondered if it was merely some old hallucination from the first
stages of consciousness. And yet it stirred something deep inside him
that made him hesitate for a fraction of an instant, that slowed his
blade and forced his eyes skyward---
That fraction of a hesitation was all that Megatron needed.
He brought his feet up and slammed them into Deathsaurus' stomach,
forcefully kicking him away. Megatron sprang up as Deathsaurus
crashed heavily backwards onto the ground. Megatron snatched up his
fallen warclub and brought it crashing down over Deathsaurus.
Deathsaurus rolled, faster than he ever thought he could, and the first
blow missed him by a fraction; the second shattered the edge of his
wing, and still he rolled, frantically, until he was suddenly slammed to
a stop against the edge of the cliffside. Megatron raised the club in a
slow arc above his head, holding it poised with both hands for an
interminable moment. Once again the opponents' eyes locked and
held. Megatron's optics flashed fury and battle-lust, and something
else: triumph! He aimed the blow that would shatter Deathsaurus'
helmet.
Something moved beside him; from the corner of his optics
Deathsaurus thought he saw a long, serpentine, winged shape drop
down from the sky and melt into a wingless bipedal form. He turned
his eyes to the creature fully -- a female of some kind, slender and
reptilian -- just as the warclub began its final descent.
"No don't kill him!" the reptilian female cried out, rushing to
Megatron's side and reaching for his arms, for the club high above her.
The club froze in mid-air. "Raksha!" Megatron exclaimed,
glancing briefly aside at her. His shook off his momentary
astonishment and raised the club back to its former height. "Get lost,
I'm busy."
"No!" Raksha cried as Megatron once again started to swing
down toward Deathsaurus' helmet. "Megatron -- don't you remember
what you said when we created him? That he was going to be the
culmination of both our species, the best of both our worlds -- that he
was going to carry both our heritages, yours and mine, into the future?
You can't have forgotten that. You can't fail to realize, if you kill him
now, all that grand purpose comes to nothing! Megatron...." She was
not even reaching for the club now, only touching him lightly with her
fingertips, imploring him with the intensity of her eyes, which never
left his face.
The club trembled in his grip. With an inarticulate cry he
turned and flung it away, then whirled on Raksha. "What the hell
are you doing here?!" he demanded.
"Nice to see you again, too," she murmured, dropping her
gaze, though through her relief she seemed vaguely amused and not at all
apologetic.
Deathsaurus only now noticed, the spectators from both sides
had come streaming onto the battlefield, crowding around in an
expectant circle for the final kill, and now milled about in confusion.
He pushed himself to a sitting position against the cliffside, and
followed Megatron's gaze as it came to rest on an attractive black-and-
gray female, and then on a large dark-blue Decepticon who stood some
distance back from the front rows. "I see," Megatron said, almost to
himself. "So that's where you were." His eyes flashed a
warning, a promise of further discussion to come.
The dark female turned away, but the blue warrior met his
leader's gaze calmly, neither smug nor contrite.
"Well, isn't this the charming little family reunion?" a
high-pitched voice spoke up. A red-and-silver flyer elbowed his way
to the front of the crowd. With a start Deathsaurus recognized him as
Starscream, from the history reels. A notorious traitor, still alive after
all this time...!
"Looks like you have a long-lost half brother, Kaliber," he
addressed the little black-and-silver robot who sat perched on one of
his wings. He grinned with malicious delight and regarded Deathsaurus
with an amused crimson gaze. "Kinda shoddy that Megatron never
bothered to tell you this, isn't it?"
Megatron took a threatening step toward him. "Starscream,
no one asked for your opinion." He gestured at the assembled
Decepticons. "Do something useful with yourself for once; take this
rabble and load them onto the shuttles."
"Oh, but I'd much rather--"
"Now!" Megatron commanded, partially raising a clenched
fist.
"Sure, sure," Starscream agreed hastily. "I was just on my
way." He began directing the others away, toward the shuttles, and the
crowd started to thin out.
"I have to agree with Starscream," Deathsaurus said. Slowly
and painfully he pulled himself to his feet, bracing himself against the
cliff. "Is it true?" he asked Megatron. "You're my creator? You and -
- her?" He looked at Raksha, her obvious alien-ness, her sleek
reptilian design with its diamond scale-pattern, visible under what
looked like a layer of tarnish and grime; the row of iridescent metallic
feather-plumes that ran down her head and neck; her long serpentine
tail, clawed feet, and four-fingered hands with their long sharp talons
at the fingertips.
"Yes, it's true," Megatron said. He sounded suddenly very
tired.
Deathsaurus stared at him mutely, shaking his head.
"Don't you think I might have liked to know?" he exploded
finally. "Don't you think I might have liked to have some idea of who
I was, instead of being left in a stasis chamber, to be found and activated by
chance, to have no idea why some of my internal systems were so --
abnormal?" Here he glared venomously at Raksha. "You might
have left me some information, at least!"
"There wasn't time, Death," Megatron said. "The Stratofortress was
lost in the Unicron War shortly after we built you and infused you with life.
There just wasn't time to activate you, or even to leave you any instructions
for later."
Deathsaurus shook his head, uncomprehending. Overwhelmed by emotions he
couldn't name, and unable to maintain his anger, he continued softly, "Don't
you think I might have liked to know that I was the offspring of the greatest
Decepticon commander in our history? And that I was not even a true Decepticon?
It might have helped, or at least explained some things, while I was fighting
for what I needed. I had to fight for everything I have, you know."
"I know," Megatron said, "and that's why you value it. That's
why you've come as far as you have. Look at Kaliber -- when you get
to know him, you'll see that he's not interested worth a damn in
leadership, in rank or power. He's had everything handed to him, and
he's not interested. But you -- you've had to fight for what you have,
and that's why you're willing to fight to keep it."
"And you are a true Decepticon," Raksha added.
"Genetically you are not a pure Cybertronian -- but being a Decepticon
has less to do with genetics than with loyalty. As I well know." She
traded a glance with Megatron, who smiled fractionally.
"But what are you?" Deathsaurus asked her.
She folded down her feathers and tilted her head so the harsh
sunlight reflected in her eyes, a strange, intense fluorescent green.
"I'm a Plumed Serpent," she said. The sound she made, following her
words, was like a brief series of trill-notes and clicks; grammatically it
meant nothing to Deathsaurus, but the sound itself struck some kind of
a reverberation inside him. He had heard this language before,
somewhere, somehow, long ago.
He looked back at Megatron, fighting an odd sadness that
rose within him. "Still, you might have left me something," he
repeated, not really expecting an answer.
"But I did," he said. He turned and scanned the deserted
battlefield, then walked over and picked the scimitar out of the dust.
Returning, he handed it to Deathsaurus. "This was my favorite weapon
when I was a gladiator on Cybertron, before I was Decepticon leader.
I kept it for years, but I wanted you to have it."
Deathsaurus gripped the handle, not trusting himself to speak
for a moment. Then a spark of anger flickered back on. "And if you'd
told me who you were, I might not almost have killed you with it!" he
accused.
Megatron shrugged wordlessly; he had no reply. He turned
away, in the direction of the shuttleships that were still parked in the
distance. "We should get back up there. I want to complete repairs to
my ship and my station--"
"Your station?" Deathsaurus interrupted. "You still expect
me to hand Destron over to you?"
Megatron turned back to him and offered him a feigned look
of surprise. "Oh, no need to hand anything over to me, Death. The
station's mine already."
Deathsaurus stared at him without comprehension.
Megatron smiled with a trace of self-satisfaction, and
activated a small microphone that slid out from the edge of his helmet.
"Skywarp, come in," he said.
"Megatron!" replied a voice, sounding distinctly relieved.
"You're alright!"
Megatron frowned slightly. "Of course. What did you
expect?"
"Then Deathsaurus is--?"
"Alive," Megatron said. To the puzzled silence he added, "I'll
explain later. What is the status of the station?"
"Oh, that's secure, Megatron. We didn't have any problem at
all. Most of the defensive force was down on the planetoid watching you."
"Excellent," Megatron concluded, re-absorbing the
microphone into his helmet. To Deathsaurus' shocked expression he
said, "Did you really think our little showdown was the only action
that took place today? You still have a great deal to learn about being
a Decepticon leader!"
* * *
The shuttle carrying Megatron, Raksha, and Deathsaurus was
among the last to dock in the cavernous hangar-bay of the
Stratofortress. Nightbird was there waiting for them as they
disembarked. Her words to Megatron were quiet but intense. "I knew
you had a relationship with Raksha before I returned," she said, "but I
didn't know you created offspring with her!" She spun and
vanished into the crowd of returning spectators. The look in her eyes
had been more hurt than anger, which Megatron found much harder to
deal with -- but he couldn't very well go chasing off after his consort,
here in front of all his warriors.
"You want me to try and talk to her?" Raksha offered.
"No," he said. "I'll do that myself, later." He turned to
Deathsaurus. "You and I have some technical details to discuss first."
"Such as, who leads the Decepticons?" Deathsaurus asked
pointedly. "I don't think it was ever conclusively settled."
"I lead the Decepticons, Death. Make no mistake." He
fixed Deathsaurus with a level glare, then ushered his creation into the
nearest turbolift, leaving the others behind. "Your status will remain
high; in fact you may eventually end up with a good portion of the empire
to control -- but you answer to me."
"What empire?" Deathsaurus asked, a bit scornfully, as the
turbolift shot upward.
"The one we're going to build. You and I." Megatron met
Deathsaurus' eyes. "I want you to work with me, not against me. I'd
like to be able to trust you. But if that turns out to be impossible ...
well, I'll take steps to correct the problem." He paused, watching the
younger Decepticon closely. "Do we understand each other?"
Deathsaurus held his gaze for a moment, his expression
unreadable. Then he nodded assent.
The turbolift whispered to a halt, and Megatron led the way
into the large conference room across the hall. It was otherwise
empty, and Megatron closed the door behind them. He took a seat at
his usual place at the head of the long table, and gestured for
Deathsaurus to sit down beside him.
"Now," Megatron began, "tell me the state of the war. How
in the Universe did you manage to lose Cybertron?"
"I didn't lose Cybertron!" Deathsaurus bristled defensively.
"I haven't been the only Decepticon leader in your absence, you
know!"
"Really? There have been others -- in a mere fifty years?"
"Two others. Both of them staggering incompetents, which is
why they didn't last long. The one who took over immediately after
you disappeared was a warrior named Scorponok."
"Scorponok!" Megatron repeated incredulously. "I would have expected
Thunderwing, or maybe Shadowlord, but Scorponok? He was nothing more than
a petty warlord in the southern hemisphere. If he ever had an original
thought in his life, he would have died from the systems-overload! And you
tell me he aspired to the Decepticon leadership?"
"Yes, unfortunately. From what I know of history, he spent
more time and effort copying a new Autobot battle-innovation, than
fighting off those same Autobots who were trying to force the
Decepticons from the planet. It seems that, in those days, our numbers
were badly depleted by some sort of catastrophe, and the Autobots had
the advantage...?" He looked questioningly at his creator, hoping
Megatron could shed some light on this mystery.
"Yes, that would be the Unicron War," Megatron said
thoughtfully. "I won't go into all the details now -- the account is in
our ship's memory banks if you want to review it later -- but it was the
event that hurled Stratofortress through a warp tunnel in space, all
the way to the Zhiacsa Quadrant. A significant number of our troops
were aboard, of course, and that cut down on Decepticon numbers. Of
the ones that remained behind on Cybertron, I'm sure a good many
died. We didn't even know for sure if Cybertron had survived the
assault, until we returned to this sector a few days ago. Unicron's
attack must have given the Autobots the advantage they needed, to
drive us from the planet."
"Scorponok's troops actually held their own for a while,"
Deathsaurus said. "It's just that Scorponok was putting so much effort
into this new technology that he ignored most everything else,
including potential assassins. A Decepticon named Overlord killed
him and took his place."
"Overlord," Megatron reflected. "There's a name I don't
know."
"He must have been created after your disappearance. He
incorporated some of the new Autobot technology into his design. It
was under his reign that I was activated. Not long afterwards we were
forced from the planet, all of us. We scattered throughout space, some
to Earth, some to other planets. Overlord couldn't keep things
together. I ... showed him how it was done." Deathsaurus smiled,
savoring the memory, the victory. "After Overlord's death I gathered
the Decepticons back together and regrouped on Earth. We used that
planet's raw materials to fix up and improve a derelict alien space
station that we found adrift in a nearby solar system. We named it
Destron. It was going to be a launching platform for the complete
takeover of Earth."
"Interesting," Megatron mused. "So what was this new
Autobot technology you spoke of?" he wanted to know.
"Most of the records have been lost," Deathsaurus answered.
"But from what little I could piece together, it sounded like a
singularly bad idea. Binary-bonding organic beings to Transformers,
having the organic replace either the robot's head or some other vital
part of the body, and having the life-force channeled through the
organic. I suppose there was a merging of minds in the process also.
Imagine trusting your actions, your mind, your life, to a fragile
organic! Never mind that the idea alone is repulsive!"
"Yes," Megatron agreed. "It never would have happened
under my command. But it's just the sort of garbage the Autobots
would come up with -- and just the sort of thing an unimaginative clod
like Scorponok would try to imitate. Is this process still in use?"
"Not on our side, though I suppose the Autobots still use it, to
a limited extent."
Megatron leaned forward slightly. "Who leads the Autobots
now?"
"Star Saber," Deathsaurus answered. Megatron did not miss
the trace of venom in his tone.
Megatron laughed softly to himself. "So, my old enemy
Optimus Prime has finally been put out of his misery."
"Well, not exactly. I very nearly killed him, but it wasn't
quite enough. He was re-built into a new form, a totally new being,
with a totally new personality. I don't think he has many memories
left, of his former life. He goes by the name Victory Leo now, and he's
no longer a leader among Autobots. But he is, technically, Optimus
Prime."
Megatron's optics narrowed in disgust; then he smiled
conspiratorially at Deathsaurus. "We'll just have to correct that
oversight, won't we?"
Deathsaurus inclined his head in agreement.
Megatron's gaze drifted to the row of empty seats along the
far side of the conference table as he considered what he had learned.
"Our first priority is to re-take Cybertron," he concluded finally,
bringing his attention back to Deathsaurus. "We can't have Decepticons
scattered randomly across the galaxy, or even based on Earth; it's --
demoralizing. Cybertron is our home, and it will be ours again." He
pushed himself away from the table and stood, then continued, "Death,
I want you to put together a report for me. I need the exact numbers
and locations of your troops, the number of ships you have at your
disposal, the numbers and types of weapons, the exact capabilities of
Destron, and everything you know about the Autobots. You can
take a shuttle back to the station if you need to. We'll meet here
again tomorrow morning and discuss your report."
Deathsaurus too rose from his seat. "You really think we can
reclaim Cybertron?" he asked, a bit dubiously.
"Count on it," Megatron replied.
* * *
Nightbird spun, slashing at the much larger Autobot with her
paired, triple-pronged daggers. Dodging to evade the one behind her,
she shot forward and imbedded one dagger to the hilt in the center of
the first Autobot's chest. He clutched at it and arched backwards,
staggering and finally falling, with crackling streamers of electricity
sizzling from the wound around the dagger blades.
Nightbird turned her full attention to the other one, leaping
high into the air and planting both feet against his chest, twisting as
she did so to maintain her balance as she went down with him. The
second dagger found its mark in his midsection, and Nightbird sprang
away, just as a plume of acrid black smoke billowed from her fallen
opponent.
The next attacker seemed to come out of nowhere, snatching
up one of the daggers as he ran at her, and Nightbird barely managed
to avoid the swipe of the razor-sharp prongs. Her hands withdrew into
her wrist sockets, and a pair of serrated, whirling sawblades appeared
in their place. These she flung at the Autobot, knocking the dagger
from his grasp but only lightly marring his plating. The sawblades
came back to her and she retracted them, replacing them with hands;
she reached behind her and grabbed the hilt of the energy-sword that
was magnetically locked to her back, and rushed at the Autobot.
He was ready for her, whipping out a stun-pistol half the
length of his arm. But she hadn't meant to execute such a direct
frontal attack anyway. At the last moment she dodged aside, hearing
the muffled explosion of the stun pistol as it went off very close to her
left audial sensor. Her sword blade hummed as she brought it down
on the Autobot's gun arm, severing it at the elbow. Her next stroke
was lethal, cutting upward along his chest and throat, slicing through
the fuel lines. With the sickening gurgle of choking on his own fuel,
the Autobot went down.
Nightbird's energy blade withdrew into its hilt and she looked
around, surveying the bombed-out cityscape. Twisted spacescrapers
tilted and leaned erratically on the horizon; beyond them the sky
seemed a sheet of flat steel gray. Closer about lay the shattered
wreckage of what must once have been a bridge. And beneath her
feet, the squadron of dead Autobots. Nightbird kicked at one of them
in annoyance. The damn things died too easily for her to fully vent
her frustrations.
"You look like you're practicing to kill someone," Shadore
observed. The glossy black-and-purple female sat on a fallen beam
from the bridge wreckage, slightly above Nightbird's eye-level. "Like
maybe Megatron?"
Nightbird only glared at her in reply, began to turn away, and
then spun back towards her. The words tumbled out, seemingly
unbidden. "Soundwave warned me that I might not like his plan.
I told him I wouldn't care, whatever it was. But I do care. I do,
Shadore, and I can't help it."
"Why?" the other female asked guilelessly. "Because of this
Raksha? Who is she, anyway?"
"She left us in the Zhiacsa Quadrant, before you joined us,"
Nightbird replied. "And I won't say she doesn't concern me. She and
Megatron had a -- history together."
"I don't think you have anything to worry about. Megatron's
crazy about you, that's obvious to anyone."
"Ah, but it's Raksha who can get away with almost
anything. I can't. I'm expected to maintain decorum as the
leader's mate. No one but Raksha would have intervened in a
traditional battle to the death. It just isn't done among Decepticons --
which is why Soundwave brought her. And much as it would have torn me apart,
I would have stood there and watched Megatron die, like a good leader's
consort, if it had come to that. But Raksha has always danced just outside
the limits of the rules and expectations, and I don't see where she thinks
she has the right. Or why Megatron lets her."
"She's just an alien," Shadore said tolerantly. "She doesn't
know any better."
Nightbird fixed her with a sharp look, which softened when
the other female flinched back. "I'm an alien, Shadore," Nightbird
told her.
"What?"
"Yes. I was created on Earth, by humans. Haven't you ever
wondered why I never transform?"
"Now that you mention it, I guess I have," Shadore replied.
She looked at Nightbird closely, as though seeing her in a new light
for the first time. Then she smiled. "But you blend in so well with
Transformers that no one would ever guess."
"Well, exactly. I was able to adapt myself to this culture. I
don't see why others shouldn't be held to the same standards."
"Nightbird--"
"You know what else gets to me?" Nightbird interrupted.
"Deathsaurus. And the fact that Soundwave knew all about him.
Soundwave knew, and of course Megatron, and Raksha, and I'm the
only one that wasn't let in on this little secret."
"Deathsaurus didn't know," Shadore pointed out.
That fact seemed less than trivial to Nightbird, for she
continued as though she hadn't heard, "I'm fond of Soundwave, really I
am; he's always been good to me. But sometimes I resent the fact that
he's closer to Megatron than I am, in many ways. It's almost as
though Megatron doesn't completely trust me."
"More likely, he just doesn't want to see you hurt," Shadore
countered. "Think about it. Why do you suppose he didn't tell you?
Why do you think he was willing to kill his own creation in battle?
Sure, he needed to maintain his leadership position and all, but maybe
it was more than that. He could have just told Deathsaurus who he
was, and it might never have come to a battle. Could it be that, with
Deathsaurus dead, the problem would be solved? Megatron would
never have to tell you, and you would never be hurt." Shadore
shrugged. "That's my theory, anyway."
Nightbird regarded her intently. "Do you really think it was
like that?" she asked, forming the words slowly, thoughtfully.
Shadore offered her a semi-apologetic smile. "Like I said, it's
just a theory. I'm not a telepath like Soundwave."
"No -- but you do have your sibling's insight and judge of
character."
"Do I?" Shadore seemed vaguely surprised.
Nightbird nodded. "Indeed you do."
Something moved behind her, and Shadore leapt off the
railing like a black-and-purple bolt, shooting past Nightbird. As
Nightbird turned to watch, Shadore snatched up a long, broken metal
bar with a jaggedly torn end. Holding it like a javelin, she flung it at
the bulky Autobot that had just emerged from the wreckage with a
drawn laser. He raised his arms to deflect the projectile, and the
makeshift javelin glanced harmlessly off his plating. But in that
moment of distraction Shadore had leapt in close; raising her legs
high, she kicked at him with the sharpened tips of her feet, throwing
him further off-guard. Unexpectedly she wrenched the gun from his
hand and sprang back a pace, firing at almost point-blank range.
Daylight was visible through the hole in his chest, before he crumpled
to the ground.
Nightbird regarded the scene with calm approval. "You've
become a good fighter," she observed.
"I had a good teacher," Shadore replied, meeting Nightbird's
eyes and smiling a bit self-consciously. Then she tilted her head
slightly, as if listening to something. "Time for me to go," she
decided, dropping the dead Autobot's laser gun amidst the wreckage.
She was gone so fast that Nightbird could only stare after her in
bafflement.
The cybernetic cityscape around her, with its twisted ruins,
distant spires, and dead Autobots, shimmered and vanished into pools
of deep shadow. From these shadows a new landscape took form
around her. Nightbird gasped as she recognized it: the jagged peaks
of dark stone, laced with tufts of dry brush and stunted conifers; the
scarlet sweep of the sunset that lit the tips of the mountains at one
horizon, and the deepening indigo-purple that gathered at the other,
where the first stars could just be seen. One of the jagged mountains
that rose before her was not a mountain at all, but a Decepticon base
masquerading as a mountain; though the huge stone Decepticon
symbol that had been carved into its face, made it a less-than-perfect
disguise. The light of the sunset seemed to lend it an edge of fire, a
supernatural luminescence. Nightbird almost imagined she could feel
the chilly night breeze stirring, hear the last few forlorn notes of
insects chirping in this cooling season of Autumn on Earth. She
looked around carefully. Yes, windblown leaves lined many of the
crevices between the rocks around her, caught in drying and colorful
bushels between the bare stone and the whisps of tall, rough grass.
It was here, in these mountains, in the shadow of Megatron's
largest land-base on Earth, that he and Nightbird had really gotten to
know each other, had fallen passionately in love with a kind of
desperation that seemed to sense the future and know, they had only a
short time together. It had been merely a week, but the memory of
that week had sustained Nightbird through twenty long years of
subsequent captivity, before she'd been able to break free of her human
captors and make her way back to Megatron once again. She had
never been back to Earth, after that -- but the illusion here in the
holochamber was so perfect that she felt she was there, felt the rush of
all those old feelings coming back to her. The picture needed only one
more element to make it complete....
Megatron seemed to dissolve out of the gathering shadows at
the base of the mountains, and moved towards her, stopping a short
distance away. His physical design was a bit different now than it had
been back then, but he was still Megatron, her Megatron. Nightbird
felt her fuel pump beat faster, though she took care to remain
composed. Megatron said nothing, just looked at her expectantly, and
maybe a little bit warily, with those fiery-scarlet eyes that she loved so
much.
"This..." Nightbird gestured vaguely at their surroundings,
"...isn't fair."
He grinned. "All's fair in-- well, you know how the phrase goes." But
his expression turned serious again as he took another step towards her; he
reached out to touch her but she pulled back, and he let her. "If you'll give
me some idea of what you're upset about...?" he suggested.
"You don't know?" Nightbird asked incredulously. "Try the
fact that you have a creation with another female, that I didn't know
about!" |