MOONLESS NIGHT
By Raksha
The fuel convoy had made it without incident through the convoluted alleyways of the abandoned residential sections, into the more open area of transport grid that had once connected Polyhex with the rest of the planet. All that remained of it now were shattered sections of transport-tubes, interspersed with open rubble and twisted rails that had once been functional superconductor tracks to guide shuttle cars along their path. It was called the "ghostways" now, perhaps still haunted by the fading afterecho of ancient commutes. The junctures leading toward the other Decepticon-held cities could still be discerned through the ruin and rubble but the means of reaching them had slowed considerably. Thus the tanker vehicle hovered carefully and almost silently through the wreckage, keeping low so as not to make itself a target in the sky, its running lights dimmed to black, while the shadowy shapes of the defenders flanked it to all sides. Every effort had been made to keep news of this shipment out of Autobot hands. As so often, it wasn't enough.
Nightracer exploded into action even before the first shots lit up the darkness. She'd picked up a sudden flurry of activity just at the edge of her awareness, and so she was one of the first to launch into return fire as the Autobots attacked from all sides. Though they could not stray far from the tanker, they hoped to keep the Autobots behind cover, to set up a barrier of firepower around the vehicle, long enough to make it into the relative safety of the next section of transport tube. From there, the Autobots would have to come at them a few at a time from each end, and would be easily picked off. Out here, they were in the open, and vulnerable.
Nightracer's vision switched to telescopic mode as she scanned the dim shapes of her surroundings. Laser flashes lit up a glitter of broken shards all around them, and glinted in red and gold off the remains of buildings, revealing rust and tarnish that was otherwise mercifully hidden by Cybertron's endless night. At such relatively close range, telescopic vision mode was less useful than it would be over an expanse of open space, but none the less Nightracer was able to pick out the darting bodies of the Autobots as they raced from cover to cover, squeezing off rapid bursts of laser bolts as they did so. There seemed to be only about ten of them, perhaps less, and their assault struck her after its first few seconds as a bit haphazard much like the defenders' strategy of simply keeping up a rapidfire shootout that demanded response from the enemy. As though the Autobots, too, meant to simply keep the defenders busy while....
The faint shock of realization interrupted her ongoing stream of laser fire for the fraction of an instant. Zooming the magnification of her optics up another notch, she tilted her head to sweep the area behind and beyond the source of the enemy assault all dark hulks of abandoned structures that faded away into pitch-black streets. And there it was there! the briefest glint of pale metal, courtesy of reflected laser light; the slightest flicker of motion. Her aim snapped up and let loose a barrage of energy bolts ... a fraction of an instant after the sniper's shot impacted a weak junction on the tanker truck and blew the whole thing into a billowing fireball.
* * *
Megatron's rage was akin to the heat of the tanker truck's explosion as he stared down the transport mission members in the Darkmount command center. "This is intolerable!" he ranted, an ongoing variation in a theme that had dragged on for the last ten minutes or so. "You lost the entire shipment?! What happened?" Even in the midst of his anger, Megatron demanded details, so as to prevent the same mistake from happening again.
Several of the lower-level Decepticons, and even some of the ranking ones, shrank back a little, but Nightracer stood her ground and regarded him calmly out of intense blue optics. "They had a sharpshooter with them," she explained. "The others kept us busy while the sniper picked out just the right spot to hit the tanker."
"A sharpshooter?" Megatron repeated. "Among Autobots? That's ridiculous." However his remarks were born more out of frustration than true disbelief, for he continued, "I want this 'sharpshooter' found and eliminated. I'll not stand for this interruption of supplies to the territories." He scowled, reminded that he would have to explain to Colossus why the expected fuel had never arrived, and would have to find a new way of getting it there. "Dismissed," he snapped at the waiting Decepticons, turning abruptly away from them and toward the communications console, as though they no longer existed. With the shift in his focus, his anger, likewise, shifted away from them. By that evening, he would greet any one of them with a nod and a word of acknowledgement, his rebukes forgotten.
Nightracer accompanied the others out of the room. As she stepped into the corridor and the doors hissed shut behind her, the others quickly dissipated into the reaches of the base, while she continued on her way alone. It wasn't long, however, before footsteps hurried to catch up with her, and as she glanced back, she saw Swindle falling into step beside her.
"Ol' Silver really gave you an audio-full, hm?" he remarked in his casual conversational style.
Nightracer gave an indifferent shrug, as though the matter were already irrelevant. "I believe it's called 'killing the messenger,'" she said. "Or trying to, at least."
Swindle looked her over pointedly, the purple optics sweeping across her sleek, gloss-black form, drawn into sharp focus by fluorescent-blue highlights. Though her feminine shape bore a natural grace, there was something businesslike and even forbidding in her movements, something that didn't invite flirtation or banter. None the less, Swindle grinned and said, "You look pretty good for a dead girl."
Nightracer shot him a look. "I suppose you would make a far less attractive corpse. Shall we test that theory?"
Swindle held up a hand as though to ward her off. "Nah, I believe you," he said, with another grin, and kept pace with her. "So what's all this about an Autobot sharpshooter?"
Nightracer didn't bother to ask how he had already gotten wind of this. She merely shrugged again. "I didn't get a good look. But it's obvious they're well trained. Knew exactly where to hit the convoy. The rest of the operation was just a set-up for that one shot." She should have seen it sooner, she told herself. Should have fired a fraction of an instant earlier. But, there was nothing to be done about it now.
* * *
"Thanks, Chromia," Moonracer said as the powder-blue femme finished the last of the repairs to her shoulder. "Just a bit to the right, and that shot would have taken my head off. As it was, it knocked me off my perch. That Decepticon was a sharpshooter, no doubt about it. She was the only one who even realized I was there." She frowned. How skilled must the Decepticon have been, to hit her at such distance and in complete darkness like that? Had the Decepticon fired a fraction of an instant earlier, their fates would have been reversed. Moonracer wanted to tell herself that was because she was the better shot, but in the back of her mind she worried that it was only a quirk of chance. And this bothered her. Bothered her immensely.
"Can we find out who she was, Chromia?" Moonracer asked, suddenly consumed by a burning curiosity about the dark Decepticon.
Chromia gave the younger femme a questioning look. "Why the sudden interest? It's one Decepticon among thousands."
"Yes but this one's a sharpshooter. I ... want to know what I'm up against, next time," she admitted. Not that she was worried she could be bested. No, nothing of the sort.
Chromia gave her a doubtful look, but then stepped over to the nearest computer terminal and accessed what limited files they had on their Decepticon enemies. "Alright. What do you remember about her?"
Black, with bright blue racing stripes. About my height and build. Blue optics. That's got to be unusual, among the Decepticons."
Chromia typed in what information they had, and then waited patiently for a response from the database. Moonracer, peering over her shoulder, waited somewhat less patiently.
Finally the search function spit back a result:
Subject: Nightracer
Allegiance: Deception
Considered a top sniper. Skill, speed, and agility make her dangerous to engage. Known to act as a lone operative on numerous occasions. Ruthless. Caution advised.
"Not much to go on," Chromia sighed. In truth, there wasn't much personal information on many of their enemies, and that missing data might have helped fight them.
But Moonracer was less concerned with the skimpy text than with the picture that accompanied it. Yes, it was the femme she had seen from afar during the attack on the tanker, though at the time she'd only gotten a quick glimpse. The full-color, up-close-and-personal image, revealed the gloss-black female that Moonracer recalled, complete with gleaming blue optics and highlights. It also revealed the unmistakable hints of a vehicular alt mode perhaps one that was not unlike Moonracer's own. It was as though she were looking at some dark reflection of herself, right down to the specialized skills. The young Autobot was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed.
* * *
Swindle found Nightracer in the rec hall at her usual place, by one of the great sweeping windows that looked out over the dark cityscape of Polyhex. She liked to position herself where she could see in all directions around her, or as nearly so as possible. Shunning the small groups of off-duty Decepticons who clustered elsewhere in the spacious room, she sat alone and polished her sniper's pistol with infinite concentration and care.
"Racie, I've got a lead on your Autobot sharpshooter," Swindle said as he slid uninvited into a place across the table from her.
Nightracer flickered the barest glance in his direction and said, "Don't call me Racie." She tilted the weapon sideways a bit to run her polishing cloth along the casing of its power coils.
Undaunted, Swindle shoved a datapad across the table at her. "Some femme," he said. "Can you believe it? I thought the female Autobots spent all their time simpering up to their males. And heh secretly dreaming about handsome Decepticons."
"Pity I don't know any of those," Nightracer remarked, without looking up from her task.
Swindle gave an exaggerated sigh. "You really know how to shoot a guy down."
At this, Nightracer quirked the trace of a smile. "Naturally. It is my function."
Seeing that she wasn't showing the slightest interest in his research, Swindle took the datapad back and read aloud from it. "Listen to this: 'Moonracer. Autobot sharpshooter. Skill, speed, and agility make her an effective enemy, to be targeted for termination. Known to be under the command of Elita One. Often accompanied by others in her unit. Caution advised.' I mean, look at this, would you? The name, the function, the alt mode she's like a cheap knockoff of you with a bad paint job!" Swindle shoved the datapad toward her again, sounding indignant on Nightracer's behalf.
She did glance up at the pad now, her optics narrowing slightly at the sight of the pale-turquoise femme on the screen. So that was the target she had missed. Unfortunate.
"Bet she thinks she's a better shot than you, too," Swindle muttered.
"Swindle, I couldn't care in the least what an Autobot thinks, or even if an Autobot thinks."
"But this is an insult, Racie! You gotta take this 'Bot out. What will the rest of the planet think?" He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially as his purple optics brightened. "I can set up a showdown," he murmured. "Just between the two of you. And a hidden camera that'll broadcast the whole thing to anyone that's placed their bets in advance. I'll cut you in. I know you'll come out on top. What do you say?"
Nightracer was finished polishing her weapon. She flipped it over its axis and let it fall back into her hand, slipping into place like a natural extension of herself. "Swindle..." she began.
"Yeah?" He sat up straighter, looking at her hopefully.
She leveled the weapon casually at the center of his chest. "Don't call me Racie."
She gave him a smile, then, an expression that might have frosted over the Hellpit smelters. Presently she lowered the gun, leaving him gawking after her as she strolled off.
* * *
"This doesn't sit right with me," Chromia said as she re-read the informant's report for the third time. "It's not logical."
"Perhaps you can share that information with the rest of us?" Elita One urged. She and several of the Autobots under her command waited expectantly for Chromia's report, but Elita knew that if she didn't gently nudge the blue femme with a reminder, it would be some time before she roused herself from her own speculations.
Chromia looked up, as though just now remembering the others were still there. "Oh ... sorry," she said with a quick smile. "It's just that ... there's another fuel tanker scheduled to leave Polyhex for Tyrian, after the last one didn't make it." A brief nod of acknowledgement toward the nearby Moonracer, who straightened a bit in pride.
"Yes," Elita prompted. "We knew Megatron would make another attempt. We just didn't know how or when. What's so unusual about this?"
"What's unusual," Chromia said, "is that they're taking the exact same route as last time. As though they don't expect us to expect that. Lightning doesn't strike twice, so to speak. But it seems ... odd."
Elita thought for a moment, then nodded. "It does seem odd. As though they're going to be ready for us this time, and are trying to draw us into a trap. Perhaps there's no transfer of fuel involved at all."
"But the sharpshooter will be there," Moonracer spoke up suddenly. "She'll be with them. I know it. If we could take her out"
Elita shook her head sharply. "No. I'm sorry, Moonracer. We're going to decline this particular invitation from the Decepticons."
Moonracer felt a surprisingly sharp stab of disappointment. The dark sniper Nightracer would be involved in this mission, of that she was absolutely certain. She even had the mad notion that it all had something to do with herself. Could it be? ... was it possible? ... that her Decepticon counterpart was just as eager to measure herself against her closest rival? Moonracer itched for that encounter burned for it, and simultaneously feared it. She was the best, she told herself the best sharpshooter in the universe, as she had often corrected Powerglide when he wanted to limit her merely to "the best in the galaxy." And yet, there was someone out there who might lay claim to her title. Beneath the bravado, Moonracer craved the acknowledgement of her elders and superiors, and this she had only earned, she felt, when she took daring risks or proved her skill in battle. And now Elita One was denying her the chance.
Her disappointment crystallized slowly into anger, and finally to outright rebellion.
* * *
Ramjet had been placed in command of this mission, and though the opportunities came seldom, he took his responsibility seriously. He was generally acclaimed for having good instincts and getting good results. This wasn't a shopping trip to Monacus to shake up a questionable ally, though. This was the heart of the ghostways, the wreckage of the planetary transport system, following the same route taken by the ill-fated tanker destined for Colossus, warlord of Tyrian. They had another tanker truck with them, identical to the first, and even the group of defenders included most who had been on that first mission. With the difference, however, that this tanker was empty. It wasn't about transporting fuel at all. It was about drawing out the Autobot sniper. Megatron had wanted her terminated, and so it would be. Ramjet was under orders to keep up the charade even his underlings had no clue, so as not to give themselves away in body language and behavior but Megatron had impressed upon him that the destruction of the sniper was the top priority. If the opportunity presented itself, he was to order Nightracer after her. Who better, to take out the Autobot one-on-one?
He glanced back from his position near the head of the column, and caught sight of the dark form of Nightracer, moving silently alongside the other defenders, weapon in hand and at the ready. If she felt it odd to find herself in a rerun of her last mission, her manner gave no indication. By her side was Swindle, who had been arguing fruitlessly with her over something as they set out, until they moved from the relative cover of the residential complex into the ambush-prone territory of the ghostways. "Be still now," Nightracer had snapped at the garrulous Combaticon. "We're on enemy ground."
Ramjet's optics peered out into the fractured darkness. Indeed, they were on enemy ground. But where were the enemies?
* * *
Elita One stepped softly down the hallway of her underground base, past walls of paneled orange metal. Despite the fact that Optimus Prime had returned to Cybertron some years ago to resume the fight against Megatron here, she and her femmes were still largely confined to this base. It was a grand enough base, to be sure set up by Alpha Trion with all the latest equipment, and far more roomy and secure than their last had been. But, if she were fully honest with herself, she felt kept at arm's length by the male establishment of the Autobot high command, including her own mate and this after she had single-handedly led the Autobots on Cybertron for so many millennia. Prime claimed that having an Autobot stronghold so close to Decepticon territory was an advantage they could not give up and who better to continue to run it, than those who had been in residence for all these years, those who knew Polyhex territory better than some Decepticons? It was logical, it made sense ... and it rankled her. She felt segregated, and she missed Prime's company. And then she felt guilty, upon having those thoughts, and determinedly shoved them aside. Didn't they all have to make sacrifices, until such a time that the Decepticons were defeated? Her complaints were selfish, she decided, and while she was flirting with self-pity, one of her warriors needed her attention.
And so she made her way down the hallway toward Moonracer's quarters. The young sharpshooter had been unusually quiet and withdrawn since Elita had made the decision not to attack the second Decepticon convoy. Elita had been so busy of late that she hadn't paid much attention, but now upon thinking about it, she realized Moonracer had developed an unhealthy obsession with the Decepticon sniper who bore such a similar name and styling. The last encounter had seemed to gnaw at her self-esteem, and Elita realized it was long past time they had a talk about it. She stopped before Moonracer's door, and touched the chime.
No reply.
With a rising trace of worry, Elita patched in her override code and stepped inside.
The room was empty.
But a chronometer blinked at her from a stand near the wall, and Elita realized with a start the significance of its display. At this very moment, the Decepticon fuel tanker would be moving through the ghostways. If indeed there even was a tanker. If it wasn't just half the Decepticon army lying in wait.
She turned and hurried from the room, only to nearly run into Firestar just around the corner. "Firestar!" Elita exclaimed. "Have you seen Moonracer?"
"Yeah just a little while ago. Said she couldn't sleep, said she was going out for a drive."
The cold certainty of alarm coalesced within Elita's core. She knew exactly where Moonracer had gone. "You stay here," she said to Firestar. "I'm going after her!"
* * *
When the first laser bolts showered down toward the tanker truck, the entire contingent of defenders reacted in kind their experience during the first mission having honed their reflexes to a hair-trigger response. All except Nightracer, who curbed her instinct to fire with a split-second shift in awareness and a reminder to herself: it wasn't the laser fire you could see, that you had to worry about. As it was, these initial shots were but a few tokens, as though having come from only one attacker; it was the overwhelming firepower of the response that lit up the night. And if it was the Autobot sniper, she would be long gone from her initial vantage point.
Nightracer increased her visual acuity, and scanned in the opposite direction from where the first shots had come. And there she saw it just for an instant, a pale metallic form outlined against the dark background, as though its owner had stepped deliberately into view. From the distance, her gaze seemed to meet Nightracer's, and then she shifted to alt mode and was gone.
Nightracer followed suit. Megatron wanted this particular Autobot dead so badly? Very well, then. It was clear that the turquoise femme's actions were meant to lure her, to challenge her, but in truth it was just another mission.
Swindle, who had stopped firing when he realized Nightracer had never begun, turned just in time to see her tearing off into the darkness. "Racie, what are you doing?!" he shouted after her. "You can't just go off on your own against the 'Bots..." His voice faded out rapidly as she increased the distance between them, at last only a faint echo: "Nightracer!"
* * *
She sped through the ghostways in vehicle mode, keeping to the remnants of the transport tunnels and rails as much as possible, to avoid the rougher terrain. None the less, her path was littered with debris and sharp-edged shards of plastisteel. The Autobot was ahead of her somewhere, this she knew, for occasionally she caught a glimpse of the fleeing turquoise form, as though it were goading her on. Trying to draw her into her own familiar territory, no doubt, where she would have an advantage. Nightracer's best option was to catch up to her before that point, while the odds were still even.
She put on a burst of speed, leaping a gap in the floor of the transport tube to alight on the other side and continue on ... with the slight complication that the surface broke away under her upon impact. As she fell into the depths, she caught a glimpse of the tunnel floor as it flashed past her snapped off cleanly, as though scored with a laser.
She transformed to robot mode as she tumbled downwards, and managed to put on enough of a burst of power from her flight engines to avoid being smashed to bits on the ground below. Still, the impact jarred her, and she had to force herself to roll aside to take cover, rather than lying stunned to regain her senses. What a perfect target that would have made, she told herself with some annoyance, as she slipped into a crevice between ancient support beams.
From there, she looked out and assessed her surroundings. She had fallen quite some way, as the opening far above could attest, which allowed only a shred of the star-filled sky to peer through. Below, was another world. What had once been a level of the transport system, was now a dripping, corroded tangle of cables and columns, where every step risked a breakthrough of the brittle surface, and a fall into further uncharted depths.
The Autobot had not fired upon her on impact, but she was down here, of that Nightracer was certain. And the longer she stayed in one place, the more likely she was to make herself a target, even in her momentarily protected location. Her telescopic vision mode didn't help her much here, and she didn't have the super-enhanced hearing of, for instance, Soundwave, who would have been able to hear the beating of a nearby fuel pump over the drip and hiss of acid leaks. She would have to risk moving across the precarious ground surface in order to draw the other femme out.
The Autobots, she knew, had mapped much of the subsurface and thus would be on home ground here, but Nightracer wasn't willing to put herself at such a disadvantage for long. If the floor would hold her, she had the means of shedding a little light on the situation. Quietly, carefully, she shifted back to vehicle mode.
* * *
Ramjet heard Swindle calling after Nightracer, right about the same time he realized his troops were firing upon a target which was no longer there. "Cease fire!" he shouted at them, and gradually the bright rain of laser fire tapered off into the familiar darkness of the ghostways.
Just as he was about to order several of the Decepticons after Nightracer to assist, the shooting started up again this time from the opposite side, one laser beam actually scoring his wing before he ducked back. As one, the Decepticon defenders swiveled and started unloading their firepower in that direction.
This shooter wasn't stopping was, in fact, on the move and trying to circle the tanker, all the while keeping up a barrage of laser fire as though to stir the Decepticons up. As it crossed a patch of open space, Ramjet saw the figure, silhouetted in momentary relief against the laser light of his warriors. The points of the helmet, the leveled weapon, the glint of pink-and-white armor, made her instantly recognizable.
Elita One! And alone, apparently. What would Megatron say, if Elita One were destroyed under his command? Ramjet smiled, and called to his closest companions, "Thrust, Dirge with me!" He transformed and rose into the sky with a scream of engines. Let Nightracer deal with the Autobot sniper. Elita One was his!
* * *
Moonracer's fuel pump slammed against the interior of her chest compartment in excitement. Yes, it was definitely excitement, not fear, and it dissipated all her sharpshooter's training into a sort of manic anticipation. One part of her mind knew that was bad news knew she should withdraw and compose herself, and go up against Nightracer another day. The other part, the impulsive part, the part that felt immortal even while taking impossible chances, leapt to the forefront eagerly as she detected the soft though distinctive sound of a transformation somewhere ahead of her. And then there was a slight crunching sound, as though something had put tires down upon the brittle substrate, and Moonracer's hand snapped up to fire. As soon as her target crossed the faint illumination coming down from the opening above, she would unleash her blast. And prove to everyone, who was truly the best sharpshooter in the universe!
And then there was a roar of engines, and the world lit up in flames. Moonracer fired wildly, but missed of course, and saw a dark streamlined shape hurtling across the ground, trailing a wall of fire. The entire level lit up in dancing orange light, in which the Decepticon must have caught sight of Moonracer, for the dark vehicle skidded, turned, and arrowed directly toward her. Twin machine cannons peered out from just above the headlights, spitting projectiles that tore into the wall directly behind her. Its weakened structure gave way, and a whole section of ceiling rumbled into a collapse. Moonracer cried out in alarm and threw herself sideways, out of the path of the avalanching debris.
There she took shelter, behind the sagging remains of a column that had once held up the trackways above. She could hear Nightracer veer out of the way of falling objects, heard her come to a stop and transform.
Moonracer carefully peered out. Metal dust hung thick in the air as the last collapsing pieces settled. The chemical flames that Nightracer had lit, now cast the Decepticon into sharp relief. She knew this, and was on the move, stepping amidst beams and sections of wall plate and behind columns as she began the search for her prey. For a moment she was backlit by the flames, as though having climbed from the smelting pits like an avenging spirit, and Moonracer felt her fuel pump hammer again and yes, it was fear this time. What did she really know about this Decepticon and her true level of skill? All she had was a few lines of text, a personal interpretation, and a sense that she had to prove herself. Had she not, perhaps, gotten in over her head yet again?
But something caught her attention and momentarily supplanted her rising panic. Something about Nightracer's optics. The Decepticon's eyes were of a deeper shade of blue than Moonracer's own, but they bore no personal vendetta, no visible hatred or malice. What they did reveal, was an intense focus. A professional, tracking her quarry. One who intended to succeed, as though it were already a given. No room for fear, no room for doubt, and certainly no room for ego.
It was this realization that brought Moonracer back into a focus of her own. When sniping, one had to put all other considerations aside. There was only the target. The mind had to be empty of all else. Then the shot would strike true of its own accord.
The hammering of her fuel pump slowed to a steady rhythm. She gripped her pistol, which felt cool and familiar in her hand, and moved carefully out into the wreckage to seek a vantage point on her opponent.
(Illustration by Markatron)
* * *
They came into sight of each other at the precise same instant: Nightracer stepping from amidst the remains of a corroded old tunnel car; Moonracer emerging from among a forest of shredded cabling. Their optics locked, because they could not help but do so; their firing hands snapped into position in automatic reflex, like mirrored images of each other darkness and light, facing off across the flames. There was no thought, no plan, no intention. There was only Now, and within that Now, a certain silent acknowledgement of the other's presence. With aims locked upon one another's cores, at the junction in the armor where each knew they would score a killing shot, they fired.
One of those two shots, was a micron's fraction faster than the other.
* * * * * * * * *
She did not keep mementos, as a general rule in part because it was not her nature to do so, and in part because the uncertainties of the war made it burdensome to keep track of too many personal possessions. But this one ... this one, she decided, she would keep. She wasn't sure exactly why. It was only a fist-sized object, deceptively simple in appearance for something that housed so much vital information, something that held the very memories, experiences, thoughts, and emotions that made an individual Transformer unique among all others. But this one was visibly damaged, burnt-out through the center and molten around the edges so that it didn't even make an attractive display piece. Still, it seemed to fit in here, on the otherwise bare shelf in her quarters, where it sat like a reminder of something, or a warning to trespassers. Or perhaps, in the end, merely an acknowledgement of a job well done.
As she turned away from the dead laser core on her shelf, Nightracer allowed herself a smile.
|