All characters depicted or mentioned in this story are the trademarks and/or copyrights of their respective holders, except for those that aren't. Any resemblance to actual people, alive or deceased, is coincidental, etc., etc. Geez, it's just a story, guys. Don't get too uptight over it...
There is an empire on the planet Cybertron.
It is an empire of fear and control, of might and determination. It is an empire that holds compassion and mercy and selflessness as taboo. An empire whose fundamental tenet is that power belongs to those who can best seize and retain it. An empire that reflects social evolution in its purest form.
It is the empire of the Decepticons.
The empire has a heart. It is buried beneath the planet's surface, and is formally known as the Central Command Chamber. A large room, filled with computers and monitors and recorders and communicators, it is where every aspect of the empire is managed, every event recorded, every action commanded. As the Decepticons continue to battle for control of the planet against the soft-minded Autobots, such unity is essential.
The empire may also be said to have a brain. Sitting in the center of the room, on a raised pulpit surrounded by terminals and controls, is the imposing violet robot called Shockwave. With the precision and accuracy of long familiarity, he works the console to draw reports, dispense orders, and keep the empire running at peak efficiency.
Still, for all of his power and influence, Shockwave is not the leader of the Decepticons. That title instead goes to Megatron, who is now on the planet Earth, waging war against the Autobots and their human allies.
The division of labor is clear. Megatron is the vanguard, who weaves his plots and schemes as he establishes a foothold on Earth. Shockwave is the rearguard, who coordinates the everyday workings of the empire at home, continuing to defeat the remaining Autobots who prevent the Decepticons from completely taking the planet.
It is an association Shockwave is dissatisfied with.
An observer would find no sign of this. No one has ever heard him question Megatron's leadership, there have been no rumors of his disloyalty, and there has never been an instance of Shockwave's participation in any subversive activities. By all outward appearances, Shockwave has never harbored a desire for Megatron's power, and is in fact seen as one of Megatron's most loyal warriors.
But it is there. Behind his unblinking yellow eye and his featureless face, Shockwave sees Megatron as a dreamer of ridiculous ideas and failed designs, driven by a blind lust for power, teetering on the brink of madness. He, on the other hand, is an effective warrior and unfailing coordinator, who has proven his abilities for eons by maintaining and expanding the empire on Cybertron. By his own impeccable logic, Shockwave sees himself as the proper leader of the Decepticons.
Yet this selfsame logic keeps Shockwave from challenging Megatron. He recognizes that the other Decepticons are not logical. They follow Megatron largely because of their emotional response to his charisma and appeal and fame, more than his abilities to conquer. Even Megatron's disappearance for four million years did not lessen the devotion most Decepticons felt for him; they accepted his return without a shred of doubt or hesitation. And only the useless nature of anger keeps Shockwave from being appalled at the sheer stupidity of it all.
So as Shockwave continues his duties in orderly silence, he waits. As each report arrives and each situation develops, he searches for an opportunity. An opportunity to dispose of Megatron and transfer the Decepticons' adulation over to himself. An opportunity to seize the reins of power without losing the emotional followers in the process. An opportunity to claim his long- denied birthright.
He has waited an eternity for an opportunity. He will wait for as long as necessary. So logic dictates.
The woman closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She sighed in relief as the warm water struck her neck and flowed down her body. Rotating ever-so-slowly, she maneuvered herself under the shower stream, giving extra care to the throbbing ache in the small of her back. As the steam filled the stall, she lathered herself over, then repositioned herself to rinse off the pine-scented suds. Finally finished, she stepping out of the stall, grabbed a towel, doubled over, and began to vigorously rub her short blonde hair.
There was the clatter of heels on tile as a second woman entered the locker room. Still bent head-down, the blonde asked, "Yes?"
"You did rather well in the session today," came the accented voice.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Josie Beller, a.k.a. Circuit Breaker, stood upright. Despite a twinge of childhood modesty, she made no move to cover herself. A series of metallic strips, still wet from the shower, crisscrossed her body and discretely shielded her nudity. Not that she could have bathed without them, since the bothersome bands served as a replacement for her destroyed nervous system. For Josie to remove them would be tantamount to crippling herself.
Her visitor was a slender woman, just under six feet tall, with amber-black hair that reached her shoulders. She was dressed in Azure blue flex-metal body armor, and wore a set of matching gloves, boots, headband, and face mask. Ladyhawke was the only name the Warbirds knew her by, and the one-color ensemble her only uniform. She made no secret of the fact that she had a private identity and a private life, but only her aide Watson had ever seen her in "civvies."
Josie finished scrubbing her hair and proceeded to towel down the rest of her body. She worked with quick efficiency, finally tossing the damp cloth into a corner hamper while Ladyhawke watched in impassive silence. "I'll assume you didn't come down just to watch me clean up?"
"No offense, dear, but you're not my type. No, I came to bring you news."
"Good or bad?"
"Both."
Ladyhawke led Josie out of the locker room as she continued, "First the good news. The final test results for the Pulsars have come in, and they've passed with flying colors. The Owls report a sustained charge of 15 megawatts for up to one minute, or a 220 megawatt-burst for five seconds."
Josie pursed her lips slightly. "That's not as good as I would have hoped. I can generate 500 megawatts for thirty seconds."
"That's only at your peak -- with sufficient rest, and without trying any fancy stunts, like flying," Ladyhawke chided. "And besides, part of the reason for your high levels is because your suit is attuned to your bio-electric field and your neurological system. It's one-of-a-kind; the Pulsars may not be as powerful, but at least they can be mass-produced."
"As long as we have enough to take out those robots."
Ladyhawke nodded dismissively as she called for the elevator. "Now for the bad news. I've decided to disapprove all of your proposals."
"What?!"
"I said, I've decided to--"
"I heard, I just can't believe it! What's wrong with them?"
"Josie, Josie, Josie..." The elevator arrived then, its doors opening with a soft hiss. The two women stepped in, and Ladyhawke tapped the button for the penthouse. There was a gentle lurch as the car started its ascent. "You may be an engineering genius, but it is clear to me that you have no real grasp of battlefield tactics. Your plans are simplistic, your ambitions too grand, and your stratagems hopelessly predictable. Any reasonable commander would have little difficulty bypassing your schemes and quickly sending your forces into a tizzy."
"How so?" Josie challenged, a glint in her eye.
"Well, take your 'Operation Ark-Light' for an example. When we boil it all down, your proposition is basically a direct, frontal assault on the Autobots and their Ark. While you covered the main entrance and the mouth of the volcano, you made no provisions for anything else. What if there's a secret exit, or an underground passage?"
"So we'll add some air patrols, have them cover the surrounding area--"
She continued without missing a beat. "What if the Autobots dig a new passage beyond your patrol range? What if there are reinforcements who were outside before you attacked? What if there are internal defenses, such as automated gun batteries, antipersonnel gas, or barricades? You're assuming a lot of uncovered provisions in your plan, and frankly, I'd be surprised if the Ark was that easy to take. Besides, the name is a horrible pun."
She smiled slightly behind her mask. Josie scowled but had nothing to say in response. It irritated her deeply, but Ladyhawke was right. There were flaws in her strategy, possibilities that she had casually dismissed or simply had not considered. They had not taught military planning at the orphanage.
The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Ladyhawke stepped out first, Josie at her heels; the cool breeze of the air-conditioned office raised a few goose bumps on her exposed flesh. As Ladyhawke settled behind her large mahogany desk, Josie took a seat facing her. "All right, so maybe that wasn't a good idea. But what about the others?"
"Same basic problems. I can go over each of them in detail, but I'd rather skip that for now. Strategy isn't a major problem, since I can help you refine your ideas. What truly worries me is the fact that your plans tend to focus on attacking the Autobots."
She nodded. "They're the best target we have. The Decepticons have bases hidden all over the world, while the Autobots are often out in the open."
"Yes. But quite simply, the Autobots are not a threat to -- don't protest, Josie! Think! Suppose we wage a strike on the Autobots. Suppose we capture, kill, or disable a large number of their forces. What happens next?"
She thought for a moment. "The other Autobots would counterattack, so we'd have to be prepared for them. Some governments will complain, and maybe--"
"No," Ladyhawke said firmly. "The most critical thing that would happen is that the Decepticons find out about the situation. And once they realize that the Autobots are no longer there to stop them, what will they do?"
There was a long silence as Josie realized the implications.
"Oh," she finally said.
Ladyhawke nodded and settled into her plush leather chair. "Josie, sometimes I really wish you'd overcome your childish 'all robots are evil' mindset. You become so obsessed at times that you quickly overlook the obvious."
Josie glared back and countered, "I didn't hear you complaining when my 'obsession' led to the Pulsars!"
"Don't get testy, dear. An obsession is not necessarily a bad thing. All I meant is that your seeming inability to put it aside from time to time keeps you from being even more efficient."
She crossed her arms angrily. "You mean more useful to you."
Ladyhawke smiled again. "Of course. I'm not running a charity here. There is no room in the Warbirds for anyone or anything that isn't useful in one capacity or another."
"Is that it? We're all just ... property to you, aren't we? To be used like a set of tools?"
"In a way, yes. But surely you're not that naive, are you, Josie? This is the case for all corporations. Or did you really think Blackrock Enterprises hired you for your charm and good looks?" she chuckled mirthfully. "And at least I treat my birds well, as your paychecks will testify."
Josie huffed and leaned against her chair, seething in silence. While her respect for Ladyhawke's leadership skills and keen mind continued to grow, it was always matched by her total inability to actually admire the woman. Her seamless combination of care and brutality continued to deeply bother Josie, on a level she could not identify. Maybe it's good that I can't stand her. I'd hate to have her for a role model...
Ignoring her, Ladyhawke tapped a few keys on the computer at her desk. "If you're done brooding, let's return to the situation at hand. We shall begin by studying our friends, the Decepticons." Quickly she added, "I really must commend you on this database, by the way; it's rather more elaborate than what I had expected."
Josie shrugged indifferently. "I had the time. It's not like I spend my weekends going out on dates. Besides, most of the actual data came from your Robins inside the CIA."
"Perhaps. But it's one thing to gather data, and another to organize it in a form where patterns are apparent. Hmmm ... This Starscream is an interesting figure. He's made several overt attempts to seize the leadership of the Decepticons, yet Megatron continues to keep him in the chain of command. I'm surprised he hasn't been eliminated years ago."
"Maybe he doesn't think Starscream is dangerous. Most of the Decepticons don't think highly of him."
"Perhaps. A fairly boastful and egotistical character, I see. But I suspect he's not the only Decepticon with dreams of power."
"No, he's not. Starscream's the most visible. There are a few who are pretty ambitious, but we only have suspicions. The Constructicons are another batch of candidates who may be dreaming for a coup. Most of the Decepticons stay in line, or at least give the appearance of doing so. The psych profiles suggest that Megatron rules most of them with strength and appeal -- the troops obey either because they deeply admire him or because they're afraid not to. But I'll bet most of them would try for the top if they had the chance."
Ladyhawke nodded. "You've certainly memorized many of the entries."
Josie smiled tightly. "You have to know your enemy, right?"
"Exactly. This is, by the way, an example of how an obsession can be an asset," Ladyhawke teased with a quiet chuckle. She turned sober as she continued. "The most important thing to keep in mind is that we would not be able to wage a direct assault on the Decepticons, because we do not have the firepower. Assuming we could find them in the first place."
"I disagree," Josie said with a frown. "With the Pulsars, I think we can take them out."
"Perhaps. But perhaps not. Remember that the Decepticons' weapons are leagues beyond our own. The Pulsars are a step in closing that gap, but they haven't been tested under actual combat conditions. There's nothing for us to reliably wage a decisive victory. The balance is too close for my tastes."
Ladyhawke leaned forward and stroked her chin as she ruminated. "No, I think we should look at things from another point of view. Make the most of what little we have. Though the Transformers are technically aliens, they do have very human-like motivations and desires. That's fortunate, you know, since it makes it easier for us to predict how they'll behave -- and to manipulate them toward our own goals..."
The small island sat in the Atlantic Ocean, south of the Equator. It was easily lost in the endless volume of water that rested between Africa and South America.
It would be called an uncharted island, but the term was a misnomer; between the spy satellites, high-powered radar systems, and cartography expeditions of countless countries, every aspect of the Earth's surface was thoroughly mapped long ago. Only the island's minuscule size and unimportant location saved it from being formally claimed by anyone. It wasn't worth the bother.
It would be called a deserted island, except that term didn't apply either. An observer flying overhead could -- with some effort -- notice the metal bunkers and structures erected on its rocky surface. The buildings were linked by a series of cables and surrounded a circular court, which served as both a communal center and a helipad. There wasn't room for anything more.
A flock of seagulls was sunning themselves on the rocky crags of the northern shore. They would be busy later, fighting over lunchtime scraps, but now was the time for quiet rest and subtle rearrangements in the pecking order. Two young birds were currently lightly dueling each other for the attentions of a coyish female, but the rest of the flock were indifferent to their bickering.
An electrified feeling of dread suddenly swept across the group. Everyone turned toward the horizon, where four faint shapes were rapidly approaching. Instinct took over. The birds leaped into the sky, all thoughts of food and rest and courtship forgotten. Their cries of distress were drowned out by a menacing sound that boomed over the island:
"Decepticons, attack!"
An instant later, the center of the compound exploded, courtesy of Megatron's fusion cannon. As he landed before the smoking crater, the anti-aircraft guns midway along the circumference turned to bear on the intruders. But before they could act, Starscream and Ramjet strafed overhead, handily destroying the defenses with well-placed laser bolts.
Soundwave landed to Megatron's left just as a number of humans swarmed out of the remaining buildings. They opened fire with a variety of guns and rifles, but neither Decepticon moved. Instead, they merely watched in idle amusement as the bullets bounced effortlessly off their metallic hides.
After a few seconds, the humans stopped shooting, recognizing the futility of their efforts. Megatron then nodded to Soundwave, and the communicator's chest compartment swung open. Two tapes quickly ejected, transforming an instant later into the bestial forms of Laserbeak and Ravage.
Laserbeak cried in harsh delight as his rockets roared to life, then banked hard and strafed over the soldiers. Twin laser cannons spat with chaotic fury, burning grass and men alike as he slew all before him. Below, Ravage leaped rapidly from crowd to crowd, a snarling black whirlwind that moved too fast for the human eye to follow. Iron fangs and steel claws flashing with cold efficiency as he disemboweled a dozen men in half as many seconds.
The few survivors panicked and ran, their hunters close behind. Megatron turned away, already bored at the slaughter, and smiled as Starscream and Ramjet landed in robot modes. "Very good, Starscream," he teased. "For an astro-second there, I thought you might have missed your target."
Starscream exclaimed in shock, "I never miss!"
"Except when it's convenient for you," Ramjet smirked.
"And what does that mean?"
"Enough!" Megatron interrupted, stepping between the two warriors. "Start searching. The sooner we find Dr. Griffin and his tetrion inducer, the sooner we can get back to headquarters."
The Decepticons quickly inspected the remaining bunkers. In less than a minute, the aluminum buildings were peeled open, and the four of them were standing around their prize. "Huh. Doesn't look like much," Ramjet commented on the simple-looking metal cylinder.
"Don't be deceived," said Megatron. "According to those computer files we intercepted, this inducer can produce more electricity in an hour than Hoover Dam generates in an entire year. Where's Dr. Griffin?"
The Decepticons looked to each other with confused looks. "I didn't find any humans," Ramjet confessed.
"Nor I," Starscream added.
Soundwave silently looked down to Ravage in query. The mechanical jaguar tilted his head and sniffed for several seconds, combing the air with his keen olfactory sensors. He shook his head; nothing human and alive remained on the island.
"Maybe he was killed in the attack," Starscream suggested, waving at the corpses lying around them.
"That would be odd," Megatron commented. "Usually the humans don't permit their scientists go into battle."
Ramjet curtly said, "Ah, who cares? We've got the whatjamacallit, who needs a puny human anyway?"
"True enough. We can always work from the files we've ... appropriated," Megatron chuckled. He kicked down a bunker wall, then effortlessly grabbed the inducer.
As he turned, it exploded soundlessly. Hundreds of metallic discs appeared around him, then attached themselves to his body an instant later.
"What aggghhhhhhhhhh!"
Megatron screamed horribly as an immeasurable jolt of electricity suddenly filled him, flooding his body and mind with white-hot agony. It was a pain as he had never felt before -- his mind was on fire, seemingly devoured by the blast of a sun going nova. His body was twisted in impossible ways, steel and iron and super-strong Cybertronian alloys giving like rubber before the hands of an omnipotent god. He collapsed then, falling into an endless chasm of torment. He was dead to the world, unaware of anything but the blinding pain that consumed him.
A lesser being would have surrendered instantly, but he was Megatron. Even as his vocoder ached with the neverending scream of death, he struggled with his torment -- to understand it, wrestle it, fight it, destroy it, escape it.
He failed. It was too large, too hot, too much. It was a thing alive, sneering at his pathetic efforts to fight back. Megatron's grief and failure were thrown back at him, burning him deeper, more cuts added to the infinity that already assaulted him.
The agony continued, relentlessly destroying him from within and without. It was worse than drowning in acid, worse than burning in fire, worse than being vaporized with plasma. For the torment of the acid and fire and plasma will eventually end; when the body is completely consumed, when there is nothing left to destroy, the pain ends, leaving eternal peace.
This pain did not end.
"What aggghhhhhhhhhh!"
Ramjet watched in surprise as Megatron collapsed. He was confused -- could the explosion have done that much damage?
Taking a concerned step forward, he saw the metal discs that covered Megatron's body. A network of blue-white electrical arcs surged around them, engulfing his commander in a blinding bubble of pain. As the Decepticons watched, stunned, he screamed again, thrashing wildly.
"Aggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"
Ramjet winced at Megatron's cry, pained by both its volume and its horrific tone. "What is it?"
"I don't know!" Starscream shouted back.
Megatron screamed again, his face locked in a visage of blinding pain.
"Stop it! It's killing him!"
"How?!"
"Your null ray!"
There was a moment's hesitation, then Starscream fired his arm-mounted guns at Megatron. The beams vanished to no effect. The ball lightning continued its torturous dance, and another chilling scream filled the air.
With a determined snarl, Ravage pounced into the storm. The snarl turned into a yowl as a score of random bolts buffeted his body. For a moment, he danced savagely in mid-air as a crazed metal marionette, before another surge violently tossed him aside.
Soundwave and Laserbeak immediately gave chase to their fallen partner, leaving the other Decepticons behind. As Megatron writhed in torment, Ramjet racked his mind for ideas. "Can't we pry those things off of him?"
"With what?" Starscream asked innocently.
Ramjet sputtered, desperate. "I don't know! You're the science genius, do something!"
Starscream shrugged helplessly, thought a satisfied smile flashed on his face.
Ramjet's anger suddenly flared. While he was never entirely fond of Starscream before, he had been able to tolerate him, even respect him as an intelligent scientist and a competent soldier. But now, all of that was gone; with raw, untempered fury, Ramjet hated Starscream. Not because of his desire for power -- that was well-known and accepted, the typical ambition that served to strengthened all Decepticons and the empire.
No, Ramjet hated Starscream for his utter disrespect towards Megatron. High-ranking Decepticons retained their roles by having the power and the skills needed to stay in place. For Ramjet, that meant that one should always bow before leaders in tribute to their superiority -- exploit the weak, compete with peers, and revere the strong. This was a fundamental tenet for him, and to watch Starscream stand passively as Megatron suffered was the pinnacle of ill-behaved contempt.
Megatron screamed again.
With a scream of his own, Ramjet spun around and punched Starscream. The surprised warrior flew across the compound, crashing hard into a bunker, sending pieces of metal and wood high into the air. Before Starscream could recover, Ramjet leaped on top of him, fists pummeling in wanton rage.
Despite his confusion, Starscream managed to kick Ramjet away. "What are you doing?" he shrieked.
Ramjet growled and leaped again. Starscream rolled away, sending his attacker crashing into the ground. Ramjet scrambled to his feet, but Starscream was quicker -- with a sharp jolt, he pinned Ramjet's arms against his back. "Are you crazy?" he yelled.
"Traitor!" Ramjet hotly snarled. He twisted suddenly and broke free, but the force of his escape sent him to the ground once again. With blind reflexes, he spun quickly and snap-fired his lasers. A stray bolt caught Starscream in the right wing, causing him to stagger with a painful yelp. "You are crazy!"
Ramjet charged again and ran into Soundwave, who had sharply imposed himself between the two warriors. He pointed to the east and cried, "Intruder alert!"
Starscream and Ramjet turned as one, their duel immediately forgotten. There a submarine floated offshore; a squadron of a hundred humans swarmed over its wet decks, each covered by a suit of shining silver armor. Above them floated a woman, wearing nothing but a series of metallic strips on her body and a look of endless hatred on her face.
"DIE!" she yelled, swinging her arms forward. A column of electricity erupted from her hands and smashed directly into Soundwave. He reeled from the blast, tumbling head-over-heels into the crater at the center of the island.
Even as Ramjet gaped, Circuit Breaker gave the order: "Kill them!"
All at once, the soldiers flew into the air, firing from hand-held weapons that spat crackling bolts of blue energy. A dozen shots struck Ramjet in the first volley, and he cried out in genuine pain -- each hit was a surge of agony, unstopped by his armored body and unable to be ignored. Half-blinded by the strength of the attack, he staggered and fired, only to receive another blistering jolt in response.
He swung his fists and fired his guns, to no avail. The Warbirds were too fast, too nimble, while his blind, uncoordinated attacks drew nothing but empty air. They continued relentlessly, sending wave after wave after wave of agonizing electric fire through his body. Each discharge lasted less than a second, but was followed almost immediately by another circuit-searing blast. Ramjet drowned in an eternal crossfire, dying through the torment of endless electric bites.
Driven by instinct alone, Ramjet turned and ran, but the humans continued to strike. He barely noticed when he fell, aware instead only of the hundred agonizing bolts that stabbed him before he struck the ground. He was deaf to Megatron's screams or Starscream's cries, blind to the swarming armored fleshlings who continued to torment him. Nothing was real except for his pain, the overwhelming destruction of his body and his circuits and his mind.
Then, suddenly, it stopped.
Ramjet gasped in torturous surprise. He was still for several long seconds, bracing for an immediate resumption of the attack. When it failed to materialize, he painfully staggered to his feet and assessed the situation.
A shrill whistle filled the air, barely audible above the din of a hundred moaning voices and Megatron's own uninterrupted agony. The humans were clutching their heads, flying erratically and obviously in a deep pain of their own. To his left, Soundwave was standing upright, quaking slightly with the strain of maintaining his sonic attack. Starscream and Laserbeak stirred nearby, heavily battered and burned and bruised. An exchange of glances told them that the Warbirds had been equally liberal in dispensing their fury.
"No!"
Another massive bolt of power surged from Circuit Breaker. It slammed hard into Soundwave, striking him in the shoulder and sent him spinning. The ultrasonic shriek ended abruptly. Then, as the Decepticons watched in shock and surprise, the humans began to regroup for a second strike.
Starscream gasped immediately, "Decepticons, retreat!"
There was no dispute. The four robots leaped into the air and transformed, Soundwave and Laserbeak turning to their small terran modes before landing in Starscream's cockpit. The Warbirds opened fire, but it was too late -- with afterburners on full, Ramjet and Starscream roared away, rapidly shrinking to small dots on the far horizon.
Josie drank deeply from the canteen of water, savoring the cool relief as it ran down her throat. She idly dabbed her forehead with a towel, then slowly cranked opened her eyes.
"Good show," said Ladyhawke, sitting across from her. "Very commendable for a beginner."
Despite herself, Josie smiled as she drained the last of the water. "Thanks."
"You seemed a bit ... aggressive, however," Ladyhawke continued. "For a moment, I thought you had forgotten the plan."
The smile disappeared quickly. "I didn't forget, but I wanted to get the others. I figured we only needed one of them to escape for our plan to work. Starscream could have been our pigeon."
"I warned you before about not overreaching yourself. You don't know how close you were pushing things earlier. The Hawks were in peril near the end. Most of their Pulsar Rifles were down to 10% or less when the battle was over -- you can check the weapons logs yourself. If you had kept going for another thirty seconds, your men would have had nothing left but fisticuffs against the Decepticons."
"They were about to fall," Josie tersely countered. "Besides, I could have taken them out myself."
"Four against one? Dubious. Even if you could in their weakened state, could you have protected your squad at the same time? A commander who doesn't watch for the welfare of her army soon finds herself without one."
Josie grimaced in silence for several seconds, then turned around with a small sigh. She pressed her face against the window and looked down: there, hanging spread-eagled among the four helicopters, was Megatron. The Pulsar conduits that covered his body were deactivated to conserve power. Not that they were needed now; Megatron had not stirred in several hours, and his only movement came from the soft sway of the wind. Only the presence of electrical activity in his head indicated that he was still alive, and the Owls concluded he was in some robotic equivalent of a deep coma.
She watched him with steely concentration, though it wasn't necessary. Megatron's optics were dim, his body covered with scorch marks, his limbs flaccid with disuse, his face locked into a slack-jawed silent scream. Out of view, numerous Hawks stood on watch, each ready to activate the conduits and jolt Megatron back into submission if he even blinked. And she herself could easily batter him down with a single blast.
Yet Josie refused to relax. It was irrational, she knew -- Megatron was in no position to threaten anyone. But rationality had nothing to do with it. It was simply too easy for her to picture Megatron suddenly jumping to life and pulling at the cables, making the copters crash into each other and sending them all to a fiery end. After all, Transformers are supposed to be robots in disguise; and isn't playing dead a form of disguise?
For a moment, the enormity of her task overwhelmed her. How will I know when I've finally eliminated all of them? Even when all the robots are dismantled and melted down, what if there's one more waiting for me, hiding until the right time to attack? Will my mission ever end? Or am I doomed to spend my entire life on this Quixotic quest?
A chill ran down her spine. Avoiding the questions, she continued to watch the helpless Megatron instead.
Soundwave stepped out of the infirmary with a contented silence. Repairs to the gross damage done to Ravage and Laserbeak were complete. All they needed now were a few hours of rest, to allow their own automated systems to finish the job. That, and some fresh energon, would be enough to bring them back into action.
There was no rest for Soundwave, however. Megatron's disappearance left a void that had to be filled as soon as possible. Unfortunately, filling a Decepticon power vacuum was similar to shooting an overloaded energon cube; it is over quickly, but tends to be very noisy and explosive in the process.
The problem was due to the very free-form nature of Decepticon power. The unwritten rule was simple: "You can keep your authority until someone else takes it away." It was very effective -- the system ensured that only the best Decepticons were in control, while at the same time made it possible for anyone to advance if they were sufficiently capable, sufficiently ambitious, and sufficiently cautious.
Starscream had started insisting as soon as they returned that he was the new leader of the Decepticons. This was technically incorrect, as there were other Decepticons who were ranked higher than he was. But ranks in the Decepticons were rarely enforced and flowed like quicksilver. Except for the highest echelons of command, Megatron had never formally recognized any sort of positions for his warriors. Instead, he simply ordered A to lead X, Y, and Z on an assignment, and that was that.
Such gross informality was why Starscream found no real opposition to his initial claims of leadership. There was much grumbling, to be sure, but without a high-ranking commander to take control, Starscream's claim to power was as valid as any other Decepticons'. Many of the others were also willing to confer temporarily authority to Starscream to get them through the crisis -- if it brings Megatron back that much quicker, then so be it.
Unfortunately, with typical directness, Starscream had immediately insisted that his promotion was permanent. That announcement, understandably, produced a lot more resentment. It was one thing to follow Starscream for a short time, but a different beast entirely to make him leader by default. Indeed, such a grandstanding move merely reinforced the low opinions that many of the Decepticons already had for him.
As Soundwave entered the auditorium, he briefly regretted his own tardiness. The room was packed with Decepticons who stirred and chatted restlessly, generating a low, uneasy wave of sound. The "leadership forum" was late to start, and the anxious audience was tired of waiting. Soundwave wondered if the delay was some sort of psychological ploy from Starscream, then hoped that his own plans would soon stop those games.
It took but three seconds for him to filter through the cacophony of voices and confirm his suspicions. Every Earth-based Decepticon was present, except for Starscream and the recovering Ravage and Laserbeak. Soundwave wordlessly took a spot along the left side of the room. He amused himself by idly sampling the conversations floating about the room, recording select nuggets of information for possible use in the future.
A hush fell over the crowd as the lights quickly dimmed. A single spotlight shone on the center of the stage, and a moment later Starscream walked through the curtains. With a smile and a wave, he said brightly, "Greetings, fellow Decepticons! I'm so glad you could all come. I know many of you are busy with your various tasks and projects, but I appreciate your taking the time to turn out today."
"Get to the point!" Chop Shop jeered from the back.
With an indulgent smile, Starscream continued. "As you all know, there has been a rather ... dramatic change in our ranks. Our old and stagnant leadership has finally been replaced with a better, smarter, and superior Decepticon. I just thought that this would be a good opportunity for us to get together and talk about what we should do now, with our glorious future ahead of us."
"We've got to get Megatron back, is what we should do!" Onslaught yelled. A number of voices cheered in support.
"Should we?"
Thrust replied next. "Of course we should! You might be in charge for now, Starscream, but as far as I'm concerned, Megatron's still our real leader!"
"And we want him back!" Blitzwing added.
To Soundwave's surprise, Starscream did not rant in protest. Instead, he continued to smile in the soothing, condescending way of his. "And how, may I ask, are we going to do that? First of all, we have no idea where these humans are, or where they have taken Megatron. By now, they could be anywhere on this planet. Or even off of it, if they're ambitious enough.
"Second of all, even if we do know where they are, don't forget that they now have a weapon that can do serious damage to all of us. Ask Soundwave or Ramjet if you don't believe me; these 'Warbirds' can hurt us as much as the Autobots can. Maybe worse, since they're not bound in the least by foolish notions of mercy or compassion.
"And finally, let me remind you that the Warbirds are being led by that psychotic human called Circuit Breaker. We all know about her immense hatred of all robots. Having captured Megatron, do you really think she would stand to let him live? No! She's probably already dismantled him and melted him down into paper clips!"
After the resulting murmur wound down, he concluded, "As I see it, we now have two choices: we can either aimlessly search all over this miserable planet, risking an attack by the Autobots or the Warbirds, and for what? For a leader who may not even be functional! Or, we can simply accept the reality of the situation -- that Megatron is gone, forever -- and move on to newer, greater plans instead! Are you with me?"
The murmur quickly grew excited, then Rumble shouted, "Shove it, Starscream! When'd we ever run away from some shockin' humans before?"
"I agree--agree!" Kickback hissed. "All you have are excuses--excuses!"
"Yeah!" Blast Off added. "You just want to be leader, Starscream! You don't give a zark about Megatron, or the humans, or anything!"
"Silence!" Starscream shrieked as his calm facade exploded. "We're not going after Megatron, and that's that! There is no room for discussion! I am the new leader of the Decepticons, and what I say goes!"
"No, Starscream!" Scrapper cried. "The Constructicons form Devastator, the most powerful robot! I say we should lead!" From behind him, the other Constructicons loudly cried their support.
On the other side of the room, Motormaster bellowed in disbelief. "What?! Forget it, runts! The Stunticons outclass your crew any day! If anything, we should be the ones in charge!"
The room exploded in another buzz of excitement -- Starscream's claim of leadership was being directly disputed, and with two gestalt teams involved, the results were sure to be violently entertaining. Most of the Decepticons were already taking up sides, showing their support with cheers and cries and shouts. A rare few struggled to be heard above the din, fighting hopelessly to bring the discussion back to Megatron's plight.
Soundwave sat in silence, recording everything automatically. Picking out an individual voice was all but impossible now among the noise, and it would be equally efficient to sort them out later. Instead, he turned his attention to Starscream, who was still standing immobile on the stage. He was watching the proceedings with a wry grin, as though sharing a joke with an unseen friend.
After a few more seconds, Starscream stepped forward and waved for attention. "All right, all right, all right!" As one, the assembly fell silent, and turned to him, glaring with varying degrees of suspicion.
"Now, then ... It appears that there is some ... confusion over who here is most fit to lead the Decepticons. I propose we settle this fairly and evenly, with an old-fashioned Leadership Challenge tomorrow. Whoever is left standing at the end gets to lead the Decepticons. Any objections?"
The assembled robots looked to each other, but no one complained. The Challenge was little more than a brutal, no-holds-brawl that exemplified Decepticon politics in its most basic form: survival of the fittest. Anyone could enter, and the results were binding.
Smugly, Starscream continued, "We currently have three candidates for the Challenge: Devastator, Menasor, and myself. Does anyone else dare to step forward?"
There was a long moment of silence. The remaining Decepticons looked at the choices and weighed their chances. Despite Starscream's egotistical bluster, he was one of the most formidable warriors in the Decepticon ranks, with numerous tricks and his dangerous null rays, which together were enough to subdue most foes. And then there was the raw might of Devastator and Menasor, either of whom were deadly by themselves. Understandably, all declined.
Except one.
"I dare," Shockwave said.
Every head in the room instantly spun around. Standing in the doorway, watching them emotionlessly with his bright yellow eye, was the commander of the Cybertronian Decepticons.
"Shockwave!" Starscream cried. "What are you doing here?"
The violet robot slowly strode forward, oblivious to the surprise generated by his arrival. "I received a Priority-One information report on Cybertron," he coolly intoned. "It briefed me of the present crisis. I assessed the situation and determined a 98.8% probability that you would try to impose yourself in the leadership vacuum."
"There is no vacuum!"
"The details are irrelevant. As Second Commander of the Decepticon Empire, I should have assumed leadership of the Decepticons in Megatron's absence. I therefore took the Space Bridge from Cybertron to Earth in order to make my claim. But because you have raised the Challenge, I shall simply follow the necessary protocols instead, and take what is rightfully mine tomorrow." His eye blazed briefly for emphasis. "Is that clear?"
Starscream scowled hard at Shockwave for several long seconds. Then, with smoldering drama, he stood up proudly. "Very well, Shockwave ... we'll settle this -- tomorrow!"
Without waiting for a reply, Starscream turned on his heel and strode through the stage curtains. The room lights suddenly came back up, ending the assembly, and the Decepticons began to mill out. Most of them discretely avoided Shockwave, though a few daring ones tried to engage him in some unstructured camaraderie. He ignored it all, quickly leaving the room without a word.
Soundwave watched his exit with cold optics, pondering his own thoughts. He had expected Shockwave to act once he radioed Cybertron about Megatron's capture. He had expected Shockwave to bypass Starscream's machinations and quickly seize control. He had expected Shockwave to end the political games and make plans for Megatron's rescue. He had expected all of this from Shockwave, who was infamous for his solemn personality and his long record of loyalty to Megatron.
But now, all that was in doubt. For Shockwave to humor Starscream's Challenge was incredulous; for him to participate was inconceivable. Soundwave found himself questioning all of his assumptions. Was Shockwave truly as devoted and emotionless as everyone thought? Does Shockwave care for the future of the Empire? Was this all part of a more subtle plan? And if so, for whom? Was Shockwave on Megatron's side ... or his own?
Without any answers, Soundwave could do nothing but question the wisdom of his actions.
Megatron dreamed...
It was not a dream that most beings would have identified as such. There were no kaleidoscopic images, no fanciful events, no subconscious regurgitation of recent memories.
Instead, it was a dream of emotions. A never-ending interplay of confusion and disbelief and surprise and fear, weaving and separating, coupling and uncoupling in a fluid, chaotic dance.
And beyond it all was the Pain. It did not move, for it did not need to. Instead, it was an impermeable wall, locking the confusion and disbelief and surprise and fear in an impossibly small space. It prevented them from dispersing, prevented others from joining, prevented Megatron from escaping.
Megatron could not feel the Pain because he had nothing to feel with. He had nothing at all, neither form nor identity, memories nor thoughts. He was a singularity in the maelstrom, churned and tossed by the perpetual whirlpool, forever drowning in the sea of emotions.
Then, something happened.
There was a sound (What is sound?) as his nonexistent body (What is body?) was jostled It was barely perceivable, but it was there.
Fascinated, Megatron focused his attention (What is attention?) on this new experience. A soft, throbbing hum pushed against his back (What is back?). A chorus of distant voices tapped his chest (What is chest?). A faint shriek scratched his arm (What is arm?).
(What is arm?)
(What is arm?)
Megatron did not know the answer. But on a primal level, a revelation came to him: if he had an arm to be scratched, then perhaps he could move it.
So he did.
Confusion and disbelief and surprise and fear instantly vanished as the impossibly small space became even smaller. Megatron was squeezed on all sides as his various discorporeal sensations were violently blotted out by the white-hot agony of Pain. Whatever spiritual cohesion he had achieved before was immediately dissipated.
Eternity passed.
With slow reluctance, the Pain receded. Confusion and disbelief and surprise and fear returned, filling the ensuing space. And once again, the singularity once known as Megatron was churned and tossed by the perpetual whirlpool, forever drowning in the sea of emotions.
Most humans do not appreciate the size of the planet Earth. They spend their lives in a region that rarely exceeds two thousand square miles, then dare to call it grand. They fly across continents and oceans with nary a thought. They take their instantaneous communications for granted, dismissing the power of the telephones and radios and computers that make it possible. "It is," they say, "a small, small world."
They are wrong, of course. The world may be thoroughly mapped, but it is still inconceivably huge and far from tamed. The desert nomad and the ocean fisherman are all too aware of this. When they are away from the cities and the harbors, when nothing but endless stretches of sand and sea can be seen, the vast infinity of the world reveals itself once more. The Earth is immense, and there are numerous areas that remain closed to Man.
Almost without argument, the most secluded location on Earth is the Antarctic circle. Deep in the heart of the southernmost continent, at the bottom of the world, it is the embodiment of solitude: a sea of ice and a desert of snow, wrapped in a blinding shroud of frozen wind and frosty hail. There are no cities there, no comforts, no animals, no people, no life.
However, there was, for a time, a crater.
The groundwork was broken by Rumble, whose jackhammer arms and low-frequency groundwaves quickly battered the glacial ice and caused it to crack. Skywarp and Ramjet and Thrust and Dirge and Thundercracker finished the job, using their weapons to melt and shatter the frost, while Vortex generated a wind funnel to lift away the numerous shards. In less than five minutes, the previously unadorned surface of the Antarctic had sprouted a depression three hundred feet wide and a hundred feet deep.
In the impromptu arena, Shockwave stood silently. While his Cybertronian body was durable, even it was affected by the harsh climate. He took it in silence, however, knowing that any complaints would be seen by the other Decepticons as a sign of weakness. Instead, he adjusted his personal response algorithms to compensate for the difference in his performance levels, working with an efficiency almost as cold as the wind that whistled around him.
He knew that he did not have to be here; he could have simply demanded the mantle of leadership by right of his rank alone. He had anticipated a fight with Starscream (for which he had calculated a 94.3% probability of winning), after which the Decepticons would have (91.6%) recognized his authority. But at best, it would be grudging support, a temporary leadership that would be constantly undermined by their desire for Megatron's return.
The Challenge was therefore to Shockwave's advantage. If he was victorious (84.6%), not only would he gain the authority to lead the Decepticons, but also their respect and admiration. He could then take that opening, and -- with proper manipulation -- use it to complete his hold over the Decepticons and secure his power.
He was well aware of the irony involved: that his opportunity today came only because of Starscream's foolishness. If Shockwave was more emotional, he might have thanked the Fates. But he was not, so he did not.
Instead, he looked around and assessed his opponents once more. Directly across the crater from him was Starscream. The air warrior caught his eye, then gave a snappy salute and a confident grin. Shockwave did not respond, but simply dismissed the useless gesture as an attempt to mask his fear and discomfort with flippancy.
The Constructicons were ready on his left. They had already combined into Devastator, and now awaited the Challenge with obvious enthusiasm. Gestalts typically suffered from chaotic thinking due to conflicting thoughts from the individual minds of their component robots, but the lust for power appeared to have united the Constructicons into a cohesive whole. In response, Shockwave upwardly revised his estimates of Devastator's fighting skills.
To Shockwave's right were the Stunticons. They were still in their individual robots as Motormaster was busy yelling and intimidating his team. His dreams of leadership and his enthusiasm for the Challenge were not being shared by the others, and one did not need sensitive microphones to hear the colorful insults he threw at them. Finally, after a lot of screaming and arm-waving, the Stunticons complied, combining into the giant called Menasor.
A tense silence immediately filled the area, and only the mournful howl of the gale was heard. The spectators on the rim watched anxiously as they waited for the carnage to begin. Oblivious to it all, Shockwave continued to run combat analysis while the others fell into fighting stances.
On a cue from Soundwave, Brawl transformed into his tank mode. Sonic cannons fired a moment later, rocking the crater and the surrounding landscape with a thunderous eruption.
Shockwave fell to the ground instantly, easily dodging the initial null-ray blast that he had anticipated from Starscream. The laser barrel of his right hand immediately fired back. Starscream quickly dodged the indiscriminate shot, but was distracted for a second.
That second was all Shockwave needed. He rolled aside, scrambled to his feet, and jumped, barely dodging a thunderous stomp from Devastator as the giant charged across the field. Foot-jets firing, Shockwave rocketed into the air, swung behind the green golem, and stopped short. A half-dozen cluster bombs flew by Devastator's side, harmlessly shredding the air before Shockwave where he would have been a moment later. Immediately after they passed, Shockwave soared forward and peppered Starscream's position with a flurry of tight- focused laser bursts.
Starscream shrieked, stumbling to his left as he narrowly avoided the attack, then quickly transformed to his jet mode and took off, closely hugging the crater's wall. Shockwave tried to close the distance, but Starscream was faster, widening the gap as he adroitly dodged a second burst of lasers.
With a rapid blur of motion, Shockwave shifted to his laser gun form and fired. A beam of white light shot forth, thick and blinding and brilliant, straight for Starscream's left wing. As Shockwave had anticipated, the air warrior narrowly avoided the blast by banking hard to the right...
...which took him directly between Devastator and Menasor. Before Starscream could swerve again, both giants moved simultaneously, swatting blindly at the intruder. Devastator missed, Menasor connected; Starscream was batted aside with a brutal cuff. He zoomed across the arena and crashed hard into the south wall, where he tumbled to the snow-covered floor in a heap.
Shockwave soared high over the two gestalts, who had resumed their personal battle without a second thought. As Starscream struggled laboriously to his feet, Shockwave shifted back to robot mode and landed nearby. "Further resistance is illogical. Surrender, Starscream."
"Never!" he cried, guns blazing. Shockwave dodge to the right but was not fast enough -- a blast clipped his left shoulder, sending him tumbling into the snow. Undaunted, Shockwave continued his roll, narrowly avoiding a second burst of laser fire. Before Starscream could fire a third time, Shockwave suddenly stopped spinning and fired a concentrated electric arc.
Starscream shrieked horribly as the blue-white bolt pounded against his chest. He staggered back rapidly, slamming against the cliff wall, then howled again as Shockwave's barrage continued. He was pinned to the glacial wall, a mechanical butterfly writhing under a pin of raw energy, and his screams roared harshly across the crater.
Shockwave slowly climbed upright, his aim never deviating from Starscream's scarred chest. As if suddenly bored, he switched to a series of laser blasts, sweeping his aim over the head of the besieged challenger. The frosty wall blistered and shattered, while those sitting above quickly scrambled away. Then with a muffled roar, the surface caved and fell, burying Starscream beneath several hundred tons of snow and ice.
Shockwave ignored the gasps and bloodthirsty cheers of the audience as he turned around. The battle of the gestalts was almost over; Menasor was on his hands and knees, struggling for a brief respite from Devastator's destructive kicks and hammering blows. It was painfully obvious that, given a few more seconds, only one giant would be left moving.
While the two were thus engaged, Shockwave took to the sky once more, transforming back to his laser cannon form. Clearing the arena's rim, Shockwave stopped in mid-air, pivoting until his barrel pointed downward.
There was no immediate effect -- no flash of light, no searing sizzle, no deadly blaze of destruction. Long seconds passed, silent except for the dull clang that accompanied each of Devastator's strikes, pummeling the last ergs of motion out of his challenger. The hush of the spectators slowly vanished, replaced by their growing voices of disbelief.
With a cackle of glee, Devastator balled his fists together and raised them high overhead for the coup d'grace. But before he could deliver the final blow, the icy floor beneath him snapped with a tremendous CRACK! Suddenly, the two titans fell, falling into the deep pool of water that had appeared beneath them, sinking beneath the surface.
Switching off his microwave blast, Shockwave revered to robot mode and landed at the pond's edge. Torn by panic and surprise, Devastator thrashed wildly as he tried to escape, and the waters churned violently in response.
But it was a lost cause, for Devastator's collective mind was gripped in panic, rendering him entirely ineffective. With each passing second, icy water quickly froze solid, gripping the Constructicon gestalt with increasing intensity. In under a minute, he was completely entomed, save for a single hand that reached vainly for the sky.
Shockwave looked up and around him. The spectators were on their feet, pushed forward against the edge of the crater. Every optic was focused on him now, every microphone tuned to capture his next words.
"Decepticons!" he yelled over the roar of the wind. "By the rules of the Leadership Challenge, I claim the title of High Commander of all Decepticons! Pledge yourselves to me!"
A pause. Then: "...hail Shockwave!"
Once more: "Hail Shockwave!"
Again: "Hail Shockwave! Hail Shockwave! Hail Shockwave!"
The chant continued, growing louder, and louder, and louder still. Any other Decepticon would have easily succumbed to the heady rush of the moment. Anyone else would have quickly issued grand speeches, made new plans, appointed new lieutenants -- in short, started building a new empire on the foundations of a fresh victory.
But Shockwave knew better. The same logic that guided him through the Challenge also protected him from the temptations of power. He knew that his leadership was now at its most vulnerable, like steel fresh from the forge. That he had won the minds of the Decepticons, but not their spirits. That his actions of the next few seconds would either strengthen or destroy his future.
He was ready, of course. The carefully-crafted speech was disgustingly emotional, but it was also certain (96.3%) to produce the response he needed.
Shockwave raised his arms, signaling the chorus into silence. "Decepticons! The time for petty disputes is over! We must now address a greater issue: Megatron!"
A soft murmur of voices quickly arose. He waited for them to fall quiet, then continued, "Despite Starscream's claims to the contrary, I believe that Megatron is still alive! That our illustrious leader is still being held by the Earthlings who have captured him! As Decepticons, this affront to us cannot go unanswered! I say that we must act now to destroy the humans and rescue Megatron! Are you with me?"
Shockwave watched in stony silence as the Decepticons cheered in unanimous, predictable approval. His eye flared but for an instant, briefly revealing the eager anticipation he felt.
Josie Beller walked down the antiseptic hall, her metal-clad feet clattering lightly over the linoleum tiles. She remained surprised at how comfortable the complex was. When she first heard they were going to the Saudi Arabian desert, she had cringed in anticipation of sweltering heat and roasted skin. But the base was buried fifty feet underground, and there was enough insulating sand to make the air conditioners all but superfluous.
She stopped before an unmarked door, a steel-grey clone to its neighbors, and rapped once.
"Come in."
Ladyhawke was sitting behind a plain wooden desk, legs crossed over and propped on the edge as she leaned backwards in a relaxing repose. Across from her was Watson, her ever-faithful butler/aide/underling, wearing an immaculate black suit in complete defiance of desert fashions. The middle-aged man acknowledged Josie with a polite nod, then resumed tapping away at the palm- sized computer in his hand.
"Hello, Josie," Ladyhawke said, waving towards an empty chair. "Nice of you to drop by."
"What's up?"
"I'd like a status report from you, dear. How's Megatron doing?"
Josie shrugged. "Oh, he's all right. He's unconscious most of the time, but every now and then he starts to stir, and we have to zap him with the Pulsars to keep him under. The Owls are a little nervous -- they have to jump clear at an instant whenever he starts to move."
"That's fine," Ladyhawke chuckled. "They're too used to their docile lab work; a little excitement will do them some good. How's our progress?"
"We're finally getting somewhere. His outer 'skin' is a multiple-layer hull of several alien alloys, but it turns out that a tight-beamed, high-powered laser will get through it. It still takes time, though, since cutting has to be done very slowly. Still, we're finally getting a look at what makes Megatron tick. Michelson is leading a team of Owls, trying to figure out what components we can disconnect without damaging them."
Watson typed away rapidly as Ladyhawke nodded. "I trust everything is being recorded in the computers?"
"Of course."
"What about his arm cannon?"
"That's a tougher nut to crack. It seems to be made out of similar materials, but much denser. The laser barely scratches it right now. We're having a bigger laser shipped in from the Nest in Madagascar, and I'm hoping it works."
"Um hmm. I'm still unsure if it's wise to keep Megatron alive. Wouldn't it be easier to simply kill him? We could learn just as much from an autopsy."
Josie quickly shook her head. "Not really. It's always easier to study a specimen if you have it alive and intact. We know that these robots have some amazing tricks, such as manipulating mass and matter -- it's the only way to explain how they can shrink and grow when they transform. That's got to be an incredibly complicated system, far beyond anything we know now, and I don't want to risk doing anything that might damage it.
"Or maybe we can dump his memories, which is a case of figuring out how his computer brain works. Once we learn what encoding/packing scheme he uses, we can learn all of their secrets. But if he's dead, the chances are good that we can't do any of that, since anything that fries his brain will probably also wipe that information. Hell, for all we know, Megatron might be rigged to self-destruct if his vital signs stop. Every way you look at it, it's better for us to keep him alive."
Several seconds passed while Ladyhawke sat still, her chin resting against her balled fist. Finally, she nodded once, and said, "Good points."
"Thanks." Josie smiled back, proud at having proven herself. The smile turned feral as she continued, "Believe me, once we squeeze everything we can out of Megatron, I'll be glad to blow him away..."
"I'm sure," said Ladyhawke flatly.
A silence fell between the two women as they ran out of things to say, leaving the sound of Watson's typing and the whisper of the circulation system to fill the void. Finally, Ladyhawke swiveled her chair forward. "I wish we could look into Decepticon headquarters now. I do so enjoy a good coup d'etat."
A scowl darted across Josie's face. "You must be kidding. Don't you have any normal interests, like football?"
There was a bemused giggle. "Your American 'football' is too tame for my tastes, dear. All those downs and time-outs interrupt the flow of things. It's a game for lawyers and bureaucrats, not athletes."
"Hrmph."
Ladyhawke idly waved her hand in dismissal. "Still, I'm sure we can imagine how things are with our friends. Perhaps they've divided into a dozen factions, all arguing and fighting against each other for power."
"Starscream trying to impose order by pulling rank..."
"...and being ignored by everyone else."
"Maybe a few who simply get tired of it all and leave."
"Assassination attempts, venomous lies, assorted propaganda, and low morale. If it isn't there already, it will be soon enough."
"Yeah." A satisfying pause. "It's lucky for us that none of the other Decepticons have the charisma to unite them."
Ladyhawke leaned forward, steepling her fingers. "Luck has nothing to do with it. We wouldn't be pursuing this course at all if the other Decepticons weren't so dependent on Megatron's authority. This entire plan has been designed around the Decepticons' weaknesses."
A soft, shrill beep immediately sounded. She tapped her right wrist, then spoke into the back of her hand. "Ladyhawke."
The voice from the tiny speaker was loud enough for Josie to hear. "We have a 499. Bearing three-forty-four mark two. ETA three minutes." Josie wasn't sure, but thought she heard a trace of panic from the operator.
Ladyhawke's brow knitted in disbelief as she stood upright. "A 499? Are you sure?"
"Affirmative. We have over forty blips, plus several huge clusters."
Ladyhawke's voice remained steady as she quickly ordered, "Give me visual. Full magnification and enhancement, direct feed to my station." Without waiting for a reply, she tapped her wrist again, then pointed her arm across the room.
After a few seconds of tense silence, the far wall exploded in a cornucopia of colors and shapes and sizes. They came in a wide variety of shapes and sizes, but they all shared a common destination. Their numbers were legion; a cloud of metal and mayhem, harboring a storm of destruction.
"Decepticons!"
"Yes," Ladyhawke nodded gravely. "And loaded for bear."
Josie could not reply, could not do anything but gape at the scene before her. Despite the grainy video and choppy animation, countless hours of study allowed her to recognize many of the attackers. Blitzwing and Dirge, Skywarp and Ramjet, Astrotrain and Thrust and Thundercracker. Bruticus, the patchwork giant of the Combaticon's military might. Soundwave the communicator and his cadre of agents -- Frenzy, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and Rumble. In the rear were the Insecticons, their numbers multiplied tenfold by Shrapnel's replicant powers, a living shadow flapping behind the pack.
In the vanguard was a gigantic violet robot, clearly the master of the attack force. Josie shivered at his appearance. He was larger than most of the others, with a broad-shouldered body that hinted of sheer power. He carried no weapons; instead, his right hand had been removed, and in its place was a gun barrel of some kind. His face was a featureless hexagon, completely bare except for a yellow eye in the center. He carried with him an aura of cold efficiency, evident despite his lack of readable features.
Ladyhawke's voice snapped Josie out of her reverie. "Who's that?" she asked, pointing to the leader.
Josie shook her head and stammered. "I -- I don't know!"
"I was afraid of that."
"What?"
"He's a rogue element, probably from Cybertron. God has thrown a wrench into our works. Time to cut our losses and run."
Ladyhawke gestured with her hand, and the picture disappeared. Then, quickly tapping her wrist, she spoke, "Attention all Warbirds! Attention! We have an omega-one situation! Evacuate immediately! Repeat, evacuate immediately! This is not--"
Josie snatched at Ladyhawke's arm. "What are you doing?!"
"The wise thing, dear." Jerking free, she waved at the now-blank wall. "Or are you crazy enough to suggest that we take on the entire Decepticon army?"
"We can't just give up! Not without a fight!"
"Dammit, Josie!" Ladyhawke snapped back. "Doesn't the name 'General George Custer' ring a bell with you? Anyone who steps out there will be massacred, pure and simple! This isn't a comic book -- you can't expect to overcome impossible odds just because you have a noble cause! The only thing to do is to get out now while we still can!"
"No! You hired me to lead the Warbirds against the robots, and that's what we're going to do!" Without waiting for a reply, she dashed for the exit.
"I gave you that power, and I can take it away!"
Josie stopped suddenly, framed by the open door, then slowly began to turn around. Ladyhawke took a hesitant step back, jolted by the sight: her face was now a harsh, inhuman mask, an unholy union of loathing and betrayal, with eyes burning far hotter than the desert sun.
"So is that it? Is this the kind of devotion and support you give your people? You're there with the promises and the perks when it's convenient for you. But when I really need you, when I finally call on your help, you'll just abandon me without a thought. Is that it?"
Ladyhawke took another small step backwards, and Watson was by her side in an instant. Ignoring him, the masked woman quickly regained her composure, then gently said, "No, Josie. You're wrong."
"Prove it!"
Silence fell as the two women stood still. They faced each other, neither daring to move, as the seconds stretched into a painful eternity between them. Then, with a deep, labored breath, Ladyhawke spoke.
"Josie ... if I thought we had any sort of chance to win this battle, we wouldn't be arguing now. But we don't have a chance; even you know that we don't have the resources to take on the entire Decepticon army. It's not that I don't support you ... but remember that I have a responsibility to the rest of the Warbirds as well. You are asking me to order them to their deaths, to serve as cannon fodder for you and die in this hopeless battle, all for the sake of honor and glory. I'm sorry, dear, but I won't do that."
Josie sighed. And then, against her will, the fire in her heart began to quickly fade. Ladyhawke was right -- again, dammit! There was no way for them to defeat the Decepticons without suffering heavy losses of their own. She herself was ready to die, fighting the robots who were now her life's work. She had nothing to live for, after all, and would not regret a death while striking against the Decepticons.
But to ask that from the others, to ask them to abandon their own dreams and wishes and hopes and futures, all for her ... she did not have that right.
Yet to simply turn and run away was a choice just as painful to accept. She was Earth's guardian against the robots, the only person who saw them for what they were, and with the power to truly take a stand. She had to strike back now, to prove that humans were not docile sheep waiting for the soulless harvest of the machines. What kind of a message would she be sending if she simply ran without even trying to retaliate?
With a final sigh, Josie stood up. "I'm going to fight the Decepticons," she said simply. "You do what you have to."
Then she was gone.
Once more, silence descended upon the small room, a center of calm before the storm. Ladyhawke turned to Watson, one eyebrow raised in quiet query, but he gave no response.
The target appeared harmless enough. A few hangars, eight or ten barracks, and almost three times as many storage sheds, all sitting beside a small runway. Everything was lightly coated with sand, and aside from a few soldiers on sentry duty, seemed abandoned.
But we know better, don't we? Laserbeak mused as he studied the site with his telescopic vision. For he knew -- as all the other Decepticons knew -- that beneath the innocent-looking airport was where Megatron was being held captive by the humans.
Most of the world's superpowers had satellites in Earth orbit, taking high- altitude pictures of the planet every few minutes in their quest to outspy each other. For security and redundancy purposes, those satellites also stored copies of the images, from a few days' worth to an entire week. If a picture was garbled or a discrepency was noted, the suspicious photos could be re-sent by a satellite until its masters were satisfied.
All that was needed, then, was to decipher the satellites' control codes, and order them to broadcast their image archives to Deceptibase. By studying the snapshots taken when Megatron was captured, it was trivially easy to trace the Warbirds' retreat and discover where they were hiding.
The humans finally spotted them; the soldiers were scrambling for cover even as a klaxon began to blare from somewhere in the compound. At the same time, Shockwave's voice calmly ordered over the battle net, "Buzzsaw, Laserbeak -- attack."
Laserbeak didn't need to be told twice. The robotic condor peeled away from Soundwave's left, then gunned his jet engines to full power as he focused his vision on two humans emerging from a guardhouse. (I'll get the fleshies, you get the shack?)
(Oh, yes!) Buzzsaw replied from behind. (Thank you!)
(Just make it big, okay?)
The Saudi soldiers leveled their rifles, but it was no use. Compared to Laserbeak, they may as well have been standing still. With the speed of light, a pair of ruby beams lashed out, neatly piercing through the chest of the first human. Blood sprayed from the human's back as his comrade turned in shock. In a moment of sympathy, Laserbeak decided to spare the second guard any further grief, and vaporized his head.
A second after he flew past it, the guardhouse exploded with a deafening thunderclap. Laserbeak didn't even have to turn to appreciate the effort. (Nice one!)
(Thanks! You have to start with a really big bang, don't you think?)
Laserbeak "laughed" with empathic waves of mirth, then noticed a company of soldiers pouring out of a barrack on his right. Banking into a sharp dive, he skimmed over the ground and charged forward at over two hundred miles per hour. The startled humans only had time to scream and dive. The slower ones were battered against his wings, tossed in a wake of bodies broken and dead.
As Laserbeak climbed, a series of loud, rapid pops suddenly filled the air. Throughout the base, the walls of the storage sheds collapsed, each one revealing an anti-aircraft gun encampment. Simultaneously, twenty-some-odd desert tanks rolled out of the hangars across the compound, quickly turning to track the Decepticon invaders.
(Impressive,) Laserbeak projected with a heavy dose of sarcasm. That the humans had enough brains to hide their strength was a surprise. That they expected their meager weapons to stop the Decepticons was laughably naive.
There was no reply from Soundwave. Instead, there was Shockwave as he quickly dispensed assignments. "Insecticons, attack the humans. Air Team, attack the artillery. Astrotrain, Blitzwing, Bruticus -- attack the tanks. All other Decepticons will provide backup and support. I want every building leveled, every weapon destroyed, every human dead. Is that clear?"
A cornucopia of bloodthirsty cheers returned in affirmation. As his fellow Decepticons engaged the enemy, Laserbeak changed his course to a sweeping arc around the battlefield, searching for straggling survivors to engage.
It was not an easy task. The Decepticons had greater numbers, greater firepower, and greater technology than their human opponents, which quickly turned the battle from a contest of warriors into a frenzy of destruction. Individual soldiers were quickly swarmed by the Insecticons. A half-dozen pounced on each one, all of them eager to be first to capture the prize, and the ensuing struggles rapidly ended in a messy death of blood and bone for the unfortunate subject.
The AA guns fared no better. Against the unearthly speed and agility of the Decepticon jets, the humans' state-of-the-art air defenses were lumbering antiques by comparison. Rockets were dodged and towers were levelled with an ease that bordered on the trivial. Within a minute, an informal game of one- upmanship had developed, as Dirge, Ramjet, Skywarp, Thundercracker, and Thrust looked for flashier ways to destroy each of the quad-barreled cannons.
Then there was the one-sided tank battle. With a combination of ground- pounders, high-explosive shells, and brute force, Rumble and Blitzwing and Astrotrain were ruthlessly beating the desert sand, tossing tanks about like popcorn kernels on a hot skillet. As the armored vehicles were tossed around, Bruticus leaped about, stomping on the scattered column with primal glee.
Shoulder guns firing, Laserbeak swooped along a row of barracks. Walls were torn and shredded and sliced by a hail of light, while the explosion of ammunition caches provided loud accompaniment to his destructive symphony. It failed to please him, however; targets that didn't struggle at all were too tame for his tastes.
He pulled into a lazy overhead circle, watching the patchwork quit of smoking craters and smashed buildings and dead humans with a bored optic. As Buzzsaw settled into formation on his right, Laserbeak gave him a quick glance. (Not much for us today, is there?)
(Afraid not. The party's just begun, and it's almost over already. This is far too easy!)
Laserbeak shrieked in response. (Don't get cocky! Not all fleshies are pushovers--). For emphasis, he emitted a brief flash of pain and torment, a remnant of his earlier injuries.
(Oh, don't worry. The humans just got lucky, that's all. No offense, but it was the law of averages. It was bound to happen eventually.)
Across the field, a geyser of sand erupted as a grey aircraft rocketed out of the desert floor. It screamed towards the distant horizon with incredible speed, vanishing before anyone could react. (See?) Buzzsaw nodded smugly. (They can't hurt us, so they run like scared Autobots!)
(Yeah, well, Ravage and I didn't imagine the ones who attacked us!)
Buzzsaw fired two blasts from his mortar cannons, and a power generator detonated in a shower of sparks and shrapnel. (Oh, come on -- so the humans have a new weapon of some kind. So what? If they dare to show up now, we'll just tear them to shreds and blast it to scrap! Shock, we're Decepticons!)
Laserbeak was about to reply when he spotted a brilliant gleam shining on the ground. Optics magnified in an instant, and then he recognized the metal-clad female called Circuit Breaker. Fighting back a touch of trepidation, he sent to Buzzsaw, (Well, here's your chance. Think you can take her?)
(Easily! Don't blink, or you'll miss it!)
Buzzsaw roared towards the ground as Laserbeak sent a situation update to Soundwave. Then, as Decepticon and human exchanged weapons fire, Laserbeak circled overhead, discretely keeping some distance away from the melee.
Megatron dreamed...
The elements were there. As they always were, as they always will be. The disbelief, and the surprise, and the fear, twisting and blending and weaving, forever spiraling against each other in their fluid dance. And there was the Pain. Holding them together, trapping them all, imprisoning Megatron within his intangible prison.
Megatron could not feel the Pain because he had nothing to feel with. He had nothing at all, neither form nor identity, memories nor thoughts. He was a singularity in the maelstrom, churned and tossed by the perpetual whirlpool, forever drowning in the sea of emotions.
Then, something happened.
Sounds came from all around him. Barely perceptible, but it was there. Megatron turned his attention on this experience, and was greeted by more of the same. A discordant turmoil of voices and cries. A shrill whine suddenly dying, spiraling into nothingness. The incessant drumming of softness on hardness, very eager and very rapid.
Before, Megatron would have reacted. He would have moved, would have spoken, would have done something in response. And for his efforts, he would have been punished with the white-hot agony of Pain. He would have been dissipated once more, scattered into the churning waters, cast into the oblivion of his private, personalized Hell.
Not this time. For though Megatron was devoid of all sense of time and memory, there remained some aspect of him that knew any response would be punished. A wretched pattern repeated often enough that it became intuitive.
So Megatron did not move.
Finally, silence fell, and the end of one experience became the start of another. As an incorporeal singularity, Megatron had neither arms nor legs nor head nor back. Yet somewhere, somehow, something cold and hard pressed against him. Against parts that should not, and could not, exist.
Megatron should have reacted. He should have moved, should have spoken, should have done something in response. But he didn't. Once more, the aspect of him that knew of punishment and pain held him back. Comforting him with inaction, saving him, sheltering him from whatever Pain might be inflicted for his temerity.
Even as the sensations against his nonexistent form refused to be denied, even as the desire grew with each passing moment by an infinitely small amount, Megatron remained still...
Josie's confidence came quick enough. Almost as soon as she had stepped onto the battlefield, she was accosted by the gold robot-bird called Buzzsaw. A quick jolt had sent him skittering, and another pair of electric blasts had sent him crashing into the ground. It felt great.
That was her last decisive victory.
Flying through the air, she banked hard to avoid a stream of lasers from Dirge. Josie countered with a high-powered power bolt as he passed, but only managed to clip his right wing. There was no time for a second shot; the roar of a rocket prompted her to dive, and she tumbled onto the desert sand just as the warhead exploded where she was an instant ago.
Newtonian physics dictated that a 105-pound human had less mass and less inertia than a multiple-ton Decepticon. This meant Josie was fast and nimble enough to avoid most of her foes, which she was. But they made up for it with their sheer numbers -- the Decepticons had no compunctions about gracelessly jumping her, determined to capture or kill the infamous human. Several times she had to escape from a near-fatal crush of giant robot bodies.
She spun to the left, barely dodging Chop Shop as he blazed by her side, a gleaming blur of knives and blades. A shadow crossed overhead, and she ducked just before Bombshell managed to pounce on her. The two Insecticons met with a jarring crash, whereupon she quickly fired a low-powered surge at them, and both exploded in a shower of scrap. More clones!
The Insecticons were the worst, as Shrapnel's replicant power provided them with a near-infinite supply of grunts. They were nowhere near as durable as a "real" Insecticon, and it took only a small burst of energy to destroy one. But while they were structurally weak, they remained deathly dangerous -- being stabbed by Venom's stinger or crushed by Ransack's bare hands would be equally fatal whether her killer was a clone or not.
Josie ran forward, her feet pounding over the scorching sand. Two Kickbacks and a Ransack landed in front of her, guns raised. Without hesitation, she jumped, "flying" with magnetic repulsion over the three, and obliterated the copies with a rain of lightning bolts.
By all accounts, Josie should have been dead already. A single Decepticon was more than a match for a small army; a hundred of them became a force that was humanly impossible to stop. A single human -- even a flying, super-powered one -- was simply incapable of countering those odds.
But Josie wasn't able to dwell on that. Every neuron of her mind, every muscle of her body, was devoted to the all-consuming task of survival. On a subconscious level, she knew that to divert her attention for an instant and think about her task would be tantamount to suicide. So she didn't.
On reflexes alone, she arched into a stomach-lurching climb in time to dodge Blitzwing as he barreled forward with machine guns blazing. The triple- changing Decepticon looped for a second strike, but Josie dove down, swooping for cover behind the half-melted remnant of an anti-aircraft tower. She braced herself as the spire shook, rattled by a hail of bullets, then took a deep breath and concentrated...
Blitzwing flew by with a metallic screech as his circuits suddenly seemed to burn with fire. The cry was agonizing and inhumanly shrill, then was abruptly cut as he plowed into a hangar with a tumultuous crash. Josie opened her eyes and smiled at her second victory -- though using it required her total concentration, the mindfire remained her most devastating attack, and she hoped for more opportunities to use it.
Hope turned to panic as the tower began to quake. Instinctively, Josie darted away from this new danger, but the Insecticons were faster. Venom's grip locked on her left arm, and she shrieked as Barrage restrained the other one. Electricity fired from both hands in a desperate bid for freedom, but to no effect -- her captors knew enough to keep away from her hands. "Nice try, human!" Venom taunted, "But the game's over now!"
Barrage jerked hard on her arm, making small red dots dance across her field of vision. "Lemme waste her, boss! I wanna blow her squishy brains out and smear 'em all over the place!"
"Not yet, not yet! Let's get some fun out of her first. Bombshell! Get your tin tail over here already! We've got a puppet for you!"
Josie's eyes widened in horror as the giant metallic weevil flew forward. Her gaze locked on Bombshell's dark form as she quickly recalled his profile: once injected with his cerebro-shell, Josie would be his to command. She would be unable to resist, would be forced to watch helplessly as she debased and humiliated herself for their amusement.
Bombshell was before them now, leisurely waving his stinger above her forehead. "Don't worry, human--human!" he mocked softly. "This won't hurt me at alwallhk!"
As Josie watched in surprise, a series of blue-white energy bolts immediately filled the air around her, striking the Insecticons with unerring precision. Bombshell and Venom and Barrage screamed in shock as they were struck. Josie pulled herself free, gracelessly dropping twenty feet to the ground with a hard grunt.
She quickly climbed upright, panting heavily as she looked about. The Insecticons were retreating in panic as a half-dozen men flying in armored suits gave chase.
Hawks!
Josie leaped to the air again and assessed the situation. All around her, the Warbirds were attacking the enemy, silver bees protecting their hive with stingers of blue light. She counted about twenty soldiers all together -- a small fraction of her forces -- and realized that a haphazard attack would not deter the Decepticons for long.
Though she was still quivering from her recent fright, she regained enough of her composure to realize what needed to be done. Activating her suit radio with a mental command, she commanded, "Hawk Leader to Hawk Team -- report in and regroup, formation Beta-Five!"
At the northern edge of the perimeter, all but forgotten, Shockwave watched the proceedings idly.
If this was a real battle, he would have immersed himself completely, managing every aspect of the encounter with carefully-calculated stratagems. But this was not a real battle. By even his most conservative estimates, the chances of a Decepticon victory were greater than 99.7%. A random-number generator could have "led" the Decepticons to victory just as well.
Even the arrival of the female called Circuit Breaker and her underlings did not change matters any. Shockwave had briefly recalculated the probability when they appeared, but the results were still in his favor. Unless a number of highly improbable events were to occur at once, the Decepticons were assured of winning this battle.
Yet the attack was not without logic. For it rallied his troops together in a common cause, while giving them an opportunity to vent their frustrations at the humans' earlier victory. Surely what joy they felt by indulging in this wanton carnage would color their feelings for Shockwave in a positive manner.
So he had watched silently, allowing the Decepticons to attack on their own initiative while he waited. Waited for the proper moment, when he could leave the battlefield without being noticed. Waited for the right time to proceed with the next phase of his plan. Waited for now.
A slender beam of green light arced from his gun-barrel hand into the sandy desert floor. His strokes were smooth and precise -- earlier use of radar and sonar had mapped the underground layout of this region, revealing to him the blueprints of the subterranean base. He had then determined which areas Megatron was most likely to be in, and which entrance would provide him with an optimal search path.
In under ten seconds, a fair-sized pit revealed itself, opening into an empty, cavernous room.
Shockwave took one last glance at the battlefield and ensured that all of the Decepticons were distracted. Satisfied, he jumped down.
The other Decepticons were still engaged 11.6 seconds later when a small dot appeared in the sky. It reconfigured itself into a familiar form, then landed next to the pit. With less care but greater urgency, it also descended into the Earth.
The human exploded without a yell, which was surprising. Ransack had always imagined them to be weak, cowardly creatures, always bellowing or crying right before they bit it. And by his vivid imagination, getting blown apart by a concussion blaster had to be one of the messiest ways to go.
"Shock it, they sure do make a mess!" he yelled in glee.
He turned around quickly, looking for more fleshies to squish, and frowned when he didn't find any. There had been more humans for a while, and Ransack's hopes had risen at the sight; those shiny flying ones looked tougher than the ones he was stomping earlier. But while the new humans were tougher, they were still vastly outnumbered. Their funky new weapons -- which really packed a kick, thank you Mister Megatron -- had run out of juice a minute ago.
Then they became easy pickings.
Ransack stepped aside as the Reflector triplets stumbled by, wrestling with one human as they peeled off his armored suit and started work on the person inside. Ignoring them, he transformed into his locust form and took to the air. From up there, it was obvious that the battle was winding down. Just about every building had been turned into a smoking crater, and what wasn't burning or charred was simply vaporized into component molecules.
He flew towards the south, where a large knot of 'cons were fighting over something. There was a hubbub of some sort, and then a human popped out of the crowd and stumbled across the sand. It's that female whatjamacallit! he realized as he dove forward. Tearin' her to shreds, that'll make the other guys eat energon and die!
As Ransack closed the distance, she looked over her shoulder and gaped horribly. He was used to the look of terror -- the dreadful glaze Autobots get just before they were gutted was one of Ransack's favorite sights. But her look was different. It was deeper, gloomier, more intense, as if her best pal got shoved into the Smelting Pool and she was the one who had pushed him in. Not that fleshies get smelted, of course, but the idea was there.
Well, hold still, pinkie! I'll put you out of your misery right--
Without any warning, without any sign, the human disappeared. She flew gracelessly towards the horizon as if launched from a cannon, and the air thundered with the implosion of a sonic boom. Stunned and surprised, Ransack shifted back to robot mode and landed, barely spotting the female before she vanished over the horizon.
The air shimmered for an instant before Skywarp appeared by his side. "What the shock was that?" the jet-black robot asked incredulously.
"You askin' me? What do I look like, Mister zarkin' Answer?"
"What you look like is Mister Incompetent! Why didn't you cut her off--"
"Me??? You're one to talk! Why didn't you get her with that teleport power of yours?!"
"Don't blame this on me--"
The other Decepticons started to arrive. "Alright, Ransack!" Frenzy hollered. "Why'd you scare her off with that ugly mug of yours?"
"Ugly?! You're one to talk, tiny! Just 'cause a human's too much for you--"
"Frag it, zip-head!"
"I'll frag you--"
"--try it!"
"Enough!" Venom shouted. The others fell silent as the Insecticon leader, now in robot form, pushed through the crowd. "We're supposed to be working together, remember? Or do you bunch of scrap-heap rejects need memory upgrades for something that simple?"
"He started it!" Ransack accused, pointing at Skywarp.
"I don't care!" Venom shouted. He cuffed Ransack repeatedly on the side of his head as he finished, "I said knock it off, so -- knock -- it -- off!"
The others fell silent as they watched the show. Then, with the excitement winding down, someone shouted, "Okay, now what?"
"Now..." Venom started, then stopped. He paused, then tried again. "Now ... we ask Shockwave, that's what."
"Where is Shockwave, anyway?" Astrotrain asked.
The others glanced about, looking for the Decepticon commander. In his calm monotone voice, Soundwave announced, "Commander Shockwave is not within transmission range."
That brought a bewildered murmur; Soundwave's communication abilities were agreed by all to be considerable, and for Shockwave to be out of radio reach was unexpected. Then, pointing across the scorched battlefield, Soundwave spoke again. "Laserbeak reports an opening to an underground passage."
"That's it," Venom declared. "Shockwave's gone to rescue Megatron!"
"So what're we waitin' for?" Frenzy yelled. "Let's go!"
Without any disagreement, the Decepticons rushed as one towards the newly- discovered entrance.
Shockwave proceeded slowly down the corridors of the underground base. Not out of fear; not only was it illogical to keep powerful weapons underground while the Decepticons assaulted the surface, but it was also improbable that any of the Warbirds' weapons could injure him. Humans were small and fragile and messy, but they were not illogical. Well, most of them, anyway.
No, the only reason for Shockwave's caution was because the halls and rooms were not built to Transformers scales. They were fairly large by terran standards -- perhaps to aid in the transport of equipment -- but Shockwave was a large Decepticon, and had to stoop gracelessly most of the time. And to avoid shattering a ceiling and being buried under tons of sand and concrete, caution was definitely required.
Shockwave had selected eleven rooms in the base, rooms that were big enough to hold a captured -- intact -- Decepticon. The eighth room held his quarry.
The room was considered large even by Cybertronian scales. Scattered around was an assortment of equipment mundane and exotic, from wrenches and hammers to industrial-strength wielders and lasers. Against one wall was a bank of mainframe computers, with various-colored lights blinking tranquilly on their surface. Wiring and cables for power and data and other purposes snaked chaotically all over the area.
Megatron's fusion cannon hung from the ceiling, while the Decepticon leader himself was lying prone in the center of the floor. Some of his armored plating was removed -- by appearances, after much work with the laser. Internal components were exposed bare in some places, attached to devices in others, and left scattered haphazardly in the rest. His body was covered with a sprinkling of metal discs, and his arms and legs were shackled to the floor with massive iron chains. Megatron's optics were closed, but -- somehow -- one could sense he still functioned.
For now.
With three steps, Shockwave had stepped across the room to stand by Megatron's side. He looked down in silence. There was no need for dramatic speeches, or bold bluster, or clever words. Shockwave was above such juvenile, pointless behavior.
A single laser blast would be sufficient. A tight-focus beam, full power, positioned directly beneath Megatron's chin, vivisecting the core of his braincase. Death would be instantaneous, and no amount of memory recovery would be possible. Blaming the humans would be easy; a clumsy effort to examine Megatron's mechanisms, or perhaps a crude way to neutralize him as their restraining devices failed.
A single laser blast. Then Shockwave would lead the Decepticons, both in name and in spirit. Then there would be no more challengers to his command, no one to dispute his stake. Then he would finally seize the reins of power, and lay claim to his long-denied birthright.
His cannon began to build its charge. The room was silent now, save for the soft whine of growing energy. Nothing else could be heard. Nothing...
Shockwave spun and fired.
In the doorway across the room, a surprised Starscream dove for the floor. A rain of neon sparks fell from the wall where the laser had struck.
Without stopping, Starscream tumbled again, dodging a second shot that scorched the concrete floor behind him. Rolling upright, he fumbled for the holocam that hung around his neck and pointed it at the violet robot. "Smile, you're on Candid Camera!"
A third blast from Shockwave destroyed the recorder. As Starscream cried out in pain and surprise, Shockwave quickly strode across the room, grabbed him by the neck, and hefted him off the ground.
Starscream was still burned and scarred, still in need of rest and recovery from his trauma at the Challenge. With an angry fire in his eye, Shockwave intoned, "Your behavior is completely illogical. You are operating at minimum capacity, your weapons remain disabled, and your chances of success are nonexistent. Did you truly think you could stop me?"
Unable to reply, Starscream merely gurgled as he thrashed.
Shockwave paused to consider his options. He could, of course, simply kill Starscream. But to what end? Starscream was too ineffectual, too weak to stop his plan. Starscream also posed no threat to his leadership, for Shockwave was certain he could thwart any of his attempts to overthrow him. The only reason to kill Starscream now would be for his own vengeance -- an emotional response.
On the other hand, Starscream was not without his usefulness. His abilities as a scientist and a warrior were well known, and to kill him would be to discard a valuable resource. The animosity that many of the Decepticons held against Starscream could also serve to Shockwave's advantage, since any hostilities they may feel against his leadership could be diverted towards Starscream instead.
Having decided, Shockwave roughly tossed Starscream across the room. He slammed into the far wall and fell to the ground. As Shockwave returned to Megatron's side, Starscream yelled, "You won't get away with this!"
"There is nothing you can do to stop me," Shockwave casually countered.
"I'll tell the others!"
"Without any evidence, the probability that they will believe you is less than seven percent. And if you persist in being a nuisance, I shall simply have you terminated for treason."
Starscream fell silent and Shockwave faced his comatose victim. Once more, the soft whine of growing power filled the room. Moving the laser in place--
"Megatron!"
Shockwave turned immediately just after Rumble darted into the room. "You found him!" he cried, then yelled out of the door, "Hey, jerkwads! They're down here! Shockwave's found Megatron!"
Within seconds, the room was filled with Decepticons. The walls reverberated with the buzz of their voices, satisfaction and confusion and pride and fear, all mixed together:
"All right!"
"We found 'im!"
"Look at that!"
"What did they do to him?"
"Hey, he's Megatron!"
"Is he even alive?"
"Watch your trap! Of course he's alive!"
"He can take anything!"
"Starscream?! What're you doing here?"
"Decepticons!" Shockwave cried over the din. As the others quieted down, he continued. "I understand your joy and enthusiasm at the rescue of our leader. But I must remind you, this is neither the time nor the place for celebration. We have found the body, but it is all we have now -- we do not know the state of Megatron's injuries, if his mind has been damaged, or even if he still functions. Until we are able to answer these questions, I caution you against premature--"
"Look, look!"
Shockwave turned to watch with everyone else as Megatron began to stir.
Megatron's right arm moved, trembling and weak; barely lifted off the ground, it slid sideways, stopping against Shockwave's leg. Then, gingerly, the head lolled to the side. Optics fluttered twice, then snapped open, revealing the soft red of consciousness. Megatron's mouth worked slowly as he whispered, "... Shock ... wave ...?"
Shockwave kneeled. "I am here, Mighty Megatron."
"... Where ... am I ...?"
"You are safe, Megatron. Safe, and protected by your loyal Decepticons." In the back of the room, someone cheered.
"Rest now, Megatron," Shockwave continued. "We shall make arrangements to return you to headquarters."
Megatron nodded once, with a small smile on his face. Then, optics dimming, he fell into a deep -- and dreamless -- sleep.
The sedan winded leisurely through the northern suburbs of Vancouver, Canada, moving with neither urgency nor doubt. The driver knew where to go, and took the route that provided the most scenic and most tranquil views possible.
Presently it pulled off the main road and took a small side street. The street led into a walled estate, and the car drove unmolested through a pair of large iron gates which closed behind it.
It was another four minutes before the vehicle stopped. The destination was a small mansion. Like the sedan, it was glamorous without being ornate, hinting softly at influence and authority instead of grotesquely shouting it to the entire world.
A middle-aged man stepped out of the driver's seat and opened the passenger door. With practiced grace, a young brunette stepped out, wearing a light dress of sunshine yellow. She stretched fluidly, limbs moving in perfect harmony, greeting the afternoon with innocent joy.
She smiled once to the driver, then sprang up the steps of the mansion. The front door was already held open by a congenial young maid. The brunette greeted her with another warm grin, then briskly walked through the home, her footsteps muffled by the rich carpeting.
He was out on the back terrace in a wicker chair, wearing a tattered grey sweater and faded blue jeans. He sipped from a glass of water as he watched sailboats glide over the blue Pacific. From behind, she slipped her arms around him, then squeezed hard and pecked him on the cheek. "Hi, Daddy."
He smiled back, nuzzling her affectionately, his grey beard gently scratching her tender skin. "Hello, pumpkin."
She kissed him once more, then slipped away. She walked in front and leaned against the railing with a girlish grin. "It's good to see you again."
"You too, dear." His warm tone chilled somewhat as he continued, "But you didn't come all the way up here for idle chitchat, did you?"
She pouted for just an instant. "Why do you say that?" she accused.
He smiled at her false anger. "Because it's not Christmas, it's not Easter, and I know you're far too busy to come tripping home without six weeks advance notice."
"Oh, Dad!"
"Don't 'Oh, Dad!' me, young lady," he teased. "Who taught you everything you knew about the guns-and-grunts business? I know how hard it is to get away from bird-tending."
At that, she sighed, all of her exuberance suddenly gone. "So ... I trust you heard what happened?"
"Of course. I never miss a chance to read the company newsletter -- I have to get my thrills vicariously these days, after all."
Ladyhawke nodded. She perched herself onto the railing and crossed her legs, smoothing the dress with one idle hand. Looking into her lap, she softly said, "It should have worked, Daddy. The Decepticons should have been too busy fighting with each other to care about us. None of them were capable of uniting all of the Decepticons, and make a push for Megatron as well."
"Um hmm. And what happened? I mean, besides the sanitized report."
"Another robot came up -- one we had never seen before. He united all the Decepticons, and they came for us in full force."
"God threw a wrench into your works." As she nodded, he asked, "What's the bottom line on damages?"
She looked up, and for a moment some of the gloom disappeared. "Not a lot, actually. The island base and staff belonged to the Libyans, working on nerve toxins. We planted the bomb under their noses, dropped some keyword-loaded fake notes on the net, then let the Decepticons do the rest."
"Got them to take out the competition, for you, hmm?"
"Of course. More efficient that way. The Saudi base was a favor from Prince Hussard. He still had an outstanding debt from the Gulf War, and I had the Doves talk him into leasing me the facilities and security as payment."
Daddy nodded. "Smart move, though I'll bet he regrets it now. Better him than us, though; I wouldn't want to lose another Nest."
Ladyhawke breathed deeply. "Me too. Damn, I still miss Dresden."
"It was a lovely castle. And moving all of the other Nests after the robots smashed it had to be expensive."
"You don't know the half of it, Daddy. But we had to -- that attack was a major breach of security. Now, though, we should be safe. Any remaining records on Nest locations are hopelessly outdated, and the task force's ideas on site security were approved without objections."
He grunted in acknowledgment. "Did you get any useful information out of all this, at least?"
"Actually, yes. Everything was logged, of course, and the Owls are having a field day with the files. We're getting a good handle on the Decepticons' armor composition, and the weapons teams are looking at doing something with fusion power. Our biggest success so far is with power systems, though -- we're already refining the microbatteries that we used in the Pulsars. And now that we have some idea of how the Transformers work, Shamakuzi is looking at adjusting our weapons to hit them harder."
"Sounds good. So why are you so glum, sweetheart? Don't tell me you're upset over the Hawks who stayed behind?"
She snorted derisively. "Not at all. It was a suicide run, and I told Josie that. But I felt guilty about sending her out there alone, so I made an open- ended offer to the Hawks. Everyone who volunteered to repel the Decepticons would have gotten a million-dollar bonus."
He whistled. "I'm surprised you didn't get more."
"I'm glad I didn't, to be honest. Anyone who was dumb enough to charge into that Fool's Brigade was someone I didn't want working for me."
"'Just think of it as evolution in action.'" He chuckled at her confused look, then added, "Larry Niven."
"Daddy, you know my sci-fi stops at Star Trek."
"I know." He flashed her a quick smile, but she did not reciprocate. "But you still haven't told me what's got you all upset."
Ladyhawke sighed again. "It's Josie."
"Josie? Circuit Breaker? What about her? Just treat her like everyone else. Give her a good benefits package, send her out, and cultivate her skills. To be honest, dear, I wonder why you pamper her the way you do."
She tossed up her hands ineffectually with a sputter. "I ... I don't quite know myself ... maybe I feel sorry for her. She's been abandoned so often in her life -- by her parents, by Blackrock, by her fiancee. I guess I didn't want to add to her pain."
He cocked an eyebrow at her. "You're getting soft, girl. You can't run the 'birds effectively if you're going to melt every time someone throws a sob story at you."
"I know, Dad." Her voice turned rigid as she continued, "I'm not completely stupid -- she's great in R&D, and I've cut her off at the knees just like anyone else. But when we were in the bunker, and I was giving the omega-one ... Hell, she was set to go up by herself, to die over the Decepticons. And besides, it'd be bad for employee morale if they found out I had tossed her to the wolves without even trying to help her."
"I suppose ... So where's Ms. Beller now?"
"Recuperating. She's got two broken arms, five broken ribs, a punctured lung, and second-degree burns all over her body, not to mention a collection of bruises and the ugliest black eye I've ever seen."
"That's rather extensive."
"Impressive, actually. She hit the ground at over a thousand kilometers per hour and still managed to throw herself into a controlled landing -- if it weren't for that, we would have needed tweezers to gather her remains."
He nodded. Then, taking a deep breath, he slowly said, "Look, pumpkin, the 'birds are yours now, and you do what you think is best for them. When things mesh with you and Josie, that's great. When you can help her without compromising yourself, that's even better.
"But for your sake, keep in mind that what's good for Josie isn't necessarily what's good for the company. You're not her mother and you're not her therapist. If you really want to help her, you'll let her make her own mistakes and let her grow up. Life's full of regrets and disappointments, and you won't do anyone any good if you're too busy playing nursemaid while you ignore the bottom line."
Ladyhawke stood still for a moment as she digested his words, which sounded hauntingly familiar. Then, gently, an airy smile played across her lips. "Thanks, Daddy. I needed that."
He chuckled. "Isn't that what Dads are for? To give out reality checks?"
She hopped off the railing and lightly kissed his cheek. "Actually, I was hoping to get a game of tennis out of you..."
Megatron was alone in his chambers, resting. The physical injuries he had suffered at the hands of the humans were relatively minimal. What few components that were missing had been easily replaced, and the new armor plates were already starting to bond. His joints and limbs still hurt, but it was only a low throbbing ache. With a little more time, his internal repair systems would eliminate the last dregs of discomfort.
Emotional damage was another thing all together. Megatron remembered almost nothing of his period in captivity. Between the attack of the metal discs and his subsequent re-awakening, he could only recall periodic bouts of intense pain. Megatron had briefly considered the possibility of psychological trauma, then staunchly dismissed it. He simply refused to be frightened by the humans. Instead, he used his torment to strengthen his resolve, vowing to destroy the ones who had dared to capture him and torture him and dissect him like a research project.
But not today. Megatron insisted on a hands-on approach to leadership, and until he had fully recovered, Decepticon activities would remain quiet for a time. In the interim, Soundwave was attending to the routine running of the Decepticons. Most had quickly returned to their regular duties, whether it was gathering intelligence, manning the various hideouts around the globe, or simply waiting for further orders.
Shockwave had left for Cybertron just a few hours ago, departing without ceremony by the Space Bridge. Megatron allowed himself a satisfied smile. He had always considered Shockwave as one of his most loyal followers, and this incident reaffirmed that trust. After winning the Leadership Challenge, it would have been so easy -- too easy -- for Shockwave to have ordered the Decepticons to abandon Megatron and rule on his own.
But he didn't, of course. Megatron had viewed holocam recordings of the Challenge, and from Shockwave's victory speech, it was obvious the Second Commander was adamant, almost eager (an emotional response?) for Megatron's immediate rescue. What few doubts he may have held about Shockwave's loyalty rapidly withered under the indisputable truth of events.
Starscream's presence at Megatron's recovery was the cause of some confusion. The defeated challengers had been left behind during the attack so as not to delay the others (another indication of Shockwave's eagerness for Megatron's return). Shockwave had also ordered their weapons to be deactivated or locked away to prevent an impudent ambush when the rescuers returned. Yet despite his own weakened state, Starscream had joined in the rescue effort. From what Megatron managed to gather, Starscream insisted that he regretted his earlier behavior and wanted to help liberate Megatron.
On the surface, it was an incredulous claim; Starscream's lust for command was as predictable as the sunrise, and he had never shown concern for anyone but himself. Yet Shockwave was convinced of his sincerity, for he fully supported Starscream's presence and insisted that he be left unharmed.
Even so... Megatron considered the possibility that Shockwave was duped. It would be easier to believe that Starscream had hoped to find Megatron first and kill him, then lay claim to the leadership of the Decepticons for himself. Perhaps Shockwave had surprised him, and Starscream gave his "change of heart" story to hide his true intentions.
On the other hand, Shockwave's laser-sharp logic was legendary. Surely he would have easily seen through any attempts at a flagrant lie. But since Shockwave believed Starscream, that meant either he was indeed sincere enough to convince Shockwave, or he was a much better liar than Megatron gave him credit for.
Neither alternative was acceptable. After a moment of indecision, Megatron settled on keeping a careful watch on Starscream in the future...
Shockwave stepped into the Central Command Chamber and resumed his spot on the pulpit. Plugging his barrel into a data access port, he quickly brought up the relevant reports on what had happened on Cybertron during his absence. Within seconds he was back to work, meticulously composing orders to outlying sectors, analyzing recent Autobot movements, and generally keeping the empire on Cybertron together. Even so, there remained enough of his unclaimed attention to allow him to reflect on recent events.
He was certain that Megatron was already puzzling over Starscream's role in the rescue effort. One did not need a sophisticated logic center to realize that such behavior was sharply incongruous with Starscream's past patterns of behavior. The probability was high that Megatron was already making plans to focus his attention on Starscream in the near future.
Shockwave had explained Starscream's presence to the other Decepticons by saying Starscream wished to make amends by joining the rescue effort. Wisely, Starscream had immediately agreed, quickly embellishing Shockwave's tale with details of his own. Not that he had any choice; to contradict Shockwave would have made the other Decepticons suspicious. But in agreement, Starscream was protected by Shockwave's authority and reputation.
It was to Shockwave's benefit to keep Starscream in Megatron's ranks. He was sure to revert to form, and Shockwave fully expected Starscream to make new plans to overthrow Megatron soon. Whether he succeeded or not was irrelevant; such efforts would divert attention away from Shockwave's own plans. And if he did succeed, Shockwave could simply step in and overthrow Starscream for the mantle of leadership.
Starscream was sure to keep Shockwave's secret. With Shockwave's unassailable reputation, an attempt by Starscream to accuse him of attempted murder -- without proof -- would be immediately rejected, and cast unwanted doubt on him instead. But by protecting his character, Starscream was helping to keep Megatron vulnerable to Shockwave's future schemes. And Starscream was certain to have plans of his own if Shockwave were to succeed.
From every perspective possible, things worked to Shockwave's advantage.
For almost an entire minute, Shockwave examined and re-examined his beliefs and facts and assumptions, looking for flaws in his calculations. He did not want to be in error in any area, and his meticulous examination revealed none. Once more, the power of logic comforted him.
Yet, despite the power that logic provided, Shockwave also realized that it was not a flawless tool. An outcome may have a high probability of occurring, but that was not the same as total assurance. Random behavior and chaos theory prevented absolute prediction of all outcomes.
And that had been precisely what had happened on Earth: an improbable sequence of events and the unpredictable results of reality had defeated Shockwave's well-crafted plans. Pure happenstance destroyed his bid to secure himself as leader of the Decepticon Empire...
...if he had found Megatron sooner...
...if Starscream had not followed him...
...if Shockwave had destroyed Megatron first...
...if the other Decepticons had not arrived so quickly...
...if any one of those events had happened, things would have been different. But because they did not, Shockwave was now back where he had started. Back on Cybertron, back in the role of sycophant, back toiling to keep the Empire -- Megatron's Empire -- operational.
Shockwave accepted things with a calm unachievable by any other Decepticon. The tendrils of anger and disappointment and frustration could never reach him. Instead, he calmly accepted the facts: one opportunity had passed, and another will arrive. Perhaps the next day, or the next year, or the next century. But sooner or later, it will arrive.
He has waited an eternity for an opportunity. He will wait -- again -- for as long as necessary. So logic dictates.
THE END