Forget Me Not: Part 3: Living Shields (Side 1)
Forget Me Not: A Three-part saga from the planet Cybertron
Part 3: Living Shields

Hi, I’m Hot Rod. But not for much longer.

Funny. Cybertronians can’t suffocate but right now I think I’m about to. The massive arm that’s slowly crushing most of my upper chest doesn’t let up for a ‘second. I swear I can hear my armour creaking. I can certainly hear my intakes hyperventilating, my fingers scraping uselessly over his purple skin, his soft chuckle, the boom boom beat of exploding fuel dumps, the hissing of laser bolts…and the steady thrruuummm as the cannon pointed straight at my face charges to full power.

Fire already!

“Let him go. Now.”
He doesn’t shout. Optimus Prime doesn’t need to. His voice makes you listen no matter the volume. Kicker once showed me a comic book, something really obscure called the ‘Angel of Death’ or something like that. The cover was a human with massive red wings aiming a huge gun out of the page. That’s what Prime looks like right now, even if the gun is slung under his arm and he’s machinery not flesh and…

I’m waffling, aren’t I? That’s what Tagline calls it when I go on and on about something completely stupid when something really important ‘s happening. Like, I’m being used as a shield by –

“Don’t you ever get tired of spouting the same nonsense over and over again?”

– Megatron, the biggest, meanest slagger ever to crawl out of what was Tarn. Prime’s eyes narrow.
“You should ask yourself the same thing.”
“Ah, but I know the difference between rhetoric and endless idiotic repetition. And, by the way, no, I think I’ll keep hold of him for a while. That way, I should be able to demolish you without too much trouble.”
His free arm, the one his fusion cannon’s clamped to, snaps up and levels at Optimus.

Comeon, comeon, comeon! Blow us away! Nail the slagging creep while he’s standing still! Don’t worry about me! What good’s a punk caviller when you can ace Megatron! For Primus’ sake, fire!

All this, I can’t scream.


Optimus hesitates. Megatron doesn’t. A searing jet of matter rips free of the cannon. I can do nothing but watch.

Just like before…

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Fifteen minutes ago:

I’m standing on the Polyhex expressway, half an optic on the team, mostly watching Prime and Megs as they fight overhead. It’s like watching a couple of planets collide. They fly at each other from opposite ends of the city, moving too fast for weapons, physically smashing into each other –
“Watch it, flame-brain!”
Ironhide swats me to the deck just before Dreadwind nails me. The huge stealth bomber banks away, spewing missiles. My boss is kept busy for a couple of ‘seconds then he hauls me back up.
“That’s Prime’s fight, this is yours!” He stops to blast Smokejumper out of the sky. “An’ if you want ta survive, keep ya optics on that lot!”

‘That lot’ is every fragging ‘con in Polyhex. I count about a hundred coming straight for us – us being me, Ironhide, Sideswipe, Checkpoint and Stakeout. We’re holed up behind what’s left of the shuttle that brought us and the other squads in and getting –

“Incoming!”
Sideswipes just the tiniest bit too late.

The explosion blows us in every direction. I tumble down the slope from the road, audios offline, optics spluttering. The world finally stops spinning and I get to my feet. Just in time for the ground to cave in. I leap forward blindly, transforming. My wheels connect with something solid and I accelerate. My sensor net screams at me, making me swerve wildly around plumes of flame and dust. By the time my vision properly clears, I’m nearly a klick from where I started.

I transform back, skidding across the roadway, trying to work out where the pit I am. Looking up, I freeze.

Prime is falling out of the sky, heading straight for a plaza a few blocks from me. Megatron’s slowly following, grinning. Prime’ll never pull up in time…and once he hits, he’ll be down for the count and Megatron can…

I’m already rocketing towards the square, tyres burning. I feel the ground shake as Prime slams into it. Decepticons try to block my path but I’m going so fast, I send them scattering.

As Megatron touches down, cannon humming, I screech into the plaza and launch myself at him.
“No you don’t!”
Even before my arms have stopped unfolding, I fire my wrists blasters, pouring blue fire towards the ‘Decep’s face.

He laughs.

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Megatron laughs as Prime dives to the left, just avoiding the fusion blast. He fires again and again; forcing Optimus to jump and dodge like one of those bugs from Earth.
“Well, well Prime. I never knew you could be so light on your feet.”
I try even harder to pull free, back kicking at his knees, trying to loosen his grip somehow. He tchs.
“Stop squirming. I’ll deal with you soon enough.”

Prime’s still dancing through energy bolts, looking more and more desperate with every fiizzzaaammm – boooommm! If only he’d shoot back! He tries switching to truck mode but can’t move fast enough over the broken ground. A lucky shot blows him onto his side.

“Well, that was easy.” Megatron takes a step closer.
Suddenly, Prime’s headlights snap on, full power, blinding us. I catch the sound of a mech transforming and something smashes into Megatron’s face. He yells in pain, trying to fend off whatever hit him. As he flails about, I drop to the ground.

Someone grabs my arm and pulls me away. I look up. Optimus’ smaller form stands over me, ion rifle in hand. Behind us, his heavy-guns-and-wings section is swooping round Megatron, keeping him back. Relief and shame rip me to pieces.
“Prime…sir…I’m sorry, I –”
“Save it, Hot Rod. Just get out of the way.”

He turns and gives a theatrical whistle. The battle-glider does a loop and zooms over. He jumps to meet it, combining in an instant. Megatron fires but his shots go wide. Prime’s shoulder makes a big dent in his abs and the two of them are gone, smashing a path clean out of the plaza.

I feel like someone just ran over me in a steamroller. No. No, actually I feel like someone just ran over me in an aircraft carrier and it’s not all because of Megatron’s hugging.

“Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb!”
I keep this chant up as I try to get my bearings. The fighting’s concentrated about two klicks north of me. The sky’s filled with flares from missiles and the glowing pin-picks of plasma rounds. Looks like we’re going down a storm in the big city.

Eventually, I remember my commlink. Dumb! Everyone else probably thinks I’m dead by now. I wish I was.
“S&*%$zzzzttttt&%*time, Hot Rod, where the zzz*&^%$zzz are you?”
“Err…Tagline, that you?”
“Who the &*zzzt*&HIHFCttzz else? Where the Pit are you? My bigger brother’s hollering fit to bust a plug.”
“I’m…um…south west of city centre…”
“No, really? Ach, never mind. As long as you’re alive and haven’t got anyone killed yet.”
I wince, feeling sick.
“Err…TL, what should I do? I’ve no idea where to go.” Ouch. That was nearly a whine!
“Don’t call me ‘TL’ for a start. Ironhide’s headed for the main arsenal with the Wreckers…but it might be better for you to find Chromia’s squad. They should be in that sector now.”
“Can’t you be sure?”
“Have you seen what the Deceps are doing to our comm-net? Why do you think it’s me and not Ironhide chatting to you? I’ve got to split my CPU sixteen ways just to keep everyone in contact with each other! It’s only because you scared IH half to termination by dashing off that I’m bothering with you. Now run along and find Chromia.”
“But what if I run into –”
“You’re supposed to be a soldier. Get yourself out of it.” Clunk bzzzzzzz clunk. The line goes dead.

Right. ‘Supposed’ to be a soldier. Supposed to be a cavalier for Primus’ sake. And I nearly get Optimus Prime killed. Go me.

Now where the heck do I start looking for the others? The south west sector is big with a capital B. And who knows how many ‘cons are crawling all over it.

Somewhere to my right, an explosion rips through the skyline.
“Now if that doesn’t have ‘Valkyries’ written all over it, I’m a Vehicon!”
I hurl myself into car mode and head for the fight.

The streets are eerily empty. The only mechs I see are airborne and way ahead of me, rushing into battle. Normally, being on a clear road with no speed limit would be great but at the moment, it just makes me nervous. If all those Deceps are going the same way as me, there could be the mother of all pileups ahead…

The top of a nearby spire vanishes in a flash of light and suddenly I’m there.

Ground-bound Deceps swarm over the intersection, bristling with weapons. Good luck to ‘em. While Flare Up’s hunkers down on a pile of rubble, tossing grenades about as she preps her bazooka for another shot, the rest of Chromia’s troops are mowing ‘cons down left right and centre. As I watch, Arcee rips the arm off a tank-mech and uses it to smash another’s face in; Racetrack ricochets her way across the roads, knocking troopers down like skittles; and Stockade rumbles past, blazing away at anything wearing a purple badge. Chromia herself is practically juggling her arsenal as she fends off brutes twice her size. One minute she’ll be using a blaster, next a knife and next a missile pod. And at her back is a sight to sooth my aching optics – Roulette, armour stained, photon-bow overheating, face drawn but still the sexist thing on two legs and four wheels. The whole scene’s a crazy mess of light and sound and smoke, filled with girls and guns and cannon fodder.

In other words, my kind of fight.

“Lay off the ladies, Decepti-goons!” I charge downhill as I bellow, first on wheels then on pounding legs, guns blazing. “Never fear girls! Hot Rod’s here!”
“Great.” I catch Chromia’s shout over the screeches of surprised mechs. “Now we’ve gotta watch out for his shots as well as everything else – behind you!”
“Behind? What –” I begin.

Then a bullet train hits me in the back.

Ever been hit in the small of the back by several tons of high-powered railway engine? It isn’t very nice. It’s even worse when the train suddenly flips you up into the air, changes into a space shuttle and grabs you in a mag-grip.
“Oh slag. Not you…” I groan weakly.
“Going up, Autobrat!”

Astrotrain. I hate most ‘cons. Most ‘cons hate me. I really hate Astrotrain. And he really, really hates me. We tangled a few vorns back. I won. Just. He took it personally and he’s been trying to ace me ever since.

The creep’s grip is almost as bad as Megatron’s. I’m stuck fast to the underside of his wings, helpless while he climbs higher and higher. Slag it! This is not my day.
“Hey! Leggo!”
“Heh heh…I will…when we’re high enough!”
Oh…
“Ulp…”

He cackles and does a loop. Then a roll. Then a dive followed by a steep climb and another loop. My balance circuits haven’t taken a pounding like this since basic shuttle training.
“Y’know, Autobrat, I almost feel sorry for ya. Ya got lucky last time but really, I’m a flyer, a triple-changer, a warrior and a Decepticon. Yer just a kid playin’ at soldiers. Ya never really had a chance.”
“Gimme a break! Who was it who shoved a rocket up youuuurrrrraaaaaaggggghhhh!”
He rolls again. Oh Primus…anyone got a bomb or something? Nuclear or otherwise. Anything that’ll get rid of this jerk. Or kill me. Urrgghhh…stop the universe, I want to get off!

“Like I said, ya got lucky. But I couldn’t live it down for ages. Which is why” – he shoots straight up for about two klicks – “I’m really gonna enjoy this!”
Then the mag-grip vanishes.
“Happy landings!”
Great. I’m about to die and the last thing I’ll hear is a cliché. And not even one of the good ones.

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An hour ago:

“Have I mentioned that I don’t like flying?”
Sideswipe frowns.
“Noooo…well, not for about, oh, thirty astroseconds.”
“Well I don’t. Actually, it’s not the flying…”
“Here we go. Motormouth’s off again,” Stakeout mutters as he checks over his rifle.
“…it’s the direction. I mean; we’re flying towards Decepticon territory. No, not just their territory but Polyhex. Ok, so we’re in a Decep shuttle but once we get there, we’ll be, what, twenty, thirty mechs in a city of hundreds of maniacs…”
“Anybody got a gag?” Clawhammer growls from the other side of the hold.
“…which gives us a life expectancy of less than a ‘second and –”
“Hot Rod?”
“ –we might as…er, yeah Roulette?”
“ I know you’re rambling because you’re high on excitement and all…but, do us a favour lover?” She leans across and puts her mouth to my audio. “And SHUT UP!”

“Ow!”
I clutch at my helmet, trying to block out the ringing and the laughter. Great. Made to look an idiot in front of three squads and the Wreckers. Again.

I put on my best embarrassed-but-cool-with-it grin and look around. The side of the hold I’m sitting on is crammed with mechs: Sideswipe, Stakeout, Checkpoint, Drench, Offshoot, Ricochet, Stockade, Magma, Flare Up, Arcee, Roulette, Roadbuster, Cliffjumper and many more, nearly thirty of us in all. The Wreckers are sitting opposite us, not nearly as squashed together. Landmine, naturally, gets the most space, sprawling like his struts are broke. Clawhammer’s fiddling with the datapad he’s propped up against one of his machine guns, Rack and Ruin are talking to themselves and I can’t actually see Refute – he’s vanished behind a stack of ammo boxes. The rest of the space is taken up by every light and medium weapon we could fit in.

If you guess we’re not going on a picnic, you’re right.

“Stand ta attention ya buncha oilrags!”
Ironhide stamps through the hatch, glaring. We (the troopers) leap upright. The Wreckers don’t move.
“That included you lot!”
There aren’t many ‘bots who’ll mess with Ironhide when he uses that tone. The Wreckers are among them.

“Up you get.” Zoom. Like that they’re up. Springer grins. “You just have to be polite, drill-master.”
“Hn.” Ironhide’s glare goes up a notch. “There ain’t time fer games, bounce-bot.”
“Indeed.” Tagline enters behind his brother and the Wrecker commander, transmitter array slung over his shoulder. “We’ll be in Polyhex airspace in ten deci-cycles. This is your final briefing, ladies and gentlemen, before this altercation really gets under way. And we’d all be grateful if the jokes stopped and the paying attention started.”
“Which means,” Ironhide growls, “optics front, voicoders off and ceepees in gear!”

“At ease.”
The thing about Prime is that when he says ‘at ease’, he means it. When Ironhide says it, it means ‘go into the ‘at ease’ stance now or I’ll rip out you slaggin’ optics’. When Springer says it, it means ‘just sort of look in my direction…’cause if you don’t, I’ll use you for target practice’. But Prime just wants you to stand comfortably and pay attention to what he’s saying. And we all do. Even the Wreckers.

“Autobots: I need not stress the importance of this mission. With Polyhex liberated, we will finally be able to break the Decepticon’s strangle hold on our world. I also need not demand that you put your all into the coming battle. I know you will. Each and every one of you is a credit to Cybertron. Instead I thank you. I thank you for volunteering to spearhead the attack. I thank you for your dedication to duty, be it here, in space or alongside our allies on Earth. Above all, I thank you for taking a stand for what is right and good and true. Together we can end Megatron’s evil and purge the corruption the Decepticons represent.” He pauses, meeting our optics one at a time. “Thank you.”

The ten deci-cycles pass in a flash. Suddenly we’re over the city. Tagline’s squad goes first, jumping out to find high ground from which to monitor the op. Then Chromia’s Valkyries dive, going to start sowing chaos. Then Prime himself, with a final nod to Springer and Ironhide, spreads his wings. Finally, the Wreckers leap into battle. Only the five of us are left.

And then we’re going down in a blaze of laserfire…

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Holy Primus! I’m falling to my death!

Not a cool thought. And not a cool scene either. Me, falling out of control, towards the flame and death that’s ripping across the city below. Why does the word ‘crunch’ keep passing across my mind?

Think, you idiot, think!

I spread my spoiler wings out as far as they’ll go, trying to steer. I start to level off a bit but I’m still going down too fast. So much for my hang-gliding career.

I really, really wish I hadn’t got my anti-grav pack shot to the Pit when we crashed.

OK, what have I actually got? Commlink? Useless. Engine? Like turning my wheels ’ll help. Photon blasters? Huh. Maybe if Astrotrain was still above me…

Wait.

Oh, hell.

This is gonna hurt…

I manage to flip myself upright so I’m falling feet first. Then I hold my arms as tight as I can to my sides and fire straight down at full power. The beams cut into the Cybertron’s surface far (but not that far) below. I keep shooting, even as my blasters begin to overheat, even as an alarm about power reserves flashes on my HUD.

Slowly, it starts to work. I start to slow down. Maybe I’ll actually survive this. Maybe I won’t end up looking like a manhole cover. Maybe this might not hurt as much as I think it will. Maybe –

CRUNCH.

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“Oww…”

Good news: I’m not dead. I can still move. Bad news: I feel like I should be and don’t want to. Maybe if I just lie here, everything might go away. Then again, where the slag is here? The last thing I saw was a whole lot of roofs and pipe-work. Fragging scrap! I must have smashed straight through them! And probably a load of floors as well.

At least I stopped in a non-terminal way.

How long till a Decepticon turns up and puts me out of my misery?

That’s it. Think positive.

I can hear guns in the distance and what sounds like buildings collapsing. Painfully, I start to peel myself out of the floor, wincing as bits of me make noises I’m fairly certain they shouldn’t. Once I’m back on my own two (unsteady) feet, I take a long look at my surroundings while my sensors try to catch up.

Ulp. This place is seriously creepy. It must have been built as a power station. Gantries and pipes stretch in all directions, weaving together like a weird spider’s web. If that weren’t bad enough, the building’s been bombed, taking out the lights and leaving everything swamped in shadows. I can just make out a massive turbine at the far end, listing to one side as if part of it’s sunk into the floor.

I tiptoe along the walkway I’ve ended up on, praying that there’ll be a way out nearby. Nope. Not even a way down to the floor or up to another gantry. I resist the urge to shiver. It feels so empty and dead in here. If it weren’t for the distant growl of the battle, I’d think I was the only mech still alive on the whole planet. At this rate, I’ll end up jumping over the edge and hoping for the best. Can’t be worse than how I got in…

My foot brushes against something and I nearly scream. Grabbing at the handrail, I glance down. Just a loose component. Whew. Idiot! It’s only a…a…

I whimper. It’s a head, helmet torn away, optics cracked, jaw ripped off, crusted with dirt. I keep whimpering even as I haul myself along the rail. Primus, oh slagging Primus! Have I been walking past skulls and arms and legs and…

Pull yerself together, flame-brain!

It’s only a corpse…a bit of a corpse…probably killed when this place got hit. Nothing to worry about. Keep moving!

Half running, I cover the next hundred paces in a few ‘seconds, trying not to see twisted bodies all around me. Then I stop.

Over the side of the gantry, maybe three levels down; I can see a faint glimmer of white light. Carefully, I work my way round a corner, trying to get a better view. Almost at once, out from between two support pillars, I can see the source.

Three Minicons are standing together in front of the turbine. I lower my visor and switch on my macroscope. They’re tall for Minicons, with wings and boosters. Their armour’s part white and blue metal, part crystal and they’re glowing like light bulbs.

The Star Sabre!

It has to be! But what the Pit are they doing here? That settles it; I’m jumping down there. Maybe I can convince them to come and help in the battle. Maybe they’ll just show me the way out. Whatever, I just want to be near somebody who’s on my side!

That’s when I notice two things.

One: the floor around the trio is littered with bodies, mechs who’re in bits, have been gutted, had their heads chopped off or are just plain dead.

Two: there’s someone standing beside me.

I don’t want to look. I really don’t want to look.

I look.

It’s a Seeker, tall and streamlined, wings folded, Deceptibrand emblazoned on them. For one terrifying second, ‘Starscream’ shoots into my head. Then it passes and I wonder what the frag I was thinking. This guy’s the same body-type but his colour scheme’s way off – all blacks and maroon lined with silver. I suppose those are Screamer’s colours but the layout’s completely wrong. And besides, his armour’s covered in dirt and scratches, like he’s just spent a few vorns crawling through the Desolation. Screamer’d never get in such a mess.

There’s no way I can get away. He’s right next to me, blocking any chance of escape.

But…he hasn’t even seen me. His optics are fixed on the Star Sabre, like they’re the only thing he can see. And now I look, his brands are warped and cracked, as if someone tried to pull them off.

Oh boy. Don’t tell me someone’s let a shot-head out of the repro-pit.

At glacier speed, I start backing away.

His arm moves so fast I don’t even see a blur. His palm hits my poor chest and slams me against the nearest pillar. Another fragging dent in my chassis!

The Seeker’s head turns. His face is just like Starscream’s, thin and pointed with a real look-down-on-you nose. But it’s just as scratched and dusty as his body, making him look far older and his optics…

They’re red but not the vibrant red I’d expected. Dimmer, closer to the shade of his armour and…and somehow…dead. Not dead dead. He’s definitely alive (and apparently intent on finishing off my weakened torso) but…they make it look like he doesn’t want to be, as if he hasn’t got enough energy to power up fully, as if he doesn’t care about anything.

An instant under his stare and I want to be somewhere, anywhere else. I want to turn taillight and drive until my engine breaks and my tyres burst.

His expression doesn’t help one bit. It’s somewhere between loathing and…pity, I suppose. He leans closer and his features soften…which somehow makes everything worse.

I flinch, expecting the heat and light of his chest guns. Instead, his optics suddenly turn completely white and he reels back, clutching at his head.
“Get out!” he roars in a voice that sounds like Screamer would if he swallowed half a ton of metal shavings.

In one bound, he’s over the handrail and plunging towards the Star Sabre.
“Get out, get out, GET OUT!”
I should be doing just that. I should be running or driving like crazy. Instead, I pick myself up and peer down.

The shot-head’s still screaming at the Minicons. They’re just standing there, watching him. After a while, the middle one – Runway, I think – lifts a hand and points. The white light fades from the Seeker’s eye and he sags, falling to one knee.
“It is time, Darkstar.”
“No.”
I had to strain my audios to that.
Sonar, the shortest of the three, shakes his head.
“I’m sorry but we need you now. There is no other way.”
“No!” ‘Darkstar’ seems to be torn between hurling himself at them and running for the hills. “I – Never again! You said – I won’t serve you – I will be free – I will not be your slave!”

His face twist into a snarl, halting that ramble.
“Leave me be!”
“Freedom again?” Runway’s mask can’t sneer but his voice does. “You call this freedom? Skulking in the shadows? Crawling in the dirt? Feeding off your fellow beings? Being the ‘Demon in the Dark’? Giving in to madness and murder? You are less than nothing.”
“Thanks to you!” he shrieks back, “You left me with nothing! Not even the lie of my identity!”
“We gave you the name you craved.”
“You made me a joke!”

The only mech down there not to speak, the third Minicon, Jetstorm, puts a hand on Runway’s shoulder. The other glances at him then back at Darkstar.
“There is no time for this. This battle is the fulcrum for the levers of restoration. The Autobots must win or all we have worked for will be in vain.”
“I don’t care!” I swear, the Seeker’s on the verge of sobbing. “I don’t care about destiny or victory or the War or the Autobots or the Decepticons or your damned ‘work’! I have no place in life – no home with either side, shadows for an identity, shadows for a form, shadows for companions – I am a shadow, a none-thing! I just want what I cannot have: death!”

“Oh, how terribly touching. How utterly pathetic.”
Even I can see that Runway’s just made the worst mistake of his life. Darkstar’s face becomes that of a feral monster. With a howl I haven’t heard outside of Earth horror films, he flies at the Minicons, arms outstretched, hands curving into claws. The Star Sabre blaze like, well, stars and suddenly they’re flowing together like pillars of mercury, combining into – and that’s when Darkstar hits.

Whiteout.

I’m actually quite surprised to find that the world’s still here. Primus, how many times can a guy come close to death in one day?

Darkstar’s still alive too. And he’s holding the Star Sabre. He has it in front of him, looking into the crystal blade. I focus in. He doesn’t look crazy any more. At least, not the same crazy. Actually, there’s something…unnaturally sane about him. One of Tagline’s quotes, that. I think I’m about to find out what it means.

“Pathetic?”
Darkstar lowers the sword a bit. His voice has become almost musical.
“You thought you could trick me. Harness my rage; use it to destroy Megatron’s forces. Do you really think so little of me? Of course you do. You underestimated your creation, I’m afraid. I will not deny my madness. It’s a fire that is consuming me from the inside out. You have only yourselves to blame for that. But I still have enough willpower to resist you.”
He cocks his head to one side, listening.
“The War. Such a waste of life. It is a plague. But you do not understand how it must be cured. All your plans have failed. Your precious Exodus only spread it to another world. But I know a way to end it. I know a way to end everything.”
He lifts the Star Sabre above his head, holding it two handed.
“What did you build me for? What function did you give me? Wielder. So, I shall wield you. And this War will end tonight.”

He lifts into the air. Some seventh sense (the one that’s been howling at me since I crashed into the fragging place) makes me back away and tense for transformation. I’m far, far too slow.

Something like liquid darkness seems to billow up inside the Star Sabre’s blade. Jagged forks of lightning sizzle around it. For one horrible second, Darkstar smiles.

Then the universe blows up.

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Two days ago:

“Don’t these things blow up if you don’t hold them right?”
“They’re proximity grenades. Holding them at all is usually a bad move.”
“Really?” I squeak, going stock-still and staring wide-eyed at the metal ball in my hand.

Roulette sighs and picks it from my frozen fingers.
“But it doesn’t matter if they’re not primed.”
“Oh.” I grin. “Er…well…just playing.”
“Then I’d better not let you near the tremor mines.”

We’re alongside the open loading hatch of ‘our’ Decepticon shuttle, checking on the ordinance that’s being packed inside. Once we’re space-borne, it’ll all be dished out to the troopers – including us – so we’d better make sure it’s all here. And speaking of things at are all here…
“Hey, Rou, wantta be the first Autobots in Maccadam’s after we kick the Deceps off Cybertron?”
“Well…actually, Sideswipe already asked me…”
My face falls. She laughs and wraps an arm around my waist.
“Honestly, your buttons are easier to press than a computer terminal’s. I’d love it, you dummy…but in case you hadn’t noticed we do have an operation to complete.”
I wrap my arms around her and lift her off the ground.
“Aw, it’d be much more fun to stay here and play!”
“Possibly but if you don’t put me down, I’ll lay six to four odds that we’ll be in the slammer for dereliction of duty.”

I follow her head jerk and catch sight of the blue motorcycle glaring at us from the other side of the runway. I lower Rou to the ground and wave. With a snarl from her engine, Chromia turns and drives off.
“She doesn’t like to see you femmes having fun does she?” I heft aside an ammo box and check on the mortars behind it. “Is it something to do with Valkyries having to be pure of heart and mind or what?”
“No, she just doesn’t like you.” Roulette brushes some dust off her shoulder, making the golden armour shine that little bit more. “And she doesn’t approve of her best sharpshooter mingling with common infantrymechs either.”
“Hey! I’m a cavalier not a ‘common infantrymech’! She should be grateful you chose someone of my calibre!”
“Ooh: ‘calibre’, eh? Been hanging around Tourniquet again, have we? Anyway, I thought a cavalier was just an infantrymech moving fast.”
“There’s a lot more to it than that!”
“I know. Tagline told me that it translates into English as ‘arrogant’.”
“This from the ‘best sharpshooter in two solar systems’!”

Roulette snatches the pulse pistol from her belt, whips round and fires once, twice, three times. The shimmers of energy go through branches on a tree half a mile away, cutting exactly a metre off each and leaving the rest of the plant untouched. I back off.
“Sorry, Rou – Roulette…I didn’t mean…”
“I know.” She re-holsters the gun. “It just took me a long time to earn that title. Sorry. Guess I’m more touchy about it than I thought.”

I tentatively take her hand.
“Come on. We’re nearly done. After that we’ve got final prep in the VR room. I’m sure nobody’ll mind if we load the Battlecharger program. You always enjoy that one.”
She smiles up at me and suddenly I feel like I’m overheating.
“Yeah, why not.”
“Right. Now, what’s this supposed to be?”
“A phase rocket.”
“What?”
“Only I wouldn’t hold it that way up. They tend to go –

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bang. Bang. Crrrreeeeeaaaaakkkkkkk.
“Ah’ve found him, RR, Ya can stop over there!”
Someone drags me upwards, sharp edges bumping and scraping over my skin.
“Hey…” I groan, “Watch the paint job…”
“Ya got better things ta worry about than that, flame-brain.”

Ironhide’s grizzled old face looms in front of me.
“Like the fact that ya actually survived this.”
He points behind me. The power plant is rubble. What hasn’t been shattered has been pulverized. We’re right at the edge of the site, close to some kind of sub-station. Ironhide’s treaded equipment rig’s standing close by, drills deployed. Rack and Ruin are trudging over from the other side of the slagheap.

I get up, making a pointless effort to dust myself down.
“What happened?”
“We were plannin’ on askin’ you that.”
I scratch my helmet.
“Err…some freak of a Seeker…not quite sure what happened…the Star Sabre was here…” I clamber over the wreckage to get a better look. “Sheesh. What a mess! Thanks for coming to rescue me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” warns Rack.
“Yeah,” sniggers Ruin, “We only dug you out to find out why this place blew up.”
“We were goin’ to the regroup point,” explains Ironhide, “The Wreckers pulled us outta the smelter after you ran off an’ we helped blow the east defence batteries. We split up when the Deceps counterattacked. Then this thing lights up the skyline.”
“A massive flare of light.” Rack points to the centre of the destruction. “Must have come from about there, followed by a streak of the same that shot off towards city centre –”

“Waitaminute!” Ironhide pulls me round to face him. “You said ‘freak of a Seeker’. Ya didn’t mean…Ramjet, did ya?”
“Nah, can’t of,” Ruin mutters, “He’s still moving isn’t he?”
“N-no…It wasn’t Ramjet…he looked like Starscream, only all in red and covered in grime…the Star Sabre called him ‘Darkstar’…he kept going on at them, saying they’d stolen his identity, that they’d destroyed his life…then he tried to attack them, they combined and something…happened. The last I saw, he was holding the Sabre and flying off. Then…well…” I look at the rubble and twisted metal. “He was a complete shot-head.”
“A madmech with the Star Sabre? That doesn’t sound good.” Rack looks towards city centre. “And a Decepticon to boot.”

I screw up my face, trying to remember Darkstar’s words.
“‘What function did you give me? Wielder.’ Err… ‘So, I shall wield you. And this War will end tonight.’”
“Ya what?”
“That’s what he said. Before he took off.”
The others frown.
“End tonight? I don’t like the sound of that.”
“It’s not that that worries me, Rack.” Ironhide taps his chin. “I’m jus’ thinkin’ ‘bout somethin’ Oval told me once. Musta been jus’ before all the Minicons ran for Earth. About the Star Sabre building themselves a guardian by cloning a Decep. Only it went wrong…”

The sky above Polyhex suddenly blazes with – you guessed it – white light.
“What the frag?”
Our comms scream.
“*&^%**&to all Autobots, Tagline to all Autobots: Emergency situation: unknown Decepticon has entered play. He appears to be using the Star Sabre. All squads to converge on city centre with immediate effect and enact Phase Omega ASAP. Message repeat: Tagline to all Autobots, Tagline to all Autobots –”

“Come on!”
Ironhide leaps for his rig, both transforming to combine in vehicle mode. Me and RR follow him onto the nearest inward bound roadway.
“What’s the plan, old-timer?” asks Ruin.
“I’ll give you old-timer! Right now, it’s ‘burn rubber’!”

We do.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Holy…”
That’s about the only intelligent reaction I can come up with.

We’ve managed to avoid the Decepticon blockades long enough to get deep into central Polyhex. We must be, oh, about two klicks from the command castle and the ‘Pools. We are that deep in ‘con territory.

And they’re the ones running away.

The road’s thick with low-rank Deceps driving and flying straight at us, not to attack but running for their lives. Genericons, Demolicons, Vehicons – all wearing the same expression of utter blind panic. And it’s not hard to see why.

Darkstar floats between the skyscrapers, Sabre in hand, energy crackling around him. It’s not white light anymore. Like the blade of the sword, it’s close to black, only really visible against the bright lights of the tower blocks. But even when I can’t see it, I can hear it. A sound like a thousand giants whispering shot through with the snap and crackle of an electrical storm topped off with a few thunderclaps – it’s something I don’t think I’ll forget as long as I live.

Which might not be that long.

A group of braver ‘cons launch themselves at the invader, launching every weapon they’ve got. They don’t stand a chance. The firepower Darkstar doesn’t avoid, the Star Sabre deflects. In an instant, the Seeker’s in the middle of his attackers, slicing, dicing, lopping, chopping and generally slaughtering the lot of them.

The energy ‘mist’ aside, there’s no sound other than the ‘con’s screams and the thudding explosions. Darkstar’s mouth is set in a grim line, his optics still dim despite the amount of raw power that is clearly going through him.

And in case any of us thinks this lunatic might be on our side, lightning bolts start leaping from his aura and bring the whole street crashing down on top of us!

We weave through the rain of metal work as best we can, skidding and swerving like dodgem cars.
“Quick! This way!”
A hand pops out of a gaping hole ahead of us and waves madly. With no other choice, we aim for it.

Transforming and dropping through what turns out to be an open service hatch, we find ourselves in a stinking tunnel and surrounded by Wreckers and Valkyries.

Springer, practically doubled over in the confined space, chuckles.
“Nice of you to join us.”
“The weather outside was awful,” Rack retorts.
Everyone goes quiet, listening to what’s happening above. It doesn’t sound good.
“So…anyone know what the frag that is?” Landmine asks from somewhere behind Springer.
“He’s called Darkstar, he’s crazy, he’s got the Star Sabre and I think he wants to kill every Autobot and Decepticon he can reach,” I answer.
“Oh. That all?”
“No,” grumbles Flare Up, “We’re stuck in a hole in the ground with half the ‘con army after us, the other half running away over the top of us and a maniac trying to slag everyone!”

“Well put, but shouldn’t we be working out what to do about it?” Roulette pushes her way to the front. I flash her a reassuring grin. She ignores me. “Anyone know anything useful about the Star Sabre and how we get rid of it so we can get on with this mission?”
We all look hopefully at each other.
“Well the theory,” begins Clawhammer, “is that Sonar, Jetstorm and Runway combine their sparks, in the process linking their bodies so absolutely that nothing can break them up again.”
“And then they get linked wit’ whoever picks em’ up,” adds Racetrack, “Making a single, livin’ weapon.”
“Against which no army can stand and before which all walls crumble and other prophetical slag.” Springer taps his blades against his dental strips. “Except we all know it’s not quite that unbeatable. Megatron’s been able to get hold of it enough times and anyone who uses the damn thing ends up with a bad case of over-strain.”
“So we just get the sword away from him?” growls Refute.
“If only.” Roulette points upwards. “Between his speed, the Decepticons and that energy field we’d be lucky to get close enough.”

“Um.”
They look in my direction and I wish I’d kept quiet.
“Um…why don’t we just try and push him towards the target?”
“Nice idea but how? We can’t jus’ shoot at him.” Ironhide hefts his rifle. “It’s be like slappin’ Megs in the kisser.”

Springer smiles. It’s a smile that creeps slowly over his face as if he’s suddenly thought up a really good punch line. And I don’t like it one bit.
“And maybe that’s just what we want. I mean, why push? Why not pull?”
Nope, I don’t like where this is going at all.






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