librarian_bot (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} librarian_bot) wrote,@ 2006-05-16 22:23:00 |
|
Forget Me Not: Part 1: Wrecks (Side 2)
----------------------------------------
“So…any idea why we’re here?”
The tall mech next to us shrugs.
“Couldn’t tell you, RR.”
We met Clawhammer after the battle near Tagen. He, like us, fought his way through the onslaught by shear physical power. They say that by the time he reached the medical station, he was covered in so much fuel that the guards nearly shot him thinking he was a Decep. We liked him as soon as we met him. He could almost be one of Shockwave’s experiments as well with that huge excavator claw in place of his right arm. He also hates the Decepticons about as much as it’s possible to: they destroyed his home city and his best friends during their first wave of attacks.
The transport capsule slows to a halt. Creaking, the ancient machine’s door slides aside. The three of us scramble out into a courtyard that looks like a bomb’s hit it. Several bombs. Our orders said to go to the transport hub and take the capsule that had been prepared for us. Nothing was said about our destination except that we would be met.
“What a dump.”
“Seconded,” Clawhammer rumbles, prodding the nearest wall, “I’m amazed these are still standing. Looks like someone used them for target practice.”
“Well, well, well. Look who it isn’t.”
We turn towards the familiar voice, surprised. Tourniquet’s standing on the far side of the quadrangle, scanner in hand. We haven’t seen him since we were carted off to Goldmount in Iacon.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you lot to turn up. Come on in. I’ve got to give you a physical before…before.”
He uses his nozzle arm to hold open a section of wall that’s been converted into a door. Inside is an empty room lined with grey metal. There’s a massive blast-door at the other end but we don’t go through. Tourniquet has us stand in the middle of the chamber while he tries to get his scanner working. After being hit a few times it starts to beep and flash. The medic sighs, crimson visor flickering slightly.
“You’d think a promotion would have brought better equipment.”
“Promotion?” I ask.
“Yes…I’m now third in line to the title of Chief Medical Officer for the Autobot army if ever Ratchet abdicates. Frankly, the only thing that would get me into that post is the hand of Primus but I’m not complaining. The pay’s better and I can insult higher ranking people than before.”
While he’s yammering on, he’s waving his scanner at us and Clawhammer. After about a quarter of a bream it chimes and he peers at the screen.
“The very picture of physical health…allowing for current personal circumstances, of course.”
“Is someone going to tell us what’s going on now?” demands Clawhammer.
Tourniquet grins.
“Oh yes. Someone is indeed going to clarify the situation. Please…” he indicates the blast-door as it slowly swings open, “After you.”
We go through, suddenly nervous. The moment we’re in the cavernous tunnel beyond, our optics fix on the huge crimson figure before us. Optimus Prime. Commander in chief of all Autobot forces. Holder of the Matrix. Ruler (technically) of the whole of Cybertron. Twice as big as us. Ten times as strong. Has a gun longer than most mechs are tall. And wearing an expression that indicates his is, at present, rather angry.
“Thank you, Tourniquet,” he rumbles, his voice filling the expanse of the room, “Please go and wait in the anteroom. I will call you if you’re needed.”
The stocky medic salutes and marches out again, leaving us to face the regal behemoth.
“Welcome,” he growls, managing to make us extremely uncomfortable with two syllables, “to Debris.”
From what we’ve seen so far, it’s no misnomer but we decide that silence is the best option.
“Clawhammer, Rack and Ruin. The three of you are here against my better judgement. In fact, many of my advisers are extremely concerned about the impact your exploits have had on some of our more…eager soldiers. Tales of what happened at Tagen have spread like wildfire.”
We had noticed that we had suddenly gained some respect from the rank and file. I guess single-handedly demolishing a Decepticon attack squad counts for something with the grunts. Looks like the top brass feel different.
“I do not approve of berserker ‘tactics’. Nor do I believe that we can win this war by becoming savages. However…” Prime’s scowl deepens. “I have been persuaded to explore alternative means of alleviating the situation. Follow me.”
Without explaining what alternatives he’s talking about or what the situation is, he turns his back on the lot of us and starts striding off. We scurry after him. Unfortunately, there’s no other way to describe how we move. You have to hand it to Prime. From him, things like ‘I do not approve’ and ‘against my better judgement’ make you feel like a particularly infectious scraplet.
The tunnel’s lined with doors but we don’t get time to get a good look. At a break-neck, Prime-walking pace we soon arrive at another set of blast-shutters, these wide open. Compared with the circular arena into which we emerge, the transport station courtyard was a picture of neatness. It reminds us of the scrapheap. Piles of girders and stacks of spent shells are everywhere, mixed in with a healthy dose of broken walls, shrapnel and craters.
Apart from the fact that they’re both orange and grey, the two mechs waiting for us couldn’t be more different. One’s clearly a Minicon (he barely reaching our kneecaps) but we’ve never seen one like him. His bulky legs and torso taper into rather thin arms, each ending in a vicious looking claw. A brutish, unfinished looking face sits between two long tines that sprout from his shoulders and look like giant antenna.
The other mech’s almost as tall as Prime and, though he’s a lot more slender, he gives off an air of confidence that makes him seem bigger. Some kind of symbol’s been branded onto his left wrist, a red pentagon that stands out on the bluish metal. Neither of them so much as twitches at the sight of the Autobot leader.
“Refute and Landmine, Rack, Ruin and Clawhammer,” he snaps by way of introduction.
We swap nods. Prime stalks towards a tower of spare parts, turns sharply and glares at all five of us.
“Each of you has been selected based on your past actions. Whether it be the massacre of enemy troops, the over zealous destruction of enemy fortifications or the stubborn refusal to stop fighting until you or your foes are dead, even” – he looks pointedly at Landmine – “when ordered to retreat. I appreciate resolve, determination and bravery. You, however, take things to extreme. Your conduct is entirely unbecoming of Autobots.”
He stems his tirade and lowers his voice.
“However. Desperate times mean desperate measures. As such, you five are going to be deployed on special duties. Commando duties.”
“And now Prime’s at last got round to the point, it’s my turn.”
A tall green figure steps from the shadows, casually spinning a set of rotor blades in his hand.
“I’m Springer,” he continues in the same breezy tone, “and as of now, I’m your commander.”
He clocks Prime’s murderous look.
“If you’ve finished briefing my mechs, sir, may I take the floor?”
For a moment, I think and hope that they’re going to start knocking bits off each other. Instead Prime grunts and heads for the exit.
“You have my blessing, Springer, not my confidence. Good luck.”
With that, he’s gone. There’s a collective sigh of relief.
“Nice ‘bot,” says the green mech, propping himself up on his blades, “Shame about to conscience. Right, you lot have just heard why High Command doesn’t like you. We can’t beat the Decepticons by becoming Decepticons and all that guff. I agree. We don’t want to become ‘cons. We want to be better than ‘em. Which is why you’re here. We need berserkers and we need ‘em well trained. I won’t lie: each of you has been condemned as unstable and dangerous by the psychologists. No one really wants you under their command. All the better for me. I want dangerous mechs. I want savages and killers. War’s nasty. If you’re not nasty back, you loose.”
He starts twirling his rotors like a baton.
“I’ve got three, maybe three point five solar cycles to turn you into the best commando squad on the planet. I may have permission to put my ideas into practice but there are a whole load of strings attached: can’t take front liners, can’t use a decent barracks, can’t get official recognition, have to do it quickly, mess up and you’re on your own etc, etc.”
The blades swish through the air, pointing at each of us in turn.
“Rule one: I’m in charge. What I say goes and goes when I say it. Rule two: No unnecessary violence. If you can’t justify it to me, you don’t do it. Rule three: only you lot, me, Prime and Tourniquet are allowed on this base. Anyone else is a legit target.”
Springer flicks his blades up, spinning them so they unfold like a fan. Transplex goggles slide down over his optics and he goes into a relaxed stance, rotors held at his side.
“Now…let’s see what you can do.”
----------------------------------------
It’s fair to say that the next three cycles are the happiest of our lives. None of it’s easy. Springer’s a brutal taskmaster. He throws everything at us: letting hundreds of facsimile constructs into the fortress and having us fight our way through them, dropping us in the middle of a gun nest, seeing how we can stand up to sustained fire, even attacking us himself, moving like a lightning bolt with a sword. That’s followed by sessions with battle computers in one of Debris’ deepest levels before we’re thrown straight back into the arena to take down a maze of fortifications. It’s unrelenting, violent, tough and fun!
Hmm… It also leaves us battered and exhausted. At first, we never make it through our ‘missions’ without at least one of us being tagged as dead. Several times, we all get it in the neck. Slowly though, we start to get better. Somehow, Springer manages to get us working together without us realising it. We’re berserkers, certainly, but berserkers following the same plan.
Well, most of us are. Landmine is not only an arrogant son of a glitch, he’s completely demented. Some times he’ll just stand there, not caring what happens to him. Other times, he’ll go mad, not caring what happens to us! He’s not feral or anything like that. You want feral, you look at Refute. That guy’ll rip your optics out as soon as look at you – if you’re a Decep. Tall, dark and orange just doesn’t give a slag who he scraps.
Springer puts up with it for about one and three quarter cycles, concentrating on getting the rest of us to coordinate ourselves properly. Finally, he bodily drags Landmine to one side and proceeds to beat the living frag out of him. Once he has the other’s undivided attention, he starts talking quietly. None of the rest of us can hear what he’s saying but it seems to have an effect. After that, Landmine stops playing the arrogant loner and starts looking where he’s going. Any mood swings and Springer gives him a look. It’s enough to get him playing the game properly.
After three and a quarter cycles, we’ve completed over two hundred exercises, wrecked well over a thousand FCs and made Debris look far worse than it was when we started. At last, Springer takes us into what passes for a war-room in this tinfoil fortress and outlines our mission.
----------------------------------------
It’s completely insane.
“Attack Darkmount?!” Clawhammer’s optics couldn’t get wider if they tried.
“Not exactly.” Springer’s tone is level and calm. “We are going to blow it up.”
“And this is a better option because…?”
Landmine leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling. Springer taps his computer pad. A hologram springs into existence, displaying the forbidding fortress and its surroundings.
“Darkmount is the Decepticon’s most important strategic position. It dominates the entire front from Polyhex to Tarn. Its weaponry is so powerful that any force sent against it could be wiped out before they got within a megaklick. It’s also Megatron main staging ground. His supply lines run right through it, it’s where he docks his battleships for repairs and Shockwave’s labs there turn out most of the Decep’s super weapons. If we can destroy it, even if we just damage it badly, Megatron’s going to have to pull his forces back. And that would give the main bulk of our army time to regroup from being handed our skidplates at Steelmount. Otherwise, the big M’s going to press his advantage and he’ll be walking over Iacon in half a vorn.”
“Nice speech,” Refute grunts, “But that ain’t the point.”
“No,” Clawhammer agrees, “The point is that six mech’s have about as much chance of blowing Darkmount up as Shockwave has of being a hit at Maccadam’s comedy night.”
“Exactly what the Decepticons think.” Springer grins. We look at him blankly. We agree with the ‘cons on this.
The hologram spins round, turning into a wireframe. Several underground passages are highlighted, spreading from the base of the tower like roots.
“They think that no Autobot would be stupid enough to go anywhere near Darkmount. They think that that fortress is impenetrable. They’re arrogant and complacent, certain that they’re in the one stronghold that will never be overcome. That’s Darkmount’s one and only weakness but it’s that weakness that’ll send the whole lot tumbling down.” He points to the tunnels. “We can get there through the old service ducts.”
“Hang on, hang on.” Clawhammer holds up his hand. “Those’ll be sealed up and crawling with guard drones.”
“Sealed yes, guarded no. As far as the ‘cons know, the tunnels are blocked off by wreckage. Fortunately, our mech on the inside – who officially does not exist and you’ve never heard of – has found us a way in. Once we get in, we come up against Darkmount’s outer wall.”
The tower’s suddenly lit in blue, a giant wedge of metal with walls that continue nearly a klick down into the planet. Very, very thick walls.
“Luckily for us, I’ve been able to get hold of a piece of Decepticon tech that’ll punch us a nice hole. It’s called the Pathblaster. It should be powerful enough to break through to at least level thirty-one.” A thin line of red shoots from the passages, climbing steeply till it strikes said level. “This thing was designed to breach fort-mounts but I’ll bet they never thought it’d be used on Darkmount.”
“Why wasn’t it used on an Autobot mount?” I ask.
“Because there’s a design flaw. Once we’ve fired it, we’ll have about fifteen ‘seconds before it blows up.”
The image reforms, focusing in on Darkmount’s middle levels.
“Landmine and me will fly up to level twenty, where we’ll start making as much noise as possible. While that draws the ‘cons down there, the rest of you will make your way to level twenty-six and the central computer room.”
I smile mirthlessly.
“At least we now know why we spent so long chasing through corridors filled with autoguns.”
“Right. Once you’re there, you’ll use these to override the main systems.”
Reaching into a wrist compartment, Springer takes out two slim cylinders.
“These are virtual battering rams. Wheeljack owed me a few favours and I got him to give me them. They’ll let you get into the computer and switch on Darkmount’s self-destruct system.” He grins. “The Deceps joke that there are two bombs in that place that’ll never get used: the two designed to destroy it if it ever gets captured. We’re going to use them.”
“Fine, fine,” murmurs Landmine, “But how exactly were you planning on getting us out again?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not planning a suicide mission. I said Darkmount is used as a repair bay for big ships, didn’t I? When the destruct mechanism is in motion, we’ll rendezvous at the main hanger and do a little hijacking. We’ll be over the horizon before they can get their tails in gear and it’ll be bye-bye Darkmount. In every possible way.”
He looks at us, still grinning.
“Well? What do you think? Refute?”
“What about Megatron’s inner circle?” he growls, “Won’t they be there?”
“Most of them have been transferred to the Crimson Castle. Only Shockwave and maybe Scorponok are still there.”
“Shockwave?”
All eyes fix on us.
“There won’t be time for vendettas,” warns Springer, “Darkmount’s the target.”
“So?” Our eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter if we see his ‘face’ or not. The satisfaction of knowing he’s burning in the pit will be good enough.
“Exactly. So count us most definitely in.”
“Me to.” Refute clenches his claws. “Sounds like fun.”
Clawhammer looks at us like we’re mad, then sighs.
“Why not? Who wants to live forever?”
Landmine’s still looking at the roof.
“You’re all talking like we have a choice. We’re being ordered to do this. They’re sending us off to die whether we like it or not.” His head swings down. “But, hey, what the slag? I’ve nothing better to do.”
“Good!” Springer stands up and cracks his knuckle joints. “Tourniquet will be here in a few breams to give you the once over. You’ll have half a cycle rest period then we meet in the armoury tomorrow morning. Then it’s downhill till Darkmount.”
----------------------------------------
We rest uneasily. Images swirl chaotically over our consciousnesses.
Femmes we could never have.
Battles. Death.
Jabbing sharp objects through Shockwave’s optic.
Victory. War. Pain. Ecstasy. Shadows.
Wreckage.
----------------------------------------
We rocket upwards, the heat from the erupting Pathblaster beneath us, the wail of alarms all around us and the glare from our comrades’ boosters above us. There’s a screaming sound as Springer and Landmine veer off then all at once we’re past them and on level twenty-six.
As far as we can see, the bit we’ve reached is deserted. Clawhammer, two massive machine guns mounted on his shoulders, is already scouting ahead. The shaft cuts clean through the perimeter corridor, taking out lumps of nearby rooms as well. Though there’s no one in sight, it sounds like down below is in an uproar. Detonations and screams reach our audios. Sounds like the big mechs are having a good time.
Moving as quickly and quietly as we can, the four of us make our way along the passage, Ruin looking forward, me looking back. He’s got a massive hammer in his uni-mount, similar to the one we used to wreck the Shockwave clone but made from far stronger materials. I’ve gripping my anvil like grim death. A joke my weapons choice may be, but not one that lessens the impact of our situation.
We’re in Darkmount. Actually in the biggest fragging fortress on Cybertron. In our case, back in it. They’re hardly comfortable surroundings and the threat of hundreds of Decepticons pouring out of the superstructure doesn’t help. A nearby door slides open. The Decepticon freezes, staring at us in shock. My hammer crushes his skull into his torso. The attractively corrugated corpse crumples to the floor.
“One to me.”
“And one to me.”
My anvil whistles past him, decapitating the dead mech’s friend before he can retreat. We check for more victims but the lab is clean out of Decepticons. From up ahead, Clawhammer beckons. He’s flat against a support pillar, pointing to a heavily reinforced hatch several paces away.
“Autoguns,” he whispers.
Refute makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and a snicker. He transforms, compacting into some kind of off-road vehicle with an over sized gripper on the front. A strange throbbing sound comes from the gripper.
We can just see the snub nosed lasers mounted either side of the door. Suddenly they start sparking and droop pathetically. Without hesitating, Clawhammer changes to excavator mode and hurls himself at the hatch, treads blurring, scoop arm going like a pile driver. The metal crumples inwards, cracking under the force of the blows. We leap over the others, charging into the computer room. The technicians don’t know what hits them.
While the smoke’s clearing, we gather round the main console. Clawhammer takes out one of the ‘rams and plugs it in.
“Guard the door. This should only take about forty ‘seconds.”
He bends to start typing. Refute stands at the entrance, optics double scoped. We check the ranks of screens and keypads, just in case someone’s hiding there.
One screen catches my attention. I peer closer.
“Look at this.”
“What…oh?”
“‘Powerlinx Experiment 4895: Outcome, successful.’”
“‘Subjects: The Constructicons, details as follows.’”
We look at each other.
“Hey, Clawhammer? Can we have that other ‘ram?”
He tosses it to us without looking round. Once it’s plugged in it overrides the file encryptions and we can browse freely.
Most of it’s meaningless scientific mumbo-jumbo. Some of it does look familier but we can’t understand it. There’s a diagram, a five-pointed star with a picture of a different mech on each point. The centre of the star is covered in another picture, of a very weird looking Decepticon.
Enlarging the pictures brings up stats and descriptors, details of alt-modes and functions. Steamhammer, Sledge, Bonecrusher, Duststorm, Hightower… We stare at the last two for some time. They look like us as we had been, right down to the green colour scheme. Indeed, these ‘Constructicons’ are all rendered in green, grey and brown. We enlarge the central image.
It hits us like a photon bomb. Shockwave wasn’t just trying to copy the Autobot’s technology. He was trying to improve on it. Rack’s fingers blur across the keyboard, dumping the entire folder onto a data-cartridge.
“If this doesn’t get us on Prime’s good side, nothing will.”
I’ve just picked up the cartridge when Clawhammer stops typing.
“We’ve got two and a half breams to get out of here,” he says, stepping back, “After that –”
FRRRAAAAZZZZOOOOOMMMMM!
The universe turns white. Then green. The blast sends us head over heels, computer equipment, dead Decepticons and flailing Autobots going everywhere. We crash into something unpleasantly solid and end up in a tangled heap. Our visions jitters, crackles and finally settles back to normal.
The gun platform hovers motionless, outlined against the gaping hole in the ceiling, emerald light shimmering across its solar panels. With deliberate, cautious slowness it descends.
In one smooth motion, Shockwave transforms. A one-eyed glare sweeps over the room, gun arm tracking alongside it.
“Autobots, your stratagem has failed. I estimate a 96% probability that the assault on the lower levels is merely a diversion and that you represent the essential component of this admittedly unexpected offensive.” There’s a whole orchestra of smugness in his flat tones. “Therefore, your mission has been unsuccessful.”
If only I could reach my anvil! It’s too far away, caught up in wrecked machinery. I feel Ruin’s anger, an infectious fire. But we don’t have the element of surprise this time. He’d blow us apart before we got near him –
Slag that! I jump to my feet, dragging Rack with me.
“What’s the matter with you, lamp-face? Don’t recognise us? We’re as Decepticon as you are…well, we were ‘till you threw us out!”
He looks at us blankly. He can’t really look any other way.
“Identify your – Ah…Powerlinx Experiment 3291…outcome failure…subjects fused at molecular level, damage to neural net held potential for extreme mental instability, usefulness of resultant nil, resultant discarded.” He stops, gun arm levelled at us. “Explain your presence.”
“Why the slag should we do that?” My voice gets low and harsh.
“I am intrigued by your survival. And by your apparent defection.”
“Go to the pit!”
“An irrational statement. I shall have to dissect you. The fact of your survival raises some interesting questions.”
“You’re not going to get a chance to dissect us,” I snarl, “Not again.”
“My original examination was hardly a full dissection. And it now appears that the conclusions of that examination were erroneous. I predicted only a 7% probability of your systems functioning in harmony.”
All this time, we’re slowly charging our rockets. Shockwave doesn’t notice.
“My first priority, however, is the deactivation of the auto-destruct mechanism. I shall have to place you in stasis pending further investigation.”
The tip of his cannon glows star bright.
We jump. The energy catches us a glancing blow but we sail through unharmed. Shockwave’s optic widens. He didn’t predict our boosters or our extra tough armour. I swing my hammer. The Decepticon back peddles but I figured he would. Hydraulics wrench and my weapon telescopes out, doubling in length. It catches ol’ Shockers smack on the audio!
As he tumbles, we crash to a halt by Clawhammer. He’s stirring but still too far gone to be of use. There’s no sign of Refute. A beam of focused light stabs past and we dive for the floor. Shockwave’s on one knee, his hand clamped to the side of his head, holding his crumpled antenna in place.
“Surrendering is your most logical option.”
We charge to the right, another laser beam all the encouragement we need, I grind my gears, furious at being on the defensive. Shockwave suddenly changes tack. Panels fold out from his cannon, making it look like a radio array. Pain stabs into our CPUs. Some kind of transmission…radio waves doings things to our heads. We crash to the floor. Shockwave rises and walks over.
“Impressive resilience but an ultimately futile attempt at resistance.”
I roll over and point the just-recovered anvil at him. He doesn’t flinch. The weapon’s gun assembly flips up and clicks into place.
The plasma bolts stream into Shockwave’s eye, turning his head into a mass of flame. He screams. We roar.
I stop bothering about tactics and give into rage. My anvil, still spewing plasma, careens across his chest, spinning him round.
I bring the hammer down again and again.
Shockwave’s cannon crumples, explosions ripping across it as Ruin crushes its power coupling.
He tries to bring up his right forearm, to arm his wrist guns. We kick his legs from under him.
“RR! Rack! Ruin!”
It’s Refute He’s by the door, looking ridiculous as he helps the Clawhammer stand.
“We have to move! The bombs’ll go off any ‘second!”
Who cares? We’re about to tear Shockwave apart! I smash his left thigh to bits.
Wait! Wait! I struggle through the red haze. If we stay, we die!
Who fragging cares?
What about the others? We need to help them! They’ll never make it with Clawhammer still dazed!
But…
Shockwave’s as good as dead! We’re not! He couldn’t care less about us. Why do we care so much about him?
We stare at each other. I slowly nod. So does he.
In unison, we hit Shockwave one more time. He gives a pathetic groan and stops moving. Then we run for the door.
Clawhammer’s still not fully functional. We have to half drag him along the corridor. Alarms are blaring from everywhere but it still looks like everyone’s downstairs. There’s no time to go back to the Pathblaster hole so we grab one of Clawhammer’s guns, point it at the floor and go with gravity.
“Level twenty-one!” I yell, “Hangers!”
“You’d think they’d be sealing things up,” growls Refute.
“Hah! They can’t!” There’s triumph in Clawhammer’s slurred voice. “I shut down the…errr…when I…”
A towering mass of green metal blocks our path, all guns and blades and claws. Twin cannons arch over the thing’s shoulders, humming with power and aiming straight at us. Its visor flashes.
“You would be Shockwave’s ‘logical stratagem’, I take it?”
We aren’t going to get a chance to move.
Something big and orange shoots overhead. The green monstrosity is blasted straight down the passage, disappearing in a cloud of smoke and armour fragments. Landmine pivots in midair and touches down, flexing the massive talons bolted onto his forearms.
“That was boringly easy.”
“We’ve got to get out of here! The countdown’ll be nearly up!”
“Alright, alright. Don’t blow a fuse.”
He digs his claws into the thick, reinforced wall and rips.
The chamber beyond is full of ships and explosions. Springer’s in helicopter-mode, weaving through the fire from what looks like half the Decep army. Already most of the shuttles and gun-ships are burning or split open.
“Head that way!” he shouts, transforming and pointing before slagging a Seeker with his hurricane gun.
We dash the length of the hanger but come skidding to a halt when we realise what we’re running towards.
“Holy…”
It’s the Scorpio, the greatest Decepticon battleship ever built in all its monolithic glory. And its door is standing wide open.
“Go do something military like securing the bridge.”
Landmine just about throws us through the airlock. While he goes to help Springer hold off the ‘cons, we head into the huge ship, transforming to cover ground.
“Shouldn’t Darkmount be a pile of rubble by now?”
Clawhammer grunts in annoyance.
“Yeah. I guess someone managed to shut the bombs off. Slag. I thought I’d fixed it pretty good.”
“Never mind. I don’t think they’ll count on this hulk’s arsenal going off in the hanger bay.”
“Speaking of which,” he replies, “Anyone noticed the lack of Deceps in here? I mean, this place is a bit empty for a mega-battleship.”
We screech round a corner and into a long hallway with a battened hatch at the end. Decepticons like entrances. They also like packing them full of auto-guns, ion-mines and phase-shields. It’s nowhere near enough.
The technician with the stubby wings looks up in shock. The last thing he sees is four battle-stained Autobots bursting in and ending his career prospects in a blaze of gunfire.
“Right…engines…weapons…shields…view-scre
“Oh…frag it.”
“Clawhammer?”
“The night-watchmech’s been using the comms system but that’s it. Everything else but internal defences – which I’ve turned off – is locked down. I think it’s been routed through air-traffic control.”
“Can you override it?”
“Yep, with the other…virtual…ram…”
“The one that’s stuck in what’s left of the computer room?”
“That one.”
He slumps in the operator’s chair.
“Can you do anything?”
He reaches out and turns up the volume for the screen. Babbling voices and the sounds of explosions fill the room.
“That’s it. Engines are off. Guns are dead. We’re stuck.”
“There must be some way to get round it…manual override, reboot switch or something.”
“Nope. Paranoia can…can…oh.” He stands up, grabs us and pulls us over. “How fast are your processors?”
“Just above standard speed. Why?”
“Can you use them together?”
“Yes…oh.”
“What?”
“We can use them at the same time, giving us one super-fast processor.”
“So?”
“So with the right set of commands, we should be able to get round the lockdown.”
“Commands I can upload to you.” Clawhammer pulls out a data cartridge. “The complete works of Gigabyte, full length version.”
“Urm, Clawhammer? I know this might not be the best time to ask, but how the Pit do you know all this stuff about programming and computers?”
“We all need a hobby. Right. One crash-course coming up. Chapters ten-ten through thirty-thirty.”
With a sickening lurch, the data’s speed pulsed into our brains. Unlike the last time someone did that, we can at least share it between us. Ruin filters and sorts. I organise and file. There’s no time to integrate it into our databases. We’ll be reading it as we go along.
I drop my hammer and extend a comp-interface. Plugging it into the main control panel, I bring up a window full of numbers and letters, constantly scrolling and rewriting.
“Oh Primus.” With a look close to rapture, Clawhammer peers up at the code. “A Helix Codex. I’ve never seen one in action.”
“Can we save the program-spotting for later?”
“Sorry, sorry. Right, section three, chapter ten-twenty-five.”
We kind of lose our sense of time after that. We input and calculate and input some more, both of us interfacing directly with the computer. I’ve no idea if we’re getting anywhere. I think the theory behind this Helix Codex thing is that it rewrites itself constantly and the only way to break it is to force it to stay still. Comprehension is irrelevant though. We just program like mad, doing what Clawhammer tells us and hoping that it it’s working.
Refute’s tuned into external communications, getting a link to the other two and giving us an idea of how the fight’s going. Sounds like we’re winning – the Deceps don’t want to damage their precious super-weapon. While we’re too busy to pay much attention, something catches our audio.
“Crzzz…Autobots! This is your last chance. Surrender!”
“Go rev yourself!”
“Zzz…Steamhammer to control they – yes…vzzz…yes. As you command. Constructicons, to me!”
We jerk, nearly making a mistake as we do. Clawhammer hisses angrily.
“Watch it! What’s wrong?”
“Tell them to get inside the ship!”
“But –”
“Refute, get them in here!”
The speaker crackles.
“What the frag are they doing?” demands Springer.
“Does it matter?” Landmine. “Five in one place, easy pickings.”
“Constructicons: energise hyperchargers!”
“Eh? What’s that glow? Looks like blue…stars?”
“Transform! Phase two!”
“What in the name of – they’re growing. And –”
The voices vanish into static. We input commands like mad.
“Get them in here!” I’m practically screeching.
“Fzzz…what the Pit is that?”
“Big! Move!”
Boom. Boom. Boom. BOOM.
Footsteps coming closer and closer.
“Springer to bridge: shoot that thing!”
“How? We can’t even vent the waste hopper!” Refute sounds frantic.
“Wonderful. Hurry up and get – move!”
ShrumphBOOOMM!
“YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO RUN. NOTHING CAN WITHSTAND THE MIGHT OF DEVASTATOR. EXIT THE CRAFT OR I WILL TEAR YOU FROM IT.”
“Huh. I thought you wanted it in one piece!”
“WE CAN REPAIR IT. SURRENDER OR DIE.”
“You mean surrender and die.”
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM! CRUMPH! THOOM!
“Bridge! Get your afts in gear and do something!”
Hex to the power four times seventy hundred plus ninety carry sigma adding vector nine to zeta fractals through omega alpha goto ten root prime alpha negate six…
Come on, come on!
BOOM! BOOM! THUUDDD!
Delta fractal seven plus nega point multiple fifty-three root six hex to quad gamma equals ten to the power sixty theta makes eight vector – no – nine vector makes…
Work damn it, work!
SHIARKKK! CRUMPH!
Which gives twenty to the point oh four plus six seven and by Gigabyte’s third law that means…
“Computer control released. Resetting main command system. Activating helm. Activating gunnery control. Activating engineering control. Scorpio active. WARNING: Hull breech in progress on levels ten through thirty.”
“We did it!” Whooping, Clawhammer throws himself into the helm seat. “Springer, Landmine? Are you inside?”
“Fzzz…vzzz…again? Repeat, come again?”
“Springer, are you inside?”
“Mostly – look out!”
FOOOMMM! Thud! Thud!
“Ouch!…fzzzz… We are definitely in!”
“Good. Shields on.”
The lights dim. Something far below starts humming. We get a brief glimpse of a massive figure with blazing purple optics before a curtain of distortion sweeps over the image. The sound of giant punches fades to soft thuds.
“That should hold him for a bit. Now…engines, engines…” Our friend presses a few more buttons and the whole ship bucks, lifting a few spans into the air. The shaking and humming settles down into a faint vibration.
“No bad, femmes and mechs, not bad.”
Springer’s in the doorway, supporting a severely battered Landmine.
“Not bad at all. You sit down and get some rest. Next time, run faster.” He props the other Autobot against a console and strolls to the commander’s throne. “How do this crate’s guns work then?”
We disengage from the computer, moving to a panel to our right.
“Like this.”
We power up the forward cannons. The targeting display shows an outline view of Devastator and the hanger around him. He’s one ugly slagger.
“Smash, fry or incinerate?”
“Oh, incinerate I think.”
I press the master firing control.
The deck rumbles. There’s a bright flash as half a dozen mega-blasters go off at the same time. The giant silhouette stays upright for a few ‘seconds then seems to fall apart. Smaller shapes pass over the diagram, Seekers swooping down, firing pointlessly on our shields. They might as well just fly straight into ‘em. We toggle the AA guns to take blow them out of the sky. Springer smiles broadly.
“Good work. Take us out of here Clawhammer.”
“You know the hanger doors are still shut?”
“RR?”
Press. Whoosh. Bang.
“No they’re not.”
“Good. Now…” He leans forward. “Can we hit anything large, expensive and explosive from here?”
“Hmm…” I bring up the ship’s copy of Darkmount’s plans. “Frankly, with the rockets we’ve got aboard, we can hit anything. We ought to be on the outside first though.”
“Details, details. Clawhammer, full power to engines. RR, fire at will.”
“So long Shockwave!”
A missile streaks from the Scorpio’s underbelly, blasting a big hole in the hanger floor. And in the fuel reservoirs beneath. For good luck, we send another after it. The explosion’s spectacular. We’re already in flight, hurtling from the inferno, chunks of tower raining down all around us.
For a bit, none of us can speak. We just stare at the visual feed, watching as half of Darkmount slumps and crumbles, flames spitting and clawing across the falling metal. Decepticons fly for their lives, Seekers, technicians, tank-bots, Constructicons all caught up in a mad rush to escape. We focus in on one pair, just in front of the erupting fortress.
“Slag it.”
It’s Shockwave, being carried out of danger by that big green creep Landmine decked. Well actually, it’s more what’s left of Shockwave…
“Heh. Heh heh. Heh heh aha hah hah heh heh hah heh!” I nearly collapse! “Look at him! Bet he knows what it’s like to only have one arm now! And one leg! And no chest plate!”
“Wha…?” Refute looks at us like we’re mad. “He’s getting out! Can we blast ‘em from here?”
“And put him out of his misery? Forget it!”
“Right answer.”
With one bound, Springer’s off the throne and landing between us and Clawhammer.
“We’re going straight home. Set course for Iacon.” His grin hasn’t lessened. “I can’t wait to see Prime’s face when we roll up. Gentlemechs, I think we can say that our first mission has been a resounding success.”
“Pity Darkmount’s still standing,” says Landmine as he rubs at a burn across his chest. “We were supposed to level it, not just knock one wall down.”
“A bit more than just a wall, my friend! Not to mention that we’ve just stolen the Decepticon’s biggest spaceship right from under their olfactory sensors.”
“And,” I add, producing our data cartridge, “the plans for that Devastator thing.”
Everyone looks at us in shock. Clawhammer laughs softly.
“And I’m the one who likes computers.”
“Nice work RR.” Springer claps us on both our shoulders before stepping back and taking a last look at Darkmount. So, most of the thing’s still upright. But by now, it’s completely engulfed in flames. “Scratch Megatron’s strategic advantage. Darkmount wrecked, Scorpio stolen, new super-Powerlinx process about to be copied. Not bad for a commando squad thrown together from a bunch of psychos and lunatics.”
“Thanks a bunch.” Landmine stands up and wanders over, shrugging off his armour. “You realise we’ll scare the sprockets off the rest of Prime’s cronies? The wreckers of Darkmount, the stealers of the Scorpio and all that. Huh. Might be interesting.”
We watch screen as the glow of the fire vanishes over the horizon.
“We didn’t get him. Not permanently.”
“Fair’s fair. He didn’t get us permanently. Anyway, you said it: he doesn’t care about us, we shouldn’t care about him.”
“Well, he didn’t care about us. He might now.”
“Doubt it. And don’t worry, we’ll probably run into him again.”
“Now there’s something to look forward to.”
I reach out and pick up my hammer again. Refute crosses his arms.
“Anyone else thinking that Prime’s a laser-brain?”
Springer raises an optic ridge.
“Why?”
Clawhammer answers with a grin.
“Because we’ve proved him wrong. Running full tilt at the enemy does work.”
“Yeah.” Landmine stretches. “Wreck everything in sight and there won’t be any enemies left.”
“You going to tell him that?” The heli-bot turns to us. “Anything to add to my report RR?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Wrecking rules!”
Transformers and related characters are owned by Hasbro.
----------------------------------------
“So…any idea why we’re here?”
The tall mech next to us shrugs.
“Couldn’t tell you, RR.”
We met Clawhammer after the battle near Tagen. He, like us, fought his way through the onslaught by shear physical power. They say that by the time he reached the medical station, he was covered in so much fuel that the guards nearly shot him thinking he was a Decep. We liked him as soon as we met him. He could almost be one of Shockwave’s experiments as well with that huge excavator claw in place of his right arm. He also hates the Decepticons about as much as it’s possible to: they destroyed his home city and his best friends during their first wave of attacks.
The transport capsule slows to a halt. Creaking, the ancient machine’s door slides aside. The three of us scramble out into a courtyard that looks like a bomb’s hit it. Several bombs. Our orders said to go to the transport hub and take the capsule that had been prepared for us. Nothing was said about our destination except that we would be met.
“What a dump.”
“Seconded,” Clawhammer rumbles, prodding the nearest wall, “I’m amazed these are still standing. Looks like someone used them for target practice.”
“Well, well, well. Look who it isn’t.”
We turn towards the familiar voice, surprised. Tourniquet’s standing on the far side of the quadrangle, scanner in hand. We haven’t seen him since we were carted off to Goldmount in Iacon.
“What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for you lot to turn up. Come on in. I’ve got to give you a physical before…before.”
He uses his nozzle arm to hold open a section of wall that’s been converted into a door. Inside is an empty room lined with grey metal. There’s a massive blast-door at the other end but we don’t go through. Tourniquet has us stand in the middle of the chamber while he tries to get his scanner working. After being hit a few times it starts to beep and flash. The medic sighs, crimson visor flickering slightly.
“You’d think a promotion would have brought better equipment.”
“Promotion?” I ask.
“Yes…I’m now third in line to the title of Chief Medical Officer for the Autobot army if ever Ratchet abdicates. Frankly, the only thing that would get me into that post is the hand of Primus but I’m not complaining. The pay’s better and I can insult higher ranking people than before.”
While he’s yammering on, he’s waving his scanner at us and Clawhammer. After about a quarter of a bream it chimes and he peers at the screen.
“The very picture of physical health…allowing for current personal circumstances, of course.”
“Is someone going to tell us what’s going on now?” demands Clawhammer.
Tourniquet grins.
“Oh yes. Someone is indeed going to clarify the situation. Please…” he indicates the blast-door as it slowly swings open, “After you.”
We go through, suddenly nervous. The moment we’re in the cavernous tunnel beyond, our optics fix on the huge crimson figure before us. Optimus Prime. Commander in chief of all Autobot forces. Holder of the Matrix. Ruler (technically) of the whole of Cybertron. Twice as big as us. Ten times as strong. Has a gun longer than most mechs are tall. And wearing an expression that indicates his is, at present, rather angry.
“Thank you, Tourniquet,” he rumbles, his voice filling the expanse of the room, “Please go and wait in the anteroom. I will call you if you’re needed.”
The stocky medic salutes and marches out again, leaving us to face the regal behemoth.
“Welcome,” he growls, managing to make us extremely uncomfortable with two syllables, “to Debris.”
From what we’ve seen so far, it’s no misnomer but we decide that silence is the best option.
“Clawhammer, Rack and Ruin. The three of you are here against my better judgement. In fact, many of my advisers are extremely concerned about the impact your exploits have had on some of our more…eager soldiers. Tales of what happened at Tagen have spread like wildfire.”
We had noticed that we had suddenly gained some respect from the rank and file. I guess single-handedly demolishing a Decepticon attack squad counts for something with the grunts. Looks like the top brass feel different.
“I do not approve of berserker ‘tactics’. Nor do I believe that we can win this war by becoming savages. However…” Prime’s scowl deepens. “I have been persuaded to explore alternative means of alleviating the situation. Follow me.”
Without explaining what alternatives he’s talking about or what the situation is, he turns his back on the lot of us and starts striding off. We scurry after him. Unfortunately, there’s no other way to describe how we move. You have to hand it to Prime. From him, things like ‘I do not approve’ and ‘against my better judgement’ make you feel like a particularly infectious scraplet.
The tunnel’s lined with doors but we don’t get time to get a good look. At a break-neck, Prime-walking pace we soon arrive at another set of blast-shutters, these wide open. Compared with the circular arena into which we emerge, the transport station courtyard was a picture of neatness. It reminds us of the scrapheap. Piles of girders and stacks of spent shells are everywhere, mixed in with a healthy dose of broken walls, shrapnel and craters.
Apart from the fact that they’re both orange and grey, the two mechs waiting for us couldn’t be more different. One’s clearly a Minicon (he barely reaching our kneecaps) but we’ve never seen one like him. His bulky legs and torso taper into rather thin arms, each ending in a vicious looking claw. A brutish, unfinished looking face sits between two long tines that sprout from his shoulders and look like giant antenna.
The other mech’s almost as tall as Prime and, though he’s a lot more slender, he gives off an air of confidence that makes him seem bigger. Some kind of symbol’s been branded onto his left wrist, a red pentagon that stands out on the bluish metal. Neither of them so much as twitches at the sight of the Autobot leader.
“Refute and Landmine, Rack, Ruin and Clawhammer,” he snaps by way of introduction.
We swap nods. Prime stalks towards a tower of spare parts, turns sharply and glares at all five of us.
“Each of you has been selected based on your past actions. Whether it be the massacre of enemy troops, the over zealous destruction of enemy fortifications or the stubborn refusal to stop fighting until you or your foes are dead, even” – he looks pointedly at Landmine – “when ordered to retreat. I appreciate resolve, determination and bravery. You, however, take things to extreme. Your conduct is entirely unbecoming of Autobots.”
He stems his tirade and lowers his voice.
“However. Desperate times mean desperate measures. As such, you five are going to be deployed on special duties. Commando duties.”
“And now Prime’s at last got round to the point, it’s my turn.”
A tall green figure steps from the shadows, casually spinning a set of rotor blades in his hand.
“I’m Springer,” he continues in the same breezy tone, “and as of now, I’m your commander.”
He clocks Prime’s murderous look.
“If you’ve finished briefing my mechs, sir, may I take the floor?”
For a moment, I think and hope that they’re going to start knocking bits off each other. Instead Prime grunts and heads for the exit.
“You have my blessing, Springer, not my confidence. Good luck.”
With that, he’s gone. There’s a collective sigh of relief.
“Nice ‘bot,” says the green mech, propping himself up on his blades, “Shame about to conscience. Right, you lot have just heard why High Command doesn’t like you. We can’t beat the Decepticons by becoming Decepticons and all that guff. I agree. We don’t want to become ‘cons. We want to be better than ‘em. Which is why you’re here. We need berserkers and we need ‘em well trained. I won’t lie: each of you has been condemned as unstable and dangerous by the psychologists. No one really wants you under their command. All the better for me. I want dangerous mechs. I want savages and killers. War’s nasty. If you’re not nasty back, you loose.”
He starts twirling his rotors like a baton.
“I’ve got three, maybe three point five solar cycles to turn you into the best commando squad on the planet. I may have permission to put my ideas into practice but there are a whole load of strings attached: can’t take front liners, can’t use a decent barracks, can’t get official recognition, have to do it quickly, mess up and you’re on your own etc, etc.”
The blades swish through the air, pointing at each of us in turn.
“Rule one: I’m in charge. What I say goes and goes when I say it. Rule two: No unnecessary violence. If you can’t justify it to me, you don’t do it. Rule three: only you lot, me, Prime and Tourniquet are allowed on this base. Anyone else is a legit target.”
Springer flicks his blades up, spinning them so they unfold like a fan. Transplex goggles slide down over his optics and he goes into a relaxed stance, rotors held at his side.
“Now…let’s see what you can do.”
----------------------------------------
It’s fair to say that the next three cycles are the happiest of our lives. None of it’s easy. Springer’s a brutal taskmaster. He throws everything at us: letting hundreds of facsimile constructs into the fortress and having us fight our way through them, dropping us in the middle of a gun nest, seeing how we can stand up to sustained fire, even attacking us himself, moving like a lightning bolt with a sword. That’s followed by sessions with battle computers in one of Debris’ deepest levels before we’re thrown straight back into the arena to take down a maze of fortifications. It’s unrelenting, violent, tough and fun!
Hmm… It also leaves us battered and exhausted. At first, we never make it through our ‘missions’ without at least one of us being tagged as dead. Several times, we all get it in the neck. Slowly though, we start to get better. Somehow, Springer manages to get us working together without us realising it. We’re berserkers, certainly, but berserkers following the same plan.
Well, most of us are. Landmine is not only an arrogant son of a glitch, he’s completely demented. Some times he’ll just stand there, not caring what happens to him. Other times, he’ll go mad, not caring what happens to us! He’s not feral or anything like that. You want feral, you look at Refute. That guy’ll rip your optics out as soon as look at you – if you’re a Decep. Tall, dark and orange just doesn’t give a slag who he scraps.
Springer puts up with it for about one and three quarter cycles, concentrating on getting the rest of us to coordinate ourselves properly. Finally, he bodily drags Landmine to one side and proceeds to beat the living frag out of him. Once he has the other’s undivided attention, he starts talking quietly. None of the rest of us can hear what he’s saying but it seems to have an effect. After that, Landmine stops playing the arrogant loner and starts looking where he’s going. Any mood swings and Springer gives him a look. It’s enough to get him playing the game properly.
After three and a quarter cycles, we’ve completed over two hundred exercises, wrecked well over a thousand FCs and made Debris look far worse than it was when we started. At last, Springer takes us into what passes for a war-room in this tinfoil fortress and outlines our mission.
----------------------------------------
It’s completely insane.
“Attack Darkmount?!” Clawhammer’s optics couldn’t get wider if they tried.
“Not exactly.” Springer’s tone is level and calm. “We are going to blow it up.”
“And this is a better option because…?”
Landmine leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling. Springer taps his computer pad. A hologram springs into existence, displaying the forbidding fortress and its surroundings.
“Darkmount is the Decepticon’s most important strategic position. It dominates the entire front from Polyhex to Tarn. Its weaponry is so powerful that any force sent against it could be wiped out before they got within a megaklick. It’s also Megatron main staging ground. His supply lines run right through it, it’s where he docks his battleships for repairs and Shockwave’s labs there turn out most of the Decep’s super weapons. If we can destroy it, even if we just damage it badly, Megatron’s going to have to pull his forces back. And that would give the main bulk of our army time to regroup from being handed our skidplates at Steelmount. Otherwise, the big M’s going to press his advantage and he’ll be walking over Iacon in half a vorn.”
“Nice speech,” Refute grunts, “But that ain’t the point.”
“No,” Clawhammer agrees, “The point is that six mech’s have about as much chance of blowing Darkmount up as Shockwave has of being a hit at Maccadam’s comedy night.”
“Exactly what the Decepticons think.” Springer grins. We look at him blankly. We agree with the ‘cons on this.
The hologram spins round, turning into a wireframe. Several underground passages are highlighted, spreading from the base of the tower like roots.
“They think that no Autobot would be stupid enough to go anywhere near Darkmount. They think that that fortress is impenetrable. They’re arrogant and complacent, certain that they’re in the one stronghold that will never be overcome. That’s Darkmount’s one and only weakness but it’s that weakness that’ll send the whole lot tumbling down.” He points to the tunnels. “We can get there through the old service ducts.”
“Hang on, hang on.” Clawhammer holds up his hand. “Those’ll be sealed up and crawling with guard drones.”
“Sealed yes, guarded no. As far as the ‘cons know, the tunnels are blocked off by wreckage. Fortunately, our mech on the inside – who officially does not exist and you’ve never heard of – has found us a way in. Once we get in, we come up against Darkmount’s outer wall.”
The tower’s suddenly lit in blue, a giant wedge of metal with walls that continue nearly a klick down into the planet. Very, very thick walls.
“Luckily for us, I’ve been able to get hold of a piece of Decepticon tech that’ll punch us a nice hole. It’s called the Pathblaster. It should be powerful enough to break through to at least level thirty-one.” A thin line of red shoots from the passages, climbing steeply till it strikes said level. “This thing was designed to breach fort-mounts but I’ll bet they never thought it’d be used on Darkmount.”
“Why wasn’t it used on an Autobot mount?” I ask.
“Because there’s a design flaw. Once we’ve fired it, we’ll have about fifteen ‘seconds before it blows up.”
The image reforms, focusing in on Darkmount’s middle levels.
“Landmine and me will fly up to level twenty, where we’ll start making as much noise as possible. While that draws the ‘cons down there, the rest of you will make your way to level twenty-six and the central computer room.”
I smile mirthlessly.
“At least we now know why we spent so long chasing through corridors filled with autoguns.”
“Right. Once you’re there, you’ll use these to override the main systems.”
Reaching into a wrist compartment, Springer takes out two slim cylinders.
“These are virtual battering rams. Wheeljack owed me a few favours and I got him to give me them. They’ll let you get into the computer and switch on Darkmount’s self-destruct system.” He grins. “The Deceps joke that there are two bombs in that place that’ll never get used: the two designed to destroy it if it ever gets captured. We’re going to use them.”
“Fine, fine,” murmurs Landmine, “But how exactly were you planning on getting us out again?”
“Don’t worry, I’m not planning a suicide mission. I said Darkmount is used as a repair bay for big ships, didn’t I? When the destruct mechanism is in motion, we’ll rendezvous at the main hanger and do a little hijacking. We’ll be over the horizon before they can get their tails in gear and it’ll be bye-bye Darkmount. In every possible way.”
He looks at us, still grinning.
“Well? What do you think? Refute?”
“What about Megatron’s inner circle?” he growls, “Won’t they be there?”
“Most of them have been transferred to the Crimson Castle. Only Shockwave and maybe Scorponok are still there.”
“Shockwave?”
All eyes fix on us.
“There won’t be time for vendettas,” warns Springer, “Darkmount’s the target.”
“So?” Our eyes narrow. “It doesn’t matter if we see his ‘face’ or not. The satisfaction of knowing he’s burning in the pit will be good enough.
“Exactly. So count us most definitely in.”
“Me to.” Refute clenches his claws. “Sounds like fun.”
Clawhammer looks at us like we’re mad, then sighs.
“Why not? Who wants to live forever?”
Landmine’s still looking at the roof.
“You’re all talking like we have a choice. We’re being ordered to do this. They’re sending us off to die whether we like it or not.” His head swings down. “But, hey, what the slag? I’ve nothing better to do.”
“Good!” Springer stands up and cracks his knuckle joints. “Tourniquet will be here in a few breams to give you the once over. You’ll have half a cycle rest period then we meet in the armoury tomorrow morning. Then it’s downhill till Darkmount.”
----------------------------------------
We rest uneasily. Images swirl chaotically over our consciousnesses.
Femmes we could never have.
Battles. Death.
Jabbing sharp objects through Shockwave’s optic.
Victory. War. Pain. Ecstasy. Shadows.
Wreckage.
----------------------------------------
We rocket upwards, the heat from the erupting Pathblaster beneath us, the wail of alarms all around us and the glare from our comrades’ boosters above us. There’s a screaming sound as Springer and Landmine veer off then all at once we’re past them and on level twenty-six.
As far as we can see, the bit we’ve reached is deserted. Clawhammer, two massive machine guns mounted on his shoulders, is already scouting ahead. The shaft cuts clean through the perimeter corridor, taking out lumps of nearby rooms as well. Though there’s no one in sight, it sounds like down below is in an uproar. Detonations and screams reach our audios. Sounds like the big mechs are having a good time.
Moving as quickly and quietly as we can, the four of us make our way along the passage, Ruin looking forward, me looking back. He’s got a massive hammer in his uni-mount, similar to the one we used to wreck the Shockwave clone but made from far stronger materials. I’ve gripping my anvil like grim death. A joke my weapons choice may be, but not one that lessens the impact of our situation.
We’re in Darkmount. Actually in the biggest fragging fortress on Cybertron. In our case, back in it. They’re hardly comfortable surroundings and the threat of hundreds of Decepticons pouring out of the superstructure doesn’t help. A nearby door slides open. The Decepticon freezes, staring at us in shock. My hammer crushes his skull into his torso. The attractively corrugated corpse crumples to the floor.
“One to me.”
“And one to me.”
My anvil whistles past him, decapitating the dead mech’s friend before he can retreat. We check for more victims but the lab is clean out of Decepticons. From up ahead, Clawhammer beckons. He’s flat against a support pillar, pointing to a heavily reinforced hatch several paces away.
“Autoguns,” he whispers.
Refute makes a noise somewhere between a snarl and a snicker. He transforms, compacting into some kind of off-road vehicle with an over sized gripper on the front. A strange throbbing sound comes from the gripper.
We can just see the snub nosed lasers mounted either side of the door. Suddenly they start sparking and droop pathetically. Without hesitating, Clawhammer changes to excavator mode and hurls himself at the hatch, treads blurring, scoop arm going like a pile driver. The metal crumples inwards, cracking under the force of the blows. We leap over the others, charging into the computer room. The technicians don’t know what hits them.
While the smoke’s clearing, we gather round the main console. Clawhammer takes out one of the ‘rams and plugs it in.
“Guard the door. This should only take about forty ‘seconds.”
He bends to start typing. Refute stands at the entrance, optics double scoped. We check the ranks of screens and keypads, just in case someone’s hiding there.
One screen catches my attention. I peer closer.
“Look at this.”
“What…oh?”
“‘Powerlinx Experiment 4895: Outcome, successful.’”
“‘Subjects: The Constructicons, details as follows.’”
We look at each other.
“Hey, Clawhammer? Can we have that other ‘ram?”
He tosses it to us without looking round. Once it’s plugged in it overrides the file encryptions and we can browse freely.
Most of it’s meaningless scientific mumbo-jumbo. Some of it does look familier but we can’t understand it. There’s a diagram, a five-pointed star with a picture of a different mech on each point. The centre of the star is covered in another picture, of a very weird looking Decepticon.
Enlarging the pictures brings up stats and descriptors, details of alt-modes and functions. Steamhammer, Sledge, Bonecrusher, Duststorm, Hightower… We stare at the last two for some time. They look like us as we had been, right down to the green colour scheme. Indeed, these ‘Constructicons’ are all rendered in green, grey and brown. We enlarge the central image.
It hits us like a photon bomb. Shockwave wasn’t just trying to copy the Autobot’s technology. He was trying to improve on it. Rack’s fingers blur across the keyboard, dumping the entire folder onto a data-cartridge.
“If this doesn’t get us on Prime’s good side, nothing will.”
I’ve just picked up the cartridge when Clawhammer stops typing.
“We’ve got two and a half breams to get out of here,” he says, stepping back, “After that –”
FRRRAAAAZZZZOOOOOMMMMM!
The universe turns white. Then green. The blast sends us head over heels, computer equipment, dead Decepticons and flailing Autobots going everywhere. We crash into something unpleasantly solid and end up in a tangled heap. Our visions jitters, crackles and finally settles back to normal.
The gun platform hovers motionless, outlined against the gaping hole in the ceiling, emerald light shimmering across its solar panels. With deliberate, cautious slowness it descends.
In one smooth motion, Shockwave transforms. A one-eyed glare sweeps over the room, gun arm tracking alongside it.
“Autobots, your stratagem has failed. I estimate a 96% probability that the assault on the lower levels is merely a diversion and that you represent the essential component of this admittedly unexpected offensive.” There’s a whole orchestra of smugness in his flat tones. “Therefore, your mission has been unsuccessful.”
If only I could reach my anvil! It’s too far away, caught up in wrecked machinery. I feel Ruin’s anger, an infectious fire. But we don’t have the element of surprise this time. He’d blow us apart before we got near him –
Slag that! I jump to my feet, dragging Rack with me.
“What’s the matter with you, lamp-face? Don’t recognise us? We’re as Decepticon as you are…well, we were ‘till you threw us out!”
He looks at us blankly. He can’t really look any other way.
“Identify your – Ah…Powerlinx Experiment 3291…outcome failure…subjects fused at molecular level, damage to neural net held potential for extreme mental instability, usefulness of resultant nil, resultant discarded.” He stops, gun arm levelled at us. “Explain your presence.”
“Why the slag should we do that?” My voice gets low and harsh.
“I am intrigued by your survival. And by your apparent defection.”
“Go to the pit!”
“An irrational statement. I shall have to dissect you. The fact of your survival raises some interesting questions.”
“You’re not going to get a chance to dissect us,” I snarl, “Not again.”
“My original examination was hardly a full dissection. And it now appears that the conclusions of that examination were erroneous. I predicted only a 7% probability of your systems functioning in harmony.”
All this time, we’re slowly charging our rockets. Shockwave doesn’t notice.
“My first priority, however, is the deactivation of the auto-destruct mechanism. I shall have to place you in stasis pending further investigation.”
The tip of his cannon glows star bright.
We jump. The energy catches us a glancing blow but we sail through unharmed. Shockwave’s optic widens. He didn’t predict our boosters or our extra tough armour. I swing my hammer. The Decepticon back peddles but I figured he would. Hydraulics wrench and my weapon telescopes out, doubling in length. It catches ol’ Shockers smack on the audio!
As he tumbles, we crash to a halt by Clawhammer. He’s stirring but still too far gone to be of use. There’s no sign of Refute. A beam of focused light stabs past and we dive for the floor. Shockwave’s on one knee, his hand clamped to the side of his head, holding his crumpled antenna in place.
“Surrendering is your most logical option.”
We charge to the right, another laser beam all the encouragement we need, I grind my gears, furious at being on the defensive. Shockwave suddenly changes tack. Panels fold out from his cannon, making it look like a radio array. Pain stabs into our CPUs. Some kind of transmission…radio waves doings things to our heads. We crash to the floor. Shockwave rises and walks over.
“Impressive resilience but an ultimately futile attempt at resistance.”
I roll over and point the just-recovered anvil at him. He doesn’t flinch. The weapon’s gun assembly flips up and clicks into place.
The plasma bolts stream into Shockwave’s eye, turning his head into a mass of flame. He screams. We roar.
I stop bothering about tactics and give into rage. My anvil, still spewing plasma, careens across his chest, spinning him round.
I bring the hammer down again and again.
Shockwave’s cannon crumples, explosions ripping across it as Ruin crushes its power coupling.
He tries to bring up his right forearm, to arm his wrist guns. We kick his legs from under him.
“RR! Rack! Ruin!”
It’s Refute He’s by the door, looking ridiculous as he helps the Clawhammer stand.
“We have to move! The bombs’ll go off any ‘second!”
Who cares? We’re about to tear Shockwave apart! I smash his left thigh to bits.
Wait! Wait! I struggle through the red haze. If we stay, we die!
Who fragging cares?
What about the others? We need to help them! They’ll never make it with Clawhammer still dazed!
But…
Shockwave’s as good as dead! We’re not! He couldn’t care less about us. Why do we care so much about him?
We stare at each other. I slowly nod. So does he.
In unison, we hit Shockwave one more time. He gives a pathetic groan and stops moving. Then we run for the door.
Clawhammer’s still not fully functional. We have to half drag him along the corridor. Alarms are blaring from everywhere but it still looks like everyone’s downstairs. There’s no time to go back to the Pathblaster hole so we grab one of Clawhammer’s guns, point it at the floor and go with gravity.
“Level twenty-one!” I yell, “Hangers!”
“You’d think they’d be sealing things up,” growls Refute.
“Hah! They can’t!” There’s triumph in Clawhammer’s slurred voice. “I shut down the…errr…when I…”
A towering mass of green metal blocks our path, all guns and blades and claws. Twin cannons arch over the thing’s shoulders, humming with power and aiming straight at us. Its visor flashes.
“You would be Shockwave’s ‘logical stratagem’, I take it?”
We aren’t going to get a chance to move.
Something big and orange shoots overhead. The green monstrosity is blasted straight down the passage, disappearing in a cloud of smoke and armour fragments. Landmine pivots in midair and touches down, flexing the massive talons bolted onto his forearms.
“That was boringly easy.”
“We’ve got to get out of here! The countdown’ll be nearly up!”
“Alright, alright. Don’t blow a fuse.”
He digs his claws into the thick, reinforced wall and rips.
The chamber beyond is full of ships and explosions. Springer’s in helicopter-mode, weaving through the fire from what looks like half the Decep army. Already most of the shuttles and gun-ships are burning or split open.
“Head that way!” he shouts, transforming and pointing before slagging a Seeker with his hurricane gun.
We dash the length of the hanger but come skidding to a halt when we realise what we’re running towards.
“Holy…”
It’s the Scorpio, the greatest Decepticon battleship ever built in all its monolithic glory. And its door is standing wide open.
“Go do something military like securing the bridge.”
Landmine just about throws us through the airlock. While he goes to help Springer hold off the ‘cons, we head into the huge ship, transforming to cover ground.
“Shouldn’t Darkmount be a pile of rubble by now?”
Clawhammer grunts in annoyance.
“Yeah. I guess someone managed to shut the bombs off. Slag. I thought I’d fixed it pretty good.”
“Never mind. I don’t think they’ll count on this hulk’s arsenal going off in the hanger bay.”
“Speaking of which,” he replies, “Anyone noticed the lack of Deceps in here? I mean, this place is a bit empty for a mega-battleship.”
We screech round a corner and into a long hallway with a battened hatch at the end. Decepticons like entrances. They also like packing them full of auto-guns, ion-mines and phase-shields. It’s nowhere near enough.
The technician with the stubby wings looks up in shock. The last thing he sees is four battle-stained Autobots bursting in and ending his career prospects in a blaze of gunfire.
“Right…engines…weapons…shields…view-scre
“Oh…frag it.”
“Clawhammer?”
“The night-watchmech’s been using the comms system but that’s it. Everything else but internal defences – which I’ve turned off – is locked down. I think it’s been routed through air-traffic control.”
“Can you override it?”
“Yep, with the other…virtual…ram…”
“The one that’s stuck in what’s left of the computer room?”
“That one.”
He slumps in the operator’s chair.
“Can you do anything?”
He reaches out and turns up the volume for the screen. Babbling voices and the sounds of explosions fill the room.
“That’s it. Engines are off. Guns are dead. We’re stuck.”
“There must be some way to get round it…manual override, reboot switch or something.”
“Nope. Paranoia can…can…oh.” He stands up, grabs us and pulls us over. “How fast are your processors?”
“Just above standard speed. Why?”
“Can you use them together?”
“Yes…oh.”
“What?”
“We can use them at the same time, giving us one super-fast processor.”
“So?”
“So with the right set of commands, we should be able to get round the lockdown.”
“Commands I can upload to you.” Clawhammer pulls out a data cartridge. “The complete works of Gigabyte, full length version.”
“Urm, Clawhammer? I know this might not be the best time to ask, but how the Pit do you know all this stuff about programming and computers?”
“We all need a hobby. Right. One crash-course coming up. Chapters ten-ten through thirty-thirty.”
With a sickening lurch, the data’s speed pulsed into our brains. Unlike the last time someone did that, we can at least share it between us. Ruin filters and sorts. I organise and file. There’s no time to integrate it into our databases. We’ll be reading it as we go along.
I drop my hammer and extend a comp-interface. Plugging it into the main control panel, I bring up a window full of numbers and letters, constantly scrolling and rewriting.
“Oh Primus.” With a look close to rapture, Clawhammer peers up at the code. “A Helix Codex. I’ve never seen one in action.”
“Can we save the program-spotting for later?”
“Sorry, sorry. Right, section three, chapter ten-twenty-five.”
We kind of lose our sense of time after that. We input and calculate and input some more, both of us interfacing directly with the computer. I’ve no idea if we’re getting anywhere. I think the theory behind this Helix Codex thing is that it rewrites itself constantly and the only way to break it is to force it to stay still. Comprehension is irrelevant though. We just program like mad, doing what Clawhammer tells us and hoping that it it’s working.
Refute’s tuned into external communications, getting a link to the other two and giving us an idea of how the fight’s going. Sounds like we’re winning – the Deceps don’t want to damage their precious super-weapon. While we’re too busy to pay much attention, something catches our audio.
“Crzzz…Autobots! This is your last chance. Surrender!”
“Go rev yourself!”
“Zzz…Steamhammer to control they – yes…vzzz…yes. As you command. Constructicons, to me!”
We jerk, nearly making a mistake as we do. Clawhammer hisses angrily.
“Watch it! What’s wrong?”
“Tell them to get inside the ship!”
“But –”
“Refute, get them in here!”
The speaker crackles.
“What the frag are they doing?” demands Springer.
“Does it matter?” Landmine. “Five in one place, easy pickings.”
“Constructicons: energise hyperchargers!”
“Eh? What’s that glow? Looks like blue…stars?”
“Transform! Phase two!”
“What in the name of – they’re growing. And –”
The voices vanish into static. We input commands like mad.
“Get them in here!” I’m practically screeching.
“Fzzz…what the Pit is that?”
“Big! Move!”
Boom. Boom. Boom. BOOM.
Footsteps coming closer and closer.
“Springer to bridge: shoot that thing!”
“How? We can’t even vent the waste hopper!” Refute sounds frantic.
“Wonderful. Hurry up and get – move!”
ShrumphBOOOMM!
“YOU HAVE NOWHERE TO RUN. NOTHING CAN WITHSTAND THE MIGHT OF DEVASTATOR. EXIT THE CRAFT OR I WILL TEAR YOU FROM IT.”
“Huh. I thought you wanted it in one piece!”
“WE CAN REPAIR IT. SURRENDER OR DIE.”
“You mean surrender and die.”
THOOM! THOOM! THOOM! CRUMPH! THOOM!
“Bridge! Get your afts in gear and do something!”
Hex to the power four times seventy hundred plus ninety carry sigma adding vector nine to zeta fractals through omega alpha goto ten root prime alpha negate six…
Come on, come on!
BOOM! BOOM! THUUDDD!
Delta fractal seven plus nega point multiple fifty-three root six hex to quad gamma equals ten to the power sixty theta makes eight vector – no – nine vector makes…
Work damn it, work!
SHIARKKK! CRUMPH!
Which gives twenty to the point oh four plus six seven and by Gigabyte’s third law that means…
“Computer control released. Resetting main command system. Activating helm. Activating gunnery control. Activating engineering control. Scorpio active. WARNING: Hull breech in progress on levels ten through thirty.”
“We did it!” Whooping, Clawhammer throws himself into the helm seat. “Springer, Landmine? Are you inside?”
“Fzzz…vzzz…again? Repeat, come again?”
“Springer, are you inside?”
“Mostly – look out!”
FOOOMMM! Thud! Thud!
“Ouch!…fzzzz… We are definitely in!”
“Good. Shields on.”
The lights dim. Something far below starts humming. We get a brief glimpse of a massive figure with blazing purple optics before a curtain of distortion sweeps over the image. The sound of giant punches fades to soft thuds.
“That should hold him for a bit. Now…engines, engines…” Our friend presses a few more buttons and the whole ship bucks, lifting a few spans into the air. The shaking and humming settles down into a faint vibration.
“No bad, femmes and mechs, not bad.”
Springer’s in the doorway, supporting a severely battered Landmine.
“Not bad at all. You sit down and get some rest. Next time, run faster.” He props the other Autobot against a console and strolls to the commander’s throne. “How do this crate’s guns work then?”
We disengage from the computer, moving to a panel to our right.
“Like this.”
We power up the forward cannons. The targeting display shows an outline view of Devastator and the hanger around him. He’s one ugly slagger.
“Smash, fry or incinerate?”
“Oh, incinerate I think.”
I press the master firing control.
The deck rumbles. There’s a bright flash as half a dozen mega-blasters go off at the same time. The giant silhouette stays upright for a few ‘seconds then seems to fall apart. Smaller shapes pass over the diagram, Seekers swooping down, firing pointlessly on our shields. They might as well just fly straight into ‘em. We toggle the AA guns to take blow them out of the sky. Springer smiles broadly.
“Good work. Take us out of here Clawhammer.”
“You know the hanger doors are still shut?”
“RR?”
Press. Whoosh. Bang.
“No they’re not.”
“Good. Now…” He leans forward. “Can we hit anything large, expensive and explosive from here?”
“Hmm…” I bring up the ship’s copy of Darkmount’s plans. “Frankly, with the rockets we’ve got aboard, we can hit anything. We ought to be on the outside first though.”
“Details, details. Clawhammer, full power to engines. RR, fire at will.”
“So long Shockwave!”
A missile streaks from the Scorpio’s underbelly, blasting a big hole in the hanger floor. And in the fuel reservoirs beneath. For good luck, we send another after it. The explosion’s spectacular. We’re already in flight, hurtling from the inferno, chunks of tower raining down all around us.
For a bit, none of us can speak. We just stare at the visual feed, watching as half of Darkmount slumps and crumbles, flames spitting and clawing across the falling metal. Decepticons fly for their lives, Seekers, technicians, tank-bots, Constructicons all caught up in a mad rush to escape. We focus in on one pair, just in front of the erupting fortress.
“Slag it.”
It’s Shockwave, being carried out of danger by that big green creep Landmine decked. Well actually, it’s more what’s left of Shockwave…
“Heh. Heh heh. Heh heh aha hah hah heh heh hah heh!” I nearly collapse! “Look at him! Bet he knows what it’s like to only have one arm now! And one leg! And no chest plate!”
“Wha…?” Refute looks at us like we’re mad. “He’s getting out! Can we blast ‘em from here?”
“And put him out of his misery? Forget it!”
“Right answer.”
With one bound, Springer’s off the throne and landing between us and Clawhammer.
“We’re going straight home. Set course for Iacon.” His grin hasn’t lessened. “I can’t wait to see Prime’s face when we roll up. Gentlemechs, I think we can say that our first mission has been a resounding success.”
“Pity Darkmount’s still standing,” says Landmine as he rubs at a burn across his chest. “We were supposed to level it, not just knock one wall down.”
“A bit more than just a wall, my friend! Not to mention that we’ve just stolen the Decepticon’s biggest spaceship right from under their olfactory sensors.”
“And,” I add, producing our data cartridge, “the plans for that Devastator thing.”
Everyone looks at us in shock. Clawhammer laughs softly.
“And I’m the one who likes computers.”
“Nice work RR.” Springer claps us on both our shoulders before stepping back and taking a last look at Darkmount. So, most of the thing’s still upright. But by now, it’s completely engulfed in flames. “Scratch Megatron’s strategic advantage. Darkmount wrecked, Scorpio stolen, new super-Powerlinx process about to be copied. Not bad for a commando squad thrown together from a bunch of psychos and lunatics.”
“Thanks a bunch.” Landmine stands up and wanders over, shrugging off his armour. “You realise we’ll scare the sprockets off the rest of Prime’s cronies? The wreckers of Darkmount, the stealers of the Scorpio and all that. Huh. Might be interesting.”
We watch screen as the glow of the fire vanishes over the horizon.
“We didn’t get him. Not permanently.”
“Fair’s fair. He didn’t get us permanently. Anyway, you said it: he doesn’t care about us, we shouldn’t care about him.”
“Well, he didn’t care about us. He might now.”
“Doubt it. And don’t worry, we’ll probably run into him again.”
“Now there’s something to look forward to.”
I reach out and pick up my hammer again. Refute crosses his arms.
“Anyone else thinking that Prime’s a laser-brain?”
Springer raises an optic ridge.
“Why?”
Clawhammer answers with a grin.
“Because we’ve proved him wrong. Running full tilt at the enemy does work.”
“Yeah.” Landmine stretches. “Wreck everything in sight and there won’t be any enemies left.”
“You going to tell him that?” The heli-bot turns to us. “Anything to add to my report RR?”
“Yes, actually.”
“Wrecking rules!”
Transformers and related characters are owned by Hasbro.
