The Veiled Threat (9 page)

“Greetings, Payload. You did well to conceal yourself until your presence was required.”

The other Decepticon nodded at his colleague. “When I first arrived on this world Starscream told me I would have no difficulty in choosing an indigenous mode that would reflect not only my personal but also my aesthetic preferences. He was correct.” Surveying their surroundings he was disappointed by what he saw, but hardly surprised. “It appears that the natives have now decided to invest in flight rather than fight. A pity. Though hardly much of a challenge, battling them has been a learning experience.”

“I agree.” Macerator joined his comrade in watching as the surviving humans fled into the surrounding bush. “While individually they are harmless, in packs they can be annoying and, according to Starscream, even dangerous. Underestimating their conjoined capabilities has cost us the Sparks of several.”

“So I was informed. Seeing them fleeing like this, it is a hard thing to countenance.”

“I was not there myself, of course, but Starscream assures me it was so. Megatron himself was brought low by a single human.”

As the volume of small-caliber shells splintering against his body continued to decline, Payload found himself brooding on the seemingly impossible.

“I was told what had transpired, but I believe that
Starscream was given to leaving out certain details. He favors short phrases emphasizing his own contributions, and tends to shout.”

“I know. I understand that Megatron’s passing was ironic. A Decepticon deceived, was how Starscream put it. No matter. He insists that he has learned more than enough to allow us to take complete control of this world, and that both it and its diminutive but resourceful population can be put to good use. He assures me that when this work is finished we will not only control all of this planet but be in position to destroy the last of the Autobots and regain complete control of Cybertron as well.”

Payload was not as much given to contemplation as some of his colleagues, but Macerator’s narrative still gave him pause.

“In the past, Starscream has been known to promise many things.”

“We must follow his guidance. He is our leader now that Megatron is dead.”

Lens locked with lens. “Are you and Dropkick certain he is dead? Should he return and find that we have allied ourselves fully with Starscream, I would fear for my Spark.”

Macerator did not hesitate. “Starscream has shown recordings of the great battle that occurred earlier on this world. Megatron’s Spark was merged with the Allspark. There is no question that he is dead.”

“Then we follow Starscream. For the present.” Payload looked toward the building behind which Macerator had been standing. “I sense a source of potential energy within this structure.” Arms rose and took aim; one consisted of a revolving cannon,
while the other was heavy with missiles of advanced design. “I will make an entrance.”

One metal arm came down to restrain another. “That would be unwise. While I, too, am eager to make use of the material within, Starscream warned me that as creative as they are, these humans have not yet learned how to properly stabilize much of their weaponry. I fear that your method of choice might result in the activation and consequent loss of that which we seek to utilize.” He stepped forward. “Defer if you will to a more localized and gentler methodology.”

Folding in upon itself, a weapons-holding hand gave way to a quintet of incredibly sharp carbon-edged blades. A deep whine filled the air as they began to spin at an impossible speed. Bending forward, Macerator touched his cutting blades to the side of the squat building before him. He proceeded to cut through the thick outer wall of the structure as delicately as a surgeon cracking a chest cavity. Several slices later, Payload joined him in lifting the excised section of roof and setting it aside. The need for the structure’s massive, angled concrete walls stood revealed.

Within lay enough industrial explosives to destroy a small city. Or reduce a basalt gorge to transportable rubble.

Gesturing with both hands, Macerator stepped aside. “After you.”

“No, no.” Payload waved one hand deferentially. “After you. The one who gains entrance always precedes.”

“As you wish.”

Anyone traveling down the southern part of the narrow island’s single-lane road of hard-packed coral rubble would hardly have looked twice at the motorcycle and tow truck parked side by side facing the open ocean. Workers from the main part of the atoll or from NEST itself often relaxed by taking short drives away from their respective work areas. While the inner lagoon at Diego Garcia offered quiet water, the ocean side was cooler and richer in sea life.

Had such visitors paused, however, they might have been puzzled to see that no one was snorkeling or diving in front of the parking area. No laughter drifted in on the Indian Ocean wind from picnickers enjoying a day off. No daytime idlers were visible beachcombing for sea glass or shells. The two vehicles sat by themselves, to all intents and purposes abandoned and alone. They were neither, of course. They had each other for company. A visitor might also have noted that no one sat behind the vehicle of the brawny tow truck, and that in defiance of normal motorcycle physics, the powerful two-wheeler somehow managed to remain upright without its kickstand deployed.

“I still don’t understand why we weren’t asked to
accompany the expedition.” Seeking a temporary perch from which to watch for meandering crabs, a seagull settled down atop one of the motorcycle’s gleaming handlebars. A sharp blast from the bike’s horn sent it squawking seaward.

Longarm was amusing himself by alternately flashing his headlights at a feral cat. The cat would jump at high beam, retreat, then leap at the other, always falling back before making contact. This world was an endless banquet of fascinating organics, the Autobot mused, and in his personal opinion humans were not necessarily the most attractive ones.

“You heard what Optimus said. Sending all of us after Starscream might better ensure success, but if they fail to find him and another crisis should erupt while the bulk of our forces are occupied elsewhere, NEST must be able to draw on at least a minimum of Autobot strength to counter it.” The big towing arm swung sideways so that the tip of its heavy hook barely grazed the motorcycle’s seat. “That’s you and I here, Bumblebee elsewhere.”

“But why us? Salvage and Beachbreak are just as new to this world as we are. Why not have them stay behind?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure Optimus has his reasons. My lineage is longer than yours, Knockout, and if there’s one thing I know for a certainty, it’s that Optimus Prime
always
has his reasons. Keep in mind also that he knows this world and its dominant organic species better than anyone. We are no longer alone in this fight against Starscream and cannot act as if we are.”

“Humans. If not out of consideration for them and
their ‘feelings,’ we could scour this world far more openly. We would already have found Starscream and dealt with him! If he is even
on
this world any longer.”

“Do not be so sure of yourself. Starscream’s cunning exceeds even his physical abilities. Furthermore, in his Earth guise he can travel farther and faster than any of us. It forces him to appear as himself when he touches ground, but it also gives him great range and the ability to conceal himself in many places.”

“
I’d
find him.” Coming to life with a roar, the motorcycle lofted an impressive fishtail of beach sand as it wheelied toward the water. At the last possible instant it spun around, kicking sand and dirt into the sea, and returned to rejoin the tow truck.

“You shouldn’t do that.” Longarm would have shaken his head had he been presenting one. “Even on this island across from the humans’ main base we’re not supposed to reveal ourselves or our abilities unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“What abilities?” Knockout flashed his headlight. “I haven’t altered my appearance.”

“No, but there is no driver on your seat. It is not normal for human vehicles to move about under their own power without a guiding human on board. When we are out like this, even on the island that is headquarters for NEST, we need to be careful not to draw attention to ourselves.”

Knockout rumbled sullenly. “So much time spent underground. Nowhere to explore. I chose this guise for its aesthetics and mobility, but also because it can cover long distances at high speed. I want to make use of it, not be strangled by it.”

“As long as there are Decepticons to worry about, we must restrict our activities and our actions.” Longarm spoke sternly to his compatriot. “Our other objective is to protect our human allies. It is not to go gallivanting about this new world as though all were right with the cosmos.”

“But it’s such an
interesting
world,” Knockout objected. “Even some of the humans, those not constipated by self-importance and a surplus of gravity, are interesting. I want to see more of their home and meet more of them.”

“Collective survival must perforce take precedence over individual satisfaction.” Longarm’s tone was somber. “There will be ample time for exploration and enjoyment once our aims have been accomplished.”

“ ‘Our aims.’ ” The motorcycle roared petulantly. “How many more long cycles must we wait before these are accomplished? Is existence until then to be restricted to nothing more than waiting and fighting, waiting and fighting?”

“Until the last fight, it must always be so.”

“And will there be a ‘last’ fight?”

Engaging its engine, the tow truck started to back up toward the road. “Optimus thinks so. Megatron is finished. Terminate Starscream on this world and manage the journey back to Cybertron. Then we can at last begin to rebuild that which was destroyed, and recover all that was lost to us.” With the motorcycle hastening to catch up, the truck turned and rumbled out onto the island’s single track.

“Meanwhile, Optimus Prime is our leader and we
must do as he says. I have never known him to err in judgment.”

“There’s always a first time.”

The truck’s brakes locked up. “What? What did you say, Knockout?”

“Nothing.” The motorcycle’s engine revved loudly. “Race you back to the base!”

Longarm did not even make the attempt. The other Autobot’s capacity to accelerate exceeded that of his own heavier guise by several orders of magnitude. Sand and gravel spit backward by the cycle’s rear tire clinked off Longarm’s grille and windshield. These did no damage either to his local form or to his ego.

Knockout was impatient. Such eagerness could be channeled, such energy needed to be utilized. But as he followed his comrade back to NEST headquarters at a more leisurely pace, Longarm could not help but reflect on his earlier words.

If there was to be a fight soon with Starscream, he would have wanted to be in on it, too.

“I don’t get it.”

Riding in the cab of the big diesel that was Optimus Prime’s chosen terrestrial form, Lennox directed his bemusement not to Sergeant Epps, who though seated behind the wheel never laid a hand on it, nor to Kaminari or Petr who occupied the wide seat behind them. Instead he addressed himself to empty air—or more precisely, to the perfectly smooth dash in front of him. The response, when it came, issued from speakers that filled the truck cab with sound. When he spoke thus to those he was transporting, Optimus was careful to lower his voice to a comparative
whisper so as not to damage fragile organic auditory apparatus. To Kaminari it sounded as if the cab were inhabited by a resolute ghost speaking in a perfectly normal tone of voice.

“It is evident that other Decepticons have arrived on Earth,” the leader of the Autobots remarked. “Just as the signal I have been sending out has drawn others of my kind such as Salvage and Beachbreak, Longarm and Knockout to your world, so Starscream must have been propagating a call for assistance.”

“Unless it is Megatron’s doing.” Sitting behind Epps, Petr was intent on an inch-long iridescent green beetle that had flown in through an open window and was now tentatively exploring the back of the Russian’s left hand.

“Megatron can’t send a damn postcard.” Though he was sitting behind the wheel, Epps made no attempt to manipulate the “controls” laid out in front of him. Like his companions, he was only a passenger. The cord dangling from his right ear connected to the powerful portable computer resting on his lap. “He’s done, dead, and drowned.”

“I concur.” Optimus’s reassuring voice drifted softly through the cab. “Therefore these new Decepticons must have been drawn here in response to a call from Starscream. Which in turn confirms the suspicions raised by the initial reports of an aircraft matching his chosen terrestrial mode overflying this region. He is here, somewhere, and we will find him.”

“What about these new Decepticons?” Kaminari shifted in her seat. “Do we know anything about them?”

Leaning to her right, she glanced in the side-view
mirror. An ambulance and two pickup trucks kicked up dust behind the diesel as the small convoy rumbled down the dirt road. While an unusual group of vehicles for the area, it was not so outrageous as to attract more than casual attention from the driver of the occasional other oncoming vehicle or the occupants of the small villages through which they were passing. Any casual onlooker would have seen just a trio of trucks, heading south toward the river.