Part 13: Act Three​

“Someday we will have to deal with these robots no matter how powerful they are.” Destro had been pacing especially fast that day, “Just because they seem to want to leave us alone now doesn’t mean that the situation will last!”

The resources of an entire Terrordrome, almost two thirds of their discretionary budget for several years running, had been poured into a conflict that never materialized. At least not until today.

Then it had all been abandoned, diverted, or else quietly used for training purposes once more pressing realities had hit home hard. No complete Terrordrome. No great army of piloted battlemechs or endless waves of BATs.

Act Three was a mouse and not a lion. A nasty, venomous mouse ... but still a mouse.

“And that’s that for the nucleon piles!”

While it was true that the original plan had been to use the piles to break up all transmissions for the whole duration of the attack, it was likely that the Autobots had already found a way around them. Realities had changed anyway and, besides that, if all broadcast communications were blocked then what would his DVRs back home have to record? This low resolution footage from the airport would only carry the show so far.

Only, he needed to let the news crews know they could transmit once again.

Cobra Commander cleared his throat to make sure he wasn’t about to have another coughing attack. Then he double checked the communications patch program again, after all, he should be in Siberia and not on some Hawaiian beach!

The cameras red light came on.

“People of Ssseattle, the United States, and of the World: I am Cobra Commander!

“It is with dismay that we’ve watched you flailing about in testicle-less international union as you kissed the polychromed alloyed toes of mechanicals and aliens alike. What worthless toadies you truly are! To think of all the glorious wars and heroic struggles you’ve fought for your ideals and grandiose visions, that it has come to this: an era where no one tries to be anything but mediocre! Where are your stirring speeches of sweet liberty or your passionate howls for renewed tyrannies?

“Have you nothing you value? Nothing you lust for? Is peace with 900 channels worth of entertainment all you desire? You’re beneath contempt!!! I don’t even think you’re WORTH enslaving anymore; but, I guess I’ll have to make due with you when the time comes.

“In the meantime, I’ve arranged for a little entertainment, really a wager: would our decades old preparations to defend our very home world from these alien machines really have worked? Could we have pushed these interlopers from Earth and saved this world for men alone to rule even though Cobra hadn’t yet been anything but a rag tag collection of your best and brightest who understood that power and authority wasss their destiny? With that in mind I’ve scraped off the rust from what little has survived over a decade of neglect and recycling.... The streets are clean for your master’s feet, so enjoy the show. I’m sure the ratings will be excellent!...

“Stupid scum....” he muttered before, “Cut off that camera!”

Cobra Commander had cut the camera off midway through the last sentence. But this was a grand moment — one for which he was glad for that old dress uniform and spare faceplate that he’d found — and playing the part to the hilt was essential. He would have had a cameraman after all.

A moment to check his communications equipment and he was sure that his efforts to make the transmission look like it had come from a secret base in Siberia had worked.

The Russians didn’t much like or trust anyone and no one really liked or trusted them no matter what they said to Putin’s face, not if they needed Russian oil or cooperation. Given the common historical amnesia, it would be relatively easy for people to believe that he would give Cobra safe haven. Cobra: infamous as America’s foe. Birds of a feather and all that.

He took one final glance at the progress made by the withdrawing BATs and medium units before disconnecting all remaining external links — save, of course, those to airport security. Whatever was going to happen, it was out of his hands now.

He removed his faceplate.

“Hawaiian, veggie or meat lovers?” he questioned, looking over his remaining pies.






Despite all that had happened and was happening, Goldbug hoped that his friends could forgive him that he didn’t tell them about the radiation hazard first rather than tell Rewind that Cobra was the enemy. In retrospect, even those moments of acting surprised at the shaking ground now seemed like an extravagance. They were putting on their gas mask and trying to act reassured, but it didn’t help the way he felt.

Rewind was going on about some transmission they’d gotten but it was all clutter and background noise. The ground was still shaking. And something was moving around in the darkness off to the southwest.

“There are nine of them.” Nosecone reported.

“Nine?”

“That’s what Scattershot says. He actually ... ah, I mean he took off and got a nice ground radar image of the airport. He wants me to come over to the terminal so we can finish this together.”

Goldbug shook his head in dismay: by the time Nosecone got to the terminal; Strafe returned from taking people to the hospital; they became Computron; and only then settled on a course of action the situation would already be out of control.

And if there was only nine of whatever they are then why was the ground still shaking?

He activated his comm and hoped the Technobot leader would be reasonable.

“Scattershot, this is Goldbug. Listen, we need to move quickly against these things rather than wait for Computron. I want you to send Afterburner and Lightspeed after the nearest–”

“We need to act together!” Scattershot interrupted.

“We will be. But Strafe is taking some of his people to the Hospital.”

“I didn’t tell him to.”

“I sent him!” Goldbug growled impatiently, “I want you to tell me where these things are. Until Strafe gets back I’ll team up with Nosecone, Lightspeed and Afterburner can work together, and you’ll be our eyes in the sky and attack anything that tries to leave the airport. We will keep this contained!”

“Yes, Sir.” Scattershot grumbled.

“Thanks! Nosecone, can you sense what’s going on underground? I want to know why the ground is shaking.”

“My ground imaging sensors are only really accurate when I’m below; but,” he knelt and seemed to be concentrating, “I think it’s a series of underground explosions. There’s a pattern.... Something big is coming.”

Goldbug was considering his response when Scattershot transmitted the locations of nine large machines moving in groups of three. They were bigger than he was and moved on multiple legs. All three groups were heading towards the main terminal.

“Do you know where it’s coming up?”

Nosecone shook his head: “Everywhere.”

“What is it with megalomaniacs and doomsday machines? Isn’t the rain bad enough?”

“The rain....”

Nosecone was looking towards the sky and you could see the proverbial gears in his head turning.

“What about the rain?” a guardsman who had been with Nosecone asked.

“I’m more interested–” Brisco began.

“Give him time to think!” the other officer held up his hand.

Goldbug knew that Nosecone was really smart, but far too methodical. He might take too long coming up with whatever it was he was coming up with. There was something bad nearby that needed to be dealt with first.

“The drainage system has to be beyond its limits. Water is standing everywhere.”

Well, that was unexpectedly fast.

“If ... if I dig down.... Dig down and I might be able to flood whatever is down there. It might slow it down. Or stop it altogether if I can engage it while it’s still coming up.”

“What about people?”

“I don’t think there are many, if any. I listened in on the transmission that Rewind was talking about and it sounded like we’re up against drones.... But I can’t go. That would mean leaving you alone.”

“Go!”

“But–”

“You heard me: go! I can take care of myself.”

Nosecone nodded.

It sometimes seemed to Goldbug that people thought he was just a kid, a punk. But as Bumblebee he’d been among the Autobot’s very best and it was no accident or fluke that he’d been on the Ark — folks somehow seemed to forget that.

Goldbug watched as his fellow Autobot transformed, pitched up and began drilling down.

“What do we do?” the other officer, one Captain Killborn, asked.

“We fight dirty.”






The machines stepped onto the runway and into the light on their way towards the main terminal. They were scorpion-like with four rotary guns up front in place of claws and another pair in the tail. It had already been reported that the irregular bumps along their sides hid missile launchers, though these had proved useless for attacking fast targets.

Rather than go to them, Goldbug and those with him had fallen back to the far side of the runway, behind the landing lights where they would hopefully be less visible.

From what Scattershot and Lightspeed had told him they appeared to be made for pilots; but, were operating independently instead. In addition to being much better armed they were much smarter than the BATs and their tactics were proving effective. Against Lightspeed and Afterburner they’d adopted a formation that allowed them to provide good covering fire and remain somewhat mobile. Against Scattershot they had linked into some sort of mini fortress that maximized the ability to protect themselves from air attacks.

They were being worn down, but it was taking time since even Scattershot understood that the only thing between them and hundreds of helpless humans was now just four Autobots and far too few soldiers.

Still no word from either Nosecone or Strafe.

Goldbug’s problem was that he had no way to wear his trio down.

“Are you ready?” he asked the soldiers who had been working on the tow ropes he normally carried for more conventional emergencies.

He had bent a number of metal post into crude hooks to be tied to ropes. Lieutenant Williams held up a number of bumper hooks attached to a spreader bar, part of a trapeze arrangement, and nodded enthusiastically.

He transformed and felt the all too real goosh of mud and water attack him wherever he folded in on himself — fighting dirty had rarely been this literal! They connected the improvised tow rig behind him and loaded his interior down with their packs and gear to help him get as much traction as he could.

He reviewed the self-diagnostics program he’d run earlier. His power attenuators really could be made to operate differently, increasing power rather than just improving efficiency. It must have been something that the Quintesson did to him when he’d rebuilt him.

“Here’s something ventured!” he muttered as he put his attenuators in this ‘overdrive’ mode and started accelerating on his now bare rims.

The extra power was instantly noticeable and even pushing through standing water he was rapidly accelerating.

From behind several layers of plexiglas shields, Brisco opened fire with Goldbug’s own weapon — they were using Zwickster as a human tripod. The others followed suit behind what cover they could manage.

The lead Cobra drone opened fire even as the others widened the gap between them. He could feel his hood and windshield give way beneath their shells.

“Eeeyeeaaggh!” both a battle cry and shout of pain.

His rubber-less rims found purchase in the tarmac as he began weaving — not to dodge but to set the trapeze in motion. He ran straight at the lead drone. 50 ... 60 ... 72 miles per hour. He dodged to the left and set his sights on the next machine in case he missed.

But the trapeze found purchase and ripped his back bumper off even as the great bug it had ensnared flipped over onto its back where it would hopefully stay.

Transform and leap.

He landed caddywompus on the second scorpion and clung to its slick armored surface.

He barely saw the tail swing up and take aim at him. Grabbing a leg he let himself slide and roll under the bug.

It still fired?! So these things weren’t that smart after all.

It was dragging him along and picking up speed. The cockpit should be just above him so maybe the core processor would be too? With only one chance and no margin for error, he let go and kicked upwards with all his now enhanced might. His feet penetrated! Then he dropped from the still moving mechanoid and rolled.

“Transform!” he yelled at his inner mechanisms to no avail.

“Blast it Goldbug, Transform!!!”

Without his hood and with his right arm still not tucked away, Goldbug rolled out again to overtake the injured drone.

He reached it and was able to jump on its back just as the tarmac gave out — which was good because rims in the mud would’ve been a bust.

This time Goldbug was close to the base of the tail where it couldn’t fire at him. The armor there was surprisingly durable — it took him four swings just to get a starter hole going. He tore on this till he saw something that looked important.

The scorpion shuttered and stumbled to a halt when he smashed whatever it was that he’d just punched.

“Everyone!” he shouted over the comm, “Their processor core appears to be near the base of the tail. Aim there! Scattershot, one got past me. I need you to take it out ASAP!”

“If you really insist.” came the curt reply.

Goldbug let himself laugh despite the pain as he rolled off the machine.

“I really, really ... ouch!” Water wasn’t supposed to get in that! “I hope this thing doesn’t blow up before I limp away.”

Despite all expectations that it would, it didn’t.






It was still raining, but now brilliant shafts of morning light had broken through the clouds.

“I’ve never been so happy to see the sun over Seattle!” Goldbug emoted while First Aid continued his repairs.

What was left of Auburn Municipal Airport was still collapsing into a new lake. Cobra had apparently built a massive base beneath it and the explosions that Nosecone had sensed turned out to be demolition charges. Nosecone was all right. Everyone was all right. Except for maybe Strafe ... but that was arguably just being Strafe.

“The rain is helping to solve our radiation problem,” First Aid observed in his ever friendly way, “so I’d really rather it kept raining.”

“What do you think?” Marshal Creed was watching the destruction that was still slowly unfolding, “Lake Creed? Or how about Goldbug Pond?”

Laughter from the nearby peanut gallery.

“I’d never live down the in-jokes.” Goldbug groaned.

Which was true, his race had inordinately long memories when it came to in-jokes.

“I’m just glad Ultra Magnus recalled my team when the rain started getting bad. Lots for us to do!” First Aid observed, “By the way, I heard someone say you might be in the market for a new alt mode? If you’ll give me some advance notice I’ll start working on the design.”

This again?!

“I’ll tell you what, can I be the Starship Enterprise? Only painted in my old Bumblebee-yellow with a black racing stripe on the saucer section?”

“Ummmm ... I don’t see how we could– Sorry, but no.”

“Then I’ll stick with being a Super Bug for now. Thanks anyway!”​

 

great story, keep it up,  

 

More is coming soon.

Incidentally, I need to give credit where credit is due: http://neumatic.deviantart.com/art/Enterprise-Bumblebee-66295952

 

Part 14: Control​

For some reason, Vilnacron’s ruins were depressing in ways that other cities’ ruins were not — including Kaon’s. It was as if the destruction were somehow desecration — an odd feeling that Starscream just couldn’t explain away. But maybe it was that same sort of feeling, only in others, that had spared the Palace of Gold and a few other structures in the first place?

As for the thought that Megatron hadn’t presided over a fair trial, it was seeming less and less likely that it would’ve made a difference if he had. The evidence against Onslaught’s team was simply too compelling and the precedents in law that supported their justification too strained. Along with the sealed files about the trial, Starscream had also forgotten the sense of heroic and futile resistance surrounding his own presentations — an acquittal would have transformed him into the darling of the age.

All he knew for sure was that Megatron had purposed from the start to be “merciful” in his own novel way. He had said it would highlight the Decepticon Code and how the Decepticons upheld the importance of any given person’s identity rather than respect some supercilious mystical notion about the Allspark. So rather than the death penalty, the Combaticons would be imprisoned as disembodied sparks for a time — if they were convicted, of course. And they had been.

But thanks to the Nemesis mission, the Combaticons spent millions of years too long in that state. No wonder they were vengeful! Even now, with all the safe guards in place, they were still dangerous–

At the other end of the large chamber they were in, Autobot Skydive stumbled through some weak spot in the floor and tumbled noisily for a dozen astroseconds.

–allies....

Starscream could feel the oil surging towards the corners of his optic covers as he suppressed his laughter.

The Aerialbots were quick to leap to their friend’s aid and soon confirmed that he was wedged tight into a previously concealed drop shaft.

“Blame the inelegance of your designs for this one.” Starscream chimed, “Maybe I should take this opportunity to ask it: how do you even sit down?”

“Will someone just shoot him already?!” came an angry grumble from below.

It was something to consider that, by sheer reputation, these five were the most stable Autobot combiner team.

Starscream turned away from the Autobots to continue shifting through a jumble of scavenged components that they’d found here in the basement of the old Central Court of Primacronian Law. The fate of the court wasn’t what interested him so much as the recycle cache that had been made of it. Someone had obviously gone through the pile before him, so he wasn’t expecting to find anything they might’ve considered useful. Since there was an abundance of processors and comm hubs left behind, but no power or memory systems, things didn’t bode well for finding any intact data bases in Vilnacron. If the locals had been hungry for power and memory systems then the street libraries, with their modern and easily accessible equipment, would’ve been among the first to go.

“So why go on with the charade any longer?” he asked himself, “If there was even a little hope of finding something here, I could use the opportunity to work on these Autodolts bit by bit and undermine their ‘Great Leader.’ But, as it is, this is a fool’s errand and even they will realize it before long!”

Starscream paused to examine a partly dismantled “CORE LOGIC BOARD” — it was actually labeled that way — and for a moment reflected on the sheer age of the artifact in his hand. In theory it could be as old as Vilnacron, or maybe even as old as Cybertron herself. Had it not been ripped apart it would probably be functioning quietly in some ancient computron somewhere around here.

“There’s not much hope for restoring that!” Autobot Air Raid chuckled.

Starscream reminded himself that this one, along with the one in the hole, were the two he had hopes for — so he suppressed a snide comment about it being “About as easy to restore Cybertron.” and mutely dropped the board back onto the pile.

“What do you think I’ve been doing going over this recycle cache while you five have been exploring?” he said without turning.

“You don’t want to know what I think!” the Autobot spat.

He let a smile creep onto his face: “By knowing what they took from this pile I know what they needed: power and memory components. Since those make up the kinds of systems we’re looking for I can already tell you what we might find here in Vilnacron.”

He turned in time to see the Autobot’s expression become sullen.

There was more commotion over by the pitfall — the sounds of the trapped Autobot falling even farther.

“But it seems we need to poke around in this basement for a while yet.” Starscream laughed, “Unless there’s a chance he didn’t survive?”

“Skydive’s too tough to die in a fall, Decepticon!” the Autobot needlessly informed.

“I’m sure he would be!... Silverbolt,” he called across the room, “if Skydive can’t fly or climb out, tell him to stay put. Vilnacron’s under city was shielded so if he wanders off you may never find him. If he stays put you’ll at least know where to dig if it comes to that.”

It didn’t matter if the Autobot had reached the same conclusion or not. Starscream wasn’t about to take orders when he could give them instead — even if it meant play-acting concern about an Autobot’s welfare. No matter what, he wasn’t going to just surrender his fate to someone else’s plans — his life was in his own hands.

He walked over and examined the features of the now partly collapsed pitfall. It had obviously been excavated and possibly had something to do with the recycle cache. Could there be a colony of survivors down there?

The Autobot had just started climbing out when his leader told him to stay put.

“We’ll look for another way down.”

“Don’t want to scuff your paint?” Starscream taunted.

“I won’t fit down that hole.”

“Silverbolt, this was the old Central Court so it probably lacks under city access besides this pit. Or at least anything large enough for us to fit through. Granted, some newer building wouldn’t have the same problem; but, if you want to see what’s down there this hole may be your only sure way.”

“There should be a better way down than this.”

Starscream contemplated what they might find if there were survivors. The worst case scenario would be finding Decepticon deserters. The best possibility, the remote chance of finding retired Seekers aside, would be an encampment drawn from the general population with no strong ties to anyone. Of course, they might find nothing but lifeless bodies.

So how to spin any discovery to his advantage? The Aerialbot’s utter ignorance about Cybertron definitely was an asset.

“Then we need to move fast.” he told the Aerialbot leader, “If the people responsible for that pile are still down there, and we have no idea what to expect from them, we should expect the worst. We might even find Decepticon deserters.”

“Kinda sucks to be in the Decepticon leadership!” Autobot Slingshot laughed, “So maybe we should let you go first?”

“Skydive has already gone first!” the Seeker corrected.

That shut the cretin up!

Whatever they decided to do, he would make this work to his advantage. He’d already seen how the right blend of contempt and praise could work wonders. Down that hole, where his experience and his knowledge would reign supreme, may lay the proverbial promised land. They were so like kyanite waiting for the kiln in his hands!

Epilogue​

“What were your findings?”

Galvatron didn’t turn away from the window as he acknowledged Soundwave’s entrance.

“The source of the data mining was Kaon. The human embassy in Iacon was compromised. They used an old ground line that was only partially secure.”

“Kaon.... I see.” Galvatron nodded, “And Zarak?”

“He is aggravated that you have taken no disciplinary action against me: for moving Scorponok; for scuttling his Phantoms rather than see them captured. His pride has been wounded.”

“A calculated risk if my Decepticons are to know how I value their efforts on my behalf. Did either Zarak or these strangers detect you?”

“Negative.”

Galvatron nodded thoughtfully and continued looking out the window.

“Analysis of their data mining suggest they were looking for information encompassing the madness plague incident; but, their interest was not in the madness plague itself so much as it was in the events surrounding its progress and the effect it had on human society. Hypothesis: they are proving ideas for the effectiveness of a similar weapon. Also, since the techniques used were dated, similar to those used before the war, Decepticon involvement is most unlikely.”

“Combaticons or Seekers in Kaon.” Galvatron said breathlessly.

“Yes, Mighty Galvatron.”

“Any way to prejudice which?”

“The search parameters were tightly focused. Given that and the behavior of the counter measures deployed, it would seem to suggest Combaticons unfamiliar with covert operations.”

Galvatron half turned, a wry smile breaking across his face.

“Are you sure this chamber is secure?” he demanded.

“Of course.”

“Soundwave, I never told you why I opened the plasma energy chamber, did I?”

“Confirmed.”

He had never told –anyone–.

“Alpha Trion came to me in a vision and told me to.” Galvatron turned to take hold of his chair at the head of the room’s conference table, “He said that it was Vector Sigma’s will.”

“A vision?”

“Yes, foolish of me to trust in such things — I sound almost as mystical as a Prime!” he laughed as he pulled the chair away and sat down, “But that wasn’t the only vision I’ve recently had.... I’ve seen ... Primus.”

He seemed introspective as he looked at his hands while he flexed them several times.

“I saw Cybertron transformed to become Primus.” his voice carried the familiar sonorous tone of someone else, “He reached down into a great pit and pulled Unicron up from its darkest depths and they fought. As they fought, Primus tore fragments of light from Unicron. Two fell into his own chassis, somewhere on Cybertron. Others were scattered across the stars. And the last–” Galvatron’s voice became soft and reverential, “After he had beaten Unicron and thrown him back into the pit he presented the last to me.... To me!!! It was to me a crown of light and the renewal of lost perfection!”

When Galvatron looked up, his face had that same strange radiance about it as before. In his expression, countless vorns seemed to evaporate from him even while every mark of age deepened and etched his features. It was as if wisdom and folly, solemnity and laughter, were combined and yet unmixed.

“The Autobot’s golden age isn’t going to last.” Galvatron pronounced, “What they have ill gained in the wake of Unicron’s attack will shriek in terror, tremble, fall and fade away from before me! Cybertron and Primus are against them ... so who is there who can stand against me?”

Soundwave couldn’t think of anything to say in answer to such a revelation. So he fell to a knee and bowed his head in homage instead.

“But first, old friend, we must purify ourselves from all our unwise alliances. Use them up for our singular benefit. Tell everyone who isn’t corrupted in their very chassis and command them to respect silence: I may be Galvatron in my form and in my preeminent power, yet I am Megatron again, now and forevermore!”​