The
Maximal Gambit
Part
One: Prosperity
Chapter Five
"Just one moon—so much like Earth, now."
Arcee looked up at the sky over Cybertron. It was so much like the night sky on Earth, so dark. The stars were different, of course, and Cybertron’s one remaining moon had a metallic gleam and spires that were absent from Earth’s pale white one. It was just as beautiful to her optics, though she had a different appreciation for it than she did for Luna. It was perpetually night on Cybertron—its atmosphere was so thin, and its location in deep space so remote from the nearest star, that Arcee had spent nearly a month getting used to it again, so accustomed had she become to the circadian rhythms of Earth.
"Yeah, but Cybertron’s at least home. And it’s ours, now, no more lousy Decepticons to worry about." Arcee felt Springer’s thick arm wrap itself around her waist, and she let herself be drawn in closer to him. "I’d rather be here, anyway, babe. You’re here, after all."
Arcee smiled. It seemed like such a long time ago, her tour of duty on Earth. She was one of the last of the female Autobots, and was certainly the youngest. Elita-1 and the others had all eventually been lost to Shockwave and his elite Decepticon forces when they finally wiped out all Autobot presence on Cybertron. She remembered the look in Optimus Prime’s optics when she gave him the news—it was as if something inside him had gone offline, permanently. He had stationed her on Earth, where the Autobots could best protect her—she had at first resented it, but eventually she had bowed to Prime’s wisdom, seeing as he did that she was now an endangered species (she smiled at the application of that human term to herself) and could use a little extra protection.
Earth was where she had met Hot Rod and Springer. She got along with them both so well, the three of them instantly fell into a kind of camaraderie that she hadn’t felt since she was with her fellow female Autobots. They were inseparable—Hot Rod was impulsive, always living life on the edge, often aggravating Arcee because of his headstrong nature. Springer was more cautious, but also much more sarcastic—a bad boy, but in a different way from Hot Rod. And there was Arcee, in the middle, the sensible one, getting between the two of them when they got into their fights—feeling at once like a sister and a mother. And sometimes, she had felt like more than that.
Arcee had thought she had loved Hot Rod. In the Battle of Autobot City, she felt very close to him. She found, there, that instead of being irritated by his impulsive behavior, she found it endearing. He was so brave, in the battle—she remembered telling him that he probably misunderstood the situation, trying to explain his bravado away that way, but she knew deep in her laser core that he knew perfectly well what was going on. She remembered the feeling of loss that chilled her circuitry when she saw his and Kup’s shuttle go down over Quintessa. The joy on seeing his miraculous appearance on the planet of Junk.
And her loss again, when she saw him running toward her in the belly of Unicron. He had seemed larger then, more powerful somehow—older. Even seeing just his silhouette in the energies of the Matrix, before she saw his ancient eyes, she knew he had changed. That he was no longer the Hot Rod she knew. That what they had shared was gone. When the Autobots retook Cybertron, he barely spared her a glance during the entire campaign—she had become just another one of the troops.
She found herself drawn to Springer, after that. She always got the sense that he had envied Hot Rod, that he wanted her for himself. Well, now he did. And he was so pleasant when he was around her—none of the sarcasm or fierce bravado he showed in front of the other Autobots. He had even composed a poem for her, once. It was clumsy—Springer was a fighter, not an artist—but it had been sweet. And she liked it when he wrapped his big arms around her and held her close to him. She supposed that this was how the humans felt when they hugged each other, when they felt this close to someone.
Springer and Arcee walked silently through the streets of Cybertron, undisturbed by the Autobots who were busy elsewhere and the Autobots who saw them together and had the courtesy to find another road. They didn’t need to speak—they knew each other well enough to know each what the other was thinking, and neither saw the need to shatter the beauty of the quiet with mere words.
Up in one of Cybertron’s many ancient spires, in his quarters, Rodimus Prime stared down out of his large, floor-to-ceiling window. He watched his two former best friends, his arms locked behind his back. Slowly, ever so slowly as Springer and Arcee disappeared from his sight, Rodimus Prime frowned.
***
"There it is!"
Dead ahead of them, Cyclonus could see, was the head of Unicron. It had grayed over slightly, and was micrometeorite-pocked from the past year of its existence, floating aimlessly over Cybertron, but Cyclonus recognized what was left of the Chaos-Bringer nonetheless. Four three-fingered hooks had been clamped onto the head and face of Unicron, and the Junkion flagship towed it, its massive engines burning at full heat just to move the head even at this sluggish speed.
Cyclonus and Scourge wasted no time in their attack. Acting as the well-trained warriors they were, the two Decepticons boosted to their top speeds, keeping the head of Unicron between them and the Junkion ship, using it to remain hidden from the Junkion sensors. Then, as they reached the back of Unicron’s skull, Cyclonus banked right and Scourge banked left, coming around the head as close as possible, then opening fire with their onboard weapons systems as soon as the Junkion ship was in view. They went for the engines first, then the weapons systems, because of their approach only. Their whitish-purple laserfire cut cleanly through the Junkion hull, shattering entire sections of it. As the two Decepticons flew past each other, making a clean X-formation over the Junkion ship, the bulky brown vessel burst into flames on three sections of its hull, and its engines began to sputter and die. Smoke trailed off the hull into Unicron’s face. Cyclonus, as he turned around ahead of the ship to make another pass, thought for a moment that Unicron would be most displeased if he were actually still alive.
The two Decepticons shot out the forward weapons arrays now, even as the Junkions began firing them back. Cyclonus was amused by this, even more because they scored not a single hit before he and Scourge had taken them out. As they crossed again, this time underneath the Junkion ship, they each fired at the vessel’s bridge. The command center’s windows blew out it a flash of glittering fire, and Cyclonus was surprised (although he would never admit it) by the fact that several Junkions now began swarming out of their shattered vessel, their weapons lighting the darkness of space with red flashes aimed at the attacking Decepticons.
"Scourge, take out their communications systems while I finish them off!" One of the Junkions scored a glancing blow at Cyclonus’ fuselage. Cyclonus, stinging from the blow and angry over the carbon scarring, began spinning toward the Junkion ship and the dozen Junkions standing atop it, firing at him. He saw Scourge fly quickly over the Junkion hull, firing six precision laser strikes into its communications array, destroying it.
Excellent, Cyclonus thought. Not to be outdone, he began firing his forward laser batteries, and began varying his speed ever so minutely, speeding up slightly for a moment, then slowing down drastically. This pinpoint engine control effected his spin, making it unpredictable—and thus making him more difficult to lead. The Junkions scored no more hits on him, despite the web of laserfire surrounding him.
But he hadn’t recharged his energy cells since his battle with the Sharkticons, and he cursed himself for being so stupid. He had been so excited about traveling to Unicron’s head, about accessing the data banks of the All-Seeing Chaosbringer, that he had overlooked that simple affair. As a result, he sacrificed raw power in his shots, and strikes that would have destroyed the Junkions were he at full power only slightly damaged them. He was able to get off enough shots to knock down several of them, but they were Junkions, and it being the nature of Junkions, they rose to fight again.
"Scourge, where are you?" Cyclonus called over the commlink, wondering where his second was. He hadn’t become frightened of the head and run away, had he?
As soon as that thought ran through Cyclonus’ mind, the Junkions found themselves in a crossfire. Cyclonus attacked them from above, and Scourge from the side. Cyclonus’ less powerful weaponry was able to damage them, softening them up for Scourge’s better charged, and thus more powerful, lasers to tear them apart. Junkion after Junkion was torn to pieces, and because of the crossfire, their debris was knocked around and out into space, where they could not easily retrieve it. When Cyclonus finally pulled up out of his dive, his nuclear turbines scattered the Junkions’ parts still further, and a cloud of Junkion debris surrounded the trashed Junkion cruiser.
Scourge and Cyclonus landed on the ship’s upper hull. Scourge suppressed a shudder as one of the Junkions’ head floated past him in space, its optic sensors a lifeless gray.
"And the Autobots had trouble with these creatures?" Scourge asked rhetorically, smiling wryly.
"The Autobots are fools, and we shall destroy them. For now, though, let us get this ship at least partially operational, and get this head away from the main spacelanes. We do not want the Autobots to discover what we have done until it is too late for them to do anything about it."
***
"Cliffjumper? Cliffjumper, where are you?" Sky Lynx tried to peer into the colony, but his head was barely able to fit into the jagged tear in its side. The lights in the colony flickered and sparked, and Sky Lynx had to fight a shudder of revulsion as he saw the broken bodies of the colonists.
After nearly a minute without an answer, Sky Lynx activated his optic beams, and the colony filled with light. He hated to do it—it meant that he would be able to see death more clearly—but he feared for his fellow Autobot. And, even with the optic beams on, he couldn’t see Cliffjumper.
"Cliffjumper!" Sky Lynx yelled.
"Quiet, Lynx! I’m right here." Cliffjumper stepped into the light from the deepest recesses of the colony, and Sky Lynx could see he was holding something in his arms. "Transform—I’ve only found one survivor, and he needs medical attention fast."
Sky Lynx transformed without another word, and Cliffjumper climbed into the door that opened on the side of his blue landing platform. He then launched from Darios IX, the blue platform disappearing into his fuselage, and headed for the nearest spaceport with a decent medical center.
In Lynx’s cargo bay, Cliffjumper laid the surviving human, in a badly damaged Cybertronian-style exosuit, on a diagnostic table and began scanning his life functions. He was barely hanging onto his life, and Cliffjumper seriously doubted he would survive to see a real doctor. Cliffjumper clenched one fist unknowingly in frustration. If only he were a robot, then Cliffjumper could at least do something!
He heard a gasp from the table, and he turned to see the human, his one good arm motioning Cliffjumper closer. Cliffjumper approached.
"You should rest," he said. "Don’t try to move, or speak. We’re Autobots. We’re taking you to a hospital now."
"The. . .attack." The human’s voice was weak, and Cliffjumper had to raise his audio sensitivity to hear him. "Decep. . .ticon. Brutal. Killed. . .everyone. Shot me. Stole. . .energon. Tall. Purple, with horns. He. . ."
Cliffjumper knew immediately who the human was talking about. "Cyclonus. It had to be. Thank you. Now, please, rest, or—"
Behind him, he heard the monitors erupt in a high-pitched whine as the human’s life functions went flatline. Cliffjumper was shocked at first—he had never seen a human killed by Decepticons, not in more than twenty years of war on Earth. Then he felt his anger building, blossoming into a heat that he could tangibly feel, first in his chest, then all over his body.
"Don’t bother, Sky Lynx. He’s dead."
"Yes, I know." The sadness was apparent in Sky Lynx’s voice.
"Change course. I want to hunt down that rotten bot and end his miserable existence once and for all." Cliffjumper covered the human with a white sheet, just as he had seen human doctors cover the dead on Earth television shows. "We’re gonna hunt him down and tear him apart."
"Cliffjumper—"
"Don’t tell me no, Sky Lynx, or you might as well just open your doors and let me out, ‘cause I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna rip his circuits to shreds."
Sky Lynx was quiet for a few moments. Then: "Very well, Cliffjumper. I’m radioing in to Cybertron what we’re doing. I only hope Rodimus Prime approves."
"Right now, I frankly don’t care what he thinks."
Sky Lynx sighed.
***
Scourge stared out the empty optic shield of Unicron, to the dark and the stars outside. Better to be out there, anywhere out there, then to be in here, in the skull of the Chaosbringer. He and Cyclonus had been able to get the Junkion ship’s engines functional again, and together they had tugged the head here, to the same asteroid belt which had once been graced by the presence of his leg. They then sent the ship of Junk into the sun of this star system, where it would be disintegrated so completely that the Autobots would not be able to track it in case it had some sort of homing device on it. All Cyclonus’ ideas, really—all he was was muscle to carry out Cyclonus’ plans. In a way, he was content with that. It was, after all, what he was built for. On the other hand, he envied Cyclonus for the wits that Scourge did not have, and he couldn’t say that seeing Cyclonus fail once in a while would be something entirely unpleasant to him.
"Scourge, come on!" Like now, for instance.
"Cyclonus, I don’t see why you need me in here. Just access his data banks while I wait outside to guard against Autobot interference."
"I need you to guard me against Unicron’s interference! I do not doubt that his automated defenses are still active, despite his own inactivity. If they were to destroy me while I am busy gathering data, then all this will have been for naught, and the Decepticons will never rise out of the muck they find themselves in now. Do you want to spend the rest of your existence scrounging for the most meager scrap of energon?" Cyclonus stood deeper in Unicron’s head, confidently, his body stance only indicating a mild exasperation with Scourge.
Scourge didn’t care. There was no way he was going to go that deep into the Chaosbringer of his own volition. They were talking about the being that nearly destroyed Cybertron, that killed millions of Decepticons, that lost the Cybertronian Wars for the Decepticons based not because he was an Autobot but because he was angry! Even with all the damage done to him by the Autobot Matrix—and, even here, that was extensive, as Scourge could look around and see blackened metal, shattered circuitry, torn wiring and twisted gears—even with all that, Scourge found it difficult to believe that Unicron was truly and completely offline. And if Unicron was alive, he did not want to even take the chance of offending him.
"I’m sorry, Cyclonus, but no. Unicron’s still alive, I know it, and I’m not going any deeper."
"You mean, not of your own will!" Before Scourge knew it, Cyclonus was on him. He grappled with his commander for a few bare seconds, but Cyclonus was able to get leverage on him, and the next thing Scourge knew, he was flying into the darkness at the center of Unicron’s head.
He came crashing to a halt at the base of a large computer complex. He stood up quickly, his head turning this way and that in rough, spasmodic jerks, scanning the area for Unicron’s defenses. By the time Cyclonus joined him, he had searched the entire area and found nothing.
"Thank you, Scourge, for your cooperation."
Scourge fought the urge to punch Cyclonus in the jaw. Perhaps he was right—maybe this was the only way to rebuild the Decepticon Empire. And nothing had stirred within Unicron—perhaps he was only being a superstitious coward. No doubt Unicron, when he rebuilt Scourge, had implanted some kind of programming that would cause Scourge to fear him, no matter what.
Cyclonus looked around the computer console, tapping at its keys absent-mindedly. Frowning, he moved around the wreckage-strewn floor to behind the console, and crouched down behind it. Scourge kept up the watch for Unicron’s defenses while listening to Cyclonus work a panel free. Poking his head over the console to see what Cyclonus was doing, he saw his commander remove a powerpack stolen from the Junkion ship and work it into the circuitry inside the console.
"This should give the data banks enough power to show us what we need." Cyclonus stood, not bothering to replace the panel he had torn off, and moved around to the front of the console. This time, when he tapped on the keys, there was a hum of power coursing through the computer’s circuitry. A single small monitor flickered to life on its surface, and Cyclonus and Scourge saw the battle between the newly-formed Rodimus Prime and Galvatron replayed. They watched as the leaders of the Autobots and the Decepticons grappled, saw Galvatron lifted bodily by Rodimus Prime and hurled through Unicron’s outer shell into deep space.
"There!" Cyclonus barked excitedly. "There, Scourge! Do you see the trajectory there?"
Scourge looked closely at the monitor while Cyclonus replayed the last images Unicron had gathered of Galvatron. Yes, he recognized that star pattern, and he calculated the position of Unicron over Cybertron from that alone. Given that, and given the angle of Galvatron’s flight from Unicron, provided he was never able to gain control of himself and continued tumbling along the same trajectory.
Cyclonus watched Scourge’s face eagerly—Scourge could feel it even without
seeing his commander. His optics were turned elsewhere, into his own circuitry,
as he searched the infinite star charts Unicron had programmed him with.
Given that trajectory, and this amount of time, given the movement of the
universe in relationship to that
point. . .
"Galvatron’s most likely crash position is the planet Thrull. It is a newborn world, with a great amount of seismic activity and a greater number of volcanoes and earthquakes. This is provided he was never able to control his spin, that he did not crash into space debris along the way, that—"
"You have done well, Scourge. And you maintain your reputation as the greatest tracker in the Decepticon armada. Let’s both download these data tracks so we do not have to return here to analyze them."
"That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Cyclonus," Scourge said, eagerly tapping into the computer console to grab the data. Cyclonus did the same.
As they left Unicron through the enormous hole punched through his eye by the departing Autobots, Scourge felt a surge of pride that Cyclonus would find him so useful. He had almost forgotten the way he got that far into Unicron in the first place, he was so filled with his pride and his desire to hunt. Even if Galvatron hadn’t landed on Thrull, or even if he had landed there and later left, Scourge would find him. Scourge was the Tracker—he could hunt anything. Nothing he had ever sought had eluded him. Nothing.
Behind them, deep inside the skull of Unicron, the only surviving monitor on a shattered, once-spherical bank of them flickered into activity. It reviewed Cyclonus and Scourge’s entry into Unicron, the data they had gathered, and ended with them rocketing away.
A wordless roar echoed through the empty skull of Unicron.
***
"What is it, Jazz?"
Rodimus walked into the command center of the Autobots on Cybertron, ignoring everyone but his chief of communications. He felt sluggish—he hadn’t gone into standby mode for quite some time, and had been about to do so when Jazz called him to Command and Control. He had at first been more than a little irritated—but if he put Jazz off, he knew the other Autobots would compare such action to Prime, and he didn’t feel like dealing with their disapproving stares.
"We’ve just gotten a transmission in from Sky Lynx and Cliffjumper, Rodimus. The Darios IX settlement was destroyed, apparently by a Decepticon attack. According to the surviving witness, Cyclonus was responsible."
"What?" Rodimus was in part shocked, in another way relieved. The Decepticons were still around, still ready to put up a fight. Rodimus hadn’t expected his sometime wish to come true—but now that it was coming true, he felt an enormous sense of justification. The Autobots would now see that he was every bit as good a leader as the Almighty Prime was—possibly even better. He did, after all, have Prime’s knowledge to call upon in the Matrix, as well as his own ideas on how things could be done. Rodimus suppressed a smile—things would have to be done quickly. The Autobots had slipped a little over the past year, without constant conflict to keep their skills honed. "Very well. Send the Protectobots to Darios IX, to defend the rescue and repair team Earth will be sending. Also, put Bumblebee on alert, and notify the other Autobots immediately that the Decepticons are still around. I want Cybertron put on standby alert—if this is a strike to let us know the Decepticons are back in business, I want to take full advantage of it. Where are Sky Lynx and Cliffjumper now?"
"They’re hunting down Cyclonus."
"Negative. I want them recalled to Cybertron immediately, unless they have a clean trail they’re following. I don’t want two Autobots wandering around alone looking for a fight—especially when they could wind up fighting the entire Decepticon armada."
"Okay."
"Notify Wreck-Gar, too. The Junkions gave us some help against Unicron, and when we evicted the Decepticons from Cybertron. They’re probably going to catch some flak for that, so make sure they’re ready."
"Can do. Anything else?"
"That’s all for now. Have Perceptor step up his search for the Decepticons—give him Darios IX as a reference point. If the Decepticons attacked it, there’s a good chance their base is somewhere in that sector of space."
"Sky Lynx and Cliffjumper requested Perceptor be sent to Darios IX to look for clues."
"I like that idea—but not that Autobot. Send Hound, instead. He’s a much better tracker. In fact, contact Cosmos and have him intercept Wreck-Gar and the Junkions, if they’re not already at the planet of Junk. He’ll be able to provide them a little extra firepower, if need be. I’d hate to think what would happen to the Junkions if they were to come upon the full fury of the Decepticons unprepared."
Ultra Magnus stepped up beside Rodimus. So, Jazz had called him, too. That was fine—as long as everyone knew Rodimus was the one in command here.
"Anything else?" Jazz asked.
"No, that’s it—for now, all we can do is wait. . .and hope." Rodimus frowned
as images of the destroyed human colony flashed across Jazz’s communications
monitors. Jazz was busy alerting all the Autobots, and even now Rodimus
could hear the sounds of Transformers preparing for battle. The Autobots
would be ready for the Decepticons—but Rodimus couldn’t help but feel a
vague sense of disquiet, an unease that seemed to come from the Matrix
itself. Something was telling him that this, this was finally the
end of the Cybertronian Wars. And neither the Autobots nor the Decepticons
would survive it.
END OF PART ONE