Law Of The Jungle
By Matt TALON Kirkby
"I say we slag them now!" Rampage snarled.
"No."
"No?"
"That's what I said," Razorclaw growled back. Their
prey—several Autobots who had stolen a freighter during their aborted
raid against Dnema—were still trying to flee through hyperspace. "Two
reasons," the Predacon commander then continued. "No attempted combat
in hyperspace has ever gone well—for either of the sides involved. The
variable radiation and gravitional fields jam targeting systems, and
warp weapon trajectories," He had heard of one warship actually gutting
itself with its own lasers—like any good hunter, he had studied
numerous potential battlegrounds. "Secondly, that freighter is laden
with munitions and other kinds of military supplies...with the Autobots
still reeling from the first phases of our assault, they desperately
need those supplies for themselves."
"All the more reason to blast them!"
"Fool!" Tantrum had such a small cerebro center!
"With any luck, these Autobots will flee straight back to their main
base." Allowing the Predacons to track them back there. "And then we
Decepticons can easily destroy them all!" Razorclaw bared his fangs.
"Divebomb, is the tracker still functioning?"
"Yeah," the pilot replied. "How else could we be
following them through hyperspace?"
Razorclaw found the use of a tracking beacon to be
vaguely unsporting—even though there was otherwise little chance of
actually tracking the other starship through hyperspace—but those
Autobots could not be lost. Megatron would be displeased—and his wrath
was never something any Decepticon wanted to face. Still, he noted, the
geography of hyperspace itself made the tracking beacon fade in and out
so there was some challenge in following it...and Razorclaw did enjoy a
challenge.
"They're leaving hyperspace," Divebomb announced
suddenly. "I'm following."
Razorclaw frowned slightly as the spacefighter—The
Great Hunt—emerged into Realspace. "Location?" He eyed a monitor—after
those long hours of flight, they could be almost anywhere in the galaxy.
"I'm not sure," Divebomb replied. "The navigation
system is trying to find a match, but this system could be uncharted.
We're quite a ways out from any of the civilized worlds."
Razorclaw studied the monitor closely. The star
system was crowded with stellar debris: rocky planetoids, countless
tiny asteroids, clouds of dust...from appearances, it was a system
worthy of staging a hunt.
"I see them!"
Razorclaw spotted the freighter a bare moment after
Rampage's shout. "Are they sending any signals?" He dragged his
attention away from a brightly colored nebula swirling nearby—-the
nebula was a number of lightyears away, but it still
dominated the view of this system.
"None I can detect," Headstrong replied. "All
frequencies are dead quiet."
"No sign of anything artificial," Tantrum reported
from the sensor station. "No space stations, no satellites, no other
ships." No other targets either. He grunted in annoyance.
"Either the base is well hidden, or else they aren't
in this system." Razorclaw paused…this could simply be a system where
the Autobots would alter their course to avoid detection. "Where are
we, Divebomb?" he demanded again. "Aren't the navcharts computed yet?"
Areheron," Divebomb replied in a bored tone. "We're
in the Areheron system."
"Never heard of it."
"It's a miserable, obscure system near the Creator's
Cloak Nebula." Divebomb adjusted their spacefighter's engine thrust
with an idle flick of his fingers. "The Autobots are heading towards
the local star."
"Pursue them. Take us into weapons' range...disables
that freighter. We'll take prisoners."
"Looks like this'll be a short hunt," Tantrum
grumbled.
"Entering extreme weapons' range." Rampage adjusted
the fighter's targeting console. "Firing!"
Laser bolts burned a series of holes into the
freighter's hull. The bulky ship lurched under the impacts, then
altered its course.
"It's like shooting dynametal ducks in a barillium
barrel," Rampage growled. "No challenge." He triggered a second
barrage. "No challenge at all."
"They're hit!"
"I can see that, Divebomb."
"They're on a collision course with that planetoid."
"A true collision, or is this some deception?"
"Well," Tantrum said as he adjusted a sensor. "Hard
to say. The planetoid is barely twelve hundred kilometers in diameter.
Rotation period of two hours and only point eight six gravities.
Surface is basalt, rhyoliteu, mainly lava overlay but no noticeable
tectonic activity. The atmosphere is nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide,
methane, ammonia—frozen at that!—and numerous trace gases. Pressure is
barely ten to the four dynes."
"Well within tolerances for Transformers." Though
certainly not for any known organic species. "Accelerate to
overtake...I want that freighter crippled." He frowned. There might be
a base on the planetoid, possibly underground….
"In range." Rampage unleashed another laser barrage.
The spacefighter had some impressive firepower for such a small
ship...and the freighter's hull was quickly pockmarked with
carbon-scoring and vaporized hullplates, "Multiple hits. Their engines
are failing."
"It's a crash for sure."
"Scan for lifepods, we'll want to question any
survivors."
"No sign of either lifepods or teleporter activity."
The spacefighter's sensors were very powerful for such a small ship,
Tantrum mused.
"They're entering the atmosphere."
"Keep tracking them," Razorclaw ordered. "Unless
they break up, we'll have to land nearby to personally make" certain
there are no survivors." He activated the spacefighter's com-system.
"Predacons to Dark Glory," he announced, "we have pursued the Autobots
fleeing Dnema to the Archeron system. They cannot hope to escape us."
He paused. "Route a copy of that message to Dnema...make certain that
Mercer knows of our success."
"The freighter is still dropping. Impact in about
twenty-two seconds."
"Keep tracking them." Depending on how hard they
hit, the Predacons might have a chance to hunt their prey down on the
open planetary surface.
"Impact!"
The flash of the explosion was visible from orbit.
"Take us down." Razorclaw smiled, baring his fangs.
"Then prepare yourselves —for the hunt!"
*
*
*
The swipe of a titanium claw slashed a feathery
sculpture of purple-tinged ice into fragments.
"The air is too thick," Rampage snarled as the wind
gusted around them and pelted their armored bodies with dust and ice
pellets.
"It just makes this more of a challenge," Razorclaw
tried to control his temper. A minor difficulty and the others were
ready to give up. He was disgusted by how soft they had become on
Dnema. "It has been too long since our skills have been tested
properly." He grinned toothily, trying to pick the scent o£
Autobots out of the noxious soup that was this world's atmosphere.
Divebomb tightened his claws on an outcropping rock
where ha had perched for a moment. "Poor ground-crawlers," he squawked.
"The upper reaches are clear enough."
"Make yourself useful!" Tantrum snapped. "Find that
slagging freighter!"
"Due southeast," Divebomb chuckled. "As the
eagle-con flies." With another squawk, he threw himself into the sky
and was almost immediately obscured by the wind-blown fog.
"I hate this planet," Headstrong growled.
A figure watched the four reddish shapes as they
advanced through the fog. Almond-shaped eyes narrowed as boulders and
icy sprays were shoved aside. Then it slipped into the deeper shadows
under a particularly large boulder.
"Slag!" Headstrong made the curse a long drawn out
sigh.
Razorclaw stared at the sight. The freighter was
buried in the ground...over half its forward length was hidden from
sight, leaving only the stern and engine pods thrust up into the air.
"I don't understand why it's not destroyed," he growled. "Surely the
impact would've destroyed it? It should be crumpled up." He transformed
to robot-mode and strode towards the ship. No sign of movement.
Divebomb dropped from the sky and also transformed,
"It's buried itself," he said. "From above you can see it clearly.
There's a hollow underground. A cave or something...the crash just
broke through the ceiling rock."
"So the crew might have survived without serious
injury?" Razorclaw quickly gestured. "Predacons, advance!" He
transformed back into his lion-mode and then leaped through a gaping
hole in the freighter's hull.
The freighter's interior was a mess. Its hull was
battered, breached in dozens of places, and the interior corridors and
cabins were littered with pieces of shattered bulkheads and the cargo
from broken storage containers. And a few Autobot corpses.
"I want live prey," Razorclaw growled as he pawed
one white and blue torso. "This is no fun." Mirage, he thought, though
he couldn't be certain.
"Commander, I've found something."
"On my way, Tantrum."
Razorclaw hurried towards the outer bulkhead and
then stopped dead in his tracks, "By the Pit!" he swore.
The cavern into which the freighter had crashed, was
huge. It stretched as far as he could see. Scores of huge pillars of
rock rose from the rocky ground— stalagmites and stalactites which had
merged together—to support the ceiling. And the cavern was filled with
plants...a veritable forest of lush carbon-cycle plantlife. It was
hot...well warm, considerably warmer than the surface was and suited
for the growing plants...possibly some subsurface thermal vent provided
the heat. Just another oddity on this world of oddities.
"Even the atmosphere is different." Divebomb made
that observation. "More Earth-like."
Razorclaw looked at the freighter and noted that
where it had crashed through the ceiling, the gaps between hull and
rock were now sealed by ice. "A natural thing?" he asked aloud. The
surface of Archeron was certainly not suitable for plantlife—at least
not the type's he could see—but this cavern reminded him very strongly
of the Amazonian rainforest on Earth. Even the humidity was nearly the
same.
"I sense something," Rampage growled softly. He was
looking around, sniffing the air—which was rich with the scents of
organic growth and decay.
"Autobots?" Tantrum asked eagerly.
"I don't know."
"I don't like this," Divebomb said softly.
"Spread out," Razorclaw growled. "Check for evidence
of any survivors." He wanted this place investigated more thoroughly.
Something was definitely strange about this place.
Elsewhere in the cavern, a humanoid figure stepped
out from behind a tree and stepped into a circle of other figures. The
glow from lichen which grew thickly on the cavern ceiling glinted off
its scaly skin. "We have intruders," the figure growled, the horns atop
his head seeming to twitch, "These Mechs must be stopped." Stubby wings
on his back unfurled slightly as he spoke. "They offer us the chance to
prove ourselves worthy of our sacred mission." He held up his right
hand and clenched it into a fist. "We must show the Mechs the power of
the Holy Fist!" The other figures murmured agreement.
Headstrong paused as a tree toppled over and crashed
to the ground in front of him. He shook his head with a grunt.
Rampage chuckled. "Not watching where you're
lumbering?"
"I'll lumber over you!"
"We have no time for this nonsense," Razorclaw
placed himself between theother two Predacons. "First we terminate any
still functioning Autobots, then you two can indulge all you wish in
those barbaric challenges you so relish!"
"Good," Headstrong growled.
"I can smell something."
Razorclaw paused to glance at Tantrum. Then his
olfactory sensors caught his attention and he inhaled deeply.
"Interesting...it is not the spore of an Autobot. At least not of any
normal Autobot." The scant was distinctive. "Almost a Terran," he
mused, sniffing again. "But different...almost wrong," Something moving
in the shrubbery caught his optics. "What's that?"
"What's what?" Rampage asked.
The movement in the bushes continued, half-glimpsed
shadows rustling behind fringed leaves. Then three figures stepped into
view. They were barely a fifth the size of the five Predacons,
reptilian-like, with stubby horns atop their heads and wings folded
around their bodies like capes.
"What are those?"
"Looks like a Terran demon," Razorclaw said.
"Smells like a Terran too," Rampage growled.
"But different." Razorclaw didn't like this. Terrans
on an uninhabited—and supposedly uninhabitable—planet? "Their scent
is...wrong."
"You Mechs are an abomination!" the largest figure
announced in a deep voice, "We are the Holy Fist. It is our sacred duty
to smite thee in the name of the Primal God!" He gestured.
Two of the beings stepped towards Headstrong, Both
reached their hands toward him...and bolts of electricity crackled from
their empty hands and played across Headstrong's body.
As his fellow Predacon bellowed in agony, Rampage
pounced and flattened one of the attackers.
And seven more stepped into view.
"The Fist strikes!" the leader shouted. "Strike them
down my warriors!" He clenched his left hand into a tight fist. "Now!"
Energy crackled around his tightly clenched fingers.
Razorclaw leaped, avoiding an energy bolt, and his
claws sliced through a figure. Scales and flesh flew, and red blood
splattered the foliage. "They bleed, they die!" he shouted. Then he
bellowed as electricity skittered across his flanks and he jumped
again, trying to get clear. "Maybe they are demons!"
Then Divebomb dropped out of the tree tops and fired
a missile which sent dirt and plants and supposed demons flying.
"Destroy the blasphemers!" the leader shouted. His
wings unfurled—seeming to simply grow out of his back—and he rose into
the air. Miniature lightning bolts flashed from his fingers and
crackled around Divebomb.
Razorclaw cursed as his claws shredded a tree trunk
while his intended victim dodged to safety.
"These are tough prey!" Rampage had chunks of armor
missing from his flanks already. "What are they?"
"I still say Humans." Razorclaw shook his head—it
felt as if his cerebro circuitry was trying to shut itself off. "The
ones I've slain are certainly Human, but unlike the Terrans these can
really fight!" He watched Tantrum bulldoze his way through a tree to
reach one of the Humans. "Must be some kind of organic body armor."
That explained the odd scene—the armor itself was alive—but then he
shook his head again—living organic armor? How advanced were these
creatures?
Militant Prime watched his warriors throw themselves
into battle eagerly and without hesitation. He had trained them well,
following all the ancient and time-honored traditions of the warrior
caste. Study of the hunting styles of various animals back on their
ancient birthworld had allowed the Fist to first learn how to
fight...and those methods had been refined during the First Holy War
against the Mechs. "And now it falls to us to improve upon those
methods in holy war again." A pity, though, that the mech leader was
seemingly unaffected by his mental commands to deactivate itself...the
records didn't mention the Mechs were immune to the mental commands of
a Master. "We shall simply have to do this the hard way," he mused and
adjusted his altitude with a simple thought. He channeled another
energy bolt, feeling the power course through his body.
"They're picking us to pieces!" Razorclaw snarled to
his fellow Predacons. It was outrageous! The Predacons were larger than
their prey, faster, stronger, more ferocious...and yet the Humans were
damaging them, weakening them. It would take them a long time, but
Razorclaw actually admitted to himself that the Humans had a good
chance at victory. "They fight like animals," he mused. Just like a
pack of wolves...or even like Predacons. His concussion blasters sent a
Human flying backwards...only to stand up again and charge back into
battle.
"I hate to run," Divebomb said as he completed yet
another strafing run, "but we’re getting our tailfeathers kicked here."
"Yes, we must alter the rules of this hunt,"
Razorclaw grinned a fierce and feral smile, "Predacons, unite!"
Within moments, the five Predacons underwent their
partial transformations and merged together into the gestalt known as
Predaking. Thirty meters tall, the giant Decepticon very nearly brushed
the cavern ceiling with his head. His optics tracked movement—and then
he struck with a mortar.
Trees, dirt, and at least two Humans vanished in a
bright explosion.
Militant snarled. "So these Mechs have other tricks.
We are the Holy Fist! It is our destiny to triumph over the soulless
machines!" He unleashed a powerful lightning bolt.
Predaking laughed at the bolt. It was too weak to
harm him now...in fact, it almost tickled. "Tremble before me, prey!"
he boomed. "For you cannot elude my wrath!" His x-ray laser fired, as
did his mortar launchers. Smoke from explosions and burning vegetation
began to fill the cavern. "There is no escape!" Entire groves vanished
in one shot.
Three Humans flew towards his head. Lightning
streaked from their fingers.
Pradaking swatted two of the Humana aside with one
sweep of his arm.
"For Lord Primus!" Militant channeled another bolt.
As was fitting for a Prime, he channeled a far stronger bolt than any
of his warriors was capable of handling. A bolt strong enough that even
he felt pain.
And Predaking laughed at it.
Militant frowned. He mentally ordered the Mechs to
disband back to their separate forms...but nothing happened. He tried
harder, 'shouting’ his command as hard as he could. These Mechs were
not susceptible to telepathy from the Masters. "At least not without
proper conditioning and the Master's owm thought's being amplified by a
brainmeld device, he reminded himself sourly. The will of Primus would
have to be altered. Then he winced as yet another of his warriors was
caught by an explosion and her mental death cry echoed through his own
mind. "Fall back!" he ordered, both mentally and over the com-system
built into his synth-armor. "Fist unclench!" ha shouted, then turned
and vanished into the forest.
Predaking watched the remaining Humans flee into the
smoke and fire of the burning forest, Then he disbanded.
"That was fun," Rampage said. "Let's go after them!"
"Yeah, I want to slag some more fleshlings!" Tantrum
agreed.
"Now is neither the time nor place," Razorclaw
reminded his battered troops, "We're wounded." Those lightning bolts
had burned out a few of his internal servos, slowing him down and
limiting his leaping ability. "If they're going for reinforcement's,
then we could be overwhelmed." He turned back the way they had come. "I
cannot scent any Autobots, Let's head back to the ship." He slowly
loped into the bushes. "We must inform Megatron of this new situation."
Reluctantly, and with much soft grumbling, the other Predacons followed
him.
"I found something," Divebomb squawked as he soared
in low over his fellows. "It looks like those Humans don't just hate us
Decepticons."
"Oh?" Razorclaw followed Divebomb around a large
stalagmite. "Yeech," he shuddered.
Two Autobots lay sprawled on the ground...well, the
remains of two Autobots, possibly more. Their limbs had been torn from
their bodies, their torsos were ripped open and their internal
circuitry had been yanked out and strewn across the fuel-stained
ground. Only their faces were intact—and both were contorted into
expressions of purest agony.
"They were stripped alive," Headstrong growled
softly with a shudder.
"Even for Autobots, that's a cold way to go,"
Rampage added,
"I suggest that we get moving," Razorclaw grunted.
"Before we get added to that mess." He took a bearing, and then loped
into the undergrowth. "The ship is this way." He really didn't like
this planet.