By Matt Kirkby
 
 

    “Realspace entry now completed. We are currently holding station twelve lightminutes from Loruus Two.”
    In the chair at the center of the war cruiser’s bridge, a massive figure nodded his head in acknowledgment. “Activate sublight drives, ahead one-quarter lightspeed.”
    “You got it, boss,” a feminine voice replied.
    “A little discipline, please Navi,” a third voice pleaded. “The Legion must have discipline.”
    “It is quite alright, Cryon. After so long together, I do not so easily take offense from my officers.”
    “Of course not, my Lord.” Cryon ducked his head nervously. “I did not mean to imply otherwise.”
    Terrorwing nodded to himself. ‘The best leaders are those who command their underlings with a mixture of honest respect and healthy fear’, he quoted silently. His pale optics focused on his scanner officer. “Doppler, tactical display!”
    “Sure thing.” Doppler tapped at his console with delicate fingers.
    A hologram glowed to life just to the left of the main viewscreen. Icons marked the flagship--the Nova-class war cruiser, Centurion--it’s four Punisher-class spacefighter escorts, as well as the five planets, twelve moons and one orange-red star which made up the Loruus system.
    “Scanner report?”
    “Extensive solar radiation,” Doppler replied immediately. “Current levels are well beyond tolerances for organic lifeforms. Without the proper shielding, our own neural circuitry will become vulnerable to disruptions after less than forty breems.”
    “Understood. Casing, adjust our shields to compensate.”
    “Like you need to tell that...sir.” The tactical officer could be quite arrogant when his skill was questioned.
    Terrorwing leaned back in his chair, grimacing as he tried to make himself more comfortable in the ornately-molded throne. He honestly didn’t care for the vessels under his command...but he was stuck with them. ‘The spacefighters were designed, in part, by Supreme Commander Thunderwing, after all’, he thought sourly. ‘And we all know just how effective he is’. His thoughts shifted gears. ‘He was always a pathetic excuse for an officer...barely, a mediocre politician, but not a true warrior. He was obsessed with keeping the Empire’s borders and politics stable and not with properly utilizing our resources to conquer new territory. “A petty, small-minded tyrant,” was one of the nicer titles I addressed him with at that High Command council.’ And shortly after, the Grey Legion had been ordered offworld. ‘Not in exile, not officially, but we were sent out into the Galaxy at large “To conquer territory and eliminate enemy resistance wherever it can be located”...bah!’ Terrorwing chuckled aloud. “Merely six spacefighters and a war cruiser to carry the Grey Legion against the Galaxy. He wanted us to fail!” But, he thought proudly, the Legion had never failed in any task.
    “Planetary orbit in two point three breems.”
    “Thank you, Navi.” Terrorwing smiled at her.
    She turned back to her console without replying.
    “Three Vorns.”
    Tapping a concealed switch with one finger, Terrorwing’s chair swiveled around. “What was that, Cryon?”
    “Sorry, sir, I was just thinking aloud.”
    “A novel enough conceit.” His aide made no comment. “And?” Terrorwing prompted.
    “Well, it’s been over three Vorns since we left Cybertron.”
    “I know. We’ve been busy.”
    Cryon nodded. “Five worlds pacified,” meaning that all life on them had been eradicated, “fourteen Autobot ships destroyed, sixteen organic worlds terrorized in preparation for eventual invasion, and we have only lost two spacefighters and one hundred and twenty-four Legionnaires to date.”
    “Acceptable loss ratios,” Terrorwing agreed. In as much as any loss was acceptable...
    “It’s slagging better than anyone else could have done!”
    Terrorwing glanced at Casing then shifted his attention back to Cryon. “We will be returning to Cybertron soon enough,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “Three Vorns is long enough to play loyal soldier for the esteemed Thunderwing.” The sarcasm was heavy in his voice. “So much has been accomplished by our glorious forces that even the Supreme Commander must acknowledge them in open ceremony!” He smiled as his crew shouted agreement.
    “And,” Cryon lowered his voice,” what of General Klaxxon?”
    “Ah, yes,” Terrorwing nodded. “Thunderwing’s chief henchmech should offer us some challenge.” He laughed derisively. “He’s been chasing us for well over a Vorn now, hasn’t he?” Chasing and never quite catching up to the Legion. ‘Until now, anyway.’
    “The Flame Brigade is highly respected, sir. Their combat record is second only to the Legion.”
    “A distant second,” growled Casing.
    “True,” agreed Terrorwing, “but not through lack of effort. I know that Klaxxon will never forgive us for not bending knee to Thunderwing. He’ll chase us across the Galaxy until the end of time...until he is dead or we are.” He welcomed the challenge. “It’s been too quiet of late,” he added. “Almost a quarter Vorn since we intercepted any Autobot vessels or even made contact with our fellow Decepticons...almost as if we had missed out on something big.” He chuckled at the thought. “After this last sweep, we shall return to Cybertron...and reclaim our rightful place at the Imperial Court.”
    “With you at it’s head?” Cryon asked softly.
    “Why not?” Terrorwing replied boldly. “I ruled our race once before... I shall do so again!”
    “And then, the Decepticons will conquer the galaxy!” Casing shouted gleefully.
    “Power to the Decepticons, forever!” Cryon, Commo, Navi and Doppler shouted in unison.
    Terrorwing smiled proudly at the ancient slogan. “Power forever, indeed,” he rumbled in agreement.
    “Lord Terrorwing!”
    With a puzzled expression, the Legion’s commander turned to his sensor officer. “Yes?”
    “There are power emissions on the surface of Loruus Two,” Doppler replied.
    Terrorwing’s pale optics narrowed. “Any communications?”
    “None detected.” Commo shrugged. “Of course, the radiation levels are causing interference on all frequencies.”
    “Understood... continue to scan all channels. Maintain our comm silence, essential inter-ship communications on tight beam channels only.”
    “Yes, sir.” She allowed irritation to tinge her voice... she was a senior officer, not some junior tech.
    A shift of attention turned Terrorwing’s gaze onto another officer. “I need more data, Doppler.”
    “I’m working on it.” Doppler’s fingers raced across his board. “Atmosphere is trace gases only, pressure is less than zero zero zero three of Cybertron-normal. Gravity registers at three-quarters of Cybertron-normal. Average surface temperature is five hundred degrees Kelvin. Surface composition appears to be igneous rock with limited metallic deposits underground.” A chime sounded as a program finished. “Focused scan indicates a concentration of refined alloys at grid reference four by three by seven.”
    “I thought life was impossible under these conditions.”
    “Natural organic life, Cryon, but with the proper shielding... any lifesigns, Doppler?”
    “Not at this range or with this level of radiation.”
    “Deploy the fleet to blockade the planet. Maintain alert status.” Terrorwing studied the cratered planet. “Try another scanner focus.”
    “No luck, my Lord. Enhanced visuals are offering this much though.” He transferred the image to a second monitor. Terrorwing’s optics narrowed as he studied a dome and twelve squat towers, centered in a deep crater. “Such architecture would not be out of place on Cybertron.”
    “No, my Lord.” Doppler nodded agreement. “It would not.”
    “Cryon, assemble a landing party. Full combat gear.”
    “At once, my Lord.” Cryon turned and strode toward an aft station.
    “Accompany them yourself.”
    Cryon froze in mid-step. “Sir?”
    “I wish you to lead the surface recon personally,” Terrorwing repeated slowly and clearly--in a tone which expressed his irritation with being required to repeat himself. “I want a full report made.”
    “Of course, my Lord.” Cryon masked the resignation in his voice by offering the Decepticon salute--slamming his right fist against his chest. “For the honor of the Grey Legion.”
    “Honor and victory,” Terrorwing replied.
 

    The blocky shuttle dropped towards the planet’s surface.
    “I like this,” the pilot said. “No atmosphere to distract us. A clean drop, no heat or ion trail to give us away.”
    “I’m so glad you approve,” Cryon grumbled. “Select a landing site and then stand ready to provide us with air cover.”
    “Yes, sir.” The pilot keyed his board. “Will that do?”
    “I suppose.” Cryon barely glanced at the map.
    Even before the shuttle had settled onto the rocky ground of a wide, though shallow, crater, it’s hatches hissed open and some twenty Decepticons quickly deployed.
    “Deploy!” Cryon ordered rather unnecessarily. “Move out in a standard search pattern! Secure our perimeter!” He felt his coolant system kick into high gear. “Move fast, we can’t take this radiation for long.” And they were currently on the dark side of the planet... he shuddered at thoughts of trying to fight on the day-side.
    The Legionnaires began spreading apart.
    A faint crackle sounded. One of the many boulders in the crater exploded, showering the Decepticons with rocky shrapnel. A missile roared past overhead and exploded against the shuttle’s hull.
    “Cover!” Cryon shouted as scraps of the shuttle rained down on them. “Slag it!” From behind a boulder, he looked around, winced as he saw the flaming wreck that had been their shuttle, then tapped his comlink. “Centurion, come in! We’re under attack. Our shuttle has been destroyed, we need reinforcements and/or extraction. Respond.” Static hissed in reply.
    Energy bolts began streaking past.
    Cryon winced as a nearby Legionnaire had his head blown off.
    “Where’re they coming from?” Someone shouted.
    “I don’t know!”
    Ignoring the sounds of spreading panic, Cryon snapped off a few unaimed shots from his pistol. “Return fire!” He ordered, reminding his troops of their duty as Decepticons. Movement caught his optics. He enhanced his optic sensors further. “Mechanoids,” he said. “Those are Transformers!”
    Laserfire crisscrossed the area as the Legionnaires spotted their attackers and began trading shots.
    Cryon watched another one of his comrades fall with a scream. He killed the attacker.
    “...wing to Cryon...respond.”
    Gratefully, Cryon keyed his comlink, acknowledging the static choked signal. “Cryon here. We’re under heavy fire. We’ve been out-flanked and ambushed.”
    “Stand by... signal is...clear...in force...on their way...type and number....”
    “Terrorwing, say again!” Cryon adjusted his comlink. “Repeat, you must say that again!”
    A growing whine heralded the arrival of an aerospace fighter squadron. Their angular designs were definitely Cybertronian, the red-and-gold paint set off the purple Decepticon emblems showing their allegiances, and their weapons were deadly.
    Cryon wished the jets were on his side. The first strafing run had disabled five or six of his soldiers and none of the jets had been shot down by return fire.
    Two legionnaires transformed into tanks and began firing a barrage of laserfire into the sky. The jets were closing too quickly to alter course and the squadron was decimated as it flew right through the barrage.
    A legionnaire took to the sky. His slant-wing fighter mode was quite distinctive, and he swept past the surviving enemy fighters, ignoring them. The legionnaire dropped several bombs onto enemy ground positions, banking to avoid their fire.
    Cryon winced as the boom of explosions echoed past his small crater. He crept forward, slipping into a ravine. “Whenever seriously outflanked, press the attack,” he quoted from one of Terrorwing’s lectures. “No time like the present.”
    “Well, well, well. Look at what we’ve caught.”
    Cryon froze in his tracks.
    “Surrender, or we’ll slag you now.”
    Cryon turned around slowly. “Scrax!” he swore.
    The red-gold Decepticon nodded. “So glad you remember me.”
    “The disgust is all mine.” Cryon looked around, noting the lack of other Transformers in the immediate area. “Is the great General nearby?”
    “Of course.” Scrax grinned, but his rifle never pointed away from Cryon’s chest. “He’s been looking forward to this for a very long time.”
    “I’m sure he has.”
    “Surrender the rest of your troops, immediately and without terms, or else we’ll kill them all. The much-vaunted Grey Legion deserves better than to die on this barren planet.”
    “It does.” Cryon’s pistol appeared in his hand, summoned from it’s subspace storage, and he fired.
    Scrax stumbled backwards, a smoking crater in his chest. “How?” he gasped, then collapsed.
    Cryon leapt aside as Scrax reflexively fired his weapon in a last effort at killing his enemy. Cryon stared down at his slain rival with mingled pity and horror.
    A dull roar boomed overhead and as two assault-class shuttle cut through the thin atmosphere. Their powerful weaponry began firing, spitting out laser bolts at any non-Legionnaire in sight. Explosions sent clouds of dust and pulverized rock fountaining into the air. The remaining jets were swatted from the sky in quick succession, almost before they noticed the shuttles.
    “Nice shooting,” Cryon spoke softly. One of the shuttles dropped to the ground, while the other continued to strafe remaining pockets of resistance. Cryon tapped his comlink. “Ground party, fall back to the shuttle...cover each other and collect the injured and dead. We leave no one behind.” He hurried towards the shuttle as well.
                                                        *                                             *                                                     *
    Terrorwing stared at the bridge’s main viewscreen in silent contemplation while Cryon, his silver and blue armor dusty and scratched, stood by his side. Images captured from the short but vicious ground battle played out before them. “So, they were definitely Flame Brigade?”
    “Yes, my Lord. Post-mission review agrees that all attacking troops wore the Flame Brigade insignia and paint scheme. I spoke with Commander Scrax personally.”
    “And General Klaxxon is seldom far from his flunky’s side...a plan begins to unfold.“ Terrorwing’s optics drifted to the tri-D planetary holo-map and the clearly marked buildings. Then they narrowed. “A definite plan unfolds.” Light glinted on his arm-mounted disruptor cannon.
    “A full-scale assault?” Cryon asked nervously.
    “No, too costly.” Green fingers brushed the hologram. “I will not waste the lives of my Legion on that...empty!” His fist clenched convulsively. “Navi, adjust our orbital vector to take us over that installation.” His voice had grown calm once again. “Casing, arm the main weapons for surface bombardment; I want everything leveled.”
    “Yes, my Lord.” Casing saluted sharply, a pleased leer on his faceplates. “As you command.” He tapped at his console, grinning maliciously. “Pulse lasers powering up. Missile bays loaded...targeting locks confirmed.”
    “Stand by for orbital pass,” Navi announced. “I’ll give you thirty seconds stationary on target, then break at ninety degrees to confuse any tracking systems.”
    “Sounds good to me.”
    Terrorwing ignored their soft discussion, but turned towards Commo. “Signal the other spacefighters to stand by. Knock out any escaping ships, destroy any secondary sites or revealed ground defenses. I want total destruction.” He raised his voice. “No survivors.”
    Commo nodded. “Messages transmitting now.”
    “Countdown?”
    “Twenty seconds to target.”
    At his station, Cryon tapped the intercom. “All personnel to battlestations,” he informed the ship. “Surface bombardment in twenty seconds. Stand by for further orders.”
    “Primary weapons, stand by.” Terrorwing moved closer to Casing’s station, watching the monitors. “Fire!”
    “Launching!” Casing triggered the missile bays. “Missiles following projected courses.” He smiled. “Impact in three...two...one. Impacts confirmed!” He looked up from his monitor with a wide smile. “Extensive damage to the installation.” The main viewscreen showed smoke billowing out of the dome and three of the towers. Three more explosions flared into life, damaging two more towers and completely destroying another. “Delayed timers,” Casing explained. “It adds more confusion.”
    Terrorwing nodded. “Stand by with lasers.”
    “Breaking orbit in ten seconds,” Navi reminded them.
    “Incoming hail,” Commo announced. “It’s from the surface!”
    “Hold off laser bombardment,” Terrorwing ordered. “Maintain our position, but watch for incoming fire.” He ignored Casing’s curses. “On screen!”
    Static swirled for a moment then resolved into a rose-colored polymetal face, backed against smoke and dimly flashing lights.
    “You have some gall, Terrorwing!”
    “Is that so, General Klaxxon?” Terrorwing made his voice calm, tinged with boredom.
    “This unprovoked attack will be--”
    “Your aide, Commander Scrax, ambushed an exploration party led by my aide, Cryon. This attack was made in retribution.”
    “The High Command--”
    “Will not hear of this incident from you.” Terrorwing smiled a predatory grin. “As for your precious Lord Thunderwing, he will not be calling the shots for much longer. The Legion is finally returning to Cybertron, where I will challenge him to a traditional Trial of Strength...and then I will kill him.”
    Klaxxon stared at him. His red optics flashed and his mouth twitched. “You fool!” he chuckled. “You misguided, deluded fool! You haven’t been in touch with Cybertron since your exile began have you? Just transmitted your gloating messages of victory back to High Command, and then moved on.” Klaxxon laughed again, throwing his head back and laughing wildly. “You have missed everything!” He sobered, and focused on Terrorwing’s grim face again. “Thunderwing is already dead!” he snapped, his voice harsh.
    “What?” Terrorwing demanded. “How?”
    “He died on Cybertron, battling Unicron.” Klaxxon’s optics narrowed. “You’ve missed the last quarter-Vorn of activity, Warlord. A whole lot of stuff has passed you by.” He paused. “I’m feeling generous so I’ll fill you in... I want to enjoy the stunned expression on your faceplates, before your termination.”
    “Speak quickly,” Terrorwing snarled, “for my patience with this transparent delay will not last long.”
    “It’s no delay...” Klaxxon paused for a long moment. “Less than a quarter-Vorn ago, Megatron and Optimus Prime were found after their long disappearance. Their return sparked an upsurge of fighting that we haven’t seen since the First Days.”
    Terrorwing considered that statement. The First Days of the War had been vicious indeed...the assaults on Iacon, Chassis and other city-states had proven the Decepticons were a force to be reckoned with. “So, Thunderwing was deposed by Megatron...a pity I was not present to witness such a memorable event. Still, Lord Megatron is--”
    “Megatron is long dead.” Klaxxon obviously enjoyed saying that. “Slain by his own incompetence, and his underestimation of Optimus Prime and Ratchet.”
    Terrorwing’s pale optics narrowed. “He shall be avenged!” he vowed. “By my own hand!”
    The Autobot doctor who slew Megatron is dead as well.”
    “Then I shall take vengeance upon all Autobots for this!” He clenched a fist. “But, as for our rivalry, I am satisfied with the death of Thunderwing. Surrender to me, and I will take you to Cybertron where you can serve your rightful master.”
    Klaxxon laughed. “Cybertron is in Autobot hands! For now.”
    “What?” Terrorwing bellowed. “Impossible! The Autobots are a beaten rabble! A few scattered bands hiding amongst the ruins of their fallen civilization.”
    “If only that was true,” Klaxxon sneered. “Your old allies--Megatron’s so-called Loyalists--proved gloriously ineffective at maintaining the Empire after Thunderwing’s death. Ratbat, Scorponok and Bludgeon all led our forces to defeat after defeat. The Autobots have driven us from our own homeworld and into a disgraced exile.”
    Terrorwing could scarcely believe his audio receptors. “I will soon change that.”
    “So arrogant, so confident in your own innate abilities?” Klaxxon’s image wavered slightly, then cleared. “You’ll just waltz onto Syrra IV and resume your place of power? Well, it no longer works that way!” He chuckled again. “Our new leader, Galvatron, will dismantle you for such presumption!”
    “Ah, so you found a new pair of boots to lick?” Terrorwing didn’t recognize the name--probably just some self-promoted bureaucrat--but he could see Cryon already consulting the ship’s records.
    Klaxxon bristled at the insult--if it was possible, then his face grew even darker in color. “You’ll regret those proud words, oh how you will regret them!” It took a visible effort for him to regain his calm. “I was on my way to Cybertron to report to Lord Thunderwing about our hunt for you--and the total destruction of the garrison you left on Prakith Major--when we were intercepted by scouts from Syrra IV. I was taken to meet with Galvatron and I swore to him my undying allegiance!” His face held traces of fear, which quickly turned to anger. “You will not survive meeting him, renegade! Galvatron is a thousand times the Mechanoid Megatron was.”
    “And yet he hasn’t defeated the Autobots yet, has he? You did say they controlled our Homeworld.”
    “For now, only for now.” Klaxxon grinned again. “Shockwave and Galvatron will be moving against their bases on Earth and Cybertron soon enough.” His grin grew wider. “As for me, I’m under personal orders from Galvatron--he speaks well of you in the past, but now he has no use for you or your Grey Legion. Once you have been eliminated, the Flame Brigade will assist in the final conquest of Cybertron itself!”
    “Such brave words,” Terrorwing sneered, “which I will pass along to your soon to be ex-leader.”
    “We shall see!” Klaxxon snarled.
    “Surrender!”
    “Death first!”
    “I can arrange that.” Terrorwing turned his head. “Casing, level everything!”
    Casing’s hands moved before the order was finished. Laser pulses streaked groundward and set off fresh explosions in the ruins of Klaxxon’s base. “Secondary targets locked in, automated firing patterns engaged.”
    “So ends a valiant, though doomed, adversary. At least he received a warrior’s death...little though he merits one.”
    Cryon opened his mouth.
    “Energy spike!” Doppler shouted. “Lasers incoming--”
    “Brace for impact!” Terrorwing bellowed. The war cruiser shuddered violently. “Target their points of origin.”
    “Done!” Casing replied. “Returning fire!”
    “Look!” Doppler pointed to the main screen.
    Fires were burning strongly now, fed by fuel and atmosphere from within the ruined base. Secondary explosions erupted with increasing force. Suddenly, the center of the dome broke open and a shape emerged. As it lifted out of the smoke, it resolved into a spacecraft with a squat, angular fuselage and four outswept wings, each tipped with weaponry.
    “Identify!”
    “Unknown design!” Doppler replied.
    “Threat assessment!”
    Doppler and Casing quickly conferred. “Half of our size and mass, high power signature, lots of weaponry registering...I’d say they’re an even match for us.”
    “I agree. Target missiles and blow them from the sky!”
    “Firing first volley.” Casing began cursing a moment later. “Locks failing,” he snarled. “They’ve left the planetary shadow and the solar radiation is disabling the targeting systems.”
    “Laser locks?”
    “They’re not in range.”
    “Navi, full power to sub-light drives. Commo, summon the spacefighters to the hunt!” Terrorwing grinned. “A challenge in this will be much more satisfying than simply blasting him from orbit.”
    “Spacefighters are responding,” Commo reported. “The enemy ship is answering my transponder beacon with the name Fury’s Flame.”
    “Move to intercept.”
    “Closing now...range in point one Breem.”
    “Block them from escaping. If they get into Hyperspace, track them!”
    “Of course.” Doppler frowned. It was next to impossible to track anything in Hyperspace...especially with the much-worn and ancient technology on the Centurion.
    The ship suddenly rocked.
    “Report!” Terrorwing bellowed over wailing alarms.
    “Mines!” Casing made the report. “They dropped mines behind them...and we ran right into them. Shields flickered, but held...some minor radiation leakage though.”
    “Damage repair teams are responding. Bolt reports no major damage or injuries.”
    “Time to weapons range?”
    “Thirty seconds. Pulse lasers standing by.”
    “Fire at will.”
    “I planned to,” Casing replied. “Range...now! Firing!” The lasers flashed and molten metal erupted from the Flame’s hull.
    “No major damage detected,” Doppler reported. “Aft guns are targeting us.”
    “Commo, jamming signal! Navi, evasive course! Casing, fire!”
    The Fury’s Flame fired it’s own weapons. It’s target wasn’t the war cruiser but one of the escorting spacefighters. The forward section of the fighter vanished under the barrage, then secondary explosions ripped the rest of the ship apart.
    “Avenge them,” Terrorwing ordered coldly. “I’ll not tolerate Klaxxon escaping us now.” Not that he ever would have.
    “Targeting their engines,” Casing announced. “I hope. The radiation is interfering with the weapon locks. I think I’ve managed to compensate.” He shrugged, knowing they’d soon find out. “Firing.”
    Lasers burned into the Flame’s hull.
    “Yes!” Casing shouted happily.
    The Fury’s Flame slowed, it’s hull shuddering. It’s engines dimmed, briefly, and small fires erupted from scattered points on it’s hull. It’s engines flared brightly, and the ship seemed to elongate suddenly and then it shattered into a hundred trillion pieces of glittering debris.
    There was silence on the bridge of the Centurion.
 
 

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