A Plee for Justice: Part 2
The Maximals return to Cybertron in a Attempt to get a trial agsinst the Predacon goverement.
PART TWO
"Penji too," the penguin chimed in. "Stay behind too."
"Another coward?" Buckshot shot at him.
"No. Past history bad."
"We've all been through some tough scrapes," Rhapsody reassured him, "but right now we have to stand together, and face this."
"Political liability," he answered.
"Uhh.. could you elaborate on that a bit?" Rhapsody replied.
"No jail for Resistance. Kill Preds."
"Well that's one of the reasons we were jailed, too."
"Do it for fun. No reason!" he elaborated a bit. "Worse stuff too."
"What sort of worse stuff?" If Rhapsody were a less patient bot, trying to get information out of this penguin would be getting really annoying.
"Secret! If they find out.." he looked down sadly, "Bad for you too."
"well that does sound like a good idea but if they agree to a trial we Won't be jailed till after the trial so we will just wait in see but if it comes up Penji and Wraith with stay behind. If thats it, return to your quarters and prepare for landing."
Rhapsody said grabbing some notes and heading back to her quarters.
Dusty leant against one of the walls in the common room, unnoticed by most as they started to filter out after Rhapsody's briefing. She watched all the bots absently, wondering what she was going to do now.
"Hmm. No real reason t'hang around, but no real reason t'leave, either," Dusty muttered. "Stickin' with these guys is prob'ly better than wandering around by m'self, at least..." She sighed, gave a mental shrug and decided to wait and see what the future brought. Hopefully, it'd bring something to eat.
"And what do we do about you?" smiled Querion, as he lifted Skitch to eye-level, and shook the ferret a bit. The smaller Maximal cried out in alarm as he felt his circuits jiggle about in his body. After a long while, Querion stopped, tapped a finger on his chin, and dragged Skitch to the canteen.
There the wolf-bot gulped down a tankard of beer, smacked his lips, and tossed his captive several raisins.
"Don't reckon anyone's questioned you yet. You mind telling me who you are, and what you are doing here, so that I can decide whether to send you to Rhapsody or send you just straight through into space?"
“Who’s the new little critter Querion?” asked Rita, who was already at the canteen.
“Not sure, finding out though.”
“Ah, well before you finish with him have you seen Catfish? I think she went off to talk to Relic and I haven’t seen her since.”
--------------------------------
It took Fluffy a longer time then most to get to the Maximal meeting since he had to worm his way through all the hallways that he only just fit through. However, he finally poked his head in just as it was concluding. The giant guppy sighed and drooped somewhat. Only partly because he missed the mission briefing and mostly because now he was going to have to get BACK to the hanger.
Trapper begins prepping his ship...he knows not the reasons for this group's reasons for going to the citidel, but he knew he could help distract the planetary defense system, the law enforcement, and possible a great chunk of the military as well.....
this considering that there where a few discrepencies prior to his last departure from cybertron...
Trapper:
"signature booster online....I'll be a distraction while they head to the citidel, this if gonna be slag if I'm caught,"
as he makes some more system checks, he doesn't notice that some one else had been in the shadows listening...who was it...then person steps to the door to leave, but Trapper hear's this bot's foot steps.
Trapper:
"Whose there?" he shouts to the shadowed figure.
“Hrm. Well I cant get TOO mad at you. After all, that was the sort of stupid crap I did when I was a kid.” As they walked to the central area, Burnout took the time to give Phyphen a small scolding. Retro was still on the bridge, piloting the ship.
“But you did put us all in danger. In that fighter hadn’t picked you up, we either would have got caught looking for you, or you would have got caught yourself. Just try to think before you do something dumb, ok kid? I like you, wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you.” The fuzor gave her an energetic rub on the head and smiled. She was a lot like he was when he was young. But he hoped she’s grow out of it sooner than he did.
On entering the commons, Burnout sat down at one of the padded benches in the back, but Phyphen went off to converse with others. As she moved away, the cat kept his eyes on her, smiling a bit. She was a nice kid. And it was true, he didn’t want anything bad to happen to her….
Abandoned!! It had happened again.
Switchblade banged her fist hard against the nearby wall as she stalked away from Rhapsody’s short-lived briefing. Things were falling apart right in front of her eyes. For just an instant she had allowed herself to see life the way it could have been; a life that she had never even had the courage to dream of. For a moment she had dropped her guard, letting Timber and Solarflare get close enough to be able to hurt her. She had let them in for Primus’s sake!!
And what had she gotten in return for her efforts? For the wholesale sacrifice of every doubt and misgiving? For her total and absolute trust??
Nothing!!
The badger ‘bot’s optics burned with an icy blue flame. The one time she had dared to open up. The one time she had abandoned her defense mechanisms. The one time she had taken the chance to believe that maybe, just maybe she had been wrong to shut everyone out all that time…all she got back was betrayal.
“God-damn-it!” she screamed as her fist slammed into the wall again, this time at full force. There was an audible bleep as a recorded version of Dedlis’s voice permeated the corridor, reminding her of the Xaviors delicacy. Switchblade swore violently at the electronic message and stormed away.
“Let the canary rot, then,” she muttered as she moved, talking softly to herself. “You’ve still got Timber, and that’s gotta count for something,” She paused, reminding herself to breathe. It had to. The courier’s mind was made up. As soon as Burnout’s flying rust bucket hit dirt, she was gone. Even if that meant shooting her way out. When the time came, Timber would either come with, or stay behind. Switchblade hoped that she would come, but she was leaving either way.
She was done with this tin can Resistance. Done for good…
[The Streets of Cybertron – That Very Moment]
The streets were unnaturally dark as Schiller and Hax stepped from the relative comfort of their seedy hideaway, and into the Cybertronian night. They moved unhurriedly despite the neighborhood’s reputation and the lateness of the hour. The pair seemed unworried by the possibility of physical violence, as indeed they weren’t. Being members of a special branch of the Predacon Army’s Black-Ops unit, the streets of Cybertron held little if anything for them to fear. So they took things slow. It was their night off, yet they were far from comfortable.
“I suppose you’ve heard about Driver already,” Hax said softly. He was the smaller of the two ‘bots, midnight black, with cruel razor thin features and a perpetual sneer to his lips. He looked toward the larger ‘bot for a response.
“I have,” rumbled the massive Shiller. He was at least three heads taller than his companion (who despite his build was ten feet tall to begin with), built like a tank, and similarly enameled with a flat midnight black. “I have also heard about the way he died,” Schiller continued. “It was…disturbing,”
“Yes,” Hax agreed. “Indeed it was. You realize that brings the count to thirteen out of fifteen,”
“I am far too well aware of that fact, Mr. Hax,” Shiller returned.
Hax looked away from the larger ‘bot, a deep scowl crossing his face. “And it does not concern you?” the smaller of the two asked. “Whoever ‘removed’ the rest of the team may well be looking to finish the job. Yet you sit there and act as though it were nothing. In the name of the Pit, killing one of us should have been difficult enough. But thirteen??”
“I have never said that I wasn’t concerned,” Schiller replied, “I assure that I am. It is only that, unlike you, I have come to the understanding that there is very little we can do but wait for this ‘whatever-it-is to come to us,”
The wiry Hax stopped dead in his tracks. “Come to us? You must be insane! It’s killed nearly our whole team, and you want to just ‘wait for it to come to you’?”
“Yes,” Schiller said flatly. “I can envision no better place for the confrontation than here. In the open.”
“But at Base our numbers would…” Hax cried.
“Would be meaningless,” the thick set ‘bot finished. He turned and gazed down at his shorter companion, locking optics with him to make sure he made his point. “He murdered Siphon right in the middle of the Central Command Station. Remember!” Hax nodded. “Sealed the little wretches quarters while no one was looking and bled all his air out into space…slowly. He was long in dying, Hax. He tried to hide, and all it bought him was a bigger let down when he figured out that it did him…absolutely…no…good,”
Hax shook his head, clearing the image from his mind before moving on. Schiller followed him as he walked. “They say Siphon had the most…exquisite look of pain on his face when they found him floating around in that hard vacuum he called his room. Did they tell you that our mysterious friend disabled the artificial gravity for the room as well? He had to just float there while he died. Little blobs of frozen mech fluid bouncing off the wall I understand. A very gruesome way to die,” Schiller laughed openly. “Tell me, honestly, do you still want to go running off to the nearest safe house now? He very likely knows them all better than you do!”
“You keep saying ‘he’,” Hax said, attempting to change the subject. “Are you saying that you know who is hunting us?”
“I have my theories,” the larger ‘bot replied, all traces of his momentary mirth disappearing into the crisp night air.
“Who then?” inquired Hax.
“An old friend,” his companion replied. “Here, I’ll give you a hint. See if you can guess,” The massive ‘bot stopped dead in his tracks, leering eerily over the smaller Transformer. With one massive hand he covered the left side of his face, spreading his fingers so that only his left optic shone through. The right side he left uncovered. The tank like ‘bot held the pose for nearly a minute, seeming to become a statue of sorts. A cruel grin played across his mouth as the truth dawned on Hax.
“The Destroyer protect us,” Hax whispered. “I though he was dead! Surely you can’t mean…”
“I have no proof of it,” Schiller said, cutting him off, “and that is one of my concerns. Think of it. Why us. Why target our unit when there are so many of greater importance that could be eliminated with the same amount of effort.”
Hax took an uneven breath. “But what did we ever do to him?”
Schiller kept walking. “I don’t know. But we made him disappear sure enough. He always did have rather shady motives,”
For a long time neither of the spoke. They simply continued to walk the darkened streets of Cybertron, seeing an enemy hiding behind every corner, and within every shadow. They were in an older part of Cybertron now, one that dated back to the days when the planet had been on good terms with the Terrans, and Maximals were only a dream in the minds of the Autobot Council. There were gothic buildings here, Earth influenced monstrosities of dura-crete and stone, festooned with mythical creatures from across the galaxy.
“It feels like they’re watching us,” mumbled Hax absent-mindedly. Schiller agreed with a polite nod of his huge head, but said nothing. He loosened his laser cannon in its side holster. Who knew, perhaps the statues did heave eyes.
Yellow eyes. Neither Schiller nor Hax saw them, glowing darkly from a high ledge. But they were there. Watching. Waiting. Studying in the dark.
Schiller and Hax continued to walk along. At length they reached a large open square with a rusted metal fountain, dry and cracked, in the center. It was an old Decepticon design. A novelty made monument to some long forgotten victory. The Decepticons had always put an overabundance of faith in such public displays of superiority. It was a large multi-tiered affair, crowned by a rusted metal spine, from which water or some other liquid had long since ceased to flow. The two Predacons halted at its edge.
“This will be good,” Schiller said quietly. The large Black Ops ‘bot drew his laser cannon and carefully checked the sights. When he had finished he looked back at Hax, who stood frozen in horror.
“You Unicron spawned bastard!!” the small ‘bot spat venomously. “He’s out there isn’t he?!” Schiller nodded. “Why…” Hax stammered.
“Because I knew that sooner or later it would happen anyway, only on his terms. At least this way the field is as even as we can make it.” Schiller snorted. “Besides, if I have to die, I want to be the one who decides when and where.”
“And what about me!” Hax sputtered. He was a code cracker, not as battle hardened as Schiller by half.
“I don’t recall giving you a choice, fool,” the larger ‘bot spat. “Fight, or die. More likely than not, both. I don’t care. But for me, this ends here and it ends now. I won’t brick any more of this ‘cat and mouse’ slag.”
For a moment, Hax wavered, unsure of what to do. Then, at last, he turned and ran. The terrified ‘bots light footsteps echoed back to Schiller at his post by the fountain. The large ‘bot continued to listen, even after Hax had disappeared from sight. Suddenly the footsteps stopped. There was a moment of silence…and then a cry of pain.
It was faint, but Schiller knew it for what it was.
Nervously he checked the charge on his laser cannon. It was at full. For a moment he considered running himself…but no, look where that had gotten Hax. Schiller stood his ground. The silence after the scream was maddening and permanent. It stretched on until it seemed like forever. Then, after ten minutes, Schiller saw it. Nothing more than a flash of muted gray, almost the color of stone. The flash of a sickly yellow optic for no more than the blink of an eye. A low growling filtered through the air, first in one position, then another.
It was circling him.
Schiller flipped off the power restraints on his cannon. The device would quickly reach overload, but if he could get just one shot in, maybe…(there was a rustle of air)…he could pull things out. (Another rustle) Schiller shouldered the weapon. Perhaps he could even…
Suddenly he felt a gust of air from above his head. Ripped from his thoughts the Predacon killer swung his weapon in a desperate attempt to sight the disturbance. He reached for the trigger…but to no effect. The cannon was wrenched from his hands instantly, and sent sliding off across the square. Even the battle hardened Schiller would have screamed. But the words froze beneath a voice box crushed by a grip of steel. The massive ‘bot flailed with his arms and legs, unable to dislodge his attacker. His life faded slowly, and the struggling weakened. After a time even the twitching stopped.
Eyes frozen wide in death, Schiller’s last thoughts were of a single image: A shadowy Angel of Death plummeting from the sky. Wings outstretched, and yellow eyes burning like Hellfire.
Gabriel had arrived.
Dusty watched as Burnout and Phyphen came into the commons, smiling slightly to herself at the not-too-obvious affection Burnout showed towards the small foxbot. It reminded her of the big-brotherly attitude a long-time friend of hers had had towards herself... Dusty's smile faded as she wondered where Nightstrider had gotten to, if he was still even alive...
The white and copper bot shook her head and sighed slightly, then noticed that Burnout was now by himself on one of the benches. She wandered over and dropped gracefully onto the other end of the bench, giving the fuzor a nod.
"Don't believe we were properly introduced b'fore," she commented as Burnout turned slightly to watch her. "Dusty, freelance mercenary, formerly with the Darkblade mercs, reportin' for duty. Or somethin' like that, anyway." She tossed off a casual salute and grinned mischeviously, waiting for his response.
Phyphen felt oddly relieved at Burnout's words. She now wandered about the room, musing about what Burnout must have been like MANY cycles ago.
Phyphen laughed to herself at the thought of the cat causing trouble. Her thoughts drifted from topic to topic as she looked around the room.
Smiling to herself, the young fox realised that she had managed to acquaint herself fairly well with most people on the ship.
Except one.
There was one person ... fuzor actually... who she hadn't met or seen.
AND... Phyphen was very curious about the small fuzor everyone was talking about... Kitty-fish or Catfish or something like that....
Phyphen spun in a small circle glancing at all the people around her in the room. She wrinkled her nose. The fuzor wasn't here. No where.
The child folded her arms in front of her chest and sat down on the padded bench, upset that she couldn’t meet this person.... but, excited that she had a new game to play... find the kittyfish!
A mischievous smile crept across the fox's face as she started to plot out her ideas to sniff out the unknown 'bot.
Burnout glanced behind him and noticed the smile on the fox's face. He sighed and rolled his eyes upward. Dusty paused in what she was saying and looked over to where Burnout had glanced. She looked, then back at Burnout, then back one again at the small Maximal... and so on.
Dusty had caught on to the gist of what was happening and began to laugh. Burnout gave her a pained look and she just laughed harder.
Phyphen felt oddly relieved at Burnout's words. She now wandered about the room, musing about what Burnout must have been like MANY cycles ago.
Phyphen laughed to herself at the thought of the cat causing trouble. Her thoughts drifted from topic to topic as she looked around the room.
Smiling to herself, the young fox realised that she had managed to acquaint herself fairly well with most people on the ship.
Except one.
There was one person ... fuzor actually... who she hadn't met or seen.
AND... Phyphen was very curious about the small fuzor everyone was talking about... Kitty-fish or Catfish or something like that....
Phyphen spun in a small circle glancing at all the people around her in the room. She wrinkled her nose. The fuzor wasn't here. No where.
The child folded her arms in front of her chest and sat down on the padded bench, upset that she couldn’t meet this person.... but, excited that she had a new game to play... find the kittyfish!
A mischievous smile crept across the fox's face as she started to plot out her ideas to sniff out the unknown 'bot.
Burnout glanced behind him and noticed the smile on the fox's face. He sighed and rolled his eyes upward. Dusty paused in what she was saying and looked over to where Burnout had glanced. She looked, then back at Burnout, then back one again at the small Maximal... and so on.
Dusty had caught on to the gist of what was happening and began to laugh. Burnout gave her a pained look and she just laughed harder.
Querion shrugs, and said, "I haven't seen her, nor Relic. Relic shoo-ed Mimi and I out of the room, saying something about wanting a 'personal talk'. With whom, I'm not sure. They should be all rig..."
"What's wrong?"
"N-Nothing. They're going to be all right. Relic can take care of Catfish, and Catfish can take care of herself," the wolf-bot said, the note of conviction dropping from his voice.
"You don't sound *convinced* that they'll be fine. Why? Something about Catfish's unpredictable and totally volatile nature?"
"No. It's not Catfish. It's Relic." Querion sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm not sure if I did a right thing by stopping Buckshot. It's not like I don't trust Relic, but I'm just not sure if he can stop whatever had possessed him." The Maximal paused, then continued, "I think you can run along now. I don't know where Catfish is, so I think you'll do better asking someone else. I've got to go talk to that rottweiler... And as for you, my little ferret, we'll see if Buckshot has any novel ways of getting you to talk."
Querion grabbed Skitch by the back of the neck and hauled him up from the seat.
"Say, uh, who's Buckshot?" Skitch asked nervously.
"A friend of mine- he's a good guy when you get to know him, but until you do, he's got a bad temper and nice big fists. And he HATES thieving rodents. Wanna meet him?" Querion asked.
"Not really..."
"I thought you would! Come on!"
Querion began pulling the fruitlessly struggling Skitch to a muscular canine seated in the back. He looked pissed, acted pissed, and sounded pissed- Skitch had the feeling that he would be pissed.
"Hello, Buckshot." Querion greeted.
"Hey, Querion." Buckshot said simply.
"No hard feelings about the taking you down and locking you up thing, right?"
"Naw...besides, this bunch of fragnuts couldn't squash a roach for s**ting in their Cheerios, so it's not like we would've gotten any justice. Yet. Who's the squirmer?"
"This fine citizen was caught aboard the ship, stealing from us. I thought you and I might have a talk with him."
"Sounds groovy. Hey, what's your name?"
"Skitch." the thief responded timidly.
"I'm Buckshot. Heh, you sound scared. Well, don't worry- we're a swell bunch, and we treat criminals right. Put 'er there, sport."
Buckshot put out his hand and nodded to Querion. The wolf allowed Skitch to shake Buckshot's hand- the rotweiler abruptly clamped down on the rodent's hand, prompting several cracking noises and a cry of pain. Buckshot yanked him forward and put him in a headlock, holding him down to his knees.
"So! What's your problem, smiley?!" Buckshot asked him jovially/angrily.
"I don't got no problem, sir! No problem at all, sir!" Skitch squeaked under the pressure of Buckshot's grip. "I's been framed, sir! Please believe me, sir! I'm just a 'nnocent little scapegoat, sir! Please don't hurt me, sir!"
"I ain't gonna hurt nobody, Smiley," The Rott said in mock friendliness. "I just wanna know stuff 'bout my new friend..." He said as he applied a vigorous noogie to Skitch's beleagured cranium.
" Beggin yer pardon, sir! I ain't your friend sir! Please don't hurt me sir!"
Skitch began to cry.
Skitch was crying, making loud sobbing noises as he rubbed his fingers against his eyes. Querion blinked in surprise at the sorry wreck he was carrying.
"You made him cry. You made him cry? Oh man, we have got to up the standards of the people allowed on this ship," mourned the wolf-bot, slapping a hand across his face. He shook the ferret violently, trying to get him to keep quiet, but that only made him sob even louder. Querion could feel many different pairs of eyes staring at them now.
"All right. That does it. Come on, Buckshot. It's off to 'let's-find-a-quiet-little-corner-and-interrogate-the-ferret' time. Don't forget your slugger; we might need it if he doesn't shut up."
Phyphen watched as Querion walked away with the ferret.
The young fox rolled her eyes upwards at Querion and started to return to her seat. The fox bot whirled about on her heels and walked right back up to Querion.
She tapped him on the shoulder twice and he turned around.
"Yes?" he inquired looking slightly irritated with her "pestering".
Phyphen smiled at him and extended both hands, scooped up the little ferret from Querion's grasp and pressed him against her chest.
"I think he's cute! AND I don't want you to hurt him. He'll be a good ferret now... I'll keep him!" And on that she turned around and returned back to her seat.
It took Skitch only a minute to find his bearings. He held on to Phyphen for dear life.
"Oh, please don't let em hurt me miss! I'll be a nice little ferret, ooh yes I will!"
"Don't you worry," The young foxbot cooed. "I won't let them big meanies touch a hair on your cute widdle head!"
And she and Skitch both stuck out their tongues at the bewildered Querion and Buckshot.
Tundra sits at a terminal, looking up Cybertron, to refresh her memory from her geisha days. She notices Vinoc sitting in a corner, being his usual self. but that was his problem, she was still angry at him.
The wolf-bot blinked, and raised a finger menacingly, as if wanting to say something. He stopped, finger waving angrily in mid-air, gritted his teeth and sighed.
"Fine. I won't do anything to him. You just make sure that you keep him in your sights at all times. We don't want Burnout complaining about missing stuff from the ship again, especially since he had mentioned missing a repair ship the last time. And you'd better ask him why he's here and all sorts of interesting background information, 'cos I would *want* to know the next time we meet."
"Oh, don't worry. I'm so totally on him."
"Literally I hope," muttered the ferret to himself.
Querion shook his head, patted Buckshot on the shoulder, and said, "Come on. The ferret's under that little fox's protection now. Probably'll bite our hands off if we go even ten feet of him. Let's go grab a drink; and we need to talk."
"You're not gonna want to talk about our relationship, are you?" Buckshot asked.
Querion smiled thinly.
"No, I think it's pretty well established."
"Yeah, sounds good. But there's no good drinks in this place- believe me, I looked. I brought the hard stuff here in my quarters- come on."
Buckshot gestured for Querion to follow and the two made their way to a random supply closet. Buckshot reached within a drawer and pulled out a bottle of heavy-duty energon. He took a swig from the bottle and passed it to Querion.
"So what's up?" Buckshot asked.
[Predacon Headquarters – The City of Endport]
From his place, seated in the far corner of the base’s Communications Center, Croak looked on the frantic activity with a practiced indifference. His optics swept slowly from ‘bot to ‘bot, watching them move from screen to illuminated screen like worker bees. He didn’t have the slightest clue as to what they were doing, but it didn’t matter. As long as they provided the information he needed, and in short order, they could do anything they wanted.
“Nonsense,” the grizzled old veteran mumbled, shaking his head at the flurry of activity. “Bunch of slaggin’ numbers ain’t getting us nowhere,” He knew it wasn’t true, but it reassured him to say it anyway. Croak accepted the fact that he was a grunt. A glorified grunt, maybe, but a grunt all the same. His job was fighting and killing, not crunching numbers. The idle waiting had begun to severely grate his nerves. For all he knew the tech ‘bots he watched might not even be searching for his little group of Maximals. Croak didn’t know. But he waited none the less. Silently he wished for something that he could hit.
Croak slumped back further into his seat. Or, at least as far as he could manage in the unforgiving metal chair. The fighter ‘bot crossed his left leg, resting an ankle on the opposite thigh. He tried to relax. To let his mind think of something else for a change. It was hard work, but there were still a few things that concerned him. A few of them troubled him greatly.
Like the Commissar. Something about him had always rubbed Croak the wrong way. It had been like that since the moment he’d heard of the ‘bots arrival. A political officer in and of itself wasn’t out of the ordinary. Croak had served under the supervision of many such Transformers. No, what concerned him, was the Commissar’s deployment to Endport in the first place. Commissars were valuable commodities, and therefore only sent to locations that needed them. Why did they need one when they had the Commander? Surely the political officer hadn’t been sent to keep him in line. The old Predacon had a breathtaking record of service, and his loyalty could not have been in question. ‘Pit!’ Croak thought, the Commander had been a lynchpin of the Predacon army long before even he’d joined up.
So why was he here? Was it to assist in running the occupation? It couldn’t have been. The Commander, even at his advanced age, had been more than capable of doing it himself. With the small exception of the Maximal Resistance, he’d done a remarkable job as well. For all intents and purposes, the Commissar was unnecessary.
Croak clamped his optics shut in frustration. Something was going on above his head, and it seemed he would be caught in the crossfire. Common sense told him to ignore it, to let it go. But he couldn’t. It was a gut instinct; something that had saved his life on more than one occasion.
The frog ‘bot kept his eyes closed, letting his mind drift from topic to topic, praying that the techs would give him a bearing soon, so that he could do something. Anything. After a time, his thoughts settled on the day he and the other Generals had been ‘collared’, and had their audience with the Tripredacus Council. Well, one of them at least. Cicadon if he wasn’t mistaken, though it was hard to tell through the shadows. Croak had seen a vid of him once, a long time ago, when the imposing Predacon had taken Mantacon’s place on the Council. He had recognized the outline. Croak traced the smooth curves of his deadly silver bracelet. But why had he appeared alone? Surely the others had to be close by. Their presence would have lent more gravity to their assignment. Perhaps Ramhorn and Seaclamp were away on some bit of Council business. Maybe they didn’t think it was important enough to bother with. (Croak didn’t claim to know the minds of his superiors) Cicadon may have just decided to contact them directly. Who knew? It was an oddity, though, to be sure.
“We’ve got it!” one of the Comm Techs shouted suddenly. Croak’s optics popped open in an instant, all his former worries forgotten. “Vector reading onscreen,” said another ‘bot from somewhere in the middle of the room. Obediently, an oversized hologram sprang to life above their heads. A multitude of numbers and figures streamed across the green display, giving astro-navigational coordinates and other positional figures.
“I want two copies of all relevant data, and I want them NOW!” Croak bellowed. A few feet to his left, a young Pred hurriedly slid two data disks into a coding machine and hit ‘record’. A pair of blood red lights winked into existence. The tech turned to Croak.
“Download initiated, sir,” the ‘bot replied. Croak nodded solemnly and turned his attention back to the hologram. The green image had expanded now, covering nearly half the room and bathing its occupants in an eerie green light. The amount of ‘relevant information’ continued to grow; numbers and symbols streaming in faster and faster, until all of a sudden, it simply stopped. There was a momentary pause before the center of the display vanished, replaced by a fully colored image of a planet. A planet covered completely with metal.
“They wouldn’t,” Croak breathed. He looked at the name as it appeared in large letters beside the image:
Cybertron
“Damn,” the General whispered angrily. He stalked over the coding machine, practically ripping the data disks from their slots. “Erase all gathered information. All it!” He roared. “I will deliver these to the Commissar personally.” The Com ‘bots jumped at the black Transformer’s name and returned quickly to work. Croak left the room unobserved.
As the doors to the Communications Center closed behind him, Croak took a cautious look around. There were no guards, no cameras…not even a casual passer-by. With a mental command he opened a small compartment under his left forearm and slid the second data disk inside. He didn’t know why he had ordered a second disk. The Commissar had only wanted one… Still, it was better to have it and not need (should his feelings about the Commissar prove right) than to need it and not have it. Croak started out for the Commissar’s quarters at a fast walk.
Besides, nobody would miss the extra disk.
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