***CAVALIER***
"Something's in the corridor," I whisper harshly, looking up from the rough frame we've constructed.
"Tempest and Chopper?" Springer asks.
"Can't take chances," Harrier says grimly, readying his lasers and pointing them into the gloom of the tunnels. I follow suit with my rail gun, but hold my fire until I can see the outline of the newcomer clearly.v "Stand down," Tempest's voice says.
Relieved, we lower our weapons.
The yellow Seeker stalks forward into the room, carrying four small tanks. Chopper follows with an armload of spare parts, most of them badly rusted but likely serviceable in a pinch like this. Tempest speaks again. "We brought parts for Pipes."
"Could have saved you the trouble," I say bitterly. "Pipes went offline about two megacycles ago."
"See, told you," Chopper whines, dropping his load and letting the parts tumble across the floor. Tempest glares at him.
I feel somewhat guilty--I had not expected the yellow Seeker to do anything for Pipes. "But thank you anyway," I whisper.
Tempest looks somewhat pleased. She tosses me one of the containers she holds. "Drink up."
I catch it--a small, black, greasy fuel tank. It is none too clean and its surface is scarred by blade marks as if it had been cut off of something. There are a few openings in the tank that have been plugged by improvised corks.
Tempest tosses a tank to Springer and one to Harrier. The jump-jet looks rather queasy. "I think I'll pass," he murmurs.
"Drink it," Tempest says sternly. "You need to keep your energy level high."
I shrug and take a sip.
It tastes vile--thick, stale, and somewhat warm, with a revolting aftertaste unlike anything I've ever tasted before. It's all I can do to swallow it.
Springer's appears to be no more appetizing than mine. "Primus, Tempest, where'd you get this swill? Are you sure it isn't bad?"
"It's fine," the yellow Seeker said firmly. "Chopper and I are already full of it."
"It doesn't taste right," I mutter.
"What do you expect, the Four Winds Bar? Now drink up!"
I chug mine fast, trying not to taste it. Even then I cannot cleanse my mouth entirely of the flavour. Springer follows suit. Harrier, however, can only manage a few swallows of his before he gives the rest to Tempest; she drains the tank with great relish, seeming to enjoy it, and then she shoots Harrier a look of disapproval. He only whimpers a little and turns his back, closing his optics and dropping into sleep cycle.
I toss the tank aside when I'm finished. "What are we going to do with Pipes?"
Tempest frowns. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to keep the body here. Outside, one place is as bad as any other." She does not elaborate. Chopper looks at her questioningly and she answers wordlessly with a glare. I wonder what's on Chopper's mind.
I don't particularily want to be sitting around with Pipes' dead body. On the other hand, we can't just dump him, and if this place is the hell that Tempest obviously thinks it is, is there anywhere safe to entomb him?
I drape the rotten blanket over Pipes as best as I can, and return to the transmitter.
***TEMPEST***
I have to admit, the Autobots are doing a better job than I thought they would. The transmitter looks like it might be functional soon. Good. The closer the Cybertronian ship can get to us, the better. The Scavengers have not found my lair yet--as far as I can tell, they don't even know we're here, or rather, none of the living ones know we're here. Those who've had the misfortune to see Chopper and I aren't in any condition to tell anyone.
I was hoping we wouldn't ever get to use that transmitter. I've been keeping an eye on the wreck of our cruiser. The rescue ship should have been here by now...but that was assuming they'd been able to come directly here from Cybertron. Highly unlikely, given the recent Quintesson activity in the surrounding sectors. They'd likely have to fight their way through or else circumnavigate the Quint strongholds...
...or, maybe Stormy didn't get back to the nearest neutral outpost to send for help. Maybe the Quints shot her down before she ever got a transmission out. Or maybe the ship landed on the other side of the planet by mistake and the Scavengers got them. Maybe we're on our own permanently.
No. Thinking like that is self-defeatist. I'll give the rescue ship a few days to trace the transmitter beacon, and then, if there's no response, I'll send Harrier.
I drain the fuel container in my hand dry. Ah, warm and thick--the way I like it best. I enjoy the flavour, and it seems Harrier and the Autobots have learned to tolerate it, as they are drinking theirs. I wish we had a means to convert the fuel into energon cubes, a much more economic form of energy, but there's no point worrying about that now. None of us can help the fact that the raw fuel burns up much more quickly than energon would.
The hunting today was slim. I see Chopper hungrily eyeing the shrouded shape of Pipes and I glare at him until he cringes back into the shadows. If he crosses the line, I'll pin him and drink HIS fuel out of his still living shell, insubordinate little...
...no, that's the hunger talking. Allies, Tempest, you have ALLIES now. They're not your prey, Tempest. They're not your food.
I turn my back on the room and put another mark on the wall. There are now three fresh ones next to the old tallies.
***CAVALIER***
Day five. I think we're done. "Should we run a test?" I ask Springer and Harrier, looking down at our makeshift transmitter. "Maybe it would be smarter to wait until Tempest gets back."
Springer isn't paying attention. He's staring at the doorway. "I wish Tempest and Chopper would hurry up with our lunch."
Harrier looks somewhat disturbed, again. "Don't get too attached to that stuff."
"Don't worry," I snort. "I can't wait to fill up on good old Cybertronian energon. No more factory fuel for me, or wherever she gets it from."
"I dunno, the stuff kind of grows on you," Springer muses.
Harrier looks rather queasy. "What's up with you?" I demand.
He looks shiftily at Springer, then back to me. "I...well...that is..." He clears his throat. "What I have to say is perhaps better said in private, but under these conditions, Springer, I will have to be begging your pardon."
Springer moves away, closer to the main doorway, though he can still hear us if he listens. He's pretending not to.
Harrier leans forward, almost hesitantly. "I want to apologize to you," he murmurs. I blink at him. "Your...your jaw," he says, as delicately as possible. "What we did to you was cruel and unnecessary, and although I can't fix it, I want you to know I'm sorry for what we did to you."
My first thought is that Harrier is trying to cover his own tail section, considering that he's stuck here with me. However, his face does look sincere and he's got a very warm smile, which he's offering me now. I remind myself that Harrier is a charmer and a rogue of the highest order, and that trusting him would be foolish...for Primus' sake, he's a DECEPTICON!
But in these circumstances, holding on to my old grudge is pretty well pointless.
"Apology accepted," I mutter. And then I add, "But this doesn't mean I'm going to date you."
Another grin. "You mean it's not even worth my effort to try?"
I knew it! And damn it, why does he have to be so handsome?! It would never work out, and I know it. Right now, though, who's to say if either of us are going to last until the rescue ship comes...IF it comes? The idea is dangerously appealing.
I want to say "no" and I can't. It's a relief when Springer calls out, "Guys, I can hear 'em in the tunnel!"
I listen. I can hear them too, all right. They're noisy...far too noisy...and then, my audio sensors pick up the unmistakeable sound of laser fire. I grab my rail gun and race into the tunnel with Springer and Harrier right behind me. I sprint around the bends, not certain what I'm going to meet.
What I bump into is another Cybertronian. He's lean and as small as I am, and at first I think it's Chopper. Then he turns and I'm staring into an unfamiliar face, laced with rust, with one shattered optic and a deep dent in the side of the head. He shrills at me, some kind of gutteral war cry, and raises a battered sword. Startled, I jump back. The blade whistles past me and then...
Arms grab me from behind, spin me around. There's more robots, holding me still, taking my rail gun and pinning me to the wall. I think I count six in total--it's hard to tell in the darkness of the tunnel--and none of them are in any better shape than the first one. They don't speak...they hiss and gibber. I think I see a faded Autobot symbol on one of them, but I can't be certain. All of them carry crude weapons, mostly blades of various lengths. In the distance I can hear Springer and Harrier. It sounds like they're in hand-to-hand combat with some unseen foe, and every once in a while, I hear the zap of a laser.
I try the Universal Greeting. "Bah weep gra na weep ninnybong." It gets no response at first...then a harsh laugh from the one with the Autobot logo.
A one-armed female with a long glaive points the tip of her weapon at my chest. I struggle, but my arms and legs are pinned. The female pops my chest panel with a quick and precise movement.
What are they doing?
The female positions her weapon. I can't see the tip of the glaive but I can feel it in my circuitry, ready to slice. She smiles coldly...
A blade whistles through the air and slices her head off. The robots holding my limbs slacken their hold. I throw one off my leg, but another is on me immediately, still holding me...
The whir of a helicopter rotor fills the tunnel. Springer?
Chopper.
The blueberry and orange helicopter is hovering above me, firing his lasers. One of the robots has my rail gun and is shooting back at him, but Chopper is a better shot and drops the one holding my weapon. The other five are smart enough to duck below Chopper's fire, and I feel grateful that Chopper stops shooting rather than aiming lower and risking hitting me. He lands, transforming...
The robots at my arms leave me and attack Chopper. I try to sit up, but before I can get anywhere, one of the creatures at my feet jumps me, throwing his full weight onto my chest, hissing as he reaches down into my chest circuitry...
A blue blade lops his head clean off.
I kick the last two robots, slam my chest panels shut, and leap to my feet. Tempest is at my shoulder in an instant, hissing a low growl that is eerily akin to that of the savages.
I am about to ask...to question her...when I hear a high and piercing scream.
"Chopper!" the yellow Seeker shouts, wheeling in the direction from which she and Chopper had come. We run only a few paces before we see four of the rusted robots crouching around Chopper's frame. Tempest raises her arm, lets off a laser blast and knocks one of them over. I bend over, grab the one-armed robot's fallen glaive, and rush the horde with Tempest beside me, her blue blades swinging. I choose a target and take his arm off; Tempest again goes for a head and gets it. The two survivors are turning to flee. One of them drops something, a round object that rolls across the floor and stops at Chopper's shoulder.
"Don't let them get away!" Tempest hisses. "They're too close to the base!" She transforms into jet mode and flies in pursuit, firing her lasers.
I'm bending over Chopper.
We were too late.
Chopper's face bears an expression of stunned surprise, as if going offline had caught him completely off guard. As if he'd expected to live forever. His chest is ripped open and his fuel tank has been torn out. He'd evidently flailed out with the last bit of energy in his systems, lashing out at his tormentors. I see a nearby robot with Chopper's long blade through its chest and realize that he took at least one of them with him. And I also get a chance to identify the round object that had been dropped by the fleeing survivors.
Chopper's fuel tank.
What a cruel and barbarous way to die. I feel sickened, doubly so when I realize that if it had not been for Tempest and Chopper intervening when they did, I would have met the same fate.
Noises, in the corridor behind me. I leap up, holding the glaive at the ready, but it's Springer and Harrier looking somewhat worse for wear.
"Where's Tempest and Chopper?" Springer asks.
"Tempest's chasing the survivors. Chopper..." I point downward.
Harrier gasps, bows his head, holds his clenched left fist over his chest. "Power, Cunning, Courage, the Phoenix Springs Eternal. Decepticons Forever. Hail Cybertron."
Springer and I are not Decepticons, but I know a salute when I see one. "Hail Cybertron," I murmur.
Springer looks surprised for a moment, then follows suit. "Hail Cybertron."
Harrier breaks his position, looking around at the carnage. "At least we get our pick of weapons," he mutters.
More steps in the corridor. The bright yellow metal gleam is a dead giveaway that the oncoming figure is not one of the cannibals...or is she? With the way she fights, the way she moves around these streets, the way she hisses in battle? Tempest walks over, carrying her twin swords and a pair of the little fuel tanks.
"Did you get them?" Harrier asks.
She nods. "As far as I can tell, none of them lived to get away, to tell the others where our base is."
"Who are they?" Springer demands.
"Scavengers," the jump-jet breaks in. Neither he nor Tempest elaborate.
"Well," Tempest says, "I thought today was a wash, but it looks like we get some good eating after all."
"Good..." I repeat, and then I notice Harrier ripping Chopper's sword out of the body where Chopper had embedded it in his last dying act. Tempest has already flipped over one of the fallen, popping the catch on its chest using her blade, and doing so with the same expertise that the one-armed female had used on me. My gaze darts from the two small fuel containers at Tempest's side, to Chopper's fuel tank.
They are precisely the same shape and size.
I suddenly realize where our fuel has been coming from and the idea makes me weak with nausea. My equilibrium circuits seem to have taken the day off. I sag to my feet, my own fuel tank churning, wanting to eject every bit of fuel in me and realizing the danger of such an action when I've been running close to redline for a few days.
Springer rushes over to me. "Cav, what's wrong?"
I gesture from Chopper's fuel tank to Harrier and Tempest, who have begun the gruesome harvest. Harrier is using Chopper's sword to cut a fuel tank free from its previous owner's body, gingerly making the necessary cuts. Tempest is a professional...pop, slice, slice, plug, and a third tank is hanging by her side.
It takes Springer a while to get it, and when he does, he staggers to his knees beside me. "Primus help us...that's where we've been getting our fuel from?"
Harrier looks over at us, seemingly embarrassed. "It's all there is, here," he murmurs. "Unless you want to challenge the local warlords for control of a hydroelectric dam. Tempest doesn't recommend that unless we can get about another fifty or sixty of you."
Hell. Tempest wasn't far from wrong.
***TEMPEST***
Chopper. Chopper's gone.
The little helicopter had been difficult to get along with--selfish, argumentative, cruel. I wouldn't call myself an angel of mercy, but I very rarely found pleasure in tormenting a beaten opponent. Still, Chopper had had his uses, and aside from myself and Stormrave, he had been the last survivor of Kilair. Most importantly, Chopper had been a member of Phoenix Corps, back when my unit had been nothing more than one more pack of space pirates. I had fought my way to the top, joined the ranks of the Decepticon Army, won honours...and Chopper had been with me all that way.
Harrier walks over to my side and says softly, "So there's only the four of us now." I don't know if he's talking about Phoenix Corps--the other two being Deuce and Beretta--or the number of us here on Tartarus.
I don't want to draft Harrier into hunting detail with me. Cannibalism isn't Harrier's style at all. This was one of the situations where Chopper's bloodthirsty nature had been useful. The helicopter had enjoyed killing and gutting the Scavengers. Harrier, I know, will be terribly disturbed afterwards, though he'll do it anyway...
Why am I going soft on Harrier?
I shoot a glance over at my second's handsome profile and feel glad that the Scavengers got Chopper instead of Harrier.
I bow down, picking up Chopper's fuel tank. "This shouldn't go to waste," I say.
Harrier nods. He understands. His ways are not my ways, but he forgives me. The Autobots cannot, I know, and that is why I will leave them in the base while Harrier and I hunt.
I salute Chopper, and drain his fuel tank dry.
***CAVALIER***
Tempest draws fresh mark number eight on the wall and frowns. "We've been here too long," she mutters.
"What?" I ask.
"It's one of the most important principles of guerilla warfare," Harrier explains. "Staying in the same place for too long is dangerous. The reason guerillas survive so long is because they keep moving. By the time the enemy finds their base, they're already gone."
"We've been careful," Springer argues. "We close the trap door. We don't use the side tunnels."
"But we do come and go," Harrier points out, "and a watching Scavenger could see us. Information like that could save him from a maurading pack. The pack would spare him to get to us."
"If they were listening to their brains instead of their hunger," Tempest puts in. "But it's a valid point. When I was here before, I'd only spend three or four days out of ten in this place. And then there's that to consider." She kicks in the direction of the transmitter. "Wherever we are, it'll bring the rescue shuttle right to us. Unfortunately, it's not impossible that the Scavengers might be able to get a fix on the signal, trace it to the source. Another reason not to stay here too long."
"So where do we go?" I ask.
"I've got a few possibilities in mind," Tempest says. "Some of my old haunts should still be standing. Let's find out."
***TEMPEST***
"Do we bring the transmitter with us?" Springer wants to know.
I think about that. If we run into Scavengers, I don't want it slowing us down in the fight. It would be inefficient, to carry the device all over Tartarus. There's a risk of the Scavengers coming into the base while we're gone and destroying it, but better the transmitter than us.
"Leave it. We'll come back for it later, if we find a suitable location."
I lead Harrier and the Autobots out of the base towards the nearest of the possible new locations I've marked. My first choice looks like it might have been the basement of a fortress of some sort. It's got thick walls, all of which are still standing, and no windows. The door is blocked by rubble, but that's fine by me. Harrier, Springer and I are flight-capable. Cavalier, obviously, doesn't like this location. She doesn't trust me to carry her out should the Scavengers ever get in.
It would be easier if we all agreed, and I'm willing to examine other possibilities. I, myself, question the wisdom of living in a place with no escape routes. Still, it might be the lesser of evils, and the only way to find out is to check out other locations.
Four fully-operational Cybertronians are a formidible force compared to hungry, half-rusted Scavengers. With our lasers in full view, we look like no one to mess with. When I see three Scavengers creeping out of the rubble ahead of us, glaring at us, I'm not too concerned. Their tanks will be mostly empty, of course, but I'm up for a little snack. We used up the last of our fuel supply from the big battle yesterday. Most of those Scavengers had been on redline when they invaded our base.
The Scavengers ahead raise their weapons and charge us. "Take them!" I yell, drawing my swords and rushing their leader. There won't be much eating on these three, but they should be easy kills. They must be starving. Only a desperate Scavenger would rush us...
...or one that's a member of a far superior fighting force.
I realize we're in trouble when I hear debris shifting behind us. I pin my Scavenger's spear between my blades and risk a quick glance over my shoulder. There's a good thirty of them behind us. A Warlord's pack.
"THE REAR!" I cry.
Harrier uses Chopper's sword to dispatch a Scavenger; then he wheels around, giving a cry of dismay when he sees what I saw. He raises his arms, firing his lasers, trying to hold the horde back. Quickly, I help Cavalier finish off the last of the trio ahead of us and we turn our attention to the group behind us. Already Springer's engaged with a member of the big pack, and as the Scavengers swarm towards us, I know we cannot fight a force of this size.
"RETREAT!" I yell.
The Autobots need no encouragement. They're transformed in a flash and out of there, laying rubber on the cluttered streets. Harrier steps back from the Scavenger he's fighting and leaps airborne, transforming as he jumps, firing his mighty VTOL turbines to hold him aloft. I dispatch one of my Scavengers with a slice of my blade, and his two companions lose interest in me in their hurry to drain their former comrade of his fuel. I whirl around, transforming to jet mode, hoping my one working engine will be able to keep me flying.
It does, but I'm slower than I should be, and that gives some of the other Scavengers time to pursue. They're all behind me, and I should be getting away...then I jerk to a sudden stop in midair and crash to the ground.
One of the Scavengers has lassoed my tail section with a chain. I kick the chain off, snarling, but the pack is closing in on me. I don't have time to get up before they're on me. Instead, I hold them back with my arm lasers, both barrels firing, dealing damage left and right...but for now, the Scavengers are for the most part ignoring their wounded. They sense a kill. They want to finish me off before they glut themselves on their own injured. I am fat with fuel; Scavengers are lean pickings.
~If this had happened to me last time I'd be dead.~ I hadn't had lasers then.
They're still closing in, hordes of them. They're keeping at the perimeter of my blasts, where my aim is poor because of the distance and the need to keep firing in all directions in order to hold them off. I get to my feet, slowly, still firing, and I stumble a little when I realize what they're doing. They're waiting for me to use up all my photon charges. Then they'll close in for the kill.
A few impatient ones brave a step or two inside the blast perimeter and are shot down. Their comrades drag them back into the pack and they squeal as the others rip them apart. New Scavengers take the place of the fallen and the feeding. They want me. They want me bad. Even my blades cannot protect me against attack from all sides.
And then the ring of Scavengers is broken by a torrent of laser blasts from above. I wrench my head skyward as the jumpjet passes overhead and then activates its turbines, hovering overtop of me, giving me cover fire.
"Harrier!" I exclaim, wasting no time in transforming and taking off, using my own weapons to blast my way clear of the Scavengers.
~Out we're out we got out...~
Then Harrier lets out a cry of pain. One of the Scavengers had mocked up some sort of crude crossbow and now, a sharp edged projectile fashioned from a wedge of rusty metal has embedded itself in Harrier's underbelly. The green and brown mottled jump jet rocks its wings, slowly losing altitude...
"Harrier, pull up!" I urge as I tilt my wings and slip into formation on his right wing. He groans a little, boosting engine power and holding his altitude as we fly away from the Scavengers at high speed. With their limited power resources, there is no way they can keep up to us. They don't even try. They're too busy testing one another for weaknesses suffered in the battle, tearing each other apart. Alliances are only temporary on Tartarus, lasting as long as one's fuel tanks are full. After that...
~every bot for herself~
I wonder how long it will be before we turn on one another. I actually consider suggesting to Harrier that we slay the two Autobots...
...no. We need the firepower. There are only four of us now.
Harrier staggers, almost stalling. Our wingtips almost touch. "Harrier?" I ask.
"I...I've got to get down, old girl." I can hear the pain in his voice.
"There. Down there," I say, transforming and gesturing to a burned-out building. The walls that remain standing are thick and appear sound. I glide down and transform, pointing my lasers into the gloom, making sure the structure is empty. It is.
Harrier transforms and lands hard, going down on one knee. I wrap my arm around him and help him into the building. He leans heavily on my shoulder as I guide him over against the wall and lower him into a sitting position. Harrier leans back as I kneel beside him and examine the wound in his chest.
The rusty dart has smashed through the glass of his canopy and gone even deeper, cutting in very near to the core processor. It obviously hasn't pierced the processor itself, or he'd be dead by now. It is, however, affecting his strength. Probably cut through several power relays. I'm afraid to move it, lest he leak to death from severed fuel cords. He whimpers softly.
I feel sick, sick and helpless. I know how to take lives; I have done so many times. I have no idea how to restore them.
"Get...get it out..." Harrier rasps.
"I can't," I say. My voice sounds like a moan and I can't stop myself. I can almost feel his pain. "Harrier, you've got cut cords and that blade is the only thing keeping your fuel in your body. I pull that, and you'll leak to death." I do the only thing I can for him. I gingerly pry open his chest panel, wincing at the mass of dark oil surrounding the spot where the dart blade has embedded itself, and shut off as many pain receptors to the area as I can.
He forces his head upright. "That's better."
"Can you walk?" I ask.
"Not yet."
There is a pause. I check left, right, left again, then get up and look around outside. Nothing moves. We're safe, for now.
"Clear?" Harrier wants to know.
"Yeah."
"Come here for a minute." I walk over to him. "Sit down." I do so. He looks at me, those red optics frank, an almost pleading expression on his handsome face. "Tempest, there's something I have to tell you."
His hand fumbles around, finally closing around my wrist. I slide my arm back a little until my hand is clasping his.
Harrier is my best friend. My first friend, after the destruction of Kilair. My second-in-command through the long years of Phoenix Corps. My comrade, my brother in arms, my occasional lover. Throughout all the years I've known him, I've always been able to count on Harrier to watch my back. No matter what happened, no matter how many Autobots were firing on us or what femme Harrier had his eye on that week or how many naysayers told us we'd never be more than gutter vermin, Harrier was always there for me.
He tilts his head to look at me and a faint smile plays around his lips. I wait for him to speak. He grows serious, shakes his head a little, and closes his optics as if to confess. "Tempest, I'm not going to make it."
I almost drop his hand. When his words sink in, I lean forward and grip his shoulder with my free hand. "Harrier, yes you are. That wound shouldn't be fatal."
"I'm not, Tempest. I'm too weak to fly and I can hardly walk, let alone hold my own in another fight like today's. I'm only going to slow you down."
"Maybe Springer can fix you. Don't write yourself off yet." I curse, wishing Deuce was here. He was Phoenix Corps' field medic and a fine one too...my bet was, he was currently sitting in the bay of some other star cruiser, playing a round of Sirian Poker with Beretta. I wanted Deuce and Beretta here.
~If they'd been on your ship, they probably would have died in the crash.~
~Harrier didn't die.~
~Harrier CAN'T die. He's Harrier. He'll always be watching your back...~
~First Chopper, now Harrier.~
No. NOT Harrier. Harrier's always been there to watch my back, and now it's my turn to watch his.
"Tempest..." He gasps, sucking in air. "Remember what you've always told me? That only the strong survive? That in order to live, you can't waste time looking after the weak? That everyone must fend for themselves?"
His words are like barbs. "Harrier, you're not one of the weak. You've proved that. This is a temporary setback. As soon as we fix you, you'll be good as new."
On to Part Three
