Author's Note: "White Flags" is the final "serious" entry in the Tempest Cycle.
I never did get all the possible bits and pieces filled in, so as a matter of information:
Project Lancer's "phase-shifters" were taken from the "Ritter" character who you can read about in the stories "Darkness Visible" and "all friends and kingdom come." I had intentions of putting this character into the Beast Wars (Ironhorse) but those stories never came to pass outside of RP.
We also worked heavily with a "reincarnation" theme, with the idea that BM Megatron could pull individual sparks out of the AllSpark and put those sparks/souls in new bodies, which is why there's some folks back from the dead. Vehicon Captain Stormrave, in time, began to act on her own initiative and eventually discover she was once Autobot Sky Patrol Commander Stormrave from the earlier Tempest Cycle fics like "In the Blueprints, In the Blood."
I never did finish writing the whole story behind Braddore either. Again, as a matter of overview: during Tempest's Rebellion, after Harrier was apparently killed trying to warn Artemis/Pantera that Tempest was planning a revolt, Tempest tried to distract herself by making the Decepticon Albacore her new second-in-command. Unfortunately, Tempest was never able to feel the affection for Albacore that she felt for Harrier, and Albacore didn't love her (which was the only reason Harrier was able to put up with her for so long). Albacore tried to kill the Autobot medic Zodiac (from "In the Blueprints, In the Blood") but he stabbed him with a prototype sword and it fused their sparks together. Braddore is, therefore, a fusion of both Zodiac and Albacore.
At any rate, I thought it was important to put this story up as it finally provides a sense of closure for Tempest/Samiel. Enjoy.
Credits!
Pantera/Artemis, the Beast Wars Starscream concept, and the Beast Wars Laserbeak and Buzzsaw concept belong to Amy K. Cyrway.
Braddore, Zodiac and Albacore belong to Dylan P. Blacquiere
Samiel/Tempest, Harrier, Lancer, Stormrave and Ironhorse belong to me
All other characters, Beast Machines, Maximals, Predacons, Autobots, Decepticons, Vehicons, and Transformers are property of Hasbro.
TIME SETTING: WHITE FLAGS takes place just after the episode SPARKWAR: STRIKE.
"Like the white flags of surrender
The war is over, the battle ended
Like the snowflake in my hand that's melted
Can't you feel my love..."
--Blue Oyster Cult, "White Flags," from the album "Club Ninja"
WHITE FLAGS
Chapter One of Four
I am alone.
I stand on the highest rooftop, staring out at a ruined city. Below me, the broken bones of Cybertropolis thrust their shattered spires up into the night. There are precious few lights gleaming amongst the rubble. Most of the city lies in darkness.
It is like this everywhere, all across the planet. I find it hard to believe. Even in the midst of the Three Great Wars, it was hard to devastate an entire Cybertronian city. To devastate all cities...
...that, I have seen only once before. Not on Cybertron. On a small outport planet named Kilair.
I am the queen of ruins.
Slowly, I limp towards the crumbling lip of the roof. My right leg is a mangled mess, supported within a brace that only partially compensates for the massive damage which its organic components have suffered. I grit my teeth and hold my frame as straight as possible.
I will not give in. I will not die.
Down below, the Vehicons are patrolling. They hunt in packs, like beasts. Their intelligence is less than beasts. To fall before these sparkless abomonations would be degrading. I should fight them.
There are too many. I would lose...ah, but numbers is not the reason. I would lose because I am a cripple. I would lose because I am outmoded. It is the strong who will inherit this planet...
...and my days have passed.
Still, I am in no hurry to die tonight, and so I transform to beast mode. My right leg is still crippled, but my left leg is powerful enough to push me a few inches into the air. I spread my feathered wings and glide to the edge, where I perch on the roof's lip and settle in to think.
I am the leader of the Predacons, in a time when the name Predacon is meaningless. There are no others. I am the last.
I believe I was also the last Decepticon leader, or at least, the last Decepticon leader to hold the name while there was still a mighty Decepticon armada. There might have been others, after me, who laid claim to the title. I don't know.
In the end, it always comes down to me.
I regard the Vehicons. I envy them their power, their speed. This miserable technoorganic shell is an insult. I don't want to be crippled. I don't want to be hunted. I don't want to die.
The weak always die. The strong prey on the weak. This is how it has always been, and how it always will be. I know this. I learned it long ago, when Brigand and his pirates devastated Kilair. I was one of three survivors. Chopper and Stormrave are long dead. Once again, I am the last.
But I was young then, young and full of fire. Full of hope and vision, that led me from the depths of despair on the path upwards to glory. I combed the scum pits of the universe, found other young castaways like myself. I picked the best of the best and taught them, molded them into a fearsome fighting team. We honed our skills through piracy, then joined Galvatron's army. We made a name for ourselves, became Artemis Prime's elite Quintesson killers during the Quint Occupation.
And then...when the Quint War was over, and Autobots and Decepticons were settling down together for a life of peace, that's when I saw the ultimate danger. Peace was an illusion. War is the natural state of our kind. We must continue to war, or else grow soft and die before a stronger invader. Time would always bring a stronger invader.
So I rallied half of the Decepticons to my side and started the Decepticon Rebellion. What can I say? The strongest must prevail.
The strongest were the Autobots. It was a bitter truth to process. Or rather, the strongest were the Maximals and the Predacons. They were the real winners, claiming dominance when the battle decimated the Autobots and Decepticons.
When all was said and done, I was left with ashes. Phoenix Corps was no more. Beretta had died in the Rebellion. Deuce turned away from me, accepted a peace treaty with the Autobots. I would have fought to the bitter end. Harrier...
Harrier...
I thought Harrier had died. Torn between his friendship with me and his oath to Artemis Prime, he'd accidentally found himself on the receiving end of a missile I'd launched. We never discussed it afterwards. I hadn't meant to kill him. I never learned if he'd meant to betray me, if that was what had put him at Artemis' side when I fired that rocket at her. In the end I don't think either of us wanted, or dared, to know.
However it came about, he wasn't entirely dead. His spark must have been extracted by the Autobots, later reformatted into a Maximal protoform that was part of Optimus Primal's crew. We met in the Beast Wars. He was not as I remembered him--a half-metallic foxhound rather than a VTOL jet--but I was not as he remembered me either. After my rebellion had failed, I became a wanted war criminal, hunted by both the Autobots and the loyal Decepticons as well as my own Decepticons who disowned me. Harried across the galaxy, I made a desperate gambit to cut a deal with the Tri-Predacus Council.
I became their operative. They made me a Predacon. I gave up the name Tempest and became Samiel of the Predacons. I surrendered the power and speed of my Seeker airframe to become a yellow archaeopteryx and live unmolested by the Autobot, Decepticon and Maximal enforcers who still hunted for me. The small jobs rankled me. I was fit for rank, fit for power...but I dared not claim it, lest I attract the attention of my pursuers.
Then the Tri-Predacus council sent me to the Beast Wars, to search for Ravage, Tarantulas, and Pantera, who had not reported back to them. I had not expected to find a full-scale combat taking place on a primitive world, a world millions of years before the emergence of Maximals and Predacons...a world where my rebellion was unknown, a world which I could make the home base of a new pack of raiders. All I had to do was overthrow the current incompetent Predacon leader, claim the allegiance of his troops, and eliminate the pesky Maximals. It was a bonus that my prime target, the renegade Megatron, was the one I had been sent there to eliminate. And once my task for the Tri-Predacus council was complete, I would be a free agent again, and able to do as I wished.
And so, my battle in the Beast Wars began.
***
My homecoming was not what I had expected.
I'd been relaxing at my base, munching on small rodents, when the call came in. At the time, the Beast Wars were coming to their conclusion. Megatron had found the location of the Ark and attempted to destroy it. Those miserable Maximals proved to be better fighters than I anticipated. They actually stopped him. Last I'd heard, Tarantulas was dead and Megatron's base had been destroyed. The Maximals were all posed to clean him up and take him out. After that was done...well...I could take my crew and clean up THEM.
The call changed all that.
"Agent Samiel...this is the Tri-Predacus Council...Mayday! Mayday!"
I bolted upright, dropping a half-eaten mouse and transforming to robot mode. "This is Agent Samiel." The interference was heavy; I could barely make out any picture at all. I adjusted the dials but couldn't bring the image in any clearer.
"Agent Samiel, report back to Cybertron immediately. Bring your crew and all weapons. We are under attack..."
"Attack? By whom?"
"Unknown...Report with all speed! You have three megacycles before the time window closes."
"Acknowledge." My hands trembled with excitement. Whatever was going on, it sounded big.
There was a moment of silence, and then... "Agent Samiel, if there are no survivors of the Council, you are authorized as new Predacon leader."
My optics must have bulged. "Say again?"
"If there are no Council members surviving upon your arrival, you are new Predacon leader. Predacons Forever. Tri-Predacus Council out."
I spun around to see Harrier standing flabbergasted behind me. "Did you hear that?" I asked, uncertain if I'd imagined it all.
He nodded, dumbfounded. "What in the Pit could be happening to them?"
My mind raced. I didn't know. I knew the Council had never fully trusted me, and no wonder...having once been a Decepticon leader, they could hardly expect me to be a cheerful follower of orders, and my...betrayal? treachery? I never thought of it that way--it was simply one group challenging another, to discover which was the stronger and therefore which deserved to survive...my ACTION against Artemis Prime left the Council nervous that they might suffer the same fate. Hardly. My crew was not nearly powerful enough to make challenging the Council a viable option at this time...
...and now, they'd gone ahead and elected me their successor.
Dire straits indeed. Whatever it was that was happening to them, if they died, they wanted the Predacon empire in the hands of someone who knew how to lead. In the hands of someone who was no stranger either to adversity, or to triumphing over it.
I suddenly had a very bad feeling.
"Call in Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Tell them to ready the starcruiser." My face was grim as my brain raced. Speed was vital--the coordinates I'd been given showed that the time window would be closing in three megacycles--but we couldn't afford to forget anything important. "I want you to load all our extra fuel on board while I check the weapons systems. We're going home...and it looks like we'll find something ugly waiting for us."
All the time I'd spent worrying about Megatron, and suddenly he was forgotten in the blink of an eye. I had to trust the Maximals to take care of him. Whatever was going on at home on Cybertron, it was now my number one priority.
Even I had no idea how bad it would get.
***
We took off two and a half megacycles later. Braddore was not aboard--I'd sent out a call, but the albatross Predacon had been either unable or unwilling to reach our cruiser in time. A pity, but I now had larger concerns than Braddore. Harrier, Laserbeak, Buzzsaw and myself went screaming through the intertemporal portal created by our trans-warp drive, and arrived on a world of desolation.
"Good Primus," Harrier said as he stood at my side, looking out the front portal. "What could have happened?"
"It looks like Kilair," I whispered. Unbidden, Harrier reached over and clasped my hand.
There was no sign of life in the ruins as Buzzsaw and Laserbeak guided the star cruiser to a landing in the only undamaged docking bay left at Predacon High Command. The only sound was a mournful cry made from the breeze that wound its way over the empty buildings. Everywhere around us, the landscape bore the signs of laser fire and high explosives, even the ornate facade of Predacon High Command, seat of the Tri-Predacus Council.
"Maximals?" Buzzsaw whispered.
I shook my head. The Maximals would never provoke a war with the Predacons. Maximals were pacifistic, weak. It was not their way to challenge their military superiors.
"Quintessons?" Harrier murmured. He remembered the Occupation.
"Perhaps." That theory made logical sense. Of course, there was only one way to know for certain.
I left Laserbeak and Buzzsaw to guard the star cruiser while Harrier and I went into the Command building. I never saw them, or the cruiser, again. If they were smart, they would have gotten back into the cruiser and set a course for a quiet little planet where they could live free of the menace that has enslaved Cybertron. If they were not...well, their fate was probably the same as that of...
Harrier and I transformed to beast mode and worked our way up through the hallways, clambering over piles of rubble in the corridors until we reached the main council chamber. Like the rest of the building, it was empty, and our scanners were picking up no signs of life.
"It's eerie," Harrier muttered. "This place shouldn't be so quiet."
Me, I think I've got a bit of the old Decepticon arrogance. I took advantage of the situation to flop back in one of the Council chairs and enjoy the view across the board table.
Harrier hopped onto the seat beside me, grinning a foxhound grin. "I must say, old girl, I never thought I'd ever end up here."
"Me neither." I stretched my wings. "Well, to business. Samiel, terrorize!"
Nothing happened.
Harrier blinked at me. I tried again. "Samiel, TERRORIZE!"
Again, nothing.
"What's happening?" my old friend asked, suddenly concerned.
"I can't transform," I said, examining myself as if the reason for my problem would be visually evident. "You try."
"Harrier, TERRORIZE!" Although he spoke the code, he sat there just as before, a cute little foxhound rather than a robot warrior. We spent a few klicks blinking at each other while the truth of the situation sank in.
Finally I shook it off. "We're not getting anywhere like this. The most important thing is to determine what became of the Council and the other Predacons. We can get Buzzsaw to work on the glitch in our transformation codes later."
"Easy for you to say. You've got hands." Harrier rested his paws on the console and watched, somewhat enviously, as I used the little hands on my wings to manipulate the buttons on the main computer.
"What can I say, I'm a highly evolved life form."
"Is that the reason archaeopteryxes are extinct on Earth?"
We laughed, mostly from force of habit--it was an old running joke--but part of my mind was thinking that I was about to become extinct on Cybertron if I couldn't figure out what was going on.
Then the file I'd been loading opened, and the image of the Council's bat-faced elder appeared. A synthesized voice spoke from a speaker somewhere in the room.
"To those Predacons who hear this...You are the last of the Resistance. Megatron has returned, bringing with him an army of drones and a virus that can trap us in beast mode. We know no cure for the virus. In beast mode we fight him, but he has captured much of the planet. Our news is inaccurate--his drones took out our communications towers within a week of his first strike--but when last we heard, the Maximal Council of Elders had fallen and even now, Megatron's drones are beating on Predacon High Command's very door. Flee, reorganize, regroup and reclaim our planet, or we are doomed. Your leader is Agent Samiel. She is an experienced soldier. Follow her... We give you all we know of Megatron and his drones. It is precious little, but it is the best we have."
Harrier nudged me with his nose as a list of files appeared on the computer. "Megatron did all this?"
"Perhaps we shouldn't have left it to the Maximals to look after him after all." I allowed myself a smirk before I became serious. "Something evidently went wrong with the time warp. We left Earth before he did, but his later trans-warp tunnel must have opened earlier in the time stream, so that he arrived on Cybertron in advance of us."
"And we're trapped in beast mode."
I shoved a disk into the computer and began downloading the files. "We'll go back to the cruiser. Buzzsaw can probably fix our systems, and in the meantime, Laserbeak can go through this information..."
And that's when we heard the sound of heavy machinery in the corridor.
"Out the window," I hissed. Whatever it was, it sounded big and we were at a disadvantage in our beast modes. My wing hands, though small and clumsy, were still capable of holding my laser and firing a shot through the window of the council chamber. I drew a feather sword from my wing, cursing the awkwardness of my little hands, and used the blade to clear the glass from around the edges of the window ledge before sheathing it.
Meanwhile, the information had finished downloading. Harrier fumbled with his paws before he finally succeeded in ejecting the disk. He grasped it in his teeth, opened his VTOL turbines, and carefully stored the disk in a pouch at his side where the turbines normally rested. Firing his engines, he rose off the floor and out the window. I followed...
...and suddenly they were upon us, aircraft, a good dozen of them, built like a cross between spaceships and the old Seeker ' models that resembled Terran F-'5s. The sky was filled with laser blasts that fell like rain.
"Split up!" I cried. Immediately, Harrier dove for the ground, jinking to avoid the drones' fire. They were much faster than he was; several flew right past him and turned, flying upwards, catching him in a net of lasers. Thinking quickly, he shut off his turbines and plummeted into free-fall, dropping out of their trap, firing his engines at the last moment to keep himself from impacting on the ground.
Me, I was armed. I still had two missiles hung in the wings of my avian mode, and I used them to good effect, taking down a pair of aerodrones. But there was still another one after me, and added to that jet was the group which had evidently given up on Harrier. I was out of missiles--could I hold my laser in one wing hand and still fly?
I gave it a shot, but it made maneuvering awkward and my aim left a lot to be desired. Still, I kept the aerodrones back while Harrier ran in circles below, yipping and barking, trying to distract the drones. I shot down one when it made a dive at Harrier. Then one of its companions got lucky and clipped my right wing. The laser flew out of my hand; both it and I went tumbling end over end to the ground below.
I hit the ground hard and lay there, flat like a rug, the wind knocked out of me. I struggled to force some breath into my air intakes, into my lungs. Harrier touched down nearby, an expression of concern on his face, and then his ears pricked up and his look became one of alarm and fear.
There was something rumbling up behind me. I raised my head. A tank drone, its massive treads tearing into the pavement, gouging the ground with the spikes that gave it traction. Its front bumper opened up to reveal a series of whirling sawblades. It was only a few feet away, heading right for me. Scrabbling on wings and talons, I tried to get airborne and almost succeeded.
It ran over a few feathers on the tip of my right wing (damage: minimal) and caught the lower portion of my right leg in its blades (damage: extreme). I let out a shrill of agony as its claws ground my leg to meat. Ribbons of slicing pain ripped through my mind, alternating with waves of comforting oblivion. I had to fight to stay awake, to stay conscious, to stay alive...
Harrier was essentially unarmed. His teeth and claws, though sharp, could do no appreciable damage to the thick metal skin of the tank. Still, he wasted no time leaping onto the tank, ducking beneath the barrel so that it could not fire at him, and doing his best. He got nowhere. Perhaps he could have popped a hatch and ripped out its wiring, but I believe he was distracted, by me.
Giving up on the tank, he took my tail in his teeth and helped to hoist me into the air until the tank had passed by. That was when I blacked out for a moment, falling to the ground, and Harrier could not keep his grip on me. I fell; he landed neatly beside me. As I came around, I noticed Harrier glancing back at the tank. It was lumbering about behind us, attempting to turn itself around for a second pass. I clamped my jaw shut, feeling my needle-like archaeopteryx teeth biting into my lips and not caring. It took all my energy not to moan. Harrier was talking to me, and though I do not remember the words, the tone of his voice was concerned and comforting.
Then his head jerked up. "Slag," he whispered, his voice choked, "there's more coming! We've got to get out of here...can you fly?"
"I can hardly move," I groaned, but I reached out my wings and wrapped them around his neck, clasping my little wing hands together. He unfolded his VTOL turbines, using them to help scoop me onto his back. As the tanks came nearer, Harrier fired his engines and rose up off the ground, lifting me out of range.
"Maybe I can fly," I said as we soared overtop of the tanks.
"No, you can't," Harrier answered firmly. "It was a stupid question."
"I think..."
He could feel me loosening my grip in preparation to test my wings. "Tempest, no. You're very badly wounded."
I knew it was bad for two reasons. First, that Harrier would presume to give me an order, and secondly, because he always called me Tempest when he had a serious point to make. I decided not to argue with him. I was in considerable pain, I was getting a free ride, and I was putting all my strength into fighting the waves of nausea that were rolling over me.
I wonder if Harrier would have noticed the bike drones if I hadn't been talking.
They were below us, a whole pack of them, but I didn't see them until they started shooting at us. One of them got lucky and put a laser blast right through Harrier's turbine. We fell, only a few feet, but it was far enough. A tongue of painful fire leapt up from my shredded leg and I flickered out of consciousness.
I came to moments later, to Harrier licking my face and shaking me. "Wake up, Tempest, wake up!" He shot an agitated glance over his shoulder.
I looked up. Cycle drones, surrounding us, schooling like sharks and closing in for the kill.
"Last stand," I said grimly, flopping into a sitting position. I struggled to draw my blades, vowing to take down as many drones as I could before they killed me. I remember thinking, ~and so it ends. So ends Tempest of Kilair.~
I had known this day was coming. Perhaps the greatest surprise was that it did not happen long ago. And, it was not a bad way to die--boldly in battle with my best friend at my side.
"Get ready to fly," Harrier said. "Fly back to the cruiser."
I left my wing blades undrawn. "Fly? What..."
"Fly!" Harrier barked, suddenly seizing me by the scruff of his neck and firing his turbines. We rocketed upwards, crookedly and on a diagonal path thanks to the fact that only one engine was working properly, but rose we did...and then Harrier released me. I spread my wings, feeling the currents of air catch me and hold me aloft.
The cycles transformed and started firing up at us, but Harrier cut his engines and dived on them, snarling, leading their fire into others of the pack, making them shoot their own kind.
A clever diversion. Once again, Harrier had proven himself a remarkable soldier. He would have made a magnificent leader in his own right, but no, he had always preferred to fight by my side.
I began heading back to the shuttle, knowing that Harrier would lose the cycle drones in the maze of streets and then join me there. I might...I WOULD be able to fix my damage in the meantime using the shuttle's CR chamber.
And then I heard the long, agonized howl rising behind me.
Harrier. I spun around in midair, heedless of the pain in my leg. I folded my wings and dived like a hawk towards the cluster of Vehicons far ahead of me. The bikes, however, were already leaving, and in my exhausted condition I was unable to pursue them.
And my more immediate concern lay unmoving on the ground.
I landed beside Harrier. His turbines were extended; both rotors were blackened. I can only assume his good engine took a hit and dropped him to the ground. His back was scorched by laser fire; there was a gaping hole in his chest. His optics were glassy and wide with shock.
"Harrier?" I whispered, wincing as I touched my wounded leg to the earth. "Harrier?"
Silence.
"HARRIER, GET UP, DAMN YOU! Damn you..."
I ran the systems check automatically. The computerized voice replied tonelessly, "Unit Harrier non-operational. Function has been terminated."
My voice was a low moan. "Harrier..."
I'd killed him once. Thought I'd killed him once. Now I'd killed him again. He would have gotten away if it hadn't been for me, if he hadn't been trying to distract those drones from me.
I'm not proud to say what I did next. I should have gotten back to the shuttle, tried the CR chamber, but my wings were heavy, my body ached and there was a dullness in my heart. I was so tired, so alone, and in the future I saw nothing but despair on a world already ruined beyond redemption.
I hung my head and cried.
Sometime later, my systems had mercy on me, and stasis lock kicked in.
***
When I came around, I was surprised to be alive. With injuries like mine, I should have leaked to death.
Survivor. I am always the survivor.
My internal repairs systems had fixed my wings, but they'd barely made a start on my leg. All they'd been able to do is stop the bleeding blood and fuel; the intense damage remained.
And Harrier was still dead.
I never had the opportunity to recycle him. He would have wanted a state funeral, rites with full honours, as would befit a Duke of Decepticons. I would have given it to him if I could. Instead, on this world and in these circumstances, I had to leave him.
I crawled to a ledge, using my wing hands and left leg to push myself along the ground and up onto an overhang. From there I could jump off and spread my wings, catching the air currents.
I circled three times above my fallen friend. Far below, I could see the pathetic little foxhound body lying in a rumpled heap. It was wrong to see him so still and quiet; he had always been so full of life.
Life...belongs to the living...a survivor has no time to waste mourning the dead.
I was tired of being a survivor.
Something in me caused me to head back to the star cruiser. I suppose survival had become instinctual for me. I did what I needed to do without ever questioning why.
When I returned to the docks, the star cruiser was gone, and so were Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. What happened, I don't know, nor may I ever. I sat there, mildly shocked, and then realizing with some surprise that I didn't particularly care.
The time of the Predacons was over. A new era was dawning. Outmoded, outgunned, I was in essence already dead. It was only a matter of waiting for the final act of closure.
I was curled up on the docks, fading in and out of consciousness, when the Maximals found me.
***