The Gates of Hell

by WarlordFil

The Autobots and Decepticons are theoretically united in a war against the Quintessons, but when a Cybertronian ship crashes on a forbidden planet, their alliance is strained to the breaking point. Part of the "Tempest Cycle." Complete.

Author's Note: This is one of my older Transformers fics. This story is set in a shared universe created by a friend and I circa 1999. I chose to clean it up and post it here for the following reasons:

I still think this is a solid and enjoyable story—a horror tale in the vein of the UK Comics "City of Fear" with a focus on characterization.

It only took a few paragraphs to set the necessary background, and every G1 fan knows that expository narration is a regular feature of many episodes and also the movie. ;)

I've already posted "Forge for a Blade," the Tempest origin story, so I might as well show a little more with the character.

This story begins with seven crash survivors. On the Autobot side is Cavalier, Springer, Pipes, and Tempest's "sister" Stormrave who was taken in by the Autobots. On the Decepticon side is Tempest, Harrier and Chopper, all members of Tempest's Phoenix Corps. The tale is told from two points of view: Tempest and Cavalier.

Alt modes:

Tempest and Stormrave: Seeker jets (CF-18 Hornet transformation)

Cavalier: Chevrolet Cavalier automobile

Harrier: Harrier jump jet

Chopper: Cybertronian helicopter

Credits!
Tempest, Harrier, Stormrave, and Chopper are mine...also the incidentally mentioned Beretta and Deuce.
Cavalier and Artemis Prime belong to Amy K. Cyrway.
All other characters are property of Hasbro, as are Transformers, Autobots and Decepticons.

THE GATES OF HELL

After "Rebirth," with Galvatron and his loyal followers exiled into deep space, the Quintessons return to Cybertron with a vast army at their disposal. The Autobots and the remaining Decepticons are forced to work together to repel the Quintesson threat.

The more optimistic Cybertronians believe that, at long last, "All Are One." But many members of both camps are hostile to the alliance, for they cannot forget generations of bitter warfare.

One of the more hostile Autobots, Cavalier, had the lower half of her face permanently rust-infected and mangled by the Decepticon Tempest. Cavalier now wears a face plate, but it is a permanent reminder to her of the unnecessary suffering that Decepticons inflict upon the galaxy . Though she is forced to fight alongside Decepticons, she knows better than to ever trust them.

Tempest, meanwhile, was a former space pirate, vicious and feral even by Decepticon standards, leading a pack of other outlaws called Phoenix Corps, who were absorbed into the wider Decepticon Army. She now fights with the alliance solely because she knows she cannot defeat the Quintessons alone. But all of Tempest's wars—against Autobots, Quintessons, even fellow Decepticons—only serve to mirror the war in her own spark.

***

***TEMPEST***

Fire. Fire all around me.

I pick the spot where the flames seem thinnest and jump through, feeling the searing heat beginning to melt the paint on my metal skin. My head rises up as I struggle to get my bearings. Hallway. I'm in the hallway between the spaceship's command deck and the loading hatch. The ship has hit earth on an angle; the corridor is tilted a good twenty degrees. Alarms are blaring and my optics can barely pierce the thick smoke that's pouring out of the vents. Somewhere in the guts of the ship there is a muffled explosion.

Get out. I have to get out, before the whole ship blows. I'm racing down the corridor when there is an explosion very near by that knocks me off my feet, sending me tumbling several meters along the hallway and into the wall. I lie there for a moment, curled up in pain, the back of my left leg pulsing waves of agony.

I'm injured, but I'm not dead. Yet. That may change if I spend much more time in here. I've got to get out, got to live. Gritting my teeth, I yank myself to a standing position. The pain is almost unbearable. I pry open a panel on my left thigh and, with a tug, tear out the first pain receptor cables I see.

My left leg goes numb; the hellish fire becomes a dull ache. Fine. I'll get it repaired later when I'm done with the business of surviving.

I make my way to the loading hatch. It's already open. I waste no time in leaping out of the ship and running clear.

Two familiar faces turn to look at me. A pair of survivors, a safe distance away, watch me approach. One of them, thank Primus, is Harrier--my second in command. The other is a white Autobot. I think her name is Cavalier. She doesn't like me much, I know that. Both of them seem uninjured.

Harrier's face brightens immediately when he sees me. He holds out his arms, but I do not run into them. I don't like the look the Autobot is giving me and I will not show weakness in front of her. Instead I limp over to Harrier and stop by his side.

"Did anyone else get out?"

"Springer's around the other side of the ship," Harrier says to me. "Are you all right?"

"I'm living," I mutter, and dart a look back at the star cruiser that had been my command. The right rear side of the ship is gone, thanks to a direct hit from a Quintesson death buster, and the right front is badly crushed from the hard landing. I can see the swath it cut into the planet when it crashed. The automatic extinguishers seem to be taking care of the fire in what remains of the ship.

Crew. I need my crew. I flip open my comm link. "Cybertronians, report in!"

"I'm here!" comes a voice from a distance away. Springer.

The link crackles to life. "Chopper here. Over."

A pause, and then, "Stormrave here..."

My sister. Thank Primus. She continues, "Tempest, we've got a situation. Pipes is badly injured. We got a medic?"

"I can do a few field repairs," Springer says hesitantly, "but I'm no doctor."

I don't even bother asking Harrier. Deuce was Phoenix Corps' medic, and Deuce isn't here. Deuce and Beretta are aboard another ship in our Quint-killer squadron. "What about Hacksaw? He was our repaireon..."

"I don't think Hacksaw made it," Cavalier replies, looking back at the ship.

"Can Pipes be moved?" I ask Stormrave on the radio.

"Yeah, I think so. If he has to be. I'm gonna need some help, though. I'm just about done sautering the worst of the damage."

"Springer, can you help her?" The green triplechanger nods and moves off.

"So that's all of us then," I say softly. Seven survivors of a crew of twenty. "Slag those Quints! They clipped us but good."

"We'll get them," Cavalier says, her dislike of me overridden by her hatred of the Quintessons. "We'll get them for everything they've done to us."

"That would be easier if we had a ship," Harrier mutters. He looks over at the white Autobot. "I don't suppose you've got space-flight capability."

Cavalier shakes her head no. "Neither does Springer. Or Pipes."

"Then we're stuck here," Harrier moans, "until the others come to pick us up."

The white female shrugs. "So we get a vacation for a while. We deserved one anyway." She looks back at the ship and her expression becomes grim. "Though not at this price."

I cast a glance around the landscape and a shudder ripples through my metal skin. I fight to control it, to hide it from the others.

The place itself is not so remarkable. It's a sea of old ruins and wreckage; it looks as if some gigantic creatures first pushed over the buildings, then made it their personal garbage dump. Here and there half-demolished towers thrust their way up from the debris. There's a vague pattern of streets, though the thoroughfares are cluttered with trash. ~What is it, ~ I ask myself, ~what is bothering me?~ Could it be that the ruined city reminds me of my homeworld of Kilair, destroyed by raiders on the horrific day that ended my childhood forever?

But Kilair was never this ruined. Kiliar was blitzed and then abandoned, to be overgrown with metallic plants as the years went by. This place looked as if some kind of guerilla war was still being fought here. There were no signs of life whatsoever--no plants, no wildlife, nothing. And some of the devastation looked fresh, almost as fresh as that caused by our crashed ship.

The sun is a nova star, dim despite the lack of clouds. Organic life could not live here. There would be no fossil fuels. Solar power is impossible. I'm liking this place less and less. It's far too familiar...~where the hell are we?~

"Harrier, where are we?" I ask my old friend.

Harrier, the master tracker, frowns. "The star charts were lost in the crash, but my internal memory banks should be solid...accessing..."

And then his jaw drops and an expression of dismay crosses his face. There's something wrong. I know it. Harrier and I have been friends for most of our lives. I know him well enough to realize that we are in trouble.

"We're in the Forbidden Sector," Harrier whispers. "Remember? We were passing by the borderline when the Quints attacked us. Our evasive maneuvers must have taken us into the Sector and we've crashed here on..."

"Tartarus," I choke, and my eyes grow dull.

Primus help me.

I'm back.

***CAVALIER***

"Where the hell is Tartarus?" I demand.

Tempest doesn't answer me. She doesn't look well at all, and I wonder if she was injured in the crash more than she wants to let on. She's leaning heavily on Harrier, and I can see blast damage on her lower leg. It doesn't bother me half as much as the glazed look in her optics.

Great. That's the last thing I need, to have our leader go postal. Typical Decepticon.

"It's a planet in the Forbidden Sector," Harrier responds, telling me nothing I don't know already.

There's a scuffling nearby. I look up to see Stormrave, Chopper and Springer coming towards us, carrying Pipes. They set the wounded Autobot down near us.

Pipes looks rough. They've sautered plates over his chest, but long black scorch marks are visible radiating out from under the plates, all the way from his shoulders to his hips. Stormrave and Springer both do fine field repairs, but Pipes needs a full med lab.

Chopper is peeking at me with an idiotic smile on his face. "Slice and dice," he chants softly, "slice and dice...gonna slice and dice me some Quintessons..."

I shudder and instinctively run a hand over the face plate that covers my jaw...or rather, what's left of it. I lost my full jaw centuries ago to Chopper's corrosive blade. That was back when the Autobots and the Decepticons had been at war, back before the Quintessons had attacked Earth and Cybertron and forced us to join together. That's why I hate Chopper and Tempest and her whole damn Phoenix Corps and anything else carrying the Decepticon logo. I can't ever look in the mirror without being reminded of what they did to me. If it weren't...if it weren't for the Quintessons...

...but it is. The Quints are here now, and there's nothing I can do about it. Once this reckoning is over, then the Decepticons will pay for what they've done.

I hate being on Tempest's team. I wasn't supposed to be on her ship at all--Artemis Prime knew better than to put me on the same vessel as any members of the former Phoenix Corps--but Tempest's gunner was late in getting down to the docks, and I was early. I was supposed to take that gunner's place for one short flight, just one flight...and then the Quints jumped us, and now we're Primus knows where.

And I'm stranded with Tempest.

"We need to get out a signal," Tempest says at last, her voice wavering. "Need to tell the others where we are."

"Our intergalactic communications are in there," Springer says, gesturing to the burning ship.

"But some of us are capable of space flight," she replies, looking at the other two jets--Stormrave and Harrier. "You two get to civilization as fast as possible and send back a rescue ship. Speed is of the utmost importance. Code Black."

Springer blinks. "Wha...Code Black?"

Code Black is our most severe emergency code.

The green triplechanger looks around, as do I. The planet is ugly, but I sense no immediate threat. "What's so bad about this place to rate a Code Black?" I ask.

Tempest's eyes flicker red. "This place is Hell," she hisses. "We have fallen into the very heart of the Inferno."

Stormrave does not question her sister's seeming madness. "Roger." Through her visor she casts a concerned glance down at Pipes. "We'll be back as soon as possible with a medic."

Tempest continues, "We'll try to build a transmitter to give you a direct fix on our location. If you don't pick up any signal from us, land here. We'll monitor the area." She grows grim. "And if you can't find us in one solar cycle, don't bother looking for us. Get out while you can. Now get going."

Stormrave transforms, but Harrier does not. Tempest glares at her old second-in-command. "You too."

"No."

I stare. I've never known Harrier to challenge Tempest before.

Tempest is staring at him too.

"I'm not leaving you here," he says quietly.

"It's your funeral," she growls, but she seems willing to accept his decision. "Stormy, get out of here. Get our location out and get back as soon as possible."

The red jet fires her engines. "Take care Tempest, Cav, hang in there Pipes." And with that, Stormrave is gone, streaking into the vault of the sky until she vanishes from sight.

***TEMPEST***

When Stormrave is gone, I take a deep breath through my air intakes and face the rest of the survivors.

Survivors. I hope they are survivors. Simply living through a crash isn't enough to make you a survivor, not on Tartarus.

I survey the group. Springer's pretty tough, for an Autobot. He has my respect. So does the white female, even though I know she despises me. Harrier--I would be angry at his refusal to obey if I wasn't so glad to have him with me...

~...I hope I don't kill him...~

~Don't think like that. Can't think like that. We are a team and that is our strength. If you...we...are going to survive here, you must hold the team together.~

Pipes. He is severely injured, unlikely to make it more than a few megacycles without medical care. He is no longer capable of fighting, and in his condition, he will slow us down. It would be better to kill him now, quick and clean, for the survival of us all...

I know the Autobots will not respect this decision. They believe too much in defending their own. They will not see the logic of my viewpoint, and I know that if I challenge them, they will take Pipes and split off from us. Splitting the group would kill us all. Autobots are idiotic but I do not have the luxury of pressing my point.

Hopefully Pipes will die quickly.

"So what do we do now?" Chopper asks me.

"We ask ourselves," I say grimly, "whether we want to live or die."

Cavalier looks at me with a sort of sneer under her faceplate. "Live," she says, as if there was no other choice.

"How badly?" I ask, feeling my temper spark. "How much do you value your life? More than your beliefs? More than your soul? Because I can tell you, in this place, if you have any concerns beyond your own survival you will die."

Harrier takes my hand and squeezes it tight. I do not look at him.

"She's mad," Springer whispers, but loud enough for me to hear him.

"No," I say firmly, pinning him with my gaze. "We have a chance to live here. We are a team." ~A team with internal problems but a team nonetheless...~ "And that is our only chance...to hold together."

Springer and Cavalier nod begrudgingly, staring at me as if to say, "if anyone is going to tear us apart, it will be you."

If anyone is going to live here, it's going to be me.

I dart a glance around. The crash will have drawn attention...but I don't see them anywhere around. I'll bet they know we have lasers. They're waiting, biding their time.

Good for them. I'm ready for them. I know their ways. I've been here.

"Harrier, find some fuel tanks, jerrycans, whatever and fill them with the ship's fuel. I'll stay out here and keep an eye on Pipes."

Cavalier looks at me suspiciously. "Would you rather take guard duty?" I ask her, an edge in my voice. She keeps quiet and takes an empty jerrycan from Harrier.

"This place has a severe fuel shortage. Take all the fuel we can carry. It may be all we get until we're rescued. Fill your own tanks."

***CAVALIER***

Walking through the twisted corridors of our star cruiser, I almost stumble upon the dead body of one of my former crewmates. She's damaged beyond repair, with a beam piercing right through her core processor and most of her head gone. I am no stranger to carnage, but this sight disturbs me. Harrier has already made it plain that we will not be taking the time to bury the dead.

Who the hell made him leader? I'd probably question him if I wasn't still a little bit in shock.

We're full up with fuel and burdened down with canisters when we leave the wreckage of the ship. Tempest is still standing guard over Pipes, her optics restlessly scanning the horizon, for what I cannot imagine. She is tense, battle ready, and I feel my metal skin twitch. By her stance, there is a danger here, and yet I have seen nothing, sensed nothing but desolation.

She turns as we approach. "Any more fuel left?"

Springer shakes his head. "We drained the tanks. Most of them got split open in the crash."

Tempest nods curtly, takes a partly-filled jerrycan from Harrier, and drinks the contents to top her own tanks up. "Follow me, then. Chopper, you take point."

"What about Pipes?" I insist.

"We can mock up a stretcher out of the wreckage," Harrier suggests.

Minutes later, we move out, following Tempest into the ruins of the city. The yellow Seeker walks as if she knows where she's going. Harrier is right at her side, pointing his laser hunting rifle around every corner. Springer and I come next, carrying Pipes and a load of energon cubes on the stretcher, and Chopper brings up the rear.

My optics dart around. Some of these ruins looked lived in...

...and then my feet stumble as my distance vision picks up something on the side of the thoroughfare. It is a robot, a Cybertronian-design robot, and he is very, very dead. His chest has been ripped open as if by giant claws.

"Good Primus," I breathe, scrabbling for a grip on the stretcher as its poles almost slip from between my shock-slackened fingers. Pipes is delerious and I doubt he knows what is going on. He moans and stirs in our arms; his head flops sideways.

"Don't stop," Tempest says tersely. "Keep moving."

"He's like us!" Springer breathes as we get closer. "He's an Autobot!"

"We can't bury him either," Harrier replies, somewhat sadly, as if he knows what I'm thinking. "He's dead, just like our crew, and all the burial in the world can't save them. We have to look after ourselves now."

I suddenly get the feeling that Harrier knows something he is not telling us. He knows something--or Tempest's told him something--and the rest of us have been left out of the secret. It's only now that I realize that Harrier is not carrying fuel. Instead, he's transporting a large pile of components stripped from the ship. From the looks of them, they appear to be communications equipment.

Our situation is getting more and more surreal by the second. Tempest leads us in through the big double doors of what might once have been a warehouse. Halting in a back room, she begins lifting large crates from one side of the room to the other. Wordlessly, Harrier helps her. Springer, Chopper and I exchange glances, and all our expressions say the same thing--what is going on?

Looking back at Tempest, I realize with a chill that there is a trapdoor buried beneath the crates. Tempest draws an energon knife and pries the trapdoor open. Stairs fall away into the blackness. Wordlessly, the yellow Seeker descends.

Harrier motions us forward, holding the trapdoor. I can see the steps leveling out into a sort of corridor; then Harrier closes the trapdoor and the darkness engulfs us. Springer reaches out his arm to guide me as I heft Pipes' stretcher. I can only assume that Tempest has a hold of Springer. It's pitch black and I can't see a thing.

Then, my audio sensors pick up the sound of two laser shots in the darkness, and a pair of torches on the wall spring to brilliant light.

We're in a large room, a damp room that has been converted into a primitive shelter. It hasn't been used in some time, but it was used once--there's a badly tattered blanket on the floor, a crate that would serve as a chair, the torches on the wall, a pile of dried organic material to fuel the fires...

...and the writing on the wall. I can't read what it says because Tempest is in the way. While the rest of us were staring around the room, the yellow Seeker was walking forwards towards the writing. In her hand she grips her energon knife. She leans forward and puts a single mark on the wall.

Below the writing is a pair of long blades, brilliant blue like the trim on Tempest's wings, almost half the yellow jet's height in length. She picks them up by the hilt, hefting them; then almost defiantly, she half-turns towards us. The look in her eyes is terrifyingly blank.

With that turn, she's out of the way and I can finally read the graffiti that covers the wall. Most of it looks like tally marks, grouped in sets of ten. There must be more than a Cybertronian solar cycle's worth.

And overtop of them all is crude, childish writing.

TEMPEST WAS HERE.

***TEMPEST***

~Did I ever really leave?~

The words stare back at me. TEMPEST WAS HERE.

Tempest is here. I look down at the blades in my hands. They are shorter than I remember them, but I was shorter then too...an adolescent, still two upgrades short of maturity. I wonder if I still know how to use them.

I'd better.

I turn back to my crew. "Welcome to our new base."

Harrier, unsurprised, is sorting the communications equipment. I turn my attention to the Autobots. "Springer, Cavalier, make Pipes as comfortable as possible," I order. The Autobots obey, shooting me looks of surprise and gratitude. I hope they remember this. I need their allegiance as never before.

"Everybody listen up." I make sure I have everyone's attention. "We are on a planet known as Tartarus. This is a survival situation. Fuel is in short supply here and so are photon charges. There will be a limitation on movement. Try to conserve as much energy as possible.

"Think carefully before using your lasers. The amount of charge you have right now is all you're going to get. Lasers will be used in emergencies only. This base is reasonably secure. We will have two guards on duty at all times." I see the glances they exchange. It is our custom to have only one guard. "Two," I stress. "No one will go anywhere, not anywhere, alone. Unless you are detailed for forage duties there is no need for you to leave this base. Cavalier, you and Springer will be detailed to work on a transmitter to bring the rescue ship as close as possible to our current location."

"What's going on here?" Springer interrrupts, a note of anger in his voice. Chopper and Cavalier appear stunned at the urgency in my voice. Harrier--I don't even want to look at him. I know what's on his face. Concern and a touch of fear. He knows the story of this place. I told him years ago in a moment of weakness. I cannot afford weakness now.

"Where in the Pit are we?" Springer continues. "Tartarus--I've never even heard of it!"

"I'll tell you what I know," I say flatly. I need the others on my side, need my team. "This was once a thriving planet of robotic life, and I will venture that it was a former Cybertronian outpost. I presume the system's sun went nova and sent a shockwave over this planet. Those who could escape, did. Those who could not, found themselves trapped on a ruined world with precious little fuel left. And, until our comrades rescue us, we are now in the same predicament."

Silence as the Autobots assimilate this information. Wordlessly, Cavalier points up at the writing on the wall.

"I lived here," I snap. "Welcome to my world."

"How'd you get away?" Springer asks.

A reasonable question. He wants to know if my old escape was conducted on a route which we could repeat.

~I could not repeat that never never~

"Privateers," I choke out. "A chance encounter with a ship that found its way here by accident."

"And they took you out of here," Cavalier says.

~at a price a price too high a price...~

I nod and say nothing.

Springer snorts. "No way we'd be that lucky."

~No, you idiot...~ Flashbacks race through my mind. Vicious brutes, those privateers had used me for sport until they'd tired of me and cast me out along their way. I still debate whether it would have been better to stay here and...

~no you survived you survived.~ I would never have lived this long had I stayed on Tartarus.

The Autobots are staring at me. I'm blacking out, getting too wrapped up in the roils in my mind. I must not show weakness before the troops. ~Divert yourself and speak.~ "Our best chance is to wait for a rescue ship--and to contact one, we need to build the transmitter."

I look at the dangerously small stack of energon cubes that's been piled in the corner. We're going to need more fuel and I know where to get it. I also know the Autobots aren't going to like the answer. For that matter, neither is Harrier, but he at least is going to be understanding. Still, I don't want to subject him to the experience unless I have to. I pick Chopper to accompany me. Chopper, the little psychopath, will have no qualms about executing the task at hand.

"You three get started. Chopper and I are going for fuel."

"You know where to find it?" Springer asks.

I nod curtly; then Chopper and I leave the base together.

***CAVALIER***

"Figure we can rig a working transmitter out of this stuff?" Springer asks.

"We'd better," Harrier mutters.

I've had enough. "Okay, Harrier, what exactly is going on here?"

The Decepticon looks down at an electrical connection, avoiding my gaze. "We're on a savage planet in a survival situation, and we have to get off as soon as possible. You heard Tempest's briefing."

"What isn't she telling?"

"I say, I don't know what you mean, old girl. I..."

"Shut up," I snarl.

Springer looks concerned. "Look, Cav, picking a fight with him isn't going to get us anywhere."

"We're stuck on some Forbidden Planet, in a tight spot according to Tempest, and he is holding something back." I glare at Harrier. "Tempest's scared. I've never seen her act this way before. There's something about this place that has her on edge and I want to know what it is. I have a right to know. You know--I can tell--and I think that if you keep this secret, you might endanger all of us."

Harrier weighs my words and finally speaks. "There are hostiles on this planet."

"What kind of hostiles?" Springer demands.

"Robots. Not Autobot or Decepticon."

"And we can't talk reason to them?"

"Not a chance."

"What would they want with us?" I ask.

"Us dead."

I blink my optics. "It's that simple?" I whisper questioningly.

It's never that simple.

"Yes," Harrier replies curtly, almost angrily. "Put it this way. We've landed on a world gone mad."

Springer shifts nervously. "Something in the air? Or the fuel? A virus, maybe?"

"No," Harrier says. "It's all..." he taps his head "...up here. Think about it. There's hardly any fuel here. We have to take what we can wherever we can get it, and we have to take it from the locals--who've been doing the same thing for years. Living hand to mouth will make anyone a little crazy."

Springer rolls his optics. "Oh, and you would know, Mr. Duke of Decepticons."

"Shut up," Harrier hisses, and I've never seen the good natured jump jet look so angry before. "You have no idea what I've lived through!"

"Stop it!" I bark. Looking somewhat guilty, the two males comply. "The last thing we need to do is get at each other's throats now. As long as we don't go crazy, we'll be fine."

Harrier agrees, "If we stick together and watch our backs...and set aside everything but survival...we should make it through. Still, the sooner we fix the transmitter, the better."

In the corner, Pipes groans piteously. I feel sick and helpless. Pipes is leaking fuel, badly, but there's nothing more we can do to repair him. I go over and check the field patches anyway. He smiles gratefully up at me; I take his hand. The contact is comfort enough to help him slip off to sleep.

His face retains the faint smile as air whooshes in and out of his vents. He looks peaceful, relaxed, and for a moment I envy him his peace of mind.

***TEMPEST***

Empty.

We've come up empty.

The Scavengers beat us back to the ship. The bodies of the crew were broken and damaged when we left; now they're barely more than skeletal frames, having been stripped bare of paneling, gears and, of course, fuel tanks. In some cases, entire limbs are missing.

"We need some parts," I hiss, "for Pipes."

"Pipes is a goner anyway," Chopper whines. "I say we slice 'im open and save fuel for the rest of us..."

"As would I, but you know as well as I do that the Autobots would never stand for it."

"So we slice up the Autobots too! Come on Boss, you remember the glory days, don't you? Decepticons forever and all that?"

"We're all scrap if the Quintessons win this war. First we beat those tentacled creeps and then we slag Autobots. Get your priorities straight!" I suck air into my intakes, producing a growl. "And we need the Autobots here. The more of us there are, the better chance we stand of fighting off the Scavengers."

"I ain't afraid of no Scavengers or no NOTHINGS!"

"Then you're an idiot," I snap. I'm tense again, struggling to keep from twitching, and I keep thinking that I hear something moving in the ruins behind me. I tighten my grip around the hilts of my blades.

"So what do we do now? Go back to the camp empty-handed?"

"Not hardly. I'm game for a little hunting." I slide the swords one against the other, sharpening the edges. "Some of the Scavengers will be lax after glutting themselves on our dead. Full of fuel..."

Chopper smirks as he understands my meaning. "You know, Boss, this is a side of you I've never seen before. And you call me uncivilized."

"I can at least put on a display of manners." Chopper snorts at the rebuke. I allow myself a cold smile. "There is a time and place for everything. This...well, this may be the proper place for you and your attitude."

***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 indigo 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. 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."

A faint smile. "Nowhere to fix me here, Tempest. And I can't...can't have you worrying about me..." He breathes deeply again. "You're going to get yourself killed if you spend your time worrying about me."

He's right. I know he's right.

So why do I so desperately want to prove him wrong?

I stare into his optics. "I'm hard to kill."

We say nothing for a while. He keeps looking at me as if trying to change my mind with his stare. "What do you want me to do?" I say at last.

"Take..." Another gasp, and his hands grip mine tightly. He shudders a little. "Take my fuel. Take it for yourself, and live."

My jaw drops. Harrier has voiced a thought that was floating in the back of my mind and yet his suggestion appalls me. "Harrier, I can't do that."

"Listen to me." His hand tightens around mine until it is almost painful. "I am going to die here. The question becomes whether you and the Autobots will share the fuel you obtain with me, letting me drink the massive amounts I'm going to need to compensate for the damage this dart has caused to my systems, allowing us all to weaken together until the Scavengers overwhelm us, or whether you will cut our losses, kill me now, and give the three of you a better chance." His grip softens and he lightly strokes the back of my hand with one of his. "I couldn't rest knowing that I was hindering your chances of making it out of here. Tempest, I...I need you to go on for me."

~To go on without you.~

I don't want to go on without him. Harrier is my second-in-command, Primusdammit, he's mine! Where the hell am I going to get another Second as loyal as Harrier?

I don't even want another Second. I just want Harrier back.

Where the hell am I going to get another best friend.

He's examining my expression and his optics take on a look of pain. "Tempest, please..."

He's right. I know he's right. And, as always, I bow to the law of survival.

"All right," I whisper.

He smiles a little, seeming satisfied, and lets go of my hand. "The old way," he murmurs. "I want...I want to die in your arms..."

I gently take his shoulders in my hands and carefully lower him to the floor. After one more quick scan around for intruders, I lay down beside him, carefully nestling my frame against his, making certain not to jostle the shaft of the dart. Curled up beside him, I can feel the warmth radiating from his inner machinery, can hear the rhythmic thudding of his fuel pump. I look up at him, uncertain.

"It's all right, Tempest...my lady." And there is the old grin as he smiles down at me.

I lean forward, give him one last kiss. He responds...the kiss is long and lingering, warm and gentle. A far cry from my usual manner of doing things, but I enjoy it. Harrier has always been the exception.

I deftly unsnap his chest plate again, and when the kiss is over I bow my head and run my fingers over the exposed wiring. Coolant, oil, neural processors--fuel lines. With a deftness born of practice I open up the shunt that opens the circulation lines to a silver nozzle on the right side of his chest.

I corrupted my darling Harrier while he was still young, too young to understand that Cybertronian society considers the drinking of another's fuel right out of his lines to be morally repugnant. I myself was young when I came to Tartarus, young enough to adjust easily to the new means of survival. All I knew was that even after I left here, I retained my taste for pre-warmed fuel. Harrier and I were genuinely surprised to learn that most Cybertronians found the very idea to be sick and reprehensible. We didn't care.

Delicately, I lower my mouth to the nozzle and take my first sip of Harrier's fuel. The warm, familiar flavour explodes in my mouth, pouring down my throat. We had done this often--Harrier knew how I liked it, and honestly, where could I possibly find another Decepticon willing to indulge me in this particular perversion? Especially one whom I could trust not to drink my lines dry, or vice versa? Oh, I knew how hard it was sometimes to give up, when Harrier would gently push my shoulders back to say I'd taken enough, when all I wanted was to hold him tight and drink and drink until my hunger for the warm, flavourful fuel was completely sated...

I wrap my arms around his shoulders, leaning on my hip, curling up against him. His arms fold around my back; his hands caress my wings and his head leans against my neck. I suck gently and rhythmically on the nozzle, enjoying the flavour and Harrier's closeness. There is something incredibly appealing about his openness and trust when he put his life in my hands this way. It feels good, so good, and my surroundings are forgotten. All I want is to stay this way forever, the warmth, the flavour...the only sour note is the knowledge that far too soon, his hands will push me back and...

Then I remember that this time, I won't have to stop.

I draw harder on the nozzle, evoking a gasp from Harrier and then an urging pressure of his hands on my back that tells me he likes it. Likes it very much... My right hand weaves its way into the wires of his chest, causing him to moan, and I continue to drink down the sweet warm fluid. I can hear the breath in his intakes growing shorter, can feel the fuel pump in his chest skipping beats. The flow of fuel is getting thin; I must be drawing from the bottom of his tank now. His grip on my back weakens, and suddenly his hand falls off my back and to the floor with a clatter. Startled, I let go of the fuel nozzle and raise my head, accidentally looking full into his face.

Harrier's optics are desperately dim. His frame shudders as his body hungers for fuel that isn't there. Black oil covers his cockpit and my hands. Primus, he's dying...

He smiles up at me and his mouth labours to form words. "Tempest..." His voice is so weak, I can hardly hear him. "Tempest...I..."

~NO!!!~

Without thinking I spring my own chest panels open, fumbling for my own fuel nozzle with shaking hands. I stumble foward on my knees, gripping his shoulders, picking him up, cradling his head to my open chest. I guide his mouth to my nozzle. "Drink," I urge him.

"Tempest...I..."

"Damn it, Harrier, don't leave me..." But he does nothing, turning his head away as best he can.

I can't fight it. I weaken. I fail in my resolve. I cannot stop myself from saying the words.

"Please, Harrier...please don't leave me!"

And with that, his lips part, his mouth closing on my fuel nozzle, and I can feel the pull in my lines as he starts to drink.

I'm scared. Primus, I'm scared. I don't like the feeling of having someone drinking out of my lines. Harrier's done it once or twice before, but I didn't like it then, and I don't like it now. It frightens me. I don't like being the vulnerable one. I don't like being at anyone's mercy, not even Harrier's.

I'm scared of Scavengers coming up on us while we're like this. I'm scared that Harrier, in his condition, will drink my tank dry without knowing it. I'm scared that Stormy might have gotten lost or shot down by Quints, and she never got the message to Cybertron, and no one's coming after us to save us. I'm scared that the Autobots will see how frightened I am.

And most of all, I'm scared of what I just said, and what I just felt.

Please, Harrier, don't leave me. I can't go on without you.

What is happening to me...?!

I'm sobbing, and I can't control that either, and that scares me even more. Everything's gone out of control. My team is falling apart, getting picked off one by one. Even my own mind isn't making sense any more. I should have killed Harrier... I don't know why I didn't and I can't do anything about it. I think I'm going insane, one more mindless survivor on a world gone mad.

Harrier struggles a little in my arms, moving back a few inches. The pull on my fuel lines stops. "Tempest," he whispers.

Still sobbing, I look down at him, hoping he can clarify something, anything, to make sense of this lunacy...

The jump-jet raises a hand to my face, stroking my cheek. He's still weak, but he's not dying any more. Or, at least, he's not going to die of his wound in the next few megacycles. "I can't drink any more," he whispers. "I need to leave enough for you."

I test my systems. Yes, I'm weak from the sudden loss of fuel, but I've still got a good third of a tank left. As soon as I get used to the change, I'll be fine.

"We've got to get you back to the base," I tell him.

He nods his agreement. "I'm going to need some help."

But we don't move right away. Instead, we stare at each other, and before I know it, I'm kissing him again.

Finally, I pull away from him and look around for Scavengers. All clear. I wrap my arm around his shoulders, helping him to get to his feet.

As we limp back to the base, Harrier does not speak of my change of heart. There is not a word from him to protest that I did not kill him as he'd asked. I suspect that he didn't want to die. He was willing to, so I could live more easily, so I could abide by my philosophy of Survival of the Fittest.

I'm a hypocrite. For the first time in my life, I've broken the credo that's kept me alive since the raid on Kilair. And I don't even understand why.

***CAVALIER***

I watch Tempest lower Harrier to the ground and wrap the rotten blanket around his shoulders. She seems oblivious to anything save for her injured Second. Finally, she turns away from him and walks over to the wall, to put another mark on her tally. She spends a long time staring at the wall.

"She does not look good," Springer says to me.

"None of us look good," I retort. "At least Harrier's still alive." I mutter under my breath, "Big surprise that Tempest didn't gut him for parts or something."

"No, I mean up here." He taps his head. "There's something in her expression makes me think that Tempest is mentally misfiring."

The idea gives me the shudders. Tempest and her crew chopped off my jaw when they were sane. What would the yellow Seeker be capable of, shellshocked out of her mind? I try to think of something to assauge my fears and end up speaking my mind to Springer. "Well, if she is combat fatigued or shellshocked or whatever you want to call it, she's much more likely to knuckle down and become listless rather than go on a killing rampage."

"Which, around here, is what I'm afraid of." Springer looks grim. "Look, I know you hate her, and to be quite honest in most cases I find her incredibly vicious even for a Decepticon. But around here, that's the kind of leader we need. Do you think either you, or I, has the guts to go out and get fuel from those Scavengers?"

"We're going to have to, now," I murmur. "Harrier's no longer fit and even Tempest can't go alone."

Springer looks at me, half-choking. "I don't think I can do it, Cav. I don't think I can rip the fuel tank out of another living robot...and even if I do, I know damn well I'm not going to be able to drink the contents."

"I guess there's no point in pretending we don't know where those fuel tanks are coming from any more, eh?" I try to manage a weak smile.

"This place is hell," Springer whispers.

Hell.

I glance over at Harrier. He's resting peacefully, deep in sleep cycle, and I can hear the whistle of air in and out of his intakes. There's a dark stain of oil down his front.

I imagine creeping up to him, drawing my blade, opening his chest panel and cutting out his fuel tank. The idea of drinking it makes me gag. The very realization that I'd been logically considering that course of action causes my own fuel to churn. What am I becoming?

And Tempest had lived here how long? There were nine fresh marks on the wall...nine solar cycles... We'd been here only nine days and already two of our number were dead, one injured, and the other three going crazy... Springer has a glassy look in his optics and I feel none too sane myself. I force myself to count how much longer Tempest had spent here. Over forty times as long...

The jaw thing...I rub my face plate. Next to ripping out other bots' fuel tanks, cutting off someone's jaw doesn't seem so horrible. After what Tempest had done just to stay alive here, what she'd done to me would have been nothing to her.

Primus, what the hell's happening to me? How in the Pit can I be coming to sympathize with that blue and yellow devil?

No, not sympathize...but maybe understand. And that's the last thing I want to do. If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to end up as vicious and savage as Tempest, if I survive at all.

***TEMPEST***

Failure. I failed.

What is wrong with me?!

The law of survival is not that damned difficult to understand! The strong live. The weak die. The strong prey on the weak. Any questions? All my life I'd followed this very simple credo that had been proven true time and again. All my life I'd shown no mercy to those who could not earn their right to live. All my life...until today.

I try to justify myself with the words that really, I was saving my own life, that Harrier would return the favour, that I was ensuring my future...but it's garbage and I know it. Harrier had deliberately asked me to kill him, knowing the truth of my credo as well as I...

...and I had failed.

For sentimental reasons I had failed.

I can feel the weight of universal judgement on my shoulders. I am likely to die for my folly--such would be justice--and yet I cannot regret my action. Under these circumstances I cannot regret, and these circumstances are a second damnation. I cannot kill Harrier because I need him...

...what kind of blind idiot have I been? When had I actually become dependent on Harrier? What would have happened if he'd been killed in battle by the Quintessons, where would I have been then? This weakness is obviously not a new development, this dependence--it had crept up on me over time, and I had only realized it when I felt Harrier's pulse fluttering, knowing he had only a few moments left to live, and suddenly feeling that crushing despondence at the thought of a life without him.

I deserve to die. But maybe...maybe this situation can yet be salvaged for the good of all. If we're lucky, Harrier and I might both come out of this alive. If not, well, the Scavengers will feast on our components with relish, and might they enjoy their meal sweetened by the folly of a Seeker who should have known better.

So much for finding a new base. I doubt Harrier would survive the move, and even if he did, our slow travel would tip off any Scavengers in the vicinity. We're stuck here until the rescue ship comes...and I'm close to red line, since Harrier took so much of my fuel.

"Cavalier," I say tersely.

The white Autobot turns her face around.

"We're going hunting."

She sets her shoulders, steeling herself, and then nods.

***CAVALIER***

Here it comes. I'm ready for this. I can do it...have to do it...if I ever want to get off this place.

~what have I become?~

I can't think about that. If I do, I'll die. Part of me hates myself for becoming so much like Tempest, and another part...a small part I hate most of all...is beginning to understand her. I run my hand over my face plate, reminding myself what she did to me, how she hurt me...

~...and what is that in a world where all life is meaningless?~

I will not accept that!

But I can't block out these thoughts.

I shoot a glance over my head at Springer. He's standing between the pulsating transmitter and Harrier's sleeping body. He looks nervous, and rightly so...he's going to be alone with Harrier shortly, and Harrier's in no condition to fight. I think about asking Tempest to bring Springer with us. Three is safer than two, or one.

~what about Harrier?~

~let him fend for himself~

Damn it, I really am thinking like Tempest, and I don't like it. But this is our lives at stake!

"I guess there's no point in leaving Pipes' tank in his shell any more," I say. "Shouldn't let good fuel go to waste."

Tempest half smirks, then hides it. "I took care of that two days ago."

It doesn't surprise me...but I can't blame her. We set off down the tunnel. "Tempest," I say quietly.

"Hm?"

"If..." How am I to say this? "I...I hope Harrier gets better...but if he doesn't..."

I now have her full attention. She's watching me with those ruby optics. "What?"

"What I mean is..." I blurt it out. "If you've got to kill him to save us I won't hold it against you."

She pauses, nods, but her optics slowly narrow to slits. "He lives," she says, her voice tense. She sounds, looks, like a cornered beast. "Nobody touches him."

I can hear the unspoken words. She might as well have added, "And if they try, I'll kill them."

I hold my hands up in a gesture of conciliation. "Whatever," I say. "You're the leader. I just wanted you to know, I'd understand why you did it."

She shoots me a look that might have been gratitude and speaks a gruff, "Thanks." There's silence for a moment, and in the quiet I can hear the soft beeping of the transmitter.

Wait...what the...? We're less than five minutes' walk away from the base, but I shouldn't be able to hear the transmitter from more than a few feet away. "What's that?" I ask Tempest. "It sounds like the transmitter, but it shouldn't be..."

She stops stock-still, frame rigid, head up. Her optics pierce the darkness and I can tell she's trying to trace the sound of the beeping. Her hands draw the blades from her back and she slinks forward, rounding the bend that leads to the staircase that rises into the warehouse. I peer around her, and I can see what she sees...light pouring down from the open trap door. We never leave the trap door open. Even bringing Harrier down to the base, we didn't leave the trap door open.

Someone's down here with us.

"To the base!" Tempest urges, and we break into a run. I can't transform on the rocky tunnel floor and Tempest does not leave me. I can hear her talking into her radio link. "Springer, this is Tempest, code yellow..."

I know the code. Base is under attack.

By the time we get there, Harrier's awake, sitting upright with his back against a crate, priming his arm lasers. Springer's watching all three tunnel openings, pacing about, trying to decide from what direction the attack will come. "Where are they?" the triplechanger demands.

"Hiding in the main tunnel," Tempest says, shooting a glance over her shoulder, "and possibly the..."

She never finishes her sentence. I see eerie disembodied optics in the dimness of the main tunnel, first a pair of green ones...the gleam of light off metal...a single blue one, a pair of red...a flash of light, like a torch being extinguished...two pairs of brown optics, or perhaps dingy red...more gleaming metal.

"Main tunnel!" I cry, as Springer yells, "Left side tunnel!"

Harrier fires off a blast at the right side tunnel, from which the first Scavenger has emerged.

They're all around us. We're surrounded. I rake the main tunnel with my rail gun, almost tripping over the transmitter as I back up. Damn slagging transmitter! Somehow the Scavengers must have picked up on its signal, and followed the signal to the source. Now it's led them right to us. I'd love to smash the thing, but there's no time...the ravening horde is slinking into the light, a mismatched pile of semi-sentient mechanoids in all shapes and sizes, with patches atop patches, misshapen lumps of sauter, makeshift armour, missing limbs, and maddened faces.

The rising battle rage is almost a relief. Now I don't have to think any more.

I set the rifle on full automatic and yank the trigger.

***TEMPEST***

This is it.

I hold my blades at the ready, squaring off, waiting for the first of the Scavengers to strike. They're starving. I'm hungry but not desperate. I can wait for them, make them take the risk of attacking.

This is the final price to pay for my folly. In a way, it's almost a relief. Now I don't have to think about what caused me to spare Harrier's life, and I don't have to struggle to name the emotions that are twisting my neural wires. Now, I need only fight. It is what I am good at. I can take my wrath and confusion out on the Scavengers. If we win, there will be good eating tonight. If we lose--and I don't like the odds, not at all--but if we lose, what right have I to complain? I am the reason we are here instead of in another locale. I am the reason we stayed at this base, where the Scavengers have found us...whether by tracing the transmitter or by observing our comings and goings, I do not know and it does not matter. It is my fault. Don't blame Harrier. I'm the one who kept him alive.

Oh Cavalier, oh Springer. I am mad. You should not have followed a mad leader. I have led you to your destruction.

Idiots. If you did not realize my madness, then you deserve to die. Life plays cruel tricks that way.

I raise my head, draw my blades. Come on, Scavengers. If you want me, take me...but I am a Decepticon. I go down fighting.

The first of the horde rushes in.

***CAVALIER***

I don't want to die this way.

I'm letting off blasts with my rail gun, hitting Scavengers left, right and center, but they keep closing in. There's too many of them. Harrier's got his arm lasers singing a song of death, cutting down swathes of Scavengers, but he's too weak to raise his arms more than halfway and that severely restricts his field of fire. Any cannibals that get past the angle of his guns are clear to attack us unless Tempest, Springer or I take them out.

Tempest is a weapon of destruction. Even with all my experience in fighting, I've never seen such unbridled savagery. Blade in each hand, arm lasers powered up, she's slashing with one arm while shooting with the other, causing a pile of dead Scavengers to mount up around her. She shows no fear; her expression is more like a sick delight as her mouth curves up in a hungry snarl.

Springer is out of photon charges. He's down to hand-to-hand combat, chopping with his curved blade at the cannibals who try to come up on Harrier's left flank.

Nowhere to run. The terrain in the tunnels is too rough for my auto mode. Springer and Tempest could fly away, but I don't think Springer will leave me behind. Where would he go, anyway? We stand, or fall, together. It's the Autobot way.

Click. That's it...my gun's out of juice. I can see the ravenous grins on the Scavengers' faces. ~Not that easy, freaks.~ I draw the glaive I had taken from the Scavengers in the first battle. ~Come get some.~

I hear a cry of pain from Springer, but I dare not turn around as I cut at the cannibals, trying to keep them from surrounding me.

And then laser fire rains around us, coming from the mouths of the tunnels, driving back the hordes of Scavengers. I can hardly pay attention, I'm so busy with a big burly robot that looked like he had once been a truck-Transformer, but that much firepower has to be good news.

It is. The truck-bot suddenly falls, shot through the head, and the other Scavengers are a good distance away from me. I look into the main tunnel mouth and see Stormrave there, grinning at me. "Here come the reinforcements," she quips.

They're here. We're saved.

Other Transformers come from behind Stormrave and take position all around us, firing their weapons. I recognize Bumblebee, Blitzwing and Jazz. The Scavengers are retreating into the two side tunnels, hissing as they drag away their dead for the evening's feasting. I look around. Springer's still alive, though his left arm had been removed. Medics are surrounding both him and Harrier.

"It's over?" I whisper.

"Yeah," Stormrave replies gently. "The shuttle's up top. We followed your transmitter beam and we're here to take you home."

At this moment I catch a glimpse of Tempest. She's standing there, frozen, as if oblivious to the new troops. Her swords are in her hands, tips brushing the ground at forty-five degree angles, at rest but ready to strike again if need be. Her gaze is fixed on the retreating Scavengers, and her face is...confused? She looks lost. Paradoxically, the presence of the rescuers make her seem abandoned somehow.

But right now I do not care about Tempest. I think I'm finally beginning to comprehend what I've been through.

"Where are the others?" Stormrave is asking.

"We're it," I choke. "Just the four of us. The others are..."

And then I can't help it. I break down, and Stormrave holds me close.

***TEMPEST***

What justice is this?

I help the medics carry Harrier onto the shuttle, feeling numbed with shock. It's worse than the moment when I realized that I was back on Tartarus.

We were the weaker, there. We were about to receive our just deserts at the hands of the Scavengers, when all of a sudden the rescue crew showed up and the odds were dramatically reversed.

I have not paid for my mistake. I should have died for my foolish choice. Instead, through some strange twist of fate, I live.

I remind myself that the field is not always level. Not all creatures receive equal opportunities and equal chances. Sometimes, luck can be as much a factor of...

...no, no luck. I am not at the mercy of any perverse, capricious thing as luck. There is no fate. We make our own. When I detailed Stormrave--another survivor--to go for help, I saved my own life.

Still, Harrier is alive. So am I. And I cannot shake the feeling that neither of us should be.

EPILOGUE

Too close, I let him get too close.

I am standing on the bridge of my new command, a space fighter appropriately named TEMPEST'S FURY. On the computerized display that shows the view out the front of the ship, I can see the entire docking area and the robots on it. One figure stands out in the crowd. Harrier. He seems to have come through the Tartarus episode no worse for wear. He's grinning and talking to some cute lady Autobot, being his usual flirtatious and charming self, but now I know as I never knew before that when the night is over, he will be back by my side. No one would willingly choose to stay behind in a place like Tartarus against my orders, no less. Such an act is more than military devotion...

~perhaps more than friendship?~

~NO!~

~still...~

Too much, too close. And I...

Damn it, I could deal with a star-struck Harrier following me around. What I cannot accept is my own weakness. I should have killed him when he asked me to. The fact that I am standing here has everything to do with blind luck--a second chance I did not deserve. I jeopardized myself and my entire crew by keeping Harrier alive.

Why didn't I kill him...

...why couldn't I?

It makes no sense... Regardless, it is a mistake I will not make again. I have only one possible means of fixing this situation. Artemis Prime offered Harrier his own command long ago. He refused, and I was grateful then. I wanted him at my side.

It is now too dangerous to keep him there. Too much...emotion. If I cannot force myself to behave logically around Harrier, I will remove him, by giving him the command he deserves. He will have his own ship, patrolling his own section of the galaxy.

~Where the hell am I going to get another second-in-command?~

Wherever I get one, I know that I will not make the same error twice. The laws of survival leave no room for favouritism. I must not allow myself to become emotionally involved. It is a law I had almost forgotten--a mistake I was in the process of making daily.

Thank you Tartarus.

I shall not forget again.

THE END