Year of the Snake- Part 4
**Nekhrid Seven: 1999
"Power down your weapons and prepare to be boarded," Parseltongue ordered over the
comm. The red, white and black Autobot shuttle hung in space, not responding.
"They've had their chance, open fire."
The Infierne dwarfed Celestimus Prime's shuttle form by a margin of about 20 to
one. "Kill his wingmen, but leave the Prime. I don't want a full-out war on my side of the
Ridge."
The side cannons blazed green, lancing across the thirty or so kilometers that
separated the two spaceships, creating orange blossoms on the tiny grey specks that
hovered around Prime. Those were the Stratabots, a subset of the most elite of
Cybertron's warriors. It would do well to be emphasized that they WERE Stratabots. At
the moment, they were burning hot slag.
"Direct hit, commander," Slugfest hooted. "Good shot!"
Parseltongue sneered happily. "Lock-on tractorbeams to that Autobot... I want
him brought aboard."
Slugfest, a small green cassette-former with a bad temper, nodded and worked the
keypad before him. "Tractor beam engaged."
Parseltongue sneered happily. "Lock-on tractorbeams to that Autobot... I want him
brought aboard."
"Excellent," Parseltongue hissed, stalking off the bridge. "Finally, a bargaining
chip for the Liege. For once, he'll have something to rub in Megatron's face."
The corridor was lit with a pale, sickly green light that cast emaciated silvery
shadows on the walls. It was the kind of lighting that pleased Parseltongue's optics: it
made the tormentors- he and his crew- look ghastly, and the prisoners- Celestimus Prime-
look ill and wasted. Demoralization was so underrated, Parseltongue thought, and so very
effective.
"The prisoner's ready, Cap'n," Verve informed Parseltongue as he arrived at the
brig.
The large door to the prison chamber rattled open, the chamber's inhabitant bound
in electro cord, totally silent, unmoving.
"Welcome to the Infierne, Prime," Parseltongue seethed to his captive. "Don't
worry, I'm not going to kill you... you're to be leverage for my master, the Liege."
Parseltongue looked into the formerly golden optics of the shuttle-bot, now a dull
shade of brown. The hue of defeat. A crooked smile reached across Parseltongue's face
as his eyes narrowed. "You have no idea what pleasure this is going to bring me," the Air
Captain produced a small silver computer pad and looked it over. "Do you know what
this is, Autobot?" he asked, waving the shining rectangle in front of the Prime's face. "It's
the control pad for the devices attached to your body... Pressing these will send jolts of searing, nearly unimaginable agony through your core
processor. Allow me to demonstrate," the Decepticon grinned, keying in the first
commands.
Celestimus Prime's body quivered, arms straightening out, legs stiffening as the
shockwaves of pain coursed through his body. Yet he made no sound.
"Not gonna give me the pleasure, eh?" Parseltongue laughed, upping the torture
level. Still nothing, though Celestimus crumpled to the ground, rolling in torment.
"Strong silent type. We shall remedy that..." He raised it another level, but Celestimus
remained silent. "Come on, Prime," Parsel growled, kicking the Autobot in frustration,
"you've never experienced this much pain! This is the worst horror EVER!" By now,
Parseltongue started supplementing the jabs from the device with his own lances of
psychic energy. "You must be joking! Nobody's this noble!"
Infuriated, the Decepticon switched the power off and left Prime lying there, the
pain echoing through his mind, still wordless.
"Not even a whimper... I'd never expect so much from an Autobot," Parseltongue
snapped, firing a bolt from his arm cannon into Celestimus's leg. Tromping out of the tiny prison chamber, Parseltongue fumed all the way back above
decks to the bridge.
"Set course for Moonbase One!" the Captain roared. "Liege Furio waits for no
'bot!"
**Earth: Indeterminate Timeframe
"I know who you are," Optimus Primal, the purple and silver Transmetal gorilla
and leader of the Maximals, began. Sitting behind his desk, hands folded before him, a
calm look on his face, he spoke slowly. "Steeljaw, Rattrap, could you give us a moment
of privacy?"
Rattrap made a move to speak, but Steeljaw silenced him. "Of course, Prime," the
silver and blue cat replied. "Do you require anything?"
"Yes, actually. If you could find Silvermane and ask her to join us."
"Of course," Steeljaw replied, almost dragging Rattrap out the door.
The Big Guy looked at Primal, a bewildered expression dancing across his saurian
features. "You said you knew who I was, Commander... what do you mean?"
"Let's wait till the colonel gets here," Optimus stalled. "Tell me about the first
things you remember after your pod fell."
The Big Guy looked down at his hands a moment, then gazed at Optimus, a his
golden optics boring into Primal's consciousness the way few could... something about
Optimus Primal rang very familiar inside the Big Guy's mind. "I pushed the hatch of my
stasis pod aside... and it was hot. The air reeked of ash and brimstone, and I could feel
something in the pit of my stomach that I was among enemies. I stepped out of the pod,
and I remember there being a pile of fossilized animal bones lying nearby; I assume that's
what my stasis pod scanned for my Beast Mode. As I looked around, I remember a
woman's voice shouting from the cliffs above. She said something about the glory of the
Predacons, then jumped out in front of me. After her, a strange blend of a scorpion and a
snake joined, with a wasp, and a few others whose beast modes weren't obvious...
"I ran, fighting when I was cornered, until I found myself totally blocked off. The
canyon walls loomed above as I made my last stand; I knew that I was going to die, so I
stood my ground and fought. Then Steeljaw and Rattrap arrived, and with them,
salvation."
His story finished just as the office door opened to admit a tall, silver and crimson
femme-bot. A cascade of platinum hair-- actually several thousand prehensile
micro-fibers-- fell down her back and the Big Guy immediately knew this was Colonel
Silvermane. He stood, saluting.
"Have a seat, we're none of us more important than anyone else," she said in a
dulcet voice that was barely more than a whisper, but carried more authority than even
Primal's words. "I had the comm from Optimus's office open while I walked, so there's
no need to tell your story again." Silvermane thought ahead. No wonder she was a
colonel. The Big Guy looked at the sigil on her breast- not a normal Maximal emblem,
but one with three rays radiating from the Maximal mark and an ornate English "T" placed
dead center on it. This was no ordinary Maximal lieutenant: Silvermane was a Trinity.
"You are General Dracon Convoy," she stated flatly. "Your spark was pulled
from the Matrix directly before the Axalon launched, and placed in a protoform. You
were meant to be ferried to Terra as the new Cybertronian Envoy, a Peace Offering from
the Maximal Council of Elders in hopes that relations between Cybertron and Earth could
be restarted."
The Big Guy blanched. "I'm... a Convoy Knight?"
Primal nodded. "Placing you into a stasis pod and storing you as a protoform was
a security measure. Quite a few Predacon scofflaws would like to see you slagged, and
part of the Axalon's mission was to get you to Terra safely... looks like we've halfway
succeeded," Primal joked. "All kidding aside, if your identity were known, the Axalon-
and perhaps Cybertron's budding re-establishment of relations with Terra- would be in
jeopardy. Do not let any of the others know your secret... you should be especially careful
when battling Predacons. Several of them have the ability to enter your core processor,
and if they went picking around..." Primal's eyes lowered, his expression exceedingly
grim. "Just don't let it happen." The Big Guy stared at Optimus, still incredulous as to
his importance.
"But this is not modern-day Terra. There should be cities, civilization. There's
nothing here but animals and lots and lots of geography."
"No... we don't know when we are. This is, from my best calculations, the planet
Terra, several millennia ago. And if that's the case... we have an Ark to defend." Primal
looked at the colonel, then back at the Big Guy. "What's your designation, soldier?" he
asked, a smile breaking through.
"I hadn't thought of one..."
Silvermane and Primal gave him the same look: think of one quick, bucky.
"Er... my beast form is a Tyrannosaur... and I seem to remember... Tyrannix. My
name is Tyrannix, Maximal Warrior, and I am at your service."
"Welcome to the Beast Wars, Tyrannix."
"Is that it?" Copperhead whispered sibilantly into the bush.
"Yes," replied his arachnoid companion. "The Darkside." The olive green and
scorched grey hull lay broken and battered, crashlanded on the ash flats. Copperhead's
face grew grim and incredulous: this was the great warship that the "Mighty" Megatron
commanded? It looked more like a burnt out waste processing unit...
"This is it, eh?" Copperhead balked as the two tromped through the main door,
lugging behind them the deactivated Pantera. "The Darkside, gem of the Predacon battle
fleet... I remember it being quite a bit bigger when I signed on."
"You were quite a bit smaller..." the spider retorted, and he was right. Between
the time he was a protoform and his formatting, he'd gained a considerable amount of
height, in beast mode, mostly from the acquisition of a tail, and in robot mode, his sheer
bulk had obviously increased.
"Indeed," Copperhead replied, sizing himself up, a good head taller than the spider
when transformed. "Where's Megatron?"
"Sleeping or bathing, I can be sure," Tarantulas mused, leading Copperhead into
the bridge area, a vast chamber dotted with lava pits where the volcanic vents had melted
through the Darkside's hull. A ship like it could withstand the immense heat of
atmospheric re-entry, but molten rock was beyond its defenses, oddly enough. Predacon
shipwrighting was a very inexact art. "The leader is always dawdling whilst his underlings
do his bidding."
"Dawdling, am I?" a voice, basso profundo, resonated from the doorway arch at
the corner of the command chamber. "Tarantulas, you have returned, yess... and brought
with you a new friend I see?" The purple and bronze clad Predacon Liege stepped
forward, heavy violet claws clanging against the deckplates. "Your designation, my
friend?" he asked in a voice that gave Copper absolutely no confidence in the Liege's
abilities.
"Fangrel Parseltongue, sir, Predacon Ops and Command, assigned to PBC
Darkside on CRD 614:1800, sir."
"Current Ops designation?" Megatron continued with unusual military precision.
"Copperhead, sir."
"Transform."
With aplomb, Copperhead shifted to the mode of an eleven foot long Australian
copperhead. "To your liking, Liege?" he asked from the floor."
"Yess..." the rex replied. "You may transform."
"Terrorize!" Copperhead hissed, splitting in two, contorting back into his bot
mode. "Anything else, Liege Megatron, before I present you with your 'gift'?"
"Gift?" the rex replied, cocking an eyebrow. "What sort of gift?"
Copperhead lifted the sack- laden inside with the unconscious body of elder
Pantera- and dropped it at Megatron's feet. Crossing his right arm over his chest, he
spoke again. "Bah weep grah na weep nini bong, Commander," the snake quipped.
Megatron snorted, halfway amused. "This should be interesting, yess..."
Copperhead unbound the drawstring on the sack, letting it slide open, revealing the
charcoal grey and starlight black form inside: a seemingly dead jaguar, breathing in a
sound marked with Cybertronian tag. "Impressive... a fine specimen. Her designation?"
Copper paused a moment. "Elder Pantera," he stated at length.
Megatron burst into maniacal laughter. "EXCELLENT!" he bellowed. "Your
first day among the Predacons and you bring me an elder Maximal!" He turned to
Copperhead, his glee shifting to rage in a torrent. "YOU IMBECILE!"
Copperhead blinked.
"You've just sparked a war, you fool! When the Maximal Council of Elders tracks
her here, they will trace her kidnapping to ME! Since you're a member of my crew, I am
responsible for YOUR actions, Copperhead!" Megatron threw his arms up in frustration.
"And you, Protocol Officer Tarantulas, you chose not to INFORM him of that particular
passage in the Pax Cybertronia? I am outraged--" Duh, Copper thought to himself,
projecting it into Tarantulas's mind as well, the two sharing a silent laugh together.
"--that both of you have failed to use any foresight... you're both remanded to quarters
until I decide what to do with you. Where is Waspinator?!"
"He left with Subcommander Sin megacycles ago, Liege," Tarantulas replied in his
most effacing voice.
"Megatron to all units, return to the Darkside at once." The livid Transformer
returned his attention to his subordinates. "Return her to where you found her tomorrow
at dawn, yess... or you shall taste the full flavor of my wrath. You are both dismissed...
and Tarantulas..."
The spider stopped, turned around, and stared at Megatron. "Yes, Liege?"
"Touch Blackarachnia and it's the Inferno with you."
Tarantulas nodded silently and stalked into the corridor after Copperhead.
==Who's Blackarachnia?== Copperhead asked Tarantulas, silently conversing
using his favored method.
==The worst nightmare of any Mad Predacon Scientist: the experiment gone
awry.== This was half-joking, Copper sensed. ==I reprogrammed her shortly after we
arrived here, but the shell program mixed with her spark unexpectedly... gave her immense
free will and a...== Tarantulas cringed mentally. ==...conscience.==
==A conscience isn't necessarily a bad thing to have, Tarantulas==
==What are you talking about? It's the greatest hindrance one can have to his
ambition.==
==Spinner, don't forget, I'm reading your mind... you have feelings for that
she-spider, don't deny them. You consider her your masterpiece.==
A jabbing pain at Copperhead's temple ended the conversation abruptly.
The sun rose slowly the next morning, but that did not make it a cool day. Every
micron the star rose in the sky, ten degrees hotter it got. The savannah around the Axalon
baked as its inhabitants complained. The only ones seemingly unaffected by the heat were
the three knights: Tyrannix, Steeljaw and Silverbolt, but even they had their limits. "40
centigrade out there," Rattrap moaned. "And only about ten degrees cooler inside...
Computer?"
The computer beeped.
"Lower thermostat to 18 Cent."
]]Unable to comply. Axalon's power output at maximum.[[
"Any backup systems I could... uhh... power down?" the rodent queried.
]]Primary security, auxiliary CR.[[
"Sheesh... can't open a window without shuttin' down a slottin' aux. system,"
Rattrap muttered. "Wonder if Dinobot left an extra tail shield lyin' around... it'd make a
good fan."
Rattrap sighed, whirled around in his chair, and stood, only to come face-to-navel
with Tyrannix. "Hiya, Big Guy."
"Hello, Rattrap," Tyrannix replied, looking down his chest at the
silver-and-crimson rodent.
"Find yerself a dez, Shoulders?" he asked, sitting back down at the computer
station.
"You may call me Tyrannix," he replied, pausing, then continuing, "or Teer for
short," he pronounced phonetically. "It's a pleasure to be here."
"Yeah, a real night at Brainstorms."
"Brain... storms?" Tyr stuttered.
"Oh, glitch, ya never been to Polyhex! Former glory of the Decepticon alliance,
now it's just a tourist trap fer offworlders... Storms' makes a Slamdance Scorchburner
that'll tangle yer transistors for a yottacycle!"
"A Slamdance Whatburner?"
"Enough chitchat," sounded an authoritative voice from the other entryway, "you
two were to report to Snipe in the field ten cycles ago."
"Right, bossmonkey, lemme jes' get packed up." Rattrap's optics darted from side
to side as he turned off the power to his monitor. Tyrannix hid a small grin as he saw
what was displayed: femmebots with no torso plates!
Not my cup of mech fluid, Tyr thought to himself as he followed Rattrap to the
lift. I've got more important things to hold my attention.
"About time you two got here," the ferret-bot-- a bit taller than Rattrap but still
infinitessimally small compared to Tyrannix-- snapped. "Been waitin' a teracycle."
"Don't git snippy wit' me, ass-glands," Rattrap taunted, "or I'll show ya what a
REAL sniper looks like."
"You'n what Sweeps, cheese eater?"
"Come on, you name the time and place, stinky," Rattrap responded, livid.
"Enough! " Tyrannix roared. "If you're going to bicker like Combaticons, we'll all
go back to base and you can tell Commander Primal and Colonel Silvermane just why we
failed our simplest of tasks."
Neither Rattrap nor Snipe-R were stupid enough to upset someone so large, and
the subject was dropped. While they worked, however, the two lobbed insults back and
forth-- friendly enough, from what Tyr could tell, because the level of productivity
displayed by the two increased exponentially the worse the snipes got.
"Just what're we buildin' anywhoozles?" Rattrap grunted, snapping a ball joint into
its socket.
"Tracking tower," Snipe-R responded. "Once it's up, we'll be able to see a Pred
halfway 'cross the planet."
"Ooh," gasped the vermin in mock awe. "Can we peek in on Blackarachnia while
she's takin' a CR bath?" The rat giggled as he cupped his hands around his optics like
binoculars. "Or maybe spy on Tarantulas playin' wit' his tinkertoys?"
"That's more to the point," Tyrannix said, his first words in a megacycle. "The
Predacons' illicit activities-- especially if they're to our disadvantage-- should be carefully
monitored. If we don't keep an optic on them with undaunting vigilance..."
Rattrap sneaked a glance at Snipe, whose optics were rolling over in their sockets.
Rattrap felt the same way. Tyrannix spoke, uninterrupted, while the other two toiled.
"...and Megatron will be vanquished forever."
Tyr looked at Rattrap and Snipe, who'd finished the spy tower and were snacking
on a can of energon goodies. "Finished yet?" the grey and brown ferret asked.
"Err... yes," he responded. "We should report back to Colonel Silvermane before
nightfall."
"Not so fast," Snipe interrupted as the controls started pinging. "Pred activity 20
klicks northeastward." He shoved his nose into the viewfinder and scoffed. "Looks like
my old friend Fangstriker's found a stasis pod."
"Rattrap, what do we know about him?"
"Him who?"
"Fangstriker... is he a threat?"
"She's my oldest friend," Snipe replied, assembling his sniper rifle from its case. "I
knew her back during the Great War when I was just a kid and she was a lab experiment
gone terribly wrong."
"Sorry to hear that, Snipe. Do you wish Rattrap and I to engage her? It seems you have... issues... that would prevent you from being effective."
"'the slag you talkin' 'bout?" Snipe returned. "I said she WAS an old friend, didn't say I wouldn't slag her first chance I got in the Beast Wars..." He paused, checking the sight on his rifle. "Let's go," was only said when Snipe was satisfied with the gun's condition. Tyrannix and Rattrap stayed still. "Ya waitin' for an inegrated invitation, boys? Let's kick tailgate." Snipe shifted to beast mode and slunk into the underbrush, homing in on Fangstriker's position, leaving Rattrap and Tyrannix behind.
"He seems stable," Tyr noted.
"Ya dunno the half of it, Shoulders," Rattrap replied. "He's got a death wish, I think... he knows Fangstriker could whip his skids up around his aurals without so much as a scuffed fender, but he still goes after her. They have a past that he wants ta get resolved real quick-like."
Tyr's eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. "Let's follow," he replied, shifting to T. rex mode. Rattrap followed suit. Now the size disparity was even more comical: every step Tyrannix took was matched with fifteen or twenty by Rattrap. After several near misses, the tiny Maximal decided it was time to throw caution to the wind and let ingenuity come out and play. With a backfiring >KABLAM<, Rattrap's beast mode shifted and clunked away until he was a hot-rodding rodent, all exhaust pipes and attitude.
"You really look foolish like that, Rattrap," Tyrannix chortled as he gazed down at the rat.
"Yer jes' jelous cuz' you don't got a vehicular mode," the hot-rat chided with a revving of his engine.
"What I lack in wheels I make up in sheer stride length," the rex smiled, still outpacing Rattrap. "Let's hurry on, Snipe-R's waiting."