Chapter III: No Honor Among Thieves
"Okay. I'll see your six, and I'll boost it by point five."
The insecticons' lair was some 120 or so meters below ground, hidden away in an abandoned Decepticon weapon storage compound. It had been left unused since the last time the Autobots had claimed Polyhex as their own territory, some 875 vorns ago. When the Decepticons had again taken control of their base province, this place had been entirely overlooked. Rust now covered the walls, and debris was strewn everywhere. It was Chop-Shop who had stumbled upon the place, and informed the other insecticons about it. Whenever they were off-duty, they would occasionally gather here to exchange tidbits of information, or perhaps simply to enjoy each others' company (if such a thing were possible). No power flowed through the circuits, thus, no light. The insecticons had no need of it anyway, having pseudo-perfect night vision. At the moment, Barrage and Ransack were in the midst of a quiet game of proto-poker for chips. Stakes were low. It was a friendly game.
"Point five? You're so cheap. Why don't you make a higher boost for once. At least a quad, come on."
"…fine, a quad."
"Hah, a deuce. Show me your plates."
Barrage calmly placed down his three metal plates, each inscribed with a different set of code at low or high values. Ransack peered over at them.
"1101 0001110001…" he mumbled as he scanned them. His eyes widened.
"Straight hex. You lose." Barrage scooped up the chips from the table, and placed them into his pouch.
Ransack threw down two of his plates, and cupped his forehead in his hand as he began to eat the third. "Argh. I got careless again!"
"It's not really your fault." Barrage got up, walked around the table they'd constructed out of spare scrap parts lying around, and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "You've just got no proto-poker face, that's all. I can practically read all your cards by the expressions you make, your chassis language."
"Bah, I need to play Kickback more often. He's easy pickings."
"Speaking of which, I wonder where he-"
"He's on his way back now."
They both turned to look over at Venom, who was in the midst of reading an earth novel called Catcher In The Rye.
"How can you tell?"
"He's coming through the upper corridors now. I can hear him. Sounds like him, anyway." He went back to reading.
"Ah," said Ransack. "I forget how much better your audio sensors are compared to ours. So, tell us, boss, how long until he gets here?"
Venom's head didn't move, but he looked up, sensing a touch of false reverence in Ransack's words. Venom was, more or less, the commander of the insecticons. However, among the others, it could be argued that his leadership abilities were not up to par, and he knew it.
The problem is, he thought, you must form a bond with your troops in order to be able to lead them effectively. And I don't trust this lot any further than I could throw Bruticus.
He surveyed the two in front of him. Ransack's words could be taken with a gram of oil – he was arrogant, and easily controlled through ego bolstering. Barrage was another matter entirely. Venom got the impression that he pitied Ransack for some strange reason. But other than that, he was absolutely cold, and his thoughts impenetrable. He was a total mystery.
Chop-Shop, for all intents and purposes, was a loyal ally with whom he could always voice his opinions. But beneath that, Venom knew, was a hideous kleptomaniac. Rumors were slowly starting to form among the Decepticon ranks about him, although no proof could be found. Nevertheless, Chop-Shop had been very nearly caught in the act of theft on more than one occasion, and Venom knew the day was coming when he would have to do some serious talking in order to bail his fellow insecticon out of trouble – or worse, out of jail. Venom had long since kept his private quarters locked absolutely shut, and all his data files encrypted just in case Chop-Shop acquired an urge to steal from him.
It was the other three that really worried him, though. Kickback was something else, he thought. If for some reason the war were over tomorrow, Venom would encourage him to seek a career as a professional actor. He had personally witnessed Kickback befriend a troubled Decepticon, over time learn all of his secrets, and promptly blackmail him, practically ruining the poor mech's life in the process. He was a slick-talking liar, and the least trustworthy 'bot he had ever met.
Bombshell disturbed him because of his power and depravity. The way he implanted cerebro-shells into his victims and toyed with them, occasionally driving them to self-destruction, unnerved him. As far as he was concerned, as highly intelligent Bombshell may be – which was also a cause for worry - he was two bytes short of a full unit. Venom often wondered whether or not he'd wake up to find himself an unwilling slave, a shell embedded in his cranium.
But the real threat was Shrapnel. Practically everything about him frightened him, although he would never admit it to anyone. The eerie manner of his speech, his ruthlessness on the battlefield, the way he occasionally barked out orders without having consulted with him first had long since troubled Venom, and his terrifying ability to control electricity itself made him a serious threat in terms of sheer power. It was conceivable that he could go head-to-head with Devastator, and under the proper circumstances, walk away fully functional.
He had not become leader of the insecticons to have it taken away from him, not by anyone, whether through misplaced trust or a blast to the back of the head. So he had consciously distanced himself from his troops, in an attempt to maintain some semblance of security. But he knew that in an army, the assertive leader commanded respect.
But how can that be done, he pondered, when all I have to command are mutes, thieves, lunatics and liars? My safety or my command…what is the greater priority? They've been turning to Shrapnel more and more recently…
"Boss?"
"Hmm? Oh, sorry. This book has me thinking. He should be here in a breem or two."
"Why do you read that stuff? That earth garbage."
"Really, Ransack. You should open your mind up a bit more to other cultures. We're not the only intelligent lifeforms in the galaxy, you know. This 'stuff' is rather fascinating."
"Bah, just let me at their power facilities. We'll see who's superior then. And all I'm fascinated by are the screams of my enemies."
You would be, Venom thought contemptuously. And who said anything about superiority? Fuelthirsty primitive.
He chose not to voice his thoughts, which was just was well because Chop-Shop scuttled into the room at that moment, coming in through a pipe in the ceiling and dropping down, back in standard mode by the time he hit the ground. They were surprised to see whom it was – he had only left about 8 or 9 breems ago.
"Back already. What's up?" asked Barrage.
"Bad news, 'bots. Prepare for a shock."
And he told them everything.
"Rubbish! I don't believe it!" said Ransack.
Venom looked over at him. "Calm yourself. Blitzwing would have no reason to make up a lie so bold. He would have nothing to gain, at any rate. No, this is the truth, as hard as it is to believe. Our comrades are dead."
Barrage was now leaning against a wall, contemplating the meaning of all this.
"You know what this means, don't you?" said Chop-Shop. "Our power as a unit has been reduced to almost nothing."
Venom nodded solemnly. It was true. Of the seven of them, only Shrapnel, Kickback and Bombshell had the ability to generate duplicates of themselves. It was an ability that they had developed during their four million year stay on earth, consuming various foreign materials while the others had all remained inactive onboard the Autobots' ship. According to Bombshell, the chemical compounds in certain rare earth minerals and fluids could give one the ability to create duplicates of themselves, which could be controlled directly by telekinetic power-link, or by manually programming basic functions and commands. However, since the latter was too time-consuming, each insecticon would normally control their clones through thought-direction. It was an astounding discovery – cloning without use of cloning vats. But the three were by nature greedy with their secrets, and refused to reveal their methods to anyone, even their fellow insecticons.
However, there was a problem. Without direction, without guidance, the duplicates would be zombies, unable to perform the most basic of tasks. They would remain absolutely motionless, slowly burning out their supply of energy, until they eventually short-circuited. And once they did, they couldn't be brought around again, not without one of the original three to properly direct them to fully functional status.
They all knew this. And the thought was on everyone's central processor.
Ransack asked the obvious question. "How many do you think are out there?"
Chop-Shop replied. "Last I counted, perhaps thirteen or fifteen between the three of them. I'm not sure. Why?"
"You ask me, we've got to find them, get them back, and find some way to control them ourselves. "
They all nodded. It was a well-known fact that Starscream despised the insecticons. If he came to power, he would more than likely attempt to assimilate them into the Decepticon army itself. The insecticons were an independent unit, owing only partial allegiance to the army proper, conditions Megatron had accepted. But with Megatron gone, and their ranks depleted, they would probably have no choice but to serve Starscream as he saw fit, or become wanted, outcasts…
Barrage spoke up. "There are thirteen. Three of Shrapnel, and five each of the other two. I've kept count."
"But how do we find them?"
Barrage spoke again, surprising the others somewhat. He was being far more talkative than usual. But then again, these were dire circumstances. "Simple. We open a comm channel, cross-link it with radar-scope, and follow the frequency as it gets stronger. We'll eventually track them all down."
Ransack remained sceptical. "And how do we control them once we've got them? They'll be mindless."
Venom smiled. "I have an idea. Just leave that to me…"
He was pensive for a moment. The others looked at him, glanced among each other, and looked back.
"Alright! Chop-Shop, Ransack, you two fix up your comm units and get to work on finding the duplicates. Barrage, you stay with me. We have plans to make."
They continued to stare at him for a moment, and then walked off.
"What do you have in mind?" Barrage asked.
"We both know that if Starscream takes command, he'll eventually start to harass us, right?"
"He'll demand our complete obedience, knowing him. Why?"
"Think about it. We'd be way better off under Shockwave's rule. He doesn't like us any more than Starscream does, us, but he would be satisfied with our continued allegiance. Starscream wouldn't. He'll try to force us into subservience for measly wages of energon, or wipe us out. As far as I'm concerned, he oversaw our allies' executions. He all but had them murdered."
Barrage remained silent for a moment. The shock of their allies' deaths was only just now beginning to sink in for him. He wasn't exactly the emotional type, but that did count for something.
"He'll demand a grand ceremony for his rise to power, if he does take it. You're a pretty good sniper, aren't you?"
Now, a slow smile began to creep across Barrage's face.
"You might make a good leader for us after all. All right, I'm listening. What if he doesn't come to power?"
"Well then, it will be all the more simple for us to snatch him into the shadows as he walks past an alley…"