Chapter Eight

By the time Dierdre and Cheetor ascended the lift to the Axalon's bridge, the remaining Maximals had already responded to Optimus's call. They milled about the bridge, alternately peering over Rhinox's shoulder to the data scrolling across the console and talking lowly amongst themselves. Although everyone seemed relatively calm considering the circumstances, an undercurrent of excitement and tension rendered the bridge's atmosphere almost tangible.

Dierdre strode forward, sidestepping Dinobot and gently shouldering Silverbolt aside, to stand behind Rhinox and stare with narrowed eyes at the grainy image displayed by the perimeter scanners. The bulkhead lights –as well as just about every other system in the downed ship, if her scanner readings were correct- had been snuffed out like a candle flame, cloaking the Predacon base in darkness.

The human struggled to keep emotion from playing across her face, but inside she was cursing bitterly. Infinity's blood and damnation; it was too soon!

Apparently she was not entirely successful in maintaining outward tranquility, for Silverbolt gave her a curious look and seemed about to ask her a question. He was interrupted, however, by an oblivious Rhinox, whose attention was still firmly fixed on the screens, "Dierdre, how exactly did this happen?"

"As I have already told you," she said slowly, "the code was designed by our government to protect the contents stored within the data disk. I'm not a scientist," -an image of Cyteese flashed poignantly across her consciousness- "so I can't give you all the details, but apparently someone tripped one of the code's fail-safes while attempting to decrypt it. It sent out a virus through the computer, one specifically engineered to overload all pertinent systems on the ship."

There was a brief clacking of claws and a beast-moded Dinobot stepped into her peripheral vision, glaring momentarily at the screens before fixing his feral gaze upon their leader. "Optimus," he snarled, "we must not waste this opportunity. With their outer defenses gone, they have been rendered… vulnerable. If we attack now we could overrun them easily!"

"The thought has occurred to me," Optimus quietly responded. "However, I don't intend to rush headlong into danger just yet." The Axalon's commander took no offence as Dinobot immediately launched into a thunderous tirade about Maximal timidity; instead he quite calmly reached out and clamped the raptor's jaws shut with one powerful Transmetal hand. With his voice rose slightly to be heard over Dinobot's muffled curses and Rattrap's amused sniggering, he glanced at Dierdre and asked, "Approximately how long will it take before the Predacons can regain power?"

"According to the military scientists that created this code, it should take them at least a solar-cycle to return to full power." At the excited stirrings of those around her, Dierdre held up an arresting hand. She grimaced, and the reason for her agitation became apparent as she said, "However, I don't know if that will actually be the case. If the decryption had proceeded at the expected rate, this particular failsafe shouldn't have been tripped for at least another couple of days.

"Either one of the Predacons aboard Darkside is more brilliant than all the finest military minds in the Maximal-Terran Alliance put together, or-" her gaze flicked quickly to Optimus, and consequently he was the only one to see the burgeoning panic threatening to claw its way through her forced calm, "something has gone wrong. The Darkside's computers run differently from their future counterparts; perhaps that is what has allowed the hacker to delve so deep into the code so quickly." Dierdre chuckled; a short-lived sound devoid of humor. "Our scientists didn't account for time travel."

"Eh, so what's on this disk, anyway?" Rattrap interjected. "It's gotta be somethin' pretty important to get ya this riled up."

"The encrypted information is classified, but trust me; it's important." Teeth flashed whitely in what might have been a grin. "The Fleet wouldn't send their finest squadron out on a suicide mission for something trivial."

"Fer bein' commander of the 'finest squadron in the Fleet', you don't seem ta be doin' so hot," the rodent huffed. "You were here for -what? five cycles?- before you lost the slaggin' thing."

Dierdre's face paled, an interesting reaction Rattrap had never seen before. He waited intently for a comeback as her fists clenched and eyes began to blaze, but was interrupted by a sharp thump to the back of the head by Optimus. "Hey!"

"Shut up, Rattrap," Optimus rebuked. He then focused his attention on the human, who seemed to be holding off an enraged explosion by effort of will alone. "Dierdre," he said. Startled at the sound of her name, she flinched a little and turned towards him. "Would you come with me, please? I would like to talk with you for a moment."

When he saw her nod stiffly in agreement, some of the wrath fading from her expression, he turned to the others. "Sit tight, Maximals. We'll be back soon."

Stepping through the door at the behest of Optimus, Dierdre peered discreetly around the Maximal leader's quarters. Warm afternoon light filtered in from a large panel of transparent steel set behind his desk, illuminating the simple furnishings. Although comfortable, the lack of personal possessions gave the room away for what it was; a place to work and recharge, not to live.

Settling himself in a high-backed chair behind his desk, he gestured to the seat meant for visitors. Dierdre slowly took the proffered chair, her expression guarded. "Try not to take what Rattrap said personally," Optimus began. "It's just his nature. He loves to argue, I'm afraid, and has developed provoking people into something of an art form."

Upon seeing his sympathetic and slightly amused expression, her eyes lit up with the beginnings of humor. "I take it not even the Axalon's Commander has escaped his attentions."

He shook his head with an exaggerated air of long-suffering. "I seem to be one of his favorite targets."

She smiled outright at that, the last of her anger fading away. Her fingers brushed across the maroon band that encircled her upper left arm. "Never a dull moment in this business, is there?"

"Never," Optimus agreed. From what little she had told him about the squadron she had once commanded, he got the distinct impression that she also knew what it was like to lead such a mismatched group of people. Dierdre caught his gaze and something passed between them; a shared moment of perfect understanding. Oh, yes, she knew.

The moment passed and Dierdre glanced down briefly with a sigh. When she looked up her eyes were once again serious. "Optimus, I have a request."

The Maximal leader raised an eyeridge at that. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on the desk top's polished metal and laced his fingers together. Although he was fairly certain he knew where this conversation was headed –had in fact, brought her here with the suspicion that she would broach the subject, but only in private– he nevertheless asked, "What is it, Dierdre?"

"As I'm sure you've already guessed, I had originally planned to wait until my Tech-suit was repaired and my promise to you fulfilled… before leaving at nightfall to infiltrate the Predacon base on my own." Her mouth curved into a smile edged with self-deprecation. "At the time I felt that retrieving the disk was my duty to fulfill and no one else's. I didn't think I needed help.

"However, I came to a realization last night. I have been letting personal feelings cloud my judgment on something that should have been obvious: I can't recover the disk on my own." She raked her fingers through her hair, an unconscious, angry gesture. "I won't insult the memories of my squadron by getting myself killed foolishly."

Optimus nodded slowly. "And so now you are asking for assistance in reclaiming the data disk."

"Yes. And soon, before the Predacons have time to restore power to their base."

He straightened in his chair and for a long moment stared thoughtfully at the human. Taking in her ramrod straight posture and carefully neutral expression, eyes betraying her with their potent mixture of hope and apprehension, he made his decision. "We will help you."

All the tension seemed to drain out of her, causing her shoulders to stoop a little. She smiled suddenly, a soft curve on a face bright with relief, and said, "Thank you."

"You're welcome." She seemed about to speak again, so Optimus quickly held up an arresting hand. "However, before I send my people into danger, I must know: what's on the data disk?"

Her expression clouded over and she tensed again, jaw tightening involuntarily. The information was highly classified and instincts cultivated for over a quarter century screamed of security breaches, but… "I suppose you have a right to know." She sighed lowly and stared intently at him from across the wide metal desk. "I have your word that what I'm about to tell you will never be entered into the Axalon's computer files and that you will speak of this to no one."

The Maximal commander smiled involuntarily at her phrasing, a reminder of another conversation which took place less than three stellar-cycles ago. He nodded. "You honored your promise, Dierdre, and as long as the information doesn't directly endanger the lives of my people, so will I."

She hesitated at his choice of words, but then dipped her head in acknowledgement. It would have to do. Shifting in her seat and looking for a moment as if she'd like nothing better than to flee the room, she made herself relax, one reluctant muscle at a time. "Before I tell you what's on the disk, you must know a little about the time I came from." She crossed her arms over her chest and began her tale.

"Long before the Human Revelation --when humanity first announced itself to the galaxy as Cybertron's equals-- most Predacons of a military bent had been driven out of Cybertron, forced to reside on second-rate colony worlds past the outskirts of Maximal territory. The Predacons who were allowed to remain on Cybertron had been absorbed into Maximal society and caused little trouble, but the exiled ones were naturally quite upset with their lot. Using what little resources they still possessed, they struck back. Mostly quick raids against Maximal border stations, but occasionally hostile strikes deeper into the territory. Each time they were driven past the borders by the Maximal military, but due to the ruling of the Elders, little else was done.

"These skirmishes were still taking place when humans and Maximals first began negotiations, but attacks petered off rapidly once the Alliance was formed. It was believed that the banished Predacons feared the additional power brought about by this union would encourage the Maximals to move against them in force. This suspicion seemed to be confirmed when a transmission was sent to the High council, requesting a truce. It was granted to them, and their colony worlds and the surrounding area was declared off-limits to the Alliance.

"Decades passed with virtually no contact from the exiles and the Alliance steadily grew in strength. Humans and Maximals began to gradually integrate our societies, combining our technology and military forces. As the Alliance approached its first Golden Age, we had earned a reputation as one of the most powerful peacekeeping forces in the galaxy. The exiled Predacons were virtually forgotten."

Optimus found himself once again leaning forward in his seat, the unconscious movement displaying his interest in this glimpse of the future. When she paused in the telling, her words trailing off, he encouraged her by asking a question that had interested him ever since she first awoke in the Axalon, "You've mentioned Ganitron before. Who is he?"

The mention of the name caused a sigh to hiss through her teeth. Her eyes narrowed and she spoke with a voice made deep with old hatred, "Ganitron… Ganitron is a pestilence, a plague upon civilization. He's a deceitful and scheming bot, far worse than the Megatron of the Great War could ever hope to be."

"What did he do?"

"During my second year of Academy training, a ship appeared at the edge of our territory. It was quickly intercepted by one of our border patrols but not destroyed due to the startling message it was broadcasting: a desire for peace, true peace between the exiled Predacons and the Alliance.

"The ship was detained until an envoy from the Alliance could get there. The diplomat arrived skeptical and suspicious of the Preds true intentions, but the leader of the Predacon ship was earnest, charismatic and practically radiated sincerity.

"His name was Ganitron and he claimed to be a representative from the exiled Predacon colonies. He said his government was tired of the bad blood that still existed between the Maximals and their kind, and that the truce was nothing but a stopgap measure, a temporary solution to a millennia-old problem.

"The only true way to end the animosity between the Predacons and the Maximals was reconciliation. He had come to negotiate for the reopening of communications between the Predacons and Cybertron, as well as the gradual introduction of trade between the two territories. But, most importantly, he claimed he was there to plea for the exiles' return to Cybertron. They wanted to join the Alliance.

"The ship was sent back to its colony worlds and cautious negotiations continued via remote transmission. The parley between our respective governments was highly classified, but as what often happens with such things, the word got out.

"You can imagine the uproar this bit of information stirred throughout the Alliance. The Councils did their best to downplay the issue and calm the populace, but this seemed to only add fuel to the fire. Lobbyists both for and against the union picketed the Alliance Headquarters, riots broke out almost daily and the name 'Ganitron' seemed to be on everyone's lips. Some people believed he was a Judas goat; someone who would lead us all to slaughter with his pretty words and lofty promises. Others, however, regarded him as a visionary destined to bring about a true Golden Age for all our people.

"I don't know for sure, but I believe it was the intense public pressure from both these groups that finally forced the Alliance's hand. Under ordinary circumstances it might have taken over a decade to make any headway, but as such it was only two years later that the Councils agreed to meet in person with Ganitron and his followers.

"The parley was to take place on the barren planet of Feyl, whose tri-starred system was located almost exactly in the middle of the Predacon and the Maximal-Terran Alliance borders. Leaders from all three powers agreed to meet in a geosynchronous orbit above Feyl's atmosphere, bringing only essential personnel. All ships were to be unarmed.

"All in all, six Terran and Maximal delegates met with Ganitron and two other Predacon leaders. Apparently the alliance proposal, despite Ganitron's claims to the contrary, was a severe bone of contention among the Predacon Coalition and its people, and these two bots were the only ones in power willing to stick their necks so far out for Ganitron's cause."

Voice already growing hoarse from the telling, Dierdre cleared her throat. "The negotiations had been going on for only a few hours before disaster struck. In the middle of a video conference, and with virtually no warning, Ganitron's ship sent out a pulse of energy that radiated quickly outward, washing over every other ship in the system. Some of the ships were able to activate shields before the pulse reached them, but it punched through their defenses as if they didn't exist.

"Three squadrons of Alliance fighter pilots, left on the outskirts of the system as a precautionary measure, quickly surrounded Ganitron's ship and opened fire. They were only able to get a few shots in, however, before something went terribly wrong. One by one, vital systems within both the fighter and delegation ships began to shut down. Everyone, human and Maximal alike, worked frantically to restore power to their ships' failing equipment, but it proved futile; the Energon every ship used for power had been rendered inert, as useless to the ships' systems as water.

"Within the space of a few minutes most of the little fighter ships were drifting through space like so much scrap metal. The delegates' ships were much bigger and so it took longer, but since their engines were one of the first things to go they were unable to flee. They were forced to watch as their ship died a piece at a time, until they were rendered powerless, floating helplessly alongside the stricken Predacon leaders' ships.

"Ganitron didn't give the human passengers and crew time to suffocate from lack of life-support, however. Moments after the ships were completely disabled a fleet of Predacon warships entered the solar system and opened fire. It was a slaughter."

Dierdre grimaced slightly at that last sentence, a memory of old pain flickering for a moment behind her eyes. "My mother was a secretary for one of the Maximal delegates. She was killed during what later became known as the Feylian Massacre." Shaking her head, she quickly composed herself before continuing, "It turns out Ganitron really was acting under the orders of the Predacon Coalition's High Council, but instead of peace talks the Feylian rendezvous was really an opportunity to field test their latest invention… and a chance to weed out those within their government who might have opposed their campaign."

"The plan worked wonderfully in most respects, but the Predacon High Council made one mistake; the two Predacon leaders who were killed were popular with certain factions in the Coalition. Soon after the Massacre some of those factions defected over to the Alliance." She grinned then, and there was a trace of real humor behind her smile. "We got some damn fine soldiers and military strategists out of that deal."

The woman spread her hands and shrugged. "There's not much else to tell. The Alliance has been at war for nearly a quarter century, and it's proven to be one of the worst in our respective histories. We have the advantage of numbers even now, but this new Predacon weapon has been installed into nearly every warship they possess. This device takes a while to generate enough power to activate, so if we can quickly take out the warships we stand a chance of winning against the smaller fighters. If not, we die. Our scientists have done their best to counter this new technology, but so far nothing they've tried has proven consistently effective." She sighed lowly. "To be frank, Optimus; we're losing.

"That's why my government sent my squadron behind enemy lines; to infiltrate the Predacon's top military installation and steal the blueprints to the Predacon's null device. At great cost to ourselves we succeeded in hacking into the station's master computer and stealing the plans. We encoded them within the disk in the hopes of preventing anyone else from obtaining such a powerful weapon." She fiddled absently with her braid, and for the first time since she began her tale, looked at Optimus directly. Her expression was eloquent. "That disk is now three million years in the past, in the hands of someone who has taken the name of the most dangerous Decepticon in history."

Tale finally completed, Dierdre sat back in her seat and coughed, wishing absently for water. Optimus sat unmoving behind his desk, wrapped in that utter stillness some Transformers can achieve when they're processing information, as if they would disappear if you turned your attention away for an instant.

Finally, he sighed, and sense of life once again filled him. "I know you took a great risk in telling me what you have," he said levelly. "Thank you for trusting me."

She nodded and smiled sadly, almost regretfully. "Instead of you thanking me, Optimus, I feel like I owe you an apology. It is entirely possible that you will escape this time and live to witness the events I just described… and if you keep your word to me you will be unable to prevent any of it. That's a terrible burden to bear."

"I am beginning to realize that," he said quietly. He fell silent for a moment, then gave her a thoughtful look. "I have a question. I know it's against protocol, but why wouldn't you, personally, want me to tell my government all this? With forewarning so much suffering could be prevented."

It was an important question, so she answered carefully. "I'm not sure if the future can be changed, but if it could and your Council of Elders was to believe you, it could prevent a lot of sorrow. However, in so doing it would also eliminate what good has come out of this mess. The war has brought humans and Maximals closer together in a few short years than two centuries of peace were able to accomplish. And if the Feylian Massacre had never taken place the Liberator Predacons would never have defected to our side, depriving us of some of the finest military minds we've ever had. If we win this war, the Alliance will be the stronger for what it has been through."

She paused and took a deep breath. "On a more personal level, everything that's happened since the war began --both good and bad-- have shaped me into the person I am today. If the future were to be changed I would alter with it… and I wouldn't be me anymore. The things I've done, the people I've met, it would all be gone. And who knows what kind of person I might turn out to be?" She shivered involuntarily. "The idea is disquieting."

Optimus dipped his head in appreciation of her honesty as she fell quiet once again; any lingering doubts about the promise he'd made quickly fading. Considering the magnitude of what he had just learned, however --the very idea of Megatron with such a powerful weapon left him feeling cold-- he decided it was high time for a subject change. "So we've established why Megatron can't be allowed to keep the disk, now we've just got to figure out how. Any ideas?"

Dierdre smiled slightly. Scooting forward, she propped her arms up on the desk and said, "I have a few."

"Well, you've managed to quite thoroughly trash our computers," Tarantulas sardonically observed, his tri-fingered hands moving with blurring speed over his laptop's keypad. The computer with its self-contained energy source had been one of the only things to survive the sudden blackout, and Tarantulas --who had protected it with every virus blocker and firewall he could find or invent before cautiously hooking it into the main computer-- intended to keep it that way. The precautions he had taken were working well so far, and so he was able to get a glimpse of the virus and the effect it was having on the Darkside's computers with little worry of infection.

After a few busy minutes of typing and surreptitious observation, the Predacon scientist spoke again. "Mmm…Incredible! I've studied just about every virus ever catalogued in Cybertron's Great Library, but I've never heard of this one before. The coding isn't even in a language I recognize." Tarantulas swiveled around in his seat and gave his seething leader a piercing look. "Why, Megatron, what have you been up to?"

"Never mind that," Megatron gritted. His hand tightened involuntarily over the secret compartment in the arm of his chair, in which the damnable cause of this whole mess had been hastily stored. "Can you restore operation to our base?"

Tarantulas looked mildly insulted. "Of course I can. Your virus hasn't wiped the mainframe, but merely overloaded it and forced a system-wide shutdown. Just give me a few mega-cycles and some privacy so I can concentrate, and I'll soon purge your little mistake from Darkside's mainframe and repair the damage it caused."

"Good. I suggest you start now," he said with barely restrained patience. This had not been a good day, and he found himself secretly grateful that he had already ordered the others out of the base on watch for Maximals. Without the presence of an audience, it was just barely possible that Tarantulas might get on with his job with no more than this token show of smugness

"All in good time," the scientist sniggered, leaning back and propping his feet against one of the darkened consoles. "Right after you tell me just what stupidity you were performing to unleash such a nasty surprise." Apparently he was determined to test his leader's sanity after all.

Megatron's temper snapped, and his optics narrowed to thin slits of ruby fire in the dim light. Bad enough that he had been forced to call Tarantulas in from his private lair and recruit his help, but having the accursed arachnid mocking him so blatantly was intolerable! Perhaps the fool needed a reminder…

With a speed that seemed impossible for one his size, Megatron pushed off from his throne and landed smoothly on the deck. Tarantulas was skilled in the art of combat and quite fast in his own right, but nevertheless he had barely begun to straighten in his seat before a powerful hand encircled his throat in an almost crushing grip, pulling him from his chair and hoisting him bodily over the edge of the platform. He instantly stopped struggling as he felt the heat radiating from the liquid rock below and allowed himself to hang limply, only the spasmodic clutching of his hands on Megatron's arm betraying his apprehension. It was possible that his new Transmetal form would survive even that kind of blistering heat, but he had no desire to test out the theory in such a potentially permanent way.

"I would suggest that you remember to whom you are speaking," Megatron began, his even tones belying the rage in his crimson optics, "And do not presume that your skills render you immune to my wrath. If you continue with your inane banter, rest assured that I will gladly terminate you and find some other way to repair my ship." He tightened his grip and felt the metal beneath his hand begin to give way with a high-pitched squeal of protest. "Do you understand me, Tarantulas?"

"Implicitly," came the choked reply.

"Excellent." With that, he tossed the arachnid back into his abandoned seat with a careless flick of his wrist. As Tarantulas crumpled forward, clutching at his throat, he said, "Now get to work."

A damage report began to trickle down his vision as he listened to Megatron's heavy footsteps recede down the central corridor, leaving him with his asked-for privacy. "Slag you," he finally rasped, his voice echoing strangely in the utter stillness of the Battle Bridge, "You'll pay for that."

"Aw, man! What'd I ever do ta deserve this?"

Dierdre grimaced as Rattrap drove heedlessly over the rocky terrain, not seeming to know or care that his breakneck pace was jarring his hapless passenger mercilessly and pelting her with an endless rain of flung gravel. Gritting her teeth to keep from biting through her tongue, she spoke jerkily, "This isn't exactly a picnic for me either, Rattrap."

Rattrap huffed. "Like ya got any room ta complain. I'm the one haulin' yer fleshy carcass around like a sack ah lug nuts!"

This was, of course, an exaggeration. Dierdre was no burden --even with the addition of her armor he could barely feel her weight on his back-- but Rattrap was not in the mood to be anything but snippy. That blasted ape had done it again! He wasn't quite sure how he had let himself be talked into this mess, but nevertheless here he was, about to infiltrate the Predacon base for what seemed the umpteenth time. Da Preds should just install a revolvin' door an' be done with it, he thought sourly.

"An' I still don't see why ya can't just transport us straight inta the base," he continued grumpily, more out of a desire to distract himself from thoughts of the coming festivities than out of any real incomprehension. The Preds had to know that they would try something like this, and despite the plan Optimus and Dierdre devised, he was certain he would be looking down the wrong end of a laser pistol before the night was over.

Ah, slaggit all. At least this time he had company…

"Unlike you, Rattra-" her words cut off as Rattrap swerved sharply to avoid a large pothole, looming suddenly out of the darkness, "-I've never been in the Predacon base before. I need to be able to visualize the place clearly in my mind before I transport, otherwise I'm blind-flying." With her eyes narrowed against the tossed stone chips and hands locked in a death-grip around one of Rattrap's spinal ridges, she smiled tightly. "And unless you have a burning desire to be molecularly bonded with a bulkhead, I wouldn't recommend it."

"Heh… I think I'll pass."

A sudden rumble from overhead drowned out Dierdre's snort of amusement. She glanced up at the cloud-obscured sky just in time for the first fat drops of rain to splash wetly against her cheeks. Of course, she thought with mild annoyance, NOW it rains.

Optimus and Dierdre had outlined their plans with the rest of the Maximals several hours previously, and although it took quite a few minutes of patient explanation and carefully edited information, the others had all finally agreed: the disk must not remain with Megatron any longer. They had waited until nightfall before departing for the Predacon base, with Rattrap and Dierdre taking a more circuitous path to give the others time to get into position.

The duo had made good time despite the scenic route and should arrive at their destination right on schedule, although this knowledge did little to improve Dierdre's mood. The night had barely begun and already she was tired from lack of sleep, sore from the bumpy ride and in the process of getting quite thoroughly soaked. Not a good start to what promised to be a perilous mission, in her opinion.

The rain was beginning to sheet down in earnest when Rattrap slowed his breakneck pace and coasted to a standstill. "This is our stop, sista. We hoof it from here."

Dierdre climbed stiffly off the Transmetal's back and stretched gratefully as Rattrap transformed in a flurry of water droplets. Pushing errant strands of wet hair away from her face, she began walking briskly with Rattrap leading a pace ahead. Any discomfort was forgotten as she concentrated on keeping her footing on the treacherous terrain, whose wet, rocky ground seemed designed to turn the heel of an incautious biped. A twisted ankle was the last thing she needed right now.

They trudged on in silence for several long cycles before Dierdre began to notice a change in the landscape. The boulder and pebble-strewn ground had gradually given way beneath her metal boots to a vast expanse of strangely fluid black rock, an ancient remnant of magma flow. It soon became apparent that all volcanic activity had not ceased, however, for the air grew noticeably warmer and the drizzling clouds above had taken on a reddish hue. Soon the first tendrils of lava became visible, etched into the dark earth like fine latticework and steaming faintly from the rain.

As the tiny rivers of molten rock grew wider and increasingly more difficult to avoid, Dierdre became aware that it was growing harder to breathe. The faint, shivery burn in her lungs as she inhaled told her the oxygen was growing thin and rapidly being replaced by noxious volcanic fumes. She was in no danger of asphyxiation yet, but…

Dierdre indulged in her emotions long enough to glare briefly at Rattrap's back. He seemed completely unaffected by the deleterious atmosphere, once again giving her cause to envy Transformer resiliency. Her Shield would be able to filter out most of the gasses and allow her to breathe easier, but she dared not activate it unless the faint glow should alert any sharp-eyed Predacon to their presence. Shaking her head, the human resolutely kept moving. She would just have to endure.

So focused was she in picking her way safely over the lava flow --and forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly to keep from panting in the thin air like an overheated dog-- that she nearly collided with Rattrap when he came to an abrupt halt in front of her. He shot her a dirty look before ducking behind one of the giant spurs of rock which jutted inexplicably from the ground ahead. She followed quickly into its shadow.

Peaking around its broad expanse, she caught her first true glimpse of the Predacon base. The enemy ship squatted like a Salamander in what appeared to be the exact center of the magma field, rivers of molten rock radiating outward like the arms of a starfish. It seemed that only a twist of fate had allowed the ship to crash in such a way that it speared itself on a rock spur and crushed against another, pinning most of it above the flow. Only its belly had been seared by one of the lethal rivers, no doubt turning the lower levels into a lake of molten rock.

Watching as the rain ricocheted off its darkened hull, creating a shimmering halo of reflected orange light around the ship and making it seem almost alive, Dierdre suppressed a shiver. Although she knew it was a ridiculous comparison, the Predacon base looked for all the world like the very entrance to the Torments.

She shook her head in amazement. Sweet Infinity, we're going in there?

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, for Rattrap smirked. "Ya think it looks bad on da outside, wait 'till we bust in. It gets even betta'."

"Oh, good," she said with false cheer. Wiping rainwater out of her eyes, she squinted against the darkness. Although her night vision was excellent and aided further by faint light thrown up from the volcanic flow, the ship was still distant enough that she was unable to make out any real detail.

Detaching her scanner from her hip and activating it, she peered down at the tiny screen. A quick scan revealed a Predacon energy signature several hundred yards ahead of the duo, apparently guarding the aft of the base from any attackers. "Rattrap, who is that?"

The Transmetal glanced around their hiding place and retreated back into its shadow before giving her a curious look. "Ya mean ya can't tell?"

She shrugged. "My eyesight is as good as genetic engineering could make it, but it's still not up to par with Transformer optics."

Rattrap snorted in something like scorn, but answered readily enough. "It's Quickstrike."

Nodding, she reattached the scanner to her hip and crossed her arms. Leaning against the stone, she hunched her shoulders against the rain and watched as Rattrap settled himself in much the same fashion. All they could do now was wait.

Fortunately for their nerves, they didn't have to wait long. No more than five cycles had passed before they heard the first faint sounds of discharging weaponry. Optimus and the others had begun their diversion.

Rattrap and Dierdre looked just in time for the human to catch a flash of movement against the base's metallic hide as Quickstrike darted around the hull, apparently eager to get a piece of the action taking place at the fore of the ship. As the sounds of pitched battle grew in intensity --the percussive whine of artillery now accompanied by battle cries and abortive screams of pain-- they drew their weapons. "That's our cue," Dierdre said grimly.

"'Fraid so." Sighing theatrically, Rattrap cocked his weapon. "We're all gonna die."

The unexpected comment surprised a grin out of Dierdre. "It's possible."

He grimaced as Dierdre crouched down in a sprinter's stance, gun clutched firmly in one hand, her red braid draped across one shoulder and dripping water in a steady stream. Copying her motion, he fixed his optics on the distant target ahead of them; a small fissure in the Darkside's rear hull, long ago patched and welded shut, which would provide them access to the interior of the ship. "You're not supposed ta agree wit' me," he replied dryly.

"So you want to live forever?" she asked, her eyes alight with humor.

"Dunno. Ask me again in five hundred years."

With Dierdre's answering chuckle still reverberating in Rattrap's audios, he surged forward. Weaving through the snaking lava streams at a pace that would have been terrifying had they time to think of it, human and Transformer ran side by side in a silent ground-eating lope, heading for the Predacon base… and the prize that lay within.