Chapter 18
Thank you to everyone who's stuck with this story from the beginning to now. We have come to the endgame, and few chapters remain.
Last time, on "Survival":
"You Metamorphosed too? We're Cocoon Buddies!"
"The Sparkeaters have one weakness."
"Congratulations: you are the first person to survive a Sparkeater attack."
"Something smashed through the airlock!"
"Isn't one dead father enough?"
Colony 21186D: J-deck, human living quarters
Evacuating J-deck was easier said than done. Given that the human population of Storm Front numbered in the thousands, it was physically impossible for the Wreckers to oversee everyone.
The colony militia stepped in to guide the frightened inhabitants through checkpoints, scans, and containment fields. Energy shields had been activated at every junction and lift from the lowest deck to G-deck. The worried humans whispered quietly amongst themselves as they were herded into tunnels leading the the Hub bunkers, but on the whole they were oddly silent. An air of foreboding had fallen upon all; children clung silently to their parents, and the heads of individual families could be heard making continuous headcounts.
There were fewer Cybertronians, but they were at greater risk, for their living quarters were one deck closer to the breached airlock. Smokescreen knocked on a door, blaster drawn nervously. A young mech, close to Hot Shot's age, peered out cautiously.
"There's been a hull breach," Smokescreen said in as official a tone as he could manage, "Everyone is being evacuated to the Central Hub, by order of the Primes."
Behind the young mech, a very old Seeker shuffled forward. "Sparkeaters," he said grimly.
As he had in the inn on Eden, Jetstorm scoffed at the idea. "Grandsire, there are no such things!"
"Wrong." Smokescreen perhaps should not have been so blunt, but he couldn't help but feel they were running out of time.
Jetstorm seemed to pale, and he took his grandsire's arm.
"Let's go," he gulped, and joined the ever-growing exodus from the living quarters. Hot Shot rolled up to Smokescreen and transformed.
"That's everyone on this corridor," he confirmed, "How many more?"
A quick com to Magnus answered the question. "That's three halls done, twenty-nine to go."
The blue and red Wrecker fussed with his visor-a nervous habit. Smokescreen pitied him: Hot Shot had not fought in the Wars for Cybertron and Earth, he had never waited on the edge of a battle before.
The older Wrecker smiled. "Bet you I can get 'Bots out twice as fast as you can!" he challenged.
"You're on!"
Colony 21186D: engineering
Overall, being a mechanic on the Storm Front was not a very demanding job. The floating colony practically flew herself, which made mechanical errors an anomaly and cause for concern.
"Hey Verne," a bird-shaped Cybaartarian frowned down at her console, "Do the internal temperatures of the sublight-drive chambers look a little off to you?"
Verne, a grizzly of a man with a bushy red beard and an oil-stained uniform, strode over to the screen. "Well I'll be! They surely do," he exclaimed. He turned to a man running scans of the life support systems.
"Pete, take a couple guys and make sure the drives aren't damaged: the cold might interfere with the instruments from here. Kestrel," he indicated the bird-like femme, "You work on getting temperatures back where they need to be."
With a sigh, Pete pushed his chair away from his desk and trudged to the door. Oddly, it had a difficult time opening after he swiped his keycard. Pete scowled and swiped the card a few more times. At last, the door opened a crack and he could see what was blocking it.
"What is this stuff?!" Pete gagged, stepping back. Viscous strands of translucent white matter stretched across the doorway, trapping them in Engineering.
"I have a bad feeling about this," the mechanic muttered.
They were the last words he ever spoke.
Out of the dark spaces between the sticky barriers a segmented appendage snaked through and wrapped around Pete's throat. He gurgled in dismay, and was dragged out through the web. Verne cried out in horror and dashed to shut the door.
As he coded the lock and Kestrel commed for aid, he caught a brief impression of cruel faceplates and needle-sharp teeth attached to a bloated, ungainly body.
"Come in, anyone! Someone answer!" Kestrel pleaded on an open hailing frequency, "There are ...Things down here. One of them just got Pete! We're stuck in Engineering, send help!" She turned frightened optics to her comrades.
"What's going on?"
Colony 21186D: Central Hub, war room
"Captain, temperatures are dropping in Engineering!" Coron snapped, turning the monitor to face Centurion. He opened his mouth to answer, but he was interrupted by Petrovych.
"Captain! One of the containment fields on H-deck is being tested!" The large man transferred the data to Justin's computer, where the technician perused it quickly.
"Low level threat: whatever it is, it's just testing for weaknesses at this point," he confirmed.
"Sweet St. Genevieve!" Centurion groaned.
He turned to Abigail. "Contact Optimus Prime about the hit on the shields, love. I'll call Megatronus about the temperature drop."
Across the room, Inoue leapt up from Endline's shoulder. "It's worse than a cold snap, sir," he cried, "Report just came in: Something's down there with them and it just grabbed one of the engineers."
A thought occurred to Endline, and a chill ran down her back struts. If the creatures got into the Engineering chambers, would they be able to shut off the life support system? She began to worry more than ever for the safety of her family.
Colony 21186D: Central Hub, emergency bunkers
It could not be said that the Storm Front was not equipped for emergencies. The emergency bunkers could have held twice as many people as were crowded together now. June enlisted the help of the H-deck evacuees to set up a temporary clinic for all the patients who had been unceremoniously relocated. Sunstorm waited at the multi-layered doors, ushering in stragglers. Ramjet stood at his side, daggers drawn.
Slipstream was attempting to coach Windblade through the basics of using an equipped weapon. "Maybe you knew all about your scattershot cannon as a human," she said urgently, "but you've never had to summon it out of your own arm before!"
Over and over, Miko summoned and dismissed the gun, getting used to the procedure and the feel of it. She didn't miss the way Slipstream's wings sagged with relief when Jetfire and Jetstorm made it into the shelter.
"Your crush?" she asked coyly. The Seeker femme flushed and shoved Windblade playfully.
"What? No! I mean, I don't think so, I mean..." She hunched her shoulder guards at her friend's smug look. "How do you know if it's a crush anyway? He just makes me feel weird!" Slipstream complained.
Grateful for a way to distract her from the imminent danger, Miko engaged the other youngling in talk of boys and first crushes. Sitting some distance away, Jack ran his servos over a magnificent blade. It was a Cybertronian hand's-width wide, and four hands long. The runes for Family, Honor, Respect, Protection and Vengeance twisted and curled over the obsidian surface of the double-edged sword, and a stylized Phoenix (a symbol of a house once divided, now united) decorated the hilt. Helios marveled at the craftsmanship and remembered the shock of receiving it.
"Nephew," Megatronus turned his helm to look at the young mech even as he still held Slipstream in a gentle embrace.
Helios moved forward as prompted by Optimus. Releasing the trembling femme, the Kaonian Prime drew from a sheath on his back a sword that seemed too small for his great talons.
"This is for you: may it serve you well." He said no more, but solemnly handed the blade to Helios, who took it reverently.
"Thank you, Uncle," he whispered.
He now held the shining black blade before him, determined to protect his family, no matter the cost.
Colony 21186D: lower decks
The cohort moved in near silence between the eerily abandoned junctions. The containment field flickered dimly over the punctured airlock, pale green against the stars. Arcee shivered involuntarily and primed her blaster. Optimus said nothing, but placed a comforting hand on her shoulder guard. Abruptly, Megatronus threw out an arm, barring their way. He pointed to a trail shining wetly on the steel floor, then signaled four of the Pred'akngard Elite to follow it. Cautiously, the others followed with weapons drawn.
Megatronus.
The Prime glanced over his shoulder. "What is it, Optimus?"
His brother raised an eyebrow. "I did not say anything." They followed the slime to another set of doors before he heard it again.
Megatronus.
He turned to glare at Optimus. "What?" he hissed. Again, the Prime looked at him strangely.
"Brother, I did not say anything."
The soldiers shared Optimus's confused expression, setting Megatronus on edge. Once more, the voice whispered,
Megatronus.
This time, something clicked in Megatronus's processor. With a hesitancy alien to the fearless mech, in his own spark he answered,
I am listening.
Strike.
One word, that's all it was, but Megatronus obeyed. Without thinking, he swung his blade down and to the left, meeting resistance in midair. There was an bloodcurdling shriek, and a congealed black substance began to ooze onto the floor. The creature's cloaking field faded away, revealing a nightmarish being.
It had a smooth, fanged, human-like faceplate attached to a bald, shining head, and its elongated neck was covered in a wrinkled, soft metal of some kind. What had once been powerful arms had atrophied into a pair of segmented pincer-like appendages, connected at the shoulder to a grossly bloated sac of a body devoid of armor. Two more sets of insectoid limbs completed the disturbing aberration.
"Dear Primus in the Allspark!" one of the soldiers gasped, "What is that thing?!"
"That, I fear, is a Sparkeater," Optimus uttered gravely.
Three of the four Elite Scouts met the team at the next junction.
Their leader saluted the Primes and quietly reported her findings. "There are six chambers ahead that have been sealed off from the rest of the ship by the unknown material. Scans show a high concentration of biotronic matter inside, as well as eleven identifiable enemy life signs."
Arcee frowned. "Did you get any thermal images?" the two-wheeler asked. Nodding, the lead scout sent Arcee and the Primes an internal data package containing the footage.
Through the steel doors, cold spots the same size and shape as the creature Megatronus had killed tended to hanging blobs with fading heat signatures. In some of the shots, there were recognizable spark signatures or heartbeats, but most of the sacs contained the same kind of energy as the Sparkeaters.
"They're making nests!" Arcee gasped. Optimus's servos tightened into fists as one weak heartbeat ceased altogether.
"Move out." he growled.
Colony 21186D: Central Hub, War Room
"Inoue, look!" Endline's urgent whisper was unheard by everyone but her partner.
Dean scrambled over the Cybertronian-sized console to peer over at the screen. "What is it?"
A sizable contact on the screen, slowly moving towards the emergency bunkers. Dean looked back at the rest of the crew, wholly occupied by the situation in Engineering.
"No solo missions," Endline warned, reading her friend like a book.
Inoue's face darkened. "Protocol doesn't apply here anymore. They've got kids guarding that shelter! They'll be massacred if someone doesn't get down there, and you know it!"
In response, Endline shouted over her shoulder, "Enemy life sign headed for the bunkers, Cap!"
Centurion launched himself out of his seat and checked the scans. "The others won't be able to get there in time!" he looked sick. "Endline, Inoue, go with Apollo and Petrovych: guard that door but do not engage the enemy!"
With a terse sign of understanding, Apollo held out a hand for his partner and dashed for the door, pausing only long enough to look Zettabyte in the optics for a moment. Endline and Dean soon followed.
Colony 21186D: Central Hub, emergency bunkers
June Darby was not a superstitious woman. She had never put any stock in throwing salt over one's shoulder, or crossing brooms in front of a door to ward off evil. Prophecy seemed a relic of the ancient past, and foresight relegated to fiction.
Still, June could not escape the feeling of oppression building around her heart. It began like an icicle in the pit of her stomach, and grew into a stifling horror, as if some invisible force was trying to crush her. Something evil was present. The healer clutched at her chest and sucked in a deep breath, trying to dissipate the sensation, but the crushing feeling remained.
"Jack!" June choked out, desperately trying not to panic.
An old man heard her strangled cry and hurried over. "You feel it too, don't you?" he said grimly. When June managed to sign an affirmative, the dark-skinned man wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"You never do get used to the presence of true evil," he sighed, comforting the panicking woman. He smiled down at her confidently. "That's why you learn to fight it. Don't worry young lady, the Advocate won't let you choke."
Suddenly, June could breathe again, and the heavy feeling left her. With a mysterious smile, the elder stood and moved on to comfort another terrified human.
Disoriented by the bizarre experience, June made her way to her son, who still sat staring at the door with drawn sword.
"Something's coming, Jack," his mother warned.
Helios stood immediately and signaled Windblade. The red youngling deployed her cannon and took aim at the blast doors. Taking their cue from her, the Trine positioned themselves closer and drew their own weapons. There came a wet thud from the other side, and the door shivered with the impact. Slipstream raised her chin defiantly and looked her brothers in the optics.
"No matter what comes through that door," she declared, "you stand together."
Stoically, five younglings armed with daggers, swords, and blasters stood ready to face the unknown.
Colony 21186D: Engineering
Having cleared the living quarters, Ultra Magnus and Wheeljack received the call from Optimus: bring grenades. The two raced down the corridors in vehicle mode. The closer to the bottom of the Storm Front they came, the darker it got.
Arcee met them at the end of a pitch-black antechamber and held a servo to her lips. She led them to the door of one of the six "nests" where several of the Elite were waiting. In a private glyph message, she shared her orders with the Wreckers. They were to wait for Megatronus's signal, and then detonate all six rooms. The damage to the ship would be grievous indeed, but the alternative was far worse.
Optimus and Arcee, in the meantime, would make their way to Engineering in an attempt to free the trapped mechanics and prevent the Sparkeaters from tampering with the life support systems. Optimus met them with battle-mask in place.
"Wheeljack, make certain that the charges will completely incinerate the hives: if even one Sparkeater survives, the consequences could be dire."
He passed them without another word and rolled out for Engineering at top speed, closely followed by Arcee. This time, they were prepared for what awaited them.
Arcee tossed a flare into the midst of the webbing, which hissed and squealed like a living thing, curling away from the light and leaving the door free. Uncanny voices gibbered and shrieked in outrage around them as they moved forward.
"Arcee!"
Optimus barely had time to warn the slender femme as a hidden form took a swipe at her unprotected backplates. Arcee hissed in pain, reaching back to feel the space where one of her winglets had once been. She had been able to dodge the draft of freezing air, protecting herself from worse injury, but the wound nevertheless leaked a small amount of energon.
None of the nebulous figures touched the Prime. Every time one came near enough to do any damage, the light of the Matrix sent them cowering to the shadows.
"Arcee, walk in front of me," Optimus murmured, "They have no love for the Matrix, it seems."
The injured femme stuck close to him, pointing her blasters at every flash of movement. Once inside the chamber, they were met by the sight of Verne hanging from the grip of a magnificent warrior.
Golden optics shone out of a noble faceplate, and sweeping metallic golden wings spread above him, seraph-like. It was only the stains of blood and energon upon his once-white armor that marred his beauty. He turned his winged helm slightly to face the newcomers.
"This one will not swear allegiance to me," he intoned in a musical voice. Verne struggled weakly and spat at the being holding him. It glanced down at the offending moisture emotionlessly.
"Humans," he clucked his tongue like an amused parent. "They can always be counted upon to rebel." The warrior tightened his grip with a sickening crack. Optimus and Arcee watched in horror as he carelessly tossed the body to the side and strolled casually towards them with a welcoming smile. "You, of course, will be wiser than he, I am certain."
He waved his bloody claws at the carnage around him and the webs at the door. "Tell me, what do you think of my work? I must say, I'm a little surprised that my children let you pass without mischief."
The angelic features formed an expression of pity upon noticing Arcee's missing winglet. "My dear lady! It seems they managed a little damage after all. If you'd like, I can heal that for you." He flashed a brilliant smile. "It would be no trouble at all."
He slid forward, one hand already outstretched. Then his servos came into contact with the light of the Matrix, and they burned. With a cry, he pulled away and a look of unadulterated hatred twisted his lovely features.
"Servants of Primus!" he hissed in a guttural tone. Suddenly, his golden wings appeared more as tarnished bronze, and his bright helm was filthy with rust. "What would ye with us?" Optimus stepped forward and drew the Star Saber from his back.
"Cease your war upon my peoples. It was Shockwave and Shockwave alone who was responsible for your condition and he has paid for it. Now you have chosen to pursue a path independent of him: you are fully capable of stopping this slaughter."
The mighty Prime's optics narrowed, and he pointed the Saber at the leader of the Sparkeaters. "You have demonstrated your intelligence clearly, therefore I ask you your name."
The demonic mech screeched as the light touched him, showing him every second to be more corrupted, more hideous than before.
"What right do you have to hunt my people? By the Allspark, you will answer me!" Optimus glared sternly down at the diminished figure-uglier, but no less deadly.
Loathing blazed in his optics as he croaked, "We...are...Daystar! ...You...will...die!"
Next time, on "Survival":
"Mercy on us! I think these things are hatching!"
"Helios! What happened?!"
"What could we possibly give to end this?"
"Me."
The leader of the Sparkeaters is, without doubt, the single most evil character I have ever written. Originally this chapter was going to be longer, but then I would have finished earlier than I intended.