The Veiled Threat

  Unhappily, Salvage had proven a much worthier opponent than they had anticipated. With the other half of him not only still engaged but finding himself under serious assault, it was all Tread could do to fend off Ironhide’s unrelenting attack.

  “I’ve maintained this multiple missile launcher in excellent working condition, don’t you think?” The big Autobot released a serial blast from the weapon in question that sent the increasingly apprehensive Decepticon reeling in retreat. “And this cannon—it’s a personal favorite of mine.” A heavy shell exploded against Tread’s left side, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Then there is the two-thousand-round-per-minute minigun. I invite you to listen to its music.” Hundreds of slugs pounded the Decepticon’s body from head to foot, forcing him to throw up his arms to shield his vulnerable optics.

  He would not be able to sustain this kind of mauling for much longer, he knew. Intimately linked to Trample, he could tell that his other half was also in desperate difficulty. Something had to be done, and done quickly.

  Salvation presented itself in the form of an insect.

  The human female was running directly toward him. Unable to believe his good fortune, Tread drew himself up and unleashed every weapon in his arsenal. The unexpectedly fierce barrage temporarily sent the oncoming Ironhide stumbling backward. The big Autobot was taken by surprise, but scarcely damaged.

  By the time he recovered, Tread had reached out to sweep up the oncoming human in one metal hand. He was careful not to crush it. Having been informed how foolishly, not to mention irrationally, the Autobots valued individual human lives, Tread fully intended to make use of the one that had fallen so fortuitously and literally into his hands. He held the small figure out in front of him. Seeing Kaminari trapped in the Decepticon’s grasp, Ironhide immediately halted his advance and ceased firing.

  “It’s true, then.” Relief swept through Tread. If not victory, then at least a standoff might yet be salvaged from this encounter. “You will not allow humans to be killed!”

  Smoke rising from the muzzles of his multiple weapons, Ironhide glared across the red ground at his opponent. “There has been some discussion on this particular matter between myself and Optimus. From a strategic standpoint I find the admonition annoying.” He continued to study his enemy intently, searching for but not finding a line of attack that would allow him to shoot without endangering the Decepticon’s prisoner. “However, in the end I agree that we are morally obligated to always protect and defend those who have risked so much on our behalf.”

  “The more fools you, then.” Holding the human close to him, Tread began to back away. If he could reunite with his sorely pressed other half, they could make use of the human prisoner to negotiate their safe retreat. Next time he and Ironhide met, he vowed silently, it would be with sufficient strength to take down the Autobot and dismember him piece by piece.

  A sudden surge of pain shot through him. He staggered. It was the mutual awareness of another Decepticon’s Spark going out: one that was more intimately linked to his own than any other. Trample was—dead. All the more imperative, then, that he make his escape to fight again another day. To enjoin his revenge. Humans had assisted in Trample’s demise. Now it would be one of them who would enable Tread’s flight.

  “I will see you again, Ironhide. There will be a reckoning for the death dealt this day.”

  “Let the human go.” The Autobot took a step forward. As he did so, Tread raised the hand holding the small creature.

  “Keep your distance, or I will crush it until its internal lubricants leak out onto this ground!”

  “Excuse me.” The voice that spoke was calm and composed.

  The preoccupied Decepticon barely glanced at his prisoner. “Silence! You are not a party to these negotiations, insect!”

  “I beg to differ.” Reaching over her right shoulder, in one single smooth motion Kaminari grabbed her EMP gun, brought it forward, and fired. The pulse made contact with Tread’s left eye.

  Letting out an electronic squeal, the Decepticon released her as he staggered backward and clutched at the affected optic. The effect was comparable to a human getting hit with pepper spray. Freed from his grasp, the tumbling Kaminari let out a grunt as she hit the ground, rolled, and sprang back onto her feet. She was preparing to attack again when something like a bipedal tank came pounding past her.

  When the dust finally began to clear, Tread was on the ground with Ironhide on top of him. The Autobot finished his work by firing a short-range missile point-blank into the Decepticon’s chest while throwing up his other hand to ward off the effects of the explosion. At such close range the detonation was powerful enough to extinguish any Spark. Rising to his full height, he contemplated the now unresponsive foe lying on the ground beneath him. Then he turned wordlessly away. A glance showed that neither Optimus nor Salvage needed his help. Lowering his head, he gazed down at the human standing fearlessly beside him.

  “You took a terrible chance, allowing Tread to pick you up like that.”

  Kaminari shrugged as she turned off and reslung her weapon. “I calculated the odds, reviewed what I have learned about the Decepticons, and came to the conclusion that it was a risk worth taking.”

  Ironhide crouched down beside her. “What if he had simply contracted his fingers?”

  She shrugged again. “ ‘To win a war, one must be prepared to take chances.’ Torawara, The Art of Close-Quarter Fighting, seventeenth century.” Her expression was unsmiling. “My grandfather would understand.”

  The Autobot weapons master nodded comprehendingly. “As do I. Still, what if he had not let you go? What if after you had shot him he had retained sufficient strength and presence of mind to throw you against the rocks instead of simply releasing you?”

  She looked away. “Then I might have died. Everyone dies, sooner or later.”

  “A truth well spoken. But the Sparks of your kind flicker so briefly. I would think you would be more protective of them.”

  “Humans are brave. Nobody said we’re sensible. The men in my family have been soldiers all the way back to the Meiji era. My grandfather wished for a grandson, to go into the army. Being a dutiful son in my culture, my father followed those wishes. But what he really wanted was to study physics. As I was an only child, my grandfather was terribly disappointed. Both in my father for only being able to sire a girl, and in me for having the temerity to be one. I studied traditional martial arts as hard as I could, but while I was doing so my father secretly encouraged me in my academic studies.” Reaching back, she touched her weapon.

  “So I can both fight and dispassionately analyze the physics of the action.”

  Looking around, she saw Lennox approaching. The captain slowed to a walk as he drew near. “I saw what you just did.” His gaze shifted to the motionless Tread. “It was reckless. Why didn’t you let Ironhide handle it by himself?”

  Her expression tightened. “We are allies of the Autobots. Not their wards. As they fight to protect us, we are obligated to fight to defend them.”

  “Tempting death is a lousy means of defense.”

  “Look at me.” Taking a wide stance, she put her hands on her hips. “Am I dead?”

  He turned away. “Forget it. It’s over and I already know there’s nothing to be gained by arguing with you.”

  He stepped away, turning his attention from her and back to the recent battlefield. Optimus was striding toward them while Salvage had changed shape nearby and sat with his engine idling.

  Lennox changed tack. “Right now we need to get in touch with NEST HQ and tell them what’s happened here.” Extending an arm, he indicated the torn-up ground in front of Ironhide. “This all has to be restored to something approaching its natural condition, the cut in the hillside and pit need to be filled in, and we need to get some heavy-lift choppers in here to carry off the deceased. Can’t very well head back to Garcia and leave a bunch of dead Decepticons behind us.”

  “I’ll let you handle t
he details, Captain,” she told him. Pivoting on one heel, she walked off in the direction of the recumbent metal mass that had been Kickback, intent on inspecting the largest of the lifeless Decepticons. A thoroughly annoyed Lennox watched her go.

  “Your rituals,” Ironhide declared somberly, “are a never-ending source of fascination.”

  Lennox eyed him angrily. “She unnecessarily jeopardized her life, and therefore the special knowledge she can contribute to NEST.”

  Ironhide nodded in the direction of the dead Tread. “Unnecessarily maybe, but effectively.”

  An aggrieved Lennox shook his head in exasperation. “I might have guessed you would side with her. You’re both weapons-crazy, like Epps.” Turning, he watched as Kaminari Ishihara halted to inspect the motionless body of the deceased four-armed Decepticon. “I wish Epps was here.”

  “Ah,” rumbled Ironhide. “You miss the company of your fellow warrior.”

  “Hell no.” Lennox grimaced as he contemplated the long flight back to Diego Garcia that lay ahead of them. “I’d just like to borrow his iPod so I don’t have to listen to you and that woman babble on about strategy and physics all the way back to the middle of the Indian Ocean.”

  Security at Diego Garcia was of a level unknown anywhere else on Earth. In addition to the normal radar, motion sensors, security cameras, and underwater listening stations, the base had highly advanced Cybertronian security measures. The early-warning net extended out into the Indian Ocean. The beaches were lined with seismic sensors capable of picking up the slightest tremor, or the vibrations of underground excavation. Infrared beams crisscrossed the island. In short, a bunny couldn’t jump without the security staff knowing about it.

  The indigenous life on the atoll was limited primarily to insects and crabs, with the odd colony of rats finding homes along the wharf. There were still domestic donkeys wandering about, leftovers from the old plantations that had existed here. But with the help of Ratchet, the security personnel had come to recognize the heat signature of these beasts, and that led to significantly fewer false alarms.

  The most bizarre natural occurrence on the atoll was the general infestation of red crabs. These small creatures would show up anywhere, at any time: in showers, in the laundry, scuttling across the road. It took some getting used to. The creatures were so common that base personnel simply came to ignore their very existence, except in the case when physical intervention (such as removing a crab from one’s bed at night) was necessary.

  The ubiquitous nature of these crabs rendered them virtually invisible. So it was not surprising that no one noticed, and no security measure picked up, the solitary red crab crawl from the sea, up the beach, over the access road, and to the fence of the military compound.

  There was no moon that night. It would take an exceptionally alert human to notice that this particular red crab moved with an intent of purpose rarely seen in these meandering creatures. That human, had he or she been present at this moment, might have paused to take a closer look, upon which he or she might have noticed a peculiar metallic sheen to this individual crab. And the observation of another minute would have removed all doubt. But there was no such human walking by at that moment, and the base rested easily at standard alert.

  Unfolding a number of small but sensitive antennas, the crab spy was able to determine that several of the buildings on the other side of the fence housed electronic storage components that, while primitive, might provide the information he sought.

  There were guards, of course. Their presence pleased the spy. Had there been no guards, he would have been forced to assume that there was nothing inside worth guarding.

  Though he could easily have taken them down, he had no intention of revealing his presence by initiating a confrontation. Searching along the fence’s perimeter, he eventually found a place where a quartet of large PVC pipes exited. The fence around them was sealed, of course, and the wire itself charged and monitored. Any breach in the barrier would doubtless set off alarms within the protected compound.

  Folding down his tracking antennas, he transformed one arm into a gun. Having detected the presence of water within the second of the large conduits, the Decepticon employed the weapon’s beam to cut a hole in the pipe large enough to admit him. Clambering inside, he headed up the pipe in the direction of the compound. At this time of night the gurgling rush of waste liquid was slight. The gentle current did not impede his progress, and he was indifferent to the smell.

  Coming to a halt inside a building deep within the complex, he first scanned for indications of adjacent human presence. Determining that the area around his immediate location was clear, he forced an exit by popping a valve. Once outside the conduit he activated his weapon again and resealed the plastic surface behind him, marking its location for future use.

  The hallway he entered was well lit but otherwise deserted. Unfolding his antennas again, he hurried in the direction indicated by his tracking signal. A secure metal door barred his path. Its coded lock quickly gave up its secrets to his ultrafast scan and admitted him into a room filled with storage servers and other primitive human computational facilities. It was at present empty of organic life, which suited the spy perfectly. Isolating the most likely console to be easily accessible, he proceeded to change shape.

  Animated wires and connectors snaked outward like slender tentacles from a body that was very much like Frenzy’s, only smaller. Jacking into open ports or working their way past inadequate protective panels, they were soon sucking up reams of information and sending them back to the eager, energized intruder. The humans’ prehistoric excuse for cybernetic geometry allowed him to initiate hacks that were simple and quick. In the silence of the room the spy continued to download a wealth of information. Whether any of it was valuable could be determined later. The important thing now was to acquire and depart. It was his job to amass, not analyze.

  With the first successful hack, alarms went off in two different places on the base. One flared to life within the complex the spy had successfully infiltrated. The other lit up lights and sounded a warning deep inside an island on the opposite side of the lagoon.

  Blinking away sleep, a graveyard shift tech for NEST put aside the magazine he had been perusing, sat up straight, and gaped at the impossible reading that was beginning to appear on the monitor in front of him. Still half asleep, the technician knew there were only a few suitable personnel with whom he could consult about such a reading. Together with the key NEST operatives Kaminari Ishihara and Captain Lennox, Optimus Prime, Ironhide, and Salvage were somewhere in far northwestern Australia, while Technical Sergeant Epps and the Russian scientist Petr Andronov were busy hunting Decepticons deep in eastern Peru in the company of Longarm and Knockout.

  The tech weighed his remaining options. Among Autobot allies only the injured Ratchet and a few recent arrivals were presently on station at Diego Garcia, and there were no humans on the base who’d had personal contact with Decepticons. He studied the readout on his screen more closely. There was nothing to indicate that this constituted an incursion by the Decepticons.

  His initial anxiety gave way to curiosity and a calm professionalism. Every other alarm (and there were many) remained silent. There was only the single interrupt, and according to the alert it was occurring at the server station for the main military base across the lagoon. Though some unavoidable exchange of information took place between the base servers and NEST, the latter’s essential information was isolated by the best firewalls humans and Autobots working together could devise. He allowed himself to relax.

  Surely it wouldn’t hurt to wait a couple of minutes. If the interrupt continued, then he would assume the responsibility of rousing his superiors and alerting them to its existence. If it went away, he could reasonably assume that the problem had been resolved by those charged with handling such matters: his counterparts across the lagoon. The cause of the alarm interrupt might be nothing more than a software failure or an electrical faul
t. Or they might be running a test over there. If he set off the technical equivalent of a fire alarm and it turned out that nothing was amiss, he would never live it down.

  Sure enough, only a moment or so later the interrupt cleared and server integrity was fully restored. He smiled to himself and picked up his half-finished magazine. In a crisis the kudos are reserved for the one who doesn’t panic. Maybe tomorrow he would get in touch with his opposite numbers across the lagoon and learn the details.

  The service technician who burst into the server room was accompanied by two armed soldiers. Unlike his unperturbed colleague who was presently unwinding across the water, this tech specialist was anything but relaxed. Behind him, the two armed guards headed in opposite directions so that if necessary they could bathe the entire room in a withering crossfire. As they hurried into position the tech tentatively approached the console from which the distress call had been sent. That alarm was silent now, but moments earlier it had been very real.

  Something had happened in this room. An incident had occurred. Though its duration had only been a couple of minutes, the tech was determined to learn what had caused it. Unable to satisfactorily resolve the inherent contradictions by using his own console in another part of the complex, he had commandeered the two soldiers on his personal authority.

  Search scopes panned back and forth across the server chamber but found nothing. Neither did the tech as he approached the console whose integrity not one but two alarms had assured him had been violated.

  He checked the panels, one after another. Telltales glowed according to programming; lights were dim, off, or flashing as required. Everything appeared to be in working order, nothing seemed to have been disturbed.

  Was that a screw missing?

  Peering closer, it was impossible to tell if the cover above one particularly sensitive section had been disturbed. But if that was the case, then who had done the disturbing? Looking behind him, he checked the positions of the two soldiers. One gestured positively, then the other. The server room was clear. But the missing screw and the possibly dislodged security panel continued to unsettle the technician. He hesitated, ruminating on what he had not found.