Within lay enough industrial explosives to destroy a small city. Or reduce a basalt gorge to transportable rubble.
Gesturing with both hands, Macerator stepped aside. “After you.”
“No, no.” Payload waved one hand deferentially. “After you. The one who gains entrance always precedes.”
“As you wish.”
Anyone traveling down the southern part of the narrow island’s single-lane road of hard-packed coral rubble would hardly have looked twice at the motorcycle and tow truck parked side by side facing the open ocean. Workers from the main part of the atoll or from NEST itself often relaxed by taking short drives away from their respective work areas. While the inner lagoon at Diego Garcia offered quiet water, the ocean side was cooler and richer in sea life.
Had such visitors paused, however, they might have been puzzled to see that no one was snorkeling or diving in front of the parking area. No laughter drifted in on the Indian Ocean wind from picnickers enjoying a day off. No daytime idlers were visible beachcombing for sea glass or shells. The two vehicles sat by themselves, to all intents and purposes abandoned and alone. They were neither, of course. They had each other for company. A visitor might also have noted that no one sat behind the vehicle of the brawny tow truck, and that in defiance of normal motorcycle physics, the powerful two-wheeler somehow managed to remain upright without its kickstand deployed.
“I still don’t understand why we weren’t asked to accompany the expedition.” Seeking a temporary perch from which to watch for meandering crabs, a seagull settled down atop one of the motorcycle’s gleaming handlebars. A sharp blast from the bike’s horn sent it squawking seaward.
Longarm was amusing himself by alternately flashing his headlights at a feral cat. The cat would jump at high beam, retreat, then leap at the other, always falling back before making contact. This world was an endless banquet of fascinating organics, the Autobot mused, and in his personal opinion humans were not necessarily the most attractive ones.
“You heard what Optimus said. Sending all of us after Starscream might better ensure success, but if they fail to find him and another crisis should erupt while the bulk of our forces are occupied elsewhere, NEST must be able to draw on at least a minimum of Autobot strength to counter it.” The big towing arm swung sideways so that the tip of its heavy hook barely grazed the motorcycle’s seat. “That’s you and I here, Bumblebee elsewhere.”
“But why us? Salvage and Beachbreak are just as new to this world as we are. Why not have them stay behind?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure Optimus has his reasons. My lineage is longer than yours, Knockout, and if there’s one thing I know for a certainty, it’s that Optimus Prime always has his reasons. Keep in mind also that he knows this world and its dominant organic species better than anyone. We are no longer alone in this fight against Starscream and cannot act as if we are.”
“Humans. If not out of consideration for them and their ‘feelings,’ we could scour this world far more openly. We would already have found Starscream and dealt with him! If he is even on this world any longer.”
“Do not be so sure of yourself. Starscream’s cunning exceeds even his physical abilities. Furthermore, in his Earth guise he can travel farther and faster than any of us. It forces him to appear as himself when he touches ground, but it also gives him great range and the ability to conceal himself in many places.”
“I’d find him.” Coming to life with a roar, the motorcycle lofted an impressive fishtail of beach sand as it wheelied toward the water. At the last possible instant it spun around, kicking sand and dirt into the sea, and returned to rejoin the tow truck.
“You shouldn’t do that.” Longarm would have shaken his head had he been presenting one. “Even on this island across from the humans’ main base we’re not supposed to reveal ourselves or our abilities unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“What abilities?” Knockout flashed his headlight. “I haven’t altered my appearance.”
“No, but there is no driver on your seat. It is not normal for human vehicles to move about under their own power without a guiding human on board. When we are out like this, even on the island that is headquarters for NEST, we need to be careful not to draw attention to ourselves.”
Knockout rumbled sullenly. “So much time spent underground. Nowhere to explore. I chose this guise for its aesthetics and mobility, but also because it can cover long distances at high speed. I want to make use of it, not be strangled by it.”
“As long as there are Decepticons to worry about, we must restrict our activities and our actions.” Longarm spoke sternly to his compatriot. “Our other objective is to protect our human allies. It is not to go gallivanting about this new world as though all were right with the cosmos.”
“But it’s such an interesting world,” Knockout objected. “Even some of the humans, those not constipated by self-importance and a surplus of gravity, are interesting. I want to see more of their home and meet more of them.”
“Collective survival must perforce take precedence over individual satisfaction.” Longarm’s tone was somber. “There will be ample time for exploration and enjoyment once our aims have been accomplished.”
“ ‘Our aims.’ ” The motorcycle roared petulantly. “How many more long cycles must we wait before these are accomplished? Is existence until then to be restricted to nothing more than waiting and fighting, waiting and fighting?”
“Until the last fight, it must always be so.”
“And will there be a ‘last’ fight?”
Engaging its engine, the tow truck started to back up toward the road. “Optimus thinks so. Megatron is finished. Terminate Starscream on this world and manage the journey back to Cybertron. Then we can at last begin to rebuild that which was destroyed, and recover all that was lost to us.” With the motorcycle hastening to catch up, the truck turned and rumbled out onto the island’s single track.
“Meanwhile, Optimus Prime is our leader and we must do as he says. I have never known him to err in judgment.”
“There’s always a first time.”
The truck’s brakes locked up. “What? What did you say, Knockout?”
“Nothing.” The motorcycle’s engine revved loudly. “Race you back to the base!”
Longarm did not even make the attempt. The other Autobot’s capacity to accelerate exceeded that of his own heavier guise by several orders of magnitude. Sand and gravel spit backward by the cycle’s rear tire clinked off Longarm’s grille and windshield. These did no damage either to his local form or to his ego.
Knockout was impatient. Such eagerness could be channeled, such energy needed to be utilized. But as he followed his comrade back to NEST headquarters at a more leisurely pace, Longarm could not help but reflect on his earlier words.
If there was to be a fight soon with Starscream, he would have wanted to be in on it, too.
“I don’t get it.”
Riding in the cab of the big diesel that was Optimus Prime’s chosen terrestrial form, Lennox directed his bemusement not to Sergeant Epps, who though seated behind the wheel never laid a hand on it, nor to Kaminari or Petr who occupied the wide seat behind them. Instead he addressed himself to empty air—or more precisely, to the perfectly smooth dash in front of him. The response, when it came, issued from speakers that filled the truck cab with sound. When he spoke thus to those he was transporting, Optimus was careful to lower his voice to a comparative whisper so as not to damage fragile organic auditory apparatus. To Kaminari it sounded as if the cab were inhabited by a resolute ghost speaking in a perfectly normal tone of voice.
“It is evident that other Decepticons have arrived on Earth,” the leader of the Autobots remarked. “Just as the signal I have been sending out has drawn others of my kind such as Salvage and Beachbreak, Longarm and Knockout to your world, so Starscream must have been propagating a call for assistance.”
“Unless it is Megatron’s doing.” Sitting behind Epps,
Petr was intent on an inch-long iridescent green beetle that had flown in through an open window and was now tentatively exploring the back of the Russian’s left hand.
“Megatron can’t send a damn postcard.” Though he was sitting behind the wheel, Epps made no attempt to manipulate the “controls” laid out in front of him. Like his companions, he was only a passenger. The cord dangling from his right ear connected to the powerful portable computer resting on his lap. “He’s done, dead, and drowned.”
“I concur.” Optimus’s reassuring voice drifted softly through the cab. “Therefore these new Decepticons must have been drawn here in response to a call from Starscream. Which in turn confirms the suspicions raised by the initial reports of an aircraft matching his chosen terrestrial mode overflying this region. He is here, somewhere, and we will find him.”
“What about these new Decepticons?” Kaminari shifted in her seat. “Do we know anything about them?”
Leaning to her right, she glanced in the side-view mirror. An ambulance and two pickup trucks kicked up dust behind the diesel as the small convoy rumbled down the dirt road. While an unusual group of vehicles for the area, it was not so outrageous as to attract more than casual attention from the driver of the occasional other oncoming vehicle or the occupants of the small villages through which they were passing. Any casual onlooker would have seen just a trio of trucks, heading south toward the river.
“I wish we had images.” Lennox spoke without turning, his attention fixed on the road ahead. “But while the cell phone coverage in this part of the world is adequate, it can be intermittent. And soldiers and mercenaries locked in the middle of a firefight usually don’t have time to whip out their phones and take snapshots.” He looked back at her. “So all we have to go on are the confused reports of a few frightened survivors.”
“Three of them, to be exact.” Epps put his feet up on the dash. Optimus did not object. “What I don’t understand is that according to the reports, they didn’t get bombed. That’s Starscream’s modus operandi: strafing and bombing. But according to what we were told, all the action was confined to the ground. Guns and missiles goin’ off all over the place, but nothing raining down from above.” A slight electrical charge tickled his feet and he hastily took them off the dash. His attention returned to the screen of the laptop that was positioned on his upper thighs.
“Yeah,” Lennox agreed. “And none of the descriptions of the three Decepticons that participated in the attack match up with Starscream’s natural body shape.” Reaching forward, he tapped the truck console. “So what gives, big guy?”
“Knowing Starscream,” Optimus replied, “this might be his way of luring us into a trap. If so, he has succeeded. We are indeed coming for him. Whatever he has planned, I do not think he can defeat five of us operating with human assistance. That is why it is important there are only four of you. Were we to try to confront him with a massive contingent of human soldiers and weapons, I am convinced he would not risk an appearance. Not after his defeat at Mission City. But against myself and a few Autobots, with only a quartet of humans to back us up, I think he will risk whatever he has in mind for the chance to destroy Ratchet, Ironhide, and myself.”
“Of one thing we can be certain.” Sticking his hand out the open window, Petr let the wind carry away the iridescent beetle.
“Yeah, what’s that?” Epps had reluctantly traded his music player for a communications headset.
“We will soon find out,” the Russian replied.
Edging forward on the bench seat, Kaminari accidentally bumped into Lennox and was quick to murmur an apology. He was still trying to figure her out. The scientist, whose name meant “thunder” in Japanese, was more than a little strange. As Epps had pointed out, an idiosyncratic combination of geek and warrior. But how would she and her experimental weapon work in the field? As Petr had just said, they would soon find out.
“Where do you think they’re heading?” she asked.
“No telling.” The captain grabbed a handgrip as Optimus hit a bump that jostled his passengers. Apologizing, the Autobot slowed his speed in an effort to smooth out the ride. Lennox continued.
“It’s pretty clear from the reports of those who survived the confrontation at the construction staging depot that whoever these Decepticons are, they were after potential sources for synthetic Energon. According to Optimus, based on what was taken they should have adequate power for the time being. But why they would remain in this area we simply don’t know. There’s nothing of vital strategic importance in the region where they were last seen heading. No military bases, no population centers—nothing but scattered small villages and a lot of wildlife. Which is good for us.”
“Right,” said Kami. Her expression hardened as she settled back on her seat. “Because when all hell breaks loose, collateral damage will be minimized.”
Their conversation was interrupted by Epps. Staring at his laptop screen, the technical sergeant straightened. The excitement in his voice was palpable.
“All right! We have contact.”
As he ignored the road in front of them, his fingers began to dance over the computer keys. Though word of the Decepticons’ presence in this area had been kept as quiet as possible to prevent panic among the local population, the authorities were well aware of what happened at the construction site supply compound. Hasty instructions had gone out to all regional authorities to be on the lookout for the invaders. While a garbage truck and a pickup might not draw much attention, the presence of an anti-aircraft tank rumbling through a town was certain to attract notice.
A uniformed policeman in just such an insignificant village had personally witnessed the three-vehicle procession as it traveled at high speed through his community. As soon as it was safely past, he had reported its presence via his phone. The alert had gone to the nearest district police station. From there it had been relayed to Lusaka, then to Zambian military headquarters. An officer there had activated a special signal that had sent the information upward to a communications satellite, which in turn had forwarded it to the nearest of six recently launched NEST satellites, which had simultaneously provided the relevant information to Diego Garcia and the operations team that was on the ground rolling through southern Zambia.
Leaning to his left, Lennox joined his fellow soldier in studying the data displayed on the screen. “We’re close.” Straightening, he compared the road immediately ahead with the detailed map that had appeared on Epps’s GPS-equipped computer.
“If this is correct, they’re barely two kilometers in front of us, Optimus. Turn left off the main road.” Behind him, Kaminari scrambled for something to hang on to as the diesel began to rattle and shake.
“This is a main road?”
Reaching across, the Russian gave her a playful shove. “This is not Yokohama freeway, miloshka.”
She glared at him. “It’s not Yekaterinburg, either. Don’t touch me again.”
Grinning, he slowly advanced one outthrust finger in her direction.
“I’m warning you,” she told him irritably.
“What are you going to do?” he challenged her. “Give karate demonstration from seated position?”
Changing conditions put a stop to such horseplay as Optimus led the team off the north–south road onto a side track that was barely wide enough to accommodate a wayward jeep. Despite the Autobot’s best efforts to anticipate the increasing number of ravines and hillocks, a certain amount of bumping and jouncing inside the cab was inevitable. Behind him, Ratchet, Ironhide, and Salvage hewed to the new route with determination. Trees and brush slapped against the sides of the careering diesel. Any human-driven truck of comparable size attempting to negotiate the upgraded goat track would by now have blown tires, busted axles, or crashed into the surrounding brush.
Like the soldiers up front, Kaminari and Petr were too busy trying to keep their heads from slamming against the roof to waste energy arguing. Lennox stared as Optimus smashed through several
trees whose trunks had grown sideways across the track.
Where on Earth were the Decepticons going, and why?
Somehow Epps managed to stay focused on his computer readout. “Closing fast!” He had to shout to make himself heard above the chaos of the truck as it crashed through increasingly dense brush. “Almost on ’em. Why aren’t they moving faster, trying to get away? Surely they know by now that we’re on to them?”
Raising an arm, Lennox pointed. “Maybe because they’re out of road.”
A moment later the view ahead cleared. The vista thus revealed was breathtaking. Blue sky shone above the line of forest green that dominated the bank opposite. Directly ahead of the slowing diesel, a herd of wildebeest were hurrying to one side while a clutch of hippos were rushing to get out of the way of three large, singular metallic figures. Unable to cross the wide, powerful, deep river in their Earthly forms, the three Decepticons had reverted to their natural shapes. There were no humans around to record their presence, no scouts to report on their appearance.
Optimus screeched to a halt as the rapidly shrinking road vanished into a sandbar. “Autobots, transform!” he bellowed, barely giving the four humans he had been transporting enough time to vacate his cab. While Epps shut down his laptop and abandoned it to Optimus’s care, Lennox and the others were on the ground and running back the length of the big truck.
Befitting his specialty as the group’s weapons expert, Ironhide was already on his feet. In front of him, the ambulance was shifting to reveal itself as Ratchet. Salvage waited until the humans reached him and idled patiently as they removed several tarp-covered devices from his truck bed. Meanwhile Beachbreak hummed impatiently on his back. As soon as the humans had taken what they needed, the pickup truck rumbled to life and crashed off along the bank, its four-wheel drive keeping it level and moving forward.
Freed of the need to monitor the laptop, Epps was once more in his element as he hefted a backpack crammed with special, recently developed sabot shells. Lennox hoisted the launcher itself. As for Petr, the captain did not recognize the rifle-like device the stocky scientist was unwrapping. He knew only that it was something innovative that had been hastily developed by the Russian Academy of Sciences working in conjunction with the weapons specialists at NEST. Kaminari had drawn her own unique weapon from an oversized holster strapped to her back.