Mouse and Snake, Part 1

[Taratron]

The sequel to Cat and Mouse. Rather old but...

Mouse and Snake


One


The python has, and I fib no fibs,
318 pairs of ribs.
In stating this I place reliance
On a seance with one who died for science.
This figure is sworn to and attested;
He counted them while being digested.
- Ogden Nash




The message was garbled at best.

Lined with static, the image blurred and clarified with strange frequency; it ran from one of the most up-to-date, perhaps even futuristic monitor screen models, and the monitor was surely not to blame for the shoddy condition of the message.

Perhaps then, the static came from the source of the message. Given what they knew about the sender and his present location (though how present that might be was rather uncertain at best now), it was a bit alarming that the message was in such a frenzied state.

Then again, under these circumstances, it was perfectly understandable.

A proof of loyalty at best, thought one member of the council. Either that or he has grown foolish with time, believing that we can somehow…or WOULD somehow aid him.

But it was not foolishness, and those watching knew that all too well. The message might have been evidence of loyalty even under such conditions, but that too played too finely. No, the council members all knew the purpose of this signal. It was to serve as a warning, and one they would certainly take to heart.

Lieutenant Tarantulus had his faults, but he was rarely, if ever, known for his powers of exaggeration. He lacked that prose so well, as a matter of fact, that his reports, of whatever of his many missions he was currently on was about, was certain to be swift, to the valid point, and short. The council liked short; they enjoyed the increase of time the lieutenant allowed with his neatness.

No…a proof of loyalty. A warning.

The council was silent. They watched again.

“Protoform,” spat out the shivering shimmery image on the screen, a blur of metallic purple and green, but clearly their trusted to-the-point officer. “X!” he shrieked suddenly, his blurry image whirling to face the barely lit darkness behind him. “Protoform X, Maximal High Command-!”

The next ten seconds were marred with severe static, and when it finally died down enough to glimpse the lieutenant, he appeared as a shadow of himself, black with shades of gray due to interference. Then again, the mere fact he had been able to send such a message, not to mention receiving it, even in this condition, was something of worthwhile importance.

There was only sound, loud in static and shrilling in sudden panic. “Has escaped!” shrieked their lieutenant, “Has escaped!”

The message ended undramatically with a click, sound and sight alike gone into the darkness that was space. The signal was lost; the message was over; the council sat again in silent debate.

Protoform X was not a new item to the council of Predacon elders. As much as Maximal High Command would have liked to think every one of their motives secret, a few well-paid Maximal agents often did the trick. Spies were used. There was, in fact, no secret that High Command had tried to keep in the last half century that the Council had not picked up upon. Yes, they had always known about X; at least, after his second escape. They knew High Command had had Dihexaline Labs create this spark. But they did not know precisely why; nor was that a concern of theirs.

The fact that this living weapon had again escaped them…that certainly was.

Lieutenant Tarantulus had done his best in sending this message; they knew his technology had indeed been very limited, and there had been several times when they lost contact with ancient Earth. His reports were few and far between, and now, it seemed, they would cease entirely.

The thought was held common in all of their minds. What to do…

What to do indeed? There were choices, there were chances. There was a chance that their lieutenant was alive still, admittedly a low chance, but still a present one. There was a greater chance they could track the planet again. And an even better chance that if they did…they could obtain that weapon themselves.
High Command had kept very strict records of everything X had done, as well as every experiment that had been performed on the protoform. However, the research as a whole was disappointing.

The Council hoped to improve it drastically.

They knew from records that the protoform’s spark had survived everything Dihex had put it through, every test, every trial. There was something about that spark, some wild variable they were very interested in.

What to do…

Ravage had been a vast mistake. Sending one person down to eliminate Megatron in his mad scheme…admittedly, that had not been the mistake. Ravage had been the mistake. The mission had been sound. Ravage had not been. Taken with too much history, he had absorbed lies willingly…as far as the Council was concerned, his death was a simple result of that idiocy.

They would not make the same mistake again.

The image fizzled on the screen as Tarantulus played again, again, and again. Much later into the night, a Council member realized they had left the message on repeated play, and promptly shut it down.

The plans were so simple this time around. There was no need for a showy theft, no need for any big names or surprises. There was no Megatron to deal with, no Golden Disk accident. Nothing but employing someone who should have been sent to deal with Megatron instead of Ravage. Someone who was as quick as Tarantulus had been short with detail, someone who was not taken with history, who had no shade to her past. The Council knew this to the last detail, as they should have. They had, after all, created her for this purpose.








The video window closed the same time the Council member ended the garbled message.

He could have closed it earlier, much earlier, as the message told him all he truly needed to know; he knew the Council perhaps as well as they knew themselves. They knew themselves, of course, because those people were the focus of their life. He knew them, on the other hand, because in their own special way, they were the reason for his.

So…Protoform X. He had never paid much attention to anything High Command did, save when it affected him, and with good reason. Those Maximals had their hands into nearly everything; it would take a genius computer to map out their various treacheries and plots. He did not care, and he did not have the time to even vaguely wonder.

He did, however, now understand. Protoform X.

Hmmm….

The protoform had ‘vanished,’ although that was too cool a word for it. No, he had been trapped into stasis after an escape from Dihexaline Labs, and sent out with a false exploratory crew to be left somewhere dead, somewhere barren.

The blue bot snorted in disgust. He had never been to many planets; he was not stupid enough to believe he ever could go to enough to form a valid theory on life. However, he did know that the only way to throughly get rid of someone, or something, was through its spark.

Which was, of course, what made this protoform so…special. He didn’t know the exact details, but exactness did not, for once, matter. It was enough to know this protoform had escaped Dihex; to leave that place alive promised a certain spiral of skills.

The bot smiled, rising, and left the small security room, stalking calmly down the corridor. He had no more wish to be within the Council’s lesser buildings, even in a mere security room.

He had the information he needed, after all.

So the Council knows about X. That he escaped. And that he is obviously alive SOMEWHERE…

Where? Oh, where indeed?

The blue bot continued without incident down the hall; he did not expect any, as there had been no problems on his previous visits. Still, experience taught him never to take such luxuries for granted.

The politics of Cybertron played in his head. High Command knew, of course, about the protoform being shipped away; they had been the ones to send him thus. Yet somehow the Council had heard about it only recently…or they only had interest in the case recently. Both of those ideas were of interest to him.

So now that X is alive…and the Council knows about it, High Command must get it back. If nothing else, only for security’s sake. We wouldn’t want this protoform to fall into the wrong hands…as in anyone but HC’s.

He was nearly at the door.

So the Council will send out its hunters, and High Command will send out me.

He smiled faintly, and thankfully experience, for once, paralyzed rather than activated his actions.

“Logging out so soon, Kaos?”

He turned slowly, a grin blooming to a lesser security staff member, awaiting his reply at a station desk. “I do need recharge,” he lied, smiling.

The staff member grinned back. “Yeah, you do. You work too much, Kaos.”

The blue bot waved this comment aside. “And here you are trying to make me stay longer.”

He wondered, as the member waved him off with a civilian smile, if that idiot behind the desk had any idea how close to really logging off he had been. But…no.

The blue bot strode outside, thoughts of High Command, the Council, the Council’s hunters, and this protoform ringing in his mind.

They’ll be sent out soon. Those hunters, oh yes. Tonight, if not tomorrow.

He waited until he was a good half sector away before fading into an alley for slightly a minute, then reappeared out the other side. The shades of blue were gone from every trace of his form; brilliant gold and black remained from the camouflage. In his past experiences, having a shelter you carried with yourself was priceless.

The new bot stepped into another sidestreet, following the passageways of Cybertron’s public. It took him another two sectors to find streets where usual bots walked and worked, but he had expected no less. The Council’s building looked very ordinary, and sometimes that in itself was the best camouflage.

The Council’s hunters, out by tomorrow at the latest. And myself…

Still camouflaged, Tenebrous smiled widely.

It will be a footrace.






Krias was not expecting an assignment so late in the morning, but one thing that could be truthfully said about the Council was that working was never boring. Work always promised something new and interesting, and thus when she was given the data about X and ancient Earth, she was not overly surprised, only intrigued.

She had never heard of the protoform before, but that tidbit did not matter. She did not have to know its life-tale to do her job, which was, bluntly, to locate and retrieve X. The Council had armed her sufficiently for retrieval missions, and she had yet to disappoint them.

“High Command may be after the protoform as well,” she had been warned, but she could see no need to worry about that either. She had met High Command’s version of the mercenary, and none of them had survived to form valid opinions, or any at all, about the Council’s favorite hunter. That was, in fact, her real name. Krias had been a name used for interacting with the general public; a name that described too well, as her niche was never anything anyone outside the Council needed to know.

She was also given the video of Lieutenant Tarantulus’ last transmission, as well as bits and pieces from X’s escape from Dihexaline Labs. She watched each video several times, then played it on her ship’s main console as she readied her flight to launch.

Sanctuary was not really a ship; it was more of a shuttle in terms of size, armed with hyperdrive and transwarp technology, but was more than enough for one hunter traveling alone. Several containment cells lined the back wall, by the engines and warp drives. Reinforced with Cybertronian steel melds, she had tried every method known to the Council and Predacon police to escape any of the cells; the only way out was the door, and only she held keys to them in her subspace compartment.

She was not certain if the largest of the cells would hold X, but then realized with a dry smile that that fact did not matter. If worst came to worst, she could always slice off the body parts that stuck out.

According to the videos, X could not die. He could feel discomfort, but there was something soothing in the knowledge that no matter what parts she chose to remove if time pressed that, he would survive. It was a fact and trait she would have loved to impress on her other prey and prisoners, who often had the unfortunate habit of being too large for the cells, and simply of being caught.



*
Two days ago.
*




One thing that could be honestly said about Tarantulus, that Megatron had surely discovered from time to time, was that he was always full of surprises.

Of course, spiders might spin their webs very finely and well, but spiderwebs are no match for pure brute force, and thus Tarantulus had barricaded himself in his ‘secret’ lair. ‘Secret’ because no amount of rock could sway Meagos and Rampage’s radar systems. Finding Tarantulus had been as difficult as finding a fish in a sea; all you had to do was choose where you would drop your net.

He was, in fact, one of the last sparks they had gone after; and for good reason. Getting inside the Darkside and the Ark was simplicity; the doors were wide open and the sparks inside too shocked to fight back. Tarantulus, on the other hand, had witnessed both attacks, and had opted to wait the pair out.

It was a simple fact that it would have been safer to make a bolt for the Ark or Darkside than wait for Meagos or Rampage to find him in hideaway. Of course, this was a fact that came from perfect hindsight.

His computer’s intercom blared, and the spider could barely keep from shrieking; he was still, nearly rabidly and desperately, trying to keep the computer online long enough to send a message via satellite to the Tripedicus Council. It would surely do him no good, but they had to know.

“Taaaarantulaaaaaas,” came a drawl that might have been comical, had Tarantulus not just heard it laughing in tune with Waspinator’s shrieks earlier. The fact that it was not Rampage, it was not the protoform Tarantulus had come to fear and hate more than even Megatron; it was that Maximal ray who had seemed so furious at X…and then had joined him!

“You’re not very good at Hide And Seek,” reprimanded Rampage from his own ComLink, and Tarantulus shoveled another mound of tools over the communications intercom; rather than muffling the two, it only distorted their voices.

He knew enough that screaming at them to go away would do nothing but incense them to start digging inside; for some reason, they were just waiting outside his lair, taunting him over the link. Waspinator had stopped screaming several minutes ago, but the spider knew all too well he himself was living on very short and very borrowed time.

“No, no, no, no,” he whispered frantically, his new mantra of life, hitting the satellite’s console again; according to his radar systems, the satellite would take another five minutes to prime up and send, five minutes he no longer had, judging from the short chuckles from the comm.

“Please, Primus, please,” he begged, aware of the numbing irony that he, of all bots, he was begging to Primus…and it was not even a prayer for life, but a prayer for death.

Death…

The spider eyed his blaster quickly; it might or might not end his spark entirely, but he was not certain if suicide was the only and easiest way to escape these two. He had thought Inferno had been dead, when an hour later, DepthCharge (No, no, it’s Meagos now, I heard someone scream that) had twisted the ant enough to give him incentive to shriek out his last tortured breaths.

“Please…”

“Spider?” Rampage, that was the killer there. “Tarantulus, you might as well just come out as you are.”

“It’s much more fun if we have to come and get you, granted.” And that was Meagos… “But if you come out now, we’ll give you a head start of…oh…a minute sounds fair to me.”

Of course it would, you sick slag, thought the spider wildly as the console very slowly primed. A meter on the console glowed with small crimson cubes, marking off the power-up process. Of course it would. Like the head start you promised Waspinator…if he could get away from you for two minutes, you promised he would live.

And then you ripped off his wings and legs and told him to run…

“SPIDER!” roared the crab, and Tarantulus was not able to stop himself from emitting a high shriek, the meter of power slowly, but oh too slowly, filling up.

“I think he’s playing with us, Rampage…maybe we should dig him out.” That was Meagos; that was the absolutely insane Maximal fish who had somehow changed his goal in life from stopping X to chatting with him. And killing every Maximal and Predacon alive.

Not that Tarantulus had any proof of that. It was, however, well to assume not a single Maximal was alive after scans revealed what was left of the Ark’s doors; the doors were so coated with mech fluid that the ground beneath them glowed silver.

Not to mention all the screaming…

“What do YOU think, spider?” Rampage sounded, for the first time since Tarantulus had heard him, very jovial, perhaps ready to chuckle or laugh out loud. A pleasant sound, until one considered the source…

The power bar was almost completely lit, and for one second Tarantulus allowed himself the vague and suddenly brilliant hope that the Council would get the message…and would send reinforcements. Perhaps he would still be alive then. Perhaps even in one piece.

“Please, dear Primus, please,” he whispered frantically again, and lunged for his blaster as one of the monsters shot at his lab’s entrance, with echoing booms. Energon flung up eerie shadows as the cave trembled, but thankfully (or was it?), nothing fell, only cast dull illumination around the room. His covered entrance shook, but held solid; the entrance was blocked off the best he had been able to do, but loads of rock wouldn’t stop the monsters. No, the only reason they didn’t have him already is because that would spoil their fun.

There were four more power bars to fill, and then the message could be sent. The Council would receive the message, and then they would-

“NO!” shrieked the spider as the monsters began laughing softly, deadly sounds in this suddenly short-lived world. “Don’t come in here!”

“Are you coming out then?” challenged one of them; in his near panic, Tarantulus could not tell which of them was speaking. Not that that mattered, he suspected, and forced himself into a bland mimicry of acceptance. He was going to die, that was very much a fact, but how was still a wild option.

And the Council had to know still…

Three power bars.

“Maybe we should extend that head start,” teased the other monster. “Maybe…two minutes? If he can get out while we’re getting in?”

Two.

“Oh Primus just this once,” the spider hissed. He had never believed in any great force governing any spark’s life, but he was willing to try this once. He had nothing left to lose…unless one counted the fact he was alone alive on a planet with two psychopaths out to kill him.

So…other than my spark, I have nothing to lose.

That makes me feel much better.

He chuckled nervously, aware dimly that he was mad, or if not insane entirely, was surely on the road there. But that was a double-edged sword of relief; when they finally caught him, and when he was finally insane, none of this would matter anymore.

He might not even feel it when they captured him…

“Spider?” It was the Maximal fish, it was him, and he sounded…almost how he used to sound. Decently sane (in Tarantulus’ experience, no one was completely sane) and not his current usual self. He sounded like someone who could still reason. “You should come out…we are getting bored now. It’ll be time to come in soon.”

“Go catch a Maximal!” cried Tarantulus with a delirious chuckle; yes, he knew numbly, he was going insane. Completely lunatic.

One power bar left. He plucked up his blaster with one hand, staring at the lethal promise of salvation it offered.

Not as if I’m going to survive this anymore…

Oh, damn you, damn you Megatron…

“We prefer you,” came a low growl, and the barricade to Tarantulus’ lab screamed from the force as both monsters lunged at it; a slide of stone, slate, and metal shrieked as it was rammed against restraints, trying to move where no mobility was allowed or permitted without serious damage. The simple restraints would not last forever, or even a few more minutes.

No bars. The satellite was primed.

A image scanner lit up on the damaged console, and the main monitor glowed with life. A small green light started to blink; the monitor was showing the information back to him as the scanner recorded it. Tarantulus’ image splayed across the screen, and he was barely aware when he began to speak; in his panic, he could only watch the satellite’s console, his mind begging Primus for just a little help, a little aid, but composing himself for a message to the Council would be a foolhardy gesture. He was panicked, and no amount of the Council’s presence would stop that.

“Protoform X has escaped!” he screamed to his reflection, to the imaginary Council, to the two monsters outside. “X has escaped! X has-”

He didn’t hear the crash as the monsters finally launched themselves into the barricade, ripping down the stone, but Tarantulus was sane enough to hear them roaring.

“Maximal High Command’s pet has escaped!” he managed to shriek, and in the same moment, jammed the blaster into his torso hard enough to dent his armor.

Oh Primus please just one shot that’s all I need-

He managed to fire twice before an enormous hand seized him from behind, and by the time the second shot ripped through his torso, an inch away from blasting his spark to pieces, he was in stasis lock; by the time Rampage had caught up to Meagos, his spark was but a faint glimmer in the thrashed hideout, a sanctuary lost.

Two seconds later, despite their best efforts, his spark began to fade—but not in time to prevent Meagos from his well-deserved snack.




“Well?” asked Rampage; they were on their way back to the Ark. Tarantulus had proved to be only slightly more interesting than they had imagined, truth be told. They had expected great things from him, only to be viciously let down with some self-preservation and suicidal tendencies. Primus damn the coward.

“Well what?”

“Whose was the best thus far?” Rampage grinned a silver smile.

The bot stalking alongside him was quiet for a few moments, deep in thought. “It would have to be…a tossup.”

“Between?” For Rampage there was no such decision; every single spark tasted perfect, and while each one shrieked differently, and while each one shuddered in that finality of death in only slightly different tremors, by and large they tasted the same.

“Mmmeh…call it the rhino and the wasp.”

“Waspinator?” Rampage was mildly impressed. “Why that worthless scrap of metal?”

Meagos smiled; it was a rather nice smile, one that radiated perfect saneness and calm, rational thinking. Both things he still had, of course; the only difference was the way the world viewed it. The mirror had not changed; the holder had. “I can’t explain it…perhaps simply the fact that he thought we would kill him, and when he managed to get into the air, there was that little twinge of hope that he would make it.”

“Almost a pity he forgot you have a vehicle mode,” smirked the crab-bot.

“Really.”

“And the rhino?”

“Mmmm…again, I would say the fact he had that slight twist of hope he’d be able to activate some form of self-destruct.”

“He had a self-destruct?”

“It appears so,” mused Meagos. “It didn’t work. Of course.”

“Of course.”

The mass murderers did not need to speak much; they were rather in tune to the other’s feelings or needs, Rampage if only because he could feel sparks as easily as the wind, and Meagos, because his radar systems, so skewed for years, had finally taken back their original function. Of course, Rampage did not fear Meagos, and the reverse was true as well. There was no need for fear between them; they were, after all, as close to equals as beings as themselves could be.

Despite the lack of need, Rampage had found he still craved conversation, if only because it had been denied to him from the Predacons. Orders were not true speech, and when the other Predacons had thought themselves beyond audio, they were very thoughtful in their ideas of the hulking idiot, of Megatron’s puppet.

He was still silent for several steps. “Why would a Maximal want a self-destruct system?”

Meagos laughed a short chuckle that had nothing to do with humor; with normal humor, at least. “I don’t doubt that the ape Primal has one too…they did, after all, know who they were hauling to a barren star.”

“Did they think I would magically awaken in the pod?” True, Maximals were beyond stupidity, but still…

“Who can imagine the depths of their idiocy?”

Rampage grinned. “My thoughts to a key.”

“I imagined as such,” smirked Meagos, and for one instant, Rampage only glanced at him, aware in a deep recess of his spark, a part he would never admit to anyone save perhaps himself, and perhaps Meagos…but that was unlikely. Such a small part, and he was lost in thought for a few minutes as Meagos spoke of what they would do with the three survivors, and knew suddenly how much he had missed Meagos, and how he would sooner let someone like Dragon fragment his spark before he lost his ally again.

“Catching that Maximal stupidity, are you?”

Rampage blinked out of his semi-stupor, and gave Meagos a half-hearted shove; the ray-bot caught himself easily with a smirk. “Don’t you wish.”

“Don’t I?”

“Better not,” he half-snarled, and both were silent again.

They were almost at the Ark when Rampage stopped, watching what used to be DepthCharge continue for a few steps, then pause, looking back curiously.

“What?” demanded Meagos.

“…nothing,” said Rampage after a moment, allowing himself the smile that had sent Quickstrike screaming to his demise. “I didn’t think I would be free again, I guess.”

“You’re better than free. You’re alive.” Meagos smirked. “Which is a lot more than we can say for our dear friends inside.”

“They’re alive, unless Primal used that self-destruct code yet.”

“Do you really think he would?”

Rampage considered; the face of the inept Maximal commander swam before his optics. Vaguely hopeful, the face of a martyr all too ready to point fingers at enemies for crimes against the natural world, while never being able to compare those crimes to the crimes of Dihex, or Dragon, or even the protoform X project…
“No,” he said slowly. “That doesn’t seem like him.”

“Why is that?”

“Other than the fact he’s far too stupid to do such a thing?”

“He’s a Maximal. That’s a given, Rampage.”

“Then how about the fact he still has hope that he will live through this?”
Meagos grinned. “Seeing how much you have survived?”

“But there I have him,” smirked Rampage, stalking toward the Ark, Meagos trailing. “The worst he’s survived is…what, maybe a nasty meeting with High Command? Bah.”

“And whatever is that compared to Dihex,” added Meagos as they entered the ruined arch of the Ark. They had not touched any of the Autobot or Decepticon forms, however; they had no wish to alter history, when the future was so bright and promising.

“I believe Megatron once called his rank failures from the school of hard knocks,” said Rampage.

“Still, compared to Dihex? How about Altair-5?”

“Oh, that first vacation?” A smirk. “How was that schooling?”

“Education, then.”

“Fine, fine, you’ve made your point.”

“I always do.”

“Speaking of which…what are we going to do?”

“Do?” Meagos’ optics gleamed. “Do about what?”

“Well, when we are quite through with our survivors?”

“Oh, that.” Meagos shrugged with a smile Rampage was coming to enjoy, not that any part of the past few days had he not been enjoying himself. It almost, but not quite, made up for the hell he had endured under Megatron… “Simple. We leave.”

“Forgive me, oh mighty one, but how?”

“I know the Ark.”

“Which means what?” A hint of frustration, of snarl.

“Which means we have a passport off this dustball. Once we have finished with our dear comrades, we leave.”

“And then vacation time?”

The ex-Guardian grinned. “Naturally.” He flexed a hand into a fist, not appearing to notice the drying mech fluid from both Fuzors coating him from the wrist up. He eyed Rampage for several moments. “You realize how good it feels to be back?”

“I believe I can fathom that, oh yes.”

His comrade was smirking still; there was no doubt in Rampage’s mind that Meagos was enjoying himself as well. “Cybertron doesn’t stand a chance. When we get there, at least…I believe a few colonies could use our services first.”

“Naturally…Meagos?”

“Hm?” The ray was already looking down the hallway to where the few survivors were no doubt praying for some divine power to save them.

“I’m glad you are back, old friend.”

Here Meagos looked back, with a genuine smile; it was still a smile that would have sent any of the surviving Maximals into a terrified paralysis, but it was genuine and radiant still.

“So am I, Rampage. So am I. It’s good to be back…and even better to know you’re back too.”

“I never left, now, did I?”

“Well, that Depth Charge thing?” And here Meagos waved a hand, as if throwing aside those years with a mere gesture. “Idiocy piloted by idiots, and here we are, the only ones still standing. What does that tell us?”

“That the old educator on Omicron was right? Cat and mouse?”

Meagos grinned wider. “Cat and mouse, that’s right. They’re the mice, we’re the cat…and we’re the only predators now. Ever. Again.”

Rampage nodded as they trekked down the hallway of stasis-locked Autobots; the idea of a lone high predator atop the food chain made perfect sense to him. To High Command’s assassin Tenebrous, it was laughable at best.