Let Fate Decide
By: Silver
Spider
Prologue
The feeling was different now.
There was no warmth and the soft hum could no longer be heard. No, heard was not the right word. There was no hearing. Not yet. In fact, there was no existence. But that didn’t get in the way of the fear. The being could senesce it, though it didn’t know how. It’s couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t touch, and yet there was that fear. Thick, cold, hollow, wallowing fear. Why am I so afraid? It wondered, and then realized something.
It could think and form those thoughts into words. Well, at least that was something. It meant that this was a senescent being; it existed. But in what form? Was in spiritual, mental, or did it have a physical body? It couldn’t be physical since there were no senesces…could it? There was only one sensation: that deep fear. But fear of what?
The being had to think. It was the only thing it could do. Think back. Remember something, anything. Remember what it was. Suddenly there was a mental flash.
“I will not fight you. There is no reason to do so. Besides, it is against my ethics to cross swords with a female.”
What was that? A memory? Then who was the bearer of that voice? At any rate, this was another piece of the puzzle. The being know knew part of what it was: female. It was something, all right, just not enough. She had to think back to the origin of that memory and add more pieces to it. As she concentrated, a single word began to echo in her mind. The voice was the same as before; warm and soft, but also strong and reassuring at the same time. She focused on that word, that echo that grew louder and stronger, that held more meaning then she ever thought possible.
“Beloved…”
Chapter 1
Cybertron, 1 stellar cycle ago,
The room definitely had a military feel to it. It was metal, with little furniture save the large desk and chair directly across from the door. The walls were lined with computers and met in a dome-like ceiling with a light source at the top.
In front of the huge desk paced an old transformer. He was medium sized, with a gray and blue paint job, and with bright orange optics. As he paced, one could notice a slight limp in his step, which caused him to walk slowly. Not because it hurt, but because he did not want to appear like an old soldier with a battle wound. In truth, that’s just what he was.
Before him stood five warriors, each about twenty-five stellar cycles of age, except for a male with violet optics who looked considerably older. There were three of them with violet, green, and light blue optics and two females one with deep turquoise optics the other with scarlet red ones. They all stood straight and motionless, waiting for their commander’s address. He took a deep breath, faced them, and straightened out placing his hands behind his back.
“This meeting is classified,” he began. “Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir, Commander Prowl,” they responded in one voice and saluted him.
“Good,” he paced for another moment then spoke again. “The five of you have been selected as the best. This isn’t the military anymore, bots. We are not only in the business of shooting, but also finding information. This is the M.I.U.—Maximal Intelligence Unit—although that may not be the best name for it. This is the branch of the Citadel that only a selected few know exists and very few Maximals get in. I’m not even talking about the Predacons. The Tripredicus Council doesn’t even know about the M.I.U.’s existence.”
“As I’ve said before, of you have been chosen as the best of the best. You have all proven yourselves; top of your classes at the M.T.A.—Maximal Training Academy—highest scores on tests, combat simulations, and the best in real battle. That is why you are here today.”
“Now, what are you here for, you ask. Well, as you know, the peace talks between the Maximal Elders and the Tripredicus Council are keeping the Predacons at bay, but are not getting very far. We know most Predacons don’t want peace: they want Cybertron. We’ve also heard rumors of certain Predacons going rouge and created miniature terrorist groups. Each of you will receive a specific assignment that somehow relates to this. You are not to discuss your orders with anyone but myself and each other. Is that clear?”
“Sir, yes, sir!” echoed around the room.
“Good. You will meet me back here in fifteen solar cycles to receive your assignments. Until then, I have one suggestion on what to do with your time: live, because you won’t get a chance for a long time after that. You’re all dismissed,” he saluted them. The five bots returned the salute and left the room.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Well, did you hear that?” the blue eyed male nodded towards the door. “We’re the best!”
“Which means you might want to start acting your age, Astroburn,” the red eyed female pointed out.
“Oh, I wouldn’t blame him, Isis,” said the other female. “He’s young, impulsive…He’s just…”
“Male,” Isis finished for her friend and they both burst into laughter.
“They’re acting like we’re not even here,” Astroburn whispered to the green-eyed male.
“Huh, females,” he replied with a humph.
“Wouldn’t be talking if I were you, Celadon,” Isis warned him, “Dila and I could wipe the floor with you, right here, right now.”
“Knock it off!” yelled the other male. “I, for one, won’t waste my time fighting with any of you. There are a few places I’d like to check out.”
“If it involves female bots minus their torso plates, I’m in,” Celadon grinned, but both women slapped him over the head.
“No, nothing like that,” the male waved his hand dismissingly.
“Well, go ahead, Taratron, since you’re the only decent male here,” Dila encouraged him. “Tell us.”
“Thank you,” Taratron was about to start, but Astroburn interrupted him.
“Hey, is it about a race?”
“Shut up, Astroburn!” yelled his comrades.
“Actually, it’s about the Predacons,” Taratron replied.
Astroburn had to admit Taratron had his attention. He had everyone’s attention.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Megatron?!” Dila echoed Taratron’s words. “You’re kidding. I mean, not even the Tripredicus Council likes him. How many did you say?”
“Megatron and four other Predacons,” he replied. “Everyone is after them, even their own people.”
“So?” Astroburn shrugged. “That’s only five Preds.”
“They are all very dangerous people,” Taratron warned his companions. “One of them is considered one of the best warriors on Cybertron. Another was in charge of the Predacons new plan for the Maximal prisoners of war.”
“Isn’t that where any Maximal POW would be tortured?” Isis double-checked. “I remember that. The guy in charge was…I forgot his name.”
“But you know who I’m talking about.”
“Of course.”
“So now, both Predacon and Maximal security is chasing them all over Cybertron,” Taratron concluded.
“Then let them worry about it,” Celadon stood up and stretched. “I don’t care about that. I’m planning on doing just what the commander said and live. See you guys later.”
“Yeah, I gotta go too,” Astroburn waved good-bye.
“Me too,” Dila got up and walked out.
As the first three left, Isis got up to leave, but Taratron caught her hand. “Hey listen,” he said. “How would you like to do a bit of investigating into this?”
Isis thought for a moment. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’d like for someone to do a bit of investigating into this whole Megatron thing, especially this ‘mad scientist.’ Things like where his laboratory is, what he does to the bots, and possibly how to bring him down. All the info should be in one place, on a disk or something like that. I would go, but this mission requires your…” Taratron posed looking for the right words, “area of expertise.”
Isis’ optics
sparkled. “You said the magic words. What do I do first?”
The streets of Cybertron were a dangerous place, especially at night, and especially on the boundary of the Maximal and Predacon territories. But those streets were also bridges between the two worlds and highways for information. Rumors traveled quickly on Cybertron. Sometimes they ended at the edges of those streets and sometimes they reached as far as the Maximal Elders and the Tripredicus Council. But if there was anything to be told, it could be heard on these streets.
Isis looked down one of those endless streets. Most of the light came from street lamps since it was only 0130 cycles by military time and Cybertron’s single sun had set long ago. The place smelled horrible and Isis only planed to stay there as long as it took her to get the information she needed.
“I’m definitely not taking my next vacation here,” she muttered to herself as she entered a bar and sat down, looking around the place.
If anything, it was loud. There was a faint hint of music in the background, but it could hardly be heard over the yelling and hollering. The bots were both Maximals and Predacons, though after they’ve had a few glasses of mech fluids full of radium, the difference was slight. There was a pile of broken glasses on the floor, and Isis guessed a fight had broken out.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender leaned on the table in front of her. He was huge with thick arms and a large torso. His coloring was mostly dark green, though after all the dust it looked almost black.
“Ah…” Isis looked around unusually. “Just get me something non-alcoholic. I don’t plan on being carried home.”
“Straight edge, huh?” the bartender asked with his back to her as he pored the drink.
“Huh,” she gave a short, humorless laugh as she received the drink and took a sip of it, “hardly, but I have a job to do and I need a good head on my shoulders.”
“Oh, yeah?” he sounded interested. “What kinda job?”
“I’m looking for some information on the location of the Predacon prison for Maximals captured at war,” she replied. “I heard it’s some kind of laboratory too.”
“Damn Preds,” the bartender cursed. “They waltz in here, thinkin’ they own the place. Whish I could help ya. I’d love to see someone put them in their place,” he thought for a moment. “Well actually, I heard a few bots talking about it over there,” he pointed at a small group of Predacons huddled in a corner.
“Thanks,” Isis left her drink behind and walked over to the group of Predacons. “Hello, boys,” she placed her hands on her hips trying to look as intimidating as possible.
“Hey…” one of them noticed her. “Who’s the babe?” Isis winced. From the sound and looks of them, all five Predacons were drunk.
“Alright, listen to me,” she said bluntly. “I’m only going to ask this once. Where is the Predacon prison for Maximals captured at war?”
“I could be your prisoner of war any day, sweetheart,” another one laughed, and then all five burst into insane laughter. Isis was not amused. With a single swift motion, she garbed the second Predacon by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
“I don’t think you heard me,” she tightened her grip on the Predacon’s throat. “I want that information. Now!”
As the Predacon in her grip struggled to breath, one of his companions shot up from the table and lunged for her. Isis didn’t even turn her head. With her one free arm, she elbowed the second Predacon in the abdomen. He fell to the floor, holding his stomach in pain. As the other three got up to fight her, Isis threw the Predacon in her grip over her shoulder. He went flying through the air and landed on the other three, knocking them to the ground.
Just as the five dazed Predacons were coming to, she turned on her heal. When the Predacons looked up at her from their possessions on the floor, Isis chuckled to herself; she could see fear in their optics. Placing her hands back on her hips, she towered over them.
“Now,” her voice was calm. “Do I get that information… or does this turn ugly?”
“Alright, alright,” one of them breathed heavily. With a shaking hand, he reached into a containment unit and pulled out a miniature disc. His hand was still trembling, as he held it out to her and Isis took it. “Just don’t tell anyone where you got it from, ‘kay? ‘Cause if Shifter ever found out we ratted on him, he’d use us as volunteers for one of his damn experiments.”
“Who’s Shifter?” Isis glared at the quivering Predacons on the floor.
“He’s the bot in charge,” another replied.
“So that’s his name,” Isis muttered to herself and looked back at the Predacons. “Well boys, it’s been a surge, but I’d better get going.” Turning her back to them, she began to move towards the exit. By that time, one of the Predacons mastered enough courage. As he slowly got up, he pulled out a small switchblade.
“You may have that disk,” his voice was venomous, “but you ain’t gonna live long enough to find out what’s on it, you Maximal bitch!” he pulled back the knife, ready to strike her.
Isis felt the tension behind her and started to turn, braising herself for a blow. But it never came. Surprised, she looked around and was completely taken by the site in front of her. The Predacon did not strike her because he couldn’t. His hand was being held back by a new transformer.
The newcomer was tall, beautifully built, with a fresh coat of silver paint. Behind his back, he carried a sword, which at the time seemed like an elegant, but primitive weapon. But what caught her attention the most were his eyes. Beautiful golden optics that stood out greatly in the darkness, lighting up the entire room.
The Predacon looked completely stunned. He stared at the newcomer in complete astonishment. Then the new bot looked him in the eye.
“Come now,” his voice was deep, “surly you know that this is no way to treat a lady,” he flashed a smile, then his face turned serious as he threw the Predacon over his shoulder. For the second time in the evening, the Predacon hit the floor with a heavy thump, but this time none of his companions mastered the courage to face the new comer. Grabbing their friend, they flashed sheepish smiles at the transformer, backed out of the bar and bolted down the street.
The silver transformer smiled and, dusting his hands, faced Isis. For a nano click, her eyes were wide, and then her face turned cool and placid.
“May I have a word with you?” her voice was ice as she lead him outside. Once they were out on the door step of the back entrance to the bar, he faced her.
“Yes?” Not wasting a second, Isis raised
her hand and hit him in the face with full force.
The male looked completely stunned. His own hand went for his jaw as he assessed the damage, all the while staring into her scarlet optics. He blinked, but kept staring at her.
“That was an unnecessary deed,” he regained the cool in his voice.
“That. Back there,” Isis jerked a thumb at the bar and then folded her arms across her chest. “What in the inferno was that?!”
“You were asking dangerous questions,” he informed her. “At that rate, you would have been dead within the night.”
“I can take care of myself!” Isis was furious. “I don’t need a personal hero, especially someone I don’t know. You think I couldn’t fight those Preds? Let me prove how good a fighter I am.” She drew her gun and pointed it directly at his fluid pump.
But the transformer was unmoved. “I will not fight you,” he gently moved the gun away from his torso plate. “There is no reason to do so. Besides, it is against my ethics to cross swords with a female.”
That was the last straw. “Oh that’s it!” she threw her hands in the air. “What? Did I suddenly fall into a King Arthur movie? And what does that make you? Sir Lancelot?”
The new comer smiled the warmest and most sensual smile she had ever seen. “I am a friend,” he said simply then turned and began to walk away, deeper into the shadows of the narrow street.
Isis was confused. He really unnerved her. “What if I don’t want a friend?”
Even though she didn’t see it, the transformer smirked and then faced her again. “I did not state I was your friend.”
Isis watched as he headed down the street and was swallowed by the shadows. A million thoughts rushed through her head. Did he really know who she was? It seamed so, but Isis knew that she’d never seen him before in her life. She didn’t think it was possible to forget someone like that. So how did he know about her? She reached into a containment unit and pulled out the miniature disk. Flipping it through her fingers she thought for another moment. Whoever the stranger was, he could wait. At the moment, she had to contact Taratron inform him she had what he wanted, go home and check the information on her terminal.
* * * * * * * * * *
Isis unlocked the door to her small apartment, switched on the lights and closed the door behind her, locking it. Though her apartment stood farther away from the boundary line between the Maximal and Predacon territories, it was still safer to have multiple locks on the door. One could never be too careful, especially in her line of work.
Isis walked into her bedroom and looked around. It was simple, just the way she preferred it. In a corner, directly across from the door, there was a recharge bed. Besides the bed, there was a table with a laptop terminal on it, and a chair next to it. Around the terminal, there were all kinds of electronic equipment such as a chronometer, communicator, evidence scanner, and all other things required for an information-gathering job. Isis chuckled; if she weren’t one of the good guys, she’d make one hell of a thief. With the equipment she had, she could slip in and out of places completely unnoticed.
Still nothing beat brut force, which is why an entire room in her apartment was dedicated to a virtual reality battle simulator. That particular terminal was equipped with a number of battle programs, training programs, setting, and a variety of opponents. And then there were the weapons. Shelf upon shelf’s of every type of weapon imaginable from small handguns to guns that could only be picked up by two or more bots. Double-bladed samurai swords to old-fashioned two-handed swords. Everything she ever needed or wanted, Isis already had.
First things first, and that was to contact Taratron. It was 0400 hours but Isis doubted Taratron was getting any sleep, so she picked up the head set of her communicator, attached the ear piece to her audio receptor, and extended the speaker to e right in front of her mouth. Isis dialed his number and waited for three rings until Taratron picked up his communicator.
“Taratron here. What!?” he sounded very agitated.
“Hey, it’s you wakeup call,” Isis made an annoying buzzing noise. Taratron would kill her later for this, she knew.
“Isis?” he double-checked. “What is it?”
“I got it,” leaned on her desk and flipped the disk through her fingers. “Had to pound a few Preds for it, but I got it.”
“That is good news,” he sounded calmer. “Did you look at the content of the disk yet?”
“No, I still…” something caught her attention. “How did you know?”
“How did I know what?” Taratron was confused.
“That it was a disk,” Isis demanded. “How did you know it was a disk?”
“I didn’t,” Taratron shot back, a bit defensively. “I guessed.”
“Well, no, I haven’t looked at it yet,” she dismissed the entire event. I still have to do that. I’ll call you back then.”
“All right, Taratron out,” he cut off the com-link.
Isis took off her headset and threw it on the table. Looking at the chronometer, she yawned. She should have really gotten some power down time, she knew, but looking at the information on the disk was very tempting. Isis sat down and powered up the terminal, slipping the disk into the D-drive. Tapping her fingers on the table, she waited for the information to load. A few seconds later, her screen went black and many random icons began to float around. When the chaos calmed, she clicked on one of them.
“Here we go,” Isis muttered. As she read, her optics became wider and wider. “Taratron was right: the Maximal prisoners of war were tortured. The bot they mentioned at the bar, Shifter, he’s the one in charge, and this disk contains information about the experiment he and his assistance preformed and the test results,” she read further. ‘A male transformer survived for thirty-four megacycles while being steadily drained of energy. A female only lasted twenty-five megacycles on an average. The largest time a normal spark lasted outside of a body was fifteen solar cycles? By Primus, he’s a monster!” Isis scrolled down the page until she reached a lit of victims, or as the disk called them ‘test subjects.’
She nearly fell off her chair. There must have been hundreds, if not thousands, of names. Page after page of names, males, female, young, and old, in every type of occupation. Isis recognized some of the names. They were soldiers and regular bots that suddenly disappeared. Most were never seen again, but if they were found, it was never in one piece. The names were divided into different categories by gender and by types of experiments. In all her career in the Maximal military, Isis had never seen anything remotely close to this. What a terrible way for those bots to die!
The madman had to be stopped, she thought. No one was that sick, not even Megatron or the old Deceptacon ‘scientist,’ Starscream. She had to get the disk to Commander Prowl; he could get a small army together within a solar cycle. Where was that lab, anyway? She searched through the disk for another cycle before finding a map with a blinking light indicating the location of the lab.
Isis narrowed her eyes; it was deep within Predacon territory. Very deep. Next to it, there was an abandoned energy storage plant. How ironic, Isis thought. It was the same plant where Orion Pax, later known as Optimus Prime, once worked over nine million years ago. Now that historic site was in ruins and neighboring the Predacon torture chamber. How ironic. Sick, but ironic.
Isis stretch in her chair and looked at the chronometer again. 0500 hours, and only two hours before duty. There was nothing she could do tonight, except get some rest. She only had about an hour of sleep left, but in the morning she could show the disk to Commander Prowl and tell Taratron what she found.
Isis sighed, got
up, and walked to her bed. Taking off unnecessary armor, she laid down and
allowed herself to relax for the first time in the entire day.
The golden sun burst through the window and hit Isis’ optics. She moaned and rubbed the sleep off, grateful for a nicer awakening than her alarm could ever provide. She got up and dressed, remembering to slip the disk into her back containment unit.
Isis hated going to the headquarters of the M.I.U.. Sure, the place had nice VR simulators and the armory was unsurpassable, but most of the time at the M.I.U.’s headquarters was marked by long-winded speeches or worse, a desk job. Isis loved to be on the field. The thrill of her job came from chasing a Predacon or escaping from the Predacon security officers. But a job was still a job, and she had to speak with her commanding officer and with Taratron, which meant that a trip back to the M.I.U.’s headquarters was inevitable.
On her way to Commander Prowl’s office, Isis ran into Dila. They were best friends, no question, but Isis often wondered what, in the name of Primus, did they have in common. Dila was a very sweet girl, calm and companionate, the kind of person who follows the rules to the smallest detail. Isis was a rebel, cursed with brutal honesty. If anyone got in her way, they would quickly know it. However it came to be, the two were best friends.
“So you’re a hard woman to get a hold of these days,” Dila commented as they started walking together through the halls. “What’s up? Does the commander have you on some top secret assignment?”
“Is that all?” Dila smiled. “Wow, Isis, you had me worried there for a nanoclick. I almost thought you were out with some male and forgot to tell me.”
“Yeah, a mystery transformer,” the other woman joked. “Maybe the one I met yesterday.”
“So you did meet someone!” Dila beamed, “and you didn’t tell me? So who is he? What’s his name?”
“Wow, wow, slow down!” Isis laughed. “It’s not someone I’d see in a relationship. He sort of…got in my way when I was kicking some Preds at this bar.”
“A bar?” Dila raised an eyebrow. “Since when do you drink?”
“I don’t,” her friend replied. “I only went to find some info for Taratron, and then this guy had to interfered.”
“Meaning he probably kept you from getting from getting into more trouble then you were already in,” Dila corrected as a smile crossed her soft features. “You, my friend, need a personal hero, badly, to keep you out of trouble. I’m predicting you’ll see this bot again soon.”
“I hope you’re wrong,” Isis replied, when they finally reached Commander Prowl’s office. “I gotta go. See you later, Dila.” She walked into the office and the door slid closed behind her.
Commander Prowl sat at his desk, shifting through a pile of paper work. After a second, Isis thought she heard a few curses as he muttered under his breath.
“Sir,” she cleared her throat.
“Yes?” he looked up, agitation apparent in his voice. “Ah, Miss Khmer,” he sounded calmer. “What can I do for you?”
“Sir, I am currently in possession of information that I believe confirms the theories of what happened to the missing Maximal prisoners of war. My source informs me that they are taken to a laboratory deep within Predacon tertiary. Their bodies are then dismembered and scattered throughout Cybertron. Now the male in command of this operation goes by the name of shifter,” she continued. “I am aware of the fact that he has several assistance, but I do not know who they are.”
Prowl listened attentively nodding here and there. His optics wore a thoughtful look, his fingers intertwined. Finally, after Isis finished, he stood up and walked around his desk, leaning on it from the other side so that he faced her. His arms were crossed over his chest.
“Well, Miss Khmer, I can tell you that I have heard of this rumor as well. Now, while the Tripredicus Council denies all such possibilities, I do not doubt its existence. However,” he paused, “what you said raises new questions such as what is your information source and why did you suddenly decide to go look for it?”
Isis was shocked. She didn’t expect that Commander Prowl wouldn’t believe her. “Sir, with all due respect, are you suggesting that I am providing you with false information?”
“Isis, I am not questioning your word,” Prowl’s voice was cam. “I am questioning your information source, and until I know for certain that this is more than some tabloid hype, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied.” He sat back in his chair.
“People are dying!” Isis slammed her fist on the table.
“This is war, Miss. Khmer,” Prowl leaned forwarded. “In war, people die. Even if your source is credible, I would have to send in a request to Elders for a unit to infiltrate this Predacon prison, and that could take weeks. I am sorry, but at the moment there is nothing I can do.”
Isis clenched her fists at her sides. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing! Prowl would do nothing! “Permission to speak freely, sir?” there was venom in her voice.
“Nothing ever stopped you before,” Prowl shrugged. “Permission granted,” he leaned back in his chair.
“I think you’re an anachronism,” Isis said bitterly, “a relic from the Great War, who can’t do anything without double-checking with the Elders sitting up in their Citadel. You and those damn Elders sit on your skid plates while our people are slaughtered!” She took a deep breath and regained her composure. “Fine, you do that. Go ahead and pretend this is a picnic on a sunny day. If you wont do anything, I will.” She turned and headed for the door.
“I did not give you permission to do anything, Miss. Khmer,” Prowl stood up, but his voice remained calm.
“I don’t need your permission anymore,” Isis turned on her heal and walked back to the desk. She ripped off her badge and slammed it on the desk. “Good day, commander,” with that, she stalked out of the office.
Prowl picked up her abandoned badge and twirled it between his fingers. He, then, reached to a button on his desk and pressed it. As he did, another door slid open behind him, and a new bot stepped in. His color was mostly gray and blue, though his optics were red.
“Well, you saw her,” Prowl addressed the newcomer without turning to face him. “What do you think?”
“I’m not sure,” the new bot said thoughtfully. “What about that?” he nodded at the badge in Prowl’s hand.
“Oh this,” the Maximal commander chuckled. “Oh please, if I had a chip for every time Isis Khmer threw down her badge, I could make the richest bot on Cybertron look like a beggar. She’ll be back.”
“In that case, I think she’s a hothead,” the transformer replied. “She’s capable of blowing up a planet and everything on it if she damn well felt like it.” He flashed Prowl a smile. “She’ll do.”
“Yeah, I had a feeling you’d appreciate that about her,” Prowl smiled back. “Now, what did you say was the name of your exploration ship?”
“The Axalon,” the transformer replied.
“Ah yes, the Axalon,”
Prowl nodded thoughtfully.
“He did nothing!” Isis paced in Taratron’s quarters as he looked over the information on the disk. “He’s just going to sit back and watch our people die!” She sighed deeply and plopped down in a chair next to him.
Taratron’s quarters were nowhere near as high-tech as the apartment Isis lived in. If anything, his living facilities resembled an ancient earth study, despite the laptop terminal on his desk and a few other pieces of electronic equipment. The walls were lined with shelves, but unlike Isis’ shelves, theses did not hold weapons, but rather books. Isis always enjoyed teasing Taratron about it, since he was probably the only bot on Cybertron to still have paper books instead of text typed into a flex pad. Isis, of course, never bothered to read any of the ancient earth authors. Taratron’s books were mostly on war, adventure, and the concept of good and evil. The Strategy of the Entebbe Operation lay right along side of Sir Arthur’s Conidial’s, The Lost World and J.R.R. Tolkien’s, The Lord of the Rings.
Aside from being a brilliant scholar, Taratron was an amazing warrior. Oddly enough, he specialized in sword fighting. His personal virtual reality battle simulator usually looked like a Japanese Do Jo and his weapon collection consisted of swords, daggers, crossbows, axes, and long bows. He also had a few firearms, but Taratron strongly believed that the only way to sharpen warrior skills was to use hand-to-hand weapons. “Firearms are a coward’s weapon,” he liked to say.
“I could have told you that,” he turned in his chair to face Isis. “He can’t do anything without permission from the Elders, am I correct?” Isis nodded. “And the Elders already have their hands full with the piece talks and with finding Megatron. They don’t have time to act on a rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor!” Isis slammed her fist on the table. “Taratron, I looked at that disk. It’s genuine. Besides, do you really think that the Predacons would set this up for my sake?”
“No,” he denied. “This is certainly not a setup.” Taratron pointed at an imager on the screen. It was a three dimensional picture of some sort of animal, But Isis wasn’t sure what it was.
“What is that?” she raised an eyebrow. “Some sort of…rodent?”
“It’s a spider, Isis,” Taratron replied in a very matter-of-fact voice.
“Oh,” she gave a nervous chuckle, embarrassed at her mistake. “I knew that.”
“More specifically, it’s a tarantula,” he continued. It’s one of the most ferocious creatures of the animal kingdom. It can kill creatures many times larger than itself, like small birds and even mammals, like rodents. A very dangerous animal despite its size.”
Isis raised an eyebrow again and gave him a quizzical look. “How do you know all this stuff about animals?”
“I studied a bit of Earth’s Zoology as a hobby.”
“What for?” Isis pressed. “Are you planning a trip there or something?”
“No!” Taratron snapped. “It’s just a hobby.”
“Okay, okay,” Isis put her hands up defensively. “I was just asking. Why so defensive all of a sudden, Taratron? You know I would never accuse you of anything; you’re the closest thing I have to a brother.”
“I apologize, Isis,” he took a deep breath. “I just have a lot on my mind.”
“It’s okay,” she smiled at him. “So back to the subject at hand. What’s with this spider?”
“It’s the mark of their leader, Shifter,” Taratron replied. “Which means that this disk is genuine.” He took it out of his terminal and handed it back to Isis. “Now the question is, what are you going to do about?”
“Go down there and kick Shifter’s skid plated into the stratosphere,” she declared firmly, “at least get enough proof of that place to get some troops there.”
“Are you sure? Shifter is very dangerous.”
“Oh come on,” Isis laughed.” No one will know I was ever there. I’ll be careful.” She thought for a moment then a mischievous smile crossed her features. “Do you remember Helm’s Deep?”
“Helm’s Deep, the chapter in Tolkien’s, The Two Towers or Helm’s Deep, the siege of Cybertron’s moon?” Isis gave him a look. “You mean the siege. Of course I remember. It was the place we first met.”
The siege of Helm’s Deep was one of the bloodiest and most violent battles of the war. It took place twenty stellar cycles before, but both Isis and Tarataron remembered it like yesterday. It all began when a Predacon war ship called the Calista had been hidden behind a large asteroid. It was in stealth mode, and hidden by clocking technology. Once the asteroid’s orbit moved it close to Cybertron’s moon, the ship attacked.
The moon, of course, was Maximal property. Research laboratories covered a large portion of its surface, but it also contained a massive Maximal aerial and interstellar base. The moon was a strategic location for the military outpost and the Predacons wanted it.
Flashback,
“Forth squadron, navigate to coordinates 23 by 76, in grid Haphestus! Third squadron, coordinates 10 by 27, grid Alpha!” newly appointed squadron leader, Taratron belted out orders left and right, as he shot the two approaching Predacons. The battlefield was littered with bodies, the dead mixed in with the wounded; cries were heard from both sides. Suddenly, a single heart-wrenching cry filled the air. Taratron whirled, ready to shoot who ever it was. Instead, he found himself face to face with a little girl, staring into the barrel of his gun.
She was barely over four feet tall, her long ocean-blue hair was an untidy mess spread over her shoulders and her face, her crimson red optics glistened with tears, her cloth were a mess. As the girl stared into the barrel of his gun, her _expression twisted into a panic pose. Taratron froze. What was this child doing in the middle of a battlefield? He slowly put down the gun and leaned on one knee in front of her.
“Child, this is no place for you. Where is your family?” he placed both hands firmly on her shoulders.
“They…they were killed,” the little girl sobbed. “The Predacons killed them.” She could not hold it any longer and burst into a new set of fresh tears. Taratron’s gut twisted. The girl was a war orphan. He had seen this too many times, parents were killed in the war and their children were left out to die.
“Listen to me very carefully, child,” He raised her chin and looked into her tear-filed eyes. First, find a safe place to hide. When this is over, you may come with me and my superiors will find a safe place of you. All right?” the girl nodded. “Good. What is your name, child?”
“Isis. Isis Khmer.”
“All right, Isis. Just stay down and hide,” he stood up as another wave of Predacons headed their way and began to fire, while the little girl ran behind a large chunk of metal and crouched down, hugging her knees tightly. Hours later, Taratron stood alone on the battlefield surrounded by over three-dozen bodies. He struggled to catch his breath and suddenly remembered about the little girl.
* * * * * * * * * *
In the refugee section of the Maximal military base, Taratron had taken the time to find fresh cloth and a clean bed for the girl. He led her to the room especially set aside for the refugee children. Isis held on tightly to his hand wary of everything around her. The base scared her. It was loud, the air was stiff, and soldiers ran everywhere caring large weapons. Once in a while a group of medics would hurry by with victims lying on stretchers. When they reached the room, Taratron punched a code into the panel and the door opened with a hiss.
“You’ll be safe here,” he told Isis as they stepped into the room, “the other children here…” he stopped. The room was empty.
“Where are they?” Isis looked up at him questioningly.
“Probably just in a different room,” he didn’t want to tell her she was the only child survivor. “That just means you get the whole room to yourself, right?” he smiled down at her, and was rewarded with a shaky smile from Isis. Taratron picked her up and settled her on the bed, leaning on one knee so that they were on the same eyelevel. Once again, he was struck by how sad she looked.
“I have something for you,” maybe this would help. Taratron pulled out a brown stuffed teddy bear. The girl’s face instantly lit up. During war, toys, especially stuffed animals, were very rare. “I’ll be back in a little while,” he got up and patted her shoulder. “Will you be okay if I go?” Isis didn’t seem to hear him; she was too preoccupied with the teddy bear. Taratron smiled and left the room. He closed the door behind him and looked up at his commanding officer, who stood outside.
“I checked her records,” said the general. “Her family was killed at Helm’s Deep. She’s lucky to be alive, while most kids were also killed.”
“What will happen to her?”
“Hard to say. She’ll probably end up staying here until someone would adopt her. I trust you’ll keep track of her?” Taratron nodded thoughtfully. “Then I’ll leave you to it. Don’t worry, I expect she’ll only be here for a few solar cycles.”
But solar cycles turned into stellar cycles, the war continued, so Isis stayed at the base. Over time, she grew into an extraordinary young woman and one of the best female fighters. Her whole life revolved around the Maximal military.
Taratron was ever her guardian, her watcher. While everyone at the base had been somehow involved in raising her, Taratron was the one she’d run to after a defeat or to proudly tell him of a victory. Indeed, he became her older brother, her blood.
End of
Flashback.
Isis had been on Predacon grounds many times in her life, but this time she paid close attention to her surroundings. The war had really taken its toll on the area. Most buildings she passed were abandoned; their doors and windows were broken and sealed by strips of metal. The streets were dirty, filled with waste products that the Predacons could not afford to recycle and couldn’t salvage. The few bots she came across, though all Predacons, posed no threat to her. Of course Isis had taken the precaution to disguise her energy signature, but even if the bots could recognize her as a Maximal, there was very little they could do. Thy were old, rusted, and their energon levels were very low. Despite the fact that they were Predacons, Isis pitied them.
At last, she finally reached the building that her map indicated as the Predacon laboratory. To her surprise it looked like most of the surrounding buildings and stood only four levels tall. Isis guessed that the building in front of her was the laboratory it self, and that the prisons for the maximal prisoners of war were set up in other locations on the Predacon territory. She walked around its perimeter, until she found a door. It was quiet small, only six and a half feet by four feet. Still it was her best shot inside. Isis paused and looked around for a way to open it. She tried the knob. Locked. Just as she’d expected.
“I don’t suppose you have a key on you,” she didn’t bother to tern and her face remained cool and calm.
At first, there was no response, then the shadows parted revealing a pair of golden optics, and the silver transformer stepped into view. Isis turned and faced him. For the second time, she was taken by his eyes. They were just so beautiful, a golden-yellow color, so deep and pure. But they looked a bit different now. They seemed…sad.
“Do not go there,” he warned, his voice reflecting the same sorrow as his eyes.
“Why?” Isis narrowed her optics.
“This is where the Predacons question and torture their prisoners of war,” he gestured at the building. “No Maximal ever returns once they enter.”
“Then it’ll be no Maximals plus one,” Isis replied confidently. “Like I told you before, I can take care of myself. Besides…”
“You do not know what was done to them.”
“Who?” she frowned in confusion.
“The women. Brave, strong, proud Maximal women, like yourself. You cannot begin to imagine what was done to them.”
Isis had to admit, she was spooked. It was one thing to read about this type of torture from the disk, but when someone spoke about females in specific, she was more than a bit agitated. Isis looked straight into his eyes as he continued to speak.
“Their sparks extinguished molecule by molecule, their bodies melted to slag, tortured, and raped,” he took a step closer to her and instinctively, Isis took a step back. She flinched as her back hit the cold wall behind her.
“He is a sadist,” the transformer continued. “You know of whom I speak. Shifter. He takes them against their will and they suffer, not once but many times, over and over again until they loose their will to live, and then…”
“Okay,” Isis held up her hand. “Spare me the graphic details.”
“Isis,” his voice was insistent. She also realized that it was the first time he’d called her by her name, but Isis still didn’t know how he knew it or what his name was. “I can hear your fluid pump beating faster, and I can see your body tremble. Do not let your pride overcome you. Do not go.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Isis was surprised at the softness of her own voice.
“Because I care.”
They stood together, silent and motionless. The only sound Isis could hear was the rapid beating of her fluid pump. Then a similar sound joined it. Surprised, Isis finally realized that the sound was actually belonged to the beating of his fluid pump. It was strong and steady, but fast. He was afraid as well, but not for himself: for her. He really did care.
“I…um…I have to go,” she was becoming very uncomfortable at the closeness. Turning her back to him, Isis reached into her boot; she pulled out what looked like a blade handle. As she flipped a switch, a six-inch energon rod appeared from the handle. Isis leaned on one knee in front of the door and used the energon blade to cut around the handle. The handle fell through and landed on the floor of the other side with a thump.
Isis stood up, looking very pleased with herself, and pushed the door open. Thinking for a moment, she decided that she should really say something to the mystery transformer.
“Look, I…” Isis began, but when she turned around, the male was gone. Great, she sighed, annoyed that he disappeared again. But it was something she could worry about later, Isis decided, as she walked inside the Predacon building.
* * * * * * * * * *
It didn’t make any sense. Isis carefully observed the surroundings. It looked like nothing more than an abandoned where house. There was no complex equipment. No prison cells, nothing to suggest that Dr. Frankenstein ever held a laboratory anywhere in the area. Isis checked her internal computer for the map she downloaded from the disk, but it still insisted that she had the correct location. It wasn’t just the disk. The emptiness made her skin crawl, and Isis always trusted her intuition. It had never failed her before, and she doubted this would be the first time. Unfortunately for her, she was right.
Isis was suddenly blinded by intensely bright lights that flashed in a circle around her. The entire area was lit, and it took her a few nanoclicks to rub her optics and get used to the light. It was a few nanoclicks too many. Four Predacons appeared behind her, grabbing her tightly, and holding her by the arms and shoulders. Isis struggled, but there were too many of them and their grips were too tight. These were more powerful than the average bolts-for-brains Preds.
As she struggled,
the shadows in front of her began to disappear, and Isis saw another Predacon
approach her. In his hand he carried something resembling a hypo needle. Isis
struggled harder, but it was no use. Grinning a sadistic smile, the Predacon
pressed the hypo needle to her neck. The anesthetic took instant affect; Isis’
world began to dull and spin. Finally, she collapsed on the floor, unconscious.
When Isis came to, her head throbbed and a wound across her abdomen seeped mech fluid. Her whole body hurt like the inferno. After viewing her surroundings, she realized that she was chained to a wall by thick strips of metal around her wrists and ankles. The entire room was empty and looked completely uniform on all sides save the large door directly in front of her and the single, dim light source in the center of the ceiling. Isis struggled against the bands, but it was no use. Even if she could free herself from them, the door and walls were over five feet of solid metal, and her weapons have been removed. Her gun, all the infiltration equipment, even the dagger she kept in her boot was gone. She was defenseless.
Suddenly there was a creaking sound and the door opened. Isis watched as a tall shadow entered the room. Once the dim light illuminated the bot, Isis saw that it was the same male that injected her with the dose on anesthetics. He was over half a foot taller than her, and his exterior color was mostly green and violet. With his hands folded behind his back and the eerily calm _expression on his face, he seemed to creat waves of nervousness around him as he walked.
“Good evening,” even his voice was frightening, “Miss Khmer, isn’t it? Yes, I believe it’s Isis Khmer,” he took a step closer to her so that they were face to face. Isis struggled, but to no avail. “Oh don’t bother,” the bot sounded insulted. “This area is heavily guarded. There’s no way to escape.”
“Where am I?” Isis demanded. “Who are you?”
“You know where you are,” the bot replied. “You are in a Predacon lab.” Isis looked around again, she was afraid of this. “As to who I am, I’m sure you already know. You’re a smart woman, Miss Khmer.”
Isis narrowed her optics. “Shifter.”
He flashed a smile and have a mocking bow, “The one and only. Well, now that we’ve met, perhaps you’d like to tell me what you’re doing here, hum?” Isis didn’t respond but instead turned her head away from him.
“Not in a very talkative mood, are we, Miss Khmer? Maybe I can jog your memory.” His hand flew on its own accord, and the back of his hand hit Isis hard in the face. Her head fell to the other side, but she didn’t make a sound.
“So let me guess; you heard about the Predacon treatment of the Maximal prisoners of war and you’re here to stop us, all by your little self. Dear child, do you even have a clue who you are up against?” he sounded amused.
“The biggest pile of slag on Cybertron?” Isis suggested, sarcasm in her voice.
“The most dangerous man in the galaxy,” Shifter replied very seriously. “And do you also know what’s going to happen to you?”
“I’ve heard…rumors,” she replied dryly.
“Oh, they aren’t rumors, I assure you,” he laughed. “But you…” he started rubbing her cheek roughly with his hand. She struggled to move her head away, hate burning in her eyes. “You must be something special. So soft…” his hand then moved to her chest, where he squeezed her left breast hard. Her face burned red. “So firm…” His rough hand began to move lower down her body, and Isis’ face became one of pity and fear as she closed her shaking eyes. “But,” Shifter took a step back from her, and Isis breathed a sight of relief, “business before pleasure.”
Shifter pulled out a wireless hologram generator and activated it. Instantly, a holographic image appeared in front of Isis. “Do you know what this is, Miss Khmer?”
Isis thought for a moment then remembered something from her anatomy lessons a long time ago. “It’s a core conciseness,” she replied dryly.
“Very good,” Shifter agreed. “Now let’s try something a bit harder.” He reached into one of his containment units and produced a small object. It was made up of two spheres. One had a radius of about an inch and a half, and the other had a radius of about half an inch. “You wouldn’t know what this is,” Shifter assured her. “It’s my own little invention. I call it a shell program.”
Isis swallowed hard. Shell program did not sound good.
“Did you know,” he continued, “that when a bot is in the protoform stage, his or her body and mind is completely moldable? A protoform can take on any new physical form; gain new attributes and built in weaponry, and so on. All of this is determined by programming. Loyalty, to the Maximals or Predacons, is also determined by a program. In a protoform, that program can be changed quiet easily, but once a bot is fully developed, reprogramming becomes a bit trickier. However, there is a way to do it,” he held up the shell program. “Once this is attached to any Maximal core conciseness, it will manipulate their programming and change them into a fully capable Predacon.”
Isis’ optics widened as a dawning revelation crashed over her like a tidal wave. Shifter wasn’t going to kill her! He was going to reprogram her! She would become a Predacon, forced to fight against her friends and teammates. Worst of all, she’d loose her free will; her life would be shattered. She would no longer be Isis Khmer. Who ever she’d become, would be a monster.
“Never!” she hissed, her voice seeped with venom. “I will never join your insane cause!”
“Who ever said you’d be given a choice, Miss Khmer?” Shifter laughed. “You see, as I’ve told you, loyalty is only determined by a few simple zeroes and ones. And this,” he held up the shell program again, “is the override system.”
Cold sweat beaded her forehead. Isis now realized that this madman was absolutely serious about what he threatened to do. She stared at her capturer in sheer terror, and Shifter enjoyed every nanoclick of it. His features twisted into a sadistic smile as he put away the shell program and instead produced a blade. Only when it was activated, did Isis realize that it was the same blade she usually carried, and she knew full well what it could do. Made up of pure energon, it could cut through metal like scissors through paper. Shifter took a step closer to her and held up the weapon to her face so that it cast a dim, eerie glow across her features.
“An interesting weapon,” he commented. “I wonder if you’ve ever experienced its effects.” With a quick flash of his wrist, the blade sliced across her face, leaving a straight cut across the upper part of her right cheek. Isis winced as slight jolts of pain hit her senses.
“Impressive, don’t you agree?” he glanced up at her. “I wonder what else it can do,” as Shifter spoke, the blade moved from her face across the hollow of her neck and throat.
It was so close; Isis could feel it press into her skin, even though it didn’t draw blood. When she felt the blade on the curve of her breast, Isis’ pulse jumped. The thoughts of what he could do to her were frightening. Most of all, she had no doubt that Shifter was sick enough to do anything and everything he could to break her. Suddenly she remembered the words of the silver transformer. “Brave, strong, proud Maximal women, like yourself. You cannot begin to imagine what was done to them.” Now she knew.
Isis wished she
had never come to this place of terror. She wished she were back with her
friend, Dila, laughing about males. She wished she were back at the M.I.U,
making fun of Commander Prowl. Most of all, she wished she could see Taratron
again. Her brother.
While he spoke in his peculiar, eerie voice, Shifter began to pull away her armor, and Isis struggled to ignore the awful sensation of his hands on her body. She shivered at the cold air on her bare skin, and clenched her teeth when the Predacon began to explore her body with light, intrusive caresses. She was completely exposed to him now, her armor tossed on the floor, his optics devouring her as he touched her breasts, belly, and thighs.
Her arms ached from the strain of being tied over her head, and the humiliation of being so exposed was overwhelming. Shifter’s _expression was taut and intent as he stroked her in the most intimate of places. Quivering beneath his touch, Isis tested the strength of the metal strips that were binding her arms over her head. It was her only chance, if she could just free even one hand, maybe there would be a nanoclick when he would be off guard.
To her surprise and disgust, Shifter leaned closer to kiss her, thrusting his tongue between her lips. Isis nearly gagged, but forced herself not to resist, fearing he would use stronger force. Instead, she shut off her optical sensors as he kissed her. He kissed her again and began to move lower, his mouth went on her throat, the soft, thin metal of her breasts, then her belly. She would not be able to take it if he violated her any further.
There was a rushing sound in her ears, and Isis focused on that instead of what the Predacon was doing. Desperately, she forced herself to retain control, holding on tightly to that small part of her spark that warned her that any violent reaction would only provoke him. She had to stay strong. There was no one else o help her now. She only had her own wits to help her free herself from the madman.
The Predacon stood straight, and Isis caught the glint of metal in his hand as he took a step back from her. She held her breath, icy fear paralyzing her. Shifter held up the blade.
“Are you afraid?”
She nodded, optics wide and fixed on the sharp blade. “Yes…” her voice came out as a whisper.
“Don’t be,” his voice sounded so tender that if he was anyone else, any other bot on Cybertron, she would have believed him, and not been afraid. He looked at her for a long, tense moment. “Tell me something, Isis. Do you believe in fate?”
“No,” she replied immediately. “I’ve always believed that our choices shape our destiny.”
“To some extent,” Shifter agreed, “The universe is not a well-oiled machine, but there are certain events in our lives we can not change. Oh we may delay them, but they will happen no matter what. You were meant to fight for the Predacon, Miss Khmer. You can not escape that fate.”
“It is not my fate!” Isis hissed through clenched teeth. “I was built a Maximal, and I will die a Maximal.”
“Maybe,” Shifter shrugged, “but a part of your life you will live as a Predacon, I promise you that. But first,” he drew the weapon forward again, “you will suffer.”
This time Isis could not silence the scream that erupted from her gearbox. It sounded so loud and powerful in the vaulted room, bouncing from the walls and ceiling as if thousands of tortured souls screamed their terror with her. This was how the room was designed. After all, Shifter enjoyed the screams of the dying. And Isis was dying, loosing herself to this madman. Calmly, Shifter reached to where her wrists were bound to the wall. Isis tried to evade the sharp edge of the knife, but he held her still and there was a quick, stinging pain that began to throb.
“No! Primus no! Please don’t do this…” She had not meant to plead, but couldn’t help it. Isis sobbed softly, hope slowly replaced by despair as she felt mech fluid seep from her wrists. It was so cold, and she couldn’t stop weeping, tears flowing as freely as life from her veins. The noise in her ears grew louder, and Shifter’s voice grew distant.
So many memories, so many regrets, and every single one revolved around the people she loved. Dila, the best friend anyone could ever ask for. They were total opposites at first glance, yet Isis knew that she would gladly give up her life to save Dila and that the other woman would do the same for her. Commander Prowl, though usually a pain in her exhaust port, his intentions were always good even if bad things did happen. Taratron, her beloved brother, the only family she had left since the sedge of Helm’s Deep. Finally her thoughts strayed to the mysterious stranger. There were so many uninsured questions. Who was he? Why did he care about her fate? And of course why did Isis feel such a strong attraction every time she thought back to him? Perhaps she could have even loved him, in another place and another time, but now Isis would never find out.
Dying may not be so bad, she thought hazily, while the world whirled around her faster and faster. If only that loud buzzing in her ears would stop…even Shifter was only a blur now, his voice so distant…why was he yelling at her? Isn’t this what he wants? Yes, he wants me to suffer, and now I am. But why is he yelling?
There was a loud noise, like the sound of a two sharp pieces of metal banging together. The sound vibrated from the walls and ceiling in endless waves, crashing around her, threatening to engulf her. Something hot splashed over her, and she tried to keep her optics on but couldn’t. It was all so confused—and as the darkness crept closer, she was surprised and yet comforted to hear a new voice: male, but warm and reassuring telling her that it would be all right. Then the weight was gone, and her arms were freed. Isis was so weak that she would have surly fallen if someone hadn’t caught her. She felt herself being lifted and held…warm hands on her pulling her up, but it was too late. She only wanted to rest, to slip into that beckoning world where there was no pain.
Yes. It will
be all right now…
Darkness. Flashes. Ugly images of torture, horror, and rape. They were still very fresh scars across Isis’ mind. Her body was burning up, but she was drenched in a cold sweat. Her head moved restlessly on the pillow, her lips mouthed silent words as her mind struggled to battle the images of nightmares. It was loosing. The Shifter seemed to be everywhere, inside her mind and invading her body. Isis cried out, her fluid pump raced, and her body went through several violent convolutions apparently trying to get rid of the feeling of a foreign invasion inside her. Nanoclicks later, she felt something cool and wet run over her face and shoulders, and for a moment, Isis fell into an odd peace. Then the nightmare began again.
Suddenly the dark abyss of her optics swelled with a crimson light, as she was finally awake. Her breathing was heavy as she sat up in bed and ran a hand through her ocean-blue hair. It was tangled and wet from her sweat. Isis looked down at herself and was pleasantly surprised to find that she was in fact more or less dressed at least up to her waist. A cream colored blanket covered her lower body.
What had happened to her? Putting her head in her hands, Isis tried to compose herself. Her body and head ached, and she was sour all over. She remembered the glowing blade pressed to her throat, Shifter’s eerie face staring at her, mocking her, and then…Isis shuddered. Then nothing; only darkness. She wished she could forget everything, just block it out of her memory, but she couldn’t. It had been a living nighmare, and it was real. Nothing would ever be the same again.
Isis looked up, realizing the fact that she didn’t know where she was. Looking around, she saw that this was definitely not the Predacon torture chamber. It was a bedroom, one that reminded her of Taratron’s much more than her own. How did she get here and where was here, anyway? The last thing Isis could remember before she lost conciseness was the warm, reassuring voice. Someone had been there, someone else besides Shifter. Whoever it was, he must have gotten her out, and Isis had a pretty good idea who her mysterious rescuer was.
The door in front of her slid open, and the silver transformer stepped in the room. In his hands he held a washcloth, that was still dripping wet, leaving a wet stain on the carpet. He looked up, and Isis’ crimson optics met his golden ones. When he saw that she was awake, he smiled, but as Isis saw his smile seemed so sad.
“Hi,” was all that she could say, for she didn’t trust her voice.
“How do you feel?” he walked towards her and pulled a chair up next to the bed.
“I’ll…I’ll be okay,” she preyed to Primus that would be true.
“I did not ask how you will be,” his voice sounded stern, but kind. “I asked how you are right now.”
Isis stared at him for a long moment and than decided to be completely open. For some reason, this stranger looked like he may understand. “I want to die,” her voice was bitter. “I have lived through Predacon attacks, I’ve watched by family die, I have killed as well, but I have never felt pain like this. This feeling of sorrow and pain, it feels like it’s burning into the very core of my spark. And I don’t want to feel it anymore. I just want to die.” Silent tears rolled down her face.
“I know,” he nodded sympathetically.
“You told me not to go,” she looked up at him. “I should have listened.” She was silent for another moment. “You risked your own life to get me out of that inferno, didn’t you?”
It was more of a statement than a question. “I had to do something.”
“Huh,” Isis snorted. “No, you didn’t. I sure as hell was too much of an ass hole to let you help. So why did you bother?”
“The tale is…complicated,” he admitted. “A part of it has nothing to do with you. I will explain everything, but not now. For now I want you to rest,” he got up and turned to leave.
“Wait,” Isis called back, and he turned. “Do you have a bathroom here, or something? I’d like to clean up a bit.”
“Of course,” the transformer pointed to the small room down the hall. “Right over there.”
“Thank you,” she slowly got up, with the bed sheet still wrapped around her waist since she was only half dressed, and walked over to the bathroom, shutting the door behind herself. Once Isis was sure that the male wouldn’t barge in on her, she locked the door and let the sheet drop to the floor. Slowly turning around, she leaned heavily on the sink and looked in the mirror.
What she saw terrified her. Isis saw herself, a broken, defeated warrior. Her damp hair fell limply around her face and shoulders. Perspiration and weariness covered her face like a black mask, a reminder of slow torture and spark wrenching agony. The next thing she noticed was a thin, bloody mark right bellow her right optic, left by Shifter when he’d sliced across her face with her own energon blade. The cut was already closing, but it would certainly leave a scar. Just like the scar that would be left upon her spark for all eternity.
Tears flooded her eyes, as Isis stepped back from the mirror refusing to look again. As she took those few steps back, Isis felt something wet and sticky between her thighs. Something that impaired her movement. Looking down, her optics widened in horror. Her inner thighs were covered with blood. Her own blood, blood that had spilled from that monster’s forceful and violent intrusion. It was all happening again.
Screaming in terror, Isis garbed her temples and fell to her knees; her legs refusing to hold her up any longer. As she leaned forward, continuing to cry out, her tears fell to the linoleum floor of the bathroom in tiny splashes, creating salty puddles of grief, anger, and fear.
“Isis!” she hardly heard her rescuer banging on the door. “Isis, open the door!” when he realized that she either wouldn’t or couldn’t, he resorted to desperate measures. “Computer, release the door lock. Authorization code: Elendil’s heir.” The door slid open with a hiss, and the silver transformer ran inside the room.
Isis curled up in a corner, holding her knees tightly and sobbing. Her cries had died down, but she was all but incoherent. The male took a few cautious steps towards her and squatted so that they were on the same level.
“Isis?” his voice was a whisper. “Isis, I know what you are going through. Please let me help you.” He leaned closer to her and placed both hands on her shoulders.
“No, please,” she murmured through her tears. “Not again. Primus, not again.”
“Hush,” the transformer’s voice was soft. He put an arm around her shoulders, hugging her tightly to his body. Isis continued to sob, bearing her tear soaked face into his chest. “No one will ever harm you again. I swear it.”
He stood up, with
Isis still in his arms Picking her up, he walked out of the bathroom and gently
lowered her into the bed. Once he was sure she’d be alright, he went to find a
clean sheet and brought it back, covering it over her nearly-naked form. Isis
muttered something again, but finally fell into a restless, fevered sleep.
Chapter 10
By the time Isis awoke it was already past 0800 hours. She frowned, then remembered where she was and how she got there, and sighed deeply. Refusing to cry or feel sorry for herself, (after all she’d been doing that for the last forty eight megacycles) she struggled to a sitting position. Isis slowly swung one leg over the side of the bed, then the other. Testing her strength, she planted both feet firmly on the floor and holding on to a small table by the side of the bed, she stood up as best as she could.
It was hardly easy. Her lower body felt sour and weak. After taking a few unsteady steps, she finally found the courage to let go of the table. A few more steps and Isis was finally convinced that her legs would not buckle under her weight.
She looked around and spotted a pile of cloth neatly folded on a chair that stood at the foot of the bed. Picking it up, Isis smiled to herself. The work of her rescuer, no doubt. She appreciated the kind gesture, and went into the bathroom to change.
In a different room, the male sat in front of a table littered with papers. He leaned back in his chair, his optics scanning a flex pad with the latest news o the peace talks. Once in a while, he would reach over to type something into the terminal sitting on the table or pick up another flex pad and read over that.
“And I thought Taratron’s quarters were a mess,” Isis commented upon entering the room.
He looked up from his work and graced her with a smile. “Good morning. I trust you rested well?”
“Well enough,” she imitated his medieval accent. “Better than last night, at any rate. No nightmares… just darkness.” She sat down across the table from him and released a deep sigh, burring her head in her hands.
“But sometimes the darkness is worse, is it not?” he sympathized with her.
“A lot worse,” she admitted, “but I don’t want to dwell on it right now. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Alright,” he smiled, glad that she was returning to her self.
“Let’s talk about you.”
“Me? No, I am not a very interesting subject,” the male laughed out loud.
“Sure you are. I mean, you’re this mysterious hero who comes out of nowhere,” Isis elaborated.
“I am no hero,” he whispered, but she didn’t catch it.
“Come on, there must be something else you do besides running around and saving people from mad scientist. You must have a day job or something like that.” Thinking about what she’d said, Isis giggled.
The male raised an eyebrow and flashed a lopsided grin. “What?”
“Oh nothing,” she laughed leaning back in her chair. “I was just thinking that this is exactly what Lois Lane must have felt when she first interviewed Superman. So, Superman, are you gonna reveal your secret identity or am I going to have to reefer to you as ‘the mysterious transformer’ for the rest of my life?”
“There is nothing secret about it,” he replied.
“Then why are you avoiding the subject? Did you know I work at an infiltration unit? I’ll find out eventually. Come on, at least tell me your name.”
“My name? Well, my real name is Anárion, but they used to call me something else at the M.T.A..”
“An-á-rion,” she tried out the name on her tongue. “I like it. It’s very… poetic, and it suits you. Where does it come from?”
“Anárion was the younger of the two sons of Elendil, the king of Gondor.”
“Ah!” Isis snapped her fingers. “Gondor! Say no more. My brother is a Lord of the Rings fanatic. Gondor was the greatest human country in Middle-earth, am I right?”
“Yes,” Anárion smiled, “and I must compliment your brother on his good taste in earth literature.”
“Oy,” Isis rolled her eyes. “Another one. You should really meet Taratron sometime. I think you guys would make the best of friends. But how about a more interesting topic? You mentioned you trained at the M.T.A.? So, are you a soldier?”
“A pilot. I took a higher course on air battles once I completed my basic training. I don’t mean to brag, but I can fly pretty much anything on two wings.”
“And what did you say they called you there?”
“That,” he replied a bit sadly, “I would rather not discus it right now, if you don’t mind.”
“No, of course I don’t mind,” Isis backed off, sensing she had touched a nerve.
“Hold on a moment,” he rose and walked to the kitchen. A few minutes later, he walked out holding two steaming cups of coffee. He sat back down, and handed her one of the cup, taking a sip from his own. “What are you planing on doing now?”
“I…uh…I haven’t had a chance to think about it,” she admitted, thanking him for the coffee with a nod, “but I guess I have to call Taratron…and my commander. I have a few sweat words to share with him.”
“Humm, do you suppose they may be able to bring in troops now that…” he trailed of.
“Now that there’s a credible survivor?” Isis raised an eyebrow, tracing her finger over the edge of her cup. “That is what you wanted to say, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I won’t get all weepy again. That’s just the way life is, you know, and I won’t give that bastard the pleasure of knowing that he has any control over mine.” Anárion watched her for a moment, then shook his head and laughed. Now, it was Isis’ turn to frown. “What?”
“Isis, you truly are an amazing woman,” his smile was so warm. “You live through unspeakable torment, and you immerge victorious with strength and pride. They will write novels about you, I promise.”
“Of course,” he pointed into the living room. “Right over there.”
“Thanks,” she went in to the living room and picked up the head set. Dialing Taratron’s number, Isis waited. “Come on, big brother, pick it up, I need your help,” she muttered. “Taratron, where are you?” On the seventh ring, she became tiered and worried. Where could he have gone to? She hung up, and tried to connect to Prowl’s office. This time, she succeeded.
“Commander Prowl here.”
“Sir, this is Isis Khmer.”
“Well, ready to get back here and retrieve your badge, Miss Khmer?” he didn’t sound at all angry with her and perhaps rather amused.
“Yes, sir,” she took a deep breath, “but that’s not why I’ve contacted you. I…I have conducted my own investigation into the rumor of the Predacon treatment of the Maximal POWs.”
There was a deep sigh of frustration from the other line. “Isis..”
“Half a moment, sir,” she cut him off. “I think you should really hear what I have to say.”
Prowl listened to the beginning of her story and soon realized that this was something serious. “All right, why don’t you return to head quarters and we’ll discus this then?”
Isis agreed and cut the connection. She stood in silent thought when she felt herself being watched. Turning, she saw Anárion standing in the doorway.
“I shall
accompany you,” he stated, and she nodded. If she brought him with her, he
would certainly confirm her story, and that would help immensely. Plus, if
nothing else, his presence was a comfort to her. There was something about him,
something that made her feel safe whenever she was around him, something that
made her trust him. Isis followed him outside, keeping a few steps behind him.
Her optics never left his form. There was still one question she wanted
answered: why had he helped her?
At the M.I.U.’s headquarters, Anárion had received clearance to enter the top secret organization. Since he was once part of the Maximal airforce, and because Isis pulled a few strings, he was allowed to accompany her. Prowl didn’t ask any questions about him. Apparently he had been informed about Anárion before he and entered his office.
The door had been locked so that no one would disturb them. The old commander listened carefully as Isis retold her tale. She described the location and the design of the Predacon lab, as well as the bots she encountered as best as she could remember. Anárion silently noted that Isis didn’t go into detail about her personal experience. She only told Prowl that she had been captured and that Anárion got her out. Prowl didn’t ask for details on the matter; he respected her too much to pry into such a painful and personal matter. Words would not be enough. In her turn, Isis had been expecting something along the lines of a lecture. After all, Prowl had forbade her from going, but didn’t say a word about it.
“I am very sorry for what you went through, Isis,” he said sensually, “but I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
“I want you to listen to me,” she demanded. “This threat is real. What those slag sucking assholes are doing to our soldiers is real. I want…no, I need for you to listen to what I’m saying. Sir, you once said that you trusted my word. Are you doubting me now?”
Prowl kept a steady eye contact with he, thinking of what to do. In the end, he trusted that whatever it was, it was definitely worth looking into. “All right, Isis,” he rose from his chair. “Here’s what I can offer you: I can give you a squadron to storm that place. I can’t go with you, so you’ll have to be in command of them. Do you think you can handle it?”
“No,” she shook her head, “I’m no good as a commander. Send Taratron. He has experience as a squad leader and knows about this.”
“How?” Prowl’s perpetual frown deepened.
“I told him.”
“That is very unfortunate,” his face wore a thoughtful look.
“Why?” Isis frowned.
“Because he’s gone.”
“Gone? What do you mean ‘gone?’” her optics widened. What in the inferno was going on?!
“I mean we don’t know where he is,” the commander explained. “I’ve tried to contact him, but no one can locate his position. Isis, I know the two of you are very close, but if you want to take down Shifter, you’re going to have to command that squadron with a clear head. Which means, stop worrying about Taratron. He can take care of himself, after all.” Isis nodded. She had to agree with him there. “So do you want that squad? I am confident that you would do well in command, but the choice is yours to make.”
Isis tapped her fingers together, deep in thought when she felt Anárion’s hand on her shoulder. “Isis, may I speak with you privately?”
“Yeah sure. Excuse us for a moment, sir,” she turned to Prowl and the old transformer nodded. Anárion rose from his seat, extending a hand to her. Isis took it, following him into the corridor.
Prowl crossed his arms over his chest, deep in thought of what move would be next to make when the secret door behind him slid open and the gray and blue bot stepped in.
“I saw what happened,” he commented. “Do you think she will still be able to perform her task?”
“I don’t know,” Prowl sighed. “I’m very worried. You read the reports. You know what kind of inferno she must have been through. Physically she’ll be fine, but emotionally…I don’t know.”
“The ‘cargo’ is much more powerful than Shifter,” the bot pointed out. “If she couldn’t take him on, what makes you think she can handle the assignment?”
“It’s not about physical power,” Prowl explained. “I’ve seen Isis Khmer take down bots ten times her size. She’s the best there is, trust me.”
“I don’t know,” the bot was skeptical. “Prowl, I understand her, believe me. She’s a good woman with good intentions, no mater how she decides to execute them. I’m just not sure if she’s ready for such a difficult assignment.”
“Listen,” Prowl turned and faced him. “I served under the original Optimus Prime. Compared to me, you’re still a kid. I have seen humans and bots alike crumble under half the stuff that girl goes through. If she can’t get the job done, no one can.”
The bot chuckled and looked Prowl straight in the face. “So it seems I can never escape his shadow, can I? Very well, give her a choice. If she feels she can handle it, she may.” He turned to leave.
“Primal,” the Autobot called after him.
“Yes?” Optimus Primal slowly turned around.
“Thank you.”
* * * * * * * * * * *
“You are under no obligation to return to that…place,” Anárion peered at Isis with his deep golden optics. “You do not have to go back, if you don’t feel comfortable.”
“I know, but I…” she choked on the words. “Anárion, I want his blood on my hands.” He watched as she began to pace in front of him with her arms tightly wrapped around herself. “There are thousands of Maximals who have been terminated at his hands, but I’ve never once thought about them. All I cared about was what he did to me. That must’ve sounded very selfish,” she lowered her eyes, unable to meet Anárion’s watchful gaze.
“It
will be alright,” Anárion smiled down at her. They embraced, and Isis buried
her face in his shoulder. “It will be alright, because I will go with you.”
By 2200 hours the Maximal squadron of thirty soldiers had surrounded the Predacon lab. They were divided into five teams that consisted of five troops and a team leader. Isis, of course, was in command of the whole squadron and kept in contact with the five team leaders, giving them directions. At the end of the megacycle, the teams secured all the entrances. Three of the five groups kept the entrances in check, making sure none of the Predacons escaped. The other two teams broke through a back door and were now waiting for Isis’ command to storm the lab. Isis had no intention of going inside. She stayed at one of the less guarded doors with Anárion, speaking to her troops through a short range communication device.
“Ma’am,” one of the team leaders ran up to her with a salute.
“Report,” Isis returned the salute.
“We have just gained control of the building’s terminal system. Security cameras, speakers, and information data now belong to us, so we can monitor everything that goes on in the building.”
“What about the Predacons?”
“They are completely locked out of the terminal system. As far as we can tell, there are about twenty of them within the building. Plus some of our guys.”
“Maximal prisoners?” Anárion stepped in.
“Yes, sir.”
That was not something Isis had been expecting. She had assumed that the building was just the lab, not the actual prison. But then again, perhaps she was right. She supposed she should have expected at least some of them to be there. After all, if there were no prisoners, there was no point to the lab.
“How many?” she asked the team leader.
“About a hundred or so, ma’am. Most of them are in pretty bad shape, though. I suggest we get them out of here as soon as possible, because they are in need of serious repairs.”
“Agreed.”
“Excuse me,” Anárion interrupted. “As far as I see, this is very similar to a hostage situation, and it may very well become one.”
“You think the Predacons would use the prisoners as shields?” she looked up at him.
“I do not doubt it,” he replied. “Which is why I suggest a new strategy.”
“I’m listening,” Isis nodded.
“You said that you could monitor the Predacon activity within the building, correct?” he asked the young Maximal.
“Yes, sir.”
“And over half of the squadron is positioned near the main entrences?” Isis nodded. “What should do,” Anárion smiled. “Here is what I propose: send an order to the tree teams at the main entrances to storm the laboratory but send it on a Predacon frequency. Then, monitor the Predacons within the building. Because their sensors are blind, they should direct most of their attention to the main entrances since they’ll be waiting for an attack. While they are distracted, the remaining two teams should storm the laboratory from the back.”
“It should work,” Isis agreed, very impressed. “Alright, you heard the man,” she turned to the team leader. “Do it, and while your main concern should be the safety of the hostages, I want the Predacons captured.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Within the next megacycle, it was all over. Twenty-three Predacons were arrested and over a hundred Maximal prisoners were released and immediately rushed to the closest repair center. Most of them would survive, but over a dozen were in critical condition and the rest had to be examined and their injuries had to be treated as well.
As she and Anárion walked past the line of arrested Predacons, Isis noticed that Shifter was not among them. When the questioned one of the team leaders that led the assault, she discovered that they were not able to catch the Predacon leader. Somehow, with the use of a clocking devise, he had managed to slip through.
“My team is combing the area as we speak,” the team leader informed her, “but so far there’s no sign of him.”
“Keep trying,” she implored. “There’s no telling how much damage he can do if he gets away.” The team leader saluted and departed. Isis sighed and whipped sweat from her forehead. She was tiered beyond measure, but now was not the time nor the place for rest. She had to finish this once and for all.
“Hey!” she suddenly heard a voice behind her. Turning, Isis was very surprised to find Celadon, Astroburn, and Dila running through the crowd of troops towards her. Anárion stepped into the shadows, not wanting to come between Isis and her friends.
“Isis!” Dila warmly embraced her, and Isis hugged her back, glad to have her friend near.
“Commander Prowl told us what was going on,” Celadon remarked.
“Yeah, are you okay?” Astroburn sounded genuinely concerned.
Isis smiled and nodded. “I’m fine, and I’m very grateful to have you guys here with me. Thank you.”
“Oh any time,” Dila smiled at her. “We’re all so happy to have you back safe and sound.” Isis returned the smile.
“So the commander gave you your own squad, huh?” Celadon pointed out. “How does it feel to be in charge for once?”
“It sucks,” she informed him. “As soon as this is over, I’m going back to my solo carrier. Oh, I almost forgot! Guys, there’s someone here I’d like you to meet,” she looked around, her optics searching for her companion. “Anárion! Now where did he go? Anárion, get your tail pipe over here right now!”
At first nothing happened, then the silver transformer stepped out of the shadows, a smile on his lips.
“Happy to oblige, my lady,” his smile was directed at Isis, who tried not to blush too brightly.
“Right, well this is Anárion. He was the one who devised the strategy to get into the Predacon lab. I wouldn’t have made it this far without his help.”
“It is good to meet you all,” Anárion shook hands with all of them in turn, “but I’m afraid Isis gives me too much credit.”
“You know, you look kinda familiar,” Astroburn observed thoughtfully.
“Hmm,” Dila grinned. “You must be the mystery transformer Isis told me about,” she flashed a smile to her friend, but Isis glared back in response.
“Did she?” Anárion smiled, glancing at Isis and then back at Dila. “And what did she say?”
“She said she found you to be a very intriguing individual,” Dila lied, keeping her optics focused on Isis rather than on Anárion, “and that she hoped to meet you again.”
“Uh-uh,” he nodded with a smirk. “You must forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe.”
“Ah!”
Astroburn snapped his fingers. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you
before!”
Astroburn grinned and clapped Anárion on the back. “ ’Bolts! How’ve you been, man? I haven’t heard from you in ages. You just dropped of the face of Cybertron. What’s up?”
Anárion visibly tensed, and Isis raised an eyebrow. “ ‘Bolts,’ ” she asked, amused.
“What? Didn’t he tell you?” Astroburn looked at her.
“It is not a good subject,” Anárion interrupted.
“Sure it is,” the younger male wouldn’t give up. “The hero’s just modest, that’s all. See, back when we were in our flight training, this bot was the top of our class. I tell you, Isis, he’s the best. Even saved some of us from our own stupidity a few times. So everyone, including our instructors, named him after one of the heroes from the early years of the Great War: Commander Silverbolt of the Aerialbots.”
“There are, however, a few points they miscalculated,” Anárion objected. “I am not half the man Commander Silverbolt was. He was the one who destroyed the Key to Vector Sigma and he was a great leader. I do not deserve his name. He never failed like I have.”
“What in the inferno is this slag?!” Astroburn was shocked. “Come on, Silverbolt, everyone back in the academy owes you their lives at least once. I know I sure do.”
“Anárion?” Isis put a hand on his shoulder, sensing that something was seriously wrong.
“It is not something I wish to discus,” he replied. “Isis, would you walk with me for a little wile? I need to clear my head.”
“Sure,” she nodded and began to walk away from the Predacon laboratory.
“And Astroburn…” Anárion called back for the last time.
“Yeah?” their optics met.
“Don’t ever call me Silverbolt again. Ever.” With that, he and Isis disappeared.
* * * * * * * * * *
“What was that all about?” Isis looked up at Anárion as they walked down the street in the direction of his apartment.
“You asked why I bothered to go after you. It has to do with that.”
“Tell me.”
Anárion took a deep breath. “Alright, you do deserve to know. It was five stellar cycles after I graduated from flight training where they had indeed called me Silverbolt ever since my first year. I never minded. In fact I became so used to it, I abandoned the name Anárion completely. When my training was complete, I joined Maximal Air Force. About two stellar cycles later, they put me on reckon and paired me with another pilot. Her name was Laurelin, and she and I worked together for three stellar cycles.”
“She was just your partner?” Isis double checked casually.
Anárion smiled at her. “We were not lovers, if that is what you were asking.”
“Oh,” she blushed brightly. “Not that it would bother me.”
“No, of course not, Isis,” his smile widened since he knew that it would have bothered her a great deal. “May I return to the subject at hand?” Isis nodded, urging him to continue. “Two stellar cycles into my service and three after the beginning of our partnership, we were sent to a secret section of the Predacon territory for a prisoner exchange. We were ordered to receive the three Maximals being released. But when we arrived…” he paused an took a deep breath.
“When we arrived, we found their dismembered bodies scattered in front of the Predacon prison. Laurelin and I immediately drew our weapons. It had all been an ambush. Unfortunately before we had a chance to act, a dozen Predacons appeared from their hideouts, and we were both captured. Shifter was there, and I was forced to watch as he tortured, raped, and later killed Laurelin. I am still unsure of how I escaped, but I remember clearly holding her beaten, broken, body as she drew her last breath. Her optics grew dim, and then she was gone, her spark left her body to join the Matrix.
“Yes, I escaped, but I was unable to save her. She…she died in my arms, and I should have helped her in some way, but I could not. I am not a hero, and I certainly don’t deserve to carry Commander Silverbolt’s name.”
Isis listened, then took his hand in hers. “So this is a vengeance gig for you?”
“I prefer not to think of it that way,” Anárion sighed and shook his head. “Yes, I want to see that monster pay for everything he’s done to you, to Laurelin, and to thousands of other Maximals, but this is not just about him. More than anything, I wish to make up for what I’ve done, though I suppose I can never truly succeed.”
“What you did? Anárion, I can tell you exactly what you did. You saved me from a life of pain and torture, or worse, from a life as a Predacon. What happened to your partner was in no way your fault. I understand you may have survivor’s guilt, but I’m glad that you did. If you hadn’t, I may not be here, at least not as myself.”
A single silver tear slid down Anárion’s face. He was so grateful to hear her say those words, but his heart was still so heavy. Gently, Isis brushed away the tear, and her hand came to rest, cupping his face. Anárion turned his head slightly, and pressed his lips against her open palm.
Isis, in her turn, also felt like crying. Anárion was the kindest, most considerate male she’d ever known. It was a pity he wouldn’t, or couldn’t, see his own kindness and the goodness of his heart. She smiled up at him and brought her hand back to her side. Then, ever so slowly she brought her face closer to his until their lips met in a soft, but passionate kiss.
After a moment, Anárion drew back and released a deep sigh. “Isis, I…” he didn’t get a chance to finish what he was about to say. Three carefully aimed laser charges were shot from a gun concealed by shadows, aimed at him. One of them hit him directly in the middle of his torso plate, missing his spark chamber by an inch. Anárion fell to the ground with a loud crash. His body shook violently, and sparks flew in every direction as his internal wiring began to break down.
Isis heard herself scream Anárion’s name,
but she had very little time to comprehend what had happened before her warrior
instincts kicked in, and they screamed at her to go after the shooter. The
shadows shifted, and her acute sight spotted what looked like a silhouette.
Sparing Anárion only one quick glance, she broke out into a run. The silhouette
ran too, and it was very fast indeed. Isis chased it through several dark allies
before they finally reached a fairly well lit street. Then she froze.
Chapter 14
“You!” she gasped, slightly out of breath.
“Ah, so we meet again, Miss Khmer,” Shifter’s optics sparkled. “Had I known it was you, I would have stopped running blocks ago. What a pleasure to see you again! And so soon!”
Isis knew that this was the moment of truth. She had been wondering what it would be like to come face to face with him again, and had been afraid she’d panic. But as she looked at him, Isis found that she was no longer afraid. All the fear had dissolved from her spark, but the anger, hatred, and disgust were very fresh. She immediately drew her gun, aiming it at his spark chamber.
“Don’t move!” she ordered. “You’re under arrest!”
“Oh please!” he laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to read me my rights too.”
“No,” her voice was ice cold. “You don’t have any rights, you piece of slag! Don’t move, or I swear, I’ll kill you ten times before you can hit the ground!”
“You still haven’t learned anything, have you?” he shook his head, as if he was scolding a child. “How very disappointing. Oh well, I still think you’ll make a fine Predacon one day. With my help, of course.”
“Ha! And what day would that be? You’ll be locked up, or better: executed, long before anything like that.”
“No,” he shook his head, “because you are going to let me go.”
“And why, in the name of Primus, would I do that?” she planted her free hand on her hips.
Shifter chuckled and cocked his head to the side. “Did you already forget about your hero? I shot him, remember?”
Isis thought for a moment. “We were close to the crime scene,” she finally replied. “There are good repair bots back there.”
“Not good enough,” Shifter smiled. “Those charges were implanted with millions of nanobots. They will enter his body, then eat away at his internal systems until all that’s left is burnt wireing. Oh, he may survive, but he’ll be left with the mental composite of a drone.” Isis slightly lowered her gun. “The nanobots are completely untraceable, of course, and they should be beginning there work in…oh, about thirty nanoclicks. Now they’re not very powerful. In fact, they can all be rendered useless with an electrical shock of about a hundred and twenty volts. Your hero could service. The question is: will you get to him in time?”
She hesitated. Isis knew that she didn’t have enough time to take on Shifter and save Anárion. She had to chose, but she was so close…so close.
“What will it be, Miss Khmer?” Shifter spread his hands, which gave her a clear shot, and she would have taken it if she wasn’t so deep in thought. “Can’t have it both ways. How much is your revenge worth to you? Is it worth the hero’s life?” Isis didn’t move. “Time won’t wait, Miss Khmer. You now have exactly… eighteen nanoclicks. Fate, I’m afraid, is an unforgiving mistress, but at the moment you’ve been given a choice. Will you let her chose you or will you chose her?”
* * * * * * * * * *
Anárion awoke in one of the CR chambers at the repair bay of the M.I.U.. He stepped out and looked himself over, assessing the previous damage, then looked over to his right and smiled. Isis sat in a chair at the main council with her head down and optics turned off. In the past four solar cycles, she had been too busy for a recharge. She had talked to Commander Prowl, planed the attack on the Predacon lab, executed that attack, and spent the remaining seventeen megacycles by the CR chamber waiting for Anárion to recover.
To say the least, she was exhausted both physically and mentally. Despite everything, Isis must have felt Anárion’s presence, because the dark abyss of her optics lit up in a crimson light as she, too, came back on-line. The silver transformer said nothing, merely smiled down at her, his warm, kind golden optics shinning.
“Hey,” she breathed, her voice a whisper. “How are you?”
“Alright,” he replied. There was a silence between them, then he spoke again “Did you arrest him?”
“Shifter?” she stood, searching his features. “No, I didn’t.”
“What happened?”
“You,” Isis kept their eye contact. “You became too important. I couldn’t let you become a casualty of my personal war.” Anárion’s hand came up to caress her cheek. “I couldn’t let you die when I knew I could save you.”
Anárion sighed and drew away his hand. His gaze fell to the floor. “I am sorry. I know how much it meant to you to capture Shifter.”
“Don’t be,” Isis assured him. “He’s not worth it. He’s not worth sacrificing your life. There’ll be another time to catch him, and next time, you and I will both be ready.”
“What will you do now?” Anárion looked back up at her.
“I honestly don’t know,” she admitted. “I need to move on with my life, so I guess I’ll go back to work. I…I just want life to be simple again.”
“Simple? How so?”
“Alone,” she avoided his eyes.
“You want to be alone?” Anárion pressed, and Isis finally looked up.
“No.”
They drew closer together. “Neither do I,” he whispered and leaned forward, brushing his lips against her cheek. Then, tilting his head, he pressed his lips against hers, in a deep kiss full of the fire and passion they felt for each other.
When they finally drew apart, Isis looked up at him and was moved by the many emotions that played across his features. Kindness, compassion, and pity reflected in his optics. It was as if Anárion could read her very soul, and he saw everything she’d gone through and felt all her pain and anguish. It was at that moment that Anárion made a silent vow to her. He vowed to always be there for her and to protect her from suffering anymore harm.
“The truth,” Anárion whispered as he held her closer, his arms wrapped around her, “is that I now realize how much I’ve missed life. It feels like I haven’t lived at all for the past three stellar cycles, ever since Laurelin died.” Isis nodded sympathetically. “It is true that I cared about her, but I was never in love with her. In fact, I didn’t know what love felt like. Until now.”
Isis knew exactly what he meant. Ever since the first time she had really stopped to take a good, deep look at him, she felt something stir in the depth of her spark. Like a flood of emotions filling her body with a comforting warmth.
“I…” she looked deep into his optics. “I’m in love with you. I never thought I could ever feel like this, but I do.”
Anárion didn’t know what to say. It was more than he could ever hope for. Gathering her in his arms once more with one smooth motion. Isis felt one of his hands behind her head and the other at the small of her back, holding her to his warm body. His breath fell on her throat as his voice whispered into her ear a word greater than the eternal void of space and time itself.
“Beloved…”
Chapter 15
For the following three weeks, Isis spent most of her spare time with Anárion. She knew she had to go back to see Commander Prowl about her next assignment, but until then she intended to enjoy whatever was left of her time off.
“What are your plans for the near future?” she asked Anárion on the night before she had to return to the M.I.U..
“Truthfully, I was going to wait until later, but I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“I have signed up on an exploration mission. It will cover a new sector and will go deeper into space than usually.”
“An exploration mission?” Isis raised an eyebrow. “What’s a great fighter pilot like you going to do on an exploration ship? You’re way to good for that.”
“I thought I should like to see the rest of the universe,” he replied. “Cybertron has become a bit…confining for me.”
“When will you be back?”
“I do not know, but I hope it will not be too long. I hate to be away from you.”
“Me too,” Isis smiled at him, “but I still don’t know my assignment. Most likely I’ll be busy too. I’ll miss you.”
“And I shall dwell in darkness without you, my love.”
Isis laughed and shook her head. “Sappy as always.”
He returned the smile. “I have something for you,” he got up and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned a nanoclick later caring a set of three thick books. All three were bound by leather covers with very tough-looking spines. Their covers were beautifully decorated with silver leaves, and their titles were written in gold.
“Oh no!” Isis covered her eyes. “Don’t tell me! It’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy.”
“Yes it is, but please don’t jump to any conclusion. This is my greatest treasure, aside from you, of course. I want you to have them while I’m gone.”
“Thanks,” Isis received the books, “but don’t think I’m planing on reading any of them. I had my fill from listening to Taratron.”
“You’ve never read them,” Anárion pointed out. “Personally, I think you would enjoy them. Here,” he picked up the book from the top and read the title. “The Return of the King. Ah yes, the end of the Third Age,” he flipped through a few pages and bean to read. “ ‘I have, maybe, the power to heal her body, and to recall her from the dark valley. But to what she will awaken: hope, or forgetfulness, or despair, I do not know. And if to despair, then she will die, unless other healing comes which I cannot bring. Alas! For her deeds have set her among the queens of great renown.’ ” He closed the book.
“What was that?” Isis asked, her curiosity taking over.
“I thought you didn’t want to read it?” Anárion asked, amused. “Well the speaker was Aragorn, the man who later becomes king of Gondor. He spoke of a woman named Éowyn, the shieldmaiden of Rohan. It is a long tale, but in short, she had come to fight and was struck down by a great evil. Aragorn was indeed able to heal her body, but he could not heal her broken spirit. In the end, she had to find healing within herself.”
Isis looked down at the pile of books in her lap. “So you still manage to teach me a lesson.” Anárion sat down next to her and wrapped an arm around her, and Isis laid her head on his shoulder. “Tell me,” she said quietly, “did the girl ever find her way out of the darkness?”
“You’ll have to read the books to find out,” he ran a hand through her hair.
She sighed and snuggled closer to him. “Maybe I’ll read them after all.”
* * * * * * * * * *
In the morning, at 0700 hours, Isis returned to the headquarters of the M.I.U.. When she entered Commander Prowl’s office and saw him sitting at his desk and shuffling through papers, Isis had to smile. It was as if everything was back to normal.
“I trust there won’t be any temper tantrums this time, Miss Khmer?” he didn’t even looked up.
“No, sir,” she grinned.
He sat up and pushed the papers aside, “Then we can get right down to business. Please sit down,” she did. “I’ve called you here today, because we need to discus the matter of your special assignment. Dila, Celadon, and Astroburn have already received their missions. Taratron is missing, but I hope to find him soon enough. Which brings me to you. I do have a mission for you, Isis, but in light of the recent events, I’m making this mission optional.”
She took a deep breath. “Alright.”
“It means that if you chose to refuse it, I won’t think any less of you. I understand that after what happened, you may want a rest from any assignments. Moreover, if you don’t feel fit for it, I forbid you from taking on this mission, since it requires you to be in top shape. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir, perfectly, but before you go any further, I must tell you that I already accept the mission no matter what it is. I need to move on with my life and brooding on the past doesn’t help in any way.”
“Good,” Prowl said approving. “Now let us discus your mission. Tell me, what do you know about Protoform X.”
Isis thought for a moment. “It was the result of an attempt by our scientists to recreate the Decepticon Starscream’s invincible spark. The subject was very powerful but eventually went mad and killed a huge number of our people. He whipped out a small deep space colony called Omicron. He could not be recycled, but was finally contained in a stasis pod.”
“All of that is true,” agreed the commander. “As you can imagine, the Elders want him off the planet. We have arranged for his stasis pod to be taken by a ship and dumped on some deserted planet where he can’t cause anymore damage.”
“I’m sorry, sir, but I fail to see what this has to do with me.”
“Be patient, I’ll explain. The Maximal
military wants someone other than a bunch of scientists on that ship, because if
X were to become loose, it would be an unthinkable disaster. Your mission is to
make sure that doesn’t happen, and in the worst case , if X escapes, your job
is to stoop him.”
Chapter 16
Isis was thoughtful. “You do realize that you’ll be dealing with one of the most powerful and dangerous criminal on Cybertron,” she nodded, “and if there is a need for you to execute the second part of your orders, chances are you won’t come back alive.”
She looked up. “I understand that perfectly, sir, but there’s no need to worry; X won’t become loose.”
“Keep up that attitude,” Prowl approved. “One last thing: the vessel on which you’ll be traveling is called the Axalon and is commanded by Optimus Primal.”
“Optimus…Primal?” Isis raised an eyebrow. “The bot who’s descendant from Prime?! Oh great! Do I have the best luck with commanding officers, or what?” she muttered sarcastically.
“Anyway,” Prowl ignored her last statement. “He also knows about X, but that’s all. Aside from Primal, you are not to discus this with anyone.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I believe that’ll be all. You’re dismissed, Isis.”
She thanked him and got up to leave, but when she got to the door, Isis stooped. “Commander…”
“Yes?” he looked up.
“You said you haven’t heard from Taratron?”
“No, I’m sorry. I know that you’re worried, but I honestly think he’ll be okay. He’s one of the best worriers I’ve ever met. In fact, I almost feel sorry for any Predacon that crosses paths with him. Don’t worry.”
Isis sighed. She was, of course, was still very worried, but instead of showing it, she nodded and walked out.
* * * * * * * * * *
Back in her apartment, Isis packed together a few very personal possessions. All electronic equipment and weapons she needed would be provided for her once she reached the Axalon. There was only one weapon she took with her: a modified and very advanced version of a crossbow. It was one of her favorites. The crossbow came with many attachments, such as a zip line, a short harp-like dagger that could do a considerable mount of damage when fired at a high speed, and poisoned darts.
After a few minutes of shifting papers on her desk, Isis finally found all three books in The Lord of the Rings trilogy that she received from Anárion. Perhaps, if everything went well with X, she would have some spare time to read them, so she placed them in the backpack along with her crossbow. She took one last look around her living room to see if she forgot anything. Then, deciding that she hadn’t, Isis returned to her bedroom.
After changing, she opened her closet to put away her armor. Isis was about to close the closet doors, when something on the shelf caught her attention. She picked it up and smiled to herself. The brandy brown eyes of the old teddy bear stared back into her scarlet optics. Isis hugged the stuffed animal and sat down on her bed, running her hands through its soft fur. This was, perhaps, the greatest gift she ever received from Taratron.
Suddenly she felt like crying. “Taratron, brother, where are you?” Holding the stuffed animal tighter, Isis buried her face in its fur. “The last remnant of my childhood,” she whispered through unshed tears. “Dear Primus, where has my innocence gone?”
* * * * * * * * * *
The central space port was as crowded as ever. There were bots rushing everywhere, checking passes, filling out forms, saying goodbye to friends and family, and boarding the ships. At the time, there were close to forty interplanetary vessels, but only three deep space ships. The first was an enormous luxury cruiser that traveled all over the space colonies belonging to the Maximals. Anyone who wished to take a vacation in space or visit the colonies would most likely be traveling on that ship. The second was smaller and much less impressive than the cruiser. It only accommodated two to five passengers and traveled no further than Cybertron’s moon. The last one was smaller than the first, but larger and more advanced than the second. It was colored mostly gray, with the Maximal symbol on the side, and its name, the Axalon, written next to it.
This is it, Isis thought. She pulled out her papers, swung the backpack over one shoulder, and headed for the ship. At the main entrance, a whole group of Maximals prepared to board the ship. Isis eyed them with skepticism. None looked like the fighting type to her. It was no wonder the Elders wanted her on the ship to guard X. Isis had a strong feeling that she would have more trouble with the crew than with X himself.
Her optics searched for Optimus Primal, but she had no idea what he looked like. Isis noticed a young bot next to her, who had to be at least seven or eight stellar cycles younger than herself. He was a yellow-gold color all over, paint, optics, and all.
“Hey, kid,” she called to him. The bot turned, and Isis winced when she saw a sparkle in his optic that she so often associated with other males that have lusted after her. But this one was young, and Isis knew it was just a male reaction. The kid didn’t mean any harm.
“Uh…can I help you?” he grinned nervously.
“Yes, you can. I’m looking for Optimus Primal, commander of this vessel. Do you know where I would be able to find him?”
“Uh…yeah. Yeah! He’s right over there,” the young bot pointed to his left at two older transformers standing closer to the ship.
“Thanks, kid,” she replied and started in the direction of the ship.
One was about a head shorter than the other, with a green and brown paint job and red optics. The taller bot was gray and blue and, as Isis guessed it, was indeed Optimus Primal. When he saw her approach, he excused himself and his companion went back inside the ship.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” she said politely.
“Not at all,” Optimus smiled and shook her hand. “I was just running over some last minute details with my senior repair and science officer. How can I help you, Miss Khmer?”
“Please, call me Isis, and my commander, Prowl, told me to talk to you before I boarded.”
“That’s correct,” Optimus nodded. “As I understand it, Prowl briefed you on our situation, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then here’s the last thing you need to know,” he reached into a containment unit and pulled out a blue print of the ship. “This is an exploration mission, Isis, and in every exploration mission there are stasis pods and protoforms.”
Isis went pale.
“S…stasis pods?”
Chapter 17
“This is the stasis hall,” Optimus pointed at the map, obviously missing her distress, “and your stasis pod is right over here, number 1311-2394.”
“Hold it,” Isis objected, raising her hand. “I thought all protoforms got their memories partially erased.”
“All except for you,” he assured her. “Believe me, Isis, I don’t want you to go up against X blind folded and without your military training.”
“What about my personal memories?” she demanded.
“You have nothing to worry about,” he placed a hand on her shoulder. “In the worst possible situation, the pod will store at least some information for you.”
“Alright,” but she was far from happy with the arrangement.
“In that case you have everything you need. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me; I have some last minute preparations to see to.”
Isis nodded, and Optimus departed. With a megacycle left before launch, she decided to walk around. She made half a lap around the Axalon when she heard a familiar voice calling her name. Isis turned and her optics widened in amazement.
“Anárion!”
The silver transformer stood only a few feet away from her. He looked just as surprised as she was, but his golden optics shined. Isis was overcome with joy and ran for him. Anárion caught her in a warm embrace, and they were lost in each other’s arms.
“What are you doing here?” Isis finally drew back and searched his eyes.
“I could ask you the very same question. I thought you were supposed to be on your assignment?”
“This is my assignment,” Isis explained. “I whish I could tell you more, but Commander Prowl swore me to secrecy.”
“There is no need for apologies. I completely understand.”
“So this is your exploration mission?” she pointed at the ship. “what a coincidence.”
“Yes. Quiet fortunate, is it not?” Anárion smiled.
“Attention, attention,” sounded the speaker, “all passengers traveling on the Axalon. The ship will depart within the next half a megacycle. At this time we ask that all passengers board the ship. Thank you.”
“I guess that’s our cue,” she took his hand. “Come on.”
They entered the ship and walked past the bridge and crew quarters towards the stasis hall. Isis’ spirit was lightened, and she nearly forgot about the stasis pod she’d be entering in only a few minutes.
“So give me your opinion as an expert pilot,” she addressed Anárion. “What do you think of this…ship?”
“It is certainly nothing like the jets I am used to,” he replied, “but I suppose it should serve its purpose well enough.”
“Personally, I think it’s a scrap heap,” she comminuted. “It’ll be a miracle if we don’t crash.”
“Do not say that,” Anárion scolded her.
“What?” Isis was confused.
“It is bad luck to talk about crashes on a ship,” he explained. “It was one of the first things our commanders told us in flight training.” She snorted. “I’m very serious, Isis.”
By that time, they had reached the stasis hall, and suddenly Isis’ mech fluid froze in her veins. She became pale, and Anárion immediately noticed the sudden change in her demeanor.
“What is it?” he asked in concern.
“The stasis pods,” she breathed, her optics fixed on the rows of pods positioned vertically against the walls. “They…unnerve me. I mean, you never know what you’ll wake up as.”
Anárion gave her a sympathetic and understanding look, and came up behind her, rubbing her upper arms for comfort. “It’ll be alright,” he whispered. “I’ll be right there when you wake up.”
“Promise?” she turned around and met his golden gaze.
“On my spark, I swear it,” he replied and
kissed her lightly on the lips. He let her go and guided her to her stasis pod.
Once Isis strapped herself in, and the glass lid closed above her, Anárion
headed for his pod on the opposite side of the stasis hall, facing Isis. She saw
Anárion in his stasis pod smiling at her, and placed her hand against the cold
glass. He did the same, as if they could reach each other through the space
between them. Then Isis’ body went numb, and she slipped into stasis lock.
Epilogue
Earth, Prehistoric time,
That’s it! The protoform’s mind snapped awake. Though she still couldn’t feel, see, or hear, there was a new self awareness. She knew who she was.
I am Isis Khmer! her thoughts were like a bright spark, lighting the darkness of her mind. I remember now! Cybertron and the M.I.U.. Commander Prowl and the mission. The last thing I recall is entering that stasis pod. Is that where I am now? It must be, but something still doesn’t feel right. I can’t explain it; this spark-chilling fear. Where did it come from?
I should be on the Axalon. Anárion should be here with me, but I don’t think he is. I don’t think I’m even on the ship. It was never this cold on the Axalon. If only I could move, or at least hear or see something. But I can’t.
What in the Inferno is going on?! I don’t feel well. I feel different. Something is very wrong! I know it. I know this fear. It’s…it’s as if he’s here!
Then her mind went blank, and everything became dark once again.
* * * * * * * * * *
The twisted creature leaned over the council, studding the data. This protoform was incredibly powerful. Her, for it was a female, brain waves were off the charts. With the proper stimulation and training, she could even become a telekinetic. It was a good thing they had gotten to her first. She was truly an amazing specimen. It was too bad he didn’t have another one to dissect.
Then he noticed something the edge of the terminal screen. The creature peered closer. Couldn’t be, he dismissed the possibility, but took a second look could it? But before he had a chance to examine the anomaly further, a tall figure cast a large shadow over his work area.
“Tarantulas, have you identified a suitable life form?” Megatron inquired.
“Yes,” the spider replied with an eerie chuckle, “I have indeed.”
“Than begin scanning and replication,” ordered the Predacon leader.
The computer buzzed and hummed for a few nanoclicks, and then the scientist made a sound of triumph. “Oh lovely! Scanning, replication, and programming complete. The new Predacon form is everything we could desire. Meet Blackarachnia!”
Finally, the female stepped out of the pod and into the light, or rather…into the darkness.