Plays of Shadow

By: Amber Dawn

Chapter 1: Neutral

PG-13

Language

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the rights to Beast Wars or its characters. I do, however, own the plot and my own characters.

Blackarachnia stared morosely out at the dark valley as rain ran in rivulets over her armor. She loved the cool, cleansing feel of the water on her metal, loved hearing the rhythmic pitter of raindrops on the many leaves of the forest below.

She shifted slightly on the rock ledge that had become her haunt over the last few weeks. Lately she had become more and more uncomfortable within the confines of the Predacon base, and had sought the wilder comfort of the outdoors. Maybe it was the tension that was constantly tainting the air between all members of the team. Maybe it was the new way her ‘comrades’ looked at her; the predatory glint in their optics as they looked her over far too closely.

She shivered. It wasn’t like she couldn’t protect herself if necessary, but no femme wants to be in a pit of males and looked at like that every waking moment. Especially by someone as insane and merciless as Megatron. Or….

Blackarachnia gritted her teeth. Or Tarantulas. Only recently had she been able to free her mind of that maniac, and she still awoke at night from terrible nightmares left from his occupation. The worst part had been that the connection had worked both ways. Not always, but sometimes when they linked she had caught a glimpse of what lurked in that ugly, scheming head of his. Now that was the stuff nightmares were made of.

Despite the warmth of the summer night, the spider-bot shivered again. Sometimes she really wished she were male.

It was then that she heard it: the unmistakable whine of a heavy object falling through the air at high speed. Confused, she raised her optics to the sky. She had thought all the Maximal stasis pods had fallen from orbit with the destruction of the alien Planetbuster machine.

Then she saw it. It was maybe six times the size of a stasis pod, and a completely different shape. She zoomed in on the craft and identified it as a spaceship of some kind. It was like no other ship she had ever seen, Maximal or Predacon. It was rounded in structure, with small, almost comical wings on each side that were currently aflame with friction.

Narrowing her optics suspiciously, Blackarachnia tapped the comlink on her arm.

“This is Blackarachnia to Predacon Base. Anybody there?”

“I’m here,” came the familiar clipped tones of the Predacon leader, “where are you?”

“Sector Gamma, coordinates 5-7-3,” she replied automatically, “There’s some sort of ship coming in for a crash landing a few kilometers away, coordinates 5-8-9.”

“There’s nothing on the scanners. Besides, all the stasis pods crashed after that transwarp explosion. Are you sure it wasn’t just a trick of the storm?”

Blackarachnia clamped her mouth shut to keep from snapping at Megatron. There was no sense in angering him, especially because this was a strange situation. Why hadn’t the scanners picked up the ship’s energy signature? Or the pilot’s? Every Maximal or Predacon had a traceable energy signature. Unless of course the pilot was offline.

“No, there’s definitely something there,” she replied with calculated politeness, “and it isn’t a stasis pod. It looks like a ship, but it’s like no ship I’ve ever seen before. Do you want me to investigate?”

“No,” he snapped back quickly. Too quickly? she wondered. “No, Quickstrike and Inferno are closer. You should report back to base. Megatron out.”

With that, the comlink went dead.

“Asshole,” Blackarachnia muttered, getting to her feet. She was going to go and investigate that spacecraft, whether he liked it or not. She had a funny feeling about it that she wasn’t sure she liked.

Reverting to beast mode, she scuttled down the cliff and into the jungle valley below.

Cheetor wasn’t too fond of patrol duty, especially at night, but it did have its perks. Like being able to test out his new transmetal form. It had been two weeks since he had been reformatted, and he still didn’t know everything he could do.

He was in the air when he saw it. The fireball went zooming over his head, causing him to hit the ground hard and cover his head with his metallic paws. He looked up in time to see the spacecraft land in the jungle a few kilometers away, cutting a swath into the foliage and igniting a few nearby trees.

He decided not to worry about a wildfire. The rain that was pouring down around him would take care of it in a matter of cycles. Instead, he radioed the base.

“Yo, this is Cheetor. Anybody home?” he said into his comlink.

There was a sound of a snort from the other end, then Rattrap’s wheezing voice came over the line.

“Whaddya want kiddo? Can’t a ‘bot get a little shut-optic around here?”

“Rattrap, you’re supposed to be on monitor duty all night,” Cheetor reminded the older Maximal.

“Yeah, yeah, just spill it. What’s got your tail all in a twist?”

“It’s a ship. It just crashed in Sector Gamma, coordinates.…” Cheetor’s optics zoomed in on the landing site in order to get a reading, “5-8-9. It’s big, but I don’t recognize it. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

There was a crackling sound on the other line, and a whined protest.

“Rattrap?”

“Cheetor. What’s wrong? Rattrap said you found something.”

It was Optimus.

“Hey Big-Bot,” Cheetor greeted his commanding officer, “It’s a spaceship of some kind, one I’ve never seen before. It’s shaped kinda weird...I can’t get a good visual. I’ve gotta get closer.”

There was a pause from the other end, and Cheetor could hear some low conversation. Then Optimus’ voice came back on the line.

“We can’t pick it up on the scanners. The ship doesn’t seem to have a traceable energy signature. Rhinox managed to get a visual based on your coordinates, and it looks like there is something there, but without an energy signature.…”

Cheetor knew what the Maximal leader was getting at. If the ship had no energy signature, then whoever piloted it was either badly damaged…or dead.

“I should probably go check it out then,” Cheetor suggested after a moment, “In case there are any survivors. Or salvageable parts.”

Again, there was a pause.

“Fine. Go check it out, but remember that you might not have been the only one to see it. The Predacons are probably on their way. Call for backup if you need it. Optimus out.”

The comlink went dead, and Cheetor looked out at the hulking shadow of the spacecraft over the smoldering trees.

Surprised and pleased at the new trust Optimus was showing in him, Cheetor ignited his jets and took off in the direction of the downed vessel.

The darkness receded slowly. Every inch of her body ached, and there was something wet in her eyes. In fact, the wetness covered her. The ground she was on was soft and sort of squishy, and felt awfully good.

Just then, noise interrupted her muffled thoughts. It was a strange kind of noise, one she thought she should recognize. She snuggled deeper into the cushy ground, determined to ignore it. It was so comfortable....

Just then, something poked her side. Reality came rushing back: the slave compound in flames, stealing the Marajan spaceship, getting caught in that transwarp hole, then spinning out and crashing on this unknown planet. She remembered thinking she had failed before hitting the ground.

But she was still alive! She hadn’t failed after all! She had another chance to reunite with her family, if ever she could find a way off this rock.

Just then, the noise came again. This time she recognized it as speech.

“’T’s a good thing this here groundcover was there to break her fall, otherwise she’s be a goner for sure.”

“Yes, how fortunate. Another soldier for the colony!”

“Yeah, sure. Hey, look, she’s wakin’ up!”

‘Slag’, 29-A2V thought sourly. They had noticed her moving. Well, there was no use pretending anymore. She opened her optics and saw….

Two male bots, one small and another large, and both hideously disfigured. They had what appeared to be organic material comprising their armor in odd places. One of them was huge and resembled a large red insect. The other was smaller and appeared to have two heads, one on his neck and the other mounted on his arm!

She screamed and curled up on herself in terror. These males were surely mutants, sent by the Masters to take her back to her life as a slave!

One of the males, the one with two heads, prodded her with his foot.

“Well would ya lookit thet! She’s all scared of ya!”

“Yes,” agreed the other in a deep voice, “a small weak drone. Perhaps we should simply dispose of her. She will be of no use to the colony.”

“Now, who’s to say thet?” the first one argued, staring down at A2V with a very unsavory glint in his optics. “I’m sure once we fix ‘er up she’ll be itchin’ to help us.”

The red ‘bot didn’t seem to get what Two-Heads was saying, but A2V did. She had seen the same glint in the optics of the Masters often enough, and more than once it had led to her being used. That was what she had hated the most about being a slave. She could handle the beatings, the torture and the backbreaking work in the mines. But she had always loathed and feared being violated in such a personal way.

Trying her best to look defiant, A2V decided to bring attention to the fact that she was listening to every word Two-Heads was saying about her. He had the grace to look faintly embarrassed as she sat up, holding her pounding head. He knelt down to her optic level and reached a hand to her shoulder, but she jerked away. She was panting, both from fear and from the pain that tightened its hold on every bolt and hinge in her body.

Two-Heads’ optics softened slightly when she recoiled from him, but he got right down to business.

“So,” he snapped briskly, “are you a Maximal?”

A2V frowned. She didn’t know what he was talking about, though the word ‘Maximal’ rung a faint bell in her mind. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she had heard it somewhere before.

Not wanting to appear ignorant by asking what exactly a Maximal was, she shook her head and regretted it as pain blurred her vision.

“No, I’m not,” she replied, suddenly hating the hoarse tone of her voice and the way it trembled with exhaustion and fear. This was not the time to appear weak.

Two-Heads looked visibly relieved and glanced up at Red for a moment before refocusing on A2V.

“You’re a Predacon then?” he continued, though it was more a statement than a question.

Again, that faint feeling of recognition, but nothing more. “No, I’m not,” she repeated.

“You’re not?” Two-Heads sounded scandalized. “But ya gotta be! Ev’ryone knows a ‘bot’s gotta be one or the other! I mean - hey, wait! You wouldn’t happen to be one of them old Decepticons, would ya? Or an Autobot?”

These words A2V was sure she had never heard of before.

“No,” she denied firmly, “I’m not any of those. I’m just a-“

But she broke off. She couldn’t tell these males that she was a slave. They already regarded her as prey, and telling them she was nothing more than a common mine slave would all but invite them to abuse her. Besides, she was sure that the Masters would be looking for her. If they somehow came upon this distant planet, she was not going to make it easy for them to find her.

“-A neutral party,” she finished, trying to sound convincing. “I’m neutral, not one nor the other.”

Two-Heads looked confused. He looked up at Red again, seemingly lost for words. Then he shrugged.

“Heck, just ‘cause I never heard of it don’t mean it ain’t possible. Here sugar, why don’t ya let me help ya up?”

He thrust out his left, thankfully headless hand for A2V to take, and after a brief hesitation she took it. She hated appearing weak, but she seriously doubted that she would be able to stand up on her own.

‘What’s yer name, sugar-bot?” Two-Heads asked her once she was on her feet. She swayed only once before planting her feet determinedly and stepping away from his too-eager embrace.

“I- “

Once again, she stopped to reconsider. She couldn’t tell these ‘bots that she had no name, lest it mark her as a slave and therefore a liar. She could see now that these were warrior ‘bots, and heavily armed, so she didn’t want them angry with her.

“I don’t remember,” she finished. “I don’t remember my name.”

Two-Heads was undaunted by this. “Well, we’ll see about gettin’ you a new one once you’re all repaired. Name’s Quickstrike, by the way, and thet there’s Inferno. Just let me contact the base.”

“Base?”

But he didn’t appear to hear her. He turned away to speak into the communicator on his chest. A2V glanced over at Inferno. He was staring at her in a way that made her very uneasy, and she shivered.

Concentrating instead on what Quickstrike was saying into the communicator, she heard the tail end of his sentence.

“………bring her in to get reprogrammed.”

“Whoa!” she yelled loudly. Quickstrike spun around, a startled expression on his misshapen face.

“Reprogrammed? I don’t think so.” A2V hated the hysterical edge to her voice, but she couldn’t correct it. That made her angry with herself, and that in turn made her angry at these males. “You’re not tinkering with my circuitry, thanks, I don’t care who you are. I am not your toy and I will not stand by and be manipulated!”

Before she could stop it, she felt the power rising. She wasn’t sure if her outrage was justified, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to let males play with her any more. No more-

“No!” she cried out loud and threw her arms out in front of her. Before she knew what was happening, the power surged forward into her hands and shot outward with a blast like a lightning bolt. When she lowered her shaking arms, Quickstrike and Inferno lay lifeless on the ground in stasis lock.

‘What have I done?’ she thought frantically, staring down at her hands, ‘What is happening to me?’

  Cheetor couldn’t believe his optics. Not only was the pilot of the downed vessel alive and functional, she was already engaged with some Preds – and winning! Cheetor watched from the shadows of the forest as this new femme raised her arms as if in protection, only to unleash what looked like a pulse of energon discharge at the Preds.

‘Ouch,’ he thought with a mental grimace, ‘Having that much buildup in her system has got to be doing a number on her vital circuitry.’

After crawling a few meters away, Cheetor activated his comlink. The first signs of daylight were appearing over the eastern horizon, and the forest’s night shadows wouldn’t conceal him for much longer.

“Cheetor to base,” he whispered, “Come in Maximal base.”

He jumped at the sound of Silverbolt’s loud, filtered voice. “This is Maximal base. What is happening out there?”

“Shhh,” Cheetor hissed, “Gotta keep it down. I found that ship, and the pilot. She seems fully operational, but pretty beat up. Weird thing though - it looks like she’s suffering from major energon buildup; she just took out a couple of Preds with an energon discharge the size of a cannon blast. But I thought all the energon around these parts was stabilized?”

There was silence on the other end. A few moments passed, then Rhinox’s deep, soothing voice came on the line.

“An energon discharge, you say?” the scientist grumbled, the closest the big guy could get to a whisper. “That doesn’t seem possible.”

“I’m tellin’ ya,” Cheetor hissed back, desperate for the others to believe him, “It was huge! She was being bullied by a couple of Preds and she was scared out of her mind. She raises her arms and WHAM, this big bolt of energy comes out of her hands and zaps ‘em. It was kinda cool, actually.”

There was a short pause, and Rhinox grunted.

“Optimus says to try and talk her into coming back to base. She’s probably disoriented and terrified, if she’s already dealt with the Predacons. Make sure she understands you mean her no harm. Rattrap and Silverbolt are on their way.”

“Right,” Cheetor replied softly, “Cheetor out.”

He turned off his comlink and stood, taking a deep breath. Smoothing back his nonexistent hair in a nervous gesture, he sauntered from the shadows to the edge of the clearing that the strange ship had come to rest in. Making sure the femme could see him, he stepped slowly and purposefully out of the underbrush.

She gasped in shock. “Not another one!” she cried, holding one of her thin arms towards him as if in warding. Blue-white light scintillated around her long, pointed fingers as she snarled at him warningly.

Cheetor took a step back, automatically raising his arms in surrender.

“Whoa, whoa,” he soothed, “it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m not one of them.” He nodded toward the fallen Predacons. “I’m here to help.”

The pilot narrowed her large, round optics suspiciously and didn’t lower her arm.

“Help me, huh?” she croaked. Her voice sounded like she hadn’t used it in a while, and she was probably in a lot of pain. Besides the energon buildup that was probably shutting her down from the inside out, the femme had some wicked looking scars and burn marks all over her, probably from the crash. She shook slightly, and when she shifted on her feet she swayed with exhaustion. The fact that she was still upright said a lot about how tough this little femme was.

And she was little. She was even shorter than Rattrap, and had the barest minimal armor Cheetor had ever seen. It was more like skin than armor, and it was the mottled black and grey of deep shadows. She was terribly thin but toned, as if she was used to hard physical labour. She was also – Cheetor felt his face warm and quickly averted his eyes – very blatantly female. She didn’t appear to have any weapons besides the energy still dancing around her hand.

“Yeah,” he affirmed, turning on his most charming smile. “I’m here to help you.”

Her optics softened a bit, but she kept her arm up. Looking closely, Cheetor noticed it was shaking.

“Good,” she snapped, “then how about answering some questions? First off, who are you? Secondly, where the Pit am I? And thirdly, what in the great Matrix is going on around here?”

Despite the obvious strain, her tone managed to be commanding and pleading at the same time. That said a lot.

Cheetor kept up the smile, arms still raised above his head. “I’m Cheetor,” he replied, “and I’d like to answer the rest of your questions, but I’d be a bit more comfortable if you just, uh….” he motioned at her arm by tilting his head.

She hesitated for a moment before dropping her arm to her side, intense relief visible on her face. It had obviously been a strain to hold it up that long.

Cheetor lowered his own arms slowly and deliberately, keeping his optics focused on her hands. The sparking energy had faded, but he wasn’t going to take that for granted. When he was fairly sure she wasn’t going to attack him, he met her gaze.

She regarded him as a mouse would a passing cat: wary and ready to bolt if he should make a move. Dawn was coming quickly, revealing even more scars and burns across her tiny façade.

“Uh,” he stammered, “maybe we shouldn’t be out here. It’s getting light out, and it looks like you took a beating in that crash. Whaddya say I take you back to the Maximal base and we can see about getting you repaired okay that’s fine if you don’t want to we can just stay here.”

Upon his suggestion of leaving she had immediately turned on him, both hands blazing.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she rasped, then took a deep calming breath in response to his hurried correction.

“Just answer my questions.”

“Okay. Have a seat,” he suggested, flopping down on the cool ground. The rain was letting up, and the ground cover was delightfully soft.

She regarded him warily for another moment before slowly and stiffly following suit. She tucked her knees up under her chin and pinned him with her wide, dark brown optics.

Cheetor diverted his gaze from her unnerving stare. There was pain in her optics, and blatant fear. This femme obviously had some harsh stories to tell. But that could wait for later, once he convinced her to come back to base for repairs. But first he owed her some answers.

“I might as well start from the beginning,” he sighed, and launched into a very brief version of everything that had happened since the beginning of the Beast Wars.

He had barely begun when he heard the telltale howl announcing the arrival of backup.

‘Slag,’ Cheetor thought frantically. He had forgotten Silverbolt and Rattrap were on their way! He hadn’t told the new femme that he was expecting company. When they suddenly showed up she would probably be spooked and either bolt or blow them all to scrap!

Cheetor thought desperately of something he could do, but he was too late.

Silverbolt came in for a fast landing in the clearing, skidding to a halt on the slippery undergrowth. Rattrap clung to the fuzor’s back, holding on for dear life and muttering something about rats not being able to fly for a reason.

Cheetor turned toward his fellow Maximals, meaning to introduce them to the new girl, but stopped dead at the look on Rattrap’s face.

Swinging back to face the new femme, Cheetor saw the cause for his friend’s distress. The tiny ‘bot was pulsing with energon buildup. Not just her hand, but her entire body was throbbing with suppressed energy and burning rage.

“An ambush!” she cried before Cheetor could open his mouth to explain. “You tricked me! You said you were different! But all males are the same, aren’t they? All they ever want is to control, control. I will not be controlled!”

Cheetor’s optics widened. He heard Silverbolt’s hurried protest and Rattrap’s curses before there was a brilliant flash of light and he was swept away in a white-blue tide.