Plays of Shadow

By: Amber Dawn

Chapter 3: Confrontation

PG-13

Language

Disclaimer: I don’t own Beast Wars.

“Nothing,” Rhinox sighed, switching frequencies yet again to no avail, “I’m getting nothing from inside that energy surge. No communication coming in or out.”

Optimus Primal sighed resignedly and nodded. “That’s what I thought.”

Optimus turned to Dinobot, his tone suggesting that he was less that impressed.

“We’ve waited long enough,” he told the ex-Predacon. “They’re not coming out. Something must’ve happened, and we may already be too late. I’m going in. Are you coming with me?”

Dinobot snarled softly in response. “As you stated, Optimus Primal, we may well be too late. I see no point in this foolish search, but I will accompany you nonetheless.”

Optimus frowned at Dinobot’s lack of optimism, but knew the warrior well enough to see the concern behind Dinobot’s beleaguered expression. He wanted to make sure the others were alright just as much as Optimus did.

“I’ll be here,” Rhinox put in with a wry smile, “as always.”

Optimus clapped his old friend on the back.

“Keep on the monitors. If you get any contact from any of them, let us know. We’ll be back shortly.”

Optimus didn’t add that they’d be back with Cheetor, Rattrap and Silverbolt. That was still debatable.

Rhinox turned back to his monitor, understanding the message. That energon storm had come in shortly after Rattrap and Silverbolt had arrived at the crash site, rendering all communication useless. Optimus had wanted to rush in to get them, but Dinobot had held him back.

The ex-Predacon had pointed out that three Predacons had also been caught in the storm, and that it might be a trap. Optimus had argued that if it was indeed a trap, then Cheetor, Silverbolt and Rattrap were now caught in it. Dinobot had countered by pointing out that the trio had proven dozens of times that they could take care of themselves. Dinobot had suggested they wait a while before moving in.

Reluctant though he had been to sit and wait, Optimus was forced to acknowledge the logic of Dinobot’s argument. They had been attempting to make radio contact with the lost Maximals for the last megacycle or so, to no effect. Optimus was getting really concerned, and could wait no longer.

Without a backwards glance to see if Dinobot would follow, Optimus made his way to the Axalon’s lift and began his descent into the fresh, crisp air of early morning. A few moments later, Dinobot landed with a loud ‘thump’ beside him.

Optimus didn’t wait for the elevator to lower entirely. As soon as he could fit through the opening, he transformed to flight mode and took off. Dinobot would follow on the ground.

“Hold on, guys,” Optimus muttered, wishing he hadn’t let Cheetor go off to investigate that crashed ship all by himself, wishing that he hadn’t listened to Dinobot. And hoping against hope that he hadn’t lost any of his comrades because of his stupidity.

The first thing Rattrap noticed was that his head hurt. A lot. In fact, most of his body hurt.

Then he remembered what had happened.

His optics snapped open, only to be assaulted by the morning sunlight slanting through the canopy of trees. He yelped and squinted his optics shut again. He was still alive, and he was still in the forest. This was good. That meant he hadn’t been captured and dragged Primus-knew-where.

Cautiously, Rattrap reopened his optics and activated his light dampers, making it easier to see through the glare. He looked around and noted that Silverbolt lay a few feet away, still out like a light. Cheetor was to the other side of the fuzor, and was also still down.

Peering in the other direction, Rattrap could make out the lumpy shapes of Quickstrike and Inferno sprawled on the other side of the scorched clearing. The usual morning jungle sounds of birds and other wildlife stabbed at his audio receptors, making his head pound even worse.

The strange femme that had attacked them was nowhere to be seen.

“Great,” Rattrap muttered. “Just slaggin’ great.”

It was a struggle to get his transmetal rat legs under him, but he finally managed to push himself sluggishly to his feet. He figured the energon pulse that had knocked them out had left them lethargic and low on energy. Just what they needed right now.

He had no idea how long he’d been out. The sun had just been rising when he and Silverbolt had flown out to help Cheetor. It was completely up now, and probably had been for about a megacycle.

Rattrap transformed to robot mode as quietly as he could and gave Silverbolt a good shove. The fuzor groaned, muttered something that sounded like “Five more cycles.…” and rolled over, almost flattening Rattrap.

Gritting his teeth, Rattrap shoved again. Harder. When this elicited no response the rodent wound back and delivered the big grey fuzor a swift kick to the ribs.

This got a response. Silverbolt let out a very dog-like yelp and sprang to his feet, snarling with hackles raised. When the fuzor’s sleepy-looking optics focused in on Rattrap, he abated and rubbed his side.

“That hurt.”

Rattrap snorted. “Yeah, well, we’ve got better things to worry about right now. Like those Preds over there. Not to mention that crazy femme-bot runnin’ around on the loose.”

Silverbolt seemed to be thinking the same thing. The fuzor was glancing uneasily at the trees surrounding the clearing.

Getting edgier by the nanoklick, Rattrap jumped a few feet when Cheetor’s voice rang out behind him.

“Woah. My head feels like it’s been stomped on.”

Rattrap put a finger to his lips to shush the younger ‘bot, then motioned to the two Predacons lying motionless a few meters away.

Cheetor nodded his understanding, then muttered, “Did anybody see where she went?”

“I did not see anything,” Silverbolt negated, knowing exactly who Cheetor was referring to. “That energon pulse took me out immediately.”

“Same here,” Rattrap added, “and frankly I don’t give a rat’s skid, pardon the expression. That crazy femme tried to slag us. My vote is we contact the base and get the Pit outta here.”

“And leave her here, stranded and alone at the mercy of the Predacons?” Silverbolt scoffed. “I certainly shall not!”

Rattrap rolled his optics. Sure, now he was a hero.

“Yeah, whatever, Lassie. You can stay and hunt for the head case all you want. I’m leavin’. How ‘bout you, kid?”

Rattrap and Silverbolt turned to Cheetor, who still hadn’t said anything. The young ‘bot seemed to be considering something.

“It was kinda my fault she attacked us,” he admitted, “I should have told her you guys were coming, but it slipped my mind. She was really scared, you know? She didn’t know anything about us. I think she may have lost her memory, 'cause she didn’t even know her own name. She just panicked when she saw you. That’s why she attacked us.”

Rattrap let this sink in for a cycle. From what Cheetor had said earlier, the femme had blasted Inferno and Quickstrike as readily as she had blasted the Maximals. That seemed to suggest that she wasn’t allied with one faction or another. Maybe she really was just scared. Or maybe she was a total loony. There was no way of telling, and Rattrap didn’t want to wait to find out.

“So what’re ya sayin’, kid? You’re gonna go lookin’ for her?”

“I have to, Rattrap. It’s my fault she ran off.”

“Fine. I’m calling the base and gettin’ my cute little butt outta this jungle.” Rattrap pressed the button on his comlink and received loud, heavy static. He shut it off quickly and glanced at the Predacons. Neither of them moved. Letting out his breath in a string of curses, Rattrap realized his error.

“That energon surge musta messed up the comlinks.”

Silverbolt nodded. “Then it seems we have no choice but to-“

But the fuzor was cut off by the sound of familiar buzzing nearby.

“Aww, man,” Cheetor growled, “Waspinator! He snuck up on us!”

“Then we shall engage him!” Silverbolt stated, stepping forward. “Silverbolt – Maximize!”

Rattrap shook his head and knew it was going to be one of those days.

Now all three Maximals were in robot mode. They drew their weapons and waited, listening intently as the buzzing grew louder.

Just then, another sound cut through the jungle noises. It was the unmistakable tearing sound of fast wheels cutting through underbrush.

“Tarantulas,” Silverbolt stated unnecessarily.

The transmetal spider came roaring into the clearing at the same time as Waspinator came into sight, hovering above the trees.

Tarantulas noticed his fallen fellow Predacons before he noticed the Maximals. When he did, he let out a cry of surprise. Rattrap heard Waspinator doing the same thing above.

“Well, look what we have here,” Tarantulas sneered as his gaze fell on the Maximals, “the Three Stooges.”

“Hey!” Rattrap bristled as Waspinator snickered, coming in for a landing.

Silverbolt’s rumbling growl filled the clearing.

“What do you want, Tarantulas?”

The spider smiled, a mockery of a true expression.

“Nothing much. Just that ship and the female who piloted it. Now.”

“Too late. The ship’s ours. And we don’t have her,” Cheetor snapped, gesturing at the hulking shadow of the ship behind them. “Why don’t you just slag off, Tarantulas. She doesn’t belong here and she certainly doesn’t belong as a Predacon! So back off, or I’ll make you back off!”

“Oooh,” Tarantulas chuckled, “It seems the new female already had an admirer.”

Rattrap glanced at Cheetor. The youngster’s cheeks were heated, but he stood his ground.

Tarantulas tisked. “I’m afraid, pussycat, that it won’t be that easy to get rid of me. Tarantulas – Terrorize!”

Metal ground on metal as Tarantulas transformed. Waspinator followed suit, clearly taking his cues from the spider.

Rattrap raised his gun, but before he could get a shot off he was hit from behind by a barrage of machine gun bullets. He fell forward with the impact, but managed to roll behind a tree as the shots rang out through the clearing. Silverbolt and Cheetor also dove for cover, crouching in some ferns a few meters away.

The noise died away, echoing a few times from the nearby hills before quieting completely. Blackarachnia stepped out of the trees to the left of where Rattrap had been standing.

“It’s about time you showed up,” Tarantulas snapped. “Where have you been?”

Blackarachnia didn’t answer. She was looking around, wondering where her quarry had escaped to.

“Where’d they go?” she asked nobody in particular.

Movement caught Rattrap’s eye and he glanced to his left to see Cheetor crawling through the underbrush, trying to get behind Waspinator and Tarantulas. At Blackarachnia’s words, the cat-bot straightened and took aim with his arm blasters.

“I’m right here!”

Waspinator was down before he even knew what hit him. Tarantulas whipped around and let fly with some ammo, but Cheetor’s cat reflexes were too quick and he ducked out of the way.

Rattrap took this opportunity to stand and aim his own weapon at Tarantulas. His back hurt where Blackarachnia had struck him, which made his movements a little stiff. He didn’t see the she-spider turn and aim her missile launcher at him until it was too late to dodge. One of her missiles struck his gun, tossing it from his grip.

Rattrap’s optics bulged and he ducked just as she peppered the tree behind him with bullet holes. He tucked and rolled behind another tree, narrowly avoiding further damage.

When the shots faded away, Rattrap risked a glance at the clearing. Silverbolt was in the air, neatly beating the slag out of Waspinator. Cheetor was trading fire with Tarantulas. That left Rattrap to deal with Blackarachnia. He searched the mossy underbrush for his gun and found it a few feet away. He crawled forward and grabbed it, then ducked back behind the tree.

Peering around the trunk into the clearing, Rattrap searched for his target. He swore softly when he realized she wasn’t there anymore.

“My, my, the mouth on you.”

Rattrap swung around and found himself looking down the business end of Blackarachnia’s missile launcher.

The femme smiled at him and her claw clenched on the trigger-

A howl rent the air and Silverbolt came diving down between the trees. The fuzor tackled Blackarachnia and the missile went flying in the opposite direction, toward the clearing.

“Argh! Where th’heck did thet come from?”

“Aw, man,” Rattrap muttered. That scream had belonged to Quickstrike. Which meant the fuzor was awake, and so, then, was Inferno.

A quick peek around the tree confirmed that the Maximals were losing ground quickly. Waspinator was down for the count, but Tarantulas had pinned Cheetor against a tree. Over in the brush, Blackarachnia was kicking the scrap out of Silverbolt, who still refused to fight back. Rattrap supposed the flying tackle was the furthest the fuzor was willing to bend his stupid chivalry. Quickstrike had been hit with Blackarachnia’s wayward missile, but it hadn’t done much other than piss him off. He and Inferno were in the clearing, looking wildly around for something to shoot at.

‘Well then, why leave them waiting,’ Rattrap thought sourly. He aimed from cover and scored a direct hit to Inferno’s right side.

The fire ant roared and swung in a circle, searching wildly for his assailant. Stepping into the clearing, Rattrap squeezed off another few rounds, knocking the red Predacon back a few paces.

“You!” Inferno roared, reaching for his flamethrower. “You’ll pay for that, rodent!”

“Not if I get ‘im first,” Quickstrike added, savage delight lighting his optics.

As the two Predacons advanced towards him, Rattrap raised his blaster but knew it was useless.

“Aw, man,” he whined, “where’s Optimus when you need him?”

“Right here.”

Rattrap whirled around in surprise, as did his attackers. Optimus stepped forward from behind a tree, followed by Dinobot.

“Primal!” Inferno bellowed, but before he could fire a shot Optimus aimed his shoulder cannons and blew the insect back against a tree. Inferno slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Rattrap used the distraction to bolt to the other side of the clearing, where Tarantulas was standing over Cheetor’s prone form.

“Hey!” Rattrap yelled, getting the arachnid’s attention. Tarantulas whipped around and his face met with Rattrap’s fist. Tarantulas grunted and stumbled a few steps backward, but then he was up again and livid.

“I’m really getting tired of you, vermin,” he wheezed and aimed his weapon, only to have it shot out of his hands by Dinobot’s optic lasers.

“Huh?”

Tarantulas had obviously missed Dinobot’s arrival, and was therefore taken by surprise when Dinobot took him down in a flying leap.

Leaving Dinobot to finish off, Rattrap rushed over to where Cheetor lay. The younger ‘bot’s left side was pretty badly damaged, and he wasn’t moving. Rattrap knelt down and shook Cheetor’s right shoulder.

“Hey, kid, you okay?”

“Just…great…Rat Face.”

Cheetor opened one optic and attempted a grin. He was in obvious pain but still online. Rattrap let his breath out in a whoosh and nodded.

“Hold on, kiddo. We’ll have ya back to base in no time.”

Cheetor let out a grunt and shut off his optic again, then went limp.

Rattrap turned around and saw Optimus striding quickly toward him, Dinobot in tow. Quickstrike and Tarantulas had been knocked out and thrown in a heap next to Waspinator and Inferno.

“Is he alright?” Optimus asked, face bunched with concern.

Rattrap nodded, and then frowned.

“Somebody’s missin’,” he said slowly, then realized: “Silverbolt!”

Rattrap shot to his feet amidst a new spasm of pain from his back. That slaggin’ spider must’ve hit a nice big nerve. Ignoring the pain, Rattrap cocked his gun and stalked toward the trees. He would just have to return the favor.

He stood still for a moment and listened. Birds chirped. Leaves rustled. Nothing but the usual forest sounds. No sounds of fighting.

Narrowing his optics, Rattrap crept forward silently, scanning ahead of him for any sign of Silverbolt or Blackarachnia.

He found Silverbolt lying in some ferns, out cold from a missile wound to the side of the head. After scanning the immediate area, Rattrap decided the coast was clear.

“Hey,” he called, “I need some help with Old Yeller here!”

As he heard Dinobot stomping up behind him, Rattrap took one last look around and wondered where the Pit that scheming female had got to….