Plays of Shadow

By: Amber Dawn

Chapter 7: Loss

PG

Disclaimer: I don’t own anything you recognize from Beast Wars.

“Had enough yet, Rat Face?”

“Heh! You just watch the game, kiddo.”

“Y’know, you’re a sorry loser.”

“That’s ‘cause I never lose.”

Just then, Cheetor’s optics widened as his player was suddenly ambushed by Rattrap’s, whom he had thought was offline. Large letters proclaiming Game Over flashed on the monitor. Cheetor groaned and Rattrap smirked, then leaned back and stretched. It was the middle of the night, and Rattrap had been on monitor duty when Cheetor had emerged from his quarters, plagued by one of his dreams.

Rattrap didn’t like to admit it, but Cheetor’s dreams gave him the heebies. It seemed every time the kid dreamed something would happen, it did. But when Rattrap had asked the subject of this particular dream, Cheetor had evaded the question. What could the cat-bot have dreamed of that he felt Rattrap couldn’t handle?

Choosing to forget it, as was his way when something was out of his hands, Rattrap tapped a button and the screen which had displayed the video game changed to exterior view. Everything was still dark, but some of the shadows were gathering in preparation for dawn.

Yesterday had been the strangest day Rattrap could remember since…well, since the transwarp wave.

Maybe strange wasn’t the word. Shocking, that was it. Shocking, because yesterday Dinobot had done something Rattrap could have sworn he didn’t have in him anymore: he had betrayed the Maximals and given Megatron the golden disk. Then the big hunk of scrap had had the audacity to ask to rejoin the Maximals’ ranks. Of all the things Rattrap would have suspected of Dinobot, this would be the least of them. He had been sure that the raptor was a Maximal now, no matter what. Now that belief had been flipped on its head, and Rattrap didn’t know what to think anymore.

“What is this, a slumber party? Can I join?”

Rattrap was pulled out of his reverie by Airazor’s smooth, feminine voice. He whipped around to see her outlined in the dim glow of the doorway, hands on hips. She was smiling that enigmatic smile of hers, and watching Cheetor and Rattrap with familial amusement.

“You’re always welcome at my slumber party, Bird Lady,” Rattrap said with a wink. “So long as you provide the entertainment.”

“Honestly, Rattrap, how many times have I told you I refuse to engage in a pillow fight with-"

“Hey, ‘Razor,” Cheetor interrupted quickly, “have a seat. Me and Rattrap were just playing a game and…hey, you wanna play?”

Airazor regarded the cat-bot levelly for a few moments. The eagerness in Cheetor’s optics was almost comical. “Just how many times did you lose to Rattrap that you have to compensate by beating me?” she asked.

Cheetor’s face fell. “You don’t want to know.”

Airazor laughed, and Rattrap found himself smiling as well. He would never admit it out loud, but he really missed having Airazor around all the time. She had a perceptiveness that none of the males could match, and she was almost able to outdo him in a battle of wits.

After she had returned two days ago and given her report on the new female, Optimus had bid her stay a few days and rest before returning to Tigatron. She had hesitated at first, but the combined force of all the others (with the exception of Dinobot) urging her to stay had overwhelmed her in the end. And while yesterday had hardly been relaxing, (then again, what day here ever was?) Rattrap was glad she’d stayed. It was ridiculous, he knew, but having a femme around was strangely comforting. Putting that embarrassing thought out of his mind, he refocused on reality.

“So why’re you up so late?” Cheetor asked Airazor as the femme rolled her chair over to the males. “Or should I say early?”

Airazor shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep,” she said, and for a moment Rattrap noticed a glint of something like fear in the bird-bot’s optics. Then it was gone, leaving him to wonder if he had seen it at all. “What about you?”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Cheetor answered, turning back to the computer monitor. He was obviously embarrassed to admit to Airazor that he had had a nightmare. Usually Rattrap would have teased, but he suddenly didn’t feel much like teasing. Maybe he was just tired, he thought. Or maybe that ominous feeling that had suddenly seeped into the room was real.

“Something tells me,” he ventured quietly, “that none of us’ll be gettin’ much sleep for the next little while.”

Fleetshade awoke to bright sunlight filtering through the trees. She smiled and shifted slightly to stretch her long front legs, then got laboriously to her feet. The ground was comfortable, but today was a new day.

Strange, she thought, how in just two days she had come to terms with the fact that she was stuck here on this planet.

Hey, she thought, there were worse places to be stuck. This planet was lush and green with an abundance of natural food and water. The sun was warm and bright but not too much so, and at night the single moon lit up a brilliant pattern of stars. This planet was beautiful; being trapped here wasn’t a chore. And of course the presence of other Transformers, while slightly worrisome, was welcome. Even though they were a threat, having others of her own kind here was a relief. Yup, things could conceivably be a lot worse.

She had also gotten used to her deer form. Even though Airazor had shown her how to transform, she found she was still more comfortable when she could blend in with her surroundings. At first the odd urges the deer got, like the need to eat and drink regularly, had seemed odd. But Fleetshade had acclimatized herself to it, and had learned to take comfort in such primal, simple things.

By now she knew her part of the woods pretty well: she knew where the best grass grew and not to eat the bitter thorns that grew near the west valley wall. She knew her way to the stream where she could drink and splash around a bit to cool herself. She also knew where the big cats and bears lived, and what time of night they hunted. She had to stay wary of forest predators, especially since she was defenseless, even in robot form. The energon buildup she had stored in her system on Marajo had been completely depleted; until she found a way to restore it, if it could be restored, she would take Blackarachnia’s warning to heart and be careful not to let her guard down.

Perhaps the biggest thing she had to get used to was freedom. Here there was nobody to tell her what to do and when to do it, no schedule to keep, nobody to yell at her or beat her when she spoke or laughed. She had the run of the forest and its resources; she had time to admire the beauty of the land, to feel sunlight on her hide and cool water on her tongue. She could stay up all night and watch the stars, take naps during the day, eat when and what she wanted. It was glorious. And after so long in slavery, it felt sort of odd.

There was one new sensation that Fleetshade didn’t like, and that was loneliness. On Marajo she had constantly been crowded in with hundreds of other slaves, with never a moment to herself. It hadn’t been pleasant, but at least she’d never had to feel alone in her suffering. Now, with nothing but her own thoughts for company, she wouldn’t have minded a few other ‘bots around. Blackarachnia and Airazor had both promised to return but there had been no sign of them yesterday. Fleetshade had also seen nothing of Cheetor. Or, for that matter, any of the other Transformers that inhabited this planet. While the aloneness allowed her some space to explore on her own, she longed to hear other voices, if only so she could reply. It had been so long since she had spoken freely that she felt the need to do it all the time: she felt she could blather on for megacycles if given the chance.

But in her alone time Fleetshade found other things emerging that she had thought lost. Like memories of her life before slavery. Little snippets of memory from her early childhood kept coming back to her when she let her mind wander. She remembered the planet where she had lived, Bedon. She was shocked to remember how alike it was to the planet where she was stuck now. She remembered the village where she had lived, and her favourite cliff facing the ocean where she would go when she needed to be alone. She remembered her family in small bits: her mother’s blue optics, her father’s deep thoughtful voice, her older brother’s indulgent laugh, her younger brother grinning up at her. Little things, but at least they were something.

Done stretching, Fleetshade padded over to the stream and bent over it to drink. Just as her tongue touched the water, something caught her eye. Her head whipped up and her keen deer optics scanned the forest.

There! Behind those bushes! Something was moving. Fleetshade tensed, ready to flee.

“Slag,” hissed a barely audible voice, then the bushes rustled and something came out into the light.

The ‘bot that emerged was quite possibly the most hideous thing Fleetshade had ever seen. It looked to have a vehicle mode like some sort of motorbike, with a multitude of glowing eyes on its front side.

“Don’t run,” it said in a raspy, wheezing voice. The sound made all the fur on Fleetshade’s body stand on end. It was like the hissing of a nest of poisonous snakes, the crawling sensation of a million spiders down her back. “I’m not here to harm you. I wish to speak with you.”

Finally, the deer’s natural instinct to freeze when in danger passed. ‘I’ve got to work on overcoming that,’ Fleetshade thought as she prepared to run despite what he had said. This ‘bot may not know who she was; after all, she looked like all the other deer in this forest. He may just be guessing she was really who he thought. If she ran now, he might assume she was just a deer. She turned to go, but his voice stopped her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I’ve been tracking you since the other day, and I know you’re who I’m looking for. Now you can either stay here and listen to me, or you can run. But be assured, I will catch you.”

Fleetshade looked at the big brute and knew it was true. Even as a deer, she couldn’t possibly outrun his vehicle mode. She sighed, defeated.

“What do you want?” she asked.

She couldn’t be sure, but the hideous thing seemed to smile at her. “I want to talk to you. But not like this. Tarantulas – terrorize.”

‘A Predacon, then,’ Fleetshade noted as the big ugly vehicle transformed into a big ugly robot. He was certainly imposing, and she found herself shrinking from him unconsciously. Then she caught herself and stood up straight. She was no coward.

He looked at her expectantly. “Well?”

“Fleetshade – robot mode,” she said with a trace of reluctance.

Once she had transformed, feeling even more small and defenseless next to this towering male, she watched him as he looked her over from head to toe with a slow, appreciative glance. She shivered despite her best efforts.

“Where are your weapons?” he asked her.

“I don’t – I don’t display them until it’s necessary.” She wouldn’t tell him she didn’t have any. He smiled again; that greasy, self-assured smile.

“You don’t have any,” he told her, “But you do have firepower, am I right?”

Fleetshade blinked. How did he know that? Then she remembered: he said he’d been tracking her. She narrowed her optics.

“How have you been spying on me?” she demanded. He simply laughed. Not a nice laugh. “A good magician never reveals his secrets,” he replied sleekly.

Now he was making her angry.

“Look, Tarantulas, was it? If you have something to say to me, say it. I don’t appreciate being toyed with. I may not have weapons, but I can still blow you away. Did you see what I did to your friends Qu-Quickstrike and Inferno?” she stuttered a bit, trying to remember the names of the Predacons she had blasted a few days back. Hopefully Tarantulas didn’t know she was currently out of juice.

Tarantulas snorted. “Those two blundering fools are hardly my friends,” he said with clear disdain. “I wouldn’t even call them my comrades. You see, my dear Fleetshade, I am in much the same position you are. I am interested not at all in this war that Megatron wages on the Maximals. My chief concern is getting the Pit off this accursed rock as, I believe, is yours.”

“But you’re a Predacon,” Fleetshade countered, caught off balance by his easy deflection of her threat. “Shouldn’t you be fighting with them?”

Tarantulas gave her a queer look. “I doubt that after my recent actions Megatron would welcome me at his side in battle,” he said wryly, “unless he needed an extra target as diversion. No, I have no allegiance to either side at the moment. Which brings us back to the reason I sought you out. We are of a similar purpose, you and I. We are both caught in the middle of a war that holds no interest to us and we both want to get off this planet, am I right?”

He was. Fleetshade was okay with this planet, but she still wanted to get away and find her family. She nodded slowly, not willing to give away anything yet. There was something about Tarantulas she didn’t trust.

“I thought so,” he continued. “So here’s my proposition. Today a lot of things are going to happen. The main reason for that is the aliens that pay us periodic visits have reappeared.”

Fleetshade noted that Tarantulas said the word ‘aliens’ with the kind of affection one would reserve for a pesky mosquito.

“Aliens?” she repeated. “What do you mean aliens?”

“Aliens!” he shouted, causing her to jump back in shock. “The kind that are of unknown origin and form and seem to have an eye on this planet. Our presence here has perturbed them, and it seems they will stop at nothing to eradicate us!”

“No wonder,” Fleetshade snorted, determined not to be fazed. “If I owned this planet and some bunch of troublemakers were burning my forests and making holes in my fields I would want them gone, too.”

Tarantulas simply stared at her for a few nanos. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said slowly. “As I was saying, my proposition is this: Your energon weapon may be just the thing to combat these aliens. Give them a taste of their own medicine, such as it is. If you work with me to get rid of the aliens, I will in turn provide you with a ride off of this planet.”

Fleetshade blinked. “Wait, if you have the means to leave, why don’t you just leave? You said yourself that you have no love for the Maximals or Predacons, so what’s it to you if they get blown to the Pit?”

“That’s beside the point!” Tarantulas raged. “I have a score to settle with the aliens, and so help me I’ll settle it today, with your help or without it! So what say you?” His voice had returned to its previous oily state. “Do we have a deal?”

Fleetshade looked at Tarantulas. The ‘bot was raving mad. Did he actually expect her to trust him?

“No,” she replied airily, “I’m fine on my own, thanks.”

Tarantulas narrowed his optics angrily and took a step toward her. Fleetshade stepped backwards and lost her balance, falling backwards into the stream. Tarantulas towered over her, a dark shadow against the green backdrop of trees. “I’d watch who you’re speaking to like that, little one,” he intoned menacingly, “or you might find yourself in a great deal of troub-ARGH!”

Just then, a shot rang out and Tarantulas pitched forward, right toward Fleetshade! She quickly scrambled to the side as he splashed into the stream, then she crawled out of the water to see Airazor standing a few feet away with one of her wrist guns smoking.

“You!” Tarantulas spat as he also crawled from the stream, sporting a bullet hole in his back, “I thought you had fallen off the face of the planet with that tree-hugging tiger!”

“Nope,” Airazor returned, “but you’ll be plastered to quite a few trees if you don’t leave. Right now.”

Fleetshade tilted her chin defiantly and tried to look as if Airazor’s arrival wasn’t a huge relief.

Tarantulas stared for a few moments at Airazor, who still had her arm leveled at him, then stared long and hard at Fleetshade, who stared right back. Without another word, he transformed to his vehicle mode and roared out of sight through the trees.

Airazor turned to Fleetshade. “What was that about?”

Fleetshade bit her lip. “Nothing. He wanted me to-“

Just then, Airazor’s comlink crackled to life, cutting off the rest of Fleetshade’s sentence.

“Airazor,” Optimus’ voice called. “Airazor, come in.”

“This is Airazor,” the falcon-bot replied.

“We have a situation. Rhinox and Dinobot have just detected an alien signature in Grid Zeiram, and Tigatron’s headed right for it. We can’t contact him thanks to Megatron’s jamming tower, which Rattrap and Dinobot have gone to destroy. Unfortunately it may not be down in time. Cheetor’s flying out to Grid Zeiram to try to intercept Tigatron.”

“I’m flying out too,” Airazor said before Optimus could go on, a pang of worry searing through her circuitry.

There was a pause. “Fine,” the commander finally sighed. “You’re fast; maybe you’ll reach him on time. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Silverbolt and I will head out and join you as soon as we can.”

“Right,” Airazor replied. “Over and out.”

She transformed to beast mode as quickly as possible, her spark pulsating wildly in her chest. An alien site! Nothing good had ever come of contact with the aliens, she thought, recalling the time she had been dragged half-unconscious from one herself. And now Tigatron was in danger!

“I gotta go,” she said hurriedly to Fleetshade, who looked stunned. “I’ll be back later.”

And with that, she winged up and over the canopy, heading as fast as her wings could take her to Grid Zeiram and Tigatron.

“Please,” she whispered to the wind, “please don’t let me be too late!”

Blackarachnia leaned back in her control chair and yawned widely, staring sullenly at the monitor in front of her.

“Monitor duty again,” she groaned. Since the events of two days ago, she had not been in Megatron’s good favors. Thus she had been assigned to monitor duty four times in the past forty-eight megacycles. “Being loyal to Megatron is sure boring,” she remarked, flipping morosely through the screen views.

On the long-range screen, something caught her eye. Tarantulas! The spider hadn’t been seen nor heard of since he had walked out on her two days ago, and now he had finally decided to come out.

“Hmmm….looks like Ole Gruesome has finally surfaced,” she muttered to herself, zooming in on the map to show a visual of the spidermobile roaring along.

Suddenly, Megatron’s voice rang out behind her, almost causing the femme to jump out of her chair. “Where?”

Had the tyrant heard her complaining? No doubt, Blackarachnia thought as she turned to look at him. Inferno came in behind Megatron, ever the purple 'bot’s lapdog.

“The Royalty asked you a question,” the drone snapped. “Answer!”

Blackarachnia shot the ant a repulsed look and motioned to the screen. “Grid Vaxon,” she reported, “and moving fast.”

Blackarachnia smirked as Megatron attempted to contact Tarantulas. As if he actually expected him to answer. It didn’t surprise her at all when nothing came back but static. Not for the first time in the last few days, she wondered where Tarantulas had been hidden the last little while. Was it that the scheming slimeball was simply afraid to show his face at the Darkside for fear of Megatron’s wrath? No, Tarantulas was no coward.

She assumed he had found a new lair, but where? She’d suspected that that energon cave hadn’t been trashed by the Maximals, but he hadn’t been traveling from there. He had been coming from Grid Gamma, the forest valley. Blackarachnia’s internals suddenly turned. Fleetshade. No. He couldn’t have….

“Stay on him, Blackarachnia,” Megatron was ordering, “and scan that entire Grid. Let's see what he's in such a hurry to get to.”

Blackarachnia nodded and tapped in the instructions, aware of Megatron staring over her shoulder.

“If you’re going to stand there and breath down my neck like that, at least go sit down,” she snapped irritably. Megatron snorted but she felt him back off and go sit in his control chair. Inferno snarled.

“Do not speak to the Royalty that way,” he roared.

“Yeah, yeah,” Blackarachnia sighed. “So what am I looking for, anyway?”

“Anything that could be attracting Tarantulas’ attention,” Megatron replied. “He’s after something, yesss. I want to know what.”

“So do I,” Blackarachnia murmured.

“C’mon wings, don’t fail me now,” Airazor murmured. She had flown as fast as she could to Grid Zeiram, and she was almost there. There was a queasy feeling in her gut; was she already too late?

No time to doubt. No time for anything but forward motion. Go, go, go. The jamming tower wouldn’t be down in time. She had called in to Optimus a few cycles ago and received nothing but interference, so it was still up.

Just ahead, she saw what looked to be a small gulley filled with lush green growth. It was beautiful, but it was strangely out of place among the barren desert-like land around it. That had to be the alien trap. The perfect trap to ensnare a nature-lover like Tigatron….

No. Can’t think that. Can’t think it. She would find him in time. She would get him out of there, and they would be together again. Had to get there, had to find him.…

Airazor focused on the ground hundreds of meters ahead, looking for anything that might indicate Tigatron.

There! A white form bounding toward the gulley. He was too close, too close. No! Airazor pushed her wings to the limit, but she knew she wouldn’t get there before him. She watched through her sharp falcon optics as he transformed, striding toward the green life. Saw him bend to examine a small purple bloom. Saw the vines creeping up behind him.

So close now. So close. She could see so clearly now as the vines, with a life of their own, closed in around her love.

“No!” she screeched, not sure if the word came out or simply the shrill cry of the falcon. Didn’t matter; he couldn’t hear her. She was so close, yet so far away!

She called out again and again, and finally he heard her. His face swung toward her and he smiled, clearly thinking she was returning from her mission to him.

“Watch out!” she cried, but it was too late. The vines surged forward, wrapping themselves around Tigatron so swiftly he could do nothing to stop them.

“Noooo!” Airazor screamed as she heard him cry out in pain and fear. She was there, she was almost on top of him. Landing, falling, what did it matter? She dove down from the sky and hit the ground hard, skidding while she transformed.

“Airazor! No!”

“Hold on!” she cried, firing her wrist gun at the plants again and again, trying to avoid shooting Tigatron.

“Those aren’t plants!” she screamed. “They’re some alien trap! Hold on!”

But her shots were proving useless against the plants. Each time she blasted one strand away, three more would take its place. They squeezed Tigatron tightly and began to retract toward a huge lotus-like plant that stood in the center of the gulley.

“No! Tigatron!” Airazor ran forward, not knowing what she planned to do.

“Airazor, no! Stay back! Don’t come near it!”

Airazor’s optics widened as she spotted a few vines wrapping around her ankles. She shot them away and they didn’t grow back, apparently satisfied with a single victim. She lunged forward and grabbed Tigatron’s hand, one of the only parts of him not obscured by the vines, trying to hold him back. But the vines were stronger than she was, and continued to drag him upwards and toward the great plant behind them. She felt his fingers squeeze hers.

“Airazor,” he rasped, the vines squeezing the breath out of him. “Get out. Save yourself. Find Optimus; warn him.”

“I’m not leaving you, my love,” she whispered, pressing herself close to him. A few of the vines around him grabbed at her, wrapped around her waist and legs, pinning her to him. She didn’t struggle. Wherever they went now, they went together.

Suddenly, the roaring of jets was heard. They grew louder and louder, then stopped as something hit the ground behind them. The vines raised them up in the air, over the massive lotus plant.

“Airazor! Tigatron!”

It was Cheetor.

“Cheetor!” Tigatron called. She didn’t know how he yelled so loud with the plants so tight around him, but somehow he found the strength of breath. “Cheetor! Grab Airazor!”

“No,” Airazor sobbed, realizing she was crying. “No.”

But Cheetor was there, pulling at her until the few weak vines that held her to Tigatron broke. Still she clung to her lover, her hand squeezing his in a death grip.

“Take care of her, Little Cat,” Tigatron said to Cheetor, who snarled.

“Hold on, Big Cat,” the youngster said fiercely, “I’ll get you out, too.”

“Too late,” Tigatron responded as the vines around him began to glow. The glow spread until the entire huge plant he was attached to shone with an unnatural white light.

“Don’t leave me,” Airazor whispered through her tears.

“I’ll wait for you, my love,” Tigatron smiled at her, that smile she had grown to love. “Don’t despair. I’ll find you again.”

And with that, Airazor felt his hand go slack. Cheetor pulled her away, flying backwards far enough away from the plant that when the beam of light shot up, enveloping Tigatron and carrying him away, they weren’t caught in it.

Then it was quiet, so very quiet as the beam died away and the gulley settled again into a green paradise. The only sound was the gentle wind and Airazor’s desperate, spark-tearing sobs as Cheetor landed on the soft groundcover. She fell away from him as he transformed to robot mode and collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. He was gone. Gone, gone, gone.

She lay wrapped in her grief for only a few moments before she heard a shot, heard something fall beside her. Then there was a sharp pain and then only darkness.