Plays of Shadow

By: Amber Dawn

Chapter 8: From Bad to Worse

PG

Disclaimer:  I don’t own Beast Wars, Hasbro does.

“You alright in there?”

“No.”

Cheetor sighed and leaned against the doorframe. Airazor had been shut up in her quarters for three days now, and no amount of cajoling could convince her to come out. Something had to be done.

“I didn’t want to do this,” he told her through the thick metal of the door, “but if you don’t open this door I will blast it open.”

“Cheetor…please, leave me alone.”

“’Razor, we’ve all left you alone for three days. This isn’t healthy. We want to help you, and we can’t do that while you’re locked away.”

“You can’t help me.”

Cheetor let out an explosive breath. This was going nowhere fast. “Look, you’re not the only one grieving, okay?” he said sharply, then bit his lip. He hadn’t meant for that much emotion to show through.

There was silence from the other side of the door, then the sound of footsteps. The door slid open and Cheetor found himself face to face with a very haggard-looking Airazor.

She was in robot mode, but she still managed to look like a molting bird. Her optics were dim with exhaustion and grief, and her usually straight stance had drooped into an apathetic slouch. The feathers that framed her face were sticking out at odd angles and the patches of feathers where her beast mode showed were ruffled. She looked like scrap.

“Fine,” she said, her voice thick and hoarse. “I’m sorry. I know you’re all grieving too. I just.…” Her voice broke and her optics filled with tears, which spilled over to slide down her face. “I just can’t…I can’t deal with the world…I can’t face anyone, anything without thinking of him,” she sobbed.

Cheetor grimaced inwardly. He didn’t have a lot of experience with femmes, especially crying ones. He didn’t know what to do, what to say, or even if he should do or say anything. This wasn’t the Airazor he knew. This wasn’t the smiling, confident, self-assured ‘bot he had seen three mornings ago. This was Airazor’s body, but it wasn’t her in it.

Cheetor had been there when Tigatron had…he had seen it too. And he mourned the loss of his comrade and friend, as did the rest of the Maximals. But none of them had known Tigatron as well as Airazor did. She had loved him; that was plain to see.

He was still standing there awkwardly, trying to think of what to do, when she collapsed against him, sobbing uncontrollably. He wrapped his arms around her more to hold her up than to give comfort: she was beyond exhausted.

He patted her back awkwardly as she continued to sob against his chest, clinging to him. They were still standing like that when Rattrap came around the corner. The rodent started to grin wickedly, but Cheetor stared him down. ‘Don’t say a word,’ his glare said. Rattrap’s grin faded as he took in what Airazor looked like.

“C’mon, Bird Lady,” Rattrap said softly, coming forward and prying Airazor off Cheetor, “Have you slept at all? No, I’d say not.”

Rattrap glanced at Cheetor, who shrugged. Rattrap scoffed and shook his head in disgust. “Go tell Optimus she’s out,” he ordered, and Cheetor nodded, eager to do something useful. As he turned and clanked down the corridor to the control room, he heard Rattrap saying something to Airazor in a low, soothing voice Cheetor didn’t know the short ‘bot had in him.

Still marvelling at this new side to Rattrap, Cheetor reached the control room and spotted Optimus.

“Hey, Big Bot,” he said, drawing the leader’s attention. “I managed to get Airazor out of her quarters. Thought you should know.”

Optimus nodded and stood. “How is she?”

“Not good,” the cat-bot said with a wince. “Rattrap’s with her now.”

Optimus chuckled. “’Not good’ should about cover it, then.”

As the commander brushed past him down the corridor that led to the crew’s living quarters, Rhinox turned in his control chair. “Your turn on patrol duty, Cheetor,” the technician told him.

“Aww, man,” Cheetor complained, “can’t it wait? I wanna talk to Airazor.”

Rhinox shook his head. “You’d better go,” he said. “I doubt she’ll be up to talking much.”

Especially to you, was the unspoken addition. Cheetor growled as he made his way to the lift. Of course everyone would want him out of the way. After his disappearance the other day, everyone had gone back to treating him like a dumb kid. He had finally been getting some respect from the older Maximals, and now one stupid mistake had cost him all of it.

He transformed to beast mode as soon as the lift stopped and took off running, igniting his jets. Once he was in the air, he felt marginally better. Flying always made him feel better.

He was just thinking maybe Rhinox hadn’t been trying to get him out of the way after all when he spotted the gigantic stasis pod half-buried in a sand dune. He could just make out the big X marked on its lid.

Narrowing his optics, Cheetor flew in for a closer look and activated his comlink.

“Long-range recon report,” he quipped. “This kitty’s keen sense of discovery has uncovered a mondo stasis pod. But it’s thoroughly thrashed; it plowed into a big load of residual energon. And it’s branded with a big, bad lookin’ X.”

There was a pause, then Optimus’ voice came over the line. It may have been the connection, but Cheetor thought the leader sounded unexpectedly harried.

“Just hang on. I’m on my way.”

Megatron smiled as he listened in on the Maximals’ interaction. He had picked up the signal on a mere lucky fluke and had discovered it was just the thing he needed to hear.

“A new soldier?” the large Predacon mused aloud. “A big soldier, yesss.”

The stasis pod had crashed about halfway between the two bases, which meant if he sent out troops now they would get there at around the same time as the Maximals. Cheetor was already in place, but he could be taken care of.

Turning, Megatron spotted Blackarachnia listening in on the transmission as well. Waspinator hovered nearby. Just the two ‘bots Megatron needed. ‘This must be my lucky day,’ he thought ruefully.

Reaching under his control chair, Megatron retrieved the synch-pulse transmitter he had hidden there for just this purpose and brought the hand clutching it to clap Blackarachnia on the back, attaching it to her. He watched as the transmitter glowed for a moment then blended in with her armor, making it visually undetectable. He then addressed the she-spider and Waspinator.

“Blackarachnia! Waspinator! Prepare for a recruitment drive. Whatever this protoform is, I want it flying the flag of the Predacons…not the Maximals.”

Waspinator buzzed happily at the prospect of a mission and Blackarachnia simpered. “Always eager to welcome a new comrade in arms,” she purred, then beckoned to Waspinator, who followed her from the room.

After they were both out of sight, Megatron lowered his gaze to the left arm of his control chair, under which a tiny flashing light could be seen. He had caught sight of the audio bug earlier by chance and had been aware of the flashing ever since. After a few moments, the flashing stopped.

Megatron leaned under his chair and confirmed that the bug was indeed offline. Then he picked it up between his two fingers and examined it.

Tarantulas. Megatron growled as he ground the device to dust in his hand. He had no idea how Tarantulas had managed to bug the Predacon base, but he would have to discreetly check the rest of the place for other – infestations.

“Spiders spin their webs, yesss,” Megatron muttered, pleased with himself. “But I spin them larger.”

Turning to his monitor, Megatron took the time to go over the state of things. As far as he knew, Tarantulas hadn’t left his lair for three days, ever since the catastrophe with the Metalhunter machine. The treacherous spider had foiled his plans then, and had the Predacon leader constantly on edge since. Megatron wasn’t sure what Tarantulas’ agenda was, but it certainly wasn’t in tandem with his own, no.

Then there was the matter of the golden disk. Megatron had finally retrieved it, but he still wasn’t sure what to make of it. Until he finished decoding the message inscribed around it, he would just have to be patient, even if the power the thing held was frustratingly close to being within his reach.

He also had reason to suspect that Blackarachnia had gained access to the codes he had already decrypted: the access codes to the Ark. He wasn’t sure he liked that, but he wasn’t going to act on it yet, no. Just in case he somehow lost the disc again, having her in possession of the codes could prove useful.

Then there was a new problem to consider. The ship that had crashed five days ago was completely destroyed, and intensive scans of the area had picked up no sign of its pilot. Megatron supposed the femme had been nearby the ship when it had exploded and was no longer a concern, but there was still that niggling doubt….

According to the reports Quickstrike and Inferno had given him, the girl had possessed a unique weapon: the ability to store enough energon in her system to damage those around her without any visible harm to herself. A weapon like that would be very useful to have on his side, yes. But he had yet to discover any evidence that the girl was still alive, and until he did there was no point in dwelling on it.

Megatron shook his head and returned his concentration to what was happening at the present.

“Computer,” he ordered, “activate the audio transmitter linked to unit: Blackarachnia.”

Leaning back in his control chair with a smug smile, Megatron settled in for the show.

Airazor was barely aware of Rattrap’s firm but gentle hold on her arms, guiding her back into her quarters and down onto her bed. She was so tired she could barely hear what he was saying to her in a low, soothing tone. Only that it made her sleepy…and made her want to cry again.

She closed her optics wearily and a few oily tears escaped them. She let out a weak sob, wondering why Rattrap was being so nice to her.

“Shh,” he shushed her, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, “it’s alright.”

“No it’s not,” she whispered, wondering why her voice wasn’t working. How long had she been in here, anyway? Cheetor had said three days, but that couldn’t be right. She was stronger than that. She never let things beat her, defeat her. She wasn’t some bimbo femme that locked herself away for days to grieve and feel sorry for herself! Surely she couldn’t have been in here for three days: Tigatron would be ashamed of her.

She felt weight settle onto her bed and opened tear-blurred optics to see Rattrap sitting on the edge of her bed watching her, his gaze full of pity. No. She didn’t want his pity! She didn’t need any of them to pity her. All she wanted was to fade away and not have to hear them all with their hushed, sympathetic voices, like it was her dying and not…not….

Another sob escaped her, making her chest hurt. It had started doing that after…how long? How long had she been here? Too long. Not long enough.

Cheetor had been there too, when it had happened. He had seen that alien plant take…. That was why she’d opened the door. Cheetor would understand. He was the closest thing she had to a brother, or a best friend. But Cheetor had left, and now Rattrap was being so nice to her… But he just didn’t understand. She felt so empty.

“Airazor?”

Optimus. It was Optimus. No! Go away!

“Yes?” she croaked, suddenly wanting to be far away from the base. And why wasn’t her voice working?

“Cheetor said you were up. How’re you holding out?”

Suddenly, Airazor got an idea. Ignoring Optimus’ question she sat up quickly, knocking away the hand Rattrap had been using to absently stroke the feathers on her head. She blinked away her tears, the desire to cry no longer a priority. She had cried enough, so much that it hurt. Time was starting to come back to her: she really had been in here for three days! What had she been thinking? Tigatron wouldn’t have wanted this.

Tigatron had said to be patient, to wait for him. And wait she would, but not in this cold metal base. She had to get out, had to feel air beneath her wings. Had to go find the one ‘bot that might just understand what it was she couldn’t describe to the males. She had to talk to Fleetshade.

“I’m going flying,” she announced, and stood up before Rattrap could stop her. Suddenly the whole room tilted and the floor came rushing up to smack her in the face. Fortunately Rattrap caught her before she hit.

“You ain’t goin’ nowhere, Bird Lady,” he told her, “until you get some rest. And if I gotta shoot ya and put ya in the ‘R chamber to do it, I will.”

Airazor looked up and saw Optimus and Rattrap’s faces swimming around over her. She smiled blearily, leaning hard on Rattrap. She heard him grunt as he tried to support her with one arm and figured maybe he was right: sleep sounded good. Fleetshade could wait a few megacycles.

The next few cycles were a blur as she crawled (well, was dropped) back onto her bed and shut off her optics. Distantly, she heard Optimus discussing something with Rattrap, then receding footsteps. Only one pair of footsteps. Opening one optic, Airazor saw Rattrap pulling up a chair and settling into it, watching her.

“You don’t have to guard me,” she said quietly. He jumped: he must have thought she was already asleep. Then he grinned his cocky grin. There was no pity in his gaze now; this was the Rattrap she knew again.

“Who said anythin’ ‘bout guardin’ ya?” he said. “Can’t a ‘bot watch a femme sleep?”

“Yeracreeprattrap,” she murmured and shut her optic. The last thing she was aware of before drifting into an exhausted slumber was Rattrap’s chuckling laugh.

Blackarachnia held her head between her claws, trying but failing to get rid of the headache that had come on when she’d gotten back to base. She had spent the day wandering around a dark, creepy forest with a Maximal, and an irritating one at that. Then she finally got back to base to discover that Megatron has managed to capture half the immortal spark of the same thing that kept trying to kill her all afternoon! Not to mention their esteemed leader was not pleased at how she’d interacted with said Maximal, meaning the big purple lump had bugged her somehow. She hated when he did that!

Now she was in her quarters with some much needed privacy, and she could barely think past the pounding in her processor. Lifting her head up carefully, she pressed a button on a nearby console that she had installed herself. It was a handy contraption: it was attached to a tiny camera positioned over her door so she could see what was going on outside, plus it had all sorts of other goodies, like the ability to find and remove almost any tracking device from her person.

A scanning plate popped out of the console and bathed her in a beam of green light. There was a faint stinging sensation in the small of her back, then a clink as something fell onto the metal floor. The light winked out and the scanner receded. Satisfied, Blackarachnia pressed another button and a section of the wall slid closed, hiding the console.

She turned and picked up the device. ‘Of course,’ she thought. ‘I was wondering why he slapped my back this morning. I figured he was trying to grab a feel, like normal.’

Suddenly very angry, Blackarachnia chucked the bug against the wall with all her strength. It shattered on impact, and as she watched the pieces settle to the floor she thought back on her day. Well no, she admitted in a small corner of her mind, she was thinking back on Silverbolt.

Oh, the ‘bot was about as annoying as they come. Thought he was some knight in shining armor or something, like from one of those old human stories. She rolled her optics. And yet…. And yet he lacked all the traits that really turned her off in a guy. He didn’t smell, he didn’t try to cop a feel whenever he went by her, he wasn’t a pompous, self-important saurian, and he wasn’t a sadistic psychopath. In fact, he wasn’t half bad as males went around here.

“Ugh,” she said aloud. “I did not just think that. What is my malfunction today?”

Sure she had had fun, but it was the fun that an evil femme was supposed to have with a naïve hero type. She had mocked him and led him on, then drifted away into the fog. And that was the way it was going to stay. Closed subject.

Too awake to sleep, Blackarachnia opened a compartment under her bed and pulled out a gadget she had been working on. But her heart just wasn’t into tinkering right now. Her mind kept returning to those big, stupid golden optics looking piteously at her from the wrong end of a cliff. Throwing down her tools in frustration, she made a disgusted sound and stood up abruptly. She needed to go for a walk.

The base was quiet at this time of night. Everyone was either sleeping or pretending to watch the monitors, or had crawled into a shadowy corner to brood after another hard day of being evil-doers. Blackarachnia crept down the corridor that housed the crew quarters and into the main control room, heading for the hatch that would lead her out of the base. Megatron was nowhere to be seen and Waspinator was snoring loudly, sprawled over his monitor.

Blackarachnia let out a sigh of relief and jumped onto a hoverboard, trying to act like she belonged there. She was almost home free when she heard something stir behind her. Glancing into the shadows, she almost screamed when a big hulking form revealed itself to her.

“Just where do you think you’re going?” the form said in a low, crooning voice. The voice had the edge of insanity that put Blackarachnia’s nerves on edge.

“That’s none of your business, Rampage,” she snapped at the new Predacon, fully aware that the crab-bot could snap her in half if he caught her. If he caught her.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be out this late, she-spider,” Rampage countered, still with that maniacal lilt to his tone.

“Oh please,” she scoffed, “don’t tell me you’re going to be Mr. Loyal to Megatron, because we already have one of those, and it makes me sick.”

Rampage smiled, but didn’t answer her question. “I know because you’re afraid,” he said softly. “Afraid someone will catch you? What do you fear in the dark, she-spider?”

Blackarachnia barely suppressed a shudder. How could Rampage know that she was terrified of running into Tarantulas?

“I can sense it,” the big ‘bot whispered as if reading her mind, “I can sense your fear. I like fear, Blackarachnia. It gets me…excited.”

This time she couldn’t hold back the shudder that crept down her spine. She forced herself to remain outwardly cool, but his tiny smile told her there was no hiding her inner panic from this madbot.

“I don’t have time for this,” she said. “I’m leaving. Tell Megatron if you want; I don’t care.”

Blackarachnia forced herself through sheer power of will not to look back over her shoulder as she left the base to make sure he wasn’t following her. Once she was outside she reverted to beast mode and scuttled away over the lava fields with no destination in mind, just letting her eight legs take her where they would.

Once out of sight of the Darkside, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had detected no pursuit, from Rampage or otherwise.

Otherwise meaning Tarantulas. Ever since the alien attack, he had been very quiet, keeping to his lair. For Blackarachnia it had been a welcome reprieve: she could pretend he had fallen off the face of the planet or something. Then he had resurfaced today.

She had toyed with him in the past, taunted him, lured him on. But always within reason; Tarantulas was not a ‘bot you wanted as an enemy. Tarantulas was a grade-A sadist and a psychopath: not a good combination. His recent disappearance had only served to feed his insanity, and now he was after her.

He knew she had the codes. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. He knew she had recovered something from Megatron’s datatracks before destroying them, but for all Tarantulas knew it could have been Megatron’s secret diary. But Tarantulas wasn’t stupid, and he had optics and audios everywhere. It was only a matter of time before he stumbled on a conversation or file somewhere pertaining to the Ark and put two and two together. And when that day came, when he knew exactly what he wanted from her, there would be no stopping him. And that scared her. It scared her silly.

Pictures popped up in her processor again: images left over from the time when she and Tarantulas had shared minds. She shook her head to clear it, receiving a fierce pounding for her effort. No, Tarantulas was not the kind of ‘bot a femme wanted to meet up with in the shadows at night.

It took a few minutes to realize where she was headed: Sector Gamma. ‘Yeah,’ Blackarachnia thought, ‘good idea, feet. What I need right now is a little girl talk.’

Airazor awoke suddenly from a nightmare with tears in her optics. Three guesses what the nightmare had been about. Wiping her face, she took deep breaths to calm herself, but ended up sobbing. The usual thought process of ‘it was just a dream’ didn’t cut it this time; it hadn’t been just a dream. Tigatron really was gone, and she really was all alone.

It was dark in her quarters, but there were no portholes so it was always dark with no light on. For all she knew it could be midday.

How long had she slept? She seemed to think it was morning when Cheetor had convinced her to leave her quarters, but she couldn’t be sure. She glanced to the wall, where Rattrap was asleep in her chair, snoring softly. It was nighttime then, she decided, otherwise he’d be awake.

Wide awake by now, Airazor remembered what she had wanted to do before falling asleep. She rose slowly, careful to be quiet lest she wake Rattrap. Every joint ached and her optics felt tender from crying. She managed to gain an upright position and didn’t fall over, which she took as a good sign. She held her breath as the door slid open, but Rattrap didn’t stir.

Walking on her toes to avoid making noise on the metal floor, Airazor snuck down the hallway, but not to the control room; she couldn’t risk somebody being awake at the monitors. She crept the other way, toward the back escape hatch. Wrenching the handle open, she winced when the hardly-used hatch creaked loudly. The door was about twenty feet up from the ground, but that didn’t matter. She reverted to beast mode and took off, flying through the cool night air in the direction of the forest valley of Sector Gamma.

Hoping fervently that Fleetshade would be awake or at least easy to find at this time of night, Airazor closed her optics and let her inner directional system tell her where to go, simply enjoying the feel of air under her wings and the smells of the earth. But somehow they didn’t hold the same appeal as they had before. It was as if the joyful song of life had been quieted and the dirge of death chorused around her in the night, upsetting the constant balance she had learned to observe.

Airazor opened her optics just before she entered the valley and zoomed in on the ground with her keen night vision, looking for anything that could be a sign of Fleetshade.

She found the deer-bot easier than she would have thought, lounging in the middle of a meadow near the eastern valley wall. Winging down to ground level, Airazor was surprised when Fleetshade didn’t even flinch, just turned to watch her with the wide, glittering optics of a deer. For a moment Airazor wondered if she had been mistaken and this was just another deer, but then the woodland creature smiled and stood.

“Airazor! I was wondering where you’d gone. You said you’d come back.” The girl sounded hurt.

Airazor transformed to robot mode and sat down in the long grass of the field, her knees pulled up under her chin. “I know,” she sighed. “It’s…been a long week, Fleetshade.” The deer made a sympathetic noise, but Airazor changed the subject quickly. “Say, why are you out here in the open at night? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

Fleetshade shook her head. “The predators don’t come out for another few megacycles. It’s just barely dark: see, the moon isn’t even above the trees yet.”

Airazor scanned the skies and realized the girl was right. Of course, had Airazor been as alert as usual she would have noticed herself. She had become an avid star-watcher on her mission to find stasis pods. She and Tigatron had stayed up late many a night watching the stars and sometimes even naming them as it suited their fancy. Remembering those times Airazor felt the tears come again, but she blinked them back. ‘No more crying,’ she told herself firmly.

“Airazor?” Fleetshade was watching her closely. “Airazor, what’s wrong?”

Airazor hesitated a moment. She had come out here to talk to Fleetshade, but now that she was here she had doubts. Would Fleetshade really understand better than the males, who were warriors? Fleetshade seemed so young, so inexperienced. What could she know about losing loved ones?

Then Airazor remembered some of the things Fleetshade had said when last they had met: “I lived pretty rough for a while…” “If there’s something I’ve learned in life, it’s that no matter where a femme comes from or what she looks like, we’re all built of the same stuff where it counts…”

Airazor took a deep breath and started to speak, unable to stop once she’d started. She told Fleetshade everything that had happened since they’d last seen each other, everything that had run through her mind and how she felt so alone, so utterly empty. The girl listened patiently and quietly as only a fellow femme could, and the light of understanding and empathy shone in her brown deer optics.

“I-I loved him,” Airazor finally whispered, tears running once more down her face. But they were no longer tears of bitterness and despair. These were tears of relief. This is what she had needed, to simply let everything out and admit what she had felt. She had loved Tigatron the way she had loved no other before and probably never would again. She couldn’t have said that to any of the males, but here was a fellow femme who understood and somehow related to her feelings of love and loss and grief.

Fleetshade transformed suddenly to robot mode and crossed to where Airazor sat, throwing her arms around the bird-bot in a tight embrace.

“Oh, Airazor,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry, I really am. I wish I could do something to help.”

“You have,” Airazot told her, wiping tears from her face for the last time. “I just needed to get it out, needed someone to listen. Thank you.”

Fleetshade nodded sagely as she pulled away, suddenly looking older than she had before. After a moment, she spoke.

“When I was a child, I lived in a neutral colony on a planet called Bedon. It was a lot like this planet: organic. Once I found a small creature with a wound in its leg and I took it to the village healer, who said the wound was infected. If the infection spread, soon it would consume the creature and it would die. But the healer lanced the wound and drained the infection, then stitched it up and it healed clean. The creature made a full recovery and we released it into the wild again a few weeks later. I think what you needed was for something to drain your wound. It hasn’t healed yet, and it will take time, but now it won’t fester unless you let it.”

Airazor smiled. “Exactly,” she said. “That’s a very good way of putting it, Fleetshade. How old are you, anyway?”

“It’s hard to say,” Fleetshade said hesitantly, looking away, “I’ve lived in a few different places, and I don’t know how long a Cybertronian stellar cycle is. I left Bedon when I was ten stellar cycles of age by Bedon reckoning, and I lived on another planet for two hundred stellar cycles by their reckoning. How long is a Cybertronian stellar cycle?”

“Twelve decacycles,” Airazor replied, thinking numbly that she had been right about Fleetshade’s neutral heritage.

Fleetshade thought for a moment. “Then I suppose I’d be about twenty-three stellar cycles on Cybertron. How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Airazor’s mouth dropped open, but then she recovered herself enough to respond. “I’ve only been online on this planet for a stellar cycle or so, Cybertronian reckoning, but I was a protoform before that. I have no recollection of my previous life, but I’d say I’m about the same age as you.”

Fleetshade smiled. “Surprised?”

“Yes, actually,” Airazor admitted, “you seem younger at times, and older at others.”

The deer femme’s smile turned wry. “That’s what happens when you’re taken out of real society at an early age and have to learn life’s hardships but not its subtler points.”

Both females were silent for a few cycles, listening to the rustling of the trees at the meadow’s edge and the croaking call of some night creature.

“Fleetshade,” Airazor finally asked, “what happened to you when you left your colony?”

Now it was Fleetshade’s turn to hesitate. Airazor sat patiently waiting as Fleetshade made her decision. The neutral femme opened her mouth to speak, but before he could say anything a shot rang out in the night and Airazor felt something go whooshing by her head.

“You!” called a familiar voice from the edge of the woods. “What are you doing here, Maximal?”