The Enemy 9: The Legend

ii

Cybertron was normally a planet alone in the universe, endlessly traversing the vast expanse between the stars. After the war, various minor ships orbited, hoping to make a different kind of killing than the inhabitants were used to, trading goods, amassing a store of energon to return to their home ports and convert into the standard galactic currency, shanix, hoping to make living easy for an extended period of time. But these were all transient freight delivery, nothing large continually surrounded the great orb. Once, it had a plethora of moons. In archaic times, legends of gods and heroes incorporated those moons, as well as constellations from a time when Cybertron's orbit was standard. Now, they were all gone, another casualty in a near-endless list of the eon-spanning conflict that had ravaged their parent world. Only the legends remained.

The Decepticon Warworld, Emperor Bludgeon's private conveyance, was not large enough to be considered a moon, though it was still substantial by any sane measurement. Bludgeon had concocted a plan to restore the disenfranchised Decepticons to their homeworld. But he wasn't counting on another group, this one in a self-imposed exile rather than desperate flight for survival, having recieved information that could facilitate their own return. This other group was greatly populous, and while Bludgeon's Decepticons included the top two hundred and sixty crack troops, currently passengers on the Warworld, all of the other group's ships had a capacity for over eighteen thousand percent more. And there were six hundred thirty ships in the armada that had unexpectedly followed the Decepticons out of super-lightspeed twelve seconds later. All in all, each of those ships could have been considered moon-sized.

The Vehicons had finally come home.

i

Don't panic! Don't panic!

So, Defcon, the most vicious Decepticon-hunter in the galaxy, and the only dedicated killer from the Autobot side on record, was currently holding his handheld proton cannon at the connection between my shoulders and head, and the creepy head-mounted particle accelerator was aimed within mere microns of the same spot. I was without my hard-light guns, and there was no place nearby to dodge behind.

I was so much scrap. Only a miracle could save me.

How fortunate for me I had two.

Soundwave once said that he didn't have to upgrade his sharpshooter programming because he never went on a mission without at least eight of his tapes. In a pinch, he could launch them all in less than twelve minons, providing him with cover, a distraction, and all the time in the universe to aim.

I always thought that could be a useful distraction technique, and so I had myself equipped with a reinforced chestplate that I could fire with all the force Ramjet had been known to use against aerial opponents. It later turned out to be a good place to stow one of my binary bonded partners.

In a burst, the plate was fired, Defcon's aim shifted, and Skar flew out of his cranny--screaming "All will bow before the bird-god!"--crashing into Defcon's particle accelerator, gnawing it in two, while Knok had jumped out of the carry in my abdomen, grabbed the proton cannon, and attempted to pull the trigger.

I limited myself to knocking Defcon onto his back, scooping up my bond-mates, and jumping onto the balcony I had insisted on, even though it meant a reduction in pay-grade scale. I turned around as I fit Knok and Skar back in their previous abodes, transformed into my missile launcher mode and let one fly. Then I let myself fly in my avian mode; although I, like all Decepticons, could fly in all my modes, having a dedicated aerialist configuration allowed us all more stability, speed, and maneuverability.

I didn't know where to go next. Aside from the transformation gears I had uncovered, all of my resources and assets--aside from my own self and what I had committed only to my own memory--had been in those chambers assigned me by Autobot High Command.

In a moment in despair, I perched on a nearby tower, gazing down upon the populous of Cybertron, seeing all of the destruction I would not be able to buffer the world from, seeing my plans of universal peace for all Cybertronians under my control rusting to decay. I opened myself to all of the communications traffic, allowing myself to actually register all of the energy transmissions I was privy to as a dedicated espionage agent. At first I focused on official bandwidth, checking whether the disturbance at my quarters had been reported, then I broadened my awareness. Communications from all over, personal conversations that normally wouldn't trip my surveillance flags flooding in; apparently, the energy transmitter to counter Bludgeon's nucleon bomb was working, but it lacked a constrictor connection to focus the transmission in one direction alone; Blacktop was going out of business now that so few needed to consume energon on a regular basis; The Cult of The Pagan was denouncing nucleon as a product of the Chaos-Bringer; a minicon drone had stumbled upon a pile of energon and was blissfully experiencing a fuel overdose; someone called Teacup was thinking of changing his occupation.

As my attention slid across all manner of official and civilian broadcasts, I lingered at the incoming space-traffic sensors. An engine exhaust profile I was familiar with had just been uploaded to the security database. It was a Decepticon engine exhaust profile.

It was Bludgeon's ship.

Horror flushed through my systems. The Autobots weren't ready to face Bludgeon's nucleon bombardment, they were still having trouble with their defense. The planet Cybertron would soon become a tomb, and I could never become the ultimate warrior.

The horror became an all-encompassing terror when more engine signatures I was familiar with began to fill the space-traffic input directory. Shortly after escaping from Bludgeon, I had been found by a group of Cybertronians I had inadvertently coerced into a self-impose exile just before the war flared up.

They had mentioned their leader's name, an outstanding fugitive from justice--both Cybertronian and my own--who I knew could ruin my plans at that early point, and so I had spun a tale that would influence my unanticipated rescuers away from delivering me to Maximus. During my time with them, I learned that they had developed an irrational and unwavering hatred for those who had forced them away from Cybertron, and if ever they had the chance, they would inflict their own brand of dominance over the transgressors. Somehow, they had learned the secret of Cybertron's unplanned path through the universe. Even if I could somehow survive Bludgeon's nucleon--and since I had already been tainted with the one-time-only Nucleon, it was a distinct possibility--they would destroy the future I wanted to build.

In such moments, inspiration can strike, and I believe it did just then. It was a desperate plan--and scarcely a plan at that--but it was all I could imagine would save the world.

ii

Punch felt terrible.

To save one world from destruction, he had to sacrifice his own.

He had hoped to relay a covert message to Cybertron before they arrived, but had not been allowed any amount of privacy. Now he could see his homeworld in the viewscreen of the lead Vehicon ship, and was being ignored as the command crew sized up defenses and armaments and made quick tactical preparations. This was his chance, even though it would be rather futile to warn the Autobots that they were about to come under attack. But perhaps they would be able to use the EI/AD converter that had been so useful against the Swarm. It would likely end up killing him, too, but after the mess he had made of the situation, Punch thought he deserved it.

He flipped one channel to the outside and sent a quick burst message he had spent the entire trip composing and perfecting. Then he shut off the transmitter, still mainly forgotten by his captors, and returned to hoping that he had managed to do some sort of good.

ii

Red Alert thought a stream of curses, but didn't allow himself the luxury, or the waste of energy, of uttering them.

He had devised plans for a possible siege of Cybertron by Decepticons. He had doubled and tripled the last known count of Decepticons, discounted the effects of Nucleon, and divided the current amount of energon available for his worst case scenarios, but even those did not include one tenth the amount of ships currently in orbit around Cybertron, and none one tenth the size of them, either. He had two contingencies to help even the odds: the "Strike Force Delta" plan, and the planetary shield.

The planetary shield, first proposed at the time of the Swarm Invasion, incorporated various similar technologies several Autobots had equipped themselves with. A number of energy field nodes had been installed at assorted strategic points, each supplied with a wave modulator to reinforce the protective effects of such a field. They overlapped above even more strategic locations--the Autobot Command Compound had twelve energy nodes overlapping over its structure--to increase their defensive capability. Shields of such size had never really been tested, all of the science and engineering had been sound, and there was no reason to suspect they would fail. Their strength was still in doubt, unfortunately.

"Strike Force Delta" was the only reason Red Alert had allowed so much import and export trade to occur on Cyberton. Every ship of a capital classification was given a choice: pledge to defend your newfound marketworld from attack, or don't get prime deals for your products or services. Red Alert had only expected ten percent compliance from the offworld merchants, but nearly forty percent had joined "Strike Force Delta." Perhaps they had never expected to be called into service, but if so, then now was the time to be disillusioned.

Red Alert had just issued commands to turn on the shield and initiate Strike Force Delta when a message came through on a priority channel.

It was from Punch.

"Kick-off!" Red Alert felt justified in expending the energy to yell.

"Yes, sir?"

"Issue an addendum to the Strike Force Delta initiation. We need volunteers for a rescue mission."

i

I have grown to dislike the sound of explosions.

I didn't except Defcon to just give up because I was fighting back--his psychological profile indicated he was no coward--but I was hoping the blast back at my lodgings would have slowed him down some. Perhaps it did, but his dedicated starship alternate mode meant catching up to me wasn't enough of a struggle.

Now I have to head for the research and development annex of the Autobot Intelligence Headquarters--which location I'm not fully aware of--dodging flak and lethal weapons fire while trying to outrun something ten times my speed.

Why can it never be easy?

Keeping my communications gear on will help with finding my destination, but what about the rest? His main weapon, the particle accelerator, was damaged, but he still had his proton cannons.

The made very loud booms when they connected with stable matter. Atoms bombarded with such force often lost their ability to remain cohesive, and the result was like a minor nuclear blast, only with less ambient radiation. The result was a large amount of hydrogen, though, and despite Cybertron's atmosphere not being anywhere near as combustible as Earth's, the amount of heat generated in the destabilization of the atomic structure ignited the prime atom spectacularly.

Or, rather, it would be spectacular if I weren't the intended target.

Flying away from him was beginning to strain my capacitors to the limit. Even with perpetual fuel, running this hot this long was not advisable. If I didn't do something fast, I was as good as fried.

And that's when I realized that my scanners were having to deal with a surprising amount of interference. Diverting some processing power to diagnosis would mean less to use against Defcon. Except that I recognized the energy signature, somewhat. It was an energy shield. Actually, many energy shields; it appeared the Autobots had prepared themselves for an attack from space. That would provide me with the time I'd need to shake my pursuer and get to the energy transmitter.

Or . . . perhaps I could use the shields to deal with Defcon?

ii

Punch had been staring out at his homeworld, wondering if and when the end would come. That was the only reason he was the first to notice the cloud of transport ships orbiting Cybertron break up, with half heading towards the Vehicon ships, and the other half heading for lightspeed. He tried to remain nonchalant, trying to understand what could be happening. And then he noticed five of the larger vessels peeling off from the vanguard and head directly for the ship he was on.

That's when the Vehicons began to open fire.

The five trading ships were hardy, but they were each less than half the size of the lead Vehicon frigate, and they were not very maneuverable. However, it seemed that it was all but a ruse: two much smaller ships had been using the larger ones as flying shields, and once they were out in the open, the bigger ships headed back to the rest of the group.

Leaving two very fast, very maneuverable tugs to approach at speed and use their minor weaponry to begin cutting up the hull.

"Come with me, Autobot." One of the guards tasked to watch over Punch grabbed his shoulder under the joint and started pulling. Punch had no choice but be herded by Nimbus and Starcloud into a holding cell. Punch began to wonder if they'd bother to check outgoing communications while in the middle of a running space battle. If so, they'd likely execute him with all possible speed. But at least the Autobots had managed to begin their defense. Maybe his message hadn't been needed. Even so, he would die knowing that he had done the best he could do.

That would have to be enough.

i

Luck was with me; it turned out that the Autobots had laid a dozen energy shield nodes within close proximity to their headquarters, and since the headquarters for their intelligence agency was not far from the main office of their government, I wouldn't have to fly very far after dissuading Defcon to follow me.

Such dissuasion would be tricky, though. But they don't call me "Doubledealer" for nothing.

Locating one of the shield nodes, I tried to fire a hard light beam at Defcon to distract him. My avian mode wasn't set up for real combat, though. It wasn't a predator, it was a carrion feeder. I would have to be a predator, or I would end up feeding on the husk of a desecrated Cybertron.

If I survived the nucleon bomb.

If I survived Defcon.

If I survived.

Needless to say, my attempt at distraction missed by quite a bit. However, it did serve to redouble Defcon's attempts to close with me once and for all, meanwhile firing more and more proton blasts at me.

Which, considering he flew straight for me, and I was directly in front of the energy emitter of the shield node, was not very bright on his part.

I have never overdosed on energon. I always considered it a waste of good fuel, and a waste of my time. It was a favorite pastime of several Decepticons after we had originally conquered of Cybertron and had control of the energy reserves, utilizing our species ability to connect to any energy source. Many in Intelligence, particularly, became quite practiced at hiding their addiction. They believed that the "rush" allowed them to get more work done, and was quite enjoyable. Enjoyable as long as one didn't use too much energon, then you would be over-powered, and strain your capacitors beyond the limits. I always imagined such a thing would be highly painful and sufficient to keep individuals on energon rations forevermore, but I had never seen anything close to how I imagined it would look, before now.

That should keep Defcon from coming after me again.

ii

Punch considered his continued life to be enough to believe in a higher power. He only hoped that Primus allowed for death-side confessions. Over all, his new confinement wasn't particularly distressing, aside from the occasional ship-wide vibration.

And then the lights went out.

And stayed out.

Punch felt fear, surprisingly for the first time since arriving in the vicinity of Cybertron. If the ship lost its power and emergency power, then it would just be a matter of time before the occupants of the ship began fueling off of each other. And they would likely start with their useless prisoner.

Time stretched. Punch became acclimated to the darkness, but there wasn't anything to see in his dungeon. He tried to open the door, vaguely wondering if the lock would stop working now that the power was down. No such luck--although he supposed that would make it harder for the energon-starved crew to eventually consume him.

The sounds of combat began, close combat. The interior of the ship itself was now a battlefield. Punch began to set himself for when they blasted open the lock. He knew that he was as good as dead, but he was going to take as many of them with him.

Suddenly, the darkness was not quite so pronounced. The door was glowing. A part of the door was caving in. They weren't worrying about the lock, they were going to bust down the door!

Finally, it blew in, and Punch rushed at the pack of Vehicons--which turned out to only number two--and reached for their weaponry--which turned out to be hanging at their sides--but Punch wasn't going to be distracted--even though another explosion rocked the ship--and these Vehicons didn't have their sigil--

"Whoah! Whoah! Hang on!"

One of the sigil-less Vehicons tried to restrain Punch, and after a moment, he stopped resisting.

"Kill me quickly! I deserve that much!"

"Kill you? Bot, you have got to be frizzled. We're here to rescue you! You are Punch, right?"

"Yes, I'm Punch. Rescue me? Who are you?"

"I'm Blue Arrow, and this is Sprinter. We're crew on the trade ship Pawn Broke. We were enlisted to help fight for the freedom of our newest trading post, Cybertron. I still think our captain's nuts for agreeing to do it, but like he says, 'A deal is a deal, and a good deal is a hard deal.'"

"So we were assigned a rescue mission as part of the whole operation," Sprinter said.

"I'm . . . I'm going to live?"

"Only if we can get you back to Cybertron and repulse these invaders. I mean, delete me! Who are these guys?"

"Really greased off," Punch replied.

"Yeah, no kidding. Come on if you're coming. We've got a massive amount of ship to get through before we can even begin to dodge all the firepower they can bring to bear on us."

Punch just nodded and began to move in the direction indicated by Blue Arrow. He scarcely noticed the weapon Sprinter pressed into his palm. He wasn't going to die.

Not yet, anyway.

ii

Red Alert stared intently at the situation screen his desk had become. It seemed one of the shield nodes had misfired not too long after activating. A repair team had been sent in immediately, but so far, it had been the only one. Of course, it had to be one of the nodes used to protect the Autobot Command Center, but Red Alert was still very pleased.

Strike Force Delta was having a tremendous effect on these invaders' forces. The Autobots had a few dozen ships of their own that had been refitted for combat, but maybe now Prime and his leadership council would be more amenable to expanding the space force to a full armada.

But that was a thought for another time. Right now, Red Alert was focusing everything on the defense of his homeworld. He was using every resource at his disposal, and it seemed to be just enough. Punch had mentioned using the EI/AD that had been used so effectively against the Swarm, but it was poorly understood, and only accidental usage--which the technicians now believed had also been incorrect usage--had managed to have a beneficial effect. It was unknown how the device would react to the increasing amount of Nucleon radiation on Cyberton now. In short, it wasn't an option.

Unfortunately, there were fewer and fewer options than Red Alert would have liked.

At least Bludgeon hadn't shown up. Reports on the Autobot's countermeasure for his nucleon bomb indicated it wasn't anywhere near ready.

A light flashed from the emergency communicator.

"This is Red Alert."

"This is Primo, from the ship Pawn Broke. We're on our way off the lead ship, and have your little buddy on board. The Greedy Wheel is pulling back, as well.

"Good news. Send the Greedy Wheel back to the task force, and head back here for a landing."

"Actually, this Punch character wants to talk to you, now."

"All right. Put him on."

"Commander Red Alert?"

"How are you, Punch?"

"Glad to be alive, sir."

"How did you get on board that ship? You were being reassigned to the Hydrus system."

"It's a long story, sir. I discovered intelligence about a super-weapon Bludgeon had gotten access to--"

"We know about that."

That seemed to bring him up short. "Sir, may I ask how?"

"A deep cover agent we had thought killed during Scorponok's revolt, named Double."

i

The good thing about most scientists is that they don't think martially. Their security is almost always lax, when it's procedures are followed at all. They just don't want to admit they live in a universe that could easily discard them if it so wished. And so, getting into the laboratory that held the energy transmitter was no problem for me at all, not for a seasoned infiltrator and spy of my abilities.

Unfortunately, my training had been sadly short on what I would need to finish the mostly constructed transmitter.

I knew what I wanted to do: use my binary bond-mates specialized circuitry to channel the energy transmission of the Nucleon back to it's origin point. I wasn't entirely sure how to go about doing it.

That meant I had to leave one of the scientists intact and alert to aid me. I didn't bother to ask him his name, I just pointed my hard light blaster at him and quickly explained what I needed done.

Staring at the barrel of a gun is a wonderful motivator.

The scientist began to check out Knok, who squirmed in his grip, swearing in his native tongue. The thoughts coming in through the bond needed no translation, however. Skar, at least, was oblivious to the goings on.

"Okay, I think it could work. We won't even have to modify the little guy to do it; the technology's already there. Where did you pick him up?"

"No questions. Do it."

"Um, I have to readjust the transmitter--"

"Then. Do. It." I gestured with my gun.

". . . right."

He got to work, and the steady stream of curses coming from Knok never abated.

"Um, you realize that this will likely kill him?"

"Small price to pay to save the entire world."

"If you say so . . ."

Then the scientist quieted down and got to the real work. I occupied myself by watching the space battle through the observatory terrace that would serve as the platform for the transmission beam once it was completed. That was between threatening glares to the scientist, though, so I only caught bits and flashes of combat. It seemed that the Autobot forces were holding their own. I tried to check for Bludgeon's ship, and met with initial failure. At first I was shocked: I was sure that he would capitalize on such a perfect diversion. After a frantic momentary search, I realized that Bludgeon had simply reduced all outgoing energy signatures to minimize detection by the other ships. It was only because I knew they were there that I found them at all.

I briefly wondered if the Devastar had dropped its payload yet. I could think of no reason to delay, but then again, I had never been able to fully think like Bludgeon. Perhaps his twisted sense of honor dictated he not take full advantage of having all opposing forces directed against another foe? Or perhaps he was simply more aware of the ebb and flow of the space battle, and wished to wait for a most advantageous moment.

Or . . . had they already launched the bomb?

Tracking energy signatures would likely be useless, if so. Gravity would catch the bomb almost immediately, so it wouldn't need to be powered at all. I checked for several dedicated Decepticon energy signatures regardless, but without much hope. Coming up empty, I began to worry. Either the bomb hadn't been launched yet, or I had no way of tracking it.

Except . . . maybe I did.

"That thing can detect nucleon radiation, right?"

My captive co-conspirator looked up from his work, started at the sight of the gun in my hand, and nodded. "That's the whole point--"

"Can you set it to scan for radiation in orbit around Cybertron?"

"It . . . shouldn't be difficult."

After a beat, he restarted his work. Soon, it was done, and he routed the data to a nearby output screen.

"A lot of Autobots are fighting off those strangers, but that's just standard nucleon radiation, nothing like what this thing's supposed to counteract."

"Look for something here," I indicated my best estimate for where Bludgeon's WarWorld was hovering, "or between there and the surface."

"Ah, yes, there is something. It's kind of faint, but I think that's the right stuff. And it's moving, do you want me to fire up the transmitter?"

"Did you finish the adaptation?"

"Yeah. You can use that squirmy guy's constriction circuitry to keep the nucleon from leaking out. Where did you get him?"

"Same place I got the other one. I thank you for your work." A point blank shot by my hard light gun was more than enough to knock him out, perhaps fatally. I didn't care.

"You festering, rusting hunk of junk!" Knok screamed as I connected him to the energy transmitter.

"Quiet, you. You'll be remembered as a hero. They'll tell legends about you."

"I'm not dying for you!"

"No, you're dying to keep my homeworld alive. You're dying so that I can have a chance at rebalancing this conflict and spreading a Cybertronian empire across the universe. Now shut up. Face your fate with courage."

I extricated Skar from his cranny and began to connect him to the transmitter, as well. He finally started to notice something was going on.

"Unhand me, infidel! I will not be sullied by your touch!"

"Shut up. You'll soon be in the presence of your god."

"Holy light! The blessing of the patriarch will be on me!"

"I said shut up. How will you know you're in his presence if you're too busy talking about it?"

And then it was done. The two Nebulans were connected, the same technology that had been used to keep them from being tainted by the nucleon would be used to redirect the energy from the bomb back in on itself, and then Cybertron would be safe.

The transformation cogs would be safe.

I started up the transmitter just as there was a pounding from the door.

"Open up in there! Double! We know you're in there! You are under arrest for suspicion of espionage, by order of Security Director Red Alert! Open the door!"

Slag. That would definitely complicate my plans . . .

And then I noticed the readings from the transmitter. The energy pulsing through it had swept over the nucleon bomb, and the amount of radiation now emitting from the bomb had increased a thousandfold.

I had accidentally triggered the super-weapon, and it was too powerful for the Nebulans to contain.

A container was needed, something to hold at least part of the radiation so that it could be controlled and redirected. But it would have to be something that wasn't connected to Cybertron, or the nucleon would bleed into its circuitry and freeze it.

If I could only control the energy now, I could send it at one of the Vehicon's ships. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option at this point.

In fact, the only option that presented itself . . . the only repository for the nucleon radiation that I had access to which wasn't connected to Cybertron . . . was me.

I would have to be mad to do this. Yes, there was a chance, since I had already been laced with nucleon, that this form of the fuel would have no real effect on me, but it was a slim chance. It was different radiation, after all.

The pounding on the door intensified, then stopped. And then a thudding, as though from a battering ram, began. And so my choices were: Autobot capture, likely death, or the death of the world. All three meant the end to my plans. But two of them only meant the end of my plans for myself. As long as I kept Cybertron alive, perhaps someone would be able to use the transformation gears one day.

It wasn't much of a choice.

I connected myself to Knok and Skar.

I told you this was the story of how I failed to stop the war . . .

ii

Punch was flabbergasted. He stood in front of the statue-like Double, the one who had started all of this trouble in the first place. Apparently, he used a new device, the Energy Field Transmitter, to save the world from the nucleon bomb Bludgeon had stolen from the researchers of Hydrus 4. Double had needed to use his own chassis as a sort of receptacle for the excess nucleon, but even the redirected radiation had been too much for the bomb, and had transferred to the nearest collection of concentrated energy. In this case, because of the space battle, that meant one of the Vehicon ships. Once they realized that their command ship had been taken out of the fight, and that the Cybertronians had some sort of super-weapon that could fry the systems of any one of their ships, they had fled. Likely, they would regroup and return, but by then, perhaps the Autobots would have a dedicated defense fleet, and a better chance of holding them off.

Luck had saved the day. Luck, and a lone soldier who would now be remembered as a hero, even though no one really knew anything about him, and all reports seemed to be conflicting. All Punch knew was that he had seen an expression of contempt on this robot's face when he was being dumped out of that airlock. He couldn't reconcile that the noble self-sacrifice that had saved the entire Autobot race.

It was an enigma he would likely never understand, and he wouldn't have much opportunity to dwell on it, either. As soon as things settled down, he would be sent back out in the field, but this time he would have to insinuate himself into the Vehicon ranks.

Punch wasn't certain why, but he saluted Double before he left.

THE END