Chapter Text
“Heh heh. Heh heh heh. Heh.”
Grimlock was well pleased with himself.
Cybertron’s terrestrial governor strode through the corridors of the Decagon, rubbing his hands with glee. Sparks flew from the gunmetal extremities as they ground over one another. The Dinobot scarcely cared. He’d solved his problem and had some insidious fun in the process.
“Dirtwad Magnus no be able to complain now,” he rumbled happily. “Oh, he want to complain, me bet, but he no be able to. No sir. Me done just as Prime asked, followed high-and-mighty leader’s instructions to letter. Heh heh heh.”
Now that the whims of the absent Optimus Prime had been satisfied, Grimlock could get back to the real business at hand. He was quite looking forward to the opening of the new mass transit system, and to cutting the ribbon… with his axe. After that, he might head to the barracks and give the troops a pep talk… by taking them on, one after the other, in combat. A few brews with Swoop at Macaddam’s and his day would be complete.
“Grimlock!”
His shoulders tensed. His neck bunched. His hands formed into claws. He growled.
“Grimlock, I must speak with you urgently.”
If there was one mech the Dinobot didn’t want to see right now, it was Vector Prime. The ancient Transformer was one of the original 13 robots built by Primus, and had led the charge against Unicron back in the day. His help had been essential in closing a massive black hole, 10 years earlier, and saving all of existence. None of which made the clockwork mech particularly trustworthy, or reliable… or any less irritating.
“What you want, old timer? Monster crawl out of primeval sink on curve of space-time? Image of Unicron appear in morning bowl of Energon?”
“Your sense of humour escapes me,” Vector Prime said stiffly. “Should either of those events have occurred, they would be far from laughing matters.”
Grimlock imagined himself turning around, pulling the other mech’s head from his body and punting it down the hallway. He imagined the party the other Autobots would throw for him, complete with a cadre of dancing fembots. Suitably calmed, he turned to speak to his self-styled advisor.
“What. You. Want?”
Vector Prime didn’t blinked. “I caught sight of a message for you, in the communications room. I felt it warranted urgent attention.”
“Have power over time and space, and doing Blur’s old job,” Grimlock sighed. “Go find alternate reality to go save, huh? Place where Unicron trapped under surface of planet in gas form, or really silly thing like that.”
“It warranted my urgent attention,” Vector Prime said coolly. “I am merely informing you as a courtesy, given your rank.”
Grimlock drew himself up to his full height and locked optics with the older mech. Vector Prime was only slightly shorter than the Dinobot, and certainly not about to back down. They stood there for a long moment, servo motors whining with mutual distaste, until the governor finally spoke.
“What message?” he asked darkly.
“Swoop has sent word from the Mini-con moon,” Vector Prime hissed, his teeth clenched. “He requires your presence immediately. It seems there are several things he wishes you to see for yourself.”
“What things?” Grimlock asked, his optics flashing murderously.
Vector Prime's face plate was grim. “New Mini-cons,” he said. “It appears our former partners have discovered the ability to create new life. At the same time, they may have given the ultimate evil passage back into this universe.”
-----
“Ah, never mind him,” Nightbeat said, waving his hand. “He’s just ticked he didn’t get selected for the RIDs, and has to keep those super-eyeballs of his trained on the restricted armoury instead. It’s made him a real sour puss.”
“That’s not very groovy,” the ex-Decepticon laughed nastily.
They walked on in silence. Up ahead, the others were waiting. Checkpoint had agreed to leave the confines of the prison for a few hours and join in the hunt, which made Nightbeat happy. The band was back together again.
Arcee was lounging on the edge of the Energon Pools when they arrived. Zapmaster was lying on his back, staring up at the top of the Tower of Pion. Checkpoint was fussing, as usual… moving around constantly, checking out every odd noise and unusual scent detected by his powerful sensor array.
“Did you get it?” the femme asked.
Nightbeat reached into his sub-space fold and pulled out a flat, green disc. It was trimmed with gold, with a rune on its centre that could be either the claw of an animal or an anvil spewing geysers of heat. “Yup. The alleged Green Planet Key of Animatros.”
Checkpoint’s head snapped up. “Alleged?”
“That’s what I said,” the detective nodded. He stepped over the edge of the Energon Pools and waded toward the centre. “Are you coming?” he asked over his shoulder.
The others climbed in; the smaller mech Powerlinking to Thundercracker for protection. The group gathered in the middle of the power-rich liquid and ducked under, swimming down into the bowels of Cybertron.
Not for the first time, Nightbeat was glad Checkpoint had insisted on taking precautions. Although Energon was the life blood of the Transformer race, too much of it wreaked havoc on one’s internal systems. The security expert had co-opted some Harmonic Modulation Buffers for the trip. The third-generation devices, when clamped to a mech’s chassis, generated a constantly-shifting frequency field and warded off all manner of radiation.
Arcee signalled to the others – she’d found the air lock that led to the sub-levels of the planet. The group made their way out of the neon pink “waters” and into the cool, dry tunnel as quickly as they could. A device within the air lock sponged the excess Energon from their forms and, once clean, they stepped into the ancient catacombs of their world.
“Dark, oppressive, angles of sharp, jagged metal,” Thundercracker nodded approvingly. “When can I move in?”
“In your next lifetime,” Arcee said, elbowing him in the mid-section. “Someone remind me never to let this big lug decorate our quarters.”
“I’ll remind you,” Zapmaster cackled, “the first time you actually let me inside.”
“Wipe your feet and I might,” Arcee beamed, the portrait of innocence.
“If you’re finished,” Nightbeat coughed, “we can get on our way.”
They transformed. Thundercracker soared above them, revelling in the great height of the caverns. Zapmaster rode shotgun on the dark warrior. Nightbeat shifted into a formula one-style police car; Checkpoint into an armoured siege truck. Arcee was the last to change shape, slipping comfortably into the form of a black and white motorcycle. The land-based mechs activated their headlights, and they were off.
-----
“No one asked Slag.”
“No need to come down on Slag, boss-mech. Slag was just saying, is all.”
“No one asked Slag.”
“Yeah but, if you had, Slag would have told you that Slag thinks they’re a pretty ugly…”
“No one asked Slag! Now shut mouth!”
The smaller, red-and-white mech shuffled off, sulking. Grimlock ran his hands over his face and shook his head clear.
“Swoop,” he growled, calling his friend over. “Message say there several things you want me to see. Not realise that when you say ‘things’, you mean ‘things’.”
Grimlock, Swoop, Vector Prime and Slag had been met by a very satisfied group of Mini-cons. Each and every one of their face plates was plastered with the dumb smile of fulfilment, as if they’d done something really special. And they might just have – according to Vector Prime, they might just have unleashed a new evil upon the universe.
“When I mentioned ‘ultimate evil’,” Vector Prime added, joining the huddle, “I may have been overstating the potential problem.”
Between the Autobots and the Mini-cons were six robots of a… decidedly different nature. One was red, white and yellow, with a large crest running back from the top of its head. Next to it stood a wide, angular, tan-coloured mech; its taller comrade was bottle green with what looked like jaw halves for hands.
The other three were even stranger. One was black with thick, spiked arms and lithe, muscular legs. Another looked like a brown, feathered letter “x” with legs. The final… being… had u-shaped legs, a tail sprouting from one shoulder and was covered in black and orange stripes. It looked at Grimlock and smiled – its mouth was all fangs.
“Art and craft project?” the Dinobot asked.
Despite his joke, the situation was no laughing matter. The Mini-cons had created sentient, mechanical life without the Creation Matrix. They’d broken taboos not only religious, but political – there was a freeze on Transformer creation until the Autobots were certain Energon supplies would hold up. As governor, it fell to Grimlock to decide the fate of any new life forms.
Sparkplug, leader of the Mini-con colony, coughed politely. “These, Grimlock, are the first among our race able to say they’re not products of the Chaos Bringer,” he announced proudly. “As you know, the Mini-cons were created by Unicron in much the same way the Transformers were birthed from Primus. We don’t have Sparks, but are instead living repositories of chaotic energy. It’s what allowed us to work as weapons and power-boosters for all of you, during the war.”
“We’ve been experimenting with that energy,” Over-run, the aged seer, interrupted. “And we’ve discovered we can impart it to inanimate objects by Powerlinking with them, bestowing life in the process. Once we mastered the technique, we created bodies for six new Mini-cons and, well…” He gestured grandly. “Here they are.”
Vector Prime nodded thoughtfully. “They look rather… primitive.”
“Ugly bunch of little weirdos,” Slag called.
Swoop elbowed Grimlock. “And they have the most interesting names,” he sneered. “That mob over there were going to be called the Dinobots, and the red one was going to be Swoop, until I… conducted some negotiations.” He flexed his powerful arms and grinned horribly; Sparkplug self-consciously rubbed the back of his head.
“Yes, well,” the little yellow mech muttered.
Dualor, the militant warrior, stepped forward. “In the order that they’re standing,” he boomed, “let me introduce: Skydive, Knockdown and Terrorsaur; the… umm… Hazardous Exploration Team. Next to them are: Carnivac, Catilla and Garboil; the Predator Attack Team.” He turned to face the new creations and barked: “Mini-cons… transform!”
At his command, the six changed shape. Skydive became a pterodactyl, Knockdown a triceratops, and Terrorsaur a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Carnivac’s alternate form was a wolf, Catilla’s a tiger, and Garboil’s an eagle with a huge wingspan. The bestial Mini-cons howled, roared and squawked as they assumed their new modes.
“Vector Prime’s right – they’re a little primitive, both in design and in… er… speech,” Sparkplug said, choosing his words carefully. “But they represent a beginning – a new start for our race. From here, we have plans for vehicle-based Mini-cons. Construction teams to help build our new world, aerial mechs to defend it, even race cars to courier information across the globe. The possibilities are endless.”
Grimlock bent down and looked into Terrorsaur’s optics. The dinosaur looked back dimly; it did not move when the Dinobot waved his hand in front of its face. “Little bit bad taste, Sparkplug,” he grunted. “Not know about news from Earth, me sure, but technorganics out this season. Predacon stirring up trouble.”
Dualor shook his head. “They’re not technorganic,” he said gruffly. “Their hides are a simulation of organic flesh – the better to allow them to blend into hostile territory. We’re going to have to visit Earth and gather resources, eventually. Animals will garner less attention that a fleet of miniature cars and trucks.”
“Yeah, okay,” Swoop sighed, “but dinosaurs? C’mon. You know full well Prime never let Big Grim and I outta the base, back on Earth, when we were hunting for you lot. Where’s the sense in making more thunder lizards?”
Over-run responded. “They’ll be staying here,” he said. “There are areas of Unicron’s… remains… that are too hostile for Mini-con frames. The levels of Energon and other forms of radiation are dangerously high. The Hazardous Exploration Team have super-strong superstructures, and their faux-organic hides will ward off the worst of the Energon burn.” He smiled again. “They’re our trail blazers.”
Sparkplug reached up and gripped Grimlock’s hand. “This is all about taking control of our world, and of our destinies,” he pleaded. “We want the Autobots to understand that, and not suspect us of doing something untoward.”
Grimlock prised his hand free of the surprisingly strong grip. “Right. Sure. You wait here – big mechs need to talk now.”
The Autobots walked a few hundred metres away and huddled up. “What everyone think?” Grimlock asked. Round-table discussion was not his forte but he’d learned that, in politics, it paid to listen to everyone’s opinion. That way, they couldn’t complain when you discarded every single piece of their dumb advice.
“Fire, and lots of it,” Slag sneered.
“That is your solution for everything,” Vector Prime sighed.
“Slag says they’ve gotta go. Illegitimate children of the Chaos Bringer… Unicron’s bastards. Slag says that ain’t no good for anyone.”
“Talk about being harsh,” Swoop countered. “That’s like saying Grimlock should’ve gotten a court-martial the moment he joined the ‘bots, all because he’d been a ‘con before that.” He looked over his shoulder, then back at the group. “They’re only little – we can wipe ‘em out in five seconds, if need be. Why not let ‘em go, keep an optic out?”
“I concur,” Vector Prime said. “It would be simplistic to think that chaos inevitably equals evil – even though that was my first reaction. Primus and Unicron were forces in balance, equal and opposing elements of the universe.” He made a steeple of his fingers. “Now that Unicron is gone, perhaps the Mini-con race must thrive, in order to re-establish the balance between the children of light and darkness. We should watch, carefully, and no more.”
Swoop looked at Grimlock. “Deciding vote’s yours, boss,” he quipped. “Then again, when you think about it, it always is.”
Grimlock scanned the faces of his mechs; then looked, once again, at the new Mini-cons. Terrorsaur was in the same position, dumb and mute. Catilla hadn’t stopped grinning. The others were pawing at the ground or butting heads. Carnivac, the black wolf, was a little different. He’d focused his red, lupine eyes right on Grimlock and arched his back, growling. Like he knew what was being discussed.
“Yeah,” Grimlock agreed. “It always is.”
His fingers twitched on the handle of his Energon axe.
-----
Hours of travel passed.
“Have we missed it?” Thundercracker called.
“If you’ve found and ignored a big kiln-looking thing in the middle of a polished stainless steel room, then yeah,” Nightbeat deadpanned. “We’ve missed it.”
The ex-Decepticon made a disgusted noise in the back of his synthesiser and kept flying.
“Exactly what do you think we’re going to find?” Arcee asked.
“Answers,” was Nightbeat’s sole reply.
Grimlock and Snarl had confronted Predacon, leader of the Terrorcons, in one of the most ancient sectors beneath the surface, and come away with the Green Planet Key. Nightbeat was certain the key to his latest mystery – the Terrorcons’ sensor invisiblity to the naked optic – was somewhere in the Plasma Energy Chamber. But the others didn’t need to know that until they arrived at their destination.
“Fall back!” Checkpoint shouted.
No one argued. You didn’t question Checkpoint’s paranoia – not if you wanted to live, anyway. Thundercracker executed a hair-pin turn and headed back the way they’d come; the three Autobots pulled hand-brake turns and made all speed away.
A moment later, the downward passage erupted in a plume of fire.
Thundercracker transformed. He and Zapmaster dropped to the ground, their weapons already drawn and activated. Nightbeat and the others followed suit, aiming a selection of munitions, missiles and laser ordnance at the wall of flame. They waited, but only briefly.
Four shadows appeared in the centre of the blaze. One was hulking and angular, with two long tubes mounted on its shoulders. The second was smaller, but somehow seemed more dangerous. Two long, thin weapons extended from its hands.
“No prizes for guessing who two of our playmates are,” Nightbeat murmured.
Crumplezone lumbered into the open and stopped, resting on his knuckles. His thick green jaw worked wordlessly, and he regarded the Autobots with a blank stare. Wheeljack followed, his presence announced by his characteristic, mocking laughter. “So nice to see you all again,” he crowed.
“Who’re your friends?” Thundercracker quipped, pointing his wing sword at the flames.
The third shadow was almost as wide as the first, but there was something odd about it. The shape didn’t seem to move, as if it were inert armour rather than a living metal being. It moved closer, revealing its true nature… a lithe, cruel-looking femme, decorated in purple and gold, with mighty wings stretching across her back. She was leering, but only for a moment – only until she laid optics on the group of mechs opposing her.
“Thundercracker?” she asked, the shock on her face plate evident.
“Thunderblast?” he replied, equally stunned.
Arcee glared. “That’s her?” she hissed.
“More incoming,” Checkpoint interrupted, pointing toward the flames.
As the fourth shadow emerged from the inferno, Nightbeat recoiled in horror. The others – even Thundercracker – did the same. In all his years, the detective had never seen anything as hideous as the creature now before him. For some bizarre reason, this Transformer had grafted bone to its bodywork. The ivory, calcified substance was everywhere… across its body and weapons and, most nauseatingly, its face. A hideous, grinning skull lurked beneath the robot’s horned helm, the flames around it turning it into the most impure visage of hell.
“Bludgeon’s had something of an upgrade,” Wheeljack said in a haunting voice. “It’s not to everyone’s taste, but… well, let’s be honest. You’ll all be dead in a moment, anyway, so your opinions scarcely matter.”
The newly-minted Terrorcons leaped at their foes, howling war cries. Nightbeat and his friends recovered their wits, and met them half-way.