The Veiled Threat

by Alan Dean Foster

  “Autobots, transform and roll out!”

  The guards barely looked up from their station when the garbage truck appeared. Since the winding road to the top of the dam descended through thick forest, they had only just noticed its approach. Taking a break from the card game that occupied his three colleagues, one of the men rose to peer curiously at the oncoming vehicle. What he saw caused him to frown. It did not look like the regular garbage truck. For one thing, it was outfitted with more than just a dumpster lifter. The heavy blades tucked against the top of the vehicle just behind the cab were an accessory he had never seen before. Increasingly intrigued, he picked up his rifle and stepped out of the windowless, open-sided guardhouse onto the hot pavement, leaving the card game behind. He was losing anyway.

  The truck was not approaching very fast. The guard’s attention perked up when it appeared as if the vehicle was going to head out onto the roadway that ran across the top of the dam. Then it stopped, backed up several feet, turned to the right, and headed for the tree-shaded corner of the parking lot that was backed by several big dumpsters. The truck’s operator seemed oddly disinterested in his work, but that did nothing to raise the soldier’s suspicions. Had he been forced to drive a garbage truck for the miserable wages such labor paid he, too, would have spent as much time as possible ingesting the locally available narcotics.

  He kept an eye on the work until the truck had methodically picked up and tossed the contents of two of the four dumpsters into its back end. As it did so the purpose of the mysterious five aligned blades became clear. Whirring smoothly, they reduced the refuse to tiny fragments before depositing it in the back of the collector. Why it should be necessary to do this on-site instead of at a waste plant or dump the soldier did not know. Something to do with new recycling regulations, no doubt. Reassured, he turned and walked back to rejoin his comrades, sufficiently satisfied that he did not even bother to check the license plate on the pickup that had pulled up alongside the bigger truck.

  As a result, he did not see the thick stream of minced trash that was ejected from the front of the garbage truck to cover the rear corner of the parking area, nor did he hear the exclamation of disgust the vehicle emitted.

  “Pfagh!” A front bumper rose unnaturally to wipe at the spewing orifice that had momentarily replaced the truck’s grille. “These humans, they foul their own nest.”

  “An entrenched excess that will be appropriately addressed once we have assumed control of this world.” Dropkick spoke with confidence. “Starscream, we are ready to proceed as ordered.”

  A voice echoed simultaneously inside the minds of both Decepticons. “Move out, then. Payload is in position and waiting for you to begin.” High overhead, a jet contrail slashed across the otherwise pollutionfree blue sky. The white line began to arc back on itself, circling. No commercial aircraft in this part of the world would have any reason to describe such a flight path. The guards at the dam might have remarked on it, had any of them bothered to look up. But like that of the technicians and engineers responsible for the operation of the great dam, their attention was attuned to more Earth-bound concerns.

  Dropkick led the way, pleased with the human simulation he had projected into the pickup shape’s front seat. He thought it an excellent likeness of one of the soft-bodied creatures. Macerator followed close behind. Together they approached the gate that blocked the road across the top of the dam. There was a second, smaller guard post on the lake side of the road. As the Decepticons drew near, a single soldier emerged. While one hand rested on the short-barreled automatic weapon slung across his body, the other rose in a palm-outward gesture Dropkick knew meant that he should halt.

  No foot was necessary to depress the truck’s accelerator. In fact, no accelerator was necessary. With a roar, the pickup leaped forward. Behind it, Macerator’s throaty engine rumbled as the garbage truck shifted gears to follow its smaller brethren.

  The guard’s eyes went wide. To his credit he did not panic. Raising his weapon, he dodged to one side and opened fire. A moment later the shots from his rifle were joined by the louder chatter of the machine gun mounted inside the guard station. Slugs that would have shredded normal automobile sheet metal bounced like pebbles off the two oncoming trucks.

  Dropkick didn’t slow as he smashed through the gate. What he did not destroy was crushed and mangled beneath Macerator’s weight. Their path now unimpeded, the two vehicles cruised out onto the top of the dam. Automatic-weapons fire continued to rattle behind them.

  Cards were forgotten as the soldiers in the other guard post scrambled for their weapons and rushed to join the fight. Inside the gate guard post, a frantic corporal was jabbering wildly into the local intercom. From a barracks located on the nearby hillside several dozen other hastily roused soldiers were piling into waiting jeeps and open trucks.

  Machine-gun fire now began to hit the pair of rolling intruders from opposite directions as the guard post on the other side of the dam opened up. Burning rubber, Dropkick screeched to a halt and parked himself sideways in the exact middle of the crossing. Lining up behind him, Macerator did likewise. Positioned grille-to-tail, they were now in a position to block traffic coming from either direction.

  “The humans’ firepower here is puny.” Ignoring the noisy torrent of small-arms fire, Dropkick paused to admire the view down the gorge. “I assume it is having no effect on you?”

  “I am feeling little in the way of actual contact,” Macerator replied as a torrent of .50-caliber slugs ricocheted off his armored flanks. “It does not matter. We will not be here for long.”

  “Interesting.” Raising a front wheel, Dropkick pointed down the dam-top roadway in the direction they had been heading before they had come to a halt. “It would appear that they do have some heavier weapons here.”

  Showcasing the result of regular drilling, a squadron of soldiers had stopped just inside the far gate and were pulling the protective tarps off a truck whose bed was equipped with a multiple rocket launcher. Inside the truck’s cab, the gunner activated internal electronics to aim the multibarreled weapon at the pair of motionless and seemingly indifferent intruders. Moments later the first of nine available missiles erupted from its launcher as nearby troops covered their ears. The projectile struck Macerator broadside, rocking the big truck slightly back on its wheel-base.

  “I did feel that.” The Decepticon’s tone darkened. “I believe my exterior may have incurred a slight smudge. The audacity of these insects astonishes me.”

  A portion of the middle of the garbage truck shifted, flowed, and changed shape. Appearing out of its flank was a tightly bound cylinder containing multiple barrels. The sound they made as they fired in unison echoed across the impounded lake below. Shells ripped into the truck-mounted missile launcher, tearing it to shreds. The heat they generated also ignited the remaining eight projectiles where they sat in the launcher. A few exploded in place, sending shrapnel flying in all directions and mowing down every soldier unfortunate enough to be standing too close. Several missiles launched, flying wildly in all directions. One exploded in the air while another struck the lake, a third the forest behind the guard station, and a fourth the road itself, adding to the completeness of the confusion that had enveloped the dam and its surrounds.

  The teams of soldiers from the barracks arrived on the other side of the dam. Deploying to cover and without waiting for orders from their superiors, they opened up on the two trucks parked in the center of the road. Panicked technicians were fleeing from the dam’s installations. Piling into their own vehicles, the guards stationed in the gorge below were now racing as fast as possible up the switchbacks that led to the top in order to join in the fight to save a national treasure.

  As soon as the last of them had departed, Payload began to move.

  No ordinary vehicle could have made its way down into the gorge without utilizing one of the access roads, but Payload’s treads and low center of gravity enabled him to avoid detection, mowing
down brush and trees as he descended. Concealed by the canyon’s thick vegetation, he had waited motionless and hidden until Macerator and Dropkick made their move. Now, with all the defending human forces converging on the two Decepticons parked atop the center of the dam, he pushed forward out of the bush unopposed. No one challenged him as he settled himself on a nice, level piece of beach beside the lake and elevated his multiple guns. Requiring only a few seconds to calibrate distance, he opened fire.

  The large-caliber anti-aircraft shells were not aimed at the human defenders; nor did they land within reinforced structures. Instead Payload’s salvos were directed at just one spot—the exact center of the lower portion of the dam. They did not penetrate: the concrete there was too thick for that. But they did make a start, steadily and inexorably, at chipping away the thick curved wall.

  Firing desperately from behind the crumpled security gate, the soldiers situated there turned as a new sound rose above the constant chatter of small-arms fire. The noise was loud, intermittent, and oddly familiar. As they searched, the source revealed itself. Forced to scatter at its approach and knowing nothing of the newcomers, they fired wildly in their direction.

  Blowing his horn, Optimus Prime came barreling down the hilly access road. In the absence of identification, the guards assumed the wildly careering diesel was another trespasser. They also unloaded on the two pickup trucks that were following, but ceased fire when the ambulance appeared. Skidding to a stop, Ratchet unloaded his human passengers in a safe area before spinning around in a most un-ambulance-like manner to hurry after his friends.

  Recognizing the American flags stitched in place beneath the NEST insignia on the soldiers’ shoulders, a Zambian lieutenant hurried over to confront the new arrivals. Breathless and sweating, he did his best to explain what was happening. Epps didn’t linger to listen. Hearing the steady ack-ack of heavy fire echoing through the gorge, he rushed to a vantage point and pulled out his compact monocular. By the time Lennox, Petr, Kaminari, and the Zambian officer joined him, the tech sergeant had already made a guess as to the Decepticons’ intentions.

  “You were right, Captain! They’re trying to bust the dam.”

  “Bust the …?” Horrified realization flushed the Zambian soldier’s face. “Catastrophe! Thousands will die. If the flood of water reaches Cahorra Bassa, the entire Zambezi basin will be washed into the Indian Ocean!”

  Andronov was hefting his singular rifle. “If I can get down there I can—”

  He was interrupted by a tremendous crash. All eyes went to the crest of the dam.

  Racing along the top, Optimus had smashed into the two parked trucks, knocking Macerator sideways and sending the lighter Dropkick spinning. As the latter howled in fury and began to change shape, so did the pickup that had followed the diesel out onto the top of the dam. The smaller Decepticon barely had time to rise on two legs before the black dually assumed the form of Ironhide and slammed into him. As the two skidded down the dam-topping road toward the far gate, the soldiers there scattered in all directions.

  Behind the humans, Ratchet had also shifted shape. Stunned by the sight, the soldiers nearby had stopped shooting. There was nothing they could contribute anyway to the battle now raging atop the dam, and their light weapons would do no harm to Payload even if they could shoot with accuracy that deep into the gorge. Having recognized the danger, the Zambian officer had retreated and was trying to regroup his men.

  Lennox saw them piling into their vehicles. He shook his head regretfully. “They’ll never get down there in time. And Payload’s on the other side of the river.”

  Ratchet had moved up alongside the captain. “I will climb down and engage him.”

  Lennox knew he could not stop the Autobot from doing as he pleased, but he felt he had to try. “I’ve seen you in combat, Ratchet. You’re a good fighter—but it’s not your specialty. I don’t think you can take Payload, and I’d hate to lose you.” Having already singled out the largest freestanding structure in the dam administration complex, he started toward it. “Stay here and back up Optimus and Ironhide. Sergeant, Petr, come with me!” As the three men headed for the building, a frowning Kaminari called after them.

  “Hey, what about me?”

  Lennox half shouted back to her, “Stay with Rachet and Salvage. If any Decepticons try to escape—you know what to do!”

  A heavy shell slammed into Optimus’s shoulder. Shrugging it off, he fired repeatedly at Macerator, knocking the now altered enemy backward and over the side of the dam. As the Decepticon grabbed hold of the edge and prepared to pull himself back up, Optimus loomed over him. The Autobot’s right arm transformed into a weapon as ancient and traditional as it was lethal: an enormous shining sword.

  “Your time is done, Macerator. You’ve caused enough harm on this innocent world.”

  Clinging to the inner dam wall, his body dangling over the sheer four-hundred-foot drop, the Decepticon glared up at his foe. “Not as much as you, Optimus.”

  The leader of the Autobots was momentarily taken aback. “Your cognitive circuitry has been damaged. What you say makes no sense.”

  “Megatron and the others came here for the Allspark. Had we been allowed to recover it, we would not be fighting you now and therefore these creatures would not be involved in our battle.”

  Sword raised high to catch the sun, Optimus hesitated. What Macerator said was true enough—as far as it went. Megatron had come for the Allspark. Other Decepticons had followed, and likewise the Autobots to prevent them from regaining it. Because of them, this world now found itself unwillingly involved in the ancient war. Much as Optimus wished to ignore them, Macerator’s words resonated.

  He stared down at the Decepticon. “I know Megatron. I know all of you. You would not have taken the Allspark and left this world in peace. You would have subdued it and made slaves of its people. Even in the absence of the Allspark, my conscience and that of my friends could not have allowed that.” The great sword descended.

  It pierced Macerator’s chest armor, plunging directly into his Spark. The lights in his eyes flashed, then went out. Maintaining its grip even in the absence of direction, one hand of the Decepticon’s decapitated body continued to cling to the edge of the dam. Using his foot, Optimus pried up the metal fingers. They left deep grooves in the concrete as they were snapped backward. Falling free, the body of the dead Decepticon struck the lower curve of the dam once, twice, before sending a geyser of water upward as it struck the calm surface of the lake. The metal corpse appeared to float there for a moment before sinking swiftly beneath the surface and out of sight.

  Far below on the face of the dam a damp stain had appeared at the point where Payload was keeping up a steady fire. A trickle of water appeared, then another.

  Having located a service elevator and descended into the depths of the complex, Lennox and his companions were searching frantically for a technician. Their location rendered them unaware of the expanding leak—which was just as well.

  “Where the hell did everyone run to?” Clutching his rifle, Lennox scanned the empty rooms. “Somebody had to stay behind.”

  Those standing on the lookout high above and to one side of the access road finally saw what was going on. It was Kaminari who noticed it first. Her assessment was harsh.

  “They’re taking too much time.” A glance over at the dam roadway showed that while Optimus was in the process of finishing off Macerator, Ironhide was still fully entangled with the less robust but more agile Dropkick. “They’re going to be too late. The dam’s going to go, and everyone is inside it.”

  Ratchet foresaw the impending tragedy at the same time as the human. Turning, he confronted Salvage. The pickup truck had also changed into its robot form.

  “Can you throw me?”

  Salvage regarded the older Autobot uncertainly. “What?”

  “Can you throw me? I am used to patching lesions, though this will be on a somewhat different scale.”

  “I don�
��t underst—yes, I can throw you. But throw you where, and at what?” By way of reply Ratchet raised an arm and pointed. Salvage blinked at him. “You want me to throw you at Payload? I don’t know if I can …”

  “Not that far.” Pivoting, Ratchet indicated the expanding weak spot in the dam. “There. Throw me there. If your aim is a little high I can slide down. A little low and I will climb up. Quickly now, before the holes become too large to fix. We must stanch the—bleeding.”

  “What is ‘bleeding’?” Salvage was visibly confused.

  “A human medical term.” Ratchet extended both arms toward his fellow Autobot. “Just get me as close as you can.”

  Kaminari ran up beside him. “You can’t do this, Ratchet. If you stay in one place on the face of the dam you’ll be completely exposed to Payload’s weapons! He’ll be able to concentrate all his fire on you.”

  Looking down at her, Ratchet’s voice softened. “Repair is my strong suit, Kaminari. My armor should sustain me against Payload’s fire—for a little while, at least.”

  “And then?” she pressed him.

  “ ‘Then’ is a relative term, for Autobots as well as humans. Events will determine what happens. But there is no more time. I must act to prevent a greater misfortune than my possible death. As a healer, I cannot stand by and let thousands of humans die.” He turned back to the waiting, staring Salvage. “Compute carefully, my friend. Mass, angle, and distance.”

  Nodding gravely, Salvage took a firm grip on the other Autobot’s wrists. Then he began to spin. Faster and faster. Kaminari hastily retreated. As the increasing centrifugal force lifted Ratchet off the ground, the wind generated by his whirling mass forced her to turn away.

  Spinning a fully extended Ratchet around him, Salvage had become a blur. A human athlete would have collapsed in a nauseated heap long before the Autobot had achieved anything close to his current velocity. Shielding her eyes, Kaminari could not imagine how Salvage could even maintain his stance, much less determine the exact moment when to release his compatriot. Like a Greek god heaving an Olympian discus, Salvage let go at the precisely optimum moment and angle.