The Veiled Threat

by Alan Dean Foster

  A plainly dubious Epps peered out the window again. “I don’t see anyplace to pass. Unless you’re a bird.”

  “There aren’t many such places. It all depends on the relative sizes of the confronting vehicles. I once heard of a petrol tanker that had climbed halfway up to the pass only to have to back all the way down to Pilcopata. Took both drivers hours to complete the trip.”

  Epps contemplated the mist. “Anybody ever go over the side here?”

  “Oh, frequently.” Morales spoke as if it were the most normal thing in the world, like a traffic sigalert on the Los Angeles freeways. “The canyon below us is littered with the corpses of dozens of trucks and buses.”

  The sergeant swallowed. “ ‘Dozens’?”

  “Maybe hundreds. Nobody knows for certain because no one keeps track of such things and because so much of the canyon is inaccessible without special mountaineering equipment. You can’t use aircraft in here, obviously, because of the narrowness of the canyon walls and the permanent cloud cover. Also, many of the accidents are not reported because the truck is carrying illegal or smuggled cargo, or the bus has improper brakes, or any one of a number of other reasons.” He smiled reassuringly. “Do not worry. We are in a new vehicle with four-wheel drive, as is the van behind us. And I assume your Autobot friends do not have issues with traction.”

  Leaning far out the window, Epps looked back up the treacherous road. Longarm’s reassuring shape was clearly visible behind the van. He could not see Knockout, but he could hear the rumble of the smaller Autobot’s engine. He eased back into his seat.

  “If they do, none of ’em has ever spoken about it to me. Though even an Autobot can only survive a fall of so many hundreds of feet.”

  “Then it is best that they keep to the road. There are drops in places here that are considerably greater than a hundred meters.”

  Finally, something that drew Andronov’s attention away from the local biota. “A hundred meters, you say?”

  “Yes, but such drops will grow smaller and more infrequent as we continue to descend.”

  Epps was about to ask the Russian if he would care to switch seats when a sudden shout from Knockout rose above his concerns as well as above the steady growling of gears and engines.

  “There—there they are! I’ve got them on my perceptors!”

  “Hey, wait …!” Epps yelled out the window. Either his admonition was too late, its subject did not hear him, or else he was simply being ignored.

  Cutting so close to the edge of the roadway and the clouds below that his rear tire sent dirt and gravel spinning out into emptiness, Knockout came roaring past the Hummer to vanish into the mist ahead of it. Within seconds his exhaust had been swallowed up by the clouds. An alarmed Epps leaned forward.

  “Stop! Hold up right here.”

  Morales passed the order to the Hummer’s driver. The officer’s translation was unnecessary, as the driver had already hit the brakes—“stop” being one English word that was recognized pretty much everywhere across the planet.

  With the Hummer in park and the oversized brake set, Epps dragged his launcher from behind the seat and climbed out, taking care to move to the front of the vehicle while keeping well away from the lethal drop on his side. Armed only with a pistol, Morales joined him. Showing that despite his continual distractions he could shift his attention quickly from aphids to enemies, Petr emerged behind them gripping his special rifle.

  As the three men peered down the cloud-swathed road, a rumble approached from behind. Skirting perilously close to the edge, his tires kicking pebbles off into emptiness, Longarm had squeezed past the van to come up behind the Hummer. As he did so, one of his rear wheels actually hung out in open air for a moment before regaining contact with the roadbed.

  Humans and Autobot listened intently. Though the bends in the road and the heavy mist combined to mute noise, the sound of Knockout’s engine receding into the distance could still be heard.

  Clutching the launcher, Epps looked back at the tow truck. The tech sergeant was quietly fuming. “All of a sudden he just went zooming past us, shouting something about having ‘them’ on his perceptors.”

  “I know,” the truck replied. “I of course received his broadcast the instant it was generated.”

  “I yelled at him to stop. He ignored me. Or pretended he didn’t hear.”

  Longarm sighed heavily. “Knockout is smart, but impulsive. I myself am presently sensing nothing directly in front of us.”

  “Good!” The sergeant raised the muzzle of his weapon. “Won’t hurt him to admit he’s made a mistake.”

  “That is what concerns me. We rarely make such mistakes.” Longarm spoke absently, the bulk of his attention focused on the section of canyon just ahead. “Utilizing different wavelengths and instruments that are more sensitive than human oculars, I can see reasonably well through the water vapor in which we are currently enveloped. But I cannot see through solid rock—at least, not very far—and the twists and cutbacks in this route prevent me from accessing Knockout’s present position.” A moment passed during which the only sounds were those of idling engines and unseen rain forest birds. Then …

  “Ah, he is returning. Perhaps you were right after all, Sergeant Epps. A false alar—”

  “Weapons up, weapons up!”

  They heard Knockout before they could see him. In contrast, no one had any difficulty detecting the explosions that erupted in the motorcycle’s wake. Chunks of road and cliffside flew in all directions. Epps started to run to his right to take cover, realized that the only cover available in that direction lay hundreds or thousands of feet below, and threw himself down beside the Hummer. We’re in a helluva position, he thought as he raised the launcher. Trapped on a narrow road between sheer cliff on one side and sheer drop on the other. Sitting ducks, though ducks would have been better off in the wet and the clouds.

  Had this been the Decepticons’ intent all along? he found himself wondering. Send out a barely perceptible signal, just enough to draw a minimal reaction, and then corner NEST’s responders in an indefensible location? But the narrow, winding mountain route was no less inaccessible to the enemy than it was to Longarm and Knockout. There was no more room here for Decepticons to maneuver than there was for Autobots. Whoever was pursuing and shooting at Knockout would be restricted to the same single, precarious roadway.

  Unless …

  Unless the Decepticons here had chosen terrestrial guises specifically intended to be able to deal with such difficult surroundings.

  The familiar sound of metal changing its shape resonated behind him. He did not need to look around to know what was happening. Further confirmation came from the awed reactions of the operatives who had by now piled out of the van. A moment later a pair of gleaming metal legs strode past, stepping easily over the Hummer that occupied most of the roadway. The fully altered Longarm had his weapons systems out and activated.

  Exploding without warning from the cloud cover, something struck Longarm hard on his right shoulder. The blast sent him spinning in that direction. One leg fought for solid purchase before sliding off into empty air. Stunned, Epps reached instinctively toward Longarm. The gesture was little more than that. He could no more grab hold of and prevent the Autobot from falling than he could have saved Optimus from a similar plunge.

  As he tumbled over the edge, Longarm reached back. Metal fingers slammed into solid rock and dug in, breaking the potentially fatal fall.

  “Get behind the bend!” Andronov held his rifle while searching the mist for a target. His knowledge of battlefield tactics was revealing the Spetsnaz training in his background to an appreciative Epps. “Behind rock!” With his free hand he waved wildly.

  The local NEST fighters were unable to understand his heavily accented English, but Morales translated as he joined the Russian in retreating. They managed to get behind the nearest twist in the road just before a series of explosions tore the van to shreds. Striking just beneath the Hummer
’s front bumper, another shell blew it into the air and sideways into the cliff face. The concussion also lifted Epps off the ground and sent him flying—again to his right.

  As if in slow motion, he saw the side of the road shrinking above him. While he fell he wondered if he would land in a moss-cloaked tree and if it would be soft enough to break his fall—or his back. Of course, if a thousand feet of cloud lay between him and the rain forest below, it wouldn’t matter what he landed on. As it turned out, he struck on something hard and unyielding—but after falling only a few feet.

  “I have you, Sergeant Epps!”

  Safe in Longarm’s grasp, Epps found himself rising upward almost as fast as he had dropped. After setting the human safely back on solid ground, Longarm shoved forcefully with both hands. The effort boosted him high into the air, and he landed beside the sergeant hard enough to send a quiver through the roadbed. Seconds later a shape burst through the swirling mist and came barreling toward them. It was Knockout, moving fast. As another explosion sent fiery yellow and orange flame rippling through the clouds, he changed shape. By the time he reached their position and came to a halt in front of Longarm, he had fully resumed his natural form.

  “I was right! My perception was correct. The Decepticons are—!”

  Reaching out, Longarm slapped him hard and deliberately across his face.

  A stunned Epps stared openmouthed. Never before had he seen an Autobot strike another. He had never even heard of such a thing. Longarm’s open metal palm carried enough force to send Knockout stumbling into the cliff face.

  “You have acted recklessly, endangering not only yourself and me but the humans as well! What have you to say for yourself?”

  “I …” Clearly stunned by the senior Autobot’s reaction, Knockout’s thought processes had been shocked into temporary stasis.

  “Leave it for later.” Longarm dropped into a fighting stance. “Here they come!”

  Kneeling, Epps aimed his launcher down the road. He resolved to make the shot a good one. As he took aim, he wondered what—no, not what, he corrected himself, who—they were facing. At least no shrill whine was echoing through the cloud-enveloped chasm. If Starscream was anywhere in the vicinity, he was flying too high to be heard.

  But a dangerously similar sound was rising up the canyon, increasing in volume as it drew nearer.

  It was high-pitched but uneven. Nor was it alone. A softer yet even more familiar clamor accompanied it. As a sudden breeze cleared the mist slightly, Epps squinted just above the launcher’s sightline. He knew both sounds. It was his present unfamiliar surroundings and uncertain expectations that had momentarily thrown him off. Looking up from where he knelt in the cold mud he yelled a warning to his companions—mechanical as well as human.

  “Incoming! Osprey—chopper!”

  As he turned from the road to face the abyss, the Decepticons emerged from the clouds off to his right. The Osprey came up parallel to the road, the better to bring its side guns to bear. Spitting out more than a thousand rounds a minute, the rapidly rotating mini-guns chewed up rock and vehicles alike. If the Peruvian NEST fighters had not taken cover behind the upper bend in the road they would have been turned to hamburger. Only Epps’s kneeling stance saved him as the swarm of slugs tore through the air above his head.

  In addition to reducing the Hummer and the remains of the van to even finer scrap, the heavy fire drove Longarm and Knockout toward the dripping, fern-covered rock face. Both Autobots answered with weapons of their own as the chopper hovering farther down the canyon let loose with rockets. With chunks of stone, roadway, and sheet metal flying all around him, Epps was unable to take proper aim with his launcher. It was all he could do to bury his face in the mud, try to squirm as deep down into the roadbed as he could, and work to keep from being blown off the thoroughfare. He dared not even look up to see if Petr or Morales were still alive. As if the din of multiple explosions were not deafening enough, each one echoed repeatedly off the narrow canyon walls.

  Backs pressed against the sheer, sodden rock behind them, Knockout and Longarm kept up a steady fire on the two aircraft. A lucky shot from the larger Autobot struck the Osprey in a vulnerable spot and sent it reeling downward.

  Got one of the bastards! Epps thought exultantly. Raising his head, he tried to swing the launcher’s muzzle up and around. If the two Autobots could keep the chopper occupied and he could get off a clean shot with the sabot round …

  The mist parted. Propelled by powerful metal hands, an enormous metal body swung itself up and over the side of the road directly in front of him. Rolling madly downslope, Epps just managed to avoid being stepped on. Too close now to let loose with heavy weapons, the converted Osprey stood confronting the two Autobots. Its right shoulder joint was still smoking where Longarm’s missile had struck home.

  “I will carve both of you up with my bare hands!” So saying, the big Decepticon spread his fingers wide. The Osprey’s twin rotors had become huge blades spinning at metal-cutting speed, their whine clearly audible above the rain that had begun to fall. Holding both sets of rotating blades out in front of him, the Decepticon started forward. Where the blades struck the roadbed, deep grooves appeared in the mud and in the bedrock beneath.

  “Greetings, Ruination,” Longarm yelled back. “Be careful while boasting that you don’t lose track of what your hands are doing and accidentally cut your own throat.” Dropping into a squat, he proceeded to leap higher than a surprised Epps would have thought possible.

  Inclining backward at an angle that would have snapped any human spine, Ruination raised his spinning blades upward to fend off the expected plunge. Instead, now that the Decepticon’s lethal hands were pointed upward, Knockout hit him from beneath, nearly taking his legs out from under him. Stumbling, Ruination struggled to keep his balance on the narrow roadway. As he lowered his arms the raging Decepticon tried to bring his blades to bear on the smaller Autobot, who was now clinging tightly to his legs. One razor-sharp edge sliced into the back of Knockout’s left foot and the Autobot yelled in pain.

  Which was when Longarm finally landed hard on their assailant from above.

  Wrapping his legs around the bigger Decepticon’s waist, he began pounding the enemy from behind with both fists. Engaged from behind and below, Ruination flailed wildly but was unable to bring his cutting rotors to bear on the Autobot who had fastened itself to his back.

  Looking on as Longarm and Knockout began to get the better of the brawny Decepticon, Epps was about to let out a jubilant yell when a sudden thought struck him.

  Where’s the other Decepticon?

  Blademaster showed himself a moment later. Still in chopper guise he came roaring up the road, waiting to change until the last minute before reaching down to grab Knockout’s legs. Yanking hard, he dislodged the Autobot from Ruination’s ankles and began dragging him backward through the mud on his ventral side. As Knockout struggled desperately to right himself and bring one of his weapons, any weapon, to bear, one of Blademaster’s rotors morphed into an enormous killing blade that he raised high over his head. Twisting around, Knockout could only thrust up both arms defensively.

  Blinking away water, mud, an assortment of minuscule cloud forest inhabitants, and who knew what else, Epps took the best aim he could with his battered launcher. Like the sergeant, it was soaked and full of grit. Would it still fire? Locking down on his target, Epps squeezed the trigger.

  With a hiss and a whoosh, the compact missile burst from the launcher. Though it missed the Decepticon’s face, which had been Epps’s target, it struck Blademaster in the neck. Any joint being more vulnerable to attack than flat armor, the sabot round burned furiously as it struck home. Blademaster let out a cry of distress and grabbed at his throat with both hands as he staggered away from Knockout. Saved, freed, and only lightly injured, the smaller Autobot immediately rose to his feet and pressed the attack, throwing himself at his injured foe. Though momentarily disoriented, Blademaster was still able
to strike out with one hand and knock the smaller Autobot aside. As he did so, a new figure emerged from the mist to charge the tottering Decepticon.

  Not only was Dr. Petr Andronov built like a linebacker, Epps decided from where he lay on the roadway: he moved like one, too.

  Taking aim with his singular rifle, the Russian got off several shots in quick succession before the mass of interlocked metal that was Ruination and Longarm came rolling in his direction to send him scrambling back to the safety of the bend in the road. Having regrouped beneath a rocky overhang, the Peruvian NEST operatives were now firing steadily from there, though their small-arms fire was little more than a distraction to Decepticons.

  Petr’s sortie, however, had a much more immediate result. Already hurt by Epps’s sabot round, knocked backward by the charging Knockout, Blademaster now found himself suffering from the effects of several powerful electrical discharges against his body. The combination was sufficient to momentarily destabilize his internal systems. Tottering backward, he took one step, a second—and the third saw him step off into empty air. Arms flailing wildly, he fell backward into the clouds. As he did so he fought to shift back into his terrestrial guise. But due to the disruption he had incurred he was only able to partially change. Half Decepticon, half helicopter, he fell out of sight, the air whistling around him as he plummeted. Rolling to the edge of the roadbed a filthy, soaked-to-the-skin Epps listened intently. Moments later he was rewarded by the faint echo of a distant clang.

  He wasn’t the only one who heard the sound that marked the end of Blademaster’s uncontrolled dive. Off to his right, the enraged Ruination let out a ferocious alien snarl. Reaching back over his shoulders, he got a solid grip on Longarm, pulled him off his back, and hurled him against the cliff face. Shards of rock went flying and Epps had to cover his face as the already injured and exhausted Autobot slumped to the roadbed. Cutting blades whirling, Ruination started toward the barely moving Longarm, only to find his advance blocked by a much smaller but grimly determined figure.