The Veiled Threat

by Alan Dean Foster

  It was one such rock that saved Optimus now.

  Protruding out from the torrent halfway down the cataract, it was the only solid object amid a surge of spray. Extending an arm decisively, Optimus got one hand on it. A human’s hand would have slipped off, or its owner would have been swept away like a fly under a faucet by the force of the falling water. The Autobot’s grip was far more powerful. Even so, it required an extra burst of energy to the relevant servos to enable Optimus to grab hold and hang on.

  A bad moment followed when he thought he heard the stone giving way beneath his weight, but it was only the sound of water striking the top of the stony projection. The rock to which he was clinging was not a boulder that had been washed over the top of the falls to embed itself in a crevice: it was part and parcel of the underside of the cascade itself.

  He was not injured, but neither could he escape. Thrusting an arm into the cataract in an attempt to reach bedrock, he found that the sheer weight of the falling water forced him to pull back. Processed through his visual perceptors, a glance downward indicated that it was another two hundred feet to the base of the falls. He might well survive such a drop, but the power of the water crashing down atop him would pound him into the jagged black basalt. As he continued to analyze his surroundings and contemplate his options, he realized that letting go might be the only way out. Peering through the dense mist, he searched for the smoothest possible drop site beneath him. Any shock-absorbing sand had been washed away centuries ago, while the fast-flowing water itself promised an uncertain cushion at best. A flat rock would have to do.

  He was just about to release his grasp and take his chances when a closed transmission gave him pause.

  “Optimus! Hang on. We have your position.”

  Tilting his head back, he did not try to see straight through the falling water. But like his companions he possessed means of perception beyond the mere visual. The strength of Ratchet’s signal was enough for him to pinpoint its location. Even though he could not “see” the medical specialist, Optimus knew where he was.

  So he waited, dangling by one hand from the projecting spear of stone, until something dark and thin came whipping past his face. He caught it on the second swing. A military-grade cable fashioned of special alloy, reinforced and virtually unbreakable. Where had that come from? Ratchet did not carry it as integrated equipment, and surely it was not part of Ironhide’s inventory. Then he remembered.

  Beachbreak. By himself, the little aqueous Autobot was not strong enough to get Optimus out of this fix. But he could supply the means to do so, while Ironhide, Ratchet, and Salvage provided the muscle.

  His concern was that even if they could haul him upward through the water, the pressure of the falls would put a tremendous strain on any cable, no matter how strong or tightly braided the strands of alloy. He transmitted as much.

  “We know.” This time it was Beachbreak speaking. “Your position clear of most of the water will allow you to swing outward. We are on an island in the middle of the river not far to your north. If you let go, you will drop and should eventually cease swinging directly beneath the island. The flow below it is greatly reduced from elsewhere. Once you have stopped swinging we can pull you up.”

  It was a good plan, well conceived—with one possible flaw. A little elementary geometry showed that there might not be enough room at the bottom of the proposed arc to allow him to clear the rocks beneath. In which case he would slam into the base of the falls with as much force as if he had simply let go and dropped. Taking a moment to consider both options, he finally settled on the former. At least that way if the line proved too short and he hit bottom, he would be entangled with the cable and they could haul up his battered body.

  “We are all ready here, Optimus.” Ratchet’s tone was encouraging.

  “We won’t let you fall.” That was Ironhide. If anyone could pull him to safety it would be the indomitable weapons expert, Optimus knew. Carefully, he studied the raging river that filled the gorge as he calculated the length of the fall and the angle of his forthcoming swing. Had he been capable of doing so, he would have taken a deep breath.

  “Letting go,” he transmitted simply as he released his handhold on the protruding rock.

  He had wrapped several turns of the cable around his left arm. No matter what happened, he would not let go of it. Would it hold his weight? Plunging down and forward, he felt his mass being taken up by the line. As he dropped, the rocks below rapidly grew larger in his vision.

  He wasn’t going to make it, he saw. The relevant calculations were just slightly off. Reaching up, he grabbed the cable with his right hand and pulled hard. He drew his legs up toward his chest. The bottom of the arc approached. A part of him that was not vital struck sparks off a chunk of basalt and sent gravel flying.

  He swung clear.

  It took several minutes for him to stop swinging. Each time he fell back toward the bottom of the arc he had to pull his legs up to avoid smashing them into the rocks. He did not have to tell his compatriots when he had stopped swinging or when to begin hauling. Beachbreak could tell from the stable tension on the cable. Had he tried to halt Optimus’s fall or pull him up on his own, the larger Autobot’s weight would have dragged the stealth ski across the island and over the edge. But though he was straining with all his might, he was not operating in isolation.

  On the heavily vegetated island that split the river, three Autobots stood hauling on the cable while in a quiet eddy near the far end the grimly determined Beachbreak methodically took up and reeled in the slack. The strain on his internal systems and servos was terrible, but somehow he maintained a steady pull on the line. Four anxious humans followed the procedure from their position on the near shore. While any of the Autobots could have taken them out to the island, their presence there was not necessary. They would only be in the way, Ratchet had pointed out, and the feeble amount of organic muscle they could contribute to the process of hauling was not worth the risk that one of them might slip or otherwise fall over the edge of the falls.

  Epps pointed excitedly. “There he is! They’ve got him!” Lennox and Kaminari joined in the cheering as a gust of wind momentarily pushed aside the cascade-clinging mist and the battle-hardened shape of Optimus Prime emerged into view near the front edge of the island. Andronov did not join in the celebration. He was preoccupied with trying to identify the genus of a flowering water plant that was sprouting from a nearby mud puddle.

  The process of getting back to the shore was relatively simple for the Autobots: they jumped. The distance from the shore to the small outcropping was roughly eighty-five feet, and with the exception of Beachbreak it was an easy leap for all. Beachbreak, after his successful rescue plan, was enjoying that which he had longed for: a chance to prove his worth. Given the circumstances, he was no longer ashamed at having to be carried across on Ironhide’s shoulders.

  But the victory was short-lived. Starscream, after having deposited Macerator on the far shore, had circled back to gloat over the demise of Optimus Prime. Enraged by the sheer dumb luck of Prime, and the pathetic heroism of the little Autobot, he screeched in for his revenge. As Ironhide leaped the short distance of the falls, Starscream streaked low and knocked Beachbreak off the weapons specialist’s shoulders.

  Even in Jet Ski mode, Beachbreak would never have been able to fight the current so close to the precipice. In robot form, the point was moot. He gave a single startled cry and disappeared over the rim. There was nothing anyone could do. With a shriek of triumph, Starscream disappeared.

  Moments later the remainder of the team was once more reunited on shore. The suddenness and shock of the tragedy left them all speechless.

  Kaminari in particular had focused her pre-NEST studies on and had reserved her admiration for the bigger, more powerful Autobots like Optimus and Ironhide. But over the past weeks she had come to love the little Autobot, not only for his spirit but also for his undaunted courage. If not for Beachbreak’s cho
sen terrestrial configuration and quick thinking Optimus might well have been lost, or at least seriously hurt. Until this point she had not considered her own feelings toward their Cybertronian allies, but she realized now that a bond stronger than she had expected had been forged. She would mourn more than a lost comrade: she would mourn a lost friend.

  Wiping Zambezi and tears from his face, Lennox peered up at the leader of the Autobots. “He was a brave soldier, Optimus. He will be missed. But our situation is still dangerous. How are you feeling? Do you need time to rest?”

  “I’m feeling tired, frustrated. We should have been better prepared. Now Beachbreak has paid the price for my own failure.” The powerful metallic shape considered. Turning, he looked toward the south, across the top of the falls. “It was all a trap, from the very beginning. Fearing he could not defeat me in battle, Starscream sought to do so with trickery. The raid on the construction supply depot was a distraction meant to draw us to this part of the world. Knowing we would be advised of it, and would respond, the Decepticons employed it to lure us here. The intent all along was to draw one or more of us into this river and trap us in its flow so that we could then be forced over the falls. My failure to see this and to lead effectively has cost us dearly.”

  Moving up beside his leader, Ratchet joined him gazing southward. “We saw Starscream emerge carrying Macerator to safety. Given the margin for error, a terrible risk to take with an ally.”

  Ironhide was openly derisive. “As if that would have given Starscream a moment’s concern.” He was looking across the river. “Payload and Dropkick are over there, somewhere. If there is a road, they will by now have shifted into their terrestrial modes.”

  Optimus nodded. “Very likely. But in local guise Payload cannot move very fast, and his appearance is distinctive. Dropkick and Macerator can blend in with local vehicles, but not him.” Tilting back his head, he looked upward. “Sergeant Epps, is there a NEST satellite in position to scan the surrounding territory?”

  “I’m on it, Optimus.” Settling himself atop some nearby rocks, Epps opened his armored laptop and went back online. He shifted the computer on his lap until the satellite antenna that was integrated into the back of the clamshell cover had acquired a sufficiently strong signal. He looked up at his companions. “But it’ll take a while for thrusters to adjust its orbit so that it can scan this area with sufficient resolution. Until then, we’re blind.”

  “We will have to wait.” Ironhide’s tone indicated that he was itching to shoot at something.

  “We could go into Livingstone and wait there,” Petr pointed out. “At least then when satellite locates the Decepticons we will be in better position to respond quick.”

  “Yes,” Kaminari agreed. “Except that Dropkick and Payload are on the other side of the Zambezi, and unless they use the old railroad bridge just below the falls to try to cross back, they’ll have to head either up- or downstream for quite a distance until they can ford easily. In addition to which we don’t know where Starscream is headed.” She turned to Epps. “We need that information.”

  Leaning back against a mist-slicked slab of basalt, the tech sergeant crossed his arms and shrugged. “Can’t reach out and push a satellite any faster.”

  “I could,” Ironhide grumbled, “if I was up there.”

  So they waited. Off by herself, Kaminari sought solace in reciting ancient samurai precepts while executing Jodo moves in the direction of everything from rocks to small trees. Epps had his earbuds in and while monitoring the satellite tracking system was listening to music only slightly less discordant than the thoughts running through his mind.

  Lennox was left to sit down and try to recover alongside Optimus. Even with his legs folded into a seated position, the Autobot towered above the human soldier.

  “They’re going to meet up somewhere.” With fighting temporarily in abeyance Lennox was able to admire the beauty of their surroundings.

  “Without doubt. They have struck a blow against us, they will not give up yet.” Save for the occasional water plant that still clung to his gleaming metal frame and a few scrapes and scars that had been incurred in the clash with the Decepticons, Prime’s tough metal body was undamaged. “It is not like Starscream to leave so abruptly. I should have thought he would have to at least fire a few missiles in my direction.”

  Lennox nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. Unless—he had something else he wanted to do.”

  “Yes, but what in this part of your world would be sufficient to so draw his attention?” A hand waved at the far side of the river. “This is mostly open country. Attractive, to be sure, but without the potential to benefit his intentions in any way that I can envision. After all, he has spent the last year someplace where we could not find him, and was unable to move against us until other Decepticons arrived on Earth to reinforce him. As a consequence, he still knows little of your world beyond what he learned prior to and subsequent to the encounter at the big dam.”

  Lennox’s eyes widened and he leaped to his feet. “The fight at the dam. Hoover Dam!” Whirling, he stared at the leader of the Autobots. “That’s one thing Starscream does know about our world. The importance of large dams. He knows how vital they are to our industry—and how dangerous they can be if damaged.”

  Optimus was fully engaged. “This relates to our present situation how?”

  Raising an arm, Lennox gestured southward, past the falls. “Downriver from here on the Zambezi are the Kariba and Cahorra Bassa dams, the second and third biggest in Africa. If Kariba were to go, the flood would take out Cahorra Bassa below it. The entire industrial base of southern Africa would be thrown into chaos by the loss of the hydroelectric power.” His voice tightened. “I can’t imagine the destruction and damage that would result from the amount of water that would be released. Tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of people would be killed.”

  Optimus considered solemnly. “I see your point. By showing that he is capable of causing such devastation and that the Autobots were unable to prevent it, he might force human authorities to bow to his demands. At the very least, it might induce your governments to insist on neutrality in our ongoing war.”

  “Which would mean the end of NEST, and the end of any cooperation between your people and mine against the Decepticons.”

  Optimus nodded slowly. “Starscream would never be satisfied with an arrangement of ‘neutrality’ on a permanent basis. If he and his fellow Decepticons succeeded in defeating us and winning the war, they would sooner or later make Earth a slave planet of Cybertron. It is not in the nature of Decepticons to regard any organics, even those as clever as your kind, as equals. But I fear that in the face of an overwhelming terroristic threat, some or all of your governments might choose to take the easy way out.”

  Lennox’s expression darkened. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Epps let out a shout. “NEST Five is in position and scanning.” As the humans crowded around the technical sergeant’s open laptop, the Autobots hung back. Their stance did not prevent them from being able to see the information and images that were coming up on the screen.

  “There.” It was the acutely observant Petr who first spotted the strange shape moving down the small road. “Hold on that traffic.”

  Epps looked over at him. “What do you think you see? The image isn’t clear enough for a positive ident.” He indicated the screen. “That could be a logging truck.”

  “Those cannot be logs,” Andronov insisted. “But they could be the barrels of guns.”

  Epps challenged the Russian’s analysis of the image they were watching. “What makes you so sure?”

  “Because there no trees of that size left anywhere in that part of Zimbabwe.”

  Lennox was practically leaning on Epps’s shoulder. “Can you enhance the resolution any more, Sergeant?”

  Epps shook his head. “Hey, you’re looking at real-time video beamed from a low-orbit satellite straight to the middle of Africa. This ain’t HBO, Capta
in.”

  “Direct the camera to move farther down the same road as the vehicle you are discussing,” Ratchet suggested. Epps complied.

  As the camera advanced, tracking along the road, it picked up several other vehicles utilizing the same route and traveling in the same direction—but only one was driving at exactly the same speed as the suspect “logging” truck.

  “That’s Dropkick.” Ratchet straightened.

  Epps frowned at the imperfect image. “Can you be sure? There are several pickups on the road.”

  “But no other ones traveling at the same speed as the truck,” Ratchet pointed out. “Why should a pickup truck capable of much greater speed travel neither faster nor slower than the vehicle behind it, but at exactly the same velocity?”

  “Ratchet is right.” Optimus straightened. “The two vehicles are moving in tandem but apart, so as not to draw attention to themselves.” One massive finger lightly touched Petr on the shoulder. “When considered together with the preceding botanical observation, I think the identification is accurate. We are looking at Payload and Dropkick.”

  “And they’re heading south,” Epps pointed out. He looked up from the computer. “Kariba and Cahorra Bassa are south.”

  “Then we must go there as well.” The leader of the Autobots turned his attention back to Lennox. “Even if your supposition is wrong, Captain, we cannot take that chance. This sounds like something Starscream would do. The deaths of thousands, of millions of your kind, would not disturb his conscience for one moment, and all the better if he felt it would advance his cause or help the Decepticons to win the war.”

  Lennox nodded. “It’s decided, then. We’ll head back north to the air base outside Lusaka, and they can fly us down to the airstrip nearest Kariba.”

  “No.” Reaching across, Optimus put a finger on the human’s shoulder. “I have already calculated the distance and times involved. We will get there faster in our terrestrial modes.” As he rose, his gaze took in his expectant companions.