Transformers: This Is How It All Began: 1.6 Point of Impact
This Is How It All Began
A Story From Before the Great War
Act 1: Twilight of a Golden Age
1.6: Point of Impact
The Celestial Temple
Iacon
Cybertron
“It is still not fully understood how Cybertron converts sunlight into chemical potential!” Aetalon’s fist pounded against his thigh. The Emirate for Simfur’s single eye had contracted to a fiercely burning point. “The solar harvester project is wonderful in theory but it is only a theory! We can’t give up existing resource planets because a theory says we might not have to rely on them in the future!”
“Existing resource planets are only worth protecting if they are providing resources!” Tomaandi insisted fervently, “It has surely been established by now that Anska is a weak investment -”
“Nothing of the kind has been established!” wailed the Emirate for Tagan, his wheels whirring plaintively, “Despite Altihex’s attempts to distort the evidence! We maintain that given enough time, Anska would be a very valuable -”
“Time spent beating off constant alien attacks!” Haacano rumbled, “In light of the reports that the Bn’rite are preparing for a second invasion attempt, Tarn sides with Altihex: this planet is not worth an extended off-world conflict.”
Graviitus gave a howl of derision. “Tarn would have Cybertron bow to off-worlders, would it? Vos insists that we cannot allow lesser powers to dictate our mining and exploration programmes!”
“Vos insists on a great many things,” came the instant retort, “often without giving full consideration to the consequences!”
“We reject the implication of that statement!” Graviitus roared.
Glancing up at the throne, Xaaron wondered why Sentinel was allowing the argument to escalate. The Prime had made no move to call for order, despite the increasing disorder with which the debate was being conducted. He was slightly surprised to find that Sentinel was looking back at him, optics bright with focus. They held each other’s gaze for a moment, then Xaaron looked back at the Council. Traachon was desperately trying to calm Graviitus down as the other Emirates were began splitting off into sub-conferences, the global political alliances manifesting in miniature, any hope of a swift resolution rapidly evaporating.
Resignedly, Xaaron began to beat his fist against the side of his chair.
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Central Compound
Bn’rite Encampment
Anska
Growling in pain, Optrion dodged behind the control tower. Disrupting the Bn’rite’s electronic targeting systems had done nothing to stop them manually aiming their weapons and the punishment he had taken getting so far into their territory made it doubtful he would survive many more direct hits. Which was going to be a problem, since the tanks that had been flanking the compound were now firing wildly and continuously through the hole Ironhide had made in its protective wall.
Spikes of agony shot through the back of Optrion’s knees and he whirled to find that a trio of Bn’rite troopers had managed to sneak up behind him, an impressive feat given that they were carrying a kind of four-barrelled cannon between them. He wondered if his rear sensors had been obscured by battle-damage or compromised by the sensor-jamming pack. Despite the normal precautions when handling such devices, it was not unknown for those using them to be affected along with their targets.
He loosed a volley of ion bolts and sent the aliens scattering, their exposed skin burnt and blistered.
“Everythin’ still und’r control?” Ironhide asked, ducking round to join his squad leader, smoke still pouring from where Bn’rite munitions had flattened themselves against his armour.
“Why would you think it wasn’t?” Optrion shot back. A shell promptly impacted a hand’s width from his foot, blowing the two of them backwards and showering them in dirt and shrapnel. He threw a warning look at the red warrior, daring him to comment.
Smirking, Ironhide jerked a thumb towards the opposite end of the compound. “Yah think we should try ta take the tap out?”
“We wouldn’t make it. And besides…” Optrion pointed up. “Listen.”
New sounds had joined the cacophony of the battle, the high whine of straining motors and the resounding thump of flak being launched skywards. Arcs of superheated metal began to pour into the night as the encampment’s anti-aircraft guns sprang to life.
They were much too late.
Transformed for atmospheric flight, hull spread out into a great delta wing, the Cybertronian space-cruiser rocketed overhead, followed nano-cycles later by a sonic-boom so powerful it nearly flattened everyone below into the ground. The Bn’rite guns, deafened and blinded, tried in vain to bring it down. Though they scored a few hits simply because it was too big a target to escape entirely unscathed, most of the fire streamed impotently past, the ship hurtling onwards unhindered. The guns swung in an attempt to track it and struck nothing but its exhaust fumes.
Focusing on the retreating spacecraft was the last mistake of the gunners’ lives.
The twenty heavily-built mechs who had leapt from the cargo-bay doors plummeted unseen towards the buildings below until, at the last possible moment, they triggered their thrust packs, high-energy gravity pulses providing just enough lift to prevent them from being dashed to bits by the landing. As the boost slowed their descent, most of them transformed, shifting into massive tracked vehicles loaded down with weaponry.
The last one to land did so only after pushing his thrust pack to the limit. Actually swooping back upwards, he covered two hix more than he might otherwise have done before slamming into the ground in the middle of the central compound, still in bipedal form, knees bending to absorb the impact. Drawing himself up to his full height, he stretched, shed the smouldering thruster and roared. In one fluid movement, he collapsed into a tank bigger and more heavily armed than any of the rest. His gun barrels slid out of their housings, already belching fire. The first shot ploughed through the control tower and practically sliced it in two.
Megatron had arrived.
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The Celestial Temple
Iacon
Cybertron
“Emirates, we are straying from the point,” Xaaron said once he had the Council’s full attention, “Again.” This was greeted with irritated but subdued muttering, several of the gold-clad mechs throwing glances at the Prime. Xaaron ignored them. “Each city has its own perspective on this matter, naturally, but trying to persuade each other that we are right and they are wrong is only serving to make this Council appear divided and indecisive.”
Of course, this Council was divided and indecisive and everyone knew it but no self-respecting Emirate would ever admit as much. It would have been tantamount to admitting that they were fundamentally superfluous and therefore had no reason to be stationed in Iacon, a city renowned for the luxury of its high-end habitation districts. The only thing potentially more damaging was the possibility that outsiders might reach that same conclusion unaided and take it upon themselves to do something rash. Like conduct a detailed investigation into councillors’ living costs, for example.
“Besides which,” Xaaron continued, having hesitated momentarily to allow his peers to work out the implications for themselves, “the longer we procrastinate, the more lives will be lost on Anska. Megatron intends to attack before the Bn’rite can secure their position - he may already have done so - and whatever the outcome, that battle will be costly for both sides. Moreover, it is unwise to assume that success on one battlefield will automatically lead to victory on another. I have been a soldier - I know first-hand how changeable the fortunes of war are.” He paused again, allowing those mechs who, like him, had seen military service to offer gestures of acknowledgement. Tomaandi shifted uncomfortably, lacing his fingers together, but said nothing. Noting this with some pleasure, Xaaron went on. “In all likelihood, neither side will be able to adequately defend a claim to the planet with the forces currently deployed there. Therefore, both we and the Bn’rite face the same choice - send reinforcements or leave Anska. And we must both make that decision quickly, lest the other side move in first.
“As to how the Bn’rite will respond, it is perhaps worth considering the fact that they, given their biological nature and technological state, have a narrower choice of colonisable planets. We are flexible. We can pick and choose those planets that will give us the maximum resource yield, regardless of their surface conditions. The Bn’rite cannot. It is in their interests to fight and fight hard for every world they discover to be inhabitable by their species. I find it unlikely they will not attempt to secure another bridgehead on Anska. Indeed, as the honourable Emirate for Tarn pointed out, long-range monitoring already indicates increased activity in their home system, possibly as a prelude to a second interstellar mission.
“I consider it even less likely that they will not make a concerted effort to avenge the losses incurred by their first mission.” Xaaron smiled slightly. “A futile effort, perhaps. But as I have said, battles are costly. Whatever we decide, we must be satisfied that Cybertron can live with the consequences. Shutting down the operations on Anska will be a blow to those states that have an investment in them, there is no doubt of that. Equally, there can be no doubt that a long term military operation would be a drain on every state.
“It is our duty to weigh these considerations and determine the optimum course of action. I believe we have had more than enough time to do so,” he concluded, placing his hands together in an echo of Tomaandi’s earlier gesture. “The government I have the honour to represent agrees with my assessment. As such, Nova Cronum moves for an immediate vote on the Anska issue.”
“Tarn seconds this.” Hacaano stated, just beating Kaliton to the punch.
Agreement, enthusiastic, resigned and grudging, was slowly signalled by each member of the council. Traachon was the one who proposed the final motion. This, of course, was Iacon’s right as the de facto planetary capital. His glance at Xaaron, however, suggested that in this case it was a right he was not eager to exercise. Clearly he did not think much of his city’s chances in the approaching vote.
“The motion is this: that reinforcements be immediately dispatched to aid with the security and defence of the mining operations being conducted on the planet designated Anska, on the understanding that if this does not happen, the Anska operations will perforce have to be abandoned and all troops currently deployed, recalled. All those in favour?”
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Bn’rite Encampment
Anska
It was glorious to behold.
The heavy brigade cleaved remorselessly through the Bn’rite fortifications, their guns obliterating stone and metal and flesh and bone with equal ease. Throughout the encampment, walls came tumbling down, their foundations erupting into volcanic blooms, blown apart by concussion missiles and magma grenades. Mining equipment - heavy lifters and massive reinforced drills - melted as coruscating energy beams bored into them, their superstructures collapsing and breaking apart with a kind of chaotic beauty that most sculptors would have killed to replicate. Control towers crumbled before the angry songs of sonic cannons, crystal and stone shattering to powder and exploding outward in fantastic dark clouds.
Ravage had secured the perfect vantage point from which to admire the slaughter. From atop a largely intact guard tower someway above the camp, he could fully appreciate the artistry inherent in the destruction being wrought upon Cybertron’s enemies and, as much as his duties allowed, he permitted himself to become absorbed in the spectacle.
The Bn’rite had been thrown completely off balance. The tanks so effective at range and against more lightly armoured foes were helpless in the face of the Cybertronian shock troops. Their blazing wrecks soon adorned the hills alongside the ruins of the buildings they had been trying to protect. Ground troops and technicians scattering in panic before the onslaught were quickly crushed under tread, their occasional attempts to fight back little more than an irritation to the attackers. No tiny hand-held alien weapon was going to breach these warriors’ armour.
At the centre of the attack was Megatron, the axis on which the wheel of battle was turning. The silver giant’s first act had been to systematically reduce the main tower to dust and ashes, his guns sweeping to and fro until nothing remained of it or its inhabitants. Then he had turned his attention to the geothermal tap. He forced his way through - and over - the remaining defenders, physically ramming one of the tanks aside before detonating another with a well-aimed burst of laser fire. Transforming as he reached the foot of the massive cylinder, he swatted engineers from their gantries and drove a fist through the main surface control cabin. That done, he stood back, lifted his rifles and calmly fired shot after shot after shot into the semi-functional power supply’s heart.
At first this seemed to do little, the sting of an insect on the hide of a great beast of burden. But in no time at all, whole sections of the machine were open to the stinking air and its insides were aflame, twisting and distorting as laser bolts hammered into them again and again and again. Torn free from its housing as the internal mechanisms unbalanced, one of the heat exchange vanes erupted from the shell, a great metal knife crushing its way through delicate pipework and heavy-duty support beams.
Megatron paused briefly as two - perhaps the last two - Bn’rite tanks charged at him. They did not fire, presumably because they had already exhausted their ammunition. Their crews must have been determined to go down fighting in any way they could. An honourable but pointless gesture. One of them never made it near Megatron. Two Cybertronians - the Iaconian and one of his troopers - sprang upon it and, between them, flipped it onto its back. And as the other rushed heedlessly on, Megatron sprang forward to meet it, rifles retracting into his arms, and seized it in both hands. He heaved, lifting it clean off the ground, and whirled, flinging the tank with all his might towards the siphon. It crashed through the wreckage and, with a great rushing howl of tortured metal, the whole thing began to slip with thunderous inevitability into the shaft in which it had been constructed.
To all intents and purposes, the battle was over in that moment. Megatron stood victorious again. As if there could ever have been any doubt. The field commander bellowed in triumph, a cry echoed by every Cybertronian still standing or rolling.
Intending to add his voice to the chorus, Ravage began to transform. A sudden burst of signals stopped him in his tracks and he quickly settled back into radio mast mode. His function as a battlefield communications relay overrode everything, even the right to celebrate victory. An urgent voice quickly materialised out of the decoding algorithms, that of the planetary comms officer. Her tone was disbelieving and Ravage could not help but feel an echo of that same incredulity as he heard what she was saying.
He contacted Megatron immediately, relaying the message and requesting a response. For a long, painful moment there was none. When Megatron did speak, it was in a low, angry growl. “Repeat. That. Communication.”
Wishing with all his being that there was no communication to repeat, Ravage obeyed. “Message reads: Priority instruction to field commander, Anska expeditionary force. New High Council edict - all military operations on Anska to cease. All forces currently deployed to withdraw to the Dion Prima Staging Ground and await new orders. All mining personnel and equipment to be evacuated and returned to Cybertron. All remaining Cybertronian technology to be reduced to basic constituents and destroyed. Please acknowledge receipt of this communication immediately.”
Another, longer silence followed. Ravage could feel his commander’s anger almost as a physical blow, even from so far away. Finally, Megatron’s voice cut across the airwaves, as cold as space. “Communication acknowledged. Relay this to all forces in play: withdraw immediately to Dega Tryptic and prepare to leave Anska; repeat, withdraw immediately.
“And relay this to the High Council: the battle here has been won.”
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