Simon Furman - Alignment

VIP免费

2024-12-05 0 0 5.29MB 43 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

Alignment

by Simon Furman

Book 1

What they needed, Grimlock decided, was a Unicron.

This was not a sudden conclusion. In common with most all of the Dinobot

commander’s somewhat rare insights, this undertaking had involved long hours,

days, weeks even of painstaking deliberation. Grimlock was not stupid, and not

slow, Indeed, in battle his speed, judgment and reflexes were second to none. But

he was sometimes pedestrian when it came to deep thinking.

The problem that had started Grimlock lumbering off down this particular

cognitive path stemmed from their current mission. They were now into day 78 of

a deep space odyssey to the outer fringes of the Hadean system. Their Autobot

Hyperwave skimmer was already beyond existing star charts, far into the

wilderzones, where no other Transformer - or indeed known species - had

ventured. And so far nada, zip, nothing. All they’d found was a big, empty hunk

of space and Grimlock was bored beyond belief.

Day 78 had dawned - if indeed such terminology was applicable without so much

as a single star within seventy billion light years - much like the previous seventy-

seven. As the mission’s Flight Leader, Grimlock was expected to officially

relieve the ‘night’ watch helmsman and hand over to the ‘day’ shift. What had

actually happened was that Grimlock had crashed so loudly onto the forward

bridge, he’d woken Blaster, who had let his systems idle when the monotony had

finally, totally overwhelmed him.

Both had reacted with surprise. Grimlock because he’d somehow blundered onto

the bridge when actually he’d been bound for the particle showers, and Blaster

because his internal chronometer immediately registered that he’d been in exactly

the same position, undisturbed, since Day 71.

Blaster had stalked off angrily, bound for the rec room, where the rest of the crew

had no doubt idled for the past several days, his existence a fading memory. His

intention was to amp up his chest speakers to max, plug himself into the ship’s

intercom system and fry their audio sensors with Quarian thrash. Grimlock,

meanwhile, had stared, as if confused by the bridge and its unfamiliar geometry,

uncertain of its function, and then exited without a backward glance.

In the empty bridge, automated systems ticked stoically on, charting the void

ahead, endlessly meticulous. Every spike and echo of space noise was categorized

and logged, every fluctuation in the radio-magnetic spectrum registered, every

spatial anomaly recorded. External sensors reached out long, invisible filaments

into the emptiness, probing, searching... for energon.

****

‘What kind of job that?’ Grimlock had demanded of acting Autobot leader Ultra

Magnus. ‘Me warrior, not boy scout!’ In the high chamber of the so-called Stellar

Galleries on Cybertron, Ultra Magnus sighed long and hard. He was not in the

mood for Grimlock and his inevitable tantrums. Far more pressing concerns, not

least the critical condition of Optimus Prime, weighed heavily on his mind.

He’d fixed Grimlock with the most baleful stare he could muster and gestured

wide in the generally vague direction of ‘outside’. ‘Have you taken a good look at

our homeworld recently, Grimlock?’ Ultra Magnus leaned forwards for emphasis.

‘It’s not in a good shape, we’re not in a good shape’.

Grimlock, though, just stared blankly, as if Magnus were suddenly, miraculously

speaking in tongues. Magnus sighed, settling back. ‘Pinea Omicron cost us all

dearly,’ he continued finally. ‘Maybe we did win the battle, and yes, maybe the

Decepticons came off worse, but in the end, unless we can come up with a whole

lot of energon -and fast -we’re all looking at the big shutdown.’

Grimlock kicked at some imaginary object, sulky. He didn’t like or respect

Magnus, and he didn’t like being sent on scouting missions. He was built for

combat. End of story. Magnus was speaking again, and Grimlock reluctantly

phased him back in. ‘... take whatever search arc you want, hand-pick a crew, go

where no Transformer has gone before, but please just go. Find us a new source of

energon.’

Further debate was curtailed as the far doors to the chamber swung wide,

admitting Prowl. ‘The energy research committee is ready for you, Magnus,’ he

said, ignoring Grimlock. ‘They’ve come up with some interim plans they’d like to

run past us.’

Ultra Magnus rose. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Grimlock, I have to go discuss

downsizing and other less-than- palatable options. Have a safe trip...’

****

Have a safe trip! Grimlock had done everything in his power to have anything but.

The way into the wilderzones had long been considered one of the most hazardous

and potentially life-threatening journeys never to have been undertaken. Legend

had it that the star-fields beyond the outer fringe were stalked by creatures big

enough to bear entire civilizations on their backs, hosts of soul-sucking Parafiends

and vast armies that poured like molten metal from the heart of super- dense stars.

So much for legend.

And so, 78 days in and not a Parafiend to be had, Grimlock had reached the

momentous conclusion that they needed another Unicron. Not necessarily THE

Unicron, but something close, something big and epic, something that called for

blood and thunder, do or die. Anything but this!

It had been several hundred years since the chaos- bringer Unicron had been

destroyed, and to be fair there had been a few epic threats in-between. But nothing

really on the same scale. Jhiaxus, the Swarm. Mogahn the Mass, Praetocian, the

Ebon Knights... and, most recently, Pinea Omicron. But then it really was because

of Pinea Omicron and the fifty or so years that had preceded it, that they were here

now, scraping around the galaxy for energon. It had, decided Grimlock, conceding

Magnus’s contention long after the fact, been a sustained and costly conflict.

Under Galvatron II, the Decepticons had built and mobilized a huge fleet of War

worlds; planet-sized battleships with a power core fed by unstable, fissioned

energon. They were lumbering and hugely energy- inefficient, but their destructive

power was awesome to behold.

In order to safeguard Cybertron, the Autobots actively relocated their entire world,

using technology appropriated from former Decepticon commander, Jhiaxus to

clone other ‘Cybertrons’ from barren, uninhabited worlds. These decoys served

both to mislead and divide the enemy, but eventually a critical security blunder led

the Decepticon fleet tantalizingly close to the location of the real Cybertron. A

massed Autobot armada engaged the Decepticons at the spiral arc known as Pinea

Omicron in an attempt to end the conflict once and for all. Huge losses were

sustained by both sides, and in a climactic and crucial confrontation, Autobot

leader Optimus Prime finally ended the reign of Galvatron II. But only at huge

personal cost. Wounded, drained, Prime too fell. Fell hard.

Grimlock had been among the first to reach Prime’s slumped form. Not dead, but

close to it. He’d engaged a stasis field around Prime’s body, maintaining the

flickering energy of his Spark within it. To date, there’d been no improvement.

Prime was still functionless, a living war monument.

Which Grimlock could relate to. Another day of this, and his systems would be

shutting down also, his brain freefalling into oblivion. Completing a cursory scan

of ships’ systems in the auxiliary flight deck, Grimlock prepared to take his higher

functions off-line. He was three alpha stages into another extended personal hiatus

when the first wave of missiles hit and the bulkhead nearest to Grimlock blew out

into space.

****

It barely moved, but it saw everything, knew everything. It rarely spoke, but still

communicated on multiple levels, issuing orders simultaneously to countless]

warriors, agents and operatives on a variety of active duties across the known

galaxy and beyond. The intrusion on the far northern perimeter of Hub space had,

inevitably, been noted and a cadre of free-phasing multiforms dispatched to deal

with it.

The craft, it knew, was an Autobot Hyperwave, and it experienced a rare moment

of disquiet. The alignment was so close now. It had waited all its long, long life

for just this moment, and nothing -no detail, no matter how small or insignificant -

could be allowed to distract it.

Having hidden its existence for countless millennia, the Liege Maximo was

resolved not to be discovered now.

Aboard the Hyperwave, the sudden rude awakening had precipitated a mad

scramble for previously neglected stations around the ship.

Grimlock had managed at least to prevent himself being sucked out into space,

engaging magno-clamps on the soles of his feet. The only problem was that once

engaged it was all but impossible to move about with any kind of speed or

urgency. Outside, the unknown assault ships were banking, ready for another

attack run, and Grimlock was several slow, painstaking steps away from the

nearest tactical station.

Through the largely missing bulkhead,

Grimlock was afforded a spectacular view of

the enemy ships. They were hard to pin down,

inasmuch as they never seemed to keep the

same configuration for more than moments at

a time. In rigid arrowhead formation they

swept towards the Hyperwave. As they

neared, extra wings sprouted, fuselages

restructured and augmented, weapons of all

descriptions multiplied and grew.

Another tortuous step. Grimlock reached out

a desperate hand. Another step. Ahead the

glowing, free-floating tactical display.

Counter-measures, evasive maneuvers,

forward weapons, shields... all pre-

programmed in and accessible at the mere

brush of a fingertip across and through the

holographic sequencers. Another step. So

near now. Perhaps only another arm’s length.

Another step. On the periphery of his vision,

Grimlock saw countless missiles streaking towards them, predatory bio-molecular

warheads that multiplied and evolved. Another-

‘You might move faster,’ observed Perceptor, as he strode in through the

expanding hatchway, waving a hand across the tactical display, ‘if you disengaged

your magno-clamps. Emergency forcefields established themselves right after the

first strike. You’ve had full gravity now for seventy point three five seconds.’

The Hyperwave lurched violently, just as Grimlock chose to test Perceptor’s

assertion. A pre-set evasion pattern twisted them through an immediate series of

sharp, banking turns, each accompanied by the release of thousands of decoy

targets and an almost immediate series of off-ship detonations. The Hyperwave

bucked and rode the shockwaves, and with each turn and impact Grimlock flew

wildly across the auxiliary flight deck, careening off walls and work stations and

every now and then jolting painfully against the emergency forcefield.

And through it all, Perceptor calmly surveyed the tactical readouts and displays,

noting that below in the battle bay Springer and Swoop were returning fire with all

plasma cannons. All they had done, he nevertheless concluded, was buy

themselves a few precious moments. Their attackers were too numerous, too

highly adaptive, and long-range sensors were picking up more on an inbound

intercept course.

It was really only a matter of time before they were blown to kingdom come.

****

Many millions of light years away, on a metal world formerly known as Pyrovar,

Soundwave was doing what he did best: listening. Some years before, Galvatron II

had established his command center here, building a colossal fortress that spanned

an entire continent and was clearly visible from outer space. Pyrovar, its indigent

population either wiped out or enslaved, had been re-named New Cybertron.

Now, in the Grand Forum, a vast open hall protected by a fiery energy dome, the

future of the Decepticon race was being hotly debated. The destruction of

Galvatron II had left the usual power vacuum, but rather than - as had been the

tradition in the past - various would-be leaders jockeying to seize control, it

currently seemed no one really wanted the job.

Of course, that didn't stop everyone and his mecho-minder having an opinion.

On the one hand, Shrapnel advocated continuing the war on a guerrilla basis,

isolating and seizing the Autobots' remaining stores of energon in a series of

lightning raids. Fine in principle, except that the Autobots had their own energy

crisis, and they were hardly likely to leave their precious energon bunkers

unguarded. If indeed, they hadn't already moved them to new, secure locations.

Stormfront, one of the surviving members of Galvatron II's elite guard, wanted

immediate and bloody retribution, an all-out assault on Cybertron itself and

Optimus Prime's head on a spike. He was largely ignored, everyone but him united

in a tacit understanding that in days, if not hours, his head would be the one on a

spike. Stormfront was a bitter reminder to one and all of how much Pinea Omicron

had cost them.

The whispered urgings of Mantissa, chief scientific advisor to the council, had

engendered a certain level of excitement and support. Her scheme involved

invasive nanotechnology, spread by a self-replicating virus carried in living hosts.

The idea was to infect Autobot prisoners of war and then, in a supposed gesture of

goodwill, send them home. The problem was that no one quite knew how to

prevent the nano-plague spreading to Decepticons.

One after the other, Sabrejaw, Mindgame and Killzone took the floor, the

strategies veering wildly from rabid to labyrinthine to apocalyptic. And underlying

it all, a palpable desperation, a sense of crushing inevitability. As a race, they were

staring extinction squarely in the face, and beyond the Grand Forum ground roots

support was gathering for a splinter faction calling themselves Predacons. They

advocated unconditional surrender to the Autobots, a pooling of resources, an

extended time of gathering and secret re-building.

As quietly as he had arrived, Soundwave slipped away. He had heard enough.

Only one being could preserve the Decepticon race and guarantee their future.

****

'The vast gulfs of nothingness that made up the wilderzones yawned before us,

huge and endlessly dark. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

'Our Hyperwave cut through the void, weaving and dipping, turning and plunging.

All to no avail. The predatory horde in pursuit simply matched us move for move,

pushing us harder and faster, bombarding our shields and depleting our weapons

and counter- measures. Wave after wave of morphing, predatory shapes swept in,

gathering for the kill...'

Grimlock paused, considering. Too flowery? Probably. And what's more, he

hadn't spent several million years building a reputation as being surly, taciturn and

grammatically challenged to blow it all in an overly elegaic epitaph. He pressed

erase, and cleared his vocal actualisers...

'We try to escape but no deal, too many bogeys, too fast. We give good account of

ourselves, though, and-'

'Grimlock,' boomed Blaster over the ship's comm system, 'aren't you done with

that recording yet? Load the freakin' S.A.D. pod, and get up here. There's

something you need to see.'

Pausing only to shoot the offending -and now silent -comm pad a thunderous look,

Grimlock closed the input dock and shunted the Sensory! Analytical Data pod into

the missile silo. Disguised as a Starpedo, it would be launched with the next salvo.

The idea was, attacking ships would simply assume it had missed its target and

failed to detonate. Thereafter, it would continue on its merry way back towards

Cybertron. Once it was within sensor range, it would begin broadcasting a distress

signal and -hopefully- be retrieved.

Of course, by then they would all be free-floating space dust, but at least it would

alert others, and provide some tactical data on both this region of space and their

mysterious attackers.

Re-entering the main battle bay, Grimlock found Perceptor displaying

uncharacteristic agitation, a state indicated in its entirety by one solitary finger

tap- tapping on the stellar mapping console at which he stood. Swoop, Blaster and

Springer were gathered around him, staring up at the huge forward display screen.

Grimlock stared too. Stared hard.

'Me see nothing,' he snorted after several moments. The Hyperwave then bucked

several times, buffeted by shielded impacts, but by now these 'almost' impacts

were becoming commonplace. Only the onboard computer reacted, warning them

that counter-measures had failed, and shields were now down to fifteen percent.

They ignored it, everyone aboard knew they were just one or two direct hits from

oblivion.

'That's just it,' replied Perceptor, when the Hyperwave had settled once more,

'there's nothing. And there should be.

Pulling up a holographic display, Perceptor indicated the extrapolated flight path

of a comet he'd dubbed Progeny, their sole companion through this otherwise

barren sector of space. 'Based on Progeny's trajectory it should currently be here,

210,897 solar reks off our starboard bow. It's gone.'

'Destroyed?', queried Grimlock, not seeing at all where this was going.

'I don't think so,' replied Perceptor. 'There'd be trace evidence, energy fallout,

something. 'No. I think it's cloaked. '

This time Grimlock made no effort to conceal his scorn. 'A cloaked comet? Me

heard everything now. We seconds from big shutdown and best science officer can

come up with is this. We doomed.'

Perceptor's finger tap-tapped restlessly again. 'No, hear me out. The comet is

behind the cloak. That empty sector of space you're looking at, I don't believe it's

empty at all. I think our sensors are being deceived by an immensely sophisticated

holospore projection. There's something there. We just can't see it.'

Another huge series of blasts rocked the Hyperwave, the force slamming them

forwards. 'Hull compromised, sections omicron and theta aft, delta port, epsilon

starboard.' screeched the computer as energy feedback blew off panel covers and

emergency lighting painted them red. Smoke billowed in through nearby

ventilation ducts.

'Set a course,' ordered Grimlock. 'We go see where that freaky comet of yours

gone...'

The Hyperwave banked and turned, trailing debris from its shattered

superstructure. Its engines flared bright and rocketed it forward into the yawning

emptiness ahead. Behind the craft, the attacking ships slowed and

dropped into holding positions.

'They're not following us in,' Blaster confirmed.

Grimlock just snorted. 'Why me not reassured by that.' 'Energy distortion,'

reported Perceptor, indicating the screen, where space seemed to have become

twisted, pulled out of shape. It stretched, yawned, and then...

They stared. It was beyond words, beyond easy comprehension. There was a

distinct, staggered pause before their minds caught up with and could begin to

interpret what their eyes were seeing:

An impossibly vast network of almost identical metal planets, stretching in all

directions as far as the eye - and even the Hyperwave's long-range sensors -could

see, each connected to the other in a massive three- dimensional web. The

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

AlignmentbySimonFurmanBook1Whattheyneeded,Grimlockdecided,wasaUnicron.Thiswasnotasuddenconclusion.IncommonwithmostalloftheDinobotcommander’ssomewhatrareinsights,thisundertakinghadinvolvedlonghours,days,weeksevenofpainstakingdeliberation.Grimlockwasnotstupid,andnotslow,Indeed,inbattlehisspeed,judgmen...

展开>> 收起<<

Simon Furman - Alignment.pdf

共43页,预览10页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

Simon Furman - Alignment

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: