Beast Wars Anonymous:

"This session of the Vok will come to order," the chairman said. The Voka of the member planets of the Vok looked austere and dignified. The Firedancer, Shadon, and Kryll spoke quietly among themselves, as did the Frost, Palan, and Quyrr. Above them all stood the chairman, an ethereal and enigmatic Creator. "What is the first order of business?"

The Firedancer stood. "I request recognition from the Creator."

"Recognition is granted."

The Firedancer pointed accusingly at the Frost. "Once again has Firedancer shipping been disrupted by Frost piracy. It is the opinion of the Firedancer Confederacy that we should resolve this conflict peacefully." That drew a short laugh from the Frost Voka, a laugh that was quickly cut off by a glare from the floating skull that was the physical manifestation of the Creator. "If I may continue," the stony faced Firedancer said irritably, "The Firedancer Confederacy feels that, should a peaceful reconciliation be impossible, force should be used to deter Frost piracy."

This time not even the Creator could stop the Frost Voka. She stood and looked towards the Creator. "Shall the Frost Dominion stand idly by while our very freedoms are challenged by the Firedancers? We have taken measures to stop the rogue element among us, but with the Firedancers breathing down our necks we cannot spare enough force to effectively deal with the pirate threat."

"Lies and more lies! Our intelligence indicates that several pirate groups are funded by entities tied to the upper echelons of your government, and you are doing next to nothing to eliminate the other groups."

"Enough!" the Creator boomed. "The Vok will not tolerate such infighting."

"The Vok has done nothing to protect our shipping interests!" the Firedancer returned with equal vehemence.

"Nor the sanctity of our borders," the Frost said, considerably calmer.

"If I may suggest an alternative?" The Myap Voka was a tall, willowy being with skin that shone with a faint glow whenever he moved. His race kept themselves carefully neutral, surviving not on military but economic conquest. "Perhaps the Creators, in their wisdom, could look into this?"

Both Voka stopped. This was not the desired result, the last thing anyone wanted was for the Creators to examine their races. That had happened to the Lemar and Atlanteans. They no longer had seats on the council, their races becoming slaves to the Creators.

The Firedancer stuttered nervously, finally biting out, "That is not necessary. I'm sure the Frost Voka and I can come to an agreement?" He looked at the Frost Voka hopefully.

"I believe we may be able to."

Both knew nothing would happen, but anything was better than examination by the Creators.

"Excellent," the Creator said. "Now on to the report on our project."

He still referred to it as the project, although now it had been cancelled. Cancelled because of the inorganics, those abominations. The Myap had done some research, and had discovered that their planet, Cybertron, was going through the throes of its third civil war, a war that the faction known as Decepticons were winning. The fact that the entire planet was inorganic was interesting, but even more interesting was the leader of the inorganics contaminating the project. When scanned, his memory banks showed knowlege of the war, but as an object of history. His memory banks contained bits of facts from four million years subsequent to the present day. That raised some interesting, and alarming, possibilities.

The Myap Voka cleared his throat, then spoke in his calm, almost hypnotic voice. "An interesting development. The prodigal returned home."

The Creator seemed to have expected this. "He became Predacon again, handing the disks over to Megatron."

"Only the human disk. In addition, he rejoined the Maximals soon afterwards."

A brief pause was the Creator's only indication of surprise. "Rejoined them? That is unexpected. Does not history declare that he will eliminate humanity?"

"So our sources indicate." As the Myap spoke the Frost arched a pale blue eyebrow. The Creators displayed a knowlege of past and future events that were unrivaled, aspects of their non-corporeal existance. With such power, she often wondered if they were not simply using the member races of the Vok as pawns.

"So, will he?"

The Myap shrugged his elegant shoulders. "It is possible that his act of giving Megatron the disk will cause their destruction. As you know, more forces than just the Humans and Megatron carved images onto that disk. You're descendants . . ."

"Our descendants are of little importance," the Creator interrupted with a warning glare. The Frost Voka noticed, and her suspicions grew.

"But with the disk, Megatron could conceivably alter . . ."

"Even should Megatron be the most intelligent member of his race, which he is not, he would not be able to grasp the concepts involved."

"Do not underestimate their intelligence," the Myap warned.

"Enough!" the Creator demanded. "The project will be relocated and the Earth with be sterilized."

"They survived our first sterilization, and the one called Rhinox was able to reclaim all the fallen but two of the stupider ones."

"Luck."

The Frost Voka and the Firedancer Voka both decided they were tired of the Creator and Myap's argument.

"It seems to me . . ."

"It would appear . . ."

Both stopped and looked at each other. The Frost Voka arched an eyebrow, and the Firedancer nodded.

"It would appear," the Frost Voka continued, "That the Creator has decided they are no threat. Thus, we should eliminate them as planned, and cease this foolish argument."

"I concur with the Frost Voka," the Firedancer said irritably. He was not happy being forced to agree with the Frost.

The Creator nodded his floating head. "Indeed, the argument is pointless. We will continue with plan Vogon. Anything else?" No one moved. "Excellent. There will be a short recess."

As the Frost and the Firedancer rose, they kept their eyes locked on each other, as if to remind the other that somehow, someway, they would crush the other.

Tigatron stood motionless, looking around him with clear optics, his face devoid of any expression. The stones remained motionless as well, sentinels in the darkness. Tigatron almost felt like he could sense life in them, power emanating out of the hard surface.

"There is something here that I do not understand," he whispered softly to them. "Teach me what I'm looking for."

The stones did not answer.

"What am I supposed to look for? What powers created you?"

"Talking to yourself?"

Tigatron glanced behind him at Airazor. He had been aware of her approach for the past few minutes, despite her attempts at stealth.

"A good day to you, my lady," he said with a smile. He had taken to calling her that since they had been on the floating island together. It was his rather mischevious tribute to chivalry.

"And a good day to you," she returned, echoing his smile. "I thought I might find you here."

"Oh? And why is that?"

She giggled. "You might be able to be all enigmatic and mysterious around Optimus, but don't think I'm fooled that easily. You're always coming here."

"I am, aren't I."

"I don't know why you do it, though."

Tigatron frowned. "To tell you the truth, neither do I. Something about this place calls to me . . . curiosity I guess."

"Well, you know what they say about curiosity."

Tigatron grinned now. "I have no intention of letting that happen."

Airazor shielded her optics from the sun with her hand and looked up at the stones. "So, have you learned anything?"

"Only that there's a lot more to learn."

Airazor sighed. "That seems to be the answer you always give."

Tigatron merely nodded, reaching out and touching the stones with a hand, letting his fingertips run down the side.

From the darkness, two blood red optics watched him with blazing hatred.

Enigma had not always hated everyone. He had, in fact, only begun a few stellar cycles ago. Yet the personality fit him like a glove. He had always been a natural actor, and it was terrifyingly simple to allow a cruel and hateful character to cease being a character and become himself.

Of course, being heartless had its benifits. For one thing, he had not experienced emotional pain in quite some time, there being no good feelings in him to injure. Physical pain was still there, but that only strengthened his twisted soul. He considered himself to be the perfect creature.

He knew he was wrong, but he could not afford to admit it.

Right now his hatred was turned down to the dull blaze that was always in the background. He had no particular animosity towards either Tigatron and Airazor, just the cruelty he felt towards all living creatures. In fact, he knew next to nothing about them. His purpose at the moment was to change that.

Over a thousand years ago, four million years in the future, a great human general had given the first rule of war. Know your enemy, and know yourself. The first step was knowing your enemy. Enigma narrowed his optics, the servos on the death's head mask that covered his face narrowing in perfect synchronization, as if his mask were his actual face. Tigatron and Airazor were definitely enemies.

Enigma had already discovered one thing about Tigatron, he was obsessed with this planet. Not only the planet, but also the mysterious aliens that had visited. He was indeed an intriguing Maximal, far more intriguing than the one beside him. As far as Enigma could tell, Airazor only cared about Tigatron and the Maximals, in that order.

No, it was the tiger who was interesting. A puzzle Enigma would enjoy solving. Then Tigatron would die.

The Firedancer Voka maneuvered himself to block the hallway in front of the Frost Voka. She stopped in front of him.

"Are you attempting to intimidate me, Firedancer?" she asked icily.

"I am attempting to catch you alone so I may discuss something of galactic import," he ground out.

"I am alone now. What is it you wish to say?"

"I am concerned about the state of Terra, called Earth. The Creators, in their wisdom, have chosen to withold information about the inorganic infestation."

The Frost smiled coldly. "I do not trust the Creators. Neither do you. Let us drop the facade of respect for them."

The Firedancer narrowed his eyes. "You speak what some would consider treason."

"You agree with me."

"You're taking a chance. If I wished I could report you, and destroy you."

The Frost nodded, the smile still on her face. "You have already placed yourself under suspicion by seeking out my company, a sworn enemy. If we are to talk treason, let us do it. Otherwise stop wasting my time."

"You are very bold."

"I have to be."

"Very well. The Creators are hiding things from us."

"So?"

"So we need insurance. In case the Creators are planning to doublecross us all."

"Insurance such as this project they keep talking about."

The Firedancer nodded. "With our two nations working together, we could deny the project to the Creators."

The Frost considered, then shook her head. "The Frost cannot help at this time. Good day."

The Firedancer blinked. "But . . ."

"Good day."

Once she was out of sight, the Frost took out a secure communicator. "This is the Voka. Patch me in to interstellar command."

Blackarachnia moved into the circle of stones when the night was at its darkest. She seemed at home in the night, a stunning and seductive vision as the moonlight played across her yellow and black figure. The shadows swirled around her, almost magical as they enhanced the aura of mystery that surrounded her, softening the curves of her feminine figure. She skirted the shadows of the stones, avoiding any bright patches where the moonlight shone through the clouds above.

Enigma nearly did not notice her. Once he did, however, all it took was one look. The realization started in his gut and rippled through him with enough force to make him draw a quick breath. In that instant, Enigma realized in her something he had never seen in anyone else.

Once he had named it, another shock shot through him. It was impossible, incredible, yet it was true. In every way Blackarachnia was a double of him, he could see it in the way she carried herself, the way she moved. The data he had gathered on her showed nothing of this, the misguided fools who collected such data did not know what to look for.

He noticed her figure only in passing, a small part of his mind realizing that she was gorgeous. Such things did not matter to Enigma. He lingered for a bit on her face, the cold sneer, the fine nose, but even here he did not truly look. Then he looked into her optics. He gazed into them, careful that she could not see him. They were black, a fitting color for such a dark lady, and they were filled with evil and cruelty. She was perfect, absolutely perfect.

She turned and stared at him. Enigma ducked back, certain that she had not seen him. Rather, she had felt him, felt his eyes on her, as all creatures of the night do. In the darkness, you had to sense danger, not see it. He was also not surprised when, despite not having seen anything out of the ordinary, she moved straight towards his hiding place. He could have hidden so she would never find him, but he did not.

Blackarachnia could feel it, a set of optics on her. The sensation was that of an intelligent creature watching her, and yet there was something excitingly animal about it too. She was alone in the night, and in the night it was kill or be killed. The very thought of that gave her a thrill of pleasure, of belonging. And whatever was watching her, it belonged as well. She turned towards where she felt the optics, and saw nothing.

He's good, whoever he is. She allowed herself a slight smile. Very good.

She moved towards where she thought the gaze had come from. A small clump of rocks was a perfect hiding place. She took out her crossbow and loaded it with a quarrel of cyber-venom. Letting her weapon lead, she looked behind the rocks.

She found herself on the receiving end of his plasma rifle, just as he was on the receiving end of her crossbow. She barely noticed the weapon, the weapon was merely an extension of the creature before her. She noticed him, took in all of him, the strong chassis colored in dark shades of purple and gray, the death's head mask that fit over his face seamlessly and moved with his face. She noticed the optics, oh those optics, pools of red fire that captured her the second she looked into them, not with any sort of physical lust, but with a bond fare more powerful than even Tarantulas's former mind link, a bond that cried out We are the same, we belong together, in the night. The sight of him hit her with an almost physical blow, and she could tell that he had felt the same when he had first seen her.

Threats were not necessary, so none were uttered. No one told the other not to move, the two weapons never wavered. Their optics locked, their perceptions narrowed until they were only focused on each other. It was almost a struggle as they gazed at each other, neither one showing weakness by speaking nor looking away.

Blackarachnia was not sure if they gazed at each other for cycles or megacycles. Time meant nothing compared to the tremendous struggle as these two beings of darkness saw each other for the first time. Finally Blackarachnia spoke.

"You were watching me," she said, a bit surprised to find herself speaking barely above a whisper.

"I was. You felt me." His voice was low, almost whispered, yet it carried perfectly across the night air. It carried a cold edge of steel, the hiss of cruelty to it. Blackarachnia found it sensually evil.

"Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" he echoed, mockingly.

Blackarachnia's optics narrowed. "Are you Predacon?"

He smirked. "By programming only. I have no affiliation, nor shall I ever. Megatron is a fool, as you have already discovered."

She did not ask how he dared to assume that, she already knew. He found Megatron a fool, so she would as well.

"How did a Predacon get here?"

Enigma chuckled, a sound that carried with it ideas of death and pain. To Blackarachnia it was soothing. "I was careless, and the Maximals caught me. I was bound for a labor camp when the Axalon was diverted to fight Megatron. How do you come to be here?"

"I am a reprogrammed Maximal."

"You have adapted to your programming well."

Blackarachnia inexplicably felt a thrill at his words, realizing that, to him, this was a great compliment. She mentally commanded her emotions to be silent. "What do you call yourself?" she said stiffly.

"Enigma."

Enigma. It fit him. Hidden, obscured, dark, just as these things meant an enigma they also described Enigma.

She gestured slightly with her crossbow. "Megatron will want to see you."

He gestured with his plasma rifle. "I have no desire to become Megatron's lackey, and you are in no position to force the issue." Enigma knew that they would never shoot each other. Not that they would not try, but they would not succeed.

"Megatron will want a report on you. He will also want to meet with you."

"No." Enigma smiled, a challenge. An obvious challenge.

Blackarachnia lunged forward.

The Firedancer Voka sat in closed chambers with his most trusted advisor and confidante.

"The Frost Voka will try something. She has a plan. One does not skirt treason for nothing. She wanted to hear my proposal."

"What do you think her plans will be?" The advisor sipped some of his fire wine, a drink that Firedancers loved, but which proved destructive to other races.

"I believe she will try to do something with the Creator project . . . but I can't imagine what. You know the Frost, deception is an art form with them."

"Deception can be useful."

The Voka sighed. "Of course, we use deception often. But only to achieve a greater goal. With the Frost it is their own kind of politics. Frost use deception as an end unto itself. It makes them difficult to predict."

"What do we know about the Project?"

"Very little, except it was based on Terra."

"Then perhaps your intelligence division could work on it."

The Voka shook his head. "The Creators have spies everywhere. I cannot trust an organization, even one as secure as intelligence."

"What about a single man? An agent?"

The Voka considered this, and then smiled. "Ah yes. Agent Blaze would be perfect."

The advisor smiled back. "I shall summon him, Voka."

As Blackarachnia lunged Enigma fired his plasma rifle. He needed to fire, it was the logical thing to do, yet he knew he would not hit. Blackarachnia was no longer there. He ducked over the kick she threw at him from her new location, spinning until he faced her. His plasma rifle locked against his side, freeing his hands as he threw punches, all of which were dodged or blocked.

She is amazing. The perfect woman. He grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground, but somehow she landed on her feet and used the momentum to throw him. He hit the ground, rolling backwards and up onto his feet again, a meter away from her.

"Impressive, Blackarachnia," he said in that almost-whisper of his. "Very impressive."

"As is your technique," she replied.

He flipped into a flying kick, slicing through air as she spun out of the way and swung with a karate chop that he, having regained his footing, easily blocked. The next few cycles were a dizzying barrage of punches, kicks, holds, and throws. Finally they both ceased, at the same moment, breathing hard.

"I would not wish to fight you for real, Blackarachnia. You are formidable."

"As are you, Enigma. Very formidable."

Without another word the two parted, vanishing into the night. Enigma smiled.

Megatron quirked an optic ridge at Blackarachnia. "You look as if you have been in a battle."

Blackarachnia smiled. "No. I just slipped."

Megatron frowned. "Really. And where did you slip?"

"Around the forest, why do you care?" She stalked back to her quarters.

"Hmmm. There is more to this than she is telling, yes . . ."

Agent Blaze closed the cockpit on his small, one-man fighter. Capable of moving quickly through space, he was going to have to sneak onto Terra and discover all he could about the Creator's project. He left the secret hanger and the blakcness of space closed around him like a protective shield.

Next stop, Terra.