Kree Fox
by Alexandra "Spitfire" Jones

Rated: PG
Violence, language

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'STATE OF NEW KREE, 2026 AD, ONE ENERGON CHIP.'

The newly minted coin caught my eye, lying amid a heap of other assorted coins on the same rickety table upon which my feet were propped. I shifted my tankard of Enersuds to balance precariously on my knee, and picked up the small, glowing object for closer inspection. I was surprised I still had it.

The energon bar in which I sat, waiting for the spaceport attendants to finish refueling my ship, was located half a galaxy away from the New Kree star system. I had been several weeks since I'd last been there - weeks of steady travel, broken somewhat by the supply raids and political terrorist actions at which my fleet of renegades excelled. All things considered, the coin should have been long-spent, but here it was, winking pale blue against the palm of my hand. It was pretty, by any standard.

Before the tiny sub-tribe known as the Kree left Cybertron to find a planet all their own, they had used this same design on their currency. The modern version of their one-chip coin was exactly the same as the one which had been used millions of years earlier, except for one small detail - the face depicted on the reverse was different. The she-bot known as Klaxon Flameshadow had now been the ruler of New Kree for the past 20 years. She was pictured in profile, her metallic hair ornately braided and a delicate crown of filigree set upon her head: somewhat more formal than her usual appearance, but highly recognizable nevertheless.

I smiled, suddenly remembering how I had briefly encountered Flameshadow on Cybertron when I was a very young Decepticon indeed - a mere hundred years in age. this was a long time before the birth of my somewhat ill-fated ambition to rule the Decepticons, and it was certainly a very long time before Flameshadow's face was imprinted on anyone's money. This was also before the dawn of the Cybertronian wars, and I was in training as a scientific explorer at the time. I was taking my night off in the somewhat dubious company of my comrades Skywarp and Thundercracker, and we headed for the outer fringes of the city where we lived, in search of the usual type of entertainment.

Even now, I could feel the tremor of annoyance jolt through my circuitry at the memory of Thundercracker tugging roughly at my arm and bellowing jubilantly into my audio receptor.

"Ha-ha-ha! You see, Starscream! I told you the she-bot would win! Fork over your bet!"

"Fifty chips apiece, remember?" Skywarp grinned, adding a hearty slap on the wing to my growing list of grievances.

"Hmph!" I scowled disconsolately down at the victor's small figure as she paced triumphantly in the arena below us. "She probably just got lucky." It was true that the match had seemed a foregone conclusion to the point of being a joke. The smallish female robot had been pitted against a hulking Decepticon gladiator who had earned an impressive reputation here in my native state of Vos, and she probably *had* been lucky in the sense that he had understandably underestimated her. That didn't justify the fact that he had been sobbing on his knees in a matter of minutes: he *was* twice her size, after all. I swore quietly, still struggling to comprehend what I had just seen, along with the fact that I was considerably poorer than I had been when I came in.

I wasn't alone in my sentiments. Judging by the expressions of those around me, I guessed that ninety percent of the crowd had made exactly the same mistake. The poorly lit, enclosed arena reeked with stale exhaust fumes produced by too many robotic bodies crammed wing-tip to fender into too small a space, and it rang with the sound of energon chips changing hands.

"Fuel" sports were not precisely legal, but were overwhelmingly popular and always drew a large and enthusiastic audience, particularly in the darker districts of the Decepticon cities. The games, like this arena itself, existed in glorious defiance of the fact that this pre-war period would later be acclaimed as the fabled "Golden Age" of Cybertron's history. Violence and squalor were the rule here, not the exception. (But I digress from my tale.)

The winner of this particular match was a member of a tiny and almost unknown tribe called the Kree, who lived encased in an urban fortress on the opposite side of the planet. Little was known about them save that they weren't talkative, though local folklore had given them the stature of supernatural beings. The more credibly rumours stated that they possessed a magical sphere with powers equivalent to those of the Autobot's creation matrix, the bearer or which was revered as a god. *Goddess,* I should say, since the Kree were also supposed to be matriarchal. As far as I was concerned at the time, the whole business was about as cosmic as a barrel of crankcase sludge. Yet, as I watched this particular specimen, all the mystical nonsense seemed perfectly believable.

Female Cybertronians were something of a rarity, though I had met a scant few. These had struck me as being weak, contemptible creatures, ruled by a sickening, syrupy sort of do-goodism. This one obviously wasn't. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other curled about the shaft of her shimmering energy lance, and seemed to be involved in a scalding argument with the referee. She carried herself with the impudent grace of one trained to entertain, her head held high and her pointed animal ears flattened back along it. Her frame was deceptively slender, and painted a deep shade of charcoal-silver. White-chrome hair fell about her shoulders in shining, shaggy waves, and more of the same material had been used to detail her face with frosty metallic brows and lashes. She exuded an aura of elemental power, and everything about her commanded respect.

I stared at her, fascinated.

"Ahem! Admiring the view, Starscream?"

I started at the sound of Thundercracker's deep, gravely voice. Skywarp appeared at my elbow, ominously silent, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What?"

"You owe us, jet-boy: or had you forgotten?"

My mind raced. I *had* forgotten. I had also forgotten, in the hear of proposing a wager which I had felt certain of winning, that I didn't have a hundred energon chips - or anything *like* that amount - in my possession. Things could get very ugly for me if I didn't think fast.

"Ahhh..." I stalled, "it looks as if she's about to speak." The she-bot had indeed taken a position in the center of the ring, and was signaling for silence. The crowd quieted somewhat, and she spoke in a cool, reverberant tone which carried to the far corners of the shadowy building.

"Good evening, Decepticons. I certainly hope that *he* wasn't the best your state could offer." This statement was met with a deep grumble of malcontent on the part of the audience. The gladiator smiled wryly. "It seems that certain individuals, including your Arbiter, aren't prepared to consider my victory official. For this reason I choose to use my prerogative to issue a General Challenge: anyone who feels that he has the chassis for it is invited to come down here and try to best me, one on one. Any takers?"

Silence fell like a thunderclap.

Skywarp snickered. "No one wants to go," he said smirkingly to Thundercracker.

"I don't blame them," he replied. "Look what happened to the last guy!"

"Yeah, but I bet that little she-bot could help us get ol' Screamy here to pay up." The black-and-lavender jet continued to cackle irritatingly.

Thundercracker scratched his temple thoughtfully. "It'd be fun to watch all right, but we'd have a real problem collecting the dough if she killed him or something."

"*Killed me,* or something?" I bristled. "What do you think I am?"

"Well," Thundercracker answered slowly, "to be perfectly honest, Starscream..."

"Yes?" I prompted sweetly. "*Do* go on."

"To be perfectly honest, the she-bot would probably slay you in ten seconds flat, and then die laughing." The blue-and-white jet turned. "Hey Skywarp, what do you think? Is this guy a wimp, or what?"

"Huh? Oh - yes, definitely. Starscream couldn't fight his way out of a--"

I silenced him with a withering glare. "In case neither of you ignorant proletarian louts has noticed, the she-bot's victory will be utterly null and void unless someone challenges her within the next 15 seconds. When that fails to happen, you will officially owe me the sum of fifty energon chips. So, why not shut up and pay me in advance?"

A strong pair of hands grasped the scruff of my neck.

"Her victory's perfectly legit," Thundercracker grated. *You* are going to challenge her, Screecher!"

"HA!"

"Don't laugh - you'll be happy to pay us once she's through with you, and in the unlikely event that you win, we'll be more than happy to let what's left of you off the hook for the chips." Thundercracker's tone registered low cunning.

"Right! and what if I happen to refuse, Blundercracker?"

Skywarp answered that one, giving my wing a painful tug as he spoke. "If you refuse, we'll roll your deltas up *real* small, and shove 'em up your afterburners."

"Oh! Well! Since you put it in such eloquent terms..."

I spun quickly into the air and transformed, an ability which is common to all Cybertronians. It gives us the option of assuming the form of a land or air vehicle - in my case, that of a sleek, twin-engined air fighter. I circled the arena once and landed, dramatically reassuming my humanoid form as I set down. "Allow me to introduce myself," I began.

Startled, the she-bot spun to face me, lance at the ready.

I executed a sweeping bow. "I am Starscream, of the state of Vos. I would be, er, honoured, to do battle with you."

She arched a silver eyebrow. "You would, would you?" She seemed surprisingly unimpressed, sizing me up with a dispassionate gaze and drawing her conclusions without comment. I found it an explicitly uncomfortable sensation, though I admit that I was doing something similar myself. Her appearance had a disturbing effect on me.

The corner of her mouth curved in a smile. "Starscream of the state of Vos," she quoted drolly. "I think it's fair to warn you that I didn't get to where I am now by going easy on anyone: tempting as it can be when it comes to pretty young lads like you. I will accept your surrender without question, but will give no quarter under any other circumstances. Do you understand?"

"Uh - sure."

Her fleeting expression of pity didn't distress me nearly as much as it should have.

"Very well then, Decepticon. My name is Klaxon Flameshadow, of the state of Kree. It pleases me to make your acquaintance."

Her lance caught me squarely in the mid-section and dumped me inelegantly on my backside. I let out a yelp of terror as she pounced: I rolled out of the path of her spitting weapon just in time. "AAAAGH! Stop! I'm not armed, bitch!"

She paused. "You challenged my unprepared?"

"No kidding!" I scrambled gracelessly to my feet. "I don't know how things work where you come from, but this joint has a *rule* about people who walk in the door armed to the optic sensors."

Humour flickered behind her optic sensors as she motioned to an attendant at the edge of the ring, and he hurried forward with a lance similar to the one that she was using. "An odd custom indeed," she murmured, handing the weapon to me. I seized it and slashed viciously at the side of her head. She ducked smoothly, and energon sprayed suddenly from a deep gash in my leg. I howled, my pain dimmed by rage and frustration, and struck back blindly.

My weapon bit deeply into her shoulder, and I listened with savage pleasure to the jangle of breaking muscle cables. Hot fuel spattered on my hands and on to the dust, filling the air with the heady scent of battle. My senses sang with it as I lunged at her, poised, I thought, for the kill.

A series of blows rained on me with swift, relentless precision. I stumbled backwards, but then spotted an opening in her line of defense and plunged into it. The butt of her lance smashed into my vulnerable midriff and I fell, pinning my crippled leg cruelly under my weight. The Kree launched herself at me, shifting her body's configuration in midair before slamming into my chest and knocking me down on my back.

A nightmare face gazed down into mine, grinning jaws opened wide to reveal long rows of flashing, jagged fangs. It took me a moment to comprehend that what I was seeing was the gladiator's alternative form, that of an alien, four-legged predator. I could feel her claws scraping my chest open to the bare metal, but quickly found that I had more to fear from the brute than a mere ruined paint job. Her teeth caught hold of my throat, sinking through layers of protective armour as though they were made of tissue gauze. Terror seized my sprit: I screamed.

The pitiless fangs held me for several interminable minutes, ever increasing their pressure until I wasn't even able to cry out. My dying consciousness became centered around the tightening steel vise of her jaws, and I found myself weeping in terror as I awaited the rending tug that would tear out my throat and end my life.

And then, she released me. The relief was almost unbearable. I fell backwards into the dust, the arena lights spinning in crazy circles in front of my fuel-starved optics.

"Starscream?" A voice spoke, jolting me back to reality. The awful animal face was bent over mine, its muzzle dripping with pink energon, though it's angular features were strangely touched with concern. "Give," it said softly."

Tension crackled in the air around us. I could feel everyone's optics on me, watching, waiting for me to throw myself upon her mercy. The thought seemed intolerable.

"NO!!"

I smashed my elbow into her as hard as I could. Flameshadow recoiled, flipped through the air for a short distance and transformed reflexively upon hitting the ground. Her body twitched spasmodically, and then she lay very still, pale blue energon seeping in sluggish rivulets into the dust. I stood up, staring in elated astonishment as I realized that *I had won!* For my victory to be considered official, the Kree would have to either surrender or be proven dead. I limped closer, wondering which of the two would bring me greater satisfaction.

Her leg snaked out and slammed forcefully into the backs of my knees. By the time it occurred to me to feel shocked, I was lying on my back and studying the lighting catwalks which criss-crossed the shadowed ceiling. The heated tip of an energon knife pressed against my mangled neck.

"Starscream."

I shuddered, expecting her to drive the blade in and put an end to me. She didn't, but she didn't draw the weapon back either. "Surrender *now!* Don't make me kill you."

Rage and stinging humiliation surged into my manifold. "How *dare* you offer me compassion, she-bot? A quick death would be easier than *this!*"

She shook her head gently. "If I really thought you meant that, you'd be dead now. You may be a proud young fellow, but life means too much to you to give it up so easily. That much shows in the way you fight."

"Go to hell," I spat.

"Well, all right, if that's the way you really want it..." She raised the blade with a swift, purposeful stroke, preparing to ram it into the side of my head.

"No! Nooo! I surrender! I give up! *Please....*" I lay trembling, appalled, my voice nothing more than a harsh sob.

Flameshadow laughed, and I watched with undisguised relief as she put the knife away. She rose, tucking her lance in the crook of her elbow. "I thought so, my dear. Don't feel too bad. You did a lot better than I did on my first try in the arena, believe me. You'll be a great warrior someday, if your pride doesn't kill you first."

I sat up slowly, every inch of my body crying out in pain. The gaze of the crow burned down on my like a furnace of crushing shame as I struggled agonizingly to rise. My injured leg wouldn't cooperate. I sank back on my haunches, choking and swearing.

Flameshadow extended a hand to me in a gracious offer of assistance. "Let me help you, Starscream of Vos."

"Take an acid bath, she-bot," I hissed. Fuel welled up in my throat, making further speech impossible.

She smiled. "Your pride probably will kill you, but - good luck all the same, Decepticon." She turned and walked away, leaving me sitting wretchedly in the dust, alone.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Er - excuse me, but this is New Kree currency." The cashier leaned back across the bar with an air of scathingly courteous disdain, handing back the blue coin I had proffered.

"So what? Count your blessings, creep. I don't always offer to pay for my drinks!"

"This money is utterly worthless, sir. This star system doesn't honour cash or goods from any planet which patronizes space pirates."

"Oh, is that a fact? I must say that's very commendable. It's high time someone put renegades like Starscream and his Phantom Fleet out of commission."

The guy smiled wanly, confirming my suspicion that he didn't have the faintest clue as to who I was. "Yes, quite," he said. "Can you offer me a more *appropriate* form of payment, sir?"

I tweaked the blue coin from between his fingers and replaced it with a couple of my "special" counterfeit Galactic Standards. "Keep the change, my dear fellow. I wouldn't want anyone to think that I was in the habit of putting "worthless" money over on people. Bad for the rep - y'know?"

I cackled with laughter as I sauntered out the door, flipping the coin playfully from hand to hand and thinking that this was the most fun I'd had since getting kicked out of the Decepticons.

It wasn't, really. My career of "piracy," as the cashier had put it, had so far been a riot in more ways than one. It made me wonder why I'd bothered joining the Decepticon military in the first place. I gazed at the portrait stamped on the energon chip for a moment, and smiled. "Good luck, all the same," I muttered, and placed the little coin inside my cockpit canopy where it would be safe from prying eyes. Sometimes luck comes in the strangest forms. I had no intention of losing mine.

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