"Rioteers! Prepare for assault!"

Thunderwing stood at the door of the transport, obviously mixed in his feelings. On the one side, he probably found it degrading to be leading a group of ground-pounders, being a flyer and, if rumors were true, something in the incomprehensible line of nobility from a minor (but still globally active and not-inconsequential) orbital city state whose lot had been thrown in with Megatron and the Tarn Survivors.

On the other side, he would be leading those ground-pounders into combat, and Thunderwing was nothing if not eager for the carnage to begin.

For the past six quarteces, Bludgeon had been inducted into the army Megatron had formed. His old comrade had made many places high in the pecking order for his closest friends and confidants . . . but none of them had walked away from the illegal pit fights as Bludgeon had. Megatron didn't seem to trust someone who could speak so eloquently and passionately about combat and fighting, but who didn't care about it enough, it seemed, to stick with it all the way, as he had.

Bludgeon didn't care. He suspected that he wouldn't enjoy all the planning Megatron and his cabal were involved in. Besides, Bludgeon had decided to limit himself and his ambitions after choosing to follow the way of the Ultimate Warrior, the mysterious--and as far as most Cybertronians knew, nonexistant--style of combat called Metallikato. And so, he was merely another professional soldier in the so-called Decepticon Army. His skills and experience allowed him access to the elite ground unit, the Rioteers, but beyond that, he wasn't really special.

So far as anyone knew.

But Bludgeon had been surprised when he reached the Rioteers to learn that he wasn't the only one who had been trained by a martial arts master, even as abortive as his training had been. In retrospect, it shouldn't have: the Decepticons seemed to attract a few certain personalities, and among them would be those, like him, who had been more than interested in a Cybertronian's more violent pursuits, and had dedicated their lives to their study. And training under a master meant you were at least a cut above the regulars and irregulars an army would absorb, so of course they would be made elite soldiers.

Bludgeon had become acquainted with a few. Enough to learn that none of them had stumbled upon Metallikato as he had. Enough to know that all of them were flawed. Their pursuit of fighting perfection had been shaped and stunted by someone else. As the Ultimate Warrior's precepts stated, "The only teacher is the enemy, and the only enemy is yourself."

"Finally, some real action," another Decepticon muttered excitedly as Thunderwing walked past, noting those who seemed distracted and distant and ensuring that their attention was focused. His neighbors chuckled, letting some nervous tension loose, but Bludgeon wasn't the only one, apparently, who looked upon the speaker with disdain.

"You shouldn't make light," Bugly, another martial artist, called. "We're all about to enter battle. It is the life of the true warrior to be exposed to combat at its most gruesome. It is not something to look forward to, as you do not look forward to recharging cycles. And yet, at the same time, it is the only time a true warrior is ever fully alive."

The speech had the intended effect: the speaker and his pals shut up. Bugly merely grinned. "And if you believe that, you're a fool."

"Perhaps," Bludgeon said. "Combat is what the true warrior lives for. At the same time, he knows just how lethal combat can be, and so any sane individual knows it is best to avoid combat as much as possible. But when it is unavoidable . . . the true warrior thrives."

"And so the true warrior is, perhaps, less than sane?" Bugly's eyes glittered in amusement.

"Of course not. When combat is unavoidable, only the insane would still seek to avoid it."

Bugly reset his vocal emitters, letting out a loud snort. "Foolish. The survival instinct is not irrational."

"I didn't say it was. But when combat is unavoidable, the survivor seeks to end the combat, to end his enemies. Or else he does not survive."

Bugly stared at Bludgeon, his expression slowly sliding towards uncertainty. "I have never heard of such a philosophy."

"And why should you? You have been avoiding conflict. Only by embracing it could you achieve the understanding I have."

"Who was your master?"

"'The only teacher is the enemy.'"

"That isn't an answer, we've had no enemy until recently."

Bludgeon smiled. "Haven't we? Life is conflict for the true warrior. There can be no conflict without opposition, and no opposition without an enemy."

Bugly studied Bludgeon as the transport began to slow. Soon, the Rioteers would be dispersed among the combat zone. "You are dedicated." Bludgeon nodded. "As am I. I propose a trade--"

"No. No trade. You must dedicate your life and spark to my art to learn anything. A simple trade would be insufficient." It was mostly true, and besides, Bludgeon wasn't interested in wasting time learning a new martial art. Metallikato was more than enough for him, now.

Before Bugly could respond, the transport stopped, and Thunderwing shouted "Rioteers, attack!" and those closest to the doors spilled out, firing their weapons, or transforming and rolling away at speed. Thunderwing glanced back at the stragglers and ordered them to "Hop to it!" before jumping out himself, transforming, and circling the battleground.

Before Bludgeon exited the transport, Bugly grabbed him by the arm. Bludgeon was not in the mood. He spun around, away from Bugly's grip, and whipped out his leg, connecting just above Bugly's knee. He collapsed to the ground, his hands keeping him up, barely. "I am not your enemy, but I can teach you more pain."

Bugly just grunted in pain, at first. As Bludgeon was stepping out of the transport, he heard, in a strained voice, "I can show you what you could not imagine!"

"Oh?" Bludgeon turned around.

Bugly was on his knees, his hands clasped before his chest. He began to hum.

And his hands began to glow.

Lines of electrical power began to spiral and spread down his legs, webbing and snapping violently. In moments, the lightning-like display surrounded Bugly, growing in intensity if not brightness.

Finally, they snapped away from him, as Bugly pushed his fists at Bludgeon. They were several spans away from him . . . but that made no matter to his lightning bolts. They shot forward, toward the object he aimed at, instantly. They reached a lightpole, enveloped it, and it exploded. Bugly seemed to have wilted, the effort obviously too much for him--or Bludgeon's kick had injured him greatly. Perhaps both.

Bludgeon stared impassively at Bugly, as though he had not noticed the spectacle. In truth, he had, of course. But he was not impressed.

His left hand closed into a fist, a mere handspan from his torso. His right hand slapped flat against his fist, as though he were pushing it. Which, in a way, he was.

The way of the Ultimate Warrior was not merely a physical combat style. It included methods of energy manipulation, similar to what Bugly had just done. Probably Circuit-Su, Bludgeon thought. The electrical web pattern was similar to the effect described by a master in an old datatrax Bludgeon had read while researching martial arts. But it was nothing compared to what a master of Metallikato could do.

There was no silly display to alert the target of the attack. Instead, Bludgeon merely stood, straight as the lightpole had been before Bugly's wasted attack, his hands folded or pressed against the other, for a handful of astroseconds.

And then he pushed his own hands forward, opening his left hand as he did so. This time, a ball of light as large as his torso erupted from the palms of his hands.

It, too, hit what he aimed at. But Bludgeon did not aim at some object behind or beside his opponent.

He aimed at Bugly.

The force tore him from the floor, and he bounced against the back wall of the transport . . . but the back wall was opened like the one Bludgeon had walked through. Half of Bugly was caught on the bulkhead as he flew, then he began to swing through the door, and he kept swinging as long as he was in the air.

Bludgeon nodded in satisfaction. Then he turned away from the transport--

And directly into Thunderwing's chestplate. "Don't waste your effort on your comrades-in-arms! Attack the enemy!"

Bludgeon nodded. "Yes, sir."

"I don't want to see this happen again, do you understand?"

"I don't think it will ever have to, sir."

Thunderwing stared. "Very well. Be grateful I don't send you to collect him, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, ATTACK THE ENEMY!"

And that's just what he did.

Later, after the recall order had been issued, and the Rioteers regrouped moving to another combat zone in Megatron's impenetrable overall strategy, everyone gave Bludgeon plenty of room in the transport.

Bludgeon grinned tightly.

As it should be. The Ultimate Warrior was never well loved by his inferiors.

END OF PART FOUR