Read Online The Veiled Threat by Alan Dean Foster - Free Book Online Page A

indeed empty except for the driver. “Where are these authorities? In the pickup truck, perhaps?”
    “Yes, the ‘pickup truck.’ ” Standing up on the floor of the open jeep, Mashivingo turned and yelled toward the rear of the convoy. “Dropkick! This person will not admit us unless you demonstrate your authority!”
    The pickup pulled out of line and came forward. It halted parallel to the jeep, its engine revving loudly. Vashrutha took a couple of steps toward the driver’s side but halted halfway.
    There was no driver. There was no one in the truck’s cab at all.
    Peering over the hood, he raised his weapon warily as he once again addressed the occupants of the jeep. “What kind of game are you playing with me? I will have you all arrested. You have no papers, and now you are making fun of me with this remote-controlled truck.”
    For some reason this produced a rush of laughteramong the men in the jeep. Had Vashrutha taken the time to notice, he would have seen that the driver of the beer truck was shrinking down behind his steering wheel, as if trying to hide himself.
    The laughter died down and the officer in the jeep turned suddenly serious. “The truck is not remote-controlled.”
    “Then who is responsible for it?” the mercenary asked sharply.
    A new voice snapped a reply. “I am responsible for myself, as are all who call themselves Decepticons.”
    Increasingly uneasy, Vashrutha retreated slowly toward the guard hut, holding his rifle out in front of him. “Who—who said that?” The voice seemed to have come from the empty pickup.
    The empty pickup promptly stood up in front of him.
    Side panels unfolded as the rear bed of the vehicle went vertical. Headlights revolved into the body of the machine. Wheels rotated upward toward what became shoulders. I-beams and crankshaft whirled inward. Ignoring the jeep and its clearly amused occupants, Vashrutha’s gaze locked on the mechanical figure that was rising in front of him. It was at once sleek and powerful. And it was looking directly at him.
    “We have no more time for this,” it declared in the same sharp voice that had previously claimed responsibility. “We have much work to do and we require certain materials in order to replenish ourselves. We will take them now.”
    Trembling for the first time in his professional career, Vashrutha trained his gun on the toweringshape. “You—you cannot come in! You do not have papers! Without the proper papers I will not open the gate.”
    Eyes flickering with annoyance met the mercenary’s shaky gaze as the mechanical figure leaned in his direction. “That will not be necessary. I will.”
    Pivoting, Dropkick reached out with both hands. Digging into the metal lattice that was blocking his path, incredibly powerful fingers contracted and then yanked. Sparks flew as alarms were tripped. Wrenching effortlessly, the Decepticon pulled up the gate and threw it aside. Mangled and torn, it smashed into several nearby trees.
    Reflexes took over as Vashrutha attempted to block the unauthorized entry. The rounds from his Kalashnikov spanged harmlessly off the gleaming metal flanks of the mechanical intruder. When he heard the whine of the jeep’s engine, he shifted the muzzle of his weapon toward a more vulnerable target.
    “Halt! I warn you, stop where you are or I will—!”
    An invisible force sucked the rifle from his fingers. Looking sharply to his right, the mercenary found himself gazing openmouthed at a second mechanical figure. In outline and color it was very different from the one that had ripped apart the gate. It was also bigger.
    Glaring down at the solitary human, Macerator popped the automatic weapon he had just snatched from its owner into his mouth, chewed for perhaps a couple of seconds, and then spat. Vashrutha jumped aside as his gun was returned to him. He recognized the crushed, compacted chunk of metal as havingbeen his weapon because a portion of the trigger lay near its surface.
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