CHAPTER 11: Face to Face

SOME WORDS TO KNOW..

Herak -- First generation Prototype ‘seekers’. They are the first of their kind to have alt. modes of flight., Herak from Herakty (Horus of the two horizons)
Vardo –- a wagon; a gypsy wagon.
Quodlibet –- (Kwad-li-bay) He’s a fellow herak under Coronach’s command
Canticle –- (Kant-i-kel) He’s a fellow herak under Coronach’s command
[ ] --Words between brackets [ ] indicate that another language (Delepic) is being spoken.

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Cybertron - Factory town of Kokular; cargo vicinity

"Will ya just not worry?"

Ironhide sighed, putting his hand across his forehead. His sister’s transmission was full of static indicating that her troupe had gone far off course. "There are Quints hidden evrawhere, Steelheart. It’s not some kinda game!"

There was a buzzing noise that sounded a lot like she was being skeptical, but could have just been interference. "Ah never said it was. Look, Ah’ll check back in an astrocycle. You get back ta work a’fore they miss you… you grump."

"Steelhe…" he didn’t get to finish. The transmission clicked off. Ironhide frowned in frustration.

Really, Ironhide was not supposed to be using the company transmitter, but he didn’t have one of his own. He was glad he even had a place to recharge, really. Being a supply clerk did not pay much… but it was better than being a slave. Well anything was better than that. Being dead was bet…

"Ironhide!" His supervisor bellowed.

Backing up quickly and looking as if he was examining his delivery schedule for that astrocycle, the large red transport made a decent attempt at appearing innocent.

His boss, a cranky old mech named Servo, stomped in just at that moment. "Well, what in the Pit is taking you so… oh, you’re re-checking. You need to get your memory circuits serviced, boy. You have to double check more often than any of my other clerks."

"Are they as efficient as me, sir?"

Servo frowned. "Well, no."

"Ah promise, Ah won’t look so often in the future." Ironhide offered contritely.

The supervisor robot huffed. "No, no. Don’t even worry about it. It’s just an old bot’s joints get to acting up… and he’s about ready to crash into the first thing he sees. You know?"

"Not really sir, not being old mahself."

"Well, one of these astrocycles you will be… and then you’ll know." The old mech smiled a moment and then summoned all his authority, "Well? What are you standing around for?! I don’t pay you to have conversations. Get to work!"

"Yes, sir," Ironhide hid his smile until he’d passed Servo.

The hallway to the main landing was still scarred by laser fire. Repairs had been delegated to the high-city Iacon first. Looking at the carbon scoring, the red bot lost his good humor.

Steelheart had always been impetuous. It was perfect for her original assigned function as hazardous materials transport, a certain amount of daring was required in such a femme, but it had not translated over well to freedom. She had a problem with rules, for one.

No matter who seemed to give her an order, if it wasn’t backed up by force or a real threat of some kind, Steelheart simply did not care. She had lost more jobs in one unath than most robots had in their entire lives. Oh, and he’d been completely sure that she’d lose this one as well. She’d signed up to be a guard for a band of Traders who had decided to follow up on rumors of lost colonies of Cybertronians in the remotest regions of the planet.

Never had he kicked himself so hard for being so completely wrong.

In short, she loved her new job. There was very little in the way of rules and she enjoyed busting heads regularly.

She was also in grave danger. The ragtag band of tinkers, mechanics, profiteers, merchants and guards was pushing deep into uncharted territory-- places even those blasted Quints wouldn’t go! He could only imagine what could scare those wretched slave-mongers that mightily. Whatever dwelled in that place must be terrible… and there his sister was in the big middle of it.

He frowned as he made his way to the pick-up station.

Knowing her, she was probably grinning about it too.

.

1

.

Bractos - G9-D4; Dock station
(service and repairs center)

Two curiously brighter stars of the Bractos evening cast multiple shadows of the shuttles resting on the huge tarmac partitions that fenced the route to the repair bay. Clad in vanadium, obviously to prevent the buildup of heat, the cruisers radiated a tremendous amount of glare – especially in the seemingly endless stripes of white photon used to light the terminal. Cyclonus could hardly look at them straight on although it didn’t seem to bother the RX-3 unit much. The drone rolled along ahead pointing the direction in half-vital motions.

The Decepticon lieutenant had been directed here at General Sarterius’ order, but at Metatisic’s petition, and that clearly factored the most. Cyclonus had the emperor’s moment of pardon and not even Sarterius’ passive disdain could refute the privilege. The droids’ operations were automatic: The monarch’s request was law even if the commanding officer believed the action was hasty.

A series of heterodyning chirps from the RX-3 suddenly brought Cyclonus back to the present. It was a trapezium on rollers. Whatever the device lacked in humanoid appearance (and intelligence no doubt) it made up for in utility and in favor of service. It’s synthesizing warbles fluxed sensing the drop in the ramp before it.

Adjoining ports came into view. Terminals visible in the distance wavered in the heat coming up off the docks. The traffic here was thicker even if it was more open to the expanse of the capital. It was clogged with facilitatory class mechanisms of all variety, Sarians, and even more RX-3s. Their Decepticon masters barked orders over the loud theremin drone of it all while above, the megalithic jungles of Bractos climbed in astonishing towering displays. In the twilight, the neon tubes of the trans-way resembled long winding cables of brilliant photon.

The RX-3 peeped again, but this time the droid stopped in front of a hanger just off the first shoulder where a large drilling mech lumbered aside the first chamber. It stood nearly as tall as Devastator and was adorned with huge cryfuse drills that --judging by the look of it to Cyclonus -- could bore solid titanium with ease. Propulsion thrusters, likely designated for fast short range transport to work sites, and a cabin that could accommodate at least 5-6 laborers at a time. It was a brute of a thing. Heavily armored, patently able to withstand a great deal of punishment.

"Identified: RX-3 unit." It spoke in broken mechanical rasps, "Authorization code in progress..time lapsed: 13 astro-seconds..004-893"

"Oh, that’s alright, X8-forty." Another mech stepped in front of the beast contraption. Visibly a Decepticon, the archaic sentinel wasn’t familiar until he pat the X8's cabin and turned to face Cyclonus with a frail smile – the Decepticon elder from the trans-tunnels from when he, Scourge, and Rumble first arrived at the metropolis.

"Yes.." He wheezed, "Yes... that’s alright, X8-forty. I was already informed by the Iysurus that this soldier would be on his way."

He skirted the RX-3's date records for a moment, "Your called Cyclonus, eh? Yes. I remember you. They brought you and your friends in from the border."

"Yes, sir." The saboteur acknowledged.

"Eighty-three. Name’s Eighty-three, but they know me more as, ‘Foreman’."

Cyclonus nodded.

"I see you saved the master’s life? You know, I remember .. when was that? .. 71.. 74?" Foreman recounted driveling on. "Yes, Great Rom the second. Gig Mica’s progeny you know. My Lord Metatisic was the fourth of Great Rom’s beneficence to his people. Well. Astonishingly done. I vouch you have all of Bractos’ genuine honor as well as my own. Now — " He stepped into the dorm, "— come in here and we’ll have a look at you."

Cyclonus had never particularly enjoyed viewing his internal works. Not being a scientist or an engineer himself, it wasn't in his nature to be curious about such things. Though it meant being repaired, he was not looking forward to this.

Foreman led him to a diagnostic table as other droids hummed and whirred around him. RX-3 stood at the ancient mech's elbow-- as able and ready as any nurse or medical engineer.

"Yes, yes ..There we go. Quite the bad bump on the leg, son. Let's see what I can come up with to fix it, eh?"

Keying the high detail sensor sweep to scan him over, The elder ‘con’s optics stayed with him; fixed on his eyes as he stood by Cyclonus’ side. He stepped left for only a moment to allow the moveable projection to sail over his frame again while countering any questionable prompts the computer gave him to maintain.

"Chipset activate." Foreman ordered, "Uplink establishing .... Um, yes. RX-3, I’ll need the 29 iron and a 38'er bum nut with the slide dial. Front side articular mount, RX-3. You have a lot of carbon scouring here --" The old engineer tossed the subject of his interest so much that for a moment Cyclonus didn’t realize he was actually asking him the question. " – You’ve seen a great deal of action I take it?"

"Me? .. Yes."

"I’ll also need the laser abrader, RX-3."

Foreman’s attention crawled across Cyclonus again setting off a series of jerks in un-event movements when the old bot pressed the shattered rotary of his knee. "Yes. A good PSA aluminum oxide in the zinc sterate should do for that." Foreman parried a instant, "This process is uncomfortable." He cautioned, "But you’ve felt worse sting from ion cannons I’m sure."

Adjusting the settings on the abrader to align with the composition of Cyclonus' plating, Foreman began to talk in an even tone. "You know, you've got quite a lot of fancy additions to your works. Some of them I've never seen before... and I've seen a lot of mechs in my time... well... a lot of femmes too, if you get my meaning."

Cyclonus realized that he hadn't even felt the abrader begin to work. He nodded, half in amazement, to the elderly mech.

"But, like I said, I've seen a bunch of strange contraptions come down the pike and into my surgical bay, but you take the prize, my boy." Foreman leaned in a little, conspiratorially. "Tell me, are you an experimental?"

Cyclonus, mindful of his place in the future, answered slowly. "You could say that. There is only one like me... I have been... traveling for awhile."

"Yes, yes. Well, whoever did the work was a master. I can't say I know what half those devices in your hull do-- I'd sure like to meet him." Foreman replied.

Cyclonus winced both in pain, as the abrader moved over a sensitive area, and repulsion. "Never say that. Never."

Foreman frowned. "Why not? What is he? Rougeon? You can tell me you know. I know you aren't a traitor, even if your mechanic was."

Cyclonus grimaced, remembering past agonies in tandem with the fire shooting through his leg. "Not Rougeon... Evil... pure evil. Please, I do not wish to speak of it!" His fingers curled into the diagnostic table as he strained to keep still. His body bowed and his knuckles drew tight. With a groan, the edges of the table reacted to the stress by bowing under the terrible pressure of the violet jet's hands.

"Alright, son. Don't get your resistors in a twist. I won't ask anymore questions about that damned mechanic. Karna's everlasting fire take him if he's that bad. Burn him to slag and cinders..." Foreman soothed as he moved onto another area.

Cyclonus began to relax... and became aware of a drone like a giant insect. It hummed and vibrated through everything, almost subaudibly. Distantly, he wondered what it was.

Turning off the abrader, Foreman inspected Cyclonus' leg. "Now, my boy, I have to reset that joint. This is really going to hurt and I'm sorry for it in advance."

Cyclonus nodded sharply. The intense flash of pain made his eyes slam shut, and his fingers dig gouges into the table once more. Like the eerie ripping sound a shredding fuselage makes, his metallic shriek of agony was unmistakable.

The intercom emitted a discordant tone overhead, barely cutting through the haze of pain blocking most of Cyclonus' perceptions. He laid, groggy, on the table with his optics closed while the message played. Foreman, continuing his work, wrung another scream from the jet and a metallic groan from the table he was permanently warping.

"RX-3? ..Ah, there you are. Sounds like they’re needing me down there for that big mess of casualties. I want you to reattach this brave mech's muscle cables-- you think you can handle that?"

RX-3 peeped an assertion.

"And you! Don't think I don't see those supplies. Those should have been here megacycles ago." Foreman called to someone outside the hanger.

Cyclonus was only dimly aware of the response, but as the supply slave drew closer he heard a whispered: "Hey, Cyclonus, you still with me?"

"Unload everything from my list into the bins." The elderly mech told the stock hand. "And don't dawdle."

Footsteps indicated that Foreman had left, then there was a flurry of activity on the other side of the table. A whump and a furor of irate chirping proceeded a louder, "Hey, Cyclonus, you still with me? Don't nod off." Someone gave the jet a shake.

"R-rumble? I thought I heard you..."

"Yeah, it's me." The Cassette responded. "Geez. Medical engineering in this day and age was barbaric..." His frown almost audible. "He could have stopped the pain easily if he'd just..." There was more beeping and another whump. "Stay down you hack artist!... Never mind the droid, heck, why don't I just show you?"

Rumble depressed a small cluster of diodes exposed above the wound and twisted them in a bizarre manner. "I'm tricking your systems into thinking that everything is hunky-dory. Soundwave taught me this because Frenzy and I are always getting into stuff and ...well...here."

The pain slowly filtered away and Cyclonus opened his optics slowly. He looked down at Rumble and then scanned to the overturned droid. "Like now?"

"Yeah, like now. I couldn't let that dweeb make you sit there and scream. Haha, I could hear you all the way down the corridor... sounded like they were killing you." Rumble reluctantly righted RX-3 unit. "Alright, droid, do your thing."

The RX-3 peeped concordantly and moved forward to start securing the cables as it had been ordered.

"Let's see. Let me get all this scrap that old mech wanted..." Rumble said aloud, walking off and then coming back with an armload of supplies. "I saw Soundwave." He informed out of the blue.

"What?!" Cyclonus nearly jerked off the table, but remembered what was going on in the last instant. "But how did he get here?"

Rumble chuckled as he put things away. "Heh. He was alive, I guess. Right now, he's no bigger than I am. I can't tell you how weird that is. Staring ol’ big daddy in the optic like that, I mean... that's way too deep for me. Freaky."

Cyclonus blinked at Rumble.

Rumble gestured just even with his own chin. "I'm serious. The boss is only this tall..." Something caught his attention and he paused.

"Well, that is amazing... I had no idea that Soundwave was... Rumble... Rumble? What are you staring at?" Cyclonus followed his line of sight.

The source of the monotonous drone heard earlier could now be seen out of the narrow portal in the corridor. Rumble cocked his head, as if in a trance, and walked out of the room. Cyclonus followed, limping, though the RX-3 protested. A huge military transport hovered ominously in the air slowly lowering into dock. Service personal from the taxi ran around it shouting orders, and giving the landing signs to the other traffic staff.

Objects were already being downloaded from the ship, – More facilitator class mechs; it gave a sudden awesome scale to the huge vehicle hovering outside. It had to be two astro-miles long! The craft was divided into three sections like a huge metallic carapace-- green and bronze; its abdomen flexed as it levitated in place.

"Dude! It looks... like the biggest insecticon ever!" The cassetticon breathed. His optics were practically the size of wheel hubs.

The purple jet nodded faintly.

The robots from the shuttle were ranked and deployed to the arteries that stretch out to the Bractos subdivisions team was divided, it seemed, not according to class, but function.

"I wonder what they're doing?" Rumble puzzled aloud.

Cyclonus shrugged. "I don't know."

One of the passing slaves paused, hearing their conversation. "They're engineers." She said, "Each of the retainers damaged in the battle today will be seen to personally by the specialists."

Rumble looked at her. "Engineers, eh? Like Constructicons. So that's where Foreman got yanked off to..."

"Welder-Fifteen, why have you paused in your assigned tasks?" The X8-40 Cyclonus had encountered earlier appeared at the end of the tarmac.

Rumble dashed back into the room, and Cyclonus shifted to hide him with his larger frame.

"Pardon me, I beg forgiveness. I will join the other artisans now." She replied quickly, sketching a bow to Cyclonus, before dashing off down the ramp way.

"Those crews would probably still be active anyway, considering the care a city the size of Bractos must require..." The jet mused.

"Hey, why do you get the bows from the chics? What am I, chopped slag?" Rumble demanded.

Cyclonus smirked. "Metatisic.."

Irate theremin blips from the RX-3 interrupted his thoughts. "I can't believe this. I'm being ordered around by a droid."

Rumble laughed, allowing Cyclonus to lean on him as they walked back to the diagnostic table. He turned a sharp optic on the lieutenant once he was settled once more. "You know I never did ask this... but... how did you get banged up like this anyway?"

"I was going to tell you a moment ago. I rescued Metatisic from the Rougeons..."

The small lavender Decepticon took on an air of deep seriousness. "Huh? You what?! How?"

"I said, I .."

There was a loud commotion in the hallway. Cyclonus was spared Rumble's concern as the cassette ran to the door to see what was going on. He noticed the X8-40 that startled him earlier ordering a brawny slave down the hall... carrying a familiar blue form...

"Scourge!" Rumble cried, before he could quite stop himself. "Cyclonus! It’s Scourge!"

Cyclonus raised up sharply. "Hmm? Where?!"

"They're carrying him down the hall-- I guess the traffic outside must be bumper to bumper..." Rumble paused. "He... he looks really bad."

Slamming his fist down onto the table, Cyclonus roared at the RX-3. "Faster, damn you!"

.

2

.

Soundwave creaked around in a nervous circle again. Down on one knee for a moment, the child scanned the corridor slowly -- looking for disturbances in it’s lambent glow coming from the row of tiles the lined this section of the Iysurus. The lights were at quarter strength only, offering just enough to define the route. It caused apparitions against the walls – tossing them whenever anyone passed the hall.

Megatron was anchored to the portal of his chamber just behind the boy and crouched when Soundwave did. "See anything yet?" He whispered, obviously impatient. "Was it him?"

"Negative. House servant."

"That’s the fourteenth one now." Megatron complained.

"Fifteenth." Soundwave corrected. Once more, he advanced slowly and listened. A sudden dull metallic ring was impossible to divine in the thicker black ahead. Sliding along the wall the youth squint into the dark. He let out a sudden whoop scrabbling back to the prince in a rush of arms and legs breezing passed him into the room.

"What? What?!" Megatron hurriedly sealed himself against the doorway.

"It’s Shockwave! He’s coming with your father!"

Oh no. Megatron expected this. It was inevitable, but that didn’t mean he was at all looking forward to it either. He knew exactly why his father was on his way and there was no question that it had to do with the direct disobedience of his command to stay inside with the guardian. New fear coated his optics and shivered his housing. Perhaps they could pretend to be recharging?

"What do we do?!" The prince whimpered. Soundwave didn’t extend much suggestion. The cerise strip of optic widened and quavered. What consolation was there really to offer? Defeated, Megatron sank onto the bed.

"Soundwave?" Metatisic was perfectly prompt and immediate of his intention when he sailed into the chamber, "Soundwave, you are to go with Shockwave please. Inpentshisi and Legate both will be expecting you at the bridge. Go now."

"Yes, sir." The boy mewed. His ocular bar fixed on the frowning pout that had reached Megatron's eyes just then on the way out. Taking the empurpled guardian’s hand, he read the worry waxing in the glass panels soundlessly. "Bye." Megatron managed to murmur sadly.

His father’s head didn’t turn to watch them leave --frozen, only the sudden monitoring shift of the reflection within the twin crimson mirrors hinted any proof to his inspection. While rare, Megatron had seen that look before on occasion. So cold was the fleeting glance just then. Nothing. Nothing spoken at all. It caused another tingle to flutter the whole length of his central junction rectifier.

The prince’s stare was just as rooted. Confiscated by the swelling dread, he was locked on those cool eyes noting all of his parent’s features for what seemed like the first time. His father was a medium mech in appearance. Tall and lean, but assembled with thick block shoulders and a even thicker chest. He was his own bulwark. He clearly carried his sophisticated bearing; straight, stern, solid, and never slumping once. Metatisic had mastered the art of saying what he had to say and doing it all without a single word. He simply projected it in manner and attitude. Every convict or rebel Megatron had ever remembered seeing in his father’s audience trembled at such a intense scanning. They had reason too, and now so did he.

Following the lowered brows over the deepset red marbles, his features were chiseled solid, nose long and straight, month tight, but fine. With one crooked figure the Dourjer massaged his chin.

"D-dad." Megatron mustered enough courage to start. A victory that in itself didn’t last very long. His voice quivered immediately failing into a breathy gasp, "Father ..I-I’m sorry. I was just ..jj-just thought that. ..I wanted t-to help. I didn’t know that..."

Statue stiff, Megatron observed the darker maroon steal across the rubicund panes until they resembled black. Seemingly focused on some further distant scene, the faint, newborn tremor in his father’s hand worked it’s way up his arm, twitched his cheeks, and exploded right in those optics like a bomb.

"WHAT WE’RE YOU THINKING!?" The patriarch erupted violently, "What?!" He demanded again, asking a question he didn’t want his child to answer. "Silence! I distinctively ordered that you stay here in the temple, did I not?!"

"Yes." Megatron squeaked.

"You intentionally disobeyed me and what’s worse, you left Shockwave’s side! You could have been killed! You should be thankful that he discovered you when he did."

The vornling's shaky whispers collapsed into a blubbery mess, "I-I’m sooo-ry."

"I don’t want to here your apologies, Megatron! You were nearly destroyed! You knew the Rougeons are dangerous!" Metatisic continued his torrent fume, "You always knew that!"

He lingered for only a moment. The steady proud calm was long gone; his father was visibly shaking now, but a new emotion was beginning to cue upon the heated expression --one that made Megatron feel even worse than he already did. Metatisic looked sorrowful. With a spit, he turned away.

"You were nearly destroyed, Megatron." He repeated sadly.

.

3

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The border - Destron Wastelands; The Exodus Point
(Known ‘fondly’ as the ‘Dead Zone’....)

The silver male, more like a whip than a mech, held up a thin hand for the company to stop. Whining, the vardos' repulsors protested the sudden change in motion. Steelheart protested silently. All the endless boredom was not what she'd signed up for. She'd wanted adventure... this was like babysitting.

"I'm getting some sort of strange magnetic interference," he intoned nasally. "I suggest we wait here until my scans are finished."

Steelheart looked up to the sky and begged Primus for something, anything, to happen It don't even have to be that spectacular. A vector hawk going over. A petro rabbit popping up on the dunes. Anything. Ah'm so tired of Voyager running his mouth about 'danger' that Ah could scream. Just give me a sign that yer as bored as Ah am...

Overhead, the red and ghost stars had been climbing towards each other as they did every day, to make their pass and continue on in their orbit. She watched the two for awhile, noticing, for the first time, how awfully close they were... in fact, the entire sky was brightening as the stars came within touching distance of coronas.

Well, Primus, this ain't too bad. She thought to herself wryly, enjoying the show.

"The stellar conjunction seems to be playing havoc with my sensors," Voyager muttered, doing a little percussive maintenance on the scanner box he held. He slapped the scanner a few more times then threw it to the dust with a petulant sigh. "I hate this place! I hate it!"

Steelheart could barely contain her laughter as two of the front guards had to overtake the silver male. He'd taken to stomping on his scanner and then bolted insanely into the direction of the hills.

"Too many logic upgrades fer his own good," she chuckled.

Just as the guards had subdued the still screaming Voyager, everything turned white... then violet... then some stage between the two. The dust shown like granulated silver, reflective and bright like mica. Looking up from tangle of robotic limbs before the first vardo, Steelheart shaded her optics with one hand, admiring the nuclear fireball of the carmine sun.

She squinted, wishing she had high-glare film on her optics. It seemed like there were some sort of dark spots descending through the shafts of cherry light. They... they looked like mechs!

Flying... mechs.

Dashing out in front of the caravan, she looked up in awe.

Primus...

-How did they get so far out into the Dead Zone?- Canticle demanded over their communications band.

-They don't appear hostile- Quodlibet transmitted.

Coronach had to agree and sent a wordless tone of assent. If anything, the scrabbling going on between three of the strange robots was amusing. Nor, did it seem, that they were rebels... in fact, they were emblazoned with unfamiliar brands in a red not unlike the color of normal optics. -Approach and be cautious.- The young commander counseled his wingmates. -If these robots have the ability to trek so far, they must have considerable ingenuity and stamina... and that could mean this is a trap-

As the trio of Herak alit, the fighting amongst the strange mechs settled down... as did the screaming of the silvery one. They drew back, all of them did, save one. Coronach scanned the foreigners quietly, then his optics fell upon what must have been the caravan leader.

A tall red female, out in front. Seemingly fearless before all the others.

What reason a male would make a femme leader was beyond him. His wingmates were snickering and commenting rudely over their shared communications band. He ignored their jokes, but agreed with the sentiment. Females were best at home where they wouldn't be exposed to such things as to scratch their paint or...

She was staring at him still.

It was beginning to make him uncomfortable.

[ I am Coronach, Commander of His Majesty's Herak. Are you, in fact, the leader of this band? ] Coronach began, asking in her in Delepic tongue.

She continued to stare, without comprehension. Turning her head to one side and then the other, she gave the appearance of almost childlike fascination. It was starting to make Coronach's internal temperature fluctuate.

[ Madam, will you refrain from staring at me like that?! ] He finally snapped.

She jerked back and bowed her head.

[ Are you the leader? ] He tried again, in a softer tone.

Looking up, he was struck by the odd coloring of her eyes once more.

How did they make your optics like the sky? He caught himself wondering.

[ Is she deaf? ] Canticle asked.

Coronach stared right back at her this time and she quailed a bit. [ I don't believe so. I don't think she understands what I'm saying. ]

Quodlibet chuckled. [ Then we can say anything we want...]

Coronach glared at him. Quodlibet immediately held up his hands in submission.

---

Finally, with the blue spirit-mech looking away, Steelheart found that she could move. Primus had answered, and he'd given her a dozy of a response. Never in her life had she ever expected to see one of his servants, but here three of them stood-- wings and all.

They can fly! Her memory core reminded her again in disbelief, replaying their descent.

"What are they?" One of the other guards asked.

"No one can fly! Nobody!" Another insisted.

Voyager was struggling again with his captors. "Let me up, you dolts. I recognize bits of their language. It's from the ancient records..."

"Then... then Primus must’ve sent them! " Steelheart concluded aloud.

Voyager's angry denial was drowned out by the intake of so much atmosphere at once. The entire caravan seemed to agree with Steelheart.

The blue one was making optic-contact with her again. He was speaking that strange language very slowly. Unable to do much else, she listened, trying to make some sort of sense out of it. He'd narrowed his ruby optics as he enunciated each syllable firmly.

Suddenly shy for the first time in a long time, Steelheart ducked her head again. Perhaps... perhaps they weren't being respectful enough...

Coronach's voice trailed away into nothingness as the leader of the strange robots kneeled... and all the rest followed suit. As the light of the evening conjunction faded, he found he was looking over a sea of bent heads and bowed frames.

[ Well, I think they just surrendered. ] Quodlibet chuckled.

[ That was the shortest battle I've ever been in. ] Canticle added.

[ Coronach, you're our new secret weapon. Just give you a megaphone and you can talk the enemy into submission...] Quodlibet smiled.

Coronach harrumphed and his comrades laughed.

Sensing the female's distress, he leaned down to help her back up. [ It is good you respect the agents of the Dourjer, but this is excessive...]

"Get up you cretins! They're no more servants of Primus than I am!" Voyager shrieked.

The guards holding him down slapped him and forced his head down too.

"Let me go!"

Steelheart, looking into the face of the leader of the spirit-mechs as he again tried to talk with her, frowned. Anger rising at being interrupted, she turned. Pulling her blaster out of her hip compartment, she narrowed her optics and leveled it at the shrieking mech.

"If'n you don't shut yer fuel-hole, Ah'm gonna blow yer logic processors all over the place."

Voyager howled. "You're making a mistake!"

"And yer crazy! Running around like a some sort of vibro hen with a turbo fox after it, screamin about how you hate this place." She gestured with the gun to the guards that still had Voyager pinned, "You two, keep him quiet."

"Alright, Steelheart." And, "Yes, ma'am." Were the responses.

[ Un! She's armed! ] Canticle blurted.

[ I think we can all see that. It's not like she has it pointed at us. ] Quodlibet sighed.

Canticle hissed. [ Femmes don't carry weapons! ]

Coronach looked at them, and then back at the red female who had taken on an air of fierce authority. [ Apparently, this one does. ]

The young commander reached over and lowered her blaster by placing a hand over the atmospheric breach. She looked at him and a frown crossed her features again. Her odd eye color was starting to become less disconcerting. Asking him something in that sloe voice of hers, he was at a loss to respond for a moment. [ Perhaps you'd better let me have this...] He spoke as he lifted up on the weapon.

She tugged on it once and shouted something, but, when he narrowed his optics at her, she relented. Taking the gun, he turned it over in his hands and checked the power cell. [ This is very similar to the blasters that the Infantry carry. ]

[ Really? ] Quodlibet walked over and took a look at the strange firearm. [ It is... but the markers are all wrong. And what is this red symbol that is stamped on everything and painted on them? ] He gestured to the caravan.

Canticle snorted, his concern evaporating. Those weapons weren't worth the slag they were made from compared to a Herak's. [ I don't care. Let's just take them back and let the linguists deal with them. ]

[ Why? I think this has gone far enough. Why not ask them and satisfy 'Libet's curiosity? ] Coronach replied.

"I've played this ruse a little too long, I think." Coronach said, "You're obviously no rebels, though your language is rather odd. I am Coronach, Commander of His Majesty's Herak."

Steelheart's optics snapped to his. She wore a look of distinct astonishment.

"They can talk normal!" One of the tinkers blurted.

Beginning to rise, the others broke into wild conversation. They came forward in a mass, trying to communicate with the winged mechs.

"What rebels?"

"How do you fly?"

"What's a Herak?"

"Who's His Majesty?"

"Is there a city near here?"

"Yeah, like a city with fuel?"

"Do you guys have some spare fuel?"

Voyager laughed snidely. "That's what I've been trying to tell you all. They're obviously examples of a divergent form of robotic life. They probably adapted to flight because of this hideous mess all around us..."

The big red fembot rounded on the now free Voyager, "Shut up."

"You're just ashamed... And rightly so! Believing that you, a guard, knows more than one of the brightest minds ever produced on Cybertron. Besides, what are you going to do? Drawl at me?" The slim silver mech laughed.

"No. Ah ain't. But you think about something, runt. Ah'm taller than you and Ah'm stronger than you... and Ah've got a lot bigger fists than you do..." She growled. "And Ah don't appreciate being talked down to by mealy mouthed little freaks."

Voyager pulled back, his optics widening in horror.

Coronach, assaulted by the questions of the others, barely heard what was said... but he did take notice. He smirked. Leaving the excited crowd to Quodlibet and Canticle, he singled the woman out and steered her away from the small silver male. When the presumptuous little robot tried to follow, Coronach glared at him until he slunk away to join the group pumping the amused Quodlibet and the irritated Canticle for information.

"Why did you string me along like that?" Steelheart asked. "'Voyager's right. Ah looked like a damn fool."

"As I said, we cannot be too careful. The renegades are--" Coronach began.

"What renegades? Are you folks fighting a war too?" Steelheart asked pointedly.

Coronach glanced at her with narrowed optics. "Too? Who are your people fighting?"

"Some nasty creatures that call themselves Quintessons." She drew the last word out in a disgusted hiss. "Big ugly critters with tentacles and five-faces..."

"Five?" Coronach shook his head. Impossible. Those creatures were fairy tales... "Hmph. Well the renegades are the Rougeons. They’re like us, but have turned their back on their Dourjer. Pathetic constructs really...trying to turn others against the rays of Karna's light."

"Light... oh... you must mean Primus." Steelheart said.

Coronach mouthed the unfamiliar word and then looked at her. "You mentioned that name before. Um, ..Pr-ry–mmis?"

"Primus, you know, he made us all and he leads us through..."

Coronach stopped short and frowned. "What do your people call themselves?"

Steelheart paused next to him. "Cybertronians."

"Then the reports are true! You are the foreigners from beyond the Dead Zone!" He intoned solemnly. "And you call Karna by a strange name."

Steelheart blinked. "Well, Ah figure Primus is a busy guy. He's probably got a bunch of names."

The young commander kept his thoughtful frown, but started to walk again. "Perhaps."

"Look. Maybe you should be talking to Voyager--" Her tone was worried.

"No," Coronach insisted.

"He's a little long-winded, but a heap smarter than Ah am, Commander." She protested.

Coronach gestured. "Do not be kind. He is annoying. You are not." His words had a ring of finality about them. "Now, tell me about the other side of the Zone..."

"We’re in the middle of a war, so it’s none too pretty." Steelheart sighed, "Cybertron could be beautiful though... if’n we had the time to make it that way."

"That’s true of any place in a conflicted area. Not even our holiest city was spared. Bractos was recently assaulted by Rougeons..." Coronach glanced at her, "But enough of troubles. There will be time enough to muse over battles and mourn losses later. What I wish to know is… what are your people like?"

Steelheart shrugged. "They’re just people, I’d reckon. All sorts. There’re some that are small like Voyager, and some that are big like Gridlock-- he’s the fella that punched Voyager in the back of the head…"

Coronach couldn’t stifle a smile. "Do females command often… or are you unique?"

"Command? Oh no. Ah’m not the leader of the expedition. Voyager is-- even though he’s a mite screwy… back home there are female commanders though. Like Beta. She’s second-in-command of the Iacon militia."

He looked at her a moment, his face expressionless. "You ordered the others to attack your leader?"

"Well, Ah couldn’t have him hurt’in himself or none of y’all now could Ah?" She frowned at him in confusion.

"I doubt that he could have harmed us," the seeker commander stated flatly. "Why did the others obey you?"

"Well, Ah’ve been head of security a-ways-- since Firestarter turned back with his brother and the other two femmes. Ah suppose the others figure since Voyager can’t be trusted on account of his problems, that Ah’m next in line to tell ‘em what to do."

Before Coronach could respond there was a frustrated noise from a few paces away. He looked up to find Canticle staring at him.

"Commander, the stars sink lower on the horizon. Would it not be best to make for O’hiiden for the night?" The red Herak asked.

In the background, he could see that even Quodlibet -whose good humor was legendary- was becoming irritated with the constant endless questions from the foreign mechs. With a glance at Steelheart, he nodded to Canticle. "Yes. That seems appropriate. Since I do not relish trudging through this…" He gestured to the dunes. "Wasteland. We will air-lift the Cybertronians."

Canticle’s optics brightened for a moment in astonishment. "You mean, carry them like transports?"

"That is what I said." Coronach frowned.

The red Herak nodded curtly. "If that is your command." He turned on his heel to inform the inundated Quodlibet.

Coronach turned to Steelheart. "Notify the others in your party that they may only take what may fit in their paneling, or carry in their hands. Everything else must be abandoned."

She nodded. "No problem, but Voyager is gonna have a fit."

With a sharp gesture, the seeker Commander dismissed the statement. "I will deal with him if he creates a scene."

The tall red femme shrugged. "Alright." Steelheart turned to the slowly dispersing group, whistling to get their attention.

Coronach watched her through slitted optics.

.

4

.

Cybertron - Factory town of Kokular; import docks

The import docks were slow this astrocycle. Not that the light-loader minded, that just meant he had less to supervise, honestly. After having to work almost non-stop for so many vorns, and then the stress of fighting in the revolution, the chance to lean back and enjoy himself on someone else’s time was a treat to be relished rather than wasted.

Watching his work gang loiter and play scan-draughts on the dock made him smile. Settled back on the crate he was perched on, he allowed himself a moment of quiet joy. If he was having fun, there was no reason for them not to either. It’s not as if they had anything else to do anyway.

The impatient sound of someone’s horn interrupted his reverie.

"Alright boys, that’s it. Time to look busy!" He called to his gang, jumping down from the crate. His feet hit the dock with a sharp ringing clank. There were assorted derisive comments about the customer that he chose not to "hear" as supervisor but grinned at none-the-less.

Walking out into the nearly deserted loading area, he was faced with a large red transport who laid on his horn again.

"I’m right here!" the pale green bot shouted, "Primus! Will you knock that off?! My audios are giving me static!"

"’Bout time! Ah’ve been waiting almost ten breems," the transport huffed. He didn’t bother to shift into interaction form.

"Why you…" The supervisor sighed at the front of the red transport, glaring at the headlights. "Will you please transform? It’s too hard to figure out which end is what on some of these new alt-modes and I don’t want to be talking to your rear-end."

That drew a chuckle from the transport and the pale green light-loader himself smirked.

"Well, Ah can’t complain about that. Ah get confused myself sometimes," the transport quipped, transforming into a red and gray bot slightly taller than supervisor himself.

"Much better."

"Ah’m here to pick up…" the red bot began.

The supervisor interrupted, "I haven’t seen you on my dock before. What’s your name?"

"… mah name is Ahrnhide." Blinking, the red bot then quickly said, "Look, you’re the last stop on mah list. Ah have to pick up this load of self-sealing bolts you’ve got before Ah get back to Supply-Station Seven and clock out."

"I’m Kup… ‘fraid I’m going to make you late, eh?" He chuckled at Ironhide’s pained expression. "No, I’m not going to do that, don’t worry."

The pale green bot looked over his shoulder, back to the gang who were peaking around the solid mixmetalcrete wall that separated them from the loading area. "Hey! Get shipment Gold-Mu-Three-Niner ready for loading… and Struts, not a damn word out of you!" He glared specifically at a wiry looking silver robot who ducked his head.

A strangled noise made Kup look back at Ironhide. The transport had a hand over his mouth, trying not to laugh.

"I swear, you let them have just one extra fuel break and it goes right to their central processors!" The light-loader bitched in a completely put-upon voice. Outraged replies from his gang on the other side of the wall ended Ironhide’s brave attempt to hold back his good humor.

Laughing himself, Kup appraised the larger mech. When Ironhide’s laughter died back, the pale green bot scrutinized him more closely. "Weren’t you one of the Iacon milita involved in that mess down in the factory levels?"

Ironhide nodded. "Me and mah sister Steelheart tore up the processing plant in Sector Four while the others herded them dirty cyborgs into the chemical bath we flooded the lower levels with."

"I saw holocrons of that. The acid was pure genius; it was amazing to see how much of those uglies is just metal casing."

Ironhide nodded. "Yup. They aren’t so tough, if’n you know what to do to get rid of em."

"…You know, I was the sniper on the Records Hall job." Kup grinned.

"Did your point, Bass, make it out of that one? Ah mean, Ah knew him from the meetings… Ah hadn’t heard anything…" Ironhide asked.

The light-loader’s smile faded. "Bass went back to Primus."

Ironhide bowed his head a moment. "That’s a shame. He was a good mech."

The silence stretched into a breem, and then Kup said. "If you want, I get off work in about a megacycle, we can go get overcharged and salute Bass in the only way he would have wanted."

"Makin’ lotsa noise and chatting folks up?" Ironhide smirked, though it didn’t reach his optics. His expression was almost haunted.

"Well, that and leching after femmes," the pale green bot said with a sad smile.

Ironhide was quiet. His expression said he’d chased them with Bass before, and that it just wouldn’t be the same without him.

There were several venting and coughing noises. Kup swung around to face the waiting work-gang. "What in blue blazes do you want?"

"We’ve got the load ready, boss," Struts said, almost apologetically.

"Oh, yeah. Right." Kup nodded, motioning them to get on with it as he turned back to Ironhide.

"Ah’ll be here and waiting. Those fembots better be humdingers, Kup," the red bot finally replied, before transforming. As the cargo started to weigh him down, the extra mass made his repulsor unit whine in protestation. He hovered even closer to the pavement than normal.

"Heh, I won’t let you down. Wouldn’t be a memorial for Bass if I did. There’s this tall one… well, taller than me, not you… but I won’t ruin it. Just suffice it to say she’s hot enough to melt solid titanium into a gooey puddle." Kup winked.

Ironhide chuckled, closing his hatch and pulling out of the loading area. The gang and their supervisor watched him until he disappeared through the dock gates.

"Hey boss, if she’s that good looking, why don’t you hook me…" Struts asked.

Kup frowned. "What did I tell you about keeping your vocalizer off? I swear, I’m going to tell the dockmaster to get me a universal muter remote for you."

Struts gestured helplessly, his single blue optic bright with apology. "Never mind, never mind. I’m shutting up. It was just a stupid thought."

"You have an awful lot of those," Kup griped without real anger.

The gang laughed and razzed Struts as he threw up his hands and walked away. Kup smiled despite himself at their antics. It had been a good work shift and he could think of no better way to spend his evening than remembering old friends now gone… particularly by celebrating with pretty girls.

.

5

.

Steelheart pressed her palms against the transparisteel. The dunes passed far below. They were much more pleasant to look at from a distance than up close. The Herak were traveling at an amazing speed. In a few astro-seconds, she couldn’t even see the vardos in the distance anymore.

"Primus… we’re so high up…" she sighed in wonder.

As if on cue, Coronach nudged one wing down, to give her a better look at the Dead Zone. Startled away from the window, Steelheart forced herself to overcome her initial discomfort and return. She could just make out Quodlibet’s and Canticle’s barb-like shadows zipping along the dust-- though at this angle, she couldn’t see either Herak. The silvery expanse was now broken in places by large fields of shocked quartz and white iridium… until the patches of rock grew into a long flat plain and the dust was gone. Along the plain were blasts of brilliant color- including streaks of blue-black darkness and deceiving mirror-like surfaces--which she knew, being a hazardous materials transport, to be iridium salts and varying types of chalcedony coupled with small osmium and platinum deposits. Never had she seen anything like this.

"Ah… Ah, don’t know what to say. Thank you, Commander," she offered quietly. He did not answer, but she knew he heard.

"Thank you, Commander," Voyager mocked in a nasal tone.

Steelheart looked over her shoulder and glared at the little mech. "Don’t you go being sore at me. It’s not mah fault you made that big ruckus, Voyahger."

He was still tied up in fiberoptic cable stripped from the first vardo, but Voyager tried to look threatening anyway. "I’m missing important data because of you! You completely ignored the first-contact procedure I outlined… and you’ve led the Commander to believe we’re a bunch of superstitious bumpkins! He made us leave valuable equipment behind because of you! Worse yet, because of it, he trussed me! ME! The finest mind Cybertron has ever produced…" Voyager was in a fine fit, almost as bad as the one he’d thrown when she’d told him about leaving the equipment behind. "The Assembly is going to have a field day with you when we return! This may have been an independent mission, but I have friends on the council…"

Coronach righted himself immediately in a quick motion, surprising Steelheart and causing Voyager to bounce to the floor from his seat. The seeker still said nothing.

"The indignity! This is like being cargo!" Voyager wailed.

"No cargo ah’ve ever seen complains like you do," Steelheart said tiredly.

---

[ If one of these foreigners purges on me. ] Canticle began in his native language.

Quodlibet laughed. [ Mine are too afraid to move, let alone think about that. ]

[ They do seem excessively fearful. Oddly so. ] The red seeker mused.

[ I’m sure they’re just tired, Canticle. If I’d had to walk all that way, I’d be tired. ]

[ Well why didn’t they just fly? ]

Coronach kept his silence, simply listening to his wing-mates banter back and forth over their communications band. The deception he’d chosen was useful. Already he had new questions for the red female… but he was even more certain that he would avoid the one called ‘Voyager’. She had been right. The little mech was not all as he should be.

[ The Cantonment is coming within communications range, Commander. ] Quodlibet informed Coronach unnecessarily.

The Commander sighed. [ My scanners are working just fine, ‘Libet. ]

[ Ahhhh.. And now I see your transmitter does too! ] The dusky yellow Herak exclaimed in mock astonishment.

Canticle chuckled wordlessly.

[ You’ve been quiet. What’s been keeping you occupied? ] Quodlibet wasn’t letting this go.

Coronach said nothing for a moment, and then replied, [ I do not think it would be wise to let the small mech called Voyager out of scanner range for any length of time. ]

[ Is he still acting like his relays are fried? ] Canticle asked boredly.

[ Indeed. He’s screaming incoherently at the femme even as we speak. ] Coronach sighed.

Quodlibet snorted in disgust. [ And what is she doing? ]

[ Letting him scream. ]

[ Hmph. With the way she acts, I thought she might have smashed him into scrap. ] Canticle sneered.

[ Oh be silent, Canticle. You just don’t like her. ] Quodlibet snapped.

While his comrades proceeded to argue the virtues of females, weaponless and not, Coronach sent a signal of their intent to the control tower. Normally they could just drop out of the sky, but being loaded down with passengers was not normal. The runway had to be clear and ready to receive them.

.

6

.

Bractos - PL-D4; Regent Quarters - The Iysurus
(Dourjer's quarters...)

Eleven was pleased as she worked to straighten the folds in Metatisic’s cloak. Now clean and repaired, his plating almost shone with an inner glow that made her internals seize in a sort of silent rapture. It was her joy to be able to serve the Dourjer.

She was aware that the Mighty One watched her, though she did not raise her face to see. He was contemplative and Eleven did not wish to intrude. She would not venture to guess what sort of thoughts occupied the mind of a mech such as he, filled with Karna’s everlasting light and the holy spark of Megadyne - nor question them.

Gently, she began to click the menat’s snaps shut.

"Soldera." He said.

The small femme did not even look up from her task, though she did slow. Only he would call her by name and not by number. A part of her trembled as she remembered other occasions when her name had passed his lips in such a manner.

Again, Metatisic's timbre rumbled, "Soldera."

She stopped her ministrations and then looked up at him hesitantly. As always, she was struck by his breathtaking majesty. "Have I displeased you?"

Cupping her cheek, he shook his head faintly. "Never have you ever displeased me."

Her features, cool and beautiful, blossomed in a smile that could almost be felt. She did not answer, but bravely put her hand over his.

"The hand of War is rough. Its weary work has tired me, my treasure..." He spoke softly, as he would to no other, his thumb tracing over her cheek plate again.

Eleven could say nothing, his ache becoming hers, but she did not need to. Her feelings played across her features like jewels suspended in starlight. Each one was clear and unmistakable, almost glittering as if the heavens themselves had been captured in her ruby optics.

"Have you spoken yet with Megatron regarding his actions?" She asked.

"Yes." Arms sliding smoothly across her delicate frame, the hand on her cheek soon cradled her head, while the other wound it’s way around her waist. "Yes I did. I’m just not so sure he understands the full severity of it. To go out onto the field like that? He’s barely learned to control his state of transformation yet much less mastering his ---"

"You’re tired, my Lord. Perhaps you should rest and not trouble yourself to deeply with it tonight?"

"Yes. I’ll speak with him more tomorrow."

Soldera did not need an invitation to embrace the object of her devotion, the center of her universe, and returned his tender hold with delight. He smiled at last.

"I would that I could carry the caress of Love with me to soothe my lassitude. That by command I could invoke its gentle stroke as easily as you bestow it now…" Metatisic whispered, purring into her audio.

"Highness? Please forgive my intrusion, Great Lord… but we’ve received a transmission from the Herak."

Soldera tensed in her master’s arms. The sudden feeling of loss made her look away from him rather than display her unhappiness. He did not need to be burdened with such things.

Sighing in frustration, he tapped his communicator. "This had best be important, Legate."

"I believe it is, Great Dourjer. Commander Coronach has intercepted the source of the interference from Exodus point…" Legate’s voice held just a faint note of almost disbelief.

Metatisic frowned. "Your tone does not fill me with confidence. What was the source?"

"Foreigners, Lord. They… they claim to be Cybertronians."

Silence. Soldera glanced up at Metatisic. His attention was focused far away. His hold on her did not relax though. In fact, he seemed to draw her closer as he thought. The only sound was intermittent static over the communications band.

"My Lord?" Legate ventured.

Metatisic seemed to come back to himself. "Where are they now, Legate?"

"They're on their way to the O'hiiden cantonment… they will arrive here come Karna's apex."

"Excellent, Legate. This is important. We must have preparations made for their arrival… and, as soon as they are settled, I will accept their audience immediately."

"By your command, Most Mighty." Legate’s transmission crackled off.

Metatisic clicked his communications panel.

Soldera smiled. "Your vision… the legend of the Cybertronian people is true." Her voice is filled with soft wonder.

"Did you have any doubts?" His tone held gentle amusement.

She lowered her gaze a bit, almost in shame. "The caravans tell many fantastic stories, my Lord." She paused, "I should not speak so freely. Forgive me."

Metatisic smiled and tipped her chin up so that she would look directly at him. "Feh.." He spat at the very idea, "My treasure, dear. You never have my wrath to fear. I’ve always valued your thoughts."

Soldera was caught by the expression on his face and she could not reply. She knew that he must feel her awe, because it rippled through her form like fire.

.

CHAPTER 12: The legends are true?

.

The O’hiiden Cantonment; Ta’nak
(coming in for a landing ...)

Steelheart’s first impression of O’hiiden was the way it appeared to spring up from nothing. It was a little island of civilization in an otherwise bare expanse of the Quartz Flats. Rough, she admitted, but mighty welcome after the Dead Zone. Here there would be fuel… and, more importantly, some place to get cleaned up at. She had so much dust in her plating that it made crunching noises if she bent too far one way or the other.

"What! What are you staring at?" Voyager demanded.

She shrugged. "We’re landing in that camp the Commander’s friend mentioned. O-high-den."

"Lift me up so I can see!"

"You better not kick me, or so help me Ah’ll boot your narrow aft all the way back to Cybertron."

"UP! UP! Lift me UP!"

Steelheart frowned. She bent and boosted the still bound Voyager high enough to see out the transparisteel window.

The little silver mech immediately started muttering to himself. His semi-silent speculation was complete with various "Hmmms" and "Ahas".